Faith and Its Meaning – Lesson 20

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I tried to propose here a formulation—a reverse formulation, I call it—of the physico-theological proof, and I said that in the end, or in short, what does this formulation mean? It basically means that, under the assumption—like the train to Scotland, I’m not going back over all the details now—under the assumption that I trust my senses, my perception, my cognition, and in the end I expanded this to cognition as a whole, the intellectual and sensory dimensions of cognition, the moment I trust that, I’m really assuming that there is something or someone that took care of this synchronization between my senses and reality, so that what they reflect really does correctly describe what is happening in the world itself. And only that way can I actually trust the information I gather about the world. I called this the proof from epistemology—epistemology is the theory of knowledge. My very ability to know the world depends on my assuming that my senses were not formed through some blind spontaneous process, but that there was someone, something—yes, the Holy One, blessed be He, God—who created them in such a way that they would be reliable, so that what they reflect to me is really what is happening in reality itself. And then I said that this formulation, together with the regular formulation of the physico-theological argument, is really a kind of double attack, a kind of either-way argument against the atheist. Meaning, I say to the atheist: look, the world is complex; a complex thing does not come into being by itself, therefore there is something, someone, who created it, and that is God. He says to me: no, what are you talking about? Complex things can arise in some blind, random way without someone creating them. Okay, then let’s go with you. So you’re saying that it can happen that way. If it cannot arise blindly, then there is God. If it can arise blindly, then why do you trust it? A sign that there is God. In other words—or alternatively, I said that of course there’s another option here—to say, okay, you’re right, I no longer trust it, I was mistaken, I was carried away by my habits, I trusted it just because I was used to it, but really I don’t trust it. And I said that this isn’t such an easy escape to attack, because obviously he’ll continue behaving as if he does trust his senses—that’s factually obvious—but he can say: that’s what I’m used to, I don’t have any better way to behave, so what should I do? Every time I see something should I assume it isn’t there? That’s not a correct assumption either. I don’t know. I have nothing to assume about reality—not even what I see—so I go with what I see. That’s what there is. I don’t know how to do anything else. But still, on the philosophical level, I do not trust my cognition—senses, thought, and so on—I do not trust my cognition. And therefore a person’s behavior is not enough to attack this claim of his. He can say: true, I’ll behave that way, but that doesn’t mean I really believe in my senses; I’m just habituated and I have no better option, that’s all. And still, as I said, the question of course is not how I attack him, defeat him, or anything like that. You’ll never defeat anyone, as the song says. One can always entrench oneself in whatever basic assumptions are useful to him, and that’s it. So I say to the person: forget me, don’t answer me, ask yourself—do you trust your senses? Answer yourself, don’t tell me anything. If yes, draw your conclusions. And if not, fine, go home in peace—I hope you make it home if your senses don’t let you down.

[Speaker B] But you can refute this—what do you mean? You take a stick, put it in a glass of water—look, take it out, the stick is straight, suddenly you see it differently. You don’t trust your vision. Same thing here. I didn’t understand—is that a refutation of me and not of him?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Here, you see—even my senses don’t really reflect reality correctly.

[Speaker B] What’s his claim there?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That he—

[Speaker B] believes what he sees and in his senses.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So on the contrary, that’s my claim, not his. I believe my senses, and therefore I say there must be God in the background. He says: no, I don’t believe my senses, and that’s fine. But that’s not true, because my senses show me that it’s bent, and it really is bent in water, and when it’s outside it’s straight; there’s refraction of the light rays, we know how to explain this very well. It does not impair our senses in any way. I’m speaking about cognition on the general level, not just about the eyes. The eyes—I started with the eyes, but after that I moved on to all the senses, and after that I expanded it even further to the conceptual tools that take part in the process of cognition. And what I’m saying now is: this whole complex together, which I call human cognition, which has sensory components and intellectual components—we talked about generalizations, causality, all kinds of assumptions that do not arise from observation—this whole system, if you say it is merely the product of a random process, then there is no justification at all for trusting it. If you do not trust it, then fine, everything is okay—you remain consistent and I have nothing to say to you. If you do trust it, then you have to work backward and understand that you are actually assuming that there is God. You are actually assuming that God is in the background of this system. He is the one responsible for its reliability. And I said that the theological argument—I called it the theological argument—is not an argument that proves to you that there is God. It is an argument that shows you that you believe in Him. And it could be that you’re wrong. It could be that there is no God. But don’t tell me you don’t believe. I’m showing you that you do. Okay? Now it may be that you’re wrong and maybe I’m wrong too. That’s fine. That’s the difference: in the philosophical argument I prove to a person that there is God. The world is complex, a complex thing does not arise by itself, so there is God. I’m supposed to prove to him that there is God. In the theological argument I’m not proving to him that there is God. I’m proving to him that he believes in God. Meaning, he may be mistaken, but first of all—you believe in God. Now make your own self-accounting and decide whether you go with that or not. Okay? That’s the meaning of the theological argument, and that’s this double attack, yes: if you think a complex thing does not arise by chance, then there is God. If it can arise by chance, then again there is God, because otherwise how do you trust your senses? And therefore these two formulations are really a double attack on the atheist, and the only way not to run from it is really to give up trust in the senses. Meaning, to say that everything arose by chance, I don’t believe my senses, fine. In other words, you can remain a skeptic. If you are a complete skeptic, then there’s nothing to be done. Now in order to sharpen this a bit more—why do I call this reverse logic, or a theological argument as opposed to a philosophical argument? As I said before, the philosophical argument takes premises and derives conclusions from them. In other words: the world is complex, a complex thing does not arise by itself, therefore it has a composer, right? So I start from premises and derive from them the conclusion that there is God. What I call the theological argument is really an argument that goes the other way. It says: I have a conclusion—my senses are reliable. Usually that is supposed to be a result: I have explanations, and therefore my senses are reliable. Here I go in reverse. No—I say: as a given, my senses are reliable. If I accept that, okay? If you accept that, let’s go backward and see what can justify it. Only the existence of God. Meaning, God is the justification for the reliability of the senses, but the logical argument goes in reverse. The argument says: since I trust my senses, that means there is God. That is why I call it a theological argument. It’s the joke I told, yes, you remember: the philosopher takes premises and derives conclusions from them, and the theologian takes conclusions and derives premises from them. That’s basically what we’re doing here. And I already said that since Kant, certainly you can’t really say such a thing, because philosophers too basically assume conclusions and derive premises from them. But what is this actually based on? If I wanted to build this argument as a logical argument, we need to understand: this is a fully valid logical argument. The theological argument and the philosophical argument are both fully valid logical arguments. So how do I construct it? Let’s put it like this. Tell me—how is the philosophical argument built? The world is complex. A complex thing does not arise by itself, right? Conclusion: there is something that created it—God. That is the logical structure of the argument, okay? We expanded and talked more about blessings and so on, but that is the structure, the logical skeleton of the argument. In the theological argument, how is the argument built? What is the premise of the argument? There are always two premises, right? A general premise and a particular premise. The particular premise says: our senses are a reliable system. Our cognition is reliable. I believe what my cognition teaches me about the world, okay? What is the second premise?

[Speaker C] What? That what I see is complex.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So what if what you see is complex?

[Speaker C] That it’s not a simple thing. So what?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What I see—what difference does what I see make?

[Speaker C] If it’s complex, that leads you to the fact that someone made it.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, that’s the philosophical argument. I’m talking about the theological argument. The second premise is that without a coordinating factor there cannot be a reliable system. Right? A system that comes into being spontaneously, not by someone intentional, cannot be reliable—or at least you cannot know that it is reliable. We talked about the train to Scotland, okay? So if you think it is reliable, right? And you say that without a coordinating factor there cannot be a reliable system, then the conclusion is that there is a coordinating factor. That is the logical structure. And notice: this logical structure is built in the form of—what?

