Is Philosophy So Boring, and What Does It Have to Do with Modern Orthodoxy? (Column 480)

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.

At first I planned to write a column about philosophy and its significance, in response to an essay by my friend Prof. Moshe Koppel that happened to come my way. Very quickly I saw that this debate is not only about philosophy but about different approaches to life—and certainly to faith. In fact, I arrived at the conclusion that what we have here is a different version of Modern Orthodoxy, and in that sense this is a continuation of the series of columns that has just concluded (475 – 478). Therefore I decided to precede it with a brief discussion of two kinds of Modern Orthodoxy, and only then move on to a critique of Koppel’s essay.

Introduction

In the series of columns 155 – 160 I dealt with the question: what is philosophy? I tried to define this elusive field, to understand what it rests upon, and also to show why it has value and is not merely a waste of time as many people think. In a sentence, my claim is that philosophy is an empirical domain (not a science), except that its observations are not carried out by the senses but by the “eyes of the mind.” I tried to show that one can reach conclusions in it and that it is indeed a field that advances—again in contrast to the common view that it merely churns water. I believe I noted there that in my opinion mathematics is a branch of philosophy. It is the formal part of philosophy, dealing with those arguments whose premises and inferences can be formalized, the concepts defined, and all of these presented in an optimally precise and controlled manner. It is no wonder that some of the greatest critics of philosophy are scientists, including mathematicians. They feel it is a misuse of the crown of thought and a taking of its name in vain. They recoil from this hazy field and from its cumbersome and unclear writing, a lack of clarity that in many cases covers up a conceptual and intellectual vacuum. They express the feeling that philosophy goes nowhere (notes to Plato), and is nothing but a jumble of pointless debates—sometimes even lacking any clear meaning.

In that series I discussed the critique of the mathematician Ron Aharoni, who claimed—and tried to show in a systematic (almost mathematical) way—that there is no such field at all. I concluded the series with an argument by another mathematician, Kurt Gödel, which I used to demonstrate—through a formal argument—the possibility of philosophy. A few months ago I came across an article by my friend Prof. Moshe Koppel, also a mathematician, who likewise comes out against philosophy, and I thought his words require a response—to which this column is devoted. But as noted, I decided to add a preface connecting the discussion here to the series that has just ended about Modern Orthodoxy.

On Koppel and Pragmatism

Moshe Koppel (Moishy—pardon the “eulogy”) is the founder and president of the Kohelet Forum, the forum that shifted the cheese of religious/political/security/foreign-policy/economic/social think tanks, which until not long ago were the exclusive domain of the Left (cf. the New Israel Fund, and the like). Such institutes are nothing but institutional centers (usually flush with money) for formulating leftist positions and arguments, wrapped in a dignified mantle of research objectivity. In recent years the Right and religious-political conservatism have also caught on to the idea, and it is no wonder that institutes and forums like Kohelet are springing up; nor is it any wonder that they have become the dread of leftists (with Kohelet this is mainly in economics and society), and of course the bane of the newspaper Haaretz (see for example here and here, and much more). This of course attests in spades to Moishy’s many successes, which certainly adds to the special affection I have for him.

Koppel holds conservative views in many respects, but at the same time (for some reason, nowadays this is seen as a contradiction, even though originally they were almost synonyms) liberal and open ones. He is broadly educated, deeply involved in social, legal, economic, and political matters, and above all a gifted writer whose books and articles (and of course conversation with him) are a pure delight to read. He writes sharply and with astonishing clarity, in non‑academic language and venues, with beautiful illustrations. He has much criticism of the new liberal discourse (what lately is called “progressivism”), but also of forms of religiosity that are too ossified—and especially of those that are too ideological (though I assume he understands well that conservatism too is an ideology). He criticizes conservatism, but with no less sharpness he criticizes the new winds in the religious and political world. It seems to me that grappling with the tension between conservatism and innovation is one of the salient features of his writing and thought. He uses the arsenal of contemporary tools and sources to defend conservative positions and, in a certain sense, to adhere to what some might call “the world of yesterday.”

I first met Koppel when he founded and edited together with Prof. Ali Merzbach the journal Higayon (and later BD”D) for Torah and science. I sent them my article (I think it was the second in my bibliography) on a kal va‑chomer to issue B, and then I also received comments and we spoke a bit. Since then we’ve had some conversations, meetings, and correspondence, and I came to understand that despite the similarity between our positions in many areas, there is a fundamental point that separates his mode of thought from mine. Beyond his conservative stance itself, he greatly dislikes abstract theories, and favors pragmatic reasoning and conduct with practical goals. Grand philosophies and ideologies are loathsome to him, and he mocks them sharply and incisively. More than once it became clear to me that we can reach very similar conclusions but for different reasons and on different planes. His motto is a very American pragmatism, with its advantages and (in my eyes) drawbacks. I should note that despite my fondness and appreciation for philosophy, I too regard adherence to ideology as usually childish and foolish (see, for example, in my interview with Geekonomy). But I certainly see great importance in philosophy and theory. I agree that when one comes to apply theory to reality (this is how ideologies are created) one must beware oversimplification, and therefore ideological clinging is usually naïve and dangerous. Theories, by their very nature, are simplistic (see for example my article on ukimtot), and therefore people who try to force their theories on recalcitrant and complex reality usually behave rigidly and trample reality—as well as quite a few human beings who were dragged into it not of their own free will—under the wheels of ideology.

