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The most famous of all medieval Jewish thinkers, Moses Maimonides is known for his monumental contributions to Jewish law, theology and medicine, and for an influence that extends into the wider world. His remarkable work, The Guide for the Perplexed, is notoriously difficult to interpret, since Maimonides aimed it at those already versed in both philosophy and the rabbinic tradition and used literary techniques to test his readers and force them to think through his arguments.
Daniel Davies explores Maimonides’ approaches to issues of perennial and universal concern: human nature and the soul, the problem of evil, the creation of the world, the question of God’s existence, and negative theology. He addresses the unusual ways in which Maimonides presented his arguments, contextualising Maimonides’ thought in the philosophy and religion of his own time, as well as elucidating it for today’s readers.
This philosophically rich introduction is an essential guide for students and scholars of medieval philosophy, philosophy of religion, theology and Jewish studies.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023
Cover
Series Title
Title Page
Dedication
Copyright Page
Acknowledgements
1 Biography and Introduction
Notes
2 Life and Humanity
Notes
3 The Problem of Evil
Notes
4 Creation and Infinity
Notes
5 The Nature of Belief in God’s Existence
Notes
6 Necessary Existence and Divine Attributes
1. Negative Theology: The Question of Divine Attributes
2. Negative Theology: Existence and the Fullness of Being
Notes
7 Diverse Interpretations and Disputed Instructions: Reading the
Guide for the Perplexed
Notes
Further Reading
Bibliography
Works by Maimonides
References
Index
End User License Agreement
Cover
Table of Contents
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Richard T. W. Arthur,
Leibniz
Terrell Carver,
Marx
Daniel Davies,
Maimonides
Daniel E. Flage,
Berkeley
J. M. Fritzman,
Hegel
Bernard Gert,
Hobbes
Thomas Kemple,
Simmel
Ralph McInerny,
Aquinas
Dale E. Miller,
J. S. Mill
Joanne Paul,
Thomas More
William J. Prior,
Socrates
A. J. Pyle,
Locke
Michael Quinn,
Bentham
James T. Schleifer,
Tocqueville
Craig Smith,
Adam Smith
Céline Spector,
Rousseau
Justin Steinberg and Valtteri Viljanen,
Spinoza
Andrew Ward,
Kant
Daniel Davies
polity
To my father, Jonathan, and in memory of my mother, Lillian.
Copyright © Daniel Davies 2024
The right of Daniel Davies to be identified as Author of this Work has been asserted in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in 2024 by Polity Press
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When George Owers first suggested writing an introduction to Maimonides, I wondered whether such a book was really necessary. I then thought about my own initiations into medieval philosophy, much of which came through teachers who had little or no connection with Maimonides studies or Jewish philosophy but focused on Arabic–Islamic or Latin thought. The same is true of my attempts to delve deeper, so my perspective on Maimonides is not only informed by existing works about him and, on reflection, I concluded that there is indeed a place for a philosophical introduction to be added to the literature about one of the most discussed Jewish philosophers, and I have tried to channel the kinds of lessons that I found helpful. I would never even have considered writing this book had George not asked, so I thank him for the initiative. I also appreciate his patience, as well as that of other editors at Polity Press, Julia Davies, Ian Malcolm, Ellen MacDonald-Kramer and Susan Beer, as the project took longer than initially envisaged.
I am grateful to a number of people who have offered personal support while the book was gestating. I’d like to mention in particular Merav Rosenfeld Hadad, Racheli Haliva, José Liht and George Wilkes. George also commented on versions of the chapters as I completed them, and I am indebted to Charles Manekin for commenting on a draft of the entire book, and the referees for Polity, who made some very helpful remarks.
I am fortunate to have a concerned and supportive family and am thankful for their ongoing encouragement, especially through some recent upheavals. Without exception, Dad and Hilary, my aunt and uncle, my siblings and their own families (including Lia, who wasn’t around last time), all deserve special thanks and appreciation, for behaviour and character.
Finally, Adam and Nira, together with Gloria and Stuart, have created an environment that enabled me to write this book, and I am especially grateful to them.
