Last week’s machshava post discussed how we can test the authenticity of a prophet when changing human behavior can alter the outcome of predictions. Yona’s prediction about Ninveh does not come true because the people of Ninveh repent, not because he fabricated the prophecy. Rambam states that such variations do not occur regarding prophecies of divine largess. Since positive prophecies remain locked in, they can be used to test a prospective prophet.

We can offer a two pronged critique of Rambam. Logically, should not changing behavior affect divine governance in both directions. If God predicts a positive result, and then the proposed recipients turn evil, must God still provide for them? Secondly, explicit verses in Yirmiyahu seem to rebut Rambam’s approach:

At one instant I may speak concerning a nation, and concerning a kingdom, to pluck up and to break down and to destroy it; but if that nation turn from their evil, because of which I have spoken against it, I repent of the evil that I thought to do to it. And at one instant I may speak concerning a nation, and concerning a kingdom, to build and to plant it; but if it do evil in My sight, that it hearken not to My voice, then I repent of the good, wherewith I said I would benefit it (Yirmiyahu 18:7-10)

The prophet equates the two scenarios. Just as repentance can move God to change a prediction, so can a turn to vice. R. David Kimchi (Radak) attempts to reconcile Rambam’s theory with these verses. He contends that, when proposed beneficiaries turn bad, God first fulfills His positive prediction and then “repents of the good” and brings punishment. While we certainly value defending Rambam, we can safely say that Radak’s reading is somewhat forced.

What are alternative means for testing a prophet? R. Chasadi Crescas (Or Hashem 2:4:2) suggests that a prophet’s first prophetic messages must occur so that the people can judge his or her authenticity. Once a prophet establishes his or her status, the predictions become subject to people’s changing behaviors. As Abravanel’s critique points out (commentary on Devarim 18), a prophet’s first predictions may fail to realize absolute justice since they remain impervious to the fluctuations of human righteousness. Presumably, R. Chasdai would answer that this is a necessary concession to enable us to establish true prophecy.

Abravanel offers another possibility. Perhaps God establishes a prophet’s authenticity by informing him of predictions unrelated to reward and punishment. As an example, he cites Shmuel’s knowledge of the whereabouts of Shaul’s family’s donkeys. Apparently, this information is not significant enough to be subject to divine allocation of reward and punishment. While this approach resolves tensions regarding divine justice, it may suffer from the weakness of attributing to God prophecies about trivial matters.

In addition to the above methods, another factor helps us test the prophet - the content of the prophecy. Rambam teaches (Yesodei haTorah 9: 3-5) that when a prophet attempts to permanently cancel a mitzva, we immediately recognize a falsehood. If a prophet attempts to even temporarily allow idolatry, we identify fabrication. Beyond miracles and predictions, we have one highly significant test. Do the words of the prophet ring true to Torah?

The laws of prophecy generate a thorny dilemma. On the one hand, the Torah (Devarim 18:19) commands our adherence to the words of authentic prophets. According to our tradition, transgressing this directive can bring about a heavenly death sentence. On the other hand, offering false prophecy is a capital offense (Devarim 18:20) and we obviously must not listen to the commands of a phony prophet. These two commandments make it imperative to find a method for distinguishing the true prophet from the fraud.

The Torah itself raises this question (Devarim 18:21) but its answer is unclear. Perhaps we test the accuracy rate of a prophet’s predictions. We assume authenticity when they consistently come true whereas if reality fails to match the predictions, we have a false prophet. One problem is that this evaluative approach renders Yona a false prophet. He declared the destruction on Ninveh in forty days yet Ninveh was not destroyed. However, we know very well that God instructed Yona to deliver that message; only the repentance of the people of Ninveh saved them. We need a method for testing prophets that incorporates the possibility of a change in behavior on behalf of those prophesized about causing an alteration of the divine prediction.

