Daf 5a - Rabbis and Demons
Ein Yaakov
- The World of Talmudic Aggada
By Dr.
Moshe Simon-Shoshan
Lecture
15: Daf 5a
Rabbis and
Demons
In the
previous lecture we discussed mazikin, a type of demon whose existence
the rabbis of the Talmud clearly took for granted. I suspect that some readers
will be troubled by the notion that our greatest rabbis were enthusiastic
believers in demons. We modern folk expect such discussions of demons to be
relegated to Harry Potter novels and the like, rather than be made the focus of
our sacred texts. I would like, therefore, to quickly discuss the various
interpretations and understandings of Talmudic demonology presented by medieval
and modern rabbinic authorities. I would like to thank my friend, R. Natan
Slifkin, for giving me access to his unpublished manuscript on demons in
rabbinic thought throughout the ages. Much of what follows relies upon his
research. (For further discussion of this topic, see R. Yitzchak Blaus VBM
shiur: Understanding Aggada,
Shiur #18: Demons in the Talmud available at
http://www.vbm-torah.org/archive/aggada/18aggada.htm).
First, with
regard to the classical rabbinic sources, it is important to note that the
rabbis of the Babylonian Talmud are far more interested in and worried about
demons than the rabbis of the Land of Israel. The rabbis of Babylonia are quite
aware of the fact that their brethren to the west do not seem to accept demons
to the extent that they do. At one point, the Babylonian Talmud seeks to explain
the Palestinian rabbis lack of concern with a particular demon-related danger
eating or doing things in pairs. The Gemara states:
The rule of
the matter is
that for
those who take note of the pairs,
the pairs
take note of them;
those who do
not take note of the pairs,
are not
bothered by them
(Pesachim
110b).
In other
words, demons are only a problem for those who are concerned about them and
believe in them. As such, it seems that the best way to deal with demons is to
do what most modern people do pay no attention to them.
The various
ways that medieval rabbis understand Talmudic references to demons reflect the
range of approaches to Aggada in general that we discussed at the outset of this
course. As we saw, the Geonim hold that aggadic passages in the Babylonian
Talmud lack authority. They merely represent the personal opinions of individual
rabbis. As such, there is no problem with rejecting aggadic statements that
appear to conflict with reason. The Rambam accepts this principle, and also
argues that some ostensibly irrational aggadot are in fact metaphors
which, when understood properly, contain deeper meanings that are actually in
line with reason.
Variations on
this approach are taken by several leading medieval rabbis. Rambam, in his
commentary on Mishna Avoda Zara 4:7, declares that the practice of
attempting to commune with spirits is a complete fraud without any basis in
reality, and enlightened individuals who know philosophy must reject it. The
implication of this commentary is that there are no demons or similar such
beings. In light of this ruling, many of the Rambams followers seek to
re-interpret various apparent references to demons in the Talmud. Rambams son,
R. Avraham, argues in his Maamar al Derashot Chazal that discussions of
demons in the Talmud refer to events that take place in dreams, rather than
reality. R. Menachem Ha-Meiri interprets such references metaphorically, as
referring to various phenomena, including psychosomatic illness and the evil
inclination. On our passage about the bedtime Shema, he explains his
understanding of the mazikin against which the bedtime Shema is
supposed to protect:
[Mazikin]
are false opinions. People need [the Shema] during their free time in
order to proclaim the unity of God, so that they not fall prey to dualistic
beliefs. For when one reads (the Shema)
with proper intent, ones bed will be protected from them.
For the
Meiri, the bedtime Shema serves a philosophical purpose. It gives the
individual the opportunity to focus on the true nature of God at a time when his
mind may otherwise wander and entertain heretical beliefs.
Certainly,
then, there is ample precedent in the tradition for rejecting the existence of
demons. However, the alternate, literalist school of reading Aggada presents
particularly stiff opposition to the rationalist camp on the issue of demons. As
we mentioned before, the literalist approach to reading Aggada is generally
associated with the Baalei Ha-tosafot and other rabbis of Northern Europe. In
the case of demons, however, literal readings are embraced by a much broader
array of scholars. Not only do Kabbalists generally accept the existence of
demons, often presenting developed demonologies, but even figures generally
associated with the rationalist school, such as the philosopher R. Chasdai
Crescas, and his student R. Yosef Albo, affirm the existence of demons. Even
more strikingly, the Ramban, who accepts the rationalist position regarding the
fallibility of aggadic statements, not only wholeheartedly believes in the
existence of demons, but also attacks those who deny their existence, accusing
them of being influenced by the heretical Greek philosophers who deny Divine
involvement in the world (Derashat Torat Ha-shem Temima).
