Rav Hirsch on Bad Biographies

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Artwork: horrific AI attempt to produce a portrait of Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch

Rav Hirsch on Bad Biographies

I recently started reading a book by Hillel Goldberg called, Between Berlin and Slobodka: Jewish Transition Figures From Eastern Europe (1989), featuring biographies of six towering intellects: R’ Israel Salanter, Harry A. Wolfson, R’ Isaac Hutner, R’ Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Abraham J. Heschel, and Rabbi Joseph Z. Lipovitz. I bought it because Amazon was selling it for only $6 (!) and I figured that it would be beneficial to learn about the impact these six influential men had on Jewry.

I enjoyed reading the book from the get-go. The author is a gifted writer with an engaging style. The blurb on cover testifies that he “spent two decades in research on this biography” – a claim bolstered by the extensive endnotes and bibliography, which fill a whopping 102 pages. I read through the biographies of the first three figures, about whom I had little prior knowledge, and felt like I was learning something … until my reading was brought to a screeching halt by a critical review.

Lawrence J. Kaplan is Professor of Rabbinics and Jewish Philosophy in the Department of Jewish Studies at McGill University. He has written extensively on a wide range of topics and is regarded as one of the foremost experts on the thought of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, whose Ish ha-Halakhah (Halakhic Man) he translated into English. When I posted an excerpt from Goldberg’s book on my Facebook wall, Professor Kaplan suggested that I read his critical review essay, published in Daat: A Journal of Jewish Philosophy and Kabbalah (no.35, pp. V-XXXIV, summer 1995).

Any attempt on my part to summarize Kaplan’s review would fail to do it justice. Its power comes from its thoroughness in exposing the gaps and prejudices in Goldberg’s treatment of his subjects. Instead, I will cite his closing paragraphs:

Two general points emerge from my lengthy examination and critique of Goldberg's treatment of his four central transition figures; the first is negative, the second, positive. First, to return to my starting point, while Goldberg claims to evaluate these figures in terms of their success at integrating the various clashing worlds within them, I believe I have shown that his evaluations cannot be sustained and that what he is really offering us is a purely theological judgment in a scholarly garb. Second, my own alternative analysis of the thought of these figures, while necessarily sketchy and incomplete, leads to the tentative conclusion that they, to use Goldberg's ostensible criterion, were, despite tensions and even contradictions, considerably more successful in integrating these worlds than Goldberg would have us think.

Have I been too harsh on Between Berlin and Slobodka? Did I not state earlier that it deals with a large and important subject and did I not concede to it many considerable strengths? Why then the sharpness of my tone?

If I have taken the book to task in so uncompromising and critical a fashion, it is precisely because I, like my old friend Hillel Goldberg, am simultaneously committed to the values of Jewish Orthodoxy and intellectual responsibility, and because I believe that Goldberg has, in writing this work, allowed, however unwittingly, the former value to override the latter. I am sure I need not remind Goldberg that the rabbinic tradition itself affirms, "Truth is the seal of the Holy one, blessed be He," and, that Rav Kook, whose strict Orthodoxy Goldberg would certainly not wish to deny, adds, "The truth is more beloved than everything, and precisely in it will the Exalted One, blessed be He, be praised.”

Anyone wishing to study the phenomenon of Jewish transition figures from Eastern Europe in the twentieth century will find much valuable data and many stimulating and incisive observations and insights in Between Berlin and Slobodka. The book as a whole, however, falls far short of its stated goals.

Kaplan’s review shook me on two levels. First, it reminded me of how dependent we are on experts in fields outside of our own expertise, and how easy it is to misplace our trust without realizing it. I had never heard of Hillel Goldberg, but I trusted him because he published a book which appeared to be based on copious amounts of research. I then shifted my trust to Kaplan based on the substance of his critique, strengthened by my small measure of firsthand familiarity with his scholarly prowess. But what would happen if another expert I trusted penned an essay defending Goldberg’s analysis? I would be left with compelling cases on both sides, and I would feel helpless to draw my own conclusions. The obvious “solution” of “go forth, study the collective works of Rav Hutner in light of all biographical data, and form your own conclusions” is not practical. This dilemma is not unique to intellectual biographies, and that’s what scares me. I realize this isn’t a new or profound insight. Just a rude reminder of an unavoidable limitation on the human intellect.

Second, Kaplan’s critique reminded me of how much subjectivity is involved in any attempt to capture the essence of a human life in writing. This, in turn, prompted me to recall Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch’s critique of Heinreich Graetz’s seminal work, History of the Jews. For those who are unfamiliar, here is an informational blurb excerpted from Collected Writings of Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch: Volume V (1988, Feldheim):

The historian Dr. Heinrich Graetz (1817-1891) was a professor at the Judisch-Theologische Seminar in Breslau where he published his eleven-volume History of the Jews (1853-1870). He reflected the ideological tendencies of his academic institution by accepting Biblical criticism and by believing in the historical evolution, rather than the Divine origin, of the Oral Law … Although Graetz was personally traditional in practice (and a student of Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch while the latter was Rabbi in Oldenburg), his work was used by those who wished to reform Orthodox Judaism. Recognizing its danger to Torah Judaism, Hirsch reacted strongly with a “critical examination” of Graetz’s fourth volume. In a series of twelve articles in his journal Jeschurun, Hirsch quoted the pertinent passages from Graetz’s History and then disproved his theses regarding the Oral Law.