Rambam dealt with this conundrum by differentiating between positive and negative predictions. Repentance can cancel the latter but the former always come to fruition. This reflects the tendency of divine governance to enable reward more easily than punishment. It also provides a means for testing candidates for the prophetic mantle. We test the accuracy of their prediction rate regarding positive prophecies (see Hilchot Yesodei Hatorah 10:4 and Hakdama lePerush haMishna).

Other authorities reject Rambam’s approach and offer alternative methods for ascertaining the authentic prophet. We shall return to the alternatives in another post and focus now on a proof text for Rambam. While Yirmiyahu prophesized a Babylonian exile of seventy years, Chanania claimed that the exile would last less than two years. Yirmiyahu speaks to his rival: “The prophets that have been before me and before you of old prophesied against many countries, and against great kingdoms, of war, and of evil, and of pestilence. The prophet that prophesies of peace, when the word of the prophet shall come to pass, then shall the prophet be known, that the Lord has truly sent him” (Yirmiyahu 28:8-9).

At first glance, these verses establish Rambam’s position. Yirmiyhau contrast prophets who foresee suffering with Chanania, who predicts good tidings. He also associates the latter kind of prediction with the ability to determine the true prophet. Indeed, for Rambam, only positive predictions provide a conclusive test. How will Rambam’s opponents contest this proof?

Abravanel suggest an insightful alternative reading in his commentary on Yirmiyhau. Yirmiyahu understands that Chanania is likely to quickly achieve much greater popularity than Yirmiyahu himself. Who wants to hear about long term exile when another prophet speaks of immediate return? At the same time, Yirmiyahu also understands that easily acquired popularity proves fleeting. It dissipates instantaneously when the predicted good does not appear.

According to this reading, Yirmiyahu makes no reference to establishing prophetic credentials; rather, he says something about prophetic posterity. Earlier prophets are not remembered for saying what the people wanted to hear but for telling the truth. This contrasts with Chanania who knows the way to instant communal acclaim but was soon forgotten in the dustbin of history.

This point about prophecy, an institution we lack, has tremendous contemporary relevance. One of the great things abut Western democracies is the ability of the people to vote the crooks and incompetents out of office every four or so years. One disadvantage of the constant turnover is the perpetual focus on immediate solutions. Given the short terms, few politicians are bold enough to talk about twenty or seventy year plans. Yet some problems require such long range thinking. Yirmiyhau’s message to Hananiah still reverberates quite powerfully for us.

A quick glance at Sefer Shemot might lead to an affirmative answer to this question. The Asseret HaDibrot and the listing of Divine attributes after the sin of the golden calf both depict God as “visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children until the third and fourth generation” (Shemot 20:4, 34:7). A wider and deeper look at Ktivei HaKodesh reveals a more complicated picture. Devarim (24:16) teaches that “The fathers shall not be put to death for the children, neither shall the children be put to death for the fathers; every man shall be put to death for his own sin.” Yechezkel 18:20 echoes this theme. “The soul that sins, it shall die; the son shall not bear the iniquity of the father with him, neither shall the father bear the iniquity of the son with him; the righteousness of the righteous shall be upon him, and the wickedness of the wicked shall be upon him.” Thus, Tanach seems to portray conflicting messages regarding our question.

Rambam (Moreh Nevuchim 1:54) limits the possibility of God punishing children for their father’s sins to the sin of idolatry. Apparently, only a sin of the utmost severity engenders such harsh treatment. While this limits the notion considerably, it does not fully negate it. Other medieval authorities went further, refusing to accept that God punishes innocent children for parental transgressions.

A common view (found in Ibn Ezra, Seforno, and R. Yosef Bechor Shor) claims that God never punishes children for parental sinning. The verses in Shemot state that God normally exhibits patience when one member of a family sins. However, when that sinning becomes a family pattern continuing generation after generation, God decides to punish. According to this interpretation, God does not punish the children for the iniquities of the fathers. Rather, the children deserve their suffering due to their own misbehavior. The reason the children do not receive another chance has to do with the errant behavior of their ancestors.