Two Types of Modern Orthodoxy

In the spirit of the previous columns on Modern Orthodoxy, one can say that Moshe (=Moishy) is the distilled essence of the American Modern Orthodox type from the Yeshiva University school. Such people live fully modern lives quietly and serenely, without many inner struggles. They recoil from revolutions and strongly identify with their grandmother’s natural Judaism—without bothering to draft revolutionary manifestos, without carefully formulated arguments for changes in Halakhah, and without detailed theoretical positions. It reminds me of a lovely story that Rabbi Lichtenstein (who, as is well known, was such a figure) told. His daughter wanted to have her ears pierced for earrings. He disliked it and also thought it involved chovel (wounding—of oneself, not necessarily on Shabbat). He went to ask R. Shlomo Zalman Auerbach, who smilingly answered that his grandmother did it too. R. Shlomo Zalman did not bother to explain to him what the permissive reasoning is and why there is no prohibition; he sufficed with a light remark about his grandmother. This is precisely the comfortable conservative model. They recoil from rebels and revolutionaries, from those who formulate theories—even those that undergird their own lives. Perhaps that is because, in their view, such preoccupation exudes a whiff of distrust or insecurity in the way—something they do not share. Conservatism, even if it is merely an ethos, bestows upon them calm and ease (opium for the masses?). Their sense is that their way descended from Sinai and has accompanied the Jewish people throughout the generations, subject only to changing circumstances. My sense is that Koppel and his American colleagues have a greater problem with Reformers—whose actual lives are very similar to their own—than with the most extreme Haredi conservatives, despite the very different lifestyles. From their perspective everyone should live their lives—and leave them the heck alone. It is no wonder they also tend toward libertarian and liberal views that champion freedom in the socio‑economic sphere.

I have already noted in the past that the reactions to my lecture at the founding conference of the Orthodox Forum were exactly in this spirit. The audience—American Modern Orthodox—looked for halakhic precedents for my claims and recoiled from revolutionary moves. It did not matter that in practice all of them conduct their lives exactly as I described (for example in their attitude to secular courts and the legal system—but that was only one example). Still, they objected to my arguments that sought to ground this approach. My clear impression was that the opposition was not only to my specific arguments but to (revolutionary) arguments as such. In this context it is interesting to note that Moshe Koppel collected several of his essays in the book To Live as a Jew, whose core is a dialogue between an old conservative Jew named Shimen (the vav is missing in the original, of course) and a young progressive rebel named Heidi (the parallel to Hillel in my trilogy). A reader of the book can readily sense that it is not only a conservative book against progressivism, but a book in favor of pragmatic conservatism—and in this sense it also set itself against self‑aware midrashic conservatives like me. Essentially it opposes philosophies and arguments in favor of life as it is. If I were an existentialist (yuck) I would say that he espouses the (empty) slogan that existence precedes essence.

Parts of the book (which first appeared as essays) I read long ago, but I remember my feeling that the impetuous Heidi raises various arguments, and the old Shimen dismisses her with scorn. The sense is that he belittles her and does not see the arguments as something to be truly engaged. This is conservatism in the sense I described in column 217 and elsewhere. As I explained there, I oppose conservatism, for its essence is not to relate to arguments but to adopt a position simply because my grandmother thought so—or to reject other positions because my grandmother thought otherwise. If it works, why change?! In that sense, extreme innovation is also a faulty approach in my eyes, for it relates to arguments and conclusions only by virtue of their being new, and not because of their substantive advantages. Usually, innovation is not like that. It merely rejects the irrelevance of conservatism and is prepared to consider new arguments and positions (but not to adopt them automatically just because they are new). This, at any rate, is the innovation I endorse.

Let there be no misunderstandings. The American Modern Orthodox Jew lives in a way very different from his grandmother, but this change derives from changed circumstances, and therefore happens naturally, without revolutions and usually without awareness. The sober among them are well aware of the differences (Abaye and Rava did not study in Yiddish and did not wear a gartel), but they are unruffled by them and flow with life in full, together with faithful observance in the old, good way. They do not put forward arguments and do not convene conferences (the single conference that the Orthodox Forum tried to mount in Israel faded into the vacuum with a still small voice), and they do not formulate arguments and theories. Their revolution is as a mit’asek (“unintentional”). If it works, that suffices; there is no need for justifications and arguments. This is the Jewish‑religious manifestation of American pragmatism.

By contrast, I—the small one—define myself as an Israeli Modern Orthodox type (a phenomenon that has begun to sprout somewhat in recent years but has not really succeeded in taking off as a movement). On the surface it may look similar, for they and I alike live fully modern lives in relation to a halakhic and religious commitment. But there is a large difference between us, for I formulate arguments and contend with plain conservatism, and I even formulate the differences between me and the Reform, construct a toolbox for halakhic change (for a midrashic conservative), and first of all typologically define the various conservative figures and build a meta‑theory of different stances toward Halakhah. All this derives from the fact that the theoretical plane does trouble me, and therefore it is important for me to give myself a reflective accounting and not merely flow with what seems right to me. My American colleagues do not trouble themselves to do so. In the terms of the previous columns, one might say that the American Modern Orthodox is a midrashic conservative, but does not bother to articulate explicitly the conservative midrash for himself. He simply flows with the form of application that seems to him appropriate in the circumstances of his life—and that’s it. The Israeli Modern Orthodox will do the same—but on the basis of a formulated theory. He will present conservative midrashim at the base of each proposed change, and of course will build meta‑theories about conservatism in its shades. It is no wonder, then, that Modern Orthodoxy in Israel arouses more antibodies in conservative circles (including the American Modern Orthodox) than its American counterpart. It rebels and critically challenges the existing order and does not suffice with living its life as it understands. The revolutionary posture is on the table—formulated and blunt. Therefore, despite their similarity, the Israeli version is accused of being Reform, while the American one is usually not suspected of that.

