It's a kind of magic? The difference between religion and sorcery

The portions of Acharei and Kedoshim present a wide range of different commandments – including several dealing with prohibitions against efforts to draw upon various forms of sorcery to manipulate or predict events in this world. Judaism Reclaimed’s chapter on the subject explores the position of Rambam, Ibn Ezra and the Geonim who take a strong stand against those who conclude, from a simple reading of these admonitory verses, that the Torah views these darker arts as effective:

"Anyone who believes ... that these things are true ... but that the Torah has prohibited them is one of the fools and those lacking knowledge ... But those who possess wisdom ... know ... that all of these things that the Torah prohibits ... are emptiness and vanity that fools stray after, and all of the paths of truth have been corrupted because of them. Because of this the Torah states ..."Perfect shall you be with Hashem, your God”." [Hil. Avoda Zara 11:16]

The chapter focuses in particular on how we are to understand the Torah's repeated warnings and severe penalties for those who partake in these darker arts — particularly according to those who explain that these verses refer to mere trickery and sleight of hand.

This post however will seek to address a different question which has been raised in the past in response to my writings on the subject:

What really is the difference between a religious approach that seeks to manipulate God’s will through ritual acts and prayers, and acts of magic?

While from the perspective of Rambam, fulfilment of the mitzvot and prayer are more focused inwards – to refining and improving ourselves – in order to strengthen our relationship with God and make us more meritorious, how can this question be addressed according to other schools of thought?

The first response is from Rabbi S. R. Hirsch’s treatment of the subject. Suggesting that the word “kishuf” (magic) is phonetically related to “kazav” (cheating), R Hirsch argues that sorcery represents an attempt to manipulate or even outwit God:

“merely deception; it is nothing but getting the better of the other person’s mind”. As if “there were a side door, a hidden passageway, [through] which to escape and accomplish their evil intent, in spite of the world order ordained by God”.

But what of those who approach Jewish ritual as having a direct, guaranteed and automatic ability to alter their fate? Is there a stage at which this can legitimately be compared to magic?

In a book that I was reading recently, a passage from David Blumenthal addressed this point. He considered that, as opposed to commandments and prayer which seek to approach, connect to and petition God with no guarantee of favourable response, magic seeks to “coerce spiritual forces of the universe to do one’s will”.

But what would be the status of someone who attempts to use the Torah’s commandments in order to manipulate and compel God and His divine system so that spiritual forces are bound to his will. Presumably this would not fall strictly under the heading of forbidden magic – though it is someway off Judaism’s ideal approach and aspiration which is the development of a relationship with God through commandments and prayer.

In the area of prayer, at least, such an attitude and practice could lead to a more serious prohibition – if one mechanically recites Tehillim, for example, in an attempt to magically manipulate one’s fate rather than as a way of petitioning God (as was discussed at length here https://www.facebook.com/share/p/16XAJGBt5d/).

The area of Judaism which has the potential for the most “magical” association is probably the Mishkan and Beit HaMikdash, where God’s Presence is understood to rest and his providence greatly intensified. Rav Hirsch reads the conclusion of the Mishkan’s long inauguration process carefully, noting how God’s Presence does not automatically rest in the Mishkan as a direct result of the korbanot. Rather it only does so once Moshe and Aharon subsequently bless the people, signalling religious commitment and prayer:

“God’s Presence, however, did not appear immediately upon the completion of the offerings. If that had happened, it might have lent credence to the pagan superstition that in the offering procedures there is a mysterious quality that has a magical effect upon God and produces an appearance of God to man, in a kind of physical cause-and-effect. But this is not the case. For the one, personal and autonomous God wilfully promised to appear to the people; and He made this promise not on account of the offering, but on account of the commitment…”

This process seems to carry a very strong message for how we should seek to relate to God and His commandments.

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Is there religious value to good deeds performed by a heretic?

In last month’s inevitable last-minute scrambling for ideas to relate at Seder-night, my attention was drawn to a piece from Rav Moshe Feinstein concerning midrashic accounts of how the Israelites merited the Exodus.

One set of aggadot focuses on the famous verse from Yechezkel “And I said to you, by your blood – live! And I said to you, by your blood – live!”. The sages teach that it was through two bloods, that of circumcision and that of the korban Pesach, that the Exodus was earned.

But what, asks Rav Feinstein, was the need for this? Do we not also read in another set of midrashim that the Israelites were redeemed in the merit of having maintained a distinct identity from that of their Egyptian hosts, in terms of language, clothes, names – and even food! The answer he offers is consistent with an important teaching of Rambam in another context.

Jewish tradition teaches that our ancestors in Egypt were heavily influenced by the pagan religious culture of their host country. The sages thus interpret the words “mishchu ukechu”, which introduce the command to offer the first korban Pesach, to be a veiled instruction to first separate themselves from idolatrous ideas and associations and only then to bring the Pesach offering. The two bloods, of circumcision representing the covenant of Avraham and the korban Pesach, represented a highly significant religious act of relinquishing Egyptian ideologies and ideas in favour of the God of Israel. The performance of good deeds and other commandments in the worship of an entity other than God, writes Rav Feinstein is not meritorious. Only once these idolatrous associations had been set aside, therefore, could their various good deeds accumulate as merits towards the Exodus.

This value system strongly echoes the teachings of Rambam in both Mishneh Torah and Moreh Nevuchim.

In chapter 8 of his Hilchot Melachim, Rambam tells us that:

“Anyone who accepts upon himself the fulfilment of these seven mitzvot and is precise in their observance is considered one of 'the pious among the gentiles' and will merit a share in the World to Come.

This applies only when he accepts them and fulfils them because the Holy One, blessed be He, commanded them in the Torah and informed us through Moses, our teacher, that Noah's descendants had been commanded to fulfil them previously. However, if he fulfils them out of intellectual conviction, he is not a resident alien, nor of 'the pious among the gentiles,' rather he is of their wise men.”

For Rambam, it would seem, it is not sufficient for non-Jews simply to observe the seven laws. They must be motivated by (and therefore implicitly believe in) the existence of God and His revelation to Moshe.

The explanation for Rambam’s position can be found in a profound passage towards the end of Moreh Nevuchim (3:51) which teaches that any attempt to worship or connect “without knowledge” to God such as by attributing physical features to Him:

“does not in true reality mention or think about God. For that thing which is in his imagination and which he mentions is his mouth does not correspond to any being at all and has merely been invented by his imagination”

Since, for Rambam, the connection that one achieves with God is an absolute reality and achieved by means of the intellect, the quality and existence of such a connection is directly affected by the correctness of a person’s intellectual perception of God. The good deeds performed by such a heretic, therefore, while being independently and objectively praiseworthy, will not bear the religious value of connecting that person to God.

When it comes to the performance of negative commandments and destructive societal behaviour, however, it is clear from the Torah that God punishes both idolators and believers for their sinful actions. We have no reason to believe that the generation of the flood or the citizens of Sodom believed in or knew of the God of Israel – they certainly had not received prophetic instruction as to how to conduct their lives. Does this indicate that, at least when it comes to negative commandments, the Torah endorses a form of natural law which all humans are supposed to be able to intuit and understand?

Not necessarily.

The “punishments” of earlier generations in the Torah may be better understood as God pursuing His plan for a refined and righteous humanity. The fate visited upon the generation of the flood and those at the Tower of Babel may therefore have been as a result of their inexorable slide away from building a society which could receive, understand and implement God’s word before transmitting it to later generation. It may not have been a consequence of culpability.

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