Similarly,
the great R. Eliyahu, the Gaon of Vilna, in a remarkable passage in his
commentary on the Shulchan Arukhs laws of idolatry, sharply castigates
the Rambam for his denial of the existence of demons, saying in part:
Philosophy
mislead [Rambam] through its teachings to interpret the Gemara entirely in the
manner of the scoffers (lezaii) and to uproot the words of the Gemara
from their simple meaning. God forbid that I should believe such things in any
way! Rather all of these things are to be understood according to their simple
meaning. However, they do have a deeper meaning, not the deeper meaning of the
philosophers which is in fact superficial, but rather [the deeper meaning] of
the masters of Truth (i.e. the Kabbalists).
(Biur
Ha-gra, Yoreh Deah 179, # 13)
What lies
behind this broad and deep support for the existence of demons? The Vilna Gaon,
cited above, lays out some of the basic motivations. First, the simple reading
of the Talmud is that the rabbis affirm their belief in demons on numerous
occasions. The rationalist position on this matter strains credulity.
Furthermore, demons are, to a degree, an integral part of Kabbalistic thought.
Rejecting demons was not an option for
those many rabbis who accepted the authority of Kabbala. As we saw in the case of the Ramban,
who was an early adherent to Kabbala, demons became an essential part of the way
many Jews understood how God interacts with the universe. Denying the existence
of demons, therefore, threatened some scholars very conception of God.
This
phenomenon must also be placed in an even broader context. Most people of all
nations throughout world history, educated and ignorant alike, believed in
demons. Demons help to explain the mysterious workings of the world, especially
in its more malevolent expressions. They represent a coherent theory which
elegantly explains any number of otherwise inexplicable phenomena. Only the
scientific revolutions of the Renaissance and the Enlightenment gradually pushed
away this old paradigm to make way for modern scientific theories. Even these
new theories, in many cases, explain malady and misfortune in the world by
simply replacing demons and magic with a new set of invisible beings and forces,
with new names like bacteria and viruses, gravity and entropy. Thus most of the
rabbis who wrote and commented on the Talmud took the existence of demons for
granted as an integral part of their understanding of the world around them,
just as we presume the existence of electrons, radioactivity and all sorts of
other things that we cannot see, but upon which we nevertheless base our daily
lives.
When placed
in a broader historical context, opposition to demons can be seen as rooted in a
secular scientific worldview, whether the classical rational approach that the
Ramban encountered, or the modern approach at the time of the Vilna Gaon. We,
especially those of us who identify with Modern Orthodoxy, take for granted the
coexistence of science and religion.
But, there is, in fact, a fundamental opposition between the two. Science denies
that which cannot be seen or demonstrated. Religion posits the existence of
realms and beings who are beyond human comprehension. Science posits that all
events in this world are the result of a few simple and unchanging rules.
Religion posits that many, if not all, events in the world are controlled by a
Higher Intelligence. There are ways of reconciling these conflicts, but always
at a price to both religion and science.
I would like to suggest that some of those who attacked demon deniers as
borderline heretics understood that Judaism can well exist without demons. But
someone who denies demons will, the next day, deny angels and the day after
that, God Himself, chas ve-shalom.
Long ago
forgotten
The next
passage in the Gemara is a brief interlude, presumably cited because it was
transmitted by the same rabbis who presented the previous tradition, R. Levi b.
Chama in the name of Reish Lakish. Despite its marginality in the current
context, the passage makes an important statement regarding the very nature of
the Torah, written and oral:
R. Levi b.
Chama says further in the name of R. Shimon b. Lakish:
What is the
meaning of the verse:
And I will
give thee the tables of stone,
and the law
and the commandment,
which I have
written that thou mayest teach them? (Shemot 24:12)
'Tables of
stone':
these are the
ten commandments;
'the law':
this is the
Pentateuch;
'the
commandment':
this is the
Mishna;
'which I have
written':
these are the
Prophets and the Hagiographa;
'that thou
mayest teach them':
this is the
Gemara.
