Wisdom's little sister: studies in medieval and renaissance Jewish political thought 9781936235322, 1936235323

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Wisdom's Little sister

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Emunot: Jewish Philosophy and Kabbalah Series Editor: Dov Schwartz, Bar Ilan University, Ramat Gan Editorial Board: Ada Rapoport Albert (University College, London) Gad Freudenthal (C.N.R.S, Paris) Gideon Freudenthal (Tel Aviv University, Ramat Aviv) Moshe Idel (Hebrew University, Jerusalem) Raphael Jospe (Bar Ilan University, Ramat Gan) Ephraim Kanarfogel (Yeshiva University, New York) Menachem Kellner (Haifa University, Haifa) Daniel Lasker (Ben Gurion University, Beer Sheva)

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WISDOM'S LITTLE SISTER: STUDIES IN MEDIEVAL AND RENAISSANCE JEWISH POLITICAL THOUGHT

Abraham MELAMED

Boston 2012 —3—

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data: A catalog record for this title is available from the Library of Congress. Copyright © 2012 Academic Studies Press All rights reserved ISBN 978-1-936235-32-2 Book design by Adell Medovoy Published by Academic Studies Press in 2012 28 Montfern Avenue Brighton, MA 02135, USA [email protected] www.academicstudiespress.com

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“…And the wisdoms have a little sister called politics.” -Moses of Rieti, Mikdash Me’at, 3.

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Table of Contents

Personal Introduction

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On This Volume

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Part I: The Framework Chapter One: Is There a Jewish Political Philosophy?: The Medieval Case Reconsidered Chapter Two: Medieval and Renaissance Jewish Political Philosophy: An Overview

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Part II: Studies: The Middle Ages Chapter Three: Aristotle’s Politics in Medieval and Renaissance Jewish Political Thought Chapter Four: The Attitude towards Democracy in Medieval Jewish Political Thought Chapter Five: The Organic Theory of the State in Medieval and Renaissance Jewish Political Thought Chapter Six: Jethro’s Advice in Medieval and Early Modern Jewish and Christian Political Thought Chapter Seven: The Anonymous Hebrew Translation of Aegidius’ De Regimine Principum: An Unknown Chapter in Medieval Jewish Political Philosophy Part III: Studies: The Renaissance Chapter Eight: The Myth of Venice in Italian Renaissance Jewish Thought Chapter Nine: Natural, Human, Divine: Classification of the Law among Some Fifteenth- and Sixteenth-Century Italian Jewish Thinkers Chapter Ten: The Hebrew Laudatio of Yohanan Alemanno: In Praise of Lorenzo il Magnifico and the Florentine Constitution —7—

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78 120 140 175 212 229 230 244 272

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Chapter Eleven: Simone Luzzatto on Tacitus: Apologetica and Ragione di Stato Chapter Twelve: English Travellers and Venetian Jewish Scholars: The Case of Simone Luzzatto and James Harrington Chapter Thirteen: Machiavellism and Anti-Machiavellism in Seventeenth-Century Jewish Amsterdam: From Ragione di Stato to Razon de Estado

305 335 355

Works Cited

371

Index

424

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Personal Introduction

A popular saying tells us that one should always expect the unexpected. This is true concerning not only our personal lives but also our intellectual, and consequently our professional lives. You know what your academic majors and minors are when you start studying, and occasionally even why; you never know where this will lead you and what you will end up with. This is one of the adventurous traits of our occupations, like starting a new research project which leads you to unexpected places. This is precisely what happened to me when I started my academic studies at Tel Aviv University in the mid-1960s. I was interested in what is usually called in Israeli academia “general”—i.e. European nonJewish—modern history and philosophy, or so I thought then. Within a year, however, I started shifting both in subject matter and period. This happened almost accidentally. In my second year I took a course in the history of political philosophy. Since this subject matter is located exactly at the juncture between my two majors—history and philosophy, always “general”—it was only natural to choose this course. I presume I already had some unconscious inclination to this field. Each student was required to choose one political philosopher from a list handed out by the lecturer, write a paper and deliver a short lecture. For some reason Machiavelli was first on the list. I did not know then, in my early twenties, anything whatsoever concerning Machiavelli and the Renaissance, and I volunteered to be first only in order to get the project done with. The moment I started reading Machiavelli’s Prince and Discourses, in the Hebrew translation of course, and read something on the Italian Renaissance in order to have some background, I was mesmerized. I still do not know exactly why; maybe it had something to do with my ongoing interest in art history. In any case, I was hooked: I shifted to majoring in political philosophy and started moving back in time from modern to medieval and Renaissance history and culture. Consequently I also chose Italian as my second modern language (after English), in addition to Latin, which was a requirement in history departments then. The second step in this direction was taken a year later when for a seminar on the crisis of the papacy in the fourteenth century I wrote a —9—

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paper on the political thought of Thomas Aquinas. Here it was the personality and erudition of the lecturer, Professor Shulamit Shahar, which so strongly impressed me. By the end of my BA studies in Tel Aviv, it was clear to me that I wanted to specialize in political philosophy, mainly medieval and Renaissance, still “general,” naturally. In the early 1970s I enrolled for my Master’s degree at Columbia University in New York, where I studied Renaissance philosophy with Paul Oskar Kristeller, who was then in his last years of active teaching just before retirement, and Renaissance political philosophy with Julian Franklin. I could not ask for better academic training from some of the best authorities in these fields. I still remember vividly when during the student strike occasioned by the invasion of Cambodia in 1972, Kristeller raged against what he saw as the students’ fascist behavior, the closing up of a university by force, which reminded him of dark times in 1930s Germany, and in an act of protest invited us to resume our seminar on Renaissance philosophy in his own home. When for personal reasons I returned to Israel after the completion of my Master’s degree, I approached Professor Yosef Baruch Sermoneta, with whom I had already taken some courses on Renaissance philosophy (“general,” as always) during my BA studies in Tel Aviv. I was still interested in writing a dissertation on some issue concerning Renaissance Italian political philosophy, such as the influence of Machiavelli. Sermoneta, however, wisely shifted me in a different direction altogether. He argued that it would be foolish to compete with Italians when I had the advantage of knowing Hebrew and there were so many medieval and Renaissance Jewish scholars and Hebrew manuscripts still awaiting research. It would be better, he argued, to use the combination of my training in Renaissance philosophy and political thought and my knowledge of Hebrew to study these neglected texts and authors. This was persuasive indeed, and initiated my third shift: first I had shifted from history and philosophy to political thought, and then I had moved from modern times to the medieval period and the Renaissance. Now I shifted from “general” to Jewish thought. This, I found out later, was the most drastic shift of all. I remember well how Sermoneta, a typical educated Italian Jew, sempere ortodosso e sempere illuminato, was critical of recent graduates of Judaic studies, especially those with Orthodox backgrounds in the U.S, who were so deeply infused with their rabbinics that they had no — 10 —

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knowledge or interest in the so-called “general” historical and cultural background in which Jews operated throughout their history. This, in his opinion, was a lacuna which distorted their understanding of the issues and the texts. Sermoneta liked the idea that I came to Judaic studies from the outside, without any previous knowledge, but armed with strong academic training in the “general” history and philosophy of the relevant periods, and sent me to study, all by myself, the basic texts of medieval Jewish philosophy. I still tell my students, who lament the difficulties of deciphering Maimonides’ Guide, that I studied it all alone, in the almost impossible-to-understand medieval translation of Samuel ibn Tibbon, and without the useful notes of the recent wonderful Hebrew Schwartz edition. It was difficult, and it took time, but the result was an enormous dissertation, more then six hundred pages, with many hundreds of elaborate notes and multiple appendices, in two volumes, which nobody would allow to happen today, and correctly so: The Political Thought of Jewish Thinkers in the Italian Renaissance (in Hebrew, Tel Aviv University, 1976). This was the cornerstone of my academic work. In the years that followed I went back in time to investigate medieval Jewish political philosophy and other issues in medieval and Renaissance Jewish intellectual history which are not represented here.1 Together with my three books on medieval Jewish political philosophy and quite a few papers in Hebrew,2 this collection is testimony to the development of my work in this field.

1  See especially my books: Melamed, Black; idem, Giants; idem, Myth, and many papers, some of which are listed in the bibliography. 2  Melamed, Philosopher-King; idem, Political; idem, Island. For the Hebrew papers, see the bibliography. — 11 —

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On This Volume

This is a collection of papers published in English in various periodicals, proceedings and Festschrifts during the last thirty years—from the early 1980s through 2010. All the papers assembled here concentrate on the history of medieval and Renaissance Jewish political thought. The papers were slightly edited for the purpose of clarity, consistency and gender neutral terms, whenever possible. Hebrew and Arabic terms are transliterated without diacritical marks. The bibliography was brought up-to-date, although I retained much of the older bibliography. Sometimes we are too eager to discard with “outdated” research, ostensibly because it is too “old,” and we wish to show how up-to-date we are. It is as though we think “[…] you shall have to clear out the old to make room for the new” (Lev. 26:10), is the ultimate rule we should follow. Also here we suffer from a case of ageism. I did not attempt to rewrite the papers. Naturally, today I would have written some of these papers differently, especially the early ones, from the 1980s and early 1990s; although by and large the conclusions would be the same. Rewriting them might have created something else from what is attempted here. In this respect, this collection is a kind of history of the development of my research on these issues from the early years after I finished my doctoral dissertation, on which some of the early papers are based, until the present, when I am already on the verge of retirement. It seems to me that this way of presenting the papers has its merits. As I always say when writing reviews on such collections of papers by the same author, since our papers have an obnoxious tendency to be scattered and disappear in various esoteric periodicals, proceedings and festschrifts, collecting them together in one volume is a useful means for making them conveniently available to the interested reader. In selecting the papers I tried as much as possible to avoid repetition, for which such collections are notorious, but this could not be fully achieved since this is a collection of independent papers and not subsequent chapters of the same coherent book. The papers have been arranged thematically, and not in the order of their appearance. Part One contains two basic papers which create the framework for the study of — 12 —

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medieval and Renaissance Jewish political thought, and for the whole collection. Part Two contains papers which deal with texts and issues of the Middle Ages or which begin with this period and go on to the Renaissance and early modern times, which is the case with quite a few of the papers. This is typical of this kind of history of ideas research, of which I am fond, which explores the adventures of issues, ideas and terms, the changes they go through while being adapted to ever-changing historical, cultural and social circumstances, over a long period of time. My research generally starts with the early Middle Ages, which in Jewish philosophy means about the tenth century, and ends with the shift from the Renaissance to early modern times in the seventeenth century, or to put it more simply, from Sa’adia to Spinoza. Part Three contains papers which specifically discuss issues of the Renaissance and early modern times. The papers which are included in Parts Two and Three are essentially case-studies which illustrate and discuss in depth various issues, aspects and arguments which appear in Part One. The selection of the case studies is somewhat arbitrary, since some of my more important papers on these issues appeared only in Hebrew, and thus are not reproduced here. Still, this selection of case studies well illustrates the scope of my work in this field, and the issues and arguments delineated in Part One. I would like to thank Dov Schwartz, editor of this series, for approaching me and suggesting this enterprise, and, as always, my friend and colleague Menachem Kellner for his ongoing support in the last thirty years of my academic life. Thanks to the Wolfson Chair for the Study of Jewish Cultural Heritage in Haifa University for supporting the publication of this book. I acknowledge with gratitude permission received from the original publishers of the chapters of this book. We have endeavored to trace the copyright owners of all the papers. We sincerely apologize for any omission or error, and upon notification, will be please to rectify it in future editions. The chapters in this book appeared in the following places: “Is There A Jewish Political Philosophy? The Medieval Case Re-considered,” Hebraic Political Studies 1 (2005): 24-42. A Hebrew version was published in M. Hellinger, ed., The Jewish Political Tradition throughout the Ages: Studies in Honor of Daniel Elazar, 105-136. Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University Press, 2010. — 13 —

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“Medieval and Renaissance Jewish Political Philosophy,” D.H. Frank and O. Leaman, eds., History of Jewish Philosophy, 415-449. London and New York: Routledge, 1997. “Aristotle’s Politics in Medieval and Renaissance Jewish Political Thought,” first appeared in Hebrew, Pe’amim 51 (1992): 27-69. A revised English version was published in V. Syrus, ed., Well Begun is Only Half Done: Tracing Aristotles’ Political Ideas in Medieval Sources, 145-186. Tempe, AZ: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 2011. “The Attitude Towards Democracy in Medieval Jewish Thought,” Jewish Political Studies Review 5 (1993): 33-56. Reprinted in D. Frank, ed., Commandment and Community: New Essays in Jewish Legal and Political Philosophy, 173-194. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1995. “The Organic Theory of the State in Medieval and Renaissance Jewish Political Thought,” H.C. Kuhn and D. Stanciu, ed., Ideal Constitutions in the Renaissance, 113-144. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2009. “Jethro’s Advice in Medieval and Renaissance Jewish Political Thought,” Jewish Political Studies Review 2 (1990): 3-41. “The Anonymous Hebrew Translation of Aegidius’ De Regimine Principum,” Documenti e studi sulla tradizione filosofica medievale 5 (1994): 439-461. “The Myth of Venice in Italian Renaissance Jewish Thought,” Italia Judaica 1, 401-413. Roma: Multigrafica Editrice, 1983. “Natural, Human, Divine: Classification of the Law Among Some 15th and 16th Century Italian Jewish Thinkers,” Italia 4 (1985): 59-93 “The Hebrew Laudatio of Yohanan Alemanno: In Praise of Lorenzo il Magnifico and the Florentine Constitution,” H.Beinart, ed., Jews in Italy: Studies Dedicated to the Memory of U. Cassuto, English part, 1-34. Jerusalem: Magness Press, 1988. “Simone Luzzatto on Tacitus: Apologetical and Ragione di Stato,” I. Twersky, ed., Studies in Medieval Jewish History and Literature, vol 2, 143-170. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1984. “Jewish Scholars and English Travellers: The Case of Simone Luzzatto and James Harrington,” G. Cozzi, ed., Gli Ebrei e Venezia, 507-525. Milano: Edizioni Comunita, 1987. “Machiavellism and anti-Machiavellism in 17th Century Jewish Amsterdam: From Ragione di Stato to Razon de Estado,” Trumah 19 (2009): 1-14.

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Part I The Framework

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Chapter One

Is There a Jewish Political Philosophy? The Medieval Case Reconsidered

Nobody would question the existence of “general” political thought, which is traced from classical Greece and Rome to medieval Christian Europe and from there to modern times, and is abundantly studied. However, the question of whether there is a Jewish political philosophy distinct from general political philosophy, and if so, how this should be defined, appears to have remained open. It is only in the last fifty years, since Leo Strauss took up the study of medieval Jewish philosophy as political philosophy, that scholars of Jewish and social studies have begun to explore Jewish political philosophy specifically. Jewish political thought is a branch of Jewish philosophy. It is widely accepted that there is indeed Jewish philosophy that can be distinguished from general philosophy, though definitions vary: while for some, Jewish philosophy is as broad as any philosophy written by Jews, others hold more narrow conceptions and define Jewish philosophy in terms of its unique content, whether this content is a consideration of philosophical problems in their specific Jewish context or a product of the encounter between Judaism and the world of concepts, problems, and attitudes that exemplified general philosophy in any given period.1 When we address the issue of Jewish political philosophy, however, we cannot simply assume that such a distinct political philosophy exists and proceed to define it: not only is there no consensus among researchers on this matter, but opinions are so diverse that while some have claimed there can be no such thing as Jewish political philosophy, others hold that all Jewish philosophy—at least all medieval Jewish philosophy—is political philosophy. The fact that opinions fall between such extremes sheds light on the difficulties presented to scholars who have worked in the area of Jewish political thought over the last twenty years. These scholars, among whom I count myself, have had to contend with the fact that whether their field even exists is in doubt. 1

For a discussion on this subject see Levy, Between; Jospe, Philosophy. — 16 —

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The discussion here will begin by tackling the controversial and delicate issue of whether Jewish political philosophy is a viable notion. We will then proceed, through a study of Jewish, Islamic, and Christian thought in the Middle Ages, which was a definitive moment in the history of Jewish philosophy, to characterize Jewish political philosophy, its sources, and the matters with which it deals. We will find that it is the unique character of Jewish political thought that has led to its being overlooked or its existence denied by theorists. Finally, we will examine the possibility that all Jewish philosophy, as it came into being in the Middle Ages, should be considered to be political philosophy, against the backdrop of the debate on this issue between Leo Strauss and Julius Guttmann. 1. Against the Viability of Jewish Political Philosophy There are two negative responses given by scholars to the question of whether there can be Jewish political philosophy; one is based on an extremely sound knowledge of Jewish sources and claims that the subject is not essentially part of Judaism, whereas the other, stemming from a lack of knowledge of Jewish sources, claims that the subject is not discussed. 1.1 Political Philosophy as Irrelevant to Judaism The first opinion that we examine states that while it may well be possible to identify discussions of social and political questions in Jewish writing throughout history, there is nothing inherently “Jewish” about these discussions. On the contrary, social and political questions in themselves are quite irrelevant to Judaism. The extreme form of this argument is expressed by Yeshayahu Leibowitz: It is difficult to say that any one of the multitude of opinions that have been expressed in Jewish history concerning the individual and society is the one that represents the Jewish point of view; all of them are the opinions of specific Jews. Each of these opinions is held in common by some Jews and by some non-Jews and is not necessarily drawn from Jewish sources. There is no Jewish ethic, no Jewish policy, and no Jewish concept of society. Jews and gentiles alike differ on all these — 17 —

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matters, and the dividing line is not between Jews and non-Jews but between one human being and another. Jews and gentiles were not in disagreement as Jews and gentiles except when it came to practicing their religion by keeping the law and the commandments.2 Leibowitz identified Judaism as no more and no less than the voluntary acceptance of the yoke of the Torah and the commandments, categorically ruling out its having any unique philosophical or political content. In his opinion, Judaism strenuously avoided taking any obligatory position on matters of society and state, and its attitude to such matters remains indifferent and instrumental, since it considered the state to be nothing more than a means to achieve an external objective, superior to it—the worship of God. Therefore, according to Leibowitz, no regime or form of government has any intrinsic value, and the only relevant question is to what extent it serves the higher purpose. Moreover, according to Leibowitz’s school of thought, such questions are universal in nature, and therefore the answers to them are not uniquely Jewish. How can such a claim be countered, if indeed it should be countered? There is certainly a great deal of truth in Leibowitz’s claim that Judaism is more concerned with the state’s religious, ethnic, and moral objectives than with the structure of its institutions, and is certainly flexible or “indifferent” with regard to what form of government is preferable. But this should not be taken to prove that Judaism has no distinct political thought. In fact, the opposite is true. It is this very attitude to political thought, in which the structure of political institutions or the “regime” is downplayed, that characterizes and distinguishes Jewish political thought and the way in which Judaism relates to matters of the individual and the state. As Daniel Elazar remarked: The Jewish political tradition, like every other, deals with power and justice; it is different from the political traditions that developed from classical Greek theory in that it is concerned with political relations rather than 2

Leibowitz, “The Jewish Concept of the Individual and Society,” in Leibowitz, Judaism, pp. 315–316. — 18 —

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with forms. Its principal concern is not with the best form of government or regime… but with the appropriate relationship between ruler and ruled, power and justice, God and man.3 The problem with Leibowitz’s approach is that in spite of his profound knowledge of Jewish sources, he adopts the classical Greek view of political theory as it was incorporated into Western culture. Since theories of regimes are at the very heart of classical political theory and are only marginal in Jewish political thought, he draws the conclusion that Judaism contains no political theory of its own whatsoever. In doing so, he makes a mistaken claim similar to that expounded upon below, despite his scholarship. Moreover, even if we accept Leibowitz’s assumption that Judaism is characterized solely by the acceptance of the Torah and the commandments, since this involves accepting the authority of divine law, constituting a relationship of government between God and humans, Judaism must deal with questions of politics in a theological context. 1.2 Jewish Political Philosophy as Void of Content The other negative response to whether there can be a Jewish political thought, which is also the most extreme, stems largely from an ignorance of Jewish sources or from a distorted perception of them, and posits that there is no trace of political thinking in Jewish culture that can be distinguished from “general” (that is, Greek and later ChristianEuropean) political philosophy. This is, for example, Shlomo Avineri’s contention in a compact anthology of his essays, The Public Sphere. In the citation below, he explains his decision to open the discussion of the history of political thought with Greece and to ignore Eastern cultures of the same period (including Judaism, which doesn’t even warrant a mention): The fact that this discussion will commence with Greek political theory is not the result of some mere whim, or even of any long observed custom that demands 3  Elazar, introduction to Kinship, p. 13. Elazar would have translated this title as “People and Polity,” but it should be noted that eda refers strictly to the Jewish polity. — 19 —

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that every historical discussion start with the classical world; the reason for it is based on the assumption that political thought in the strict sense of the word did not exist—nor could it have existed—in the ancient Eastern world or in one of the pre-classical societies.4 According to Avineri, only in Greece, where he considers there to have been a high degree of freedom from traditional beliefs, could the fundamental questions of political theory be posed. Such questions were not, in his opinion, possible in societies still dominated by incontrovertible tradition. Political theory subsumes two topics: a discussion of the nature of the ideal state and the criterion for its establishment, and the clash of these principles with political reality. In other words, it entails an understanding that political reality and the ideal criteria for evaluating it are not one and the same. Avineri considers this to be something a traditionalist society could not come to grips with, as in a traditionalist society, what “is” and what “ought to be” are one and the same. Avineri’s claim is hard to sustain for two reasons: first, it is difficult to uphold the contention that ancient Greek society was largely free of traditionally accepted beliefs. (Such a claim may be made about some of the philosophers but not about Greek society as a whole.) Second, the claim that in “traditionalist society” there is no way to distinguish between ideal government and political reality is incorrect: it is widely accepted that biblical political tradition is centered on the tension between a theocratic ideal and the problematic reality of this-worldly, human governance.5 It is true that political theory in societies that Avineri calls “traditionalist” was radically different from that of Greece in many respects, but difference proves nothing but difference. An overarching comparison of all political thinking according to the premises of the Greek tradition, using Greek philosophy as a benchmark, will perhaps inevitably conclude that any tradition with different premises is not political philosophy, and will oversimplify and thereby distort what is in fact a complex reality. 4 Avineri, Public, pp. 9–10. A more extreme claim can be found in Goitein, “Attitudes.” Here Goitein argues that unlike Greek culture, Islam and Judaism had a negative attitude toward government. This statement is inaccurate and oversimplifies matters, as we shall see. 5 See discussion in Elazar, “The Covenant as the Basis for Jewish Political Tradition,” in Elazar, Kinship, pp. 26–54. Cohen, “Three Ketarim.” — 20 —

