The Insidious Nature of Metaphysical and Epistemological Premises

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Artwork: Mana Tithe, by Robbie Trevino

The Insidious Nature of Metaphysical and Epistemological Premises

I recently started reading a book called Already Free: Buddhism Meets Psychotherapy on the Path of Liberation. The author is Bruce Tift, who has worked as a psychotherapist and has lived as a practicing Buddhist for over 40 years. The back cover of the book reads: “Buddhism and Western psychotherapy seek to provide freedom from suffering, yet each offers a completely different approach for reaching this goal. How can we know which one will help us the most?”

I’ve been interested in psychology for a long time but have only recently begun to explore meditation, mindfulness, and the other Eastern practices that have been recognized as beneficial by Western psychotherapists. My intellectual disposition makes me wary when it comes to investigating other religions, but that’s what makes Buddhism and Taoism so frustrating for a “Westerner” such as myself: it’s hard to tell which elements are “religious” and which are simply chochmah (wisdom). That’s why this book intrigued me: I hoped that the author would help me to clarify the distinction.

I’m only two chapters in, but towards the beginning of the book the author addresses my concern:

It’s said that the Buddha was asked about what happens when we die, whether other beings exist in other realms, and questions about the nature of reality. The Buddha responded: “If a man has been shot with an arrow and the doctor is called, does that doctor ask him who shot the arrow, what his motives were, what he was wearing, and so on? No. The doctor’s job is to remove the arrow and help the patient heal. My teachings are about the relief from unnecessary suffering. I teach about liberation, not about the nature of reality.”

This is a seductive anecdote. It promises practical results without theoretics. But is it really that simple? Are there not metaphysical and epistemological premises embedded within the anecdote itself? This anecdote presupposes that “liberation” has nothing to do with “the nature of reality.” It presupposes that neither the art of the doctor nor the art of the teacher need be concerned with anything but the experience of suffering. It presupposes that one can distinguish between “necessary” and “unnecessary” suffering without knowledge of reality. All of these presuppositions are made with subtlety.

This serves as a reminder about the insidious nature of metaphysical and epistemological premises. It is far too easy to pledge allegiance to such premises without even realizing it. This reminder is especially important for people such as me, who regularly read and learn non-Torah sources, both in order to better understand and practice Judaism, and in order to gain insight into the chochmah outside of Torah.

There are those who say that the risk is not worth the reward. They argue that it would be far safer to close ourselves off from all non-Torah sources of wisdom, for fear of “contamination.” This was the position of Rav S.R. Hirsch, as expressed in Letter #18 of the Nineteen Letters. He lambasted the Rambam for being influenced by foreign ideas, and advocated for a model of “developing Judaism from within” – an approach he ascribes to the Ramban, to R’ Yehuda ha’Levi, and to himself.

I hear where this approach is coming from. My response, in a nutshell, is: that ship has sailed. The belief that we can learn “pure Torah” by hermetically sealing ourselves off from foreign influences is a pipe dream. This may have been possible at various points in our history, but not today. The Ramban, who villainized Aristotle, was influenced by his ideas, as is evident from his commentary. Rav Hirsch thought and wrote like a German. The best hope we have is to “accept the truth from whoever says it” (Rambam, Intro to Perek Chelek) while striving to be aware of and to question our premises on a continual basis.

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Rambam: On Becoming Acquainted with Truth (Lessons 3-4)

This is a continuation of Rambam: On Becoming Acquainted with Truth (Lessons 1-2).

Lesson #3: Encountering Truth In Order

The Rambam continues recounting his history with R' Yosef: 

Thereupon I began to let you see certain flashes and to give you certain indications. Then I saw that you demanded of me additional knowledge and asked me to make clear to you certain things pertaining to divine matters, to inform you of the intentions of the Mutakallimun in this respect, and to let you know whether their methods were demonstrative and, if not, to what art they belonged. As I also saw, you had already acquired some smattering of this subject from people other than myself; you were perplexed, as stupefaction had come over you; your noble soul demanded of you to "find out acceptable words” (Koheles 12:10). Yet I did not cease dissuading you from this and enjoining upon you to approach matters in an orderly manner. My purpose in this was that the truth should present itself to your mind in its proper order, and that you should not hit upon it by mere chance.

Contrary to what the American Educational System would have you believe, truth is dynamic - not static. Truth doesn't consist of a set of fixed entities (i.e. statements, concepts, formulas) that can be collected in any haphazard manner, like gold coins or Pokémon. Man's ability to perceive reality is inherently limited. He doesn't simply "grasp" the truth as it actually is; rather, he "glimpses" it through the veils of his intellectual and psychological imperfections. For this reason, the same truth will be apprehended in a completely different manner, depending on when he encounters it. "How good is a statement in its proper time!" (Mishlei 15:23).