R. Levi ben Gershom (Ralbag) offers an alternative reading which concedes that offspring suffer because of their parents’ evil but still maintains that God only directly punishes the sinner himself. Imagine a parent whose sins motivate God to remove one of his precious treasures. Only the sinner is punished, yet the natural result is that he cannot bequeath this treasure to descendants. Analogously, when our ancestors’ sins led to the temple’s destruction and to exile from the land of Israel, subsequent generations who lived in exile and lacked a temple, in effect, suffered for their parents’ sins.
According to Ralbag, God would not punish A for the sins of B. Nonetheless, it remains true that our sins and their punishments cause negative effects for our children. This provides one more reason for taking our religious responsibilities seriously.

The Torah (Devarim 18:10-12) prohibits a number of magical practices including divination, necromancy, soothsaying, and contacting the dead. Rambam (Hilchot Avoda Zara 11:16) says that all these practices reflect falsehoods used by pagan religions to win adherents. Ramban (commentary on Devarim) disagrees contending that these magical practices attempt to access authentic forces in God’s universe. However, the Torah prohibits them because Jews are meant to turn directly to God rather than these intermediary forces.

I would like to respond to a number of arguments offered against Rambam’s position. Critics of Rambam point out that the sorcerers of Egypt seem able to produce magical results with snakes and blood. The efficacy of this proof depends upon the translation of one biblical word. The Torah says that the magicians did so “bi’lahatehem” (Shemot 7:11). What does this unusual word mean? Rashi interprets it to mean “with their incantations.” Ibn Ezra connects this word to the “lahat ha’cherev,” the flaming sword of Bereishit 3:24. He explains that the Egyptian wizards perform their tricks with the flash of light involved in slight of hand maneuvers. They do not truly change nature; they simply misdirect the attention of their audience.

Ibn Ezra (Vayikra 19:31) mentions another potential proof against the rationalist viewpoint. If these things represent simple foolishness, would the Torah bother prohibiting them? His answer is worth quoting. “I say the opposite of their words. Scripture does not prohibit truth, only falsehood.” According to Ibn Ezra, the need to curtail silly and phony practices serves as sufficient grounds for Torah prohibitions.

A third argument appears in the responsa of R. David Ibn Zimra (Teshuva 1694). He notes that the Torah proscribes harsh punishments, including the death penalty and lashes, for some of these magical practices. Would the Torah react so harshly towards simple foolishness? People do many stupid things in life but we do not usually view them as deserving of death as a result. Rambam would answer that not all foolish acts are equal. Some reflect and create the sense of other forces in the universe and detract from pure monotheism. Such actions derive much harsher treatment than mere silliness.

When Ramban affirms the existence of these forces, this does not mean that he affirms the authenticity of every tarot card reader or crystal ball gazer. Unfortunately, unscrupulous people will always try to make a buck off those desperately looking for privileged information or magical security. These trends exist in the Orthodox Jewish orbit as well. Rather than look for magical guarantees, let us focus our material and spiritual resources to the things that truly matter: Torah study compassion, kindness, mitzvot, and prayer.

Rambam’s strongly intellectual bent is well known. In this blogging forum, we have already mentioned his emphasizing cognitive achievement as central to human flourishing and his making immortality dependent upon comprehending certain truths. At times, he harshly criticizes mistaken conceptions of popular religion. Yet Rambam’s interaction with the masses reveals another side as well.

In Moreh Nevuchim 1:34, Rambam lists five reasons we do not teach abstract metaphysics to broader society. The topics themselves are quite difficult. The students have undeveloped analytical abilities, they fail to dedicate sufficient time, they lack the moral character necessary for a tranquil learning environment, and physical concerns often prove too distracting. Therefore, we restrict these topics to select individuals. This chapter drives a wedge between the scholars and the masses.

The subsequent chapter adds a different note. Following the precious chapter, a reader might conclude that we hide all metaphysical truths from the broader population. Rambam emphasizes that we must educate everybody that God lacks corporeality, that we serve Him alone, and of the absolute distinction between divinity and humanity. Apparently, these truths can be communicated to a mass audience.

