The Talmud as Metaphor of Mind1

Brian Lancaster2

Abraham Goldberg opens a recent article on the Babylonian Talmud with the warning
that, ‘no literary work has been so misunderstood.’3 Accordingly, it is with some
trepidation that I embark on an analysis of this Talmud4 in relation to relevant
contemporary currents in psychology, lest I be found to have merely added my own
particular stamp to the layers of misunderstandings! Moreover, it may be thought that
there is a certain audacity in my peculiar corruption of the kal ve-homer principle in
generalising from the kal which is psychology to the homer of the Talmud! Yet I believe
the approach I shall adopt is sympathetic to the rabbinic spirit of progressive and creative
exploration of Torah in its widest sense. Furthermore, I offer this approach as something
of an antidote to the somewhat constricting tradition of critical scholarship which has in
large measure failed to do justice to the excitement of talmudic study in an authentic
Jewish setting. As David Kraemer has it, the Babylonian Talmud, “by means of careful
editorial planning and manipulation, is extremely seductive.”5 I hope to show that, at least
in part, that seductive quality arises through the way in which study of the Talmud
uniquely flexes the muscles of the mind. I will argue that the traditional Jewish view that
holds Talmud study to be a rigorous training of the mind is true in a deeper sense than
generally understood. In view of the way in which the structure of the Talmud mirrors the
structure of the mind, including what we tend to label as ‘conscious’ and ‘unconscious’
elements, Talmud study bears comparison with contemporary views of ‘psychotherapy’.
When we read, for example, in the name of Rabbi Yehudah b’Rabbi Ile’ai that
unintentional mistakes of talmidei hokhamim are accounted as intentional ones,6 the
allusion suggests that, by dint of talmud Torah an individual enjoys a richer rapport with
the unconscious realm of mind than is the case with amei ha’aretz.

There are broadly two ways in which contemporary psychology may inform our analysis
of the Talmud. Firstly, we find formal parallels between the structure and logical
procedures of a typical talmudic sugya and the ‘structure’ and processing procedures of
the mind. Secondly, the manner in which the student engages in working with the
Talmud, in particular as practised in the traditional hevruta style, encourages a state of
mind potentially conducive to psychological growth. There is no word which directly
conveys what I wish to imply here. As I will explain below, this state of mind approaches
that evident in trance phenomena, but crucially without the somnambulistic connotations.
It is a state of mind characterised by flexibility and creativity.

1
Paper delivered to the British Association of Jewish Studies annual conference, Liverpool 1993.
2
Senior Lecturer in Psychology, Liverpool John Moores University, Trueman Building, 15-21 Webster St.,
Liverpool L2 3ET, UK.
3
The Babylonian Talmud, in The Literature of the Sages, First Part: Oral Tora, Halakhah, Mishna,
Tosefta, Talmud, External Tractates, ed. S. Safrai, Van Gorcum, 1987, p. 323.
4
Throughout this paper my focus is on the Babylonian Talmud. Whilst the aims of the Palestinian Talmud
may be seen as similar, it does not display the psychological patterns which I shall describe to the same
degree as does the Babylonian.
5
The Mind of the Talmud: An Intellectual History of the Bavili, Oxford University Press, 1990, p. 5.
6
Bava Metziah 33b.
Before examining these two areas in detail, some introductory comments are necessary. I
am, of course, not suggesting that the editors of the Talmud - the stammaim - had overt
psychological considerations in mind as they approached their work. The literary
evidence does, however, suggest that their intentions certainly embraced the overall
impact the Talmud would have on those who studied it. In this sense, like all authentic
spiritual teachers, they were concerned with more than merely superficial intellectual
development of their pupils. They wished to convey knowledge, not mere information.
They were not, for example, simply compiling a halakhic rulebook. Nor, as Louis Jacobs
puts it, were they producing a Hansard on the proceedings of the Babylonian academies.7
Their motivation concerned the perpetuation of a vision of Torah which embraced the
post-prophetic and post-Temple phase of Judaism. It is the way in which this motivation
finds expression on the talmudic page which, I suggest, gives rise to its psychological
impact.

This psychological impact arises through two features of the Talmud’s editing in
particular. In the first place, the attitude to words of Torah - by which term I include
scripture in general - and their interpretation resembles the Freudian conception of the
work of dream interpretation. This aspect has been explored by Susan Handelman who
rightly argues that Freud’s methodology was “deeply rabbinic”. In penetrating to the
latent content of dreams, Freud suggested that the interpreter needs to pay attention to the
multiple symbolic meanings of images and words. Just as the rabbinic method ‘plays’
with the associations to words of scripture in terms of puns, allusions to diverse contexts
and juxtapositions etc., so the psychoanalyst must learn to decode the dream images
which have similarly arisen through such a disguising process. As Handelman writes,
“For both Freud and the Rabbis interpretation was the pre-eminent mode of knowing.”8

The second aspect of the editing of the Talmud which contributes to its psychological
impact comes about on account of the respect the stammaim had for their predecessors. A
typical talmudic sugya conveys a slice of history, wherein the mishnaic source is fleshed
out, both ‘backwards’ in relation to its scriptural roots and ‘forwards’ through its amoraic
ramifications. The contributions of the various generations of tannaim and amoraim are
clearly not uniform in style. David Kraemer has analysed the stylistic changes that
characterise successive amoraic generations, which may be presumed to be indicative of
changing emphases in the mental style of these sages. As he notes, a crucial departure is
found with the third amoraic generation (late third to early fourth centuries) which
introduces an emphasis on interpretation, argumentation and creative exegetical
techniques. I will analyse material relating to this point later. For the moment I wish
simply to point out that it is the way in which a sugya spans across these different styles
that underpins its major psychological impact. I believe that these different styles reflect
fundamental differences of psychological orientation, or mindset. David Halivni argues
this point in comparing the rabbis of the Talmud with later exegetes as far as the principle
of reading in meanings to the scriptural text is concerned:

7
The Talmudic Argument, Cambridge University Press, 1984, p. 2.
8
The Slayers of Moses: The Emergence of Rabbinic Interpretation in Modern Literary Theory, State
University of New York Press, 1982, p. 151.
 ... What separates modern man from ... the exegesis of the rabbis is not the
higher degree of knowledge accumulated in the course of generations, or a
more complete set of reliable data, but the inexorable clock of universal
time. Little can be done to change it other than to try to empathise, to lift
oneself out of one’s contemporary mindset, if only for a while, in order
not to cavalierly dismiss the thoughts of an earlier period, or, what is
worse, to distort them apologetically, denying a priori that people could
have had such conceptions.9
I would go further than Halivni in suggesting such changes of mindset, not only between
the rabbis of the Talmud as a whole and ourselves as he suggests, but also between the
tannaim and later amoraim. The period of time we are considering was a seminal one in
psychohistorical terms.

