Maimonides (Blackwell Great Minds)

maimonides

Maimonides T. M. Rudavsky © 2010 T M. Rudavsky. ISBN: 978-1-405-14897-9

edited by Steven Nadler

blackwell great minds

The Blackwell Great Minds series gives readers a strong sense of the fundamental views of the great western thinkers and captures the relevance of these figures to the way we think and live today. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

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This edition first published 2010 © 2010 T.M. Rudavsky Blackwell Publishing was acquired by John Wiley & Sons in February 2007. Blackwell’s publishing program has been merged with Wiley’s global Scientific, Technical, and Medical business to form Wiley-Blackwell. Registered Office John Wiley & Sons Ltd, The Atrium, Southern Gate, Chichester, West Sussex, PO19 8SQ, United Kingdom Editorial Offices 350 Main Street, Malden, MA 02148-5020, USA 9600 Garsington Road, Oxford, OX4 2DQ, UK The Atrium, Southern Gate, Chichester, West Sussex, PO19 8SQ, UK For details of our global editorial offices, for customer services, and for information about how to apply for permission to reuse the copyright material in this book please see our website at www.wiley.com/wiley-blackwell. The right of T.M. Rudavsky to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, except as permitted by the UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, without the prior permission of the publisher. Wiley also publishes its books in a variety of electronic formats. Some content that appears in print may not be available in electronic books. Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book are trade names, service marks, trademarks or registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publisher is not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. This publication is designed to provide accurate and authoritative information in regard to the subject matter covered. It is sold on the understanding that the publisher is not engaged in rendering professional services. If professional advice or other expert assistance is required, the services of a competent professional should be sought. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Rudavsky, Tamar, 1951– Maimonides / T. M. Rudavsky. p. cm. – (Blackwell great minds ; 12) Includes bibliographical references (p. ) and index. ISBN 978-1-4051-4897-9 (hardcover : alk. paper) – ISBN 978-1-4051-4898-6 (pbk. : alk. paper) 1. Maimonides, Moses, 1135-1204–Teachings. 2. Philosophy, Jewish. 3. Philosophy, Medieval. I. Title. BM755.M6R83 2010 181′.06–dc22 2009038786 A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Set in 9/12pt Trump Medieval by Graphicraft Limited, Hong Kong Printed in Singapore 01

2010

contents preface abbreviations

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1 2 3 4 5 6

1 19 36 61 85

life and works language, logic, and the art of demonstration what we can say about God philosophical cosmology philosophical anthropology naturalism and supernaturalism: prophecy, miracles, and divine will 7 philosophical theology: divine providence, human freedom, and theodicy 8 morality, politics, and the law 9 on human felicity bibliography index

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preface The great eagle with the long wings and the long pinions, with the full plumage and the brilliant colors. (Ezekiel 17:3)

By the time of his death in 1204, Maimonides had already established a reputation as one of the most influential and important Jewish thinkers of all time. To this day, his codification of the Talmud, his numerous commentaries on legal (halakhic) works, as well as his philosophical contributions, have assured him an enduring legacy in Jewish thought. The epithet “the Great Eagle,” referring to Ezekiel 17:3, was applied to Maimonides after his death and referred not only to his enormous impact and colorful history, but to the deep shadow he cast on subsequent Jewish thought. Scholars over the centuries have commented upon Maimonides’ works, puzzled over his intentions, and grappled with his conception of Judaism. That Maimonides was, and still is, one of the most influential and important Jewish legalists, who devoted himself to a reconceptualization of the entirety of Jewish law (halakha), has never been in dispute. To this day, Maimonides is still read in most orthodox Jewish circles as an expositor of the Law. But to what extent can Maimonides be considered a philosopher? Are his major works, including The Book of Knowledge and The Guide of the Perplexed, works of philosophy, works of Jewish law, or possibly both? Maimonides himself called the Guide on several occasions a work devoted to religion. If by philosophy we mean (reflecting Maimonides’ own conception of philosophy) a systematic examination of natural science, the spheres, and divine science, then neither the Guide nor The Book of Knowledge can be construed as a strictly philosophical work, if only on the grounds that neither one is systematic. In his introduction to the Guide, Leo Strauss famously argued that the Guide is ultimately not a work of philosophy. Other scholars, however, have construed philosophy more widely, and have suggested that inasmuch as the Guide (and other works as well) grapples with the tensions inherent in faith and reason, it is philosophical in the broader sense. In our recent volume on medieval Jewish philosophy, Steven Nadler and I had to wrestle with a similar set of issues: what is Jewish philosophy, and what is Jewish philosophy? In that work, we suggested that we must look first

at the aim of the work in question. Thus, while some texts may contain some philosophical topics, if their overall aim is not philosophical but religious, their concern being faith and obedience rather than objective truth, then their work is not philosophical. Secondly, we argued that a Jewish philosopher is somebody who, in his or her philosophical thinking, has been engaged in an intellectual dialogue with elements of Judaism, that is, philosophizing about and with the Jewish tradition (Nadler and Rudavsky 2008, 1–4). On the basis of these two criteria, I believe that Maimonides did see himself as engaged in philosophical dialogue. We shall see that Maimonides was an eclectic reader, drawing not only upon his own tradition, but upon the ancient Greek and Islamic philosophers as well. The Greek philosophers who influenced Maimonides included Plato, Aristotle, Plotinus, and the ancient Greek commentators, while the Islamic thinkers included al-Fârâbî, Ibn Sînâ, Ibn Bâjja, and the Islamic Kalâm theologians.1 Maimonides was influenced as well by the ancient Greek medical doctor and practitioner Galen, and recent research has emphasized Galen’s importance with regard to both his medical and philosophical works. As Pines and others have noted, Maimonides may also have read a number of Jewish philosophers, although he tends not to quote them explicitly or mention them by name. What underlies many of these Greek and Islamic thinkers is a form of naturalistic determinism, by which I mean that the world is governed by natural law and exhibits a rational order. Maimonides inherited a cosmological view of the world influenced by both Aristotelian and Neoplatonic sources, one in which the workings of our universe can be explained without recourse to supernatural intervention. All events and states of affairs, including human acts of volition, can be explained naturalistically, leading to a deterministic picture of reality. This naturalistic determinism can be construed in a number of ways: logical determinism, according to which statements about future contingents have a determinate truth value; astrological determinism, according to which the heavenly bodies order events in the sublunar universe; psycho-physical or biological determinism, according to which humans are born with certain physical and psychological dispositions that determine their actions and behavior; theological determinism, according to which God orders the universe in such a way that certain states of affairs cannot help but happen; and Kalâm conceptions of Divine Will and causality, according to which God is the direct and immediate cause of every event in the sublunar world. Maimonides considers each of these forms of determinism, weighing their implications for human action, theories of retribution, moral responsibility, and interactions between God and the world. I shall argue throughout this volume that Maimonides tries to reconcile this naturalistic picture with a theological view drawn primarily from Scripture and Jewish tradition, a supernaturalism that emphasizes Divine Will, miracle, and revelation. In a recent work, Kellner has expanded this supernatural world-view to include what he and others have called “proto-Kabbalistic” elements. Kellner argues that Maimonides abhorred and decried proto-Kabbalistic texts (such as

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Sefer Yetzirah and Shi’ur Qoma) that promulgated anthropomorphic descriptions of God, as well as belief in astrology, magic, and theurgic practices (such as the use of amulets and charms). Maimonides felt that these superstitious beliefs, grounded in a supernatural conception of occult powers (e.g. angels and demons, occult properties, etc.), undermined a proper philosophical understanding of God and the world.2 Throughout this work, we shall assess Maimonides’ success in his attempted replacement of supernaturalism with a naturalistic conception of reality. We shall see that although Maimonides tries to counter supernaturalism, and replace it with naturalistic explanations of such phenomena as miracle, prophecy, and creation, he is not entirely successful. Based on these considerations, I shall argue that Maimonides can be considered a Jewish philosopher on several counts. Clearly Maimonides was engaged in an extensive dialectical analysis of Jewish topics and beliefs. Second, his engagement drew upon an eclectic collection of philosophical works. In trying to accommodate traditional Jewish thought with the “new” ways of thinking exemplified by Aristotle, the Neoplatonists, and Islamic philosophers, Maimonides was embarked on a philosophical quest to underscore the underlying rationality of Judaism. I very much like Joel Kraemer’s description of Maimonides as a “zetetic philosopher, a seeker” (Kraemer 2008b, 2). Like Socrates, Maimonides absorbed philosophical ideas from a variety of sources, and was not afraid to admit when he was perplexed, or did not have a definitive answer to a problem. In this Socratic tradition, admitting ignorance turns out to be the greater wisdom. While critics may decry Maimonides’ philosophical attempts as derivative, I shall argue that the very attempt to synthesize Judaism and philosophy itself represents a creative and philosophical endeavor. Chapter 1 provides an intellectual biography of Maimonides. Several excellent biographies have appeared in recent years and I shall draw upon these works extensively for details of Maimonides’ life.3 I will briefly discuss some of the major intellectual influences on Maimonides, focusing upon the importance of Aristotle, al-Fârâbî, and the Kalâm theologians. I will also mention in this chapter the reception of Maimonides’ philosophical works, both by Jews and by Christian scholastics. As we shall see, while Maimonides’ codification of Jewish law became recognized as a major achievement in the halakhic world, his philosophical works were extremely controversial and resulted in major upheavals among the rabbinical authorities. His works were banned in the thirteenth century, and rabbis even managed to convince the Inquisition to burn parts of the Guide. In part, this controversy has to do with Maimonides’ own presentation of “secret” philosophical doctrines in the Guide, and the threat they posed to rabbinic authorities. In Chapter 2 we will explore in greater detail Maimonides’ exhortation to the reader in the introduction to the Guide, and we will emphasize the multivalent presentation of the work. In this (and other works), Maimonides repeatedly reminds his readers that his works have been written for different audiences. Just as the Torah speaks in human language in order to present complex views,

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so too Maimonides adopts different modes of discourse to convey his beliefs to different types of readers. He realizes that not all individuals are capable of understanding what he has to say, and so he couches his beliefs in a carefully constructed web of contradictions in order to conceal his esoteric, or hidden, doctrines. I emphasize that we shall have to remain aware of Maimonides’ explicit text, his subtext, and his commentators (both medieval and modern). One underlying theme of my work is that Maimonides’ legacy consists precisely in the intertextual analysis of the scholarly community engaged in unpacking the meanings of his works: analyzing Maimonides’ philosophical views becomes an exercise in hermeneutic interpretation as well as critical analysis. In Chapter 2 I shall show, for example, how Spinoza is the heir apparent of Maimonides’ naturalism: walking through a door that Maimonides had opened just a crack, Spinoza offers a full-fledged naturalistic interpretation of Scripture while ironically rejecting the hermeneutic guidelines that Maimonides had established. In Chapters 3 to 9, I examine what I take to be the most important philosophical topics in Maimonides’ corpus. Although The Guide of the Perplexed, as his most philosophical work, will occupy center stage, we shall draw on halakhic works when relevant to our philosophical discussions. We will start with Maimonides’ conception of God, and then turn to his philosophical cosmology and philosophical anthropology, focusing in Chapters 3, 4, and 5 on the relationship obtaining between God, the world, and human beings. We will first look at the nature of God, and proofs for the existence and knowability of God. We will then examine the implications of God’s nature as it affects the world, and the immateriality and immortality of human souls. I will argue that what unifies these three chapters is Maimonides’ attempt to come to terms with a material cosmology, one rooted in matter, and the profound differences that obtain between a material and immaterial state of affairs. Much of what Maimonides has to say about God, and God’s interactions with the world, reflects the extreme ambivalence with which he holds matter itself, the underlying principle of corporeal reality. In Chapters 6 and 7 I turn to prophecy and Divine providence. These doctrines reflect Maimonides’ philosophical theology, and incorporate issues having to do specifically with God’s interaction with and treatment of human beings. In Chapter 6, I examine such topics as the nature of prophecy, whether prophecy is a natural or supernatural event, and the nature of miracles. This chapter provides an excellent case study for Maimonides’ attempt to reconcile naturalistic and supernaturalistic conceptions of reality. Next, we consider in Chapter 7 the cluster of issues under the general rubric of philosophical theology, having to do with God’s care for humans. Given the existence of evil and suffering in the universe, how do we account for God’s providential care of humans, and how do we account for human freedom in light of God’s omniscience? Once again, I will argue that Maimonides’ treatment of these issues incorporates his grappling with a natural conception of reality, one that leaves little room for free choice.

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We end with Maimonides’ moral and political theory. In Chapter 8 I will examine Maimonides’ moral claims, and consider how they both reflect and deviate from Aristotle’s theory of the mean. We discuss as well Maimonides’ far-reaching doctrine of “reasons for the commandments” (ta-amei ha-mitzvot), namely the view that all the commandments in Jewish law have a rational basis. Chapter 9 returns to topics introduced in Chapter 3, and concern the limits of human knowledge, and the ability of humans to know God. Maimonides tells us in the final chapters of the Guide that true perfection and ultimate happiness (akin to Aristotle’s eudaimonia) reside in knowledge of God. But can this knowledge be achieved, or is Maimonides ultimately a skeptic with respect to knowledge of Divine matters? While the first and last chapters of the Guide (GP 1.1 and 3.54) seem to suggest that we can overcome our inherent material natures, other chapters in the Guide have emphasized the impossibility of escaping the veil of materiality. Is it the case that the commandments are necessary only because we have corporeal natures, and that an individual who has transcended her corporeal nature will have no need for the commandments?4 Here too, I will show that Maimonides’ speculations on Jewish law and commandments reflect the struggle between naturalism and supernaturalism as reflected in the role played by matter. As a halakhist, one who was engaged in the study of Jewish law, Maimonides was concerned to find a place for Jewish law within a universalist view of humanity that emphasized intellectual theory over religious practice. We shall have to consider the extent to which Maimonides is successful in synthesizing theory and practice, intellectual perfection and moral perfection, philosophy and religion. Two caveats. First, I have tried to present Maimonides’ philosophy in a way that will be accessible to readers with little background in either Jewish or medieval philosophy. Inasmuch as Maimonides draws upon both the Greek and Islamic philosophical traditions, we shall have to consider some of these historical texts and issues in order to understand Maimonides’ stance. I have tried to keep these historical presentations short and succinct, and to provide the minimal tools necessary to understand Maimonides’ conversations with his predecessors and peers. For readers who want to follow these discussions further, I have provided secondary readings at the end of each chapter, as well as a bibliography of recent scholarly articles on some of the more pressing philosophical topics covered in this work. Needless to say, the secondary literature on Maimonides is immense, and grows by the day. Since I cannot even hope to provide a complete bibliography in this brief survey, interested readers are directed to Joel Kraemer’s online bibliography for a more comprehensive listing of recent scholarly materials.5 Second, a comment pertaining to style. While I am certainly sensitive to contemporary concerns regarding gender-neutral language, I have found it exceedingly difficult to avoid using the male pronouns in expounding Maimonides’ works. Maimonides repeatedly refers to God and to humans using “masculinist” terminology, and so the reader must understand these references in light of historical and cultural realities of the twelfth century. To replace Maimonides’ language with more gender-neutral terms

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would disrupt the cadence of his words, and so I have adhered to Maimonides’ own style. Finally, several acknowledgments are in order. First, to Professor Steven Nadler, editor of the series, who proposed this project to me a number of years ago, I owe a debt of gratitude. I thank Jeff Dean, philosophy editor at WileyBlackwell Press, whose patience in light of a much-delayed manuscript I greatly appreciated; and the Melton Center for Jewish Studies at The Ohio State University, which provided me research support. To my many students, both at Ohio State and in the community, who have forced me to clarify my thoughts while teaching Maimonides, I cannot offer sufficient thanks. For Nathaniel, who has always encouraged me to write clearly and with passion, I hope I have succeeded. And to Richard and Miriam, both of whom have read the manuscript with infinite care and attentiveness, I am deeply indebted; their willingness to struggle with the details of Maimonidean text and interpretation has made this book more intelligible. These are my ideal readers, and to them this book is dedicated.

notes 1 See Chapter 1 for details of each of these thinkers. 2 See Kellner (2006) for a support of this thesis (argued by Moshe Idel and others) that Maimonides’ philosophical works were directed against what he saw to be the decadent and pernicious influence of “proto-Kabbalah” upon Jewish belief. As Kellner points out, it is ironic that within several generations, Maimonides’ rationalist tenor was drowned out by the overwhelming clamor and popularity of mystical Kabbalah, based on the teachings of the Zohar. 3 See for example Davidson (2005) and Kraemer (2008a). 4 See Guide 3.8; 3.9; 3.32. For discussion of this point, see Shatz (1990). 5 For an extensive bibliography of recent works on Maimonides, see (http:// doubleday.com/2008/11/11/maimonides-by-joel-kraemer/)

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abbreviations BK CT

EC

ER

EY GP

HYT

KW L

LA MA

Mishneh Torah: Book of Knowledge, trans. Moses Hyamson (Jerusalem: Boys Town Publishers, 1962). Character Traits, in Raymond L. Weiss with Charles Butterworth (eds. and trans.), Ethical Writings of Maimonides (New York: Dover, 1975), pp. 27–58. Eight Chapters [introduction to commentary on Mishnah Avot], in Raymond L. Weiss with Charles Butterworth (eds. and trans.), Ethical Writings of Maimonides (New York: New York University Press, 1975), pp. 60–104. Essay on Resurrection, in Abraham Halkin (trans.), Epistles of Maimonides: Crisis and Leadership (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1985), pp. 209–33. Epistle to Yemen, ed. and trans. by Abraham Halkin and David Hartmann (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1985), pp. 91–131. Guide of the Perplexed [Arabic Dalâlat al-hâirîn; Hebrew Moreh Nevukhim], trans. by Shlomo Pines, 2 vols. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1963); Hebrew translation by Michael Schwartz, 2 vols. (Ramat Aviv: Tel Aviv University Press, 2002). Unless otherwise noted, references will be given by listing part, chapter, and page number of the Pines edition. Hilkhot Yesodei ha-Torah, in Moses Hyamson (trans.), Mishneh Torah: The Book of Knowledge by Maimonides (Jerusalem: Boys Town Publishers, 1962). Kings and War, in Isadore Twersky (ed.), A Maimonides Reader (New York: Behrman House, 1972). Letters and Essays of Moses Maimonides [Igerot harambam], 2 vols., ed. and trans. by I. Shailat. (Ma’aleh Adumim, 1987) [Hebrew and Arabic]; English translation by L. Stitskin (New York: Yeshiva University Press, 1977). Letter on Astrology, in Isadore Twersky (ed.), A Maimonides Reader (New York: Behrman House, 2000, pp. 463–73). Medical Aphorisms of Moses Maimonides, ed. and trans. by Fred Rosner and Suessman Muntner (New York: Yeshiva University Press, 1970–1); Pirkei Moshe Birefuah, ed. by S. Muntner (Jerusalem: Mossad

MT PH

R TL

Fusûl

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Harav Kook, 1987); ed. and trans. by Fred Rosner (Haifa: The Maimonides Research Institute, 1989); Medical Aphorisms: Treatises 1–5 [Kitâb al-Fusûl fî al-tibb], ed. and trans. by Gerrit Bos (Provo, UT: Brigham Young University, 2004). Mishneh Torah: Book of Knowledge, trans. by Moses Hyamson (Jerusalem: Boys Town Publishers, 1962). Commentary on the Mishnah. Introduction to Helek: Sanhedrin, Chapter Ten, in Isadore Twersky (ed.), A Maimonides Reader (New York: Behrman House, 1972), pp. 387– 400. Repentance. Mishneh Torah: Book of Knowledge, trans. by Moses Hyamson (Jerusalem: Boys Town Publishers, 1962). Treatise on the Art of Logic, ed. and trans. by Israel Efros, Proceedings of the American Academy of Jewish Research (1938) 8: 1–65 [English sect.]; 8: 1–136 [Hebrew sect.]; “Maimonides’ Arabic Treatise on Logic,” Proceedings of the American Academy of Jewish Research (1966) 34: 155–60 [English sect.]; 34: 1– 42 [Arabic sect.]. Al-Farabi: Fusûl al-Madanî: Aphorisms of the Statesman, ed. and trans. by D. M. Dunlop (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1961).

abbreviations

chapter 1

life and works nlike most medieval Jewish philosophers, about whom very little is known, Maimonides provided future generations with ample information about himself in letters and documents; many of these documents have been preserved in part in the Cairo Geniza, a repository of discarded documents discovered over a century ago in the Ben Ezra synagogue of Fustât (Old Cairo) where Maimonides lived. From these snippets of texts, scholars have been able to reconstruct at least some details surrounding Maimonides’ life. He was known by several names: his original Hebrew name Moses ben Maimon; his Latinized name Maimonides; the Hebrew acronym RaMBaM, standing for Rabbi Moses ben Maimon; his Arabic name al-Ra’is Abu ‘Imran Musa ibn Maymun ibn ‘Abdallah (‘Ubaydallah) al-Qurtubi al-Andalusi al-Isra’ili; the honorific title “the teacher [ha-Moreh]”; and of course “the great eagle.” In this chapter I provide a brief synopsis of Maimonides’ intellectual biography, against the backdrop of twelfth-century Spain and North Africa. Recent biographies by Kraemer and Davidson have provided us with a detailed reconstruction of Maimonides’ life, drawn from Geniza fragments, letters, observations by his intellectual peers, and comments by Maimonides himself.1 We shall consider, ever so briefly, important philosophical influences upon Maimonides; scholars have explored in great detail which philosophers – Greek, Jewish, and Arabic – were most influential upon his intellectual development. I will then discuss Maimonides’ major philosophical works, most of which we shall examine in more detail in subsequent chapters.

U

Maimonides’ Life Moses ben Maimon was born in Cordova, Spain in 1135/8 and died in Cairo in 1204. Cordova was at this time the capital of Andalusia (Muslim Spain) and the most affluent city in Europe. Under the Spanish Umayyads (756–1031), and in particular under the reign of enlightened Caliph ‘Abd ar-Rahman III, Jews and others experienced a cultural flourishing. The Jewish Quarter where Maimonides lived was located close to the Great Mosque and the royal palace in the southwestern section of the city. Under the caliphate, there developed a

Maimonides T. M. Rudavsky © 2010 T M. Rudavsky. ISBN: 978-1-405-14897-9

Jewish intellectual elite that emphasized a synthesis of traditional Jewish learning with secular knowledge. As noted by Kraemer, the courtiers were men for whom the Arabic ideal of adâb, a system of cultured refinement, was fundamental in their educational program. The exemplar of the cosmopolitan and cultured courtier, learned in the secular sciences and in Jewish lore, set a precedent for Maimonides. Maimonides’ father was himself an accomplished rabbinic scholar and judge. We know nothing about his mother, although we do know that he had a brother, David, whom he adored, and probably more than one sister. However, the Andalusian environment was soon to fall apart. Muhammad ibn Tûmart (ca 1080–1130) founded the fundamentalist Almohad movement in the High Atlas Mountains of Morocco, and he fought to restore the original faith of Islam as based on the Qur’an and the Sunna (Islamic law). The Almohads united North Africa and Andalusia under a single empire, and Jews were no longer welcomed in this environment. Many Jews ostensibly converted to Islam. One of Maimonides’ earliest biographies, found in a Muslim biographical dictionary of al-Qiftî (a man who was friends with Maimonides’ favorite student), notes that Maimonides himself converted to Islam, publicly “living the life of a Muslim, reading the Quran and reciting Muslim prayers, until he was able to put his affairs in order. He then left Spain with his family, traveled to Egypt, and reassumed the identity of a Jew” (Davidson 2005, 17). Scholars have found reason, however, to question the veracity and reliability of Qiftî’s information; some historians have accepted the account of Maimonides’ purported conversion to Islam, while others have rejected it.2 When the Almohads invaded Andalusia and occupied Cordova in 1148, the Maimon family left Cordova, wandering from place to place in Andalusia. During these years, Maimonides commenced his studies. He started with astrology, which he later rejected as useless. He became interested in astronomy as well, as an aid in fixing the religious calendar. During this period he studied with students of the Islamic philosopher Ibn Bâjja, as well as with a son of the astronomer Jâbir ibn Aflah. During this period he wrote several early books, including his Treatise on the Art of Logic and a primer on the calendar (Ma’amar ha-‘ibbur). Maimonides wrote during the height of twelfth-century Andalusian Aristotelianism. The most important names in this school were Abû Bakr ibn Bâjja (Avempace, d.1139), Ibn Tufayl (d.1185) and Ibn Rushd (Averroes, d.1198). Although both Maimonides and Averroes were born in Cordova and wrote during the same time period, we have no record of an encounter between them. Nevertheless, Maimonides knew of Averroes’ works and recommended them to his own pupil Joseph ben Judah, as well as to his translator Samuel ibn Tibbon. Scholars have noted the many similarities between Maimonides and Averroes. Kraemer points out that both were descendants of venerable Andalusian families of scholars. Both were outstanding jurists and physicians, both mastered the sciences and philosophy, both embraced a naturalistic Aristotelianism, both emphasized that the Law summons us to study philosophy. The writings

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of both Averroes and Maimonides were soon translated into Latin, and introduced Aristotelianism to the Latin scholastics. In 1160 the Maimon family settled in Fez for roughly five years. It was in Fez that Maimonides wrote his Epistle on Forced Conversion, in reaction to a rabbinic decree to accept martyrdom rather than submit to Islam. Maimonides urged his fellow Jews to remain clandestine Jews, to continue to pray and observe the commandments in light of forced conversion. During this period, Maimonides also continued his medical studies and, according to his later comments on this period, presumably received some clinical training. The family left Morocco on April 4, 1165, traveling east to the land of Israel. The ship arrived, after a fierce storm at sea, at Acre. The family remained in Acre until May 1166 when they left for Egypt. During this period Maimonides made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem where they remained for three days. Maimonides’ memory of that trip was so searing that he swore to revisit the memory yearly: I vowed to observe these two days as strict fast days for myself, my family and all my household, and to order my descendants to keep these fasts also in future generations and to give charity in accordance with their means. I further vowed to observe the tenth of Iyar in complete seclusion and to devote the day to prayer and study. On that day, God alone was with me on the sea; so upon the anniversary of this day, I wish to be alone with God and not in the company of man, unless I am compelled to. (Twersky 1972, 3)

Maimonides and his family arrived in Fustât (Old Cairo) in 1166, after a brief stay in Alexandria. They settled in the Mamsûsa Quarter of Fustât, a neighborhood that had both Christian and Muslim residents as well as Jews. Three Jewish communities coexisted in Fustât: the sectarian Karaites, as well as two Rabbanite communites, Iraqians and Palestinian, each with its own synagogue. The Synagogue of the Palestinians, called the Ben Ezra Synagogue, has survived and is still standing; it contains a store chamber of documents and manuscripts, known as the Cairo Genizah, that are still being reconstructed by scholars. During the first five years of Maimonides’ stay in Fustât, he had access to Ismâ’îlî writings and lectures. The Ismâ’îlî were an Islamic sect that emphasized esotericism and apophatic theology, according to which nothing positive can be attributed to God, only negative attributes. Scholars have emphasized the importance of these doctrines to the later development of Maimonides’ thought, in particular in Maimonides’ theory of negative predication, which draws upon both Neoplatonic and Ismâ’îlî strands.3 During this period Maimonides wrote his celebrated Mishneh Torah. Shortly after Maimonides’ arrival in Egypt (1171–2), Saladin became sultan over Egypt and founded the Ayyûbid dynasty. Maimonides had in Fustât a patron, Al-Qâdî al-Fâdil al-Baysani (1135–1200), who was a scholar in his own right. He collected many books of Arabic thought, some of which presumably

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Maimonides read and studied. Maimonides followed his patron in supporting Saladin; Al-Qâdî al-Fâdil soon became Saladin’s chief administrator, which turned out to be beneficial for Maimonides as well. Maimonides became “Head of the Jews” (ra’îs al-yahûd ) in 1191. As Head of the Jews, Maimonides took on the highest judicial authority in the Jewish community: he appointed chief judges, had broad communal responsibilities, and functioned as respondent to legal inquiries from Jewish communities in Egypt and elsewhere. We have available many of the legal decisions, or halakhic responsa, that Maimonides handed down. During this period Maimonides married into a prominent Egyptian family. Although we do not know his wife’s name, we do know that she came from the family of a government official, and that the union was well regarded. His only son Abraham ben Moses (1186–1237) was born when Maimonides was close to 50 years old; we don’t know whether he had any daughters. Abraham studied with his father, learning philosophy and medicine; Abraham’s first love, however, was his devotion to Sufism, which some scholars suggest may have influenced Maimonides in later life. In 1172 Maimonides wrote an epistle to the Jews of Yemen who were contending with forced conversion. The letter was addressed to Jacob son of Nethanel al-Fayyûmî who had written on behalf the Yemenite community. In order to address a larger audience, Maimonides’ response to Nethanel was written in Arabic. The purpose of the letter was to provide hope, as well as an explanation for the animus between Muslims and Jews. Maimonides saw the agony of the Yemenite Jews as a prefigurement of the coming of the Messiah. It is not clear how Maimonides supported himself during the period before 1177. From what we can tell, his brother David supported the extended family by trading, often traveling the trade routes by sea; as Maimonides writes in a letter, his brother “would conduct business in the marketplace and earn money, while I sat in security” (L 230). One of the most difficult events during this period (1177) was David’s drowning while on the way to India, leaving a young daughter and widow in Maimonides’ care. Suffering both a mental and physical breakdown, Maimonides was overwhelmed with depression that he describes in poignant terms: The most terrible blow which befell me . . . was the death of the most perfect and righteous man, who was drowned while traveling in the Indian Ocean. For nearly a year after I received the sad news, I lay ill on my bed struggling with fever and despair. Eight years have since passed, and I still mourn, for there is no consolation. What can console me? . . . My one joy was to see him. Now my joy has been changed into darkness; he has gone to his eternal home, and has left me prostrated in a strange land. (Twersky 1972, 4–5)

Maimonides notes that when David died, he had with him a large sum of money belonging to the family (L 229–30). After 1177, Maimonides took upon

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himself the financial responsibility of supporting the family, presumably through medicine. Maimonides’ major work The Guide of the Perplexed was written between 1185 and 1190, followed by many of his medical works. Maimonides continued to devote himself to both the community and his intellectual needs. In 1191 he wrote a letter to his disciple Joseph ben Judah, for whom he composed the Guide, complaining about his schedule: I inform you that I have acquired in medicine a very great reputation among the great, such as the chief Qadi, the prince . . . As for the ordinary people, I am placed too high for them to reach me. This obliges me continually to waste my day in Cairo visiting the [noble] sick. When I return to Fustât, the most I am able to do, for the rest of the day and night, is to study medical books, which are so necessary for me. For you know how long and difficult this art is for a conscientious and exact man who does not want to state anything which he cannot support by argument and without knowing where it has been said and how it can be demonstrated. This has further resulted in the fact that I find no time to study Torah; the only time I am able to read the Bible is on Saturday. As for other sciences, I have no time to study them at all and this distresses me very much . . . I have not yet found the time to read [Aristotle’s] books. (Twersky 1972, 6)

In a letter of 1199 written to Samuel ibn Tibbon, translator of the Guide from Judaeo-Arabic into Hebrew, Maimonides attests to his harried schedule: God knows that in order to write this to you, I have escaped to a secluded spot, where people would not think to find me, sometimes leaning for support against the wall, sometimes lying down on account of my excessive weakness, for I have grown old and feeble . . . I attend to my patients, write prescriptions . . . I converse and prescribe for them while lying down from sheer fatigue, and when night falls, I am so exhausted that I can scarcely speak. (Twersky 1972, 7)

Maimonides seems to have devoted himself seriously to medicine in the later years of his life, after the composition of his theological and philosophical works. Some of these medical works were translated into Hebrew and Latin, and contributed to his fame as a physician. According to his grandson David, Maimonides died on December 13, 1204. Maimonides is supposedly buried in Tiberias, although we cannot be sure where his body actually resides.

Philosophical Influences Maimonides’ works fall into three broad categories: rabbinics (halakha), philosophy, and medicine. Little is known about Maimonides’ educational situation

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or teachers. Presumably he received a rabbinical education from his father, although there we have no actual evidence. Nor do we have much information about how and from whom he learned philosophy. Maimonides does mention, in the context of astronomy, having met the son of the Islamic astronomer Ibn Aflâh of Seville; he also mentions having read texts under the guidance of a student of the renowned Spanish Arabo-Islamic philosopher Ibn Bâjja (d.1138). But Maimonides does not mention a single teacher from whom he explicitly learned philosophy. In fact, it is possible that he was largely self-taught in both rabbinics and philosophy. In the case of medicine, Maimonides does in fact list some of his teachers, and tells us that he studied medicine when in his twenties in Andalusia, before arriving in Egypt. He is clearly influenced by the works of the famous Greek physician Galen: Galen is cited most often in his medical works, and he calls Galen the greatest physician ever to have lived (MA 25.59:433). Maimonides did not consider philosophy prior to Aristotle worthy of the title of “genuine philosophy.” And yet it is not clear what his sources of Arabic Aristotelianism were. Whereas in the areas of rabbinics and medicine Maimonides took the trouble to study and familiarize himself with the primary sources, such does not seem to be the case with respect to the philosophical corpus. Many references can be found in the Commentary on the Mishnah to Aristotelian examples and texts, most of which can be traced to Arabic authors. He mentions at the end of the Commentary that he was studying “other sciences,” that is, non-Jewish sciences, in particular the works of Galen and Ptolemy. In the Mishneh Torah, Maimonides provides a section with detailed astronomical calculations that employ data very similar to astronomical tables compiled by the Arabic astronomer al-Battâni. Davidson concludes that “by the age of forty [Maimonides] was thus familiar with the contours of medieval Arabic Aristotelian philosophy, he had studied other sciences, and he was well-versed in mathematics and astronomy” (Davidson 2005, 98). By the time he wrote his major philosophical work The Guide of the Perplexed, Maimonides demonstrates more intimate knowledge of Aristotle. In the Guide, Aristotle is the philosopher named most frequently. That Maimonides held Aristotle in the highest esteem is evidenced in the following passages from his letter to his translator Samuel ibn Tibbon:

(1) The writings [words] of Aristotle’s teacher Plato are in parables and hard to understand. One can dispense with them, for the writings of Aristotle suffice, and we need not occupy [our attention] with the writings of earlier [philosophers]. Aristotle’s intellect [represents] the extreme of human intellect, if we except those who have received divine inspiration. (2) The works of Aristotle are the roots and foundations of all works on the sciences. But they cannot be understood except with the help of commentaries, those of Alexander of Aphrodisias, those of Themistius, and those of Averroes. (Marx 1934–5)

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Several passages in the Guide attest to Aristotle’s eminence. In Guide 1.5, Maimonides describes Aristotle as “the chief of the philosophers” (GP 1.5:29). In Guide 2.14 Maimonides says he will only pay attention to Aristotle, “for it is his opinion that ought to be considered” (GP 2.14). Maimonides calls attention to the “depth of Aristotle’s penetration and to his extraordinary apprehension” (GP 2.19). And in Guide 1.5 Maimonides emphasizes Aristotle’s willingness to investigate very obscure matters, noting that in the case of such obscure matters (e.g. celestial mechanics), one must be tentative (GP 1.5). Maimonides appears to have read at least some of Aristotle’s works in translation, and compares, in one of his letters to Ibn Tibbon, the merits and quality of several translations. He names five of Aristotle’s books by name: the Physics, On the Heavens, Nicomachean Ethics, Rhetoric, and Metaphysics, and quotes directly from the first four works. In his Medical Aphorisms Maimonides quotes extensively from Aristotle’s two works History of Animals and the Generation of Animals. But many of Maimonides’ purported Aristotelian references turn out, instead, to rely on Arabic summaries of Aristotle. It is also interesting to note that no mention is made of Aristotle’s De Anima, a much studied and influential treatise on psychology and the intellect, although he clearly read al-Fârâbî’s commentary on the De Anima. Perhaps by this point in his life he simply did not have the time or the energy (as evidenced in the letter above) to engage in serious study of Aristotle. Nor is there any evidence that he read first hand the very Aristotelian commentaries that he recommended to his student Joseph, namely the works of Alexander of Aphrodisias, Themistius, and Averroes. Although other philosophers are mentioned (Plato, Plotinus, Epicurus, John Philoponus, Euclid), there is no evidence that he actually read them. A different story emerges when we turn to Islamic philosophers.4 Maimonides had clear regard for the works of al-Fârâbî, Ibn Bâjja, Avicenna, and Averroes. Al-Fârâbî is the Arabic philosopher most cited in the Guide, and clearly a thinker whom Maimonides read carefully and held in high esteem. Abu Nasr al-Fârâbî (870–950) was considered the “second Aristotle,” because of his numerous treatises and commentaries upon Aristotle’s works, and he evinced a great influence in many fields of medieval Jewish philosophy, including logic, epistemology, metaphysics, ethics, politics, and jurisprudence. We shall see that Maimonides is very much influenced by al-Fârâbî’s conception of philosophy. He wrote to Samuel ibn Tibbon that there was no need to study any other logical texts other than those of al-Fârâbî, since “all that he wrote” was “full of wisdom” (Marx 1934–5, 379). In his Book of Letters and other works, al-Fârâbî argued that religion is subordinate to philosophy, seeing the former as a tool or “handmaiden” for the latter: this theory has important repercussions for the relation between religion and philosophy. Berman has argued that Maimonides was more influenced by al-Fârâbî than was anybody else in the medieval world; that while others read al-Fârâbî, “no one else in a major work attempted to apply this theory in detail to a particular religious tradition” (Berman 1974, 155). In al-Fârâbî’s view, philosophy represents the highest of the

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disciplines, flanked on one side by dialectic and on the other side by religion, jurisprudence, and theology.5 Other influential philosophers include Ibn Bâjja, Ibn Sînâ, al-Ghazâlî, and Ibn Rushd. Ibn Bâjja is referred to five times in the Guide. Although an important philosopher in his own right, Avicenna (Ibn Sînâ 980–1037) played a less obvious role in Maimonides’ thought. Avicenna was extremely influential upon Jewish philosophers prior to Maimonides, and Maimonides states in his letter to Ibn Tibbon that Avicenna’s books, although subtle and difficult, are “useful” and should be studied (Marx 1934–5, 380); nevertheless Maimonides does not make explicit use of his works. Recent scholars have only begun to explore traces of Avicennian ideas in Maimonides’ writings (Harvey 2008). Al-Ghazâlî (1058–1111) is not explicitly mentioned by Maimonides either, although scholars are beginning to explore possible influences.6 Ibn Tufayl (d.1185), a popular philosopher best known for his philosophical allegory about a boy growing up on a secluded island (Living Son of the Watchful [Hayy ben Yaqzan]), may have had a slight influence upon Maimonides, although the jury is still out. Averroes (Ibn Rushd, 1126–98) represents a tantalizing case study. Maimonides held Averroes in high regard, telling Ibn Tibbon not to read Aristotle’s works without the commentaries of Alexander of Aphrodisias, Themistius, and Averroes (Marx 1934–5, 378). As noted above, both Averroes and Maimonides embraced a naturalistic Aristotelianism, and both emphasized the importance of philosophy. Yet scholars have yet to determine explicit evidence of Averroes’ influence. How extensive was Maimonides’ knowledge of Islamic Kalâm? The Kalâm theologians were a school of Islamic thinkers who presented a strict and rigorous interpretation of the Qur’an. Followers of Kalâm were called Mutakallimûn, and were divided into two main schools of thought: the Mu‘tazilites, a moderate branch of Kalâm that emphasized human freedom, and became known as “the partisans of justice and unity,” and the Asharites, who emphasized God’s unknowability, and God’s power over human action. In the Commentary on the Mishnah, composed when he was 30 years old, Maimonides mentions several Kalâm positions briefly and rejects them. By the time he wrote the Guide, in his fifties, Maimonides refers to the Kalâm much more extensively. Four chapters in the Guide are devoted to Kalâm arguments for the creation of the world and existence. Maimonides distinguishes among different Kalâm schools of thought and provides extensive details of their positions. And yet, as recent scholars have demonstrated, the accuracy of his accounts is questionable at best. This raises a tantalizing but unanswerable question: what sources provided Maimonides with his acquaintance with Kalâm thought? Davidson has suggested that possibly Maimonides was extrapolating what he inferred to be Kalâm principles from their proofs, rather than having actual knowledge of their texts.7 Interestingly enough, medieval Jewish philosophers are not quoted in Maimonides’ philosophical works. With the exception of Isaac Israeli (ca 855–ca 955), Saadia Gaon (882–942), and Ibn Tzaddiq (d.1149), no Jewish

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philosophers are mentioned by Maimonides. This does not mean that he did not read Jewish philosophers, and scholars are exploring hints that he might have been influenced by the works of Judah Halevi, Abraham ibn Ezra, and Abraham ibn Daud, among others.8 But Maimonides does not mention them by name, nor does he recommend their works to his disciples.

Early Works One of Maimonides’ earliest works (1157–8) was a treatise on the calendar (Ma’amar ha ‘ibbur). This was a practical guide, with straightforward calendrical tables. By 1166 he was working on a more comprehensive guide, Laws of the Sanctification of the Moon, which became the eighth treatise of the Book of Seasons in the Mishneh Torah. In this work of 19 chapters, he analyzed the numerical values of both astronomical and calendrical phenomena. His short Treatise on the Art of Logic most likely dates from this early period as well.9 The treatise is addressed to a Muslim and is an introductory work drawing heavily on al-Fârâbî’s logic. In the fourteenth (final) chapter he discusses the logic of the philosophical sciences. Maimonides began his first major work, The Commentary on the Mishnah, in Fez around 1161, and published it in Egypt in 1168. The Mishnah is a compendium of Jewish law compiled by Rabbi Judah the Prince (ha-Nasi) around 200 ce. It contains six “orders,” divided into sixty-three tractates, each of which is further divided into chapters and subdivisions. This work became the basis for legal discussions in both the Babylonian and Jerusalem Talmud. Maimonides’ commentary reproduced the entire text of the Mishnah with a commentary written in Judaeo-Arabic, and later translated into Hebrew. In this work he proclaimed his aim, namely to simplify and synthesize the content of the Mishnah. Three major introductions were incorporated into his commentary: a long introduction to the entire Mishnah; an introduction to the tenth chapter of tractate Sanhedrin, known as Pereq Heleq, in which he set out the thirteen articles of faith; and a prelude to the tractate Avot (Pirqe Avot or Ethics of the Fathers) known as Eight Chapters (Shemona Peraqim) in which he set out his views on ethics. In the introduction to tractate Sanhedrin (Chapter 10 of the Babylonian Talmud) called Pereq Heleq, Maimonides outlined the fundamental principles of Judaism. The section in Sanhedrin starts with the words “All Israelites have a share in the world to come . . .” Maimonides used this text as an opportunity to articulate the necessary and sufficient criteria for somebody’s being included among the “Israelites.” He laid out thirteen principles that every Israelite is expected to accept. These thirteen principles are reducible to three broad categories: (1) God – His existence, unity, incorporeality, eternity, and prohibition of idolatry; (2) the Law – prophecy, uniqueness of Mosaic prophecy, Divine origin of the written and oral law, and the eternity and immutability of the Law; and (3) theodicy – Divine omniscience, Divine retribution, coming

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of the Messiah, and resurrection. The comprehensiveness and cohesiveness of this creed has been debated endlessly among subsequent generations of Jewish philosophers and scholars. Maimonides’ introduction to tractate Avot (Eight Chapters) gave him an opportunity to incorporate Greek ethical precepts into his Commentary. The two stated purposes of this work are to validate the tradition that has been handed down through generations, and to elucidate the ethical teachings of the sages. In this introduction, Maimonides attempts to provide the underlying rationale of the rabbinic moral dicta. This work contains Maimonides’ exposition of the doctrine of the Aristotelian mean. The last chapter contains an affirmation of human freedom, and the rejection of any view (astrology, predestination) that might undermine human choice. Following Aristotelian thought in the Nicomachean Ethics, Maimonides argues that without freedom of choice, there can be no ethics.

Major Works Mishneh Torah Maimonides’ major works are undoubtedly the Mishneh Torah and Guide of the Perplexed. In the years 1168–78 (or 1180) Maimonides compiled his monumental compendium of Jewish law, known as the Mishneh Torah (Repetition of the Torah). Maimonides chose to write in the Hebrew of the Mishnah, rather than the Hebrew of the Bible, in order to emulate the original author of the Mishnah. To this end, he reworked many of the Talmudic passages (written in Aramaic) into an eloquent Hebrew. His organization of the laws in this work was designed to make it easy for the student to learn the laws by memory. The organization of the text was similarly conceived for simplicity, and Maimonides arranged all the main topics in the Talmud into separate books, each containing from three to ten treatises. The very process of classification carried with it an underlying set of assumptions and philosophical view. Maimonides did not distinguish practical from theoretical discussions in the Mishnah, and insisted on presenting both as of immediate relevance. He thus reintroduced into the corpus many sections that authorities had previously ignored. One of Maimonides’ main aims was to unify the areas of law and philosophy, praxis and theoria. We thus find in the Mishneh Torah many philosophical comments and insights, as well as an emphasis upon the inherent rationality of the Law itself. With this work, his reputation as a legal (halakhic) authority was established; the Mishneh Torah became the benchmark for all subsequent writing on Jewish jurisprudence.10 One important philosophical section of this work is the first book, The Book of Knowledge (Sefer haMaddah), which sets forth the foundations of Jewish belief. This first book of the Mishneh Torah is divided into five treatises: Foundations of the Law, Ethical Qualities, Torah Study, Idolatry, and Repentance.11 Maimonides clarifies

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at the start of the work that his main concern is science and the study of nature, the foundation of his restoring Judaism as a “religion of reason and enlightenment” (Kraemer 2008a, 326).

The Guide of the Perplexed Maimonides composed his major philosophical work The Guide of the Perplexed between the years of 1185 and 1190. The work is written in JudaeoArabic, that is, in Arabic using Hebrew letters. The dedicatory epistle describes the circumstances surrounding the composition of the work. Maimonides tells us that an individual named Joseph ben Judah ibn Shimon had travelled from Morocco to Egypt, hoping to study philosophy with him. Maimonides accepted Joseph as a student and the two studied together for several years (1182–84/5), focusing on astronomy, logic, and philosophy. When Joseph departed (not having accomplished his full course of study), Maimonides wrote the Guide for him and other similar students. Maimonides specifies several purposes of the work. The first is to explain the meanings of difficult terms appearing in the prophetic books, while the second is to explain obscure parables in these works. More generally, Maimonides tells us that his overall purpose is to remove perplexity on the part of intellectually sophisticated readers who are committed to reading Scripture in light of philosophical ideas. His work is written to enable such a reader to understand the often hidden meanings to be found in scriptural texts. In the second part of this introduction, Maimonides outlines in great detail the ways in which his work should and should not be read. He is quite explicit that, like the Scriptures, the Guide contains a multitude of hidden secret meanings, and that only the philosophically astute individual will be able to decode Maimonides’ true views on philosophical topics such as creation, prophecy, and metaphysics. In the next chapter we shall discuss in greater detail the methodological constraints introduced by this work. The Guide is divided into three parts. The first part deals primarily with issues associated with a philosophical conception of God: in the first 50 chapters, Maimonides offers philosophical interpretations of terms found in Scripture that attribute to God corporeality. He then provides a more general discussion of Divine predication, and how attributes about God must be understood. Subsequent chapters deal with divine names (61–64), the divine essence (68), and God’s relation to the world (69–72), concluding with a critique of Kalâm arguments for the unity, existence, and incorporeality of God (71–76). Part II starts with Maimonides’ own arguments for the existence of God (1). He then turns to issues of philosophical cosmology (2–12), creation (13–31), and prophecy (32–48). In the final part of the Guide, Maimonides addresses the cluster of problems connected with theodicy and providence (8–24), moral theory and reasons for the commandments (25–50), and ultimate perfection and happiness (51–54). Many of these topics receive treatment in his other more philosophical works as well.

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Less than 10 years after the publication of the Guide, Maimonides’ admirers asked Samuel ibn Tibbon, who lived in Lunel, France, to make a translation from Judaeo-Arabic into Hebrew. Ibn Tibbon studied the original work carefully, providing clear annotations, and consulting the author whenever he encountered translation difficulties. On November 30, 1204 (14 days before Maimonides’ death in Fustât), the translation was completed and immediately disseminated throughout Provence, northern Spain, and Italy. Almost immediately, however, opposition to the work sprang up. Ibn Tibbon himself was denounced, and the work was burnt in Paris and elsewhere by Jewish legal authorities who feared the views contained in the work. But within a century, the Guide emerged from the opposition even more influential than before. Numerous commentaries were written in an attempt to penetrate the depths of the work. The Guide entered the Christian scholastic world through a second, less literal translation by al-Harizi. A Latin translation was undertaken during the thirteenth century, and was read by Alexander of Hales (d.1245), William of Auvergne (d.1248), Albertus Magnus (d.1280), and Thomas Aquinas (d.1274), among others. Aquinas studied the Guide carefully and quoted it regularly in his discussions of creation and divine attributes (see Rubio 2006).

Letters and essays After his arrival in Egypt in 1167, Maimonides’ fame grew not only as a medical specialist, but as a religious and spiritual leader as well. Jacob ben Nethanel al-Fayyûmi wrote on behalf of the Jews of Yemen, whose existence was being threatened by a fanatical Muslim movement. Al-Fayyûmi requested from Maimonides advice on how to respond to the suffering of the community, especially in light of the pressure to convert to Islam. He also asked Maimonides for specific information regarding the coming of the Messiah. Maimonides gave his ruling on these questions in 1172, in his Epistle to Yemen, urging al-Fayyûmi to disseminate the letter widely “in order to strengthen the people in their faith and put them on their feet” (EY 131). The Epistle thus represents Maimonides’ response to a community in crisis, battered by outside forces, tempted by conversion and apostasy. Because Maimonides felt the desperation of the Jews of Yemen, he was particularly compelled to respond to their need. As Hartmann points out, the letter is written with the express purpose of strengthening a community in its battle against hostile surrounding forces. The tone and substance of the epistle express the anger and bitterness of a leader who felt called upon to support a community that was disillusioned and shattered by the world in which it lived (EY 151). For this reason, it is important to keep in mind the Epistle’s intended audience and its response to a crisis situation, rather than treating it as a philosophical statement. Maimonides’ outbursts against Islam and Christianity, his attacks on Jesus (“may his bones be ground to dust”) and Muhammad (“the madman”), must all be understood in this context. The Letter on Astrology was addressed to the rabbis of southern France. These rabbis had written a letter to Maimonides in which they articulated their

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worries about the pernicious implications of astrological determinism upon their adherents. The underlying philosophical issue, to which Maimonides devotes the most attention both in the Letter and in the Guide, concerns the relation between natural astrology and its judicial implications. In other words, from the very real influence of the celestial beings (sun, moon, stars, and planets) upon the natural world (e.g. growth of plants, ocean tides, etc.), can we infer a further influence upon human life and action? And furthermore, can these influences be calculated by means of horoscopes? It is this set of issues that directly affects theories of Divine Providence, retribution, and free will. The very fact that Maimonides was called upon to legislate upon this issue is evidence of the popularity of astrology among twelfth-century Provençal Jews. The Essay on Resurrection is the most personal of Maimonides’ works, and contains a response to attacks upon his views on the afterlife and the world to come. The attacks were precipitated by comments he had made in his Commentary on the Mishnah and the Mishneh Torah suggesting that Maimonides did not include the resurrection of bodies in his conception of the “world to come.” Maimonides’ opponents identified the world to come with the resurrection of the dead, whereas it appeared that Maimonides himself considered resurrection as only an ancillary step in the final process of immortality. In fact, statements in Maimonides’ works give credence to this latter interpretation: in the Commentary on the Mishnah, his position appears to be that while bodies of the righteous will be resurrected at some future time, they will not live forever, but will give way to ultimate intellectual perfection in the guise of immortality of soul. A similar point is made in the Mishneh Torah (H. Teshuba 3.5–6). In response to this position, Rabbi Samuel ben Eli, principal leader of the Baghadi rabbinic academy, wrote a 20-page treatise in Arabic, in which he laid out a veiled criticism of Maimonides. Maimonides’ own student Joseph ben Judah entered the controversy and clashed several times with Samuel ben Eli, ultimately sending to his teacher Maimonides a copy of Eli’s attack. Maimonides’ rejoinder, the Treatise on Resurrection, was published in 1191 in response to Rabbi Samuel ben Eli’s attacks. The work itself is in three parts: a preamble in which Maimonides acknowledges how the public might have been confused about his position; the body of the work, in which Maimonides defends himself against the charge of disbelief in resurrection; and a postscript, in which he explores reasons why the Bible itself does not contain references to resurrection. Maimonides’ tone throughout the work is acerbic, sarcastic, and bitter; the reader cannot help but note the deep anger and resentment at having to respond publicly to what he regards as a ridiculous accusation. Hartmann suggests that, in a way, this treatise represents an acknowledgment of failure: the very fact that the Jewish community was determined to hold on to a notion of bodily resurrection, despite all of Maimonides’ attempts to instill in them an ideal of personal immortality, was “a sign that all that he had tried to accomplish as a Jewish leader and educator might have failed” (Halkin and Hartmann 1985, 249). Does this essay represent, then, as Hartmann suggests, the painful acknowledgment of the ultimate

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futility of the philosopher’s “return to the cave”? If so, then it serves in part at least as a commentary on Maimonides’ assessment of his own life and achievements. We shall have ample opportunity to explore these issues in subsequent chapters.

Medical writings After the composition of his theological and philosophical works, Maimonides devoted himself more seriously to medicine and composed ten medical treatises between 1190 and 1204. Scholars in recent years have turned to these works for additional information on Maimonides’ views about medicine, scientific method, and the relationship between medicine and philosophy. Some of these works were translated into Hebrew and Latin, and contributed to his fame as a physician. In these works, Maimonides often mentions contacts with physicians in the Maghreb (see On Asthma 12.9–10). Maimonides did have a strong knowledge of the medical works of Galen, al-Râzî, Avicenna, and others. By the tenth century all of Galen’s medical treatises existed in Arabic; from then on, literate Jewish, Muslim, and Christian physicians based their ideas primarily on the works of Galen and, through Galen, on the works of Hippocrates. Lieber notes that the interfaith unity of medicine was made possible by the fact that it was essentially untouched by theological considerations. Religious works are rarely invoked in the context of medical discussions, either by the pagan Greeks or by the medievals (Lieber 1993, 21). While Maimonides quotes Galen primarily, he occasionally quotes Hippocrates and other Greek medical writers, and occasionally refers to Muslim physicians. The majority of his treatises consist of “reports” written in response to a particular patron. Around 1195 he wrote the report known as the Regimen of Health in response to a letter from the dissipated Sultan al-Afdâl (Saladin’s eldest son), who requested Maimonides’ medical opinion regarding his constipation, poor digestion, and depression. Maimonides’ response, based on Galen’s famous work on regimen (De Sanitate Tuenda), offered a detailed set of instructions or way of life to be followed by the Sultan. Following a second request from the Sultan, Maimonides wrote on his behalf On the Causes of Symptoms, in which he offers yet another health regimen. In this work Maimonides advocates both music and wine to counteract the Sultan’s depression, even though both were forbidden to Muslims under Islamic law. Maimonides claimed in this work that, when sick, a person may contravene the law in order to take advantage of treatment. He might have been reflecting the Jewish ruling that saving a life (piku’ah nefesh) takes precedence over any religious ruling, in which case curing the Sultan’s depression would require equally dire measures. Maimonides wrote other treatises as well, treating such topics as sexual difficulties, hemorrhoids, asthma, and poisons; these treatises were for the most part based on Galen’s Canon. His work On Asthma was written for a person of high rank (whose name we do not know) and comprises a regimen of

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health for his patient. Maimonides knew that asthma, like many other recurring diseases, was almost impossible to cure, and so he advocated a sensible health regimen that would at least lead to good health (On Asthma 1.1). He also warned his patient against invasive treatment, claiming that “the errors of the physicians are much more frequent than their correct [prescriptions]” (On Asthma 13.19). In this work he also mentions the “six non-naturals” that, in addition to the four humors, are wont to influence a person’s physical health. These six non-naturals are mentioned already in Galen: the surrounding air; food and drink; movement and rest; emotions; sleeping and waking; excretion and retention. To these six non-naturals Maimonides interestingly added a seventh, sexual intercourse (On Asthma 1.7). Maimonides’ most important and popular medical work was his Medical Aphorisms (Fusûl Mûsâ), a work whose purpose was to transmit Galen’s ideas in summary form. This work was repeatedly reprinted in Hebrew, as well as in Latin translations. It consists of 25 chapters, each consisting of brief paragraphs, devoted to specific medical topics. It has been characterized as a medical equivalent of the Mishneh Torah in that it offers a summary and compendium of over 90 of Galen’s works (Langermann 2008). The first chapter is concerned with physiognomy, the second with the four humors, etc. In the long final chapter, Maimonides presents his “doubts” regarding various of Galen’s comments. In this chapter he deals with about fifty inconsistencies found in Galen’s works, and concludes with a polemic against one of Galen’s religious interpolations having to do with the doctrine of creation.

Reception of Maimonides’ Works The complex story of the reception of Maimonides’ works has been traced by many scholars. Let me mention just some of the highlights of what have come to be known as the Maimonidean controversies. Not surprisingly, rabbinic leaders even before Maimonides’ death were threatened by what they saw as an attack on Jewish belief. One issue had to do with anthropomorphic descriptions of God found in Scripture. We shall discuss in the next chapter Maimonides’ attempt to move Jews away from a literal reading of these descriptions to a more philosophically nuanced reading. A second issue had to do with resurrection of the dead, which, as we have noted above, holds tremendous theological implications for theories of retribution. Another issue centered around Maimonides’ contention that all the commandments had rational explanations. Controversy swirled around the naturalistic doctrine of prophecy and miracles as well. These controversies mirrored similar controversies in the fourteenth-century scholastic world, during which period the Christian Church had to accommodate Church teachings with the new and threatening philosophies of Aristotle and Averroes. The controversy over Maimonides’ works commenced in the East, with an argument over the legitimacy of traditional Jewish institutions (Drews

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2004, 119). The publication of the Mishneh Torah enabled Jews to consult a systematic compendium of Jewish law themselves, and so, not surprisingly, the rabbinic academies were opposed to Maimonides’ encroachment upon their authority, which they saw as undermining the institutional foundations of Judaism. This controversy resulted in the Gaon of Baghdad’s challenge that Maimonides did not believe in the resurrection of the dead. After Maimonides wrote his Treatise on Resurrection, in which he pointed out that the doctrine of resurrection was already included in his thirteen articles of faith, the controversy died down. But other controversies arose in its wake. The second stage of controversy arose in Provence and spread to northern France and Spain. Provence had an influx of both Sephardi Jews from Andalusia who brought with them from Spain the rich traditions of Arabic philosophy, and Ashkenazi Jews from northern France who were more interested in traditional rabbinic learning. The Ashkenazi Jews worried that the essence of Judaism was in danger of being overrun by secular learning, as epitomized by philosophy. This second stage was set off by Rabbi Solomon ben Abraham of Montpellier’s ban on the study of Maimonides’ philosophical works (both the Guide and the Book of Knowledge, the first book of the Mishneh Torah). A counter-ban was then proposed by the scholars of Lunel, which was a center of Maimonidean scholarship. We see then two opposing camps: that of Rabbi Solomon, which opposed philosophical study and in particular the allegorical interpretation of Scripture, and the scholars of Lunel who were in favor of pursuing philosophy. The thirteenth-century Jewish philosopher Nahmanides tried to reconcile the two camps, but failed in his attempts. Scholars have traced these two stages of the controversy to social and political upheaval within organized Jewish society, as well as to interactions with the Christian Church during this period. The second stage of the controversy ended violently, with the anti-Maimunists bringing the Christian Inquisition into the picture, resulting in the subsequent burning of Maimonides’ works by the Church (Drews 2004, 127). It is worth noting that during this same period, a similar controversy raged among scholars at the University of Paris, leading to the famous 1277 condemnations of the works of Aristotle and Averroes by Bishop Tempier. The third ban occurred around 1288/9, leading to another round of bans and counter-bans. In this third stage only the works of Greek philosophy were banned, not those of Maimonides. In fact, however, the study of scientific and philosophical works continued throughout this period. Yet another area of study has centered around Maimonides’ impact upon scholastic thought. Scholars have noted Maimonides’ important influence upon Thomas Aquinas, Henry of Ghent, and other Latin scholars. In a recent study, Hasselhoff has argued that Maimonides’ influence upon thirteenth-century scholastic thought was quite extensive, encompassing “philosophy, astronomy, questions of Christian hermeneutics of the Hebrew Bible and medicine” (Hasselhoff 2002, 20). This story of Maimonides’ incorporation into scholastic thought has yet to be fully documented.

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notes 1 I am very much indebted to recent biographies of Maimonides by Kraemer (2008a), Davidson (2005) and Stroumsa (2009) for details of Maimonides’ life and writings. Kraemer has also included an extensive (online) bibliography in conjunction with his biography. 2 See Kraemer (2008a, 116–25) for extensive discussion of this controversial point. Kraemer himself supports the view that Maimonides did for a time convert to Islam. 3 For further discussion of these influences on Maimonides, see Kraemer (2008a, 156–8); see also Ivry (1986); Ivry (1991). 4 For a detailed discussion of the impact of Islamic philosophy upon Maimonides, see Pines (1963); Pessin (2005); Zonta (2007). 5 See al-Fârâbî’s description of philosophy in Lerner and Mahdi (1963). 6 Al-Ghazâlî is a particularly interesting case, and scholars have recently paid closer attention to possible influences of al-Ghazâlî upon Maimonides. Davidson has suggested some striking similarities between al-Ghazâlî and Maimonides. See for example Eran (2001); Davidson (2005). 7 On this, see Davidson (2005); see also Pines (1963); Pessin (2005). 8 See Eran (1994); S. Harvey (1992). 9 Scholars have debated whether or not the Treatise on the Art of Logic is an authentic work. Davidson (2005) has argued that the work is not by Maimonides, but Kraemer and others offer compelling arguments to consider the work as written by Maimonides (see Kraemer (2005, pp. 69–71); Kraemer (2008a) deals extensively with this issue and concludes that the work is authentic. 10 See Kraemer (2005, 5ff.) for extensive discussion of the importance of this work. 11 Note that al-Ghazâlî began his theological work Revivication of the Religious Sciences with a Book of Knowledge as well. Franz Rosenthal suggests that Maimonides’ Book of Knowledge owes “its title, its being, and its place to the attitude of Muslim civilization toward knowledge.” See Rosenthal (1970, 96).

further reading Davidson, Herbert A., Moses Maimonides: The Man and his Works (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2005). Halkin, Abraham S., and David Hartman, Crisis and Leadership: Epistles of Maimonides (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society of America, 1985). Hasselhoff, Gorge K., “Maimonides in the Latin Middle Ages: An Introductory Survey,” Jewish Studies Quarterly 9 (2002), 1–20. Kraemer, Joel L., “Moses Maimonides: An Intellectual Portrait,” in Kenneth Seeskin (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Maimonides (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 10–57. Kraemer, Joel L., Maimonides: The Life and World of One of Civilization’s Greatest Minds (New York: Doubleday Press, 2008). Mose ben Maimon, Epistulae, ed. by D. H. Baneth, 2nd edition (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1985).