Back to Philosophy

It is no wonder, then, that I was delighted to finally read an article from Moishy’s own keyboard that deals directly with his program on this meta‑plane—namely his attitude to philosophy and philosophical discussions. You can already sense it from the very title of the article: “Why is So Much Philosophy Boring?” You can discern the disdain for arguments and the unwillingness to relate to them substantively. This is a good opportunity for me—as a lover of philosophy and theory (and critique)—to debate him with friendship and great esteem, but directly, on this sore point. I think that an analysis of his remarks and the arguments he brings will show why one must relate more seriously and substantively to arguments and not merely to the bottom line, and why a non‑serious attitude toward arguments leads to mistakes in analysis and perhaps also in conclusions.

I will note that although I will not touch at all on religious and halakhic questions, and in fact on anything I have written thus far, from what I say below you can also understand that I espouse the approach of Modern Orthodoxy in the Israeli model as I have described it (the one that advocates articulated arguments and theories), and not the American (natural and pragmatic) model of Koppel. It is hard to avoid here the example of the British philosopher (!) G. E. Moore, who favored the realist‑pragmatist approach of “common sense.” When Moore was asked to prove the existence of an external world, he raised his hands and said: “Here is one hand, and here is another. From this it follows that there are at least two external objects in the world. Hence it follows that an external world exists. QED.” You can easily notice the connection to R. Shlomo Zalman’s comment cited above. It is the very same approach—the quintessence of conservative pragmatism and its dismissive attitude toward theoretical questions and arguments in philosophy or in Halakhah—and ve’idach zil gmor. In what follows you will encounter very similar arguments from Koppel. I will now turn to a critical reading of Koppel’s article. I will do so following the order of his chapters.

A. The Big Questions

His first chapter deals with the big questions. Talk to me, says Koppel, about the big questions, like proofs of God’s existence or the objective validity of morality—and I immediately yawn. All this does not interest me at all. As someone who says Modeh Ani every morning, this certainly cannot stem from secular indifference to religious questions. As an initial suggestion he offers the explanation that his boredom and alienation from these questions stems first and foremost from the fact that they are unsolvable and that one cannot make progress on them. His time is limited and he prefers to invest it in more constructive matters. But that cannot be the only explanation, as he himself says, for he devotes not a few efforts to other questions that also are not truly solvable, such as matters of public policy, science, finance, and many other questions. If you allow me a touch of paternalism, I would note that in my view the first proposal actually does hit the mark. The questions mentioned just now are indeed solvable—or at least progress can be made on them—as Koppel himself proves day by day. But let us return to him.

He begins the search for the explanation with the assumption that truth has value insofar as it helps him to achieve his goals. There you have the pragmatic starting point—but not entirely. He does not claim that truth is whatever helps him achieve goals, only that truth interests him only insofar as it helps to do so. And still, one can see here the sprouts of pragmatism. Of course one can ask him: what are those very goals, and how do you, Moishy, ascertain them for yourself? Well, one can say that this clarification is itself important and useful—even by his lights—for if you do not know your goals, how will you achieve them?! Let us take commitment to commandments and divine service as an example. Exactly what use is that in the life of a person like Moishy? I assume he does not ask himself that question, for it too is boring in his view. He is simply committed—and that’s it. But there is here an implicit trust in his initial intuitions, and it is certainly worth examining whether every initial intuition deserves trust—and how much effort it merits. Is this an unnecessary inquiry? And if your initial intuitions that there is a God and binding commandments are the product of your formative environment, is it not worth examining that environment? Here his conservatism peeks through. Apparently, in his view it is not really worth examining. But just so, one born into a pagan tribe should not ask himself whether dancing around the fire brings rain, and whether the idol of wood and stone truly has powers worth serving. In my eyes this is a strange approach that, in a certain sense, empties faith and religious commitment of content. If each of us is a product of the landscape of our homeland—and is also supposed to remain such—then we are moved by forces not dependent on us, and even make an ideology out of it. What value is there in our beliefs and why devote ourselves to them? Why assume at all that they give our lives meaning? Moving on.

The examples he brings for useful pursuits are mainly about survival. It is worth learning what happens when a car collides with a train, or which drug treats which illness, which animals to keep away from, with whom it is worthwhile—or not—to cooperate, and the like. He then moves to questions such as which authority one should honor (this is a bit odd, unless his intent is to authority that can harm or benefit, in which case the issue is not authority as such but the same kind of instrumental considerations as before). He then comes to questions from his own field, like Fermat’s conjecture. Why indeed should this occupy him? His conclusion is that this is mainly because in the long run it may turn out to be useful. But this claim strikes me as very odd, for the likelihood that the results of his research will be useful in the future is negligible, and relative to the time and energy he invests in them I see no justification. Of course there are background factors like personal interest and livelihood; but as he himself notes, that only rolls the question back one step: why indeed does society provide a livelihood to someone who engages in such valueless questions?! Note Koppel’s pragmatism even with respect to his own field—and in particular that his field is as theoretical and abstract as mathematics. His critique of philosophy raises serious questions about his attitude to mathematics (especially since, as I explained, I think mathematics is a branch of philosophy).