Here is Rav Hirsch’s scathing critique of Graetz’s work, which I will present here in full. (Parenthetically, I hope you’ll be able to see why this ranks among my favorite written reviews of anything, ever.)

I once had a young friend who was a deaf-mute. He was a rather popular artist in one of the German provincial capitals. All his portraits looked very much alike, yet they were not truly alike. He had a habit – we called it a peculiarity – of painting all his pictures in colossal dimensions. All his paintings were much larger than life and therefore had a strange, spectral look. One could readily surmise that the subject had sat for the portrait, but one could not state with certainty that this was indeed the one. Recognition was not the result of a visual impression, but of reflection. The portrait hinted at the identity of the subject, but it was clear that the artist had not painted his subject in terms of objective reality. He had only captured the subjective impression made upon him by the personality of his subject.

When it comes to a human subject, the artist’s eye is not his only medium of perception; the portraitist is influenced also by his emotions. Any contemplation of a human subject entails the conception of an intellectual personality. The subjective image of a subject, which is largely influenced by personal likes and dislikes, will unconsciously guide the brush in the artist’s hand. Such an image may often be entirely inaccurate. In addition, it may be further influenced by accidental poses of the subject, or even by the subject’s – or the artist’s – momentary state of health or ill-health.

This should explain the many portraits which, though they cannot be dismissed out of hand as “bad,” show features so unlike the subject and are so much at variance with his true character, that those better acquainted with him – especially his closest friends and relations – will categorically reject the portrait. The artist has captured in his work a trait that is transient or accidental (and colored by the artist’s own subjective impressions) as if it were a permanent aspect of his subject’s personality. In fact, the portrait flagrantly contradicts the character of the person they know. Regarding our deaf-mute friend, it might be worthwhile to make a psychological study to establish whether deaf-mute artists see their human subjects in a light so basically different from normal portraitists that there must always be something unusual about any portrait painted by a deaf-mute. 

Now imagine an artist whose natural angle of vision causes him to see his subjects not larger, but smaller than life. Imagine further that, over many years, this artist created portraits for which his subjects never sat. He based his work on some isolated trait in his subjects that may have come to his attention by accident and that, in addition, may have been distorted by the artist’s hasty judgment or misinterpretation. This artist then brings his creative imagination into play, using this one trait as a basis for interpreting the personality of the subject as a whole. He portrays his subjects as he saw them once, in unguarded moods, positions or activities: the one in a playful mood, the other in a pensive state; the one laughing, the other weeping; the one angry, the other joking. Some of his subjects are made to appear indignant, arrogant or impudent, while others look depressed, anxious, humble or embarrassed. But in thus portraying a person, the artist has seized upon only one note in that person’s whole range of emotions, a note which, in fact, may have been played only once in the person’s lifetime, but which the artist has perpetuated as the keynote, the dominant character. 

Now let us imagine that, years later, this artist presents to us these sketches as true-to-life portraits, committing the error of explaining the transient moods in which he painted his subjects as typical of their character. “Look,” he says, “this one was always laughing; that one had an evil temper; this one was forever playing games; that one was always deep in thought.” Even worse, he passes off these products of his imagination not only as authentic character sketches of his subjects but as prototypes of all their contemporaries; thus, “during this period, people were laughing all the time; during this other period, they tended to be depressed; this era was one of arrogance; that era was an age of anxiety and timidity.”

Now let us say that, in reply to our look of disbelief, the artist cites ancient chronicles in support of his presentation: “During that year the cherries were sour; as a result, everyone alive at the time had a sour look on his face,” or, “During this year the future looked bright; as a result, everyone was in an unusually friendly mood.” Say, further, that this artist clings to his fancies as if they were absolute truth, so much so that wherever he needs a historical reference to authenticate his portrait he feels free to invent a reference to suit the portrait. Consider all these caprices of artistic fancy, and you have the History of the Jews by Dr. H. Graetz. 

These lines were written to a friend who wanted to hear my opinion of this History soon after its publication. They reflect the impressions which the book made upon me after I read it through only once, without subjecting the author’s views and descriptions to detailed tests in the light of the data and the sources he cites in their support. Even a superficial glance at this so-called “History of the Jews” should be sufficient for anyone with even a slight knowledge of the literature cited by the author as his source material to see that this work presents more fiction than fact.

Since then, I have examined this work in detail and checked it against the cited sources. Leaving aside the religious philosophy for which it is intended as an ideological basis and which its conclusions are meant to support, I have found it to be, even from a purely scientific point of view, a product of the most outrageous, irresponsible superficiality. I therefore consider it my sacred duty to present the results of my investigation to the public.

