Faith – Lesson 28

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[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I want to broaden this to our whole cognitive system, including thought, not just sensation. And for that I need to get a little into questions of skepticism. There’s classical skepticism, the kind that says: who told you that what you see really exists out there? Fine, skepticism already existed back in the Greek period; there were skeptics like that. Philosophy has been dealing with it forever. Fine, it’s an ancient argument. Most people aren’t terribly bothered by that kind of skepticism. Why? Because I see that that’s how it is, and I have no reason to doubt it, so that’s just how it is. Okay? But there’s a more modern, more sophisticated skepticism, and that one is a bit harder to solve in that way, by common sense. Moore always answered the skeptics: do you see? Here’s a hand, I’m raising it, which proves I have a right hand. Fact: I raised it. Or in other words: don’t scramble my brain. Meaning, I see something—why should I doubt what I see? So that’s regarding skepticism about our senses. Okay?

What about skepticism that isn’t specifically about sensation, but for example: do the people standing in front of me also have a soul and thoughts and desires like I do? Yes—other selves, other minds, whatever, right? The assumption that the figures around me are also people in the same sense that I know myself to be, and not theater puppets or tables. Okay? That assumption is already a bit less obvious. Here there’s already some kind of issue, because that’s not something I see they have; it’s a conclusion I draw. I infer that conclusion from myself. I see what I look like and what’s inside me, and from that I infer that other people, who also seem to function more or less the same way, probably also have inside them what I find inside myself. Okay? That is already a more complicated argument, because who says—who really says—that these people are like that? It’s no longer something I see very clearly.

Now, there’s a general rule that whatever is presumed to be true is true unless proven otherwise. Usually that’s just a common-sense statement. If my eyes show me the world, the whole thing works, everything is fine—so long as I have no reason to doubt it, then it’s probably true. So that reassured people for many years throughout the history of philosophy. To this day, in fact, most people aren’t troubled by these questions. But maybe I’ll formulate it a little more… yes, for example there’s Russell’s celestial teapot argument. Someone comes to me and says there’s a little teapot orbiting the planet Jupiter. I ask him, why don’t I see it? Because it’s small and far away, you can’t see it. So Bertrand Russell says: am I supposed to treat such a claim as genuinely doubtful? Maybe there is a teapot and maybe there isn’t? I have no indication. He says no—probably there isn’t such a teapot unless it’s proven that there is. Why? But you don’t know anything. Maybe there is, maybe there isn’t, you have no idea. He says yes, but I have no reason at all to assume there is. Therefore there isn’t—not with 100% certainty, but probably not unless someone proves to me that there is.

In other words, skeptical claims often don’t bother us. They don’t bother us because even in order to cast doubt, you need some basis. The Talmud says in tractate Kiddushin: “We stone and burn on the basis of presumptions.” A person cursed his father and his mother—he shall surely be put to death. Who says that’s his father? Maybe his mother committed adultery? Maybe they found him secretly? Maybe, I don’t know what? How do you know it’s his father? There is a presumption that it’s his father. What is a presumption? The whole world relates to him as the son of those two parents; that’s what’s accepted, people constantly look at it that way; it’s probably true unless proven otherwise. Even though there are cases where the child is not actually the father’s child. Such things have happened; it’s not as if the case is impossible. True, it’s possible—but the presumption is otherwise, and therefore the burden of proof is on the one who claims differently.