He goes on to claim that people who deal with the big questions—like free will and God—seek answers that will give them meaningful lives. Surprisingly, he adds in parentheses that in this sense he himself is also interested. That is, questions that give life meaning also deserve inquiry. His pragmatism is not a striving for the fulfillment of interests alone, but also for meaning. But here there is room to note that it is not clear whether his intent is a search aiming at right living (that brings tikkun to the world and humankind) in the moral‑philosophical sense, or a search aiming at a life that gives me satisfaction and meaning in the psychological sense (see in column 159 on these two kinds of meaning). This point will return later (there it seems his intent is likely to meaning in the psychological sense). In any case, if meaning is indeed a relevant interest, the question returns: why do these big questions bore him?

The answer he proposes is that reflection on these big questions is neither important nor changes anything, for this pursuit will not advance us toward a meaningful life. They do not touch meaning; hence they are boring. Thus, for example, he claims that inquiry into whether we have free will is superfluous, because the very assumption that we can search for the answer (or that we can do anything at all, no matter what) already implicitly assumes the existence of free will. To this I say: that itself is an argument for the existence of free will (even though he explicitly denies it). So what is this if not engagement in that very question?! Moreover, contrary to what many think (and I elaborated on this in my book The Sciences of Freedom), this question has consequences. It is not true that a person who holds a deterministic position should behave exactly like a libertarian (see, for example, in my article here). In practice he indeed behaves like one—usually (not always)—but that only shows he is an implicit (or unaware) libertarian (see on this, for example, in column 191 and 194). I also do not think that his assumption that our ability to seek the answer expresses belief in free will is necessary. That itself requires philosophical discussion. I know not a few determinists who dispute it and claim that deterministic searching can yield genuine knowledge (though I myself disagree; see in column 35).[1] Koppel himself claims that he does not mean to say that the search proves that we have free will, but that the search is redundant if one is already doing it. Perhaps that assumption is not true; but we assume it. Does this remind you of Moore’s argument I cited above (with the hands)? Not for nothing. Incidentally, in my view this argument does prove the conclusion in the sense I defined in the fourth notebook as an unveiling (as opposed to inferential) or “theological” (as opposed to “philosophical”) argument. To clarify: Koppel does not claim that the discussion about free will is meaningless. On the contrary—his claim is that it has meaning, and therefore our actual behavior already attests to our position on the question. Hence the discussion is redundant. This too is a non‑trivial claim (it is not easy to show that there are practical implications to the dispute between a determinist and a libertarian; see my article cited).

In any case, his claim is that all the big philosophical questions share this feature with the question of free will: the very search for the answer in order to live meaningful lives already assumes the answer and renders the search redundant. He now proceeds to discuss several such questions, to demonstrate this thesis, and I too will touch upon them one by one.

B. Free Will

Koppel attacks (only for the sake of argument—he too favors free will) the thesis of free will. He defines the free will thesis as a picture with two components: 1) There are situations in which several options stand before us. 2) At least in some cases we have the ability to decide—according to our deliberation—among them. He now raises arguments that show that at least one of the two assumptions is untrue. Before I address his arguments, let me comment on the very presentation of the problem.

What is the meaning of the assumption that several options stand before me? It seems his intent is that they “stand there” independently of my abilities (for these are treated in assumption 2). But without reference to my abilities there are infinitely many such options. I can soar to the moon, climb a mountain, go right, left, murder, or read a book, fly over Alaska, or become an ant. I assume he means options consistent with the laws of nature. But the laws of nature allow many things. Moreover, it is not clear whether we are speaking of the laws of nature that apply also to me or only to the environment. If they apply also to me, assumption 2 disappears (for I too cannot choose—nature is deterministic). If not, then my influence itself takes part in the natural process, which changes the number of options before me. For example, suppose I am standing on a saddle with mountains on two sides and valleys on the other two. The laws of nature permit me to fall into the valleys (for that requires no additional energy), i.e., they set before me two options. But if I have choice, then I can also choose to climb either of the two mountains (which will require expending energy—but is still possible). That is, the number of options before me rises to four. In other words, the distinction between his two assumptions is artificial: the number of options before me is not defined without reference to my ability to choose among them. Moreover, even if we assume I have no choice, it could still be that in a deterministic way I am programmed to climb a mountain because of the beautiful view (of course without assumption 2 my desire to see it is forced upon me—but that does not matter here). If so, the purely natural circumstances without me set before me two options. And the natural circumstances including me (even under determinism) set four. So what exactly does Koppel mean by his assumption 1? The assumption that several options stand before me is essentially bound up with the assumption that I have the ability to choose among them.

His claim against assumption 1 is based on scientific determinism. He contends that since there are no “holes” in nature, the current state of affairs uniquely dictates the next state. Therefore, it is impossible that, in a given state, several options are open before us. Conclusion: assumption 1 is false. The only possible answer to this claim is to say that the sweeping deterministic conclusion from our experience is not correct. We have seen cause‑and‑effect relations in several cases—but that does not mean it is always so, and in particular not with respect to human decisions. Some people gesture here to quantum theory, which ostensibly presents a non‑deterministic picture of physical reality itself. But quantum theory speaks of randomness, not of choice. Hence the assumption that there are several possibilities says that the selection among them is random—not a deliberated, conscious decision (deliberation). One cannot adopt both assumptions together.[2]

There are several problematic points here. First, quantum theory is not an option in any case, for reasons I detailed in my book The Sciences of Freedom. But the libertarian assumption says that the human being deviates from the physicalist picture and does not try to insert our free will into it. On the contrary, the conclusion that emerges from this philosophical discussion is precisely that libertarianism requires a deviation from the physicalist picture of reality—namely that human will is not subject to the law of causality, neither the scientific one nor at all (even non‑material causal influences contradict free will). But without conducting the discussion we would not have reached this important and meaningful conclusion.

