Can we identify a singular quality that most defines the spirit of science? At its core, beneath the impressive scientific methodology and the vast knowledge it yields, the distinctive essence of the scientific endeavor lies in its courage to journey into the unknown. This spirit was felt most profoundly during the Scientific Revolution of the 17th and 18th centuries, when a small group of brave researchers dared to abandon the security provided by accepted dogma and chart an unpaved path of scientific inquiry. Some, as is well known, paid for this courage with their freedom and some, even with their lives.
On a practical level, this journey into the unknown manifests in the scientific method, which is based on trial and error. A scientist proposes theoretical hypotheses, tests them against observations and laboratory experiments, and must always remain open to the possibility that they might be disproven. It is widely recognized that the most fundamental principle in the philosophy of science is that scientific theories cannot be proven, only refuted. An experiment whose results align with a theory does not confirm its truth but merely reinforces its likelihood. The possibility of falsification is the primary criterion for the validity of a scientific theory. Thus, the only certainty science offers is that disproven theories are false; it does not provide assurance that theories which have yet to be disproven are true. A scientific theory is, in a sense, destined to an eternal journey toward an unreachable horizon: it can be corroborated time and again, but never definitively proven.
To this day, secular culture considers choosing this path its greatest act of heroism. The highest praise for scientists is their ability to admit their errors when faced with evidence that refutes their theories. Even the average secular individual takes pride in declaring, above all else, that they know nothing with absolute certainty and that they might be wrong. Indeed, who could deny that the ability to acknowledge ignorance reflects a humility and modesty worthy of admiration?
Jews Play it Safe
When comparing the approach of trial and error to the Torah world, the two seem entirely opposite in nature. Faith, by definition, is not contingent upon the results of any experiment. It is like a tent stake designed to ensure that no wind can topple the believer’s worldview. Obviously, faith too cannot be proven—but neither can it be falsified. Jewish faith in the Torah’s truth in particular is founded on trust in the testimony passed down from the Giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai, transmitted from parent to child through the generations. This testimony cannot be directly verified and, therefore, cannot be disproven.
Thus, while science exists in a world of doubt, the Torah exists in a world of certainty. This strikes many as counter-intuitive, as science is known for its mathematical precision, while the Torah is inherently ambiguous and open to myriad interpretations. But we are not talking here about the nature of the statements made by Torah or science, but rather about their solidity in the eyes of those who follow them. The Torah may be imprecise and ambiguous, but its validity is perceived by its believers as absolute, Divine truth. Likewise, science’s precision is valid only within the framework of its theories, but these themselves are always subject to doubt and the risk of falsification.
This distinction highlights the central reason why most adherents of Torah tradition hesitate to reconcile it with science: being a scientist requires taking risks, but a person of Torah does not like gambling—they like winning. Therefore, those accustomed to the stable faith of the Torah world usually prefer to tread safely on well-paved roads and avoid venturing into uncharted territory.
However, clearly such an approach results in greater loss than gain. While the Torah and faith may seem to remain sturdy and indestructible, their further growth is impaired. They remain mostly sheltered from the historical developments and changes human (and Jewish) society go through, but they also suffer from stagnation when they are forced to turn their backs on both new interpretations from within and new questions from without. To cultivate the world of faith, one must be willing to venture onto untrodden and uncertain paths and embrace the possibility of making mistakes. A Chassidic saying goes: “It is not always possible to walk on an iron bridge.” The conservative type’s fear of change plays an essential role in building a society, but at times it can devolve into a paralyzing dread that suppresses any aspiration for growth. Those who understand that bringing redemption requires venturing into unredeemed territories must agree to embark on a journey toward the unknown horizon.
Incorporating science into the world of Torah means adopting an experimental approach to life, a willingness to err and be proven wrong. Such a move refines the religious individual. It refreshes and invigorates the soul, stripping away excess pride and overconfidence, and restores a youthful spirit that rote study and repetition of the familiar often weaken. Above all, it can reintroduce people of Torah to someone who should always be present in the study hall but is often left outside: the Holy Blessed One Himself, with His infinite nature and boundless surprises. There is nothing better for strengthening faith in God than leaving yourself vulnerable to err. By doing so, we create a space where God can teach us, play with us, and surprise us with endless novelties.