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Pessin, Sarah, “The Influence of Islamic Thought on Maimonides,” Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (online), 2005. Stroumsa, Sarah, Maimonides in His World (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2009. Zonta, Mauro, “Influence of Arabic and Islamic Philosophy on Judaic Thought,” Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (online), 2007.

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chapter 2

language, logic, and the art of demonstration Introduction aimonides’ philosophical works give eloquent testimony to the tensions apparent in trying to reconcile traditional Jewish beliefs with the methods and content of philosophical speculation. Often, these philosophical ideas and methods conflict with the views found in Scripture. Take for example, the doctrine of creation: while Genesis portrays God as having created the world in time, Aristotle and Plato both postulate an eternal world in which matter has always existed. As we shall see in subsequent chapters, Maimonides’ major philosophical work, The Guide of the Perplexed, as well as shorter introductions to his legal works, often incorporate ideas from Greek and Islamic philosophy, and present an eclectic synthesis of Judaic and philosophical materials. In this chapter, we turn to the methods used by Maimonides in grappling with these tensions between Athens and Jerusalem, between the domains of faith and reason. Maimonides provided to the reader clear guidelines on how to approach the Guide, and what to expect from its chapters; he suggested that the work contained both an exoteric, or surface, meaning, and an esoteric or hidden meaning that must be uncovered by the astute reader. After exploring Maimonides’ purposes in writing his philosophical works, we then turn to Maimonides’ wellknown “Articles of Faith,” a summary of doctrinal belief in Judaism. Of these thirteen beliefs, Maimonides emphasized the unity and incorporeality of God, and provided Jews with a way of reinterpreting scriptural passages and terms that violate these two attributes. In the final section of this chapter, I shall introduce the importance of philosophical and scientific demonstration to Maimonides’ overall enterprise, with particular emphasis upon the role played by demonstration in grounding our knowledge claims.

M

Maimonides T. M. Rudavsky © 2010 T M. Rudavsky. ISBN: 978-1-405-14897-9

How to Read Maimonides’ Guide of the Perplexed Maimonides tells us in the introduction to the Guide of the Perplexed that the work was addressed to his student Joseph son of Judah, who had travelled to study with him. Interestingly, Maimonides tells us that Joseph’s letters of introduction were written in “rhymed prose” (GP Intro:3), possibly in an attempt to impress him. When Joseph returned to Aleppo, Maimonides wrote the Guide, he tells us, for Joseph and other scholars like him. The work commences (and ends) with a short poem about a journey: “My knowledge goes forth to point out the way / to pave straight its road / Lo, everyone who goes astray in the field of Torah / Come and follow its path. / The unclean and the fool shall not pass over it; / It shall be called the Sacred Way” (GP Intro:2). This introduction is reminiscent of the introduction to Parmenides’ prose-poem in which the goddess tells Parmenides that he is now embarking on the way of truth, a perilous journey, in which he will learn to distinguish the true from the false, knowledge from belief. Maimonides’ work is both literally and figuratively a “guide,” an intellectual road leading the philosophically perplexed individual back to the center, back to truth.

On the purpose of the Guide of the Perplexed The introduction to the Guide clearly spells out the major purposes of the work. The first purpose of the Guide is to “explain the meanings of certain terms occurring in books of prophecy,” while the second purpose is to explain “very obscure parables occurring in the books of the prophets” (GP Intro:5–6). Maimonides delineates two purposes, in a passage worth quoting in full: For the purpose of this Treatise and of all those like it is the science of Law in its true sense. Or rather its purpose is to give indications to a religious man for whom the validity of our Law has become established in his soul and has become actual in his belief – such a man being perfect in his religion and character, and having studied the sciences of the philosophers and come to know what they signify. The human intellect having drawn him on and led him to dwell within its province, he must have felt distressed by the externals of the Law and by the meanings of the above-mentioned equivocal, derivative, or amphibolous terms, as he continued to understand them by himself or was made to understand them by others. Hence he would remain in a state of perplexity and confusion as to whether he should follow his intellect, renounce what he knew concerning the terms in question, and consequently consider that he has renounced the foundations of Law. Or he should hold fast to his understanding of these terms and not let himself be drawn on together with his intellect, rather turning his back on it and moving away from it, while at the same time perceiving that he had brought loss to himself and harm to his religion. He would be left with those imaginary beliefs to which he owes

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his fear and difficulty and would not cease to suffer from heartache and great perplexity. (GP Intro:5–6)

Note the following points contained in the above passage. The Guide is presented as an exercise in the “science of the Law,” that is, as a rigorous, analytic study of Judaism. Maimonides is clear that the Guide is directed not to the “vulgar or to beginners,” but to an individual like his own student Joseph who “has philosophized and has knowledge of the true sciences” (GP Intro:10). Presumably his student (and Maimonides himself) is the very sort of individual described, one who has studied both Scripture and philosophy and is caught between the two disciplines, embroiled in a state of perplexity and confusion. This classic tension between faith and reason, between what Maimonides terms “intellect” and “imaginary beliefs,” was described by many of his Islamic and Jewish philosophical contemporaries. Such an individual, standing at the crossroads, as it were, between Torah and philosophy, between faith and reason, might feel compelled to choose between the two paths. Torah offers a way of life, while philosophy offers a critical way of thinking. Maimonides is clear that each choice carries its own price: choosing reason (philosophy) carries with it the possibility of losing one’s belief in Judaism, while choosing faith over reason threatens to undermine the epistemological integrity of Jewish belief. Once Pandora’s box has been opened, there is no going back to a pre-reflexive, naïve standpoint. The very rejection of philosophy carries its own “heartache and great perplexity,” which ultimately is harmful to Judaism. Is there any cure for the individual caught in this state of perplexity? Maimonides introduces the second purpose of the Guide, namely biblical hermeneutics, as a way to neutralize the sort of perplexity exacerbated by ambiguous passages in Scripture. Once we understand the true meaning of difficult biblical parables, or understand at least that they are parables and not to be understood literally, Maimonides assures the reader that “he will take the road and be delivered from this perplexity” (GP Intro:6). Yet, even this road is not clear of obstacles, and many pitfalls lie in wait for the unwary or unprepared reader. In the very next section, Maimonides avers that such explanations can only be partial, citing three reasons for his inability to explain problematic terms and parables fully. First, he tells us that the subject matter is simply too comprehensive and vast to be covered in such a work. Second, he warns us that certain parables, such as the Account of the Beginning (ma‘aseh be-reishit), pertaining to natural science, and the Account of the Chariot (ma‘aseh merkabah), pertaining to divine science, are intentionally vague and must not be fully explicated. Finally, Maimonides is explicit in realizing that inasmuch as most individuals are incapable of ascertaining more than “flashes” of truth, any cure can only be partial (GP Intro:7). As Kraemer has aptly stated, the Guide addresses “a chronic existential condition of numbing perplexity” (Kraemer 2008b, 8). One who is fully steeped in both Torah and philosophy can never be fully rid of perplexity. We might in fact

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detect Maimonides the physician speaking: often the most we can hope for are degrees of cure.

Esoteric and exoteric levels of meaning in the Guide Maimonides complicates matters even further by distinguishing two levels of interpretation, exoteric and esoteric, suggesting that it is sometimes incumbent upon a philosopher to conceal his own esoteric position behind the veil of exoteric doctrine. He enjoins his own student not to divulge his secret teachings to others. Maimonides thus introduces an ambiguity into the very reading and understanding of his texts, an ambiguity that has persisted to this day. Speaking of the Account of the Beginning and the Account of the Chariot, Maimonides tells us that his exposition of these two subjects will be “scattered and entangled with other subjects,” in order that “the truths be glimpsed and then again be concealed, so as not to oppose that divine purpose which one cannot possibly oppose and which has concealed from the vulgar among the people those truths especially requisite for his apprehension” (GP Intro:7). Maimonides had already alluded to the esoteric nature of his discussion in the Mishneh Torah; there, he reminded us that the Sages enjoined us to discuss the Account of the Chariot and Account of the Beginning privately, with “one individual” only, since the topics are “exceedingly profound” and “not every intellect is able to grasp them” (BK 2.12:36b). Maimonides adopts a method of concealment similar to the parables used by the Sages, in which difficult philosophical topics are couched: “For they are concealed things; none of them has been set down in any book . . .” Just as the Sages used parables and riddles when addressing divine matters, so too Maimonides uses the method of concealment when discussing matters of divine science. By concealing these matters, the “multitude” or the “vulgar” (= philosophically unsophisticated readers) will only understand the text on a superficial level. In order to conceal his real intentions from the novice, or unschooled reader, Maimonides makes use of various strategies. First, he warns the reader that he intends to present his discussions in a disorganized fashion, dropping hints and occasional glimpses of the truth in his work. In fact, the sequence of chapters in the Guide is completely disorganized, with topics and subjects following one another in no apparent order. Maimonides warns the reader, in his “Directions on how to read the work,” to approach the chapters in order, and to connect the topics one with the other, in much the same way that we connect pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Second, he reflects upon the method used by the Sages to conceal pearls of wisdom in parables. Students of the oral and written law (Torah and Talmud) are used to distinguishing two levels of textual discourse, peshat and derash: while peshat represents the revealed, ordinary interpretation of the text, the derash suggests an inner, hidden or esoteric meaning to the words. Rabbis called the derash the “mysteries” or “secrets” of Scripture, in contradistinction to the literal meaning, and they devoted much energy to penetrating the inner meaning of passages. Similarly, Maimonides tells us that while the

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external meaning of these parables is worth little, the internal meaning of such parables is compared to “apples of gold in settings of silver.” With respect to these rabbinic parables, their external meanings are pragmatic, and derive their heuristic value in construction of human society, while their internal meaning “contains wisdom that is useful for beliefs concerned with the truth as it is” (GP Intro:12). We shall return to the pedagogic importance of this strategy in Chapter 9, in the context of Maimonides’ views concerning social welfare. Maimonides further describes seven sorts of contradictions commonly found in philosophical works and suggests that two of these (the fifth and the seventh) may be used specifically to conceal potentially controversial or even heretical doctrines from the masses. Maimonides then states that any contradictions found in the Guide itself are intentional and are of type five or seven: “Divergences that are to be found in this Treatise are due to the fifth cause and the seventh” (GP Intro: 20). The fifth cause of contradictory statements results from having to teach obscure matters in a way that oversimplifies them, thus introducing apparent contradictions into the explanation. The seventh mode of contradiction results from having “to conceal some parts and to disclose others,” in a way that precludes the “vulgar” from noticing the contradiction. Maimonides is thus quite open about his alleged secrecy, encouraging his more philosophically sophisticated readers not to accept the text at face value.1 Partly as a result of Maimonides’ portrayal of this deliberately obfuscating methodology in the Guide, scholars have become embroiled in controversy over how much emphasis to place upon Maimonides’ ostensible doctrine of concealment. The process of reading Maimonides, and how to approach the texts, turns out to represent a deconstructive exercise in its own right. The reader’s attitude toward Maimonides’ introduction will determine the weight placed upon contradictions, apparent or real; and one’s attitude toward contradictions will determine to a large extent whether to see in Maimonides’ words an esoteric subtext that conflicts with Jewish belief, an esoteric subtext that can ultimately be harmonized with belief, or simply a straightforward literal meaning that eschews esotericism altogether. As numerous scholars have pointed out, text and interpretation are mutually reinforcing. We incorporate our own personal biases and standpoint to our reading of Maimonides, and the process of studying Maimonides becomes an exercise in self-discovery as much as the uncovering of the “real” Maimonides. Maimonides’ own translator Samuel ibn Tibbon was already searching for hidden meanings in the Guide, and was convinced that the work contained an esoteric depth to it. In his historical treatment of Maimonides’ commentary tradition, Aviezer Ravitzky has identified several strands of interpretation. The radical esotericists, epitomized historically by Ibn Tibbon himself and most recently by Shlomo Pines and Leo Strauss, have argued that Maimonides used these devices to conceal a “secret teaching” or doctrine that must be hidden from the masses.2 While they do not all agree on what that set of doctrines comprises, they do agree that Maimonides felt that these doctrines must be kept out

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of the hands of the vulgar. Some radical esotericists have read Maimonides as a closet Aristotelian, others as a closet Platonist or Neoplatonist, or even as a Kabbalist, but all agree that the Guide contains a concealed, inner, esoteric meaning that must be shared with a select few. Radical esotericism gained a rebirth with Leo Strauss’s enormously influential work Persecution and the Art of Writing, in which Strauss reintroduced a modern audience to the importance of recognizing esoteric subtexts in philosophical works (Strauss 1952). In Strauss’s view, the first premise of the Guide is “the old Jewish premise that being a Jew and being a philosopher are two incompatible things” (GP Intro:xiv). On this more radical reading, the Guide contains two teachings: a public teaching addressed to the “vulgar” and a secret teaching addressed to the “elite.” The “truth,” according to Strauss, is rooted in philosophical (often Aristotelian) doctrine, and often contravenes Jewish belief. Much like the philosopher-king in Plato’s Republic who must occasionally lie for the sake of the common good, Maimonides must resort to hiding the truth for the health of his readers. But in contradistinction to medieval esotericists, followers of Strauss have urged a rejection of simple harmonization of apparent contradictions, arguing that on many topics Maimonides adopts an Aristotelian position in contradistinction to that of Scripture. Other scholars have downplayed the importance of the esoteric/exoteric distinction, and have argued that many of the different comments and positions in the Guide reflect historical, contextual developments within Maimonides’ own mind. These scholars claim that the Guide represents a work of synthesis, and that the contradictions can be reconciled.3 On this symbiotic picture, reflection and action, philosophical pursuit and political activity, observance of the commandments and appreciation of physics and metaphysics, all can be harmonized into a rational conception of Judaism.

Belief and Articles of Faith Maimonides recognizes that not everybody is able to grasp and understand philosophically complex truths, and that there exist real differences in individual abilities. He is adamant, however, that certain beliefs must be taught to everybody regardless of their abilities, and presents these basic beliefs in many of his works. In his introduction to Pereq Heleq, Maimonides outlines the fundamental principles of Judaism. In this work, Maimonides offers a commentary upon the rabbinic passage in the Mishnaic tractate Sanhedrin 10.1, which states that having a share in the world to come is dependent upon accepting certain theological beliefs. Maimonides expounds upon this statement by providing a list of the thirteen articles of faith incumbent upon all Jews, without which they would not achieve immortality. These thirteen principles include: (1–4) the existence, unity, incorporeality, and primordiality of God; (5) denial of idolatry; (6–7) prophecy and uniqueness of Moses’ prophecy; (8–9) the divine origin and non-abrogation of the Torah; (10–11) God’s omniscience

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and providence; (12) the coming of the Messiah; and (13) resurrection of the dead. Acceptance of these fundamental principles, argues Maimonides, is a necessary condition for achieving a place in the world to come. Of these, God’s unity and incorporeality are iterated and emphasized in Maimonides’ works repeatedly. Thus for example, in his introduction to the Mishneh Torah, Maimonides states that the “basic principle of all basic principles and the pillar of all sciences” is the realization that there is a First Being; this is followed with God’s unity and incorporeality (BK 1.1:34a). This first attempt to articulate a creed in Judaism came under attack by subsequent Jewish thinkers. Maimonides returns to these principles in the Guide. We have noted above Maimonides’ intellectual elitism, and his deeply held view that most individuals are incapable of theoretical study. To some extent, this elitism is grounded in a form of biological or psycho-physical determinism, according to which our intellectual abilities are already determined by our very bodily constitution. In Guide 1.34 Maimonides lists five reasons why the multitude cannot be taught divine science: the subject matter itself is too difficult; most individuals simply do not have the intellectual capabilities to understand theoretical matters; most people are too impatient to work through the necessary prerequisites, and want to jump immediately to conclusions; many people are simply not naturally born to be students; and most people are too occupied with their physical needs to attend to advanced study. Nevertheless, Maimonides tells us that everybody, regardless of their mental limitations, must be taught both the unity and incorporeality of God (GP 1.35:80–1). In Chapter 5, we shall return to the implications of this psycho-physical determinism, which includes both biological and intellectual constraints. In addition to claiming that some people are naturally incapable of advanced study, Maimonides also recognizes that some things are simply beyond human intellect altogether. In Guide 1:31, Maimonides draws a series of distinctions among the totality of beings and topics that constitute the subject matter of philosophy and science, distinguishing various classes of objects as follows: 2a Those objects of apprehension that are within the power of humans to apprehend. 2b Those objects of which the intellect may “apprehend one state while not being cognizant of other states” (GP 1:31:65). 2c Those objects of apprehension that human intellect “is not capable of apprehending in any way or through any cause” (ibid.). Realizing that not all humans have the same intellectual capacities, Maimonides recognizes that one individual may understand a matter that another finds obtuse. Nevertheless he argues that there are limits to human apprehension: “there are therefore things regarding which it has become clear to man that it is impossible to apprehend them” (ibid.). (2c) is thus subdivided into two additional classes of objects. 2d Of the objects we cannot know, there are those that our souls do not long to know, once we realize that they are beyond our intellectual limits of

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comprehension. Examples of this class include the numbers of the stars of the heavens, our ignorance of the number of the species of living things, etc. 2e Of the objects we cannot know, there exist things the apprehension of which “man will find that he has a great longing” (ibid.). These are the matters to which we do want answers, but cannot ever answer. Maimonides warns his reader not to overstrain the intellectual faculties with respect to (2e). Rabbi Aqiba represents a model of the individual who does not aspire to apprehend what cannot be apprehended. Such an individual, who recognizes the limits to human understanding, lives in peace. On the other hand, take the individual who aspires to apprehend entities in (2e): such a person, as exemplified by the apostate Elisha, risks apostasy. This state of apostasy is described as an epistemological illness or weakness in which one is “overcome by imaginings and by an inclination toward things defective, evil, and wicked” (GP 1:32:69). To aspire toward (2e) is harmful in many ways. Guide 1.33 elucidates the particular epistemological harm adduced by such an individual, and the extraordinary methods taken by the Sages to protect the uninitiated from the secret teachings of Scripture. We shall return to this issue below, when we investigate further why certain matters lie beyond the scope of the human intellect.

The Art of Biblical Exegesis: Harvesting “Apples of Gold” Given that the incorporeality and unity of God are presented as basic beliefs, what sense, then, can we make of linguistic utterances that appeal to God’s corporeal or bodily features? Although Maimonides does not intend the Guide to be a work on language per se (see GP 1.10:35), nevertheless the first sixty chapters are framed within the context of logical and linguistic analysis. Maimonides will remind his reader repeatedly that the Torah speaks in the language of humans, and that the language of Scripture must be demythologized and deconstructed. Take, for example, the statements in Scripture that the prophets “see” God, or that God “speaks to” a prophet. Both “seeing” and “speaking” must be interpreted in a way that preserves the incorporeal nature of God. And so in the case of the prophet, the “seeing” turns out to be an intellectual exercise, since clearly God is not something that can be seen visually (GP 1.4), and in the case of God, the “speaking” must be understood allegorically, since God does not have a physical mouth with which to speak (GP 1.65). Why is it so important that our linguistic utterances be accurate? Language is reflective of our beliefs, and Maimonides is concerned to rectify what we say as well as what we believe about God. Maimonides’ major principle is articulated as follows: “Belief is not the notion that is uttered, but the notion that is represented in the soul when it has been averred of it that it is in fact just as it has

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been represented” (GP 1:50:111). Maimonides reflects a distinction, made in his early Treatise on the Art of Logic, between internal and external speech, according to which terms predicated of God must conform to rules that govern the use of predicables in logical judgment. Maimonides mentions both proper (intellectual) and improper (imaginative) beliefs in the Introduction to the Guide. Infidelity (or improper belief) is described in Guide 1:36 as “belief about a thing that is different from what the thing really is.” His point here is that beliefs are not just linguistic utterances but internal mental states. Having a belief in one’s mind, and uttering a belief, are independent activities: one may entertain a belief without uttering or articulating it, and one may profess a belief without actually believing it (GP 1.59:139–40). The importance of this point is reflected in Maimonides’ Epistle on Forced Conversion. In this work Maimonides is asked whether forced (Jewish) converts to Islam should recite the Islamic creed (Shahada) to avoid being killed. Maimonides responds that mere verbal utterance of a credal statement, without inner assent, is not sufficient to constitute belief of that statement. Echoing his definition of belief as an inner state, Maimonides claims that the outward linguistic professing of the creed matters less than the inner mental state (see Kraemer 2008a, 106–7). Because every statement about God necessarily constitutes a logical proposition, divine predication must be construed as a set of semantic or logical problems. What linguistic sense, then, can we make of statements in Scripture that ostensibly attribute predicates to God? It is against the backdrop of this question that we must read the first fifty chapters of the Guide. In these chapters Maimonides is meticulously breaking down his reader’s pre-philosophical conceptions about God, rooted in anthropomorphism and corporeality, and replacing them with a more sophisticated conception rooted in incorporeality. Unlike Descartes, who in the Meditations will attempt to destroy his reader’s complacency in several paragraphs, Maimonides is careful to draw in his reader slowly and cautiously, suggesting alternative readings to replace the literal reading of biblical passages. Consider the sorts of linguistic analysis undertaken in these introductory chapters. These analyses consist of explicating biblical terms imputing to God a corporeal nature in such a way as to emphasize the incorporeality of the Deity. Why is it so important to emphasize God’s incorporeality? Maimonides believes that the very worship of an idol suggests that the Deity has a shape that can be configured. In Guide 1:36 Maimonides warns us against the many dangers of believing in God’s corporeality, a belief that he associates with idolatry. In these first chapters of the Guide, Maimonides focuses on the logical meaning and significance of terms when predicated of God. The very first chapter commences with analysis of the terms “image” (tzelem) and “likeness” (demut) as reflected in the biblical passage “let us make man [adam] in our image [be ’tzalmenu], after our likeness . . . So God created man in his image, in the image of God created he him, male and female created he them” (Genesis 1:26–27). One can imagine the philosophically untutored individual using this passage to attribute to God a physical form like that of humans; in fact many of

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the early Jewish mystics used this passage to postulate to God a divine body. Maimonides is careful to explicate the passage in such a way that these terms pertain not to a physical image or likeness, but rather to the natural form or essence of humans, which is delineated as an intellectual apprehension. Maimonides turns in chapter four to terms having to do with sight, looking at, and vision. How, for example, do we parse the biblical text “I saw the Lord” (1 Kings 22:19)? Maimonides explains these terms as referring to intellectual apprehension and not sensible apprehension, in order avoid the inference that human beings can actually “see” God. Other terms used in Scripture to describe God’s activities, and explicated by Maimonides, include: “place,” “throne,” “descend” and “ascend” as described of God, “sitting,” “rising,” “standing,” “standing erect,” “approaching,” “filling,” “bearing,” “passing,” “coming” and “going.” In all these cases, Maimonides decodes the way they ought to be understood when predicated of God. All these predicates presuppose motion on the part of God; but motion is an accident attaching to living beings, and not to God. Once we realize that God is not corporeal, we realize that these predicates are inapplicable to God (GP 1.26:57). Maimonides then turns to a separate set of terms, including “foot,” “ear,” “face,” “back,” “heart,” “air,” “soul,” “living,” “wing,” “eye,” “hear,” all of which impute to God parts of the body. These too must be interpreted in a way that does not impute corporeality to God. Take for example the terms “say,” “speak,” or “command” when attributed to God. Does this mean that God literally speaks? Surely not, avers Maimonides, and argues that the terms must be understood equivocally: it is not the case that God emits an utterance, but rather that God wills that a certain understanding be imprinted, as it were, upon the hearer.

Language and Logic This careful linguistic analysis raises broader questions regarding Maimonides’ views on language. As we shall see below, Maimonides’ methodological hermeneutics is indebted to Aristotle as well as to the Islamic philosophers. Maimonides has emphasized that one of the key purposes of the Guide is linguistic analysis, and he warns his readers in the Guide to pay attention to every word contained in the work, even if it is not in its “proper place.” Nevertheless, while he clearly took great care in his choice of words, Maimonides says very little in the Guide about language itself. Only one passage in the Guide refers explicitly to language, stating that “languages are conventional and not natural, as has sometimes been thought” (GP 2.30:357– 8). The suggestion here is that languages are the product of human will, and are neither eternal nor divinely authored. Language analysis falls under the jurisdiction of logic, the purpose of which is investigating the “syntax of thought” (See Stern 2000, 180). Logic focuses on the structure of inner thoughts as they are expressed in word utterances.4 But,

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as we have seen with statements about God, external speech is often the cause of obfuscation and confusion. According to Maimonides, the logician’s task is to clean up the sloppiness that accrues from external speech. This motif is reiterated throughout the Guide. For example, as we shall see in the next chapter, Maimonides advocates silence rather than external speech when talking about God, for only silence, or internal speech, does not denigrate God’s majesty by violating the canons of predication. In his logic, Maimonides provides a general classification of logical and linguistic terms, classifying terms into those that are “distinct,” “synonymous,” and “equivocal.” Maimonides defines a purely equivocal term as “one applied to two things, between which there is nothing in common to account for their common name,” an example being ain to signify both an eye and a spring of water, or the term kelev (dog) to signify both the (dog-) star and the animal (TL ch. 13, 59). As we shall see in Chapter 3, equivocal terms play an important role in Maimonides’ analysis of divine predication.

Philosophy and the Art of Demonstration Demonstration and scientific knowledge Like Aristotle, Maimonides believes that language is meaningful only insofar as it is truthful; hence language about God, in order to be truthful – and by extension meaningful – must be rooted in metaphysical truths about God. Any linguistic utterance that depends upon or suggests a view rooted in God’s corporeality is by necessity false. In developing his views of language, truth, and knowledge, Maimonides is very much influenced by the paradigm of scientific knowledge developed in three of Aristotle’s works: The Posterior Analytics, devoted to demonstration, the Topics to dialectic, and the On Sophistical Refutations to sophistic argument. In these works, Aristotle distinguishes between demonstration and dialectic, arguing that only demonstration leads to scientific knowledge. “By demonstration [apodeixis] I mean a syllogism productive of scientific knowledge [syllogismos epistemonikos], a syllogism, that is, the grasp of which is eo ipso such knowledge” (Post Anal. 1.2.7lb, 17–19). According to Aristotle, demonstration differs from other forms of knowledge on the basis of its premises, which must be true, primary and indemonstrable, immediate, better known than the conclusions following them, and causes of the conclusions (Topics 1.1.100a, 27–9). The premises in demonstration answer the question “why” and represent the highest sort of scientific knowledge. Dialectic is related to demonstration, but is less certain. It is important in establishing the basic premises of demonstration, in refuting false claims to knowledge, and for establishing correct opinions for questions for which no demonstrative knowledge exists. Aristotelian demonstration reappears throughout Maimonides’ corpus as a way of distinguishing between true scientific knowledge and lesser forms of knowing. As Joel Kraemer says, “demonstrative reasoning was Maimonides’

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ultimate touchstone of truth” (Kraemer 2008c, 12). In chapter eight of Treatise on the Art of Logic, Maimonides enumerates the four kinds of premises upon which arguments are based: sense percepts (ha-muhashim); first intelligibles or axioms (ha-muskalot); generally agreed upon opinions (ha-mefursamot), and opinions received through tradition (hamequbalot). He then goes on to argue that, in contradistinction to sense perceptions, conventions, and traditions, only demonstrative arguments or syllogisms (ha-heqqesh ha-mofti) based on “first intelligibles” are productive of scientific knowledge; these must rest on premises that are true and available to everybody. Maimonides here defines a demonstrative syllogism as one whose premises are certain.5 This notion of demonstration plays a prominent role in a number of contexts in the Guide. There are numerous examples in the Guide of what can be demonstrated: the existence, unity, and incorporeality of God;6 that God has no magnitude and hence no motion (GP 1:26); that transparency is not a color (GP 1:28); that the moral virtues are required as prerequisites for the intellectual virtues (GP 1:34); that affirmative attributes cannot be ascribed to God (GP 1:59); that natural things do not come about by chance (GP 2:20; 111:17); and that a vacuum does not exist (GP 2:24). As we shall see in Chapter 4, for example, Maimonides enigmatically notes that were Aristotle’s theory of eternity subject to demonstrative proof, he (Maimonides) would have to interpret Scripture in accordance with Aristotle (GP 2.25:327–8). Maimonides agrees with Aristotle that demonstrative arguments are not subject to disagreement: “For in all things whose true reality is known through demonstration [mofet] there is no tug of war [disagreement] and no refusal to accept a thing proven” (GP 1.31). Anticipating Galileo’s claim that truth cannot contradict truth, Maimonides sees demonstrative argument as the ultimate criterion for scientific and philosophical truth. In cases where demonstration is not possible, Maimonides is careful to maintain that “the two contrary opinions with regard to the matter in question should be posited as hypothesis and it should be seen what doubts attach to each of them: the one to which fewer doubts attach should be believed” (GP 2:22:230).

The limits of human knowledge We are now in a position to return to the issue adumbrated above, namely whether there exist limits to what humans can know. We saw above that (2e) acknowledged the realm of intrinsically unanswerable queries; in fact Maimonides claims that the greatest number occur in the context of divine science or metaphysics. Recent scholars have examined the implications of Maimonides’ admission that within the realm of divine science not everything can be known with demonstrative certainty. If humans can in theory apprehend the essences of immaterial things, then metaphysical knowledge is possible; but if the human intellect is by its nature incapable of penetrating the domain of divine science, then we can have no demonstrative knowledge of God, God’s essence, or God’s existence. As we shall see in subsequent chapters,

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Maimonides repeatedly claims that human perfection consists in knowledge of God, and that immortality can only be achieved if metaphysical knowledge is possible. Chapter 2.24 in the Guide will turn out to be one of the most important passages with respect to Maimonides’ critical epistemology. He argues there that Aristotle’s proof for the existence of a Prime Mover is not demonstrative because it is based on unproved premises. According to some scholars, Maimonides’ true esotericism consists in an epistemological skepticism that questions the ability of humans to achieve metaphysical knowledge of the sort required for certainty. Other scholars have rejected this skeptical reading of the Guide and offered a more charitable interpretation, arguing that in fact there is a considerable extent of metaphysical knowledge that Maimonides believed he was entitled to hold.7 In Chapter 4 we shall examine Maimonides’ argument in greater detail; I will argue that Maimonides does hold to a version of (2e), namely that although there are limits to human understanding, nevertheless human knowledge is still possible.

Conclusion: Implications of Maimonides’ Views In an attempt to lay the groundwork for Maimonides’ philosophical analyses, we have focused in this chapter on three interrelated themes, all of which recur throughout this work. The first has to do with Maimonides’ esotericism, and the importance of recognizing that often his views are presented on a number of levels. Maimonides employs a hermeneutic method to hide his views, and I have argued that it is the task of the reader to uncover Maimonides’ “true” reading of the topic in question. Throughout this volume, we shall consider various interpretations of Maimonides’ texts, with an eye to determining what he really believes on a given topic. Maimonides believes that the proper interpretation of perplexing biblical passages will help to reduce the tension between Scripture and philosophy. In an attempt to systematize theology with the “new” science of Aristotle, Maimonides embarks on a critical and philosophical interpretation of Scripture.8 Maimonides is very much influenced by philosophical naturalism, and we shall see repeated attempts on his part to interpret Scripture in a way that preserves naturalism, even in such topics having to do with prophecy, miracle, immortality, and creation. Maimonides’ hermeneutic methods were carried out to the fullest in the seventeenth century by Spinoza in his Theological-Political Treatise. Spinoza’s tactic, however, was exactly opposed to that of Maimonides: whereas Maimonides tried to find evidence of philosophical nuggets in Scripture, Spinoza argued that this search was useless. For this reason Maimonides comes under particular attack by Spinoza. In general, Spinoza attacks Maimonides’s use of philosophical exegesis of the Bible as “noxious, useless and absurd.”9 Yet despite Spinoza’s disdain for Maimonides’ hermeneutical method, there is no question that he was very much influenced by Maimonides.10

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In his treatise, Spinoza argues that the authority of the prophets carries weight only in matters concerning morality and true virtue. In other matters their beliefs are irrelevant. Spinoza argues for a model according to which faith (theology) and reason (philosophy) occupy different realms: the domain of reason is truth and wisdom, while that of theology is piety and obedience. In chapter six of the Treatise, Spinoza reiterates that methods used in natural science must be applied to our understanding of Scripture. The Bible must be read and understood naturalistically, that is, in terms of the laws of physical causation. Spinoza now draws out the implications with respect to our understanding of miracles, arguing that inasmuch as everything in Scripture must accord with the laws of nature, it follows that whatever in Scripture contravenes nature must be rejected. By removing theology from the domain of truthfunctionality, Spinoza paves the way for the independence of philosophical (and scientific) truth on the one hand, and religious doctrine on the other. I will argue in Chapter 6 that Maimonides provides the first step in this direction when he offers a naturalistic theory of miracle, and argues that the Bible must be read naturalistically. A second theme is the importance of matter and corporeality to Maimonides’ overall ontology. I have suggested, and will continue to argue, that Maimonides harbors a deep ambivalence toward matter, and that many issues are colored by this ambivalence: this ambivalence occurs, for example in his conception of God (Chapter 3) and the soul (Chapter 5), in his discussion of prophecy (Chapter 6), in his moral theory (Chapter 8), and in his discussion of human felicity (Chapter 9). Maimonides’ theory of evil and theodicy is much embedded in a Neoplatonic theory of matter, and affects much of his thinking about human perfection and the ultimate role of human existence. Finally, I have introduced the difficult and controversial topic of Maimonides’ epistemological skepticism. Once again, evidence of this skepticism will reappear throughout our study, as we struggle with the limits of human knowledge. I have emphasized the importance of scientific demonstration, and have suggested that Maimonides recognizes there are limits to human knowledge. Maimonides’ alleged skepticism thus centers around two issues: the first concerns whether humans can have knowledge of celestial bodies, while the second concerns whether humans can attain to knowledge about God. If we follow the suggestion of the esotericists, then ultimately humans can attain to metaphysical knowledge neither with respect to God, nor with respect to the celestial spheres. Others have argued that we can note at least two different kinds of arguments for the constraints Maimonides places on the human intellect. The claim is that while Maimonides agrees that it is impossible to have knowledge of the deity, our knowledge of the supralunar, celestial world, is not as constrained. We shall examine the details of these two sets of arguments in subsequent chapters. But the implications of this skepticism must be spelled out. First, as we shall see in Chapter 5 dealing with immortality of the soul, medieval philosophers up to the time of Spinoza believed that the immortality of the soul was

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dependent upon the acquisition of true knowledge gained throughout one’s lifetime; only if metaphysical knowledge is attainable can the human soul acquire immortality. Knowledge of any other type, based on sensible perception, will necessarily perish with the body and so cannot lead to a state of immortality. Furthermore, as we shall see in Chapter 9, Maimonides exhorts the philosopher to achieve a philosophical knowledge of God. But if this knowledge is not achievable, what do we make of the end of the Guide? Maimonides ends the Guide (3:54) with an exhortation to a view of human perfection that is predicated upon the possibility of theoretical activity couched in metaphysical knowledge of God. If this knowledge is not possible, then it might turn out that this theoretical activity is ultimately reduced to a lesser level of practical, or political activity. We shall return to these concerns in Chapter 9, which focuses upon the final four chapters of the Guide.

notes 1 Alfred Ivry suggests that Maimonides could easily have picked up the method of concealment from the Islamic Ismâ’îlî, an Islamic sect for whom dissembling had become a virtue. The Ismâ’îlî distinguished between the exoteric (zahir) and esoteric (batin) aspects of sacred texts and became known as the Esotericist sect (Batiniyya). Ivry has argued in a series of articles that Maimonides may have been influenced by the Ismâ’îlî, and that this encouragement of a skeptical reading is prima facie evidence for the non-orthodox nature of Maimonides’ beliefs (Ivry 1986). 2 The medievalist esotericists, exemplified by Ibn Tibbon, understood Maimonides’ “secret” to comprise the conformity of Torah and philosophy, of Judaism and science. These medievalists strove to unify study of Torah with study of Aristotle, and to uncover Aristotelian wisdom contained already in classical Jewish sources. See Ravitzky (1996). 3 Samuel ibn Tibbon’s own son Moses ben Samuel ibn Tibbon exemplified this harmonistic tendency (see Ravitzky 1996, 257). In the modern world, Isadore Twersky has devoted himself to reconciling discordant elements in Maimonides’ works. According to Twersky, Maimonides’ project was to demonstrate the “inseparability and complementarity of the two apparently discordant but intrinsically harmonious disciplines” of Torah and philosophy. As both jurist and philosopher, Maimonides combined both interests in all his writings; Twersky thus locates as much philosophy in the legal works as he finds halakhic concerns in the Guide. Twersky points to a master plan in all of Maimonides’ writings, namely to “bring law and philosophy, two apparently incongruous attitudes of mind, two jealous rivals, into fruitful harmony” Twersky (1980, 357– 69). 4 In his early logical work Treatise on the Art of Logic, Maimonides notes three meanings to the term “logic,” claiming that the third sense (external speech) is his focus. By “external speech” Maimonides means the linguistic expression of the intelligible that is “impressed upon the soul.” Kraemer and others have noted Maimonides’ extensive use of al-Fârâbî’s Introductory Treatise on Logic for his own presentation of logical terms. See Kraemer (1991).

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5 We have seen that demonstrative arguments differ from other types of syllogistic arguments by their premises, which function as the “causes” of their conclusions. What does Aristotle mean by saying that premises are “causes” of their conclusions? In Post An 1.2 70b:30–1, Aristotle maintains that in order to have demonstrative scientific knowledge of something, one must first know its causes: we “only understand when we know the explanation” and knowledge is based on this understanding. Hence demonstrations furnish an explanation of the demonstrated proposition: they are “demonstrations of the reason why” (propter quid), as opposed to syllogistic deductions of the second kind, which explain only that the conclusion is true and not why it is true (demonstration quia). Maimonides himself did not draw this distinction, and he uses the term “demonstration” (burhan) in a number of ways; but as Kraemer notes, Maimonides specifically states in his Treatise on the Art of Logic that he was omitting scientific demonstration from his discussion. The difference between demonstrative and non-demonstrative (dialectical) premises in Maimonides’ work reflects Aristotle’s distinction between scientific and non-scientific thought. In fact, however, recent scholars have noted that in actual practice, dialectical arguments hold for Aristotle at least as (if not more) prominent a role in scientific discourse. So too, argue Maimonides scholars, it should be noted that Maimonides in fact accords great weight to dialectical arguments. 6 See Guide 1:1; 1:18; 11:1. 7 Pines bases his claim on a lost work of al-Fârâbî, which was available to Maimonides. In this work (a commentary on Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics), al-Fârâbî rejected the possibility of metaphysical knowledge, and argued against belief in the immortality of souls. In his later works, Pines came to the conclusion that Maimonides’ views resembled those of al-Fârâbî, thus stressing the agnostic element in Maimonides. According to Altmann, Maimonides believes that metaphysics represents “a philosophically sound and defensible position” Altmann (1987, 109). On this reading, Maimonides’ skepticism does not make him an agnostic and the divine science acknowledged by Maimonides within the limits of that skepticism is “a true and demonstrable science.” No matter how limited in scope, there is such a thing as a rigorous and philosophically tenable science called metaphysics. It is worth quoting Herbert Davidson, who sums up the conundrum as follows. If, Davidson argues, we agree with the thesis proffered by Pines, then the Guide becomes the “most bizarre work in the history of philosophy, a 450 page book written with the purpose of concealing a handful of remarks that, sotto voce, undermine virtually everything the book says” (see Davidson 2005, p. 54). Such a thesis, Davidson continues, could only have been born within the context of contemporary Maimonidean scholarship! 8 This process was carried to the extreme by the fourteenth-century Jewish philosopher Gersonides who, in his commentary to the Song of Solomon, presented the biblical work as representative of an entire Aristotelian metaphysics. For an example of this hermeneutical method, see Gersonides (1998). 9 Spinoza (2001, 7:76; 15). 10 I have argued elsewhere that Spinoza’s philosophy reflects what Funkenstein has called the secularization of theology, characterized by the application of a paradigm of mathematical certitude to nature as a whole, as well as to theology. The theological implications of this appropriation are reflected in Spinoza’s

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biblical hermeneutics, a hermeneutic method that is construed as antithetical to the inerrancy of Scripture. See Rudavsky (2001).

further reading Altmann, Alexander, “Defining Maimonides’ Aristotelianism,” in Robert S. Cohen and Hillel Levine (eds.), Maimonides and the Sciences (Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 2000). Davidson, Herbert, “Maimonides on Metaphysical Knowledge,” Maimonidean Studies 3 (1992–3), 49–103. Harvey, Steven, “Maimonides and the Art of Writing Introductions,” in Arthur Hyman and Alfred Ivry (eds.), Maimonidean Studies (2008), 85–106. Kraemer, Joel L., “Maimonides on the Philosophic Sciences in His Treatise on the Art of Logic,” in Perspective on Maimonides: Philosophical and Historical Studies (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 1991). Kraemer, Joel L., “Maimonides, the Great Healer,” in Arthur Hyman and Alfred Ivry (eds.), Maimonidean Studies (2008), 1–28. Manekin, Charles, “Belief, Certainty and Divine Attributes in the Guide,” Maimonidean Studies 1 (1990), 117– 42. Ravitsky, Aviezer, History and Faith: Studies in Jewish Philosophy (Amsterdam: J. C. Gieben, Publishers, 1996). Rosenberg, Shalom, “The Concept of Emunah in Post-Maimonidean Jewish Philosophy,” in Isadore Twersky (ed.), Studies in Medieval Jewish History and Literature, vol. II (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1984). Strauss, Leo, “How to Begin to Study the Guide,” in Shlomo Pines (trans.), The Guide of the Perplexed (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1963).

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chapter 3

what we can say about God aimonides devotes many chapters in both his halakhic and philosophical writings to providing Jews with an accurate picture of God. Consider that Maimonides was writing in the midst of an Islamic society that tacitly accepted a corporeal view of God; the Qur’an is full of physical descriptions of the Deity. Consider as well that many Jewish works promulgated an anthropomorphic conception of God. Not only was it believed that God had a body, but many Jewish works were quite willing to describe in great detail the particulars of this divine body. The quasi-mystical work The Measure of the Divine Stature (Shi’ur Qoma), for example, gave explicit descriptions of God’s bodily features. Mystical traditions based on Ezekiel’s vision of God (“Merkabah Mysticism”) also described God’s physical body in detail. Scripture itself reinforced a physical view of God, with its many references to God’s actions, speech, location, and emotional life. Maimonides was determined to counteract these false beliefs, and his works tackled God’s incorporeal nature directly. Maimonides articulated the unity and incorporeality of God as basic features of the Deity and, as we have seen, he devoted the first fifty chapters of the Guide to a reinterpretation of terms and passages in Scripture that violate God’s unity and incorporeality. In this chapter we shall concentrate upon Maimonides’ attempts to parse corporeal descriptions and predicates of God in a way that avoids attributing to God physical or material features. I shall then turn to the implications of this conception with respect to divine predication. Maimonides argues that we must be careful not to attribute to God any predicates that imply or impute to God anthropomorphic or corporeal features. He analyzes both positive attributes and relational terms, arguing that neither is appropriate to predicate of God. I shall argue that on Maimonides’ analysis of divine language, it turns out that we can say very little, if anything, positive or negative, about God. We shall see that Maimonides’ theory of negative predication claims that language is insufficient to describe God, and that all attempts to describe God fall short. After discussing God’s nature, and the problems associated with speaking about God, Maimonides turns to proofs for the existence

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of God. His arguments follow an established tradition of proving, from certain facts in the created world, the existence of a creator. He provides both cosmological and teleological arguments for God, based on Aristotelian premises. Given, however, Maimonides’ theory of negative predication, combined with his epistemological skepticism as it pertains to God, it follows that we cannot apprehend, let alone utter, metaphysical truths about God; how then, can we provide proofs or demonstrations for the existence of the very Deity about whom we can utter nothing? We shall examine Maimonides’ arguments in light of these concerns, noting where Maimonides subjects his own arguments to skeptical doubt.

The Unity and Incorporeality of the Deity Already in his early halakhic works, Maimonides introduces to his readers a philosophical conception of the deity that is developed against a rigorous metaphysical and logical program. First, however, Maimonides lays down several caveats that apply, he says, to all readers, not just to those who are philosophically astute. In Chapter 2 we noted that Maimonides had little regard for the intellectual acumen of the average person, and did not expect that the majority of individuals would be able to engage in sophisticated intellectual pursuits. Nevertheless, he does emphasize that everybody must be taught to accept two basic metaphysical truths about the Deity – incorporeality and unity – that form the basis of subsequent discussion in both the Mishneh Torah and the Guide. The first book of the Mishneh Torah, the Book of Knowledge, begins with an explicit statement of God’s existence. The basic principle of all basic principles, and the pillar of all the sciences, is that “there is a First Being who brought every existing thing into being” (HYT 1.1:34a). If there were no God, nothing else would exist. But even if nothing else were to exist, according to Maimonides, God still exists: “their non-existence would not involve His non-existence” (ibid.). Maimonides offers both philosophical and scriptural support for the view that God is not a body, quoting both Deuteronomy and Isaiah. What, then, is the meaning of passages in Scripture that appear to impute to God a body, such as “beneath His feet,” “written with the finger of God,” “the eyes of God” and the like? Maimonides claims that these phrases are “adapted to the mental capacity of the majority of mankind who have a clear perception of physical bodies” (HYT 1.6:34b). The Torah uses language appropriate for such individuals, and so these phrases must be unpacked and understood metaphorically. Maimonides argues that since none of the accidents of matter can be attributed to God, it follows that God does not exist in time, nor does God change or have emotions, all of which imply to God a corporeal nature (HYT 1.11:35a). Similarly, passages that attribute to God temporal change or passions must be read metaphorically. Take for example, anger. If we attribute to God anger at t2, the suggestion is that at t1

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God was not angry; this results in a situation in which God would be changing from one state (no anger at t1) to another (anger at t2). But we know that God is unchanging, and so God cannot be said to have emotions.1 The Mishneh Torah provides a preliminary argument to the effect that there is only one God, claiming that if there were plural deities, they would have to be physical, since objects can only be distinguished one from the other by their material accidents. If the creator were a physical body, He would have limits. But God is infinite, with no limits, and so is not corporeal. Hence “it is impossible that He can be anything but One” (HYT 1.4:34b). In the Guide, Maimonides returns to the unity and incorporeality of God, and emphasizes that the following characteristics must be taught to all: that God is unique (one), and there is none like God; that God is not a body; that being incorporeal, God has no likeness to God’s creatures in any way; that the difference between God and creatures is not one of degree, but rather “one concerning the species of existence”; and that even the term “existence” “can only be applied equivocally to His existence and to that of things other than He” (GP 1.35:80). Everything else, Maimonides tells us, belongs to the domain of esoteric “obscure matters,” but God’s incorporeality must be taught to everybody. Included in God’s incorporeality is the important teaching that God does not suffer affections; that is, God is not subject to emotions. Maimonides clearly traces theological confusion on the part of the masses to the false belief that God is corporeal. When people mistakenly believe that God is a body, and composed of matter and form, they become perplexed over passages in Scripture; these beliefs must therefore be exorcised from their minds. But how can Maimonides convince his readers, used to reciting passages that uphold anthropomorphic descriptions of God, of the cogency of his position? Realizing that his task is difficult, Maimonides devotes the first part of the Guide to softening the opposition, as it were, using a method of biblical allegorical interpretation introduced by Philo, and borrowed from the Stoics. Maimonides had intimated this hermeneutic principle in the Mishneh Torah, but now develops his method in greater detail. The purpose of these preliminary chapters is to eliminate the anthropomorphisms associated with a literal reading of biblical passages. As we saw in Chapter 2, Maimonides wants to wean his readers away from construing these passages literally, and to replace their exoteric meaning with a metaphorical understanding (a concept familiar to us, but less so to twelfth-century readers). But metaphorical readings include both “physical descriptions” of God, as well as descriptions of emotions/ actions. And so Maimonides’ purpose in these introductory chapters is to retrain the careful reader to think about, and parse, biblical passages in a way that does not attribute to God physical or human characteristics. In Guide 1.3, for example, Maimonides warns his reader that the term “shape” (tabnith) cannot be applied to God, since it implies the physicality of the object in question (e.g. its being a square, circle, etc.). Guide 1.8 warns us that the term “place” (maqom) when used of God must be understood only in terms of rank of existence, and not in terms of material placement. So too when we use such

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words as “ascend,” “descend,” “sit,” etc., we must be careful to understand that no physical characteristics are being predicated of God. By this process of hermeneutic deconstruction, Maimonides’ readers will be able to construct a more sophisticated understanding of God.

Divine Predication: What Can We Say about God? This new understanding of God’s incorporeality must be reflected in our language as well, leading us to Maimonides’ celebrated theory of divine predication. Maimonides develops in Part I, Chapters 51–60 of the Guide an elaborate theory of divine predication, the purpose of which is to claim that linguistic utterances are inadequate to say anything about God. In these chapters, Maimonides presents a tri-fold set of arguments, corresponding to different types of predicates. The first set of predicates comprises positive attributes and attributes of action, which are descriptive of the “ways and characteristics” of the Deity (GP 1.54:125). Maimonides will reject both types of attributes, claiming that they are inadequate to describe God. Maimonides’ second theoretical point is that the four essential attributes of God – life, power, wisdom, and will – are of one simple essence; all other attributes are to be conceived either as descriptive of divine action, or as negative attributes. However, Maimonides claims that even these four attributes, when predicated of God, are used in an equivocal sense. Maimonides’ third set of arguments comprises his celebrated theory of negative predication, according to which negative predicates alone bring the mind closer to an understanding of God: “Know that the description of God, may He be cherished and exalted, by means of negations is the correct description” (GP 1.58:134). This third piece of Maimonides’ theory of divine predication represents the logical culmination of his theory of language, which is firmly rooted in Aristotle’s Prior and Posterior Analytics. Maimonides explicitly states that describing God by means of affirmations, by means of positive ascriptions, yields the paradoxical result of receding in knowledge from God. By ascribing to God positive terms that do not begin to capture His transcendent nature, humans are both insulting and denigrating God’s true essence. Ultimately, silence is the only appropriate response to God: “Silence with regard to You is praise” (GP 1.59:139). This doctrine of negative predication has come to be known as “apophatic theology,” according to which nothing positive can be said about God.

Rejection of affirmation attributes Maimonides introduces his presentation by dismissing the stock mistakes made by individuals who are not careful when speaking about or describing God. We have seen in Chapter 2 that Maimonides believes that language about God must be rooted in metaphysical truths about God. Maimonides distinguishes in Guide 1.51 two kinds of logical propositions: essential and

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accidental. In propositions with essential predication, the attribute reflects the definition or quiddity of the object in question, whereas in accidental predication, the attribute is superadded to the object. Maimonides will argue in these chapters that although only essential attributes can be predicated of God, even these can be predicated of God only in an attenuated sense. Our first task, then, is to delineate the various types of attributes that can be predicated of an object. Chapter 52 presents such a classification, based on Aristotle’s Topics I:4–9.2 Maimonides first argues that because we have no knowledge of God’s essence, the first four groups of affirmative attributes cannot be predicated of God. Definition, as described by Aristotle in Topics I:4, denotes the essence of a thing as determined by its causes; but God has no anterior cause and so cannot be defined (GP 1.52:115). Similarly, part of definition is impossible with respect to God, since “having parts” introduces multiplicity or composition into the Deity. The third group of attributes, quality, is also rejected by Maimonides. Following Aristotle’s taxonomy, Maimonides recognizes four types of qualitative attributes: habit or disposition, natural qualities, passive qualities or affections, and shape or quantity. In each of these cases, Maimonides argues, we introduce composition into the Deity, which is a violation of God’s unity. One important implication of this argument (to which we shall return in Chapter 8) is that God cannot be said to suffer emotions or affections. As we shall discuss in more detail below, essence and existence are isomorphic for God (GP 1:57).

Can relational attributes be predicated of God? The fourth group of attributes pertains to relations. Maimonides spends considerable time on this fourth group, in part because so many passages in Scripture suggest that God does in fact enjoy a relationship with us. Take the relation “Zayd is the father of Bakr” or “Zayd is the master of Khalid.” Neither of these relations entails multiplicity or change in the essence of Zayd, and so on first glance it would appear that we can ascribe to God relational predicates with no change in essence. However, Maimonides rejects relational attributes on the grounds that in order for God to stand in relation to any relatum in the spatiotemporal world, God must be in time and place. According to Maimonides, however, “there is no relation between God, may He be exalted, and time and place” (GP 1:52:117). Why is this the case? Following Aristotle’s definition of time as an accident attached to motion (see Chapter 4 for details), Maimonides reminds us that motion pertains only to bodies. But since God has no body, it follows that God cannot be in time, and we cannot predicate of God anything that suggests temporality. Similarly with respect to place, which pertains to corporeal substances, we cannot speak of God’s occupying a place or space. For this reason, Maimonides was so careful in his early chapters of the Guide to reinterpret scriptural passages that appeared to attribute to God temporal or spatial characteristics.

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Might there be other relations between God and the “things created by Him” that do not entail temporal and spatial constraints? Maimonides is careful to maintain God’s total otherness, and argues that there can be “no correlation between them” (ibid.). The very notion of x being “related” to y suggests a common ground, or similarity, on the basis of which x and y are related. But Maimonides repeatedly asserts that there can be no common ground between God and anything else: “there is in truth no relation in any respect between Him and any of His creatures” (GP 1.52:118). To try to establish such a relation is to be guilty of what philosophers have called a category error, that is, of crossing metaphysical categories. That would be like trying, as Maimonides claims, to draw a relation between “a hundred cubits and the heat that is in pepper inasmuch as the latter belongs to the genus quality and the former to the genus quantity,” or between “knowledge and sweetness or between clemency and bitterness” (ibid.). Maimonides thus concludes that we are not permitted to predicate of God relation.3 Now what are we to make of this claim? Surely, as we shall argue in subsequent chapters, Maimonides does not want to deny altogether the relation between God and creatures, if only because he does believe that God is providential and omniscient. Some scholars have adopted a “weaker reading” of Maimonides. Charles Manekin, for example, reads the term nisbah as proportion or ratio, instead of as relation (as Pines has translated the term), allowing for the weaker claim that there is no proportion or external standard by which to compare God and humans (see Manekin 2005, 30–1). Tempting as it might be to adopt this weaker reading, I shall argue below that it does not adhere with Maimonides’ additional claims about negative predication.

Attributes of action The final group of affirmative attributes comprises actions that an agent has performed. Maimonides describes attributes of action as follows: A thing is described by its actions . . . this kind of attributes is separate from the essence of the thing described, and therefore, the most appropriate to be employed in describing the Creator, especially since we know that these different actions do not imply that different elements must be contained in the substance of the agent, by which the different actions are produced. (GP 1.52:119)

For example, consider the statement “Zayd has carpentered this door.” Such an attribution is remote from Zayd’s essence, nor does it introduce composition or multiplicity in his essence. Just as I can talk about what Zayd does without saying who or what Zayd is, so too can I talk about what God does without these actions implying anything about God’s essence. For this reason Maimonides claims that attributes of action may be predicated of God since they are remote

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from God’s essence.4 Perhaps in anticipation of the cosmological arguments adduced later in the Guide, Maimonides tells us that “the knowledge of the works of God is the knowledge of His attributes, by which He can be known” (GP 1.53). Maimonides then explains exactly what he means by attributing actions to God: Whenever one of His actions is apprehended, the attribute from which this action proceeds is predicated of Him, may He be exalted, and the name deriving from that action is applied to Him . . . Now actions of this kind proceed from us only after we feel a certain affection and compassion, and this is the meaning of mercy. God, may He be exalted, is said to be merciful . . . It is not that He, may He be exalted, is affected and has compassion. But an action similar to that which proceeds from a father in respect to his child and that is attached to compassion, pity and an absolute passion, proceeds from Him, may He be exalted, in reference to His holy ones, not because of a passion or a change. (GP 1.54:125)

Based on this passage, it is important to note that Maimonides does not draw an analogy between God’s actions and human actions. On the contrary, Maimonides eschews such an analogical move, warning us that God cannot be said to “have compassion” or “be affected” in the way that humans are wont. It is only inferentially that action predicates can be ascribed to the Deity. Most important, though, these actions do not violate God’s unity. Passages in Scripture that seem to describe God’s attributes can be reinterpreted in terms of actions that are descriptive of the “ways and the characteristics” of the Deity; from them we infer corresponding mental states similar to those states that humans experience when exhibiting those actions. Just as we attribute the characteristic “mercy” to an individual who exhibits certain sorts of actions that we describe as being merciful, so too do we attribute to God the state of “mercy1” when God exhibits actions that resemble our own merciful actions. Maimonides is quick to point out, however, that the descriptive terms “mercy” and “mercy1” do not mean the same thing. It is only in an attenuated sense that we can attribute to God the attribute of mercy1. All we mean by calling God “merciful” is that God’s actions look similar to the sorts of things a merciful human agent would do. Might it not be argued that by positing a multiplicity of actions in an agent, we introduce diversity into the essence of said agent? Because of the urgency of this possibility, Maimonides argues that diversity of effect does not necessarily imply diversity within the agent or cause. Take for example fire, which has the ability to melt things, harden things, cook things, burn things, etc. That fire can bring about all these activities does not introduce composition into fire itself: “he who knows the nature of fire knows that it performs all these actions by virtue of one active quality, namely, heat” (GP 1.53:120). So too, we can say that God acts through will, through power, through knowledge, and through

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His living nature. But these characteristics do not impute to God multiplicity, nor do the particular actions resulting from these characteristics impute composition in the Deity: “the diverse actions proceed from one simple essence in which no multiplicity is posited and to which no notion is superadded” (GP 1.53:121). One might claim that the attributes essential to God belong not to His actions but to God’s essence. The Islamic philosophers argued, for example, that the attributes living, omnipotence, omniscience, and will are distinct from individual actions, and are essential to God. Maimonides, however, rejects their claim, and argues that these four attributes only appear in relation to God’s creatures. Those who espouse the unity of God emphasize that God’s essence is “one and simple, having no notion that is superadded to it in any respect” (GP 1.53:122). Hence the four essential attributes of God – life, power, wisdom, and will – are of one simple essence; all other attributes are to be conceived either as descriptive of divine action, or as negative attributes.

Homonymous predication In chapter 56, Maimonides develops what has become a controversial theory of homonymous or equivocal predication. We have already seen that according to Maimonides there can be no likeness between God and humans. So too there can be no similarity or likeness between the predicates ascribed to humans and to God. On this point, Maimonides’ logic is more rigorous than that of his peers. Based on Aristotle’s Topics, Maimonides distinguishes in his Treatise on the Art of Logic between universal, amphibolous, and equivocal (or homonymous) terms as follows. Univocal terms are applied to two things when “there is something which constitutes the essence of two or more things” (TL ch. 13, p. 59). For example, the term “animal” can be applied both to a dog and to a cat. An amphibolous term is defined as “a term applied to two or more objects because of something which they have in common but which does not constitute the essence of each one of them” (TL ch. 13, p. 60). This definition is amplified in the Guide (1.56) as referring to terms that are predicated “of two things between which there is a likeness with respect to some notion, which notion is an accident attached to both of them and not a constituent element of the essence of each one of them” (GP 1.56:131). We can say of both my cat and my dog that both are white, inasmuch as “white” attaches to both accidentally. In contrast to both amphibolous and univocal terms, equivocal terms are predicated of two things between which there is no likeness at all. I can use the term “bat”, for example, to describe both a wooden object used to hit balls, and small flying creatures that live under the Congress Street Bridge in Austin.5 Maimonides argues that attributes predicated of God cannot be either amphibolous or univocal because, as we have argued above, there is nothing in common between God and humans. For this reason, terms predicated of God must be understood as equivocal terms. Believing that God’s essence differs from all other essences, Maimonides maintains that even the terms knowledge, power,

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will, and life are “purely equivocal, so that their meaning when they are predicated of Him is in no way like their meaning in other applications” (GP 1.56:131). These equivocal predicates have nothing but the linguistic utterance in common: they “have nothing in common in any respect or in any mode; these attributions have in common only the name and nothing else” (GP 1.56:131). Maimonides will conclude in Guide 1.59 that only equivocal predication captures the fact that God shares no essential or accidental characteristics in common with humans. God is totally other in all respects, and so terms describing God cannot be applied either univocally or amphibolously. Thus even the four attributes noted above (knowledge, power, will, and life) when predicated of God, must be used in a homonymous or equivocal sense.6 This unique and radical position on the part of Maimonides generated an assault by both scholastic and Jewish thinkers (see the Conclusion below). Compare Maimonides’ doctrine to the theory of analogy developed by the Islamic philosophers and the thirteenth-century scholastic Thomas Aquinas, according to which predicates can be ascribed relationally (or analogically) to humans and to God. Thus, for example, Aquinas claims that the term “good” when ascribed to God is proportionally greater than when ascribed to humans. According to Aquinas, while the term “good” doesn’t mean exactly the same thing in both cases, we can draw an analogy between the goodness of God and the goodness of humans. Islamic philosophers had developed a theory of analogy prior to Aquinas. Maimonides rejects the views of all the major Arabic philosophers (al-Fârâbî, Avicenna, al-Ghazâlî, Averroes) on this point, describing them as thinking mistakenly that the attributes ascribed to God are “greater, more perfect, more permanent, or more durable than ours” (GP 1.56:130). In fact, Maimonides argues, these philosophers are logically inconsistent: if in fact they claim that God’s essence is unlike ours, they should admit that God’s attributes differ as well.

