Reflections on The Guide to the Perplexed
In the decades I’ve spent studying the Rambam’s Guide to the Perplexed I’ve found that I learn more from it every time I open it. In recent years that means I learn from Maimonides’ insights in the Guide continuously. Every day brings new insights; and that experience has often persisted well into the night. The Guide is that rich, and Maimonides’ insights entrusted to it are that profound. The responses of my students and colleagues and those of other philosophers, generalists, and Maimonides specialists in the literature that has emerged since the Guide’s first appearance in Arabic in the late 12th century – commentaries, essays, scholarly articles, and popular pieces, tightly focused studies, and broad reactions – show me that I am not alone in continuing to learn from Maimonides over eight centuries that have passed since he wrote this philosophical masterwork.
It was in 1970, as a young philosopher on a visit to Oxford, that I was first confronted with the need to grapple with the Guide. I’d only a couple of years earlier completed my Oxford D. Phil. on Islamic philosophy. My new university, the University of Hawaii, committed to comparative studies in philosophy, had sent me to Europe to gather Arabic books to enrich their library holdings in that field. I was returning home, when David Patterson, the founding president of the Oxford Centre for Post-graduate Hebrew Studies, reached out to ask me to contribute a volume for a series on Jewish thought that he was editing.
Given my philosophical roots and commitments, Maimondes was the perfect focus. I spent the next six years immersed in the Guide. Viking published my Rambam, a collection of readings from the Guide and from Maimonides’ pioneering work on Jewish virtue ethics, the Eight Chapters, in 1976. I wanted a fresh translation from the original Arabic throughout, and a distinctive feature of my book was my decision to motivate what Maimonides had to teach us by stating the problems and laying out the issues that his arguments intended to address but that he typically left unstated, on the assumption that those tormented by a philosophical crux did not need to have the problem stated for them.
I knew, of course, that the core biblical idea of creation had been problematized for Maimonides’ contemporaries, if they were at all versed in the Arabic philosophical literature. For Aristotle had taken the world to be eternal. He had marked the transition between mythic and philosophical thinking by the shift from questions about where the world came from to what seemed to him a more scientific question: what was it made from – and moving on to the purely philosophical, metaphysical question: what does it mean for a thing to be.