The main point of Rav Hirsch’s analogy is that, at the end of the day, a biography is a subjective portrait. The force of his analogy lies in its depiction of just how much the author’s subjectivity can skew the accuracy of the biography. According to Kaplan, Goldberg was a tragic victim of his own subjectivity. I say “victim” because his distortion was not intentional, and I say “tragic” because of how much he misrepresents the ideas of these individuals in his account of their contributions. Kaplan goes so far as to write: “In the case of Harry Wolfson and, perhaps also, Abraham Joshua Heschel what Goldberg presents us with are not so much portraits as caricatures.”

On a personal level, I am left with one question: Do I finish reading Goldberg’s book? One the one hand, my newfound awareness of its flaws will help me to take everything I read with a heaping tablespoon of salt. Additionally, Kaplan acknowledged at the end of his review that readers will still “find much valuable data and many stimulating and incisive observations and insights.” He even encouraged me on Facebook to continue reading and to share my thoughts when I’m finished. At the same time, I’m wary about knowingly allowing inaccuracies to enter my mind and take root. Reading the chapter on Rabbi Soloveitchik might not be so bad, since I already have a wealth of diverse biographical snapshots and enough firsthand knowledge of his Torah to form my own views. But do I really want my introduction to Abraham J. Heschel to be a biography that is so slanted by the author’s value judgments that it borders on caricature? 

Although I haven’t made my decision yet, I am inclined to finish the book. Considering what I wrote above about the unavoidable perils of relying on experts and the inherent hazards in every biography, I might as well lean into the process, exposing myself to as many different takes as possible. Theoretically, I will build up a healthy skepticism from the diversity of views while accumulating a core composite image where the differing accounts overlap. Errors will be unavoidable, but that’s par for the course of being a human being with a limited intellect.

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If you've gained from what you've learned here, please consider contributing to my Patreon at www.patreon.com/rabbischneeweiss. Alternatively, if you would like to make a direct contribution to the "Rabbi Schneeweiss Torah Content Fund," my Venmo is @Matt-Schneeweiss, and my Zelle and PayPal are mattschneeweiss at gmail.com. Even a small contribution goes a long way to covering the costs of my podcasts, and will provide me with the financial freedom to produce even more Torah content for you.

If you would like to sponsor a day's or a week's worth of content, or if you are interested in enlisting my services as a teacher or tutor, you can reach me at rabbischneeweiss at gmail.com. Thank you to my listeners for listening, thank you to my readers for reading, and thank you to my supporters for supporting my efforts to make Torah ideas available and accessible to everyone.

Be sure to check out my YouTube channel and my podcasts: "The Mishlei Podcast", "The Stoic Jew" Podcast, "Rambam Bekius" Podcast, "Machshavah Lab" Podcast, "The Tefilah Podcast"  Email me if you'd like to be added to my WhatsApp group where I share all of my content and public shiur info. 

On Reading the Rambam’s Mishneh Torah Like a Love Letter

This week's Torah content has been sponsored by Naomi Mann in honor of Rabbi Moskowitz zt"l, whose shloshim is this week.

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close-up of the Oxford 577 Huntington 80 manuscript
"checked against my book - I, Moshe, son of Maimon zt"l"

On Reading the Rambam’s Mishneh Torah Like a Love Letter

This article is part PSA and part rant. For the past two years I’ve given a Rambam shiur in yeshiva four days a week. Time and again I’ve stressed the importance of using a critical edition of the Mishneh Torah based on accurate manuscripts, rather than relying on the standard Warsaw-Vilna printed editions owned by most Jews. Here’s an excerpt from R’ Yosef Qafih’s [1] introduction to his edition of the Mishneh Torah in which he explains why the standard editions are so unreliable:

The errors and deficiencies of the printed texts were well known, so much so that the printed books were used to characterize a mistaken person: when someone said something incorrect on some subject, they would respond "you are like a defoos (printed text)," and point out the correction. These matters were inscribed on my heart, and I grew up with the assumption that there were two types of Maimonides texts in the world: that of the Yemenite manuscripts and that of the printed book.

Qafih goes on to write about how the Rambam updated the Mishneh Torah throughout his lifetime and how the Yemenite scholars made every effort to incorporate these emendations into their copies. With the printed texts, this did not happen.

… in the printed texts, only a few of the changes which Maimonides himself inserted in his book appear, since only a few reached the early printers. Some of the emendations which Maimonides added he wrote in the margins on the side, and the copyists did not pay attention to the correct placement and inserted them in the wrong place, causing much trouble and difficult questions in the understanding of Maimonides’ words … The "editors" tried to deduce changes. The Mishneh Torah was subjected to severe editing by the printers, and various editors who made emendations of style, language, the structure of sentences and the division of halachot … to the extent that there is hardly any halacha that has not been emended. I know of no other book that was so severely emended … every third or fourth rate scholar who thought himself capable of doing so would presume to try his hand at making emendations and corrections according to his own understanding.