Truth may be likened to a piece of music: if one hears the notes or musical phrases out of order, the musical composition will become distorted, even to the point where it becomes something else entirely. Le'havdil, encountering the truth out of order, "by mere chance," is comparable to hearing a joke for the first time after you were told the punchline or watching a movie after the ending has been spoiled: you end up with all of the right parts, but the climax doesn't "register" as intended. 

I realize that I'm speaking entirely in vague descriptions and metaphors here, but that's only because I can't quite explain why this is the nature of truth. I just know it from experience. 

This is especially true with regards to the specific category of truths that the Rambam is discussing here, namely, the sodos ha'Torah ("secrets" of Torah - i.e. the deepest areas of metaphysics). Encountering other truths out of order might not cause much harm, but venturing prematurely into the study of the sodos ha'Torah can lead to irreparable damage. Later in the Moreh (1:33) the Rambam writes:

You must know that it is very dangerous to begin with this branch of philosophy – namely, [the deepest areas of] metaphysics – or to explain at the outset the sense of the allegories occurring in prophecies, and interpret the metaphors which are employed in historical accounts and which abound in the writings of the Prophets ... He who begins with metaphysics, will not only become confused in matters of belief, but will fall into absolute heresy. I compare such a person to an infant fed with wheaten bread, meat and wine: it will undoubtedly die, not because such food is naturally unfit for the human body, but because of the weakness of the child, who is unable to digest the food, and cannot derive benefit from it.

In the next chapter he warns:

Instruction should not begin with abstruse and difficult subjects. In one of the metaphors contained in the Torah, wisdom is compared to water, and among other interpretations given by our Sages of this simile, occurs the following: He who can swim may bring up pearls from the depth of the sea, he who is unable to swim will be drowned, therefore only such persons as have had proper instruction should expose themselves to the risk.

And again:

He who approaches metaphysical problems without proper preparation is like a person who journeys towards a certain place and, on the road, falls into a deep pit, out of which he cannot rise, and he must perish there; if he had not gone forth, but had remained at home, it would have been better for him.

To summarize: truth should be approached in its proper order in any area of knowledge, but in the realm of the sodos ha'Torah, the failure to do so can be disastrous. 

(This isn't to say that there is zero benefit to encountering a sode "by chance," out of order. At the very least, one will still gain the minimal benefit of becoming aware that such a sode exists. To borrow another video game reference: certain video games will grant players access to high level bosses at a very early stage in the game, knowing full well that these bosses are unbeatable when encountered at that point; this sets up an expectation in the mind of the player which guides and motivates him in his quest. The same is true with sodos: there is value in knowing, that an concept about a certain topic exists, even if one cannot understand the concept at the present time. In future, one will know where to look when the time is right; alternatively, that concept might suddenly "light up" one day, when the mind is ready to see it. The same goes for "cryptic" parts of Tanach are widely known to contain sodos, but which people know are inaccessible , such as the opening chapter of Sefer Yechezkel, or the sixth chapter of Sefer Yeshayahu. For this reason, I like the fact that the Rambam framed his warning in terms of "taking a big risk." Trying to understand a sode without going through the proper channels isn't inherently destructive, and it might even yield some benefit; nevertheless, it is a risk - one with high stakes.) 

Lesson #4: Truth is Not Egalitarian

The Rambam concludes by stating the circumstances which led him to compose the Moreh:

Whenever during your association with me a [Biblical] verse or some text of the Sages was mentioned in which there was a pointer to some strange notion, I did not refrain from explaining it to you. Then when God decreed our separation and you betook yourself elsewhere, these meetings aroused in me a resolution that had slackened. Your absence moved me to compose this Treatise, which I have composed for you and for those like you, however few they are. I have set it down in dispersed chapters. All of them that are written down will reach you where you are, one after the other. Be in good health.

Not everyone will be zocheh (meritorious) to reach the highest levels of knowledge. Some might consider this point to be obvious, but I think it's still worth mentioning. Although the Torah maintains that all human beings are created b'tzelem Elokim, with the capacity to seek abstract knowledge, not everyone is equal in this respect. Korach famously preached that "the entire assembly - all of them - are holy, and Hashem is among them" (Bamidbar 16:3). It is evident from Hashem's response that He disagreed with Korach's view. Everyone is on a different level, and the levels vary as much as the distance from east to west.

