By Moses Maimonides; Translated and with commentary by Lenn E. Goodman and Phillip I. Lieberman
Stanford University Press
California, 2024
704 pages
Reviewed by Rabbi Shnayor Burton
One might have expected the various translators of Rambam’s enigmatic and esoteric explication of the Torah’s mysteries, written in Judeo-Arabic, The Guide to the Perplexed, to follow the master’s instructions to his first translator, Rabbi Shmuel Ibn Tibbon. Rambam advised him on the one rule a diligent translator must bear in mind:
A translation that aims for strict fidelity to the exact wording, syntax and structure of the original text will be awkward and full of error. . . . This approach is not ideal. Instead, the translator should first grasp the subject matter of the source text and then write it anew in the target language, adjusting the structure, translating one word with many or many words with one, and adding or subtracting words as needed, in order to present the subject matter appropriately for the target language (Iggerot HaRambam, Jerusalem 1995, vol. 2, p. 532—my liberal translation).
In other words, the translator should rewrite the text as if it were originally written in the target language.
Yet Rambam’s instructions were honored in the breach. Ibn Tibbon’s translation style in general involved literal, word-for-word accuracy, and he applied this same style to Rambam’s work, rendering a Hebrew book that bears the indelible stamp of its Arabic original—admittedly somewhat awkward in the target language, but a faithful window into the original wording. The same approach informed the English translation of the Guide undertaken by Shlomo Pines in conjunction with Leo Strauss, who produced a book designed to “remain as close as is practicable to the original, that . . . should give the reader an impression—both in general and in detail—resembling the impression offered by the original” (The Guide of the Perplexed [Chicago 1963] Preface). This translation, like the first Hebrew one, can be read only slowly, with focus and care. Study of these editions of the Guide is undertaken only by those sufficiently persistent or curious to overcome the natural barrier of its obscure text.
The new edition of the Guide, translated and with commentary by Lenn Goodman and Phillip Lieberman, published by Stanford University Press, attempts something fresh—a translation in the fashion that Rambam himself recommended. Untethered by the constraints of strict literalism, this translation prioritizes readability and flow, making Rambam’s profound ideas more accessible to a broader audience by presenting the subject matter in a way that resonates with contemporary readers. A welcome contribution to the ongoing study of the Guide, this edition is sure to spur renewed interest and engagement with the timeless classic. The difficulty of reading the Guide is no longer an excuse for putting off reading this seminal work of Torah thought.
Accuracy was sacrificed for smoothness of the bigger picture, and the hidden book was sacrificed for ease of access to the first—a questionable strategy that risks misrepresenting the Guide by suggesting that it contains no deeper meanings.
However, the resonance and readability of this edition were achieved at a great and concerning cost. The Guide is no simple book. It is a mysterious and cryptic work, written as if in code and full of contradictions, providing dedicated readers with endless depth, multiple layers of interpretation and iterative insights. Rambam’s masterful method of authoring a book that simultaneously reveals and conceals the Torah’s mysteries involved writing on two levels: a superficial level accessible to the general reader and a deeper level accessible only to those who decipher the Guide’s unique code. In that spirit, Rambam himself instructs his readers how to get the most out the work: If you wish to grasp the totality of what this treatise contains, so that nothing of it will escape you, then you must connect its chapters one with another; and when reading a given chapter, your intention must be not only to understand the totality of the subject of that chapter, but also to grasp each word that occurs in it in the course of the speech, even if that word does not belong to the intention of the chapter. For the diction of this treatise has not been chosen at haphazard, but with great exactness and exceeding precision (Guide, introduction, Pines translation).
The Guide is not one book but two, designed for two different readers. One book is written clearly and moves along briskly and sequentially from chapter to chapter. This book is accessible even to the casual reader; “every beginner will derive benefit from some of the chapters of this treatise” (ibid.). The other book is a hidden, subterranean labyrinth accessible only to the most dedicated and careful reader who notices and grasps each word and looks for hidden connections between chapters; the “perfect man . . . will benefit from all of its chapters. How greatly will he rejoice in them and how pleasant will it be to hear them!” (ibid.). In line with the flow of the first book, Rambam will often identify the general point or subject of a particular chapter—this for the casual reader, to direct him forward. The second book is different. It decidedly does not flow; it can be recovered only painstakingly, through toil and strenuous study, according to the way of the Torah.
Every edition of the Guide must be measured on these two planes distinctly, and here the new edition falls far short. The casual reader has been offered a smooth book at the expense of the serious student. The superficial Guide has indeed been represented in easy, flowing language, but the second, hidden book has been completely banished, making this a flawed rendition that presents only one aspect of Rambam’s masterpiece. To properly rewrite the Guide in line with Rambam’s instructions, two conditions must be met: first, the translators must fully probe the depths of the original book, and second, they must reweave all the allusions into the new book, selecting each word with the same great exactness and exceeding precision that Rambam utilized in his work. The opposite approach was taken in this edition. The translators consistently simplify and smooth the reading, papering over those anomalies and odd nuances planted by Rambam to alert the attentive reader looking for the secrets hidden in the Guide like buried treasures. While this work admirably conveys the general sense of each chapter and will keep its readers engaged, it makes the secrets embedded in the text impossible to recover. Accuracy was sacrificed for smoothness of the bigger picture, and the hidden book was sacrificed for ease of access to the first—a questionable strategy that risks misrepresenting the Guide by suggesting that it contains no deeper meanings.