So very often we treat things as true because that’s what my initial intuition says, it seems true to me. As long as it hasn’t been proven otherwise, I won’t doubt it. Okay? Yes, like the Talmud—and Rabbi Kook in Ein Ayah on Sabbath, page 30. The Talmud brings two stories there. Someone came to Rabbi and said to him: “Your mother is my wife and you are my son.” Meaning, your mother committed adultery with me and you’re my mamzer son. Don’t think you’re your father’s son. So Rabbi said to him: “Would you like to drink a cup of wine?” He drank and burst. Meaning, he brushed him off, killed him, I don’t know, whatever—bottom line: don’t waste my time. And there was another case like that; there were two such cases there in the Talmud. So Rabbi Kook explains that the principle appearing there in the Talmud is exactly what I said here. There is this sort of claim: I am presumed to be the son of my parents. Anyone can raise claims that I’m the son of Jupiter and Zeus in some heavenly coupling. Okay, fine—but if there’s no evidence for that, I have no reason to doubt that these are my parents, so these are my parents. Period. And on that basis people are killed; we stone and burn on presumptions. In other words, this isn’t some majority rule or some formal legal rule. No—this is how logic works, this is what’s obvious, this is how people operate. Not only in Jewish law, but in general. That’s why people aren’t too shaken by skeptical questions.

But the question we’re talking about here is a more troubling one. This isn’t the ancient skepticism. Because today we’re familiar with the enormous complexity of our visual system, our sensory system. And that enormous complexity—there’s a debate whether it was created by chance or not by chance, by some intentional factor and so on, yes, evolution, no evolution; we’ll get to evolution later. But here the question of why to trust the visual system is no longer just skepticism. A system this complex, created by chance—there’s no logic in trusting it. Not that maybe it isn’t true. The skeptical claim is: okay, maybe it isn’t true, who says it is? I say, fine, it’s reasonable that it’s true; if you bring me evidence I’ll reconsider. But here it’s the opposite. It’s reasonable that it isn’t true. The fact that I feel it’s true—that’s an illusion. It’s reasonable that it isn’t true. If you want to claim that it did happen, bring me those Scottish soldiers in formation, and then I’ll be willing to accept that that inscription was arranged by chance at the gates of Scotland. As long as you haven’t brought me those Scottish soldiers, there’s no reason, no logic, to assume it.

Notice: that is not a skeptical claim. A skeptical claim says, listen, this is a reasonable thing, but maybe it isn’t true—who says? So I say, fine, maybe not, but if it’s reasonable then it’s reasonable. Here the claim is that it’s definitely not reasonable. If you want to claim that it is true, the burden of proof is on you. Here the skeptic is in a stronger position. The burden of proof is on the non-skeptic. This claim is not a skeptical claim; that has to be understood היטב—very well—because skeptical claims don’t usually disturb people.

Now I want to broaden this one more step. I moved from sight to the senses, and now I said I want to move to our whole thinking process. Questions began to arise, mainly with Hume and then with Kant, about how we accumulate information about the world, how we arrive at conclusions—say, even the laws of nature. How do we learn things about the world? So David Hume, for example, asked questions about induction and causality mainly, but as expressions of all our ordinary ways of thinking. Who told us that what we’ve seen until now will also continue? The sun has risen every morning until today, so it will probably also rise tomorrow. Who says? Maybe it rose until today and tomorrow it won’t rise. That’s what’s called the principle of induction. Not mathematical induction—scientific induction. Okay?

So David Hume says: who told you that? It’s just a routine, a habit of thought that you got used to. But what is the justification? Hume’s second claim is about causality. I kick a ball and the ball flies. That’s what we see from our experience. Now beyond the question whether it will also happen tomorrow—that’s the question of induction—I’m asking a question about today, not tomorrow. Who says that the fact that I kicked the ball was the reason the ball flew? Maybe first I kicked it and afterward the ball flew. But who says the kick was the cause of the flight—the ball’s motion? David Hume’s claim is that the causal relation between events cannot be derived from observation. He was an empiricist. It cannot be derived from observation, because you don’t see a causal relation between things. What you see is that first A happened and afterward B happened. You do not see that B happened because of A; you only see that after A, B always happens.

Now notice that there’s a connection between these two questions; they complement each other. Because the question of induction can be answered by causality. You ask me: who told me that if tomorrow I kick the ball, the ball will also fly tomorrow? The answer is: because the kick is the cause of the ball’s flight. And if the relation is causal, then tomorrow too, if I kick, it will happen. So David Hume says yes—but regarding the causal relation too, I ask: who told you? Who told you that the kick is the cause of the ball’s flight? After all, you can’t get that from observation. It’s just a pattern of thought that exists within you. It doesn’t come from observation.

