The Courage of Doubt (Passover 5786)

Frans de Waal and Robert Sapolsky conducted extensive studies on the social behaviors of primates, especially those closest to humans, such as chimpanzees and baboons. They showed that apes are, in a very real sense, political animals. Leadership and hierarchy are central to their social organization. In different ways, they both observed that it is not the strongest or the smartest individual who becomes the leader, but the one who projects the greatest self-assuredness.

If there was any doubt that humans are primates, this should dispel it. We flatter ourselves that we are superior to other apes, but in truth, we have not transcended that baboonish trait; we have merely refined it. We still follow those who signal certainty, mistaking the absence of doubt for the presence of truth.

Judaism always distrusted that instinct. Perhaps that’s why our foundational myth, the story of Passover, is in fact an indictment of certainty, a devastating critique of those who act as though they possess the truth.

Pharaoh is, of course, one such figure. He claims to be a god, never wrong, endowed with the divine right to enslave and kill. Surrounded by sycophants who praise his every move, he becomes convinced of his own infallibility. The Bible tells us that God hardened Pharaoh’s heart, but the rabbis suggest that it was already a block of granite, impervious even to a hairline fracture of doubt.

Opposing Pharaoh stands Moses, a man consumed by doubt: doubt about himself, about his mission, even about God. These two leaders mirror their peoples. The Egyptians obey, even in the face of plagues; they neither question nor revolt, remaining subservient to their “always-right” king. The Israelites… well, they drive Moses to exasperation: “What shall I do with this people?” The king leads sheep; the doubter leads doubters. And yet there are no questions about God’s preference: the troublesome doubters are chosen, not the obedient followers.

So central is doubt that questions, the manifestation of doubt, are the centerpiece of the Seder. Free people do not obey blindly; they demand to be told the story; they insist on explanations. From an early age, children are granted not only the right but the duty to question their parents. But free people must also doubt themselves.

To doubt is to embark on a journey, an expedition into the unknown guided by hope. In that journey, faith and doubt are intertwined; neither can exist without the other.

The story of Passover teaches that certainty, especially the boasting of certainty, is more than obnoxious. It shapes societies, corrupts values, and ultimately leads to tragedy.

Anatole France captured this powerfully:

“When we study the history of humanity, we realize that, if people massacre one another without respite, it is above all because they are unable to doubt. Doubt is gentleness; it is compassion; it is the source of all good.”

Doubt, for France, is not opposed to belief:

“We believe, but we believe doubting, and we doubt believing.”

He was right. Throughout history, it has been the certainty of possessing the truth that has made people cruel. As Bertrand Russell famously observed:

“The whole problem with the world is that fools and fanatics are always so certain of themselves, and wiser people so full of doubts.”

Doubt is not weakness, nor a failure of belief; it is a necessary condition of intellectual honesty. It prevents conviction from hardening into tyranny. In uncertain times, like ours, only fools and fanatics claim to be always right, to harbor no doubts.

And yet, our primate instinct proves stubborn. Generation after generation, and even now, we follow the ape that beats its chest the hardest, even when it is breaking its own ribs. If confidence is displayed with sufficient force, we will listen, and we will follow.

Perhaps that is why the questions of the Seder are a yearly ritual: to remind us that doubt is rare, and that it must be cultivated. And perhaps that is why those questions are never fully answered. The questions endure; the answers remain personal, evolving, fluid. I have answered “Why is this night different?” in many different ways throughout my life, reflecting my hopes, my fears, my frustrations, my growth, and my mistakes. The search for a single, definitive answer has been one of the most dangerous illusions in human history, and perhaps an affront to a God who cherishes doubt. As Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote:

“We are nearer to God when we are asking questions than when we think we have the answers.”

Doubt is not a pleasant condition, but certainty is an absurd one.

But is permanent doubt sustainable? Can doubt itself be taken too far? Am I suggesting that those who say “I’m just asking questions” are in the right?

Doubt is not nihilism, and this is where conspiracy theorists go wrong. True doubt exists within a structure of trust. In the Seder, the child asks because he trusts his parents. He is not rejecting everything and trusting his own flawed judgment; he is questioning from within a framework of belonging. His doubts are anchored in a community that honors them.

Conspiracy theorists who claim to be “just asking questions” practice what we might call pseudo-doubt, a form of discourse that weaponizes doubt rather than using it in the search for truth. How can we tell? Because they question everything except themselves.

As Jean Birnbaum writes in Le Courage de la nuance:

“The courage of nuance is the willingness to be shaken in one’s own certainties.”

This test never fails: if you want to distinguish a true doubter from a nihilist who merely cloaks certainty in skepticism, ask whether they ever doubt themselves, whether they ever admit being wrong. The person who uses doubt to disengage from community or to assert superiority is not free, but enslaved to their own ego.

In times of uncertainty and fear, our task is to resist the siren call of those who project certainty. Instead, we must braid doubt, belief, and belonging into a triple cord, flexible, resilient, and unbreakable.

As Isaiah Berlin wrote:

“To realize the relative validity of one’s convictions and yet stand for them unflinchingly is what distinguishes a civilized person from a barbarian.”

So this Passover, we face a choice: to hold our convictions with the winning formula of passion and humility, or to continue acting like baboons.