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In Avineri’s defense, it could be said that he was at least aware of the problem involved in selecting and judging which sources are worth dealing with. Many other scholars who have written on the history of political thought, and have identified it entirely with the Greek tradition and its influence, have not even been aware of making such a selection. In a number of seminal texts on the subject there was a long-held, unconscious assumption that political thought was exclusively GreekEuropean-Christian. The classic work by George Sabine, A History of Political Theory (1937),6 completely ignores any political thought that is not Greek or does not derive from the Greek. This is also the case in many of the books published in the last twenty years, despite a growing awareness of other influential traditions. For example, a work on medieval Christian political philosophy published in 1993 is entitled Medieval Political Theory,7 with no qualification, despite the fact that it totally ignores extensive Jewish and Islamic discussion of political theory in the Middle Ages, both in the primary sources it presents and in the recent research it incorporates. The authors inadvertently and wholly identified medieval with Christian and did not even point out that they were referring only to the Christian branch of medieval political philosophy. There are numerous other examples of this phenomenon.8 An example to the contrary is the two-volume anthology of sources in the history of political thought, The Book of Man and the State,9 edited by Meir Ben-Shamai and published in Hebrew in 1948, which took a different approach that was several decades ahead of its time and perhaps for that reason was consigned to oblivion: along with the classics of Western political thought, Ben-Shamai also included extracts from the Bible, Philo, Maimonides, Abravanel, and other Jewish thinkers. Moreover, he took the unprecedented step of not sectioning off these texts, putting them together with general philosophers of the relevant 6 Sabine, History. 7  Nederman and Forhan, Medieval. 8  See a survey of the literature in Shulman, “Bible.” The phenomenon can even be found in Israel, as in the translation into Hebrew and acceptance of George Sabine’s book in 1963. See also Zisser and Zur, Political. Despite its generic title, Political Thought includes exclusively texts accepted in the Western canon from Plato to Marx, ignoring any other political thought, including Jewish. Zisser, in his preface to the anthology, does not make mention of the problem this raises, even though two years later he co-authored an important article criticizing this approach to political thought (see n. 27 below). 9 Ben-Shamai, State. — 21 —

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era. Maimonides appears immediately after Aquinas (although he actually preceded him chronologically, and was active in the Muslim, not the Christian, milieu!), and Abravanel after Savonarola. As Ben-Shamai explains in his introduction: I intentionally and completely omitted India and the Far East as well as the Islamic world, limiting myself to the Mediterranean and European cultural group, and in general the cultures of the ancient East and Israel on which Western theory was based. For methodological reasons, I put the material on Talmudic political thought into the second volume—where the reader can see it in its place, since it was Maimonides who collated all the diffuse material in the Talmud. The reader may well wonder: Maimonides in the “company of Christians”? But actually [he belongs to] the era and the philosophical theory prevalent therein, and this theory is scholasticism. Who can doubt that Maimonides merits a place, from a general cultural-historical point of view, alongside the great scholastics? In this book, essentially about the evolution of general philosophy, the place of Israel and its great intellectuals was decided along general lines. The place of the Bible is indeed in the “ancient East”; of Philo—in “Rome”; of Maimonides—in scholasticism; of Don Isaac Abravanel—in the Renaissance; of R. Judah Loew (the Maharal of Prague)—in humanism.10 It is not entirely clear why Ben-Shamai omitted Islamic political thought from what he called “the Mediterranean cultural group,” but there is no doubt that his inclusion of Jewish political thought, and the way he included it, was a refreshing innovation. Still, this inclusion represented such an unusual approach for its time that it made no impression. The change in the way some researchers tackled this issue came with later studies of medieval political thought, as we will see in sections 3 and 4 below. 10 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 19. — 22 —

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2. Questioning the Importance of Jewish Political Philosophy We have so far explored two arguments that deny the existence of Jewish political thought; one claiming that political thought is irrelevant to the Jewish tradition, the other claiming that it is absent from the tradition. Another, less extreme stance, while not denying the existence of a specifically Jewish political debate, confines it to extremely strict limits that question the importance of Jewish political thought. There are two basic arguments: 2.1 The Utopian Argument This viewpoint, an internal Jewish one confined mainly to the Orthodox community of scholars but occasionally appearing in the works of academics, assumes that because of the circumstances of the Diaspora and the protracted lack of political independence, Jewish political thought did not tackle concrete politics, but rather focused on “the ideal kingdom” in abstract halachic models and messianic, idealistic, and utopian images. This view tends to ignore the real historical forms in which the Jewish political tradition functioned. Aviezer Ravitzky noticed the flaw in this view and argued: It is true that Jewish philosophers developed their theories in a state of exile from political autonomy and without independent government. Yet the nations among whom the Jews found shelter supplied them with a living political “laboratory,” which afforded Jews concrete experience in competing forms of government, and also invited them to closely examine distinct political cultures.11 Consequently, since there can be no doubt that throughout Jewish history there was sophisticated and ongoing political interest and experience, even without political independence, it is no wonder that a sophisticated and distinct Jewish philosophy developed that was concerned not only with utopian models of the future but also with real and present political problems.

11 Ravitzky, Religion, p. 8. — 23 —

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2.2 The Argument of Marginality Another argument that must be dealt with does not deny the existence of Jewish political thought but claims that most of its developments are recent, and any interest in politics displayed by Jewish thinkers prior to modernity was marginal. Ze’ev Levy argues thus: The principal subjects that concerned Jewish philosophers in the Middle Ages were the theory of divinity, or problems of the existence of God, his nature and attributes; ethics, primarily keeping the commandments, “duties of the heart,” and ,” similar topics; and epistemology, with first and foremost the weighty issue of reason and revelation…. In modern times Jewish thought has continued to discuss these problems, but two branches of philosophy that have not previously aroused any special interest on the part of philosophers—political theory and the philosophy of history—have been appended. The political significance of Maimonides’ Mishneh Torah, which only a handful of modern researchers have discussed or hinted at… was marginal and cannot be compared with the prominence of political problems in the philosophy of Spinoza or Mendelssohn, for example.12 Like the argument that there is no Jewish political philosophy whatsoever, this argument—that the medieval discussion on this branch of 12 Levy, Between, p. 236. See also similar comments made much earlier by no less then Harry Wolfson, Philo, vol. 2, pp. 428–429: “The identification of the commandments with virtues on the part of medieval Jewish philosophers and also their philosophic explanation of some or all of the commandments would naturally lead us to expect that they would also attempt to explain the laws regarding rulers and subjects in terms of political theories known to them. No such attempt, on a large scale and in a systematic way, is, however, made by them. Maimonides, in one place, reproduces the conventional classification of the sciences, in which, under practical philosophy, he enumerates the topics of politics; in another place he discusses philosophically the source of inspiration of ‘statesmen’; in still another place he discusses again philosophically the origin of the state and the function of the king in it. But no attempt is made by him to present the Mosaic form of government in terms of political theories of his times. The form of the Mosaic state and its institutions are dealt with by him in his code of Jewish law, but there he confines himself to a logical and systematic arrangement of traditional material. It was not until towards the end of the fifteenth century that Isaac Abravanel, under the influence of Christian authors, made a faint effort to discuss the institution of kingship in Scripture in terms of current political theory.” — 24 —

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Jewish philosophy was marginal—reveals a modern approach to medieval philosophy, the approach of someone who is, by no coincidence, an important scholar of modern Jewish philosophy. Levy’s observation ignores the fact that the ideological working assumptions and systems of thought in the Middle Ages were qualitatively different from modern ones, judging medieval thought by modern standards. That Levy applied these inappropriate modern standards to medieval thought is what led him to the mistaken conclusion that political thought was marginal in medieval Jewish philosophy. Beyond the fact that the central topics of medieval philosophy to which Levy alludes, such as ethics and the rationale of the commandments, are essentially bound up in questions of political theory, the core subject of medieval Jewish philosophy correctly pointed out by him, the theory of divinity, is inexorably linked to fundamental questions of political theology. From the moment Maimonides claimed that the only attributes of God we can comprehend are attributes of his actions, so the resemblance of the prophet-philosopher-leader to God is a political resemblance, the theory of divinity became part and parcel of fundamental questions of medieval political thought.13 Since no one would dispute the argument that the theory of divinity is an essential part of medieval Jewish philosophy, it inevitably follows that the political implications of this theory are part of its nature. Modern philosophers, like Leo Strauss, to whom Levy alludes here, drew attention to the existence of medieval Jewish political philosophy. But Levy is mistaken— the political philosophy to which they drew our attention was not in the least marginal in comparison with the modern. Levy is certainly correct to point out that modern Jewish political thought touches upon entirely different subjects from those touched upon by medieval thought, in its historical, theological, and cultural context, but again, that discussions of this sort cannot be found in medieval thought does not prove that political discussion there was marginal, only that it was different. The argument that the political discussion in Spinoza’s Theological-Political Treatise or Mendelssohn’s Jerusalem is considerable in comparison with the marginality of the political discussion in Maimonides’ Guide of the Perplexed, for example, is totally groundless. Moreover, we cannot properly understand the 13 Concerning this, see Berman, “Political Leadership” and Melamed, Philosopher-King, esp. ch. 3. — 25 —

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theological-political discussion of Spinoza and Mendelssohn without reference to the medieval background on which they are based and to which they are a direct and conscious reaction.14 Therefore, not only is the claim false that concern with political philosophy in medieval Jewish philosophy was marginal, but the truth is quite the opposite; all Jewish political philosophy can to a large extent be seen as a product of this medieval tradition. We will later explore an even more extreme position (that all Jewish philosophy in the Middle Ages was by its nature political), but there is no doubt that the claims that there can be no Jewish political philosophy—or alternatively, that the medieval political discussion was “marginal” or dealt only with utopian matters—are groundless. This can be further proven by a direct examination of the primary sources. 3. The Problem of Sources 3.1 Textual Sources The evidence that seemed to corroborate the claim that Jewish sources do not discuss political thought was that we could not find in these sources even one treatise wholly or mainly devoted to this topic. This is markedly different in the case of Greek and Christian-European philosophy of the Middle Ages and the modern era, where a long series of important works devoted exclusively or mostly to political philosophy can be identified, such as Plato’s Republic and Laws; Aristotle’s Politics; Cicero’s On the Republic; Thomas Aquinas’ On the Government of Princes; Masilius of Padua’s The Defender of Peace; Machiavelli’s The Prince; and the great modern political treatises by Hobbes, Locke, Montesquieu, Rousseau, Mill, and many, many others. Referring to an article on the political philosophy of Maimonides, included for the first time in a general anthology of the history of political philosophy (1969), the editors, one of them no less a figure than Leo Strauss, still maintained in their preface that “Surely an argument could be made for the inclusion of Dante, Bodin, Thomas More and Harrington, and for the exclusion of the Muslim and Jewish medievals….”15 Does Maimonides really have anything to say about political theory? 14 See, for example, McShea, Spinoza, which totally ignores Spinoza’s medieval background in general and his Jewish sources in particular and consequently presents his political philosophy in an extremely partial and one-sided manner. 15 Strauss and Cropsey, History, Preface. — 26 —

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Did he write a single book on the subject? Ralph Lerner dwelt on the matter at length in his introduction to the article on Maimonides. Such remarks do not appear before any of the book’s other articles and were included in this case since the inclusion of Maimonides was so unusual. He opened the article with the following remarks: A discussion of medieval Jewish political philosophy might appear to suffer from a serious, perhaps hopeless, difficulty. Is there any reason to assume that the subject matter exists? Little in the present-day historical literature suggests that it does. When the medieval Jewish philosophers appear in all current histories, they do so mainly for their antiquarian interest, as links in a chain of transmission of ideas. This neglect is even more pronounced in the histories of political thought; medieval Jewish writers appear to be regarded as irrelevant. It would not be difficult to find some plausible reason for this neglect: a people that for more than a millennium lacked the least appearance of autonomous political life and that for the most part was firmly excluded from governance and administration is not a likely source of independent political reflection. Yet for all its plausibility, this assumption is false; the fact remains that problems that we can recognize as falling within the province of political philosophy are discussed in the writings of medieval Jews. Speculation about political things has never been a preserve open only to statesmen and full citizens.16 So from the fact that no treatises by Jewish thinkers are devoted to this subject, most scholars have deduced that there is no such thing as Jewish political philosophy, whereas there certainly is Greek and Western political philosophy. The lack of political philosophy from a Jewish perspective has been explained by the fact that the Jews were in the Diaspora, under foreign domination, and lacked sovereignty for most 16 Lerner, “Maimonides,” p. 181. See also Lerner’s earlier paper, “Natural Law.” — 27 —

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periods of their existence. The conclusion was therefore drawn that the Jews could not have had any special interest or significant experience or knowledge of political thought. The problem is that our not having found in the history of Jewish thought even one treatise exclusively devoted to political thought (and this phenomenon, in principle, is also true of Islamic culture) does not necessarily prove that there was no such thought. It proves only that it does not appear in the same literary genres customarily used by the Greco-Roman or later European-Christian cultures. Since scholars were looking for political thought in the same types of texts with which they were familiar in their own cultures, and did not find them, and were looking for topics central to their political texts (for example, the theory of government) and found very little evidence of them in Jewish sources, they concluded that no such body of ideas existed. For as long as Jewish philosophy, including political philosophy, was being judged according to external criteria that did not pertain to it, it was easy to reach the conclusion that there was no Jewish political thought. Only when some researchers began examining Jewish sources according to their own theological and political premises did it become possible to discover the great richness of Jewish political tradition throughout history. When Jewish sources throughout history were examined in this way, there was incontrovertible evidence of distinct political discussions in many of them. These discussions do not normally appear in texts specifically devoted to the subject, as was the case in ChristianEuropean philosophy, but are dealt with in the philosophical, theological, and legal contexts of other texts. It is no coincidence that the major Jewish philosophers, in whose writings we can find clear and definitive political doctrine (although there are no texts specifically devoted to this topic), were scholars influenced to a considerable degree by the political philosophy of the culture that surrounded them, like Philo, Maimonides, Spinoza, and Mendelssohn. The more a scholar is influenced by the surrounding culture, the more distinguishable we find his discussion of the subject. Since the theological premises of Judaism (and Islam) were of a different nature from those of Christianity, the understanding of politics derived from these premises was also of a different nature. As a result, political discussion appeared in different textual genres. The theological premises determined their understand— 28 —

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ing of politics, and both these determined the literary genre they chose to employ.17 If we examine biblical, rabbinic, medieval, and modern Jewish literature, we will find there to be a clear, sophisticated, and well-defined political tradition. Only when a new breed of scholars, from the 1930’s on, reflecting mostly on medieval Jewish political thought, such as Leo Strauss and Erwin Rosenthal, and later, from the sixties, Ralph Lerner, Lawrence Berman, and Daniel Elazar,18 began to examine Jewish sources for what they were, in their historical-cultural context, and not from without, from the point of view of another culture, was it possible to discover the wealth of Jewish political philosophy. Against this background, Lerner and Muhsin Mahdi brought about a true revolution when, for the first time in the history of research into political thought, they included Jewish sources alongside Islamic and Christian ones in an anthology of medieval political thought first published in 1963. The highly important preface to this anthology opens with a revolutionary statement in itself: Medieval political philosophy…consists of the enquiries and conclusions of individuals, living as Muslims or Jews or Christians, who attempted to identify the classical political teaching and to distinguish it from, or to harmonize it with, the political teaching of their particular religion.19 The writers were well aware of the problems common to the three monotheistic cultures arising from the encounter between revelation and philosophy. They likewise understood the difficulties with which 17 Lerner, “Maimonides,” p. 182. 18 Concerning Strauss and Lerner, see n. 15 and 16 above, and concerning Strauss, see the detailed discussion later in this essay. Concerning Rosenthal, see mainly “Conception”; also idem, “Aspects”; idem, “Torah”; and also his highly important edition of the medieval Hebrew translation of Averroes’ Commentary on Plato’s Republic. See Averroes, Republic. It is no coincidence that Rosenthal also wrote a history of Islamic political philosophy. See Rosenthal, Islam. Concerning Berman, see mainly Berman, Ibn Bajja; idem, “Greek”; idem, “Re-Examination”; idem, “Disciple”; idem, “Fall”; idem, “Political Leadership”; and his copious research into the absorption of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics into medieval Jewish thought. Concerning Elazar, see n. 5 above and 26 below. 19 Lerner and Mahdi, Sourcebook, p. i. Ben-Shamai actually preceded them with this approach (n. 9 above), but that anthology had no influence whatsoever on their research, perhaps because it was published in Hebrew much earlier. — 29 —

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all three had to contend in the political sphere, and the methodological advantage of a comparative approach that draws on parallel basic sources from the three monotheistic cultures. Nonetheless, they show no appreciation whatsoever of the revolutionary innovation of actually including Jewish sources in an anthology of medieval political philosophy. A cursory reading of the anthology immediately brings into focus the marked difference in textual genre between Jewish and Christian political philosophy. A careful reading of the contents of these texts will also make very clear the background to this difference and its significance. Following this precedent, discussions on Jewish political thought were included in books on political thought in general. It was no coincidence that Leo Strauss and Ralph Lerner were among the editors of these books and their writings were included in them. Yet, in the preface to the anthology of political thought, Cropsey and Strauss still remark that it is certainly possible to argue against the inclusion of Jewish and Islamic scholars in such an anthology, and this was thirty years after the publication of Strauss’ revolutionary book Philosophie und Gesetz (Philosophy and Law), in which the radical argument was first presented that all Jewish (medieval) philosophy is political philosophy.20 Furthermore, in the introduction to the chapter on Maimonides, Lerner offers an explanation intended to preempt the surprise at the decision to include Jewish philosophy that appears to have nothing to do with the subject in an anthology of political philosophy. Where can we find political philosophy in Maimonides? What is Maimonides doing in the company of the great political philosophers Plato and Aristotle, all the way to Aquinas, Machiavelli, Locke, and Hume?21 With time the inclusion of Jewish political philosophical writings among these texts became more acceptable, and in the last few years we can find evidence of a growing recognition of the importance of Jewish political philosophy for political philosophy in general.22 Similarly, if in the past, scholars such as Julius Guttmann, Isaac Husik, and Colette Sirat neglected political theory 20 See the discussion later in this essay. 21 Strauss and Cropsey, History, preface and pp. 181–183. 22 The phenomenon also finds expression in the teaching of political philosophy; see, for example, the Open University of Israel course in political philosophy, Keren, History, which mainly discusses classical political philosophy but includes some Jewish (and Islamic) sources. Recently the Open University also commissioned an advance course on Medieval Jewish political philosophy, see Melamed, Political. — 30 —

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in their general histories of Jewish philosophy, including it has become more acceptable, though much remains to be done. In a few volumes on the history of Jewish philosophy published in the last decades, the editors were careful to include a chapter on Jewish political philosophy in the Middle Ages,23 a phenomena unheared of hitherto. 3.2 Political Organization As we said above, since the premise that it is not possible to find distinct political philosophy in Jewish sources is false, there is no need to accept the explanation for this state of affairs, namely, that it is because Jews for most of their history had no independent political existence and therefore had no interest or experience in politics. It would appear that the judgment that the Jews had no experience of politics also draws from the fact that Jewish culture was subjected to the premise, perhaps true of other cultures, that only an independent political existence for a certain length of time permits the development of a distinct political philosophy. This shows no awareness of the possibility that other political forms exist, such as the community, which has throughout history been central to Jewish life. In this context we look again at the second half of Lerner’s analysis cited above: Yet for all its plausibility, this assumption [i.e., that the Jews did not have any political thought, since they did not have political experience] is false; the fact remains that problems that we can recognize as falling within the province of political philosophy are discussed in the writings of medieval Jews. Speculation about political things has never been a preserve open only to statesmen and full citizens.24 First, an independent or semi-independent political existence that extended over several hundred years during the First and Second Temple periods provided political experience and a sophisticated po23 Melamed, “Philosophy”; idem, “State.” Lorberbaum, “Medieval.” In a recent companion to Maimonides, the editor found it useful to include a chapter on his political philosophy. See Kreisel, “Maimonides.” Also, the editors of the recent Encyclopaedia of Medieval Philosophy commissioned an entry on Jewish political philosophy. See Melamed, “Political Philosophy.” 24 Lerner, “Maimonides,” p. 181. — 31 —

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litical tradition that to a great extent determined the development of a Jewish political tradition with far-reaching implications. Second, the fervid messianic hopes of generations to “renew our days as of old” have a pronounced political content, since they express an aspiration for the renewed independent political existence of the people of Israel in the land of Israel; as the Sages said (Babylonian Talmud, Berachot 34b): “There is no difference between this world and the days of the Messiah except enslavement to kingdoms.”25 Third, even during the long period of exile and loss of political independence, during most of Jewish history, the Jews developed sophisticated communal frameworks of selfgovernment and supracommunal frameworks, such the Council of Four Lands in Poland, which was recognized by the authorities in the various countries where this Jewish political framework existed. In the selfgovernment of these communities it is possible to discern aristocratic, republican, and democratic elements to a greater or lesser degree, according to the best classical definitions of these types of regimes.26 Aside from their own political organization, throughout history, the Jews have examined the systems of government and the political traditions of the different peoples among whom they lived, have been influenced in their own independent power structures by these systems and traditions, and have even interpreted political discussions in Jewish canonical texts in light of these. Jewish communities also developed frameworks and systems of negotiation with the authorities, so that their activities may even be said to have contained elements of international relations. Today it is standard practice in political research to assume that even frameworks without sovereignty, like the community, can be considered as “political systems,” and to examine them as such.27 4. Defining Jewish Political Thought and Identifying Its Sources Now that we have ascertained that there was indeed a clear tradition of Jewish political thought, the question of how to define it arises. Like Jewish philosophy in general, Jewish political thought can be defined in a number of different ways, and there are indeed parallels between 25 Quoted in this context by Maimonides, Mishneh Torah, “Judges,” Laws of Kings 9:2. Concerning this see Funkenstein, “Messianism.” 26 See the discussion on this subject in Elazar, “Democracy”; idem, “Community”and other articles in that anthology. See also Elazar and Cohen, Community; Agus, “Democracy.” 27 Don-Yehiya and Zisser, “Continuity,” p. 125. — 32 —

