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JUDAIC LOGIC© Avi Sion, 1995. All rights reserved. Chapter
9.
TRADITIONAL TEACHINGS.
A brief overview of the ways Judaism traditionally presents the art of
"Talmud Torah", followed by some suggestions on same.
Talmudic law was decided, with reference to the Torah,
after much debate. In a first stage, the debate crystallized as the Mishnah; in
a later stage, as the Gemara. The methods used in such discourse to interpret
the Torah document are known as 'hermeneutic' principles (or, insofar as they
are prescribed, rules). In Hebrew, they are called midot (sing. midah),
meaning, literally, 'measures' or 'virtues'. This Talmudic 'logic', as we shall
see, has certain specificities, both in comparison to generic logic and
intramurally in the way of distinct tendencies in diverse schools of thought.
Various Rabbis proposed diverse collections of such methodological guidelines,
intending thereby to explain and justify legal decision-making[1].
Readers may find it useful, in this context, to study: the articles on
hermeneutics in the Jewish Encyclopedia[2]
and the Encyclopaedia
Judaica[3],
as well as Bergman's Gateway to the Talmud[4],
and the Reference Guide to Steinsalz's
English edition of the Talmud.
The earliest compilations were: the Seven
Rules of Hillel haZaken (1st century BCE)[5]; the Thirteen
Rules of Rabbi Ishmael ben Elisha (2nd century CE); and the Thirty-two
Rules of Rabbi Eliezer ben Yose haGelili, of slightly later date. These
lists are given as Baraitot, the first two in the introductory chapter to the Sifra (1:7)[6] and the third within later works. As already
mentioned, Baraitot were legal rulings by Tanaim not included in the Mishnah;
but they were regarded in the Gemara as of almost equal authority[7].
According to Jewish tradition, at least since Geonic times (notably,
Saadia Gaon) and still today, these rules all date from the Sinai revelation and
were since then transmitted from teachers to pupils without interruption[8]. This is in part
confirmed by statements in the Talmud and literature of that era, in which
Rabbis claim to have received knowledge of certain rules from their teachers[9]. But the historicity of the general claim has not so far been demonstrated by any pre-Talmudic
evidence: in particular, there is no obvious mention of such interpretative
principles anywhere in the Tanakh.
According to Jew. Enc.: "The antiquity of the rules can be determined only
by the dates of the authorities who quote them; in general, they cannot be
safely declared older than the tanna to whom they are first ascribed. It is
certain, however, that the seven middot of Hillel and the thirteen of Ishmael
are earlier than the time of Hillel himself, who was the first to transmit them.
At all events, he did not invent them, but merely collected them as current in
his day, though he possibly amplified them." Still according to J.E.,
Ishmael's rules are "merely an amplification of" Hillel's; and
similarly Eliezer's rules coincide in many instances with Hillel's and
Ishmael's, though in other instances they concern the Hagadah rather than the
Halakhah.
It does not, in any case, seem likely that such rules would suddenly be
'invented', as a conscious act, by their apparent authors or anyone else. The
most likely scenario, from a secular point of view, is that they were for some
time unconscious discursive practises by participants in legal debates;
gradually, it occurred to some of these participants (most probably precisely
those whose names have come down to us as formulators, or reporters and
collectors, of hermeneutic rules) that they and their colleagues, and their
predecessors, repeatedly appealed to this or that form of reasoning or argument,
and such implicit premises would be made explicit (thereby reinforcing their
utilization). Different such commentators would find some rules more convincing
than others and thus compile selections; eventually, contending schools emerged.
Those would be the natural stages of development of such a body of
knowledge: first, unconscious practise
(which might be correct or incorrect); second, dawning awareness
of such practise (due to what we call 'self-consciousness'); thirdly, verbalization,
randomly to begin with (by exceptional individuals, focusing on the most
outstanding practises), and then more and more widespread (more insights, by
more people, as a cultural habit develops); fourthly, systematization (of the
simplest kind, namely: listing) and dispute (as different lists are drawn up by
different groups). In the case of Judaism, the next stage was merging
results (by later generations, out of veneration making all the lists 'kosher'
at once); and subsequently, there was a stage of commentary (trying to justify, explain - within certain parameters).
However, sadly, as we shall see, the last natural stages of formalization
and evaluation never occurred (until recently, outside orthodox
circles).
According to Jew. Enc., these
various lists were not, even in their own times, viewed as exhaustive. I am not
sure how true that remark is, i.e. whether there is any statement in the Talmud
or related literature which confirms the assumption that Hillel, R. Ishmael, R.
Eliezer, or whoever compiled a list, did not consider himself as having
succeeded in making a full enumeration of valid midot.