On essence and existence Having eliminated affirmative attributes from our theological vocabulary, with the exception of equivocal predicates, Maimonides is now ready to tackle an even thornier issue inherited from his Islamic predecessors, namely the relation between essence and existence. This important topic, inherited from Aristotle’s Metaphysics, was introduced by Avicenna, discussed by Averroes, Maimonides, and ultimately Thomas Aquinas. The question has to do with what we can say and know about an entity. Every entity has two principles – essence and existence. Essence represents the “whatness” or “quiddity” of an entity; think of Aristotle’s essence/accident distinction (Metaphysics 7.4), according to which essence tells us what a thing is, and accidents tell us all the incidental facts about the entity. The essence of a thing is distinct from the fact of its existence, and makes a thing what it is. I can understand what a human being is, define her as a rational animal, without knowing anything

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about her eye color, weight, etc. So accidents are added onto essence. Essences, do not, however, exist in an ideal separate realm, but rather appear in individual substances. Existence is a sort of accident, in that it tells us nothing about the essence of the entity. Whether a thing has/has not existence is separate from its essence. In all beings except for God, these principles are distinct, yet both are required. Islamic philosophers prior to Maimonides disagreed over whether in God essence and existence are identical or not. We shall return to this point below, in the context of proofs for the existence of God. Suffice it to say in this context that the major disagreement between Avicenna and Averroes has to do with whether existence is an accident superadded to God’s essence, or whether God’s essence entails existence. Avicenna maintained that in God, essence and existence were identical, whereas Averroes argued that we can know that God exists without knowing what God is. Since, according to Averroes, we cannot know God’s essence, or what God is, there must be a distinction between essence and existence. In Guide 1.57 Maimonides supports the Avicennian position according to which, in a material sublunar entity, existence is “an accident attaching to what exists” (GP 1.57:132). Maimonides repeatedly reminds us that in the case of God, there is no superadded notion to God’s unchanging essence, and that attributes used to describe God are far removed from God’s essence. Echoing Avicenna’s position, Maimonides states that this is the meaning of our saying about Him, may He be exalted, that His existence is necessary. Accordingly, His existence is identical with His essence and His true reality, and His essence is His existence. Thus His essence does not have an accident attaching to it when it exists, in which case its existence would be a notion that is superadded to it . . . consequently He exists, but not through an existence other than His essence. (GP 1.57:132)

It is important to note the way in which the term “existence” differs in meaning when applied to God and to creatures. Maimonides’ point here is semantic, and has to do with how the term is understood. Only in the case of God is existence uncaused. Furthermore, in the case of God, existence is not merely actual but necessary. In the case of creatures, to exist means to be actual. But the very state of being actual presupposes passing from a state of potentiality to actuality by some external agent. In Proposition 23 (GP 2:1), Maimonides will state that everything that exists and contains a certain state of possibility may at some time not have existed. And so existence itself turns out to be accidental since it is due to an external agent. Finally, existence is correlated with God’s will, whereas essence is related to God’s wisdom. Although in God both will and wisdom are identical, from the perspective of the created world, the accidentality of existence derives from God’s will (GP 1.69; 3.13).

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Maimonides’ Negative Theology Let me sum up our findings to this point. Maimonides has stated explicitly that because God is incorporeal, no attribute dependent upon material constitution can be applied to God’s essence. Of the various types of affirmative attributes, only homonyms come close to a linguistic representation of God. In fact, Maimonides extends his theory of homonymous predication even to the predicate of unity. To ascribe to God the accident of oneness is “just as absurd as to ascribe to Him the accident of multiplicity” (GP 1.57:132). In fact, both “oneness” and “multiplicity” are inappropriate ascriptions with respect to God (ibid.). So, too, we use the term “eternal” to say that God is not in time, but of course strictly speaking, neither eternality nor temporality applies to God. Maimonides’ point is that by ascribing to God terms that do not begin to capture His transcendent nature, humans are both insulting and denigrating God’s true essence. Approaching a proto-philosophy of language, Maimonides acknowledges that the bounds of expression are very narrow indeed, and that we are constrained by the conventionality of linguistic utterance. The question then is what, if anything, we can say about God. Maimonides develops in Guide 1.58–60 his celebrated theory of negative predication, arguing that ultimately negative predication alone brings the human mind closer to an understanding of God: “Know that the description of God, may He be cherished and exalted, by means of negations is the correct description.” This final piece of Maimonides’ theory of divine predication represents the logical culmination of his theory of language. Maimonides’ theory rests upon Aristotle’s theory of negation, which is one of the four types of opposite distinguished in Aristotle’s Categories. This classification, reproduced in Maimonides’ Treatise on the Art of Logic (chapter eleven), allows Maimonides to explain that we use the language of opposites, or negative language, to remove from our concept of God attributes that are inappropriate. Following Aristotle, Maimonides distinguishes between privations and negations in order to explain this procedure. Privations can only be applied to things that could have the predicate in question; e.g. the statement “Zayd is blind” implies that of a class of beings that normally sees, a certain individual Zayd is not seeing. To say that Zayd is blind suggests that under normal conditions, Zayd could have been seeing. Negations, on the other hand, are applied to things that by nature cannot have the predicate in question. Take, for example, the statement “the wall is blind.” Since walls are not the sorts of things that are able to see or fail to see, it makes no sense to attribute either seeing or not-seeing to a wall. Similarly, God is not the sort of entity of which anything is or fails to be, and so we can only attribute negations of God. Attributes predicated of God signify “the negation of the privation of the attribute in question” (GP 1.58:136). When we say of God that “God is not temporal,” what we mean is that God is not the sort of thing to which temporality either applies or fails to apply. To apply either temporality

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or non-temporality to God is to be guilty of a category error. A better way of making this point would be to say “God is not-un-temporal,” emphasizing the uniqueness of God. Because every affirmation about God is to be understood as a negation and not as a privation, it follows that the negation of a weakness does not imply that its opposite power is indirectly attributed to God, but that neither the term nor its opposite applies to God at all. So God is said to be neither weak nor powerful, just as a wall is said to be neither seeing nor blind. God is simply not the sort of being that either has or fails to have any predicate we might want to apply. Applying negations of privations to God is a way of reiterating that any positive attribution is simply a category error. Maimonides concludes that negative predication is the only way to perfect our linguistic utterances with respect to God. Achieving proficiency with negative predication becomes for Maimonides a mark of personal excellence and perfection, and Maimonides presents an epistemological taxonomy according to which “with every increase in the negations regarding Him . . . you come nearer to that apprehension than he who does not negate with regard to Him that which, according to what has been demonstrated to you, must be negated” (GP 1.59:138). In other words, the individual who describes God in glowing, flowery language is epistemologically further away from God than the individual who recognizes that God cannot be described at all. Maimonides is explicit on this point: whenever a person affirms of God positive attributes, said person recedes from God’s true reality. Ultimately silence is the only appropriate linguistic response to divine predication: “silence with regard to You is praise” (GP 1.59:139). Nor is Maimonides shy about expounding the implication of his theory with respect to prayers. We have already seen the importance of logical analysis to Maimonides’ entire discussion. Consider, therefore, the logical structure of prayers. A prayer, Aristotle has argued, is “a verbal sentence” and not a logical proposition, and is “neither true nor false” (De Interpretatione 4.17a, 4–5). Maimonides follows suit, claiming that exaltations and glorifications of God found in the prayers and poems addressed to God do not constitute logical propositions and hence are meaningless at best, and harmful at worst. The ignorant masses persist in reciting prayers, indulging in language that, if applied to humans, would result in an insult. In fact, Maimonides derides the efforts of poets and psalmists whose attempts to glorify God result, in his words, in “an absolute denial of faith” or “rubbish” (GP 1.60:141). The process of affirmative predication is “very dangerous” and can lead to a loss of belief. In one of the most striking passages in the Guide, Maimonides warns his reader that one who insists upon positive affirmations has “abolished his belief in the existence of the deity without being aware of it” (GP 1.60:145). We shall return in Chapter 9 to the implications of Maimonides’ statement. The untoward consequences of Maimonides’ theory of divine predication cannot be overemphasized. Few philosophers followed in Maimonides’ footsteps. Maimonides’ formulation of an apophatic theology clashed with both the Islamic Asharites and the Jewish “proto-Kabbalists,” both of whom ascribed

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to God real qualities, including anthropomorphic attributes. As we shall see in the Conclusion below, Gersonides, writing in the fourteenth century, replaced Maimonides’ theory with a doctrine of univocal predication, and Thomas Aquinas developed his theory of analogical predication in part as a response to the views of “Rabbi Moses.” Recent philosophers have grappled with the implications of Maimonides’ theory as well. In his introduction to the Guide, Leo Strauss argues that “the teaching that positive attributes of God are impossible . . . clearly contradicts the teaching of the law” (in Pines 1963, xlviii–xlix), while other scholars have tried to rescue Maimonides’ theory.7 I have suggested, however, that the radical nature of Maimonides’ linguistic analysis cannot be ignored or minimized. In an ontology that eschews God’s materiality, one in which God is ontologically sui generis, it follows that nothing at all can be said of God. Once we recognize with Maimonides that God inhabits a unique class of one, we realize that human language simply cannot talk about this unique ontological entity, and so, to paraphrase Wittgenstein, one must remain silent.

On the Existence of God Preliminary considerations And yet, Maimonides himself is not silent, but offers discussion of the divine attributes in a number of contexts. In fact, he devotes the next two parts of the Guide to an analysis of the ways in which God’s actions are reflected in the universe. And so turning to the proofs for God’s existence, we must be careful to read them in the way prescribed by the Guide. Predicates such as existence, omniscience, omnipotence, are explored in terms of the effects a creator Deity has manifested on earth. Turning to Maimonides’ proofs for the existence of God, we are immediately confronted with two problems. Consider first what we said above about the homonymity of the term “existence.” If the term “existence” does not mean what we think it means when applied to God, what sense can we make of the proofs for the existence of God that appear in Guide 2.1? Furthermore, we shall see in Chapter 4 that Maimonides himself evinces tremendous skepticism about what humans can come to know about metaphysical truths in general and truths about God in particular. Given Maimonides’ theory of negative predication, combined with his epistemological skepticism as it pertains to God, it follows that we cannot apprehend, let alone utter, metaphysical truths about God; how then can we provide proofs or demonstrations for the existence of that Deity about whom we can utter nothing? In other words, if in fact it turns out that God’s existence is unknowable, how can we presume to offer proofs for God’s existence? What sense, therefore, are we to make of the four “demonstrations” for God’s existence that are presented in 2:1 of the Guide?8 It is to this set of issues that we now turn.

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Let us recall the two types of proof for the existence of God employed by medieval (and many contemporary) philosophers: propter quid and propter quia arguments. Demonstrations propter quid define God into existence; these arguments are based on reason alone, not sense experience.9 Although found in scholastic philosophy (Anselm’s celebrated ontological argument, for example), these arguments did not make their way into Islamic and Jewish philosophy. Propter quia arguments, on the other hand, are based on experience, on our sense perception, and they come in many flavors. We find in medieval literature both cosmological arguments (arguments from the existence of effects to the existence of an ultimate cause) and teleological arguments or arguments from design (arguments inferring from the existence of design in the world to the existence of a designer). Maimonides will employ variations of propter quia arguments, drawn primarily from Aristotle, although influenced by Kalâm thought. He provides four such arguments: an argument from motion; one from “logical composition”; one from possibility and necessity; and the fourth argument from the denial of an infinite regress. As Josef Stern has noted, the first two represent physical arguments, while the second two are metaphysical. Further, the second argument of each pair is evinced to improve upon and strengthen the first (Stern 2001, 51). In this way, the internal structure of the four arguments differs, say, from Aquinas’s “Five Ways,” in which each of the five arguments provides a necessary but not sufficient quality of the Deity.

On the logical status of arguments for God’s existence Before turning to the arguments themselves, we must take note of Maimonides’ own ambivalence about the possibility of proving God’s existence by means of effects in the natural world. Maimonides is dismissive of Kalâm methods for demonstrating the existence of God, stating that he prefers the methods of philosophy over those of Kalâm on the grounds that while the philosophical arguments are grounded in our sense perception, Kalâm thinkers deny the senses altogether. Maimonides claims that the Kalâm theologians present a circular argument by presupposing the creation of the world, and using that supposition to posit the existence of God. Maimonides offers the following dichotomy to portray their circularity: 1 2

3

4 5

Either the world is eternal, or it is created in time. If it is created, it must have a creator, since (a) what is created has not created itself; (b) its creator is other than it. If it is eternal, it must have a creator, since (a) there must be a being other than the bodies of the world (arguments in GP 2.1). In either case, God’s existence can be proved from philosophical premises. And so God must exist.

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Proposition (2), which was espoused by the Kalâm theologians, is a circular argument in that it contains the conclusion (God’s existence) in its premises. Expressing a “strong aversion” to the Kalâm method, Maimonides claims that the burden of proof lies on the eternity theorist to prove the existence of the Deity from the supposition that the universe is eternal, and not created. The only correct way, he tells us, “is to establish the existence and the oneness of the deity and the negation of corporeality through the methods of the philosophers, which methods are founded upon the doctrine of the eternity of the world” (GP 1.71:181). Based on these considerations, Maimonides thus adopts (3), which he feels provides a more rigorous grounding to arguments for God’s existence. This dialectical move should not, Maimonides warns us, be understood as a tacit acceptance of the eternity thesis (we shall return to this thorny issue in Chapter 4), but rather as an attempt to bolster the acceptability of his arguments. Maimonides’ arguments, which are based on the assumption that the world is eternal and not created, will reinforce what is given in sense experience, and will not disagree with Aristotle (GP 1.71:182). Maimonides feels that (3) provides for a stronger argument than one based on the assumption that the world must be created.10

Underlying Aristotelian premises of the arguments In order to lay out proofs for God’s existence, Maimonides first summarizes (in Guide 2: Introduction) what he takes to be twenty-five Aristotelian premises that form the basis of metaphysics and physics. Several of these premises lie at the heart of Maimonides’ arguments and can be restated as follows: [P.3] [P.5] [P.17]

[P.19]

[P.20]

[P.25]

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Denial of the possibility of infinite regress: “the existence of causes and effects of which the number is infinite is impossible” (GP 2.Intro:235). Definition of change: “every motion is a change and transition from potentiality to actuality” (GP 2.Intro:236). The existence of movers: “everything that is in motion has of necessity a mover”; this mover can be outside the moved object, or in the body in motion (GP 2.Intro:237). Definition of possible existence: “everything that has a cause for its existence is only possible with regard to existence in respect of its own essence” (GP 2.Intro:238). Definition of necessary existence: “everything that is necessarily existent in respect to its own essence has no cause for its existence in any way whatever or under any condition” (ibid.). Definition of a proximate mover: everything is comprised of matter and form. But inasmuch as matter does not move itself, there must be an agent, “a mover that moves the substratum so as to predispose it to receive the form.” This mover is the proximate mover, which “predisposes the matter of a certain individual” (GP 2.Intro:239).

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[P.26] Eternity a parte ante of the world: “I shall add to the premises mentioned before, one further premise that affirms as necessary the eternity of the world. This premise . . . [consists in Aristotle’s statement] that time and movement are eternal, perpetual, existing in actu” (GP 2.Intro:239– 40). Maimonides notes in his explication of this premise that Aristotle’s arguments in favor of this statement do not constitute a demonstration. These premises must be understood against the backdrop of Maimonides’ discussion in Guide 1.69 having to do with the nature of causes. In this chapter, Maimonides defines what he (and the philosophers) mean by cause. He follows the standard Aristotelian distinction of four causes (material, formal, efficient, and final) and claims that God is the “efficient cause,” by which he means “the form, and . . . the end” (GP 1.69:168). Maimonides further maintains that for any series of causes and effects, it is only the first cause in a series that “is the efficient cause of all intermediaries” (GP 1.69:168). All the intermediate causes in a series of causes function as mediators for the causal power that resides in the ultimate cause. If there is no first cause, there cannot be any other cause, and hence no existence. Maimonides is clear that God as first cause endows the series with existence: were God not to exist, then “all that exists would likewise be nonexistent” (GP 1.69:169). Maimonides claims that in order for his arguments to prove the existence of God, and not just a first cause mover, we must establish not only the existence of a first cause, but also the incorporeality and unity of this cause. His arguments therefore demonstrate all three.

Proofs for God’s existence Maimonides offers four proofs for the existence of God, all of which presuppose the eternity of the world and are based on the above principles. The main proof is based on the eternal movement of the celestial spheres.11 Maimonides offered a succinct version of his argument from the motion of the spheres in his introduction to the Mishneh Torah: claiming that the sphere is always revolving, he argues that it is impossible for it to revolve without something (God) making it revolve (HYT 1.1:34b). The argument is also mentioned in Guide 2.1, and is based on premise 26 (above), which affirms the eternity and perpetuity of time and motion. This argument proceeds as follows: Assume that a state of affairs (subject to generation and corruption) is moved. By premise 25, there must be a proximate mover responsible for the movement of this matter. But if we ask “What moves this mover?” we recognize that the mover of the proximate mover must exist as well. But, as stated in premise 3, motion does not go on to infinity. All motion ultimately stops with the sphere of the fifth body (aether), which too is in motion. But this outermost sphere must have a mover as well. This mover must be either inside or inside the outermost sphere. If it is outside the sphere,

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it is either a body or not, whereas if it is inside the sphere, it is either a force and divisible, or it is a force and not divisible. Maimonides then argues that the mover in question is not a body outside the sphere; nor however, is that mover a divisible force in the sphere; nor is it indivisible. All of these are shown to be impossible “absurd” states of affairs. Maimonides affirms that every motion and change in the sublunar world is thus traceable to the continual circular movement of the heavens; the cause of the motion of the heavens is thus the ultimate cause of all motion. This first cause of motion is shown, based on Aristotelian premises (16, 17, 18) to be indivisible and exempt from change, timeless and incorporeal. Maimonides then demonstrates on the basis of premise 19 that the first mover must be a unity.12 The fourth argument, which is based on the impossibility of an infinite regress of causes, differs from the first argument in a number of respects. First, unlike the first argument which brings in specific points from the science of physics, this fourth argument considers efficient causation in the abstract, with no mention of any particular type of causation. The argument is based on Aristotle’s presentation in Metaphysics 2.2 994a 1–19 that an infinite regress of causes is impossible on the grounds that without a first cause, there would be no intermediary causes, and hence no cause whatever. Although Aristotle never uses this argument to prove the existence of God, it was utilized by medieval philosophers, and is presented by Maimonides as follows: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

We see things that pass from potency to act. Everything that is actualized must have a cause. This cause was originally in a state of potentiality. It therefore requires a prior cause to actualize it. This series of causes cannot continue to infinity. There must exist something that causes the move from potency to act in which there is no potentiality [proposition 23]. This entity is totally separate from matter [proposition 24]. This entity is God.

Maimonides notes the importance of supplementing the basic argument with additional premises having to do with the incorporeality and unity of God. He thus calls upon Aristotle’s dictum that the ultimate cause of motion must exist in an eternal state of actuality; such a being (proposition 24) must be immaterial and incorporeal, since it is free of potentiality and hence of materiality. Furthermore, since it is incorporeal, it contains no ground of individuation, and hence is the sole instance of its kind.

Maimonides’ cosmological argument The third argument, or the argument from possibility, most resembles the standard Islamic and scholastic “cosmological argument” and has accordingly received the most attention. Maimonides says of this argument that it is “a

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demonstration concerning which there can be no doubt, no refutation, and no dispute, except on the part of one who is ignorant of the method of demonstration” (GP 2.1:248). The argument makes use of the Avicennian distinction between possible and necessary existence. On this point, Maimonides finds himself caught between two poles: that of Averroes, who argues that metaphysics alone is not sufficient to prove the existence of God, and that of Avicenna, who feels he has in fact offered such a metaphysical proof. What concerned Avicenna was not only how God is related to the world, but also the kinds of proofs appropriate to demonstrating the existence of God, and God’s relation to the world. Avicenna recognized the limitations inherent in Aristotle’s arguments, and argued that Aristotle’s arguments do not posit God as a necessary first cause of being itself; nor do Aristotle’s arguments posit the existence of at most one Deity. In order to establish the latter point, Avicenna distinguished between a thing’s being/essence/thingness (mâhiyya) and that through which it is existent (mawjûd; wujûd). We have noted above the importance of the distinction between essence and existence. According to Avicenna, God is the only entity in which essence (mâhiyya) does not require an external cause for its existence (wujûd). Thus in Avicenna’s mind, the argument for God’s existence is causal to the extent that contingent beings require an external cause that supplies their wujûd.13 Whether Maimonides made use of Avicenna’s formulation directly, or used second-hand versions, has been hotly contested by recent scholars.14 Remnants of Avicenna’s distinctions are nevertheless apparent in Maimonides’ third argument, which can be schematized as follows: 1 2

3 4

5 6 7

There exist many things we perceive with the senses. All these things must fall into one of three classes: (a) no things are subject to generation and corruption; (b) all things are subject to generation and corruption; (c) or some things are subject to generation and corruption, while others are not. By experience we know that 2a is false; so either 2b or 2c must obtain. Assume 2b is true, then (a) let it be the case that everything undergoes corruption; (b) then it is possible that all entities will cease to exist; (c) but from premise 23, what is possible will necessarily be actualized; (d) it follows therefore that there was a time at which nothing existed; (e) but there could exist nothing now, from the principle “out of nothing comes nothing” (ex nihilo nihil fit); (f) given that we perceive things that are existent (we ourselves in fact), it follows that 2b must not be the case. So 2c is the only option. So not everything that exists can be subject to generation and corruption. So there exists at least one object not subject to generation and corruption.

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Having shown that there exists at least one being not subject to change, Maimonides must demonstrate, once again, that this being specified in (7) is not only necessarily existent, but is itself incorporeal and a unity. At this point, Maimonides reverts to Avicenna’s distinction between possible and necessary beings, and maintains that, based on premise 20, this being must be “necessary in respect to its cause” (GP 2.1:248). While Avicenna’s distinctions are somewhat garbled in Maimonides’ presentation, the philosophical point is clear: “there is an existent that is necessary of existence in respect to its own essence” (ibid.). This entity can contain no internal multiplicity, for if it did, the multiplicity (by premise 21) would be a cause of the existence of the being that is necessary of existence in respect of its own essence. For this reason, this being cannot (premise 22) be corporeal, and is identified with God. And so there exists as least and at most one such being that is necessary of existence in respect to its own essence.15 Maimonides makes two crucial steps: first, that something must be eternal, and second, that this entity is eternal in virtue of its own essence. Nevertheless, Maimonides’ argument is subject to a number of questionable moves. First, between steps 4c and 4d, from the hypothesis that every individual thing has the possibility of being destroyed, it does not follow that the totality of things will at some moment cease to exist. As Crescas will argue in his Light of the Lord (Or Ha-Shem 1.2.17), although each individual thing might eventually be destroyed, there is no reason to assume that all things will cease to exist simultaneously. Maimonides might be tempted to respond as follows: given that each entity is destructible, it is at least possible that all entities will cease to exist at the same moment. Since every possibility must be actualized (premise 23) it follows that at some instant of time in the infinite past, this possible state of affairs will have been actualized, and the totality of actual things will have ceased to exist. Furthermore, the argument presupposes the acceptance of premise 26, the eternity of the world. But, as Maimonides’ medieval (and modern) commentators have pointed out, the argument requires a version of eternity a parte ante: only if an infinite amount of time has already passed can we say that there must be something incorruptible now. The weakness of this argument notwithstanding, it continued to reappear throughout the history of philosophy: it entered scholastic thought through the works of Thomas Aquinas, Henry of Ghent, Duns Scotus, and Suarez, and reappeared in modern philosophy in the writings of Descartes, Spinoza, Leibniz, and subsequent philosophers.

The argument from particularization Maimonides offers one final argument for God’s existence in the context of trying to explain the presence of discrete particulars in the world. In Guide 2.19, Maimonides tells us that his purpose is to present arguments that “come close to being a demonstration,” for the existence of a “purposer” (GP 2.19:303). By “purposer” Maimonides means one who is accountable or responsible for all

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the contingent (particular) facts of the matter in the world. Given that all things in the world are comprised of one common substance, how can we account for the multiplicity of individuals within each species, let alone the many varieties of species in the world? Maimonides first summarizes the Aristotelian response according to which prime matter is transformed into the four elements each with different qualities; these in turn form the basis for the myriad compounds found in the sublunar spheres. Since matter has great latitude with respect to its specific forms, individuals within each species differ corresponding to this latitude (GP 2.19:304). Midway through the chapter, however, Maimonides’ tone changes, as he warns us to pay attention to what he has to say. Aristotle has told us that from the difference of acts, difference of forms can be inferred. In one case, however, the inference does not hold. While the motions of the four elements are rectilinear, that of the sphere is circular, and so “the matter of these elements is not the matter of the sphere” (GP 2.19:305). They differ as well with respect to their forms, which is what distinguishes each element from the other. From this, it follows that the matter of the celestial spheres is one, and yet the form of every sphere differs. But who is responsible for particularizing these substrata and predisposing them to receive these various forms (GP 2.19:306)? In other words, how do we account for the particularization (or individuation) of the spheres’ individual matter, so as to account for the entry of the forms? Kalâm philosophers had developed their own response to this issue, claiming that the very fact that a thing has been determined in terms of one particular size, place, location, and so forth is proof that there exists a Being that freely chooses these determinations. Inasmuch as objects in the atomist ontology do not have specific natures, the fact that they exhibit one set of characteristics rather than another must be explained. Hence the Mutakallimûn concluded that a Being must be responsible for the characterization of each entity in the universe: the world as a whole requires someone to “particularize it as a whole and each of its parts by means of one of the various admissible possibilities” (GP 1.74:218–19). Although Maimonides rejects atomist occasionalism as a metaphysical doctrine, he agrees with the Kalâm conclusion, namely that the fact that particularization exists is evidence of a particularizer. Maimonides recognizes that Aristotle was unable to account for the how and why of particularization, and emphatically enunciates the limitation inherent in Aristotle’s words: of all that Aristotle had to say about the sphere, he “has assigned no clear cause with regard to this, and that the matter, as he sets it out, does not follow an order for which necessity can be claimed” (GP 2.19:307). In other words, Aristotle was unable to account for the necessary ordering inherent in the sublunar universe, and was forced to recognize that his arguments were tentative at best. Maimonides excuses Aristotle on the grounds that the science of mathematics “had not been perfected in his time,” and that knowledge of astronomy was not as advanced as it is now. Had Aristotle been able to specify the cause for the differences of the motions of the spheres, we would have had no need for a particularizer. But in fact Aristotle could not provide

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such an explanation. On the assumption of a created universe, there must exist “a being that has particularized . . . every sphere in regard to its motion and rapidity” (GP 2.19:308). Furthermore, how do we account for the contingent positioning of the stars in the outermost heavens? Maimonides attributes these and other apparently contingent cases to a “purposer” who brought about these celestial anomalies. Just as objects in the sublunar universe do not exist by chance, and did not happen by chance, so too in the superlunar universe. All these examples are “necessary according to the purpose of one who purposes” (GP 2.19:310). The particularizer thus accounts for what “has been produced for an object that we do not know and is not an aimless and fortuitous act” (GP 2.19:310). Although we have no knowledge of this final cause, we do know that the final causes are not aimless or fortuitous. “Who is the one who particularized the differences that are found in the spheres and the stars unless it be God, may He be exalted?” (GP 2.19:310). In the Mishneh Torah, Maimonides argued that Abraham was the first philosopher to have proven the existence of God by contemplating the spheres: Abraham had no teacher, he was submerged among “silly idolaters,” and yet he “attained the way of truth, apprehended the correct line of thought and knew that there is One God, that He guides the celestial Sphere and created everything” (Hilkhot Avodah Zarah, in BK 1.3:66b). This underscoring of a demonstrative argument with Scripture is repeated in the Guide, when Maimonides again attributes this argument to Abraham, telling us that “all the prophets used the stars and the spheres as proofs for the deity’s existing necessarily” (GP 2.19:310). This demonstration quia, he tells us, is “the correct proof, which is not exposed to doubt” (GP 2.19:311).

Conclusion: Implications of Maimonides’ Negative Theology In this chapter we have examined Maimonides’ characterization of God’s essence and attributes. We started with the importance of teaching everybody about God’s incorporeality and unity. We traced the implications of God’s ontological uniqueness through Maimonides’ theory of divine predication. Maimonides’ linguistic analysis led him to an apophatic theory according to which we can say nothing about God. We then turned to the various proofs offered for God’s existence. Like his Islamic forebears, Maimonides emphasized God’s essential nature as uncaused, necessary, and absolutely simple. But his conclusions, which are so rooted in the incorporeality of the Deity, gave rise to substantial criticism among both Jewish and Christian thinkers. A brief snapshot of Maimonides through the eyes of his Jewish and scholastic critics will give us a sense of how controversial these doctrines turned out to be.

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Maimonides’ immediate successor Gersonides (1288–1344, southern France) attempted to salvage the ability of humans to talk meaningfully about God. In his work Wars of the Lord, Gersonides disagrees with Maimonides’ doctrine of negative predication, claiming that divine predicates are to be understood as pros hen equivocals rather than absolute equivocals (as Maimonides had argued). What this means is that, according to Gersonides, predicates applied to God represent the prime instance or meaning of the term, whereas human predicates are derivative or inferior instances. So, for example, knowledge when applied to God is perfect knowledge and constitutes the standard for human knowledge, which is less perfect than divine knowledge: “the term ‘knowledge’ is predicated of God (may he be blessed) primarily and of others secondarily” (Gersonides 1987, 107). Gersonides denies that terms have completely different meanings when predicated of God and of humans; it is only because of an underlying commonality of meaning that we can use language meaningfully at all. Maimonides’ theory of negative predication represented a challenge in the scholastic world as well. Thomas Aquinas tried to grapple with Maimonides’ position and his discussion of God’s existence can be thought of as a compromise position between Avicenna and Maimonides.16 Aquinas agrees with Avicenna that God’s essence is isomorphic with existence, and terms this special existence of God’s esse. And he also agrees with Maimonides that we cannot know the essence of God. But Aquinas disagrees with Maimonides over what we can predicate of God, and replaces Maimonides’ negative theology with a theology of analogy (see Rubio 2006). Crescas provided an even more trenchant critique of Maimonides’ arguments in his work Light of the Lord (Or Ha-Shem). It is important to note that Crescas’s purpose in this work is not to dispute the existence, incorporeality, or unity of God, but rather to undercut the ability of Aristotelian philosophy to demonstrate these attributes. In the course of his argument, Crescas makes a number of important philosophical moves that have been revisited by subsequent philosophers. Most important, in a move that adumbrates arguments made by Kant in the eighteenth century, Crescas refutes principle three, which posits the impossibility of an infinite regress of causes. He does so by attacking the two underlying components of the principle: both that every chain of causes must terminate at a first cause, and that the number of links in a causal chain must be finite. Crescas’s rejection of Aristotle’s theories of place and the infinite forms part of an extended attempt to weaken Aristotle’s hold on Jewish philosophy, a hold that, in his mind, is exemplified by Maimonides’ use of these proofs (Crescas 1929, I:ii.3; 15). Appropriating Aristotle’s dictum that there can be no first part of motion, because every object that is moved must have already been moved, Crescas maintains that “it is not inconceivable, therefore, that the infinite line [in question] should meet the other line in a finite distance with a finite motion, and this may be accounted for by the fact that the extreme beginning of motion must take place in no-time.”17 In his parting company with generations of Aristotelians who had used the denial of an infinite series of

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causes to postulate the necessary existence of a prime mover, Crescas therefore will have to resort to other arguments to postulate the existence of God.

notes 1 We will return to the issue of God’s emotions in Chapter 8, in the context of human behavior and the doctrine of imitatio dei or imitating the ways of God. 2 Note that Maimonides’ classification of the attributes combines Porphyry’s five predicables with Aristotle’s nine accidental categories; Maimonides further adds to this list attributes of action. Just as Aristotle’s work ambiguates among linguistic, logical, and metaphysical arguments, so too do we find in Maimonides’ own presentation an occasional conflation of linguistic, logical, metaphysical, and epistemological considerations. 3 Note that in an aside Maimonides does acknowledge that doing so “is more appropriate than with regard to the others” (ibid.). We might interpret Maimonides as at least trying to be charitable to those who persist in recognizing a relation between God and the world. 4 Compare this point with Sartre, who argues in numerous places that our actions do tell us who we are. The existentialist slogan “existence precedes essence” suggests that actions do create a person’s essence. 5 Following Joseph Buijs’s analysis, we can characterize these definitions more formally as follows: 1 2 3

F is used univocally of x and y, if and only if F is applied to x and y in virtue of an essential sameness between x and y. F is used amphibolously of x and y, if and only if F is applied to x and y in virtue of an accidental similarity between x and y. F is used equivocally of x and y, if and only if F is applied to x and y neither in virtue of an essential sameness nor in virtue of an accidental similarity between x and y. See Buijs (2003, 457).

6 When Maimonides claims that only equivocal predicates can be applied to God, his point is both logical and semantic. Logically, these terms do not function as meaning bearers in a proposition. Semantically, these propositions tell us only what God is not, and nothing about what God is. The only terms that can be used amphibolously are action terms, but here too, Maimonides is careful to note that any analogy between God’s actions and our actions is tangential at best. 7 For a plethora of contemporary discussions, see Altmann (1966); Benor (1995b); Manekin (2005); Seeskin (2000). Manekin suggests that ultimately we should understand Maimonides’ theory as articulating God’s inexplicability rather than God’s unknowability: “God cannot be fully comprehended, despite the fact that we can (indeed, must) learn many things about Him” (Manekin 2005, 35). 8 According to Josef Stern, one purpose of these demonstrations, viewed in the context of Maimonides’ own restrictions, is to provide us with the wherewithal to direct our intellects toward God, while at the same time articulating the

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9

10

11 12 13

14 15

16 17

theological obstacles that stand in the way of our attempt to reach this destination. See Stern (2001). Davidson has argued that even Avicenna’s argument, which is reproduced by Maimonides in Guide 1:57 (adduced above) – namely that God’s essence necessarily entails existence – is not presented as an ontological argument. Not only does Avicenna incorporate cosmological elements into the argument, but its author is unaware of ontological arguments and does not intend to present such an argument. Davidson concludes that medieval Jewish philosophy may as a whole be judged free of ontological argumentation (Davidson 1987a, 215). But, as we shall see, Maimonides is not thoroughly convinced in the certainty of his own arguments. In speaking of the superlunar spheres, Maimonides tells us that “even the general conclusion that may be drawn from them [the motion of the spheres], namely, that they prove the existence of their Mover, is a matter the knowledge of which cannot be reached by human intellect” (GP 2.24:326–7). We should keep in mind that, in fact, neither the eternity thesis nor the creation thesis is demonstrable (a point we will discuss in greater detail in Chapter 4), and so we shall have to return to the question of the ultimate demonstrability of God’s existence. The proof was already expounded by Aristotle in Physics 8.5–6 256a–2601 and in Metaphysics 12.6–7 1071b–1073a. See Davidson (1987a, 240–9) for discussion of this argument. Avicenna further distinguishes between two sets of dichotomies: the dichotomy of possibly existent by virtue of itself and necessarily existent by virtue of another; and the dichotomy of necessarily existent by virtue of itself on the other. In his al-Najât, Avicenna argued that the category of entities described by the former is dependent upon entities described by the latter: that is, they depend for their existence upon a being necessarily existent by virtue of itself. Now the very notion “necessarily existent by virtue of itself” is itself problematic. What Avicenna means to say here is that such an entity cannot exist even, as Davidson argues, by reason of its parts or “internal factors making it what it is” (Davidson 1987a, 304). It must thus be free of composition; furthermore, it turns out that there can only be one such being. Thus a multiplicity of possible beings cannot add up to, or comprise, a necessary being by virtue of itself. See Pines (1963); Davidson (1987a); Stern (2001). Numerous scholars have suggested that Maimonides did not follow Avicenna slavishly, but that in fact both he and Averroes had incomplete information about the details of Avicenna’s argument. See for example Stern (2001, 67); Davidson (1987a, 383 n. 24). See Thomas Aquinas’s Summa Theologica I:13.2c for his discussion of Maimonides’ theory of negative predication. Crescas, ’Or ’Adonai I.1.2, in Wolfson (1929, 213).

further reading Altmann, Alexander, “Divine Attributes,” Judaism 15 (1966), 1. Benor, Ehud, Worship of the Heart: A Study of Maimonides’ Philosophy of Religion (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1995).

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Buijs, Joseph A., “A Maimonidean Critique of Thomistic Analogy,” Journal of the History of Philosophy 41 (2003), 449–70. Davidson, Herbert, Proofs for Eternity, Creation and the Existence of God in Medieval Islamic and Jewish Philosophy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987). Feldman, Seymour, “Maimonides’ Doctrine of Divine Attributes,” The Journal of Jewish Studies 19 (1968), 23–39. Gersonides, The Wars of the Lord, volumes 2–4, trans. Seymour Feldman (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1987). Hyman, Arthur, “Maimonides on Religious Language,” in Joel L. Kraemer (ed.), Perspectives on Maimonides (Oxford: Littman Library, 1991), 175–91. Seeskin, Kenneth, Searching for a Distant God: The Legacy of Maimonides (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000). Stern, Josef, “Maimonides’ Demonstrations: Principles and Practice,” Medieval Philosophy and Theology 10 (2001), 47– 84. Wolfson, H. A., Studies in the History of Philosophy and Religion, vol. 2, ed. Isadore Twersky and George H. Williams (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1977).

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chapter 4

philosophical cosmology Introduction n the last chapter, we emphasized Maimonides’ insistence on God’s incorporeality and unity, and the philosophical implications of removing from our understanding of God all vestiges of corporeality. As we move away from the ontological uniqueness of God and descend the Neoplatonic hierarchy, we gravitate away from ontological incorporeality toward levels of increasing complexity and corporeality. We move from God to the superlunar spheres, which comprise all the celestial spheres between God and the moon; from there we move to the sublunar domain, which comprises the world as we know it “under the sphere of the moon.” In the next two chapters we turn our examination to the ontological constituents of the world. While in Chapter 5 we shall consider human beings, and the challenges inherent in being embodied, in this chapter we turn to those issues pertaining to creation and cosmology. Jewish philosophers, almost without exception, are committed to the belief that God created the universe. At the same time they want to accept certain aspects of Aristotle’s theory of time and the universe. Traditionally, God the creator is said to be eternal, or outside of time, whereas creatures are construed as being in time, or subject to the flow of time. No Jewish philosopher denied the centrality of the doctrine of creation to Jewish belief. But like their Christian and Muslim counterparts, Jewish thinkers did not always agree upon what qualifies as an acceptable model of creation. So when Maimonides turns to consider whether the world was created by God in time, he must deal critically with Greek and Islamic philosophical notions of time, infinity, and cosmology. By understanding the notion of creation and how an eternal, timeless creator created a temporal universe, we may begin to understand how the notions of eternity and time function within the context of Maimonides’ theory of creation. In this chapter, we must examine how the world came into existence (cosmogony), what the elements in the world are composed of ontologically (cosmology), and what we can actually know about the world (epistemology). We shall start with the problem of creation, and Maimonides’ examination of God’s role in the existence of the world. Since we have been warned in the

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introduction that the “Account of Creation” is a difficult and esoteric topic, we should expect that Maimonides’ presentation will be convoluted, and we shall have to weigh carefully his comments about the biblical picture of creation. But inasmuch as Maimonides’ arguments for creation are couched against the backdrop of Kalâm atomism, we will start with Maimonides’ critique of Kalâm ontology. Finally, we shall have to consider Maimonides’ perplexing statements in Guide 2.24, which have been taken by scholars to suggest that ultimately humans can have no knowledge of the superlunar spheres.

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Kalam Atomism Maimonides’ theories of time and creation incorporate ingredients from both Aristotle and the Islamic Kalâm theologians. In his Physics and Metaphysics, Aristotle posited an eternal universe in which time is potentially, if not actually infinite.1 That is, Aristotle argued that since there can be no “before” to time, neither time nor the universe was created. Maimonides inherits a cluster of questions resulting from Aristotle’s theory of time: Is any temporal or spatial spread infinitely divisible? Is the infinite divisibility of space analogous to that of time? Can either infinitely divisible spread be traversed? Can an extended duration be comprised of durationless points? And finally, is time composed of instants which themselves have no duration? Inasmuch as accepting the eternity of the universe qualifies the role God plays in determining the act and materials of creation, Maimonides was forced to consider the Aristotelian characterization of time against the backdrop of Scripture. But Maimonides was also influenced in his thinking by the Kalâm theologians who developed a doctrine of atomist occasionalism, according to which God is the cause of actions and events we observe in nature: on this atomist view, there is no necessary connection between cause and effect other than what God has ordained.2 Kalâm atomism differed from its Greek counterpart both metaphysically and theologically. In fact, theological considerations, connected in particular with God’s causal powers, may have led Kalâm theologians to the metaphysical insistence upon an atomist theory that was historically associated with a denial of causality. These considerations are manifested in Maimonides’ presentation of Kalâm thought in Guide 1.71–6. In these chapters, Maimonides sets out to present only those views that are common to both the Mu‘tazilites and the Asharites, and that pertain to God’s existence, unity, and incorporeality, as well as the existence of the world.

Kalâm premises summarized Maimonides’ rejection of Kalâm premises and arguments gives us a window onto Maimonides’ own views. According to Maimonides, Kalâm teaching can be summarized in twelve premises as follows: premises 1, 2 3, and 11 pertain to the characteristics of atoms; premises 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, and 9 pertain to the nature of

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substance and accidents; and premises 10 and 12 pertain to the epistemological implications of atomism. Maimonides’ statement of the first Kalâm premise posits the existence of indivisible atoms; these atoms are unextended and yet, when combined, they form extended bodies. Premise 1 (P.1), that atoms exist, is expressed in the following set of characteristics: The world as a whole is composed of very small particles that, because of their subtlety, are not subject to division. These individual particles do not possess quantity in any respect. However, when several are aggregated, their aggregate possesses quantity and becomes a body. These particles are not restricted in their existence for they are constantly created by God whenever He wishes, and their annihilation is likewise possible (GP 1.73:195). What the first premise (P.1) tells us is that Kalâm atoms are indivisible, indistinguishable from one another, and unextended entities; they are constantly being created and recreated by God. (P.1) also points explicitly to the connection between atomism and God’s omnipotence, in that God can create and destroy these atoms at will. This latter point will have important implications with respect to a metaphysical theory of causality (below), as well as to a theological theory of predestination (Chapter 7). The second premise (P.2) postulates the existence of a vacuum and states that, according to the Mutakallimûn, “vacuum exists and that it is a certain space or spaces in which there is nothing at all, being accordingly empty of all bodies, devoid of all substances” (GP 1.73:195–6). The unstated implication of this position, already intimated in Aristotle, is that in order for atoms to be individuated one from the other, there must be space between them that is “atom-less,” or void of body. In order to account for motion, the void must therefore exist. The third premise (P.3) applies the metaphysics of space to that of time and introduces the existence of time atoms. Not surprisingly, these time atoms are then correlated with arguments concerning infinite traversal hearkening back to arguments made famous by the late Greek commentator John Philoponus.3 Some of the important features of (P.3) include: that time is composed of instants that, because of the shortness of their duration, are not divisible; and that time atoms are indivisible and without duration. According to (P.3), just as distance is indivisible, so too is the temporal spread indivisible. Just as the world is composed of indivisible spatial aggregates, so too must there exist individual temporal aggregates. Finally, the eleventh premise (P.11) pertains directly to the problem of infinite divisibility and states that the existence of the infinite in any mode is impossible. The Kalâm theologians reject all types of infinite, some on metaphysical grounds, and others on epistemological grounds. From these premises, the Kalâm atomists deduce a number of consequences that deny the possibility of motion and that hearken back to Zeno’s paradoxes of motion.4 These consequences apply as well to arguments for the existence of the world. The first Kalâm consequence (C.1) postulates that motion is illusory. What we call motion is nothing more than the passage of one atom from one void to another, and so all such passages all occur at the same rate. What

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accounts for apparent differences in speed is the number of rest units that must be traversed. Other consequences will have direct application to the issue of creation. (C.2) offers a Kalâm argument that the whole has been created in time on the grounds that each individual must also be created in time. (C.3) draws upon the createdness of the atoms to postulate the existence of the world. It is summarized by Maimonides as follows: They say: the world in its entirety is composed of substances and accidents. Now no substance can be exempt from one or several accidents. And all accidents are produced in time. Accordingly it follows necessarily that the substance that serves as a substratum for them is also produced in time . . . Accordingly the world in its entirety is produced in time. (GP 1.74.4:217)

Both (C.2) and (C.3) clearly draw upon the impossibility of an infinite in succession. In both the second and third consequence, Maimonides emphasizes how the Kalâm doctrine of atomism, combined with the denial of an infinite, leads ineluctably to postulating the beginning of the world. While other Kalâm arguments were incorporated into Jewish thought as well, these arguments pertain directly to issues of infinite divisibility and reappear in Jewish discussions of Kalâm thought. As we shall see in the next section, Maimonides rejects these arguments on both metaphysical and epistemological grounds.

Maimonides’ critique of Kalâm atomism Before turning to the issue of creation, we must highlight Maimonides’ refutation of those arguments that make use of Kalâm assumptions. As we have seen, Maimonides’ summary incorporated several Kalâm premises and consequences, most notably (P.1) the existence of indivisible and unextended atoms, (P.2) the existence of a vacuum, (P.3) the existence of indivisible time atoms, (P.11) the denial of an infinite, (C.1) the illusion of motion, (C.2) the necessary creation of the world based on the necessary creation of individuals in time, and (C.3) the necessary creation of the world based on the creation of accidents in time. With respect to (P.1) and (P.2) Maimonides has little of his own to add; these premises are exegetical and Maimonides simply presents the underlying Kalâm considerations which led to them. The third premise is more problematic, however, and Maimonides is quick to point out that the Mutakallimûn, even more than “the cleverest philosophers,” have “no knowledge at all of the true reality of time” (GP 1.73.3:196). He does not present a counter-argument, however, and is content to rest with an ad hominem statement that will be amplified in Guide 2.13, in the context of discussing creation. Nor does Maimonides have much to say with respect to (C.1), except to dismiss it as “abhorrent,” and resulting in consequences even more abhorrent. For example, Maimonides objects to (C.1) on the grounds that it precludes the study of

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geometry altogether. Geometrical demonstrations lose their cogency as evidenced by the fact that their theory precludes the division of a line composed of an odd number of atoms: “As for the other [Kalâm positions] the demonstrations proving them are not cogent, as when we say we want to divide a line into two equal halves. For in the case in which the number of its atoms is odd, the division of the line into two equal parts is impossible according to their assumption” (GP 1.73.3:198). With respect to the eleventh premise, Maimonides points out that whoever wishes to demonstrate the creation of the world in time must use (P.11) in order to rule out infinite regress. For from the hypothesis that the world is eternal, it follows that many imaginary infinite series can be postulated. Those who postulate the eternity of the universe believe both “that an infinite may be greater in number than another infinite,” and congruously that “an infinite number of revolutions may be greater than another infinite number of revolutions” (GP 1.74.7:222). Having rejected the infinite in all its guises, the Mutakallimûn are able to reject the hypotheses of the eternalists. Maimonides’ refutation is embedded in (P.11). Against the first argument, Maimonides emphasizes the distinction made by Aristotle between actual and potential, and between essential and accidental infinite. The second argument is dismissed by his saying that “all these things are mere fictions and have no reality” (GP 1.74.7:222). Inasmuch as (C.2) and (C.3) pertain to the issue of creation directly, Maimonides has much more to say about these arguments. He criticizes (C.3) by pointing out that it assumes three premises: “The first premise is that anything that is infinite through succession is impossible,” while the second is that “all accidents come into being in time” (GP 1.74.4:217). But Maimonides then presents Aristotle’s arguments that the circular movement of the heavenly spheres contravenes both premises. According to Maimonides, the burden of proof is upon the Mutakallimûn to demonstrate that, in contradistinction to Aristotle, the accident “circular movement” is produced in time. The major thrust of Maimonides’ rejection of the Kalâm arguments, however, is contained in Guide 1.71. Maimonides’ general contention is that these arguments “are derived from premises that run counter to the nature of existence that is perceived” (GP 1.71:182). Maimonides himself will adopt the theoretical stance of an eternity theorist and try to argue for creation using Aristotle’s own premises, rather than those of Kalâm. In this way, he feels, the shaky metaphysical ground of Kalâm metaphysics has been obviated.

Cosmology and Creation We turn now to Maimonides’ theory of creation, a topic that has received much critical attention in recent years.5 The tensions surrounding how to read the Guide, and how to reconcile the Guide with more explicitly religiously focused works such as the Mishneh Torah, come to the fore in his discussion

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of issues pertinent to philosophical cosmology. Remember that the two topics explicitly mentioned by Maimonides as being deliberately obfuscated in the Guide are the “Account of Creation,” identified by Maimonides with Aristotelian physics, and the “Account of the Chariot,” identified with Aristotelian metaphysics. In part because Maimonides himself directed readers toward the esoteric nature of these topics, scholars have expended enormous amounts of energy trying to decode these central passages in the Guide that deal with creation. Maimonides characterizes the doctrine of creation as an extremely challenging as well as volatile topic, precisely the sort of issue deserving of an esoteric presentation. Readers of the Guide who turn to chapters 2.13–30, which are devoted to creation, have thus been forewarned by the author to expect a modicum of ambiguity at best, or outright secrecy at worst. In the following discussion, I shall lay out the complexities of Maimonides’ discussion, with an eye to unpacking his “real” views on creation.

Creation models in Maimonides In Guide 2.13, Maimonides describes three opinions on creation, and then in Guide 2.32 he describes three opinions on prophecy, stating that “the opinions of people concerning prophecy are like their opinions concerning the eternity of the world or its creation in time” (GP 2.32:360, emphasis mine). Scholars throughout the centuries have jumped upon the apparent equation between these two taxonomies and have wondered about the significance of the word “like.” Is the word “like” supposed to posit a one-to-one correspondence between the two sets of opinions, or does it merely signify that both prophecy and creation can be reduced to three opinions? If the former, can Maimonides’ own position be linked with any one set of correspondences, or is his allegiance split? In answer to these questions, interpreters have suggested every possible combination of opinions, and have offered every possible strategy for determining which is Maimonides’ own view. In this chapter I shall not enter the Maimonidean taxonomy controversy per se (although we shall return to the question in Chapter 6 when we examine prophecy). I shall, in the course of my discussion, offer evidence to reject the “exoteric” reading of creation. In so arguing, I align myself with scholars who see in the Guide an esoteric subtext on creation addressed to the intellectual elite. Our task is to unravel these passages.6 In Guide 2.13 Maimonides states the three standard views on creation. The main features of these three views, characterized as the Law of Moses (scriptural), Platonic, and Aristotelian, can be summarized as follows: 1

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The scriptural view: that the universe was brought into existence by God after “having been purely and absolutely nonexistent”; through His will and His volition, God brought into “existence out of nothing all the beings as they are, time itself being one of the created things” (GP 2.13:281).

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The Platonic view: that inasmuch as even God cannot create matter and form out of absolute non-existence (since this constitutes an ontological impossibility and so does not impute impotence to God), there “exists a certain matter that is eternal as the deity is eternal . . . He is the cause of its existence . . . and that He creates in it whatever he wishes” (GP 2.13:283). The Aristotelian view: that matter cannot be created from absolute nonexistence, concluding that the heaven is not subject to generation/corruption and that “time and motion are perpetual and everlasting and not subject to generation and passing-away” (GP 2.13:284).

Each of these positions carries with it both metaphysical and theological implications. The first (1) clearly reflects the first words of Genesis and postulates creation after absolute non-existence. (1) is thus incompatible with the eternity of time, and incorporates four distinct propositions: that God brought the world into existence after absolute non-existence; that He did so through his will and volition; that He did so not from anything (Arabic la min shay; Hebrew lo midavar); and that time is created. The last position (3) can be seen as postulating an eternally beginningless universe; in other words it contradicts (1) in that according to Aristotle the universe was not created. Finally, (2) postulates both a creator as well as an eternal material substance out of which the universe is formed. That is, it represents a version of eternal creation, adopting features of both (1) and (3). Maimonides specifies several observations concerning the relations among these three characterizations. First, contrary to those who “imagine that our opinion and his [Plato’s] opinion are identical,” Maimonides is quick to disabuse those who are tempted to posit a correlation between (1) and (2). The Platonic view, he states, cannot be substituted for Mosaic doctrine, even though there appear to be superficial similarities – most notably the postulation of a creator – between the two. But is the similarity in postulating a creator in both positions really that “superficial?” In fact, it might be argued that this in itself is a crucial point and should not be so quickly discarded. Secondly, Maimonides’ attitude toward the relation between (2) and (3) is itself ambiguous. He first contrasts them on the grounds that the Platonists believed that the entire heaven is subject to generation and passing away, whereas the Aristotelians believed that only the sublunar sphere is subject to such generation and passing away. But he then dismisses (2) as not worthy of serious consideration on the grounds that “[both] believe in eternity; and there is, in our opinion, no difference between those who believe that heaven must of necessity be generated from and pass away into a thing or the belief of Aristotle who believed that it is not subject to generation and corruption” (GP 2.13:285). That is, after dismissing the original grounds for contrast between (2) and (3), he then argues that if Aristotle can be refuted, so too can Plato’s theory be disqualified as a justifiable creation theory. In short, Maimonides appears to equate the positing of eternal pre-existent matter with the positing of an eternally beginningless universe. Having dismissed (2) as a weaker version of

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(3), Maimonides argues that the scriptural account is no more flawed than is the Aristotelian account. Then, pointing to the possibility of (1), coupled with its Mosaic (and Abrahamic) sanction, Maimonides argues that the very plausibility of Scripture suggests the non-necessity of Aristotle. Maimonides lays out in chapter 25 several pragmatic reasons as well for supporting the Mosaic view of creation (1) over that of Plato (2) and Aristotle (3). The most important of these is that (3) would destroy belief not only in the Law but in miracles and prophecy as well: Aristotle’s view, “the belief according to which the world exists in virtue of necessity, that no nature changes at all, and that the customary course of events cannot be modified with regard to anything – destroys the Law in its principle, necessarily gives the lie to every miracle, and reduces to inanity all the hopes and threats that the Law has held out” (GP 2.25:328). Maimonides is quick to point out, however, that the Platonic view is not nearly as devastating: the opinion of Plato would “not destroy the foundations of the Law and would be followed not by the lie being given to miracles, but by their becoming admissible” (GP 2.25:328). Why, then, does Maimonides not accept the authority of Plato? The main reason, he tells us, is that the Platonic view has not been demonstrated: “In view of the fact that it has not been demonstrated, we shall not favor this [Plato’s] opinion, nor shall we at all heed that other opinion [Aristotle’s], but rather shall take the texts according to their external sense” (GP 2.25:329). It might appear, then, that the scriptural account of creation of the universe out of absolute non-existence (1), is Maimonides’ final view. But as we shall see, (1) represents an exoteric reading, and is not Maimonides’ position.

Maimonides’ esoteric position on creation Given Maimonides’ explicit support of (1), the view of Scripture, why not simply accept this as Maimonides’ “real” view on creation? Let us return to his original demarcation between exoteric and esoteric readings of controversial issues. Maimonides has given readers ample ammunition to interpret his support of (1) as an exoteric ploy and to search for the underlying, or concealed, theory of creation. I am suggesting that Maimonides has introduced many contradictions, false starts, and misleading comparisons between Plato and Aristotle. And as commentators working through these chapters have demonstrated, textual evidence abounds to support either Plato or Aristotle as an alternative expression of Maimonides’ esoteric view of creation. Moreover, some recent scholars have suggested an even more radical reading of the Guide, namely that Maimondes did not adopt any of the three listed positions with respect to creation. Sara Klein-Braslavy (2006), for example, following the suggestion of Pines, argues that ultimately Maimonides upholds a skeptical stance in light of the evidence and does not ascribe to any of the three positions. Since Maimonides has clearly questioned the demonstrability of each of these views, she suggests that his ultimate position is one of epistemological skepticism: the human intellect is simply unable to resolve the issue.

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As we have already noted in Chapter 2, the importance of Aristotelian demonstration to unpacking Maimonides’ real views cannot be overemphasized. Disagreements in matters of metaphysics occur in cases where demonstrative arguments are not available. So, too, when the evidence is conflicting and unsupported by sound Aristotelian demonstration, the only justifiably rational stance, on this reading, is to withhold one’s belief until such time as adequate demonstration becomes possible. In fact, Maimonides reminds us that Aristotle did not claim to have a demonstrative proof for the eternity thesis; Aristotle himself considered his proofs in support of eternity to be “mere arguments” as opposed to logical demonstrations (GP 2.15:291). Although he is quick to point out that Aristotle “does not affirm categorically that the arguments he put forward in its favor constitute a demonstration” for the eternity thesis, Maimonides clearly disagrees with the Mutakallimûn who attempted to demonstrate the impossibility of such a claim. Rather, Maimonides states that “it seems that the premise in question is possible – that is, neither necessary . . . nor impossible . . .” (GP 2.Intro:241). Aristotle himself, he points out, only considered his theory to be probable and not necessary: “Now to me it seems that he [Aristotle] does not affirm categorically that the arguments he put forward in its favor constitute a demonstration. The premise in question is rather, in his opinion, the most fitting and the most probable” (ibid.). It is because he was lacking demonstrative arguments that Aristotle had to “buttress his opinion by means of the fact that the physicists who preceded him had the same belief as he” (GP 2.15:290). For Maimonides, Aristotle’s proofs for eternity constitute not “a cogent demonstration” but rather dialectical arguments, and so cannot be regarded as indubitable support for the eternity thesis (GP 2.15:293). I shall argue in what follows that Maimonides recognizes that the creation account in Scripture (1) is ultimately untenable. In this context, it is important to point out that Maimonides has offered no demonstrative arguments in favor of (1), the view of Scripture. Demonstration cuts both ways: Maimonides has offered his reader no indubitable foundation upon which to accept either (1) or (3). Although epistemological skepticism would not be quite as heretical as espousing either (2) or (3), it nevertheless constitutes a provisional rejection of (1), which is tantamount to a rejection of the Mosaic theory found in Scripture. Maimonides is inclined to accept (2) on the grounds that it offers the possibility of reconciling theories of creation and eternity. However, he has already intimated that a stringent reading of (2) is tantamount to an acceptance of (3). Although (3) would greatly reduce the need for a Creator of the universe, and would eliminate the emphasis upon will and volition, it would accord with Maimonides’ own views on time and enable him to reconcile a theory of creation with an Aristotelian theory of time. This position, while similar to (2), employs aspects of (3) as well; it is closest in temperament to a Neoplatonic version of eternal creation. In support of this reading I shall offer several considerations based on the nature of time and temporality.

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Time and creation The definition of time plays an important role in several contexts. The first has to do with how time and motion can be created independently, and draws directly upon Aristotle’s theory of time. In both the Physics and Metaphysics Aristotle develops the notion of the instant (to nûn) as a basic feature of time. The instant is defined as the middle point between the beginning and end of time. Since it is a boundary or limit, it has no size and hence cannot be considered to exist. Furthermore, inasmuch as time is defined in terms of motion, there can be no time without motion. In the Introduction to Part 2 of the Guide Maimonides lists twenty-five propositions drawn from Aristotle which purportedly he accepts. That Maimonides is sympathetic to an Aristotelian theory of time is evidenced by the following definition he adopts in the fifteenth proposition: (Proposition 15) Time is an accident consequent upon motion and is necessarily attached to it. Neither of them exists without the other. Motion does not exist except in time, and time cannot be conceived by the intellect except together with motion. And all that with regard to which no motion can be found, does not fall under time. (GP 2.Intro:237)

In this formulation, Maimonides is clearly following the Aristotelian definition of time as the “measure of motion.” Maimonides does not posit simultaneous creation. Rather, he suggests that what is moved is itself created and came to be after not having been. This statement suggests that first God created time, and then he created moving things in time. We shall return to this point below, when we examine the initial instant of creation. A second critical passage is Guide 2.17 in which Maimonides wishes to show that Aristotle’s arguments for eternity are not demonstrative. An exoteric reading of Guide 2.17 would have us conclude that (1) is preferable to (3) because Aristotle has offered no acceptable demonstrations for (3). But commentators have noted that Guide 2.17 could in fact be read as supporting (3). Maimonides ostensibly would like to show that Aristotle’s arguments for eternity rest on a fundamental assumption that can be shown to be false. Maimonides’ rejection of this assumption is based on the presumed fact that the nature of the world after it exists “does not resemble in anything the state it was in while in the state of being generated” (GP 2.17:296). Just as a grown adult does not resemble a fetus, and so inferring from the nature of the adult the nature of the fetus would be absurd, so too Maimonides argues that inferring anything from the state of the present nature of the world to the initial instance of the world is absurd. One important disanalogy between the world and fetus, however, is that in the case of a fetus we do have observational evidence of what a fetus actually looks like, whereas with the beginning of the world we have no sensory or observational input. And so Maimonides’ objection to Aristotle’s claim turns out to be weak.

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A third context occurs in Guide 2.18 wherein Maimonides examines arguments upheld by the followers of Aristotelians who support the doctrine of eternity. These post-Aristotelians argued that those who claim that God created the world “are obliged to admit that the deity passed from potentiality to actuality inasmuch as He acted at a certain time and did not act at another time” (GP 2.18:299). The thrust of the argument depends upon the Aristotelian conception of action as a change from a state of potentiality to actuality. If God is construed as Pure Act, however, He cannot be said to act at an instant. Secondly, the post-Aristotelians claim that “eternity is shown to be necessary because there do not subsist for Him, may he be exalted, any incentives, supervening accidents, and impediments” (GP 2.18:300). Maimonides’ response to these arguments draws upon the equivocal nature of God, as well as upon the homonymous nature of divine predicates. In response to the first argument, he distinguishes two senses of the term “act,” and claims that only with respect to material beings does “act” imply a move from potentiality to actuality. With God, or an immaterial being, “act” does not imply such a move, and hence does not carry with it change. Similarly, Maimonides’ responses to both the second and third arguments are to specify the ways in which Divine Will is unlike human will. With respect to the second, he argues that God has no need of special incentives to will; that is, God’s will does not function like human will in that it is not activated at a particular instant. With respect to the third argument, Maimonides’ point is that, unlike human acts of willing, when God wills a change there is no change in God’s willing nature (GP 2.18:300–1). Clearly, Maimonides has not confronted any of these arguments head on, nor has he challenged the underlying notions of time, temporality, and acting at an instant which are assumed by these arguments. He prefers to undermine their underlying presuppositions concerning action and the Deity. His main contention is that these postAristotelian arguments have relied upon a mistaken conception of the divine predicates. The most pointed discussion of time occurs in Guide 2.13, in the context of delineating the scriptural view of creation and temporality. Having stated that (1) involves the creation of all existence, including time, “time itself being one of the created things” (GP 2.13:281), Maimonides raises several puzzles concerning creation and time, having to do with the relation between God’s actions and the domain of temporality. Surely, Maimonides claims, no temporal predicates can be used to describe God’s activities or nature before the creation, since before creation there is no time: Accordingly, one’s saying: God “was” before he created the world – where the word “was” is indicative of time – and similarly all the thoughts that are carried along in the mind regarding the infinite duration of His existence before the creation of the world, are all of them due to a supposition regarding time or to an imagining of time and not due to the true reality of time. (GP 2.13:281)

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Several points are worth noting in this passage. First, Maimonides is suggesting that inasmuch as God transcends the temporal sphere and does not operate in a temporal context, God’s duration must be characterized in atemporal terms. To predicate of God infinite duration has no temporal meaning within the scope of temporality. Secondly, and more important for our purposes, Maimonides’ use of the terms “supposition” or “imagining” of time brings to mind his dismissal of the Mutakallimûn on the grounds that they were unable to distinguish between imagination and intellect.7 Maimonides is suggesting that (1) involves one in a crude or vulgar understanding of time based on imagination, one which is contrasted with the “true reality of time.” This true reality, of course, is consistent with an Aristotelian theory of time. But, as we have seen, an Aristotelian theory of time lends credence to the eternity theory of the universe.