Why does Rambam abandon his elitist approach regarding such truths? Perhaps these truths reflect the most significant religious knowledge about God. Moreover, Rambam conceivably thought that achieving some understanding of such concepts opens up potential immortality for the common man. Such a goal may also motivate his listing of thirteen fundamental principles of Jewish belief.

Compassionate and sympathetic aspects of Rambam’s personality emerge clearly from his letters. In correspondence, he encourages the downtrodden and praises those in need of support. A fellow named Yosef ibn Jabbar from Baghdad wrote to Rambam regarding his attempts to defend the Great Eagle from some local criticism. Ibn Jabbar describes himself as an am ha’aretz and he admits that he could not understand the Hebrew of Mishneh Torah.

Rambam writes (Shilat edition, pp. 408-418) that Ibn Jabbar is no ignoramus since he shows great dedication to the cause of learning. The letter stresses the value of Torah study in any language while encouraging Ibn Jabbar to master enough Hebrew to read Maimonides’ great halachic code. Rambam reminds him of the Talmudic sages who started their learning careers late in life and still achieved greatness. The tone reflects not the condescending intellectual but rather the caring communal leader.

The letter does make some concessions to Ibn Jabbar’s limitations. Rambam anticipates that Ibn Jabbar will have trouble imagining a non corporeal olam h’aba and he allows him to imagine it in physical terms. This fits with the plan he outlined in Moreh Nevuchim. We need not fight with the masses over every conceptual issue but we do not allow them to maintain a corporeal conception of God.

It would be foolish to deny Rambam’s cognitive emphasis and his occasional harsh depiction of popular superstitions and attitudes. At the same time, he cared deeply for the common men and tried to help them with words of encouragement and with the teaching of metaphysical truths crucial for their religious success.

Where does knowledge come from? R. Sa’adya Gaon (Emunot veDeot introduction) lists four potential sources: empirical evidence, basic logical truths, necessary truths, and reliable traditions. The first category includes what we perceive with our five senses. The second refers to self-evident truths such as the importance of honesty. Category three truly builds upon the first two, encompassing truths that necessarily follow from the information received via the earlier sources. In his initial presentation, R. Sa’adya only grants the fourth category brief mention but he returns to it later in the work.

Interestingly, Rambam’s letter to the sags of Montpelier rejecting belief in astrology outlines an almost identical list (see page 479 of Shilat’s Iggrot haRambam). Rambam only includes three categories since he leaves out the third, which is truly only derivative of the first two. His example of logical truths also differs. Whereas R. Sa’adya cited the importance of honesty, Rambam mentions the truths of geometry. While that difference is significant, the basic categories remain the same.

Contemporary radical skeptics deny that any of the above sources reveal how “the world really is.” Even moderns more positively inclined toward the earlier two sources of knowledge might struggle with the final category. The concept of authoritative traditions has not fared well in modernity. Yet we all function based on Rambam’s three sources of knowledge. Science could make no progress if each scientist started from scratch.

R. Sa’adya (Emunot veDeot 3:6) apparently encountered thinkers skeptical about reliable traditions. He lists a host of examples in which our functioning depends upon reports we hear from others. We make business and work decisions at least partially based on what others tell us. So too regarding avoiding certain dangers. The very possibility of societal legislation hinges upon accepting reports told about the legislative body’s decision making. Finally, a total distrust of other’s historical accounts renders the ideas of property and family impossible.

Obviously, the above does not prove the reliability of Orthodox Judaism’s account of human history. After affirming the need to rely on others, the question of whose accounts to trust remains in full force. R. Sa’adya was well aware of this point. In this context, he cites Yirmiyahu 2:10: “For pass over to the islands of the Kittites, and see, and send to Kedar, and consider diligently, and see if there has been such a thing.” At the island of the Kittites, we see directly; from Kedar, we hear reports. Only the latter includes the charge to “consider diligently.” Accepting reports requires a greater process of discernment than relying on empirical evidence.