Now if it doesn’t come from observation, then certainly—as an empiricist—Hume asks himself: so why trust it? Why believe that it’s true? These are principles we brought with us from home; they’re ingrained in our brains, that’s how we’re built. Fine, that’s how we’re built—but does that mean that’s also how the world behaves? Who said so? And indeed, when Kant tries to formulate Hume’s questions—well, even before Kant, one should understand that Hume’s questions are also not skepticism in the simple sense. Because skepticism in the simple sense is skepticism built on maybe something unlikely happened. Say I know my eyes are generally reliable, they reflect reality, but sometimes there’s also a mirage. Maybe what you’re seeing right now is a mirage. That’s a skeptical claim. But David Hume asks: where do you get the assumption in the first place that eyes are reliable? Where do you get the assumption that there is any principle of causality in the world, or causal relations in the world? Not where do you get the assumption that here a causal event occurred, but where do you know from that there are causal events at all?

Here you can no longer say that it’s very likely. It’s not very likely—it’s just how I’m built, so what? The world owes you nothing; it was here before you, as Mark Twain said. The fact that you’re built this way doesn’t mean the world behaves this way. Therefore David Hume’s claim is not simple skepticism. It is not skepticism of “maybe something unlikely happened.” On the contrary—he attacks you and says: who said that this is what’s likely? If this were a reasonable claim, I would raise objections: wait, maybe the reasonable claim isn’t true. No—he attacks the very question whether this is a reasonable claim at all, and he says it isn’t. Therefore this is not a skeptical claim; it’s a claim that needs an answer. And not for nothing has philosophy from Hume until today been twisting itself around this question. A very large part of philosophical inquiry, one way or another, revolves around this question.

And here—now I move to Kant. Kant, because he was deeply troubled by Hume’s questions, as he describes it, Hume awakened him from his dogmatic slumber. Yes, he had dogmatic trust in the senses, in forms of thought, in science. Everything was fine—until suddenly David Hume opened his eyes. He says, wait, wait, there are serious questions here, they need to be addressed. These aren’t just empty skeptical questions. These are questions that hit scientific assumptions right in the gut. These are not childish skeptical claims of “wait, but maybe it’s not true.” There’s something here we use, we trust, and it has no basis at all. So the question is: where does it come from?

So when Kant broadened this, I’ll do it briefly, he basically said the following. He presents all of Hume’s questions on another platform, in one conceptual framework, and he wants to argue that the way to reach an answer is first of all to ask the question intelligently. And that is really Kant’s main contribution, because I don’t accept his answer. He basically presented Hume’s questions like this. He says: let’s divide claims in the world into synthetic and analytic claims—that’s one division; and a second division: a priori and a posteriori claims. What does that mean?

The first division concerns the structure of the statement: whether it is synthetic or analytic. What does that mean? When I say “the ball is round,” I’m really making an analytic statement, because part of the definition of a ball is that it is round. Leave American footballs aside for the moment, but part of the definition of a ball is that it is round. Okay? Therefore when I say “the ball is round,” or “whoever is a bachelor is unmarried,” I’ve made an analytic statement, because from the subject—analytic in the sense of analysis—I can analyze the subject of the sentence and derive the conclusion from it. If he is a bachelor, then he is unmarried. I don’t need anything beyond the definition of the concept. Therefore these are called analytic claims: claims that analyze their subjects and draw a conclusion from that analysis.

Synthetic claims are, for example, “this ball is heavy.” When I say “the ball,” the heaviness of the ball does not follow from its definition. Therefore it is a synthetic claim. It makes a synthesis of additional information with the information embedded in the definition of the concept “ball,” and then reaches a conclusion. Analysis alone is not enough; it also requires some kind of synthesis with additional information. So that’s the first division of claims: analytic and synthetic. This division is on the logical plane, the logical structure of the claim—whether it is analytic or synthetic.