At the other extreme, the view of traditionalists today, that these lists were
all equally complete, is (as we shall see) just as conjectural, and based on
anachronistic and circular arguments.
What is in any event evident, is that the rules in each list were not in
their own times uncontested. The school of Hillel was opposed by that of Shammai, and Rabbi Ishmael's formulations were challenged by Rabbi
Akiba ben Yossef. It is interesting to note that, at
first, these opposing views were considered mutually exclusive; but, over time,
they came to be used indiscriminately[10].
It apparently came to be considered that, although two dissonant rules
may indeed lead to conflicting interpretations, the selection of one or the
other of them as the finally applicable rule in any given single context, was a
matter of tradition or majority decision; effectively, the correct conclusion
was predetermined, and the rule selected only served as an ex-post-facto
rationalization. Thus, the ontological status ascribed to the hermeneutic rules
is that they were conditional on material factors - formalities activated or
left dormant by textual content (which details were, one by one, designated by
authorities, on the basis of transmissions or by vote).
Although R. Akiba's approach usually prevailed in practise, R. Ishmael's
thirteen midot are the most popularly
known: they have become part of the daily liturgy and can be found in most
Jewish prayer books. Since the above mentioned initial formulations, many
attempts have been made to compile more complete lists (for instance, by
Malbim). We will in the next chapters analyze all the hermeneutic principles
systematically with examples; here, we will be content to only make some
introductory comments.
At the outset, it shall be pointed out that the
rules are not all of a purely
deductive nature, contrary to what may be thought at first glance. When the
rules suggest a "derivation", they do not necessarily refer to a
mechanical relation between premises and conclusion. Most of the rules' results
are partly or entirely inductive; that is, they are, at best, a good working
hypothesis within the given context of knowledge, which may possibly be replaced
by another hypothesis or a deductive inference in an altered context of
knowledge.
Some of the rules, wholly or partly, represent deductive or inductive
principles which can readily be justified by natural logic. Of these, some may
be validated in formal terms (i.e. substituting symbols for specific contents);
whereas others describe discursive acts which are rather intuitive - responses
to material data without fixed patterns - and which can be approved with
reference to broader epistemological considerations. However, some of the rules,
wholly or partly, seem, from the point of view of natural logic, rather obscure
and arbitrary, and remain acceptable only due to a claim that they are of Divine
origin.
The Talmud itself at least implicitly recognizes the inductive nature of
many of the arguments in it. This is evidenced by the fact that when several
alternative premises are given for a certain conclusion, it is viewed as being
weak. The Rabbis argue: Nu, if each of
the sets of reasons given was sufficient, why bother to adduce the others? From
a deductive point of view, there is indeed no utility in giving many reasons;
but nor is there any harm in it. It is only in inductive logic that giving more
reasons increases the probability of the result, and therefore also suggests
(incidentally) its relative weakness.
Our remark that Talmudic
(and indeed later Rabbinic) reasoning is very often inductive, rather than
purely and exclusively deductive, should be emphasized. It is contrary to
popular belief (people are rather surprised when I suggest it), and so
manifestly ignored by other writers that I would tend to claim it as original.
If it is original, then it should be stressed as very important, among the most
significant insights of the present work. In any case, it is evident and
incontrovertible fact.
The idea is disturbing, not to say devastating, to many people, because
induction is thought of as inherently more fallible than deduction, and it is
difficult to juggle with doubt and dogma. But in all fairness the truth of the
matter is that deductive reasoning can also in principle and often does in
practise err, and that inductive reasoning is not in principle necessarily weak
nor does it always go wrong in practise. Each case must be considered on its own
merits; one cannot make sweeping statements for or against such broad categories
of mental process.
Let us now briefly take a look at the tenor of the 13 Midot
of R. Ishmael; we will have occasion further on to analyze them more fully[11]. We may distinguish three groups: (a)
Midot whose purpose is to infer
information from the text, i.e. to make explicit what is implicit in it;
this includes rules Nos. 1-3 and 12. (b)
Midot used to elucidate terms in
the text, especially their extensional aspect; this includes rules
Nos. 4-7. (c)
Midot serving to harmonize seeming
or manifest incongruities in the text, including, as well as inconsistencies,
mere redundancies, discrepancies, and other sources of perplexity; this includes
rules 8-11 and 13.