Mark Twain once quipped: “Be careful about reading health books. You may die of a misprint.” Kal va’chomer for a book which contains not only transcription errors, but willful emendations made recklessly by unqualified individuals. And the Twain quotation doesn’t do it for you, consider this analogy given by Mortimer J. Adler in How to Read a Book (1940):

If we consider men and women generally, and apart from their professions or occupations, there is only one situation I can think of in which they almost pull themselves up by their bootstraps, making an effort to read better than they usually do. When they are in love and are reading a love letter, they read for all they are worth. They read every word three ways; they read between the lines and in the margins; they read the whole in terms of the parts, and each part in terms of the whole; they grow sensitive to context and ambiguity, to insinuation and implication; they perceive the color of words, the odor of phrases, and the weight of sentences. They may even take the punctuation into account. Then, if never before or after, they read.

The Rambam most certainly wrote the Mishneh Torah with love: love for Hashem, love for His Torah, and love for all Jews, “small and great,” for whom it was written. His book should be read like a love letter. And if you wouldn’t trust a transcription of a love letter knowing that its text was mangled, manipulated, and revised by scores of strangers, then don’t even touch the standard editions of the Rambam. I cannot, for the life of me, understand those talmidei chachamim who continue to use the bad versions of the Mishneh Torah. I’m tempted to chalk this up to ignorance or laziness, but I can’t tell whether doing so counts as being dan l’chaf zechus (giving them the benefit of the doubt) or its the opposite.

Do you know what is not an excuse? Accessibility. The most accurate version of the Mishneh Torah is the new edition published by R’ Yitzchak Sheilat, available in its entirety for free on AlHaTorah.org. A close runner-up is R’ Yohai Makbili’s edition, which has a free app for iPhone and Android. Use these. Use them in good health. And don’t die of a misprint.

[1] Rabbi Yosef Qafih (1917 – 2000) was a Yemenite scholar who translated and published critical editions of the Rambam’s works. The 20-page introduction to his critical edition of the Mishneh Torah can be found here, translated into English by Michael J. Bohnen.

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If you've gained from what you've learned here, please consider contributing to my Patreon at www.patreon.com/rabbischneeweiss. Alternatively, if you would like to make a direct contribution to the "Rabbi Schneeweiss Torah Content Fund," my Venmo is @Matt-Schneeweiss, and my Zelle and PayPal are mattschneeweiss at gmail.com. Even a small contribution goes a long way to covering the costs of my podcasts, and will provide me with the financial freedom to produce even more Torah content for you.

If you would like to sponsor a day's or a week's worth of content, or if you are interested in enlisting my services as a teacher or tutor, you can reach me at rabbischneeweiss at gmail.com. Thank you to my listeners for listening, thank you to my readers for reading, and thank you to my supporters for supporting my efforts to make Torah ideas available and accessible to everyone.

Be sure to check out my YouTube channel and my podcasts: "The Mishlei Podcast", "The Stoic Jew" Podcast, "Rambam Bekius" Podcast, "Machshavah Lab" Podcast, "The Tefilah Podcast"  

Musings on the Wisdom of Charles Ives

Originally published in December of 2008. Click here for a printer-friendly version of this blog post.

Charles Edward Ives (1874-1954) 

Musings on the Wisdom of Charles Ives

For those of you who do not know, my pre-Judaism life was centered around classical music. The composer who exerted the most influence over my musical development was a man by the name of Charles Ives (1874-1954). Ives - the man and his music - will always have a special place in my life.

Ives was not a philosopher by trade, but possessed a philosopher's insight, a poet's perceptiveness, and the gift of wit - much like Mark Twain. I was recently reading some of Ives's writings and came across several ideas I'd like to share with you. 

Before I do that, I highly encourage you to listen to these quick samples of Ives's music, since his music is the context for the ideas that I'm going to focus on in this post:

• Piano Study No.20: I chose this piece because it features a variety of Ives's musical hallmarks: dissonance, syncopation, complex counterpoint, quotations from American folk songs, ragtime, and more. It's not necessary to listen to the whole thing. In fact, if you can't tolerate the beginning, skip to 3:00.
• Holidays Symphony: Movement III - The Fourth of July: This clip is the last 100 seconds (4:08 - 5:48) of one of his early symphonies, written in 1912. In this movement he attempted "to exemplify the excitement a boy feels during the Fourth of July celebrations and the freedom felt on that special day."
• Concord Sonata: Movement III - The Alcotts: In my opinion, this piece is the exemplar of Ivesian beauty. The theme is a variant on the famous "fate knocking" theme of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony. This is the only Ives piece I ever learned how to play on piano. [1]

Ives was unique in many ways. Unlike most other famous composers, Ives did not make his living with his music. Once he came to terms with the fact that his music was decades ahead of its time, Ives ceased holding public performances and decided to go into the life insurance business, keeping his music entirely to himself and his family. He wasn't really "discovered" by the Classical Music World until he was already an old man.

Unlike other artists, Ives did not view his art to be the purpose of life, or larger than life. Rather, as he proclaimed in a letter to his wife, "Music is life," by which he meant, "It comes directly out of the heart of experience of life and thinking about life and living life" [2]. It is this view which makes it possible to view Ives's music as a sort of commentary on life, and his attitude towards music as his philosophy of living.