Again, these are points which I recognise are in need of substantiation. But I wish for the
moment to outline my major thesis. I am arguing that it is because these changing
mindsets are preserved and deliberately interwoven by the Stammaim in the text that
study of the Talmud engages several ‘strata’ of the mind. In common with many
psychologists, I hold that the mind comprises various levels (although the spatial
metaphor implied by this word is somewhat misleading), each of which represents a
progressive stage in the evolution of mind. In other words, a kind of mental archaeology
is preserved in our minds. The Talmud encourages a higher integration of those levels; it
not only activates the earlier levels as well as the later, but, more importantly, it binds
them within the context of its major focus which is on the meaning of revelation itself.
Talmud study is ‘extremely seductive’ - to return to the earlier phrase I borrowed from
Kraemer - because it encourages mental holism. If I might coin a phrase- it reaches the
parts that other books don’t reach!

Scientific psychology has witnessed something of a revolution over the past decade in the
relation to the status and nature of unconscious processes. It is primarily this revolution
which informs my paper. Clearly, to do justice to this revolution in psychological science
would require more time than is available. It is perhaps an inevitable consequence of the
attempt to mount an inter-disciplinary presentation of this kind that one has to
compromise on key areas of background. My intention is to present a model of mind
which I have developed in relation to a considerable body of work in cognitive, and
neuropsychology, and to illustrate how this model parallels the structure of the Talmud.

The Freudian edifice has long sat uneasily within the world of academic psychology. It
has been challenged in terms of Freud’s own dubious methodology, the bias of his
explanatory models, and the apparent ineffectiveness of psychoanalysis as a therapy. The
‘revolution’ to which I referred above has given fresh insight into the nature of
unconscious processes through the more rigorous experimental procedures of scientific
psychology. As a consequence, whilst the centrality of unconscious processes is hardly in

9
Peshat and Derash; Plain and Applied Meaning in Rabbinic Exegesis, Oxford University Press, 1991, p.
22.
doubt today, the more classic Freudian vision of the unconscious has been seriously
challenged. John Kihlstrom eloquently sums up the differences between the
contemporary view and that of find de siècle Vienna by writing that

Their unconscious was hot and wet; it seethed with lust and anger; it was
hallucinatory, primitive, and irrational. The unconscious of contemporary
psychology is kinder and gentler than that and more reality bound and
rational, even if it is not entirely cold and dry.10
There is, of course, more than a touch of cultural relativity in this, the vision of the
unconscious of a given age telling us much about that age’s collective projections. But
that is a digression which I must forego at present.

It is perhaps appropriate that the major thrust of the material I believe to have shaped our
1990s’ vision of unconscious processes lies in the area of neuropsychology. Freud, as a
neurologist, was deeply aware of the importance of the challenge to decipher the logic of
the brain; indeed his Project for a Scientific Psychology was one he clearly regretted
having to abandon. He realised, however, that the data available and techniques of study
in his day were simply not up to the level where meaningful insights into the mind could
be made or substantiated through that route. The information technology revolution -
with sophisticated brain imaging devices and computers as research tools - has
significantly changed the situation.

The key contribution of neuropsychology, for our purposes, lies in the study of
dissociation syndromes. These are conditions in which - roughly speaking - one
psychological function has been cut off from another. Such conditions may be attributed
to the underlying neurological damage having isolated two or more brain regions. In
particular, there is considerable interest at present in dissociations of consciousness. Here
we are dealing with cases in which some kind of psychological ability seems to have
been lost to the patient’s consciousness, but, as more subtle testing makes clear, remains
intact at the unconscious level. I wish to discuss one or two of these syndromes in some
detail since they convey key concepts for my analysis. In brief, the importance of these
studies lies not simply in their vindication of the existence of non-conscious processing,
but, more importantly, in what they suggest about the manner in which unconscious
processes become conscious in the normal individual.

The condition known as blindsight arises as a result of damage to a major part of the
primary visual cortex. Patients are phenomenally blind with respect to the related regions
of visual space. If, for example, stimuli are exposed in the affected region the patient
shows no sign of having seen them. It has been demonstrated, however, that when coaxed
into guessing, certain properties of the stimuli are reported correctly. Patients remain
convinced that these are mere guesses and display considerable surprise by their evident
ability. An analogous condition has been described in which a patient suffered an extreme
insensitivity to touch, consequent upon neurological damage. She was tested whilst

10
The psychological unconscious: found, lost, and regained, American Psychologist, 47 (1992), 788-791, p.
789.
blindfold and, as expected, was unaware of being touched even when considerable
pressure was applied. However, when asked to guess at the location on which she had
been touched, she pointed with reasonable accuracy, although convinced herself that it
was a random guess. The paradoxical nature of these conditions is well conveyed by this
patient’s own words: “But I don’t understand that! You put something here. I don’t fell
anything and yet I go there with my finger .... How does that happen?”11

In discussing blindsight, Weiskrantz makes the point that the visual image is normally
subject to a ‘commentary system’. He explains that this commentary system “is activated
when we characteristically are able to carry out cognitive operations on current or stored
events, that is, to classify, to order, to rehearse, to imagine, to provide a ‘schema’ within
which behaviour is initiated and directed, and to communicate.”12 You will notice, I am
sure, the parallels between the work of this commentary system on the raw visual image
and that of the gemara on mishnaic material. A glimpse indeed towards the later
arguments in my paper. But for now I wish to further elaborate the psychological
material.