Admittedly, this grouping of the 13 Midot
is a bit artificial. For, in a strict view, all inference of information is an
eventual elucidation of terms and a prevention of inconsistency; and similarly,
all elucidation of terms constitutes inference of information and harmonization;
and likewise, all harmonization results in elucidation of terms and leads to
inferences of information. Nevertheless, the immediate goals of these different
movements of thought are sufficiently distinct to justify our subdivisions. A
nice thing about these groupings is that they show a continuity of sorts in the
approach of R. Ishmael, and explain and justify the sequence in which the midot
were listed. The only misplaced midah
in our view is No. 12, which should be closer to No. 2, or at least in the same
group. Inferences of information.
Rule 1, qal
vachomer (lit. lenient and stringent), refers to a-fortiori, a form of
argument whose conclusion is essentially deductive, though there are in practise
inductive aspects involved in establishing the premises, as we have seen. Within
Judaic logic, this form of reasoning has in fact served as the paradigm of
deduction, much as Aristotle's syllogism (with which it is often confused) has
had the honour within Western logic. The discovery of a-fortiori is, I would
say, one of the most brilliant contributions of Jewish logicians to generic
logic. It should be noted that a-fortiori has Biblical roots, as Jewish
tradition has reported since Talmudic times if not earlier.
Rule 2, gezerah
shavah (lit. equal rulings), refers to arguments by analogy, or more
specifically inferences based on homonymy (similarity of wording) or on synonymy
(similarity of meaning). Reasoning by analogy was very common among the
ancients, Jewish and otherwise, until the advent of the scientific method in
relatively modern times; it could range from far-fetched comparisons to very
credible equations. Of course, most arguments, including syllogism, are based on
analogies, since conceptualization depends on our intuition of similarities
between apprehended objects. However, not until recently was it fully understood
that the legitimacy of an analogy rests on its treatment as a hypothesis to be
tested, and repeatedly tolerated (i.e. not rejected) and even confirmed (if
predictive) by evidence, more so than its alternative(s). So analogy is
essentially an inductive mode of thought.
While gezerah shavah is based
on closeness of subject-matter, inferences from context appeal to the textual
proximity of topics. Such logistical considerations are relatively incidental,
but they lean on the fact that the text in question was written by an orderly
mind. This form of reasoning includes: the rules known as heqesh
(relating to two items in the same verse) and semukhim (relating to two items in adjacent verses), which are
traditionally counted as aspects of rule No. 2 (though probably later inclusions
under that heading); and rules classed as No. 12, meinyano
(inference from immediate context) and misofo
(inference from a later reference). Such reasoning has obviously got to be
regarded as inductive, since however intentional the positioning of words,
phrases or sentences, there have to be occasional changes of topic.
A matter of related significance, note, is the assumption by R. Akiba
that, in a Divine document such as the Torah, the choice and placement of words
cannot be accidental; whence, no repeated word is superfluous and no missing
word is insignificant, every letter counts, and so on. This view allows, indeed
encourages, many an inference (or alleged inference). Be it said, R. Ishmael did
not in principle agree on this issue, but considered that the Torah "speaks
in the language of men".
The interpretations involved in analogical or contextual arguments may be
intuitively reasonable enough, but they are not readily put in formal terms and
are therefore difficult to validate systematically. In any case, applied
indiscriminately, such arguments are bound to lead to difficulties - one line of
reasoning may lead to one conclusion, and another to its opposite, there being
no inherent logical protection against contradiction. And indeed, difficulties
were often encountered. For this reason, many limitations were imposed on these
rules; and ultimately, they were regarded as unusable without the support of an
accepted tradition, or at least the approbation of the majority of the
authorities.
Rule 3, binyan
av (lit. father construct), seems to refer to causal reasoning; that is,
to finding the causes (in a large sense) of differences or changes, and thus
predicting similar effects in other contexts. In a legal context, this means
finding the underlying basis of known laws, so as to be able to make coherent
laws in other areas. Here too, argument by analogy is involved, and the mode of
thought is essentially inductive. The way the rule is traditionally worded
("a comprehensive principle derived from one text, or from two related
texts") gives a false impression that it refers to immediate or syllogistic
inference; but we must look at its operation in actual practise to understand
it, and in such event the role played in it by the process of generalization
becomes evident. While such reasoning is relatively easy, nowadays, to express
formally and control scientifically, the Rabbis (as we shall see) had a
surprisingly hard time with it. Elucidation of terms.
Rules 4-7, labeled collectively as klalim uphratim, seem to concern class logic, to a large extent,
as they involve the expressions klal
(general) and prat (particular) in
various combinations. Many arguments of this kind may be viewed as effectively
proceeding from definable linguistic conventions - in the non-pejorative sense
that they reflect certain uniformities of intent, in the style of Hebrew
expression used by the Torah. For instances: the combination of a general term
followed by a particular term, in close Torah verses or parts of a verse, yields
a particular result (klal uphrat);
whereas the reverse combination, of a particular term followed by a general
term, yields a general result (prat ukhlal).