There is another division on the epistemic axis, the axis of knowledge—epistemology is the theory of knowledge, right? The epistemic axis means: how do I know that a certain claim is true? And here he says there is another division. There are a priori claims—I know them without observation; they come before observation—and there are a posteriori claims, or empirical claims, which I know as a result of observation. Okay? For example, I don’t know, “a table is used for writing” is a claim I know even without observation, I can write on a table. But “this table is made of wood” is a claim that requires observation, right? Because there are tables not made of wood but of plastic or metal or whatever. So that’s an epistemic division.

Now on the face of it, the logical division and the epistemic division are independent. One deals with logic and the other with knowledge. What’s the connection? But it turns out that at least until Kant, the philosophical world—and in Leibniz this happened explicitly, he noticed it—identified these two divisions. The claim was that every analytic claim is a priori, and every a priori claim is analytic; and of course likewise for a posteriori and synthetic. There is an identity between these two divisions.

What is the logic behind that? Very simple. Basically he says this: an analytic claim is a claim where all I need to do is analyze the concept that is its subject. So clearly it doesn’t require observation, because I only need to analyze the concept; I don’t need to add more information or gather information by observation. Therefore an analytic claim is a priori. The other direction is trickier, but it also seems right. If the claim is a priori, then it is also analytic. How do I know that? Because if it is a priori, then it means I can know it without observation. Now I ask myself: how could I know it without observation? Only if the information is contained within the definition of the concept, because otherwise how could I know it without observation? Therefore an a priori claim is also analytic.

Now if that identity holds in both directions, then of course it also holds between a posteriori and synthetic. You don’t even need to prove that anymore. If being analytic is being a priori and being a priori is being analytic—if that’s an equivalence—then synthetic and a posteriori are also connected in the same way. In other words, until Kant the world held that these two divisions overlap, even though one is logical and the other is epistemic.

Now Kant says: that is Hume’s great mistake. These divisions do not overlap. For example, what happens if you look at laws of nature? The law of gravitation, which is so dear to me. Okay? The law of gravitation is basically a result of observations: we saw that objects with mass attract one another, or fall to the earth, and so on. But the observations in themselves can be explained in many different ways, and therefore the result—the law of gravitation—is the result not only of observation, but also of acts of thought, generalizations that I make, choosing the simplest explanation, and so on. These are acts of thought. Or in other words, this is not an empirical claim. The empirical data give me the particular cases I observed, but the law of nature is an a priori law. Meaning, I derive it through thought, not from observation. Observation could have led me in all kinds of directions. Again—not through thought alone, but without thought I would never have reached it. Let’s put it that way. Not that it is thought alone; there is also an element of observation here, but without thought I would never have reached it. That’s on the one hand.

On the other hand, it is clear that a law of nature is synthetic and not analytic. Why? Because a law of nature tells me that all objects with mass attract one another. “Attract one another” is not the result of analyzing the concept of mass; proof is that I needed observations to become convinced of it. Observations are not enough, but without them I would not know it. That means it is not an analytic claim; it is a synthetic claim. But notice: what this actually means is that a synthetic claim is a claim that says something about the world, not merely analyzes concepts, okay? It has some claim, some information, about the world. It turns out that all laws of nature are in fact synthetic and a priori claims. But there is no such category. A synthetic claim by definition is a posteriori; an a priori claim by definition is analytic. There are no synthetic a priori claims—that’s what had been accepted until this point.

Kant says: if I accept the laws of nature, that means there are synthetic a priori claims. There are claims that say something about the world; they are not merely analysis, they are synthesis, they have factual content about the world, and they are a priori in the sense that they come to me not on the basis of observation alone, but my thought leads me to them. The big question is: how is that possible? How is it possible—how are synthetic a priori claims possible?