Every evening, Moses Maimonides travelled from the Sultan’s residence in Cairo back to his home in Fusṭāṭ. After a long day ministering as physician at the palace, he arrived to a crowd of patients demanding attention. Before he could see them, he needed to excuse himself and eat his single daily meal. By the day’s end, he was so exhausted that he was unable even to speak. Such, at least, is the report he sends in a letter written late in his life. By this point, Maimonides had already completed the major philosophical and religious works for which he is now renowned, and his reputation had spread throughout the Jewish world, both in the Arabic-speaking lands in which he spent his days and among the Jews living under Christian rule. Many details are known of Maimonides’ eventful, at times turbulent, life. As befits a revered religious leader, there are reports about him, some of which are fictitious or exaggerated, but information can also be gleaned from his surviving correspondence. Some of his letters were passed down, and even translated into Hebrew, as independent treatises. Others have been found in a trove of documents discovered in Cairo. We learn a great deal about his life, character and thought from these sources.
Like many of his philosophical contemporaries, Maimonides made his living as a medical doctor. The royal court he attended belonged to the famous Saladin. There he met other scholars and well-known dignitaries, and wrote important medical treatises. For a time, he was the community’s figurehead, ‘the head of the Jews’, and in this capacity acted as a representative and mediator between the Jewish community and the governmental authorities. The role came with responsibility for many everyday community affairs as well and he bemoaned the demands on his time that kept him from studying and dedicating himself to striving for true human fulfilment: ‘the great things and high offices that Jews attain in our time are not in my eyes happiness and perfect goodness worth striving for, and not, by the exalted God’s life, a minor evil but an appalling vexation and burden. For the perfect man who attains ultimate happiness is the one who attends to the refinement of his religious life, carrying out his obligations and avoiding the evil of all people.’1
One of the more famous of his letters, although some question its authenticity, is addressed to the community of Jews living under Almohad rule in parts of North Africa and Spain; it is known as The Epistle on Religious Persecution. The author advises Jews in provinces conquered by the Almohads to convert outwardly to Islam, in order to save their lives, while continuing to practise Judaism in private and making every effort to leave for a more welcoming domain as soon as possible, because the rulers forced many, including other Muslims, to accept their own interpretation of Islam. He explains that the conversion the Almohads demand involves very light conditions. According to the letter’s report, it was enough simply to recite the shahāda, to verbally profess Islam, in order to undergo the conversion itself. Moreover, while rabbinic Judaism considers idolatry to be a cardinal sin that should not be transgressed even on pain of death, it does not consider Islam idolatrous, so conversion is preferable to perishing. Forced converts would also not have been engaging in idolatry by attending mosque services. Since Maimonides passed through Almohad territory, he might have been among those forced to behave as if they had converted. The historian al-Qifṭī, who was a contemporary of Maimonides, reported that he did in fact do so. The story goes that he was recognised in Egypt by someone who had known him years before, when he had been living as a Muslim in a different land. Maimonides was reported to the authorities and left open to the charge of apostasy. However, the judge ruled that a forced conversion is no conversion at all and the charges were dismissed. Some historians consider the extant version of al-Qifṭī’s text to be unreliable, and the account of Maimonides’ conversion to be no more than an unproven tale. In support, it is claimed that there was no general campaign to convert absolutely everyone by the sword, even though there was widespread persecution, so there is no strong reason to credit the claim that Maimonides must himself have converted. One of the various reasons the letter on persecution is sometimes considered a misattribution, although not one of the main reasons, lies in the fact that there are passages that might indicate that the author had himself done exactly this. As some argue that there is no evidence that Maimonides did actually convert, they can claim that he would not have written a letter implying that he had done so. It is then argued that this letter therefore cannot be by Maimonides. There are many spurious works attributed to him; a great name is often borrowed to lend authority to works written by unknown authors.2
Whether or not the letter is genuine, it illustrates that a part of Maimonides’ life was lived under oppressive conditions quite different from those he later experienced in Egypt. Maimonides had been forced to flee his homeland at an early age. He was born in Cordoba in 1137/8 ce and travelled with his family through the Almohad heartlands in Morocco to the Levant. He also knew personal tragedy. In a letter addressed to someone he had met during his stay in Acre, prior to his arrival in Egypt, he mentions how badly he had been affected by his brother David’s death. For an entire year, he reports, he was consumed with fever and unable to move from his bed. David had been a merchant trading in precious stones, before he drowned in the Indian Ocean during a commercial venture, and Maimonides indicates that his younger brother’s activities had allowed him to feel secure in his dedication to study. Although he had already studied medicine, he may have practised it as a serious profession only after being forced to do so in order to support himself and the family that David left behind.