Koppel then asks whether we have been persuaded by the argument. Some have, and some have not. But even those who oppose free will, he claims, behave in practice as if there is free will. That proves that we have no choice about our belief in our free will. And if we seek only knowledge that will be useful to a meaningful life, that knowledge is already within us. For that purpose we have free will, for without it our lives have no meaning. Finally he again notes that our very participation in the debate itself proves that we have free will.

But none of this is correct. First, a person can live with a deterministic consciousness, and will even explain why everything he does fits it. At least according to their own claim, some of the determinists I have met do not in fact live with a consciousness of free will. I do agree with him that these explanations do not hold water, but one cannot deny that there are intelligent people who think so. One cannot say there is no point to the debate. You must explain to them the very fact that they themselves believe in free will, and there is indeed a point to conducting that discussion. This is what I called in the fourth conversation of my book The First Being “unveiling arguments” (as opposed to “inferential”) or “theological” (as opposed to “philosophical”). This point will recur again and again here. Moreover, people who reach the conclusion that they have no free will can change their behavior, and perhaps even stop seeking information in these areas and altogether. The fact that they currently act as they do does not mean there is no point in examining themselves.

The sense is that at the base of Koppel’s claims stands a pragmatic disdain for discussion and for the different positions that arise in it. We all know the truth, so why are you babbling?! Well—no: not all of us know the truth; and even if I agree with him that we do have free will—that is, that this is the truth—I think there is value in persuading others of it, and also in listening to their arguments and perhaps being persuaded myself that I erred. He proposes to place the emphasis on our beliefs and to ignore our opinions: beliefs are what make life meaningful, and opinions are hypothetical, unimportant possibilities that negate and undermine that meaning. This section is ostensibly unconnected to the arguments raised earlier, but it expresses their pragmatic foundation as I have described it.

Koppel says that if meaningful lives require free will, then we have free will. I would call that precisely an opinion—not a belief—and in fact recommend abandoning this wishful thinking in favor of more grounded positions. It is certainly not clear to me how one can idealize someone who refuses to think because it disturbs his comfortable and “meaningful” life (in the psychological sense). It very much recalls R. Shlomo Zalman’s answer about his grandmother, or Moore’s argument about his two hands. All these are nothing but ways to wave off good questions without engaging them substantively. It works; it has always been so (with grandmother); therefore, leave me alone. The same goes for how they relate to claims by Reform or by midrashic conservatives who propose change in Halakhah and present good arguments in favor. The conservatives explain to them that they are Reform (that is, deviate from grandmother’s way)—and that suffices. There is no need for substantive arguments.

Incidentally, though this is not essential to my discussion here, I must remark that in my opinion ascertaining whether we have free will is very important for the meaningfulness of our lives. It is important for me to know whether human beings are of a kind different from other living beings and inanimate things. That is very meaningful for the attitude I will—or will not—give them, and for my judgments regarding them. True, if they do not have free will then they do not deserve such treatment, so shall I therefore refrain from discussing it? Shall I bury my head in the sand and continue to recite that they have free will simply so that I can live a meaningful life? That is truly bizarre. Or shall I assume that they have choice even though the arguments against it are very persuasive? That is burying one’s head in the sand—or rather wishful thinking.

Two important remarks: (1) One may claim that there is no way to progress and decide on this question. But Koppel did not claim that (on the contrary, he said he deals with questions that cannot be decided, so long as they have implications for the meaningfulness of his life). Moreover, in my opinion there is a way to decide them—even if not absolutely. And certainly there is a way to form my own position about them (what is persuasive to me). (2) I will reiterate that Koppel’s claim is pragmatic. He essentially recommends that we adopt positions according to what is useful for a meaningful life, and not according to arguments and reasons (that is, not according to truth). I, by contrast, hold a position quite similar yet very different in essence. In my eyes the fact that we have an intuition about free will is very important, but it does not render discussion redundant, nor does it say that this is necessarily the case. That intuition certainly has weight, and if that position gives meaning to my life, that indicates that perhaps there is something to it. But that by itself is not a substantive argument. I will try to examine that position with sympathy, and even shift the burden of proof to the one who claims there is no free will—but shifting the burden of proof does not mean ending the discussion and deciding it. On the contrary, a salient part of the discussion of this and other issues is grounded in those intuitions. They guide us to where to look for reasons and clarify what we must do to reconcile or refute them.

C. The Intelligibility of the World

Here Koppel opens with the question of idealism. You see that it is raining outside and wonder whether it is worthwhile to go out and get wet. Then you recall classes you heard about skepticism regarding the existence of an external world, and you doubt whether you will actually get wet. Perhaps your eyes deceive you? Perhaps there is no rain outside at all? In fact, perhaps there is no external world at all and you live in The Truman Show or some kind of Matrix? True, this seems to you implausible—but your very notions of what is plausible or not are themselves not exempt from that doubt. Perhaps they too are based on error? It is perfectly clear, says Koppel, that none of these reflections will prevent you from taking an umbrella when you go out. You assume that if you got wet in the past (did you really get wet?) you will get wet now as well. How do you know that very thing? This brings us to doubt about scientific induction, namely about the generalizations that lead to the laws of nature we know. One can make generalizations of different kinds, and who can guarantee that yours are the right ones? (These are the doubts raised by David Hume.) And still, in practice you will, of course, assume their correctness as self‑evident. It is very likely that even David Hume, who raised these doubts, assumed them himself.