[Speaker D] What if that conclusion isn’t true? This whole thing that the senses are reliable?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Then no—that’s it, I said it. That’s the option.

[Speaker D] Why? Where was that proven? Is that true?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I have no certainty at all. I’m only asking you: if you think the senses are reliable, then you need to arrive at the conclusion that there is God. It may be that you’re mistaken, it may be that the senses are not reliable, it may be that there is no God. But I’m saying: if you trust the senses—if, if you trust the senses—then you are implicitly assuming that there is God. That’s all. Now argue with yourself; it has nothing to do with me. But I’m showing you that you believe. You may believe mistakenly, there may be no God, but that’s the idea of a theological argument. Now look: in logic there is a rule that says that if I am given the statement “if A then B,” yes? A implies B. Let’s do a little—where did I once show something like this? Okay, you can see it, right? If A then B. That’s an arrow, yes, what I did there. If A then B. Okay? It’s a given statement. Say: if there is sun, then there is light, okay? If the sun is shining, then there is light. So “the sun is shining” is A, “there is light” is B. So A implies B, okay? Can I also say from here that not A implies not B? No, right? The fact that A implies B does not mean that not A implies not B. Let’s go back to the example. If the sun is shining, there is light. Does that mean that if the sun is not shining, then there is no light? Why not? There could be electric light, right? Meaning, the direct implication does not imply the reverse implication; it is not equivalent to the reverse implication. Right? By the way, that is probably—at least that’s the accepted view—the reason why one needs a double condition in Jewish law. When I say to a woman, “This is your bill of divorce if it rains tomorrow,” and “if it does not rain tomorrow, then the bill of divorce is not a divorce,” I have to double it. Why do I have to double it? Because I say: if it rains, then it is a divorce. That does not mean that if it does not rain, then it is not a divorce. The reverse implication does not follow from the direct implication, and therefore I need to state both sides. Except for the view of Maimonides. Maimonides’ view is that the reason a double condition is needed is not because from the positive you do not hear the negative—even though that’s how it appears in the Talmud—but Maimonides rules that from the positive you do hear the negative and still rules that a double condition is required. Fine, Rabbi Chaim and Kovetz Shiurim discuss this. But in the simple understanding of the Talmud itself, it comes from this. Okay? The need for a double condition is exactly because “if A then B” does not mean “if not A then not B.” But one thing—so that is not correct. Okay? That is not correct. What do you say about this? Wait—why is it doing this for me… If not B, then not A. That is valid, yes, that is equivalent to the original implication, right? If there is no light, clearly the sun is not shining. Why? Think about it: suppose there is no light, and suppose the sun is shining. That can’t be, because the direct implication says that if the sun is shining, then there is light. That does not fit with there being no light. Therefore, what is valid to infer from this implication is not this, but this. Okay? What?

[Speaker C] If the windows are closed, there still could be light…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Doesn’t matter, fine, obviously—but I’m talking on the principled level. Yes. No, I’m saying the electricity was only half made up, but the implication really is invalid. It was just an illustration. Okay, this is called denial of the consequent. Okay, denial of the consequent means—it’s called modus tollens in Latin. Denial of the consequent basically means this: suppose this implication is given, okay? And I know not-B. The conclusion is not-A. That is a valid argument. Okay? If A implies B, and also not-B, then the conclusion is not-A. And as you can see, that is really this implication, right? That not-B implies not-A. Fine? In contrast, if what were written here were not-A and the conclusion were not-B, that would be a fallacious argument. That would not be a valid argument. Okay? So there is modus ponens and modus tollens—sorry, this is really that argument. There are two argument patterns going back already to Aristotle. This is modus tollens and modus ponens: if A is written here, I can infer B here. If A implies B and A is given, then I can infer B, right? Meaning, if the sun is shining there is light; given that the sun is shining, can I infer from here that there is light? Yes, right? Okay. So why am I giving you this little lesson in logic? Because this argument—modus tollens, modus ponens—this argument is the philosophical formulation. The philosophical formulation basically says: the world—the world is complex—that means it has a composer. Given: the world really is complex. Conclusion: it has a composer. Okay? That is the philosophical formulation. In contrast, in the theological formulation it works like this. Notice: if there is no God—A is “there is God,” so not-A means “if there is no God,” then it follows from here that there is no trust in our cognition. That is, B is “there is trust in our cognition,” and A is “there is God.” Now the premise is that if there is no God, there cannot be trust in our cognition. Second given: I do have trust in our cognition, B. Conclusion: A—there is God. Now you see why I say this? Because very often the feeling is that this is an invalid argument. You’re drawing arrows, you’re assuming what you want to prove, it’s pragmatic—we talked about pragmatism. No. It is a fully valid argument in every respect, even though it goes backward. Why does it feel like it goes backward? Well, now you see why: because I’m really going from the consequent to the antecedent. Meaning, the premise I begin with actually concerns the consequent of the implication, while the conclusion I reach—A—concerns the antecedent of the implication. So I’m going backward, from here to here. Right? That’s why there is this feeling of going backward, and I call this a theological argument. But it is a fully valid logical argument in every respect. Part of the point is that because of this, such an argument is often suspected of being pragmatist. You’re basically saying: look, I believe my cognition, and in order to get to the point where that trust is justified, I say, well then apparently there is God. Okay? What do you mean? Maybe really it isn’t justified. The fact that you want your cognition to be reliable is not enough to say there is God. You want it—very nice. So what if you want it? You want it, but that doesn’t make it happen, as the comedy troupe says. Okay? Meaning, you can’t infer anything from what you want. And here, I said, the big difference is that I am not inferring this from the fact that I want trust in the senses. I infer it from the fact that I do trust the senses. You ask whether that is justified? That’s another question. I don’t know. But if I trust the senses, that means I believe in God. Now we can begin discussing whether trust in the senses is justified or not. You can be a skeptic and say that this trust is unjustified. What? Fine, I’m not going into those details now—we already discussed that. Doesn’t matter. No, the Big Bang doesn’t help here. It won’t help you in any way. But how did the order begin? There are laws of nature—who legislated the laws of nature? We already talked about that. It was planned—by whom? Who planned it?

[Speaker C] Whoever made the Big Bang. Fine.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Either that or the Big Bang—but bottom line, there had to be someone there who did something in the beginning. Whether it happened before the Big Bang or happened now—what difference does it make?

[Speaker C] The Big Bang could be a one-time miraculous event.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Fine, but now I’m asking: what is the root of that miracle? What does it mean that it could be miraculous? Everything could be miraculous. I’m asking: what do you prefer—that it was a completely improbable miracle, or simply that someone did it? That’s all. So it seems to me that the second possibility is far more reasonable. It can always be that something happened randomly. And that’s exactly why there is the theological argument. Fine—you’re willing to accept that it was random? Then don’t believe your senses. You can’t believe your senses. Fine, random, everything’s okay, I accept that.

[Speaker C] No, but since then it got organized.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What? How did it get organized? How do you know it got organized? How do you know? The world is ordered, you see. But I’m asking: where does your trust in the senses come from? Because your senses show you an ordered world. Wonderful. Why do you believe them?