In spite of his responsibilities and his need for remuneration, Maimonides’ literary output was impressive. When in Egypt, he completed a running commentary on the Mishnah, the first of its kind, which explained in Arabic the discussions at the foundation of the rabbinic oral law, thereby making it accessible to Jews with various education levels. He also compiled a law code known as the Mishneh Torah, ‘the repetition of the Torah’, which was unparalleled by any previous rabbinic text in scope and conception. It contains an account of the entire oral law, as Maimonides saw it, so that people would no longer need to wade through the plethora of discussions and judgements that had accrued over the centuries in order to make practical decisions. Rather than the Aramaic of the Talmud, known only to scholars, he chose to write the Code in Hebrew, taking the Mishnah’s language as his model. He explained that biblical Hebrew was too limited for the purpose, and that the Mishnah is easy to understand. In this he was breaking new ground. His language is remarkably clear and elegant and remains, perhaps, the best example of eloquent Hebrew in a comprehensive rabbinic law code.
The Code became known as the yad ḥazaqa, ‘the mighty hand’, an allusion to the Pentateuch’s final verse: ‘and for all the mighty hand and for all the great awesomeness that Moses did in the sight of all Israel’. Through his law code, Moses Maimonides was likened to his namesake, the original lawgiver himself. ‘From Moses until Moses there was none like Moses.’ This is a famous saying credited to Jonathan of Lunel. Jonathan sent queries about the Code that seem to have particularly impressed its author. These questions arrived later in Maimonides’ life and, in response, he lamented not having noted down his sources, as doing so would have made it easier to respond to questions and criticisms. Even though he aimed to encompass the whole of the law, he recognised that his code would not be perfect, so he invited scholars to compare it to earlier rulings in order to make sure it was sound and to iron out confusions and ambiguities. He replied to Jonathan and to another letter from the sages of Lunel, in Southern France, finding hope in the dedication they displayed to Torah and Talmud study, which he claims has almost disappeared from the communities in the Arab world. Now, he writes, the Jews in non-Arabic countries are ready to take over the mantle from those in the East. ‘There remains no one in support of our Torah except you, my redeeming brethren. Be therefore strong and fortify yourselves for the sake of our people and our God.’ Such a despondent appraisal of Arabic Judaism’s decline may have been exaggerated on purpose and may perhaps have been a rhetorical way to encourage the growing European Jewish community living outside the Islamicate to embrace a philosophical Judaism. Or maybe motivation came from feeling bruised by criticism he received from some in the Baghdadi Jewish community, or by the persecution of the Jews of Yemen, whom, in a poignant epistle, he encouraged to stand by their faith despite their travails.
At the time, the law code more than any other work made Maimonides’ name and it has also ensured his exalted place in the Jewish tradition. Because people wanted to read his other books, Maimonides’ work as a whole did much to spread Hebrew philosophy by giving impetus to a translation movement from Arabic that had only recently begun. As well as sending particular questions about the Mishneh Torah, the Lunel sages asked Maimonides to translate into Hebrew the works he had written in Arabic, the everyday language of most Jews and the language in which almost all Jewish philosophy had been written until then, which was not generally spoken by the Jews of Provence. Chief among them was the Guide for the Perplexed. Maimonides himself had no time to do so, but agreed that one of their own, Samuel Ibn Tibbon (d. 1232), would be a good person to undertake the task. Together with other members of his family, Ibn Tibbon translated many great works of Judaeo-Arabic philosophy, which have now become classics of the Hebrew Jewish tradition in their Tibbonite versions. In order to aid their readers, the Tibbonites also translated other central works of Graeco-Arabic and Islamic philosophy and wrote independent exegetical and philosophical works. Their translations and commentaries established a Hebrew philosophical tradition and their linguistic choices permeated later Hebrew writings of many different sorts.