It is notoriously difficult to define consciousness, not least because different authors

frequently have used the term with differing emphases. Thomas Natsoulas, for example,
has identified eleven distinct issues in need of clarification in connection with the term.13
I certainly do not want to enter this particular academic debate here. However, it is
necessary for me to clarify certain implications of the blindsight, and allied, studies in
relation to the way in which I shall use the term consciousness. I have argued elsewhere
that the key issue is one of access.14 In particular, consciousness depends on the
cognitive, or neuronal, model of the immediate sense of self - or ‘I’ - being able to gain
access to other models generated by perceptual or thought processes. The notion that the
cognitive system operates by building and manipulating models of the world is one that
has become universally accepted and fully integrated within contemporary psychology.
Indeed, recent neurophysiological studies have yielded data which indicate how diverse
neurones may resonate harmoniously in relation to given stimulus parameters. These data
may be interpreted as suggesting the logic whereby neuronal assemblies model
environmental features.15

It has become increasingly clear, through a variety of psychological studies, that the
notion of ‘I’ as a more-or-less stable inner core of the person is mistaken. There is no
homuncular ‘I’. As implied above, ‘I’ itself is a cognitive model. The evidence suggests
that it arises as a moment-to-moment interpretative focus for other ongoing events in the
mind. Or, to put it in terms reminiscent of Buddhist philosophy, ‘I’ arises merely as a
conditioned response to ongoing mental events. This conception of ‘I’ constitutes the
pivotal idea both for understanding the relationship between ‘conscious’ and

11
Paillard, J. Michel, F. and Selmach, G. Localization without content: a tactile analogue ‘blindsight’,
Archives of Neurology, 40 (1983), 548-551, p. 550.
12
Blindsight: A Case Study and Implications, Clarendon Press, 1986, p. 170.
13
Basic problems of consciousness, Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 41 (1981), 132-178.
14
Self or no-self? Converging perspectives from neuropsychology and mysticism, Zygon, in press.
15
Engel, A.K., König, P., Kreiter, A.K., Schillen, T.B. & Singer, W., Temporal coding in the visual cortex:
New vistas on integration in the nervous system. Trends in Neuroscience, 15 (1992), 218-226.
‘unconscious processes and also for my analysis of the psychological impact of talmudic
logic.

In relation to blindsight, for example, I would formulate the situation as follows. Certain
features of visual stimuli presented within the blind visual field are picked up and
modelled by sub-cortical structures. What is conspicuously absent in these patients is any
connection between this neuronal model and that of the patient’s ‘I’. Hence the patient is
completely unconscious of the visual information which is, nevertheless, present within
their brain.

A second major area of neuropsychological interest to which I shall refer in order to

cover sufficient background, is that of amnesia. We have discovered that in at least a
large proportion of amnesiac cases, the patient’s problem lies not so much in the
consolidation and/or storage of memories per se but in their ability to consciously access
the memories. As is the case with blindsight this is a topic which rests on a substantial
body of research. I will convey the critical ideas by reference to just one study.16
Amnesiac patients were presented with lists of words and subsequently tested for their
memory of the words. As expected, the patients were impaired relative to normal controls
on tests of free recall, recognition, and cued recall. However, a test of word completion
revealed normal - performance. The cued recall and word completion tests both
employed word ‘stems’ comprising the first three letters of words initially presented. The
difference between the two tests lay only in the instructions to subjects. In the cued recall
tests, subjects were instructed ;to use the stems to help them remember the words (“Try
to think of a word from the [lists] with the same beginning letters”), whereas the word
completion test - avoided any reference to the memory aspect of the study, asking
subjects simply to write “the first word that comes to mind” in order to complete the
stem.

It is evident from this study - and the hundreds of similar ones - that memory is operating
at an implicit level in these patients. It is only when explicit memory functions are called
for that impairments become apparent. Considerable debate within the world of
neuropsychology is currently attempting to explain these observations. I have suggests
that the debate should focus on the relation of memory to self, rather than on other
mechanics such as the nature of diverse memory stores. It should be clear from even a
cursory consideration of memory that the mechanics of storage is only one of several key
issues. As Baroness Warnock has argued, “to count as a memory a cognitive experience,
or thought, must contain the conviction that I myself was the person involved in the
remembered scene. The image, if there is one, must be labelled not only ‘this belongs to
the past’ but also ‘it belongs to my past.”17

I have proposed that memories are normally laid down with a strong associative bond to
the model of ‘I’ which was active at the time of the to-be-remembered event being
experienced. This ‘I’ model serves as a key for future recognition or recall, and is

16
Graf, P., Squire, L.R. and Mandler, G., The information that amnesic patients do not forget, Journal of
Experimental Psychology: Learning, Memory, and Cognition, 10 (1984), 164-178.
17
Memory, Faber and Faber, (1987), p. 59.
therefore aptly termed an ‘I’-tag. Put quite simply, the phenomenon of implicit memory
is, I hypothesise, attributable to a breakdown in the ‘I’-tag system. Thus, the memories
themselves are intact but explicit processing is compromised because the patient’s current
‘I’ is unable to connect with the required ‘I’-tag.

With these somewhat skeletal points culled from the world of neuropsychology I will
introduce the theoretical model of mind processes which will become pivotal in my
discussion of talmudic logic. The model is presented in figure 1. The figure portrays the
sequence of events hypothesised as occurring when a simple object is perceived. AS an
illustrative example the figure considers the perception of pen. In the first stage a
neuronal model of the input is constructed. Following on this stage memory processes are
activated such that the closest ‘fit’ to the neuronal input model is accessed. I should stress
that these processes are preconscious. The activation of memory includes all memory
traces that bear associative connections to the input model. Obviously the strength of
activation will vary according to the closeness of the association. The most important of
these associated traces for our purposes is the ‘I’-tag. I will have more to say about the
activation of memory associations later. For the moment let me simply note that in this
associative process we have a parallel to the rabbinic approach to scripture. As remarked
in Sanhedrin 34a, “a single verse unfolds into many meanings. Indeed the image given
there of the multiplicity of sparks that fly when a hammer strikes a rock serves well as a
metaphor of the preconscious memory process I envisage as operating within the act of
perception.

The next stage depicted in the figure is that of a matching process whereby an attempt is
made to match the accessed trace with the input model. Normally the match is readily
achieved, as would be the case with the pen example. There are circumstances, however,
in which the match is not so readily achieved. Indeed, it is through study of these less
direct cases that we have arrived at the conclusions presented here. Thus, for example, in
conditions of reduced visibility, objects may be seen in terms of an incorrect association.
As Shakespeare has it,

Or in the night, imagining some fear How easy is a bush supposed a bear
Moreover, studies of subliminal perception have indicated that responses following
presentation of stimuli below the threshold for conscious perception give rise to
responses of an associative rather than a direct nature.

The fate of the activated ‘I’-tags ;is of particular interest. I use the plural for it is obvious
that in any given moment, hundreds of traces plus associated ‘I’-tags are activated.
Moreover, the array will change from moment to moment. Actually, the situation will not
generally be as confusing as this may suggest. Unless there are psychopathological
features most ‘I’-tags will be consistent with one another. We may envisage that ‘I’-tags
are grouped into constellations in an individual’s memory system, giving rise to what
have been called sub-personalities. There are strong indications from both clinical cases
and from experimental studies on normal subjects that we are not so unified as we thing.
The illusion we have of being a unified and continuous ‘I’ comes about through the final
phase depicted on the figure, involving a brain module which has been termed the
interpreter.