The Rambam writes about metaphysics: "This science, as you know, is not like the science of medicine or the science of geometry, and not everyone has the disposition required for it in the various respects we have mentioned" (Moreh 1:34). In the Mishneh Torah he quotes Chazal's statement about the four Sages who entered pardes (i.e. the study of the deepest areas of metaphysics), noting that "even though they were the greatest [scholars] of Israel and very wise, not all of them had the capacity to know and to grasp all of these principles clearly." 

It is human nature for a person to believe that he is the exception to the rule. There will inevitably be those who read the Rambam's statement: "I have composed for you and for those like you, however few they are" and will automatically assume that they are in this elite category. A person who is that haughty or that oblivious to his own level of chochmah is certainly not ready for the Moreh. Chazal teach (Berachos 7a) that on account of the fact that "Moshe hid his face, for he was afraid to gaze toward God" (Shemos 3:6), he was zocheh to reach the highest level of knowledge possible. That is the type the anavah (humility) that one must have: to know one's own limits, and to practice the guidelines set forth by Chazal (Bereishis Rabbah 8:2):

Into that which is beyond you, do not seek; into that which is more powerful than you, do not inquire; about that which too wondrous for you, do not desire to know; about that which is hidden from you, do not ask. Analyze that which is permitted to you, and do not engage yourself in the hidden things.

Rambam: On Becoming Acquainted with Truth (Lessons 1-2)

Introduction

Artwork: The Thinker, by Stephen Younts

"I wanted to know more about the Rambam's view of Torah, so I started reading the Guide for the Perplexed." 

I've heard this sentiment expressed on a number of occasions from a wide range of individuals: frum laymen, baalei teshuvah, yeshiva bochrim, secular intellectuals, and even semichah students. They are aware that the Moreh ha'Nevuchim is considered to be the Rambam's "philosophy book" and, figuring that this is the best way to familiarize themselves with (quote unquote) "Maimonidean philosophy," they jump right in.

Thankfully, my rabbeim in yeshiva always cautioned us against "dabbling in the Moreh." In addition to hearing this explicitly from my rabbeim on a number of occasions, I was also privy to certain experiences which drove this point home.

One time, in my first year of yeshiva, a bunch of us were arguing about how to interpret a certain passage in the third section of the Moreh. Just then, my rebbi walked in. He looked at the open copies of the Moreh on the table, then looked at us and said, "There isn't a single person in this room who understands what the Rambam is saying here." He then proceeded to show us the full extent of our ignorance and our overestimation of our collective intellectual prowess. This made a big impression on me an early stage in my learning. 

Another time, a magid shiur had to physically destroy a tape recording of one of his own shiurim after realizing that he had made a huge mistake in his interpretation of the Moreh - a realization which was induced by consulting the Rosh Yeshiva. Seeing that one of my rabbeim was prone to such errors definitely made me wary about venturing into the Moreh on my own. 

My favorite cautionary admonitory anecdote is something I heard from a friend. When he was in yeshiva high school, he expressed to his rebbi his desire to learn the Guide for the Perplexed. His rebbi responded, "You're not even on the level to be perplexed." Nuff said.

I've noticed one thing in common among the people I've met who decide to start reading the Moreh on their own: they all seem to either skip or disregard the Rambam's introduction, in which he specifies the type of student for whom he wrote his treatise. If these readers paid attention to the Rambam's own warnings in his introduction, they would either abandon their project at the outset, or at least go about learning the Moreh under the guidance of their rabbeim. 

This issue was brought to mind this weekend after speaking with yet another person who decided to start read the Moreh on his own. When I asked him whether he thought he met the prerequisites stated in the introduction, he didn't seem to know what I was talking about. 

On the basis of that conversation, I decided that perhaps it was time to reread the Rambam's introduction myself. Initially, I planned to compile all of the excerpts which should deter a person from a willy-nilly perusal of the Moreh. However, when my chavrusa and I began rereading the introduction, we discovered that it offered something beyond that. We noticed that the Rambam's introduction to the Moreh serves as a primer on how to become acquainted with truth, à la "Say to wisdom, 'You are my sister,' and call understanding a friend" (Mishlei 7:4). That might sound kind of weird, and might not make sense right now. Hopefully, you'll see what I mean as we go along. 