Now notice: Kant does not ask whether synthetic a priori claims are possible. He asks how such claims are possible. And that was Kant’s great methodological revolution, because he basically turned philosophy from productive arguments into revealing arguments. Because in a revealing argument of my kind, I would put the following question to Hume: look, one of two things. The laws of nature are synthetic a priori claims, and therefore now you have to choose. Either you give up the identity and say there are synthetic a priori claims—it is not true that every synthetic claim is a posteriori and vice versa—or else reject the laws of nature. It’s Sophie’s choice, right? You can choose one of those two options. You can’t tell me: there are no synthetic a priori claims, but I still accept the laws of nature. That doesn’t work. That is basically what Kant did to Hume’s question.

[Speaker C] Just—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] If Hume had really been honest with himself and consistent, then he should have chosen the first option, to say: okay, there are no synthetic a priori claims, and therefore I really do not accept the laws of nature—they’re some kind of claims about me, pragmatic, and all the things we saw in the previous arguments. Kant’s argument is really a revealing argument. Kant basically put the revelatory character of philosophical arguments on the table; he was the one who conceptualized the—he noticed this fact that much of philosophy is built on revealing arguments and not productive arguments.

But Kant did not ask whether synthetic a priori claims are possible; rather, how it is possible that they are possible. Meaning, he assumed they are possible and looked for the justification, for the theory that would make that possible. You see the exact analogy to our case. That is, he basically assumes that he believes his eyes—or in this case, his scientific thinking—and now he says: yes, but Hume’s questions are good questions. How can I answer them while remaining with my trust in science?

Now notice: this is vulnerable to pragmatism. Because of course Kant will immediately be accused, when he gives an explanation, of giving a pragmatic explanation. You don’t really believe this explanation; you just want to believe in science, and therefore you manufacture explanations for yourself, just as I invent God for myself to resolve various difficulties—opium for the masses. All philosophy is opium for the masses if you look at it that way. That’s the pragmatic fallacy.

But—and here I make the same distinction I made before—Kant does not make that claim. He doesn’t say: I want to believe in science, so let’s invent, I don’t know, the theory he invented. Rather: I really do believe in science. That’s not the same thing. It’s not wishful thinking. I genuinely think science is a reliable tool. But I really do ask myself: Hume’s questions are good questions. After all, on the face of it, if not for the theory that I’m about to invent, there would be no justification for trusting science. So how do I trust it? Apparently the theory is true. You understand, this is a very subtle difference from a pragmatic consideration, but it is not a pragmatic consideration; it is a philosophical consideration par excellence. I truly believe in science, not that I want to believe in science. I truly believe in science, and I ask myself what that is based on. And if I believe in science and discover that it can be based only on something specific, then I will probably accept that specific thing, because otherwise my trust in science is unjustified.

Now one could say: so what if it’s unjustified? But “it’s not comfortable for me to live that way”—that’s a pragmatic answer; I’m not talking about that. No. Because I truly understand that science is reliable, I just need to give myself an account of how that can be, because on the face of it it is not reasonable. And therefore, for me, this is proof of the theory that I will propose—I, Miki, not Kant—namely the theory that there is a God, and that God is the basis of this whole matter. I’ll get to that shortly.

[Speaker C] I have a question. In this, what about the method—what’s called the Hasidic approach—that says there are no laws, that the apple falls because the Holy One… and how does that fit into all this?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] It doesn’t fit anywhere. It belongs in the realm of hallucination.

[Speaker C] Okay, and that’s a very widespread view today in Judaism.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Unfortunately there are a lot of people who hallucinate; it’s very common to be delusional. In any case, again, I am not making the claim that the Holy One, blessed be He, does not operate the law of gravitation. But I am claiming that there is a law of gravitation. I don’t care who operates it.

[Speaker C] Each and every apple separately—that there is no such law.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] You have to define it—that’s exactly the point. Those people never define anything. If they did define it, they would realize they’re talking nonsense. If you define it as there being such a law, only that this law is constantly operated by the Holy One, blessed be He, I have no problem with that. But that law is a fixed law; there are no deviations from it.