Here are three ideas from Ives's music/life that I came across and would like to share:

Ives on Musical Appreciation

Ives was always critical of people who have a narrow taste in music. Take, for instance, this excerpt from his memos:

I'd played over the Second Violin Sonata for him - that harmless piece. "After stuff like the that," he said, "if you consider that music, and like it, how can you like Brahms or any good music?" That is a very common attitude among almost all the well-known lilies. They take it for granted - a kind of self-evident axiom, a settled-for-life matter, ipso facto, admitting no argument. The classical is good for all time, the modern is bad for all time - so if you like one, you can't like the other. They don't always limit it to "good and bad." They, in a general way, throw (in their nice little minds) all that fits into their accustomed habits of sound, technique, etc., all together into a classical idiom, good or bad. [3]

What Ives says about music is also true of philosophy. Many people (myself included) have a tendency to accept or reject ideas, not based on their merit or veracity, but on whether they conform to accustomed or "accepted" lines of thought. 

This "evaluation" is made with little analysis or reflection, and is driven by the need to place the idea into a "classical idiom, good or bad." All people care about is, "Is this idea in line with my hashkafah (worldview) or not?" They ask themselves "Is this a good idea or a bad idea?" rather than "Is this a true idea or a false idea?" 

This approach is not the approach of chachamim (the wise), but of "philosophical lilies," as Ives would say - people whose "taste" in philosophy is so narrow and close-minded that they miss out on philosophical truth altogether.

Ives on Musical Beauty

People have a hard time seeing the beauty in Ives's music. According to Ives, this is due to an incorrect notion of beauty:

Beauty in music is too often confused with something that lets the ears lie back in an easy chair. Many sounds that we are used to do not bother us, and for that reason we are inclined to call them beautiful. Frequently, when a new or unfamiliar work is accepted as beautiful on its first hearing, its fundamental quality is one that tends to put the mind to sleep. [4] 

Likewise, I would say: "Truth in ideas is too often confused with something that lets the mind lie back in an easy chair. Many ideas that we are used to do not bother us, and for that reason we are inclined to call them true. Frequently, when a new or unfamiliar idea is accepted as true on its first hearing, its fundamental quality is one that tends to put the mind to sleep."

I also didn't see Ives's music as beautiful at first. But after a lot of hard work and "stretching my ears," as Ives would say, I was finally able to appreciate its beauty, which was unlike anything else I had ever heard. 

This metaphor, I believe, can be extended to the pleasure of learning. Some people are naturally drawn to truth and thinking. They find learning inherently pleasurable from the get-go. I did not. I didn't experience the so-called "joy of learning" until, after years of frustration in yeshiva, I was finally able to begin to experience the beauty of ideas on my own.

Ives on Musical Independence

Ives recognized that his conception of beauty differed greatly from that of his contemporaries. Nevertheless, Ives believed, a man should not be deterred from sticking to his own conception of beauty just because it is not widely held:

A man's life should be a stately march to a sweet but unheard music, and when to his fellows it shall seem irregular and inharmonious, he will only be stepping to a livelier measure, or his nicer ear hurry him into a thousand symphonies and concordant variations. There will be no halt ever, but at most a marching on his post, on such a pause as is richer than any sound, when the melody runs into such depth and wildness as to be no longer heard, but implicitly consented to with the whole life and being. [5] 

This brings to mind the parting words of Socrates to Crito:

But why, my dear Crito, should we care about the opinion of the many? ... We must not regard what the many say of us: but what he, the one man who has understanding of just and unjust, will say, and what the truth will say. And therefore you begin in error when you advise that we should regard the opinion of the many about just and unjust, good and evil, honorable and dishonorable. [6]

What makes Ives's artistic independence unique is that he didn't flaunt it, like so many musical pioneers before him. He knew that the public of the late 19th century was not ready for music this radical, and that he would only cause himself frustration by forcing his music upon them. This is reminiscent of the Rambam's [7] description of those who have grasped certain fundamental truths:

It is right that a man should belong to that class of men who have a conception of truth and understand it, though they do not speak of it. Thus the pious are advised and addressed, "Commune with your own mind upon your bed and be still, Selah!" (Tehilim 4:5).

And when people finally did recognize his music by rewarding him the Pulitzer Prize in 1946 - when he was already 72 years old - Ives didn't haughtily pat himself on the back and indulge in egotistical pleasure. Instead, he gave away half of the prize money and said:

"Prizes are for boys, and I'm all grown up!" [7]

Often when I "succeed" in convincing a person of a certain idea, I often feel a certain illicit sense of pride and achievement. Whenever this happens, I must remember to take a lesson from Ives. Instead of patting myself on the back, I should just be happy that another mind can share in the truth.

In conclusion, I am not trying to elevate Charles Ives to the status of a true philosopher. However, my approach in life is to try to recognize true ideas wherever I see them. If I can associate good music with good ideas, all the better.

[1] At around the same time that this blog post was originally published, I wrote the following comment about my relationship to this piece in an online Charles Ives fan group:

When I was in 11th grade, my family and I moved to a new city and started a new life. That was probably the loneliest, most difficult year of my young life. 

During that time, I learned to play "The Alcotts." I channeled all of my turmoil, loneliness, and longing into that piece. It became my emotional anchor. Whenever I felt myself on the verge of being pulled into the undercurrent of despair, that piece refocused me and helped me to retain a sense of identity. The pain and passion of that piece, climaxing in its glorious conclusion, never fails to give me goosebumps. "The Alcotts" will always hold a special place in my life.