In introducing this final phase, I turn to a third key area of neuropsychology, namely the
study of split-brain patients. The role of the interpreter has been described by Michael
Gazzaniga on the basis of his studies of these patients. His interest has focused on the
situation in which a patient’s behaviour has been caused by a stimulus received by the
isolated right hemisphere of the brain. Thus, an example concerns a patient to whose right
hemisphere the word walk had been flashed. The patient had been primed to respond to
such a word, and began to walk away from the testing area. The interesting point arises
when he was challenged as to why he was doing this. The right hemisphere, although able
to decode a simple word such as ‘walk’, is not the primarily linguistic hemisphere. Thus
when the experimenter asks the patient to account for his behaviour, it is to his left
hemisphere - which has no knowledge of the word walk - that he is talking. Gazzaniga
reports that in this situation the patient stated that he was thirsty and was walking to ‘get
a coke’. Clearly this is a post hoc interpretation of the situation by the patient’s left
hemisphere. The patient, however, seems to completely accept his interpretation as fact.
Time and again, in analogous conditions, it is evident that a confabulation takes place as
a matter of course. The interpreter is, the, a module of the left hemisphere which, as
Gazzaniga puts it, “considers all the outputs of the functional modules (of the brain) and
immediately constructs a hypothesis as to why particular actions occurred.”18

Whilst the split-brain patient represents a form in which we can observe these phenomena
most clearly, the implication is that the work of the interpreter underlies consciousness in
normal subjects all the time. Again, time does not allow a full treatment of this subject.
But the notion that what we are actually conscious of is interpretations of events and
stimuli may be further substantiated from diverse research in psychology. This idea has,
of course, also been considered through the philosophical tradition.

Returning to my figure representing processes involved in the act of perception, the key
proposal is that it is the interpreter which generates the unified ‘I’. The hypothesis as to
the causes of actions, which Gazzaniga sees as the work of the interpreter, is one and the
same as the unified ‘I’. This may be difficult point to swallow. What I am asserting is that
the immediate sense we have of selfhood, that is the sense of being the phenomenal
centre of our worlds, comes about as a consequence of the drive to interpret stimuli and
events. ‘I’, then, is not real, it is merely a means to the end of generating coherence in the
mind.

A digression presents itself at this juncture which, for reasons of time, I must refrain from
exploring. But I am sure that some in this audience will understand its relevance. I am
referring to the nature of language as the determinant of ‘I’. The interpreter lies at the
core of our linguistic competence and, I would argue, its generation of the unified ‘I’ is a
concomitant of its primary function, namely the quest for meaning.

18
Brain modularity: towards a philosophy of conscious experience, in Consciousness in Contemporary
Science, ed. A.J. Marcel and E. Bisiach, Clarendon Press, 1988, p. 219.
I trust that I have adequately fleshed out the model presented in figure 1. Whilst it is
presented as a model of the perceptual process, it is in fact more generally applicable to
the nature of mind. As Helmholtz already suggested last century, the perceptual process
is a microcosm of the overall thinking function of the mind. We could readily trace the
processes of thought in terms of the stages outlined in figure 1. Moreover, the model
applies also to the output side of mental activity, that is, in voluntary action. Through a
series of ingenious experiments, Benjamin Libet has demonstrated that even a simple
voluntary action begins unconsciously. The sense of having consciously willed an action
is in fact illusory. Libet showed that the conscious initiation of a simple voluntary finger
movement trails the electrical changes in the brain that eventuates in the muscle
activation by some 350 milliseconds.19 Just as the ‘I’ that perceives is a post hoc
hypothesis, so too the ‘I’ that acts is a rationalisation by the human mind to imply
coherence in the origination of those actions.

I have summarised the key features of this model on the handout. As well as conveying
the essence of the model, these summary statements are effectively a digest of the
insights which have arisen over recent years through the scientific study of
consciousness.

1. The mind/brain operates by creating and manipulating models.

2. The driving force of perception and thought concerns the attempt to generate
matches between models.

3. The model matching process gives rise to reality orientation, and is rooted in our
interactions with the physical world. The stored memory models are updated as
they are continually re-activated through their relation to current sensory and
motor activity.

4. Memory is the cornerstone of perception. As soon as a neuronal model is

constructed (for example, in the sensory process), it will automatically influence
ongoing, pre-conscious memory activity. Rather than think - as most do - in terms
of memory as a function awaiting our need (like a filing cabinet or similarly
passive storage medium), it is more accurate to think of memory as the vital
central activity of the mind. This pure memory process constantly generates
diversification through the associative mechanisms.

5. The intuitive sense of ‘I’ as a unified and continuous agent is illusory. The unified
‘I’ is a moment-to-moment construction functioning to provide a core
interpretation of mental events. It masks what is in reality a multiplicity of ‘I’.

6. The notion of ‘conscious’ and ‘unconscious’ spheres of the mind is misleading.

We should think rather in terms of dissociation. The mind is like a shifting network of

19
Unconscious cerebral initiative and the role of conscious will in voluntary action, The Behavioral and
Brain Sciences, 8 (1985), 529-566.
strands - the variety of neuronal models - which are continuously moving in and out of
attachment to the ‘I’ model (and, therefore, of consciousness).

The moment has, I think, arrived when I may state the thesis of my paper in a nutshell:
the Talmud is a metaphor of mind in that it operates through analogous procedures
and stages to those that have been delineated in this model of the mind. I should
emphasise at this juncture that the model depicted in figure 1 was developed strictly in
relation to psychological data. It represents what I believe to be the most parsimonious
approach to explaining the various research findings. The parallels with the style of the
Talmud arose through later reflection on my part.

