In Defense of the Rambam
Part 1 - introduction
We are all too familiar with the Rambam being used as a justification for modernism in Judaism. The list of those who have been led astray under the guise of following the Rambam is extensive, with figures like Moses Mendelssohn1 and many others who approached this profound book prematurely, only to completely misrepresent the Rambam’s intent. The irony lies in that anyone reading this book is well aware of what the Rambam himself explicitly says in his introduction, which we continuously quote from as we proceed:
סוף דבר אני האיש אשר כשיציקהו העניין ויצר לו הדרך ולא ימצא תחבולה ללמד האמת שבא עליו מופת אלא בשיאות לאחד מעולה ולא יאות לעשרת אלפים סכלים, אני בוחר לאמרו לעצמו, ולא ארגיש בגנות העם הרב ההוא, וארצה להציל המעולה האחד ההוא ממה שנשקע בו ואורה מבוכתו עד שישלם וירפא
“Lastly, when I have a difficult subject before me—when I find the road narrow, and can see no other way of teaching a well established truth except by pleasing one intelligent man and displeasing ten thousand fools—I prefer to address myself to the one man, and to take no notice whatever of the condemnation of the multitude; I prefer to extricate that intelligent man from his embarrassment and show him the cause of his perplexity, so that he may attain perfection and be at peace.”
The Rambam is openly aware of the numerous individuals who could be misled by his writings, but he feels that enlightening the eyes of that one intelligent man justifies this risk. The Rambam, the greatest of authors, known for his simplicity and clarity, spends an insane amount of words in his introduction – or rather, his preface to his introduction – exonerating himself and explaining who the intended audience is. Nevertheless, every Berel and Shmerel disregards his preambles, mistakenly assuming that they can readily incorporate the Rambam’s teachings into their own understanding of Chazal and the Torah.
In order to understand the Rambam properly and whom he considers his target audience to be, we must first grasp what philosophy meant to the Greeks and to the later Muslim philosophers of the Rambam’s time. We are used to the classic definition of philosophy (literally, "love of wisdom"), as the pursuit of understanding fundamental truths about ourselves, the world, and our relationships to the world and to each other. But while this is true, it barely scratches the surface of what it meant for them in context.
However, to appreciate this, we must introduce some unfamiliar concepts. There is an inherent issue with the fundamental nature of these topics, which we will be confronted with as we explore these ideas. Many have tried to explain it, and I am uncertain about what I can contribute to the already exhaustive list. For those who already understand it, no words are necessary; they get it. And for those who don't, there is little I can say to truly explain. Nonetheless, I will boldly try, using the tactics and techniques of those who have come before me, to convey the message to some extent.
The conundrum lies in understanding the nature of language. Language serves as a valuable tool between two individuals who share a common experience. It enables us to define our experiences using ‘words’ which represent them, and those words, in turn, can be conveyed to others. When the other hears that word, it conjures an image in his mind based on his own experience of that same thing, allowing the information to be conveyed.
To illustrate this point, let’s consider the experience of perceiving the color red. Once we have encountered and processed the sensation of red, we can attribute the word "red" as a symbolic representation of that particular experience.2 This word becomes a convenient placeholder for the concept of red, allowing us to refer to it in conversation. When we communicate the word "red" to someone else who has also witnessed that color, they can draw upon their own personal encounter with red and comprehend precisely what we are referring to.
(If you are already familiar with these ideas, feel free to skip ahead to the paragraph starting “In short”.) The idea of using language as a means of conveying experiences extends beyond simple examples like the color red. It applies to any word we use - you can pick any word on this page; take a really mundane one, ‘this’ for example. The word ‘this’ serves as a placeholder for a concept that signifies ‘this and not that’. While the concept behind ‘this’ may be more subtle than the vividness of the color red and requires further explanation to fully grasp its meaning, it shares the same properties as far as language is concerned, as does any word in the dictionary.
The experience of ‘this’ pertains to identifying a specific person or thing that is close at hand, being indicated, experienced, or mentioned, in contrast to other things that are not being pointed to. Although the concept of ‘this’ may appear less tangible than the color red, we encounter numerous instances of ‘this’ in our daily lives. It becomes as much a concept as the perception of the color red.
When we incorporate the word ‘this’ into a sentence, we are effectively conveying the underlying concept to our listener or reader. Since they, too, have a shared experience of ‘this’ in their own lives, they can readily comprehend the intended meaning. Through this shared familiarity with the concept of ‘this’, effective communication can take place, allowing us to express our thoughts and ideas accurately.
In short, one can dissect any sentence ever uttered, written or typed, and see that every component of that sentence - the words - are all various types of experiences that so eloquently converge to form the speech we communicate with. Language bridges the gap between our individual experiences and facilitates shared understanding. It allows us to transfer thoughts, ideas, and experiences from one mind to another, enabling us to connect and communicate with one another.
However, an inherent limitation of language arises when attempting to convey an experience beyond the listener’s direct exposure. In such cases, the words are rendered completely meaningless and empty, failing to evoke the intended understanding. A well-known example is the difficulty of describing colors to a blind person. There are simply no words to evoke the experience of red to someone who has never encountered it. Words, in the absence of the personal experience they convey, are just meaningless phonetic sounds.
Worse yet, unless one is intimately aware of the experiences being described, there is a risk that the uninformed mind will fill in the blanks with his own (non)experiences. This phenomenon, known as projection (usually in context of societal differences such as cultural projection or personal bias projection), can inhibit the reader from even recognizing that there is something beyond his own experience and can lead to a misunderstanding of the words being said.3 However, if we approach these quotes with fresh eyes and an open mind, we can grasp their intended message and understand why these writers were so revered for their tremendous wisdom.
Our first objective will be to demonstrate that when we try (and often fail) to understand ancient wisdom, Greek philosophy included, we are lacking because we are essentially blind to the experience they were describing. We have to see ourselves as that blind person who has trouble conceiving of the color red, when we encounter the reality they were so deeply in tune with. To accomplish this, I will be presenting ideas from Plato, Aristotle and other philosophers, Jewish and non-Jewish alike, who clearly grappled with conveying a knowledge that just couldn’t be expressed no matter how loud they’d scream, because it wasn’t the words that were the issue - Aristotle was known for his golden pen - it was the experience behind the words which are lacking to the readership that precludes them from understanding.
In the next post, God willing, we will embark on our journey, starting with Plato.
Mendelssohn was known for his unwieldy looks (as the Prussian emperor remarked, “Never have I seen such great wine in such an ugly vessel.”). Most notably, in addition to his Jewish nose, he had a prominent hunchback.
The story goes that after completing his studies at the קרבן העדה’s Yeshiva, he was sent to further his Talmudic education in Berlin. It was there that he was introduced to the Moreh, which wasn’t quite acceptable for a good Jewish boy. As a result, he would spent countless hours poring over the Moreh late at night, contorting himself into an uncomfortable crouched position as so not to be exposed. It is believed that his intense fascination with this new way of thinking eventually led to the development of his hunchback, along with other ailments.
Of course, my use of ‘symbolic’ applies only to languages other than לשון הקודש and ארמית; those explore the essence of the experience and are far ore than just symbolic.
A famous example of this phenomenon, one which we will discuss extensively later on, God willing, is the tendency to attribute corporeality to entities such as angels. Non-physical beings have no physical shape or structure, but the uninformed mind has no personal experience with the non-corporeal, and his brain fills in the blanks and imagines of some kind of semi-physical cloud like being with wings and white clothing. As we will discuss, an angel is nothing of the sort, and such imagery is projection at play.
This is a really really important post! Omg