When Antiochus Met A.I

Chanukah: Can weakness ever be a strength?

From democracy to philosophy, sunny holidays to EU financial bailouts. You name it! Greece has been there and done that. Yet its legacy in Jewish tradition is forever tainted. From the perspective of the Maharal, Ancient Greece symbolises the assumption of a purely physical existence, stripping life of any underlying spiritual reality. In addition to pioneering several coherent philosophies of atheism, the flag bearers of Greek culture spread transformative secular ideology throughout the remnants of Alexander's Empire. 

During this Hellenistic period, the events of the Chanukah story took place. Under the helm of Antiochus IV, the Seleucid Empire sought to crush what they perceived as crude Jewish morality and replace it with refined Greek Hellenist principles. Of course, as we all know, the Maccabees eventually fought off the villainous rascals. Yet there must be far more to the occasion than just a cheap national victory. We Jews have achieved countless triumphs against a plethora of enemies. Why is a minor revolt against the Greeks significant enough to be historically immortalised in the festival of Chanukah? Chanukah represents a profound clash of cultures, and its message still resonates today.

In his book The Great Partnership, Rabbi Jonathan Sacks laments a marked regression in our cultural milieu and values. He sees a striking similarity between the approach of Greek Atheist thinker Epicurus and the modern conception of life. Both societies are sold on materialism, the idea that nothing exists beyond empirical observation. As recently as a few months ago, prominent neuroscientist Sam Harris rhetorically asked, "Where is heaven exactly, given that we have multiple telescopes up there beaming back information?" Only someone with no sense of the transcendent could make such an inquiry. This is the Ancient Greek mindset that is very much with us today, what the Ramban labels as the arrogance of Aristotle. Anything I can't see through a telescope or microscope is not real. 

But, in time, such an attitude leads to a creeping decay in human identity. Man yearns to feel whole. When a person merges this drive with materialistic convictions, one starts seeking fulfilment in tangible things. The Ramchal asserts that since Adam's sin, attaining perfection in the physical realm is impossible. Yet if an individual cannot connect to the world of the spirit, then the finite is the only existence in which he can attempt to attain anything.

Contrast this with the religious outlook. It may sound paradoxical, but when it comes to a relationship with God, it is precisely our lack of wholeness, our weakness, that ultimately becomes our greatest strength. The entire first section of Sefer Tanya is built on the understanding that most people have inherent flaws. Chassidism considers the annulment of the self to God, 'bitul hayesh', as the most outstanding spiritual achievement possible. The more we relinquish the delusion of control, the closer we come to our creator:

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When we realise that 'all is in the hands of heaven besides for fear of heaven', we transcend our animal nature to a height that even the Angels cannot fathom. Human frailty is reborn as unfathomable potential.

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Our people's counterintuitive path to perfection through lack was incomprehensible for Ancient Greek Hellenists. Measures enacted during the Antiochus occupation illustrate their disdain. Bris Milah (circumcision), Shabbos and the Rosh Chodesh celebration of the new moon were all outlawed. Multiple interpretations explain the connection between these three seemingly unrelated decrees. In our context, we can see all as symbolic of the characteristically Jewish approach to success that we have explained.

The Vilna Gaon observes that the Torah describes participants entering a covenant as cutting the 'Bris' between them. The Bris demonstrates that there is no completeness in flesh and blood alone. Covenantal vows in the Torah and the physical practice of 'Bris Milah' circumcisions signify an acknowledged dependence on God that is grounded in lack.

Shabbos serves as a powerful expression of human vulnerability. On Shabbos, we refrain from creative work. Doing so fundamentally implies that while our efforts throughout the week create an illusion of self-sufficiency, God is supporting us behind the veil. We are not in control of our financial success and failure.

Finally, on Rosh Chodesh, the new month is celebrated with the moon at its lowest ebb. At this point, it is little more than a silver streak in the sky. That the crescent will continue to reveal itself until it becomes a full moon is beautifully suggestive of what we have discussed. Namely that the process of being 'less than' can ultimately lead to the richest revelation. We now understand why God gave the Mitzvah of Rosh Chodesh to Klal Yisroel at our darkest epoch but before our most significant high. Still in Egypt, we were at the forty-ninth level of impurity, yet we were soon to receive the Torah at Sinai.

Western civilisation famously sprung from the Greek mind. It follows that whilst separated by thousands of years, the two societies still possess shared flaws. Recent leaps in Artificial Intelligence have spawned a brand new crisis of meaning. Chat GPT, for example, is capable of nuance, creativity, and understanding in a way we have never seen from computers before. It has called into question the very essence of what it means to be human. In our lifetime, technology will likely be able to do everything that we can, just better and faster. Soon we may become what Elon Musk described as "just the biological boot loader for digital superintelligence". 

The prospect of AI effectively outperforming mankind raises far bleaker existential questions than only the practical worry of shrinking job markets. AI has undoubtedly prayed on our propensity to locate meaning in our material accomplishments. If I measure my dignity by calculable performance, being outperformed by someone or something else leaves no room to discover any sense of purpose. Unsurprisingly, a person's conception of self collapses when technology removes him from the pedestal on which he has built his identity. 

Yet if we understand Judaism's take on what life is fundamentally about, the question itself loses its potency. God purposefully did not design man to be a flawless creation. Instead, he created us to be capable of optimum spiritual growth. AI is no replacement for spiritual man, but it is unravelling the delusion of human supremacy. 

We need to realise that it is not our most remarkable achievements that form our unique identity. Our ability to navigate our deeply personal weaknesses is what truly defines us. Then, and only then, can we become the people God wants us to be. Artificial intelligence may do our homework. Computers may even become our lawyers and accountants. But ultimately, only human knowledge comprehends the scope of our connection to God.  

Chanukah Sameach, and Keep Pondering!