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the possibilities for defining Jewish philosophy and those for defining Jewish political philosophy. We can discern at least four alternatives, set out below from the extreme minimalist to the extreme maximalist, where the plurality and range of possibilities highlight the extent of the vagueness attending any exploration of the subject: (i) Political ideas promoted by Jews, which need not have anything in common in subject matter or ideology and do not necessarily have a discernible Jewish content. They might even include ideas that conflict with the basic tenets of traditional Judaism and reject them, such as we find in Spinoza. (ii) A repository of theories, ideas, and concepts, deriving from Jewish and general sources alike, that have been used to describe and define Jewish political institutions as they are described in the Bible and in postbiblical culture—like the institution of the community—or originally Jewish political ideas that acquired a Platonic or Aristotelian flavor, as in Philo or Maimonides. There is a question as to whether they express essentially Jewish ideas, or whether they are merely a “wrapping” that allows content whose source is external to the Jewish tradition to be absorbed within it. (iii) A definitive and continuing tradition of political thought, taking different forms and involving processes of continuity and change, which has undergone internal alteration over time, as revealed in Jewish canonical texts like the Bible, the Mishna, and the Talmud; in subsequent halachic literature; and in Hellenistic, medieval, and modern Jewish philosophy. It is important to stress here that the political theory of the Middle Ages or of the modern period is not a direct sequel to the political theory of the Bible or the Talmud, nor is it identical to them. It developed in other directions, was influenced by other historical and cultural circumstances, and served a different need. Yet these theories are still different branches growing from the same trunk, and there is therefore no possibility of understanding them correctly without understanding the links between them and their common sources. From an understanding of what they have in common we can also understand their differences and variability. (iv) A halachic system of thinking, which is fundamentalist-religious in its most extreme form, largely homogeneous, and ideologically consistent. The first definition is so general that it leaves the field amorphous — 33 —

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and void of intrinsic meaning. Its logical extension is that there is no Jewish political thought, only a random collection of political ideas on which Jews meditated that have no real connection with one another.28 On the other hand, the last definition is so specific that it ignores a whole range of political sources, theories, and ideas that appear in Jewish texts. The first definition is flawed by extreme pluralism, whereas the fourth is flawed by its being extremely monolithic, and neither allows for meaningful discussion of the subject. The two intermediate definitions, balanced between the extremes, seem appropriate and effective for the needs of such a discussion. The combination of both shows an understanding that no definition can include all the possibilities latent in a topic.29 This is the backdrop against which we will examine the types of sources for Jewish political philosophy as such. It is possible to distinguish four types: (i) Political thought that can be defined as explicit and ordered, comprehensive and systematic, and that appears in a defined text devoted entirely or mainly to this subject. (ii) Political ideas interspersed in halachic, philosophic, and literary sources on non-political topics. (iii) Various documents and instruments, like halachic responsa, regulations and legal judgments, protocols and public documents, and so forth, all dealing with concrete and practical political problems and hence likely to reflect perceptions of and attitudes toward fundamental questions in the social and political sphere. (iv) Forms of organization, structure, and behavior that can reveal something about the values of the political culture and the principles of its political regime.30 As we explained earlier, the sources of the first type are characteristic of the Christian political tradition and do not appear in the Jewish culture. This is part of what led to the erroneous conclusion that there is no Jewish political philosophy. Since we are interested in political philosophy rather than in the aspects of political science that deal with forms of organization and types of government, the sources that we are inter28 Similar to Leibowitz’s view, which was discussed above. 29 Don-Yehiya and Zisser, “Continuity,” pp. 100–102; Melamed, “Philosophy.” 30 This classification is based on Don-Yehiya and Zisser, “Continuity,” pp. 103–104. — 34 —

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ested in will be from the second group. Taking these types of sources as our base creates a methodological problem: Unlike Greek and Roman sources, and later European (i.e. Christian) texts based on them, the primary sources of Jewish political philosophy, especially in the Middle Ages, are not clearly philosophical, in the Greek sense of the term, and hence not immediately identifiable as relevant to political philosophy. Our research therefore demands a process of collecting, identifying, editing, or organizing the relevant material before it is possible to interpret it and construct a comprehensive political theory therefrom. For this reason it might be argued that researchers have, until now, been putting the cart before the horse; they have worked on Jewish political thought before completing the process of collecting and organizing the relevant primary materials. We are still faced with the daunting challenge that this preliminary work presents, although the past few years have seen some advancement in this area.31 5. Jewish Philosophy, Political Theology, and Political Philosophy in the Middle Ages Medieval Jewish political philosophy laid the foundations for subsequent Jewish political thought.32 Here we will explain how it developed, its key ideas, and what it was that caused Leo Strauss to contend, contrary to all the arguments against the existence of Jewish political thought or against its importance, that all Jewish philosophy in the Middle Ages should be regarded as political philosophy. We will then be in a position to evaluate Strauss’ claim. Medieval Jewish philosophy, as it developed from the tenth century until approximately the end of the fifteenth century, was the product of the great encounter between Judaism, as it had evolved in biblical and rabbinic literature, and the legacy of Greek science and philosophy, as it had been absorbed into medieval culture through the great mass of Arabic translations undertaken in the eighth to tenth centuries. Jewish political philosophy was also a product of the encounter between Jew31 Reference here is to Walzer et al., eds., The Jewish Political Tradition. Also Melamed, Political. 32 Jewish political thought first emerged during the Hellenistic period in the philosophy of Philo of Alexandria, who was the first to interpret the Bible according to the basic tenets of Greek philosophy, especially Platonic philosophy, including the realm of political philosophy. See Wolfson, Philo, ch. 12. Philo’s philosophy, however, had no influence on Jewish medieval thought, and therefore cannot be considered an early source of what was essentially a new tradition founded in the Middle Ages. — 35 —

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ish political theology and Greek political philosophy as it had passed into medieval philosophy through translations into Arabic and commentaries on its principal political writers, especially Plato, by Islamic philosophers like al-Farabi, ibn Bajja, and ibn Rushd (Averroes). Like philosophy in general, political philosophy dealt with this momentous encounter in a variety of ways. Political theology, a branch of theology, deals with the political aspects and implications of revelation as expressed in the holy scriptures of each of the monotheistic religions. Whereas theology in general is concerned with everything accompanying fundamental questions of religious faith based on divine revelation, political theology deals with the significance of the governing relations between God and humans in a particular ethnic or religious group stemming from this revelation. In this sense, theology is clearly particularistic in nature, especially in Judaism and Islam. In contradistinction, political philosophy, as it was first expounded in the writings of Plato and Aristotle, is essentially universal. It is concerned with the nature and political principles of human society qua human society. Plato and Aristotle were indeed grounded in Greek political experience, yet the context and tenor of their discussions encompasses all mankind. Just as philosophy deals with the love of wisdom and the desire for knowledge in its most universal and general sense, so too political philosophy, which stems from it, desires to know the nature and principles of politics in a general sense. Political theology, then, deals with God’s government over human beings, with divine commandments given to them, with the governing relationship between God and humankind (theocracy is literally “God’s governance”), and with the religious purpose of political life. Political philosophy, on the other hand, deals with human government over humans, with types of governments (by individuals, minorities, or the majority), with human legislation on which regimes are based, and with the human purpose of the state’s existence. The common ground between political theology and political philosophy is that they deal with political matters. What distinguishes them are their basic premises and the different reasons that they are concerned with the subject.33 The three monotheistic cultures of the Middle Ages—Judaism, Christianity, and Islam—inherited the legacy of Greek philosophy. All 33 See the detailed discussion of these matters in Lerner and Mahdi, Sourcebook, preface. — 36 —

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three accepted, in principle, the premise that philosophy and science derived from the Greek tradition, including Greek political philosophy, were expressions of the highest level of human knowledge. They all agreed that the texts of the great Greek philosophers and scientists, Plato and Aristotle, Hippocrates, Galen, and Ptolemy, as these had been introduced to them by generations of manuscripts, translations, and commentaries, were manifestations of scientific truth. However, each of the monotheistic cultures differed from the others in theology and consequently in political theology. This dictated the way in which each culture selected which literature to incorporate from the Greek political legacy and how this literature was to be used. The differences between their theological premises affected the way they dealt with the fundamental questions of the relationship between God’s government and human government, divine law and human law, the divine purpose and the human purpose of political existence. The system of relations adopted by medieval Jewish thinkers can be graphically represented as follows: Theology (Jewish)

Philosophy (Greek)  

Political Philosophy (Greek)

 

Political Theology (Jewish)  

 

Political Philosophy (Jewish) There is an essential difference between the basic premises of the political theology of Judaism and Islam on the one hand and those of Christianity on the other. This is a consequence of the different historical circumstances in which the three monotheistic faiths originated. Judaism and Islam evolved in the desert—at least in the metaphorical sense—where there was no permanent dwelling place, no rule of law, and no stable government. It was therefore necessary, from their point of view, to present their divine revelation—first and foremost—as a revelation of law. This law regulates and shapes the life of the community and its members, and is initially aimed at ensuring the physical survival of the group, then at improving its conditions and the moral character of the individuals belonging to it. This concept of law is holistic and all-encompassing, with law intended to extend to all areas of human — 37 —

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existence, from the most physical level to the most spiritual. All human existence—beginning with the proper way of satisfying the most basic physical needs, such as eating and sexual relations, and culminating in Torah study, the highest level of religious practice in Judaism—from morning till night, from birth to death, is covered in minute detail by divine law as specifically set out in the halacha. The Halacha (literally “pathway”), as its name suggests, aims at directing humans along the path they should take in every detail and period of their life. The law, both written and oral, that according to Jewish tradition was given at the revelation of Sinai, is therefore first and foremost a social and political constitution that regulates the life of the people and the lives of the individuals within it. It is important to note that in the terminology of the Middle Ages, the Hebrew words torah and dat (meaning “religion” in modern Hebrew) had much more general meanings than they have in modern Hebrew. Whereas the modern meaning of these words includes a specific system of laws, beliefs, opinions, and rituals, in medieval Hebrew they both mean law in the broad sense of the word. The words torah and dat signify law in general, any law whatsoever, not only Jewish law, and not necessarily divine law. Human law is also called (human) torah or (human) dat. It has even been claimed that the legalistic definition of these words is unique to Judaism and that the modern meanings that have attached to them stem from the Christian influence on Jewish philosophy.34 The Torah is therefore not essentially a system of beliefs and ideas,35 but rather a system of binding positive and negative commandments. Its aim is to establish a mandatory legal framework essential for a nation of slaves who left Egypt and were unaccustomed to a life of liberty based on voluntary obedience to legal authority, who wandered in the desert, in a place where there is no permanent habitation or proper human society. Thus, the divine law was careful above all to cater to the most basic physical needs of human existence in order to ensure the survival of the group during this critical period of its evolution. It is no coincidence, therefore, that the commandments between man and his neighbor inscribed in the Ten Commandments are expressed in the 34 See Melamed, “Theology”; idem, “Loi.” 35 Hence, the thirteen principles of Maimonides, which laid down for the first time in Jewish history the binding principles of faith, were a radical change in the history of Jewish theology, and it was no coincidence that they caused a furor. See Kelner, Dogma. — 38 —

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negative and all deal with primary prohibitions intended to guarantee the existence and survival of the group, beginning with “Thou shalt not kill” and ending with “Thou shalt not covet” (Exod. 20:12–14). Only after the survival of the group had been guaranteed through prohibitory laws (mitzvot lo ta’aseh) was it possible to add laws framed positively (mitzvot aseh), which are concerned with improving the moral behavior of the individual and the life of the society. Islam also emerged in the desert and also had a similar need to make a comprehensive set of laws to cover all areas of human existence. It is no coincidence that the Sharia, the Islamic system of law, has many parallels to Jewish Halacha. Therefore, since the Jewish revelation is understood as a revelation of law and not of beliefs and ideas, the encounter between Jewish theology and Greek philosophy—and in our context, between the political branch of each—first raises a constitutional question: to what extent and for what purpose can revealed law permit the use of philosophy?36 Christianity, unlike Judaism and Islam, developed in an existing civilization, in the heart of the Roman Empire at its peak. Therefore, not only did it not have a pressing need to lay down a structured set of positive and negative precepts to regulate life in the political realm or community, for such laws already existed, but any such attempt would most certainly have brought Christianity into violent conflict with the authority of the Roman Empire. Christianity, which had been from the start a subversive religion with universal pretensions, developed in an empire faithful to pagan rites and could certainly not have afforded to do such a thing. Even though it made no such attempt, Christianity was mercilessly hounded in the Roman Empire until the third century. Any demand to replace the law of the empire with Christianity’s own independent set of laws would have been regarded as a blatant subversion of 36 Aviezer Ravitzky recently put forward the argument that in addition to the holistic model, we can find in Jewish thought of the Middle Ages a number of models that see the relationship between religion and the state in different ways. See Ravitzky, Religion. This is not the place to deal with this original thesis in detail, but I remain unconvinced. It seems to me that some Jewish scholars in the late Middle Ages may have been influenced to a certain extent by ideas and terms of Christian scholasticism, but I do not think that any of them went so far as to propose different structures for the relation between what is called “religion” and “state” (in the modern sense of these words) beyond the conventional holistic structure, and even Ravitzky agrees that this structure was the dominant one. It seems that this is more of an attempt to find a precedent that will provide a remedy for the problems of the relationship between religion and state in Israel today, from the point of view of Modern Orthodoxy, than an impartial discussion of the characteristics of Jewish political thought in the Middle Ages. — 39 —

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the basis of the empire and would probably have generated an appropriate response. Just like Judaism, and later Islam, which emerged under similar conditions and accordingly developed similar survival strategies, Christianity, which emerged in completely different historical-cultural circumstances, developed a strategy for survival that suited its needs. In contrast to the holism of Judaism and Islam, Christianity developed a dualistic approach that drew a sharp distinction between the holy and the profane, between the physical and the spiritual realms, between the terrestrial and the heavenly, between this world and the next, between the state and religious faith. Its survival strategy in a hostile world was to forgo the earthly in favor of the spiritual, to acknowledge the imperial authority in the earthly domain and, in return, to demand recognition by the empire, of its spiritual authority: “Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s.” As a result, medieval Christian political culture developed the well-known distinction between two dominions; the church recognized the authority of the state in earthly matters and in return demanded recognition of its exclusive dominion in spiritual matters.37 A clear distinction therefore evolved in medieval Christianity between canonical law, which the church dispensed, and civil law, dispensed by worldly rulers. There was no analogy for this distinction in Jewish or Islamic political theology. The New Testament, in striking contrast to the Hebrew Bible, does not contain any clearly defined section on law, and there is nothing in medieval Christianity equivalent to Jewish Halachah or Islamic Sharia. Whereas Judaism considered the sections in the Hebrew Bible that dealt with law to be the focus of this text, Christianity preferred the prophetic books of the Old Testament. The key question of Judaism and Islam was what should humans do? Both these religions focused to a great extent on existence and on proper human behavior here and now on earth. The fundamental question of Christianity, on the other hand, was completely different: What should humans believe in? Human attention was to be focused on the next world, with the physical affairs of this world defined as inferior and able to be left in the hands of a worldly ruler. The theological legitimization for this renunciation was that the sacrifice of Jesus had removed the requirement to keep the 37 See the discussion in Lerner and Mahdi, Sourcebook, pp. 12–13. See also Nederman and Forhan, Medieval. — 40 —

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practical commandments. By accepting Jesus as the Messiah, the Christian believer was elevated from a level of base physicality—where the Jews, by their refusal to accept him, remained—to a level of spirituality, where he was no longer obliged to keep the practical commandments that focus on the needs of the earthly body. Therefore, when medieval Christianity came into contact with Greek philosophy in the thirteenth century, the question that bothered Christian theologians was not the question raised by Judaism and Islam—that is, to what extent revealed law permits the pursuit of philosophy, and for what purpose—because Christians had no such law. The question was to what extent Greek political philosophy was in harmony with the church’s belief system and how the two could be reconciled. These differences affected the ways in which medieval scholars dealt with the question of the relationship between political theology and political philosophy. However, it is important to point out that the differences were not only in the approaches of the three monotheistic religions, but also in the content that emerged from these approaches, and there was no small number of internal controversies among the scholars of each religion. These controversies were to a great extent the result of an ongoing argument in medieval philosophy concerning the relationship between philosophy and revelation in general. It is possible to discern two main approaches: One makes political theology subservient to political philosophy, and the other makes political philosophy subservient to political theology. The first assumes that since political philosophy is universal in nature, in contrast to political theology, which is more particular, the particular has to be understood in the context of the universal: it is impossible to understand the meaning and implications of God’s governance and specific divine law intended for a particular ethnicreligious group except against the background of an understanding of the fundamental concepts of any regime and set of laws of whatever kind and of their purpose. These are the subjects discussed by political philosophy. The contrary approach claims that since political theology is based on revealed, supernatural knowledge and political philosophy is based on knowledge of human origin, essentially inferior to divine knowledge, political philosophy must accept the authority of political theology and its basic premises. Its function is only to interpret, clarify, and elucidate the basic premises of political

— 41 —

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theology.38 As a rule, most Jewish scholars accepted the second view in principle. Since revelation in their doctrine is a revelation of law, revealed law necessarily provides legitimacy for the pursuit of philosophy and directs and defines it according to need. However, some of them made extensive use of the basic premises of Greek political philosophy so as to give Jewish political theology the importance they felt it warranted. This is what created Jewish political philosophy. 6. The Claim of Generality: Is All Medieval Jewish Philosophy Political Philosophy? The assumption, correct in itself, that Jewish revelation—like Islamic revelation but distinct from Christian revelation—was essentially a revelation of comprehensive law, covering all elements of human existence, led Leo Strauss to the radical conclusion that all medieval Jewish philosophy was essentially a philosophy of law and therefore also necessarily political philosophy. Strauss developed this theory in his early treatise published in Berlin in 1935, Philosophie und Gesetz, the first part of which was dedicated to a sweeping polemic against Julius Guttmann’s great work, Die Philosophie des Judentums (The Philosophy of Judaism), which had been published two years earlier.39 Strauss’ criticism of Guttmann focuses on the concept of revelation and its relevance and status in medieval Jewish philosophy. While he agrees with Guttmann that the great creation of medieval philosophy was the philosophy of religion, he takes him to task on the question of its content. Strauss criticized Guttmann for approaching medieval Jewish philosophy from the perspective of modern Jewish philosophy, which he believed had been permeated with manifestly Christian elements. In Strauss’ view, since the religion medieval philosophy dealt with was the religion of revelation, the problem of revelation became the fundamental problem of that philosophy. Since in its Jewish and Islamic context, revelation is the revelation of law and not of beliefs and ideas as it is in Christianity, 38 For a detailed discussion of this, see Lerner and Mahdi, Sourcebook, preface. 39 See the English translation published fifty years after the book first appeared: Strauss, Philosophy. My discussion is based on this translation. As for Guttmann’s treatise, see the expanded Hebrew edition: Guttmann, Philosophy. For Strauss’ worldview see Cohen, Reason, preface. On the controversy between Strauss and Guttmann, see also Schwartz, “Enlightenment”; Shweid, “Religion”; see also E. Luz, preface to Strauss, Jerusalem, pp. 54–56. These discussions focus mainly on the general theological-philosophical context of the subject and not on the political aspect. For the political context, see Melamed, “Theology.” — 42 —

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medieval Jewish and Islamic philosophy became mainly a philosophy of law. This conclusion is reflected in the name of Strauss’ book: Philosophy and Law. According to Strauss, if we have proven that focus on the problems of revelation is a feature of medieval Jewish philosophy, and revelation is the revelation of law and not of beliefs and ideas, law being clearly a political matter according to the Aristotelian classification, then logic dictates medieval Jewish philosophy to be political philosophy for all intents and purposes. Guttmann emphasized that philosophy of religion deals with general philosophical and theological topics that are beyond the domain of law or politics, like the question of creation, the possibility for humans to know God, divine providence, the problem of divine knowledge, and the immortality of the soul. That medieval Jewish philosophy dealt with these topics Guttmann considered to be proof of the epistemological and metaphysical nature, apolitical and suprapolitical, of medieval Jewish philosophy. Strauss would have it that the moment the philosophical treatment of these subjects is conditional on revelation, which in Judaism means conditional on law, for its legitimacy, and the moment it is dependent on this revelation to answer questions for which reason can provide no conclusive answers, like the question of creation, then these subjects also come within the scope of the philosophy of law, that is to say, political philosophy. Strauss examines Jewish medieval philosophy and claims that the moment God is represented as a lawgiver, the question of the perception of divinity is no longer merely a metaphysical one but necessarily a political one. The moment the prophet is portrayed as a legislator and as an ideal ruler, prophecy is no longer purely a psychological problem but a political matter. The moment humans are described as having a political life, having physical and social needs, and not merely as spiritual entities with metaphysical pretensions, the question of the purpose of human existence becomes a political one for all purposes. If so, politics, last in the Aristotelian classification of sciences, becomes the supreme goal of theological speculation. The order is reversed, since, according to Strauss’ interpretation of Maimonides, the supreme human purpose— expressed as the closest man can come to resembling God—cannot be achieved except within the framework of an ideal society in which the philosopher-prophet-ruler mirrors, by his rule in the microcosm of human society, the divine rule in the macrocosm of the cosmos, with — 43 —