It teaches
[us] that all these things were given to Moses on Sinai.
God spoke
these words to Moshe before he ascended Mt. Sinai. The simple meaning of this
verse seems to be, as Cassuto explains, that God presents Moshe the two tablets
with the Ten Commandments on them.
However, from a midrashic perspective, this reading is problematic. Why does it
take God so many words just to say that he will give Moshe the tablets? Instead,
the Midrash atomizes the verse, taking each term to refer to a different
aspect of Torah. The bottom line is that
according to this verse, God revealed the entire Torah, written and oral, to
Moshe at Mt. Sinai: all twenty-four books of the Tanakh, the entire Mishna, and
the Gemara.
There are
many places in rabbinic literature which list a series of disciplines or areas
of study which collectively are meant to refer to the entirety of Torah. This
list is notable because it includes the category of Neviim and
Ketuvim, (Nakh), the Prophets and Writings, which make up the latter two
sections of the tripartite Hebrew Bible. Furthermore, this term does not
directly follow the reference to the Torah, as we might expect. Rather, the term
Mishna intervenes between the two phrases referring to the various sections of
the Hebrew Bible. Normally, such a list will begin with the term Mikra,
which presumably refers to the entire Tanakh. Here, the term is clearly limited
to only the Pentateuch.
The reason
for this anomaly may simply be the exegetical needs of this verse. For the
Rabbis, the term Torah would have obviously meant the Pentateuch. Similarly,
the term mitzva is appropriately understood as Mishna. The Rabbis
were now confronted with the phrase which I have written. This must refer to a
form of revelation that is written down, but it cannot refer to the Pentateuch,
which has already been mentioned. Left with little choice, the Rabbis assigned
the Prophets and Writings to this phrase.
Another
possibility is that in referring to Nakh and placing it following the Mishna,
the Rabbis sought to make a statement about the status of Nakh and its place
within the curriculum. R. Avraham of Minsk, author of the Ahavat Eitan
commentary printed in the margins of the standard edition of the Ein Yaakov,
suggests that the Gemara intends to state that the study of Mishna should take
primacy over the study of Nakh. He notes that the Gemara states in Masekhet
Nedarim (22a) that had Israel not sinned, the only books of the Bible that
would have been given would have been the five books of the Torah and the book
of Yehoshua. The rest of the Prophets and Writings deal, not with the
ideal Divine plan, but with the exigencies of history prompted by Israels sins.
The laws of the Mishna, on the other hand, are eternal commandments which
reflect the ideal Divine will. Hence their study takes priority over that of
Nakh.
We must now
consider the implications of this passage for our understanding of the
revelation at Sinai and the Oral Law. Some understand this passage quite
literally. Moshe received the texts of the Mishna, Nakh, and the Gemara as we
know them. They were transmitted orally until one by one they were committed to
writing Nakh by the various prophets, Mishna by R. Yehuda Ha-nasi, and Gemara
by R. Ashi. As such, all of the key texts in Judaism are of equal status,
because they were all revealed to Moshe on Mt. Sinai.
This
interpretation is difficult to accept. Did Moshe really receive and transmit a
text full of citations and deeds of rabbis who would live more than a millennium
later? Did the sages in biblical times know of the major events in biblical
history in advance? Furthermore, this reading would appear to negate any real
creative human involvement in the process of the transmission of the law. What
appears to be human argument and innovation was in fact pre-ordained at Sinai.
Furthermore,
Rashi already works on the assumption that the term Gemara here cannot
possibly refer to the text known to us as the Babylonian (or Jerusalem) Talmud,
because that text did not exist at the time this statement was made. Since this
statement is included in the Gemara, it must predate the Gemaras redaction.
Rather, gemara refers to the underlying logic of the mishnayot from
which [halakhic] rulings proceed. Similarly, we can suggest that the term
mishna is a general term for codified law, of which our text, the Mishna, is
only a prime example.