Holy Adventurism
In truth, the two core elements of the scientific method—experimentation and error—have preexisting foundations in the Torah. These foundations are not as developed or central in the Torah as they are in science, but their very presence indicates that they are not foreign to it. They can be seen as seeds planted in the Torah’s soil, yearning for someone to water and nurture them.
The ideal of experimentation is most evident in the Torah through the figure of Kohelet (Ecclesiastes). Kohelet, traditionally identified as King Solomon, serves as the ultimate example of a person who refused to accept truths based on hearsay or blind faith. Instead, he sought to learn everything through personal experience: “I set my heart to seek and to search out by wisdom concerning all that is done under heaven.”
Solomon-Kohelet stands as a kind of ancient prototype of the scientist, venturing into the world to gather observations and draw conclusions from them. Indeed, it is no coincidence that Solomon’s inquiries led him to form a worldview remarkably similar to that which modern science has instilled in contemporary individuals (at least up until the final verses of Kohelet): “Vanity of vanities, all is vanity,” together with, “That which has been is that which shall be, and that which has been done is that which shall be done, and there is nothing new under the sun,” and “The same fate comes to all,” and so forth. A cold, unprejudiced observation of nature, stripped of inherited beliefs and preconceived notions, has led experimentalists throughout history to reach similar conclusions.
What about the willingness to err? This too is found in the Torah. An important statement in the Talmud asserts: “A person cannot truly understand words of Torah unless they have stumbled over them.” This refers to a situation in which a person has studied all the debates and reasoning, knows the legal ruling, but errs in its practical application. Why isn’t theoretical study alone always sufficient to grasp the depths of a matter, and how does failure achieve this? It seems that when we discover we have erred, the learned content is augmented by the lesson derived from the error itself: the realization that we are capable of making mistakes, that we are not all-knowing or immune to error. This lesson, which cuts across the intellect and touches the very core of the soul, imprints the learned content upon us with greater intensity than any intellectual lecture.
The book of Proverbs compares the Torah to a beautiful woman and urges us to “Always be infatuated with loving her.” The Hebrew word for “infatuated” (תִּשְׁגֶּה), also means “you shall err.” The verse can therefore be interpreted as saying that if we truly love the Torah, we must always be willing to make mistakes while studying it.
Above all, the Torah expresses the spirit of venturing into the unknown in the story of the Exodus, the central narrative of the entire Torah. The Exodus was a bold step of leaving the familiar for the unknown. Even though many Israelites later felt regret and nostalgia for the “fleshpots” of Egypt, this does not diminish from the spirit of freedom that coursed through them on the night of their departure. On the contrary, their regret highlights the profound allure of the familiar, against which the greatness of the willingness to part from it becomes apparent.
Tapping into this spirit of adventure and freedom, the prophet Jeremiah declared: “Thus says God: I remember for you the kindness of your youth, the love of your betrothal, when you followed Me into the wilderness, into an unsown land.” Just as the early scientists dared to reject the medieval worldview and seek a new one, so too the Israelites departing Egypt were marked by courage and an adventurous spirit, open to renewal as was the first Patriarch, Abraham, upon whom God called to “leave your country, your birthplace, and the house of your father.”
The Torah calls upon us to emulate these qualities, first and foremost during Passover, but really every day: “A person is obligated to see themselves as if they, personally, had come out of Egypt.” The values of experimentation, error, and venturing into the unknown are neither foreign to nor external from Jewish life; they are integral to the entirety of what it offers. As the sages said, “Teach your tongue to say, ‘I do not know.’”
For various reasons, Judaism has usually preferred to follow a path that emphasizes and develops other aspects of the Torah, leaving these facets neglected. When a reunion with science restores the Torah to a path that can integrate trial and error, experimentation and failure, it will not be adding anything new. Rather, it will be calling upon us to reclaim precious parts of the Torah way of life that have always been there, but were buried under the dust of our long wanderings in the wilderness of the nations, where survival is essential, and experimentation was a luxury we could not always afford to engage in.
