Chapter 8 of Rambam’s "Eight Chapters" tackles a subject that might just blow your mind—free will. You might think this is a topic best left to philosophers in armchairs with their cigars and long-winded debates, but let's break it down in a way that even your group chat would appreciate.
So, here's the deal: Rambam is basically saying that people aren’t born naturally good or evil. It’s not like you pop out of the womb ready to be a saint or a villain. Instead, we’re all born with a blank slate, a kind of "you-do-you" potential. Sure, some people might have a bit of a head start in certain areas—like that friend who seems to pick up languages like they’re playing Duolingo on cheat mode—but being inclined towards something isn’t the same as being predestined.
Think of it like this: Imagine two people, both trying to learn how to juggle. One might be naturally more coordinated, catching those balls with ease, while the other can barely manage to keep them in the air for more than two seconds. Now, the first person might become a juggling superstar with minimal effort, while the second might need a lot of practice and maybe a few black eyes before they get the hang of it. Rambam’s point is that, with enough work, even the clumsiest juggler can become great, and no one is doomed to drop the ball forever.
But here’s where things get spicy. Rambam is basically dunking on astrologers and anyone who thinks the stars decide your fate. He’s like, “You seriously think your birth month means you’re destined to be good at math or terrible at relationships? Nah, dude.” According to Rambam, we’re in control of our actions, and the stars have nothing to do with whether you ace that exam or bomb it because you spent the night before binge-watching Netflix.
Now, let’s get a bit more existential (but stick with me, it’s worth it). Rambam argues that if we were predestined to act a certain way—like, say, to be jerks or saints—then what’s the point of having laws, commandments, or even the whole concept of reward and punishment? It’d be like punishing your dog for barking when you’ve trained it to bark on command. It doesn’t make sense, right?
This brings us to the idea of God’s knowledge versus human free will. This is where things get deep. Rambam says, sure, God knows everything that’s going to happen, but that doesn’t mean He’s making you do it. It's not like you're a character in a video game that God is controlling. You're more like a player with free will to make your own choices—good or bad.
And if you’re thinking, “But wait, if God knows what I’m going to do, doesn’t that mean I have to do it?” Rambam would tell you to take a deep breath and chill. Just because God knows what’s going to happen doesn’t mean you didn’t choose to do it. Imagine knowing your friend is definitely going to pick pizza over sushi, but it’s still their choice. God’s knowledge is like that—He knows, but He’s not the one making the decision for you.
In essence, what Rambam is saying is that our lives are our own, full of choices that we can freely make, and this is what gives meaning to commandments, education, and moral improvement. If we were just puppets on strings, none of that would matter. So, every time you decide to do something—whether it’s hitting the gym or hitting snooze—you’re exercising your free will. And that’s pretty powerful.
Now, you might be thinking, “But what about all those times in the Torah where it seems like God is making people do stuff?” Good question. Rambam dives into that too, saying those situations are special cases. Like when Pharaoh's heart was hardened—it wasn't about God taking away Pharaoh's free will from the start. Pharaoh was already a bad dude, and God just ensured he stuck to his guns to see through the consequences of his choices.
At the end of the day, Rambam wants you to realize that you have the power to change, to make decisions, and to shape your destiny. You’re not a passive participant in the grand scheme of things. You have the capacity to learn, to grow, and to choose your path—whether that’s towards greatness, or, well, the opposite. And in case you’re wondering, yes, that means you can always choose to pick up juggling again, no matter how many balls you’ve dropped.
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