Scripture, philosophy, and the first instant of creation Let us summarize our discussion to this point. With respect to creation, Maimonides maintains that “God’s bringing the world into existence does not have a temporal beginning, for time is one of the created things” (GP 2.13:282). Maimonides does not want to suggest that time itself is eternal, for “if you affirm as true the existence of time prior to the world, you are necessarily bound to believe in the eternity [of the world]” (ibid.). But neither will he claim that the creation of the world is a temporally specifiable action, for, on the Aristotelian definition of time, the world must be beginningless in the sense that it has no temporal beginning. While supporting on an exoteric level the scriptural reading of creation, on an esoteric level Maimonides is suggesting that an Aristotelian theory of time (which he accepts) is more consistent with an eternity model of the universe. But does this mean that Maimonides is supportive of (3)? If so, then the radical esotericists are right that Maimonides is a closet Aristotelian with respect to creation. Before acceding to this reading, let us first examine Maimonides’ analysis of the first word/s of Genesis, “in the beginning” (be-reishit). The first words of Genesis designate the fact that there was a beginning. But positing a beginning instant carries with it assumptions about what preceded this instant, and how this instant is reflected in Scripture. The theological implications of these issues become apparent when we turn to the following midrashic text from Genesis Rabbah: “And there was evening and there was morning,” (Gen. 1.3) Said R. Judah b. R. Simon, “Let there be evening” is not what is written here, but rather “and there was evening.” On the basis of that formulation we learn that the sequence of time had already been laid out. Said R. Abbahu, “on the basis of that same formulation we learn that the Holy One, Blessed be he, had been engaged in creating worlds and destroying them prior to the moment at which He created this one. Then He said, ‘This is the one that pleases me, but those did not please me.’ ”8

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This paragraph became the focus of profound philosophical speculation among Jewish philosophers wishing to ground Scripture in scientific legitimacy. A number of pressing questions emerged from this passage: first, how does one’s understanding of Rabbi Judah’s phrase “order of times” (seder zemanim) affect one’s interpretation of the temporality of creation in Genesis 1:1? Second, what is the status of the existence of time before day four when the temporal markers were created? And finally, how is time measured in these first three days of creation? In short, these questions crystallized the attempt of Jewish philosophers to reconcile rabbinic dicta and sentiments with an Aristotelian theory of time. The first question is the subject of Maimonides’ commentary on the phrase be-reishit, the first words of Genesis 1:1. Why does Scripture start with the phrase “In the beginning God created . . .”? Maimonides explains the term “beginning” as referring not to a temporal priority, but rather to the ontological separation between non-existence and existence.9 On this basis, Maimonides is able to allow for an interpretation of the phrase be-reishit in such a way as to accord with eternal creation. The preposition be in the phrase be-reishit is not, on this reading, a temporal indicator, but rather fixes the event in question ontologically: it refers not to a temporal beginning but to an underlying ontological state. So that when we read the statement in Genesis 1:1 “in the beginning God created” (be-reishit bara’ ’Elohim), we should understand it to describe a non-temporal event, one that specifies that God is the creator of the universe, that is, its ontological ground of Being, or what Warren Zev Harvey describes as the continuous ontic dependence of creation on the creator. Having postulated the non-temporal mode of creation, Maimonides turns to those rabbis who understood the Creation account in Genesis to postulate a domain of temporality before the creation event. Maimonides subsumes their comments as corollaries of Rabbi Eliezer’s view, whose commentary on creation postulated creation by means of pre-existent matter. Maimonides depicts this commentary as admitting “the eternity of the world, if only as it is conceived according to Plato’s opinion” (GP 2.26:331). Interestingly enough, Maimonides does not reject Eliezer’s statement; his only response to it is to claim that it may “confuse very much indeed the belief of a learned man who adheres to the Law. No persuasive figurative interpretation with regard to it has become clear to me.” Uttered by an individual who is generally not at a loss for interpretative prowess, for whom the “gates of interpretation” are rarely if ever closed, Maimonides’ stance suggests that perhaps he is not as uncomfortable with Eliezer’s statements as one might expect.

Maimonides’ “real” view of creation Maimonides concludes his analysis of the rabbinic comments by dismissing their authority: “To sum up: you should not, in considering these points, take into account the statements made by this or that one” (GP 2.30:349). Here Maimonides seems to be suggesting that in considering the issues of time

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and creation, one ought not be misled by the opinions of sundry rabbis. If this is so, what sense, then, should we make of Maimonides’ overt espousal of the scriptural reading of creation (1) on the basis of Mosaic authority? At least both Plato and Aristotle have other considerations in their favor. But if the sole basis for (1) is authority, then Maimonides has undermined its very plausibility. In fact, these final chapters point to the credibility of Plato’s view on creation as a compromise between that of Scripture and Aristotle. Unlike the view of Aristotle, Plato’s view (2), as Maimonides has reminded us, does not undercut the foundations of Judaism, but is still consistent with an Aristotelian theory of time. (1) has no demonstrative underpinnings, and in Guide 2.30 Maimonides has undercut rabbinic authority. And so given that we will never be able to demonstrate creation with absolute certaintly, Maimonides is inclined to follow the position most consistent with Aristotelian science but least capable of undermining Jewish belief. This position he identifies with Plato. Maimonides is a skeptic in the sense that he realizes there can be no definitive proof either way, but on this score the scientific views of Aristotle fare no worse than the views found in Scripture.

Can Humans Know the Superlunar Heavens? Guide 2.24: the perplexity stated We turn now to one of the most puzzling passages in Maimonides’ cosmological chapters, namely the statements in Guide 2.24 pertaining to the limits of human knowledge. The sentence in question reads as follows: [1] For it is impossible for us to accede to the points starting from which conclusions may be drawn about the heavens; for the latter are too far away from us and too high in place and in rank. And even the general conclusion that may be drawn from them, namely, that they prove the existence of their Mover, is a matter the knowledge of which cannot be reached by human intellects. (GP 2.24:327)

This sentence (1) suggests that human beings can ultimately have no demonstrative knowledge of the superlunar spheres (the celestial spheres), and hence we cannot use the heavenly motions to prove the existence of God. Read as translated above, this statement conflicts with several other passages in the Guide, in which Maimonides clearly stated that he had provided definitive proof for God’s existence. Take, for example, his statement in Guide 1.70, stating that the revolution of the heavens “is the greatest proof through which one can know the existence of the Deity”10 (GP 1.70:175). Maimonides’ translator Ibn Tibbon recognized the apparent discrepancy and added a gloss to his translation of the Guide, indicating that Maimonides’ intended meaning in this sentence was in fact the following:

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[2] The general conclusion that may be drawn from them is that they indicate the existence of their Mover, but other things pertaining to them are a matter the knowledge of which cannot be reached by human intellects. (Quoted in Freudenthal 2008b)

On Ibn Tibbon’s emended reading (2), we can draw a general inference from the existence of the heaven to a Mover, but we cannot know anything further about the celestial heavens. This emendation (2) was soon incorporated by copyists into Hebrew translations of the Guide. And so we have two traditions: (1) an Arabic text utilized by many translators, according to which the knowledge of the existence of the Mover cannot be achieved by human intellect; and (2) a Hebrew text canonized by Ibn Tibbon that states that human intellect cannot achieve knowledge of the heavenly motions. Which is Maimonides’ real view: did he believe that knowledge of the First Mover (God) could not be achieved by humans, or did he mean only to say that knowledge of the celestial heavens could not be achieved? The implications of this passage are enormous, for they underlie Maimonides’ entire epistemological enterprise: scholars who reject Ibn Tibbon’s emendation are more inclined to view Maimonides as a skeptical and esoteric thinker, according to whom neither the workings of the heavens, nor the existence of God, can be known. Those, by contrast, who understand Maimonides as did Ibn Tibbon, and who accept Ibn Tibbon’s emendation as a reflection of Maimonides’ own correction (either explicit or tacit), are more inclined to believe that Maimonides takes the inner workings of astronomy to be unknowable, but the Mover (God) to be knowable.11 While we cannot in this brief work enter into the many philological details underlying this controversy, let me reiterate the importance of this controversy to the issue of creation. Maimonides’ analysis of astronomy and its relation to cosmology must be read against the general hermeneutics of interpretation that we laid out in Chapters 2 and 3. Recall Maimonides’ comments in the introduction to the Guide, which emphasized to his student Joseph ben Judah the importance of astronomy: only after Joseph had demonstrated proficiency in both astronomy and mathematics did Maimonides agree to take him on as a student and introduce him to metaphysics and philosophical theology. And so what may appear to be subtle and arcane minutiae in the midst of a technical dispute turn out to have trememdous import to Maimonides’ overall cosmology and cosmogony.

Maimonidean cosmology and astronomy Maimonides presents several disparate cosmological accounts of the world in Mishneh Torah 3– 4 and Guide 1.72 and 2.19–24, and vacillates between Aristotelian and Ptolemaic cosmologies. While the Mishneh Torah follows a standard Ptolemaic cosmology, the account found in the Guide introduces a critique of Ptolemy in light of Aristotelian cosmology. The difference between

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the two has to do with an explanation of the rotation of the planets. In the standard geocentric Aristotelian cosmology, the universe is a finite sphere whose center is at the earth and bounded by the sphere of the fixed stars. Nine primary concentric spheres (in turn divided into subsidiary spheres) rotate around the earth; these spheres form a compact whole, much like the skins of an onion, with no vacuum. First come the other three terrestrial elements: water, air, and fire. Surrounding the sphere of fire are the crystalline spheres in which were placed the seven planets: the moon, Mercury, Venus, the sun, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn. Beyond the last planet are the fixed stars, identified with the sphere of the “prime mover,” and then nothing (De Caelo II.7.12). The sphere of the moon separated the universe into the sublunar, or terrestrial, region, and the superlunar or celestial region. The superlunar heavens differ in composition from the sublunar bodies in that the former are composed of a single incorruptible element, aether, while the earth is comprised of the four elements.12 While Ptolemy accepted many of the details of this Aristotelian picture, he gave a different explanation for the movements of the celestial bodies, arguing that the motions of the planets were explained by a system of eccentric and epicyclical spheres.13 That this system of eccentric and epicyclical spheres contravened the concentric spheres of Aristotle was not lost upon Ptolemy or his followers. Both Aristotle and Ptolemy agreed that there must be a plurality of spheres to account for the motion of each planet. These spheres, as we have seen, were nested contiguously. On Aristotle’s model there was a series of concentric orbs, each moving in a natural, uniform, circular motion, all sharing the earth as a common center. Ptolemy, however, recognized that Aristotle could not account for variations in the observed distances of the planets. This recognition led to the postulating of an alternative cosmological scheme. In particular, Ptolemy’s insistence that partial eccentric orbs had centers other than the earth violated Aristotle’s dictum that all celestial spheres move around the earth with uniform motion. And yet most medieval astronomers found that Ptolemy’s system did a better job of “saving the appearances” of astronomical data. In other words, medieval philosophers were faced with a dilemma: they could either reject the earth’s centrality and abandon a vital part of Aristotelian physics in the name of astronomical and mathematical purity, or they could accept a cosmology that was untenable from the perspective of the astronomers. Maimonides inherited this deep perplexity from Islamic astronomers, most notably Abu Bakr. In the Mishneh Torah, Maimonides follows a standard Ptolemaic cosmology. The finite universe, comprising the four heavens (Shamayim, Raqi‘a, Zevulun, and ‘Aravot), contains nine concentric spheres which circle the earth: the moon, Mercury, Venus, the sun, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, the stars, and the sphere which moves from east to west. This ninth and largest sphere “includes and encircles all things” (HYT 37a). Each of the eight other spheres is divided into subspheres “like the several layers of onions” (ibid.). These spheres are “clear and transparent” and are contiguous, where “no vacuum intervenes.” There are eighteen such spheres, all of which revolve around the earth. In

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addition there are eight “small spheres” which do not revolve around the earth, but which are fixed in the larger spheres that do so revolve. These small spheres correspond to the epicycles introduced by Ptolemy. Ascertaining the science of these eighteen spheres, including their number, lines of movement, and courses in the heavens is what Maimonides terms the “science of mathematical astronomy [hokhmat heshbon tequfot u-mazalot], on which the Greeks composed many treatises” (ibid.). The ninth sphere, divided into the twelve constellations, has no division or stars but reflects the stars in the eighth sphere. Each sphere and star has a soul which is “endowed with knowledge and intelligence.” Situated halfway between humans and angels, their knowledge is “less than that of angels and greater than that of human beings” (ibid.). The sublunar realm contains the four elements, fire, air, water, and earth, again in contiguity to one another with no intervening vacuum. These four bodies have no soul, no knowledge, and hence are lifeless. They have a governing unalterable principle (minhag) and they form the basic elements of all created things. The substances formed by combinations of these four elements are called “individuals” (HYT 37a–38a).

Maimonides’ epistemological skepticism On the face of this extended description in the Mishneh Torah, Maimonides captures the current Ptolemaic cosmology: the spheres are organized in an orderly fashion, with no vacuum obtaining between spheres; epicycles are introduced to account for variation in revolution; and spheres are endowed with intelligible souls responsible for their orderly motion. Guide 1.72 presents a cosmological scheme that shares many affinities with the picture found in the Mishneh Torah.14 So far, so good. But in Guide 2.19–24, Ptolemy’s depiction is abandoned as Maimonides offers a decidedly anti-Ptolemaic account that appears incompatible with the Mishneh Torah account. Reflecting Aristotelian cosmology, Maimonides argues that both the matter and the form of the spheres differ from that of the four elements. He then points to several problems with Aristotle’s attempts to explain why the sphere moves from the East and not from the West, and why some spheres move faster than others. Recognizing there are tensions and unresolved issues in Aristotle’s account, Maimonides rejects Aristotle’s explanations on the grounds that “the science of astronomy was not in his [Aristotle’s] time what it is today” (GP 2.19:308). Having rejected Aristotle’s analysis, Maimonides presents his own theory in Guide 2.24, which comprises a critique of Ptolemy. His main thesis is that the underlying premise of Ptolemy’s Almagest, namely that “everything depends on two principles; either that of the epicycles or that of the eccentric spheres or on both of them” (GP 2.24:322), is untenable. Maimonides’ own contention is that these two principles are “entirely outside the bounds of reasoning and opposed to all that has been made clear in natural science” (ibid.). In other words, Maimonides rejects Ptolemaic astronomy on the grounds that it conflicts with Aristotelian physics. The first principle is rejected on the

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grounds that the existence of epicycles implies that that the “epicycle rolls and changes its place completely,” hence undermining the Aristotelian dictum that things in the heavens are immovable. He then offers other considerations, in the name of Abu Bakr, against accepting the doctrine of epicycles. Following this analysis, Maimonides presents the following theoretical perplexity: If what Aristotle has stated with regard to natural science is true, there are no epicycles or eccentric circles and everything revolves round the center of the earth. But in that case how can the various motions of the stars come about? Is it in any way possible that motion should be on the one hand circular, uniform, and perfect, and that on the other hand the things that are observable should be observed in consequence of it, unless this be accounted for by making use of one of the two principles, or of both of them? This consideration is all the stronger because of the fact that if one accepts everything stated by Ptolemy concerning the epicycle of the moon and its deviation toward a point outside the center of the world and also outside the center of the eccentric circle, it will be found that what is calculated on the hypothesis of the two principles is not at fault by even a minute . . . This is the true perplexity. (GP 2.24:326–7)

That Maimonides characterizes an astronomical conundrum as the “true perplexity” in his work devoted to defusing perplexities has not escaped recent scholars.15 The very fact that Maimonides describes this conundrum as a deep perplexity signals to the astute reader that this issue has important ramifications. Maimonides responds to this perplexity by defining the function of the astronomer fairly precisely. Because his presentation is so important, and yet controversial, I have reconstructed Maimonides’ argument in detail: 1 The purpose of the astronomer is not to “tell us in which way the spheres truly are, but to posit an astronomical system in which it would be possible for the motions to be circular and uniform and to correspond to what is apprehended through sight, regardless of whether or not things are thus in fact.”16 2 Aristotle himself never mentioned the eccentricity of the sun because he did not know about it. Had he known the thesis to be true, he himself “would have become most perplexed about all his assumptions on the subject.” 3 Maimonides agrees that what Aristotle has to say about sublunar existence “is in accordance with reasoning.” 4 However, regarding knowledge of superlunar existence, “man grasps nothing but a small measure of what is mathematical; and you know what is in it.”17 5 Maimonides supports this epistemological insight concerning mathematical rigor with “poetical preciousness,” that is, with a quotation from Scripture.

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6 Maimonides then asserts that only God knows the true reality of the heavens while humans do have knowledge of sublunar existence. 7 The heavens are “too far away from us and too high in place and in rank” for humans to know. 8 Even God’s existence cannot be concluded and known on the basis of superlunar events and knowledge. 9 To fatigue the mind with matters that “cannot be grasped by them” is a defect in one’s inborn disposition. 10 Let us therefore leave such matters that “cannot be grasped by reasoning” to one who has been “reached by the divine overflow.” 11 It is possible that somebody else may “find a demonstration by means of which the true reality of what is obscure for me will become clear to him.” 12 At this point Maimonides avers that he has not heard “a demonstration as to anything concerning them [these perplexities].” (GP2.24:326–7) Can we conclude on the basis of this extended argument that Maimonides denies that the heavens can be configured by humans? And if so, how does this reading correlate with the implication of the Mishneh Torah that the heavens can be configured? In other words, we must determine which of these accounts more accurately represents Maimonides’ mature understanding of current astronomy. Does the Mishneh Torah account summarized earlier represent the absolute codification of physical and metaphysical truth, or is it a provisional account of cosmology, subject to change? The description provided in Mishneh Torah would imply that human beings can have the sort of astronomical sophistication required to achieve knowledge of the celestial order; on the other hand, (1), (4), (6), (7), and (11) appear to undercut these implications. Underlying this query lie two deeper, related issues. The first has to do with Maimonides’ attitude toward the alleged incompatibility of astronomical models with Aristotelian physics. For the epicycles utilized by astronomers violate Aristotle’s principles that the motions of the heavens be uniform, circular, and around a fixed center. Nevertheless, as Langermann has pointed out, the results they achieve are quite precise. The second issue raises a broader epistemological concern, namely whether Maimonides believes that the heavens can be configured. The description provided in Mishneh Torah would imply that human beings can have the sort of astronomical sophistication required to achieve knowledge of the celestial order; on the other hand, the argument adduced above appears to undercut these implications. I maintain that the key passages for this interpretation are (7), (9), and (11), all of which emphasize the epistemological limits of human intellect. (7) tells us that the heavens are ontologically beyond human knowledge, (9) warns against pushing human intellect beyond its dispositional limits, and (11) suggests that it is not inconceivable that some mind may find a demonstration of these matters. In order to appreciate these points more fully, let us distinguish

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four different sets of conditions under which humans can be said not to know an entity p: 13 14 15 16

There are certain per se features of p such that knower s cannot know p. There are certain accidental features of p such that s cannot know p. There are certain per se features of knower s such that s cannot know p. There are certain accidental features of s such that s cannot know p.

The real question, then, is in which of these four senses can we say that the heavens are unknowable? (13) and (15) support the contention that the heavens are per se unknowable, either because of the essential configuration of the heavens, or because of certain inherent features of all humans qua human beings. (14) and (16), on the other hand, emphasize that the heavens may or may not be knowable, either because of lack of knowledge, or because of lack of training on the part of the knower; presumably this lack can be surmounted with requisite training, etc. When we return to Maimonides’ passage, we see that only (7) comes close to reflecting (15), namely that the heavens are “too far away,” and unknowable to humans (but not to God). The very recognition that the heavens are knowable to God suggests that it is only due to human limitation that we don’t have full knowledge of the heavens. The other statements all are compatible with (14) or (16): (4) and (7) are entirely ambiguous, whereas (10), (11), and (12) clearly are compatible with (16). My point is that it is only due to the accidental features of some knowers that the heavens are not fully known and comprehended. On my reading of Maimonides, there is nothing in the nature of heavenly configurations per se which precludes their being known. In other words, (13) is not satisfied by any of Maimonides’ statements, and hence there is nothing in the science of astronomy which is per se beyond human grasp. If this is the case, then returning to our original query (1) (in the section above, “Can Humans Know the Superlunar Heavens?”), it is possible for humans (at least theoretically) to achieve knowledge both of God and of the celestial heavens. Maimonides does admit, however, that such knowledge is achieved very rarely, given the esoteric nature of the subject matter.

Conclusion I have tried to argue in this chapter that theological speculation about creation of the universe has both reinforced and been reinforced by philosophical considerations of time and cosmology. Much of Maimonides’ effort has been aimed at showing that the scriptural view of creation is inconsistent with an Aristotelian theory. Aristotelian cosmology represents the acme of modern science for Maimonides, and presents a coherent alternative to creation ex nihilo as presented in Scripture. And yet, Maimonides is unwilling to support Aristotle altogether, as reflected in his comments on Rabbi

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Judah. Maimonides realizes that the Aristotelian eternity thesis has not been definitely demonstrated. Thus while both Platonic and Aristotelian theories of time and matter are important in shaping Maimonides’ modes of discourse pertaining to creation, they are interwoven along with rabbinic material to create an intertextual garment which takes on a life of its own. Maimonides does not want to give up a creator deity altogether, but his God is not the God of Genesis. Maimonides is drawn to an Aristotelian theory of creation, but one tempered by Platonic underpinnings. Because he recognizes that neither can be demonstrated definitively, so he leaves open the door to further inquiry. Given the centrality of demonstrative argument to Maimonides’ analysis, it is clear that the doctrine of Scripture does not pass the test of scientific certainty. And yet, Maimonides realizes there are limits to human understanding: it is not that the heavenly spheres are per se inaccessible to the human intellect, but rather that nobody has yet determined their true configuration. There is nothing in the nature of heavenly configurations per se that precludes their being known. Having argued that, in theory, humans can achieve a full knowledge of superlunar events and states, it follows that Maimonides has not, in Guide 2.24, undermined his own arguments for God’s existence. As Kraemer has argued, Maimonides shows his intellectual integrity by “confessing his own perplexity,” while asserting his belief in the progress of knowledge. Maimonides allows for the possibility that a person with superior intellect might be able to explain some of these aspects. The term “perplexity” is mentioned twice in Guide 2.24, and we cannot help but be reminded of the title of the book. But consider how Maimonides had described the state of perplexity in the introduction to the Guide: We must be careful to distinguish between perplexity and ignorance. In Guide 1.31–4, Maimonides had already laid out the limitations of the human mind, emphasizing that there are things of which the mind by its very nature is incapable of understanding. But Guide 2.24 does not provide such a case. Guide 2.24 reflects the fact that we are presently missing certain pieces of information about reality (14, above), and so we cannot present a conclusive demonstration. Because Aristotle’s celestial physics is incompatible with Ptolemy’s astronomy, the crucial premise of the argument cannot be taken as necessarily true. Without Ibn Tibbon’s emendation, Maimonides would be denying in Guide 2.24 that the argument even constitutes dialectical proof. But with the emendation, Maimonides would still be denying that we have demonstrative proof. What we have learned from Maimonides’ analysis is that with respect to speculation about the celestial heavens, and the theory of creation, the gates are not closed to human inquiry: on the contrary, the gates of inquiry remain open with the possibility that in the future, with further scientific research and knowledge, demonstration will ultimately prevail.

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notes 1 Aristotle’s discussion of the eternity of the universe is contained in several places, most notably De Caelo 1, Physics 8.1, and Metaphysics 12.6. For a recent discussion of these and other relevant passages, see Sorabji (1983). 2 For a detailed presentation of the Kalâm doctrine, see al-Ghazâlî’s discussion in his work The Incoherence of the Philosophers (1997). 3 For details, see Rudavsky (2000). 4 For details of the paradoxes of Zeno, see Rudavsky (2000). 5 The modern scholarly literature on Maimonides’ theory of creation continues to grow. For representative discussions, see Pines (1963); Davidson (1979); W. Harvey (1981b); Klein-Braslavy (1987); Kreisel (1997); Rudavsky (2000); Manekin (2005); Seeskin (2005b). 6 Ravitsky has distinguished at least three ways scholars over the centuries have interpreted and presented Maimonides’ theory of creation. The works of Samuel ibn Tibbon in the thirteenth century and his followers emphasized a secret doctrine on creation, namely that both Aristotle and Mosaic law propound the same truth, and that both must be accepted equally. On this reading of the Guide, the doctrine of Aristotelian eternity can be used to elucidate and uncover Aristotelian wisdom that already appears hidden in Genesis. A more moderate, harmonistically minded camp, claimed that whereas in many areas Maimonides adopted a rationalist approach reflective of Aristotle’s influence, nevertheless on the topic of creation, Maimonides abandoned Aristotle on the grounds that even Aristotle admitted that he had not demonstrated his eternity theory conclusively. On this reading, Maimonides’ secret consists in accepting Aristotle in some, but not all, areas of intellectual and theological concern, hence giving rise to attempts at harmonization when appropriate. A third camp read into the Guide a deliberate attempt to undermine traditional beliefs by propounding a secret doctrine inimical to the Law. Unlike ibn Tibbon who saw the secret as consisting in the close similarity between the Law and Aristotle, Strauss and his followers saw the secret as consisting in an unbridgeable gap between Scripture and philosophy, between law and science. To claim that Maimonides adopts an Aristotelian view of eternity is tantamount, on this reading, to claiming that Maimonides has rejected the veracity and authority of Scripture. To these three views, we must add yet a fourth reading, one that emphasizes Maimonides’ epistemological skepticism with respect to creation. This skepticism carries with it a tacit rejection of the unwavering faith in the scriptural account of creation. For details of these schools of thought, see Ravitzky (1996). 7 For the importance of this passage for subsequent Jewish philosophers, see W. Harvey (1980b, 220ff.). 8 Jacob Neusner (1985). Genesis Rabbah: The Judaic Commentary to the Book of Genesis, Volume I. Chico, CA: Scholars Press, p. 33. 9 For further elaboration of this point, see W. Harvey (1981b, 296); Klein-Braslavy (1987, 81–2, 86–7). 10 See also Guide 1.9:34–5; 2.18:302.

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11

12

13

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An entire issue of Aleph (2008) is devoted to this question, and contains articles by Freudenthal, Stern, Kraemer, Davidson, Langermann, Fraenkel, Ivry, et al. See Freudenthal (2008b) for details. Aristotle, De Caelo, I.2–4; II.4. One of the purposes of aether is to account for the movements of the celestial bodies, which Aristotle argued could not move in the same way as did the terrestrial elements. For according to Aristotle, elements in the sublunar realm were subject to the four kinds of change, while elements comprised of aether only underwent one kind of change: eternally uniform motion in a circle. Another reason was that the four terrestrial elements could not account for the vast distance between the earth and the outermost sphere; only an element not subject to contraries, Aristotle argued, could exist sufficiently long to fill this space. For a discussion of this doctrine of aether, see G. E. R. Lloyd, Early Greek Science: Thales to Aristotle (New York: W. W. Norton, 1970), pp. 109–11. In his two astronomical works Almagest and Hypothesis of the Planets, Ptolemy argued that the planets were carried about by a system of eccentric and epicyclical spheres. In Hypothesis of the Planets he provided the mechanical explanation for his system; this work, although not available in a Latin translation, reached Western Europe most likely through Arabic translations. On Ptolemy’s model, each concentric planetary orb contained at least three partial eccentric and epicyclical spheres. The sphere of the outermost heaven is comprised of the heavens, the four elements, and their composites. In this sphere there is no vacuum: it contains many spheres, “one contained within the other, with no hollows between them and no vacuum in any way whatever” (GP 1.72:184). These spheres are spherical and all move in a “circular uniform motion,” with some spheres moving more rapidly than others. The heaven itself (which encompasses the universe) moves all the other heavens “simultaneously with itself” (ibid.). Maimonides goes on to point out that the heavens have different centers: “The center of some of them is identical with the center of the world, while the center of others is eccentric to the center of the world” (ibid.). It is here that he clearly acknowledges the existence of eccentric orbits. The total number of spheres is at least 18. It is a matter of speculation, Maimonides avers, “whether there are epicycles, that is, spheres that do not encompass the world” (ibid.). See Langermann (2008) and Kraemer (2008c). Ibid. Compare this characterization with Guide 2.11: “Now the master of astronomy does not mind this [that there has been no demonstration whether the sun has an eccentric sphere or an epicycle], for the object of that science is to suppose as a hypothesis an arrangement that renders it possible for the motion of the star to be uniform and circular . . .” On the basis of this and similar passages, Goldstein and others have concluded that Maimonides has compartmentalized physics and astronomy, such that the astronomer is seemingly free to base his calculations on any mathematical model he invents that can produce agreement with the observations. See Bernard R. Goldstein, The Astronomy of Levi ben Gerson (1288–1344): A Critical Edition of Chapters 1–20 (New York: Springer Verlag, 1985), p. 6. This sentence is ambiguous in that it is not clear whether this is Maimonides’ own perspective, or his understanding of what Aristotle thought.

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further reading Davidson, Herbert A., “Maimonides’ Secret Position on Creation,” in Isadore Twersky (ed.), Studies in Medieval Jewish History and Literature, 2 vols (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1979), vol. I, 16–40. Davidson, Herbert A., “Maimonides on Metaphysical Knowledge,” Maimonidean Studies 3 (1992–3), 49–103. Freudenthal, Gad, “Maimonides on the Knowability of the Heavens and of Their Mover: (Guide 2:24),” Aleph 8 (2008), 151–7. Harvey, Warren Zev, “A Third Approach to Maimonides’ Cosmology Prophetology Puzzle,” Harvard Theological Review 74 (1981), 287–301. Klein-Braslavy, Sara, Maimonides’ Interpretation of the Story of Creation (Jerusalem: R. Mas Publ., 1987). [Hebrew] Kraemer, Joel, “Is There a Text in This Class?” Aleph 8 (2008), 350–409. Langermann, Y. Tzvi, “My Truest Perplexities,” Aleph 8 (2008), 301–17. Ravitzky, Aviezer, History and Faith: Studies in Jewish Philosophy (Amsterdam: J. C. Gieben, 1996). Rudavsky, T. M., Time Matters: Time, Creation and Cosmology in Medieval Jewish Philosophy (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 2000).

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chapter 5

philosophical anthropology aimonides’ theory of human nature incorporates a number of interrelated issues regarding the soul, the relation between the soul and body, and the doctrine of the afterlife. More specifically, we must examine the following issues: What is the soul, and how is it related to the body? If the soul is part of the body, does it perish along with the destruction of the body, or does a part of the soul survive? If part of the soul is immortal, can it acquire new knowledge after death? Is the body resurrected in the world to come, or is salvation purely spiritual? If salvation is spiritual, are rewards and punishments in the world to come spiritual as well, or are they material? Maimonides’ responses to these interrelated issues reinforce themes we have seen discussed in Chapter 3, and reflect an attempt to reconcile Jewish beliefs with the views set forth by the ancient Greek philosophers. Chapters 5, 8, and 9 focus upon aspects of Maimonides’ philosophical anthropology. In this chapter we turn our attention to the relationship between body and soul, form and matter, while in Chapters 8 and 9 we shall examine the implications of these issues to Maimonides’ moral theory, his discussion of happiness and the end of human existence. These three chapters underscore the importance played by the material principle, and corporeality, in Maimonides’ ontology. I shall argue in each of the chapters that Maimonides’ extreme ambivalence to bodies and corporeality affects much of what he has to say about human behavior. While it is not unlikely that his ambivalence stems in part from his medical activities, his views are deeply rooted in Neoplatonic ontology and cosmology. We shall start in the present chapter with the unique status of human beings in Maimonides’ ontology. What distinguishes humans from animals is the rational faculty, and what distinguishes humans from both God and celestial substances is their material composition. We must therefore explore in greater detail both matter and form, exemplified by corporeality and by rational intellect respectively. We then turn to an issue that occupied many medieval Jewish, Christian, and Islamic philosophers, namely whether immortality is personal or general. This issue appeared in medieval Jewish texts primarily within the context of problems associated with individuation of the soul. More specifically, starting with Ibn Gabirol’s characterization of a universal hylomorphism and continuing throughout the Jewish Neoplatonic tradition, Jewish philosophers, along with

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their scholastic peers, have been concerned with whether matter is sufficient to particularize hylomorphic entities. The Neoplatonic emanation scheme forced philosophers to offer an explanation for the very existence of material entities: how, within an ontology that emphasizes the unity of the whole of substance, does one account for the proliferation of entities within a predominantly non-physical hierarchy? Further, Jewish philosophers were clearly influenced by the Islamic controversy over the unity/plurality of forms.1 Jewish discussions took several dimensions. First, in light of the fact that the soul is the form of the body, does it retain its individuality upon separation from the body? And second, philosophers were concerned with the implications of their views with respect to the process of knowledge; that is, the connection obtaining between human intellect and the active intellect, as characterized by Avicenna and Averroes. Maimonides’ position on this latter issue will have enormous implications for his theory of retribution (Chapter 7) and human perfection (Chapter 9). We end this chapter with a brief discussion of Maimonides’ views on resurrection of the body.

The Status of Humans in Maimonides’ Ontology As we have seen in Chapter 4, Maimonides’ positioning of human beings in the world reflects standard Neoplatonic hierarchy. At the top of hierarchy is the incorporeal Deity, followed by incorporeal, angelic intelligences, the celestial spheres, and then sublunar entities including human beings, animals, and plants. The intellect of the spheres is described in several passages (see Guide 1.72, 2.4, 2.5, and 2.10). As in Aristotle’s De Anima, soul is defined as the moving principle of an object. Maimonides maintains that since only an object endowed with a soul has motion, and spheres clearly move in a circular fashion, it follows that the spheres have souls. There must also be something inciting the spheres to motion, namely, a conceiving and a desire for that which has been conceived (what Aristotle calls a “final cause,” or that toward which all things aim). This can only come about through an intellect (GP 2.10:271). In the Mishneh Torah, Maimonides claims that the intellect of each sphere is vastly superior to that of humans, and possesses a more profound knowledge of the non-corporeal world (HYT 3.18). But in the Guide, Maimonides posits a similarity between the human intellect in actu and the intellect of the spheres. Following al-Fârâbî, Maimonides introduces a type of intellect possessed only by humans, namely the acquired intellect. This acquired intellect is superior to the intellect of the spheres since it is free of matter: it is not a faculty in the body but is “truly separate from the organic body and overflows toward it” (GP 1.72:193). This intellect can only be attained after one has studied all the sciences. As we shall see below in the section “Immortality of the Soul,” Maimonides limits human immortality to this intellect alone. And so, with the aid of the acquired intellect, humans – at least theoretically – can transcend

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the spheres in that they can rid themselves of matter altogether; human immortality is thus dependent upon the attainment of a “separate intellect” entirely devoid of matter. Of course, it is not clear whether humans can actually achieve this level of spiritual and intellectual perfection. As we have seen in Chapter 4, Pines and other recent scholars have argued that ultimately Maimonides rejected the possibility of humans achieving this level of perfection, hence denying any form of human immortality. We shall revisit this question in “Immortality of the Soul” below.

Matter, Privation, and Evil Unlike many of his Islamic and scholastic contemporaries, Maimonides does not develop the notions of matter and form into a cohesive theory. His characterization of matter and form, albeit sketchy, combines elements taken from both Neoplatonic and Aristotelian ontology. The Neoplatonists emphasized matter as the source of privation, evil, and all moral transgressions, while the Aristotelians supported a scientific study of matter as the underlying principle of generation and corruption. As ontological principles, matter, form, and privation are what render sublunar existence intelligible. Maimonides accepts in many of his discussions Aristotle’s hylomorphic ontology, according to which matter and form combine to create a single compound entity: on a hylomorphic ontology, matter and form are always combined, and can never exist apart from each other. But Maimonides follows the Neoplatonist ontology in positing matter as the cause of evil, thus introducing an ethical component into his ontological categories. This twofold characterization of matter (Aristotelian and Neoplatonist) has profound implications for the doctrine of individuation, for it affects the way Maimonides regards both material and immaterial things. Maimonides mentions the creation of prime matter in Guide 1.28, when he explains the meaning of the biblical terms referring to divine limbs that appeared in the account of the intellectual apprehension of Moses, Aaron, and the elders of Israel: “for what they apprehended was the true reality of prime matter, which derives from Him . . . He being the cause of its existence . . .” (GP 1.28:61). From this statement it is clear that prime matter derives from God. In Guide 2.17, Maimonides returns to the topic of prime matter, reiterating that it was brought into existence out of nothing, that it is everlasting, and it does not exist devoid of form. After summarizing the salient aspects of Aristotelianism, Maimonides suggests that he accepts the bulk of Aristotle’s metaphysical scheme and returns to the notion of “individuals” (ishim), which result from the combination of the four elements. Individuals comprise humans and other animals, vegetables, stones and minerals. Speaking of these individuals, Maimonides presents a hylomorphic ontology, namely one according to which “you can never see matter without form, or form without matter” (HYT 4.7:39a). The human mind mentally divides an existing body

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into its constituents and recognizes that it is made up of matter and form; this process is both epistemological and ontological. The hylomorphic composition of individual things is described further in Guide 2, prop. 22, as follows: “Every body is necessarily composed of two things and is necessarily accompanied by accidents. The two things constituting it are its matter [homer] and its form [tsurah]; and the accidents accompanying it are quantity, shape and position” (GP 2.Intro:238). That matter is the principle of possibility is expressed as follows: “Whatsoever is something in potentia is necessarily endowed with matter, for possibility is always in matter” (GP 2.Intro:239). The passivity of matter as contrasted to the activity of form is emphasized as well: “Matter, as you know, is always receptive and passive, if one considers its essence, and is not active except by accident. Form, on the other hand, is in its essence always active, . . . and is passive only by accident” (GP 1.28:61). These characterizations of matter and form in terms of activity and passivity, actuality and potentiality, reflect standard Aristotelian terminology. But Maimonides superimposes Neoplatonic elements onto this Aristotelian characterization of matter when he argues that matter and evil are ultimately non-existent. The ethical connotations of this conception of matter are borne out in Maimonides’ extended commentary upon the analogy developed in Proverbs, in which Maimonides clearly identifies matter with sexual license: [1] All bodies subject to generation and corruption are attained by corruption only because of their matter . . . The nature and true reality of matter are such that it never ceases to be joined to privation; hence no form remains constantly in it, for it perpetually puts off one form and puts on another. How extraordinary is what Solomon said in his wisdom when likening matter to a married harlot (Prov 6.26), for matter is in no way found without form and is consequently always like a married woman who is never separated from a man, and is never free. However, notwithstanding her being a married woman, she never ceases to seek for another man to substitute for her husband, and she deceives and draws him on in every way until he obtains from her what her husband used to obtain. This is the state of matter. (GP 3.8:430–1) [2] It has then become clear that all passing-away and corruption or deficiency are due solely to matter. . . . Similarly every living being dies and becomes ill solely because of its matter and not because of its form. All man’s acts of disobedience and sins are consequent upon his matter and not upon his form, whereas all his virtues are consequent upon his form. (GP 3.8:431) [3] Matter is a strong veil preventing the apprehension of that which is separate from matter as it truly is. It does this even if it is the noblest and purest matter, I mean to say even if it is the matter of the heavenly spheres. All the more is this true for the dark and turbid matter that is ours. Hence whenever

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our intellect aspires to apprehend the deity or one of the intellects, there subsists this great veil interposed between the two. This is alluded to in all the books of the prophets; namely that we are separated by a veil from God and that He is hidden from us by a heavy cloud, or by darkness or by a mist or by an enveloping cloud, and similar allusions to our incapacity to apprehend Him because of matter . . . And though that great assembly was greater than any vision of prophecy and beyond any analogy, it also indicated a notion; I refer to His manifestation . . . in a thick cloud. For it draws attention to the fact that the apprehension of His true reality is impossible for us because of the dark matter that encompasses us and not Him . . . for He . . . is not a body. (GP 3.9:43–7)

In this important passage, Maimonides introduces many points that run throughout his Guide. Echoing the Neoplatonic dictum that matter is the root of corporeal evil (passage 2 above), Maimonides urges humans not to follow their bestial or material nature, since it is matter that stands in the way of human perfection. We shall return to this point in Chapter 7, in the context of the problem of evil. Maimonides tells us that matter acts as a veil, a barrier, to human knowledge of God, suggesting that ultimately no human can achieve knowledge of God (3). We shall return to the implications of this veil motif in the section below, entitled “Immortality of the Soul,” where Maimonides states that corporeal bodies stand in the way of knowledge of God, and ultimate intellectual perfection. In (1), Solomon’s parable is expanded further in light of the inherent corruptibility of matter. Just as a harlot is never satisfied with just one man, so too Maimonides construes matter as constantly flitting from one form to another; and just as a harlot is responsible for indulgence and vice in a man, so too is matter seen as the principle of evil and decay in humans. Having claimed that matter is a veil that prohibits the ultimate apprehension of formal reality (GP 3.9:436), Maimonides goes on to argue that evil, and in particular its material instantiation, represents a privation, or lack: “all the evils are privations with which an act is only connected in the way we have explained: namely, through the fact that God has brought matter into existence provided with the nature it has – namely a nature that consists in matter always being a concomitant of privation, as is known” (GP 3.9:440). What does it mean to say that the material instantiation of evil is a privation? This statement has ontological as well as ethical significance. Ontologically, Maimonides is suggesting that ultimately matter has no positive status of its own. That is, echoing Plotinus, Maimonides characterizes matter as a “non-existent,” a “nothing.” To summarize, Maimonides has presented a hylomorphic picture according to which individual things are composed of both a material and a formal principle. Following Aristotle, matter is associated with potentiality and form with actuality. Echoing Neoplatonic motifs, however, matter represents absolute privation or lack of being. One ramification of this Neoplatonic chord is that on an ontological level material things, inasmuch as they are composed of matter, are not accorded as much reality as purely formal things. We cannot

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overemphasize the importance of Maimonides’ concept of matter. In Chapter 6 we shall discuss the implications of this theory when we turn to Maimonides’ theory of imagination, and in Chapter 7 we shall see the import of Maimonides’ conception of matter in the context of his theodicy. Finally, as we shall see below and in Chapter 9, this depiction of matter spills over into Maimonides’ conception of ultimate perfection.

Accounting for Multiplicity of Persons Inasmuch as all sublunar entities, including human beings, are composed of matter and form, how do we differentiate or individuate these entities from one another? Several issues must be distinguished. First, we must account for the age-old philosophical problem traceable back to the Presocratics and Plato, namely how to account for multiplicity, or the existence of particulars (the problem of particularization). We have already alluded to this problem in Chapter 2, in the context of the “Argument from Particularization.” Furthermore, we must consider how we know individuals and recognize their distinctiveness from one another, that is, our ability to pick them out; this becomes an important topic once we consider God’s ability to know “me” and reward “me” for my actions. Finally, we must consider the specific problem of identity through time – the conditions under which an individual can be said to remain “the same over time” despite its having undergone substantial change; this final question is relevant to my being able to identify my “self” in the afterlife with my present “self.” In concert with these issues, we must consider what it is that distinguishes one human being’s abilities from another. We have alluded generally to Maimonides’ intellectual elitism on several occasions; but now we must consider what actually accounts for different abilities, both physical and intellectual, among various humans, and why one person can achieve intellectual excellence while another cannot.

Particularization and individuation Maimonides addresses the issues of particularization and individuation in terms of the difference among things: given that all things in the sublunar universe have one common substance, why, then, are the species, as well as the individuals within each species, different from one another?2 Maimonides follows al-Fârâbî’s lead in discussing this issue. In Guide 1.72, Maimonides draws a comparison between the universe as a whole and a human being, based on the relation between wholes and parts. First, this whole of being is one individual and nothing else. What he means is that the world is considered to be a whole in the same way that a human being, despite its many parts, is a whole: just as Zayd, for instance, is one individual and is at the same time composed of various parts of the body, so too the universe is an individual. Since there is no vacuum in the sphere, all of its parts, like that of an individual,

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are connected, and soul is its moving principle. According to this analogy, the universe is “one individual being” whose parts constitute a single entity. Just as the members of the human body cannot exist by themselves, so too the parts of the universe cannot exist independent of one another (GP 1.72:184). However, with respect to the heavenly spheres, Maimonides makes several important stipulations. Although the heavens are material, its matter differs from that of humans (GP 1.58:136). But, more important, the terms “matter” and “body,” when used of humans and the heavenly bodies, are equivocal and have totally different referents (GP 3.19:305). This is not to say that the spheres are individuated on the basis of their matter; rather, Maimonides follows the Aristotelian doctrine that the soul of each heavenly sphere (its moving principle) is a separate intelligence (GP 2.4:256). Maimonides summarizes the Aristotelian response according to which prime matter is transformed into the four elements each with different qualities; these in turn form the basis for the myriad compounds found in the sublunar spheres. Since matter has great latitude with respect to its specific forms, the individuals of the species differ in a way corresponding to this latitude (GP 2.19:304). Maimonides agrees with Aristotle that differences in the spherical motions imply that they have different forms. The question was already broached in the Mishneh Torah in the context of angelic substances. In what way are these forms (angels) different from each other, seeing that they are incorporeal? Maimonides answers that in their essential being, they are not equal. Angelic substances exist by virtue of their energy, and so it is this energy output, and the rank corresponding to this output, that accounts for individuation (HYT 2.5:35b–36a). But despite their incorporeal nature, even the angels do not have full knowledge of God: while all these forms possess a knowledge of God that is exceedingly great, “even the highest class of angels cannot attain to a knowledge of the truth concerning God as He really is. For this, their capacities are insufficient.” Maimonides reminds us, however, that they do attain to a knowledge beyond that of humans, who “consisting of matter as well as form, cannot attain” (HYT 2.8:36a). But what about human beings? Can we draw a comparison between the heavenly spheres and the human soul? Maimonides warns us, for a number of reasons, not to draw too strong an analogy between the two, for inasmuch as the motions of the spheres differ from one another, it stands to reason that the explanation of these differences must reside in their form. Following Aristotle, Maimonides claims that there exist separate intellects whose number is equal to that of the spheres. Every sphere desires the intellect that is its principle and mover. Inasmuch as these intellects are separate from matter, “no multiplicity due to a difference between their essences is at all possible with regard to them because they are not bodies” (GP 2.4:258). Maimonides concludes that every intellect, and hence every sphere, is distinguished from the others with respect to its motive powers (GP 2.4:259). Reflecting al-Fârâbî, Maimonides argues that differences among humans are more pronounced than that among other species (e.g. dogs, cats) and can be accounted for on material grounds: the cause

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of individual difference among humans is due to “the difference of the mixtures [or temperaments] owing to which the various kinds of matter differ, and also the accidents consequent to the form in question” (GP 2.40:381).

Maimonides’ psycho-physical determinism More particularly, however, Maimonides must explain the many specific differences to be found among human beings in various parts of the world. Ptolemy had already laid the groundwork with his theory of “astrologicalclimatology.” Consider for example Ptolemy’s statement in Tetrabiblios that “the people who live under the more southern parallels . . . since they have the sun over their heads and they are burned by it . . . are sanguine of nature . . .” (Ptolemy 1940, 120–3). According to Ptolemy’s theory, where one lives, the type of climate, etc. determine whether and to what extent an individual or community can reach intellectual perfection. Ptolemy’s theory was extremely influential in medieval thought,3 and was incorporated into Jewish philosophy, as evidenced in the works of Judah Halevi and Abraham ibn Ezra, both of whom emphasized the importance of geographical location for intellectual perfection. Halevi, for example, argued in his work The Kuzari that Jerusalem (and Israel) are the most perfect geographical locations in which to achieve intellectual perfection in general, and that living in Israel is a necessary precondition for prophecy. Numerous comments in both the halakhic works and the Guide reflect a theory of psycho-physical determinism, one which incorporates a general “astrological-climatological” component.4 Maimonides is clearly aware of the astrological significance of the quasi-mystical Jewish work Sefer Yetzirah, which emphasized the power of the celestial spheres upon human temperament and character (a topic to which we shall return in Chapter 7). Maimonides is equally aware of al-Fârâbî’s treatises on the topic, and mentions Galen’s view that the faculties of the soul follow upon physiology. Explaining why we all speak different languages, Maimonides summarizes Galen as follows: “the differences in the pronunciation of the elements of speech and the differences of the organs of speech are in accordance with the nature of the different climates, meaning the differences in body constitution and the difference in the form of their organs and the internal and external measurements.”5 He then continues, and explains that “in his Book of Elements, Abu Nasser al-Fârâbî mentioned that people living in temperate climes are more perfect in intelligence and in general, have more pleasant forms, that is, their shape is more orderly, the composition of their organs is better and their constitution is better proportioned than people living in the far northern or southern climes” (MA 25.57–58:430). Other passages in the Guide attest to psycho-physical differences among people, leading to what recent scholars have described as a form of “biological” or “intellectual” elitism. We have mentioned on numerous occasions Maimonides’ comments to the effect that “there are great differences between people” (GP 1.31:65). That humans, in terms of their intellectual capacities, are

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born unequal is indisputable. As we shall see in the next chapter, Maimonides argues that one’s ability to become a prophet is dependent upon one’s physical constitution; he notes in particular that bodily perfection, which leads to perfection of the imaginative faculty (which is necessary for prophecy), is consequent upon “the best possible temperament, the best possible size, and the purest possible matter” (GP 2.36:369). Obviously we have no control over the type of body we inherit, and so our ability to achieve prophecy is to a great extent determined by our physical constitution. In a similar vein (as we shall discuss further in Chapter 8) providence itself is consequent upon physical perfection: the very fact that one person receives the overflow that leads to Divine Providence, and another does not, is due to the “disposition of his matter and his training.” Providence is “graded as their human perfection is graded,” which grading is itself dependent upon psycho-physical elements over which a person has little control. Those who, because of their imperfect constitution, are ignorant and disobedient are no different in rank from animals; Maimonides even suggests that “it is a light thing to kill them, and has been even enjoined because of its utility” (GP 3.18:475). From these comments, it is clear that one’s material composition – one’s bodily constitution, brain perfection, and physical location – enter into consideration of one’s behavior and abilities.

Maimonides and astrological determinism Another way to think about determinism is through the role played by astrology. Astrology has always occupied a contentious place in Jewish thought. Most Jewish philosophers supported natural astrology, the view that to some extent the celestial bodies do affect sublunar life and existence. Aristotle had laid the groundwork for the theory that these bodies were responsible for the growth and sustenance of sublunar entities. That the sun and moon both affect natural cycles and events on earth is unequivocal and represents a classic paradigm of natural astrology. The calculations of natural astrology overlapped those of astronomy, and could be utilized for practical purposes such as fixing the calendar. The real question, then, concerns the coherence of judicial astrology, that is, the extent to which the stars and planets exerted an influence over human events in general or, more particularly, over those actions that entail human choice and personal destiny. On the one hand, judicial astrology was derisively dismissed in the Bible, identified with idolatry and pagan star worship.6 On the other hand, astrology was an accepted practical science that permeated ordinary life in the medieval and ancient world. In rabbinic texts, there are passing references to divination by means of planets. The rabbis were especially ambivalent about the role played by astrology, as evidenced by the fact that every person was seen to have a patron star (mazal) that determined his destiny. Maimonides had addressed the issue of astrological determinism already in the Mishneh Torah, where he presented astrology as a threat to theories of

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divine retribution. In the context of his discussion of free will, Maimonides notes that if there were some force inherent in a person’s nature that drew him to a particular course, or if there existed a special branch of knowledge, as the “foolish astrologers, out of their own fancy, pretend,” that affected one’s actions, we could not make sense of morality, the commandments, the entire system of reward and punishment (R 5.4:87a). This concern reappears in his Letter on Astrology as well. As we noted in Chapter 1, the rabbis of southern France had written a letter to Maimonides articulating their worries about astrological determinism. In this letter, the rabbis quote the responsum of Rabbis Sherira and Hai who distinguished two types of astrology. The first (hard astrology) attributes all human actions to the stars, even “a man’s movements and even his inner thoughts depend on the stars,” while the second type (soft astrology) maintains that humans can contravene the stars – they can “by means of his knowledge, overcome what has been predetermined by the stars” (Sela 2004, 101). The rabbis were worried primarily about the implications of hard astrology: if celestial beings have a causal effect upon events in the sublunar universe, would this not affect theories of personal responsibility and retribution? In his response to the rabbis’ concerns, Maimonides claims that “there is no influence or constellation under which one is born that will draw him in any manner toward any of these ways” (LA 470). Furthermore, he claims that if astrology were true, “of what utility would the Torah and the commandment and the Talmud be to a particular individual?” (LA 471). The real philosophical concern, then, and the one to which Maimonides devotes the most attention both in the Letter and in the Guide, concerns the relation between judicial and natural astrology. In the Guide, Maimonides suggests that what leads people to believe in astrology is their confusion of the difference between overflow and powers of the celestial bodies. Philosophers all agree that the governance of the lower world is “brought about through the forces overflowing from the spheres” (GP 2.10:269). Maimonides extends this dictum to include the notion that sublunar entities have an astrological sign (mazal) associated with them: “even individuals subject to generation have forces of the stars that are specially assigned to them” (GP 2.10:270). Powers of the stars, however, obey the laws of physics and, being corporeal, should not be confused with overflow. In accordance with the laws of physics, these astral forces decrease over time and distance. Maimonides repeatedly states that stars exert their influence only as bodies acting upon other bodies (GP 1.72; 2.12; 2.6). This position reflects Aristotle’s dictum that bodies alone can set other bodies in motion. Furthermore, Maimonides follows the Aristotelian scheme of assigning intelligences to the orbs. But what powers do these orbs have? While accepting the metaphysical importance of these celestial beings in his cosmology, nevertheless he limits their power to the physical realm, thus eschewing the inference to astrology. At stake are two issues. The first issue has to do with general teleology or, more pointedly, the final cause of the heavenly bodies. Maimonides clearly

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asserts that “governance overflows from the deity, may he be exalted, to the intellects according to their rank” (GP 2.11:275). But since the more perfect superlunar entities (the celestial orbs) do not exist for the sake of the less perfect sublunar entities, it is difficult to claim that they were created with the intention of determining human behavior (see GP 3.15). And so one’s personal destiny, and personality, are not affected by the stars. The second issue has to do with the negative implications of astrology with respect to human freedom. Maimonides repeatedly points to the inverse relation between the two. If humans did not have free choice, how would we account for human responsibility, and reward and punishment? On this line of argument, upholding free choice necessarily entails rejecting astrological determinism. If actions traceable to human will and intention differ from events resulting from natural causes alone, it might be that those causes that motivate rational choice cannot be traced back to the stars. But, as I shall maintain in Chapter 7, whether Maimonides is in fact a proponent of free choice is an open question. In other words, Maimonides’ apparent rejection of astrology on the grounds that it rules out human freedom is only convincing if we are right in concluding that Maimonides is in fact a proponent of human freedom.

The Constitution of Soul and Body The nature of the soul Maimonides did not leave us an extended treatise or treatment of the soul, and so his views must be pieced together from a variety of sources, including the Guide, the Mishneh Torah, Pereq Heleq, and the Eight Chapters. On the topic of the soul, and the ethical issues arising out his conception of soul, Maimonides was very much influenced by al-Fârâbî, who combined Aristotelian cosmology and psychology with Neoplatonic metaphysics and Platonic political thought. Al-Fârâbî’s work Aphorisms of the Statesman (Fusûl alMadanî ) introduced Maimonides to many of these elements. The work Fusûl is cited by Maimonides’ pupil and is referenced by Maimonides in his Aphorisms. Like al-Fârâbî, Maimonides tells us that psychology is a necessary preparation for the study of ethics, and for the study of Law. We find in Maimonides’ works several explanations for the terms nefesh and ruah, which designate soul. In the Mishneh Torah, Maimonides presents soul as the intellectual form of the body: the “vital principle [nefesh]” of all flesh is the form given to it by God. The specific form of the human is the intellect: “it is the intellect which is the human soul’s specific form” (HYT 4.8:39a). This form is frequently called nefesh or ruah in Scripture. Maimonides continues in this text to assert that this “form of the soul” is not destroyed but endures forever, a point to which we shall return below. In the context of his analysis of the words for soul, Maimonides turns to the word “air” (ruah), noting that it is

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an equivocal term having numerous meanings. One of its meanings is “the thing that remains of man after his death and that does not undergo passing away” (GP 1.40:90). He then turns to the word “soul” (nefesh), which also is an equivocal term. It can denote the animal soul common to every sentient being; or to the rational soul, “the form of man,” or to the “thing that remains of man after death” (GP 1.41:91). More specifically, Maimonides assigns to the biblical term nefesh the Aristotelian tripartite soul divided into nutritive, sensory, and rational faculties. In Eight Chapters Maimonides mentions the views of the “most eminent physician” (Galen) who stated that there are three souls: natural, vital, and psychic. But Maimonides is careful to point out that by talking about powers or parts, we are not speaking of parts in the way that bodies are divided into parts. Maimonides claims that there are five parts of the soul: nutritive, sentient, imaginative, appetitive, and rational (EC 1:61).7 The parts of the soul are species specific: the nutritive part of a human soul is not the same as that of a donkey or a horse, or a tree. So too with the “sentient” part of the soul: every species having a soul possesses a unique soul, different from the soul of another (species) (EC 1.62). The nutritive part of the soul consists in seven powers: attracting, retaining, digesting, excreting, growing, procreating, and separating mixtures (nourishment vs. excretions). These powers are the concern of medicine, and so Maimonides puts them aside. The sentient part consists of the five external senses: sight, hearing, taste, smell, and touch. The imaginative part is that which preserves the impressions of sensibly perceived objects after they vanish from the immediacy of the senses that perceived them. The imaginative power puts together many impossible things, and so must be approached carefully. The appetitive part is that by which a person desires or is repulsed by things. The passions arise out of this part. The moral virtues are found only in the appetitive and sentient parts, and do not apply to the nutritive or imaginative parts (EC 1:63). Among powers of the soul, two are of special significance: imagination and reason. The imagination is described in numerous passages in the Guide,8 and we will discuss its importance in the context of prophecy (Chapter 6). The rational part is that power by which humans perceive intelligibles, deliberate, acquire the sciences, and distinguish between base and noble acts (EC 1:63). It is what distinguishes humans from other species, and is the faculty to which the scriptural verse “let us make man in our image” refers. The function of the rational faculty is to rule all the parts of the body in such a way that all the other parts acquiesce to reason (GP 1.72:191). The rational faculty is thus “very noble indeed,” and includes both theoretical and practical powers. By means of the theoretical intellect, humans know “the essence of the unchanging beings” (EC 1:63). In the Guide, Maimonides emphasizes that the rational faculty subsists in a body and is not separable from it (GP 1.72:192). Since the soul is the form of a body possessing life, it is inseparable from the body in the same way that form is inseparable from matter. It is indivisible and specific to its species.

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Maimonides uses Genesis 1:26–7 to emphasize the importance of intellectual apprehension. Genesis tells us that humans were created “in the image of God,” implying that it is our intellect, and our ability to think, that links us to God. According to Neoplatonist ontology, in which the spheres form part of a cosmic chain of being, the last intellect in this emanated chain of spheres is what Islamic philosophers called the Active Intellect. Maimonides follows al-Fârâbî and Avicenna in positing the Active Intellect as the final link in the chain, serving as an intermediary between the superlunar and the sublunar spheres. The Active Intellect serves as the link between God and humans: it is a giver of forms, and as such plays a crucial role in the formation of existence. The Active Intellect plays a crucial role in the process of human knowledge and prophecy as well, and it serves as a foundation for immortality. Maimonides tells us that humans possess a unique property not found in any other species, namely “intellectual apprehension.” Active Intellect represents this conjunction between the human and divine intellects, and represents the image (tzelem) between us and God.

The body and its relation to the soul As a medical doctor, Maimonides had ample opportunity to study and deal with physical bodies. As we mentioned in the introductory chapter, Maimonides did know the medical works of Galen, al-Râzî, Avicenna, and others, and in the later years of his life he devoted himself to medicine and medical writing. In the Guide, Maimonides describes the parts and functions of the body, notes the doctrine of the four humors, describes anomalies in bodies, etc. (GP 1.72:187–8). He reminds us repeatedly that the soul is inextricably linked with the body, and in most contexts he acknowledges the importance of maintaining overall physical health, if only to improve psychic health. Much of Maimonides’ focus upon bodies and bodily functions, not surprisingly, occurs in the ethical and medical works.9 Following al-Fârâbî, Maimonides draws an extended analogy between soul and body, on the one hand, and soulpractitioner and physician, on the other hand. The sickness of the soul, claimed al-Fârâbî, consists in its doing wicked and ugly deeds (Fusûl 1.1, p. 27). In order to treat the soul, the statesman and king requires “knowledge of the soul as a whole, the parts of the soul, the defects and vices which are liable to affect it and every part of it . . .” (Fusûl 1.4, p. 28). So, too, we find Maimonides commenting that a healthy soul is one that “always does good and fine things and performs noble actions,” whereas a diseased soul “always does bad and ugly things and performs base actions” (EC 3:65). Similarly in Character Traits, Maimonides says that just as those whose bodies are sick often desire foods that are deleterious, so too those souls that are sick often “crave and love the bad character traits and hate the good way” (CT 2.1:31). Just as the physician who cures the body must have a perfect knowledge of the body, so must the soul-practitioner who improves its moral qualities have a perfect idea of what makes the soul sick and what preserves its health.

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In both his medical and ethical works Maimonides warns against allowing the passions to get the better of one’s soul. Arguing that a main cause of disorder was the passions, he advocates a psycho-physical system whereby the passions are regulated. The process he describes in Eight Chapters very much reflects Socratic and Stoic ideas, in which we live in harmony with the natural order, unmoved by the passions. Maimonides follows Galen in emphasizing the interdependence of body and soul; in his Regimen of Health, Maimonides provides a complete psychotherapy to achieve psychic and physical equilibrium. The purpose of the physician is to keep the patient’s emotions in balance at all times, since cheerfulness can help to alleviate and cure sickness. Take for example a person who is irascible; another who is even-tempered; one person is proud, another exceedingly meek. Between all these extremes are intermediate dispositions to be emulated by the patient. In his work On the Causes of Symptoms, Maimonides turns from psychotherapy to medical treatment. His Treatise on Asthma depicts asthma as a psychosomatic illness amenable to both correct diet and spiritual treatment. Written for a person of high rank (whose name we do not know), it comprises a regimen of health for his patient. Maimonides knew that asthma, like many other recurring diseases, was almost impossible to cure, and so he advocated a sensible health regimen that would at least lead to good health (On Asthma 1.1). The Regimen of Health and the Treatise on the Causes of Symptoms were both written for the Vizier Al-Mallik al-Fâdil, who suffered from depression. In these works, Maimonides provides prescriptions of diet, physical exercise, proper breathing, sexual moderation, music, and walks in pleasant surroundings, as well as the study of philosophy. So, too, in his Eight Chapters he introduces behavior modification and psychotherapy to treat the melancholic or depressed individual: he advocates listening to beautiful music, strolling through gardens and beautiful buildings, and thus banishing the disturbance of depression. Because it is so important for the soul to cultivate a healthy body, Maimonides permits many types of behavior otherwise outlawed by the law. But as Kraemer notes, his diagnosis of melancholy is beset by contradictions. While he cured his own depression by intense study and contemplation, Maimonides also noted that intense scientific activity can bring on depression (see Kraemer 2008c). Ultimately, though, the function of good physical health is to promote sound psychic health: is important to keep the body healthy in order to achieve knowledge of God. Bodily health is not a good in and of itself, but only as a means to support health of the soul: “for it is impossible for him to understand and reflect upon wisdom when he is sick or when one of his limbs is in pain” (CT 3.3:35). Maimonides then gives a number of directives how to maintain bodily health. These include eating moderately, taking a walk before eating, not eating while walking, sleeping the proper number of hours (eight), sleeping on one’ side, always eating light food before heavy food, how best to conduct sexual intercourse, etc.