[2] quoted in Charles Ives: A Man and His Music (1968), by Henry and Sidney Cowell

[3] Charles Ives, Memos 121-122

[4] Charles Ives, Essays Before a Sonata

[5] Charles Ives, Thoreau Journal, vol.1, 156

[6] Plato, Crito 47c-d

[7] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Moreh ha'Nevuchim 1:50

[8] This anecdote is widely quoted, but I don't know the original source.

Rambam: On Not Citing Sources

Originally published in January 2009, in a cruder form. Click here for a printer-friendly version of this blog post.

Artwork: Arcane Lighthouse, by Igor Kieryluk

Rambam: On Not Citing Sources

ha'Omer Davar b'Shem Omro

The braisa in Avos 6:6 [1] enumerates 48 qualities that are necessary for "acquiring Torah." The 48th quality on the list is "ha'omer davar b'shem omro" - one who says something in the name of the person who [originally] said it. The braisa goes on to explain that whoever does this "brings redemption to the world, as it is stated, 'And Esther said to the king in the name of Mordechai' (Esther 2:22)." This virtue of ha'omer davar b'shem omro is lauded by Chazal (the Sages) in other places as well (Megilah 15a, Chulin 104b, Nidah 19b - just to name a few). 

According to Chazal, not only is it good and proper to say something in the name of the original speaker, but it is bad and improper to not say something in the name of the original speaker. Chazal teach: "Concerning one who doesn't say something in the name of the original speaker, the verse states, 'Do not steal from the poor, because he is poor' (Mishlei 22:22)" (Tanchuma Bamidbar 27). Similarly: "One who says something in the name of someone who didn't say it brings a curse upon the world" (Yalkut Shimoni, Mishlei 247).

Rambam's Anonymity Policy

Based on these sources one might think that it is never acceptable to cite another person's idea without proper attribution. Yet, in his preface to Shemoneh Perakim the Rambam [2] writes: 

It is important to know, though, that I did not originate the ideas expressed or the explanations offered in these chapters or in my commentary [to Pirkei Avos]; rather, they have been collected from the words of the Sages in midrashim, the Talmud, and in their other works, as well as from the words of earlier and later philosophers [Jewish and non-Jewish], and from the works of many others. Accept the truth from whoever utters it.

Once in a while, though, I will quote verbatim from a well-known work [without indicating that it is a quotation]. There is nothing wrong with this, since I am not taking credit for what someone else already said, and because I hereby acknowledge [at the outset that I will be doing this].

I will also not say, "So-and-so said this" or "So-and-so said that" because that would be unnecessarily wordy. Furthermore, it might make a reader who does not accept the author think that what he said is harmful or has a sinister intent that he is unaware of. Therefore I decided to leave out the author's name, for my aim is to help the reader and explain what is hidden away in this tractate.

The question is: How can we reconcile Chazal's position on ha'omer davar b'shem omro with the Rambam's practice in Shemoneh Perakim? Surely the Rambam was aware of the principle of ha'omer davar b'shem omro which is stated in the braisa of Avos - the very tractate about  which these words of the Rambam were written! How can he not cite his sources? 

Illicitly Taking Credit

The Rambam justifies his policy of not citing sources by saying: 

Once in a while, though, I will quote verbatim from a well-known work [without indicating that it is a quotation]. There is nothing wrong with this, since I am not taking credit for what someone else already said, and because I hereby acknowledge [at the outset that I will be doing this].

In other words, it would appear that the Rambam does not interpret ha'omer davar b'shem omro to mean that one must attribute statements to their original source, but rather, that one must not claim credit for the ideas of others. Thus, the Rambam has satisfied the guideline of ha'omer davar b'shem omro simply by acknowledging at the outset that he will be using the ideas of others in his treatise, and that he does not claim credit for these ideas. According to the Rambam, it would only be a violation of ha'omer davar b'shem omro if he presented someone else's ideas as his own. 

But one might raise another objection to the Rambam's practice: If the Rambam is quoting the words of an authority figure, isn't it important to mention that authority's name? Sure, it's nice that the Rambam doesn't claim authorship for ideas that are not his own, but how will the reader be able to judge the truth of the statement if he doesn't know who said it? How can the Rambam dismiss the citation of sources as being "unnecessarily wordy"? 

Authority and Truth

The answer to this question is contained in address by what is one of the most oft-quoted sayings of the Rambam: "Accept the truth from whoever says it." The Rambam elaborates on this principle in the Mishneh Torah in the laws of sanctifying the new moon. After several chapters of complex astronomical calculations, the Rambam [3] concludes:

As regards the logic for all these calculations – why we have to add a particular figure or deduct it, how all these rules originated, and how they were discovered and proved – all this is part of the science of astronomy and mathematics, about which many books have been composed by Greek sages – books that are still available to the scholars of our time. But the books which had been composed by the Sages of Israel, of the tribe of Yissachar, who lived in the time of the prophets, have not come down to us. But since all these rules have been established by sound and clear proofs, free from any flaw and irrefutable, we don’t care about the identity of their authors, whether they were Jewish prophets or Gentile sages. For regarding any matter whose rationale is evident and whose truth has been verified by sound proofs: we do not rely on the person who said it or taught it, but on the proof that has been demonstrated and the reasoning that we know.