[Speaker B] What option do you have besides believing your senses? What legitimate option do you have?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, you don’t. That’s exactly what I’m saying. If you believe your senses, that means you are assuming the existence of God—or you do not believe your senses. There are no other options. That’s the claim. And that’s an important point, because we’ll come back to it: this claim is always a claim according to your interlocutor’s own position. I cannot prove anything to him in a way that forces him. I cannot force him into a conclusion he does not accept. I won’t succeed. All I can do is try to clarify for him, or reveal to him, expose before him, the fact that he already believes, really. Implicitly. He is not aware of it, but he already believes. Now you can say to me: look, I was mistaken, I do not believe, I have no trust in the senses, it’s all a mistake. Fine, okay. But know that at least at the moment, in light of what you are reporting, you are a believer even though you think you are an atheist. Okay? That’s all. This is a proof that works on a different plane than the philosophical argument. It is not only a reversal of the direction of implication; the philosophical meaning of this proof is also different. The usual proofs are proofs that prove something to you. The theological proofs are proofs that show you what you already believe. They don’t prove anything to you. It doesn’t prove the existence of God; it proves that you believe in God. You may be mistaken, but you believe in God. Don’t say you’re an atheist—you’re not. Yes, yes, I’m showing you from within your other beliefs—otherwise you are not consistent—that from within your other beliefs I’m showing you that you actually believe in God. You cannot say, “I believe my senses,” and at the same time “I am an atheist.” Those are two contradictory beliefs. Now decide. You can choose this, you can choose that. Both together don’t work. There’s no need to define anything. God is that one who created the system and made it reliable. I don’t care right now about commandments or anything else. We’ve already talked about that many times. I’m not talking about commandments at all. I’m talking about God on the philosophical plane. Deism, not theism. Not a force—something with intentionality, meaning with intelligence—not just “something,” because otherwise the question comes back about it too. So that is basically the difference between theological proofs and philosophical proofs. Okay, now I wanted to present this move from a slightly different angle, and I think it sharpens it a lot. There is a debate among philosophers of science—and this really continues the debate of Hume and Kant and what I talked about in the previous lecture. There is a debate among philosophers of science over how scientific theories should be treated. There are philosophers of science—and I think most scientists belong to this school, scientists, not philosophers—who think that a theory is basically a description of the world. This is how the world behaves. There is a law of gravity, there is an electromagnetic field—we discover them. The theory is a description of what happens in the world itself. In contrast, there are those who think that a theory is a statement about us, not about the world. Meaning, it is only the way that is convenient for us to organize the collection of facts we have learned about the world. It does not say anything about the world. I am not claiming that there is gravitational force in the world. In the world there is the collection of facts I observed. That is the only thing I can—yes, this is basically empiricism—I can accept as reliable information about the world only what I observed. Everything I do beyond that is a process of thought, and we talked about the fact that thought does not necessarily have to correspond to what is happening in the world itself. Those are the questions of Hume and Kant and so on. Therefore, philosophers of science say that indeed, a theory is not a description of what is happening in the world itself—what causes all the processes we see—but only a way we organize for ourselves the set of facts in the way most convenient and useful to us, okay? That’s all. But no one can really say that the theory correctly describes something that happens in the world itself—that is the claim. Now we should understand: I’ll now call these by name—maybe I mentioned this once—actualism and informativism. Actualism is a view that says that only what is present before my eyes in an actual way is information I am willing to accept about the world. This is basically radical empiricism—only what I actually saw, actually present before my eyes, is information I can accept about the world. Which means that gravitational force or the law of gravity is not information I can accept about the world. What I can accept about the world is that when I let go of this, it fell earlier. I don’t know what will happen tomorrow. Only what I saw, okay? As thin as possible. That is called actualism. And then according to the actualist, the theory I build on the basis of the facts is a theory that does not describe the world, but is simply a conceptual framework that is convenient for me to organize the facts within. That is actualism. Informativism is the view that says: no, the theory contains information about the world; that is why it is called informativism. Meaning, when I make a scientific move and discover a theory, I discovered something about the world—not just that I found a convenient framework for organizing facts for myself. Okay? Rather, I discovered something about the world. The world contains the law of gravity or the electromagnetic field, even though no one saw any such thing. Those are theories I build on the basis of the facts, but I understand those theories—I trust my cognitive system—and I see those theories as claims I have discovered about the world. As I once mentioned, I don’t remember anymore what I said and when, regarding Copernicus. Copernicus, after all, said that the earth revolves around the sun and not the sun around the earth, as people thought before him. And to this day all kinds of people mockingly say that the Church, or religious belief of whatever kind, are stuck somewhere in the past and don’t understand that already in the sixteenth century Copernicus discovered that the earth revolves around the sun and not the sun around the earth. And there’s all this ridicule—you can see it on various atheist websites especially, and among various scientistic people and so on, the Davidson Institute and its friends. These people do not understand what they are talking about. Copernicus discovered nothing. There is no true claim about who revolves around whom. You can say that the earth revolves around the sun, and you can say that the sun revolves around the earth. The whole question is only where you place the coordinate system, the origin point. If you put the origin point on the earth, then the sun revolves around it. If you put the origin point on the sun, then the earth revolves around it. That’s all. It is completely equivalent kinematically. Not dynamically, by the way, but kinematically, because there are fictitious forces and all kinds of things like that.

[Speaker B] But what—there is a system that explains that one event governs this whole story.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, that’s true according to both approaches; I’ll get to that in just a moment. So why am I bringing this up? Because those mockers think that Copernicus discovered a claim about the world—that in the world, the earth revolves around the sun and not the sun around the earth. But the truth is, he discovered nothing about the world. He discovered a conceptual framework that is much more convenient and efficient for us in organizing the facts. He says: if you place the origin of the coordinate system at the sun rather than at the earth, you get a much simpler description of the facts. That’s all. It has nothing to do with truth. There is nothing here that is true or false. Both are equally true; there is no meaning to the question of who revolves around whom—it’s completely equivalent. Okay? Just think about it: any two bodies—take one body revolving around another. You understand that if you place your coordinate origin here, so that I’m revolving like this, then in fact I’m sitting here, so relative to this system I’m standing still, right? So I’ll see the other thing revolving around me, right? The whole question is only where you define your coordinate origin. That’s all. So there is no discovery here at all. This is a wonderful example of a theory that really is not informativist but actualist: Copernicus’ theory. Copernicus’ theory basically says: I didn’t discover anything new about the world; I discovered a mode of description that is much simpler, more useful, and more efficient for us. Because everything comes out much more neatly when we say that everything revolves around the sun, since then all the planets revolve around the sun and everything works out. If you say the earth is at the center, then the other planets trace crazy paths—it gets complicated. Okay? But it’s no less correct; it’s just more complicated. Okay? You can choose this description, or you can choose that one. Obviously we’ll choose the simpler description, because it’s simpler. Why choose a complicated description if I have a completely equivalent one that’s simple? But these are just two forms of description; it’s like speaking Hebrew or English. Whoever is more comfortable speaks Hebrew; whoever is more comfortable speaks English. Who’s right? No one is right. Which language do you choose to describe reality in? That’s all. Coordinate systems are also a language. There is no right or wrong coordinate system. It’s all language. Okay? So that is an example of something people think is informativist, when in truth it is actualist: Copernicus’ theory. Okay? But what about general theories like the law of gravitation? The law of gravitation is not a coordinate system. The law of gravitation says that there is a gravitational force between any two masses, each exerting force on the other. They even gave its formula and everything. You could say, “Force? No one has seen this force. What I see is that masses are attracted to one another.” Those are facts I see. Actually I don’t even see that; I only see the masses that I saw being attracted to one another. Generalizing to other masses that I haven’t seen—I don’t know, that’s your personal responsibility. Okay? So the only thing that is actual is the facts I have seen. The theory that now says, “No, there is a law of gravitation and a gravitational force, and every two masses exert force on one another,” and so on—that is a theory. Now the question is how to relate to that theory. Like Copernicus—actualistically, basically. That means: this theory is only a form that is convenient for me, very convenient for me to use in describing the facts. I am not really claiming that in the world itself there is a gravitational force. Okay? Or no—am I saying, no no, Newton discovered a fact about the world: in the world there is gravitational force; it is something that exists. Okay? So these are two conceptions regarding scientific theories. Now, the conduct of science under the actualist picture and under the informativist picture looks exactly the same. There is no scientific way to decide who is right, the informativist or the actualist, in this philosophical dispute. Why? Let’s look at some theory, say the law of gravitation, all right? Now suppose I ran an experiment. Both the informativists and the actualists say that a theory is a hypothesis that has to be put to an empirical test. I do an experiment. Okay? Suppose the experiment confirms the theory. What does that mean? It means the theory’s predictions were realized; I measured it. Okay? What does that mean? It means the theory is still with us; it works. That fact too is described by the theory. The informativist will say the theory has been strengthened; the actualist will say the theory hasn’t fallen yet. Right? Fine, everything is okay, so I keep using it. Why not? It’s the simplest; it hasn’t fallen; why not use it. What happens if the experiment refutes the theory? Suppose the theory has some prediction, and suddenly in the experiment we see that this thing remains suspended in the air even though it has mass. So where is the law of gravitation? The gravitational force was supposed to pull it downward. Okay? The theory falls. The informativist will say: why did it fall? Because it turned out to be false. The theory made a claim about the world, and now it turns out that the claim is false—look, the theory fell. But the actualist too will say the theory fell. Before, it wasn’t a claim about the world, and now too it isn’t—it has nothing to do with that. But it is no longer the most efficient tool for describing all the facts. Look, it doesn’t describe this fact. Why use a tool that doesn’t describe the facts? I only want tools that describe the facts, right? Therefore the actualist and the informativist will respond in exactly the same way to a successful experiment and to a failed experiment. Exactly the same. So the conduct of science does not indicate in any way whether you are an actualist, whether actualism is correct or informativism is correct. By the way, these terms aren’t all that standard; I took them from Ze’ev Bechler, professor emeritus at Tel Aviv University. He has books where he defined these concepts of actualism and informativism.