Maimonides’ name is well known to historians of general philosophy. He was introduced to the Christian Scholastic world in Latin translation only shortly after he wrote the Guide, allowing for Aquinas’ appreciative references and respectful criticisms of some of his arguments. While his name is noted in histories of Western philosophy, it towers over the history of Jewish thought, indeed of Judaism as a whole. His importance stems from the fame he acquired during his lifetime but also from the myriad ways in which his books have been employed ever since. In a recent study, one scholar explains that ‘every path in Jewish thought and law from the twelfth century on bears some of Maimonides’ imprint’.3 Despite his reputation and influence, the main achievements of his philosophical works consist in the use he made of philosophy, rather than novel contributions to the classical philosophical fields, such as logic, natural science, metaphysics and ethics. Most, if not all, would agree that he was the medieval Jewish philosopher to have exercised the greatest direct influence on the Jewish tradition, but some dissent from the claim that he was the greatest medieval Jewish philosopher, qua philosopher. However, rating philosophers is a strange business, and originality can be measured in different ways. Besides, who is qualified to undertake such an appraisal? Maimonides is not only a highly influential medieval Jewish thinker; he is also original in his scope and application, and his philosophy is worth studying in its own right.
Many who read Maimonides do so through their own contemporary lenses, a practice that is not only legitimate but might be true to Maimonides’ own vision. He is the teacher extraordinaire, as well as an inspiration for ongoing critical engagement with the tradition. Among his major interpreters, some of the most important find in his work the seeds of their own philosophical and theological struggles and concerns. He is often a stimulus for creative Jewish theology and philosophy. This is true of many academic students of Maimonides too. In this book, I would like to introduce Maimonides’ philosophy through discussions of the major issues that exercise scholars in studies of medieval philosophy generally. However, the Jewish component of his works cannot be ignored. Indeed, almost all the Maimonidean texts mentioned in this introduction are first and foremost Jewish texts, inasmuch as they are concerned primarily with issues arising from religion, and the Jewish religion in particular. These works make heavy use of philosophy. They are no less philosophical than Jewish. Against Maimonides’ historical background, one can see that attributing a distinction between philosophy and religion to his own self-perception is artificial, even though it has now become commonplace to say that they oppose one another. Maimonides considered engaging in philosophy necessary for a fulfilling life, for a life that is truly human, but also as itself a form of worshipping God.
In view of the biography sketched above, albeit extremely brief and selective, there is hardly a need to justify saying that Maimonides was a Jewish philosopher. But the very notion of ‘Jewish Philosophy’ is contested. Is there really any such thing? What would make a philosophy particularly Jewish? One reasonable answer emphasises the sources used. Maimonides constantly draws on biblical and rabbinic sources and expresses his ideas through them. One could also consider the way in which he integrated philosophical ideas into his conception of Judaism and the halakha, the Jewish law, by, for example, making them the guiding principles of the Mishneh Torah. These are relevant if we are not to lose sight of the Jewish aspect, which could be possible because the content of many of the discussions focused on in this book is written in conversation with philosophers who are not Jewish, but pagan or Muslim. I would like to suggest that one should also consider Maimonides’ target audience and the way in which he tried to influence them. His religious and philosophical works were not aimed at a universal readership but specifically at Jews. Even the Arabic ones were written in Hebrew characters, as was common practice among Arabic-speaking Jews, and aimed at a Jewish readership. His concern in these works was always to influence the contemporary community and advance his interpretation of the tradition. Maimonides seemed to consider himself at a crossroads. He was both continuing an old Jewish tradition, but also updating it for a new time. Some of the ways in which he set about doing so were truly profound, even if the philosophical worldview he expounded can be found in earlier Jewish thinkers too. Maimonides’ commitment to community and the rabbinic tradition could not have been stronger, and I think that someone can be considered to engage in ‘Jewish Philosophy’ when the aim is to address the living Jewish community, whether that is reflected in the language and proof texts used or the desire to exert influence. Even so, Maimonides’ views deserve attention outside of their time and religious environment, and to them I now turn.
The first main chapters will deal with matters of humanity. Maimonides’ view of human nature stands squarely in the Arabic Aristotelian tradition, inasmuch as he considers humans to be ‘rational animals’ and human perfection to consist in acquiring the moral and rational virtues. Chapter 2 explains Maimonides’ view of the soul, human nature, and the difference between humans and other animals. It also introduces and explains some basic philosophical and scientific ideas that serve as background to understanding both the ideas in the chapter and in the rest of the book. Asking what it means to be a good human involves ethical questions about behaviour and, in this context, the purpose of halakha also needs to be discussed briefly.