I've decided to conduct a "walk-through" of the Rambam's introduction to the Moreh which will span several blog posts. My goal here is not to attempt to write a full commentary on the Rambam's introduction, but rather, to extract useful ideas (or "lessons") about the nature of truth and how to approach it - with the secondary goal of highlighting why the Moreh should not be read by those who aren't ready. I'm not even going to include the entire introduction - only those parts which contribute toward this end.

Without further ado ...

Lesson #1: Desire for Truth ≠ Readiness for Truth

Rambam prefaces his formal introduction with a dedicatory epistle to the student for whom the Moreh was composed. He begins with a brief history of their relationship: 

My honored pupil R' Yosef, may the Rock guard you, son of R' Yehuda, may his repose be in Paradise. When you came to me, having conceived the intention of journeying from the country farthest away in order to read texts under my guidance, I had a high opinion of you because of your strong desire for inquiry and because of what I had observed in your poems of your powerful longing for philosophical matters. This was the case since your letters and compositions in rhymed prose came to me from Alexandria, before your grasp was put to the test. I said however: perhaps his longing is stronger than his grasp.

The Rambam here acknowledges that even though R' Yosef exhibited a "strong desire for inquiry" and a "powerful longing for philosophical matters," he knew that it is possible for a student to have a strong desire for a certain area of knowledge, but to not be on the level to acquire that knowledge. The Rambam expands on this point later on (Moreh 1:34) when he enumerates the five obstacles which prevent the masses from learning metaphysics:

Man has in his nature a desire to seek the ends; and he often finds preliminaries tedious and refuses to engage in them. Know, however, that if an end could be achieved without the preliminaries that precede it, the latter would not be preliminaries, but pure distractions and futilities. 

Now if you awaken a man - even though he were the dullest of all people – as one awakens a sleeping individual, and if you were to ask him whether he desired at that moment to have knowledge of the heavenly spheres (namely, what is their number and what their configuration, and what is contained in them), and what angels are, and how the world as a whole was created, and what its end is in view of the arrangement of its various parts with one another, and what the soul is, and how it is created in time in the body, and whether the human soul can be separated from the body, and if it can, in what manner and through what instrument and with what distinction in view, and if you put the same question to him with regard to other subjects of research of this kind, he would undoubtedly answer you in the affirmative. He would have a natural desire to know these things as they are in truth; but he would wish this desire to be allayed, and the knowledge of all this to be achieved by means of one or two words that you would say to him. 

If, however, you would lay upon him the obligation to abandon his occupation for a week’s time until he should understand all this, he would not do it, but would be satisfied with deceptive imaginings through which his soul would be set at ease. He would also dislike being told that there is a thing whose knowledge requires many premises and a long time for investigation … 

Speaking as both a teacher and a student, I know how easy it is to feel that wanting to know something automatically qualifies one to learn it. We feel that the desire to know means that we deserve to know. Sadly, this is not the case. While it is the rebbi's job to keep the student on track with what is developmentally appropriate, the student should, over time, cultivate the self-knowledge and humility to say, "I'm not ready for this yet." 

Lesson #2: Training in Logic is a Necessary Prerequisite

The Rambam continues with his account of how R' Yosef excelled in his preparatory studies: 

When thereupon you read under my guidance texts dealing with the science of astronomy and prior to that texts dealing with mathematics, which is necessary as an introduction to astronomy, my joy in you increased because of the excellence of your mind and the quickness of your grasp. I saw that your longing for mathematics was great, and hence I let you train yourself in that science, knowing where you would end. When thereupon you read under my guidance texts dealing with the art of logic, my hopes fastened upon you, and I saw that you are one worthy to have the sodos (secrets) of the prophetic books revealed to you so that you would consider in them that which perfect men ought to consider.

Rambam writes in several places about how the study of mathematics and natural sciences - particularly astronomy - are necessary prerequisites for the study of metaphysics. Nevertheless, it was R' Yosef's study of logic which clinched the deal, and finally prompted the Rambam to transmit sodos to R' Yosef. 

We could digress here into a lengthy discussion about why the study of logic is a necessary prerequisite to metaphysics, and we can speculate on why the Rambam made his decision to teach R' Yosef on that basis, but I want to focus on a much simpler point: how many of us bother to master logic before venturing into metaphysics? How many of us can say that our thinking consistently follows the rules and principles of logic? And if we aren't sufficiently fluent in the science of logic, how can we even begin to study the deepest sodos of Torah and the universe?

To Be Continued ... 

I hope you can see what I'm trying to do here. The picture will become even clearer when we get to Lesson #3: Encountering Truth by Accident, and Lesson #4: Truth as Lightning.

That's all for now, but there's plenty more that will have to wait until next time.