[Speaker B] Someone asked whether if it turned out that this process didn’t work, maybe it was caused by some other reason that made it happen, and then it still would be justified?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, fine, so you’re saying I can save the theory if I discover that there was some additional influence here—that there was really an error in the experiment. Is that what you’re… Fine, let’s say I checked and found no error; there is no error in the experiment. Then the theory falls. But the actualist will also agree that it fell, and the informativist will also agree that it fell. Meaning, they describe the conduct of science in exactly the same way. So there is no difference between them, no practical consequence. Okay? Yes, it has a practical consequence only for a woman’s betrothal. If the actualist is right, then “you are betrothed to me,” and if the informativist is right, then “you are not betrothed to me,” right? So there is no practical consequence. You know that joke, that there’s a practical consequence only for betrothal? It originates in Ran on tractate Sanhedrin. You know it? In the Talmud in Sanhedrin 15, the Talmud asks there: “The Sinai ox—by how many?” How many judges are needed to judge the ox that went up Mount Sinai? It says, “Also the sheep and cattle shall not graze opposite that mountain.” And the Talmud says: as the death of the owner, so the death of the ox. Meaning, to judge the ox for death you need the same panel that judges a person for death. So the Talmud says: “The Sinai ox—by how many?” Meaning, you need twenty-three judges. Judges like for killing a person, okay? Ran asks there: what practical consequence is there to the Sinai ox? That was thousands of years ago; it’s over. There are no oxen, no Sinai, nothing. “What Sinai and uprooting mountains?” There is no Sinai and no mountains. So what practical consequence is there? He gives two answers. One practical consequence is for a Nazirite: if someone says, “I am a Nazirite on condition that the Sinai ox is judged by twenty-three,” the question is whether he is a Nazirite or not a Nazirite—which is really the same joke about a practical consequence for betrothal. And the second practical consequence—I don’t remember—something like “study and receive reward” or something of that sort. Doesn’t matter; that Ran is the source of the joke. In any case, for our purposes, the point is that these are two theories with no practical consequence at all. They both describe science the same way, they both say science should proceed the same way, and therefore this is only a question of interpretation. But from my perspective it is a very important philosophical question, not a scientific one but a philosophical one. The question is whether I really believe the scientific theory, think it describes the world, or whether scientific theory is merely a tool I use to describe the facts I’ve accumulated up to now. That’s all—but I’m not claiming it really describes the world. You understand that behind this stands the question of how I relate to my epistemology. Exactly the question that interests us. The question is whether I trust my cognition—and cognition is not only the eyes. Let’s say I trust the eyes, but do I trust the generalizations I make on the basis of the cases I observed with my eyes? Okay? The question is whether I trust that, and then I am an informativist, or whether I do not trust that, I still keep using it because I’m used to it, because it’s efficient, because it’s convenient for me, all the things we discussed before—and then I am an actualist, right? So the dispute between actualism and informativism is really exactly the dispute I spoke about earlier. Whether I trust the senses or not, while still continuing to use them because that’s what I’m used to, because I have no better alternative—but I don’t truly believe them. Now the question is: if I formulate it this way, maybe I have a way to move forward in this dispute. I want to show you now an example I’m very fond of, which illustrates this point. Look at this drawing here on the graph. Suppose I measure force relative to the acceleration of a certain body. Okay? I apply some force, get a certain acceleration; apply a different force, get a different acceleration; and I plot it on this graph. You see, this is force, F, and this is acceleration, the A, okay? The x-axis. Now I say: I apply one force and get one acceleration, apply another force and get acceleration two, apply another force and get acceleration three, and so on. The points I actually measured are, look at these, the hollow circles. This one, this one, this one, three, four, and five. You see? One, two, three, four, and five—those are force-acceleration pairs that I measured. Okay? I put them on the graph. Fine, so imagine I now have—ignore for a moment the straight line and the dashed line and all the rest. What you see here is five points, five circles like this, which I measured. These are the measurement results. Okay? Now in the lab, assuming you don’t have Newton’s formula to copy from, you are given these five points and asked: draw the graph. Meaning, what is the formula connecting force to acceleration? So you draw a straight line, right? This solid line. Right? And we discover that F equals MA; it’s linear. Force equals mass times acceleration. Okay? Then some smart aleck comes along and says: wait, but who told you? Look, I can also draw another line that passes through these points. Look at the dashed line. It too passes through the five points. You see? It passes through this one, this one, this one, this one, and this one. So who told you the straight line is the correct one rather than the dashed line? Of course, besides the dashed line there are infinitely many other lines like it; this is just one example. Why do you choose דווקא the straight line? Right? That is really the question.

[Speaker D] Because the non-straight one isn’t right.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Why? It is completely right. It passes through the five points. No no, forget the hump. We haven’t said anything yet about the hump. We have these five points. That’s all we have. Through these five points, the straight line also passes. Yes, that’s what I have; I measured five measurements. Okay?

[Speaker C] If you do ten thousand experiments—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Even if you do ten thousand, it doesn’t matter. Ten thousand and five is the same thing. Meaning, through ten thousand experiments too, you can draw infinitely many curves that fit them. It changes nothing.