R. Zvi Hirsh
Chajes (the Maharatz Chayes, 1805-1855), the great Galician rabbi and maskil,
in his commentary on our passage, argues that these lines should not be taken
literally. Rather, these lines simply mean that:
God
transmitted the tools (midot) whereby [the Torah] is interpreted and
sages [of later generations] derived from these principles various ramifications
and sub-categories, and derived hidden meanings from what was made explicit, and
all these details are contained in the general principle.
All Moshe
received at Mt. Sinai was the text of the Pentateuch and an embryonic Oral Law,
consisting of some basic principles and presumably certain fundamental
interpretations. All the rest is the result of centuries of development and
human creativity.
While this
fundamentally Maimonidean understanding of the nature of oral law is compelling
in and of itself, I do not think it sufficiently explains the passage at hand.
The rabbis here do not refer to general principles, but to the actual details
and underlying reasoning of the law. Furthermore, the Maharatz Chayes does not
explain what it means that Nach was given to Moshe on Sinai.
I would like
to propose a slightly different reading in light of a parallel text often cited
in our context. Explicating the verse:
And the Lord
gave me the two tablets of stone
Inscribed by
the finger of God,
And on them (ve-aleyhem)
the exact words (ke-kol ha-devarim)
That the Lord
had addressed to you out of the fire
On the day of
the assembly.
The Jerusalem
Talmud, Peah, 2:6 states:
R. Yehoshua
b. Levi said
Aleyhem,
ve-aleyhem; kol, ke-kol; devarim, ha-devarim
[i.e. each of
these words has an ostensibly superfluous prefix,
which teaches
us that something not stated in the text also occurred.]
Scripture,
Mishna, Talmud and Aggada,
Even all
those things which a senior student
will say
before his master,
We already
transmitted to Moshe at Sinai.
The Jerusalem
Talmud presents a very similar interpretation of a very similar verse to that
found in our passage. Both state that the key corpuses of both the written and
oral Torah were already given to Moshe. However, the Jerusalem Talmud adds one
more thing. Even the statements of the most senior scholars throughout the
generations were revealed to Moshe. This means that Moshe did not simply receive
the canonical texts, rulings and ideals of the Written and Oral Law, but that he
received every significant event and detail of the entire history of Torah
study, from his day until the end of days. Every potentiality and possibility of
the Torah was revealed to him. There is no way Moshe could have transmitted this
nearly infinite set of knowledge to Yehoshua and the future generations. Rather,
Moshe received this total knowledge of the Torah, but did not transmit it to
others.
What then was
the purpose of the revelation? The Jerusalem Talmud continues:
What is the
reason for this?
For when a
person says,
Look this is
a new [interpretation or ruling],
His friend
can respond and say to him,
It already
existed going back to eternity.
The fact that
the Torah was transmitted to Moshe in its totality teaches us that there is no
such thing as a true innovation in the study of Torah. Such innovations are
simply reconstructions of a preexistent primordial Torah.
Along similar
lines, I would like to argue that our passage may well mean quite literally that
Moshe received the contents of the entire Tanakh and Mishna as we know it, as
well as the Gemara in some form. However, he only transmitted the Pentateuch and
some sort of embryonic Oral Law to future generations. This places our passage
in line with many traditions that Moshe was privileged to see into the future
while on Mt. Sinai, but certainly did not disclose those apocalyptic visions to
others.
The reason
for this revelation to Moshe is, once again, to teach us that although it may
appear to us that the tradition evolves throughout history at the hands of its
human transmitters, it in fact conforms to a Divine plan in heaven. The Torah is
not a constantly expanding universe, but, rather, a preexistent universe that is
gradually uncovered over the generations.
The famous
account in Nidda 30b regarding the fetus who learns the entire Torah in
the womb, only to forget it with the smack of an angel at the moment of birth,
provides a parallel, on a personal level, to this notion that the entire Torah
was revealed at the dawn of Jewish history, but forgotten, only to be gradually
reclaimed throughout the generations. Here, too, we find that the study of Torah
is essentially a process of reclaiming that which has been lost.
(For more
discussion of the passage in Nidda, see The Angels Oath: The
Relationship of Chazal to the Platonic Doctrine of Recollection by my
friend Rabbi Dr. David C. Flatto, available at:
http://text.rcarabbis.org/?p=595
)
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