Reports may be mistaken or willfully falsified. R. Sa’adya argues that an increased number of witnesses reduce the dangers of those possible errors. Other criteria for discerning judgment include relying on those who have proved trustworthy and wise in the past. While we can not blindly accept anything we hear, the alternative of constant skepticism blocks of any route to real achievement. Ultimately, we must find worthy sources of knowledge to base our lives.

on.

Ramban’s majestic closing chapter of Moreh Nevukhim presents an intellectual portrait of humanity’s summum bonum but adds that cognitive achievement must lead to more ethical behavior. He cites Yirmiyahu 9:22-23 to buttress his presentation. R. Yosef Albo also analyzes mankind’s true purpose while offering a different interpretation of those verses.

According to R. Albo (Sefer haIkarim 3:5), actions done for the sake of heaven represent the most important human achievement. Negating an approach that sees little value in corporeal life, R. Albo notes Biblical and rabbinic sources that grant value to the pleasures of eating of Shabbat or Yom Tov. He cites a gemara (Nazir 23a) which contrasts two people who ate the paschal offering. One ate in search of a good barbecue dinner whereas the other wanted to fulfill the divine command. The gemara refers to the latter fellow as a tzaddik.

Egalitarian assumptions motivate this position. R. Albo assumes that human perfection must, at least in principle, be a live possibility for the bulk of humanity. A perfection that focuses primarily on intellectual success excludes a good deal of humankind. On the other hand, perfection dependent upon idealistically motivated action reflects a difficult but more universally applicable goal.

A novel reading of the penultimate verse in Kohelet supports this idea. “The end of the matter, all having been heard: fear God and keep his commandments ki zeh kol ha’adam” (Kohelet 12:13). JPS translates the final phrase: “for this is the whole man.” For R. Albo, the phrase refers not to the whole of individual man but to the entirety of mankind. The most important aspirations apply to the broader human species.

Thus says the Lord: Let not the wise man glory in his wisdom, neither let the mighty man glory in his might, let not the rich man glory in his riches; But let he that glories glory in this, that he understand, and know Me, that I am the Lord who exercise mercy, justice, and righteousness, in the earth; for in these things I delight, says the Lord. (Yirmiyahu 9:22-23)

Rambam reads the first verse as a rejection of wealth, physical prowess, or ethics as the true aim of mankind. That interpretation understands “the wise man” as someone with practical moral insight. The prophet prefers someone with knowledge of God for whom authentic divine knowledge leads to imitation of God’s ethical qualities.

In contrast, R. Albo thinks that “the wise man” has cognitive brilliance. The prophet asserts that strength, riches, and intelligence are not ends in themselves but can service divine ends. Verse 23 explains how to accomplish this. The wise person can share his wisdom with others and engage in acts of “mercy.” The strong can protect the feeble and frail, thereby ensuring a society with “justice.” Finally, the wealthy can give charity and promote “righteousness.”

R. Albo, like other moderate rationalists in late medieval Spain, did not deny the importance of study and understanding. Indeed, he explicitly notes how Yirmiyahu also emphasizes understanding and knowing God. However, his ultimate emphasis remains rooted in the world of proper of action.

His son, Shimon, would say: All my life I have been raised among the wise, and I have found nothing better for the body than silence. The essential thing is not study, but deed. And one who speaks excessively brings on sin. (Avot 1:16)

Shimon, the son of Rabban Gamliel, conveys the perils of speech. Rambam (commentary on the mishna) takes this interpretive opportunity to outline a broad theory of verbal communication, dividing it into five categories. Human speech includes the obligatory, the prohibited, that we should distance, the recommended, and the permissible.

The commandment to study Torah provides the best example of the first category. Forbidden speech, the second class, includes tale bearing, false testimony, blasphemy and profanity. The third category consists of pointless banter such as discussing the lifestyles of the rich and famous. Hazal referred to this as siha beteila, idle chatter, and they praise those sages who avoided it (Sukka 28a). The fourth category of speech encourages good intellectual and moral qualities. Though not formally a mizva, this type of communication is obviously positive. Finally, the final group refers to the totally neutral area of conversation about livelihood and basic needs. Concerning such speech, Rambam leaves the proper amount an open question, although he does advise minimization.