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kindness, justice, and righteousness. The biblical prophet assumes the character of the Platonic philosopher-king. The human resemblance to God changes from a matter of metaphysics into one of politics. Humans do not know the nature of God, but by their deeds and in political life, they can imitate the divine forms of activity.40 Guttmann responded to Strauss in a critical essay written in the early 1940’s but published only posthumously.41 The title Guttmann gave to this essay aptly describes the controversy between him and Strauss: “Philosophie der Religion oder Philosophie des Gesetzes?” Guttmann’s basic argument in response to Strauss’ criticism focuses on the question of the relationship between revelation and philosophy. Guttmann argues that there is an internal flaw in Strauss’ claim. If philosophy is conditional on revealed law, how can it simultaneously act to clarify the necessity and meaning of revealed law? Logic cannot allow the condition to be examined by the conditional. If we suppose that revealed law is what gives philosophy its legitimacy, and philosophy elucidates revealed law, then it follows that this is not a dependent relationship—of philosophy on revelation—but one of cross-influence between two discrete and parallel sources of knowledge. Even for R. Sa’adia Gaon, who in Guttmann’s opinion also based the obligation to engage in philosophy directly on revealed law, the law of reason has an independent status that is not conditional on revelation, and Mosaic law is identified as true divine law, not only as a result of empirical historical evidence, but also because it is compatible with the requirements of the law of intellect and proved rationally (Beliefs and Opinions, part 40 Strauss, Philosophy, pp. 37–58 and throughout the second part of the book. See the many other studies of this subject published later; for example, Strauss, “Quelques”; idem, “Farabi.” See also the introductions to Strauss, Jerusalem, pp. 18–19, 52–53; concerning the political resemblance, see n. 23 above. 41 Guttmann, “Law.” Ironically, Amir, in his Hebrew translation, translated these words literally: “Philosophy of Religion or Philosophy of Law?” thus playing into Strauss’ hands. He translated “religion” as “dat,” while in medieval Hebrew the word did not necessarily have this meaning. The word “dat,” like “Torah,”often meant law, not exclusively and not necessarily divine law, but law in general and all its branches. Thus, when the Hebrew translator of Guttmann’s essay in response to Strauss translated the word “religion” as “dat” (and not emunah [“faith”], for example), he gave it precisely the same meaning as the German word Gesetz. As a result, Guttmann’s highly significant question, which in the original German so neatly expressed the focus of the controversy between himself and Strauss, became a meaningless tautological question: “philosophy of law or philosophy of law?” To be fair, in making this error the translator was following Guttmann’s own lead, since in his Hebrew articles and the translation of his book, he consistently used the word “dat” to mean faith and a religious outlook on life in its broad sense. — 44 —

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3). Moreover, since the historical reality of the Middle Ages was one in which three revealed religions were competing with each other for supremacy, intellectual reasoning, as it is embodied in philosophy, became the supreme test of religious truth. This was the main common ground among philosophers who were believers in the monotheistic religions and who had considerable differences of opinion over the question of the true nature of revealed religion. In its most extreme form, this rationalism went so far as to reject all revealed religion and to make rational judgment the exclusive test of truth. Guttmann contended that there is no one opinion in medieval thought about the relationship between revelation and philosophy. He did not believe that the attitude proposed by Strauss was the only one or even the prevailing one in medieval rationalism. It is possible to find a range of attitudes among medieval philosophers, from one that subordinates philosophy to revealed law, according to the view proposed by Strauss, to the antithesis, which subordinates revealed law to philosophy. To allow for only one possibility in all medieval philosophy is to diminish it in a way that misses out not only on the variety of attitudes in medieval thought, and the controversies between them, but also on the nature of this thought in general. Even those who presumed the constitutional subservience of philosophy to revelation, like Maimonides, considered revelation not an end but a means intended to guide mankind to an understanding of God. According to Maimonides (Guide 2:40), the superiority of divine law to human law is expressed, among other ways, by the fact that contrary to human law, which aspires to narrow physical and social ends, divine law, as expressed in revelation, aspires to direct mankind to a true knowledge of God, that is to say, to a metaphysical level of human existence. Another factor in the controversy exemplified by Strauss and Guttmann is the relative influence of Plato and Aristotle on different types of medieval political thought, and here too there is a significant difference between Islamic and Jewish political theory and that of medieval Christianity. Islamic and Jewish philosophy leaned heavily on Platonic political theory, in particular on Plato’s Republic and Laws, as these were transmitted to medieval Islamic culture, were translated into Arabic, and were interpreted by the great political philosophers from al-Farabi to Averroes. These texts were later translated into Hebrew, and their influence was considerable in the development of Jewish political thought in — 45 —

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the late Middle Ages. In both Judaism and Islam, political theology was interpreted in the context of Platonic political theory. While rumors of the existence of Aristotle’s Politics reached medieval Islamic culture, the Politics itself did not reach Islamic philosophers, and its influence was nonexistent. In contradistinction, Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics had a massive influence on Jewish and Islamic philosophy. The Politics came to the attention of Jewish scholars only later, as a result of Christian influence, and is first used by a Jewish thinker in the fifteenth century with Joseph Albo’s Book of Principles (1:7), and even here Aristotle is cited only in the context of a critique of Plato’s system. Taking into account the fact that medieval Jewish and Islamic philosophical traditions relied heavily on the Aristotelian tradition in all areas of philosophy, the absence of Aristotle’s influence in the realm of political thought is very noticeable. Even after the centers of Jewish culture moved to the Christian-Latin region in the late Middle Ages, where the Politics was enormously influential within scholastic political philosophy, it had no more than a marginal effect on Jewish scholars. They continued to be conditioned by Platonic political philosophy through its Islamic interpretations as far as the beginning of the modern age.42 In Christian-Latin culture, the situation was quite the opposite: Aristotle’s Politics made an enormous impression when it was translated from Greek in the thirteenth century, and its influence on the political philosophy of Christian scholastics was huge. Plato’s political thought penetrated Christian political philosophy only during the Renaissance. This situation resulted not merely from the vagaries of reincarnations of manuscripts but from the needs of each of the monotheistic cultures. To a great extent, the particular nature of the political theology of each culture determined the Greek source it chose, as well as determining the literary genre it elected to use, as we said above. Each of them used the Greek source that most closely conformed to the worldview of its political theology, and the literary genre most appropriate for its political treatises. Plato’s political view, which considered politics to be an inseparable part of his philosophical worldview and therefore did not 42 That has been the situation until the present day, when Plato’s political texts have already been translated into Hebrew more than once in modern times, and their Islamic interpretations have also been published more than once in Hebrew and in other languages. Aristotle’s Politics, on the other hand, has still not been translated into Hebrew in its entirety and awaits deliverance. See the bibliographical references in the following note. — 46 —

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distinguish between his more political discussions and his philosophical ones, was closer to the holistic position of Jewish and Islamic political theology. On the other hand, Aristotle’s philosophical worldview, in which politics was a quite separate pursuit, was closer to the Christian view that distinguishes between the two disciplines.43 In the difference between the influence of the political thought of Plato and Aristotle, we find both another element distinguishing Jewish political philosophy from the Christian-Western tradition, and one which bears on the question of whether all Jewish philosophy in the Middle Ages is to be considered political philosophy: Strauss’ doctrine assumed that medieval Islamic and Jewish philosophy from al-Farabi through Maimonides to Averroes was political, and therefore Platonic in nature, and brought political science from the fringes of philosophy to the center of its speculation. Without denying the Platonic influences, Guttmann pointed out that there was also a dominant Aristotelian tradition, drawn from the Nicomachean Ethics that had a bearing on political theory and its relation to ethics, psychology, and metaphysics but was distinct from political theory. This for Guttmann signified that there was a notion of metaphysical revelation distinct from the political revelation that Strauss assigned to all medieval Jewish thought, and highlighted the possibility of a Jewish political philosophy that did not encompass all of Jewish philosophy, but was rather a branch of this much broader field. 7. Implications for Today and Conclusions There is no doubt that Strauss’ revolutionary thesis, which assumed medieval philosophy was manifestly political in nature, acted as a catalyst in the expansion of research into important aspects of this philosophy that had scarcely been discussed until then. Prior to Strauss there was hardly any awareness of the political aspects of various texts, like R. Sa’adia Gaon’s Beliefs and Opinions, Judah Halevi’s Kuzari, Maimonides’ Guide of the Perplexed, Albo’s Book of Principles, or Abravanel’s commentaries on the Bible, to mention only a few major examples. These texts had been thought of until then as being of a halachic, theological, ethical, psychological, or metaphysical nature, totally devoid of any aspects 43 For a detailed discussion of these subjects see: Melamed, Philosopher-King, esp. ch. 1; idem, “Abravanel”; Idem, “Politics” (ch. 3 in this book); Idem, “del Medigo.” — 47 —

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of political philosophy. In addition to these, many other important texts that had until then been virtually untouched by scholars, in a political context or otherwise, became important. These texts include Jacob Anatoly’s Goad of the Students, Isaac Polkar’s The Defense of the Law, Elijah del Medigo’s The Examination of the Law, Yohanan Alemanno’s The Eternal, and many others. New readings of the canonical texts of medieval thought, by the likes of Sa’adia Gaon, Halevi, Maimonides, Albo, and Abravanel, both cast new light on the theological and metaphysical significance of these texts and drew attention to their political aspects and to the interplay between the halachic, theological, metaphysical, and political. The fact that the attention of a number of scholars was drawn to this field was a consequence of Strauss’ innovative identification of the political significance of these texts, where prior to Strauss, the political relevance of Jewish canonical philosophical texts of the Middle Ages had been distorted by the fact that a Christian interpretation, based on a different worldview, had been imposed on them. This Aristotelian-Christian political view, which separated the earthly from the spiritual, had no part in the worldview expressed in Jewish and Islamic holistic understandings of revelation. By freeing himself from the narrow Aristotelian-Christian point of view and making a revolutionary return to Platonic political philosophy, Strauss opened our eyes to the political relevance of these texts and established the study of Jewish political philosophy in the Middle Ages as an important branch of medieval Jewish philosophy. Strauss’ breakthrough in Philosophy and Law created a new area of research into Jewish philosophy in the Middle Ages and other periods that has produced dozens of studies in the last twenty years,44 and there are more to come. And yet when we examine the great controversy between Strauss and Guttmann from a distance of at least two generations, we are able to evaluate each of the positions in the light of the development of research in the last ten years. Paradoxically, the expansion of research in the field created by Strauss proves, in my opinion, that he may have gone too far in the thesis he expounded in Philosophy and Law. The culmination of the studies of medieval Jewish political thought so far seems to point in 44 See the complete bibliography updated to 1997 in Melamed, “Medieval,” pp. 440-449. Since its publication, many studies in this field have been published, as well as some important doctoral theses. See in the bibliography of this book. — 48 —

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the direction of the conclusion reached by Guttmann after he had read Strauss. That is to say, while Strauss certainly accomplished something of great importance when he stressed the political aspect of the theory of revelation, Guttmann, with his good sense, put things in proportion and was in this respect ahead of his time. Political philosophy, itself influenced to an enormous extent by Platonic tradition, continues to be conditioned, in the Aristotelian style, by the basic premises of ethics, psychology, and metaphysics. It could be argued that Strauss and Guttmann complemented each other dialectically: Strauss was the first to turn the spotlight on important political aspects of revelation theory, whereas Guttmann put them in their correct perspective without diminishing their importance. The Italian Jewish scholar-poet of the fifteenth century Moses of Rieti wrote in his apposite verse that political philosophy is nothing other than “wisdom’s little sister.”45 Strauss’ great accomplishment was that he turned this little sister into a woman of importance, making political philosophy a legitimate and important field of research within Jewish philosophy. As this field develops, it is important that scholars appreciate the distinctness of Jewish political thought and study it on its own terms. We saw that exploring medieval Jewish philosophy from the outside, by Aristotelian-Christian standards, led to a misunderstanding of the political importance of the Jewish thought of that time. Similarly, the study of Jewish political thought in any era must take care to evaluate this thought from within, through the very sources and forms of political organization that make Jewish political thought distinct and, at times, hard to identify as political thought.

45 Moses of Rieti, Mikdash Me’at, p. 22. — 49 —

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Chapter two

Medieval and Renaissance Jewish Political Philosophy: An Overview

The question of how to define Jewish political philosophy is no less complicated and subject to disagreement than the question of what Jewish philosophy in general is, and in many respects the first question is a direct derivation from the second.1 This state of affairs is well characterized by the fact that Jewish political philosophy can be defined in at least four different ways, from the minimalist to the maximalist: first, as political ideas developed by Jews, which have no necessary thematic or ideological common denominator, and which are not necessarily Jewish in their context—these may even include ideas which reject the basic political premises of rabbinic Judaism, such as Spinoza’s; second, as a reservoir of theories and terms, derived from both Jewish and general sources, which were employed in order to describe Jewish political institutions, such as communal government (kahal), or political theories which originated in Judaism and acquired a Platonic or Aristotelian garb, as in Philo of Alexandria and Maimonides; third, as a defined and continuous tradition of political thought, which has different expressions and underwent internal changes during the ages, as it is expressed in the Bible, the Mishnah, the Talmud, the halakhic literature, and in Hellenistic, medieval, and modern Jewish philosophy; fourth, as a system of halakhic thought, religiously fundamentalist in its extreme, which is characterized by a great measure of thematic unity and ideological consistency. My discussion is mainly based on the third formulation. The sources of political thought, both Jewish and general, may be classified as follows: first, as a defined, detailed, and organized body of political thinking; second, as political ideas which are scattered in various (not essentially political) literary, exegetical, and philosophic sources; third, as historical documents, such as constitutions and legal proceedings; fourth, as patterns of communal organization and modes 1

Jospe, Philosophy. Levi, Between. — 50 —

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of behavior which shed light on the values of a given political culture and the principles of its political organization. Of these sources, the first kind is completely absent from Jewish political philosophy. This state of affairs stands in sharp contrast to Christian political philosophy, which is mainly expressed in writings of the first kind, such as Dante’s De Monarchia, Machiavelli’s The Prince, or Hobbes’ Leviathan. This situation has given rise to the fairly widespread assumption that Jewish sources devoted very little space to political issues. The main justification for this assumption was that since Jews did not enjoy an independent political existence through most of their history, they were not interested in political issues. This explanation can be rejected in two ways. First, even in the absence of an independent political existence, it is possible to deal with theoretical political questions, such as the nature of the future Jewish state. The debate on this question is clearly manifested in the rationalistic current of the messianic literature, as in Maimonides. Second, even in the absence of an independent state, it is possible to develop and maintain an active political life, in the framework of an autonomous Jewish communal life. Many of the political issues which are dealt with in a sovereign state, and are a topic of discussion for political philosophers, did in fact arise in this framework. The main problem here, however, is not with the explanation for Jewish lack of interest in political philosophy, but rather with the basic assumption itself. The presumed absence of any notable body of Jewish political philosophy is erroneous and is based upon a projection of characteristics unique to the framework of Christian political philosophy. Further, this false presumption is exacerbated when one approaches medieval texts from a modern secular perspective, which takes, for example, Locke’s Two Treatises on Government as paradigmatic. From this vantage point, it is difficult to identify any political context in the seemingly obscure, theology-laden medieval texts at all.2 This is the main reason why until recently there was so little research in the history of Jewish political philosophy. It is still quite negligible in comparison to other branches of Jewish philosophy, on the one 2

Lerner and Mahdi, Sourcebook, introduction; Don Yihyeh and Zisser, “Continuity”; Zisser, “Reconstruction.” — 51 —

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hand, and the amount of research into the history of Christian (and even Muslim) political philosophy, on the other. There are already quite a few general histories of Christian political philosophy of the Middle Ages and other periods, but nothing of this sort exists for the Jewish counterpart. Only when scholars such as Leo Strauss, Harry Wolfson, Erwin Rosenthal, Ralph Lerner, Shlomo Pines, Lawrence Berman, and a few scholars of the next generation who followed their lead, started to approach Jewish political philosophy from its own theo-political or a modern secular perspective, was the rich heritage of Jewish political philosophy exposed.3 In order to understand the difference between the Jewish and Christian political starting points, it would be profitable to employ a distinction between political philosophy and political theology. Political philosophy deals with the principles and essence of every human society, wherever it may be. It was originally formulated in the writings of Plato and Aristotle. Political theology, on the other hand, deals with the particular political meaning of the revelation of each faith as expressed in their holy scriptures.4 All three monotheistic cultures shared the basic premise of Greek political philosophy. The difference among them lay in political theology. Here we find a good measure of agreement between Judaism and Islam. The case of Christianity, however, is qualitatively different. Judaism and Islam were both metaphorically fashioned in the desert, a place where law was absent. It was vital for them to present their revelations as law—an exclusive, divine law. Christianity, on the other hand, developed within an existing civilization. It did not manifest itself as law, but as religio. In order to survive, it had to recognize the legitimacy of other laws, and conceded the sphere of law to the temporal authority. Christianity consciously confined itself to the area of beliefs and opinions. Thus, in Judaism and Islam there is no distinction between law and faith, while in Christianity such a distinction is vital. Christianity conceived of revelation as a source of religious dogma. It followed the theory of the two swords, which sharply separated temporal from spiritual authority, the former being influenced by Roman law. 3 4

Lerner and Mahdi, Sourcebook, introduction. For the relevant publications of these scholars, see below and in the bibliography. Lerner and Mahdi, Sourcebook, introduction. — 52 —

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Medieval Christianity tended to see the political sphere as separate and independent, epgaged in inquirir.g into laws and temporal rule, which was by and large isolated from divine law and the affairs of spiritual authority, which were deemed non-political or suprapolitical in essence. With the advent of the Renaissance and the Enlightenment, this initial separation between spiritual and temporal issues, between Church and State, was crystallized and made possible the appearance of the great secular political writings of early modern times, those of Machiavelli, Hobbes, and Locke. By contrast, Judaism and Islam, as Leo Strauss so forcefully pointed out, laid special stress on the political quality of revelation, which is divine law given through a prophet who is also a lawgiver and political leader. For this reason, the basic issues of religious thought, such as the nature of revelation, the purpose of the Torah, the nature and purpose of prophecy, and the nature of human perfection all become political issues. And if one considers belief in creation ex nihilo to be a political myth, a kind of Platonic “noble lie,” then even creation becames a political issue. In sum, Judaism did not develop a systematic division between the “powers” as Christianity did. The Jewish theory of the Three Crowns is quite a different matter.5 This lack of systematic division is well illustrated by the medieval Hebrew meaning of the term dat. While in Modern Hebrew dat signifies religion in the broad meaning of the term, its medieval meaning was much more limited, signifying law in particular. Thus, it is misleading to translate Isaac Polkar’s Ezer ha-Dat or Elijah del Medigo’s Bechinat ha-Dat, for instance, into The Defence of Religion and The Examination of Religion respectively, as some modern scholars and translators erroneously do. Dat should be properly translated here as “(divine) law.” Moreover, the terms dat and torah do not necessarily signify divine law, but law in general, which could (then) be sub-classified into divine law (dat elohit, torah elohit) or human (dat enoshit, torah enoshit). In this last meaning it completely corresponds to the Greek nomos. The narrow legal meaning ascribed to the terms dat and torah in medieval Hebrew terminology only proves again the essential political context of revelation in medieval Judaism (and Islam). This essential theological difference between Judaism and Islam, 5

Cohen, “Three Ketarim.” — 53 —

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on the one hand, and Christianity, on the other, can explain both their employment of different kinds of literary forms, and their usage of different sources of classical political philosophy. Since Christian theology differentiated between the two realms, that is, between the temporal and the spiritual aspects of human existence, it could understand political philosophy in separation from philosophy and theology as a whole. Consequently, it could produce writings which were specifically devoted to politics, such as Aquinas’ De Regimine Principum, Dante’s De Monarchia, or Marsilius of Padua’s Defensor Pacis. There are also political discussions in general theological writings, in Aquinas’ great summas, for example. However, it is not accidental that most of the Christian medieval political discussions are contained in independent treatises. Both medieval Jewish and Muslim political philosophies, however, were based upon a holistic perception of reality and human existence, in which the law, whether it is the Torah or the Sharr’a, is inclusive of every aspect of human existence. This nature of the Jewish and Muslim world view almost prevented the development of a distinct body of political literature. Such literature is generally contained within various halakhic systems, such as Maimonides’ Code and his three introductions to the Commentary on the Mishnah, and within theological and philosophical discussions, such as Philo’s Life of Moses, Sa’adia Gaon’s Book af Beliefs and Opinions, Judah Halevi’s Kuzari, Maimonides’ Guide of the Perplexed, Joseph Albo’s Book of Roots, Isaac Abravanel’s Commentaries on the Bible, Spinoza’s Theological-Political Treatise, and Moses Mendelssohn’s Jerusalem. The difference between the world view of Christianity and that of Judaism and Islam also explains why they based themselves upon different sources of classical political philosophy. Medieval Christian philosophy based its political thinking upon Aristotle’s Politics from the time this work was translated into Latin in the mid-thirteenth century. Muslim and Jewish political philosophies, however, were squarely based upon Plato’s Republic and Laws, with modifications from Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics and Neoplatonic writings. Erwin Rosenthal rightly entitled the second part of his magnum opus on Muslim political thought, “The Platonic Legacy.”6 The Republic, 6

Rosenthal, Islam. — 54 —

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however, was unheard of in the Christian West until the early Italian Renaissance. Even Reymond Klibansky, who emphasized the continuity of the Platonic tradition in medieval Christian culture, stresses that this influence was exerted through dialogues such as Timaeus and Parmenides. There is no trace of the Republic in medieval Christian sources in the West.7 Thus, Ernest Barker, who completely ignored the Muslim and Jewish traditions, and dealt with the Christian only, could state bluntly: “Compared with the Politics, the Republic has no history. For a thousand years it simply disappeared.”8 In Muslim and Jewish political thought the situation was completely the opposite. What disappeared was Aristotle’s Politics. Muslims and Jews were acquainted with most of Aristotle’s extant writings, and were markedly influenced by the Aristotelian tradition. They did not, however, possess a copy of the Politics, although they knew about the existence of the text. While in most areas of philosophy the Muslim and Jewish traditions were firmly based upon the Aristotelian tradition, this is not true of their political philosophy. The Nicomachean Ethics strongly influenced Muslim and Jewish medieval thought, as opposed to the Politics. The first direct—and very short—quotarion from the Politics in a Jewish text is found in Albo’s Book of Roots, in the late Middle Ages, and this reference was mediated by the influence of Latin-Christian culture.9 This bias might have been the result of pure chance, in that the Politics simply did not reach Jewish and Muslim scholars. Perhaps, as Richard Walzer supposed, it proves that late Hellenistic philosophy preferred the Republic to the Politics as a basic textbook on politics. The fact is that we do not have any commentary on the Politics dating from this time.10 Muslim political philosophy proceeded accordingly, since it inherited those works prominent in the late Hellenistic period, and adapted them to its own theological worldview. It also continued the accepted practice in late Hellenistic philosophy of integrating Plato’s different texts, especially the Republic and the Laws, and blurring the differences between them. Although the history of textual transmission exerted a considerable 7 8 9