[Speaker F] What will happen in the next measurement?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Wait, wait, one second, slowly, slowly—I want exactly that point. So basically now look, there are two possibilities. All of us will draw a straight line. There is no one who won’t draw the straight line. But then we’ll have an interpretive dispute. The informativist will say: I discovered that the relation between force and acceleration is a straight line. I have a claim about the world. Interesting—the second law of Newton, twelfth grade, right? There is a direct relation between force and acceleration. The actualist will say: I discovered nothing about the world. But for the time being, the five facts known to me are well described by a straight line. There is no reason to adopt a complicated description if a simple description also works. After all, I don’t know what’s true. Nothing is true. But the simple description works, so I use it. Right? That’s the actualist. Okay? Now of course the informativist and the actualist have a practical difference in this sense. Now I’ll ask: what will be the result of the next experiment? Suppose I now apply acceleration six, yes? I want to find what happens at acceleration six. So the informativist will say: in order to get acceleration six, you need to apply this force. Right? The force located here, because he thinks the straight line is the correct line. Fine? The actualist will say: I have no idea. Anything could happen. It could be the dashed line, and there could also be infinitely many other lines. I can’t know. I cannot draw any conclusion from the five measurements I have made so far. The five measurements I made—the actualist always explains the past; he has no statement about the future. Okay? The informativist says: if this is correct, I expect this to happen in the future as well. Right? If it is correct. Not certainly correct—sometimes theories are refuted—but I expect it to fall on the straight line. So they have a dispute about what will happen in the next experiment. But that still is not a practical difference between actualism and informativism. Why? Let’s do the next experiment and say we got this result. Fine? Let’s say this force really did give me acceleration six. What will the actualist say? Excellent. For now I don’t need to throw out the straight-line theory because it works. It’s not true, but for now I can continue because it’s fine; for now it works. Right? The informativist will say: nice, I have confirmed the law that F equals MA. What happens if this is what comes out? Suppose I get it here—that this force gave me six, not this force gave me six. Yes? In an experiment, usually the independent variable is force and the dependent variable is acceleration, because I apply force and measure what the acceleration will be. It’s not that I generate acceleration and then ask what the force is. Right? That’s what happens in the experiment, so the drawing here is not all that intuitive. But never mind. So I ask myself: suppose I discovered that this force gives me this acceleration, acceleration six, yes? And not this force. What does that mean? The informativist will say: I discovered that Newton’s second law is not correct. F is not equal to MA. Okay? The actualist will say: we need to throw out this theory and look for something else to describe it for me—for example, the dashed line. Okay? So the two of them basically have no dispute so far. Whatever the result is, neither of them has any problem.

[Speaker B] No, but you didn’t change the situation of this experiment, so why should there be a change, basically? A change from what?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] You think Newton’s second law is correct, so you call it a change. The actualist says: no change at all. It simply turned out that we probably need to adopt a different model to describe the facts. It wasn’t true before, and it isn’t true now either.

[Speaker C] What about tiny scales? You really do bend it with very small masses, the theory of—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, no, with very small masses Newton’s theory still exists. You’re maybe talking about relativity. Relativity is high speeds, not small masses.

[Speaker C] High speeds…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, small masses is quantum theory. High speeds is relativity. No, in quantum theory too, F equals MA, in the averaged measurements anyway. In any case, for our purposes, the conduct of things so far won’t succeed in deciding. Yes, I can ask the actualist and the informativist: come, let’s try to formulate an experiment that will decide who is right—which of us is right, the actualist or the informativist. There is no way to formulate such an experiment. Because what am I going to do? I’ll measure the next point, and both the actualist and the informativist will remain actualists and informativists; each one will just throw out the theory, each for his own reason. Fine? Therefore a normal experiment that we conduct will not succeed in deciding who is right, the actualist or the informativist, right? But notice: there is nevertheless something that does succeed in deciding. I’ll ask a different question now. According to the actualist, I have the five measurements. I ask the actualist: tell me, what is the probability that for acceleration six I’ll get this kind of force, before I run the experiment? Let’s make a bet. What is the probability that the experiment will succeed in the sense that acceleration six will also land on this force, that it will fall on the straight line? What is the probability? What do you say?

[Speaker D] Fifty-fifty?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Zero. Exactly zero. Why? Zero. Because the straight line is no more correct than all the other lines. And every line will give a result. Every line will give a different result, right? Every line will give a different result. And the actualist says, fine, for the time being we’ll use the straight line because it’s convenient and simple and there’s no reason not to use it. It describes the facts. What is the probability that this is the line that will also predict the next results? Obviously zero, right? There is no chance at all.

[Speaker B] The next experiment, but if you do, say, ten more experiments like that?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Again, still zero to the tenth power. Why? Why should it succeed? There is no reason. The straight line is no more correct than any other line. Every line will give you a different result. One divided by the number of lines is zero. Infinitely many lines—even uncountably infinite. It’s just zero, absolute zero. Okay? That’s the probability. What will the informativist say? I don’t know what, but not zero. Fifty percent, thirty percent, eighty percent—I don’t know. In accordance with how much confidence I have in the theory. If there are lots of facts for which it worked, I’ll bet ninety percent that it will keep working. Think about gravitational force, for example. What would you bet: if I let go of this thing now, will it fall to the earth or not? I’d bet my life that it will fall. Okay? Why? It’s only a generalization, because it has been confirmed in so many previous attempts that it’s obvious to me it will fall. The actualist will say: no, no, I’m not betting my life on anything—especially because it’s hollow—but I’m not betting my life on anything. Maybe yes, maybe no; I don’t know what’s true and what isn’t. Okay? So there, we found a difference between actualism and informativism. The difference is in the question: what is the probability that the next experiment will succeed? Not what I will do if it succeeds, or what I will do if it does not succeed. There is no difference between them on that. I’m asking: what is the probability that it will succeed? That is the question that distinguishes between them. Now why is this important? Because now let’s look at all the experiments that have been done throughout history in order to test scientific hypotheses, and ask ourselves: in how many of these experiments did the hypothesis fail? Now, I don’t know how many—say fifty percent, all right? But not one hundred percent. According to the actualist, no experiment can succeed. The probability of succeeding in an experiment is zero. Because the straight line is no more correct than all the other lines. So what is the probability that the next point will also land on the straight line? Zero. That means that in every experiment we do to test predictions of a scientific theory, we should have failed, right? And that is not reality. In reality, quite a few experiments succeed. There are also many experiments that fail, but it’s not zero percent of experiments. So this is evidence in favor of the informativist. The evidence is not some particular experiment that I do now—if it succeeds or fails, that proves nothing. Wait, I’ll get to that in just a second. What will decide the question of whether the actualist is right or the informativist is right is a survey of all the experiments done up to now, because that can test for me the probability of success in an experiment that tests a scientific hypothesis. If the probability is not zero, that means the scientific hypothesis is not a shot in the dark. Not certainly true—nothing is certainly true—but it is not a shot in the dark. The actualist claims that the straight line is a shot in the dark: it has no greater chance of being right than any other line. It’s simply the most convenient for me, so I use it. If that were the case, then every future experiment you perform would knock down that line. You would have to replace lines in every experiment. Every experiment you would need to create another line that matches the results, the set of results you now have. In the next experiment you would have to change the line, because obviously it would not fit the next experiment, and so on. That is not what happens in the history of science. If that is what happened, today we would still be with the science of Adam, because in every experiment we would replace the theory. No theory would hold up or be confirmed as a result of the experiments we perform. We would simply be going around chasing our own tails. Every theory would tell us to adopt something; every experiment would tell us to adopt another theory; another experiment, another theory; another experiment, another theory—we would learn nothing. Meaning, each time we would switch theories, but it would not teach us anything.

[Speaker B] But wait, if you don’t change the situation in which this experiment exists, the environment of the experiment, why should there be such a change in the data?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Changes between what and what? You assume that the straight line is correct, and then you say this is a change. But there is no change.