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On sexuality and bodily urges The interconnections between physical and psychic health are underscored by Maimonides’ comments on sexuality. Maimonides approaches the issue of sexual health from the perspective not only of a medical doctor, but as philosopher and halakhist as well. In Character Traits he emphasizes the importance of engaging in sex not for the sake of pleasure, but “to make his body healthy or to maintain the species” (CT 3.2:35). In this passage, sexual intercourse, along with eating and drinking, is treated as a biological need, and biological needs must all be regulated by medicine. Maimonides is even more explicit in describing the conditions under which one must, and ought, to have sexual intercourse: when a man (and the discussion of sexuality is clearly from the male perspective) cannot control involuntary erections, and he feels a heaviness in his loins and his flesh is hot, this person “needs to have sexual intercourse, and it is medicinal for him to have sexual intercourse” (CT 4.19:40). Too much sex, however, is detrimental to one’s health and leads to bodily degeneration: “anyone who overindulges in sex, old age leaps upon him; his power fails; his eyes become dim; a bad odor exudes from his mouth and armpits . . . and many other pains befall him” (ibid.). Perhaps Maimonides hopes that the gruesome description of an overabundance of sexual intercourse will be sufficient to deter his readers from overindulgence. Maimonides is clear that the satisfaction of sexual desire promotes bodily health, and, as such, contributes to overall psycho-physical health. Inasmuch as all one’s actions are directed toward knowledge of God, one who wants to know God directs all his actions toward knowing God, “even when he is having sexual intercourse . . . and even when he sleeps” (CT 3.3:35). The sexual act, when conducted in a rational frame of mind, as part of an overall health regimen the purpose of which is to achieve ultimate knowledge of God, yields a form of eroticism. This eroticism, Harvey notes, is “decidedly greater than that of the lover who pursues sex for its own sake,” in that it intermingles with love of God (W. Harvey 1993, 39).

On asceticism and corporeality How do we reconcile these comments on the part of the psychologist and doctor with Maimonides’ more philosophical thoughts, particularly when we turn to the topic of asceticism? Given what we have said in the previous section about the interconnectedness of physical and psychic health, we would expect Maimonides to eschew ascetic practices that mortify and punish the body. Maimonides displays, however, a certain ambivalence toward asceticism. His discussions of asceticism occur against the backdrop of his theory of pain and pleasure, which itself is couched in his conception of matter. In Eight Chapters, asceticism is related to what Maimonides labels “lack of sensation of pleasure” (he’der hergesh ha-hana’ah); its extreme is lustfulness, and the mean is temperance (zehirut).10

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Maimonides’ notion of pain reflects that of Aristotle. Clearly pain is the opposite of pleasure, and Aristotle regularly contrasts the two: “if the excellences are concerned with actions and passions, and every passion and every action is accompanied by pleasure and pain, for this reason also excellence will be concerned with pleasures and pains” (Nicomachean Ethics 2.3 1104b13–16). Aristotle defines passions as feelings that are accompanied by pleasure or pain (NE 2.5 1105b20–1). Presumably one such pain incorporates those things we fear, such evils as disgrace, poverty, disease, friendlessness, and death (NE 3.6 1115a10–11). In most cases we strive for temperance. The truly brave person, however, does not fear all these, fearing death only in the most appropriate contexts. True courage involves pain: “courage involves pain, and is justly praised; for it is harder to face what is painful than to abstain from what is pleasant” (NE 3.9 1117a34). Maimonides follows in Aristotle’s footsteps, recognizing that while most agents are concerned with minimizing pain to themselves, there are occasions in which we must confront and even take on what is painful. Asceticism represents just such a state of affairs, one in which we engage in “painful” behavior in order to achieve spiritual perfection. But Maimonides’ ambivalence with respect to asceticism is noteworthy. On the one hand, Maimonides advocates the mean, or middle ground, in asceticism, as supported by passages in the Torah, and so he favors the rabbinic rejection of the excessiveness of the Nazarites (see Chapter 8 for detailed discussion of the doctrine of the mean). In Character Traits, Maimonides views asceticism as an extreme and inveighs against it: one should “only abstain from things forbidden by the Torah alone.” One should not prohibit for oneself things that are permitted. Those, for example, who fast continually, “do not follow the good way” (CT 3.1:34). In Eight Chapters, Maimonides returns to the topic of asceticism and again rejects it as an extreme form of behavior. Only an ignorant individual would veer toward the extreme: “His actions are bad and he does not know that he goes all the way to one extreme, completely leaving the mean” (EC 4:72). Several passages in the Guide also advocate a balanced way of life, one that eschews asceticism. In Guide 2.39 he claims that the law aims at a balance and the commandments are righteous inasmuch as they prescribe “forms of worship containing neither . . . excess . . . nor deficiency.” Guide 3.49 suggests a balance in matters of sexual intercourse, and 3.39 refers to the “balanced moral qualities” that are incorporated into the righteous statutes and ordinances. But other passages, both in the halakhic works and in the Guide, clearly reject the ideal of the middle way in favor of an extreme asceticism. Maimonides presents in Guide 3.33 and 3.38 a more conciliatory picture of Nazirite behavior. The sense of touch, for example, is condemned in several passages, presumably because of its sensuousness and proximity to physical things.11 Maimonides advocates abolishing the desire for all pleasures associated with the sense of touch, claiming that the purpose of the commandments is to rein in material and bestial urges; and in Guide 3.51 he emphasizes the importance of solitariness for achieving intellectual love of God. In Guide

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3.33 Maimonides states that one of the purposes of the Law is the turning away from the unbridled licentiousness to which many of the “ignoramuses” are addicted. God “forbids everything that leads to lusts and to mere pleasure. This is an important purpose of this Law” (GP 3.33:532). According to Maimonides, the Law, for example, advocates renouncing sexual intercourse, causing it to be as infrequent as possible, as well as giving up the drinking of wine. One who renounces these activities is regarded as pure and sanctified. The purpose of the Law is to “restrain desire – the purification of the outer coming after the purification of the inner” (GP 3.33:533). Maimonides has no patience with those who purify their outer behavior and not their inner soul, calling them hypocrites. In Chapter 8 we shall examine this ambivalence on Maimonides’ part more deeply, and connect it to his characterization of the saint (hasid) whose actions go beyond moderation toward the extreme. Just as Maimonides is ambivalent with respect to asceticism in general, I shall argue in Chapter 8 that he is equally ambivalent toward saintly behavior, and whether or not it constitutes morally good behavior. My point in this chapter is that Maimonides’ ambivalence toward asceticism reflects his double-edged attitude toward corporeality and matter. On the one hand, he recognizes the importance of bodily health as a component of spiritual health, and as a doctor he promotes what we might call “good physical practice” in an attempt to maximize physical health and wellbeing. On the other hand, having assimilated the Neoplatonic denigration of corporeal matter, of bodies, and physical being, he cannot help but support those actions that reduce our enslavement to our bodies. Maimonides’ rant against corporeality, as reflected in his support of radical asceticism, echoes Plato’s diatribes in the Phaedo against the body; on the other hand, his medical understanding of the importance of physical health reflects Plato’s championing of physical health and exercise in the Republic.

Immortality of the Soul: Personal or General? The immortal soul characterized We noted in the last section Maimonides’ overall hylomorphic ontology, and in particular the intimate relation between the soul and body. Unlike a Platonic dualism in which soul is clearly separate from body, and continues to exist after the death of the body, Maimonides’ hylomorphism raises serious issues about the nature of immortality; in particular it is not clear whether the soul can exist independent of the body. In his halakhic works, Maimonides presents a theologically appropriate view of immortality according to which death pertains only to the body, not the soul. Whenever the soul is mentioned in connection with the afterlife, it is that form of soul “identical with the intelligence which apprehends the Creator . . . It is the psychic form . . . and it is this which is called Soul” (R 8.3:90b). Maimonides is careful to rule out a

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physical afterlife: he dismisses the notion of a physical afterlife propounded by “foolish and silly Arabs,” and reminds his reader that corporeal pleasures are exaggerated and inane (R 8.6:90b). Similarly, in the Mishneh Torah, Maimonides specifies that when the body dies, only the soul continues existing: “this form of the Soul is not destroyed, as it does not require physical life for its activities. It knows and apprehends the Intelligences that exist without material substance; it knows the Creator of all things; and it endures forever” (HYT 4.9:39a). Note that even though the soul is said to be immortal, Maimonides has said very little about the nature of the soul, only that immortality consists in intellectual apprehension. Several more details are presented in the Guide. We saw above that Maimonides distinguished three meanings to the term nefesh or soul, and suggested that only in the third sense, that is, as a rational intellect, could the soul be considered immortal. However, the soul that survives after death is not “the same” soul that a person had when alive: “that which comes into being at the time a man is generated is merely the faculty consisting in preparedness, whereas the thing that after death is separate from matter is the thing that has become actual and not the soul that also comes into being; the latter is identical with the spirit that comes into being” (GP 1.70:174). Maimonides distinguishes here between the potentiality to attain knowledge, with which we are born, and the entity that persists after the death of the body. Once this potentiality is actualized, we are able to achieve a modicum of immortality based on this intellectual level of apprehension. And in Guide 3.27:511 he reiterates the point that only the intellect is immortal. Ultimate human perfection consists in the active contemplation of eternal truths. Since all other faculties are connected to the body, nothing remains to preserve these faculties when the body dies. Maimonides rejects the eschatological view that the world to come will come into being only when this world passes out of existence. Why did the Sages call the afterlife “the world to come?” The world to come exists now, he tells us: it is called the world to come only because human beings “will enter into it at a time subsequent to the life of the present world in which we now exist with body and soul – and this existence comes first” (R 8.8:91a). But Maimonides does not expound upon the sort of existence to be enjoyed in the world to come. In fact, this idea of a world to come turns out to be exceedingly problematic, as we shall see below.

Immortality: personal or general? Maimonides suggests in the passages discussed above that only part of the soul – the intellectual part – is properly immortal. When separated from the body, the immortal part of the individual, and not the entire soul per se, enjoys a special sort of existence akin to the Active Intellect. Like the Active Intellect, this intellectual part of the soul has no personal features. But if no personal features are comprised in the soul, how are these immortal, incorporeal entities individuated? Maimonides does not expressly address this issue, as will his

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successor Gersonides, who devotes an entire book to this question in his Wars of the Lord in the fourteenth century. We can only piece together Maimonides’ views from what he has to say about his predecessors. Maimonides’ discussion is couched against the backdrop of Aristotle’s enormously influential work De Anima, in which the immortality of the soul is broached in an enigmatic passage. In the De Anima, Aristotle claims that “intellect understands all things” (nous panta noei), unlike perception, which is limited by empirical data, the senses, etc. This leads Aristotle to conclude that intellect is unmixed (pure potential), separable from the body (since it does not have a bodily organ of its own, unlike perception), unaffected by what is being intellected (De Anima [DA] 429a31–b1), and reflexive in a way that perception is not (DA 429b6–9). Further, Aristotle claims that intellect is not entirely passive (like perception), but part of it is active, reflecting our own intellectual activity (DA 430a15). The passive part of our intellect cannot account for how thinking begins, what sets it off in the first place; according to Aristotle, we require an active principle to bring about the process of thinking. Hence the Active Intellect is introduced to explain what brings about, or actualizes, thinking. But what is it and what does it do? These turn out to be two of the most vexing questions in Aristotelian scholarship. Aristotle draws upon the analogy of light in De Anima 430a16–18. Just as we need a medium (air) for us to see, so too we need a medium in order to understand. Just as air makes something seen, or seeable, the Active Intellect makes intelligibles “thinkable”; it is the medium between the thing thought (noeton) and the Passive Intellect. Aristotle’s theory of the Active Intellect became popular among medieval philosophers for a number of reasons: first, it contained the springboard for theories of philosophical psychology, theory of soul, immortality of soul, etc. Second, it reinforced the importance of hylomorphism as it pertains to perception and intellection, and it raised the question of whether the soul is particular or universal. Further, it raised questions concerning the “me-ness” of the doctrine. The Active Intellect contains no memories, no thoughts or emotions, no personality, no individuality; all these are contained in the passive intellect, which dies along with the body. And so in an important sense, survival of the soul qua Active Intellect has nothing at all to do with me. But what theological mileage can we derive from Aristotle’s “immortality” thesis if what is most true and essential about the individual is not preserved? Is this the sort of thesis that would be useful for a theological system of reward and punishment? Is immortality itself personal or general? Does nous poetikos have a particular component, or is it a “general, indivisible” in which we all share? Arabic philosophers took Aristotle’s theory of Active Intellect and folded it into a cosmology presided over by a “first being” who is pure intellect. Active Intellect stands at the end of the long chain of these celestial intelligences.12 Philosophers such as Averroes introduced the doctrine of “monopsychism,” as it has come to be known, namely the view of the unicity of the intellect, according to which the material and the agent intellect both are separate substances,

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and one for all human knowers. On this view, there is no personal immortality. The radical Aristotelians were attracted to Averroes’ psychological theory according to which the human intellect is capable of attaining immortality by means of intellectual conjunction with the Active Intellect. The basic idea is that immortality is a state attained through intellectual activity and achievement but is non-individual. Many of the medieval Jewish commentators (including Ibn Tibbon and Narboni) took this to be Maimonides’ theory in the Guide, although Maimonides himself offers no explicit discussion of the issue. The closest we can find is a statement in Guide 1.70 where he attributes to the philosophers this theory, and explicitly says that the theory implies nonindividuated immortality: “For the souls that remain after death are not the soul that comes into being in man at the time he is generated . . . the thing that after death is separate from matter is the thing that has become actual and not the soul that also comes into being” (GP 1.70:173–4). On this view, the soul with which we are born is merely a capacity, which we actualize during our lifetime. To the extent that I actualize my soul, it survives the death of my body. But this immortal soul comprises only the actualized, or intellectual, part of who I am; Maimonides mentions but does not commit himself one way or another to this view. Maimonides does, however, mention the view of Avicenna according to whom there must be a distinction of cause and effect among souls: “Now you know that regarding the things separate from matter – I mean those that are neither bodies nor forces in bodies, but intellects – there can be no thought of multiplicity of any mode whatever, except that some of them are the causes of the existence of others and that thus there is a difference among them since one is the cause and the other the effect” (GP 1.74:221). Again, it is not clear from this passage whether Maimonides accepts Avicenna’s view. Some textual evidence suggests that Maimonides rejects individual immortality in favor of the doctrine of the unity of intellect as propounded by the Arabic philosopher Ibn Bâjja. For inasmuch as what remains of one soul is neither the cause nor the effect of another, Maimonides suggests that “all are one in number,” as Ibn Bâjja was wont to suggest. This interpretation is supported by Guide 2, prop. 16, in which Maimonides states that multiplicity is ultimately founded upon materiality: In whatsoever is not a body, multiplicity cannot be cognized by the intellect, unless the thing in question is a force in a body, for then the multiplicity of the individual forces would subsist in virtue of the multiplicity of the matters or substances in which these forces are to be found. Hence no multiplicity at all can be cognized by the intellect in the separate things, which are neither a body nor a force in a body, except when they are causes and effects. (GP 2.prop 16:237)

Regardless of whether this proposition is read as a metaphysical or an epistemological claim, it upholds the contention that, inasmuch as immortal souls have

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no causal or motive features, they (unlike the heavenly spheres) are not individuated after death.13

Resurrection of the body Thus far, I have tried to suggest that Maimonides did not support a doctrine of physical resurrection of the body in the afterlife. Maimonides has repeatedly stated that immortality does not include the body: “In the world to come there is nothing corporeal, and no material substance; there are only souls of the righteous without bodies – like the ministering angels” (R 8.2:90a). And since there are no bodies in that world, it does not contain physical pleasures. “None of the conditions occur there which are incident to physical bodies in this world.” Quoting the Sages, he concludes that “there is no physical body in the hereafter” (ibid.). Maimonides claims that since the greatest punishment would be to lose one’s immortal soul, the souls of the wicked are destroyed along with their bodies. Further, no mention is made in the Guide about resurrection of a physical body. As I have argued in the preceding section, it is not even clear whether anything more than the Active Intellect, which is totally bereft of personal characteristics, endures. And yet, as we saw in Chapter 2, Maimonides in Pereq Heleq established the belief in the physical resurrection of bodies as one of the thirteen articles of faith. We cannot help but wonder what Maimonides himself believed on this issue. Maimonides was attacked during his lifetime by rabbis who accused him of rejecting the (dogmatic) belief in physical resurrection of the body, and he wrote the Essay on Resurrection in 1191 to refute these charges. Since the controversy over Maimonides’ views on resurrection came right when he was completing the Guide, he used this controversy as an opportunity to address the topic of miracle.14 In this essay, Maimonides modifies his position to suggest that souls are restored to their bodies after death, but only in the Messianic era, which precedes the period of the “world to come” (ha-olam ha-ba). Maimonides explicitly connects the miracle of the resurrection of bodies with the creation of the world: In my discussion in the Guide of the creation of the world, I pointed out that it necessarily follows that once the doctrine of the production of the universe is accepted, all miracles are possible; therefore the Resurrection is also possible . . . Anyone who continually strives to explain resurrection away so that there will not be a return (of the soul to the body) does so not because it is naturally unlikely, but because it is rationally inconceivable. If this is the case, the same is necessarily required with respect to the other miracles. All of them are decidedly impossible only in the light of the affirmation that the world is eternal. But one who affirms the eternity of the world cannot possibly be a member of the community of Moses and Abraham, as I established in the Guide. (ER p. 228)

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Of course Maimonides knows that philosophically sophisticated readers will not accept the creation of the world in time at face value (see Chapter 4), and so on an esoteric reading of this passage, astute readers would in fact conclude that resurrection is “decidedly impossible.” Maimonides examines neither the philosophical meat of the doctrine, nor its implications, but places it squarely within the context of belief in miracles. He spends more energy arguing against disbelief in resurrection than for actual belief in resurrection. His extended argument can be unpacked as follows: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Resurrection represents the return of the soul to the body after separation. The world to come is made up of souls without bodies, like the angels; there can be no bodies in the world to come (ER p. 220). The soul can return to the body; a rejection of this statement leads to the rejection of all the miracles. The denial of miracles “is a denial of God and a defection from the Law” (ER p. 221). It is within God’s power to “revive the dead by His will and wish when He desires and whomever He desires to resurrect” (ER p. 222). While the immortality of the soul is a doctrine in harmony with the nature of the world order, the resurrection “is a miraculous event” (ER p. 225). “No rational proof of it exists” (ER p. 225). Resurrection simply follows the pattern of all miracles; “it is to be accepted, and that is that” (ER p. 225).

Clearly, Maimonides’ heart is not in proving that the doctrine of resurrection of the body is philosophically tenable. He presents it as a view outside the purview of rationality, as contrary to the natural order, and does not even try to offer rational arguments on its behalf. Maimonides half-heartedly accedes to the masses, realizing how important the doctrine is to them theologically, but does not accept it himself. The key premise of the argument is (4), which introduces the connection between resurrection of bodies and miracles. In Chapter 6 we shall return to this point in the context of Maimonides’ theory of miracles. I shall argue there that inasmuch as Maimonides has rejected supernatural explanations for miracles (in effect rejecting premise 4), all miraculous events must be explained naturalistically. If this is the case, then either the doctrine of resurrection can be understood naturalistically, or it is unacceptable on the esoteric level. Premise (7) intimates that resurrection cannot be understood naturalistically, and so is not acceptable on philosophical grounds.

Conclusion The main features of Maimonides’ philosophical anthropology can now be summarized. Having distinguished between material and immaterial (or incorporeal) things, Maimonides posits different individuating criteria for each.

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Material things are individuated on the basis of their matter, as evidenced by the proliferation of entities in the sublunar world. The heavenly spheres are individuated on the basis of formal considerations, that is, the motive powers of the intellect. Humans are comprised of both physical and incorporeal substances. These substances function together as a hylomorphic compound, until the moment of death releases the soul from the body. However, inasmuch as souls have neither a material element nor a motive power, they are not individuated after the death of the body. In accord with Averroes’ “monopsychism,” Maimonides appears to suggest that all immaterial souls form a united whole. While Maimonides does not reject the possibility of physical resurrection in the world to come, I have argued that it is very unlikely to be his own view. In fact, as we shall see in Chapter 9, Maimonides’ conception of ultimate perfection is exclusively intellectual and spiritual, and does not incorporate any corporeal elements. We have also seen that there are irreducible differences among human beings: “there are many differences between the individuals belonging to it [the human species], so that you can hardly find two individuals who are in any accord with respect to one of the species of moral habits” (GP 2.40:381). Maimonides’ psycho-physical determinism attributes these differences to many variables that are beyond a person’s control, variables that determine to a large extent whether an individual will be able to achieve the sort of life that Maimonides exhorts. Consider, for example, the plight of those who, because of their psycho-physical constitution, resemble “irrational animals” and have a “rank lower than the rank of man but higher than the rank of the apes” (GP 3.51:618). Maimonides has emphasized that such individuals are incapable of rational thought, and should on occasion be killed. We shall return to the implications of psycho-physical determinism in Chapter 9, when we explore why only certain individuals can enter into the palace of the king in order to commune with the Deity, and why the others are resigned to circle round the palace aimlessly, with no hope of providence or salvation.

notes 1 A preliminary summary of this set of problems in Islamic thought, and its implications for Jewish and scholastic discussions, can be found in D. Callus, “The Origins of the Problem of the Unity of Form,” Thomist 24 (1961), 257–85; O. Hamelin, La théorie de l’intellect d’apres Aristote et ses commentateurs (Paris, 1953). 2 Freudenthal traces Maimonides’ concerns back to al-Fârâbî, who in his treatise The Political Regime, also known as The Treatise on the Principles of Beings, tried to explain the existence of multiplicity and difference among human beings. See Freudenthal (2008a, 303). Al-Fârâbî argued that because the celestial realm is itself “asymmetric” with respect to different points on the earth, it follows that different places in the sublunar realm are affected by different celestial influences.

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3 Medievals often combined Ptolemy’s theory with Aristotle’s theory of vital heat, and Galen’s theory of the four humors. Combining the determinism generated by material constitution, climatological constraints, and the influences of celestial spheres, al-Fârâbî’s treatise posited that intellectual potentialities are already determined at birth by the stars and by geographical location. See Freudenthal (2008a) for discussion of these ingredients. 4 I am indebted to Freudenthal (2008a) and Kellner (2006) for some of these examples. Freudenthal goes on to argue that Maimonides ultimately rejects what Freudenthal calls biological determinism, replacing it with a “principle of indeterminism.” As I shall argue in Chapters 6 and 7, I am not convinced that Maimonides has in fact rejected this determinist picture, and I am unpersuaded that Maimonides sees in nature a “principle of indeterminism.” 5 This comment occurs in the context of an important exposition about the status of Hebrew as a language, and whether the Hebrew language is innately more perfect than other languages. See Kellner (2006) for discussion of this important topic. 6 Two passages in Scripture explicitly prohibit the study of the stars: Deuteronomy 4:19, “Beware, when you look up into the heavens and see all the host of the heavens, the sun, moon and stars, that you do not let yourselves be allured into paying homage to them,” and Deuteronomy 17:3, “[one who has] paid homage to them [alien gods] namely, the sun, or the moon, or the whole host of the heavens, which I prohibited.” Other passages indirectly deplore the science of astrology. See for example 2 Kings 17:16; 2 Kings 23:5; Jeremiah 7:18; Jeremiah 8:8; Jeremiah 10:2; Jeremiah 44:17–19; Isaiah 14:12; Isaiah 47:13; Amos 5:26. 7 Maimonides’ description of the parts of the soul also follows al-Fârâbî’s Fusûl, which itself is clearly modeled after Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics 1.13 1102a–b. See Fusûl 1.6, p. 29. 8 See for example GP 2.36:369ff.; 1.73:206–12; 1.52:114; 2.12:280. 9 Al-Fârâbî was fond of the “sick soul” motif, and the physician analogy appears often in Fusûl, as well in his Virtuous City and in his Political Regimes. According to al-Fârâbî, both the body and soul are capable of sickness, but their illnesses are manifested differently. “He who treats the body is the doctor, and he who treats souls is the statesman, who is also called the king” (Fusûl 1.3. p. 27). 10 We will return to Maimonides’ doctrine of the mean, taken from Aristotle, in greater detail in Chapter 8. 11 The repudiation of touch as the most shameful of the five senses echoes Aristotle’s own views on touch as expressed in Nicomachean Ethics 3.10 1118b2–4. See Guide 2.36:371; 2.40:384; 3.8:433. 12 The human potential intellect is situated immediately after the Active Intellect in this hierarchical scheme. The role of the Active Intellect, in this scheme, is to lead the human (potential) intellect from a state of potency to one of actuality. When the human intellect achieves this actualized existence, it enters a state of perfection known as “conjunction” with the Active Intellect. This state of conjunction is normally achieved at death, and hence is associated with immortality. The Active Intellect was also associated with the phenomenon of prophecy, and in some cases (e.g. Avicenna) with the cause of existence itself.

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Other scholars have tried to find in Maimonides enough material to justify an individuated theory of immortality, and have argued that the survival of the personal soul consists in the survival of the objects of its knowledge. Inasmuch as immortal intellects are non-material and not caused by each other, there is nothing to distinguish them (GP 1.70:174). But according to Aristotle’s identification of knowing subject and object of knowledge, what I know turns out to be identical to what I know. Altmann suggests that Maimonides allows for varying levels of quality in the things that survive; they have a “group identity” while preserving some measure of specific distinctiveness. On this interpretation, incorporeal immortal intellects preserve some elements of individuality. See Altmann (1987). 14 Eran suggests that Maimonides might have been influenced by al-Ghazâlî’s critique of Avicenna on this topic. In his Incoherence of Philosophy (Tahafut), al-Ghazâlî accused the philosophers, with whom he included Avicenna, of denying that the body returns to the soul. Maimonides’ counter-arguments echo fragments of this disputation between al- Ghazâlî and Avicenna. In fact, Maimonides disagrees with Avicenna on two counts: he denies corporeal pleasure in the world to come, and he denies individual survival of the soul, two doctrines espoused by Avicenna. See Eran (2001).

further reading Dobbs-Weinstein, Idit, “Matter as Creature and Matter as the Source of Evil: Maimonides and Aquinas,” in L. Goodman (ed.), Neoplatonism and Jewish Thought (Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 1992), 217–36. Freudenthal, Gad, “The Biological Foundations of Intellectual Elitism: Maimonides vs. Al-Farabi,” in Arthur Hyman and Alfred Ivry (eds.), Maimonidean Studies 5 (2008), 293–324. Goodman, Lenn E., “Maimonides on the Soul,” in Jay Harris (ed.), Maimonides After 800 Years: Essays on Maimonides and His Influence (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2007), 65–80. Harvey, Warren Z., “Sex and Health in Maimonides,” in Fred Rosner and Samuel Kottek (eds.), Moses Maimonides: Physician, Scientist, and Philosopher (New Jersey: Jason Aronson, 1993), 33–9. Hyman, Arthur, Eschatological Themes in Medieval Jewish Philosophy (Milwaukee, WI: Marquette University Press, 2002). Pessin, Sarah, “Matter, Metaphor, and Privative Pointing: Maimonides on the Complexity of Human Being,” American Catholic Philosophical Quarterly 76 (2002), 75–88. Stroumsa, Sarah, “Twelfth-century Concepts of Soul and Body: The Maimonidean Controversy in Baghdad,” in A. Baumgarten, J. Assmann, and G. G. Stroumsa (eds.), Self, Soul, and Body in Religious Experience (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1998), 313–34.

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chapter 6

naturalism and supernaturalism prophecy, miracles, and divine will Introduction ccupying a central place in Maimonides’ thought, prophecy connects a number of issues in philosophical anthropology, theory of knowledge, Divine Providence, the nature of Law, and political philosophy. Prophecy is included among the obscure matters, one of the “mysteries of the Torah” (GP 1.35:80), suggesting to the astute reader that Maimonides will present many, often contradictory, positions on the nature of prophecy. In the Guide, Maimonides connects the notion of prophecy with that of creation, claiming that “the opinions of people concerning prophecy are like their opinions concerning the eternity of the world or its creation in time” (GP 2.32:360; emphasis mine), thus signaling that theories of prophecy and creation at the very least are linked. Maimonides discusses prophecy in other works as well, including Commentary on the Mishnah, Pereq Heleq, and his Epistle on Resurrection. Not surprisingly, his presentation of prophecy in these works differs according to the context and abilities of the reading audience. Even a brief perusal of these texts evinces different nuances and emphases, and so readers are left trying to reconcile the various accounts found in these works. Further complicating matters is that Maimonides presents the doctrine of prophecy within the context of his theory of miracles. In some of his works, he presents prophetic insight and knowledge as a miraculous event bestowed by God, whereas in others he appears to downplay the miraculous element in prophecy, preferring a more naturalistic account in accord with Islamic theories. In an attempt to unravel these varied strands, some scholars have emphasized the importance of recognizing the chronological development of these themes, and the possibility that Maimonides changed his mind on these issues

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over the course of his life.1 While I am sympathetic to the importance of tracing chronological developments in Maimonides’ corpus, nevertheless I will emphasize the importance of reading Maimonides’ comments in the context of the overall tension in his mind between naturalism and supernaturalism. After a brief overview of the philosophical importance of prophecy, we shall turn to Maimonides’ presentation of prophecy in both his halakhic works and the Guide. I shall focus on the difference between naturalistic and supernaturalistic conceptions of prophecy; the role played by imagination; the different levels of prophecy; the unique prophecy of Moses; and the difference between the philosopher, statesman, and prophet. We will then turn to Maimonides’ notion of miracles, and address whether he allows for miraculous (supernatural) intervention on the part of God in the acquisition of prophecy. Throughout this chapter, I shall suggest the cogency of a naturalistic reading of both prophecy and miracles. Recognizing how different his audiences were, and realizing his attempts to relate to disparate readerships, we can better appreciate the impact played by naturalism on Maimonides’ theory of prophecy and miracles.

Supernatural vs. Naturalistic Prophecy: Historical and Philosophical Precedents In the Hebrew Bible, prophecy was presented as a major source of communication from God to the people Israel, the prophet functioning as the bearer of information. Think, for example, of Isaiah’s admonitions to Israel, or Ezekiel’s prophetic visions. Although we tend to think of prophetic statements as being about the future, this is not always the case. In some instances the prophets were clairvoyant and capable of predicting future events, as when Elijah predicted a drought (1 Kings 17:1), and Elisha predicted a seven-year famine (2 Kings 2:3). More often, however, the prophet (navi) functioned as a moral and civic leader, presenting a model for human behavior and striving. In the Hebrew Bible, women could be prophets as well as men, as evidenced by Deborah the prophet (we will return in Chapter 9 to the role played by women). As the first prophet, Moses had direct access to the divine word and conveyed that word to the Israelites (Deut. 5:5; Exod. 19:19; Deut. 18:15–19). But while the Bible is replete with stories about the prophets (Isaiah, Ezekiel, Amos, and others), very little explanation is offered as to how these particular individuals warranted their prophetic status: who they were, how they became prophets, and how they differed from other individuals, is not discussed in Scripture. What we do know is that the prophet is chosen by God, often against his or her will, to convey God’s word to the people Israel.2 Elements of the biblical account, combined with philosophical ingredients drawn from Plato and Aristotle, were reflected in the medieval texts of Islamic

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and Jewish philosophers. Prophecy represented a unique source of knowledge, and relied upon the perfection of both the imaginative and rational faculties. Both Jewish and Islamic thinkers grappled with the question of how the incorporeal, transcendent Deity can communicate with humans. Whether prophecy itself is a miraculous or supernatural event, one that depends upon the direct intervention of God, became the focus of debate among philosophers. Already in the work of Isaac Israeli (ca 855), the prophet was presented as an individual who gains knowledge by means of both the imaginative and rational faculties. And the tenth-century philosopher Saadia Gaon, in his work Book of Beliefs and Opinions, argued that the visions seen by the prophet are not directly from God, but rather from a special created entity called the “created Glory” or “Shekhinah.” In his work The Kuzari, Judah Halevi (1071–1141) viewed prophecy as the ultimate perfection of the individual, resulting ultimately in a conjunction with the “divine matter” (Amr Ilahi). Drawing upon Saadia’s notion of the “created Glory,” Halevi emphasized the epistemological ingredients necessary for prophecy, and placed importance upon both the rational and imaginative faculties. But how much is required of each faculty, and is the perfection of both faculties both necessary and sufficient for the acquisition of prophecy? This became a major issue in thirteenth- and fourteenth-century Jewish thought. Islamic philosophers offered for the most part a naturalistic explanation of prophecy. They presented prophets as scientist-philosophers, well versed in the details of the natural universe. In al-Fârâbî’s system, which played an important role in Maimonides, the prophet was presented as a combination of Imam (priest) and philosopher-king, one who combined his religious and philosophical wisdom to rule the virtuous state. In his Political Regime, al-Fârâbî elevates Plato’s philosopher-king to the individual who, having achieved perfect knowledge of the theoretical sciences, is able to attain to revelation. As a result of this attainment, he is able to establish an ideal law for society.3 Al-Fârâbî’s emphasis upon the importance of intellectual, rational reflection added a new dimension to the scriptural view of prophecy, supplementing the supernatural view with a more naturalized conception. Like al-Fârâbî, Maimonides contends that prophecy ranks as the highest human perfection. But unlike al-Fârâbî, Maimonides has no qualms about identifying the prophet as recipient of revelation. As we shall see, Maimonides veers away from the Muslim Aristotelians on two counts: first, he claims that the prophet will not prophesy unless God wills it; this will is “eternal and unchanging” (GP 1.10:36; 3.17:469). This intervention on the part of God is “like all the miracles and takes the same course as they” (GP 2.32:361). Second, Maimonides recognizes the importance of Moses as a legislative prophet, as representative of a unique type of prophecy. Only Moses’ prophecy resulted in a legislation that, according to Maimonides, remains non-abrogated (GP 2.39). No other law is possible, since the Law of Moses is perfect (GP 2.39:380). In the Commentary on the Mishnah, Maimonides suggests that Moses achieved the level of the “angelic” (PH 419).

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Prophecy in Maimonides’ Halakhic Works In his halakhic works, Maimonides describes prophecy as dependent upon the perfection of a prophet’s rational faculty. No mention is made of the imaginative faculty; nor are miracles mentioned to account for prophecy. In Commentary on the Mishnah, for example, Maimonides does not introduce supernatural elements into his account. In his outline of the basic principles of Judaism (Pereq Heleq), four of the principles concern prophecy: God’s prophecy to humanity; the special nature of Mosaic prophecy; the divine origin of the Written and Oral Law; and the immutability of the Law. The sixth principle defines the nature of prophecy: One should know that among men are found certain people so gifted and perfected that they can receive pure intellectual form. Their human intellect clings to the Active Intellect, whither it is gloriously raised. These men are the prophets; this is what prophecy is. (PH 419)

This definition emphasizes the importance of intellectual perfection, and includes no reference to a higher deity. For somebody not versed in Aristotelian philosophy, this definition would be practically unintelligible, as Maimonides himself acknowledges in the continuation to the sixth principle: “A full explanation of this root principle would require much more time” (ibid.). The details of this definition are in fact taken primarily from al-Fârâbî’s description of prophecy in the Political Regime.4 Note that the reception of “pure intellectual form,” and the clinging to the Active Intellect, are both presented as entirely natural phenomena and do not mention God’s active role. In Eight Chapters Maimonides approaches the issue of prophecy from the perspective of human perfection. In chapter seven, which is devoted exclusively to prophecy, Maimonides delineates the moral and intellectual virtues required for prophecy, including the “acquired intellect” and “intellectual intuition” (hâds). Failure to perfect these virtues is seen as an impediment, or veil, separating the individual from God. No prophet can prophesy until she or he acquires “all the rational virtues and most of the moral ones” (EC 7:81). We shall return in Chapter 9 to the important question of whether this criterion is realizable, that is, whether anybody can achieve all the virtues, rational or moral. The last four chapters of the first book of the Mishneh Torah (The Book of Knowledge) are devoted to the issue of prophecy as well, and recapitulate some of the themes addressed already in the Commentary on the Mishnah. Maimonides opens his discussion with mention of the divine spirit, noting that God “inspires” humans with the divine gift. He then immediately emphasizes the importance of great wisdom and strong moral character in the attainment of prophecy and claims that when these perfections have been achieved, the “Holy Spirit” descends upon the prophet, and his soul mingles with the angels

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(BK 1.7.1:42b). Maimonides makes a number of points: prophecy occurs in various degrees, although all the prophets, except for Moses, experience prophetic manifestations only in dreams. Prophetic messages are conveyed in allegorical form, the meaning of which the prophet grasps intuitively and immediately (ibid.). The description of Moses’ prophetic stance in these halakhic works is particularly instructive. The seventh principle in Pereq Heleq concerns the prophecy of Moses and underscores the important differences between Moses and other prophets: God spoke to Moses directly without intermediary; Moses was the only prophet to receive the divine speech while fully awake, and not asleep or in a dream; unlike the other prophets, Moses experienced no weakness or trepidation when receiving the prophecy; and only Moses was able to choose when to receive prophetic revelations (PH 419). Of these differences, the most important is that Moses did not require an intermediary (an angel) in order to receive prophecy, but received his prophecy directly from God. In this way Maimonides can present prophecy in general as a naturalistic event, while preserving the unique, quasi-supernatural character of Moses’ prophecy. But in Eight Chapters, Moses is said to be limited by his material composition, and so unable to see God in full glory. Because Moses was “an intellect existing in matter, I mean, since he was a human being,” there remained a single transparent veil between him and God, namely “the unseparated human intellect” (EC 7:83). Because of this transparent veil, Moses was not able to see God “face to face” but only partially. Even so, his level of prophecy far surpassed that of other prophets. Nowhere in his extensive discussion of the imaginative faculty (in Eight Chapters) does Maimonides mention the importance of the imaginative faculty in prophecy, nor is there any mention of the political role played by the prophet. The Mishneh Torah reiterates the uniqueness of Moses’ prophecy. Maimonides states that only Moses received his messages while “awake and standing”; the content of his messages was received not allegorically, but “clearly, without riddle and without parable”; Moses was not intimidated by the status of prophecy; unlike other prophets, only Moses could bring about prophetic messages whenever he pleased, since he was “ever intent and in readiness” and so was able to prophesy at any time (BK 1.7.6:43a). Much of the rest of the chapter is devoted to determining true from false prophets.

Prophecy in the Guide Prophecy described Already in the introduction to the Guide, prophecy is highlighted as a major motif of the work. We have alluded several times to Maimonides’ analogy comparing prophetic parables to “apples of gold in settings of silver.” In his introduction to the Guide, Maimonides suggests that the prophet communicates on

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many levels to different people, and that gold nuggets of prophetic wisdom are often hidden amongst the external silver filigree. The exoteric meaning of prophetic statements contains wisdom useful to the masses, whereas their internal meaning “contains wisdom that is useful for beliefs concerned with the truth as it is” (GP 1.Intro:12). Maimonides distinguishes two types of prophetic parables: in the first type, every word is designed to convey a different notion, while the second type of parable conveys only one meaning. Prophets can avail themselves of both types of parables, and Maimonides gives various examples to demonstrate how prophetic statements must be unpacked in order to construe their inner meaning. In order to explain the manner in which prophets achieve their truths, Maimonides uses the analogy of flashes of lightning. [1] . . . sometimes truth flashes out to us so that we think it is day, and then matter and habit in their various forms conceal it so that we find ourselves again in an obscure night, almost as we were at first. We are like someone in a very dark night over whom lightning flashes time and time again. [2] Among us there is one for whom the lightning flashes time and time again, so that he is always, as it were, in unceasing light. Thus night appears to him as day. That is the degree of the great one among the prophets . . . [3] Among them there is one to whom the lightning flashes only once in the whole of his night; that is the rank of those of whom it is said “they prophesied,” but they did so no more. [4] There are others between whose lightning flashes there are greater or shorter intervals. [5] Thereafter comes he who does not attain a degree in which his darkness is illumined by any lightning flash. It is illumined, however, by a polished body or something of that kind . . . [6] And even this small light that shines over us is not always there, but flashes and is hidden again . . . [7] It is in accord with these states that the degrees of the perfect vary. (GP Intro.1:7–8; bracketing is my addition) In this extended analogy, Maimonides has set up a model for regarding prophecy as a form of intellectual illumination, one not achievable by the bulk of humanity. He explicitly states that those who never see the light flashes are “the vulgar among the people” (ibid.). Subsequent levels represent the various levels of prophetic insight, representing increasing stages of perfection [7]. The entire model is reminiscent of Plato’s Allegory of the Cave (Republic 6): both analogies lay out the different levels of knowledge achievable by humans. Those trapped in the cave see but shadows reflected off illusory objects, and are analogous to [6] and [5] who view the illumination reflected “by a polished body.” These individuals are trapped in the level of ignorance (literally, notknowing) and never experience flashes of insight or lightning. Others who leave the cave see real objects, just as some in Maimonides’ analogy [4] and [3]

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see occasional flashes of lightning, distinguished epistemically by the length and frequency of their intervals. But only the rare individual is privy to truth: in Plato, the true philosopher is the one who sees the Form of the Good illuminating objects, and in Maimonides’ analogy [2] the “one for whom the lightning flashes time and time again.” Of course Plato’s philosopher returns to the cave. But in Maimonides’ picture, this individual “is always . . . in unceasing light,” leading to the question, to which we shall return in Chapter 9, whether Maimonides’ prophet has an obligation to return to society as well. Plato’s tension between two sets of conflicting obligations – the obligations a philosopher has to oneself to develop intellectual and moral perfection, and the debt owed to society (to return to the cave) – reappears throughout Islamic and Jewish thought. Yet another concern emerges from this extended analogy, namely the “psycho-physical determinism” that underlies Maimonides’ conception of human beings. To what extent are the individuals in levels [6], [5], and [4] determined by their very physical nature never to see what other more able individuals can achieve? Is it the case that some people, because of their defective brains, are determined to remain forever in the cave, whereas others are already (pre)determined by their material and psychic disposition to escape the domain of error and illusion? More specifically, is it the case that only certain people can even hope to achieve prophecy, and ultimate perfection? We shall return to this concern below, and once again in Chapter 9.

Prophecy and creation: A tripartite comparison A more extensive discussion of prophecy occurs in Part 2, Chapters 32–48 of the Guide. We noted in the first section that Maimonides explicitly connects his discussion of prophecy to that of creation. In Chapter 4 we alluded to the relevance of this typology to an understanding of where Maimonides stands with respect to creation. Now we must examine this typology once again in order to ascertain whether it sheds any light on what Maimonides thinks about prophecy. Maimonides distinguishes three general positions on prophecy. The first opinion (P1) held by many pagans, and some Jews from among the masses, maintains that “God chooses whom He wishes from among men, turns him into a prophet, and sends him with a mission” (GP 2.32:360). The only necessary qualification specified is moral virtue, although on this opinion, God can turn even an evil person into a righteous one before conferring prophecy. Prophecy on this model is completely dependent upon the Divine Will. The second opinion (P2), that of the (Islamic and Aristotelian) philosophers, presents prophecy as a type of perfection in three areas – moral, rational, and imaginative. On this model, once the necessary qualifications have been satisfied, a person “will necessarily become a prophet, inasmuch as this is a perfection that belongs to us by nature” (GP 2.32:361). Note that no mention of Divine Will is made in (P2). The third opinion (P3), identified by Maimonides as that of the

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Table 6.1 Comparison of creation and prophecy Three views of creation

Three views of prophecy

C1. Position of Torah – that God has created the world ex nihilo

P1. Position of the “vulgar” – that God can will anybody regardless of perfection to receive prophecy P2. Position of the philosophers – that only one with the proper intellectual perfection can receive prophecy P3. Position of “our law” – that God can will to withhold prophecy from somebody who otherwise satisfies the requisite perfections

C2. Position of Plato – that the demiurge creates the world out of eternal matter C3. Position of Aristotle – that both matter and the world are eternal

Law, opts for a middle ground between the total agency of God espoused in (P1), and the total naturalism of (P2). On this third view (P3), even one who has perfected his or her intellectual, moral, and imaginative faculties can fail to ascend to prophecy if God withholds it: “it may happen that one who is fit for prophecy and prepared for it should not become a prophet, namely, on account of the divine will” (ibid.). Thus the third opinion combines the naturalism of the second view with the divine intervention of the first. Maimonides explicitly correlates this third view with “all the miracles” discussed in other chapters. We noted above Maimonides’ statement that “the opinions of people concerning prophecy are like their opinions concerning the eternity of the world or its creation in time” (GP 2.32:360; emphasis is mine). Scholars, both medieval and modern, have expended great energy trying to establish the meaning of the term “like” in this introductory passage, and explain how prophecy compares to the description of the three views of creation. Is Maimonides trying to suggest that unpacking the proper correlation between the two sets of lists will yield his own (esoteric) view on the two topics? Or is he simply making the more straightforward point that in each case we can iterate three options? Let us line up the two sets of views (see Table 6.1). Many scholars have assumed an implicit correlation between the two sets of views, and have come up with various parallels. To cite several recent examples: while Lawrence Kaplan (1977) holds a C1:P3, C2:P1, and C3:P2 correspondence, arguing that Maimonides probably held the first option, Herbert Davidson (1979) has lined up a C1:P1, C2:P3, C3:P2 correspondence, emphasizing the similarity between (C2) and (P3), namely that (C2) and (P3) are both “mixed” views, incorporating elements of their respective extremes. In response to Davidson, Warren Zev Harvey (1981b) suggests a correlation between C1:P1, C2:P2, and C3:P3, arguing that Maimonides holds the third view in both cases.5 While most modern scholars have agreed that Maimonides’ real view of prophecy is (P3), they disagree, however, whether the miraculous

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element in (P3) can be naturalized or not. Roslyn Weiss has tellingly argued that naturalizing the miracles in (P3) erases what distinguishes it from (P2); on her view, (P3) and (C2) are not genuine options, but collapse into (P1) and (C3) respectively, and so the real choice offered by Maimonides is naturalism vs. Scripture: prophecy cannot be both natural and supernatural (Weiss 2007, 12). In order to make any headway on this controversy, we must therefore tackle a number of issues. The first issue concerns the status of imagination, and its relation to the rational faculty: does the prophet, with his imaginative faculties perfected, stand on a higher epistemological plane than the philosopher, who has perfected only his intellectual faculties? A second issue concerns the status of Moses as unique among prophets: how do we construe this uniqueness? What are various levels of prophecy, and can other prophets achieve greater levels of perfection? Finally, where does Maimonides himself stand on the effects of Divine Will in the acquisition of prophecy? The examples he brings forward to support God’s “withholding prophecy” are themselves ambiguous, and he disqualifies most of them. But then, at the end of Guide 2.32, Maimonides reiterates the third opinion (P3): “it is our fundamental principle that there must be training and perfection, whereupon the possibility arises to which the power of the deity becomes attached” (GP 2.32:362). As we shall see in the section “On Miracles” below, how to approach this apparent contradiction will depend, in part, on the interpretation given to miracles.

Prophecy and the imaginative faculty Maimonides turns in Guide 2.36 to a technical and philosophical account of prophecy that, couched in Aristotelian epistemology and psychology, focuses on the prophetic activity itself rather than the one who attains to prophecy. Maimonides defines prophecy as follows: the true reality and quiddity of prophecy consists in its being an overflow from God . . . through the intermediation of the Active Intellect, toward the rational faculty in the first place and thereafter toward the imaginative faculty. This is the highest degree of man and the ultimate term of perfection that can exist for his species; and this state is the ultimate term of perfection for the imaginative species. (GP 2.36:369)

Maimonides’ account of human nature, and general psychology, in which this definition is embedded, must be understood against the Islamic appropriation of Aristotle’s psychology in the De Anima. Against the backdrop of the Neoplatonic image of an overflow from a higher source to a lower one, Maimonides attributes the origin of prophecy ultimately to God. The overflow is then mediated by the Active Intellect first to the rational faculty, and from there to the imagination. On this account God is seen as the remote agent, in contrast to the Active Intellect, which plays a more active role. Hints of this

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theory can be gleaned from both the Guide and from the Commentary on the Mishnah. We have seen in Chapter 5 that Maimonides adopts Aristotle’s hylomorphic composition of human beings, assuming a soul/body unity in which soul functions as the form of the body, and body serves as the matter for soul. On this hylomorphic ontology, both the physical and intellectual constitution of the prophet must be perfect: “the perfection of the bodily faculties . . . is consequent upon the best possible temperament, the best possible size, and the purest possible matter, of the part of the body that is the substratum for the faculty in question” (GP 2.36:369). Here we have Maimonides the physician weighing in, averring that a brain defect, due to either size, position, or substance, will necessarily stand in the way of prophecy. However, while necessary, physical perfection is not sufficient to achieve prophetic status. Maimonides agrees with Aristotle that all human activity results from the operation of a set of faculties: nutritive, sensitive, imaginative, appetitive, and rational (see Chapter 5). Ordinary knowledge begins with the senses, passes through the imagination, and as a result of interaction of the possible intellect with the Active Intellect, becomes intellectual. The role of the imagination in perception had already been depicted by Aristotle in his De Anima III.3.429a. According to Aristotle, imagination cannot be a sense, but neither does it fit the general role of a faculty. Imagination is the result of a movement from sensation. Take for example the color red. At some time or other I have seen the color red. This original experience carries with it a sensation. At a later time, I recreate for myself the color red; this second movement results from my imagination. This movement of the imagination serves as a source of error in human knowing. On this account, imagination is like a sense, but not actually a sense; it is a derived movement from sense. This ambiguity on Aristotle’s account allowed for great leeway among his medieval commentators. Avicenna, for example, held that the imagination not only receives movement from the senses, but in its most perfect state also receives movement from the intellect. Maimonides approaches the issue of prophecy against the Islamic appropriation of Aristotle’s doctrine of the imagination. Maimonides views the imagination as a bodily function subject to all the restrictions of matter, although, like Avicenna, he permits the rational faculty to influence the imagination as well as the senses. But imagination holds an ambiguous role in Maimonides’ thought. In his discussion of imagination in Pereq Heleq, Maimonides mentions the importance of imagination in sense, but does not link it to prophecy: the imaginative part is “the power that preserves the impressions of sensibly perceived objects after they vanish from the immediacy of the senses that perceived them” (PH 1:63). The imaginative power puts together many impossible things, such as “an iron ship floating in the air, or an individual whose head is in the heavens and whose feet are on the earth,” and allows for their existence in the imagination (ibid.). Maimonides dismisses as erroneous the views of those “dialectical theologians” who believed that “everything that can be imagined is possible” (ibid.; also see Guide 1.73:206).

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The Guide shows a more nuanced presentation of imagination. On the one hand, it accounts for mistakes in thinking, e.g. “It is manifest that to imagine is a deficiency” (GP 1.47:105). The problem with the imaginative faculty is that it is unable to rule out fantastical entities; one can imagine, for example, a human being having a horse’s head and wings, without being able to determine whether such an example is really exists (GP 1.73:209–10). Not only does imagination have no self-correcting feature but, even worse, it is identified with the evil impulse (yetzer ha’rah) itself: “imagination . . . is also in true reality the evil impulse,” as witnessed in our abortive attempts to imagine how God might bring about events in the natural order (GP 2.12:280). Like the material principle itself, imagination is associated with evil and temptation, seducing us to believe what is not really the case. Maimonides castigated the Mutakallimûn on the grounds that they allowed everything imaginable as an admissible notion for the intellect (GP 1.73:206). But in the pages devoted to prophecy, imagination is presented in a more favorable light and plays an important role in the acquisition of prophecy. According to Maimonides, the imagination works best “when the senses are at rest and do not perform their actions”; only then can the imagination produce what Maimonides calls “veridical dreams” or “prophetic visions” (GP 2.36:370). Maimonides’ point, in contradistinction to Aristotle, is that, under ideal conditions, the imagination can produce true content. Any imaginative experience without the contaminating effect of the senses has the potential to provide a prophetic vision. As we have noted above, prophecy can only attend to one whose brain “is extremely well proportioned because of the purity of its matter and of the particular temperament of each of its [brain’s] parts and because of its size and position.” Only such a perfectly constituted individual can attain to intellectual, imaginative, and moral perfection, by dissociating himself from all “bestial things,” and by controlling emotion or passion (GP 2.36:371–2). In his quest for moral and intellectual perfection, the prophet epitomizes an ascetic lifestyle; eschewing all corporeal pleasures, he lives in solitude and avoids human interaction. When such an individual is overcome by emotions, or when his imagination is weak, he is unable to receive prophetic revelation.

Philosophers, statesmen, and prophets compared Maimonides distinguishes three types of people based on the power of their imaginative faculty: the philosopher, the prophet, and the statesman. The philosopher receives an influx from the Active Intellect through the rational faculty, resulting in knowledge of basic concepts, philosophical truths, and rational principles. The prophet receives this overflow first through the rational faculty, and then through the imaginative faculty, resulting not only in philosophical (theoretical) knowledge, but in political expertise as well. The statesman receives an overflow to the imaginative faculty alone, resulting in confused and vague images that offer only partial guidance (GP 2.37). Thus

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the prophet represents the ideal knower, one who combines the best of both rational and imaginative knowledge. In this taxonomy, the role of imagination has thus been elevated to an important epistemological tool, and is responsible for the leadership characteristics of the prophet. It is because of a paucity of the imaginative faculty that philosophers cannot attain to the level of the prophets. In a note reminiscent of Plato’s concerns in the Republic, Maimonides suggests that what encourages an intellectual to become a teacher and active disseminator of knowledge is the overflow of imagination. Just as what compels the prophet to “address a call to the people, teach them, and let his own perfection overflow toward them” is the faculty of imagination, so too the imaginative faculty, in an overflow to the scholar, “moves him of necessity to compose works and to teach” (GP 2.37:375). Maimonides’ implication is that the prophet and the scholar both need an audience, as it were, to propel them to action. Note, however, that the operative factor in prophecy is the Active Intellect and not the Divine Will. On this picture, no divine voluntaristic element is introduced into the attainment of prophecy; the “chosenness” of the prophet is no different from that of the philosopher.6 Is the prophet epistemologically superior to the philosopher? In other words, are there actual truths that can be known by the prophet and not by the philosopher? In Guide 2.38, Maimonides delineates additional traits had by the prophet, namely courage and the power of divination. After suggesting that “the faculty of divination exists in all people,” Maimonides emphasizes that what distinguishes the prophetic message from ordinary intuitions or hunches is the faculty of courage: when courage and imagination co-mingle, the prophet occupies a privileged status. Maimonides elaborates in Guide 2.45 upon his prophetic taxonomy, focusing on the role played by dream and vision. The first two levels, which incorporate neither dreams nor visions, do not constitute prophecy proper, but are rather to be regarded as stepping-stones to true prophecy. These first levels comprise what Maimonides calls divine help or holy spirit: in these two preliminary stages, the divine or holy spirit moves a person along to perform a meritorious deed or utter divine matters. All the books of the Bible in “Writings” were written by means of the holy spirit (including Psalms, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, Song of Songs, Daniel, Job, Chronicles). Levels three to eight belong to dream prophecy, while levels nine to eleven belong to vision prophecy. Maimonides does not offer epistemological criteria for dividing the various types of prophecies. In general, he tells us that speech is clearer than parables, vision is clearer than dreams, and prophecies involving both seeing and hearing are superior to those involving only one sense. More importantly, the highest level of prophecy does not include hearing God speak; God’s speech occurs in dream prophecies alone. After laying out these eleven levels, Maimonides proposes a second taxonomy according to which only parables or intellectual unifications are apprehended in a prophetic vision. On this model, there are only eight levels of

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prophecy, the highest of which is “the one in which the prophet prophesies in a vision” (GP 2.45:402–3). In this context, only “actual cognition of scientific matters” is achieved (ibid.). In the highest level of imaginative perfection, that of vision, one sees “the thing as if it were outside, and that the thing whose origin is due to it appears to have come to it by way of external sensation” (GP 2.36:370). Prophecy thus comes very close to philosophical knowledge: both are based on a scientific understanding of the natural order.

Moses: prophet or philosopher? We have emphasized the notion of prophecy to Maimonides’ overall epistemology, but prophecy plays an important in the political sphere as well. Maimonides treats the prophet as a type of “philosopher-king,” a political leader who has the ability to move a society forward, and he is careful to delineate the conditions under which an individual could claim to be a prophet. He follows the Fârâbîan tradition of distinguishing two types of prophecy: political and philosophical. Moses represents the consummate philosophical prophet, one whose content has enduring value. In Part 1 of the Guide, Maimonides had already intimated the identification of prophet as leader: “it behooves the governor of a city, if he is a prophet, to acquire similarity to these attributes [of Moses], so that these actions may proceed from him according to a determined measure and according to the deserts of the people who are affected by them, and not merely because of his following a passion” (GP 1.54:126). In this passage, Maimonides clearly connects the pursuit of intellectual knowledge to that of the life of a political leader.7 This motif is reintroduced in the context of Mosaic prophecy. Moses occupies a privileged and unique place in the panoply of prophets. In fact, Maimonides argues that the very term “prophet” is to be used equivocally of Moses and other prophets. After telling the reader that he will not touch upon Mosaic prophecy in these chapters with even a single word, Maimonides devotes the next chapter to a detailed characterization of Moses’ unique status. Moses serves as the pre-eminent prophet for a number of reasons. Only in the case of Moses does God make contact through the Active Intellect directly. Maimonides emphasizes the many differences between Moses and other prophets, arguing that “miracles” performed by other prophets (e.g. Elijah and Elisha resurrecting the dead, Joshua halting the sun) cannot be used to challenge the unique status of Moses (GP 2.35:367–9). But are these miracles on the part of Moses the result of Divine Will (a supernatural interpretation), or are they the product of Moses’ own intellectual perfection (natural interpretation)? Haim Kreisel suggests that Moses himself was the “immediate agent of the miracles as a result of the prophetic emanation he attained” (Kreisel 2001a, 238). The conception of prophecy has implications for Divine Revelation as well. In Guide 2.33–5, Maimonides turns to two significant revelatory events: revelation at Sinai and Mosaic prophecy. Maimonides discusses the revelation at Sinai in the context of explaining that

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only one properly prepared can receive prophecy; the masses of Israelites did not receive prophetic messages per se, but only heard “a voice” with no discernible content. Only Moses heard actual speech and was able to receive the prophetic message. Sinai, therefore, should not be confused as a prophetic event experienced by the Israelite masses. Embellishing on points he had made in earlier works, Maimonides returns in Guide 2.45 to the prophecy of Moses. Unlike the other prophets who hear God’s word only in a dream, Moses, “heard Him from above the ark-cover, from between the two cherubim (Exod. 25:22) without action on the part of the imaginative faculty” (GP 2.45:403). Here Maimonides is telling us explicitly that Mosaic prophecy occurs without the aid of the imagination, and so is purely intellectual. The two angels, representing the Active Intellect and the human intellect, signal that Moses received his message directly from the Active Intellect.8 Although Moses’ prophecy is unique in that he is the sole member of the class of prophets who has straightforward intellectual vision of God’s word, Guide 1.37 reminds us that even Moses beheld God’s “back” as opposed to his “face,” on the grounds that God’s true reality “cannot be grasped,” not even by Moses (GP 1.37). God’s “face” in this context refers, on one reading, to the “Separate Intellects,” and so it appears that even Moses was unable to grasp the Separate Intellects. We shall return to the importance of this passage in Chapter 9, in the context of the topic of human perfection.

Divine Will and the withholding of prophecy So far Maimonides’ exposition of prophecy has been almost entirely naturalistic, and his view has tended toward the philosophical position (P2). But he introduces an important qualification to his theory, namely the idea that Divine Will occasionally prohibits a person from exercising prophecy; this is the position expressed in (P3). Maimonides tells us that “it may happen that one who is fit for prophecy and prepared for it should not become a prophet, namely, on account of the divine will” (GP 2.32:361). He then compares this intervention to a miracle: “this is like all the miracles and takes the same course as they” (ibid.). What are we to make of this passage? On a strictly philosophical account of prophecy (P2), anybody with a perfected rational and imaginative faculty can be a prophet; these two criteria are both necessary and sufficient for prophecy. But in Guide 2.32, Maimonides claims that God can stand in the way of the natural order, in that God can prohibit this final step from being actualized. In this sense, God’s standing in the way of prophetic actualization can be seen as a “negative miracle.” It would appear that the only way God could withhold prophecy would be to interrupt the activity of the Active Intellect. But Maimonides has already told us in Guide 2.18 that the actions of the Active Intellect are perpetual: any obstacle to its action results from a material disposition and not from the Intellect itself (GP 2.18:300). And so, if we take Guide 2.18 at face value, then God cannot withhold prophecy, and Maimonides’ apparent support of (P3) collapses into (P2).

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Take Maimonides’ example of the biblical figure Baruch who took all the human steps necessary to become a prophet, but was prohibited by God from doing so. There are several ways to read this example. The first, which returns us to the views of the “vulgar,” is that God has intervened in the process of prophecy. Another approach emphasizes the view that God has established the laws of nature, and that the “miracle” adduced here is introduced for the untutored masses. Finally, it might be that the miracle represents an occurrence already embedded within the laws of nature. Most of the medieval Jewish commentators read Maimonides as adopting a purely naturalistic view of prophecy, one in which a person can reach prophecy in a natural matter by actualizing inner perfections, with no need to resort to the direct miraculous will of God. They argued that Maimonides himself did not believe in God’s miraculous withholding of prophecy, and that the only miraculous ingredient turns out to be God’s prior intervention in the natural order of events. The supernatural aspect of prophecy thus depends upon whether we think that Maimonides believed in supernatural miracles.