As every writer or speaker knows, a maximum of information can be communicated
in a minimum of words, through certain turns of phraseology. This seems to be
the motive, here.
Well and good, thus far - in theory. But in actual practise the
expressions klal and prat cannot
always be taken at their face value. Closer acquaintance with practical
applications of the klalim uphratim
rules reveals that their logic is not quite identical with that of Aristotle. In
Western logic theory, inclusions or exclusions between broader concepts (genera,
overclasses) and narrower ones (species, subclasses), or classes and their
singular instances (individuals), are purely mechanical procedures, which
presuppose clearly defined terms. Such
subsumptive arguments can be readily represented pictorially by circles within
or intersecting or outside other circles, known as Euler Diagrams, and are the
domain of Aristotle's syllogistic processes. But in the more Oriental logic of
the Talmud, things are not so simple; terms are vaguer and may be taken to
"imply" formally unrelated ones.
The truth is that in practise, even
in Western thought, terms are not always at the outset clearly defined;
rather, usually, the definition of a term is arrived at through a gradual,
inductive process, as we focus on the subject matter more and more, and acquire
a deeper knowledge of it. Sometimes we do decide by convention to name a
phenomenon whose description we have already; but more often, we name a
phenomenon before we are able to express its essence in words, and then work our
way by trial and error to a satisfactory definition of it. This developmental
aspect is not yet well accounted for in the classical theory of class-logic.
Certain efforts at exegesis are rather contorted, and a great deal of
fantasy and credulity are needed to accept them. R. Akiba's methodology, where
the terms used for the purposes of inclusion or exclusion are ribui
(broad) and miut
(narrow), seems especially weird to our minds. For instance, "sheep"
may imply "birds" or even "garments", without apparent rhyme
or reason[12]. This is why Maimonides regarded such arguments as
having a mere mnemonic purpose[13]. Their conclusions were foregone[14], received in the chain of oral tradition;
nevertheless, the Rabbis made a determined effort to anchor them, however
flimsily, in the written Torah.
The best we can do to formalize such logic, then, would be to say that, given the tradition that the laws concerning a certain topic are X,
Y, and Z; and that these laws are to be derived from a specified passage of the
Torah, distinguished by the terms or phrases A, B and C; then, if X is related to A, and Y is related to B, it
follows that Z is to be paired-off with C[15]. The formal logic involved is therefore conjunctive
and hypothetical: If A and B
and C, then X and Y and Z; and if A
then X and if B then Y; therefore,
if C then Z.
However, apart from this aspect, it is frequently difficult to honestly
find formal justification for such argument; that is, how
the connective relations of the major and minor premises were in the first place
established. When in such contexts the Rabbis are found to argue between
themselves at length, the discussion often does not revolve around such basic
issues of proof, but is merely a controversy as to which of X, Y, Z is to be paired-off (seemingly arbitrarily) with
which of A, B, C. The only way then left to us, to explain the unexplained, is
to appeal to 'tradition'. Harmonization.
Rules 8-10, which start with the words kol davar shehayah bikhlal veyatsa (lit. whatever was in a
general principle and came out), deal with sets of statements whose subjects are
in a genus-species relation. Rule 8, although perhaps originally intended as one
rule, has become traditionally viewed as having two variants, which we are
calling lelamed oto hadavar and lelamed
hefekh hadavar; these concerns cases where the predicates are also in a
genus-species relation of sorts. Rule 9, liton toan acher shehu kheinyano, concerns predicates which are
otherwise compatible; and rule 10, liton
toan acher shelo kheinyano concerns incompatible predicates.
Rule 11, which also starts with the words kol
davar shehayah bikhlal veyatsa, and continues with the words lidon badavar hechadash,
deals with situations where an individual changes classes and then returns to
its original class. Rule 13, the last in R. Ishmael's list, shnei
ketuvim hamakhechishim, concerns other reconciliations of conflicting
theses; note that this principle is to some extent reflected earlier in the
present volume, in the section on kushya
and terutz.
All these dialectical principles are quite capable of formal expression,
and (as we shall see) are mainly inductive in nature, involving generalizations
and particularizations. There are some deductive, logically necessary, aspects
to them; but on the whole, as complexes of intellectual responses to given
textual situations, they favour one course over another, which is logically
equally possible, if not equally probable, and therefore they constitute
inductive mental acts.