The parallels are quite clear and could be illustrated through almost any section of the
Talmud. In the first place, the Talmud operates through the use of models. Adin
Steinsaltz has noted that the mishnaic cases, such as “horn” or “foot” in relation to
damages “serve neither as examples nor as parables but operate like modern
mathematical or scientific models”.20 The job of abstracting principles is largely left to
the reader. The model condenses the range of earlier authorities’ experience in the given
sphere, just as a memory model with its system of ‘I’-tags condenses the individual’s
experience with a given object or event. This use of talmudic models is bound up with the
Talmud’s “reality orientation”, for the yardstick of valuation is always action-related. In
Max Kadushin’s words, taking the example of tzedakah, “The concept of charity and the
literal situation of one man giving a coin to another are not divisible: the concept is
concretised in the action; the action is both motivated and interpreted by the concept.”21

The process of the gemara begins when the model from the mishna is subjected to
scrutiny. Just as in the perceptual process the input model triggers memory associations
so too the gemara opens up the many associations to the original model. This may
involve, for example, the examination of possibilities ensuing from the model, as in the
case of the toledot implied by avot nezikin in Bava Kama. Or it may require scrutiny of
words and their meanings, as in the word ‘or in Pesachim or ‘ed in Avodah Zarah. But,
again in perfect parallel to the case of perception, these are not presented as anonymous
associations. They are associations ‘tagged’ by name: “Rav and Shmuel; one learns
edaihen (with alef, meaning their calamity), one learns ‘edaihen (with ayin, meaning
their testimony).” Whilst the thrust of the psychological process I have discussed is to
forge a unified ‘I’ from the multiplicity of constellations of ‘I’-tags, the thrust of the
Talmud is to derive a unifying perspective from the multiplicity of traditions and
opinions recorded. Ultimately, the unifying perspective is realised in terms of Halakhah,
the critical action orientation. But it is the work of unification achieved along the way
that really counts.

Further paralleling the model of the mind present above comes the role of the
‘interpreters’, the later amoraic generations. Kraemer’s summary of the input of these
later sages runs as follows:

20
The Essential Talmud, transl. C. Galai, Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1976, p. 228.
21
The Rabbinic Mind, Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1952, p. 30.
 Reasons and justifications, sometimes grounded in earlier traditions but
often the product of human reason and always the product of human
interpretation, are now the essential elements of the enterprise. Making
these things explicit - though they may always, in fact, have been present -
self-consciously affirms their proper place in the emerging system.
Tradition, in its most limited sense, is joined by the creative contributions
whose source is human reason.22
Again, to anyone familiar with the Talmud, examples are unnecessary. Page after page of
the Bavli displays the dynamic thrust of these quest for unification through interpretation.
And these words of Kraemer could be applied almost verbatim to the role of the
interpreter in the mind process revealed by the studies discussed earlier. The interpreter
module of the brain indeed makes things “explicit”, for its function underlies the abilities
we refer to as explicit memory. If there were no unified ‘I’ all memory function would be
implicit only, as is the case in amnesic patients. Further, the interpreter brings about
“self-consciousness”; indeed this is precisely the raison d’être of this brain module. The
argument, advanced by many psychologists over recent years, that the brain’s model-
building function is the critical factor in generating consciousness is well supported by
the evidence. Such functions we share with other creatures. Thus, a consciousness arises
even as the neuronal input model is generated. But our dominant consciousness is that
attaching to the generation of the unified ‘I’ model through the work of the interpreter,
namely self-consciousness.

Let us recall the split-brain patient. His actions require explanation and justification but
the ‘true’ cause is inaccessible to the left hemisphere interpreter. Unless a unified ‘I’ can
be generated which will incorporate a complete model of his situation he will remain
lacking. So the interpreter draws on further material which may fill the gaps. One may
see this process (which must normally happen in a fraction of a second in the undamaged
brain) written on the quizzical facial expressions of these patients. Why am I walking? In
what circumstances might I have been walking like this in the past? Where would I have
been going ...? To get a drink ...? This situation closely parallels the appeal to precedent
in the Talmud, be it in terms of case history (rav so-and-so used to do such-and-such) or
by reference to a baraita. The interpreter can only function in terms or context. That is its
very lifeblood, as it were. In figure 1, I have included ‘other current inputs’ feeding into
the interpreter. The unified ‘I’ cannot arise in relation to a single input. But, of course,
there is never only a pen (to take the example given) without any related inputs entering
my senses. There is a piece of paper, a telephone, a message .... And each input generates
in turn its own ‘wheel’ of associations and related ‘I-tags. The interpreter functions by
drawing together the entire current sensory array with associated memory images and ‘I’-
tags, and constructing a ‘story’ that unifies them. That ‘story’ is the unified ‘I’.

I am reminded here of Halivni’s argument that peshat for the rabbis meant context, rather
than what we understand as literal meaning. As we mentioned earlier, there is a question
of psychohistorical relativity here. For the rabbis, the ‘literal’ can only be determined by
context. Exactly the same is true of the cognitive process of the mind. The perceived

22
op. cit., p. 48.
object is ‘context-bound’. It is not simply that we see an object and subsequently think
about its context. Rather in the very act of perception the context informs the final
percept through the associative mechanism I have described. By way of example, let us
consider the moon illusion. It is very noticeable that the moon (0r indeed the sun) appears
large on the horizon than it does when in the zenith of the sky. This effect is not
attributable to atmospheric distortions or any other mechanical feature external to the
individual. The illusion is a consequence of the way in which the object is perceived in
context. Perspective cues in the scene as we look towards the horizon enable the
perceptual system to recognise the moon as a distant object. It consequently, and
automatically, compensates for the diminution of retinal images with distance. When we
look up to see the moon higher in the sky, there are no graduated cues to perspective and
these size scaling processes are not activated.

Again and again in the dialectic of the Talmud, the question comes round to the context
in which something was said or done. In what context was a mishnaic statement made, or
who was its author? And, as a dispute ensues between two authorities, the issue may
become one of establishing the specific context in which they enunciated their respective
opinions. Alternatively appeal may be made to the actions of named earlier masters, in
which case, again, the question becomes focused on the context in which those actions
were performed.

Clearly, the elaboration of talmudic argumentation is distinctive, operating as it does

under the guidance of its relatively unique rules, and cannot be entirely reduced to
completely parallel the processing style of the individual mind. What I am arguing,
however, is that underlying the specific forms of argumentation are basic principles
which are indeed precisely the same as seem to underlie the work of the interpreter in the
individual mind. The critical point of comparison is that of the retrospective construction
of meaning. In the case of the individual mind, the unified ‘I’ - the magnetic centre of
meaning - is generated as being the putative cause of actions, thinker of thoughts, and
recipient of perceptions. It is ever the focus of whatever is being currently modelled in
the mind. In a comparable formulation the Talmud represents, as it were, the collective
mind of Judaism. As with the individual mind, it builds models of its inputs, manipulates
these models through expansive association, and finally seeks to reconcile divergencies
by matching against the original mishnaic input. Throughout this process it operates with
its own form of ‘I’-tags - namely the many characters who are tagged to every action,
opinion, or argument, thereby enlivening its voluminous pages. And, as with the
individual mind, it seeks to forge a unified focus, its unified ‘I’ which is actually the
collective ‘I’ of Judaism defined in relation to actions in the world - that is, in relation to
Halakhah. Just as in the individual mind a unified self is somehow mysteriously
generated from the multiplicity of dissociated strands of brain activity, so too the Talmud,
almost despite itself, yields a holistic vision of Jewish identity.