Klibansky, Continuity, pp. 14-18, 39-41. Barker, Plato and Aristotle, p. 525. Albo, Roots 1.9 (Husik). For knowledge of the Politics in Muslim philosophy, see Pines, “Aristotle”; in Jewish philosophy, see Melamed,”Aristotle”(see below, ch. 3); idem, “Abravanel.” 10 Walzer, “Aspects,” pp. 41-42; idem, Greek, pp. 244-245. — 55 —

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influence, it would be erroneous to attribute the emphasis on Plato’s political philosophy to that alone. In their great translation enterprise, between the eighth and the tenth centuries, the Muslims sought and commissioned the translation of a great body of Greek texts into Arabic, including most of the Aristotelian corpus. Why did they not get hold of the Politics, which was available in the libraries of Byzantium? Was this only accidental? For that matter, one could also query why Christian scholars of the Latin West who brought a Greek manuscript of the Politics from Byzantium did not seek a copy of Plato’s Republic. And when they translated so many texts from the Arabic and the Hebrew into Latin from the thirteenth century on, why did they not make the effort to translate Averroes’ Commentary on Plato’s Republic? More important than the history of textual transmission is the basic difference between the political theologies of the great monotheistic cultures. This dictated which text they chose to adapt. The difference in the textual traditions reflects the difference between the political theology of Judaism and Islam, on the one hand, and Christianity, on the other. When Albertus Magnus commissioned the translation of the Politics into Latin in the thirteenth century, it was because of the “appropriateness” of the Aristotelian text to the political context of Christian theology. Likewise, when Muslim scholars from al-Farabi to Averroes used the Republic as their basic political textbook, and Maimonides followed suit, it was precisely because they all believed the Platonic text to be especially relevant to the political context of Muslim and Jewish theology. In all three religious cultures, theology preceded the appearance of the particular text and its concomitant influence. The text, whether it simply chanced to find its way into their hands or was deliberately selected, was used solely for the purpose of commentary on and ongoing development of theological tenets. The basic assumptions of Plato’s Republic well suited the theological world view of Muslim and Jewish medieval thinkers. The principles and raison d’etre of the Platonic philosophical state could be easily translated into the theological terminology of the Muslim (ideal) imamite state, or the Mosaic constitution. Not so, Aristotle’s Politics. Plato’s political point of departure was essentially philosophical. It considered the ideal state an integral part of a holistic metaphysical Weltanschauung. This suited the all-inclusive nature of Muslim and Jewish political theolo— 56 —

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gies. Aristotle, however, at least in the Politics, considered the political sphere as a political scientist rather than as a philosopher, and tended to separate the political discussion per se from any metaphysical discussion. This is why the Politics appealed to medieval Christian thought, which tended to separate the temporal from the spiritual realm. The spirit of the Nicomachean Ethics, however, is much more “Platonic” in nature, grounding politics in a philosophical anthropology and offering a “theory”-oriented interpretation of the human good. This is why it had such a successful career in medieval Muslim and Jewish thought, in stark contrast to that of the Politics.11 Platonic political philosophy, which so emphasized the “spiritual” content of political existence, and hence identified the philosopher as the perfect political leader, was extremely relevant for Muslim and Jewish political thinking. The prophet-lawgiver of the Jewish and Muslim traditions could easily be identified with the Platonic philosopher-king. Plato’s emphasis on the political duties of the philosopher correlated with the halakhic emphasis on the leadership responsibilities of the sage. The monarchic nature of the Platonic theory of government was also more appropriate to the halakhic position than the more ambivalent Aristotelian position, which tended to support a kind of limited democracy. Christianity, however, generally identified its founder as one who had wholly detached himself from the life of political action. Moses and Muhammad may be depicted as Platonic philosopher-kings, while for understanding the apolitical Jesus, the model of the Platonic philosopher-king was quite irrelevant. Following Augustine’s Civitas Dei, medieval Christian political thought did not consider the possibility of actualizing the ideal community here and now. It was a matter for the world to come. In this world Christianity sought no more than the existence of a political community that was attainable. In this sense the Politics, which set only “worldly” political goals, suited it better. Judaism and Islam, however, did pursue the existence of the ideal community in this world. For both, the civitas temporalis, too, could and must be a perfect community. The Jewish state that would arise after the coming of the messiah, like the ideal Platonic

11 Lerner and Mahdi, Sourcebook, introduction. Berman, “Middle Commentary.” Melamed, “Aristotle.” — 57 —

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state, was supposed to be such a perfect state.12 Thus, the difference between the political theology of Judaism and Islam, on the one hand, and of Christianity, on the other, caused them to produce different genres of political literature and employ different classical political texts. It is important to emphasize, however, that in their political philosophy the three medieval religious traditions held the same philosophical position, influenced by the same classical writings, chiefly those of the “other” Aristotle, the Aristotle of the Nicomachean Ethics and the Metaphysics. All concurred that the supreme purpose of human existence was not the attainment of practical intelligence, but rather of theoretical intelligence—recognizing the intelligible God and loving him.13 In this respect, Leo Strauss’ attempt to interpret the whole body of medieval Muslim and Jewish thought as Platonic political philosophy disguised in monotheistic theological garb is rather excessive. As Julius Guttmann correctly cautioned, for the medieval mind, as for its Greek predecessors, political philosophy is no queen of the sciences but a byproduct of the basic premises of ethics, metaphysics, and theology.14 As the fifteenth-century Italian Jewish scholar Moses of Rieti put it, political philosophy is only “wisdom’s little sister.”15 Al-Farabi and Maimonides, however, following Platonic teachings, translated the limited theoretical knowledge of God available to humans, namely, the knowledge of his attributes of action, into a political imitation of divine activities by the philosopher-king. Thus, even this originally Aristotelian definition of the final end of human existence underwent a Platonic metamorphosis, from a God who is known to a God whose attributes of action are imitated, from the sphere of theory to the sphere of praxis.16 Strauss’ view, then, although somewhat excessive, was nevertheless not so far from the truth. Like other branches of Jewish philosophy, political philosophy originated with Philo of Alexandria, the first scholar to try and create a synthesis between the Torah and the teachings of the Greek philosophers. Philo portrayed Moses in the image of the philosopher-king and 12 13 14 15 16

Walzer “Aspects,” p. 44; idem, Greek, pp. 244-245. Lerner and Mahdi, Sourcebook, introduction. Guttmann “Law”; Strauss, Philosophy. Moses of Rieti, Mikdash, p. 22. Berman,”Maxim”; idem, “Disciple”; idem, “Political Leadership.” — 58 —

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explained the nature of the Mosaic constitution on the basis of Greek legal theory.17 This initial effort was not renewed until the second great encounter between Judaism and the dominant general culture. As with other branches of medieval Jewish philosophy, political philosophy was a direct outcome of the encounter between Jewish political theology and Greek political philosophy in Arabic translation. Medieval Muslim philosophy flourished as a result of the great translation enterprise of Greek texts into Arabic from the eighth to the tenth centuries. Arabic translations, paraphrases, and commentaries on Plato’s Republic and the Laws and on Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics strongly influenced the political thinking of Muslim philosophers, from al-Farabi’s The Virtuous State to Averroes’ Commentary on Plato’s Republic.18 Jewish scholars who were active in the Muslim environment from Baghdad to Cordoba, between the tenth and the late twelfth centuries, from Sa’adia Gaon to Maimonides, were well acquainted with the translated Greek texts and their Arabic paraphrases and commentaries. This is well documented in the comments Maimonides made in the last chapter of his Treatise on Logic concerning the classification of the practical sciences: “In all these matters [i.e. politics], the philosophers [i.e. Greeks] have written many books which were already translated into Arabic. Those books which have not been translated yet, however, are even more numerous.”19 There is an awareness here that although many of the Greek philosophical writings on politics were not as yet translated into Arabic (Aristotle’s Politics, for instance), many others were already translated. Maimonides obviously refers here to the Platonic political works and to Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics and Rhetoric and the pseudo-Aristotelian Economics. In the writings of Maimonides and other Jewish authors of this period, there is much evidence of the influence of these Greek political texts in Arabic translation, with the exception of the Politics, of course. There is also a great deal of influence of Muslim political philosophy itself, like al-Farabi’s The Virtuous State, On the Attainment of Happiness, On Political Governance, The Philosophy of Plato, and Aphorisms of the Statesman, ibn 17 Wolfson, Philo, ch. 13. 18 For Muslim political philosophy in general, see Galston, “Realism”; idem, Politics. Marmura, “Philosopher.” Lambton, State. Leaman, “Ibn Bajja.” Pines, “Averroes.” Rosenthal, Islam. Walzer, “Aspects.” 19 Maimonides, Millot ha-Higayyon 14:7: p. 112 (Roth). — 59 —

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Bajja’s (Avempace’s) exceptional The Governance of the Solitary, Averroes’ Commentary on Plato’s Republic, and others.20 As has already been noted, Platonic political theology also suited the basic premise of Jewish political theology, which in turn enabled Jewish authors to make extensive use of these writings and interpret the Torah accordingly. The fact that the Muslim falasifa refrained from phrasing their Platonic political teachings in a concrete Muslim context and preferred a more general philosophical approach21 made it easier for Jewish authors to adapt their teachings to Jewish political theology. The first examples of a political discussion in medieval Jewish philosophy can be found in Sa’adia Gaon’s Book of Beliefs and Opinions (Emunot ve-De’ot) and Halevi’s Kuzari. Sa’adia based his discussion of the purpose of the commandments (ta’amei ha-mitzvot) in the third chapter of Beliefs on the assumption that divine law corresponds to the law of reason, which he phrased in a language very reminiscent of classical Stoic natural law.22 Sa’adia’s book ends with a detailed discussion of the thirteen “loves” the perfect individual must possess, with great emphasis on one’s need for a proper social and political framework in order to achieve the final end of human existence. It is no coincidence that the perfect individual is identified by Sa’adia as a king. In this, he presented, for the first time since Philo, the Platonic philosopher-king. Halevi’s Kuzari can be well described as a Platonic political dialogue, in which the Khazar king is portrayed as a righteous king, possessed of sound intentions and seeking right action. The work may be seen as part of the literary genre devoted to the education of rulers, a genre present in the Platonic political tradition and later developed in the Islamic and Christian political literature of the “mirror of princes” (speculum principum). The Kuzari represents one of the two alternatives presented by Plato for the generation and maintenance of the ideal state, namely, that the existing rulers would become philosophers through being well 20 See in general n. 18 above. For al-Farabi, see al-Farabi, Hathalot; idem, Aphorisms; idem, Perfect State; idem, Philosophy. Berman, “Maxim”; idem, “Desciple.” Galston, Politics. Kraemer, “Opinions.” Mahdi, “Al Farabi”; idem, Foundations. Strauss, “Quelques”; idem, “Farabi’s Plato”; idem, “How”; idem, Philosophy; Daiber, “Ruler.” For Averroes, see Averroes, Hazlahah; idem, Republic. Butterworth, Philosophy. Mahdi, “Remarques.” Pines, “Averroes.” For Ibn Bajja, see Ibn Baijja, Solitary. Hayoun,”Ibn Bajja.” Leaman, “Ibn Bajja.” Shiffman, “Ibn Bajja.” 21 Berman, “Disciple,” p.162. Kraemer, “Jihad.” Lambton, State, p. 317. Walzer, Greek, p. 246. 22 Sa’adia Gaon (Rosenblatt), Beliefs 3.1-3: 137-47. Altmann, “Sa’adia.” Fox, “Rational.” Melamed, “Natural Law.” — 60 —

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educated. The Khazar king went to the philosopher and then to religious sages in search of the right path, until he found the ideal teacher in the Jewish scholar. He approached each potential master not simply as a private individual seeking the way of truth, but as a ruler in search of the true path for his community. He was looking not for correct opinions proper for apolitical philosophers only, but for action-guiding opinions relevant to a leader. He rejected the words of the philosopher as irrelevant, because the philosopher, following ibn Bajja, argued for the withdrawal of the perfect man from human society, and rejected the Platonic connection between intellectual perfection and public commitment. The Jewish scholar was preferred in part because he laid more emphasis than the rest on right action. The Jewish scholar, who convinces the Khazar king of the truth and justice of Judaism and teaches him its practical beliefs and commandments, transforms him not only with respect to his own individual perfection but also with respect to his political capacities. Halevi’s pious ruler is portrayed as being superior to the Platonic philosopher-king in that his rule is not based on perfection of the human intellect alone, but also on revelation.23 As in other branches of medieval Jewish philosophy, in political philosophy as well, Maimonides constitutes the apex; he created the terms of reference for subsequent Jewish thinkers up to the early modern period. While there is already some treatment of political issues in the Jewish-Aristotelian tradition prior to Maimonides, most notably in the last chapter of Abraham ibn Daud’s Book of the Exalted Faith (Sefer haEmunah ha-Ramah),24 Maimonides, in the more philosophical sections of his halakhic writings, but mainly in the Guide of the Perplexed (Moreh Nevukim), brought Jewish political philosophizing to fruition. Maimonides’ point of departure is the Aristotelian assertion (in Nicomachean Ethics 1:7, not the Politics!) that the human being is a political animal (zoon politikon) by nature (Guide 2:40; 3:27). One can only survive and provide for one’s essential material needs in an organized social framework, where labor and products of labor are distributed according to the common good. One also can only fulfill emotional and spiritual needs and reach moral and intellectual perfection in the perfect 23 Motzkin, “Dialogue.” Melamed, Philosopher-King, pp. 24-26. 24 Ibn Daud, Emunah, pp. 98-101. — 61 —

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political order. This is so, first of all, since without fulfilling basic material needs, one would not be able to reach spiritual perfection, but also because the intellectual process itself is social in nature, and provides for Maimonides a Socratic-like spiritual cooperation among students and rabbis. Many animals exist in a social framework, but most of them could survive and fulfill the purpose of their creation, sheer survival, without social cooperation. Only for human beings is social cooperation indispensable, on account of their being the highest and therefore also the most complex organism in the hierarchy of all living things. One’s many essential needs, and the great differences among the individuals of the species, a negative aspect of human superiority, make organized social existence mandatory (Guide 1:72; 2:40). However, by insisting that many animals are also social creatures, Maimonides points out that human uniqueness is not in one’s political nature but rather in intellectual capacity.25 This emphasis on the political nature of humanity, however, contradicts the basic theological premise that Adam was brought into being in a divine, secluded condition in Eden. His original nature was essentially non-political. He fulfilled perfectly all his material and spiritual needs without effort, and consequently without the need for social cooperation. This description of the original state of humanity completely contradicts the premises of Greek political philosophy, which viewed politics as an essential means to elevate humanity from its primeval bestial state. Theology and philosophy are at odds. Theology views political life as an expression of humanity’s deterioration from its original perfect state. However, for Plato and Aristotle, political life is an expression 25 On Maimonides’ political philosophy in general, see Altmann, “Perfections”. Berman, Ibn Bajja; idem, “Maxim”; idem, “Disciple”; idem, “Fall”; idem, “Ideal State.” Blidstein, Ekronot. Davidson, “Maimonides.” Epstein, “Maimonides.” Frank, “End.” Galston, “Philosopher-King”; idem, “Purpose.” Goldman, “Political.” Maimonides, Epistles (Hartman). S. Harvey, “Sultan.” Z. Harvey, “Political Philosophy.” Kellner, “Politics.” Kraemer, “Opinions”; idem, “Namus”; idem, “Sciences”; idem,”Naturalism.” Kreisel “Practical”; idem, “Perfection”; idem, Political Thought; idem, “Maimonides.” Lerner, “Maimonides.” Macy, “Law.” Melamed, “Jeremiah”; idem, “Natural Law”; idem, “Maimonides”; idem, Philosopher-King, ch. 3; idem, “Accidents”; idem, Political. Pines “Sources”; idem, “Comparison”; idem, “Limitations.” Rosenthal, “Conception.” Rotter, “Islamic.” Schwarzschild, “Moral.” Strauss, “Qualques”; idem, Philosophy. Wolfson, “Classification.” On the debate concerning political versus solitary existence in Maimonides’ thought, see Blumberg, “Solitary.” Kreisel, “Perfection.” Lerner, “Solitary.” Melamed, “Maimonides”; idem, Political, ch.5. — 62 —

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of humanity’s elevation from the original bestial state. Such opposing views regarding the natural human condition necessarily created opposing views of the value of political life. Maimonides, and most subsequent Jewish thinkers, tried to solve this contradiction by viewing the political nature of humanity not as its original nature, but rather as an acquired nature, adapted as a result of the fall. After Adam was reduced into an almost bestial state (Guide 1:2), only proper political organization could provide for his essential needs and elevate him again toward intellectual perfection.26 Only Abravanel diverged from this compromise, and urged a theocratic-utopian quest for the prepolitical, paradisic condition of man.27 In order to create and maintain the proper political organization, law is needed, and authority to implement and enforce it. One of the unique features in Maimonides’ presentation of the Mosaic prophecy is Moses’ role as first lawgiver, who conveyed the revealed Torah to the people of Israel (Guide 2:39). The superiority of the Torah over any other (human) law is manifest both in its origin and its scope. Its divine origin entails that the Torah would always offer sound guidance for avoiding evil and doing good. Human law, however, is capable at best only of approximating it. Further, while the scope of divine law is all-inclusive and covers the material and spiritual aspects of human existence, human law has reference only to the (inferior) material sphere (Guide 2:40; 3:27-28). In his classification of the law, Maimonides followed the traditional twofold distinction between human and divine law. Although he was extremely critical of Saadia’s assertion that most of the commandments are rational, and insisted that social laws are essentially nomoi based upon “generally accepted opinions” (mefursamot), nevertheless, Maimonides came close to Sa’adia’s position. Although Sa’adia, Halevi, and Maimonides all adopted the distinction between divine and human law, their theory of the law hints at the idea of natural law. This is manifest in their assertion that humans have an instinctive comprehension that only by social cooperation and the rule of law can one survive and provide for material as well as spiritual needs. The idea of natural law, 26 Berman, “Fall.” 27 Baer, “Abravanel.” Netanyahu, Abravanel, 2 :3. Strauss, “Abravanel.” Urbach, “Abravanel.” Melamed, Political, ch.5. — 63 —

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however, would fully penetrate Jewish political philosophy only with Albo, in the fifteenth century.28 If the Torah is a revealed divine law, then the prophet, whether as lawgiver (Moses) or one who exhorts the people and their rulers to obey the law (all other prophets), becomes a political leader. The prophet is, first of all, a philosopher, who knows God’s attributes of action, the only divine attributes which are humanly knowable. Such knowledge of the attributes of action, which are the most remote from God’s unknowable essence, is not only a manifestation of human epistemological limitations but is also related to his political function. By divine grace which cares for the well-being of all created things, the philosopher-prophet is able to have knowledge of those attributes most relevant for the fulfillment of his political duties. He who has knowledge of the attributes of action must also practice what he has learned, by attempting to imitate God through leadership of human society. Thus the governance of the state becomes a microcosmic reflection of the way God rules the universe by loving-kindness, judgment, and righteousness (Guide 1:54; 3:53-54). When the whole cosmos is described in political terms as “the city of God” (civitas Dei), to borrow Augustine’s phrasing, then the earthly city should become its microscopic reflection (Guide 3:51). This is why the word “God” in Hebrew (Elohim) is presented by Maimonides as a paronymous term, which primarily refers to every kind of ruler, king, and judge, and secondarily denotes God (Guide 1:2). This is also why Maimonides, like Halevi before him, uses so many parables of kings in order to describe the relationship between humans and God (Kuzari 1:19-24; 109. Guide 1:46; 3:51, etc.).29 Thus Maimonides’ prophet, in contrast to the philosopher, must also have a well-developed imaginative capacity. This is necessary not only in order to be able to experience prophetic visions, but also to be 28 For Sa’adia’s theory of law, see above, n. 22. For Halevi’s, see Strauss, “Law of Reason.” For Albo, see Lerner, “Natural Law”; idem, “Politic.” Melamed, “Natural Law”; idem, “Classification” (see below, ch. 9); idem, Political, ch. 7. For the problem of natural law in Judaism in general, see Bleich,”Natural Law.” Husik, “Law of Nature.” Novak, “Natural Law.” There is considerable debate concerning Maimonides’ view about natural law; see Dienstag, “Natural Law.” Fox, “Natural Law.” Goodman, “Law.” Hayman, “Note.” Levine, “Reason.” Schwarzschild, “Noachites.” Melamed, “Natural Law”; idem, Political, ch. 5. 29 Berman, Ibn Bajja; idem, “Maxim,” idem, “Desciple”; idem, “Political Leadership.” Galston, “Philosopher-King.” Melamed, “Jeremiah,” idem, “Maimonides”; idem, Philosopher-King, ch. 3 ; idem, Political, ch. 6. Pines, “Limitations.” Strauss, “Qualque”; idem, Philosophy. — 64 —