His claim is that in practice it is impossible to live on the contrary assumption; thus none of us truly hesitates over these questions, and we act as our common sense directs us. Moreover, the search for an answer to these questions assumes that we have the tools to reach it—and that itself gives them a clear answer (I do not see that here, precisely). Behold: philosophical searching assumes the answer by its very occurrence—exactly as with free will.

My answer to these claims will be exactly as before. Indeed, in this issue too we have a strong intuition about the correct answer. And indeed, the intuition is a good guide that we have no reason to doubt—or at least we should assume that whoever doubts it bears the burden of proof. Still, it is not true that there is no value in listening to the doubter and discussing it. Even if I have an intuition, there is no necessity that I am right. After all, the questions are very good; and even if we have answers to them, we must give ourselves an accounting of what they are based on. Thus, for example, in my view the Humean perplexities are a good basis for belief in God. In the fourth conversation of my book The First Being, I explained that precisely the fact that these questions are good, and that throughout the history of philosophy no satisfactory answer was given to them, obligates us to examine them seriously. Incidentally, even one who thinks that evolution is a good answer to the question of the world’s intelligibility (it imprinted within us tools to know it well, for that aids our survival) is in fact extracting his conclusion from these “redundant” questions. I do not agree that this is a reasonable answer; but to clarify that we must discuss the issue, ask the questions, and examine the various answers given to them. And, of course, the fact that certain insights are necessary for a meaningful life is not a sufficient reason to validate them. This is exactly the pragmatism I described above: that is how we have become accustomed thus far; that is how my grandmother thought; and on the whole, things worked for her. So why fuss with this outlandish discussion?! In my opinion the intuitions and the necessity for a meaningful life perhaps give me the motivation to examine these claims with a sympathetic approach—but that by itself is not a reason to hold them.

I will now claim that beyond the fact that pragmatism and conservatism are not substantive reasons, he is also wrong that reflection on these questions has no value and no contribution to a meaningful life. When I dig into my intuitions and ask myself what they are based on, I sometimes discover fascinating and new philosophical insights. I claim that thus a person can discover his implicit faith in God, for example. Is that not worth the discussion? Moreover—even on Koppel’s pragmatic plane—does that not contribute to the meaningfulness of life? Does the fact that I have a clear intuitive stance mean that I am necessarily right or that there is no point in discussing it? There is indeed point—whether I am right or not. In some cases I may discover that I am mistaken, and in others I may discover hidden assumptions that stand at the base of my beliefs—even if I am correct. Both results are very important and, of course, also contribute to a meaningful life. One who relies on his initial intuitions and does not conduct a discussion about them will remain with the insights with which he was born. He may have a life full of meaning (though I doubt it), but it is not certain that it is the right meaning. He will also miss not a few meanings hidden within him and within those insights. The native born into his African tribe lives a life full of meaning under his assumptions. He is certain that dancing around the fire brings rain and that his shaman is omnipotent and omniscient; therefore he sees no point in examining his religious or other ideas. Is it reasonable to tell him that indeed, for him, these discussions are superfluous?

Interim Summary

I will only note that the two philosophical issues he chose to discuss—free will and idealism—are indeed issues where our initial stance about them usually dictates the conclusion. Still, as I showed, there is certainly a point to discussing them. But it is important to understand that the choice of these two issues is very tendentious. It is simply not true that this is what happens with all philosophical issues. On the contrary, these two issues truly no longer occupy a significant place in the philosophical literature. With respect to free will there is still discussion—but mainly in the scientific‑philosophical context around the brain sciences. See my book The Sciences of Freedom on this. On the contrary, the discussion arising around neuroscience shows that these questions do indeed have a clear and sharp meaning, and that it is possible to make progress regarding them—perhaps even with scientific tools. (When science will be able to address free will and decide the question—will that too be boring?) In my book I also showed that the scientific discussions are deficient due to a lack of precision in understanding the concepts—namely a lack of philosophical analysis. Therefore, specifically the discussion about free will is an excellent example of the importance of philosophical discussion—from clarifying the concepts and their relations to the implications of the various understandings—something that should guide the scientific experiments that will try to examine the question with empirical scientific tools (not philosophical).

It is worth seeing my series of columns on philosophy and, in particular, the discussion of Ron Aharoni’s critique, which surveyed a significant part of the central philosophical issues—chosen non‑tendentiously—and claimed systematically that the discussion of them is valueless (or that it is a scientific‑empirical discussion). There I showed that he is not correct with respect to the totality of issues. Koppel himself opens his third chapter by saying that those two issues are “easy” ones for him, and he moves to less trivial examples in which he likewise wishes to show the implications of his approach.

D. Social Progress

This chapter is nothing short of astonishing in my view. First, he is not dealing here at all with a critique of some philosophical argument, but with a philosophical claim of his own that derives from his pragmatic position. Second, his claim itself brings his approach to a reductio ad absurdum.

He begins with the assumption that the meaning we give our lives is nourished by the sense of continuity—that we are only one stage in the long race of human life, of our community, and of humanity in general. Thus, for example, if we were in a state in which it is known to us that we are the last generation that will exist, all our actions would become bland and meaningless (see there experiments and literary works that illustrate this). Let us assume for the sake of discussion that this is true (I am not at all sure). What follows? Koppel claims that from this we must derive the assumption that indeed there will be continuity (or at least that we must live life on that assumption). What is this if not wishful thinking? Does the world owe us anything? Can such an argument be a reason to investigate the factual matter of whether disaster awaits us or not? Does psychological meaningfulness constitute a substantive reason for factual conclusions? This is pragmatism in its blunt—and perhaps base—form.