Maimonides was also part of a theological tradition, and theology presented a corrective to the overconfidence he thought some had in a number of Aristotelian doctrines. Consequently, even though Maimonides’ teachings are in line with the philosophers’ virtue ethics and psychological theories, he adopts an uncompromising theocentric viewpoint that demands humility not only on an individual level but towards the whole cosmos and, ultimately, towards the divine. This attitude is manifest in his response to the theoretical difficulties motivated by evil and suffering. The question of evil is the topic of Chapter 3, which also deals with divine providence and God’s knowledge. Maimonides’ response to the problem of evil can be seen as a critique of the problem itself. Together with many others in the Western philosophical tradition, Maimonides claimed that evil is a privation. He is somewhat unusual in emphasis, however, because his explanation does not exactly lead to a theodicy. Instead, he argues that there is no good reason for us to think that we ought not to suffer. Nor does he limit God’s knowledge. Those who argue that the presence of evil indicates God’s ignorance of individuals or impotence over their circumstances presume to know what God’s purpose in creating is, and ultimately judge the whole of creation from the perspective of humanity. In Maimonides’ view, people are not the purpose of God’s creating, so this is a fundamental misunderstanding. Rather than limiting God’s knowledge, he argues that God’s providence is limited. It is unusual to distinguish them in such a way. Not attending to the distinction has often led scholars to think that Maimonides’ position on providence is particularly obscure and riddled with contradictions. It can be seen to cohere, though, if his theocentric statements are taken into account. He argues that the presence of evil in the world does not show God to be ignorant. Instead, it shows that humans are not as important as they might think.
Maimonides’ arguments about God’s knowledge and providence reflect the limits that he draws around human knowledge, which is a theme running through Chapters 4, 5, and 6, as they deal with theological issues from which these limitations are most easily identified. So, while the previous chapters contain much about human nature, the next three chapters are concerned more with what we can know about divine matters, if anything. Chapter 4 considers creation and the relationship between God and the world. Maimonides’ discussion revolves around the question of whether or not the world had a beginning, which is sometimes considered to be different from the question of whether the world depends on God for its existence. His treatment limits the scope of human knowledge, since he argues that it is impossible to know for certain either way. Many of his arguments are directed against those who reject creation, and he tries to show that they cannot demonstrate that their view is true. A demonstration is a very strong kind of proof that would be accepted by anybody who understands it properly. In the absence of such a proof, Maimonides says that either the topic remains a problem or one of the opinions is believed even though reason cannot adjudicate for certain which is true. It is therefore necessary to understand why creation cannot be understood along the lines of the kinds of generation that occur in the world in order to see why the arguments against creation fail. However, Maimonides does not stop there. He argues that there are reasons to believe that the world did have a beginning, even though such a beginning can be neither conceived nor imagined. Understanding his arguments requires some background in Aristotelian dialectic and the role it plays in the Guide and, in this chapter, I will say a little about the Guide’s dialectical nature.
Chapters 5 and 6 are dedicated to God’s existence and attributes. Chapter 5 considers what Maimonides says about belief generally and the upshots of his arguments for God’s existence. It also explains and discusses some of those arguments, which are difficult in themselves but made more so by the fact that Maimonides presents them in succinct fashion. His arguments for God conclude that God is identical with a ‘necessarily existing being’. Chapter 6 explores what this claim can mean and explains the consequences that Maimonides draws out concerning divine attributes and religious language. Both 5 and 6 contain material that is somewhat more technical than previous chapters, but that is fitting for the topic, which was considered to be an advanced subject to be studied in depth only after sufficiently grasping other fields. Since the concept of a necessary existent has often been called into question, and is generally unpopular in modern philosophy, I deemed it apposite, in order to clarify what lies behind Maimonides’ claims, to address some of the issues surrounding it that seem to pose problems. Chapter 6 therefore enters into a philosophical analysis that draws on current debates in analytic philosophy. Such tools are not often put to use in studies of Maimonides, or of medieval Jewish philosophy generally. I have therefore divided the chapter into two parts. Some readers might wish to skim or skip the second part, which deals with these metaphysical concerns, and focus instead on the discussion of negative theology, which requires less elaboration from outside Maimonides’ own text.