These parallels strike me as, at the very least, highly suggestive. Yet in all this I have no
even begun to consider the one area where previous endeavours have found the clearest
parallels between rabbinic and psychological approaches, that is in midrash and the
exegesis of scripture. There can be little doubt that although contemporary psychology
has strongly questioned the value of Freudian ego psychology and his vision of the
unconscious, it has largely vindicated his principle insight into the logic of the primary
process. It is here that we find the value of multiple meanings based on repetition in
diverse contexts, pun, number symbolism, and so on. The continual reference back to
scriptural sources enlivens the talmudic edifice with the spice of primary process
thinking. More than this, however, as Bernard Jackson has written, “it is an attempt ... to
unify our knowledge by reference to a single source of authority - and there are good
philosophical and psychological reasons why we should attempt to do so”.23

We thus return to the imperative towards unification. So far I have pointed to the parallel
between the Talmud’s search for a unified halakhic decision and the mind’s quest for
unification through reality orientation. But this is only half the story. The rabbinic
perspective sees two poles to reality: one is the interaction with the world through
halakhic action and the other is the body of the Torah itself. As José Faur writes, “for
Judaism the book does not reflect the Universe: the Universe must reflect the Book.”24 As
the word of God, scripture epitomises unity to the rabbis. Indeed most of the rules of
talmudic logic are predicated on the presumed absolute unity of scripture. Thus, for
example, it is only by dint of the absolute unity of Torah that a superfluous word in one
place is understood as being available for interpretation in another.

Here too, in the Talmud’s use of scriptural sources I dare to suggest a parallel to the
workings of the individual mind. It is true that the individual’s reality orientation is
rooted in their interactions with the world. But, at bottom, there is something essential
about the individual’s nature which transcends the ‘I’ of personality. I have proposed that
the ‘I’-tags themselves comprise a secondary realm of mind, which I have called the
identity plane. Beyond the identity plane is a sphere devoid of ‘I’-tags, which comprises
the continual dynamic movement of memory. This pure memory process, as I have
termed it,25 is autonomously active, comprising the endless reverberations or resonances
triggered ;by the modelling processes of the brain. Clearly, in this formulation we slip
towards mysticism, and it is no surprise that the closest parallels to my conception of the
pure memory process are to be found in the writings of Bergson, Yeats and Jung. Be that
as it may, the movement from pure memory process through the activation of ‘I’-tags and
finally into the generation of the unified ‘I’ is, I believe, and instructive parallel to the
fate of scriptural extracts in the hand of the talmudic process. As it is expressed in the
name of Rabba in the gemara, “initially the Torah is called in the name of the Holy One,
blessed be He, but finally [i.e. through the process of Talmud Torah] it is called in his
[the student’s] name.”26 Torah for the rabbis is akin to the implicate order which, from
the vantage point of theoretical physics, the late David Bohm characterised as being a
realm of undivided holism which unfolds into the explicate order of our everyday
experience.27

23
Legalism, Journal of Jewish Studies, 30 (1979), 1-22, pp. 13-14.
24
Golden Doves with Silver Dots: Semiotics and Textuality in Rabbinic Judaism, Indiana University Press,
1986, pp. 120-121.
25
Mind, Brain and Human Potential: The Quest for an Understanding of Self, Element, 1991.
26
Avodah Zara 19a.
27
Wholeness and the Implicate Order, Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1980.
I remarked at the outset that there were two dimensions to my view of Talmud as a
metaphor of mind. Having explored the first - the parallel between the processing style of
the Talmud and that of the mind - I now turn to the second. In reality, the second is
complementary to the first, for it concerns the manner in which study of Talmud has the
potential to draw the student into a particularly labile and creative psychological state.
Obviously I do not wish to imply that every student of the Talmud automatically enters
such a state. After all, each of us brings our particular class of personal baggage to the
talmudic exercise! And, moreover, a yeshiva type environment may not always be
conducive to creativity. Nevertheless, I believe my psychological analysis will illustrate
an important dimension to the talmudic process, one which I would suggest is intrinsic to
what the stammaim intended to achieve for their future pupils. Whether or not those
pupils respond appropriately is not the issue.

The oral character of the Talmud is immediately apparent. Talmud study is ideally a
process of being drawn into its dialectic; as Emmanuel Lévinas put it, “we must enter into
its game”.28 The Palestinian Talmud calls on us to visualise the various rabbinic
characters standing before us as we learn in their names.29 The tradition preserved in the
name of Rabbi Akiba enjoins us to “chant it every day, chant it every day”,30 and we are
warned of the dire consequences should we learn the mishna without melody.31 These
two, visualisation and rhythmicity, are the twin pillars of trance induction. The traditional
way of learning Talmud involves, I believe, a uniquely paradoxical combination of
trance-like characteristics on the one hand and intense concentration on argumentation on
the other.

The material I have already considered indicates how the groundwork for this unique
mind-state is laid by the form of the text. In following a talmudic sugya one is being led
through the very processes which underpin ‘normal consciousness’. But there are further
characteristics of the text, to which I shall now turn, which predispose towards the unique
mind-state.

Before examining these textual characteristics, a few words about hypnosis are in order.
Here is an area of much general misunderstandings indeed! There are two features to
hypnosis. One, the labile mind-state which is characterised by a lowering of external
reality-testing is in itself creative and healing (in the sense of making whole). I will argue
that it is this state that is encouraged by talmudic logic. The second feature, relinquishing
of control to another, is the principle one in the popular view of hypnosis. It is not,
however, a necessary concomitant of the first feature and is certainly not encouraged by

28
Nine Talmudic Readings, transl. A. Aronowicz, Indiana University Press, 19990, p. 77.
29
PT Shekalim II, 47a.
30
Sanhedrin 99a-b. The very phrase Rabbi Akiba uses, zemer be’hol yom zemer be’hol yom has a rhythmic,
mantra-like quality, which emphasises the psychological point at issue here. It is reminiscent of the equally
mantra-like phrase used whilst grinding the incense, hadek heitev heitev hadek (‘grind it well, grind it
well’). When we read, in Keritot 6b, that ‘the voice is good for the spices’ surely a similar psychological
meaning may be implied, for the grinding of the incense becomes a metaphor to the spiritual work of Torah
study itself.
31
Megilla 32a.
talmudic logic. In fact, this second feature is very misleading and has no place in an
academically-respectable definition of hypnosis. Thus, for Milton Erickson, who has
been probably the major influence on contemporary use of hypnosis in therapy, hypnosis
is “a state of special awareness characterised by a receptiveness to ideas.”32 Spiegel
considers hypnosis to activate “a capacity for a shift in awareness in the subject and
permits a more intensive concentration upon a designated goal direction.”33 And for
Brown, it encourages “less restricted styles of thinking.”34 It is my contention that these
are precisely the characteristics that talmudic logic seeks to instil in the talmudist.