On Miracles: Natural or Supernatural? Is prophecy natural or miraculous? While Maimonides’ early halakhic writings present a straightforwardly naturalistic view of miracles, his later works, including the Guide and Essay on Resurrection, appear to reflect a shift from a totally deterministic, naturalistic system to one that at least appears to makes room for miracles. In his Essay on Resurrection, for example, Maimonides articulates the following important principle: “I try to reconcile the law and reason, and wherever possible consider all things as of the natural order. Only when something is explicitly identified as a miracle, and reinterpretation of it cannot be accommodated, only then I feel forced to grant that this is a miracle” (ER 223). The implications of this statement depend upon the pivotal term “reinterpretation.” Does the “withholding of prophecy” constitute a prime example of an event whose “reinterpretation cannot be accommodated”? If so, then Maimonides’ theory of prophecy must be interpreted as supernatural. But if prophetic events and activities can be “reinterpreted” in a way that is accommodating to both reason and Scripture, then the possibility remains for a naturalized theory of prophecy. Maimonides’ works have been interpreted in various ways. While some commentators believed he did subscribe to supernatural miracles, others claim he denied the reality of supernatural miracles. Support for this latter position can be found among medieval commentators (e.g. Efodi, ibn Kaspi) who suggested that Maimonides’ view on prophecy did not differ from that of the philosophers, but that he did not wish to reveal this concurrence to the masses. Arguing that miracles are not possible on the basis of the belief in eternity of the world, and

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given that Maimonides denied creation in time in favor of an eternity thesis, the fourteenth-century thinker ibn Kaspi concluded that Maimonides did not believe in the possibility of miracles, and that Maimonides’ including God’s withholding of prophecy as a miraculous event was simply added for the sake of the masses.9 On this reading, the greater the level of scientific knowledge attained by a prophet, the greater his ability to predict anomalies; it is the prediction of these anomalies that renders an event a miracle. Because Moses’ scientific knowledge was supreme, he could predict anomalies better than other prophets. Other commentators have offered a modified reading, suggesting that Maimonides does allow for God’s theoretical withholding of prophecy, but only in the case of one who is not truly deserving. On this reading, when Maimonides says “to my mind this is like all the miracles and takes the same course as they,” his point is theoretical: it is within the logical realm of possibility that God withhold prophecy, but there is no scriptural evidence supporting God’s ever having done so. Maimonides makes this point explicitly in Guide 3.32: Though all miracles change the nature of some individual being, God does not change at all the nature of human individuals by means of miracles . . . We do not say this because we believe that the changing of the nature of any human individual is difficult for Him . . . Rather it is possible and fully within his capacity. But according to the Foundations of the Law, of the Torah, He has never willed to do it, nor shall He ever will it. (GP 3.32:529)

On this modified reading, when Maimonides says in Guide 3.17 that “it is possible that he should not become a prophet” (Hebrew: efshar she-lo yitnabeh), what he seems to be suggesting is that de jure the possibility exists that an otherwise qualified individual may not become a prophet, but de facto any person with the requisite perfections will become a prophet. Guide 3.32 tells us explicitly that God would not withhold from an individual what he has otherwise deserved, if only because God will not change a person’s nature by means of a miracle. Most of the readings adduced above rely upon an equivocation with respect to the term “miracle,” and raise the important philosophical question: is it epistemically and ontologically possible to hold that the natural order of things is preserved while at the same time admitting the possibility of exceptions? To say of an event that it is “natural” means that it obeys fixed laws such that even occasional anomalies or deviations may be accounted for in strictly natural terms. To say that something is miraculous means that it contravenes fixed laws in a way that cannot be accounted for in strictly natural terms, but introduces an element of Divine Will.10 As Weiss has pointed out, any worldview that accommodates miracles is not a world governed by the necessity of natural law: things subject to Divine Will cannot be natural, nor can they be “just like” natural things.11 For this reason, the status of (P3) takes on critical

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importance. (P3) is dependent upon supernatural miracles, and it cannot be accommodated to “natural law.” If one believes that Maimonides does not support supernatural events, then when Maimonides says, “to my mind this is like all the miracles and takes the same course as they,” he in effect correlates (P3) with the class of “vulgar” views (P1).

Miracles: natural or supernatural? In Maimonides’ early writings, both miracles and natural events take place in accordance with the preordained nature of things. Maimonides embraces in Commentary on the Mishnah the rabbinic view that miracles are rare but not supernatural phenomena, and are already embedded into the natural order during the act of creation. The best-known, and most-quoted, discussion of miracles occurs in the context of explaining the splitting of the Red Sea. In the context of explaining what is meant by human volition and its relation to divine volition, Maimonides explains that [divine] volition occurred during the six days of Creation, and [since then] all things act continuously in accordance with their natures . . . Therefore the sages insisted that there was a prior volition, during the six days of Creation, for all the miracles which deviate from custom and which have come about or will come about as has been promised. At that time the natures of those things were determined in such a way that what has taken place in them would take place. When it takes place at the time it is supposed to, something new is presumed to occur, but that is not so. (PH 8, p. 87)

On Maimonides’ interpretation of the Sages, the splitting of the Red Sea was already written into the natural order, as it were. What we or Scripture are tempted to describe as miraculous turns out to represent the actualization of a nature that was determined at the beginning of creation. There are no actions that are contrary to nature, and hence there are no “supernatural” miracles. Concomitant with the disavowal of miracles is what I have called (in the Preface) nomological determinism: in this world, events unfold according to a natural, regular order, and there is no room for actions that represent a violation of this order. As put succinctly by Langermann, the author of the Commentary on the Mishnah was convinced that natural science could account for all phenomena and rejected miracles on the grounds that the supposedly miraculously events can be explained naturalistically (Langermann 2004, 150). Maimonides wrote the Epistle on Resurrection to refute charges that he denied the physical resurrection of the body. As we noted in Chapter 5, the controversy over Maimonides’ views on resurrection provided him with an opportunity to address the topic of miracle. Hartmann notes the irony involved in the fact that Maimonides, whose writings had deliberately neutralized the importance of the miraculous, was enjoined to compose a final work in ostensible support of the doctrine of miracles (Halkin and Hartmann 1985, 246).

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Although explicitly written for the common person, this work is complex and reflects a deep ambivalence on Maimonides’ part. One effect of this controversy over resurrection was to remind Maimonides of the importance of miracles in ordinary people’s lives: miracles validate God’s continuous interest in us, and God’s miraculous intervention in the form of resurrecting our bodies serves as confirmation of God’s concern for particulars, giving meaning not only to petitionary prayer, but to theories of providence as well. But let us not forget the vehemence with which Maimonides has attacked and rejected this anthropocentric view of God. From this perspective, the Essay reflects Maimonides’ frustration with the masses, and his recognition of the pedagogical necessity to pander to their level.12 In Chapter 5, I argued that Maimonides explicitly presents the theory of resurrection as a miracle, and connects the miracle of the resurrection of bodies with the creation of the world. Remember, though, that Maimonides knows that philosophically inclined readers will not accept the creation of the world in time; presumably these same readers will understand that resurrection is rationally impossible, and will understand that resurrection of the body is an exoteric theory for the masses. In the concluding section of the Epistle, Maimonides divides the class of miracles into two subclasses: those that clearly contravene the natural order and are “naturally impossible” (e.g. Moses’ rod; the splitting of the Red Sea), and those that are “in the realm of the naturally possible” but are deemed to be miracles because of the specific circumstances in which they occur (e.g. the plagues of hail and locusts) (ER p. 231). He further classes both reward and punishment and providence as miracles, although we shall argue in Chapter 8 that these had been presented naturalistically in previous works. Maimonides also presents the continued survival of the community of Israel as a “continuous miracle.” But these comments can be construed in light of Maimonides’ overall disgust with a community that was not ready to hear his message. The common people, he tells us at the end of the Epistle, need continuous repetition and exegesis in order to understand even a glimmer of what he is trying to say: “they understand but little, they comprehend a bit, a little here, a little there. But the right thing to do is to address each group according to its capacity” (ER p. 274). The very fact that there was such a controversy over resurrection has reminded Maimonides that the masses are not yet ready to subject the supernatural externals of miracles to natural explanation. But we should not conclude from this text that Maimonides himself has given up on the project of naturalizing miracles. Maimonides revisits the issue of miracles in his Medical Aphorisms, in the context of a sustained critique of Galen. Both he and Galen are concerned with the limits of God’s creative powers. Galen used the example of eyebrow and eyelash hair to support his claim that God has created the best possible state of affairs, and could not have created any other state of affairs: because this is the best possible world, some things are inherently impossible for God. That eyebrow and eyelash hairs do not grow overly long, as does facial hair, reflects God’s purpose in providing a teleological order to nature. Galen

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uses this example to drive a wedge between the view of Moses and that of the philosophers, claiming that while according to “the faith of Moses” all things are possible for God, the Greek philosophers claimed that “there are certain things inherently impossible” (MA 25.62:438). Galen argues that “if God had wished a thousand times a thousand that this hair should be so, it would never have been so if He had let it grow from soft skin. Had He not planted the roots of the hair in a hard body, they would not have remained erect and rigid in spite of His command” (ibid.). Galen’s point is that given the best possible state of affairs (one in which eyebrows can only grow to the proper length if embedded in hard cartilage), it follows that even God could not have coaxed eyebrows from soft skin. Maimonides agrees with Galen’s claim that according to Moses, “to God everything is possible,” and asserts that according to Moses, “something can suddenly exist in a manner contrary to the laws of nature, such as the transformation of a staff into a snake, and of dust into lice” (MA 25.64:441). Maimonides attributes to Scripture the view that it is possible for God to change the nature of any creation (MA 25.64:441). This ability depends solely on God’s Divine Will (ibid.). Maimonides defines miracle as “the coming into existence of something which is outside its normal and permanent nature” (MA 25.64:442). He then distinguishes two types of miracles: those that include an instantaneous transformation, like the transformation of a staff into a snake, or water into blood; and those that attribute to an object predicates that it normally doesn’t have, like the simultaneous hardness and softness of manna. But note the similarity of the first (Mosaic) view of miracle, according to which God can do anything, to Kalâm occasionalism: we have already discussed in detail (in Chapter 4) Maimonides’ explicit rejection of this view, and in Chapter 8 we will see that Maimonides rejects as incoherent the Kalâm view of providence according to which God is the immediate cause of every sublunar event. And note, as well, the contradiction between this first view and Maimonides’ statement in Guide 3.32 (discussed above) that God cannot change a person’s nature. According to Maimonides, the eternity theorist (one who believes in the eternity of the world) cannot account for these latter cases, because on the eternity model, God’s Divine Will cannot exert an influence upon matter: “All this results from the arrangement of matter over which the Lord, blessed be He, can exert no influence” (MA 25.65:443). In fact, as Langermann notes, these miracles do not necessarily violate the natural order: it is “the regularity of natural processes, but not the rules that limit the scope of these processes,” that has been violated (Langermann 2004, 160). And so God can make it be the case that the hair of the eyebrows grow beyond a certain length, or that dust be converted to lice, or water to blood, etc. because none of these examples are contrary to nature. We can imagine a natural process occurring instantaneously, rather than over a period of time, but acceleration of a natural process is not itself tantamount to a supernatural event.13 And so

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neither the early halakhic works, nor the Epistle nor the Medical Aphorisms presents a theory of supernatural miracle that necessarily violates the natural order.

Miracles and divine possibility in the Guide The Guide reflects an apparent shift from a totally deterministic, naturalistic order to one that ostensibly makes room for at least the possibility of miracles. On the one hand, Maimonides accepts Aristotle’s view that God will not change the laws of the universe. This position is articulated already in Guide 2.11, in which Maimonides clearly states that God creates directly the first Intelligence, and through successive natural emanations the Intelligences create the rest of the universe. Maimonides then notes in Guide 2.13 several “naturally impossible events,” among them that God by His free will brought into existence out of nothing all the beings as they are, and that the heaven was generated out of nothing after a state of absolute non-existence. See also Guide 2.28, in which Maimonides suggests that miracles are impossible; the works of the Deity are perfect as they are and permanently established as they are, “for there is no possibility of something calling for a change in them” (GP 2.28:335). On the other hand, several passages in the Guide evince evidence for the recognition of the possibility of miracles. As we have noted in Chapter 4, Maimonides is clearly perplexed by the existence of natural irregularities observable in the cosmos. In Guide 2.19 he notes that there exist observable irregularities in the heavens that cannot be explained naturalistically, and so must have been produced by a cause that creates free of natural necessity. This cause must be God. On this reading, it is irregularity in the heavenly order that requires postulating a God who can freely create according to a design not ordered by the laws of nature. Furthermore, Maimonides tells us in Guide 2.25 that not accepting creation ex nihilo would violate one’s belief in miracles. He ostensibly upholds the assumption of the temporal creation of the world as the only one that allows for miracles. Note that whereas in Medical Aphorisms Maimonides used creation to establish the existence of miracles, in the Guide he uses miracles to uphold the veracity of creation. How, then, does Maimonides reconcile the notion of miracles (the existence of which are intimated in Guide 2.19 and 2.25) with the Aristotelian naturalism espoused in Guide 2.11, 2.13, and 2.28? One way is by claiming that although miracles are voluntary acts of God, nevertheless they are predetermined at the time of creation, and do not indicate a change in God’s will or wisdom. A miracle represents a unique occurrence of an event that can still be understood within the causal nexus. On this reading, the Guide reinforces the idea already suggested in Commentary on the Mishnah and Medical Aphorisms, namely that miracles do not represent the abrogation of the laws of nature. In Guide 2.29, Maimonides states (in accordance with the Sages) that when God created

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the primary parts of the universe (the heavens and first matter), God impressed upon them their various natural properties, which contained the very characteristics that would make them produce anomalies at various times in the future. Thus what we might be tempted to call “miraculous events” are already contained in embryo in nature, and will be revealed to the prophet shortly before they occur. God does not need to initiate the miracle when it occurs, nor does the prophet need to do anything special to bring about a miracle: when God warns the prophet about an impending natural event, that event “is effected according to what was put into its nature when first it received its particular impress” (GP 2.29:345). On this reading, a prophet plays much the same role as the natural scientist: the prophet must possess the information necessary to predict that a certain anomaly will occur. Thus for example, part of Moses’ prophetic excellence was in knowing that the Red Sea would part at a certain time, enabling the Israelites to cross on dry land. All the other miracles, he tells us “can be explained in an analogous manner” (GP 2.29:346). On this reading, Maimonides accepts both the permanence of natural laws and the possibility of a particular, temporary change, but this temporary change is itself part of natural law.14 Clearly, however, there are certain things that even God cannot do. What criteria do we use to determine the limits of God’s possibility? In Guide 1.73, Maimonides committed himself to the conclusion that the intellectual faculty determines the realm of possibility, and that whatever was imaginable was ipso facto possible. But in Guide 3.15 he juxtaposes imagination against intellect: “Should this be verified and examined with the help of the imaginative faculty or with the intellect . . . Is there accordingly something that permits differentiation between the imaginative faculty and the intellect?” (GP 3.15:460). If imagination provides the criterion for divine possibility, then God can do anything imaginable; but if the intellectual faculty provides the criterion, then the possible turns out to be only what is logical and rational. There is no way, Maimonides concludes, to determine which of these two tests is operative. Maimonides lists a number of impossible states of affairs that he claims are agreed “according to all men of speculation”: these include the coming together of contraries at the same instant and place; the transmutation of substances; that God should bring into existence an entity like Himself, or annihilate Himself, or become a body, or change (GP 3.15:460). Reflecting these counterinstances to what God can do, Maimonides lays down a general limiting principle on God’s ability to perform miracles: “there are impossible things whose existence cannot be admitted” (GP 3.15:461). Hence God cannot produce just any miracle that He pleases: there are limits to what God can do, although, as Maimonides is quick to note, such a limit “signifies neither inability nor deficiency of Power on his part” (GP 3.15:461). In Chapter 7, we shall turn to the implications of God’s power with respect to the problem of evil, when we examine whether creating a world without evil counts as one of these “impossible” states of affairs.

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How to naturalize miracles in Scripture Maimonides thus naturalizes and subjectivizes many so-called miracles described in Scripture, claiming that the events in question occurred in the agent’s mind and not in reality. Take for example Jacob’s wrestling with God, or Balaam’s ass speaking. In both these cases, Maimonides reminds us that the event in question happened in a vision of prophecy and not in reality, thus undermining the objective status of the event (GP 2.42). Other miraculous accounts are reduced to natural events as well, as in the case of Daniel’s surviving in the lion’s den (GP 2.6). In the case of revelation at Sinai, Maimonides offers the reader several ways to understand the miracle: either as a prophetic vision rooted in intellectual apprehension, or as a prophetic vision that incorporated sight as well, or one that incorporated hearing as well. “Choose whatever opinion you wish,” says Maimonides (GP 1.21), signaling that even this event is not necessarily rooted in objective fact. Again, in the case of explaining the extraordinary life span of certain individuals, Maimonides gives us the option to explain such an anomaly either naturally or supernaturally: “only that individual who is mentioned lived so long a life, whereas the other men lived lives that had the natural and usual duration. The anomaly in the individual in question may be due either to numerous causes attaching to his nutrition and his regimen or is due to a miracle and follows the laws thereof” (GP 2.47:408). In Guide 3.50, Maimonides says that one of the greatest miracles of the Law was “the sojourn of Israel for forty years in the desert and the finding there of manna everyday” (GP 3.50:616). But as we saw above, Maimonides provides a naturalistic explanation of manna in his Medical Aphorisms. In the Guide, he argues that what makes this event miraculous is not that it contravenes the laws of nature, which it does not, but rather that it occurred over so many years. In all these cases, Maimonides is providing his readers with different ways of understanding miracles, depending on their intellectual sophistication: the “vulgar” will cling to the supernatural interpretation that reinforces miraculous events, whereas those initiated in philosophy and science will recognize that none of these events contravenes the natural order. The extent to which Maimonides was willing to naturalize miracles in Scripture is reflected in his interpretation of the famous passage in Joshua 10:12, a text discussed throughout the medieval and early modern period. This passage relates that Joshua and his men are worried that there will not be sufficient time to defeat the five Amorite kings, and so Joshua prays to God to extend the day: “Joshua addressed the Lord; he said in the presence of the Israelites: ‘Stand still, oh sun, at Gibeon, Oh moon, in the Valley of Ajalon!’ and the sun stood still and the moon halted, while a nation wreaked judgment on its foes . . . thus the sun halted in mid-heaven, and did not press on to set, for a whole day” (Joshua 10:12–13). The miracle described in Joshua 10:12–13 posed a particular problem for rationalists who found it hard to accept such a collapse of the celestial order, and tried to attribute the arrest of the sun to

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natural or semi-natural causes. For these philosophers, the underlying question became whether the heavenly bodies could have actually stopped in their tracks, implying a complete suspension of the natural order, or whether there might not be some natural explanation of the phenomenon. Galileo used this text in the seventeenth century as an example of how biblical hermeneutics can reconcile Scripture with the new heliocentric science. Galileo argues in his letter to the Grand Duchess Christina that under the Ptolemaic system, the example “in no way can happen.”15 According to Galileo, if Joshua had wanted the day to be lengthened, he should have ordered the sun to accelerate its motion in such a way that the impulse from the primum mobile would not carry it westward. On the Ptolemaic system, therefore, we must reinterpret Joshua’s words: “given the Ptolemaic system, it is necessary to interpret the words in a way different from their literal meaning.”16 But Galileo’s hermeneutic method, although more complex in terms of the astronomical theory in which it was embedded, had its precedent already in medieval Jewish thought. In his early Commentary to the Mishnah (Avot), Maimonides uses the Joshua proof-text to reiterate the principle that nature was created together with the potential for certain changes, some of which appear as miracles, but actually are woven into the fabric of natural events. As an example, Maimonides gives the following case: “On the fourth day, when the sun was created, it was granted the potential to stand still as Joshua commanded it. The same applies with regard to the other miracles” (CM Avot 5:5:131). On this reading, it appears that the sun actually did stand still, but that its standing still was itself an anomalous event prefixed in the natural order. But by the time of the Guide, his explanation has changed. Maimonides raises Joshua’s miracle in the context of his presentation of the ways in which Moses’ prophecy differs from other prophecies. In Guide 2.35 he suggested that only Moses’ miracles were visible to all the people. But how does this compare to the Joshua example, in which all Israel apparently witnessed the stoppage of the sun? Maimonides resolves the discrepancy by claiming that Joshua’s miracle did not occur in front of “all Israel” but only in front of some Israelites. Further, he argues that the event in question was temporary. Maimonides focuses on the words “for a whole day” to mean “the longest day that may happen,” suggesting that “it is as if it said that the day of Gibeon was for them as the longest of the days of the summer that may occur there” (GP 2.35:368; emphasis is mine). Maimonides thus undercuts the supernaturalist interpretation of this event, according to which the sun actually stopped in its tracks and the entire celestial order was abrogated (in which case the entire world would have been witness to the event). Rather does he suggest that perhaps the “sun stood still” only in the minds of the soldiers, for whom the day “was for them as the longest of days”; that is, it was in their minds, the longest day of summer, but not in actuality. Note that in both texts, the miraculous nature of this event has been removed: in Avot the event is seen as embedded already in the natural order, whereas in the Guide the apparent

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miracle was not a “real event,” but rather a subjective event imagined in the minds of the soldiers.

Conclusion I have argued that in the majority of his writings, Maimonides presented a naturalized theory of both miracle and prophecy. Even his late writings can be construed in a way that presents miracles either as natural events or anomalies embedded into the natural order, or as subjective perceptions not grounded in an objective reality. This naturalizing of miracles affects our understanding of prophecy as well. On my reading of these texts, Maimonides reflected the legacy of al-Fârâbî, who had already paved the way for a naturalistic understanding of prophecy. Both al-Fârâbî and Maimonides attempted to redefine prophecy in a way that provided legitimacy for philosophical pursuits, and would establish value in attainment of philosophical knowledge. Both accounts emphasized that revelation is received only after intellectual perfection has been achieved. Both emphasized the importance of imagination. Both emphasized as well the political role of the prophet, and agree that only the wisest should rule, and that the masses are for the most part incapable of achieving this level of perfection. But Maimonides was not a slavish follower of al-Fârâbî, as evidenced in his treatment of the unique prophecy of Moses. In contradistinction to al-Fârâbî, who spoke of successive ideal legislations each laid down by a supreme lawgiver, Maimonides maintained that only the prophecy of Moses assumed the form of legislation while all the other prophets achieved levels of prophecy below that of Moses. If prophecy is not a miracle rooted in God’s chosenness, can anybody, even a non-Jew, become a prophet? One implication of Maimonides’ naturalism is that anybody who perfects their intellect, even a Gentile, can theoretically prophesy: Maimonides explicitly states in his Epistle to Yemen that “we give credence to a prophet or we disbelieve him because of what he preaches, not because of his descent” (EY 111). The preconditions for prophecy – physiological, moral, psychological, and intellectual perfection – do not, importantly, include being of Jewish descent. We are all born equally with the capability of perfecting our intellect and acquiring prophetic knowledge.17 This position is in clear contradistinction to other Jewish philosophers, including Halevi, Ibn Daud, Crescas, and Albo, all of whom restricted genuine prophecy to Jews. Now it might be argued that inasmuch as prophecy requires both moral and intellectual perfection, and no non-Jew can achieve these without the training of Torah, it follows that only law-abiding Jews can be prophets. But as we shall see in Chapter 9, Maimonides himself does not make this argument. Note for example that the halakhic discussion of prophecy in the Mishneh Torah starts with the statement that “it is one of the basic principles of religion that God inspires men [bnei ha’adam] with the prophetic gift” (BK 7.1:42a), thus including at least theoretically Gentiles as well as Jews. The spirit of prophecy rests

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upon the individual who is “distinguished by great wisdom [hochmah] and strong moral character” (ibid.). In Chapter 4, I argued that Maimonides does not rule out an eternal model of creation. Similarly, I have proffered arguments in this chapter for a naturalistic understanding of prophecy. In so doing, I am arguing in favor of a (P2) reading according to which prophecy has been naturalized in a way that minimizes God’s direct intervention. This position does not deny the incorporation of anomalies into the natural order, but it does underscore a rationalist and naturalized understanding of both prophecy and miracle. This position also minimizes the role played by Divine Will.18

notes 1 Tzvi Langermann contends that Maimonides subscribed as a young man to a system of well-ordered divine governance expressed through the regularity of natural events, a view that would eschew miracles; he then came to question the total regularity of natural events, due to fluctuations that he increasingly came to see as the result of Divine Will or miracles. Langermann depicts Maimonides as constantly questioning, absorbed in a process of relentless selfdoubt, cautious reappraisal, and sober reassessment (see Langermann 2004, 148). In a similar vein, Manekin reinforces the importance of Divine Will in Maimonides’ later works (Manekin 2008). Kasher recognizes different strands in Maimonides’ works, but argues that Maimonides intentionally gives different explanations on different occasions, depending on his audience (see Kasher 1998, 29). 2 For a comprehensive summary of prophecy in Scripture, see Paul et al. (2007). 3 Al-Fârâbî’s text The Political Regime can be found in Lerner and Mahdi (1963). Al-Fârâbî distinguishes between prophecy and revelation, and in many texts he does not refer to the individual who receives revelation as a prophet. Several influential themes emerge in al-Fârâbî’s account: first, he redefines the traditional religious concept of revelation in a way that makes it consistent with philosophy as the highest human pursuit. From the philosophical perspective, revelation is seen to be conditional upon an individual’s having achieved intellectual perfection; on this description, no role is played by God in somebody’s achieving this level. Further, al-Fârâbî does not dwell on the role of the prophet per se, preferring to focus on the characteristics of supreme ruler. This suggests that possibly al-Fârâbî (in line with Averroes) does not consider it necessary that a supreme ruler be accepted as a prophet. A third consideration has to do with the role played by the imaginative faculty in the process of revelation. Al-Fârâbî maintains that often the political ruler must use persuasion in order to convey correct ideas to the masses; persuasion is often best accomplished by appealing to the imagination of the masses, and presenting images in the form of religion. Often these images are even invented by the ruler. For further details, see Macy (1986). 4 See Lerner and Mahdi (1963, 36–7). 5 On Kaplan’s reading, Maimonides favors a universe that follows a fixed natural order but has room for miracles; prophecy is a natural process, but one that allows for divine intervention (miracle) in the case of withholding prophecy

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6 7 8

9

10

11 12 13

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16 17

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(see Kaplan 1977). But as I shall argue below, this view will not work, since (P1) is more clearly aligned to (C1), in that both positions postulate a creation “out of nothing.” On Davidson’s reading, Maimonides rejects the Torah view (C1) of creation in favor of (P2), adopting a Platonic reading while upholding a modified view of prophecy (Davidson 1979). In order to support his reading, Harvey naturalizes the miracles found in (P3) yet denies that Maimonides endorses the more Aristotelian prophecy view (P2) in favor of a modified view (P3). See Kreisel (2001a) for detailed examination of Maimonides’ views on prophecy. For detailed discussion of this point, see Kreisel (1999, 125–58). Kellner discusses the importance of angels to Jewish belief, and emphasizes Maimonides’ attempt to naturalize angels, explaining them in terms of intellects. According to Kellner, Maimonides offers a “radical” reconstruction of the traditional view, reducing angels to “every single causal force in nature.” See Kellner (2006, 272–85). Reines pushes this interpretation further, distinguishing Maimonides’ “apparent concept” of miracles from his “real account.” Reines suggests that the apparent concept of miracles was intended for the masses who, taking Scripture literally, interpreted the miracles contained in Scripture literally; Maimonides’ “real” account of miracles, presented for an elite reader, is that miracles are simply anomalies of nature. Because they are scientifically explicable, their natural causation and future occurrence can be known and hence predicted by the prophet. See Reines (1974, 267). Manekin has argued in a recent article that Maimonides has two operative notions of will, eternal will and novel will, and that these affect his concept of “naturally caused action.” On this reading, naturalism rules out supernatural things or events, but does not exclude the notion of ongoing divine activity. According to Manekin, Maimonides recognizes a class of divine phenomena that “are not explicable with reference to the stable nature of things,” such as miracles. See Manekin (2008, 192–3). See Weiss (2007, 14) for further discussion of the implications of these characterizations. See Halkin and Hartmann (1985) for sustained argument. Interestingly, the same point is made by al-Ghazâlî in his Tahafut al Falasifa (trans. van der Berg, 327): “why does our opponent declare it impossible that matter should pass through these different phases in a shorter period than is usual, and when once a shorter period is allowed, there is no limit to its being shorter and shorter . . . and eventually arrive at the stage of being a miracle of a prophet.” See Kasher (1998) for further discussion of this point. Galilei Galileo, “Galileo’s Letter to the Grand Duchess Christina,” in Maurice A. Finocchiaro (ed.), The Galileo Affair: A Documentary History. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989, 114. Ibid., 115. Kellner has written extensively about this question, and has argued that Maimonides’ philosophy is decidedly universalistic on this issue. See his sustained argument in Kellner (2006). Again, see Manekin (2008) for a different picture of the role played by Divine Will.

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further reading Galston, Miriam, “Philosopher-King v. Prophet,” Israel Oriental Studies 8 (1978), 204–18. Heller, Joseph, “Maimonides’ Theory of Miracles,” in Alexander Altmann (ed.), Between East and West (London: East and West Library, 1958), 112–27. Kaplan, Lawrence, “Maimonides on the Miraculous Element in Prophecy,” Harvard Theological Review 70 (1977), 233–56. Kasher, Hannah, “Biblical Miracles and the Universality of Natural Law: Maimonides’ Three Methods of Harmonization,” Journal of Jewish Thought and Philosophy 8 (1998), 25–52. Kreisel, Howard, “Miracles in Medieval Jewish Philosophy,” Jewish Quarterly Review 75 (1984), 99–133. Kreisel, Howard, Prophecy: The History of an Idea in Medieval Jewish Philosophy. (Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Press, 2001), esp. Chapter 3 on Maimonides. Langermann, Y. Tzvi, “Maimonides and Miracles: The Growth of a (Dis)belief,” Jewish History 18 (2004), 147–72. Macy, Jeffrey, “Prophecy in al-Fârâbî and Maimonides,” in Shlomo Pines and Yirmiyahu Yovel (eds.), Maimonides and Philosophy: Papers Presented at the Sixth Jerusalem Philosophical Encounter, May 1985 (Dordrecht: Martinus Nijhoff, 1986), 185–201. Manekin, Charles H., “Divine Will in Maimonides’ Later Writings,” in Arthur Hyman and Alfred Ivry (eds.), Maimonidean Studies (2008), 189–222. Weiss, Roslyn, “Natural Order or Divine Will: Maimonides on Cosmogony and Prophecy,” Journal of Jewish Thought and Philosophy 15 (1) (2007), 1–25.

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chapter 7

philosophical theology divine providence, human freedom, and theodicy Introduction he question of why the righteous suffer dates back to the Book of Job and remains one of the most intractable issues in the philosophy of religion. Most generally, the very concept of a caring Deity who is both omniscient and omnipotent gives rise to a logical dilemma, one that was concretized by Hume in his Dialogues on Natural Religion: if God is omniscient, then God knows past, present, and future contingents; if God is omnipotent, then God can actualize any state of affairs; if God is benevolent, then presumably God wishes the best possible state of affairs for God’s creatures; and yet we cannot help but recognize the basic fact that the righteous suffer. And so, given the ineluctable reality of human suffering, either God is not omniscient, or not omnipotent, or not benevolent. The problem of evil thus comprises a number of issues related to divine omniscience and omnipotence: the general problem of logical fatalism, the problem of God’s foreknowledge of human events and the relation of this knowledge to free will, and particular theological difficulties centering around the notions of Divine Providence and retribution. In this chapter we shall start with Maimonides’ attempt to explain the existence of evil in the context of divine omniscience and omnipotence. Maimonides did not feel he had to explain why a perfect Deity created an imperfect world, for in his ontology, imperfection is rooted in the material principle, which by its very nature comprises the source for evil. The fact that matter contains the ingredients of evil does not (in Maimonides’ mind) reflect negatively on a perfectly good creator. But, as noted above, the doctrine of evil is connected to the topic of Divine Providence, for if God presumably cares for creatures in a benevolent manner, how can we reconcile God’s supposed providential care with the fact that often gratuitous evil occurs? We then turn to Maimonides’ analysis of the Book of Job, a work that he felt highlighted the details of his philosophical theology.

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Maimonides T. M. Rudavsky © 2010 T M. Rudavsky. ISBN: 978-1-405-14897-9

We end the chapter with a consideration of divine omniscience and its effects upon human choice. If God knows future contingents before they have occurred, does God’s knowledge affect the contingent nature of human actions? In the Mishneh Torah, Maimonides articulated the classic dilemma of free choice vs. foreknowledge as follows: Perchance you will say, “Does not the Almighty know everything that will be before it happens?” He either knows that this person will be righteous or wicked, or He does not know. If He knows that he will be righteous, it is impossible that he should not be righteous; and if you say that He knows that he will be righteous and yet it is possible for him to be wicked, then He does not know the matter clearly. (R 5:10 87b)

On this dilemma, either God has foreknowledge, or humans have free will, but not both. Maimonides acknowledges the intractability of this dilemma, inherited already from the rabbis, and approaches it in a number of his works.

Evil and Theodicy Evil and the material principle Although Maimonides devotes only three chapters in the Guide (3.10–12) to the problem of evil, I have tried to argue throughout this work that he equates the material principle with negation, privation, and evil. Maimonides is obsessed with the material principle and its deleterious effects upon human behavior. The placement of these three chapters directly after chapters eight and nine, which pertain to the ontological status of matter, reinforces the underlying connection between matter and evil. Recall Maimonides’ arguments in chapters eight and nine, that all bodies subject to generation and corruption attain to corruption only because of their matter (GP 3.8:430). Furthermore, as we shall see in Chapter 8, Maimonides claims that all acts of disobedience and sins are consequent upon a person’s material nature; presumably, then, both sin (intentional wrongdoing) and evil would not occur if persons were not materially constituted. Finally, as we have seen in various contexts, Maimonides has argued that matter acts as a barrier, “a strong veil” preventing our apprehension of God (GP 3.9:436). And so our discussion of “why bad things happen to good people” must take into account this ontological backdrop. I will argue that Maimonides construes the problem of evil as largely an ontological problem, rather than a strictly theological problem having to do with the limits of God. In what he calls a “preamble,” Maimonides first addresses the problems posed by a Neoplatonist ontology, and reinforced by the Mutakallimûn. If we agree with the Neoplatonists that existence is good, and if we agree furthermore with Scripture that whatever God creates is good (as stated in Genesis 1), how

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do we account for the fact that “darkness and evil” exist as well? Are these not by implication to be considered as good, since they were created by God? Maimonides rejects this implication by reverting to the theory of “privation” adduced by the both Neoplatonic and Kalâm thinkers. Maimonides follows standard Neoplatonic language in claiming that “all evils are privations” (GP 3.10:439). In other words, all evils, e.g. death, illness, poverty, etc., are to be construed as “privations of habitus.” By “privation of habitus,” Maimonides means that evils represent a lack, or absence, in relation to something else; it is only when we note the absence of that status quo, or habitus, that we recognize what we term “evil.” Just as “darkness” denotes the absence or lack of light, so too “evil” denotes the absence or lack of good. The very terms “good” and “evil” according to Maimonides are subjective terms and have no objective referent (see Chapter 8 for discussion of this point in greater detail). How do we account for the coming into being of these privations? The Mutakallimûn had argued that “nonbeing does not need an agent, for only an act calls necessarily for an agent” (GP 3.10:439). Non-being, or privation, is not an existing thing, and since it is nothing but the “absence of existence” it does not require a causal explanation. Reflecting Aristotle’s distinction in Physics 8.4.255b24ff. between different types of movers, Maimonides modifies this position. According to Maimonides, we say of one who removes a certain habitus that he “produces the corresponding privation, though that privation is not an existent thing” (GP 3.10:438). In other words, in contradistinction to the Mutakallimûn who eschewed an agent altogether, Maimonides, along with Aristotle, accedes that the act of turning out a lamp has “brought about darkness,” and the act of destroying sight has “made blindness” (ibid.). Note, however, the use of the verbs “brought about” and “made.” Maimonides quotes as a proof-text Isaiah 45:7, “who forms [oseh] light and creates [boreh] darkness, who makes [oseh] peace and creates [boreh] evil.” Maimonides’ point here is that the term “create” (boreh) indicates bringing out of nothing something, or out of privation existence. But such a transformation from non-being/privation to being requires an agent. Consider Maimonides’ next example: “for he who brings into existence a certain kind of matter that is incapable of receiving a certain habitus may be said to have made the privation in question; just as one who is able to save an individual from perishing and refrains from saving him may be said to have killed him” (GP 3.10:439). This is a striking example, and cannot help but remind us of his brother David’s death by drowning. Maimonides is making two points: first, if I am in a position to save somebody from perishing and I refrain from doing so, then it is as if I contributed to killing him. Might we not apply this argument to God, who refrained from saving those merchants (including Maimonides’ own brother) who embarked upon a journey and perished? Secondly, Maimonides is telling us that an agent who “makes” an entity that is incapable of receiving a habitus is as if he had made the privation in question: thus making matter without the habitus of good, is as if one has made the privation “evil.” In both cases, the agent refrained from performing

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a positive action, and so is responsible for the negative consequences. Maimonides is careful to absolve God of immediate responsibility for evil, reminding us that all God’s actions are good. It cannot be the case that God has what Maimonides calls “a primary intention to produce evil” (GP 3.10:440). God can only be considered an agent in the ancillary sense that God has “brought matter into existence” with its property of being associated with privation. Note that the term used by Maimonides is not “create” (boreh) but rather “make” (oseh). Even this material substrate, Maimonides is quick to claim, is ultimately good “in view of the perpetuity of generation and the permanence of being through succession” (GP 3.10:440). Maimonides does not answer, however, the underlying question: given that God is omnipotent, and able to bring into existence any possible state of affairs, why permit a world that contains within it materiality? Using Maimonides’ own principle adduced above, by making matter with the properties it has, God may be said to have made the privation of matter, namely evil.

Typology of evil In chapters eleven and twelve, Maimonides undertakes a classical theodicy, drawn on conventional distinctions. Following the Neoplatonic motif enunciated in chapter ten that evil is a privation, Maimonides now claims that most moral evils (those that occur between humans) are the result of either ignorance or the privation of knowledge. Reflecting the Platonic maxim that to know the good is to do the good, Maimonides suggests that it is as a result of ignorance that we inflict harm upon ourselves and upon others. In fact, however, this Platonic maxim is not a satisfactory response, and we shall return to it in the context of discussing moral weakness (see Chapter 8). Further, using al-Râzî as a foil, Maimonides claims that there exists much less evil in the world than adduced by al-Râzî.1 It is only because we view the universe from our limited perspective that we perceive matters as worse than in fact they are; were we to adopt a more holistic view, what Spinoza will later describe as sub specie aeternitas, we would realize that humans are but a speck of sand, and that our travails are but a minor chord in the vast orchestra of the universe. Nevertheless, Maimonides realizes that the masses are unable to attain this lofty detached perspective. Recognizing that a better explanation is needed, he demarcates three types of evil: metaphysical evil, natural evil, and moral evil. The first type of evil refers back to the ontological make-up of matter itself: it is because we are endowed with matter that we suffer the material infirmities we deem evil. Laying the groundwork for his subsequent discussion of divine omnipotence, Maimonides dismisses the obvious objection – why couldn’t God have created “coming to be” without “passing away”? – with an ad hominem: “He who wishes to be endowed with flesh and bones and at the same time not be subject to impressions and not to be attained by any of the concomitants of matter merely wishes, without being aware of it, to combine two contraries,

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namely, to be subject to impressions, and not to be subject to them” (GP 3.12:443). In other words, the very nature of “being a human being” requires that we be subject to generation and corruption, and the latter carries with it all the pains and imperfections we associate with human life. Maimonides adumbrates the strain to be popularized by Leibniz five centuries later in his Theodicy, namely that this is the best of all possible worlds. God could not have created a matter with a more perfect nature: material stuff “is generated in the most possible way in which it is possible to be generated out of that specific matter” (GP 3.12:444). What Leibniz termed “natural evils” are folded into this first category of metaphysical evils. Maimonides simply suggests that they are rare enough so as not to affect his discussion. But it is hard to believe that, as a doctor who was presumably privy to all the material manifestations of human illness and disease, Maimonides really thought that physical evils were “rare.” Maimonides’ second category of evils (natural evils) we may term “social evils,” namely those resulting from political upheaval or moral behavior. According to Maimonides, these are relatively rare as well. Again, we can only wonder what Maimonides really thought about the fact that his own family had to flee Cordoba for North Africa, for reasons of political upheaval. It is the third category of evil, what we may call personal evils, that most concern Maimonides. Here we can hear the strains of Maimonides the physician, admonishing his flock not to overindulge in eating, drinking, sexual licenciousness etc., which might result in personal harm. Maimonides divides personal evils into those we bring upon ourselves physically (diseases of the body), and those we introduce psychically (diseases of the soul). With respect to the first, it is clearly overindulgence that is to blame: reminiscent of Socrates’ exhortation in the Phaedo not to indulge in bodily pursuits, Maimonides reminds us that vice with respect to eating, drinking, and copulation are due to “excess in regard to quantity or irregularly or when the quality of the foodstuffs is bad” (GP 3.12:445). Note that Maimonides is not advocating total abstinence, but rather restraint or moderation. We shall return to this notion of restraint (Aristotle’s doctrine of the mean) in Chapter 8. Diseases of the soul are a bit more complex. In the first place, Maimonides tells us, overindulgence on the bodily side cannot help but affect our moral temperament, and so that is reason enough to exercise physical restraint. Furthermore, as a result of physical overindulgence, we tend to lust after items that will satisfy these physical desires. Reminiscent of Plato’s description of the eruption of the simple, Spartan city-state into a more “bloated city-state” directed to sating our superfluous needs, Maimonides described the “bloated soul” as one lusting after superfluous material things: unlike the pursuit of items necessary to human survival, the desire for superfluous possessions is endless and leads to infinite desire, lust, and avarice. Interestingly enough, the “necessaries” of life such as air, water, and food tend to be more accessible and cheaper, while the less necessary luxuries tend to be less accessible and hence

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more expensive. Were we to eliminate our desires for these luxuries, our soul would cease to suffer needless anxiety and the concomitent evils that accrue upon their pursuit. Hence, it is human will that introduces this third variety of evil.

Divine omnipotence and metaphysical evil We suggested above that according to Maimonides, matter by its nature represents the privation of good. But the astute reader cannot help but entertain the following counter-argument: If God is in fact both beneficent and omnipotent, could not God have created a state of affairs in which matter does not necessarily carry with it imperfection? Recognizing this challenge, Maimonides realizes that he must define more carefully the limits of God’s powers. Hence Guide 3.15 is devoted to an examination of the “impossible.” Maimonides frames the issue in the context of Kalâm thought. All philosophers agree, he claims, that there exists a class of “impossible”; the question is how to articulate what counts as an impossible state of affairs. The Kalâm thinkers had articulated this question in terms of the “imaginability” of states of affairs. Is it the case that God can bring about everything “imaginable,” or is imagination alone not a sufficient criterion to determine the limits of God’s power? In Chapter 6 we discussed the issue of possibility in the context of miracles. In contradistinction to Kalâm thinkers, philosophers agree that God cannot violate the laws of non-contradiction. According to Maimonides, all are agreed that even God cannot make it be the case that contraries can come together at the same instant, at the same time, and the same place; nor can God effect the transmutation of substances (from accident into substance, or substance into accident, or substance without accident). Nor can God bring into existence another omnipotent Deity, nor can God annihilate Himself, or become a body. These are all instances of logical impossibilities and “the power to do any of these things cannot be attributed to God” (GP 3.15:460). Where philosophers disagree is over more ambiguous cases, such as creating an accident that exists alone without a substance, or creating a corporeal thing “out of no matter whatever.” The former example is adduced by the Mu‘tazilites as possible, while the latter is adduced by Maimonides himself as possible, but by the Aristotelian philosophers as impossible. It is interesting that Maimonides follows this example with another telling example: philosophers recognize the logical impossibility of creating a square whose diagonal is equal to one one of its sides, whereas those ignorant of mathematics might think such a state to be possible. Is Maimonides suggesting that just as those ignorant of mathematics might assume the possibility of such a geometrical figure, so too those ignorant of cosmology might assume creation ex nihilo? Maimonides concludes that there are things that even God cannot do or change; the ability to create matter without the attribute of imperfection is one such thing. This is not to impute to God a deficiency: “the fact that He does not change them signifies neither inability nor deficiency of power on His part” (GP 3.15:461).

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Divine Providence, Evil, and Human Choice Providence and the existence of evil Having examined the logic of divine omnipotence, Maimonides turns in Guide 3.15–21 to an extended cluster of issues having to do with divine omnipotence, omniscience, and benevolence. If God is both a benevolent being who cares for humans, an omnipotent being who can bring about any state of affairs, and an omniscient being who knows the implications of all our actions, why do the righteous suffer? Does not the very existence of gratuitous evil preclude God’s benevolence, omniscience, or omnipotence? The philosophers in fact presented such an argument, and Maimonides offers it as a position to be refuted. This argument can be recast as follows: A

B C

D E F G H

Either (A1) God is omniscient; or (A2) God is not omniscient. Assume God is not omniscient; then God is not responsible for human suffering, since God is unaware of the plight of humans. If, however, we assume God is omniscient, then either (C1) God is omniscient, benevolent, and omnipotent, and this is the best possible world. (C2) God is omniscient, benevolent, but not omnipotent, and is unable to establish any other order. (C3) God is omniscient, omnipotent, but not benevolent, and is unwilling or uninterested in establishing an order in which suffering does not occur. The philosophers rule out (C2) on the grounds that it limits God’s essence. The philosophers rule out (C3) on the grounds that God is not malevolent. And so only (C1) or (A2) are viable options. But we know that this is not the best possible world, since the righteous suffer, and so (C1) cannot be the case. And so the philosophers support (A2) that God is not omniscient. (GP 3.16:461–3)

In contradistinction to the philosophers, Maimonides rejects [A2] and claims that “He, may he be exalted, knows everything and nothing secret is at all hidden from him” (GP 3.16:463). In order to maintain this position, he will have to consider whether God’s knowledge extends to the domain of possibles, either those things that are now existing, or those things that will be brought into existence at a future time, and how this knowledge affects the human condition.

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But before considering the details of divine omniscience, Maimonides turns in Guide 3.17 to the relation between Divine Providence, evil, and human freedom. He starts his discussion by summarizing five different theories of Divine Providence.2 The five theories are those of: 1 2 3 4 5

Epicurus and his followers who denied God’s providence altogether. Aristotle who believed that providence extends only to the superlunar sphere but not to the sublunar sphere. The Asharites who claimed that every event in the world is predestined by God, thus denying any contingency. The Mu‘tazilites who believed in limited free will for humans. Mosaic Law according to which humans have perfect freedom, while at the same time everything that happens to humans is the result of God’s justice.

While we might assume that Maimonides adheres to (5), I shall argue that Maimonides’ own opinion concerning providence is a modification of (2), which he attributes to Aristotle.3 From the perspective of divine omniscience, (1) represents what we may term a radical atheistic view. On Epicurus’s view, everything happens by chance and there is nobody who orders or governs the universe; Maimonides has rejected this position already in his cosmological discussions. On the view attributed to Aristotle (2), while God’s providence pertains only to the eternal spheres, and not to individuals in the sublunar world, providence has provided for the continuation and preservation of individuals by providing them with the appropriate faculties. Every individual has been given “that which the species he belongs to needs” – for example the rational faculty for humans – and so every individual has been provided with a survival mechanism. On Aristotle’s view, providence is general and not individual, and does not control the individual minutiae in the sublunar world. Providence does not distinguish, for example, between a stone falling on and killing an ant, and the “drowning of the excellent and superior men that were on board the ship” that went down in a storm (GP 3.17:466). Compare this view to that of the Asharites (3) according to whom nothing is due to chance, for “everything comes about through will, purpose, and governance” (ibid.). On this strictly determinist view, every event in the sublunar world is set into motion by God; in fact God is the direct cause of all events. There is no possibility, and all events are “either necessary or impossible” (GP 3.17:467). Because there is no human choice or freedom, the law is rendered useless. In their attempt to circumvent the uselessness of human deliberation and responsibility, the Mu‘tazilites claim (4) that “man has the ability to act of his own accord” even though God knows future contingent events (GP 3.17:468). Maimonides finds this position problematic as well, arguing that the Mu‘tazilites are forced to propose far-fetched explanations for apparent injustices. Having rejected each of these positions, Maimonides then turns to (5), the position of the Law (“our opinion”), according to which God has willed that

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humans have “an absolute ability to act: I mean to say that in virtue of his nature, his choice, and his will, he may do everything that it is within the capacity of man to do, and this without there being created for his benefit in any way any newly produced thing” (GP 3.17:469). On this position, God is absolutely just, and so according to (5) all calamities are deserved. Maimonides, however, is quite explicit that this is not his position and that he will let us know what “I myself believe about this” (GP 3.17:469). Despite the fact that Maimonides tells us that he has not relied on demonstrative argument, but rather on the books of the prophets, his own view differs from (5). Maimonides describes his own position (6) as follows: Divine providence watches only over the individuals belonging to the human species . . . but regarding all the other animals, and all the more, the plants and other things, my opinion is that of Aristotle. (GP 3.17:471)

He tells us that this position is “nearer than they to intellectual reasoning.” Maimonides’ theory (6) thus incorporates elements of both Aristotle and the divine law. Remember that while the superlunar orderings on Aristotle’s view (2) occur in accordance with providence and evince a certain “orderly course,” everything in the sublunar universe “exist[s] by chance and not through the governance of one who governs,” and so is not subject to providence (GP 3.17:466). Maimonides agrees with the first half of (2) pertaining to the superlunar spheres, but disagrees with the second. He argues that although providence in the sublunar universe extends to all and only human beings, it does not necessarily reflect divine retribution or reward. Let us return to Maimonides’ example of a shipwreck. Aristotle had argued that while a natural event such as a hurricane was part of the natural order, the deaths of the individuals on board was due totally to chance and hence undeserved. Note that both the Mu‘tazilites and Asharites would agree that the deaths of those aboard were undeserved, but the result of Divine Will. According to Mosaic Law, the drownings were deserved, but we cannot understand the ways of God. Maimonides agrees with Aristotle that the founderings of a ship are “due to pure chance”; but he agrees with the Law that the fact certain people in the ship went on board is, “according to our opinion, not due to chance (be-miqreh), but to divine will in accordance with the deserts of those people as determined in his judgments” (GP 3.17:472). Maimonides is not saying that God is vindictive, or that God singles out individuals for punishment. In Maimonides’ view, Divine Providence is consequent upon the perfection of human intellect and reflects the causal and ontological grid whereby God orders reality. In this respect it differs from (5) which did not emphasize the importance of intellectual perfection. The actual storm and subsequent drowning are the result of natural events, but that certain individuals chose to go on board is part of God’s order. In order for God to permit a causal nexus according to which certain people board the ship and others do

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not, God must know, as it were, whether or not they are deserving of providence. God must therefore have knowledge of particulars, as well as the causal nexus in which natural events (stormy seas) are ordered. Maimonides distinguishes between general providence, which is provided equally to all members of the human species as part of the natural order, and individual providence, which is provided to individuals according to their merit.4 Individual providence is the result of the divine overflow through the Agent Intellect. Maimonides explains that on his view, Divine Providence is “consequent upon the divine overflow; and the species with which this intellectual overflow is united, so that it became endowed with intellect and so that everything that is disclosed to a being endowed with the intellect was disclosed to it, is the one accompanied by divine providence” (GP 3.17:472). In other words, the amount of providence is directly dependent upon the level of intellectual perfection achieved by the agent. Providence is not equal for all individuals, but is “graded as their human perfection is graded” (GP 3.18:475). When we are no longer communing with God and have withdrawn our epistemic attention, providence ceases to protect us: “those who are near to Him are exceedingly well protected . . . whereas those who are far from Him are given over to whatever may happen to befall them” (GP 3.18:476). As we shall see in Chapter 9, only those who have achieved the highest levels of intellectual perfection will enjoy complete providential benevolence.

The Book of Job: theodicy and providence in action Maimonides provides in Guide 3.22– 4 a perfect case study of how his theory works in the real world. The story of Job is, in Maimonides’ words, “extraordinary and marvelous,” a “parable intended to set forth the opinions of people concerning providence” (GP 3.22:486). Thus Maimonides sets the stage for utilizing the Book of Job as scriptural support for his own theory of Divine Providence. Job’s story is well known: Job is a good person who is tested by God (via Satan), undergoes many physical and emotional trials, and does not give up his belief in God; at the end of the book, God appears to Job out of the whirlwind and chastizes him, and the book ends with Job’s being rewarded by God. The most marvelous and strange part of this story, according to Maimonides, is that Job is decribed at the beginning of story not as wise, but only as moral and righteous. To mention a theme to which we shall return in Chapter 9, moral virtues such as righteousness turn out to be necessary but not sufficient for human perfection: intellectual virtue is required as well for human perfection, which leads to providential care. If Job had been wise, or had attained intellectual virtue, then “his situation would not have been obscure for him, as will become clear” (GP 3.22:487). The individual endowed with intellectual virtue will understand their position, and will not even be tempted by Satan to revile God when his or her fortunes turn. Maimonides spends considerable time accounting for the role played by Satan. In keeping with the parabolic nature of the text, Satan (in Maimonides’

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view) clearly plays an important allegorical role. In this case, Satan represents a negative force in the sublunar universe. Most commentators are in agreement that Satan represents either the principle of privation, or a representation of matter, or both (see Eisen 2004, 51–2). Either of these readings would, in fact, accord with Maimonides’ conception of evil as rooted in matter, which itself represents privation of being. The importance of this identification hearkens back to Maimonides’ statement in Guide 3.10 that God is not the direct cause of evil: in fact, in the case of Job, it is Satan, and not God, who is ultimately responsible for the severity of Job’s travails. Further, Maimonides explicitly associates Satan with “the evil inclination” (yetzer ha’ra), the very desire and lust that lead the human into personal evil in the first place (described above). Finally, note that Satan has no power over Job’s soul: reflective of Maimonides’ views adduced above, privation has no power over the intellectual or cognitive intellect, and so Satan cannot influence Job’s spiritual existence. And so Maimonides’ description of Satan mirrors his description of evil in Chapters 10–12 (which we discussed in the section on “Evil and the Material Principle” above). In fact it might be argued that the very evils that plague Job mirror the tripartite division of evils in Guide 3.12: Job experiences the destruction of his house, family, and livestock (type 1); human violence in the form of his friends turning on him (type 2); and of course the evils that Job has inflicted upon himself reflective of bodily illness (type 3).5 Maimonides interprets each of Job’s “friends” as representative of one of the five theories of providence adduced above: Job’s own position (that evil attends to both the righteous and wicked indiscriminately) is ostensibly identified with the Epicureans (theory (1) above); Eliphaz claims that Job deserved everything that happened but we cannot understand the correlations between our actions and our punishment, reflecting a simplistic reading of “the Law” (5); Bildad’s position, that if he did not deserve to suffer in this life, Job will be rewarded in the afterlife, is in keeping with that of the Mu‘tazilites (4); and Zophar, who emphasizes the immutable and absolute will of God, reflects the Asharite position (3). Maimonides pays particular attention to the opinions of the stranger Elihu, suggesting that it is Elihu who introduces an Aristotelian dimension into the story of Job (2); this dimension is reflected in (6) as well. Elihu describes the three previous speeches as “senile drivel” and he introduces the idea of the “intercession of an angel,” suggesting that if an angel intercedes for a person during the final moments, said person can be “raised from his fall . . . and restored to the best of states” (GP 3.23:495). This intercession is akin to a moment of prophetic revelation, and is the very experience that Job achieves at the culmination of his ordeal. Unfortunately, Maimonides says very little about this experience, and we learn nothing about who this angel is, what exactly the angel does, and how Job reacts. Commentators both medieval and modern have disagreed over whether the angel is supposed to represent the Active Intellect, the human intellect, or possibly a higher intellect altogether. Most commentators do agree, however, that what Job learns from his ordeal is that ordinary human intellect is insufficient

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to understand the ways of God: Job is privy to the sublunar workings of the universe, but God reminds Job that our intellect cannot penetrate the superlunar sphere (GP 3.23:496). Maimonides repeatedly reinforces the equivocal nature of divine action, the inability of humans to understand God’s motives, intention, or actions, and the inadequacy of any comparison between human and divine actions (GP 3.23:496–7). Most important, it is the internal working of Divine Providence that is beyond human understanding. Job’s recantation, “Wherefore I abhor myself, and repent of dust and ashes” (Job 42:6), reflects his newly acquired status that enables him to both understand and endure his situation with equanimity. This twofold ability – understanding and perseverance – brings about his ultimate salvation and the salvation of his family. What Job has learned is to transcend his suffering, and not let it affect his inner being. This lesson is reflective of Maimonides’ comments in Guide 3.51, to which we turn below. It also reinforces the viewpoint of Elihu, who in Maimonides’ view presents the most sanguine view of providence. According to some commentators, Maimonides thus intends to signal to the astute reader that Elihu, and the (esoterically) Aristotelian views on providence, are ultimately adduced by the Book of Job.

A second theory of divine providence? I have suggested that in its emphasis upon the importance of intellectual perfection, Maimonides’ theory of Divine Providence combines elements of Aristotelian naturalism with the Mosaic emphasis upon Divine Will and volition. At the end of the Guide, Maimonides returns to the topic of Divine Providence one last time, and tries to explain why it is that often the righteous (who ostensibly should be most firmly united with the divine overflow) nevertheless experience evil and suffering. Maimonides introduces this discussion in the middle of Guide 3.51, sharing what he calls a “most extraordinary speculation” that has just occurred to him.6 Claiming that Divine Providence is constantly watching over those who have obtained the intellectual overflow from God, Maimonides emphasizes the point that evil only attends to those who withdraw their attentions from God: “providence withdraws from him during the time when he is occupied with something else” (GP 3.51:625). Prophets or excellent persons suffer evil only during times of distraction, the greatness of the calamity being “proportionate to the duration of the period of distraction or to the vileness of the matter with which he was occupied” (ibid.). One who apprehends God and is not distracted, “that individual can never be afflicted with evil of any kind. For he is with God and God is with him” (ibid.). Evil can only befall one who abandons God. Maimonides explicitly states that, “we are cause of this hiding of the face,” that we are the cause of the separation between ourselves and God (GP 3.51:626). I shall return to this point in Chapter 9, where we examine Maimonides’ claim that calamities are most apt to strike while attending to one’s physical needs rather than intellectual apprehension.

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But Maimonides’ explanation is problematic, and commentators in Maimonides’ own time were well aware of the apparent ambiguities expressed in theory (6). Many medieval philosophers read Maimonides’ position as a version of Aristotle’s naturalist theory, which allowed little room for divine volition. But how can Maimonides account simultaneously for the ship’s foundering due to chance, God’s Divine Will determining who shall drown, and a person’s boarding the ship freely? And what sense can we make of Maimonides’ prooftext (Psalms 91:3–6), quoted in Guide 3.51, to the effect that “no evil at all will befall” an intellectually perfected individual, even in the midst of a raging battle? In a letter to Maimonides, Samuel ibn Tibbon suggested that the Guide appeared to contain two contradictory theories of Divine Providence – one a naturalistic theory based on divine overflow, and the second a supernatural theory based on divine miraculous intervention.7 Ibn Tibbon claimed that while Guide 3.17 contained a naturalistic theory relevant to the welfare of the soul, Guide 3.51 emphasized the point that the devout individual would never suffer any harm. Another problem with Maimonides’ solution is that it is not clear what God actually knows. In other words, we need to say more about the relation obtaining between general and individual providence, and whether God can be said to know particulars in their particularity. In support of the thesis that providence is limited to species (e.g. the species human being in general) and does not extend to particulars (e.g. to me qua particular member of that species), consider a situation in which I am distracted and so fail to benefit from God’s providence. On this theory of general providence, God does not know me other than as an instantiated member of the species in question, and so my actions are responsible for whether or not I am subject to providence. In the case of general providence, my well-being as an individual member of a species is linked directly to a theory of divine emanation. As we have seen above, it is not God who brings on the separation, but humans in their willful turning away from God. We shall return in Chapter 9 to the suffering of the righteous, in the context of Maimonides’ discussion of human felicity. Let me suggest here, though, that on a naturalistic reading, it is the intellectual overflow from the Agent Intellect that provides the righteous individual with the knowledge to avoid harmful situations. Presumably, if I have sufficient knowledge of weather and oceanic storms, I should know not to embark upon a perilous sea voyage. When I am actualizing my intellectual perfection, and am attuned to the intellectual overflow, I am protected; only when I am distracted does providential protection cease. But, more important, Maimonides will claim in Guide 3.51 that the truly perfect individual is impervious to suffering. One who is genuinely focused on divine apprehension, and consummately devoted to achieving intellectual perfection, will not be affected by “spatio-temporal suffering”; such an individual has transcended the ordinary sphere of human evils and suffering, and exists on a separate plane altogether. On this theory, Maimonides argues, evil does not actually exist for such an individual. Returning to the motif that

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evil (like matter) is a privation, Maimonides’ point is that one who has perfected the intellectual faculty will no longer be affected by privations.

Divine Omniscience and Human Freedom Maimonides’ theory of Divine Providence has emphasized the intellectual ties between God and human beings. But does God even know particulars qua particular? Having discussed the parameters of Divine Providence, Maimonides now returns to the details of omniscience. In particular he is concerned with whether God can obtain knowledge of concrete particulars. One critical issue is whether God’s knowledge can be of infinite things. Maimonides rejects the argument that since God’s knowledge extends only to things immutable, and infinite things are in a constant state of flux, it follows that God’s knowledge must extend only to universals or to His own essence (GP 3.20:481). In this context, Maimonides mentions the view that “knowledge has for its object the species, but in a certain sense, extends to all the individuals of the species” (ibid.). Maimonides might very well have in mind here the position of Avicenna, who argued that God knows the species directly but knows indirectly the individuals comprised in the species. Although Maimonides does not explicitly reject this view, it is doubtful he would have espoused it, since in an earlier chapter he suggests the quasi-nominalist thesis that “no species exists outside the mind, but (that) the species and the other universals are, as you know, mental notions and (that) every existent outside the mind is an individual or a group of individuals” (GP 3.18:474). Some scholars have argued that although universals have no existence independently of the mind, nevertheless according to Maimonides they do exist in the intellect and hence form elements of knowledge. Ultimately, however, knowledge is of the individual, and not of the species. That God’s knowledge extends directly to individuals is supported by Maimonides’ statement that God knows “with one knowledge the many and numerous things” (GP 3.20:480). Again, I emphasize the import of the terms “many” and “numerous,” both of which reinforce the idea that God’s knowledge comprises individual particulars. But can God know an infinite number of multiples without this implying a multiplicity in His nature? Maimonides does not broach this question; he concludes simply that God’s knowledge may have as its object something that is infinite (GP 3.20:483).