Beyond that, I for one do not agree that all the meaning of our lives lies in the contribution and legacy we will leave to future generations. It seems very reasonable to me that the observance of commandments also has a meaning that goes beyond that. They are likely intended to repair something not related specifically to humanity and future generations, but to the present world (perhaps in its spiritual dimensions). In this they differ from moral values (which—even if oriented to the present and not only the future—are certainly directed to the repair of the condition of other human beings). My intent is to say that not only is the meaning of the commandments not only with respect to other people, but that their meaning for me is not necessarily nourished by the existence of other people—but by my standing before the Holy One, blessed be He. In my book The First Being I argued that such values must exist, for if morality were the ultimate purpose, then God would have had no reason to create us. The assumption that we were created so that we ourselves (humanity) would be rectified is very strange, for the more reasonable alternative would have been not to create human beings or a world at all—then there would be no need of repair. From this I deduced that if God created a world and human beings, He likely expects from them outputs not related only to themselves but also to what is beyond them. But that is not our topic here.

In passing I will note that this itself is a valuable discussion, and it too can lead us to conclusions that contribute greatly to the meaning of our lives. It is important for me to know whether my actions are intended only for the sake of other people or future generations, or whether they also have an objective, intrinsic meaning. Moreover, it is important for me to understand what their meaning is for me (is it necessarily nourished by my life within a broader human community?). This very much radiates onto my life, my actions, and my thought—certainly if I find myself in a situation (very non‑wishful) in which I live in the last generation. Will I in such a situation be obligated to values, to morality, or to commandments—or is there truly no point to my life in such a state? Since such a situation can certainly occur (for I am not a pragmatist who bends the existent to the desirable), this becomes an important and meaningful question.

Incidentally, in this chapter one can also see that when Koppel speaks about meaning in life, his intent is to meaning in the psychological sense. He speaks here about the sense of meaning that is within us, and not about the objective meaning as such that our actions and lives have (from God’s perspective). This greatly strengthens my claim about the pragmatism at the base of his doctrine. If psychological comfort and the sense of meaning (as opposed to meaning itself) are what guide you—and from them you even derive your factual conclusions—then it is very likely that you will not find interest in philosophical inquiries whose subject is truth. I would note that those who do enjoy such inquiries and do derive a sense of meaning from them will, of course, not be persuaded. This means that Koppel’s claim is a claim about himself: about what he enjoys and what gives him a sense of meaning. But why is that relevant to other people, who can enjoy and/or receive a sense of meaning from other things?!

The pragmatic fallacy takes one step further here: beyond the connection the pragmatist makes between his subjective feelings and benefits and truth, it turns out that for some reason the “truth” thus generated is still taken by him as objective truth. This is already a double fallacy—but such a claim is interesting only if one deals with truth, not with convenience and psychology.

E. Objective Moral Truths

This is a question I have addressed more than once (see, for example, columns 456 – 457). The chief argument for moral relativism is the diversity of moral conceptions across different societies and times. Koppel claims that this is very persuasive—but in fact no one lives or truly thinks that way (see the spinach test brought in column 456). Even philosophers who hold relativist positions do not truly live so, and therefore apparently do not truly believe it. And again he bases this on the familiar wishful thinking—that one cannot live meaningful lives without the assumption of objective morality—and for some reason he emphasizes here that this leads to the objectivity of his conclusion.

But that is not true. At most it leads to the conclusion that subjectively we must adopt the stance of objective morality. In my view even that does not truly follow, for psychological need does not dictate even my subjective beliefs. I can decide that I do not want meaningful life, and therefore I will not adopt objective morality—even within my subjective stances. Moreover, if indeed I am not persuaded, and if indeed there are good arguments against objective morality, I do not understand what benefit there is in the ostrich policy he recommends. What value is there in burying one’s head in the sand and not looking at the (ethical) reality that stands clearly before our eyes? At most I would be prepared to accept the claim that if indeed we are convinced that there is objective morality (and therefore this gives meaning to our life; otherwise we would not derive meaning from it, for we would understand that we are fooling ourselves), then we should examine retroactively the basis for this conclusion. On what basis do we think so? What is wrong with the very “good” arguments for moral relativism? An inquiry of this sort can have two results: either I will find that I am mistaken—or I will discover new insights that clarify to me where the critical arguments go wrong, exactly as I described above.

If you will nevertheless bother to examine these “redundant” and “boring” issues, you may reach my conclusions about the “eyes of the mind,” namely the assumption that we have an observational capacity to discern values of good and evil. That is truly empirical (even if not sensory). You can also re‑examine the very “good” arguments for moral relativism and see that they utterly fail. First, the claim that different societies hold different moral values is not accurate. The differences are at the margins, and the agreements are very broad and almost absolute. Even when there are differences, they are usually differences in application. Even the Nazis thought that murder of human beings is a grave prohibition—but in their view Jews and Roma and the disabled are not human beings in the full sense. That is almost a factual—not a value—argument. Incidentally, even psychologically, there are the well‑known stories of Nazis who had to drink some wine before participating in a mass slaughter (but that may be mere psychology, of course). Second, even if it were true—this is a fact. And one does not derive norms from facts. The fact that different societies hold different values is a fact (not true, as noted)—but that does not mean there truly are no objective values. It could be that such values exist—but some societies that do not believe in them are simply mistaken. Are there not disputes about questions that have one correct answer? Until the truth becomes clear there is dispute. This is the naturalistic fallacy—but pragmatists cannot truly take it into account, for pragmatism in its essence denies that fallacy. It subordinates the is (factual and value truth) to the ought (what is good) or to the desired (what is convenient for me).