One might well ask why Gd, the ultimate author of the Torah, expressed
Himself in so tortuous and confusing a manner, that necessitated such
complicated interpretative principles, instead of speaking plainly and
straightly. The answer I received from teachers when I asked that question was
that His purpose must have been to conceal the truth somewhat, so as to
stimulate Torah study. Also, if everything was made clear in a systematic and
explicit manner, the Torah could be studied fully in isolation; whereas, Gd
wished it to be studied in a more social manner.
Some also suggest as an answer, on the basis of qabalistic ideas, that if
the Torah was perfectly explicit and unambiguous, then there would be no room
for doubt in the world, and skeptics would have no opportunity to make the
redemptive leap of faith, which is needed to safeguard human freedom of choice.
If Gd was totally revealed, then humans would be forced, in fear and trembling,
and out of infinite love, to surrender all personal will and identity. The
diversity of the world was created and is maintained precisely through a
concealment of some of the truth (for if the world is ultimately, in truth,
unitary, then all appearance of plurality must be a sort of untruth).
So much for the content, in brief, of R. Ishmael's list of rules. Our
analysis (above and below) somewhat justifies the order in which the rules
appear in this list (except, as already stated, for rule 12). However, some of
the groupings implied by this list are open to discussion. I would suggest that
all inferences from context, including heqesh
and semukhim (traditionally considered
as subcategories of gezerah shavah)
and meinyano and misofo,
should have been grouped together under one heading (just as, for instance, gezerah shavah constitutes one heading with subdivisions).
Especially, the klalim uphratim
should, in my view, be reorganized, and counted as one heading, or as at most
two (classifying each process according as its result is a klal or a prat)[16], instead of four. Finally, in my opinion, the two
variants of lelamed ought to be
regarded as separate rules, comparable to the two rules liton toan acher.
A comment worth making is that the arrangement and numbering of the midot
may not be stipulations of R. Ishmael, but may be proposals of the compiler R.
Yehudah. To my knowledge (without having researched the matter greatly), R.
Ishmael did not systematically group and list his midot, but merely formulated them and referred to them individually
in various contexts as the need arose; it is probably R. Yehudah who later
brought them together in a list, and organized them into 13 sentences in the
given order. But the number 13 is not sacrosanct. According to Bergman, the
Raavad noted the possibility of a count of 16 (counting rules Nos. 3, 7, 12 as
two each); while others suggested counting rules 8-11 as one[17]
and thus supposedly arrived at a count of 10. My preferred manner of counting
yields the number 13-2+1=12.
It must be noted that, judging by actual Talmudic and Rabbinic discourse,
the inventory is incomplete[18].
Orthodox commentators would not accept this last remark, and try to explain away
every silence or disagreement of R. Ishmael (or R. Yehudah) concerning some rule
or some detail of a rule mentioned by other authorities, earlier, contemporary
or later. Since they regard the 13 rules as (an oral) part of the Revelation at
Sinai, they must explain why Hillel listed only 7 rules, or R. Eliezer listed as
many as 32. For this reason we find Bergman making statements like "Hillel
certainly did not intend to dispute the teaching of R' Yishmael," even
though Hillel lived a couple of centuries before R. Ishmael![19]
Hillel's rules (which we shall label (a) through (g), to
distinguish them from R. Ishmael's labelled numerically) are given in the Jewish
Encyclopedia as follows:
Now, I have put in the last column my initial impressions as to
correspondences; from which it appears that Hillel did not know (or use or list)
at least seven of R. Ishmael's rules, namely 6-11, 12 (the misofo
part), and 13, while he adds (or has another name for) one, namely (f). We might
stretch our equations, and include rules 6 or 7 under (e); regard R. Ishmael's misofo
as a special case of Hillel's meinyano;
and maybe even assimilate eventual cases of (f) under rules 2, 3, and 12. But it
seems very unlikely to me that Hillel intended any of R. Ishmael's harmonization
rules (8-11, 13).
It could well be, as J. E.
suggests, that R. Ishmael gradually developed the latter additional rules[22] as "special applications" (I would prefer to
say extensions) of Hillel's (e), since they concern subjects in a genus-species
relation. But we must in any case admit that R. Ishmael's list of 13 was more
than a mere rearrangement of Hillel's list of 7; there were clearly novel
elements in it[23]. Similar patterns of development, involving
subdivisions, collapsing of categories, and new issues, are apparent with regard
to R. Eliezer's list of 32[24], judging by the data given in J.E. Note that if we refer to Shammai and R. Akiba, the problems of
comparison and contrast become much more complicated[25]; and it would be very difficult to claim that these
various authorities based their work on a common blueprint.