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able to lead the masses, who are ruled by the imaginative soul. It is not incidental that imagination is the common denominator between the prophet and the king. With his developed rational and imaginative soul, the prophet combines the functions of the philosopher, who has a developed rational soul only, and the king, who has a developed imaginative soul only (Guide 2:37). Social existence, albeit limited, is a personal need of the philosopher himself. Without it he would not be able to fulfill his own material, emotional, and intellectual needs.30 It is mainly his educational mission, however, which obligates him to engage in politics. While the Aristotelian tradition emphasized the theoretical knowledge of God, the Platonic-Farabian and Jewish traditions emphasized practical imitation of divine attributes. Maimonides oscillates between the philosopher’s urge, as a private person, to isolate himself in his intellectual activities, and his duty, as a “public prophet,” to fulfill all his educational and political missions. Like (the Socratic) Jeremiah, with whom he so identifies, Maimonides struggles as a philosopher and communal leader between Ibn Bajja’s inclination toward the governance of the solitary, and the Platonic-Farabian—and very Jewish—emphasis on political involvement (Guide 3:51, 54). In the end, Maimonides opted for political involvement. While the Guide commences with the theoretical knowledge of God (1:1), it ends with, and is climaxed by, the practical imitatio Dei (3:54). Likewise, Maimonides’ Code starts with theoretical knowledge, in Hilkhot Yesodei ha-Torah, and ends with praxis, in Hilkhot Melakhim. Dialectically, precisely the one who has reached the state where he is able to exist in complete intellectual isolation is obligated to massively engage in political life. In Platonic terms, he who sees the light of the sun is required to return to the darkness of the cave. In Maimonidean terms, he who reaches the uppermost rungs of the ladder available to humanity is compelled to descend “with a view to governing and teaching the people of the land” (Guide 1:15). The Patriarchs who reached the highest possible degree of the knowledge of God were nevertheless engaged in material activities in order “to bring into being a religious community that would know and worship God” (Guide 3:51). Likewise, 30 Maimonides, Commentary on the Mishnah: Introduction to Sefer Zeraim (Rosner); Guide 3:51, 54 (Pines); Berman and Melamed papers listed above. Ravitzky, “Philosophy”; idem, “Role.” — 65 —

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Moses ascended Sinai only to descend “and communicate to the people what he had heard” (Guide 3:22).31 The person charged with the daily operation of the state in the Maimonidean system is the king. Although, like most other Jewish thinkers, Maimonides’ attitude toward monarchy was ambivalent, from the halakhic as well as the philosophical point of view, Maimonides did accept monarchy as the preferred regime. However, he severely limited its powers by the binding legal authority of the Torah, and the moral authority of the prophets.32 Maimonides’ messianic views are markedly naturalistic, political, and restorative. The perfect political community, established by Moses, and reaching its climax with the reign of Solomon, would be re-established with the coming of the king-messiah, son of David, who would again create a perfect, Platonic-like state in the land of Israel.33 Maimonides’ political philosophy, the issues it raised and the opinions he offered, became the point of departure for all subsequent Jewish thinkers. The debate about the political functions of the philosopherprophet became a bone of contention in future generations. Thinkers like Jacob Anatoli, Isaac Polkar, and Yohanan Alemanno continued the Platonic-Farabian-Maimonidean emphasis on the prophet’s political mission, while others, like Samuel ibn Tibbon, Moses Narboni, and Joseph ibn Shem Tov, insisted upon his intellectual isolation.34 While most Jewish thinkers, albeit hesitantly, accepted limited monarchy as the perfect regime, Abravanel stood in almost isolated opposition, insisting upon the inequities of monarchy and advocating a republican theocracy. Likewise in sharp contrast to the Maimonidean system, Abravanel also described humanity’s original state, and correspond-

31 For the political duties of the philosopher-prophet, see n. 29 above. For ibn Bajja’s influence upon Maimonides, see Berman, Ibn Bajja. For the parable of Jacob’s dream, see Klein-Braslavy, “Ladder.” Melamed, Philosopher-King, ch. 3. 32 For Maimonides’ attitude towards monarchy, see Blidstein, “Monarchic.” On the attitude toward monarchy in general, see Blidstein, Ekronot; Melamed, Philosopher-King, ch. 1; idem, Political, ch. 6. Polish, “Medieval”; idem, King; idem, “Rabbinic.” Rosenthal, “Aspects.” 33 Blidstein, Ekronot. Funkenstein, “Messianism.” Kraemer, “Messianic.” Ravitzky, “Utmost.” 34 For ibn Tibbon, see Ravitzky, “Role.” For Anatoli, see Melamed, “Anatoli”; idem, Philosopher-King, ch. 4. For Alemanno, see Melamed, “Development”; idem, “Florence”; idem, Philosopher-King, ch. 6. For Narboni, see Hayoun, “Narboni”; idem, “Ibn Bajja.” Rosenthal, “Narboni,” and see in general Melamed, Philosopher-King. For Gersonides and Crescas, see Kellner, “Politics.” Harvey, “Philosopher.” — 66 —

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ingly the messianic era, in starkly anti-political terms.35 From the second half of the twelfth century, the cultural centers of medieval Judaism gradually shifted from a Muslim to a Christian-Latin environment, especially in Christian Spain, Provence, and Italy. The great philosophical and theological works of the Muslim period were now translated into Hebrew, serving the needs of a new reading public which did not know Arabic. Jewish emigres from Muslim Spain, such as the Tibbonids and the Kimchis, brought with them to the new flourishing communities of southern Europe their expertise in Arabic and in Muslim philosophy and science. No less valuable, they also carried with them the manuscripts of the great works of Jewish and Muslim philosophers. A great translation enterprise arose which covered all areas of philosophy, including politics. To begin with, the great Jewish works, such as those of Sa’adia Gaon, Bahya ibn Pakuda, Halevi, and Maimonides were translated by Judah ibn Tibbon and his son Samuel. In the second stage, works written by Muslim philosophers, including their major political writings, were also translated. This was the first time texts of political philosophy had been translated into Hebrew. Whole sections of al-Farabi’s The Virtuous State were translated—twice—into Hebrew, paraphrased, and commented upon by Isaac ibn Latif and Shem Tov ibn Falaquera in the first half of the thirteenth century. Major parts of ibn Latif’s Gate of Heaven (Sha’ar ha-Shamayim) and Falaquera’s Book of Degrees (Sefer ha-Ma’alot) were translated, almost verbatim, from alFarabi’s major political work. Falaquera also included in his The Beginning of Wisdom (Reshit Hokhmah) long paraphrases of al-Farabi’s On the Attainment of Happiness and his Philosophy of Plato. Moses ibn Tibbon translated al-Farabi’s On Political Governance (Sefer ha-Hathalot). There is also an anonymous translation of al-Farabi’s Aphorisms of the Statesman. Moses Narboni commented upon the anonymous Hebrew translation of ibn Tufayl’s Hayy ibn Yaqzan and Ibn Bajja’s Governance of the Solitary. Averroes’ major political works, the Commentary on Plato’s Republic and the Middle Commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics, were translated in the early fourteenth century by Samuel ben Judah of Marseilles, while 35 Baer, “Abravanel.” Netanyahu, Abrahanel, 2·3-4. Smoler and Auerbach, “Abravanel.” Strauss, “Abravanel.” Urbach, “Abravanel.” Millen, “Abravanel.” Melamed, Political, ch. 8. Also Kimelman, “Abravanel.” I do not agree with this author’s conclusions, which attempt to blur the significant differences between Abravanel and most other medieval Jewish scholars concerning monarchy. — 67 —

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his Middle Commentary on the Rhetoric was translated, about the same time, by Tadros Todrosi. The translation of Averroes’ commentary on the Republic is of major importance, since the Arabic original is lost, and the Hebrew translation is all that is left of Averroes’ most important political writing. The Hebrew translation was recopied and paraphrased quite a few times in the late Middle Ages, and during the Renaissance it was translated twice into Latin and exerted great influence.36 This translation enterprise created a philosophic and scientific Hebrew terminology. It also created, for the first time, Hebrew terms of political philosophy. In their translations from the politico-philosophical writings of Maimonides and al-Farabi, Samuel ibn Tibbon and his son Moses created terms such as medini (“political”) to describe human political nature, kibbutz medini for “state,” and Hebrew terms for the various kinds of regimes, as transmitted from the Platonic original by al-Farabi, such as medinah mekubbetzet or kibbutzit, literally “an associated state,” or kibbutz ha-herut, literally “the association of the free,” both of which stand for democracy.37 A typical case is the history of the term nimus, which can stand for law in general, or human law in particular, depending on the context. This term was transferred to the Hebrew from the Arabic namus, which is a transliteration of the Greek nomos. Nimus now joined older Hebrew terms for law, such as torah, hok, and dat.38 Subsequent Jewish translators, such as Samuel ben Judah of Marseilles and Todros Todrosi, coined variants of these terms and others, and gradually created a full Hebrew dictionary of political philosophy.39 These translations, and the new Hebrew political terminology originated by them, created a framework in which Jewish thinkers in southern Europe from the thirteenth century on gradually developed 36 For ibn Latif, see Melamed, “Ibn Latif”; idem, Philosopher-King, ch. 4. For Ibn Falaquera, see Ma’alot, pp. 16-17, idem, Hokmah, pp. 70-71. Jospe, Torah 3.5; idem, “Rejecting.” Shiffman, “Ibn Bajja.” Melamed, ibid. For the Hebrew translation of al-Farabr’s Aphorisms of the Statesman, see the introduction of al-Farabi, Aphorisms. For Narboni and ibn Bajja, see Hayyun, “Narboni”; idem, “Ibn Bajja.” Rosenthal, “Narboni.” For Averroes, see Republic (Rosenthal); Averroes, Republic (Lerner), and Berman, “Greek”; idem, “Review.” For the manuscripts of the Hebrew translation, see Rosenthal’s ed., introduction; For the Latin translations, see n. 52 below. For the translation of the Nicomachean Ethics, see Berman, “Middle Commentary”; idem, “Translation.” For the Rhetoric, see Averroes, Halatzah. Lesley, “Rhetoric,” and see Chiesa, “Note.” 37 Melamed, “Democracy”; idem, Political, ch. 4, 3. 38 See n. 37 above and Kraemer, “Namus.” 39 See n. 37 above and Averroes, Republic (Rosenthal), pp. 306-332; Averroes, Republic (Lerner). 167- 170. — 68 —

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a body of Jewish political thought in Hebrew. Main examples of this enterprise in the general theologico-philosophical literature can be found in Falaquera’s Book of Degrees, Isaac Polkar’s Defense of the Law (Ezer ha-Dat), Joseph Albo’s Book of Roots, Abraham Shalom’s Abode of Peace (Sefer Neveh Shalom), Joseph ibn Shem Tov’s The Dignity of God (Kevod Elohim), and Yohanan Alemanno’s The Eternal (Hai ha-Olamim). In the literature of philosophical homilies, such political discussions can be found in Jacob Anatoli’s Goad of the Students (Malmad ha-Talmidim), Nissim of Gerona’s Twelve Sermons (Sheteim Asar Derashot), Shem Tov ben Joseph ibn Shem Tov’s Sermons on the Torah (Derashot al ha-Torah), and Isaac Arama’s The Binding of Isaac (Akedat Isaac).40 Philosophical commentaries on the Bible were an especially fertile ground for political discussion. The biblical text gave an abundance of opportunities to dwell on political issues. Major, but by no means isolated, examples are the story of Eden and the description of the development of humankind (Gen. 2-11), Jethro’s advice to Moses (Exod. 18, Deut. 1), and the laws of monarchy (Deut. 17 and 1 Sam. 8). Some of the commentators eagerly pursued this opportunity and did not hesitate to interpret the biblical text according to the most up-to-date philosophical currents and political developments. Typical examples can be found in the commentaries of Joseph ibn Kaspi, Immanuel of Rome, and primarily Isaac Abravanel, who enthusiastically carried forth this tendency, almost ad absurdum.41 All these scholars based their political thinking on texts carried over from the Muslim milieu, which were based on a Platonic world view, and adapted to religious language by Al-Farabi, Averroes, and Maimonides. They continued in this manner for centuries after the centers of Jewish scholarship had moved to the Christian-Latin milieu. Jewish scholars were quite knowledgeable about contemporary cultural trends in the Christian-Latin world. The emerging scholastic phi40 All these texts except Alemanno’s have been published already. For Falaquera’s political thought, see n. 36 above. For Polkar, see Melamed, Philosopher-King, ch. 7; Pines, “Polkar.” For Shalom, see Melamed, ibid., and Tirosh-Rothschild, “Shalom.” For Joseph ibn Shem Tov, see Gutwirth “Governador.” Melamed, ibid. 3.3. For Alemanno, see Melamed, “Development”; idem, “Florence”; idem, Philosopher-King, ch. 6. Rosenthal, “Alemanno.” For Anatoli, see Melamed, “Anatoli”; idem, Philosopher-King, ch. 4. For Nissim of Gerona, see Loberbaum, “Politics.” Harvey, “Liberal.” Ravitzky “Kings”; idem, Religion, ch. 2. For Arama, see Heller Wilensky, Arama. There is no research as yet on the sermons of Shem Tov ben Joseph ibn Shem Tov. 41 Segal, “Abravanel.” Smoler and Auerbach, “Abravanel.” Melamed, “Jeremiah”; idem, “Jethro”; idem, Philosopher-King, ch. 6. — 69 —

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losophy had a growing impact upon Jewish thought, at least from the late thirteenth century; not so, however, in the field of political philosophy. There were major developments in Christian political philosophy from the thirteenth century on, mainly as a result of the revolutionary impact of the translation of Aristotle’s Politics into Latin (c. 1260). These developments, however, barely touched Jewish political thought.42 Various influences of scholastic political thought can be detected in the writings of late medieval Jewish thinkers. Such influences should not be overlooked, although they are still largely uninvestigated. Albo, and others following him, insinuated into Jewish thought the scholastic classification of the law and the term “natural law” (lex natura, dat tivi’it). By this they revolutionized legal theory in medieval Jewish philosophy, which was until then based upon a dual classification of the law into divine and human43 Abravanel was somewhat acquainted with the writings of Aquinas and other scholastic writers. He did not hesitate to quote them directly in his biblical commentary, and sometimes even preferred their opinions over those of Jewish sages. His distinction between human government (hanhagah enoshit) and divine government (hanhagah elohit) seems to be influenced by the Christian distinction between temporal and spiritual authorities.44 There are a few translations into Hebrew of scholastic political texts, from Aquinas’ Summa and others. A notable example is Augidius Romanus’ influential De Regimine Principum, which was anonymously translated into Hebrew in the fifteenth century under the title Sefer Hanhagat ha-Melakhim. The very fact that the anonymous Jewish scholar made the effort to translate such a long text demonstrates a well-grounded interest in scholastic political philosophy (at least on his part). There is, however, in our present knowledge, no detectable influence of this translation upon Jewish political philosophy. The fact that only the original manuscript survived, and we do not know about any copies made in subsequent generations, only reinforces this conclusion.45 42 For scholastic influences upon Jewish philosophy, see Pines, “Scholasticism,” and the many papers by Sermoneta (See in the bibliography). For scholastic political philosophy, see Nederman and Forhan, Medieval. For the influence of the Politics on Christian political philosophy, see Dunabin, “Reception.” 43 See n. 28 above. 44 Netanyahu, Abravanel, 2.3. Melamed, “Jethro.” 45 Melamed, “Anonymous.” — 70 —

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The lack of reference to Aristotle’s Politics in late medieval Jewish political philosophy well illustrates this state of affairs. The influence of the Politics penetrated Christian thought exactly at the time when the transition of Jewish culture from a Muslim to a Christian-Latin cultural milieu was in process. It could have been expected that now, at least, Jewish scholars would also be touched by the powerful influence of the Politics. This, however, did not happen. Samuel ben Judah of Marseilles, and, following him, Joseph ibn Kaspi in the fourteenth century, despite their knowledge of contemporary cultural trends, still translated and summarized the Averroist versions of Plato’s Republic and Aristotle’s Ethics and, following their Muslim masters, still assumed that the text of the Politics was not yet available in the West.46 Meir Alguades of Castille in the early fifteenth century was the first Jewish scholar to inform us that he “saw” a copy of the Politics. He still refrained, however, from translating the text, since Moerbeke’s (literal) translation was quite incomprehensible to him, and he did not have a proper commentary on the text. There were already in existence quite a few Latin commentaries by Albertus Magnus, Aquinas, and others, but Alguades apparently did not have access to them. He thus continued in the traditional path by yet again translating the Ethics, this time from the Latin. From what Alguades informs us, however, it is clear that he had at least some knowledge of Aristotle’s political philosophy. He was definitely aware of the great influence the Politics exerted upon Christian political philosophy.47 No late medieval or Renaissance Jewish scholar ever made the attempt to translate the Politics or any of its many commentaries into Hebrew, and very few even used the text. When Albo in the fifteenth century and Simone Luzzatto, already in the seventeenth century, made use of the text, they mainly referred to Aristotle’s critique of the Platonic system in the second book of the Politics. They preferred Aristotle’s inductive and empirical approach over the deductive and idealistic approach of Plato’s Republic. Both scholars, however, still used the Politics more as a critique of the Platonic system than as an independent system of politics. Their terms of reference were still essentially Platonic.48 Even 46 Berman, “Translation.” Melamed, “Aristotle” (see below, ch. 3). 47 Berman, “Translation.” Melamed, “Aristotle.” 48 Melamed, “Aristotle.” — 71 —

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Abravanel, who purportedly made massive use of the third book of the Politics in his famous commentary on 1 Samuel 8, did not use the text directly at all. He was influenced by some scholastic commentators who interpreted the text in accordance with their own political leanings. Thus, Abravanel mistakenly attributed to Aristotle’s Politics a monarchic position which he himself opposed. Had he been better informed, he would have surely noticed that he himself, a professed “republican,” was not so far from Aristotle’s real position. Like most other Jewish scholars of the late Middle Ages, Abravanel knew the Aristotle of the Ethics and the Metaphysics well. His knowledge of the Politics, however, was still largely indirect and inaccurate, covered with a thick layer of scholastic misinterpretation. On the other hand, he was very familiar with Plato’s Republic in its Farabian and Averroist interpretations, and the Platonic political tradition strongly influenced various aspects of his political philosophy.49 So strong was the power of cultural traditions and theological constraints that Jewish political thought continued to be attached to the Republic and the Nicomachean Ethics for a few hundrep years after it had moved away from the sphere of the Muslim cultural milieu and into the orbit of Christian-Latin culture. Despite the enormous impact of the Politics upon late medieval Christian political philosophy, only faint echoes penetrated Jewish thought. It continued to be dependent upon the Platonic tradition up to the beginning of modern times. Al-Farabi and Averroes, not Aquinas, continued to dominate Jewish political thought. The full influence of scholastic thought upon Jewish political philosophy should still be investigated. However, even in this early stage of our knowledge, it can be assumed with a fairly high degree of certainty that it was quite marginal. This assessment becomes even stronger when we compare the marginal influence of scholastic political thought to the continuing influence of the Platonic-Muslim tradition, on the one hand, and the influence of scholastic philosophy upon other areas of Jewish philosophy, on the other. In this respect, we cannot accept the theory presented some years ago by Ralph Lerner and Muhsin Mahdi, who distinguished between two branches of medieval Jewish political philosophy, one which was 49 Baer, “Abravanel.” Strauss, “Abravanel.” Netanyahu, Abravanel, 2.3. Melamed, “Aristotle.” — 72 —

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influenced by the Platonic-Muslim tradition and another which was influenced by the Christian-Latin tradition.50 Our conclusion is that there was but one tradition, the Platonic-Muslim one. This tradition continued to dominate up to the beginning of modern times. The influence of Christian-Latin thought was quite marginal. This state of affairs continued into the Renaissance. Jewish scholars contributed their medieval heritage to the humanist milieu. The Platonic tradition reappeared now in Renaissance Italy, after the Greek text of the Republic was brought from Byzantium and translated into Latin in the early fifteenth century. After that the Republic exerted a strong influence upon Renaissance political philosophy, culminating with Ficino’s translation and commentary in the 1480’s.51 This situation created among Christian scholars an interest in the Hebrew translation of the Averroist paraphrase of the Republic. The text was retranslated— twice—into Latin by Jewish scholars for the consumption of a Christian audience. The first translation, in the mid-1480s, by Elijah del Medigo, was commissioned by Pico della Mirandola, while the second translation was made by Jacob Mantinus in the early sixteenth century, and was republished a few times during that century.52 Correspondingly, the Averroes’ commentary on the Republic continued to dominate Jewish political thought. Now, however, it was well coordinated with the new dominant trend in Christian political philosophy. Long sections of the Hebrew text, dealing with the virtues of the philosopher-king, were inserted, almost verbatim, by Yohanan Alemanno into his eclectic The Eternal.53 This influence is also evident in del Medigo’s rationalistic and anti-kabbalist treatise The Examination of the Law (Behinat ha-Dat),54 and in Abravanel’s later commentaries on the Bible, written in Italy in the last decade of the fifteenth century and at the beginning of the sixteenth century. Likewise, the Mantovan rabbi Judah Messer Leon inserted long paragraphs from Todrosi’s Hebrew translation of Averroes’ paraphrase on Aristotle’s Rhetoric, dealing with the subject matters of politics and the classification of regimes, into his Honeycomb’s Flow (Nofet 50 Lerner and Mahdi, Sourcebook, introduction. Melamed, “Aristotle.” 51 On the Platonic tradition, see Hankins, Plato. Brown, “Platonism.” On Renaissannce political thought in general see Skinner, “Political.” 52 Averroes, Parafrasi, introduction. Melamed, “Del Medigo.” 53 Rosenthal. “Alemanno.” Melamed, “Development”; idem, “Florence”; idem, Philosopher-King, ch. 6. 54 Melamed, “Del Medigo.” — 73 —