For example, if the Rambam wrote "2+2=4," he would not need to cite a mathematician to support his point. Why not? Because the truth of 2+2=4 does not rest on authority. Its truth is evident to the mind. This is what the Rambam means by the last sentence in the aforementioned passage: when it comes to a statement, the truth of which has been demonstrated by proof and reasoning, authority has no place. We do not accept such a statement because it was stated by an authority. We accept it because our minds see the truth.

What is true for arithmetic is true for the concepts taught in Avos (i.e. ideas of philosophy and ethics) as well. If a philosophical or ethical idea has been validly demonstrated with clear evidence, proofs, and reasoning, then it doesn't matter who said it - prophet or gentile, old or young, expert or layman. The truth speaks for itself, and is not dependent on the affirmation of any authority.

Indeed, the Talmud is filled with instances in which the question is raised, "What is the source for this idea?" and the Gemara answers "sevara hee" (lit. "it is rational idea") which means "the truth of this statement is evident, and does not require a source." The Sefer ha'Chinuch [4] takes this further in the introduction to his book. He raises the question, "Why doesn't the Torah discuss the fate of the soul after death and the World to Come?" and answers:

Such matters do not require the support of proofs and testimony [from the Torah], for they are their own proof and testimony; they are first principles (i.e. ideas whose rationale is evident to the mind). Therefore, the Torah never goes on at length about matters that can be known through human reasoning [alone], just as the Sages have said in so many places, "sevara hee" - meaning, no Scriptural proof is necessary in that which reason dictates.

The Rambam intended that the content of Shemoneh Perakim be assessed on its own merit. He expected the reader to think about the ideas and proofs contained therein, to determine with his or her own mind whether or not they make sense, and to accept or reject them on that basis, and on that basis alone.

When Attribution is Necessary

Needless to say, there are valid reasons for citing one's sources. If the truth of a statement rests on facts which can only be obtained through specialized observation or can only be understood through a specialized branch of knowledge, then a layperson shouldn't accept the statement as true without the endorsement of a qualified expert. For instance, it is unwise for a layperson to rely on statements about medicine unless those statements have been vetted by medical experts. Likewise, the merit of a halachic statement often hinges on its source(s).

Sometimes it is necessary to know who authored a particular statement in order to ensure that it is consistent with other statements made by the same author. For this reason the Gemara endeavors to record the source of every halachic statement therein. When an apparent contradiction arises between two statements by the same author, it becomes necessary to explain the contradiction by analyzing each statement in an attempt to arrive at a consistent position.

Another reason to cite sources is to facilitate further research on the part of the reader. For example, someone who reads this post might want to read the text of the Rambam in context to see whether I have accurately conveyed his view. Had I not mentioned the source of the text, it would be difficult for the reader to investigate the material on his or her own. [5]

Another reason to attribute a statement to the original speaker is for rhetorical purposes. There are people who won't accept a rational, validly demonstrated idea unless they see it written in the name of an authority figure whom they respect. To convince such people of the truth of these ideas, it may be necessary to invoke authority.

However, as the Rambam points out, attribution might backfire if the authority doesn't find favor in the eyes of the reader. For example, many of the concepts that the Rambam mentions in Shemoneh Perakim have their origin in the writings of Aristotle. Had the Rambam attributed these ideas to Aristotle explicitly, they might be rejected by someone who feels that it is wrong to study Greek/secular philosophy.

As a great chacham once said, "Unthinking respect for authority is the greatest enemy of the truth," and unthinking rejection of truth because of the authority who stated it is just as bad.

Conclusion

In truth, there are two possible ways to reconcile the Rambam's practice in Shemoneh Perakim with the braisa in Avos. One possibility is as we have explained: that the Rambam maintains that the ikkar (essence) of ha'omer davar b'shem omro is to not take credit for someone else's ideas, and since the Rambam gave due credit at the beginning of Shemoneh Perakim, then there is no virtue in citing specific names - especially when dealing with a subject matter in which the truth can speak for itself.

The other possibility is that the Rambam held that there are other beneficial reasons for ha'omer davar b'shem omro, but the most important consideration is the acceptance of the truth by those who hear it. Since the Rambam was worried that people would reject these ideas based on their source, then it would be better to forego citation and state the ideas anonymously rather than uphold ha'omer davar b'shem omro and risk turning people away from the truth.

Either way, we see that the Rambam did not view the citation of sources as an absolute requirement. The irony is that we needed to cite our sources in this post to support our view.

[1] Technically speaking, this braisa is from Avos d'Rebbi Nosson. However, it has become a widespread practice to refer to this section as "the sixth chapter of Pirkei Avos" - even though Avos only has five chapters.