All of the topics I discuss in this book are subject to dispute in the secondary literature and have been for centuries. As with many great thinkers, there are disagreements concerning what his arguments mean and how they ought to be interpreted. Since this book focuses mainly on explaining the philosophical background and offering an interpretation of its own, I will not survey all the alternative understandings but I will mention some of the more notable positions as the need arises. In any case, there are other works that can be consulted for precisely this purpose. Given the confines of an introductory book, I have also been unable to enter into as much detail about some of the issues as I would have liked. For both of these reasons, I have included a brief list of recommended reading at the end to guide readers who wish to investigate further. Maimonides’ work and thought covers so many different topics and has so many different facets; I had to be somewhat selective and chose to concentrate on matters of universal concern that continue to be discussed both by philosophers and theologians today, as well as by scholars who work on other great philosophers of Maimonides’ time.
The closing chapter provides a brief overview of Maimonides’ reception and continued reinterpretation from his own time until today. It will also defend the approach adopted throughout the present book, which takes Maimonides’ arguments to be both sincere and philosophically serious. There is an important body of scholarship that argues for the contrary view, holding that many of the positions Maimonides adopts in the Guide are not meant to be taken at face value and that he never held to the theological opinions he explicitly espoused. Scholars debate whether he ought to be understood to believe in the opinions he presents as his own, which are the opinions that I try to explain in this book. Often, he is said to have secretly agreed with the opinions he claims to critique and reject. Among the evidence drawn on to argue the case, support is taken from claims about the Guide’s overall nature. Since the Guide is considered to be Maimonides’ major philosophical work, and it will feature heavily in the rest of this book, it is appropriate here to introduce it, its purpose, and how it relates to the Jewish and philosophical streams on which it builds.
Some of the classic works of Rabbinic Judaism have been likened to a tree, with a trunk following a central line and branches shooting off in many different directions, addressing apparently unrelated or tangential issues. The Guide fits well into this tradition. Its structure is not immediately clear, to the degree that some even question whether there is an overarching design at all. For centuries, commentators and scholars have debated whether or not it follows the arrangements of other parts of Maimonides’ work. Individual sections may also raise structural questions. What, for instance, is the relationship between the fourteen books of the Code and the fourteen categories into which Maimonides divides the commandments in the Guide (3:35, 535), assuming that there is such a relationship? The question is further complicated if one were also to try taking into account fourteen principles that Maimonides discusses that enable him to classify the commandments in an earlier work, the Book of Commandments, but, again, seem not to parallel the contents of the other lists of fourteen. Aside from its relationship to Maimonides’ other works and his overall thought, the plan of the Guide itself is often obscure. In order to understand the work fully, Maimonides tells readers that they need to piece together information from separate chapters:
If you wish to grasp the totality of what this Treatise contains, so that nothing of it will escape you, then you must connect its chapters one with another; and when reading a given chapter, your intention must be not only to understand the totality of the subject of that chapter, but also to grasp each word that occurs in it in the course of the speech, even if that word does not belong to the intention of the chapter.
The Guide’s content also belongs to rabbinic literature. From the outset, Maimonides situates it in the tradition of Jewish exegesis. He states that ‘the first purpose of this treatise is to explain the meanings of certain terms occurring in books of prophecy’ (1: Introduction, 5). The task is necessary because many terms have diverse meanings and people are often misled when they do not take account of the various alternatives. They might conclude that the text teaches something false, and therefore end up ‘perplexed’ by the conflict between what they think true and what scripture teaches. There is a danger that such people either reject the text’s authority altogether or, alternatively, abandon their reason and accept that the incorrect meaning is true. Maimonides continues:
This Treatise also has a second purpose: namely, the explanation of very obscure parables occurring in the books of the prophets, but not explicitly identified there as such. Hence an ignorant or heedless individual might think that they possess only an external sense, but no internal one. However, even when one who truly possesses knowledge considers these parables and interprets them according to their external meaning, he too is overtaken by great perplexity. But if we explain these parables to him or if we draw his attention to their being parables, he will take the right road and be delivered from this perplexity. That is why I have called this Treatise ‘The Guide for the Perplexed’.
In Maimonides’ view, much of scripture possesses an ‘external’, surface meaning and an ‘internal’, deeper meaning. The deeper meaning is philosophical. In some cases, the external meaning is ‘worth nothing’ (1: Introduction, 11). In others, however, the surface meaning is also valuable. The book of Proverbs is an example, because its explicit teaching involves moral advice while Maimonides takes its inner meaning to be teaching about scientific matters, chiefly the relationship between matter and form. Maimonides says that this relationship is even expressed in a verse from Proverbs, which reads ‘A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in settings of silver’ (1: Introduction, 11). Of these parables, he writes that ‘their external meaning contains wisdom that is useful in many respects, among which is the welfare of human societies, as is shown by the external meaning of Proverbs and of similar sayings. Their internal meaning, on the other hand, contains wisdom that is useful for beliefs concerned with the truth as it is’ (1: Introduction, 12).4 Maimonides wishes to draw attention to the parabolic nature of all of these passages, and either to explain the deeper meaning or present the reader with enough information to work it out alone.