Not only does Talmudic logic have specificities in comparison to generic
logic, but there are different logical trends within
the Talmud itself. That is already clear in what we have said above, concerning
the competition between the schools of Hillel and Shammai, or between R. Ishmael
and R. Akiba. But the differences embodied in explicit principles may not
reflect all the underlying differences; there seems also to be unstated
differences, which were not brought out into the open. This refers to the
concept of the shitah: as is well known, there are leitmotifs which run through
the legal rulings of individual Rabbis.
Some Rabbis, for instance Hillel, tend to rule leniently; others, like
Shammai, are reputed to lean on the side of stringency. The terms lenient and
stringent, here, need not be considered as implying a value-judgement on our
part. Hillel appears the warmer of the two, because he tends to ease people's
obligations; but Shammai also cares for people, he just wants to make very sure
they get to Heaven. (It is interesting to note, in passing, that in the French
language the word chamailles to refer to endless quarrels! I have long suspected,
though this is not the explanation given in etymological dictionaries, that the
word was derived from the proverbial Shammai-Hillel controversy.)
What concerns us, here, is the possibility that different logics
underlie these different tendencies. Say, someone utters what seems like a vow;
how binding is it legally? One Rabbi might answer generously that the statement
is binding only if it has a certain precise wording; it is to be taken at face
value, with a minimum of implications, admitting as inference only what strictly
necessarily follows according to generic formal logic. Another Rabbi might take
the more severe view that, so soon as the utterance is articulated, all sorts of
motives and intentions may be taken for granted as implied; little need be said
to mean much. The latter Rabbi seems to be referring to a more specific logical
framework, in which there are unaccustomed relations among propositions.
To give an idea of the issue, here: in ordinary logic "all X are
Y" does not imply "all Y are X"; but one can readily construct a
special logical system in which such inference is acceptable. It would be
onerous, make difficult the expression of all possible thoughts, but it is not
unthinkable (since every form has a contradictory). It may well be such distinct
(specific) patterns of formal logic underlie the differences in shitah.
This is merely a speculation; but the idea seems worthy of follow-up. To
demonstrate it decisively would require analysis of all of any given Rabbi's
pronouncements, in search of uniformities.
The
hermeneutic principles were intended, as discussed in the previous section, to
explain and justify the development of Jewish law from its Torah source. They
were the methodological bridge between the Torah and the Mishnah and Gemara; the
more or less logical techniques by means of which (to the extent that they are
accurate renditions and exhaustively listed) the written foundation-document,
together with the oral tradition, were transmuted into the Talmud.
However, a further set of principles is traditionally transmitted in
Judaism, which reflects more broadly the transition from Mishnah to Gemara, and
then from Talmud to subsequent Rabbinic Law, and finally the way Halakhah is
actually taught and studied. These
additional principles may be characterized as heuristic
(practical rules of thumb), rather than hermeneutic (a priori methodologies), in that most of them constitute ex
post facto summaries of certain uniformities in terminology[26], textual presentation and personal authority found in
the Talmud. I say 'most', because some of them though listed together with
relatively incidental rules of thumb, are more or less objective logical forms
and would have been more appropriately listed together with interpretative
techniques[27].
Many of the heuristic principles were already made explicit in the Talmud
itself, reflecting the intelligence, self-consciousness and unity of purpose of
its protagonists, recorders and redactors[28]; but some were evidently formulated in succeeding
centuries, by Savoraim, Geonim, Rishonim and Acharonim. Among the current works
in English which describe such principles, often in tandem with hermeneutics, we
may mention again Steinsalz's Reference
Guide, Bergman's Gateway to the Talmud,
as well as Rabinowich's Talmudic
Terminology[29] (whose introduction includes an excellent bibliography
on the subject[30]) and Feigenbaum's Understanding
the Talmud. The last two of these books are summarized in Appendix
4 for the reader's edification.
The primary function of traditional teachings is simply to enable the
student to understand what the dense Talmudic text is all about. This
presupposes, for a start, a knowledge of Hebrew[31], to follow the Mishnah, and of Aramaic, to follow the
Gemara, including the ability to read and a certain amount of vocabulary and
grammar. Practise is, of course, crucial, but theoretical accessories are also
essential, both to begin with and as one proceeds. Such tools are provided to
some extent within the text itself; but studying with a teacher, at least at
first, is necessary for most people, and a relatively easy way to gather
information and skill; additionally, there are quite a few written aids to
Talmud study.
The phrases used in the Talmud, as well as their meanings and the
significances of their sequences, are not absolutely uniform and permanent, but
do vary subtly from context to context, as well as (to a larger extent) from one
geographical location to another and from historical period to historical period
(in the different generations of Tanaim, of Amoraim, and of later Rabbis)[32].