The most definitive characteristic of trance logic is the capacity to hold two normally
incompatible images in mind concurrently. A study which robustly differentiates between
real hypnotised subjects and those merely simulating hypnosis is described by Orne.35 A
stooge is seated in a chair in front of the subject. Then, whilst the subject closes his eyes
the stooge moves. On opening his eyes the subject is told that the stooge is still on the
chair. What does the subject report seeing? Real hypnotised subjects report seeing a
transparent stooge. They see the stooge (who is not really there) and the chair through
the stooge simultaneously.

A central feature of talmudic logic employs an analogous device. Two generally

opposing views are quoted. Instead of reconciling them immediately the Talmud requires
the student to hold them in mind, often for some considerable time, whilst further
ramifications and arguments are pursued. This may involve the meaning of a word, as in
the discussion as to whether ‘or means night or day in the opening sugya of Pesachim, or
it may involve two sages’ contradictory interpretations of a text or of the actions of an
earlier sage. Again, I am not suggesting that the student is ‘hypnotised!’ Such is
obviously not the case. But taken together with the general activation of associations
discussed earlier, I believe that the shift in awareness to less restrictive styles of thinking
is encouraged.

Invariably there is some degree of sub-script to the talmudic sugyot, particularly where
these oppositions are concerned. For example, the discussion around or le-arba’ah ‘asar
in Pesachim hints at the paradoxical relationship between light and dark which is so
important to the deeper meaning of Pesach. A particularly fascinating example may be
found in ‘Eruvin 13a-13b which begins with a debate as to whether or not an agent36 may
be added to a sofer’s ink to render it indelible. The discussion continues to elucidate the
intellectual prowess of R. Meir who could find arguments to render the pure ritually

32
Life Reframing in Hypnosis: The Seminars, Workshops, and Lectures of Milton H. Erickson, ed. E.L.
Rossi and M.O. Ryan, Irvington Publishers, 1985, p. 223.
33
The grade 5 syndrome: the highly hypnotizable person, International Journal of Clinical and
Experimental Hypnosis, 22 (1974), 303-319.
34
The Hypnotic Brain: Hynotherapy and Social Communication, Yale University Press, 1991, p. 227.
35
The nature of hypnosis: artifact and essence, Journal of Abnormal and Social Psychology, 58 (1959),
277-199. In a lengthy and critical review, Spanos notes that this transparent hallucination effect has been
repeatedly confirmed as a critical mark of differentiation between reals and simulators. See Spanos, N.P.
Hypnotic behavior: a social psychological interpretation of amnesia, analgesia, and “trance logic”, The
Behavioral and Brain Sciences, (1986), 449-502.
36
According to Rashbam the agent is vitriol.
impure and vice versa. It continues by citing the famous opposition between Bet
Shammai and Bet Hillel, stating that “these and these are the words of the living God.”
The whole section is a vindication of the value of opposition and conveys something
quite central to what the rabbis understood their work to be. The connection with R.
Meir’s ink concerns the relationship between the written text, in which a single error can
“destroy the world” and the oral tradition in which multiplicity of interpretations (as in
pure vs. impure) are explored.

Albert Rothenberg has analysed the psychology of creativity, concluding that creative
thinking is characterised by the ability to conceive two or more opposites or antitheses
simultaneously, an ability he terms Janusian thinking after the Roman god whose face
pointed two ways at once. He draws on numerous examples from famous creative
individuals and on his own empirical research to illustrate this point. Of Einstein, for
example, he writes that “the key formulation providing the “physical basis” of the general
theory [of relativity] - what he called “the happiest thought of my life” - consisted of the
idea that a person falling from the roof of a house was both in motion and in rest at the
same time.”37 Rothenberg’s experimental research has indicated that in a word
association paradigm creative individuals respond more often with opposite associations
than do less creative subjects. It is, of course, not difficult to understand why this fluidity
with opposites should be a gate to creativity. The creative moment is classically the
moment in which some diverse, seemingly unconnected, association is brought into
alignment with a particular idea or image. But there is a deeper aspect to this Janusian
process. Jung has drawn especial attention to the way in which psychological
individuation is advanced through the acceptance and dynamic integration, of opposites.
For Jung, the self, which he identified with the God-image in man, is a complexio
oppositorum.38 We aspire to realisation of the self only through a process in which
opposites emerging from unconscious archetypes become integrated in consciousness.

Returning to hypnosis, Erickson, whose definition of hypnosis I cited above, developed a

number of induction procedures which are worthy of note in the present context since
they bear strong comparison to the style of the Talmud. His approach has been described
as ‘naturalistic’ in that the structured manipulations most people associate with hypnosis
were shunned and an informal ‘storytelling’ style adopted. He became the “practitioner of
a more universal healing tradition based on his skill as a storyteller or word magician
who uses alterations of consciousness to amplify the evocative powers of language.”39
The resulting trance state is not such that the hypnotic subject’s actions would be
experienced as involuntary, as in a somnambulistic state. The state is simply one of
increased absorption into whatever material the subject is being imaginatively challenged
with. In a description which I think is particularly evocative of the way of the Talmud,
Laurence Kirmayer writes about the hypnotic subject that, “rather than rejecting an image

37
The Creative Process of Psychotherapy, W.W. Norton & Co., 1988, p. 14.
38
CW 9 Part II, Aion: Researches into the Phenomenology of the Self, transl. R.F.C. Hull, Routledge and
Kegan Paul, 2nd. edn. 1968, p. 267.
39
Word magic and the rhetoric of common sense; Erickson’s metaphors for mind. International Journal of
Clinical and Experimental Hypnosis, 36 (1988), 157-172, P. 158,
out-of-hand as discordant with consensual reality, [he] is willing to “try it on”, imagine
with it, and accept the invitation to play.”40

As an example of Erickson’s hypnotic approaches we will consider the so-called

confusion technique. During a prolonged ‘talk’ or ‘story’ to the subject careful plays on
words are used, as for example using the word “right” with confusion introduced between
its three meanings. The talk will include frequent irrelevancies and non-sequiturs. As
Erickson writes, “a burden of constructing a meaning is placed upon [the subject] and
before he can reject it, another statement can be made to hold his attention.”41 The subject
should not be viewed as a passive recipient of ‘instructions’; rather considerable stress is
placed on the joint involvement of therapist and subject. A shared level of meaning is
built up, although in reality the therapist remains in control. The therapist, firstly, insures
that a complete and immediate meaning cannot be achieved by the subject and, secondly,
begins to introduce structured therapeutic suggestions dispersed within the talk.