The Guide’s primary purpose is, then, exegesis and teaching, even though it is not an ordinary textbook arranged in such a way as to make it as easy as possible by explaining ideas in a clear, logical order. Instead, readers must piece together Maimonides’ puzzles. Furthermore, how the chapters fit together or follow one from another is not the only problem they face. Philosophical arguments in the Guide can be difficult to make sense of. Many believe that they are intentionally incoherent. I do not. However, they are certainly presented in ways that often make them hard to follow, and at least some of the difficulty is intended: the Guide is an esoteric book, in the sense that it is aimed at a select group of people, not at everyone. Partly for this reason, the question of intentional incoherence lies at the heart of much of the secondary literature dealing with the Guide’s esotericism. Such discussions are generated, at least to some degree, by Maimonides himself. At the end of the Guide’s introduction, he explains seven different kinds of contradictories or contrary statements that occur in different literary works. He says that he will make use of two of them in the Guide. People disagree about whether they really are present and, if so, what their purpose is, but they are a major hermeneutical tool and are often invoked. A popular approach today holds that Maimonides intentionally contradicts himself in order to hide his real philosophical opinion about some theological questions. Since this issue is central to such a good deal of scholarship, I will say more about it in Chapter 7, together with discussing the different ways in which the Guide is understood and the ways in which it seems to be a book with a unique form. I will explain that there is no need to accept this view since the contradictions can be explained in a different way. I think that he uses the contradiction in order to keep secret some of his scriptural exegesis rather than to conceal his own theological or philosophical beliefs. The question of what Maimonides is doing when he employs this contradiction should be distinguished from the question about what he really thought about the theological problems he discusses. They are two separate issues. I believe that this distinction between the way in which Maimonides uses contradictions, on the one hand, and that of how he presents his ‘true opinion’, on the other, allows us to read the Guide as a more stimulating philosophical text than if it is an exercise in dissimulation. Maimonides was a significant thinker, not merely a follower of earlier philosophers, and our challenge in reading the Guide is not limited to hermeneutics but also to working through philosophical problems. I will therefore not be using the contradictions to uncover hidden theological beliefs. Nevertheless, it is important to mention them here because questions about the coherence of Maimonides’ arguments will crop up in coming chapters.
One of the reasons that an author would write in an obscure fashion is to make sure that only those with the necessary training are able to understand the work. From the letter with which the Guide begins, it is clear that Maimonides needs to write in a certain way in order to ensure that it is pitched at the appropriate audience. He addresses it to a pupil, Joseph ben Judah, who had studied together with him but moved to Aleppo, and explains that ‘your absence moved me to compose this Treatise, which I have composed for you and for those like you, however few they are’ (1: Introduction, 4). The Guide is a work aimed at a special kind of reader and, therefore, a limited audience. What Maimonides teaches is not appropriate for everyone, but that presents him with a difficulty, for ‘if someone explained all those matters in a book, he in effect would be teaching them to thousands of men’ (1: Introduction, 7). Maimonides therefore has to find a way to communicate with such readers while avoiding teaching those whom he would not teach in person, and to do this, he needs to write a special kind of book. It is also important that the Guide was written in order to replace the way in which Maimonides was able to teach Joseph face to face. When teachers talk with someone in front of them, they can adapt what they say to the particular circumstances, taking into account the pupil’s reactions, making sure only to reveal what will benefit the individual who is listening, and doing so in a way appropriate to that specific person. Books cannot be so tailor-made, but Maimonides’ methods of presentation are aimed at reproducing this situation of individual tutorials as far as possible.
1
Cited in Kraemer (2008), 226.
2
There are contrasting takes on Maimonides’ life in books by Herbert Davidson (2005) and Joel Kraemer (2008). They adopt opposite views on this letter and the question of Maimonides’ conversion.
3
Diamond (2014), 3.
4
There is an illuminating discussion of the different ways scholars have interpreted these statements in Kaplan (2018).
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