[Speaker C] No, that’s not their view.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Okay, so if not, then it’s delusion.

[Speaker C] Every single one separately, by the Holy One, blessed be He.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Separately, but sometimes also not? The fact that it’s separate is not what interests me. I’m asking: but sometimes also not? No, every—

[Speaker C] Time.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Are there ever apples that stand in the air?

[Speaker C] It just so happens that the Holy One, blessed be He, always—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] It just so happens, it just so happens always. That’s what’s called a law of nature: what just so happens always. Unless you tell me it’s not always. That’s why I’m saying—it has to be defined. If you tell me it’s not always, then you really do not accept the existence of a law of nature. But then it’s delusion.

[Speaker C] If you tell me it’s always—they say that if there’s a miracle, for example, it’s not a miracle; it’s just that the Holy One, blessed be He, decided not to activate it. It’s words.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So I say a miracle means that the Holy One, blessed be He, suspends the laws of nature. Just words—it’s a word game. In the end, when you take Acamol, the fever goes down. It doesn’t matter how you prayed in the morning. And it doesn’t matter whether you’re Hasidic or non-Hasidic, or a gentile idol worshiper. Okay? So yes, there are all kinds of excuses—Maxwell’s demons come in there and lower your fever even though you didn’t deserve it because you didn’t pray, and “effort,” and all sorts of nonsense of that kind. It’s all really nonsense. Fine, but that’s really a different discussion.

I’m currently looking at scientific and philosophical thought; leave those conceptions aside for now. That belongs to “Jewish thought,” the non-existent field. I’m talking right now about philosophy. So the claim, in the end, is that Kant’s argument is, in my view, an expansion—it is an expansion of the revealing argument in favor of God’s existence. Since I’m nearing the end, I just want to close the circle; I’ll complete it next time. And my claim is that not only the eyes, and not only all the senses—our sensory system—but basically all our scientific and other thinking is based on a very large and unjustified hole. And there is no way to justify the trust we place in our sensation and in our thinking unless we accept the existence of God. That is the claim.

I’ll explain this more later, but I just want it to be clear where we’re going, what the structure of the argument is. Meaning that here I’ve completed the expansion of Taylor’s argument. Taylor started with the eyes; I expanded it to all the senses so that there would be no independent external indication, because if you talk about the eyes, that could come from touch. If you talk about all the senses, then there’s nowhere else to go. And if you talk about all thought and human perception, our entire way of handling information, then of course there can be no justification for it at all. And once you understand the complexity of these things and their arbitrariness, then you say: this is not a skeptical claim. It is not reasonable to place trust in these things unless you have some kind of justification. I claim that justification is God—but I’ll get to that later. So that is basically the completion of the question, let’s call it that. I haven’t yet given the answer of how we get to God.

[Speaker B] How does the Rabbi formulate Kant’s conclusion? Can’t hear? How does the Rabbi formulate Kant’s conclusion?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I haven’t yet said what Kant’s conclusion is. I’ll get to his conclusion in order to reject it; I don’t agree with it. In the end I think only God can be the basis here for this matter, and therefore this is the fourth way, in my classification, of getting to God. I just want you to see the analogy between this argument and the argument from the eyes—what’s-his-name, Taylor, Richard Taylor. Basically the claim is not just some isolated case that the eyes are complex and so on. All thought— in other words, what I want to claim is that without believing in God, one cannot be rational. The physico-theological argument says: if you are rational, you should arrive at the conclusion that there is a God. The theological argument says: since God is the only basis for rational thought, you cannot trust rational thought if you do not believe in God. Do you understand? It’s not that rational thought leads to God. God is the basis that gives validity to rational thought; therefore it is a revealing argument and not a productive argument.

Now again, this is all just the framework. I haven’t yet filled it with content because our time is already up, so we’ll do that next time. Any comment or question?

[Speaker C] So far, all good.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Okay, goodbye, Sabbath peace. Bye, happy holiday, thank you very much, happy, thank you very much.