Compatibilism and incompatibilism defined Maimonides’ theory of Divine Providence thus leads us to consider the notion of divine omniscience more closely. We have seen that within a monist ontology, God is characterized as a unity, unchanging in essence and allknowing (omniscient). Maimonides accepted an Aristotelian epistemology that identifies the knower with the object known. That God knows at least His own

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essence is reflected in Aristotle’s dictum that God is thought thinking itself; hence, to claim that God knows events in the sublunar world is to posit at the very least a likeness, if not an actual isomorphism, between God and what God knows. But once it is claimed that God’s knowledge extends beyond His own essence to creatures, a number of problems arise. Most importantly, does God know particulars? If God does not know particulars in their particularity, in what sense can we attribute God’s benevolence to specific individuals? But if God does know particulars, does this knowledge compromise either God’s unity or immutability, and thus, God’s essence? For if the objects of God’s knowledge constitute a multiplicity, then God’s essence would be isomorphic with this multiplicity, thus eschewing divine simplicity. Furthermore, if the objects of God’s knowledge are mutable and changeable, then God’s essence will change along with changes in the objects of his knowledge. But according to Aristotelian theories, the Prime Mover is itself unmoved, and unchanging. And so medievals were confronted with a Deity who is both unchanging and changing. Maimonides will have to explain how it is that God can know particulars in the sublunar world, without this knowledge compromising God’s essential nature. Within the history of medieval thought, two main solutions to the problem of divine foreknowledge presented themselves: (theological) incompatibilism and (theological) compatibilism.8 The incompatibilist holds that God’s foreknowledge of future contingents is incompatible with the contingency of these events or states of affairs. We can distinguish further between two forms of incompatibilism. One form of incompatibilism, which I shall term theological indeterminism, is that God does not know future contingent events. The theological indeterminist will want to maintain that if God has foreknowledge of future contingent events, then those events cannot be construed as free. Starting with free choice as a given, the indeterminist claims that my freely performing an action precludes God’s having foreknowledge of that action. Once God knows in advance what I will do, I have no power to do the opposite of what God knows I will do.9 Another strand of incompatibilism, theological determinism, claims that if God knows future contingent events or states of affairs, then human actions are ultimately determined. As we shall see below, theological determinism entails God’s infallibility, the notion that God cannot be mistaken about future events. Both the determinist and the indeterminist thus agree that if God knows future contingents, then human freedom is constrained by God’s knowledge, but they disagree over whether God really does have foreknowledge: the indeterminist is committed to human freedom, while the determinist is unwilling to circumscribe God’s foreknowledge. In contradistinction to incompatibilism, most medieval philosophers, both Jewish and Christian, adopted a form of (theological) compatibilism, claiming that God’s foreknowledge of future contingent events does not preclude human freedom. The compatibilist, therefore, has no problem with asserting that God has foreknowledge that I will do a particular action freely. One reason for the popularity of compatibilism is that it allows for a theory of moral

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responsibility. Aristotle was the first philosopher to construct a theory of moral responsibility against the backdrop of voluntary action. Already in his early logical work De Interpretatione 9 (see the section “Does God’s foreknowledge affect human choice?” below), Aristotle connected moral deliberation to moral responsibility, claiming that agents could not be held morally responsible for their actions if they were not able to deliberate over their actions.10 Maimonides echoes this concern of Aristotle’s, arguing that if humans have no ability to choose their own actions freely, then “by what right could God punish the wicked or reward the righteous?” (R 5.4:87a). If we have no free will, then the doctrine of reward and punishment would be useless, and so moral responsibility is dependent upon freedom of choice. Maimonides thus connects the issue of human freedom to moral responsibility, and places the problem of divine omniscience in the context of the question of who is responsible for sinning: humans or God. On a determinist picture, God would ultimately be responsible for human sin, and theories of retribution would presumably be otiose. For this reason, Maimonides is committed to working out the relationship between omniscience, free agency, and moral responsibility.

Divine omniscience and human choice In his halakhic works, Maimonides presents a compatibilist position according to which God knows human actions, and humans have free choice. Free choice is presented as a necessary component of theological theories of retribution.11 Early discussion can be found in his Mishnah commentary upon Berakhot 9:7, but he does not expand upon the topic in great detail and does not enter into the philosophical complexity of the issue. Maimonides basically warns his readers against taking too strong a stand on such a difficult topic, and promises to discuss the matter further in subsequent works. In Laws of Repentance he states without argument that “Free will [reshut] is bestowed on every human being” (R 5.1:86b). Maimonides denies that God decrees our destiny: “there is no one that coerces him or decrees what he is to do . . . but every person turns to the way which he desires, spontaneously and of his own volition [me’atzmo ume’da’ato]” (R 5.2:87a). The power to act, Maimonides tells us, is in our own hands. It was God’s pleasure that “that man should have liberty of will, and all his acts should be left to his discretion . . . nothing should coerce him . . . but that, of himself and by the exercise of his own mind which God had given him, he should do whatever it is in a man’s power to do” (R 5.8:87b). In response to the question of how we can have this free choice if God has foreknowledge of our actions, Maimonides makes the same point he will expand in the Guide, namely that human intellect cannot comprehend the way in which God knows: “we lack the capacity to know how God knows all creatures and their activities” (R 5.10:87b). Reflecting the famous rabbinic dictum “everything is foreseen but free will is given” (Mishnah Avot 3.15), Maimonides states simply, without argument, that it is the case both that God knows all human states of affairs, and that we are responsible for our actions. Note that although

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Maimonides appeals to both Scripture and “clear proofs furnished by science,” he does not actually utilize any proofs other than quotations from the prophets. Maimonides devotes chapter eight of Eight Chapters to a discussion of human freedom in light of predestination, maintaining that despite God’s general determination of sublunar events, humans nevertheless have free will. As an example, he explains the biblical passage “I will harden the heart of Pharoah” by arguing that Pharoah and the Egyptians had already chosen to rebel against God “through the dictates of their own free will and the evil passions of their hearts, without any external constraint forcing them thereto” (EC 8:95). The hardening of Pharoah’s heart, therefore, occurred after Pharoah’s freely chosen transgression. Maimonides claims that by hardening Pharoah’s heart, God deprived Pharoah of the opportunity to freely choose to repent of his sins and allow the Israelites to leave Egypt (see also R 6.3:88a). Maimonides then returns to the motif that God’s knowledge is identical with His essence and hence incomprehensible to humans: “we cannot comprehend God’s knowledge . . . our minds cannot grasp it all, for He is His knowledge, and His knowledge is He” (EC 8:101). On this basis, God’s foreknowledge of human events can be said to be compatible with human freedom only in the context of recognizing the utter incomprehensibility of God’s knowledge to our own intellect. While the halakhic works present a compatibilist view and emphasize human choice along with divine omniscience, the Guide appears to present a modified view of human freedom. Maimonides discusses human action in two important passages: Guide 3.17 and Guide 2.48.12 In Guide 3.17, Maimonides suggests that humans have an “absolute capacity” to act, meaning that they have the choice and will to do “everything that it is within the capacity of man to do.” But in a subsequent statement in that chapter, Maimonides appears to equate human and animal volition, leaving open the possibility that human choices are determined by outside or external factors. The equation of human and animal volition does not in itself imply a deterministic reading of human will, for, as numerous commentators have noted, external causation does not in itself imply necessitation. Maimonides suggests concurrence with a mechanistic model of explanation, according to which causes of action can be traced back to a causal nexus or grid. Guide 2.48 provides even stronger evidence for determinism. This chapter is particularly challenging, and Maimonides tells the reader to listen and consider it “with particular attention, with an attention exceeding the attention with which you consider the other chapters of this Treatise” (GP 2.48:410). All actions, he states, both voluntary and involuntary, can be traced back to God. In this chapter, human and animal volition are explicitly compared: Inasmuch as the deity is, as has been established, He who arouses a particular volition in the irrational animal and who has necessitated this particular free choice in the rational animal and who has made natural things pursue their course . . . it follows necessarily from all this that it may be said with regard to

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what proceeds necessarily from these causes that God has commanded that something should be done in such and such a way or that He has said: Let this be thus. (GP 2.48:410; emphasis is mine)

This passage clearly supports the position that God commands all actions, both in animals and in humans. Scholars have tried to soften the determinist impact of this text, some offering a more compatibilist reading of Maimonides, others offering an indeterminist or libertarian reading.13 Although I agree with scholars who emphasize a compatibilist strain in the halakhic works, I shall suggest that there is very little textual evidence for either compatibilist or indeterminist readings of the Guide. Unfortunately, Maimonides says surprisingly little about the will (human or divine) in the Guide. But once we piece together what he does have to say, a determinist picture emerges that permeates all these topics.

Does God’s foreknowledge affect human choice? Maimonides’ discussion of divine foreknowledge of future contingent events can be understood against the backdrop of Aristotle’s logical work De Interpretatione, in which Aristotle emphasized the temporal and logical difficulties involved in foreknowledge. In his celebrated “Sea-Fight” Paradox (De Interpretatione 9), Aristotle is concerned to safeguard the limits of the Law of the Excluded Middle (either p or −p must be the case, but not both) with respect to statements about future particular events. Aristotle, however, is committed to human deliberation and choice, and so he argues that future events are truthfunctionally indeterminate. The relevance of Aristotle’s sea-fight battle to Maimonides’ discussion of divine omniscience and human choice becomes clear when we focus upon the ontological status of both the future and the past in God’s knowing intellect. It would have helped to know what Maimonides thought of Aristotle’s sea-fight paradox. This work is not mentioned in his Treatise on the Art of Logic, nor does he allude to it in any other text. It is possible that Maimonides might have been influenced by al-Fârâbî’s extensive commentary on the De Interpretatione, in which al-Fârâbî espouses a form of simple logical necessity that does not carry with it fatalistic assumptions.14 More specifically, if God is present to all of time, and knows all time in one act, what does this imply about the ontological status of the future: if what is future is as available to God as what is past, does it follow that the future is as fixed ontologically as the past? Does God’s foreknowledge of future contingent events entail the necessary occurrence of these events? Consider that divine knowledge, unlike its human counterpart, is infallible. It is God’s infallibility, coupled with this prior knowledge, rather than the causal force of God’s knowledge, that carries with it the suggestion of the necessity of the objects of His knowledge. What concerns Maimonides is that if God is infallible, then the

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objects of God’s knowledge cannot fail to be what God already knows them to be. How to account for the ability of humans to contravene the prior infallible knowledge that God has of their actions becomes of paramount importance. Maimonides argues that God’s knowledge is unaffected by any change in its objects and supports this claim by distinguishing between absolute and relative non-existence. Absolute non-existence can never be an object of God’s knowledge (GP 3.20:480). Relative non-existents, or future contingents, are possible objects of God’s knowledge. It is possible for God to know those “non-existent things about whose being brought into existence” (GP 3.20:481). Maimonides illustrates this with the case of God’s knowing that a certain man who is now non-existent will exist at a future time, will continue to exist for some time, and then cease to exist. “God’s knowledge does not increase when this person comes into existence – it contains nothing that it did not contain before.” Neither does his knowledge imply plurality or change: “something was produced of which it had been perpetually known that it would be produced in the way it came into existence” (ibid.). However, reflecting the original conundrum with which we started, Maimonides is quick to point out that God’s knowledge does not bring about the necessary occurrence of the entity in question: the possible remains possible: His knowledge, may he be exalted, that a certain possible thing will come into existence, does not in any way make that possible thing quit the nature of the possible. On the contrary, the nature of the possible remains with it; and knowledge concerning what possible things will be produced, does not entail one of the two possibilities becoming necessary . . . His knowledge concerning what will happen does not make this possible thing quit its nature. (GP 3.20:482)

In other words, given two unactualized states of affairs p and −p, God’s knowledge that p will become actualized does not affect the possible status of −p. Hence, Maimonides asserts that God’s knowledge of future contingents does not change their contingent nature; neither is God’s nature altered by a change in the objects of his knowledge. Maimonides does not, however, attempt to flesh out the logical difficulties in holding such a view. Nor, as was noted above, does Maimonides mention whether what God knows has a truth value. While his statements echo the logical indeterminist tenor of Aristotle, Maimonides has not provided us with enough information to determine what he actually thinks about the truth value of p and −p, and so we cannot ascribe to Maimonides an indeterminist view based on these utterances. Maimonides makes two brief assertions: first, that God’s knowledge does not contain plurality, and second, that God cannot acquire at a certain time knowledge He did not possess previously. We have discussed the latter assertion, having to do with the truth value of future contingents, above. The former claim is supported by the statement that God knows “with one knowledge the many and numerous things” (GP 3.20:480), that is, God knows multiples

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without this implying a multiplicity in His nature. Maimonides distinguishes between the knowledge that an artisan has of what he has made, and the knowledge somebody else has of the object in question. God’s knowledge of objects, like that of an artisan, is not derived from the objects themselves; rather, “the things in question follow upon his knowledge, which preceded and established them as they are.” In other words, since divine knowledge is a priori, it is not affected by the ontological status of objects that results from this knowledge. Hence Maimonides argues that since the objects of God’s knowledge do not causally act upon His knowledge, God’s essence is unaffected by their multiplicity. Although Maimonides’ ultimate contention will be that the whole of Being comprises one individual, nevertheless his emphasis here is that God is not affected by the underlying plurality of the world.

Conclusion: Maimonides’ Legacy We are now in a position to summarize and assess our findings. Maimonides has grappled with the tensions resulting from two traditions: on the one hand, a metaphysical system in which God was conceived as a unity, unchanging in essence, and all-knowing: and on the other hand, a tradition that claimed that God is intimately involved with a mutable world of possible entities. Does God’s knowledge extend to this world of possibles? If not, then it might be claimed that God’s knowledge is deficient – that is, that God’s unawareness of the realm of the possible represents a deficiency in His nature. If His knowledge does extend to the sublunar realm of possibility, then it might be argued that the possible must give way to the necessary – that is, that God’s knowledge precludes the existence of the possible. In answer to the questions raised at the beginning of this section, Maimonides upholds God’s omniscience in the face of numerous objections, claiming that God knows both concrete (or materially existing) particulars, and future contingent events. Concrete particulars are known even though they are individuated by corporeal matter, and future contingents are known even though they do not yet exist. On this view God is not affected by what He knows. Maimonides attempts to forestall any objections with respect to the epistemological inconsistency of such a solution by emphasizing God’s equivocal nature. He argues that because of the equivocal nature of the term “knowledge” when applied to God and man, the same consistency cannot be expected of both domains. Maimonides’ theory of Divine Providence reflects this view of omniscience. But here as well, Maimonides’ position is problematic, for if God does not know me in my “me-ness,” can God protect me from evil, bestow upon me providential care, and issue retribution and punishment for my actions? In support of the thesis that God’s knowledge of particulars extends equally to providence, it can be argued that God withholds providence when God knows that I am distracted. On this reading, my suffering or benefiting from providence is the

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direct result of God’s knowledge of me qua particular. This position is supported by the statement (which we have mentioned in Chapter 6) that “outside the mind nothing exists except individuals . . . consequently providence watches only over these individuals” (GP 3.18:476). I suggest that this reading is more consistent with Maimonides’ own statements pertaining to the extent of divine omniscience. But, of course, we are left with two problems: first of all, God is ultimately responsible for the suffering of the righteous, and secondly, God’s providence, coupled with His omniscience, do affect my ability (yekholet) to board or not board the ship. On this reading, humans do not have free choice in light of God’s knowledge of future contingent events. Compare Maimonides’ view with that of his immediate successor Gersonides, who tried to represent a more rationally coherent theory of divine omniscience. In an attempt to mediate between the view of Aristotle and that of Maimonides, Gersonides holds that God knows particulars only insofar as they are ordered. That is, God knows that certain states of affairs are particular, but God does not know in what their particularity consists. God knows individual persons, for example, only through knowing the species humanity. Whereas Maimonides claimed that God’s knowledge does not render the objects of God’s knowledge necessary, Gersonides maintains that divine knowledge precludes contingency. To retain the domain of contingency, Gersonides argues that God does not have foreknowledge of future contingents. According to Gersonides, God knows that certain states of affairs may or may not be actualized. But insofar as they are contingent states, God does not know which of the alternatives will be the case. In a similar vein, Gersonides argues that providence is general in nature: it primarily appertains to species and only incidentally to particulars of the species. In order to account for the existence of human suffering, Gersonides distinguishes between “general providence” that is embedded in nature itself, and the “special providence” that pertains to an individual’s spiritual perfection: special providence is enjoyed in direct relation to the level of spiritual perfection attained by an individual. Only a few individuals achieve the “kind of unity and conjunction with God” that provides individual providence (Gersonides 1987, 175). As noted above, those who are more strongly identified with the Active Intellect receive this communication in a more perfect manner. In contradistinction to Gersonides, Maimonides emphasizes the total otherness of the Deity, the incomprehensibility of the divine attributes, and the inability of humans to understand God’s knowledge. He attempts to reconcile the fact that on the one hand God has ordered our lives, and on the other hand human freedom is a prerequisite for moral and religious accountability. But, as I have tried to demonstrate, his solutions are fraught with tensions. Maimonides achieves an uneasy balance between God’s omniscience and the logical and epistemological implications of such knowledge only by sacrificing the meaning of the term “knowledge” when it is applied to God. Furthermore, by upholding God’s divine omniscience and providence, and arguing that these include knowledge of particulars (both actualized and unactualized),

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Maimonides has compromised the freedom of human choice, resulting in a compatibilist view that reduces to determinism in some of his later works.

notes 1 Abû Bakr Muhammad ibn Zakariyyâ al-Râzî was an Islamic physician and philosopher who attacked religion by using the existence of so much evil in the world. See Pines (1963) for details. 2 Pines notes that in his delineation of the five theories, Maimonides is very much influenced by the treatise On Providence (De Fato) by Alexander of Aphrodisias, who is mentioned by name in Guide 3.16. 3 In fact there is no evidence that Aristotle himself subscribed to the view of providence attributed to him by Alexander and by Maimonides. Furthermore, in Alexander’s treatise, the third view is actually attributed to Plato, whereas Maimonides ascribes it to the Asharites. Stern discusses De Fato and the importance of this treatise for Maimonides’ conception of free choice in Stern (1997). 4 See Nadler (2008) for a philosophically astute discussion of Maimonides’ theory. 5 Eisen notes that it is especially difficult to reconcile the last equation, since Job is specifically described as one who has attained moral virtue, which would in itself minimize the tendency to inflict bodily deficiency upon oneself; see Eisen (2004, 55). 6 Guide 3.51 is concerned with the how we attain knowledge and union with God, and represents a culmination of Maimonides’ thought. We return to this important discussion in Chapter 9. 7 Maimonides’ letter to Ibn Tibbon is available in Diesendruck (1936). Unfortunately, Maimonides died before receiving Ibn Tibbon’s letter, and so we do not have his response. For discussion of the two theories of providence embedded in the Guide, see Touati (1990) and Nadler (2008). 8 In this discussion, I am concerned primarily with theological versions of determinism and indeterminism; we will turn shortly to logical determinism and astrological determinism. 9 Gersonides and Ibn Daud come closest to this view, trying to safeguard human freedom at the expense of divine omniscience; I will return briefly to Gersonides’ views in the Conclusion below. In this regard it is worth noting that few Islamic or scholastic philosophers adopt indeterminism. Ockham is one of the few exceptions, but even he “waffles” on the implications for God’s knowledge. What I am calling an indeterminist position is sometimes called “strong libertarianism.” See for example Gellman (1989). 10 In the Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle proposed that only voluntary actions are subject to praise/blame (NE 1109b30–35). By a voluntary action, Aristotle means that an action must have its origin in the agent, and the agent must be aware of what it is that s/he is doing or bringing about (NE 1110a–1111b4). 11 One problem is that Maimonides does not clearly define the various terms he uses for what we would call “free will” or “freedom,” and so we have to be careful not to attribute to him more than he actually says. Note, for example, that

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the term “reshut,” translated as “free will,” technically means “power to act.” Stern has offered a detailed analysis of this term, and discussed the implications of reshut for Maimonides’ conception of freedom. See Stern (1997). 12 Pines and Altmann have argued that in these passages Maimonides upholds a form of determinism that precludes the ontological uniqueness of human will and intention. See Pines (1960) and Altmann (1974) for the classic discussions of determinist tendencies in the Guide. 13 Pines has argued for a strictly determinist reading of the Guide (Pines 1960, 1963). Altmann concurred with Pines, but argued for a modicum of freedom (Altmann 1973). Hyman, for example, tries to emphasize the similarity between Maimonides’ discussion and that of Aristotle in the Nicomachean Ethics. Just as Aristotle’s volitional actions can be either caused and determined, or caused without being determined, so too, Hyman argues that for Maimonides, some human actions are caused but not determined (see Hyman 1997). In a similar vein, Stern reminds us that just as an Aristotelian cause is never a sufficient necessitating condition of an event, so too, Maimonides merely argues that events have prior causes, not that they are necessitated (Stern 1997). Gellman, Sokol, and Stern all concur in trying to locate in the Guide a basis for what we might construe as “self-motivated” or “autonomous” action, thus preserving a notion of free will in the Guide. More recently, Gellman has argued that Maimonides is a “strong libertarian” in both the halakhic works and the Guide (Gellman 1989), while Sokol has argued that Maimonides’ view approximates that of contemporary “deep sane self” theorists such as Charles Taylor, Eleanore Stump, and Susan Wolf (Sokol 1998). Stern gives a reading of Maimonides based on contemporary theories of selfactualization or autonomy (Stern 1997). 14 While we know that Maimonides read al-Fârâbî’s logical works carefully, we have no textual evidence whether he read the commentary on the De Interpretatione in particular. In fact, denying a definite truth value to statements about future contingent events would have accorded nicely with Maimonides’ espousal of human freedom, and would have permitted him to adopt an indeterminist reading that did not sacrifice God’s power. In his commentary on Averroes’ commentary on the De Interpretatione, Gersonides did in fact make this move, providing an indeterminist understanding to future contingent statements; but Maimonides does not do so. Benor (1995a) discusses Aristotle’s sea-fight paradox in detail, in the context of Maimonides’ theory of divine omniscience.

further reading Altmann, Alexander, “The Religion of the Thinkers: Free Will and Predestination in Saadia, Bahya, and Maimonides,” in S. D. Goitein (ed.), Religion in a Religious Age (Cambridge, MA: AJS Press, 1973), 25–52. Feldman, Seymour, “Divine Omnipotence, Omniscience and Free Will,” in Steven Nadler and T. M. Rudavsky (eds.), The Cambridge History of Jewish Philosophy: From Antiquity through the Seventeenth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 659–704.

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Gellman, Jerome, “Freedom and Determinism in Maimonides’ Philosophy,” in E. L. Ormsby (ed.), Moses Maimonides and His Time (Washington, DC, 1989), 139–50. Hyman, Arthur, “Aspects of the Medieval Jewish and Islamic Discussion of ‘Free Choice,’” in Charles Manekin and Menachem Kellner (eds.), Freedom and Moral Responsibility (Baltimore: University Press of Maryland, 1997), 133–52. Ivry, Alfred, “Maimonides on Possibility,” in J. Reinhartz et al. (eds.), Mystics, Philosophers and Politicians (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1982), 67–84. Nadler, Steven, “Theodicy and Providence,” in Steven Nadler and T. M. Rudavsky (eds.), The Cambridge History of Jewish Philosophy: From Antiquity through the Seventeenth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 619–58. Pines, Shlomo, “Notes on Maimonides’ Views concerning Free Will,” excursus in “Studies in Abul-Barakat al-Baghdadi’s Poetics and Metaphysics,” in Studies in Philosophy, Scripta Hierosolymitana 6 (1960), 195–8. Rudavsky, T. M., “Maimonides and Averroes on God’s Knowledge of Possibles,” Da’at 13 (1984), 27–44. Schwartz, Michael, “Some Remarks Concerning Maimonides’ Discussion of God’s Knowledge of Particulars,” in Ira Robinson, Lawrence Kaplan, and Julien Bauer (eds.), The Thought of Moses Maimonides: Philosophical and Legal Studies (Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press, 1990), 189–97. Sokol, Moshe, “Maimonides on Freedom of the Will and Moral Responsibility,” Harvard Theological Review 91 (1998), 25–39. Stern, Josef, “Maimonides’ Conceptions of Freedom and the Sense of Shame,” in C. Manekin and M. Kellner (eds.), Freedom and Moral Responsibility (Maryland: University Press of Maryland, 1997), 217– 66. Touati, Charles, “Les deux théories de Maimonide sur la providence,” in C. Touati (ed.), Prophètes, talmudistes, philosophes (Paris: Les Editions du Cerf, 1990).

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chapter 8

morality, politics, and the law Introduction aimonides follows the ancient philosophers in situating ethics in the political domain. His discussions occur in a number of works, including Eight Chapters, Laws Concerning Character Traits, and the Guide.1 In his introduction to Eight Chapters, Maimonides is explicit in his borrowings from both the Sages and from “the discourse of both the ancient and modern philosophers” (EC 60). Not wanting to dissuade his readers from taking these “alien” ideas seriously, he takes care not identify the authors of his sources. We know, however, that Aristotle, al-Fârâbî, and to some extent Plato lurk in the background of Maimonides’ discussions.2 Al-Fârâbî’s The Virtuous City, although not explicitly quoted by Maimonides, was among the main sources of his doctrine on the different roles played by the philosopher, the politician, and the prophet.3 In contrast to Aristotle, who took the existence of the human polis for granted (“man is by nature a political animal”), Plato believed that it was economic necessity that brought about the existence of the polis. Al-Fârâbî, following Plato, argued in his Attainment of Happiness that it was the philosopher’s duty to engage in politics, and that the four terms “philosopher,” “king,” “legislator,” and “religious imam” were synonymous. Although Maimonides does not explicitly quote al-Fârâbî’s statement, there are nevertheless many passages in the Guide that intimate the importance of the philosopher in the life of public affairs. For these reasons, any discussion of Maimonides’ theory of morality must incorporate social and political philosophy, as well as ethical thought. In this chapter we examine Maimonides’ theory of moral value against the backdrop of both al-Fârâbî and Aristotle. After describing Maimonides’ theory of the mean, we turn to some problematic aspects of this theory having to do with the emotions of anger and humility, and the implications for his theory of asceticism. We then turn to the relationship between the commandments and reason, and explore Maimonides’ famous doctrine of “reasons for the commandments” (ta’amei ha-mitzvot). We end our chapter with a discussion

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of moral weakness, a topic that occupied Maimonides as well as his Greek and Islamic predecessors.

The Nature of Virtue Morality Maimonides and classical virtue morality For Aristotle, ethics comprised part of politics. Since humans are political (social) animals, Aristotle argued that human life – and moral behavior in particular – is complete only in a social setting. According to Aristotle, while the good of the state is “greater and more perfect” than that of the individual, its function is to assist individuals in achieving a moral life. But what does it mean to live a moral life, and how does it contribute to human happiness? In answer to this question, Aristotle claimed that happiness represents the ultimate function or telos of humans, and is achieved through action. In his Nicomachean Ethics (NE), Aristotle introduced what has come to be known as classical virtue morality, emphasizing the virtues, or moral character, of agents. Aristotle’s virtue ethics focused not on the rightness or wrongness of individual actions, but on the goodness or badness of character traits, that is, on the psychological characteristics of agents. Although the rightness of an action depends on the particulars of the agent’s situation, Aristotle maintained that there are objectively immoral acts that should be avoided and objectively good ends we should pursue. Maimonides’ ethical views are heavily influenced by Aristotle’s theory, as transmitted through al-Fârâbî’s Aphorisms of the Statesman (Fusûl al-Madanî), which is a commentary upon Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics.4 While Maimonides is interested in both actions and character traits, in his ethical works he focuses his attention primarily on the latter. In Eight Chapters he reserves the terms “virtuous” and “vicious” for character traits rather than for actions. Maimonides emphasizes the propadeutic nature of moral virtues: “the improvements of moral habits is the same as the cure of the soul and its powers” (EC 1). Note that the terms “virtue” and “vice” pertain not to human actions, but to characteristics in the human soul. While there is a connection between “inner” and “outer,” and our outward behavior provides the best access we have to these inner characteristics, nevertheless the “outer” actions are not themselves virtuous or vicious. This point is made both in Eight Chapters and in Character Traits. We shall return in Chapter 9 to the implications of this important distinction between “inner” and “outer” behavior. Maimonides agrees with Aristotle that ethics is not an exact science. Although we should expect the sort of accuracy common to any study, ethics does not contain the sort of accuracy found in the demonstrative sciences. For Aristotle, our manner of investigation consists in beginning with the common views on virtue (endoxa) and then seeking out the “wise person’s view.” The wise and virtuous are the best judges of those areas in which they have

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knowledge and experience (NE 1.3 1095a). In this regard, Plato and Aristotle differ, for while Plato claims that only the philosopher is truly happy and very few can attain to this state, Aristotle is more pragmatic and avers that moral virtue is not out of the domain of ordinary mortals. We shall see that Maimonides vacillates between Aristotle’s emphasis upon the ability of ordinary mortals to be virtuous, and Plato’s elitism, which limits true virtue to the philosophers. Like Aristotle and al-Fârâbî, Maimonides distinguishes in Eight Chapters between two types of virtue: rational and moral. Rational virtues include wisdom and intelligence, which in turn comprise theoretical intellect, acquired intellect, and what he calls “brilliance and excellent comprehension” or intuition (EC 2:65). Moral virtues are found in the appetitive part of the soul, not the rational part, and include a number of characteristics: moderation, liberality, justice, gentleness, humility, contentment, and courage. This separation between intellectual and moral virtues raises a concern, however, about the epistemological status of ethical knowledge.5 We have seen in Chapter 6 that Maimonides maintains a sharp distinction between intellect and imagination, arguing that this distinction allows a further parallel between true/false on the one hand, and good/evil on the other. It is by virtue of the imagination alone, he argues, that we fall into error (GP 1.2). Maimonides emphasizes that imagination must not be confused with intellect. The implications of this distinction between intellect and imagination are important when we turn to the justification of moral claims. Maimonides argues that good and evil, as opposed to true and false, are not intellectual concepts, but rather are notions that arise as a result of the act of the imagination. More specifically, the terms “fine” (tov) and “bad” (ra‘) signify generally accepted opinions, things “generally accepted as known,” and are not rooted in reality itself (Guide 1.2, 2.33, and 3.10). In saying this, Maimonides is describing the use of the word in ordinary language, and not anything more objective than that. The relativism of moral terms can be contrasted with the propositions of mathematics and physics, which we can know through the science of demonstration. Maimonides is very clear as to the end of human existence (viz. intellectual perfection), arguing that whatever directs us toward that ultimate goal is good. Because moral values reflect particular situations, the highest moral knowledge must derive from intellectual knowledge. Character Traits 1:3 and 1:4 are saturated with normative language – the good and right way that ought to be followed. Reflecting Aristotle, Maimonides provides rational reasons to follow these norms, namely to be a completed person; he then follows up with halakhic reasons, telling us that “we have been commanded to follow these justly balanced ways” (CT 1:5). Reflecting the Platonic dictum in the Euthyphro that the gods command pious acts because they are pious, Maimonides is suggesting that there exists a rational, autonomous nature of what is right: these actions have been commanded because they are intrinsically good and right. Theoretically (although such a person does not exist in fact) an individual ruled entirely by intellect, and not at all by his affections, would not entertain

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the notions of good and evil; such terms would be either meaningless or redundant.6 We shall return to this point below.

Virtue as a disposition of character We have noted the importance of character development in determining the value of moral action. Maimonides, following Aristotle, emphasizes the repetition of habitual actions for proper character formation. Aristotle had argued that an agent who has acquired good habits by early training can, with the fine-tuning made possible by imitating the right role models, get accustomed to doing the right things and having the right emotional reactions. Aristotle is explicit on this point: we become just by doing just actions; we learn by doing. Because character, virtue, and vice are not inborn, our one ability is to develop a good character.7 Although he does believe character can occasionally be changed, Aristotle thinks this is very hard to accomplish, which is why it is so important to have others help you initially. As children, we are “conditioned” to take pleasure in certain things and pain in others. Further, we are not responsible for how we feel (per se). But with habituation, our feelings change, and our characters develop accordingly. Once we have a character, it prescribes the ends (or goals) toward which we act: i.e. a vicious person’s character will be attracted to and seek out vicious ends, while that of a virtuous individual will be attracted to and seek out virtuous actions. For this reason, character formation becomes of ultimate importance.8 Echoing Aristotle, al-Fârâbî states in Fusûl al-Madanî that ethical virtues and vices are established in the soul “by repeating the actions which proceed from a particular disposition many times over a certain period and becoming accustomed thereto” (Fusûl 1.8, p. 31). We are not created with innate virtues and defects, but we can be naturally disposed to the conditions of a virtue or a vice. This emphasis on habit and character formation appears in Maimonides’ ethical works. The very title of Character Traits (Hilkhot De‘ot), a work that contains the ethical part of the Book of Knowledge, reinforces the importance of character. The term de‘ah, derived from the Hebrew root “to know,” implies a state of mind or, in this context, a character trait. The first four chapters set forth the morality of the wise individual who follows the middle way. Chapter five concerns the discipline of such a person and is concerned with actions rather than character traits, focusing on social interactions. Maimonides follows al-Fârâbî and claims that inculcation of virtues requires habitual repetition of “right actions”: according to Maimonides, “a man shall habituate himself in these character traits until they are firmly established in him. Time after time, he shall perform actions in accordance with the character traits that are in the mean. He shall repeat them continually until performing them is easy for him and they are not burdensome and these character traits are firmly established in his soul” (CT 1.7:30). In Eight Chapters, Maimonides locates obedience and disobedience of the Law in the sentient and appetitive parts of the soul. Echoing Aristotle’s notion of habit, Maimonides says that these

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virtues are firmly established in the soul by “frequently repeating the actions pertaining to a particular moral habit over a long period of time and by our becoming accustomed to them” (EC 4:68). But what about those astrologers who claim that an individual’s time and place of birth determine his character and whether he possesses virtue or vice? Maimonides argues in response that “there is no compulsion” on an agent, emphasizing our ability to choose our character (EC 8:84). Virtues are not possessed innately; the most we can say is that individuals may have a natural proclivity toward particular virtues.

Virtue and the mean: Aristotle and Torah contrasted We come now to the heart of Maimonides’ discussion of virtues, which incorporates Aristotle’s doctrine of the mean. Maimonides’ appropriation of this doctrine has been the subject of much recent debate and criticism. Some have argued that the doctrine is intended primarily for the masses rather than for the elite, and point out that the fullest discussions occur in the legal writings. Others have focused on contradictions or tensions in the presentations of various virtues and vices, arguing that the theory promotes mediocrity. Yet others, pointing to apparent discrepancies in Maimonides’ discussion, attribute the differences to his having changed his mind over a period of time.9 In the following pages, I shall argue that there exist deep tensions in Maimonides’ discussions of the mean that cannot be reconciled easily. Aristotle’s well-known doctrine of the mean is presented in Nicomachean Ethics, book 2, and represents an intermediate between excess and defect. Aristotle explains the intermediate as “that which is equidistant from each of the extremes, which is one and same for all men,” while at the same emphasizing that the intermediate is relative to the agent (NE 2.6 1106a.30). In other words, we must distinguish between the arithmetical mean, which represents a strict arithmetical proportion between two extremes, and the mean relative to us, which takes into account personal properties and situation. Thus for example, the amount of training required by a marathon runner will be more than that required by a 10 K runner, and the amount of food required by the former will be more than that required by the latter. Moral virtue, then, must aim at the mean: to feel fear, confidence, appetite, anger, pity, and the like “at the right times, with reference to the right objects, towards the right people, with the right motive, and in the right way, is what is both intermediate and best, and this is characteristic of virtue” (NE 2.6 1106b20–2). Just as there are intermediates with respect to virtues, so too with actions. Both excess and defect with respect to virtue and action represent “a sort of failure,” while the intermediate is “praised and is a form of success” (NE 2.6 1106b26–8). Numerous examples of virtuous actions, e.g. liberality, proper pride, and courage are then catalogued in subsequent chapters of the Ethics. Al-Fârâbî followed Aristotle’s theory, claiming that “actions which are good deeds are the moderate, mean actions between two extremes, both of which are

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bad, the one excess and the other defect. And similarly the virtues, for they are mean states and qualities of the soul between two other states, both of which are vices, the one excessive and the other defective” (Fusûl 1.16:34). Al-Fârâbî gives greed, generosity, courage, wit, being respectful, courtesy, forbearance, modesty, and friendliness as examples of virtues. Like Aristotle, he distinguishes between the arithmetic and the relative mean, arguing that the relative mean is employed in actions and in morals. Maimonides reiterates al-Fârâbî’s depiction of Aristotle, and presents the middle way, or life in accordance with the mean, as a way of achieving both personal serenity and communal well-being. We have noted above that both Eight Chapters and Character Traits described the moral traits of the wise individual who follows the middle way. Maimonides summarizes eleven laws concerning character traits that are explained in these chapters. The first chapter is descriptive of the middle way. Between contrary character traits, there is “a character trait in the middle, equidistant from the extremes” (CT 1.2:28). The two extremes, he continues, are not “the good way,” and one should incline away from the extremes. Maimonides defines the right way as “the mean in every single one of a man’s character traits” (CT 1.4:29). The mean is “the character trait that is equally distant from the two extremes, not close to one or to the other” (CT 1.4:29). This notion is repeated in chapter four of Eight Chapters, which concerns the doctrine of the mean: “good actions are those balanced in the mean between two extremes, both of which are bad: one of them is an excess and the other a deficiency” (EC 4:67). Virtues are defined as “states of the soul and settled dispositions in the mean between two bad states [of the soul], one of which is excessive and the other deficient” (ibid.). Maimonides then gives a number of examples: moderation is the mean between lust and insensibility; liberality is the mean between miserliness and extravagance; humility is the mean between haughtiness and abasement; generosity is the mean between prodigality and stinginess. These are the same examples we found listed in Aristotle and al-Fârâbî. As noted above, Maimonides says that these virtues can be firmly established in the soul by repeating the actions pertaining to a particular moral habit over a long period of time, resulting in our “becoming accustomed to them” (EC 4:68). Interestingly, Maimonides drops friendliness from the list, and devotes a separate discussion to the virtues and defects of friendliness. We noted in Chapter 5 the important analogy drawn by both al-Fârâbî and Maimonides between the soul-practitioner and the physician. This analogy is now repeated in the context of moral virtue. Maimonides agrees with his predecessors that in order to purify moral habits, one must have full knowledge of the soul, knowing “what makes it sick, and what makes it healthy” (EC 1:61; see also ch. 3). For an individual whose soul is sick, and is inclined toward vice, the best remedy is move to the opposite extreme, until he returns to the middle way. Take for example miserliness toward oneself: in such a case, we would prescribe that the patient act in an extravagant manner until “the condition that makes him miserly is removed from his soul” (EC 4:69). Maimonides notes

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that it is easier to turn an agent away from extravagance to liberality than from miserliness to liberality – that is, it is easier to move from the excess to the mean than from the defect to the mean. These comments echo similar sentiments in Aristotle’s Ethics, namely that one who “aims at the intermediate must first depart from what is the more contrary to it,” being careful to drag ourselves from the extreme of pleasure toward that of pain, “in order to end up at the mean” (NE 2.9 1109a30). Both Maimonides and Aristotle recognize counter-instances to this general doctrine. Aristotle lists adultery, murder, and theft as exceptions to the mean, claiming that these actions are never appropriate and so cannot be analyzed in terms of finding an intermediate action. Maimonides’ list of exceptions, including the virtues associated with anger and humility, and the doctrine of asceticism in general, are more problematic, and reflect his attempt to reconcile the doctrine of the mean with the Law. He quotes several rabbinic passages that presumably support the mean in human behavior. But what about the fact that Torah Law mandates many actions that do not reflect the mean? How do we account, for example, for the dietary laws, many of which clearly do not reflect a doctrine of the mean? More generally, what correlation can we draw between acquisition of moral virtue and acquiescence to the commandments? Further, what do we do with Maimonides’ characterization of the hasid or saint, whose radical behavior reflects an apparent repudiation of the mean? Is the saint meant to represent a higher standard-bearer of moral behavior? To these questions we now turn.

Saintliness, Asceticism, and the Mean: Is the Hasid a Sinner? So far we have emphasized the moderating tendencies in Maimonides’ theory of virtue. Agents should aim toward the intermediate between extremes in order to cultivate a virtuous character; the commandments themselves have as one of their aims the cultivation of virtuous actions resulting from this middle way. Acts exceeding a slight deviation may be prescribed occasionally to heal a diseased psychological characteristic, but Maimonides insists that they may not be performed continuously: extreme behavior, Maimonides asserts, runs contrary to God’s will and results in “vices” in the soul. In the cases of humility and anger, however, Maimonides adopts a less moderate position, claiming that the truly pious individual recognizes the harm brought about by pride, and inclines to utter meekness “so as to leave not even a trace of pride in their soul” (CM, Avot 4.4 and 5:11). In this regard he appears to deviate markedly from Aristotle. Aristotle presented both proper pride and appropriate anger as virtues to be achieved. Proper pride (or “great-souledness”) falls between the extremes of vanity and undue humbleness: the former expresses the attitude of one who

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considers himself more worthy than he really is, whereas the latter expresses the attitude of one who thinks himself less worthy than he really is. The properly proud individual “claims what is in accordance with his merits, while the others go to excess or fall short” (NE 4.3 1123b14). Aristotle emphasizes that the proud individual is truly good, and recognizes proper pride to be “a sort of crown of the virtues” (NE 4.3 1124a1). So too, with respect to anger, Aristotle says that the mean is “good temper,” which represents the intermediate between “a sort of irascibility” and a “sort of inirascibility” (NE 2.7 1108a5). The mean itself is closer to the deficiency than to the excess. Aristotle goes on to tell us that praise and blame attach to the disposition or character trait in respect of which we stand to the display of anger: a virtuous individual is one who both feels angry in the appropriate manner and chooses to display that feeling in the appropriate manner. Note that Aristotle emphasizes both the “inner” and “outer” manifestations of anger. The good-tempered individual is expected to feel angry and express that anger when appropriate. Aristotle dismisses the actions and feelings of one who is not angry when anger is the proper response, arguing that such an individual cannot be trusted to defend himself or his friends when appropriate (NE 4.5 1125b–26a). Whereas Aristotle values proper pride and anger, Maimonides’ discussion is more mixed. In Character Traits 1.4–5 and 2.1–3, Maimonides advocates the mean in all actions, including anger and pride. He follows Aristotle in suggesting that “the right way is the mean in every single one of a man’s character traits”; in the case of anger, a person should aim for the mean and “only become angry about a large matter that deserves anger so that something like it not be done again” (CT 1.4:29). Yet other passages in the same work eschew the mean in these two cases. With respect to pride, Maimonides introduces a new motif, and claims that “whoever moves away from a haughty heart to the opposite extreme so that he is exceedingly lowly in spirit is called a pious man; this is the measure of piety. If he moves only to the mean and is humble, he is called a wise man; this is the measure of wisdom” (CT 1.5:30). This point is expressed even more explicitly in 2.3, when Maimonides suggests that in the case of haughtiness and anger, not just the pious saint but everybody ought to aim to the extreme: “the good way is not that a man be merely humble, but that he have a lowly spirit, that his spirit be very submissive” (CT 2.3:31). Similarly, anger is now seen to be “an extremely bad character trait,” and one must train oneself not to become angry, even over something that Aristotle would have argued that it is proper to be angry about. Maimonides goes so far as to suggest that occasionally one might want to simulate anger in order to impress others, but “his mind shall be tranquil within himself, like a man who feigns anger but is not angry” (CT 2.3:32). Persons should train themselves not to feel anything, even in situations that provoke what Aristotle would have considered proper anger. In his Commentary on Avot, in the context of Rabbi Leitas of Yavneh’s statement “Be of an exceedingly humble spirit, for the expectation of mortal man is but worms,” Maimonides comments favorably on this passage, saying that

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the Sages eschewed pride altogether since they “they knew the damage it could cause” (CA 4.4). Maimonides adds a story (taken from Sufi lore) in which a pious man on a ship was urinated on by a fellow passenger; the saint did not become angry, calling it the happiest day of his life! Surely this is not the sort of behavior advocated by Aristotle. Let us compare these cases in more detail. With respect to proper pride or humility, we can draw the following contrasts between Aristotle and Maimonides, where (H1) reflects Maimonides’ moderate position with respect to pride, and (H2) reflects his more radical view (see Table 8.1). Table 8.1 Humility compared Humility

Aristotle Maimonides (H1) Maimonides (H2)

Excess

Mean

Defect

Vanity; overweening honor; haughtiness Haughtiness, pride

Proper pride, great-souledness Proper humility (anav) Exceedingly low in spirit, abasement (sh’fal ruah)

Extreme humility

Haughtiness

Total abasement, lowliness Total abasement

So too, in the case of anger, we have the following cases, where (A1) reflects Maimonides’ moderate views on anger, and (A2) reflects his more radical position (see Table 8.2). Table 8.2 Anger compared Anger Excess

Mean

Defect

Aristotle

Irascibility

Extreme inirascibility

Maimonides (A1)

Irascibility

Maimonides (A2)

Extreme irascibility

Good temper: feels and displays anger when appropriate Becoming angry about matters that deserve anger Extreme inirascibility: feeling no anger

Extreme inirascibility Extreme inirascibility

Note that in both (H2) and (A2), Maimonides provides a model of behavior that is not only clearly anti-Aristotelian, but also contrary to his own earlier comments. (A1) and (H1) are much closer to Aristotle’s ideal virtues, and reflect Maimonides’ more moderate comments. This tension between (H1) and (H2), and (A1) and (A2), reflects Maimonides’ introduction of the “saint” or “pious”

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individual (hasid), who is contrasted to the “wise” individual (hakham). The hasid represents a pull in the radical moral direction, one defined by going beyond the line of the law, whereas the wise individual acts in accordance with the mean. Maimonides’ saint or hasid has no analogue in Aristotle’s examples. The Mishneh Torah suggests the more ascetic ideal as a pious alternative to the mean. Not only do (H2) and (A2) undermine the doctrine of the mean, but Maimonides’ new assertions regarding anger and humility also fly in the face of the interconnectedness of external acts and internal psychological characteristics. As Davidson has noted, persons of authority will hardly be able to “simulate” anger “without [in actuality] being angry,” if acts by their nature inculcate corresponding psychological characteristics. The notions of character development and inculcation of habit are destroyed by this intentional dissimulation. We thus have a deep contradiction between Character Traits 1.4, which advocates moderate anger and humility for some, and Character Traits 2.3, which advocates extreme inirascibility and humility for all.10 It is important to recognize that Maimonides’ ambivalence about the hasid reflects his similar ambivalence toward asceticism. As I argued in Chapter 5, asceticism represents a state of affairs in which agents engage in “painful” behavior in order to achieve spiritual perfection. We saw that while, on the one hand, Maimonides advocates the mean in asceticism, as supported by passages in Torah, on the other hand he presents in a number of passages a more sympathetic picture of Nazirite behavior. Is it possible to salvage Maimonides’ comments and present a coherent picture of asceticism? One way of reading these passages is to see them as emphasizing developmental progression in human consciousness. Maimonides’ goal in his ethical works is to enhance the development and health of the psycho-physical self, encouraging both mental and physical well-being; so too in the process of spiritual development, Maimonides is concerned with encouraging spiritual health according to the level of the agent. Davidson compares Maimonides’ theory of human nature to a pyramid, with intellectual perfection at the top, a healthy soul in the middle, and a healthy body forming the base. A healthy body is desirable not in itself but as the platform upon which stand the healthy soul and intellectual perfection. According to this model, the saint, or hasid, represents a higher level on the way to ultimate perfection. Of course Maimonides realizes that not everybody can achieve the levels represented by the saint. Each of us strives to achieve the level to which we are best suited. He warns the uninitiated away from ascetic behavior, just as he had waved them away from reading the Guide altogether.

On Knowing the Good and Doing the Good Let us turn to another example illustrating the tensions inherent in Maimonides’ account, namely the issue of self-control and moral strength. While Aristotle,

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al-Fârâbî, and Maimonides are concerned with the individual who struggles with right virtuous action, wanting to do the good, but succumbing ultimately to evil instead, their respective discussions differ in interesting and important ways. In Nicomachean Ethics 7.1, Aristotle distinguishes between the selfcontrolled virtuous agent and the morally strong or continent agent as follows: the former has been brought up in such a way that s/he feels no desire to perform evil actions, those that are rooted in pleasure, while the latter individual desires non-virtuous actions but through sheer force of character overcomes these desires. Aristotle maintains that the agent who feels no temptation is superior in virtue to the one who feels and overcomes temptation. In Ethics 7.2 Aristotle returns to this discussion, raising the issue of moral weakness (akrasia): how do we account for an agent who knowingly chooses to do wrong? Aristotle rejects (or appears to reject) the Socratic view that moral weakness is based on opinion and not on true knowledge, and claims that there are many cases where I really do know the good and yet do just the opposite. In order to account for such behavior, Aristotle reformulates the practical syllogism and argues that the morally weak person may not know all the ingredients of the practical syllogism. According to Aristotle, it is not opinion that is opposed to right reason, but rather the appetite for pleasure. The morally weak person acts under the influence of appetite and not of right reason: it is passion that creates the competing desires that block rational deliberation and virtuous choice.11 Both al-Fârâbî and Maimonides reflect Aristotle’s discussion, and worry how to explain the fact that often we choose knowingly to sin, or not follow the law. Arguing in his Fusûl al-Madanî that it is quite rare to find a truly virtuous individual who is by nature disposed to all the virtues, al-Fârâbî agrees with Aristotle that the self-restrained individual likes and desires wicked actions, whereas the virtuous person follows his inclination and has no desire, or temptation, to do anything other than the good. But, introducing the element of law as an additional ingredient, al-Fârâbî argues that the continent person “simply does what the law [sunnah] lays down in matters of food, drink, and sex, without desire or longing for anything else, other than what the law lays down.” The self-restrained individual has a desire for things that are forbidden by the law. Such an agent performs the proper action but “his desire is opposed to it, except that in many things the man who restrains himself is similarly situated to the virtuous man” (Fusûl 1.13, pp. 33– 4). Al-Fârâbî thus claims that while in some cases the continent individual is tempted by what is contrary to law, but is able to overcome temptation, in other cases, the continent individual is similar to the virtuous one. We can distinguish in al-Fârâbî three types of agent: 1a The morally virtuous agent who does good deeds and is never tempted to do evil. 1b The continent agent who does whatever the law commands and is not tempted to do evil.

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1c The self-restrained (continent) agent who is tempted to violate the law but overcomes temptation. (1a) and (1c) are analogous to Aristotle’s virtuous and continent agents. But what about (1b), which has no analogue in Aristotle? Is it simply a subset of (1a), or does it constitute a separate class of agents? Both Aristotle and al-Fârâbî agree that the virtuous individual (1a) warrants greater merit than the continent individual (1c), but al-Fârâbî’s introduction of (1b) complicates matters even further. And what do we make of al-Fârâbî’s claim that in “many things” the continent agent is like the virtuous one? Maimonides’ discussion picks up on al-Fârâbî’s lead in distinguishing different types of moral agents. It occurs in the context of the following rabbinic query: who is superior – the innately righteous person who never desires to sin, or the one who achieves righteousness by prolonged discipline or self-control? In Mishneh Torah 7:4, Maimonides supports the rabbinic view that the penitent is superior to one who has not sinned, for the former has had to struggle with the evil impulse: “The penitent should not imagine himself to be removed from the rank of the righteous on account of the iniquities and sins he has committed. Not so! He is beloved and cherished in the Creator’s eyes, and is as if he had never sinned. Indeed, his reward is greater, for he savored sin yet desisted and conquered his evil impulse” (BK 7:4). Unlike Aristotle, but in accord with the rabbis, Maimonides claims that one who has struggled with and overcome the evil impulse is more perfect morally than one who has no such impulses. Maimonides thus distinguishes between: 2a The morally virtuous individual who does good deeds and never desires to sin. 2b The (continent) individual who overcomes temptations to sin. 2c The penitent individual who sins and then repents, overcoming (presumably) further temptations. Maimonides argues in this passage that (2c), the one who sins but repents, is more virtuous than either (2a) or (2b). But in Eight Chapters, Maimonides acknowledges that there exists a conflict between the religious and philosophical views, and describes the difference between the continent and the virtuous individual in terms of desires: while the virtuous agent performs those actions that his “desire and the state of his soul arouse him to do,” both desiring and acting upon virtuous actions, the continent agent performs virtuous actions “while craving and strongly desiring to perform bad actions” (EC 6:78). The latter struggles against his cravings, while the former acts in accordance with his cravings. According to Maimonides, the philosophers claimed that the virtuous individual is more perfect than the continent one, but the Sages claimed that somebody who craves vice, and overcomes the desire in favor of virtue, is more perfect than someone “who does not crave them and suffers no pain in abstaining from them” (EC 6:79). In fact, on

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Maimonides’ reading of the Sages, the greater the effort required to overcome an evil desire, the greater the virtue. In other words, Maimonides realizes that a tension exists between the position he supported in Mishneh Torah on behalf of the rabbis, and that of the philosophers. Should the weight of inner moral struggle enter into our assessment of moral worth? While Aristotle found internal struggle to be of little concern, the Sages, al-Fârâbî, and Maimonides find it to be of moral significance. The contrast between what we might call duty and inclination (to use Kantian terminology) lies at the heart of Maimonides’ discussion, and reflects the dilemma inherent in Aristotle’s original distinction between the virtuous and continent individual.12 The Sages’ agent who overcomes temptation acts out of duty rather than inclination. According to the Sages, it is of greater moral worth to force oneself to act rightly than to act rightly spontaneously and out of inclination. But in Eight Chapters, Maimonides sides (against the Sages) with the philosophers who maintained that (1a) the virtuous person who does not crave bad actions is superior to (1c) the continent individual. In order to harmonize the two positions, Maimonides suggests that while the view of the philosophers refers primarily to mishpatim, namely those universal moral actions that all people recognize, the Sages have in mind only ceremonial prohibitions. Since these latter are established only by divine legislation and not recognized universally, it is only the former that we would expect everybody to recognize and adhere without struggle.13 By subdividing (2c) into two subclasses of agents, Maimonides introduces an additional agent: 2c1 The penitent agent who overcomes temptations to violate moral law. 2c2 The penitent agent who overcomes temptations to violate ritualistic law. Maimonides thus provides a modified view of al-Fârâbî’s temperate individual (1c) who acts in accordance with law. On Maimonides’ reading, the Sages were concerned with (2c2), which was not a class considered by the philosophers, while the philosophers were talking primarily about (2c1). But notice that the Sages emphasize the importance of penitence, a motif that is absent from al-Fârâbî’s discussion altogether. Maimonides’ point is that the penitent agent must first repent of his bad ethical dispositions, and only then does the agent become superior to the one who is not even tempted to sin. Maimonides’ agent who repents of bad dispositions is thus reminiscent of Aristotle’s non-voluntary agent who, having performed an evil action voluntarily, feels remorse and penitence when he discovers what he has done. Aristotle claims that the non-voluntary agent who feels remorse is not held as culpable as one who shows no remorse; so too, Maimonides’ agent (2c1) feels remorse after his actions, and so has overcome the temptation to sin further. The very act of repenting of bad ethical dispositions entails heroic struggle with one’s passions that ultimately transforms the agent into a virtuous person who loves the good.

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Morality and Law: The Purpose of the Commandments Maimonides’ analysis of moral behavior has depended in part on the idea that certain laws are universally recognized to be the right thing to do. What does he mean by this? In this final section, we look at the overall rationality of law. In the Guide, Maimonides connects his discussions of virtue and the mean to the observance of the commandments, arguing that welfare of both soul and body depends upon observance of the Law. The term “law” refers to the Hebrew Torah, which signifies revealed law in contradistinction to nomos or conventional law. Welfare of the soul consists in the multitude’s acquiring correct opinions, whereas welfare of the body comprises the improvement of ways of living one with another, by acquiring moral qualities that are useful for life in society (GP 3.27: 510). Of the two types of welfare, the former, he argues, is more noble than the latter. The task of the ruler is to provide for a well-oiled society, one in which both actions and moral habits are practiced in the same way.14 To achieve this twofold aim, namely correct belief and correct action, Maimonides devotes roughly twenty-five chapters to analyzing the purpose and function of the commandments. Are there, according to Maimonides, reasons for the commandments? If so, can these reasons be discovered? And if reasons can be discovered, should they be studied, and the results of study made public? The exercise of trying to provide rational reasons for the commandments (ta’amei ha-mitzvot) dates back to rabbinic times, and continued throughout the medieval period. In his work The Book of Doctrines and Beliefs, the tenthcentury Jewish philosopher Saadia Gaon distinguished between the rational commandments (mitzvoth ha-sikhliyyot), which in theory are discoverable by means of reason, and the traditional laws (mitzvoth shimmiyot), which comprise rituals and ceremonial laws (such as the dietary laws) that are not rooted in reason. According to Saadia, these latter laws are “good” only because God commands them. Maimonides’ analysis of the commandments reflects this distinction between rational and ritualistic commandments, but in contradistinction to Saadia, Maimonides claims that all the commandments are rational: both the laws (mishpatim) and the statutes (huqqim) have beneficial ends, the only difference being that the former are recognizable to all, whereas the latter possess ends that are only manifest to the wise. The laws correspond to Saadia’s rational commandments, while the statutes correspond (in general) to Saadia’s listing of ceremonial laws and rituals, but for Maimonides both laws and statutes have a basis in reason. In Guide 3.25 Maimonides offers several proofs based on philosophical reasoning for the rationality of law. He first distinguishes between four classes of action: futile actions, frivolous actions, vain actions, or good and excellent actions (GP 3.25:502). By good and excellent action, Maimonides means one that is “accomplished by an agent aiming at a noble end, I mean one that is

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necessary or useful, and achieves that end” (GP 3.25:503). He argues that no action on the part of God is vain, futile, or frivolous. According to Maimonides, both the Sages and the philosophers agree that everything God does is done for a purpose; there is nothing futile in nature: “Everything that is not artificial consists in actions through which some end is sought, regardless of whether we do or do not know that end” (GP 3.25:504). Since only actions that have an end are good, those who deny to God a final end are in effect claiming that God’s actions are futile or frivolous. To attribute to God non-purposive and non-rational actions, namely laws that are the arbitrary result of God’s will, would be blasphemous, for frivolous actions are the most demeaning. Maimonides then offers additional rational arguments that claim to support the rational basis for the Law. He argues that in order to command the respect of the nations of the world, Jewish law must be rational. In an interesting aside, Maimonides claims that if the Law were not rational, the peoples of the world would not look up to the Jews, and they would lose their standing among the moral peoples. Turning specifically to the utility of commandments, Maimonides distinguishes between the generalities and the particulars of a commandment. While the generalities of the commandments were given for utilitarian reasons, the particular details may not have the same utilitarian value. The overall purpose of the particulars is to purify the people (GP 3.26:508). But Maimonides castigates those who try to find causes for every particular detail in the laws; such individuals are stricken with “madness” and “are as far from truth as those who imagine that the generalities of a commandment are not designed with a view to some real utility” (GP 3.26:509). In fact, Maimonides goes to great lengths to warn his reader that for some particulars no cause can be found. Why, for example, did the Law prescribe the sacrifice of a ram rather than a lamb? No reason can be given, but one or other particular had to be chosen. Maimonides’ point is reminiscent of his discussion of the nature of the possible, for while it is certain that one of the contingent possibilities will necessarily come to pass, we cannot articulate why one particular possibility rather than another actually eventuates (GP 3.26:509). That the Law of Moses is directed toward welfare of both body and soul is reiterated in the next chapters. Welfare of the soul and body reflect perfections of the body and the soul respectively. Bodily perfection is dependent upon achieving physical health and the best bodily state, both of which are dependent upon in living society; for as Maimonides reminds us, “an individual can only attain all this through a political association, it being already known that man is political by nature” (GP 3.27:511). But perfection of the soul, although it does not pertain to moral qualities, nevertheless is dependent upon achievement of bodily perfection, for one cannot achieve intellectual perfection when “he is in pain or is very hungry or is thirsty or is hot or is very cold” (GP 3.27:511). More specifically, the commandments serve to support social and political beliefs. Maimonides distinguishes three classes of beliefs: “correct opinions” that lead to ultimate perfection, such as belief in God’s existence, unity, power,

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will, and eternity; politically advantageous beliefs that reinforce certain types of behavior, e.g. believing that God will punish those who disobey Him will instate fear and dread; and “all the other correct opinions” concerning reality, including the sciences (GP 3.28:512). When a commandment supports the second type of opinion (those that reinforce political welfare), its cause is clear and explicit. But in cases of commandments whose ultimate utility is not clear, Maimonides will argue that they are related to either the first or second category of opinions: either to the welfare of a belief or to the welfare of the conditions of the city (GP 3.28:513). Maimonides’ extended argument can be summarized as follows: since every one of the 613 commandments exists with a view either to communicating a correct opinion, or putting an end to an unhealthy opinion, or to communicating a rule of justice, or to warding off an injustice, or to endowing men with a noble moral quality, or warning them against an evil moral quality, it follows that all the commandments are bound up with three things: opinions, moral qualities, and political civic actions (GP 3.31:524). Note that none of the commandments apparently pertains to the third class of beliefs (those that pertain to the sciences). But the law serves another purpose as well. In an extended passage, Maimonides offers a historical deconstruction of the law.15 In order to explain the importance of sacrifices, he traces the laws back to Moses’ attempts to combat Sabianism. The Sabians were a polytheistic tribe steeped in magic and myth. In the context of refuting the idolatry of the Sabians who “explicitly asserted that the stars are the deity and that the sun is the greatest deity” (GP 2.29:514), Maimonides tells us that the first intention of the Law as a whole is to put an end to idolatry: “it is explicitly stated in the text of the Torah that everything that was regarded by them as worship of their gods and as a way of coming near to them, is hateful and odious to God” (GP 3.29:517). According to Maimonides’ deconstructive analysis, Moses knew that weaning the Israelites would be an arduous task, and so in order to wean the Israelites away from idolatry and sacrifice rituals gradually, the commandments regarding sacrifice were relaxed so as to require sacrifices only to God, the idea being that eventually sacrifices would be abandoned altogether. But Maimonides’ reasoning is not entirely coherent. For if the two purposes of the Law were to eliminate idolatry and inculcate proper beliefs, why didn’t God make His intentions more explicit; that is, why are the purposes of so many of the laws so very obtuse? Maimonides uses examples from nature to demonstrate God’s “wily graciousness and wisdom,” arguing that just as adaptation is a gradual process in nature, so too with the laws (GP 3.32:525). As in the case of a baby, who cannot immediately receive dry food, but must first suckle, so too humans cannot be expected to suddenly abandon one mode of behavior for another. In order to wean us away from consecration to the stars (idolatry), God permitted inferior types of worship to exist: God commanded that a temple be built and that animal sacrifices be offered, in order to efface the memory of idolatry. God thus “suffered the above-mentioned kinds of worship to remain, but transferred them from created or imaginary

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and unreal things to His own name” (GP 3.32:526). This doctrine of “gradualism” reflects Maimonides’ view that just as there is gradation and purposiveness in the processes of nature and biology, so too in history and religion. In Twersky’s words, the Torah is viewed as a “pedagogic-therapeutic instrument” that eventually uproots vestigial pagan beliefs and practices (Twersky 1980, 390). Maimonides thus distinguishes two intentions in the mind of God: the first intention is that humans reject idolatry, while the second intention is the satisfaction of the commandments. But once again we can ask, why didn’t God make more explicit the first intention, rather than relying on the second? Maimonides suggests that the souls of the Israelites were “naturally incapable of receiving” this first intention and so God had to resort to second intentions. Might the critic not object that God could have created humans capable of understanding this first intention, without having to resort to the second intention? Anticipating such a criticism, Maimonides reiterates that “God does not change at all the nature of human individuals by means of miracles” (GP 3.32:528) and so presumably to create humans capable of accepting the first intention would have been a violation of the natural order. In fact, according to Maimonides, God will never will to change the nature of any human.16 Let us grant Maimonides the claim that God needed to resort to second intentions in order to achieve God’s aims. It is still not clear whether these rationally graspable and intelligible reasons for the commandments can, and ought, to be divulged to the public. Maimonides clearly states that “all laws have causes and were given with a view to some utility” (GP 3.26). This utility is applicable to both welfare of the soul (achieved by acquisition of true beliefs) and welfare of the body (achieved by practical and moral virtues). Might not the very process of uncovering the reasons for the commandments lead to a sort of philosophical anti-nomianism among the masses, if they were to understand both the causes and goals of particular commandments? Could not this understanding lead to the seductive conclusion that these prescribed actions are dispensable? If the goal can be achieved in a way that does not require performance of the commandments, and the goal (namely intellectual perfection) can be explicitly named, does that not render the commandments otiose? The case of Spinoza comes to mind, for this is the very anti-nomianism supported in Spinoza’s Theologico-Political Treatise. Mendelssohn grappled with the same issue in Jerusalem, ultimately relegating the ceremonial law to a secondary sphere outside of moral behavior. The implications of this apparent anti-nomian strain will concern us more fully in the next chapter, when we discuss the end of the Guide and Maimonides’ view of the purpose of human life. Suffice it say that in the chapters devoted to the Law, Maimonides offers no response to this challenge. Perhaps the best he can do is suggest that the laws function in much the same way as does Aristotle’s virtuous individual: just as the virtuous individual provides the model for proper human behavior, so too has God provided us a model for proper behavior in the form of commandments.