[Speaker B] Again, listen, listen to what I’m saying.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] You assume that the straight line is the correct line, that the relation between force and acceleration is a straight line. But the actualist does not assume that. So when something else happens that is not on the straight line, from his perspective that is not a change; it is another fact. Now we need to find a line that fits all the facts. That’s all. What does “change” mean? “Change” means you are already assuming there is some correct law, you generalize on the basis of the examples you know, and then you say: wait, why should something else behave differently? Differently from what? Differently from the law I inferred, from the generalization I made on the basis of the facts I know. Meaning, you believe your generalization. He does not claim that the straight line is a correct description of reality. So what does “different” even mean? Different from… nothing. Facts are facts, and now I fit the line to the facts that I know—the actual facts.

[Speaker B] Why, if you didn’t change the situation of the experiment?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What does “I didn’t change it” mean? I say: I apply a different force; what will the acceleration be? I apply a different force; what will the acceleration be?

[Speaker B] If you give more force in the same—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, not the same force—a different force.

[Speaker B] But you have a graph. So on the graph, if you give it six, whatever—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right. There, I give it six, I give it this force, okay? Then you, the informativist, will say that this will be the acceleration. The actualist says: why not this one?

[Speaker B] In the end this straight line changes on the graph.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] But that is not what happens. Because in a significant percentage of our experiments it does fall on the straight line. In Newton’s case it always falls on the straight line, not just a significant percentage. How, how will the actualist explain that? If the straight line is not correct, then what is the meaning of that repeated success, the fact that this success keeps recurring, when according to the actualist you are choosing the straight line arbitrarily? So if it is arbitrary, how does it work so well? It could not have worked. And the whole point is that I am not testing this with one future experiment. There is no experiment that will decide whether the actualist is right or the informativist is right. But the history of science shows that informativism is correct. Otherwise science could not progress. In an actualist world, science cannot progress. Okay? And what does that really mean? It really means that at least the history of science shows us that it is possible to trust our cognitive tools, right? Or in other words, this trust is indeed justified. Now I ask myself retroactively: okay, so the trust is justified—why is that really so? After all, when I make these various generalizations and reach some scientific law or another, I come to the conclusion that my tools of generalization, or my cognitive tools, work—they are correct. Okay? Now I go back, to the theological move, and I ask: why is that so? Why is it so? How do they work? After all, if they arose spontaneously on their own, arbitrarily, then how do they work? It follows necessarily that there was something or someone who built them in such a way that they would turn out to be reliable cognitive tools. Right? And that only sharpens the theological argument. I am basically saying: if you are an atheist—or if you like—you are basically supposed to be an actualist if you are an atheist. So if you are an actualist, you cannot explain to me why so many scientific experiments succeed. Or why the percentage of scientific experiments that succeed is not zero. Even if it were ten percent, that would already be a difficulty for him. Meaning, according to his position it should be zero. Okay? And of course it depends on the precision of the experiment, but… what?

[Speaker C] Everything you didn’t manage to generalize is because of your inability to…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What? Now you’re asking the informativist. If you’re an informativist, how can it be that some experiments fail? Right, because our generalizations are not always precise. That’s fine. The informativist does not say the generalization is certainly correct. The informativist says it is not a shot in the dark—that we have some intellectual capacity to grasp the truth, not with certainty. It could be that we made a mistake; it can err. But the actualist claims not that it can err, but that it cannot be right. That’s the difference, okay? So even a success rate of ten percent is enough for me.

[Speaker D] It’s like there isn’t really an error here; it’s a hypothesis. You do an experiment, you hypothesize something…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I’m saying: but what is the probability that this hypothesis is correct? The actualist will say zero, and the informativist will say no—I don’t know how much, but not zero.

[Speaker D] Fine, I don’t see it as an error; I see it as an incorrect hypothesis. We tried…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Fine, but that hypothesis arose from a generalization you made on the basis of the previous facts. That generalization was mistaken—no problem; it’s not a sin, that’s how we work. But I’m saying that’s what I call an error—not an error in the sense that I blame you or think you’re stupid or anything like that. But the claim is: the generalization we made on the basis of the facts was incorrect.

[Speaker D] The question is whether a hypothesis is always based on the overall…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] If the hypothesis is a hypothesis—

[Speaker D] Out of—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] The blue, not out of previous assumptions—fine, then it really is a very speculative hypothesis. Usually in science, we said that we collect facts, and on the basis of the facts we create a generalization. That generalization creates some theory or hypothesis. We then put that theory to an empirical test, okay? We try to do some experiment to see whether it works or doesn’t work. Okay, so this is perhaps just a sharper, more precise way of setting the two possibilities against one another: trust in the senses or distrust in the senses. And here I already went one step further and said: look. You have two possibilities. Either believe the senses, but then say there is God; or remain an atheist, but then don’t believe the senses. But here I’ve already brought one more argument: that the senses are in fact reliable. There, look. If the percentage of scientific experiments that succeed is not zero, then here I’m already taking one more step. You no longer have the option of saying, “I don’t believe the senses.” Look—it works. And then the question arises in full force. So why really? How can it be that our cognitive system is reliable? Apparently there is God. Okay? Now I want to move on to several objections, counterarguments. Okay, so now I want to speak about counterarguments that arise regarding this proof. The first argument I already spoke about, basically. The argument that says this is pragmatism. What am I saying? I’m basically saying: look, without belief in God there can be no trust in the senses. The atheist will say to me: fair enough, so that’s true. Since you want to believe the senses, for that purpose you adopt God. Think about morality—we’ll speak later about the moral proof. But think about “Surely there is no fear of God in this place, and they will kill me.” Yes, the moralists always quote this verse, “and they will kill me because of my wife,” from Abraham our forefather—they bring this verse as proof for the existence of God. What’s the proof? That without God there would be moral anarchy in the world. Yes, if there is no God then nobody will behave morally; it will be terrible to live here. Is that a good proof? Terrible proof. If there is no God, then there will be no morality. Fine, then there will be no morality. What do you want me to do? You want there to be morality, and therefore you say: let’s adopt the claim that there is God. That is pragmatism. So it is not a proof that there is a God. You’re only telling me, look, but if you don’t believe in God there will be moral anarchy here. Okay, so there will be moral anarchy. Does that mean there is a God? It does not mean there is a God. You want there not to be moral anarchy. The fact that you want that is lovely, but what you want proves nothing about what really exists. The ought, yes, says nothing about the is. That is the naturalistic fallacy. Yes, it’s like: “Come stay with us for a Sabbath meal, see what a beautiful family, Judaism, whatever—then you’ll repent and return.” Does the fact that the atmosphere is a good atmosphere mean there is a God and the Torah is true? Suppose even that the atmosphere really is good and the family is wonderful and everything is excellent—so what? That means that if you want a wonderful family, then you too should believe in God. Why? Does the fact that it creates wonderful families mean there is a God? It means that something in our psychology is built so that if we believe in God, the family seems to become better—just for the sake of argument, okay? That says nothing at all about whether there is a God or not. The fact that I want something is not a sufficient argument to prove the existence of something, right? Same thing here. This claim is basically saying: you want to believe your senses, right? If you want to believe your senses, that’s very nice—but without God you can’t believe your senses. So don’t believe your senses. Is the fact that you want to believe your senses evidence for the existence of God? I already answered that. I said it’s not that I want to believe my senses—I do believe my senses. And if I believe my senses, that means I believe in God. You’re right, you can ask me: yes, but who says the senses are really reliable? Maybe they really aren’t reliable, and then there is no God and everything is fine. Or not fine—it doesn’t matter. Fine, that’s a different argument. But this proof doesn’t prove to you that there is a God; it proves that you believe in God. Meaning, if you believe the senses, you are basically believing in God. But here in the graph argument I showed earlier, I went one step further, and showed that we really also ought to believe the senses. Fact: the history of science shows it. And if that’s so, then you no longer have the option to say, “Fine, then I don’t believe.” This is not pragmatism. Pragmatism says: I want to believe the senses, so let’s invent God. Like Marx said, God is the opium of the masses. They invented him so that we would feel more secure, more comfortable in the world. That is basically the accusation of pragmatism, what Marx says. And he is right, by the way: for many people, God is the opium of the masses. They really do adopt the existence of God because it makes life more comfortable for them, easier, I don’t know, less Kafkaesque, less alienated. It’s easier to live in a place where there is truth, where it is clear what is right and what is not right. It is much more comfortable to live in such a place. But the fact that it is more comfortable to live in such a place does not mean there is a God. That is basically Marx’s claim. Marx’s claim is basically that you invent God for yourself in order to organize your life. Meaning, you are a pragmatist. Okay?