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Zufim), a rhetorical treatise which attempts to integrate the medieval rhetorical tradition with the Ciceronian trends of humanism.55 With the advent of the sixteenth century, influences of early modern political philosophy begin slowly to penetrate Jewish thought. The myth of the perfect Venetian constitution, which exerted enormous influence on early modern political philosophy, is manifest already in Isaac Abravanel’s commentary on Exodus 19, where he interprets the Mosaic constitution, created by Jethronian advice, as the archetype of the Venetian repubblica perfetta. This Venetian influence culminated with Luzzatto’s Discorso in the 1630’s.56 Even some influence of Machiavelli started to penetrate, albeit slowly and hesitantly. Machiavelli was a very difficult influence to absorb. His assumed secularity, and his sharp separation of politics from spiritual issues, which he insisted upon, made it extremely difficult for Jewish scholars to graft it on to their theological, still medievally anchored, foundations. Still, Abraham Portaleone, in the late sixteenth century, kept a copy of Machiavelli’s Art of War (Arte della Guerra) in his library. In the military discussion in his encyclopedic Shields of the Mighty (Shiltei ha-Gibborim), where the ancient Israelite army is described as a popular militia, clear Machiavellian influence can be detected.57 The Machiavellian influence is manifest in Luzzatto’s Discorso and Socrate, written in the mid-seventeenth century. Here the term ragione di stato (reason of state) appears for the first time in Jewish writing, and is employed in order to analyze biblical history and the Mosaic constitution. Answering anti-Jewish propaganda, and basing himself upon Tacitus’ History, which was very popular at the time, Luzzatto insists that Moses applied the principles of reason of state in the most perfect manner in order to solve political and military problems. If Tacitus, the wise politician, would not have been hindered by his own antisemitism, he would have understood Moses’ reasoning and admired his political acumen. Luzzatto here employs Tacitean political ideas in order to combat Tacitean anti-semitism. The whole tradition of the ragione di stato was heavy with Tacitean influence, which, like Machiavelli, was republican 55 Melamed, “Messer Leon.” 56 Melamed, “Venice”(see below ch. 8); idem, “Jethro”(see below ch. 6); “Travellers”(see below ch. 12). Netanyahu, Abravanel, 2.3. 57 For the treatment of the ancient Hebrew leaders by Machiavelli, see Melamed, “Machiavelli”; idem, Philosopher-King, ch. 8; also Robinzon, “Biblical.” See later also Miletto, “Portaleone.” — 74 —

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in essence, and approached politics from a secular and utilitarian angle. The Machiavellian and Tacitean influences forced Luzzatto to deal with biblical history in a purely political context, devoid of any religious overtones or moral considerations. This is well illustrated by the way he chillingly describes Absalom’s rebellion against his father, David, as a legitimate tactic in the struggle to acquire political power, where all means are justified by the successful outcome. Moreover, he also came close to the radical Machiavellian approach, which considered religion (merely) as a tool to serve temporal political ends. In this way Luzzatto explained to the gentile Taciteans the political raison d’etre of such mitzvot as the prohibition to eat pork, celebrating the Sabbath, and the sabbatical year. Along with his Machiavellianism and Taciteanism, Luzzatto was also heavily influenced by the myth of (the “perfect”) Venice, noted above, and by economic proto-capitalist, mercantile ideas, common in the political thought of his day. He also employed the most up-to-date scientific theories in physics, astronomy, and medicine in order to analyze political phenomena.58 Luzzatto was the most “modern” Jewish political thinker we have encountered thus far. Still, he can also be called the last of the medievals. For all the influence of contemporary political thought upon him and others, they all still worked within an essentially theological and medieval framework. No traditional Jew, however much influenced by contemporary intellectual trends, could ever have rejected the revealed nature of the Mosaic constitution. In this respect, prior to the onset of the Enlightenment, Jewish political philosophy, like Jewish philosophy at large, was still essentially medieval, and only flavored with Renaissance ideas, not revolutionized by them. It was Spinoza, following Luzzatto’s ambivalent beginnings, who, in his Theological-Political Treatise, took Jewish political philosophy out of the medieval framework. He no longer presented the Torah as the eternal divine law, encompassing both temporal and spiritual aspects of human life, but rather as a humanly established law, contingent in nature, and aiming at solving the temporal problems of a particular people, at a particular juncture of their development. Likewise, for Spinoza, Moses is described no longer as a divinely 58 Backi, “Dottrina.” Melamed, “Luzzatto”; idem, Philosopher-King. Ravid, Economics. Septimus, “Biblical.” Syros, “Luzzatto.” Veltri, “Luzzatto.” — 75 —

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motivated prophet-lawgiver, a theological analogue of the Platonic philosopher-king, but rather as a shrewd Machiavellian politician who consciously exploited the mob’s superstitions and their fear of God, in order to advance his own temporal political goals. By developing the myth of his divinely established mission and law, Moses secured the cooperation and obedience of the multitude in that difficult period in the formation of the nation. In this way, Spinoza completely secularized Jewish political philosophy; indeed, his Political Treatise has hardly any Jewish content at all.59 With Mendelssohn’s Jerusalem and Nachman Krochmal’s Guide of the Perplexed of the Time (Moreh Nevukei ha-Zeman), written in the nineteenth century, there would be new attempts to create again a synthesis of Jewish political theology with contemporary political philosophy. On the other hand, however, modern Zionist literature, following Spinoza’s lead, attempted to complete the process of “secularizing” Jewish political philosophy.60

59 Guttmann, “Mendelssohn.” Harvey, “Good and Evil”; idem, “Spinoza.” Lazaroff, “Concept.” McShea, Spinoza. Pines, “Spinoza.” Rava, “Spinoza.” Septimus, “Biblical.” Strauss, “How.” Wirzubski, “Spinoza.” Melamed, Philosopher-King, ch. 9. 60 For Mendelssohn’s political thought, see Altmann, “Quest.” Fox, “Law.” Guttmann, “Mendelssohn.” Lazaroff, “Concept.” Rottenstreich, “Mendelssohn.” For Krochmal, see Harris, Krochmal. On Zionism, see Avineri, Zionism. — 76 —

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Part II Studies: The Middle Ages

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Chapter three

Aristotle’s Politics in Medieval and Renaissance Jewish Political Thought

1. Between Plato and Aristotle Scholars agree that medieval Muslim thought was based on Plato’s Republic and his Laws and not on Aristotle’s Politics, even though it knew most of Aristotle’s extant writings and was immensely influenced by the Aristotelian tradition except for that work. Maybe it was pure chance— no manuscript had come into their hands, as Richard Walzer surmised, given that even thinkers in the late Hellenistic period opted for Plato’s Republic as a basic political textbook. The fact remains that no commentary on the Politics came down from Hellenistic times. Muslim thought followed the same trend inherited through late Hellenistic manuscripts, adapting them to its own philosophical and theological world view that sought to integrate the Platonic dialogues and his political writings, especially the two mentioned above, and to blur differences between them. Differently from neo-Platonic philosophers like Plotinus and Proclus, who thought the philosopher should withdraw from human society and enter a solitary divine life, and so preferred the Parmenides and the Theatetus, Muslim philosophy, save for the untypical ibn Bajja, stressed the social commitment of the philosopher and preferred the Republic and the Laws. Modified by neo-Platonism and the Nicomachean Ethics, these two Platonic dialogues formed the basis of Muslim political thought. Not incidentally, Erwin Rosenthal entitled the second section of his great work Political Thought in Medieval Islam “The Platonic Legacy.” Plato’s Republic was preferred to Aristotle’s Politics as it was more congruent with the theological and political outlook of Muslim philosophers in the Middle Ages. The Platonic principles and end of the state could easily be transposed into the theological conceptual world of the ideal imamate state, and the abilities and roles of Plato’s philosopher-king were largely compatible with those of the prophetic lawgiver of Islamic tradition. Thus no random availability of manuscripts made Plato politically preferable to Aristotle, although in most other spheres — 78 —

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the Aristotelian tradition prevailed.1 In his magnum opus on the political philosophy of Plato and Aristotle, Ernest Barker maintained that, unlike the Politics, Plato’s Republic completely disappeared from western thought for a thousand years.2 This is possibly true regarding Christian thought. In Muslim thought, however, the reverse is the case—the Politics has disappeared, as Moritz Steinschneider and Leo Strauss3 so unequivocally asserted. Shlomo Pines re-examined this accepted doctrine and brought new evidence found in Arabic texts that not only did Muslim philosophers like al-Farabi and Averroes knew of the existence of the Politics, but that from the tenth century onwards there is plausible evidence that it was used, at least in a mediating Hellenistic version. Pines further maintained that even this limited use significantly influenced al-Farabi’s Al-Madina al-Fadila (Virtuous State).4 Notwithstanding Pines’ findings, the accepted position that Muslim political thought in medieval times was in general based on Plato is still valid. Aristotelian political ideas infiltrated mainly through the Nicomachean Ethics, whose influence on Muslim thought was pervasive, although the Politics itself had hardly any influence at all, and certainly 1

Pines, “Averroes,” repr. in idem, Studies in the History of Jewish Philosophy: The Transmission of Texts and Ideas (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1977) [in Hebrew]; idem, “Translator’s Introduction” to Maimonides, Guide, cxxvi-cxxxi. Dorman, Marsilius, pp. 128-129. Strauss, Philosophy, 107-108; idem, “Abravanel.” Walzer, “Aspects”; idem, transmission. Al-Farabi, Perfect State (Walzer), pp. 430-431. Rosenthal, Islam. Lerner, “Natural Law.” Lerner and Mahdi, Sourcebook, Introduction. Mahdi, “Compendium”; idem, “Remarques”; idem, “Reflections. Berman, “Middle Commentary.” Macy, “Law.” Rotter, “Islamic.” Butterworth, “New Light”; idem, “Ethics”; idem, Philosophy. Crone, Medieval. On the general problems concerning the evolution of medieval Jewish political philosophy, see Melamed, Philosopher-King; idem. “Medieval”; idem, “Re-Considered”; idem, “State.” For an up-to-date-comprehensive bibliography on these issues see Syros, “Political.” 2 Barker, Greek, p. 445. Melamed, Philosopher-King, ch. 1, n. 3. 3 Strauss, Philosophy, p. 197. Encyclopaedia Judaica, vol. 15, 1322. 4 In his above mentioned papers, Pines makes the accepted assumption that the Politics was unknown in the Muslim world. Later on he re-examined this premise. See Pines, “Aristotle.” This view was rejected by Brague, “Note.” For new evidence on the reception of Aristotle’s political thought in the medieval political thought see recently in Syros, ed., Aristotle. Cf. also Galston, “Realism.” Pines points out that Islamic political philosophy is generally perceived to prefer the Platonic to the Aristotelian model. Galston assumes that ibn Sina’s use of the Aristotelian phrase “man is political by nature” is based on the text of the Politics. She overlooks the most possible explanation, namely that the source is the Ethics, ibid., 574, see also n. 13 below. See also TiroshRothschild, “Shalom,” p. 440. Kraemer, “Sciences,” pp. 24 -25. Leaman, “Averroes.” For additional bibliography consult Syros, “Political Treatises.” See also n. 12 and 14 below. In this context it should be noted that Platonic political theory was indeed better suited to Islamic and Jewish philosophy than was Aristotle’s: hence the preference. But though Platonic theory of the soul was also more compatible than Aristotle’s, medieval Muslim thinkers preferred the latter. — 79 —

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no direct influence. As Lawrence Berman noted, the Ethics had a distinguished career in medieval Muslim thought, while the Politics was marginal at best. Against this background, the present paper examines the influence of the Politics on Jewish thought in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. Operating within the orbit of Muslim political thought at least until the beginning of the thirteenth century, Jewish philosophy barely knew the Politics. The first direct quotation from it occurs in Joseph Albo’s Book of Roots (Sefer ha-Ikkarim) in the fifteenth century, apparently under the influence of Latin Christian culture. Jewish thought too had found the Republic’s worldview more compatible. Without much difficulty, the philosopher-king à la Plato could be superimposed on the prophetic lawmaker of Jewish tradition and Plato’s monarchic theory was more congruent with accepted halakhic perceptions. While medieval Christian philosophy, following Augustine’s Civitas Dei, did not even entertain the possibility of an ideal community in the here and now, both Muslim and Jewish thought conceived of a civitas temporalis that could and should constitute such a community. Thus, the Republic suited them far better as a fundamental political treatise, while political writers in Christian Europe adopted the Politics following its translation into Latin by William of Moerbeke in the thirteenth century.5 Plato’s notion of the ideal state was directly linked to his philosophy, whereas Aristotle, in the Politics at least, writes from the perspective of a political scientist rather than a philosopher and posits a disconnect between the discussion of issues relating to the sphere of politics per se and the metaphysical significance of human existence. The Republic, then, was more in keeping with the Islamic and Jewish world views of reality as a single whole, all of whose components were governed by a revealed law. By contrast, the Politics better suited the medieval Christian distinction between spiritual and temporal. Some possibly Aristotelian political concepts penetrated Jewish thought, particularly since Maimonides and due to Muslim influence, notably through al-Farabi and Averroes. In addition to the crucial influences of the Ethics, variously translated and interpreted,6 Aristo5 6

Walzer, “Aspects,” pp. 244-245. Polish, “Medieval.” See Berman’s studies on this topic: Averroes, Ethics (Berman); idem, “Greek”; idem, “Middle Commentary”; idem, “Ethical Views”; idem, “Translation.” — 80 —

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telian political ideas came in as well through Rhetoric and the pseudoAristotelian Economics, whose subject matter is similar to that of the Politics, dealing extensively as they do with political themes. Averroes’ commentary on the Rhetoric in The Book of Rhetoric (Sefer ha-Halatzah), was translated into Hebrew in the fourteenth century by the Spanish Jew Todros Todrosi. There are also Hebrew paraphrases of the Economics (Sefer Hanhagat ha-Bayyit). These works came into Medieval Jewish thought, however, through translations that were intended as commentaries that put the texts through a process one might call “Platonizing.” Averroes’ Middle Commentary on The Rhetoric, translated by Todros Todrosi, for instance, substitutes the regime theory in the Politics that appears in the Rhetoric too, for a thoroughly Platonic theory from Book 7 of the Republic that is fundamentally different from the Aristotelian view.7 Thus any influence of the Politics on Jewish political thought before the fifteenth century would have been but a weak echo of its Aristotelian source. A cursory examination of Maimonides’ Guide of the Perplexed suffices to illustrate: Guide 2:40 opens with the familiar (Pines’ translation), “It has been explained with utmost clarity that man is political by nature” (ha-adam medini ba-teva, in Samuel ibn Tibbon’s translation) (also 3:27). The so-called educated person, not only the scholar, would instinctively identify this with the zoon politicon in the Politics 1:2. While Maimonides could indeed be assumed to be looking at that work, The Nicomachean Ethics, 1:7, contains a parallel expression: “For man is a political animal.” Maimonides was thoroughly familiar with the Arabic paraphrase of The Nicomachean Ethics and quoted it extensively.8 Moreover, in his al Ma7 Averroes, Halatzah (Rhetoric). On the Muslim background of this translation see Butterworth, “Rhetoric.” On medieval Hebrew rhetoric in general see Lesley, “Rhetoric.” Melamed, “Messer Leon”; idem, “Persuasive.” Rothschild, “Rhetorique.” On the influence of the Economics see Encyclopaedia Judaica 5, 1322 and n. 30 and 32 below. On the way Averroes transmitted Aristotle’s theory of government through a Platonic prism, see in Todrosi’s Hebrew translation, 31, 53ff. Compare with the Aristotelian original, Rhetoric, 1: 8, 1336a; Politics, 3:3, 25. On this See Butterworth, “Platonization.” Also Melamed, “Democracy,” and see n. 8 and 30 below. 8 Pines, Maimonides, Guide, Translator’s Introduction, p. 108; Berman, “Middle Commentary.” Cf. also Aristotle’s Historia Animalium, 488a: “Furthermore, the following differences are manifest in their modes of living and in their actions. Some are gregarious, some are solitary, whether they be furnished with feet or wings or be fitted for a life in the water; and some partake of both characters, the solitary and the gregarious. […] Man, by the way, presents a mixture of the two characters, the gregarious and the solitary.” The Works of Aristotle, vol. 4: Historia Animalium, trans. by D’Arcy W. Thompson (Oxford, 1962). In the Politics and the Ethics Aristotle’s position is unequivocal, but in Historia Animalium much less so regarding man’s social nature vis-à-vis that — 81 —

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dina al-Fadila, ch. 15, al-Farabi explicates this idea in a similar context in which it appears later in Maimonides, though not in the Guide 2:40 but rather in 1:46 and 72 and in the introduction to The Commentary on the Mishnah, where, inter alia, he deals with the need for people to cooperate to satisfy their diverse needs. Pines maintained that parts of The Perfect State clearly show the influence of the Politics, most probably via some summary. The influence of The Perfect State on Maimonides,9 who often quotes from it, is well known. Thus he reached the Aristotelian idea by studying the Arabic paraphrase of The Nicomachean Ethics, and perhaps The Perfect State as well, which may have been influenced by a synopsis of the Politics. Maimonides certainly did not come to it by reading the original work, nor does he hint at its existence, while he was thoroughly familiar with many other works of the Aristotelian corpus, quoting them both directly and indirectly.10 Nor do any medieval commentators on the Guide 2:40, and one may assume they would have done so if they themselves had known the text. Shem Tov ibn Falaquera, for example, knew of the Politics, as will become clear, but he did not relate to or quote from the text itself in his commentary on the Guide 2:40, but rather from the Nicomachean Ethics.11 In the last chapter of his Treatise on Logic (Millot ha-Higayyon) that deals with practical wisdom, Maimonides writes: “In all these matters [= political government] many books have appeared in the Arabic tongue, and perhaps even more [such books] have not appeared.”12 Maimonides was thus conscious of the fact that from among Greek political writings, many were translated into Arabic, especially Plato, but many more were not translated yet, among them the Politics. Many medieval Jewish writers, following Maimonides, used the Aristotelian phrase that man is by nature a political animal: Samuel ibn Tibbon, Shem Tov ibn Falaquera, Jacob Anatoli, Shlomo ben Aderet, of the other animals. While medieval Jewish scholars knew this Aristotelian source as well (Sefer Ba’alei ha-Hayyim), most accepted the unequivocal versions of the first two works. See n. 3 above. 9 Pines, “Politics,” pp. 156-57. Al-Farabi, Perfect State, p. 429. On its influence on Maimonides see Berman, “Disciple.” 10 Pines, Maimonides, Guide, Translator’s Introduction, pp. 106-109. On Maimonides’ ideas on the sociability of humans see Melamed, “Maimonides.” 11 Ibn Falaquera, Moreh 2:40, p. 289. 12 Maimonides, Logic 14: 7, p. 112. For analysis see Berman, “A Re-examination.” Kraemer, “Sciences,” p. 95. Kraemer assumes (p. 100), with no proof, that these works included not only Plato’s Republic and Laws but also versions of the Politics. See n. 14 below. — 82 —

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Nissim of Marseilles, Isaac Albalag, Isaac Polkar, Joseph Albo, Shem Tov ibn Shem Tov, Abraham Shalom, Isaac Arama, and Yohanan Alemanno, though none of them ever attributed it directly to Aristotle and certainly not to the Politics. These philosophers either made a general, unattributed statement, like Anatoli, who said, “It is generally known that man’s nature is not to be solitary (mitboded) but is political by nature (medini ba-teva)” (likewise in Samuel ibn Tibbon, ibn Falaquera, ben Aderet, Nissim of Marseilles, Polkar, Shalom and Alemanno). Or the saying may be properly attributed to the wise in general, since this was the common opinion in medieval thought, in Judaism as in Christianity and Islam. Albalag attributed it to “sages of learning” (hakmei ha-mehkar), Albo simply to “sages,” and Shem Tov ibn Shem Tov to “political wisdom” (hokmah medinit). These examples demonstrate, then, that their direct textual reference was the Guide 2:40, which itself was not based on the Politics. The phrase is also included in the Hebrew translation of Averroes’ commentary on Plato’s Republic. Averroes would obviously have taken it from the Arabic paraphrase of the Ethics and grafted it onto a typical Platonic dialogue on the development of human society.13 Hence an automatic reference to the Politics is misleading. The fact that a scholar uses this phrase does not in itself prove he knew the Politics and certainly not that he knew it first hand. In this respect medieval scholars were more precise than some modern ones, who rather carelessly make direct attributions to that work.14 13 On use of the Aristotelian phrase by Anatoli, Polkar and Albo, see Melamed, “Anatoli,” and n. 12, with the references. On Samuel ibn Tibbon see his Pirush, pp. 62-63: “They say: Man is political by nature (medini be-tiv’o), which means that he needs to live in a state or where he can associate with others of his own kind in a state; He should not stay alone in deserts or wherever he happens to be.” On ibn Falaquera, see Jospe, Torah, p. 418. Shlomo ben Aderet, Responsa, p. 200. Ben Moshe, Ma’ase, p. 63. Isaac Albalag, Tikkun, p. 1. Shem Tov ibn Shem Tov, Derashot, in two Torah portions, twice generally in a wedding sermon, Bereshit (Genesis): “Man is political by nature,” and again in Jethro: “Political philosophy has already explained that man is a political animal.” Here Shem Tov bases himself directly on Maimonides (Guide 2:40). He does occasionally quote from the Ethics (for instance in the sermon on the portion of Noah) but never the Politics. Cf. e.g. Abraham Shalom, Neve, p. 108. On Alemanno, see n. 88 below. On Arama, see next note. On Averroes’ remark in his commentary on Plato’s Republic, see Rosenthal’s edition, p. 22. On ibn Sina, see n. 5 above. 14 E. g. Wolfson, “Classification,” p. 141: “The political thought of Maimonides is a paraphrase of Aristotle’s general ideas in the Politics […] Maimonides only hints vaguely at Aristotle’s descriptions and evaluations of various forms of government.” See also Heller-Wilensky, Arama, p. 185. The author correctly states: “Arama [understood] the vital need for laws and courts in the welfare of human society, citing Aristotle as formulated by Maimonides, to the effect that man is a political animal who requires social life.” In n. 7, however, she refers the reader to the Politics 1:2, and not to the completely parallel saying in the Nicomachean Ethics, though emphasizing Arama’s — 83 —