[2] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Commentary on the Mishnah: Introduction to Avos (a.k.a. Shemoneh Perakim), Preface

[3] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Mishneh Torah: Sefer Zmanim, Hilchos Kidush ha'Chodesh 17:25
[4] Sefer ha'Chinuch, Introduction
[5] In a letter to his pupil Rav Yosef, the Rambam expressed his regret for not writing a bibliography for the Mishneh Torah: 

Because of this, I regret that I did not compose along with my composition a separate volume whose content I will now explain to you and which I still hope to compose, if God will decree that I will be able to do it, even though it is a very demanding task and effort - that is, a source book to my composition which will cite the source for every halacha whose origin is not evident ... This source book would be a separate companion volume to my composition, since I obviously cannot incorporate it into the body of the work, because the nature of its subject conflicts with the structure and style of a monolithic code, as I explained to you previously. 

Mishlei 12:19 - The Temporary Nature of Lies

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Mishlei 12:19 - The Temporary Nature of Lies

משלי יב:יט

שְׂפַת אֱמֶת תִּכּוֹן לָעַד וְעַד אַרְגִּיעָה לְשׁוֹן שָׁקֶר:

Mishlei 12:19

True lips are established forever, but a false tongue is only for moment.

The questions on this pasuk are as follows:

(1) In what sense are true lips "established forever"? Is this actually true? Truths are certainly not automatically "established"; there can be tremendous resistance to the truth, and it is often neglected and not established at all. And even when it is established, it doesn't necessarily last forever. 

(2) What does it mean that a false tongue is "only for a moment"? It would seem that this false. Lies can persist for a lifetime - or even beyond a lifetime. Consider, for instance, all of the anti-Semitic lies that have been spread about Jews throughout the ages; they've certainly lasted for longer than "a moment." 

(3) Why does the pasuk use "lips" in reference to the truth and "tongue" in reference to falsehood? In our pasuk good speech is associated with the lips and bad speech with the tongue, but in other pesukim the association is flipped. For example: "There is one who speaks like the piercings of a sword, but the tongue of the wise heals" (Mishlei 12:19), "The tongue of the righteous is like choice silver, but the heart of the wicked is minute" (ibid. 10:20) "Lips of falsehood are an abomination to Hashem, but He favors those who act with integrity" (ibid. 12:22), "The lawless man contemplates evil, and it is as if there is a burning coal on his lips" (ibid. 16:27).

(4) What practical decision-making idea does this pasuk teach us? As I have mentioned before, this question ought to be asked about every pasuk. Like Shlomo ha'Melech, the best way to make this question into a habit is through repetition. 

[Okay, it's time to stop and think! Continue reading when you're ready for the main idea.]

Here is my four-sentence (with liberal use of semi-colons) summary of the main idea:

Whereas truth, by its very nature, is stable and exists independently of what human beings say, think, or do, lies are intrinsically unstable and exist on a tenuous and contingent basis. 

Since lies are cover-ups of reality, liars – unlike truth-tellers – constantly face the threat of exposure; lies can only continue to exist as long as they are maintained by the people who espouse them, perpetuate them, and believe in them, whereas the truth is anchored in reality itself. 

Moreover, since liars know the truth, they carry with them the potential to topple their own lies; in this sense, the liar is his own greatest enemy, since the slightest slip-up can bring down his entire web of falsehood. 

Thus, by telling the truth, a person endows his words with the same quality of permanence as reality itself, and doesn’t have to worry about “being found out,” since truth is not a cover-up operation; in contrast, one who tells a lie must continually manage the upkeep of his lies, and take strenuous and stressful efforts to prevent them from being exposed by reality, by other people, and by his own carelessness.

This idea is a good example of Mishlei's general approach to the subject of falsehood, lies, and deceit: it's not a good idea (a) because of the risk that you'll be caught, and (b) because it is simply not worthwhile to commit yourself to the responsibility of keeping tabs on your lies. 

This pasuk is also a good example of the power of mashal (metaphor). Notice that the emphasis of this pasuk is not on the consequences of lying or the benefits of truth-telling. Rather, Shlomo ha'Melech's aim is to convey a sense of the permanent nature of true speech and the transient nature of false speech. When the student of Mishlei internalizes this idea, and is subsequently faced with an opportunity to solve a problem or obtain an advantage by telling a lie, he will naturally dismiss this option because he will view the lie as nothing more than a temporary band-aid which is destined to fall off, and cost him dearly - both before and after his lie is exposed. 

In other words, the ideas I wrote about in my summary are there to provide rational support for the emotional attitude that Shlomo ha'Melech intended to impart - namely, the feeling that "lies are temporary" and "truth is permanent." The goal is to get to the point where you've reviewed these ideas so many times and have thought about so many examples that you can relate to the emotional affect of this pasuk without consciously reasoning through all of the steps. 

One last methodology point: you'll notice that my explanation didn't answer Question #3. That's totally fine. On every pasuk there are major and minor questions. Minor questions tend to stem from the specific wording of the pasuk. The only one of the meforshim I know who cares about explaining every subtlety of the text is the Malbim. Everyone seems content to just get the main idea. If you can bring out a nuance in the main idea from a nuance in the text, that's great. If not, it doesn't matter. As long as you get the main idea. 

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.