[Speaker D] There are people who believe because really the family is better and so on.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Okay, so I’m saying: they deserve, and have fairly earned, Marx’s accusation. Of what?

[Speaker D] That there are many who don’t reach God’s door—they are at a level where they really believe because of the benefit.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Okay, fine. But bottom line, the claim is that if you really believe because of the benefit, then you don’t believe. It is simply convenient for you to declare belief, or to adopt belief in some being, but you don’t really believe. That is the pragmatist claim. But I already answered that. I said: I do not adopt belief in God so that I can believe my senses. I believe my senses, period. Either because that is what I think, that is what I feel—that the senses are reliable—or because of the argument I just gave, that I just showed, against actualism. So I reached the conclusion that the senses are reliable. Now I ask: if the senses are reliable, what can be the basis for that? After all, if this arose spontaneously, then they cannot be reliable. So I say: apparently there is God. That is not pragmatism. It looks very similar to pragmatism, but it isn’t.

[Speaker C] The person who comes as a guest on Sabbath sees an orderly, happy family, so he sees them happy and says: apparently because they believe, because of God, they’re happy like this.

[Speaker B] To a secular family—

[Speaker C] For that to happen to them too, it’s also the same kind of cause and effect.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Belief in God can cause a family to behave well, but that does not mean God exists. Even if that belief is an illusion for them, still the fact that they believe in God turned them into a good family, and that says nothing about whether the belief is true or not. It means that the psychological existence of such a belief makes the family happier, better, whatever.

[Speaker C] Right,

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] It means that this illusion is a very useful illusion. Fine. And that says nothing at all about the question of whether it is true. What does one have to do with the other? It’s like how they prove that religious people have a higher life expectancy. There’s such a claim in various studies. Does that prove there is a God? No, of course not. It only proves that belief in God improves life expectancy. But that says nothing about whether belief in God is true. Two completely different things. Suppose I believed in a flying crocodile, okay? And I convinced a group of people to believe in the holy flying crocodile, all right? And suppose I discovered that this group of people had increased life expectancy. Would that mean there are holy flying crocodiles? No. It would mean that someone who lives in the illusion that there is a holy flying crocodile improves his life expectancy.

[Speaker C] And if you convinced them for three thousand years, and there was a community like that of ten million that lived longer and managed to live and flourish and everything, then—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Then we have a fascinating finding in psychology.

[Speaker C] Is that like F equals MA, like you said?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, you have a fascinating finding in psychology: that a human being is a strange creature, and it turns out that if he believes in holy flying crocodiles, his life expectancy goes up. Does that mean holy flying crocodiles exist? No, no connection whatsoever. All it means is that such a thing contributes to human life expectancy, okay? A fascinating psychological finding. It has nothing to do with ontology, nothing to do with what happens in the world; it only talks about psychology. Okay? And that’s why it’s important for me to sharpen this point here, because theological arguments, what I called earlier, often sound like pragmatic arguments. But they aren’t. This is not pragmatism. I start from the premise that my senses are reliable, not that I want to believe my senses. If I merely want to believe my senses, that’s a pragmatic argument. If I say no, the senses are reliable for various reasons, then if so, apparently there is God. That’s no longer pragmatism. Okay? That’s the first objection. Now, can one say: fine, we learned from experience that our senses are reliable, as I showed earlier, because the history of science shows that. And therefore I believe my senses. What does that have to do with God? I learned it from experience; it’s one of the laws of nature that my senses are reliable. Why infer God from that? Just as they say in the philosophical formulation of the claim: evolution created life, therefore there’s no need to assume that there is a God in order to explain how sophisticated, complex creatures came into being here. Right? So here too, same thing. My trust in my senses is simple. Why are you asking me why I believe my senses? Because I learned from experience that my senses are reliable. Why do I need to believe in God? Exactly. This objection is not an objection. Why? Because after I reached the conclusion that my senses are reliable, now I go back and ask: okay, and this system of cognition of mine—if it came about spontaneously, then it is highly unlikely that it would be reliable. Right? So if I reached the conclusion from experience that the system is in fact reliable, and I know that a spontaneous formation is unlikely to produce a reliable system, the conclusion is that the formation was not spontaneous, but rather that there is God. After you learned from experience that your senses are reliable, that doesn’t refute the proof; it only strengthens it. Because then it just means you no longer have the option of saying, “I don’t believe my senses.” No, no—you have to believe your senses; we have confirmation for that; the senses are reliable. And now I ask: okay, how did that happen? If the senses came about spontaneously, then it isn’t likely that they would be reliable. How did it happen? Apparently there is God. Therefore experience is not an option here. In the theological formulation—I always compare the philosophical formulation to the theological formulation—in the philosophical formulation they tell me: look, I learned from experience that evolution created life, even though these are complex things, and therefore there’s no need to reach the conclusion that there is God, right? So that’s in the philosophical formulation, and there too I rejected it, but that’s the philosophical formulation. In the theological formulation it won’t help. In the theological formulation I say: okay, so I reached the conclusion from experience that the senses are reliable. The question still arises: how did this miracle happen? After all, something that happens spontaneously doesn’t come out reliable, right? There’s no reason it should come out reliable. Okay, so here we really arrive at the elephant in the room, what’s called the objection from evolution. In the philosophical formulation too there was an objection from evolution, right? What did I say there? I said: a complex thing does not arise on its own; conclusion: something created, say, life. So something created life, right? The objection from evolution says no, we do have something that arose on its own. Evolution shows us that complex and sophisticated things can also arise without a directing hand, by themselves. Right? What did I answer there? I said that the system of laws that produces evolution is what is responsible for the emergence of life, and then I asked: and who legislated those laws? Okay? And therefore all you’ve done is retreat one step back, but the question still stands. That’s the argument from the laws as opposed to the argument within the laws. Okay? Now here the objection from evolution basically says: you want to say that trust in the senses—a system that arises spontaneously cannot be reliable, right? Because why should it come out precisely as a system that reflects the truth? Answer: evolution sees to it that the system, although it arose spontaneously, comes out reliable. Okay? So that basically refutes the theological formulation of the proof, right? Because it basically says: no, I have reason to think that although it arose spontaneously, it is reliable, because of evolution. After all, only the more sophisticated, more complex, more refined survives. Someone whose senses weren’t reliable wouldn’t survive. Okay? So that’s the objection from evolution.

[Speaker B] And who created the

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] this evolution?

