Why Don't Miracles Happen Anymore?

"If G-d performs an open miracle for me, here and now, before my eyes — then I'll believe in Him." This refrain comes up often in discussions about faith. If the Almighty wants our belief so much, why doesn't He show each of us a supernatural sign?

The question of "why there are no miracles today" is not new — it was asked 1,600 years ago by one of the Sages of the Gemara: why did earlier generations witness miracles, while we do not? To answer it, let us first define our terms: a miracle is a phenomenon that goes beyond the ordinary natural order and has no rational explanation. It is something that "was not supposed to happen."

A miracle is the result of Divine intervention beyond the laws of nature — and not all the Jewish Sages regarded this as an unambiguously positive thing. The Talmud (tractate Shabbat 53b) tells of a poor man whose wife died, leaving him with an infant. He had no money for a wet nurse and fell into deep despair. Then a miracle occurred: he himself grew two breasts, like a woman, and was able to nurse his son. The Sages were divided: one said that this man must be very great, since such a miracle was performed for him; the other objected: "On the contrary, how lowly this man must be, if for his sake the laws of creation had to be altered!"

According to the first view, a miracle has an advantage: if the Creator who established the laws can break them, that strengthens faith. The Rambam, however, held a different opinion. He believed that G-d "programmed" the world with its laws from the outset, building into the plan, for example, the splitting of the Red Sea at a specific moment. From this standpoint, the need to alter the perfect order of the world is more of a "forced measure" than a virtue.

Miracles in themselves are no guarantee of spiritual elevation. Genuine faith, the kind that brings inner change, is born of a person's effort and choice, not of signs he has seen. Relying on miracles can make a person passive: instead of developing faith within himself, he grows used to depending on external events. Such faith is "contingent on circumstances" — as it came, so it may go.

The Sages said that at the splitting of the Red Sea even "a maidservant saw what the prophet Yechezkel did not see." But Rebbe Menachem Mendel of Kotzk added: "She saw it — and yet she remained a maidservant." A miracle can astonish, but it is no substitute for the inner mental work that spiritual growth requires. Moreover, in the words of the Rambam, faith founded on signs can always be undermined by doubt: what if it was an illusion or sorcery?

In the distant past miracles were grandiose, but today they are rare. This has to do with the gradual development of humanity. The absence of open miracles is called "Hester Panim" (the Hiding of the Face). Miraculous guidance was necessary only at the stage when the nation was taking shape after the Exodus from Egypt, in order to lay the foundations of faith — but it was never meant to be permanent.

If G-d sent us "direct regards" every day, we would lose the freedom to choose whether or not to believe in Him. That is why He hides Himself behind the screen of "nature." Instead of open miracles He rules through hidden ones: the formation of a fetus in its mother's womb, the infinity of the galaxies, the complexity of the human body. All of nature around us is one great miracle disguised as familiar rules.

The development of humanity resembles the growing-up of a child. A newborn is completely dependent on its parents and bears no responsibility. But as it grows, it becomes independent. Its relationship with its parents becomes mature and mutual: it no longer only receives, but also gives.

So it is in history: at first the people of Israel were like an infant in swaddling clothes — a nation of passive slaves. G-d "had to" descend into Egypt Himself and provide for all their needs miraculously in order to instill in them a basic faith. But today a higher level of faith is required of us. Just as a grown child acts on his own, we develop a bond with the Creator based on deep understanding rather than special effects. Faith (emunah) comes from the word for "training" (imun) — the harder the conditions, the higher the level we can reach.

The Gemara asks: why did earlier generations merit miracles? The answer is this: they sacrificed themselves (mesirut nefesh) for the sanctity of G-d's Name, and we do not. A miracle that breaks the order of nature happens when a person himself is prepared to step beyond the bounds of his own nature for the sake of the Creator.

For the great Sages there was no distinction between miracle and nature. They saw "the hand of G-d" in a heartbeat and in the flame of a candle as clearly as in the splitting of the sea. They lived with the awareness that the world does not depend on rigid laws, and therefore reality itself reflected their faith, turning the miraculous into their everyday life. As the Ramban wrote: "From the great and manifest miracles a person comes to acknowledge the hidden miracles, which are the foundation of the entire Torah."

An analogy for understanding the difference between the generations:

Humanity's relationship with miracles can be compared to learning to ride a bicycle. At first (the generation of the Exodus) G-d holds the bicycle with both hands and pushes it forward Himself — this is the era of open miracles. But the parent's goal is not to run alongside forever; it is for the child to learn to ride on his own. Today we "ride" by ourselves under conditions of the "Hidden Face." And though it seems to us that there is no support, it is precisely this independent movement that is the sign of our spiritual maturity and of a true faith that does not depend on external props.