The uniformities in vocabulary and semantics no doubt developed largely
spontaneously, reflecting the idiom of time and place, although the Talmudic
disputants and the compilers of the Talmud must have made some arbitrary
conventions, too. As for the patterns of exposition, e.g. the rule that "if
an anonymous Mishnah [containing only one opinion]
precedes one containing a dispute, the Halakhah does not follow the anonymous
Mishnah"[33],
they must have been ab initio conscious
conventions or at least ex post facto decisions
supposedly based on research findings.
With regard to the rules of thumb, and their exceptions, concerning the
relative reliability of deciders of the law, e.g. that "the Halakhah
generally follows Beis Hillel over Beis Shammai, except..." for certain
cases, they must be understood as after-the-fact summaries of information[34].
They were not prejudices imposed by Divine fiat, but final evaluations of the
winners and losers in a multitude of unrelated disputes. In other words, such
principles are statistical reports on personal scores, rather than reflections
on substance or logical techniques; they cannot be used as proofs.
We have to take into consideration the historical development of this
science[35]
of Talmudic language, textual order and personal authority. There is an
inevitable empirical element involved in the formulation of heuristic
principles, since they are not (as it were) inscribed in Nature in the way Logic
is, but depend on human factors. We may well wonder how much of the regularity
described by the books on the subject is shaky assumption and how much of it is
incontrovertibly established: i.e. what constitutes evidence for, and what inference
from, the postulate that there is regularity; for if the assumption is an
empirical generalization, rather than a before-the-fact convention, then it has
to be studied much more carefully (since the law is affected by it).
The Talmud page is laid-out in a standardized way, with portions of
Mishnah first, followed by Gemara commentary thereon, the latter being separated
by the Hebrew letters 'mg (GM.); later commentaries,
including mainly those of Rashi and Tosafot, are normally included in the page,
around the Talmudic text. It should be noted that, Semitic languages being
basically consonantal, the text was originally written and published without vowel
signs; and until recently this practise has been continued, partly because
of uncertainties or different traditions concerning proper vocalization. Since
the text is also devoid of punctuation
marks, it is first necessary to identify where a sentence begins and ends,
and its various clauses; what we include or exclude in a sentence, and how we
cut it up into clauses, will obviously generally affect its meaning. Also, many abbreviations are used, which must be assimilated.
As Feigenbaum makes clear, a related issue is the
role of the sentence in the wider context: is it a new topic or the
continuation of an ongoing discussion; and if the latter, is it a question or an
answer, and in relation to what? This implies the need to recognize and
appreciate the function of every word, phrase, or sentence in each and every
line of argument, and to keep track of who said what and why. Facilitating such
apprehension and comprehension is the fact that there are recurring schemata;
but even having prepared oneself by their theoretical study does not always
guarantee one's ability in practise to correctly match the data and map the
course of the discussion.
Talmud heuristics, judging by Rabinowich's excellent effort, consists of
an ordered lexicon of terms, including, at a first level, terms
found in the Mishnah, then terms
the Gemara uses to clarify its Mishnah antecedents, and finally terms
instituted by the Gemara for its own development. Some terms can be
characterized as analytical, as they help to define the subject-matter,
referring to various aspects of its classification; this division mainly
concerns the form and content of propositions, their terms, quantity, polarity,
eventually also modality or conditions; and (to some degree) awareness of what
is implicit in them. Some terms are synthetical, describing the logical or
discursive procedures through which a formulated proposition has come to be
considered and eventually become established or rejected.
The divisions and subdivisions of words and phrases appropriate to each
context, differ considerably in Mishnah and Gemara, because of differences in
the development of these two documents. The Mishnah is essentially a document
intended to lay down predetermined laws; a relatively static picture of the law
at a given time, an end-product. Whereas the Gemara is engaged, to begin with,
in a studying and digesting process, and eventually, having acquired momentum,
it develops the law further in the presence of the reader.[36]
So much, here, for the content of Talmud heuristics; we need not go into
detail, duplicating the work of others. However, some broad critical comments on
the subject are necessary. First, let us point out that if we wish to elicit
from heuristic teachings some items of epistemological significance, we must
look especially at all little notes their authors make concerning deviations
from the norm: terms used with variant meanings in certain contexts; different
terms used for seemingly the same thing; unusual terms sometimes used by certain
players instead of the standard terms used predominantly; Gemara contradicting
or emending Mishnah, Savoraim doing same to Gemara; and so forth. It is
precisely such limiting cases, which fall outside the traditionally stressed
major norms, which should be carefully considered by us.