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2. From the Islamic to the Christian-Latin World Jewish thinkers of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries were aware of the existence of the Politics, but had no direct access to it, nor did they make direct use of it. References to it appear in the great translation project that rendered Arabic philosophic and scientific works into Hebrew. Al-Farabi and Averroes mentioned it, and so too did the Jewish thinkers and translators of the period, whether in translating from the Arabic or in introductions and conclusions of their own. The first example is in ibn Falaquera’s The Beginning of Wisdom (Reshit Hokmah), based on al-Farabi’s Classification of the Sciences. On the subject-matter of practical science Falaquera says: And because the end of human leadership (hanhagah enoshit), either perfect or imperfect, is [human] association (meshutafot), and association will either be according to the association of the household (= kibbutz habayyit, economics) or the political association (= kibbutz medini, politics). Thus the practical wisdoms (ha-hokmot ha-ma’asiyyot) are three: The first part deals with [ethical] perfection. It will instruct man how to conduct his actions and virtues so that his earlier and later life will be successful, as noted in Aristotle’s Ethics (Sefer Aristo ba-Middot). The second [part] of perfection will inform man how to conduct his household (hanhagato le-beito, extensive use of the Ethics and its influence on him (ibid. pp. 9, 38, 184). Kapach by contrast is more careful in his Hebrew edition of the Guide, referring readers to Ethics and Politics together. See Maimonides, Guide, translated by Y. Kapach (Jerusalem, 1972), p. 254, n. 2. In 3:27, however, he refers the reader only to Ethics (ibid. p. 337, n. 10). The same happens concerning the subdivisions of political philosophy in Maimonides’ Logic (Millot ha-Higayyion). Wolfson, ibid. 177, assumed that the classification of political frameworks in this chapter is based on the Politics. Kraemer repeated such statements even more cautiously. In his opinion it is clear that al-Fārābī was Maimonides’ direct source, although the Politics may have been the primary source (Kraemer, “Sciences” p. 25). However he relates the possible Aristotelian source to a different passage from the Politics than Wolfson did. See also n. 12 above. In an earlier study, Kraemer, “Namus”, p. 189, n. 16, he correctly noted that “Although “Man is naturally a political animal” comes from Aristotle, Maimonides’ account of the development of human society seems to be more influenced by Plato.” Not “seems” but “is.” Cf. also Harvey, “Political Philosophy,” p. 198. Nor is the Politics mentioned in any of the lists of books in the libraries of educated Jews of the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. See, for instance, Bonfil, “List,” esp. n. 3-5, with additional bibliography. This was predictable, since neither the text nor its commentaries were ever translated into Hebrew. — 84 —

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economics), which is his association with his wife, his children and servants. […] the third [part] of perfection will discuss the types of government (hanhagot) and leaderships (rishonot) and good and evil political associations, all of which is noted by Plato and Aristotle in their book[s] on politics (sefer Aplaton ve-Aristo bahanhagah).15 Ibn Falaquera’s text constitutes in fact a Hebrew paraphrase of alFarabi. Practical wisdom is divided into the classic Aristotelian three parts: ethics, economics and politics. The basic work on the first, according to ibn Falaquera, is the Nicomachean Ethics. On politics the reference is to the political works of Plato and Aristotle. Clearly, the Sefer Aristo ba-Hanhagah refers to the Politics. The Ethics is specifically called Sefer Aristo ba-Middot. Ibn Falaquera knew the Ethics well and often relied on it.16 He also knew Plato’s Republic from al-Farabi’s The Philosophy of Plato and Aristotle, which he translated and included in The Beginning of Wisdom. Ibn Falaquera’s characteristically Platonic discussion of political themes contains versions of al-Farabi’s account of the virtues and qualifications of the philosopher-king and attributes them to their primary source, “Plato in his book on governance” (Aplaton be-hanhagah).17 By contrast there is no evidence that he relied directly or indirectly on the Politics, apart from what he translated from al-Farabi relating to the theory of human association in Aristotle’s introduction. In ibn Falaquera’s translation of al-Farabi’s Philosophy of Aristotle, the Politics is not even mentioned. Nor is it mentioned in al-Farabi’s original Arabic text.18 The next two examples in which the Politics is mentioned in Jewish literature of this period come from the early-fourteenth-century translations by Samuel ben Judah of Marseille of Averroes’ commentary on Plato’s Republic, and his middle commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics. Neither of these books has survived except in these Hebrew translations, 15 Ibn Falaquera, Hokmah p. 58; Al-Fārābī’s source – see Lerner and Mahdi, Sourcebook, pp. 25-26. Cf. also Pines, “Politics,” p. 150, n. 3a. Also in ibn Sina’s classification of the sciences, where the political context is attributed to Plato’s discussion of kingship and to Aristotle’s chapter on governments. See Butterworth, Philosophy, p. 92, n. 4. Lerner and Mahdi, Sourcebook, p. 97, n. 2. 16 See e.g. ibn Falaquera, Hokmah, pp. 10-20, and Jospe, Torah, pp. 417-457. 17 Ibn Falaquera, Hokmah, pp. 56-59; 70-77. The quotation on p. 71. See the source in al-Farabi, Philosophy, pp. 45-65, with extended discussion in Melamed, Philosopher-King, ch. 5. 18 Ibn Falaquera, Hokmah, pp. 78-92, source in al-Farabi, Philosophy, pp.130-171. — 85 —

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which are consequently of great importance, and are generally bound together in a single manuscript.19 In each of these commentaries Averroes relates to the Politics and Samuel ben Judah translates accordingly, alluding to it again in his epilogue to the translation of the commentary on the Ethics. It is typical and quite telling that the few references to the Politics appear in a translation of a commentary on Plato’s Republic. In the introductory pages to the Hebrew translation of Averroes’ commentary, Samuel ben Judah translates: The first part of this art [of politics] is contained in Aristotle’s book known as the Nicomachean [Ethics], and the second part his book on governance (sifro ha-yaduah ba-hanhagah), and in Plato’s book [= the Republic] also which we intend to comment. For Aristotle’s book on governance (Sefer Aristo be-Hanhagah) has not yet come into our hands.20 Following accepted convention, Averroes looks upon the Ethics as “the first part of this endeavor,” i.e. the foundation of practical wisdom, and the Politics the second tier, above the foundation. Indeed, he maintains that the Ethics and the Politics should have been expounded together since they complement one another. Since, however, he does not have the latter, he must use the Platonic substitute. He himself sees no contradiction between Plato and Aristotle: as he sees the Ethics and the Politics as complementary, so he assumes a possibly complementary relationship between the Ethics and the Republic in particular, and between Plato and Aristotle in general. As Rosenthal noted, Averroes studied Plato as a commentator on Aristotle, combining Platonic and Aristotelian ideas.21 A more detailed explanation occurs in Samuel ben Judah’s translation of the Middle commentary of the Nicomachean Ethics:

19 Averroes, Republic (Rosenthal), Introduction; idem, Republic (Lerner), Introduction. Berman, “Greek.” 20 Averroes, Republic (Rosenthal), p. 22. Rosenthal, Islam, pp. 187, 189; Pines, “Averroes,” p. 84. Jacob Mantinus translated this passage into Latin; see Aristotelis Opera cum Averrois commentariis (Venice, 1562-1576—repr. Frankfurt am Main: Minerva, 1962), vol. 3, p. 336. 21 Rosenthal, Islam, pp. 6-7, 48, 89. Butterworth, “New Light,” p. 118; idem, Philosophy, pp. 6-7, 48, 89. — 86 —

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And here ends the commentary on the part of this wisdom, which is to political wisdom as the knowledge of health and illness is to the craft of medicine. The purpose is to establish this wisdom even as knowledge of health and removal of illness has established medicine. His [= Aristotle’s] book of governance (sefer ha-hanhagah) has not yet reached us in this island [= the Iberian Peninsula]. Also from this book [Ethics] we had only the first four treatises, until our colleague and counselor Abu Omri ben Martik brought it to us, may God grant him the greatest compensation for his help to us. […] And we will be even more grateful if one of the brothers will bring over the book [= Politics] which contains the perfect wisdom, God willing. You can see from the words of Abunaser [al-Farabi’s] that this book is to be found in that land [= the Muslim east]. And if it is not understood, may God grant us length of days to study that work to the utmost of our ability. For from the scholar here one sees that while the Platonic [book of] governance (hanhagah aplatonit) investigated two types of people, the warriors and the sages […] this is what Aristotle meant regarding the incompleteness of Plato’s books. And how could Abu Baker ben Al Saiag (ibn Bajja) say that the discussion of the perfect association (ha- kibbutz ha-meuleh) is already completed in Plato’s book, and whether what is there discussed is what is permissible or ignorant or evil, it still lacks the purity of wisdom.22 By comparing medical to political wisdom, the Ethics is conventionally presented as the theoretical foundation of the Politics. Once again Averroes mentions that al-Farabi reported that the latter existed in the east, as noted in ibn Falaquera’s translation, but was not yet to be found 22 Averroes, Middle Commentary of the Nicomachean Ethics, translated by Samuel ben Judah of Marseille. Mss. Firenze-Laurenziana Plut. 88.25/1. no. 17582 in the microfilm section of the Jewish National and University Library in Jerusalem. fol. 99. Excerpt from Mantinus’ Latin translation ibid, p. 220. See also Rosenthal, Islam, pp. 175, 187. Pines, Maimonides, Guide, Translator’s Introduction, p. 106; idem, “Politics” p. 150. Berman, “Translation,” p. 106, n. 4. Also Butterworth, Philosophy, pp. 5-7. — 87 —

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in the Islamic west. Nor was the complete Ethics available in the West, Averroes maintains, until Abu Amari ibn Martik brought it, hoping that this same source may bring a copy of the Politics, which he considers the ultimate work on political philosophy—“In it is the purity of wisdom”—while Plato’s Republic is seen as inferior to it—“It does not have the purity of those words.” Aristotle is presented as one who provided in the Politics what Plato’s Republic lacked. We can assume that Averroes had some information concerning Aristotle’s trenchant criticism of Plato’s Republic in the second book of the Politics. He challenges ibn Bajja’s extreme Platonic position. As Maimonides in his letter to Samuel ibn Tibbon expressed that he saw Aristotle as completing Plato, Averroes makes a similar claim with regard to the realm of political thought. After faithfully translating these remarks of Averroes into Hebrew, Samuel ben Judah begins his epilogue thus: The commentary of ibn Rushd on the Ethics of Aristotle called in Greek Nicomachean is finished. It is the first part of the two parts of political science (ha-hokmah hamedinit) and it is called the theoretical part. […] The second part is contained in the book which is known as the Politics by the philosopher (sefer ha-hanhagah la-filosof), but that book did not fall into the hands of the philosopher ibn Rushd. He has already apologized for not commenting on it. Instead he explained the demonstrable statements of that second part, which he found in the Republic of Plato (sefer hanhagat ha-medinah le-aplaton). For this reason, I, the translator, have continued to the first part, even though one author did not compose them, since they are parts of one science and one commentator has explained them. I […] translated this book, which is the first part of this science – that is, political science […] 23 Here too the commentary on the Republic is offered as a substitute for the lost Politics, explaining the unusual step of binding the two translations from works by different authors together. 23 Berman published the entire epilogue in “Greek,” p. 303. — 88 —

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The two translations were extensively copied at the end of the fourteenth century and particularly in the beginning of the fifteenth.24 Through these works knowledge that the Politics existed came to the attention of Jewish scholars at the end of the Middle Ages and in the early Renaissance. Joseph ibn Caspi, for instance, collated commentaries from Averroes on the Republic, and especially the Ethics, ten years after Samuel ben Yehuda concluded his essay. His Terumat Kesef (1331) concluded with a translation from Averroes’ epilogue: And here ends this discussion of the part of this wisdom, which is to political wisdom as the knowledge of health and illness is to the craft of medicine. Aristotle’s purpose here is to establish this wisdom even as knowledge of health and removal of illness has established medicine. This is his book on governance (sefer ha-hanhagah shelo) which did not reach us yet.25 Jewish scholars operated within the ambit of Muslim culture and knew only from Muslim commentators that the Politics existed. They knew virtually nothing of its contents, and certainly had no direct knowledge, so that it could not have influenced their political thought. The Politics was first translated into Latin from the original Greek by William of Moerbeke in the 1260s, and henceforth had a revolutionary impact on Christian political thought from Thomas Aquinas on. Following Walter Ullmann’s A History of Political Thought in the Middle Ages, many scholars assume that the recovery of the Politics in the thirteenth century was the watershed between the Middle Ages and the modern period.26 The Politics entered the Christian-Latin world in the midst of the transition of Jewish culture from the Muslim to Christian-Latin sphere. In some areas Scholasticism had an ever-increasing influence 24 Averroes, Republic (Rosenthal), and Lerner’s edition, the introductions. 25 See Joseph ibn Caspi, Terumat Kessef, Mss. Vatican EBR. 296/1 no. 351 in the microfilm library of the National Library in Jerusalem. fol. 79. Berman, “Middle Commentary,” pp. 197-198; Averroes, Ethics (Berman), pp. 13, 19. Silver, Controversy, p. 100, maintains that Judah Alharizi translated Arabic paraphrases of Ethics and Politics. However, he provides no references, and I know of no other source for this information. 26 Ullmann, History, ch. 6; Dunbabin, “Reception.” For a cautious critique of the assumption of the authority of the Politics, see Nederman, “Aristotle.” Still, Nederman does not dispute the influence of Aristotle’s political theory. — 89 —

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on Jewish thought, beginning from the thirteenth century. 27 Then and only then could any influence from the Politics, in Scholastic garb, influence Jewish thought. How did this come about, if at all? Samuel ben Judah of Marseille and Joseph ibn Caspi, who were active in Provence in the first third of the fourteenth century, were well aware of the new trends in the LatinChristian cultural world. Following Averroes, however, they assumed almost automatically that the Politics was still unavailable in the West, although nearly 150 years had elapsed since Averroes, and although they themselves were now operating in the Latin-Christian cultural milieu. In the epilogue to his translation of Averroes’ commentary on the Republic, Samuel ben Judah wrote of contacts with Christian scholars: “It was my task to perfect the translation of this wisdom with Christian scholars.” He knew too that they had excellent texts of the Ethics and commentaries on it: “In their hands are some writings of the Philosopher, and their commentaries on Abunaser al-Farabi.”28 Thus ben Judah could also have known that for more than 50 years already these scholars had a translation of the Politics, to which Albertus Magnus and Thomas Aquinas had since written commentaries.29 And still Jewish scholars were totally unaware of all this? Typically, Todros Todrosi, a fourteenth-century Spanish Jew who translated Averroes’ Middle Commentary on Aristotle’s Rhetoric, adopted Averroes’ “Platonized” version, e.g. in the discussion of the theory of government. The translator refers the reader, following Aristotle’s original and Averroes’ commentary, to other works of Aristotle such as the Topics and the Poetics. In contrast, there is no reference to the Politics, although Aristotle himself referred the Greek reader to it. Averroes ignored this completely and so did the Hebrew translator.30 Likewise, in a commentary on Judah Halevi’s Kuzari, composed in Provence in the late fourteenth- early fifteenth century, when relating to the term ” rational laws” (nimmusim sikli’im), the author, Shlomo ben Yehudah of Lunel, twice identifies the two basic textbooks of political philosophy: 27

Pines, “Scholasticism,” and see Sermoneta’s various papers on this influence, the bibliography, and n.. 101 below. 28 Averores, Republic (Rosenthal), pp. 106-107. 29 Dundabin, “Reception.” 30 On the Platonization of the text, see n. 8 above. On the Topics and the Poetics, see Averroes, Halatzah, pp. 163, 174, 184, 200, 230. Aristotle refers to the Politics in the original text. See Rhetoric, 1: 8, 1366a. — 90 —

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Aristotle’s Ethics (hibbur midot le-aristo) and Plato’s Republic (hanhagat ha-medinah le-aplaton).31 The Politics is not even mentioned. Only in the early fifteenth century, some 150 years after the recovery of the Politics in Christian Europe, do we find the first known reference to it—the result of that same revolution—in Hebrew literature. Characteristically, it relates to a translation of the Ethics that expresses awareness that the Politics exists, but no knowledge as yet of its contents. Jewish authors within the Latin-Christian cultural world, in some inertia of tradition, continue translating the Ethics, now from the Latin, but not as yet the Politics. Despite having spent a long period of time in the Christian-Latin world, they continue to think in terms of the Muslim culture. The innovation here lies in its increasing awareness of the revolution in Christian political thought at the end of the Middle Ages due to translation of the Ethics and the Politics into Latin. While Samuel ben Judah of Marseille was still translating Averroes’ commentary on the Ethics from Arabic in the first half of the fourteenth century, Meir Elvadish of Castile in the early fifteenth century was already translating a Latin commentary on it into Hebrew. In the translator’s preface, as was customary, he stated his reasons for doing so, motives common to all learned Jews of his time: And behold the sages of Greece who were not enlightened by the Torah, [but] were still learned and chose upright paths, wrote books to teach man knowledge and ways of understanding, and to show him the straight path he should follow. Aristotle in particular, known as the first among the Greek sages, wrote books on ethics (hanhagat ha-middot). One is called Ethics, discussing right conduct for every person. The second [book] he called Economics; it discusses the governance of the household (hanhagat ha-bayyit), and the third he called Politics; it discusses the governance of the state (hanhagat ha-medinah). He wrote [these books] in his native Greek tongue, after which they were translated into the Christian language [=Latin], and some into Arabic. And I Meir son of Shlomo of blessed memory Elvadish, having learned the 31 Shlomo ben Yehuda, Old Commentary, pp. 54, 377. — 91 —

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Christian language, saw the translations of these books as well as commentaries by Christian scholars, whose learning is outstanding in the philosophy of ethics. Our Torah surely does not lack the choicest of what is said in all the books of philosophy. However, I saw these books as a commentary on some commandments of our holy Torah. […] and hence I thought it well to translate it from the Christian language, where they may be better explicated by Christian scholars who have studied them, in whose midst we dwell. There are also commentaries by Christian scholars that will clarify what is obscure in the writings of Aristotle.32 As a devoted and educated Jew, Elvadish felt obliged to explain the necessity and justification for studying the Ethics in its Christian-Latin garb, even though ethical wisdom, like all other wisdom, is contained in the Torah. Aristotle is called “first among the Greek sages” (rosh hakmei yavan) a statement that vividly brings to mind Dante’s Divine Comedy (Il maestro di color che sanno), written shortly before.33 Following accepted practice Elvadish divides Aristotle’s practical wisdom (hanhagat ha-middot), into three spheres, on each of which the Greek philosopher wrote a book: Ethics, Economics and Politics. He spells each term out in Spanish transliteration and significantly, he first mentions the translation of the treatises into “Christian language,” i.e. Latin, only after the much earlier translation into Arabic. This clearly shows the increasing strength of Christian-Latin culture and the waning Arabic influences. Elvadish’ new perspective alters chronological order. He knows that all these works were translated into Latin and even benefited from commentaries by Christian scholars. He claims to have “seen” the translations and commentaries when he was learning Latin. What does he actually mean? Did he simply see or did he actually read them? This may become clear later. Elvadish is acutely aware of the great influence of Aristotelian moral and political theory in Christian Europe at the end of the Middle Ages, since he says: “whose learning is outstanding in the 32 On the issue and the translator’s preface, see Berman, “Greek,” pp. 154-155; idem, “Translation,” p. 296. 33 Dante, Commedia Divina, Purgatorio, 4: 32. Cf. Pines, Maimonides, Guide, Translator’s Introduction, p. 197, n. 8. — 92 —

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philosophy of ethics.”34 Elvadish’s esteem for Christian commentaries on Aristotle is so high that he sees it as a useful instrument for understanding the Torah itself, since all these ideas are embedded in it from the beginning of time. Significantly, Elvadish knows that all these works have been translated into Latin and have been the object of Latin commentaries. As regards Arabic translations, he cautiously states, like Maimonides in Treatise on Logic, that only “a few of them have been copied into Arabic.” This shows awareness that the Ethics but not the Politics was translated into and expounded in Arabic. Concluding his apologetic justification for translating the Ethics from Latin, Elvadish remarks, “And with His help shall I translate the book of Ethics, which is first and choice and edifying. And if God gives me success I shall translate the books of Economics and Politics if I find their commentaries, for I have not yet found such.”35 He mentions two reasons for beginning with the Ethics. The first is one of principle, found earlier in Averroes and ibn Falaquera: it is perceived as the basis of practical wisdom, and is hence to be preferred. The second is its availability. Elvadish specifically mentions that although he wished otherwise, he could not translate Aristotle’s Economics and Politics as long as he had no access to commentaries on them. In view of Elvadish’s statement that he had “seen” these works, with commentaries, we can surmise that he had access to a translation, but no commentary on the Economics and Politics, and without having the opportunity to consult a commentary, he was not prepared to translate them, lest he err. The foregoing is based on the detailed translation theory in his preface according to the original guidelines of Judah ibn Tibbon in the introduction to his translation of Bahya ibn Pakuda’s Duties of the Heart (Hovot ha-levavot), and of Samuel ibn Tibbon in his introduction to the translation of the Guide. In his opinion, a proper translation requires three conditions of the translator: complete knowledge of the language of the original text and that of the translation, understanding the author’s intention and the significance of the text and, as he puts it, “that the translator have knowledge and learning to the point that he can present the words of the author of that book and fully understand 34

This clearly refers to political theory. See e.g. Averroes, Halatzah, p. 16: “The art is ethical (midot’it), that is, political (medini’it).” Compare n. 95 below. 35 Berman, “Translation,” p. 158. — 93 —

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the intent of every matter whereof he speaks.”36 Indeed, it was wise of Elvadish not to translate the Politics until he had access to a suitable commentary. While the translation by William of Moerbeke was precise, it was largely incomprehensible.37 However, the very fact that Elvadish was the first Jew to announce that he had “seen” that text, and had translated the Latin version of the Ethics into Hebrew, indicates that he was familiar with Aristotle’s political outlook. Another such example is the anonymous fifteenth-century Hebrew translation of On the Governance of Princes (De Regimine Principum) by Giles of Rome (Aegidius Romanus). Written in 1285, the original was a most popular political scholastic treatise of the late Middle Ages. The Hebrew translation is titled Sefer Hanhagat ha-Melakhim, and is without commentaries or additions, save for quotations from the Bible and the Sages in the margins of the text, or, parenthetically, within it. Following the common practice of Scholastic political philosophy, Giles quoted copiously from the Politics, especially from Book 1, as well as from the Ethics and the Rhetoric. The anonymous translator keeps faithfully to the text,