[Speaker B] What is that?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, so then you go back to the philosophical argument. Correct. I can answer here and say: okay, so evolution is the basis for trust—so remember the two-pronged attack. So you answered me on the theological formulation, and then I attack you from the philosophical direction. So who legislated the laws that create evolution? All right? That’s why we’re constantly playing on these two circles. But I’ll say more than that: there is actually circularity here. Why? Because how do I know evolution is true? Because I measured it scientifically, right? I have observations, I conducted scientific experiments, and I discovered that evolution is true. But I’m asking: how am I to believe my observations and the theories I create on the basis of those observations? Right? What do you tell me? Evolution. I don’t understand—but I arrived at evolution on the basis of the observations. So how can you ground my trust in observations on evolution, if I don’t believe my observations? If I don’t believe my observations, then evolution isn’t true either, and in any case there’s no reason to believe the observations. Do you understand that this is loopy? To ground my trust in cognition on evolution when evolution itself is a product of my cognition? Right? I’ll say more. What was my trust in cognition based on two hundred years ago? Rational people from two hundred years ago—Darwin is 1870. Rational people from two hundred years ago—Napoleon. Why did Napoleon believe his senses? In 1815 he lost his last battle, fifty-five years before Darwin, before Darwin’s book. So why did he believe his senses? Well, he believed his senses because he was used to it, because he was an idiot?

[Speaker D] We believe because of evolution.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] We don’t know that—come on, so ostensibly. Okay, so he thought God gave him that, and then when evolution was discovered it turned out that you don’t need God for that. Evolution explains it. But do you understand that our trust in the senses is built in exactly the same way as Napoleon’s trust? We do not believe for different reasons. Napoleon’s is the same as ours. Think about a child, or just some person who has never heard of evolution. He believes his senses, right? And his cognition and his whole system—his whole epistemology. Why does he believe? He doesn’t have the justification of evolution; he’s never heard of evolution. But he will believe exactly the way I believe. There won’t really be any difference between us. Right? So what, is he an idiot?

[Speaker B] He tried once, twice, three times and saw that it works.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] All of our trust is based on… that’s what I said: experience won’t help here; that was the previous argument. Experience won’t help. Meaning, from experience you discover that it works, but I’m asking, yes, but why does it work? Okay? Why does it work? Only God.

[Speaker F] No, actually that’s what we answered—that maybe a chain of stones in Scotland really could come into being? Really, really in a chain in Scotland?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] But then I go back to the philosophical formulation. How could it come into being? After all, it’s completely improbable. But let’s assume it happened. So who created the laws that caused it to happen? I said, I… this always attacks with two horns. Meaning, you can move from one horn to the other, but in my opinion you won’t get out of this loop. Okay? Meaning in the end, this trust is a trust whose root hasn’t really changed from two hundred years ago until today. It’s not that today we trust our senses more than two hundred years ago. We trust them for the same reasons and to the same degree. Evolution is an after-the-fact excuse, but this trust existed before evolution. And therefore it’s clear that this trust is based on an implicit faith in God. Evolution, which came later, is a result of the matter. After… absurd as it sounds, because I believe in God, I can adopt evolution. If I didn’t believe in God, I couldn’t accept evolution.

[Speaker D] Evolution doesn’t explain everything. Even the devotees of evolution say that in many things evolution is lacking, deficient.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Okay, so what?

[Speaker D] For example what…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That’s already God of the gaps. So continue the research and you’ll discover it, you’ll close the gaps that exist.

[Speaker D] I said what… it’s not that…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Again, we talked about the God of the gaps in one of the previous meetings. Gaps in scientific knowledge do not prove the existence of God. Because there were much larger gaps a hundred years ago or two hundred years ago.

[Speaker D] On the other hand, regarding the theory of evolution. What…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] The theory of evolution is not complete, okay, do more research and it will become complete. The fact that it isn’t complete is not evidence of anything. We do not build faith in God on the basis of gaps in our scientific understanding.

[Speaker C] Exactly, but evolution explains how God created the world.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Fine, we already discussed that, we discussed that in the philosophical formulation. I’m only saying—look, maybe I’ll formulate it a bit differently; maybe that’s what you meant. If the basis of our trust in our cognition really were evolution, then that trust could not be so absolute. Evolution isn’t perfect, right? And it also depends on what stage of evolution I’m at. You are at a certain stage; what will survive at the end will be the human being with the most perfect perception, or the creature with the most perfect perception. Who says we’re already there? It could be that we too will go extinct because we’re still not perfect, right? So I ask, fine, then what is the basis for the very absolute trust, because there is no certainty greater than sight. And sight is obvious: if I see something, then surely it’s true. Absolute trust. If the basis were evolution, that’s not enough to explain the absoluteness of my trust. Because that trust ought to have been: okay, suddenly my eyes might deceive me—why not? I’ll go check with the doctor what happened. What is there to check with the doctor? Eyes are usually right, but sometimes they miss, because we’re not perfect yet. We’ll go extinct, and after us will come a creature with even better vision and better still, and when we reach the end of the evolutionary process maybe vision will be perfect. But we don’t know what stage of evolution we’re in. So how can we base on that the very absolute trust we have in our vision, or in our perception generally? Another way of saying the same thing. I’ll say it from another angle: if the basis of our trust in cognition really is evolution, that basically means that good perception is a condition for good survival, right? And therefore if we survived, that means our perception is reliable, it is good. That isn’t precise, because sometimes there are situations in which specifically not knowing things helps us survive. You walk in a high place—if we didn’t know we were in a high place, we’d get through it better. We wouldn’t get dizzy, fear of heights, and all those things that can drive us crazy. Many times excess information doesn’t help survival. I don’t know about many times, but there are times. Okay? So there are situations in which specifically imperfect perception can help survival. If so, I would expect that in those places where knowledge interferes with survival, our perception would stop working there. Right? Because everything works according to the question of what helps survival. But that doesn’t happen. It’s not that our vision stops working when we climb to a high place, right? So that we’ll survive better. We’ll know less and survive better. Yes, ignorance always makes people happy. You don’t know anything, everything’s fine, you’re ignorant—an ignorant happy fellow. Okay?

[Speaker F] Maybe we’re at a stage in evolution where that will happen?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So I… that’s the same que… so I return to what I said earlier. Fine, then our trust in the senses should not be perfect. Next stage, everything will happen—but our trust in the senses should not be perfect because we still haven’t finished the evolutionary process.

[Speaker C] And in fact it isn’t perfect, because I can’t see bacteria without a microscope.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] You don’t see bacteria—you don’t see them. But if you do see them, you’ll believe that there are bacteria there, right? Obviously we… I’m not saying our senses perceive everything. We also don’t see infrared and ultraviolet. Obviously. But when we do see, then it is clear to us that it’s there. Our senses don’t see everything, fine. But when they do see, then clearly we have absolute trust in what we see. And the question is why. Why?

[Speaker G] Because it makes sense that that is what caused us to be best adapted to survive.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No. That means I have fairly good trust in the senses, because generally good senses help survival. That’s true; generally it helps. But that can explain fairly good trust in the senses. Absolute trust in the senses cannot be based on such a claim. Either because I’m still not at the end of the evolutionary process, or even if we leave that aside, because it’s not true that perfect senses give you the best survival. So whichever way you take it: either we are not at the end of the evolutionary process, and if we are at its end, then we still cannot have perfect trust. And therefore it can’t work. Okay? And therefore the refutation argument from evolution does not, in my opinion, succeed in toppling not only the philosophical formulation, but also the theological formulation, and also the argument I made here. Okay? Fine, I’ll stop here because we’ve stopped at this argument. Next time we’ll begin the argument from morality, which is built on the same logic but is a different argument.

[Speaker H] Okay. Thank you very much. We ran a bit over. Thank you very much. Have a good week.