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Maimonides’ Moral Theory: Universalist or Particularist? A final topic concerns the ontological status of the law itself. Unlike medical treatment, which is particularized for every individual in conformity with his temperament, decrees of the Law are absolute, universal, and non-abrogated; the Law is not dependent upon particular circumstances, social conditions, or individual needs. Although Maimonides is influenced heavily by al-Fârâbî, in one important point he deviates from him. Al-Fârâbî has repeatedly maintained that the director of human morality is the statesman. Maimonides disagrees, claiming that the physicians of the soul are the “wise men” (EC 3:18), omitting al-Fârâbî’s emphasis upon the political ruler. The reason for this omission is easy to see. We have seen (in Chapter 6) that Maimonides distinguishes between the prophet, the statesman, and the philosopher, and claims that only the prophet can produce legislation that is concerned with both the spiritual and temporal needs of the people (GP 2.39). Maimonides has a much lower opinion of the statesman, or political leader, and does not want to entrust the health of the soul, or the state, to a “mere” political ruler. Maimonides warns that governance of the Law ought to be absolute and universal, for if it were made to fit individuals, “the whole would be corrupted and you would make out of it something that varies” (GP 3.34:535). The Law is grounded in divine command. Maimonides is not interested in Saadia Gaon’s suggestion that the rational laws could in theory be discovered by reason alone; nor is he interested in Mendelssohn’s Enlightenment concept according to which religion is not revealed but discovered by human reason, and rational truths are not part of revelation.17 If all the laws and commandments are ultimately rooted in God’s divine decree, what sense can we make of the rabbinic concept of the seven Noahide Commandments, according to which righteous Gentiles have a share in the world to come? Must even a Gentile believe in divine command, or can these seven moral precepts be recognized on the basis of reason alone? In Judges 8:11, Maimonides has the following to say: A heathen who accepts the seven commandments and observes them scrupulously is a “righteous heathen” and will have a portion in the world to come, provided that he accepts them and performs them because the Holy One, blessed be He, commanded them in the Law and made known through Moses, our teacher, that the observance thereof had been enjoined upon the descendants of Noah even before the Law was given. But if his observance thereof is based upon a reasoned conclusion he is not deemed a resident alien, or one of the pious of the gentiles, but one of their wise men. (Judges 8:11 in Twersky 1972, 221)

In this text Maimonides distinguishes between those individuals who accept and perform righteous actions because God commanded them, and those who perform those commandments on the basis of “a reasoned conclusion.” The

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former are considered one of the “righteous” Gentiles, the latter one of their wise men. In other words, it is not enough simply to recognize and to perform these seven Noahide commandments; a truly righteous Gentile performs them out of acknowledgment that they were divinely revealed. But Maimonides’ text on this point is not clear, and subsequent editions have incorporated different variations (differing in one letter) of the last sentence: did Maimonides say “but [ela]one of their wise men,” or did he say “nor [velo] one of their wise men”? The latter is a more restrictive reading and rules out as righteous any Gentile who does not accept divine command, while the former is more inclusive. Spinoza read this passage as velo, accusing Maimonides of being narrow and particularist. He understands Maimonides to have said that everybody who follows the seven Noahide laws as a result of divine command is counted with the pious among the nations, but “he who follows them as led thereto by reason, is not counted as a dweller among the pious, nor among the wise of the nations” (Spinoza 2001). In other words, Spinoza interprets Maimonides as saying that only Gentiles who recognized divine command warranted a share in the world to come. Other philosophers including Hermann Cohen and Moses Mendelssohn have tried to reinterpret Maimonides in a way that is more charitable and inclusive.18 But even if we read the text in a more charitable light, we still have a problem. Even on the emended reading, Maimonides has excluded philosophical Noahides from the class of righteous Gentiles, namely those who recognize the Noahide laws strictly by virtue of reason. The importance of this issue is summed up by Leo Strauss, who argued that if independent human reflection is adequate for moral guidance, then revelation is dethroned: “there may perhaps still be belief in revelation, but certainly no longer interest in revelation” (Strauss 1997, 160; emphasis is mine). The importance of revelation itself, and its role in human life, becomes a major concern. In our last chapter we shall have to confront Maimonides’ position on whether intellectual perfection is sufficient to achieve human perfection, or whether it is dependent upon moral perfection, as reflected in Divine Revelation.

Conclusion In this chapter we have emphasized both the moderating tendencies and the more radical claims found in Maimonides’ theory of virtue. Agents should aim toward the intermediate between extremes in order to cultivate a virtuous character; the commandments themselves have as one of their aims the cultivation of virtuous actions resulting from this middle way. But a more extreme side persists throughout Maimonides’ works. While sometimes he advocates a moderate approach toward the virtues, at other times he upholds a more radical stance. At the most basic level, we might explain these tensions by pointing to what Berman has termed a “palimpsest in the transmission of cultures” (Berman 1991, 28). On this view, shared by many commentators, Maimonides is attempting to reconcile disparate strands in Aristotle and al-Fârâbî on the one

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hand, with rabbinic and biblical tradition on the other hand. This attempted fusion of Aristotelian/Arabic ethics with religious, Bible-derived ethics results in inevitable tension and contradictions.19 Others have suggested that Maimonides is in effect presenting a multi-tiered morality, advocating different modes of behavior for different groups of people. On this reading, it would follow that while asceticism is inappropriate for the masses, it might be more appropriate for one achieving union with God. Given the legacy of esotericism in Maimonides’ works, this is not a surprising position for Maimonides to maintain. Furthermore, one may occasionally adopt an extremist position for therapeutic reasons, on the grounds that aiming toward the extreme will help to cure the moral illness: e.g. if one is ill by being addicted to extreme stinginess, one should move to the extreme of extravagance, in order to eventually be returned to the mean of “proper giving.” Maimonides suggests that if one is fearful of being corrupted by an immoral society, one may withdraw completely (EC 4; CT 3.2). In both Eight Chapters and Character Traits, Maimonides emphasizes the plight of the individual who is trying to flee “the immorality of the townspeople” (EC 4). It is clear that asceticism is not appropriate behavior for those who do not appreciate its force or purpose, and simply copy other spiritualists mindlessly, but it might be appropriate for those who have reached an advanced spiritual and intellectual level of perfection. On this elitist interpretation, Maimonides advocates an ascetic lifestyle as a perfectly legitimate ethical option for those who are ready for it. The problem with this suggestion is that Maimonides makes no efforts to hide his esoteric views, and presents both strands side by side within the same chapter. Surely if Maimonides were advocating two levels of morality, he would have made greater efforts to conceal the elitist view. Let me suggest that a more plausible way to explain this dual attitude toward asceticism is in terms of Maimonides’ deep ambivalence toward the body and its relation to the soul. As we have noted in Chapter 5, Maimonides has been struggling throughout the Guide with two paradigms: on the one hand, humans are corporeal beings, and corporeality is regarded as good (GP 1.54; 3.10, 11, 12, 25). On the other hand, it is the corporeality of humans that stands in the way of their perfection (GP 3.51). Throughout this work, we have detected in Maimonides a deep ambivalence over the moral status of physical desires, corporeality, and satisfaction of physical needs. This ambivalence is heightened even further as we turn to our last chapter, which pertains to the ends and purpose of human life.

notes 1 As noted in the first chapter, the Eight Chapters is part of Maimonides’ Commentary on the Mishnah (an introduction to the Chapters of the Fathers [Pirqei Avot]) in which Maimonides brought together a number of ethical ideas.

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2

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Laws Concerning Character Traits is a short work, part of the Mishneh Torah, devoted to ethical matters. Berman (1991) emphasizes the importance of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics on Maimonides. The work was translated in the ninth and tenth centuries from Greek into Arabic, and soon became very popular among the eastern Islamicate intellectual tradition (1991, 13), including al-Fârâbî, Avicenna, Ibn Miskawayh, and Abu l-Hasân al-Amirî. Berman suggests that the influence of Aristotle is “marked” in Maimonides’ main works. Pines (1963) and Davidson (1987b, 2005) explore the influences of al-Fârâbî and Plato as well. Pines goes so far as to suggest that the whole of Maimonides’ political philosophy is set within the scheme of reference established by al-Fârâbî. See Pines (1963, lxxxvi). For extensive discussion of the interpolation of passages from Fusûl al-Madanî into Maimonides’ ethical works, see Davidson (1987b), Pines (1963), Berman (1974). Davidson notes that Maimonides virtually used Fusûl as a guidebook for Aristotle’s ethics, incorporating close to fifty percent of the text into his own works. For discussion of this difficulty, see Twersky “Introduction” in (1980, 453–9); Kellner (1990); Fox (1990, 93–151); Pines (1990, 95–157); Weiss (1991); Shatz (2005). Harvey draws the interesting parallel between Maimonides’ discussion and that of Spinoza in the Ethics. According to Harvey, neither is a moral relativist, although both relegate the terms “good” and “evil” to the realm of the imaginative faculty. See W. Harvey (1981a). “None of the moral excellences arises in us by nature; for nothing that exists by nature can form a habit contrary to its nature. For instance the stone which by nature moves downwards cannot be habituated to move upwards, not even if one tries to train it by throwing it up ten thousand times” (NE 2.1 1103 a 19–23). To some extent Aristotle intimates that we choose our character: A person “may, perhaps, be ill voluntarily, through living incontinently and disobeying his doctors. In that case it was then open to him not to be ill, but not now, when he has thrown away his chance, just as when you have let a stone go it is too late to recover it; but yet it was in your power to throw it, since the moving principle was in you. So, too, to the unjust and to the self-indulgent man it was open at the beginning not to become men of this kind, and so they are such voluntarily; but now that they have become so it is not possible for them not to be so” (NE 3.5 1114 a 15–22). See Kreisel (2008), Schwartzschild (1990), and Davidson (1987b) for examples. More recently, Manekin has argued that “all these problems stem from a misunderstanding of the doctrine of the mean and its place in Maimonides’ philosophy.” According to Manekin, Maimonides is primarily concerned with the psychological well-being of individuals, and acquisition of the mean character traits must be read in this context. See Manekin (2005, 80). See Davidson (1987b), Frank (1985), and Frank (1990) for extensive discussion of these passages. Not surprisingly, the secondary literature on Aristotle’s discussion has been extensive. We cannot in this context entertain the vast literature on Aristotle’s theory of akrasia.

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12

13 14

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When reading this topic, we cannot help but think of Kant’s paradigmatic discussion of duties and moral value. According to Kant, what gives a morally good action its special value is its motivation, or the principle on the basis of which it is willed. Kant focuses upon morally good actions that are done from duty, contrasting them to actions done from sincere inclination. There are people, he says, who are so attuned that “without any other motive of vanity or self-interest they find an inner satisfaction in spreading joy around them and can take delight in the satisfaction of others so far as it is their own work” (Kant 2007, 4.389, p. 11). The actions of such a person, Kant maintains, do not have the moral worth of the same action done from a sense of duty. Only in a case when an agent performs an action without any inclination, simply duty, does the action have genuine moral worth (Kant 2007, 4:398, p. 12). In Kant’s scenario, actions derive their moral worth from the fact that the agent reflects a respect for law, not from an inner intuitive desire or satisfaction. Having put aside all inclination, “there is left for the will nothing that could determine it except objectively the law and subjectively pure respect for this practical law, and so the maxim of complying with such a law even if it infringes upon all my inclinations” (Kant 2007, 4:401, p. 14). Note that other Jewish philosophers (e.g. Bahya ibn Paquda, Duties of the Heart 8.8) opted for the opposite position. As put by al-Fârâbî, “He who brings out and produces the mean and moderate of whatever kind in foods and medicines is the doctor. The art by which he brings it out is medicine. He who produces the mean and moderate in morals and actions is the ruler of the city and the king. The art by which he brings it out is the political art and the kingly craft” (Fusûl 1.19, p. 36). See Guide 3.29:32, 37, 45– 6. But, then again, consider the example discussed in Chapter 7 concerning God’s hardening Pharoah’s heart; can that not be construed as meddling in a person’s nature? Mendelssohn’s conception of the commandments is discussed in his work Jerusalem and became a controversial statement in early modern Jewish thought. This text is discussed at great length in Kellner (2006), who emphasizes a universalist reading of Maimonides. But as Davidson rightly notes, it won’t help to label one view philosophical and the other popular since the very views espoused in the doctrine of the mean are taken from the philosophers al-Fârâbî and Aristotle. See Davidson (1963).

further reading Berman, Lawrence, “Maimonides, the Disciple of Al-Fârâbî,” Israel Oriental Studies 4 (1974), 154–78. Berman, Lawrence, “The Ethical Views of Maimonides within the Context of Islamicate Civilization,” in Joel L. Kraemer (ed.), Perspectives on Maimonides: Philosophical and Historical Studies (Oxford: Oxford University Press for the Littman Library, 1991), 13–32.

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Davidson, Herbert A., “Maimonides’ Shemonah Peraqim and Al-Fârâbî’s Fusûl al-Madanî,” Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research 31 (1963), 33–50. Davidson, Herbert A., “The Middle Way in Maimonides’ Ethics,” Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research 54 (1987), 31–72. Fox, Marvin, Interpreting Maimonides: Studies in Methodology, Metaphysics and Moral Philosophy (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1990). Frank, Daniel H., “The End of the Guide: Maimonides on the Best Life for Man,” Judaism 34 (1985), 485–95. Frank, Daniel H., “Anger as a Vice: A Maimonidean Critique of Aristotle’s Ethics,” History of Philosophy Quarterly 7 (1990), 269– 81. Goodman, Lenn E., “God and the Good Life: Maimonides’ Virtue Ethics and the Idea of Perfection,” in George Tamer (ed.), The Trias of Maimonides: Jewish Arabic, and Ancient Culture of Knowledge (Berlin and New York: Walter De Gruyter, 2005), 123–36. Schwarzchild, Steven S., “Moral Radicalism and ‘Middlingness’ in the Ethics of Maimonides,” reprinted in Menachem Kellner (ed.), The Pursuit of the Ideal: The Jewish Writings of Steven Schwarzschild (Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 1990), 137–60. Septimus, Bernard, “Literary Structure and Ethical Theory in Sefer ha-Madda,” in Jay M. Harris (ed.), Maimonides After 800 Years: Essays on Maimonides and His Influence (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2008), 307–25. Shatz, David, “Maimonides’ Moral Theory,” in Kenneth Seeskin (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Maimonides (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 167–93.

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chapter 9

on human felicity Introduction n this chapter we articulate what Maimonides takes to be the end and final goal of human existence. We discussed in Chapter 5 Maimonides’ claims that metaphysical knowledge alone leads to human immortality, and that immortality could only be achieved upon the completion of intellectual perfection. But is it even possible for a human intellect, which itself is rooted in matter, to achieve knowledge of the Active Intellect? And further, how is knowledge of the Active Intellect correlated to knowledge of God? Maimonides has already told us (GP 1.50–60) that only God’s negative attributes can be apprehended, and so we cannot come to know God directly. Furthermore, inasmuch as the rabbinic sages did not regard immortality as dependent upon intellectual perfection, how do Maimonides’ views accord with those of the rabbis? What role, for example, does Torah study play in achieving ultimate human perfection? Yet another question pertains to the psycho-physical determinist strains we have located in Maimonides’ works. If immortality is predicated on intellectual knowledge, and Maimonides has argued that many individuals are psychophysically incapable of embarking on such a rigorous and philosophical course of study, does it follow that not all humans can achieve intellectual perfection? Is the road the same, and open, to all? The underlying issue in these final chapters is whether a human being can transcend corporeal limitations and realize a purely intellectual “true self” as suggested by Guide 3.54. Or is corporeality a constant impediment to self-actualization? Both the first and last chapters of the Guide address this issue. In light of the multiple interpretations that have been given to Maimonides’ cryptic words, the topic of human felicity thus strains the limits of esotericism. In order to come to an understanding of Maimonides’ conception of human perfection, we shall begin with his famous parable of the king’s palace in Guide 3.51. We then discuss his description at the very end of the Guide of three individuals who achieved this perfection (Moses, Aaron, and Miriam), and turn to his controversial doctrine of four perfections. Maimonides’ theory of the four perfections are taken from Ibn Bâjja, and reinforce the idea that intellectual perfection is higher and more worthy than moral perfection. But Maimonides then introduces the possibility of yet a fifth perfection based on imitatio dei,

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or imitating the ways of God. This final perfection reintroduces the questions with which we started this work, namely Maimonides’ ultimate purpose in writing the Guide, and his desiderata for human beings in light of the exhortation to walk in the ways of God.

The Parable of the King’s Palace Maimonides’ famous parable of the king in his palace, presented at the very end of the Guide, is an attempt to summarize and pull together the various strands of his admittedly complex and multi-pronged philosophical work. It mirrors the “lightning analogy” we discussed in Chapter 6; like that early analogy, the parable articulates in graphic and explicit terms the multi-tiered levels of intellectual capacities among his peers. We have noted in Chapter 2 the distress with which Maimonides held the contemporary level of knowledge among his peers. The ignorance displayed by the scholars of his own generation upset Maimonides greatly, and their adherence to “false opinions” such as anthropomorphism and theurgy was particularly distressing, as evidenced in his diatribe at the beginning of the Essay on Resurrection. Maimonides believed that knowledge of metaphysics had once been part of Jewish tradition, and that this knowledge had now been lost (GP 3.Intro:415). He saw his task, as leader of the Jewish community, to put an end to this intellectual erosion, and to reintroduce to the scholarly community a proper understanding of the non-corporeal world. Maimonides introduces his parable by noting that chapter fifty-one does not include any new material; it serves as a general conclusion to the Guide, and its function is to guide the reader to a worship of God, which is “the end of man” (GP 3.51:618). Of course, to the astute reader, this disavowal of any new material should function as a signal to read the chapter carefully. Maimonides then turns to the parable, which describes a ruler in his palace, with his subjects circling outside, hoping to enter the palace walls and achieve communion with the ruler. Maimonides describes the various subjects as follows: The ruler is in his palace, and all his subjects are partly within the city, and [1] partly outside the city. Of those who are within the city, [2] some have turned their backs upon the ruler’s habitation, their faces being turned another way. [3] Others seek to reach the ruler’s habitation, turn toward it, and desire to enter it and to stand before him, but up to now they have not yet seen the wall of the habitation. [4] Some of those who seek to reach it have come up to the habitation and walk around it searching for its gate. Some of them have entered the inner court of the habitation and have come to be with the king, in one and the same place with him, namely, in the ruler’s habitation. But their having come into the inner part of the habitation does not mean that they see the ruler or speak to him. [5] For after their coming into the inner part of the habitation, it is indispensable that they should make another effort; then they

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will be in the presence of the ruler, see him from afar [6] or nearby, [7] or hear the ruler’s speech [8] or speak to him. (GP 1.51:618; numbering is mine)

Maimonides then provides a detailed exposition of the meaning of the parable as follows: [1] Those who are outside the city are humans with no doctrinal belief at all; they resemble irrational animals, being of a rank higher than apes but lower than humans. [2] Those who have turned their backs on the palace are those who have “adopted incorrect opinions” and so are receding ever further from the palace; they are more dangerous than the first, and must occasionally be put to death. [3] Those who seek the palace but never actually see it are “the multitude of the adherents of the Law, I refer to the ignoramuses who observe the commandments.” [4] Those who walk around the palace walls are the “jurists who believe true opinions on the basis of traditional authority and study the law” but do not engage in critical reflection or “speculation concerning the fundamental principles of religion.” [5] Those who have entered the antechamber are the ones who “have plunged into speculation concerning the fundamental principles of religion.” [6], [7], [8] Those who are with the ruler, in the innermost part of the palace, are the ones who have “achieved demonstration to the extent that it is possible of everything that may be demonstrated.” (GP 3.51:619; numbering is mine)

In describing the various types of subjects, Maimonides has not minced words in his unpacking of the parable. He then introduces yet another layer of interpretation onto the parable, in the context of telling his student Joseph how to organize his own course of study in order to move from level [4] to [7] and [8]: [4.1] Know, my son, that as long as you are engaged in studying the mathematical sciences and the art of logic, you are one of those who walk around the house searching for its gate. [5.1] If, however, you have understood the natural things, you have entered the habitation and are walking in the antechambers. [6.1] If, however, you have achieved perfection in the natural things and have understood divine science, you have entered in the ruler’s place in the inner court and are with him in one habitation. This is the rank of the men of science; they, however, are of different grades of perfection. [7.1] There are those who set their thought to work after having attained perfection in the divine science, turn wholly toward God . . . This is the rank of the prophets. [8.1] Among them there is he who because of the greatness of his apprehension and his renouncing everything that is other than God, may He be

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exalted, has attained such a degree that it is said of him, “And he was there with the Lord.” (GP 3.51:619–20; again, numbering is mine)

Needless to say, reactions to this extended analogy have been mixed, and have centered around the relation between levels [4] and [5] on the one hand, and [6], [7], and [8] on the other. Some scholars have tried to give a more universalistic reading of the parable, suggesting that by privileging the study of metaphysics and natural science, Maimonides is signaling the superiority of the natural scientist/philosopher over the halakhist. Traditionally inclined readers, however, have expressed outrage at the suggestion that on such a reading, scientists have attained a higher degree of perfection than did the halakhists.1 Furthermore, is it the case that levels [6], [7], and [8] can be reached without the help of Jewish thought and Torah study? If so, then non-Jews are more “worthy” on this scale than observant but philosophically ignorant Jews. Menachem Kellner has argued that the parable in fact deals with Jews alone, arguing that “there is simply no comparison drawn in the parable between Jews and non-Jews, or between halakhists and gentile philosophers.”2 But in contradistinction to Kellner, I suggest that classes [1] and [2], as well as [5]–[8], might refer either to Jews or non-Jews. Recall that in many other contexts, Maimonides has referred to Jews who have the wrong opinions about God. Remember what we said in Chapter 3, that the dangers of unthinking belief, based on tradition, lead us away from God: one who uses positive attributes with respect to God “has abolished his belief in the existence of the deity without being aware of it” (GP 1.60:145). This point is reiterated in Maimonides’ statements above about level [2], that those who hold “false beliefs” are dangerous; that those who think and talk about God without any knowledge, simply “following a mere imagining or following a belief adopted because of his reliance on the authority of somebody else,” are outside the palace and far away from it (GP 3.51:620). This description could refer to a Jew who misuses theological language, just as much as to an atheist or to a Gentile. Throughout the Guide (as well as his halakhic works), Maimonides has emphasized the importance of inculcating “correct opinions” among the Jewish masses, including that God is incorporeal and that God is one. For most people, actually adopting these beliefs is hard enough, and so Maimonides is doubtful of their ability to understand further nuances. On my reading of this parable, Torah scholars who believe true opinions on the basis of authority or tradition alone are concerned with the practicalities of divine service; they do not engage in speculation regarding the fundamental principles of religion, and are circling the gates of the palace. Similarly, those who engage in mathematics and logic alone have acquired only the rudimentary tools for further study; they have not actually engaged the subject matter of metaphysics or natural science. Mathematics, logic, and study of law are similar sorts of study in that they are propadeutics to philosophical

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speculation. Only those scholars (classes [5] and above) who engage in speculation (demonstrative science or philosophy) can gain entrance to the antechambers; and only knowledge of physics and metaphysics can guarantee entrance to the inner court. Maimonides acknowledges that Torah study plays an important role, and consists in turning its adherents in the right direction, but it does not guarantee entrance to the palace itself, nor is it clear that Torah study is any more useful than mathematics or logic. In other words, I am suggesting that while Torah study alone is clearly not sufficient for entrance to the palace, it might not even be necessary. Both the ordinary masses and the philosophers have “correct opinions”; but those of the former are not based on speculation, whereas those of the latter are grounded in scientific demonstration. Neither set of beliefs necessarily incorporates study of the law. Note as well, that the king is not synonymous with God. Maimonides emphasizes in the next chapter that the king itself is “the intellect that overflows toward us and is the bond between us and Him, may He be exalted” (GP 3.52:628). True perfection consists in union with this king, who functions as the gatekeeper, as it were, to God. The ultimate purpose of the commandments is to achieve union with God, as well as to inculcate us with both love and fear of God. Maimonides thus returns to the motif articulated in Aristotle’s De Anima 3.5, arguing that intellectuality alone allows for communication between supreme divine thought and the human being (Eran 2001, 139). Maimonides tells us that intellectual perfection is the only way to reach God, but this union can only occur through the Active Intellect exemplified by the king.

Intellectual Perfection, Immortality, and Matter One of the most powerful descriptions of the attainment of intellectual perfection occurs at the very end of chapter fifty-one of the Guide. Describing the ultimate goal of human existence, Maimonides gives the following description of the attainment of bliss achievable by a mortal: (3.1) The philosophers have already explained that the bodily faculties impede in youth the attainment of most of the moral virtues, and all the more that of pure thought which is achieved through the perfection of the intelligibles that lead to passionate love of Him, may He be exalted . . . when a perfect man is stricken with years and approaches death, this apprehension increases very powerfully, joy over this apprehension and great love for the object of apprehension become stronger, until the soul is separated from the body at that moment in this state of pleasure . . . (3.2) Because of this the Sages have indicated with reference to the deaths of Moses, Aaron and Miriam that the three of them died by a kiss . . . And they said of Miriam in the same way: She also died by a kiss. But with regard to her it is not said, by the mouth of the Lord; because she was a woman, the use of the figurative expression was not suitable with regard to her [my italics].

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Their purpose was to indicate that the three of them died in the pleasure of this apprehension due to the intensity of passionate love. (GP 3.51:627–8)

In (3.1) Maimonides describes the state of perfection of one who has achieved the fullness of philosophical study encouraged in the Guide. Reflecting the Neoplatonic motif that corporeal bodies hinder immaterial perfection, (3.1) emphasizes the separation from corporeality as a necessary condition for spiritual perfection. It is important to note that a young person is never capable of achieving this level of perfection. The instant of ultimate perfection is manifested by the divesting of corporeality, a state that is not possible for a youth still subject to passions. In fact, Maimonides tells us that only three individuals have ever reached this level. (3.2) is a truly remarkable passage, for here Maimonides acknowledges that even a woman – Miriam – can in theory achieve the kind of perfection described in (3.1). Moses, Aaron, and Miriam all die “in the pleasure of this apprehension.” Presumably Miriam, as well as Moses and Aaron, has achieved the final separation of soul from body described in (3.1). This separation is consummated by a kiss. But Maimonides is reluctant to admit that God kisses Miriam directly, presumably because to kiss a female is unseemly for the Deity. Maimonides’ reluctance reflects the sentiments expressed in the following rabbinic passage: (3.3) Our Rabbis taught: there are six [persons] over whom the Angel of Death had no dominion – Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, Moses, Aaron, and Miriam. With respect to Moses, Aaron, and Miriam, they “died by the mouth of the Lord” [Numbers 33:38 and Deut. 34:5], But “by the mouth of the Lord” is not stated in the case of Miriam . . . And how come Scripture does not say “by the mouth of the Lord” as in the case of Moses? Because saying such a thing would be inappropriate [in the case of a woman]. (Baba Bathra 17.a)

Why is it inappropriate to have God kiss Miriam directly if presumably she too has shed her corporeality? Reactions to (3.2) and (3.3) have been surprisingly minimal in the literature.3 If, as we have argued, matter represents the manifestation of corporeality and evil, and if this material principle is identified with the female principle (as we have seen in Chapter 4), then in an important sense one might expect that the female can never fully rid herself of the mark of sexuality. In a hylomorphic ontology, the female is upheld as the quintessence of materiality; only by overcoming her materiality – in other words, by no longer being female – can she attain to a level of spiritual perfection. If we assume that Miriam is at least enough like other women to have a body, and that her body is no less identifiable with matter and with deficiency than that of other women, then it is not surprising that, following the rabbis, Maimonides would be reluctant to have God endow a “full kiss” upon a person whose very essence is equated with corporeality and evil. The imputation of unseemliness to God’s

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kissing Miriam introduces the motif of corporeality into Maimonides’ analysis. The question before us, then, is whether there exists an essential difference between Miriam, on the one hand, and Moses and Aaron on the other, a difference rooted in ontology that affects the nature of their respective unions with God. One key to understanding Guide 3.51 lies in what Tzvi Langermann has recently described as a model of “nondenominational philosophical spirituality,” according to which the philosopher achieves perfection by pursuing a rigorous path of scientific knowledge: spiritual perfection can be achieved without regard to religious particularism (Langermann 1997). In Guide 1.68, Maimonides claims both that God is to be identified with intellect, and that it is the function of humans to unite with this intellect. More specifically, we have seen that in this passage, Maimonides describes God as “the intellect as well as the subject and object of intellection.” Maimonides describes the intellectual contemplation of God as follows: When, however, you are alone with yourself and no one else is there, and while you lie awake upon your bed, you should take great care during these precious times not to set your thought to work on anything other than that intellectual worship consisting in nearness to God and being in his presence in that true reality that I have made known to you, and not by way of affections of the imagination. (GP 3.51:623)

This meditative stance is compared with external speech (e.g. prayer), and emphasizes once again the inner/outer contrast to which we have alluded in a number of chapters. Maimonides cautions us not to contaminate inner worship with outer worldly matters. The Patriarchs and Moses were living a bifurcated existence: while on the one hand they were focused on knowledge of God, on the other hand they were occupied with the world around them and lived an ordinary existence, interacting with the corporeal world. Maimonides tells us that “they performed these actions with their limbs only, while their intellects were constantly in his presence, may He be exalted” (GP 3.51:624). The phrase “limbs only” refers to the fact that the Patriarchs and Moses paid lip service to their corporeal nature, performing the very minimal actions necessary to interact with the physical realm, while at the same tending to their spiritual and intellectual development. Compare this to individuals who pay “lip service” to intellectual and spiritual concerns, while being distracted by worldly matters. Maimonides describes one who reads Torah while the “heart is set upon the building of [your] habitation . . . and similarly in all cases in which you perform a commandment merely with your limbs” (GP 3.54:622). Maimonides had noted in Guide 1.34 the difficulties in attending to ordinary life, noting that even one’s spouse and children can be an impediment to theoretical study: “If even a perfect man, as we have mentioned, were to occupy himself much with these necessary things . . . he would find that his theoretical desires had grown

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weak” (GP 1.34:79). Recall Maimonides’ claim that evil does not befall the pious individual (see Chapter 7); he reinforces this position by claiming that whatever happens to the physical body is ultimately irrelevant to a person. The physical limbs, the body, do not comprise the essential nature of a person, and so any evils that befall a person’s physical being do not constitute genuine evil. For this reason Maimonides claims that the true philosopher, one who cleaves intellectually to God, will never suffer evil. Guide 3.51 thus reinforces the view that some (very few) individuals can actualize a purely intellectual self, one that has transcended a hylomorphic composite. It is this intellectualist strand, reflected in the final chapters of the Guide, that returns us to Maimonides’ apophatic theory. Intellectual apprehension of God represents the truest form of worship. On the one hand, Maimonides tells us that love of God can only be achieved through intellectual and scientific pursuit: love of God “becomes valid only through the apprehension of the whole of Being as it is” (GP 3.28). On what comes to be identified in later centuries as a Spinozistic model, it is the study of nature as a whole (the facts of the matter) that yields knowledge of the Divine. On the other hand, Maimonides has argued that there are limits to what we can know demonstratively about God. The truest dimension of prayer consists in inner and outer silence, a silence that reflects the profound epistemological limits of human beings.

Achieving Ultimate Happiness: Four Types of Perfection The very last chapter of the Guide presents yet another set of interpretative problems having to do with Maimonides’ conception of happiness, and the relation between theoretical and moral ways of life. We have seen in the parable of the palace that the most perfect individual [8.1] has achieved communion with God by exercising intellectual excellence. Maimonides extols this type of life as one of “solitude and isolation,” and suggests that the truly excellent person avoids human interaction and “does not meet anyone unless it is necessary” (GP 3.51:621). Maimonides reflects statements in Aristotle and the Islamic philosophers, notably Ibn Bâjja, that uphold the theoretical, contemplative life as superior to the moral life.4 In the Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle provided an analysis of happiness (eudaimonia) connected to his conception of good and virtue. We saw in Chapter 8 that Aristotle defined the good as the end for the sake of which every action is done. There are, according to Aristotle, many ends, and many types of good actions. Aristotle argues that human happiness is predicated on the capacity to reason and is defined as life in accordance with the rational principle. But scholars have noted a deep tension in Aristotle’s works regarding the actualization of human happiness. On the one hand, happiness is actualized through moral action, and the happiest person is one who lives well in the moral and political sphere. On the other hand, in the final book

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of the Ethics (NE 10.7– 8), Aristotle presents theoretical wisdom as the final end of human life. These two ways of life are incommensurable: the contemplative life attaches no importance to the moral, and the morally virtuous individual places no importance on theoretical contemplation. Theoretical wisdom, Aristotle argues, is superior to all other activities since it perfects the most noble part of us, is self-sufficient, is done for its own sake, over a long period of time, and is the one activity that makes us like the gods.5 Aristotle concludes that we should make ourselves immortal by cultivating that “which is divine in us” (NE 10.7 1177b31–34). We find a similar ambivalence in Maimonides’ description of the four ways of achieving perfection; his description of these perfections is adapted from Ibn Bâjja’s appropriation of Aristotle, and can be characterized as follows.6 Material perfection comprises possession of material goods; bodily perfection comprises bodily health and strength; moral perfection comprises moral virtue and action; and rational or theoretical perfection consists in contemplation of divine matters (GP 3.54:635). Following Aristotle and Ibn Bâjja, Maimonides regards these four perfections as arranged hierarchically, from lowest (material) to highest (theoretical). Maimonides describes material possessions as “external” to the person, having no essential relation to the inner person: “all this is outside his self” (GP 3.54:634). What he has to say about bodily perfection is interesting. In contradistinction to Eight Chapters, in which Maimonides emphasized the importance of bodily health for the sake of moral health, he follows Ibn Bâjja in denigrating bodily perfection as a perfection not qua human but qua animal, and argues that the soul draws no benefit from bodily perfection. Possession of health is irrelevant to the life of the soul, which is exactly the opposite of what he had claimed in Eight Chapters. Maimonides (again, following Ibn Bâjja) claims that moral perfection has instrumental value only: it serves the purpose of making humans useful to others. But, on a desert island in which a person lived an isolated existence, moral virtues would be “in vain, unemployed and unneeded” (ibid.). They only serve a purpose when we exist in society and have to live with others. The fourth perfection, which comprises attainment of the rational virtues through contemplation of the intelligibles, is the highest of the four, and is described as “the true human perfection” (GP 3.54:635). Maimonides is even more extreme than Aristotle: whereas for Aristotle the moral virtues served a purpose in and of themselves, Maimonides focuses exclusively on the happiness to be achieved by the intellectual virtues. He echoes Ibn Bâjja’s sentiment that intellectual love of God is best accomplished in solitude: one should “not weary and trouble [one]self for the sake of others,” being careful to attend to one’s own inner needs (ibid.). As we have seen above, intellectual perfection for Maimonides constitutes the ultimate route to immortality, and belongs to the agent alone. Maimonides uses a quotation from Jeremiah (9:22–23) to support his defense of the intellectual virtues as the most perfect of the four. One who possesses moral virtues, Maimonides tells us, is held in high esteem by the multitude; we

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can only expect that Maimonides will not concur with the multitude on this point. In fact, he follows this statement with another, claiming that the commandments do not compare with intellectual perfection: “all the actions prescribed by the Law – I refer to the various species of worship and also the moral habits that are useful to all people in their mutual dealings – that all this is not to be compared with this ultimate end, and does not equal it, being but preparations made for the sake of this end” (GP 3.54:636). In this remarkable passage, Maimonides is suggesting that the purpose of the commandments has little to do with intellectual perfection, which is the true aim of human existence; the commandments only serve an instrumental purpose, enabling people to interact in a social situation. Compare this statement to Guide 3.52, in which Maimonides argued that through repetition of individual commandments, “some excellent men obtain such training that they achieve human perfection, so that they fear, and are in dread and in awe of God, may He be exalted.” Guide 3.51 is Maimonides’ answer to antinomianism, in that even the philosopher has not outgrown the need for commandments. But in Guide 3.54, Maimonides tells us that moral habits function only in a social context, and serve no deontological purpose in and of themselves, suggesting that one who has achieved intellectual perfection, and surpassed corporeality, has transcended the need for the commandments.7

The Fifth Perfection: Teacher, Leader, or Scholar? Immediately following this passage from Jeremiah, Maimonides then adds what some scholars have described as a fifth perfection, which emphasizes the importance of imitating God’s actions (imitatio dei ): that we should glory in the apprehension of God’s attributes and actions, namely loving-kindness, judgment, and righteousness (GP 3.54:637). Scholars have disagreed on how to read this final perfection, which appears to represent the culmination of human existence: is it practical and political in nature, or does it represent a heightened sense of moral action? Does this fifth perfection mark a radical break with the Aristotelian ideal, by reintroducing a practical component into the highest form of human existence; or does it represent a by-product of the fourth perfection, consisting in the pleasure one experiences as a result of contemplation; or does this fifth perfection reflect a reintroduction of Platonic themes in Maimonides, perhaps in line with al-Fârâbî and others? In an influential article, Shlomo Pines has argued that Maimonides’ presentation in this passage represented a radical break with the Aristotelian ideal as laid down in the Nicomachean Ethics. Pines claims that in this final chapter, Maimonides does an about-face: because humans cannot have certain knowledge of metaphysics, it turns out that practical activity is the only perfection attainable. “The practical way of life, the bios praktikos,” turns out to be superior to the theoretical (Pines 1979, 100). But others have argued that the practical activity is a consequence of intellectual life.8

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We see here a tension between two world-views: the Fârâbian representation of the Platonic model in which the intellectual ultimately fulfills his political obligations and returns to the community; and the model offered by Ibn Bâjja who, in his Governance of the Solitary, called upon the philosopher to withdraw from the community altogether and live a spiritual life in isolation. Maimonides does not explain what he means by our following the ways of God. He can’t mean that we should emulate God’s essence, since that can be neither known nor demonstrated. Nor can Maimonides mean that we should emulate God’s actions, since, as we argued in Chapter 3, descriptions of divine action are but pale analogies to human action. Recall Maimonides’ statements in Guide 1.54 to the effect that when we use terms like “mercy” of God and of humans, they mean something completely different. And so exhorting us to emulate God’s loving-kindness, judgment, and righteousness turns out not to be very helpful, since if we take seriously what Maimonides has argued in Guide 1.54, we really don’t know what loving-kindness, judgment, and righteousness mean when applied to the Deity. In fact, it turns out, there is very little we can know about God’s works other than God’s apparent providence; but as we argued in Chapter 7, even Divine Providence is questionable, and it is not clear whether God knows individuals sufficiently to bestow individual providence upon them. And so Maimonides’ exhortation at the very end of the Guide turns out to be ambiguous at best.

Conclusion I have attempted to emphasize several important and interconnected strands throughout our study of Maimonides’ philosophy. We started with Maimonides’ warnings about how to read his works, and his suggestion that esoteric, or hidden, meanings are contained in the midst of an exoteric outer meaning. But what is at the crux of Maimonides’ secret teachings? I have tried to present a sampling of the many different interpretations given by commentators over the centuries: some have maintained that the secrets resided in the spheres of metaphysics and physics; others that they resided in the spheres of law and morality. Some have argued that Maimonides believed in an eternal world; others that he denied a supernatural account of miracles, or that he was radical in his attempts to allegorize the literal meanings of Scripture. In recent years, a new trend has emerged, according to which Maimonides’ secret is thought to lie in emphasizing the limitations of human knowledge, in other words in “Maimonidean skepticism” with respect to metaphysical and theological truths. While some commentators have approached the Guide primarily as a philosophical text, according to which synthesis and harmonization are ultimately possible, others have approached the Guide as a political text, arguing that synthesis is impossible – there can be only dichotomy. Strauss, Pines, and their followers have emphasized Maimonides’ struggle as one between Athens and

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Jerusalem, faith and reason, philosophy and Judaism. According to this interpretation, the Guide presents religious beliefs as its external dressing, but philosophical truths in its internal dimension. And yet others have claimed that there are no secrets: the text reveals its meaning directly, and there is no inner meaning to be uncovered. In this chapter, we have focused on the tension between community and the individual: What is the optimal relationship between the enlightened individual and the community that provided that individual with the resources to develop as a scholar and intellectual? Does the intellectual have an obligation to return to the community as a teacher and leader? Does the community even want or need the intellectual? Aviezer Ravitzky notes that Maimonides combined the two models in his own life: “the two competing approaches appear to coexist in both his theoretical writings and his personal life” (Ravitzky 2007, 260). But it is not clear what Maimonides advocates for his readers. While some scholars have presented Maimonides’ views in a political light, presenting the ideal leader as the paradigmatic Platonic or Fârâbian philosopher-king, others have emphasized the ideal of personal contemplation and perfection as Maimonides’ “secret.” We cannot help but be reminded of Maimonides’ comments pertaining to the obligations of the prophets. Just as the separate intelligences emanate an intellect downward to the intelligence below them, so too humans emanate their own knowledge downward, thus making social existence possible. In some cases the divine intellect overflows to an individual and renders him perfect, but “has no other effect.” But in other cases, the divine intellect “overflows from rendering him perfect toward rendering others perfect . . . The nature of this matter makes it necessary for someone to whom this additional measure of overflow has come, to address a call to people, regardless of whether that call is listened to or not, and even if he as a result thereof is harmed in his body” (GP 2.37:373– 4). It is hard when reading this passage not to be reminded of Socrates, whose divine gift made it necessary for him to teach, regardless of the harm that resulted to him. I have argued that on Maimonides’ taxonomy, moral perfection cannot be supreme since the ultimate perfection must be achievable even by a solitary individual with no social interaction. Maimonides has repeatedly reminded us that there exist different levels of perfection corresponding to innate differences among humans. With the proper moral and political training, most individuals may, despite their predetermined natures and innate abilities, be able to reach the third level of perfection and achieve a modicum of social interaction. The commandments are important as a propadeutic aid for this level. The fourth and fifth levels, however, are accessible to a very small group of individuals. The very fact that Maimonides included philosophical nuggets in the Mishneh Torah suggests that he considered ordinary individuals capable of at least some philosophical thinking and growth. Maimonides was convinced that the people could be cajoled from a belief in the corporeal God to an incorporeal, more sophisticated belief, suggesting that even within a deterministic system,

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human beliefs can be modified. Reading the Mishneh Torah might in itself be sufficient to raise a reader from casual acceptance to perplexity. Maimonides ends the Guide with a poem, reminding us that God “is found by every seeker who searches for Him, If he marches toward Him and goes not astray” (GP 3.54:638). But a “seeker” must first recognize a lack, something missing to be sought. Perplexity thus represents the first step on the road to wisdom.

notes 1 Kellner summarizes many responses to this parable among medieval and modern commentators; see Kellner (1990). 2 Kellner argues that classes [1] and possibly [2] are the only ones that might refer to non-Jews, and that the other classes describe various levels of Jewish knowledge. See Kellner (1990, 17). 3 For additional discussion of these passages, see Kellner (1990, 113–28); Melamed (1998); Rudavsky (2004). 4 See for example Nicomachean Ethics 6.7 1141a20–22; 10.8 1178b33–35. 5 Aristotle makes this point in several texts, including NE 6.7 1141a20–22; 10.7 1177a12–18. 6 For a detailed comparison of Maimonides and Ibn Bâjja, see Altmann (1972). 7 See Shatz (2005) for extended discussion of this point. 8 Shatz has argued that “by achieving intellectual perfection, the perfect individual engages in a life of imitatio Dei with respect to the Deity’s actions.” See Shatz (2005, 186). According to Altmann, Imitatio Dei is but the practical consequence of the intellectual love of God and is part and parcel of the ultimate perfection. See Altmann (1972, 24).

further reading Altmann, Alexander, “Ibn Bâjja on Man’s Ultimate Felicity,” in Harry Austryn Wolfson Jubilee Volume (Jerusalem: America Academy for Jewish Research, 1965). Altmann, Alexander, “Maimonides’ Four Perfections,” Israel Oriental Studies 2 (1972), 15–24. Faur, Jose, Homo Mysticus: A Guide to Maimonides’ Guide of the Perplexed (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 1999). Frank, Daniel H., “The End of the Guide: Maimonides on the Best Life for Man,” Judaism 34 (1985), 485–95. Harvey, Steven, “Maimonides in the Sultan’s Palace,” in Joel Kraemer (ed.), Perspectives on Maimonides (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991), 47–75. Idel, Moshe, “Maimonides’ Guide of the Perplexed and the Kabbalah,” Jewish History 18 (2004), 197–226. Kaplan, Lawrence, “I Sleep but my Heart Waketh: Maimonides’ Conception of Human Perfection,” in I. Robinson, L. Kaplan, and J. Bauer (eds.), The Thought of Moses Maimonides: Philosophical and Legal Studies (Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen, 1990), 130– 66.

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Kellner, Menachem, “Spiritual Life,” in Kenneth Seeskin (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Maimonides (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 273–99. Melamed, Abraham, “Maimonides on Women: Formless Matter or Potential Prophet?” in A. Ivry, E. Wolfson, and A. Arkush (eds.), Perspectives on Jewish Thought and Mysticism (Amsterdam: Harwood Academic Publishers, 1998), 99–134. Ravitzky, Aviezer, “Philosophy and Leadership in Maimonides,” in J. Harris (ed.), Maimonides After 800 Years: Essays on Maimonides and His Influence (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2007), 257–90. Stroumsa, Sarah, “ ‘True Felicity’: Paradise in the Thought of Avicenna and Maimonides,” Medieval Encounters 4 (1998), 51–77. Tirosh-Samuelson, Hava, Happiness in Premodern Judaism: Virtue, Knowledge, and Well Being (Cincinnati: Hebrew Union College, 2003).

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index absolute capacity 153 absurdity 52 Abu Bakr 2, 76, 78 accident/essence distinction 44–5 Account of the Beginning 21–2 Account of the Chariot 21–2 actional attributes 41–3 Active Intellect 86, 97, 102–5, 113, 118–23, 147, 157, 184, 188 adâb 2 affirmative attributes 39–40 akrasia 171 see also moral weakness al-Battâni 6 al-Baysani, al-Qâdî al-Fâdil 3–4 al-Fârâbî vii–viii, 7–8, 44, 86, 91, 95–8, 112–13, 122, 133, 154, 161–2, 164–6, 171–2, 178–9, 193 al-Fayyûmi, Jacob ben Nathanel 12 al-Ghazâlî 8, 44 al-Harizi 12 al-Râzî 14, 94, 140 Alexander of Aphrodisias 7 Almohad movement 2 animal sacrifices 176 apophatic theology 3 “Apples of Gold” 23, 26–7 Aquinas, Thomas 12, 16, 44, 48–9, 54, 57 Aristotle vii–viii, 6–10, 29, 39–40, 43–7, 50–2, 57, 62, 69–70, 75–81, 86–7 and Torah compared 165–7 “Articles of Faith” 9, 16, 19, 24–6, 105 asceticism 99–101, 167–70 Asharites 8, 47, 62, 144–5 astrological determinism 13, 93–5

Maimonides T. M. Rudavsky © 2010 T M. Rudavsky. ISBN: 978-1-405-14897-9

astronomy 75–7 atomism 62–5 Kalâm premises summarized 62–4 Maimonides’ critique of Kalâm 64–5 occasionalism 61 attributes of action 41–3 Averroes 2–3, 6–8, 15–16, 44–5, 53, 86, 103–4, 107 see also ibn Rushd Avicenna 7–8, 14, 44–5, 53–4, 57, 86, 104 Ayyûbid dynasty 3 balanced way of life 10 be-reishit 72–3 belief 24–6, 187 Ben Ezra synagogue 1, 3 ben Eli, Samuel 13 ben Moses, Abraham 4 Bible 31, 93, 111, 180 bios praktikos 193–4 body 95–101 asceticism and corporeality 99–101 bodily urges 99 lust 166 and relation to soul 97–8 resurrection of 105–6 sense of touch 100 sexuality and bodily urges 99 Book of Job 137, 146–8 Book of Knowledge vi, 3, 6, 9–16, 22, 25, 37, 51, 56, 113, 164 causality vii Character Traits 97–100, 161–4, 166, 168, 170, 180 choice 143–50, 152–4

codification of Talmud vi Commandments 174–7 purpose of ix, 174–7 Commentary on the Mishnah 6, 8–10, 13, 110, 112–13, 119, 126, 129, 132 compatibilism 150 –2 corporeality 99–101, 180, 189, 195 correct opinions 175–6 cosmological arguments for God’s existence 52–4 cosmology 61–84 and astronomy 75–7 and creation 65–74 see also philosophical cosmology creation 65–74, 116–19 and cosmology 65–74 creation models in Maimonides 66–8 Maimonides’ esoteric position on creation 68–9 Maimonides’ “real” view of creation 73–4 and prophecy 116–18 scripture, philosophy, first instant of creation 72–3 time and 70–2 see also cosmology Crescas 54, 57–8 critique of Kalâm atomism 64–5 darkness 139 De Anima 7, 103, 118–19, 188 De Interpretatione 47, 152, 154 demonstration 19– 35 art of Biblical exegesis 26–8 belief and articles of faith 24–6 conclusion 31–3 how to read Guide of the Perplexed 20–4 implications of Maimonides’ views 31–3 introduction 19 language and logic 28–9 philosophy 29–31 demut 27 derash 22 Descartes, René 27, 54 dialectical theologians 119

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disbelief 106 disposition of character 164–5 see also ethics; virtue morality divine omnipotence 142 divine predication 39–45 attributes of action 41–3 on essence and existence 44–5 homonymous predication 43–4 rejection of affirmative attributes 39–40 relational attributes 40–1 Divine Providence 93, 137–60 evil and human choice 143–6 Divine Will vii, 110–36 and withholding prophecy 123–4 doctrine of the mean 165–7 see also ethics doubt 15 efficient cause 51 Eight Chapters 9–10, 95–6, 98–100, 113, 161–4, 166, 172, 180, 192 endoxa 162 Epicurus 7, 144 epistemological skepticism 37, 68, 77–80 Epistle on Forced Conversion 3, 27 Epistle to Yemen 4, 12, 133 esotericism 3 esoteric levels of meaning in Guide 22–4 esoteric position on creation 68–9 Essay on Resurrection 13, 105, 110, 124, 126–7, 185 essence 44–5 ethics 161–83 conclusion 179–80 introduction 161–2 on knowing and doing good 170–3 Maimonides’ moral theory 178–9 morality and law 170–7 saintliness, asceticism, and the mean 167–70 virtue and the mean 165–7 virtue morality 162–5 Ethics of the Fathers 9 Euclid 7 eudaimonia ix, 191 see also ultimate happiness

evil 87–90, 120, 138–50 divine providence and human choice 142–50 existence of 143–6 and material principle 138– 40 metaphysical 142 and theodicy 138– 42 typology of 140–2 existence of God 48–56 argument from particularization 54–6 logical status of arguments for God 49–50 Maimonides’ cosmological argument 52–4 preliminary considerations 48–9 proofs for 51–2 underlying Aristotelian premises 50–1 Ezekiel vi, 36, 111 faith 24–6 felicity 184–97 achieving ultimate happiness 191–3 conclusion 194–6 fifth perfection 193– 4 introduction 184–5 Parable of the King’s Palace 185–8 perpetual imperfection 188–91 fifth perfection 193–4 final cause 86 First Being 25, 103 first instant of creation 72–3 flashes of truth 21 forced conversion 3–4, 12, 27 freedom 137–60 Fustât 1, 3, 12 Fusûl Mûsâ 15 Galen vii, 6, 14–15, 92, 97–8, 127–8 Galileo 30, 132 Gaon, Saadia 8, 112, 174, 178 gates of interpretation 73 Genesis Rabbah 72 Geniza 1, 3 Gersonides 48, 57, 103, 157 God 36–60 conclusion 56–8 divine predication 39–45

existence of 48–56 God’s existence, arguments for 49–50 God’s foreknowledge and choice 154–6 implications of Maimonides’ negative theology 56–8 Maimonides’ negative theology 46–8 preliminary considerations 48–9 unity and incorporeality of the Deity 37–9 good actions 166 “Great Eagle” vi, 1 great-souledness 167 Guide of the Perplexed vi, ix, 5–7, 10–13, 16, 19–33, 36–9, 42–51, 64, 70–1, 74–7, 81, 86–97, 100–5, 110–11, 114–24, 142–54, 161–3, 184–97 how to read 20–4 perplexity stated 74–5 prophecy in 114–24 purpose of 20–2 ha-olam ha-ba 105 habitus 139 halakha vi, 6 halakhic works 111–14 and prophecy 113–14 Halevi, Judah 9, 92, 112, 133 Hasid as sinner 167–70 “Head of the Jews” 4 Henry of Ghent 16, 54 homonymous predication 43–4 human choice 143–50, 152–4 Book of Job 146–8 and divine omniscience 152–4 Divine Providence and evil 143–50 providence and existence of evil 143–6 second theory of Divine Providence 148–50 human felicity 184–97 human freedom 137–60 and divine omniscience 150–6 human knowledge 30–1, 74–80 limits of 30–1 of superlunar heavens 74–80

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Hume, David 137 hylomorphic ontology 87

Kant, Immanuel 57 knowing the good 170–3

ibn Bâjja vii, 2, 6–8, 104, 184, 191–2, 194 ibn Daud, Abraham 9 ibn Ezra, Abraham 9, 92 ibn Rushd 2, 8 see also Averroes ibn Shimon, Joseph ben Judah 2, 5, 11, 13, 75 ibn Sînâ vii, 88 see also Avicenna ibn Tibbon, Samuel 2, 5–6, 8, 12, 23, 74–5, 81, 104, 149 ibn Tufayl 2, 8 ibn Tzaddiq 8 imaginary beliefs 21 imaginative faculty 118–20 imitatio dei 193–4 immortality 101–6, 188–91 immortal soul characterized 101–2 and intellectual perfection 188–91 personal or general immortality 102–6 resurrection of body 105–6 see also soul incompatibilism 150–2 incorporeality of God 36–9 individuation 54–5, 90–2 inner needs 192 insensibility 166 instantiation 89 intellect 21 intellectual perfection 188–91 intentional wrongdoing 138 irascibility 168 irrational animals 107 Ismâ’îlî 3 Israeli, Isaac 8, 112

language 19–35 and logic 28–9 law 161–83 purpose of the Commandments 174–7 legacy of Maimonides 156–8 Leibniz, Gottfried 54, 141 Letter on Astrology 12–13, 94 letters 12–14 Light of the Lord 54, 57 lightning analogy 185 limits of human knowledge 30–1 logic 19–35 logical determinism vii

Joshua 122, 131–2 Judaism viii, 9–11, 16–21, 24–5, 74, 113, 195 Kabbala vii–viii, 24 Kalâm 8, 11, 49–55, 62–5, 128, 139, 142 premises of 62–4 see also atomism

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Ma’amar ha-’ibbur 2, 9 mâhiyya 53 Maimonidean cosmology 75–7 Maimonides’ creation models 66–8 Maimonides’ legacy 156–8 Maimonides’ life and works 1–18 early works 9–10 Maimonides’ life 1–5 major works 10–15 philosophical influences 5–9 reception to works 15–16 maqom 38 material principle 138–40 see also evil matter 87–90, 188–91 and intellectual perfection 188–91 “me-ness” 156 Medical Aphorisms 15, 127, 131 medical writings 5–6, 14–15 Mendelssohn, Moses 177–9 mercy 42 Merkabah Mysticism 36 metaphysical evil 142 metaphysics 50, 87, 188 miracles 110–36 divine possibility and 129–30 natural or supernatural 124–33 naturalizing miracles in Scripture 131– 3 negative 122 possibility of 129

Mishneh Torah vi, 3, 6, 9–16, 22, 25, 37–8, 51, 56, 65, 75–9, 86, 93–5, 110, 113–14, 133, 138, 152, 170, 172, 195–6 mishpatim 173–4 moral theory 178–9 moral weakness 162, 171 morality 161–83 purpose of the Commandments 174–7 see also ethics Mosaic prophecy 9, 113, 122–3 Moses 111–14, 122–3, 128 prophet or philosopher? 122–3 multiplicity of persons 90–5 astrological determinism 93–5 particularization and individuation 90–2 psycho-physical determinism 92–3 Mutakallimûn 8, 55, 63–5, 69, 72, 120, 138–9 Mu’tazilites 8, 62, 142, 144–5, 147 mysteries of Scripture 22 Nahmanides 16 natural evils 141 natural miracles 124–33 see also miracles naturalism 110–36 conclusion 133– 4 introduction 110–11 on miracles 124– 33 prophecy in the Guide 114–24 prophecy in Maimonides’ halakhic works 113–14 supernatural vs. naturalistic prophecy 111–12 naturalistic determinism vii naturalistic prophecy 111–12 Nazirites 100 nefesh 95–6, 100 see also soul negative theology 46–8, 56–8 implications of 56–8 Neoplatonism 3, 24, 85–9, 138, 189 nisbah 41 Noahide commandments 178–9

obscure matters 38 omniscience 150–6 compatibilism and incompatibilism 150–2 God’s foreknowledge and choice 154–6 and human choice 152–4 and human freedom 150–6 On Asthma 14–15, 98 ontological uniqueness of God 61 ontology and status of humans 86–7 Or Ha-Shem 54, 57 Parable of the King’s Palace 185–8 particularism 178–9 particularization 54–6, 90–2 arguments for existence of God 54–6 and individuation 90–2 Pereq Heleq 9, 24, 95, 105, 110, 113–14, 119 perfection 188–93 four types of 191–3 perplexity 21, 74–5, 196 personal immortality of soul 101–6 peshat 22 Philoponus, John 7, 63 philosophical anthropology 85–109 accounting for multiplicity of persons 90–5 conclusion 106–7 constitution of soul and body 95–101 immortality of soul 101–6 matter, privation, evil 87–90 status of humans in ontology 86–7 philosophical cosmology 61–84 conclusion 80–1 cosmology and creation 65–74 introduction 61–2 Kalâm atomism 62–5 knowledge of superlunar heavens 74–80 philosophical influences 5–9 philosophical precedents 111–12 philosophical theology 137–60 conclusion 156–8 divine omniscience and human freedom 150–6 Divine Providence, evil, human choice 143–50

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philosophical theology (cont’d) evil and theodicy 138– 42 introduction 137–8 philosophy 29–31, 72–3 demonstration and scientific knowledge 29–30 and first instant of creation 72–3 and philosophers 120–2 piety 168–9 piku’ah nefesh 14 pilgrimage to Jerusalem 3 Pirqe Avot 9–10 Plato vii, 7, 24, 67–8, 73– 4, 81, 101 return to the cave 14 Plotinus vii, 7 politics 161–83 privation 46–7, 87–90, 139 proofs for God’s existence 51–2 prophecy 110–36 and creation 116–18 described 114–16 Divine Will and withholding prophecy 123– 4 in Guide 114–24 and the imaginative faculty 118–20 in Maimonides’ halakhic works 113–14 Moses 122–3 philosophers, statesmen, prophets 120–2 tripartite comparison with creation 116–18 prophets 120–2 proto-Kabbala vii–viii, 47 providence 143–8 and existence of evil 143–6 and theodicy in action 146–8 see also Divine Providence psycho-physical determinism 92–3, 116 Ptolemy 75–8, 92, 132 purpose of Guide of the Perplexed 20–2 “quiddity” 44 Qur’an 2 rabbinics 5–6 reason 24–6

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reasons for the Commandments ix, 174–7 reception to Maimonides’ work 15–16 Regimen of Health 14, 98 rejection of affirmative attributes 39– 40 relation of body and soul 97–8 relational attributes 40–1 resurrection of body 25, 105–6 Sabianism 176 saintliness 167–70 Saladin 3–4, 14 Sanhedrin 9, 24 Satan 146–7 saving a life 14 science of the law 21 scientific knowledge 29–30 Scripture 72–3 mysteries of 22 secret teaching 23, 195 Sefer ha-Maddah 10–11 Sefer Yetzirah viii, 92 sexuality 99 Shahada 27 Shemona Peraquim 9 shipwreck 145 Shi’ur Qoma viii, 36 skepticism 37, 48, 68, 77–80 Socrates 141 Song of Solomon 121 soul 95–106 immortality of 101–6 nature of 95–7 and relation to body 97–8 see also immortality spatio-temporal suffering 149 Spinoza, Baruch ix, 31–2, 54, 177, 179, 191 statesmen 120–2 Strauss, Leo vi, 24 Sufism 4, 169 Sunna 2, 171 superlunar heavens 74–80 epistemological skepticism 77–80 Maimonidean cosmology and astronomy 75–7 perplexity stated 74–5 supernatural miracles 124–33

supernaturalism viii, 110–36 supposition 72 syntax of thought 28 ta-amei ha-mitzvot see reasons for the Commandments tabnith 38 Talmud vi, 22 temptation 120, 173 Themistius 6–8 theodicy 137–60 in action 146–8 see also evil theological indeterminism 151 theology 137–60 time 70–2 and creation 70–2 and temporality 71–2 Torah viii, 20–6, 37, 84, 100, 110, 165–7, 174–7, 184–8, 190 and Aristotle compared 165–7 trade routes 4

Treatise on the Art of Logic 2, 27, 30, 43, 46, 154 Treatise on Resurrection 13, 16 tzelem 27, 97 ultimate happiness ix, 37, 191–3 Umayyad dynasty 1 universalism 178–9 veridical dreams 120 vices 167 virtue morality 162–5 classical virtue morality 162–4 virtue as disposition of character 164–5 vulgarity 21–4, 124, 126 wily graciousness 176 world to come 105 Zeno’s paradox 63 zetetic philosophy viii

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