Again, time does not permit a full treatment of this subject. I wish simply to make the
point that there is more than a superficial resemblance between these kinds of therapeutic
dialogue and the style of the Talmud. Of course, the crucial difference is that the student
is called upon to construct the meaning of a sugya as fully as possible. The object is most
certainly not to avoid the possibility of achieving a shared comprehension with the
hevruta. Yet there is invariably a sense in which the full meaning is not quite grasped.
Especially on the first approaches to a sugya confusion generally rule! Even when the full
chain of argumentation has been grasped, for the true talmudist there is yet more to
uncover. This, after all, is perhaps the hallmark of a sacred text. As Levinas remarks,
what is probably essential about a talmudic sugya is gleaned through meaningful
glimpses as one hammers away at the formal argumentation. The parallel with Erickson’s
hypnotic procedure comes not only in the similar use of seemingly confusing ideas and
statements, but in the attitude developed which holds that there is always more to be
grasped, as it were just beyond one’s ken.

Erickson conceives his approach as accessing the subject’s unconscious resources whilst
inhibiting those conscious processes that normally serve to perpetuate habitual frames of
reference, for it is those habitual frames of reference which compromise the healing
process. His objective is to free and guide the natural creativity of the unconscious. The
talmudic process, I believe, similarly mobilises the creativity in unconscious processes,
but strives to do so without inhibiting consciousness. The object is to bring ever greater
realms of the unconscious into alignment with the individual’s conscious orientation, and
to do so within the overarching framework of the word of God.

The work of the Talmud is epitomised by the commentaries of the Tosaphists, who seek
to continue the dialectic of the Talmud itself by continually confronting divergencies of
content and re-unifying them. “The dialectic of the Talmud takes on an oceanic rhythm”,

40
Ibid. p. 165.
41
The confusion technique in hypnosis, American Journal of Clinical Hypnosis, 6 (1964), 183-207, p. 183.
wrote Lévinas.42 It is no accident that the image most incisively used of the Talmud - the
sea of the Talmud - is the same image that is also most evocative of the unconscious.

“The sea is the favourite symbol for the unconscious”, writes Jung.43 And further, “The
maternal aspect of water coincides with the nature of the unconscious, because the latter
(particularly in men) can be regarded as the mother or matrix of consciousness”.44 Just as
the talmudist seeks to make conscious the unwritten logic which unifies across the sea of
Talmud, so the work of depth psychology seeks to bring the diverse connections in the
unconscious to consciousness. Ultimately, it is doubtful whether psychotherapy is
especially effective at achieving ‘cures’, as recent research has indicated. But it is not the
end that counts, it is the very act of working in these ways which is valuable. It is the
genius of rabbinic Judaism that it found a means to harness the potential of the human
mind and assign it the ultimate credential, that of partner to God in the work of
revelation.

A distinctive factor in Judaism is that no major school of mysticism abandoned the

Talmud. I think we would find that the reason for this is not simply that these schools
wished to uphold the party line and act within the halakhic norm. I believe it is because of
the very psychological features I have been discussing. The Talmud brilliantly integrates
the quest for psychological growth, which I believe to be a major root of all mysticism,
with the primary quest of normative Judaism, namely the determination of Halakhah and
interpretation of Torah.

I will leave the last words to the Bavli itself. In Bava Batra 12a-12b the question as to
how jointly owned property should be divided between the parties is discussed. I will
summarise the key points:

Rav Yosef states that in dividing a field the portions must be of a minimum size to
provide for one day’s ploughing for a party. It is pointed out that an area that would take
a day to plough when it is time to plant seeds would take two days to plough at the time
of the first ploughing since at that time the earth is hard. So which ‘day’ is meant? A
resolution is suggested whereby the two seasons would give the same ploughing time, for
example if two ploughings were required at the time of sowing, that is one before and one
after the seeds are sown. Alternatively, even a single ploughing may take the same length
of time, as in the case (as Rashi suggests) where the land is hilly and therefore the critical
factor is the lie of the land and the hardness of the earth.

The sugya moves on to consider the division of an irrigation trench where the critical
factor becomes the length required to provide a day’s work in watering the field. Finally,
the question is asked regarding a vineyard and we learn that, in Babylon, the rule is ‘three
rows each with twelve vines, which a man may hoe around in one day’.

42
Op. cit., p. 8.
43
CW 9 Part 1, The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious, trans. R.F.C. Hull, Routledge and Kegan
Paul, 2nd. edn. 1968, p. 178.
44
CW 5, Symbols of Transformation, transl. R.F.C. Hull, Routledge and Kegan Paul, 2nd edn. 1956, p. 219.
At this juncture, triggered by the suggestion by R. Yose that the earlier calculations were
divrei nevi’ut, words of prophecy (or imagination), we read in the name of R. Avdimi
from Haifa:

From the day of the destruction of the Temple, prophecy was taken from
the prophets and given to the hokhamim
At the end of a lengthy digression triggered by this statement, R. Avidimi is quoted a
second time:

Before a person eats and drinks he has two hearts. After he eats and
drinks, he has but one heart
In classic talmudic style, the halakhic discussion serves as a pointer to the deeper
meaning of R. Avdimi’s statements. The work of ploughing, sowing, watering and hoeing
is none other than the work of Torah, that is, the talmudic process which I have been
discussing. The claim that prophecy moved from the prophets to the sages validates the
crucial conception of continuity, such that the Talmud is endorsed as comprising hidden
levels of meaning as was the case with prophecies, and as, indeed, is the case in our
conception of the unconscious. Finally comes the cryptic culinary reference. Again the
allusion is to the work of the talmudic process. As I have argued, the work of the Talmud
is ever directed towards unification, that there may be one heart where there were two. Be
it viewed in terms of the unification of ‘I’, as contemporary scientific psychology
suggests, or the making conscious of unconscious contents, as a more Freudian view
would hold, matters little. Ultimately, the one heart is the reflection of the unity in
creation itself.
.