Regarding the obligatory and the recommended, “if a person could talk about them all the days of his life, that would be the ultimate goal.” However, Rambam adds two caveats. A person’s talk should not surpass his deeds. Rambam worries about the dangers of hypocrisy and of using high minded conversation to cover up a rotten core. Shimon tried to counter this when he taught: “The essential thing is not study, but deed.” Secondly, we should learn to express ourselves in a concise fashion. Even when engaged in constructive discourse, long windedness contributes little to personal growth.

Rambam forcefully argues that we should evaluate songs based on their content rather than on the language of composition. He mentions the absurdity of Jews who will object to as song in Arabic even if the song praises important moral traits whereas they will applaud a song in Hebrew even if that song consists of prohibited material. “Speech is not prohibited, permissible, recommended, distanced or obligatory due to its language but due to its content.”

Interestingly, Rambam thinks it worse to sing a sensual song in Hebrew than in Arabic or Persian because the former desecrates the sanctity of the holy tongue. Here, Rambam depicts a nuanced position regarding Hebrew. Our traditional tongue has a special status that demands particular care. At the same time, the most important aspect of speech is the content of what we say rather than the language in which we say it.

Why is Hebrew called “lashon hakodesh,” the holy tongue? Rambam (Moreh Nevuchim 3:8) explains that Hebrew lacks words for genital organs, for the reproductive act, for urine, and for excrement. When Hebrew needs to describe these things, it borrows terms with other meanings or employs allusions. This linguistic limitation makes the language sanctified.

Ramban critiques this position in his commentary on Chumash (Shmot 30:13). He argues that the keri u’ketiv in which we read the word “yishkevena” in place of the written “yishgelena” (Devarim 28:30) indicates that Hebrew has a real word for the reproductive act. Otherwise, why not read the verse as written? Furthermore, Chazal employ the term “lashon nekiya” (”clean speech”) for speech that avoids coarser formulations. According to Rambam’s rationale, we should refer to Hebrew as “lashon nekiya” rather than “lashon hakodesh.”

Ramban himself offers an alternative explanation fort he classic description of our language. Hebrew represents the original language of Torah, the language in which God communicates with his prophets and his people, and the language God used to crate the world. Surely, these factors provide sufficient grounds for the term “lashon hakodesh.”

As mentioned in an earlier blog, Ritva wrote a work entitled Sefer haZikaron, dedicated to defending Rambam from Ramban’s criticism. He defends Rambam’s ideas that the three angels appeared to Avraham in a prophetic dream and that the sacrificial order reflects a concession to the religious mindset of the ancient Near East. However, when it comes to Rambam’s theory regarding “lashon hakodesh,” Ritva refuses to offer a defense. “I do not want to address this because of my great desire to distance myself from his reason. It is an error which proceeds from a ruler.”

Ritva apparently views this position as the least defensible Maimonidean idea among all the ideas attacked by Ramban. Perhaps Ramban himself did not agree with this evaluation. Ramban uses much harsher language in his rejection of Rambam’s view regarding sacrifices (commentary on Vayikra 1:9) than he does when discussing Rambam’s explanation for the holiness of Hebrew. In our context, he thinks Rambam incorrect but does not express religious indignation about Rambam’s suggestion.

Does Rambam’s idea minimize the importance of Hebrew? It would be a mistake to say that Rambam reduces the special quality of Hebrew to the technicalities of vocabulary lists. The range of linguistic options in a given language reveals ideals and values embedded in that language. Given Moreh Nevuchim’s views on physicality and sexuality, the absence of these words help promote a nobler and more exalted mode of living. A critic can prefer Ramban’s explanation, disagree with Rambam regarding the linguistic reality, or quibble with the values Rambam thinks embedded in Hebrew’s vocabulary resources. However, that critic should not say that Rambam trivializes the qualities of Hebrew.