We may refer to some examples of abnormal heuristics given in
Rabinowich's treatise. The Gemara may indicate cases "not provided for in
the Mishnah" (p. 62). This suggests that the Amoraim did not consider the
Tanaim as omniscient, or at least as having foreseen all possibilities. The
Gemara sometimes rejects a Mishnah, for one reason or another: "In one
instance (Niddah 13b) the Mishnah is
not accepted since the law it states is considered illogical!" and the
Gemara will often consequently "make slight emendations in the text"
of the Mishnah (p. 21); "in one instance (Yevamos
43a)", due to differences in decision for seemingly like cases, the Gemara
states "this Mishnah is not authoritative" (p. 26). These examples
suggest that the Gemara sages considered themselves fit to question the
judgement of the Mishnah sages, rejecting material which in time becomes
contrary to reason.
This is also suggested by the following example: "In fact, in one
case (Yevamos 27b)" the Gemara "pushes aside a Mishnah in
deference to a Memra of R. Yochanan!!" (who was an Amora) (p. 28). There
are also suggestions that the Mishnah text had been adulterated by the time the
Gemara reviewed it: "In, at least, two instances (Chullin 82a)," the Gemara cannot resolve a conflict between
authoritative passages, "and must claim that a certain law is not really
part of the Mishnah!" (p. 28); a Mishnah may also be corrected (p. 32).
Baraitot were also occasionally ignored (p. 37) or corrected (p. 32), though
that is less significant, since by definition, though of the same period as the
Mishnah, they may have been intentionally excluded from it because not
authoritative. The expressions "perhaps it is mistaken", "it
should not be taught", and "it is not to be taken seriously"
reflect this greater possibility of rejection in regard to Baraitot (p. 60).
Further on in time, we find cases of Savoraim making additions to the
Talmud, for instance in Yoma 30b (p.
56), or again, according to one opinion, in Pesachim
102a-b (p. 45). This suggests that the Talmud was doctored after being sealed.
More broadly, we should also consider discordances between sages of the same
epoch: the Sages finding an argument of one of their colleagues strained (p. 59)
or arbitrary (p. 69) or unconvincing; or finding his approach to an issue too
vague or too fantastic or trivial (p. 64); or Sages being frankly stumped by a
problem, unable to solve it (teku)
(p. 63). Such events tell us something about the sages as individuals: their
knowledge and reasoning powers were not necessarily perfect.
All the above applies to successive later generations of poskim,
too. It all demonstrates the inductive nature of the development of Jewish law -
and it cannot but be so, since human knowledge develops in response to
phenomena. It is well known, also, that, as a consequence of being transcribed
by hand over and over again, from copies on which readers had put their own
handwritten commentaries, and sometimes as a consequence of censorship of parts
of it by non-Jewish authorities, by the time of the Rishonim, many versions of
the Talmud were circulating; and scholars had to labor mightily to detect the
correct, or most likely, version[37].
That, too, is induction: observation and reasoning, hypothesis and confirmation
or infirmation.
We need not, here, belabor these matters further, though many more
examples can be brought to bear from throughout the history of Jewish
jurisprudence. In my view, such footnotes to Talmudic study cannot be taken
lightly and dismissed as insignificant; they prove several things beyond shadow
of doubt, such as: that later sages did not always defer unconditionally to
earlier ones, but were willing to use their heads; that texts were often enough
doubtful, so that there were breaks in the continuity of the transmission of
Jewish law; and more broadly, that the law underwent a development, with growth
and decay, changes and reversals.
It is interesting that even an author like Feigenbaum, who may be classed
as very orthodox, acknowledges a development in the method and language of the
Oral Law: "The Tannaim... began to organize it into a network of precise
laws arranged by topics" - and eventually "the material, methods of analysis, and modes of expression expanded
greatly" (p. 3, my italics). The fact is that the orthodox are usually
loathe to admit that the law, and indeed its methodology, have undergone any significant
change since Moses' time. Changes have to be glossed over as 'minor', for the
simple reason that the Law would otherwise not be purely Sinaitic and therefore
entirely Divine in origin.
However, the reader has only to examine a work like Lewittes' Principles
and Development of Jewish Law[38] to see that there has undeniably been change over
time, most often in the way of expansion and increased density, and often enough
in the way of contraction or simplification. Practises may be added or
abandoned, specified in increasing detail or become less demanding. How such
changes, viewed collectively, are to be frankly reconciled with the Biblical
injunction not to add to or subtract from the Law (Deut. 4:2; 13:1) is unclear -
and that is the reason why the matter has to be glossed over. Similarly, study
of works on hermeneutics and heuristics clearly shows that there have been
variations in Judaic logic[39]. | ||||||||||||||||||||||