Again I will say that for me the intuition that there is objective morality is very important, and in fact this is the starting point for discussion. But I am not speaking about psychological convenience; I am speaking about the belief that these values have genuine objective validity. From there I return and ask myself why this is so; how do I know it; what is wrong with the arguments that attack it. Then I discover one of two things: either I erred and truly there is no objective morality—in which case I will also draw my conclusions. Or indeed I was right, and I discover the basis for this belief; and thereby worlds of great meaning open before me (among other things, again—God. See the columns cited, and part C of the fourth conversation mentioned).

F. God

In the next chapter Koppel turns to discuss God. There too he contends that at the philosophical level there are very good arguments against belief in God (in my opinion there are much better arguments in favor; against them stands, at most, a skepticism that says: who told you?). And again he recommends that we adopt the thesis of God because it gives our lives meaning. This is belief in God as a psychiatric pill that allows us a sense of meaning and solves our distresses—religiosity and faith as an HMO (according to Leibowitz) or as opium for the masses (according to Marx).

Ironically, I agree with almost every word in this chapter. Koppel claims there that although we saw different opinions, in the bottom line we reached the following beliefs:

1. The world is intelligible to us;
2. There are objective moral truths accessible to us;
3. We are free to choose to live in accordance with those moral truths;
4. Our societies advance in accordance with those truths.

He now proposes to call a world in which all these forced beliefs obtain “a world in which God is manifest”—but do not hesitate to call it something else. Therefore, he claims, even atheists—who hold the opinion that God does not exist—are forced to believe that God is manifest in our world.

Almost all of that is correct. Except that in my eyes all of this proves the existence of an objective being who brings all that about—God—and not merely defines the concept “God” (or “a world in which God is manifest”). The difference is as thin as a needle’s eye, but its substantive thickness is like the belly of an elephant. For me these are philosophical (actually “theological”) arguments in favor of God’s existence (in this light, this summary is essentially the crux of the fourth conversation of my book The First Being)—and not merely a consideration of convenience for maintaining the psychological illusion that He exists. Thus, for example, in my view the Sinai revelation (that is, an interaction between God and us in the course of which the Torah was given in some sense) is essential. If I arrive at the conclusion that it did not occur, I will abandon my faith and religious commitment. Koppel, it seems, will certainly not. For him, if there is an intelligible world, free will, and morality—then there is God (pragmatism). And if we have become accustomed to the observance of commandments as a result (more precisely: for the sake of this), then one must observe commandments (conservatism)—and of course do so in the very same way as our grandmother (or at least tell ourselves that we are doing so). It reminds me of Oren’s question here, and I assume the connection is obvious. The view presented there is an extreme expression of the conservative pragmatism I have described here.

Conclusion: Two Attitudes to Living in a Movie

One who sees indications that he is living in a movie can respond in two ways: (1) turn living in a movie into an ideology; (2) try and examine the arguments—and then understand whether it is indeed a movie and overcome the movie, give it up, and seek the truth; or prove that it is not a movie and ground one’s beliefs. I do not know why Koppel prefers the first way. It does allow him conservative life as he is used to, without contending with arguments that challenge his way; but still, it is life in a movie. In any case, I am entirely in the second camp. Usually I discover that it is not a movie (perhaps I am biased), but sometimes one must be honest and internalize that one erred—and update one’s worldview.

My claim is that conservatism and pragmatism came into the world hand in hand—and both are flawed approaches. Critical arguments that attack my intuitions deserve substantive engagement. If need be, I will dig into the conservative tradition I received from the previous generation—or I will discover that they were right, and then I will adopt their approach. But I will not do so because of conservatism (for conservatism is not an argument but the result of arguments) but because I have reached the conclusion that in this case they are right. This is true both with respect to arguments that attack my religious tradition (and then we return to Modern Orthodoxy in the two shades described above—American and Israeli), and with respect to arguments that attack my current lifestyle and values (and then this touches on conservatism in its broader sense—the one currently buzzing through our social space—and on philosophical arguments).

Incidentally, you could easily discern that the focus of the discussion is the fine distinction between accepting our beliefs as they are and defining the concepts accordingly (Koppel) versus accepting our beliefs as a starting point for discussion and then examining whether they are reasonable and valid and what they implicitly assume (my position—using “unveiling” arguments). It seems to me that Koppel is unaware of the existence of “unveiling” arguments (see the beginning of the fourth conversation in my book The First Being), and in fact performs them himself under a pragmatic cloak. But presenting them as a redefinition and emptying the discussion of content is harmful. It is not merely a different terminology; it leads to a conservative and frozen approach which, in my eyes, is highly problematic. I am not entirely certain that we do not agree fully, and that the dispute is mainly a matter of terminology and presentation. But the terminology and the framework of the discussion are very important, and therefore it was important for me to sharpen them.

[1] One can liken this to a camera. It has no deliberation, but if it is reliable then the picture it took faithfully reflects reality. If the human being is like a camera, then even if he is compelled to what he grasps and understands, there is no necessary reason to say that it is not true. See in the column cited for an explanation why I disagree.

[2] In my view presenting the argument as if there is a dilemma that forces us to choose between the two assumptions is not logically correct (he relies on quantum theory, which is only an example and is not essential to the counter‑argument of the libertarian. It is an example that the causal‑deterministic generalization is not sweeping; and now one can speak of choice just as one speaks of random collapse in quantum theory). But this presentation derives from the flaw in the very separation between the two assumptions, which I noted above.