The perspective afforded by this edition of the Guide makes the more literal approaches of Ibn Tibbon and Pines look like the smart approach for a translator who won’t rewrite all the Guide’s secrets in his own words: fidelity to the exact wording provides the reader an opportunity to discover them himself.
This edition should be seen as a gateway, ideal for beginners seeking an easy introduction to the Guide’s profound teachings. However, no sentence can be assumed to reflect Rambam’s exact intent. Those who wish to delve into the true depths of Rambam’s work will need to consult another, more faithful translation, its awkwardness the modest and worthwhile price of admission to the Guide’s intellectual delights. For serious students of Rambam, this edition can serve as an initial step, but not the final destination.
Two examples will illustrate the flaw of this work, both involving nuances present in the original that were missed or elided. In the very first chapter of the Guide, Rambam teaches what makes man human and what makes him in the image of G-d: The essence of a human is his ability to apprehend intellectual truths, and the apprehension makes him in the image of G-d. It emerges that not every man is in the image of G-d, since he must actually apprehend in order to become in G-d’s image, a point made explicit in chapter 7. We are born with the potential to become godly—this is what makes us human—but in order to attain the image of G-d, we must actualize that potential. This tension within man underpins Rambam’s position that the intellect is like the form of the human soul, what defines it as a human soul; therefore, if the soul doesn’t actually attain intelligence, its existence is, in a sense, futile (Shemonah Perakim, chap. 1). This crucial distinction between a human’s essence and the image of G-d is present in the original Arabic, preserved in the Ibn Tibbon and Pines translations, and commented on by Abarbanel and others. Pines’ translation reads thus (emphasis mine): “The term image . . . is applied to the natural form, I mean to the notion in virtue of which a thing . . . becomes what it is. It is the true reality of the thing insofar as the latter is that particular being. In man, that notion is that from which human apprehension derives. It is on account of this intellectual apprehension that it is said of man: ‘In the image of G-d He created him.’” Compare the new translation, which provides an easier but misleading read: “. . .tselem is said of the natural form that gives reality to a thing and makes it what it is, its essence as that thing. In the human case, this is the seat of consciousness, the rational intellect, in virtue of which it is said of man, ‘In the image of G-d He created him.’” This paraphrase blurs the important distinction between a human qua human and a human who is in the image of G-d, and carelessly identifies the seat of consciousness with the rational intellect itself.
In vol. 2, chapter 33, Rambam writes regarding Moshe: “he, who was greater than anyone born of man” (Pines translation). This implies that Moshe himself was not “born of man,” a notion borne out elsewhere in Rambam’s writings where he makes clear that Moshe’s essence was not his body, but rather his intellect alone. Moshe was a pure, godly soul, his material body merely a vessel. For Rambam, this is a crucial point, as only a “godly man” termed an “angel of Hashem” (Peirush HaMishnah, Avot 5:13) could channel the revelation of Divine, perfect truth that is the Torah. The new edition simplifies and elides this nuance, translating thus: “The greatest man ever born.”
Another aspect of this edition, beneficial for both beginners and advanced students, is the extensive footnoting sourcing the rich background and foreground for Rambam’s ideas. Of particular note are the parallels to Philo, many of them striking in their similarity given that Rambam never saw his writings. Greek and Islamic philosophic roots of Rambam’s thinking are presented masterfully, and the edition also highlights the engagement of later philosophers and thinkers with the Guide, offering a perspective on its impact and interpretation over time. Woefully underrepresented is the rabbinic engagement with the Guide over the centuries; a truly comprehensive view of the great book’s impact and interpretation would include thorough and detailed references to Ramban, Rabbi Hasdai Crescas, Rabbi Meir Ibn Gabbai, Rabbi Moshe Cordovero, Rabbi Moshe Isserles, Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzzatto, the Vilna Gaon and more, in addition to the many references to Aquinas, Spinoza and Solomon Maimon.
Buy a copy of this noteworthy book. Enjoy it for its smooth style and extensive references, but use it in conjunction with another, more accurate edition of the Guide, until the great synthesis is achieved and the Guide is rewritten in English with the same precision, depth and nuance as Rambam’s original masterpiece.
Rabbi Shnayor Burton is a senior editor at ArtScroll Mesorah Publications, where he contributes to the Kisvei HaRambam series and other works. A well-regarded lecturer on Torah topics, he has authored numerous books, including his latest, Ha’Aretz asher Areka, which explores the mitzvah of residing in Eretz Yisrael. Rabbi Burton also writes regularly on Torah themes in his Substack, Unapologetics.