AVICENNA AMONG ARABOPHONE JEWS: THE EAST

F-Z begin their study with a discussion of the reception of Avicenna among arabophone Jews in the East, which they state “essentially boils down to that by four arabophone Jewish thinkers:” Abū al-Barakāt al-Baġdādī, Maimonides, David II Maimonides, and Ibn Kammūna (p. 220). Although the phrase “essentially boils down to” in this context is not at all clear, the statement seems misleading. For example, F-Z in their discussion of the first of these thinkers, al-Baġdādī, mention the controversy in Baghdad over Maimonides’ position on resurrection and the references to al-Baġdādī by Samuel ben ʽEli and Joseph ben Judah ibn Shimʽon, but both these thinkers also quote Avicenna, and the latter was particularly familiar with his teachings, esp. if he indeed was the author, as it seems, of the Treatise on the Necessary Existence.Footnote ⁵ Why are these two thinkers not listed here? As another example, the third thinker mentioned is David II Maimonides, the last known member of the Maimonidean dynasty. Do F-Z wish to exclude two centuries of Maimonides’ descendants from their list? And what about Yemenite Jewish thinkers, such as Ḥoṭer ben Solomon, who as David Blumenthal has shown, knew and referred to Avicenna's writings?Footnote ⁶ Are they too to be excluded? Previously little studied or unknown thinkers continue to come to light.Footnote ⁷ We still do not know enough about the reception of the falāsifa among Jews in the East – philosophers, theologians, and mystics – to be able to assess their reception in these lands. What we do know about the reception of Avicenna is that it does not “boil down” to four thinkers. F-Z's list should be viewed only as four major illustrations of this reception.

(i) The discussion by F-Z of the intriguing thinker, Abū al-Barakāt al-Baġdādī, reads like a brief biographical entry on him in a Jewish encyclopedia – with half the discussion focusing inexplicably on his Commentary on Ecclesiastes, which we are told “seems quite unrelated … to Avicenna”; on his student to whom the commentary was dictated and that student's panegyric on al-Baġdādī; on al-Baġdādī's apostasy; and on Jewish attitudes toward him (p. 221). The concluding statement that he left his mark on the Jewish intellectual world is vague and perhaps overstated. On al-Baġdādī's attitude toward Avicenna and his “distancing from the Avicennan tradition,” see now the article on him by Frank Griffel.Footnote ⁸

(ii) Maimonides, the second thinker on the list, is assigned to the East because this is “where he wrote the great majority of his works,” even though we are reminded that “he was educated in Andalusia, whose intellectual climate reverberated in his thought throughout his life” (pp. 221–2 and esp. 226, n. 31). The case of Maimonides begs us to consider not only where he should be placed – East or West – but also the value of this distinction for the present discussion. Regardless, F-Z state at the outset that the topic of “whether or not Maimonides drew on Avicenna's philosophy” has been “repeatedly debated by scholars.” The relatively lengthy discussion of Maimonides that follows (pp. 221–8) is described as “a summary account of the state of the art.” But it is difficult to name any informed scholar today who would disagree that Maimonides “drew on Avicenna's philosophy,” nor is any mentioned in the account of the state of the art that follows. In fact, this discussion is in no way a summary account of the state of the art of the question (although relevant studies by H. A. Davidson, S. Harvey,Footnote ⁹ W. Z. Harvey, S. Pines, D. Schwartz, and S. Stroumsa are mentioned on p. 223), but rather an extended and forced argument, based on some provocative statements by H. Davidson (but more nuanced in Davidson) and on Zonta's 2005 article, “Maimonides’ Knowledge of Avicenna,” that Maimonides did not have direct access to the writings of Avicenna.Footnote ¹⁰ We are presented with a Maimonides who “was not directly acquainted with any of Avicenna's philosophical works,” who thus could not distinguish Avicenna's teachings from those of Aristotle, and who “obtained his knowledge of Avicenna from al-Ghazālī's Maqāṣid [al-falāsifa],” while thinking he was learning Aristotle's opinions. Thus without any direct knowledge of Avicenna's writingsFootnote ¹¹ and without realizing that he knew anything about Avicenna, he relied on the “mashhūrāt – generally accepted ideas – current and accepted in his basically Andalusian cultural milieu” (p. 226) when he recommended Avicenna in his famous letter to Samuel ibn Tibbon. To help us understand this phenomenon of adopting Avicennian ideas without direct knowledge of Avicenna and without knowing the ideas were from Avicenna, F-Z tell us they dub it Avicennian knowledge without Avicenna (their italics). They then wonder why Maimonides ascribed to Aristotle the “doctrines he apparently appropriated from al-Ghazālī's Maqāṣid.”

Maimonides’ attitude toward Avicenna that emerges from this discussion is for F-Z understandably a “complex riddle”: “Although his philosophy certainly incorporates essential Avicennian ideas, Maimonides apparently did not read any work by him.”Footnote ¹² They also find it a mystery that Maimonides did not read the Šifāʾ. The suggested solution is that perhaps it was the result of his “Andalusian disdain for Avicenna” (p. 228). But this suggestion flies in the face of what we know about Maimonides’ intellectual curiosity and his professed vast reading in seemingly all areas, including kalām and idolatry, his disdain for both of which is legendary.Footnote ¹³ Again, the twelfth-century “Andalusian disdain” for Avicenna's philosophy was quite limited and is most evident in the writings of Averroes, who was familiar with Avicenna's writings, and according to Tzvi Langermann may have written his Aristotelian commentaries “as the Andalusian response to [Avicenna's] al-Shifāʾ.”Footnote ¹⁴ Andalusian disdain did not stop philosophers of the stature of Averroes and Maimonides from reading the authors they disdained. But why must F-Z assume these complex riddles and mysteries, especially in the course of presenting a state-of-the art view of recent scholarship? While it seems likely Maimonides knew al-Ġazālī's Maqāṣid, even though he does not mention the book or al-Ġazālī, why assume he did not also read Avicenna? Much more reasonable and persuasive is the approach of Sarah Stroumsa in her book on Maimonides, cited twice by F-Z in the present discussion, that “Maimonides, who only rarely cited his sources, read all he could find.”Footnote ¹⁵ In fact, in the studies on Avicenna and Maimonides, mentioned in passing by F-Z on p. 223 (and referred to above), evidence is brought forward that Maimonides likely read not only some of Avicenna's main works, but also smaller works such as his Treatise on Love, Epistle on the Quiddity of Prayer, books on the afterlife, and we might add one of his treatises entitled Maʿād.Footnote ¹⁶ Yet F-Z do not refer to this evidence. Their position is apparently that Maimonides could not have read Avicenna directly or even known his doctrines because if so, he would not have confused his positions with those of Aristotle, and ascribed Avicennian views to Aristotle. In fact, it seems far easier to explain why Maimonides would attribute certain Avicennian positions to Aristotle than to imagine that he did not read Avicenna's philosophical works, was unaware of Avicenna's teachings and mistakenly assumed that they were those of Aristotle.

F-Z conclude this discussion on Maimonides by pointing to “momentous historical repercussions” of their conclusions. Because Maimonides called Avicennian doctrines Aristotelian, not only he, but also his readers were unable to distinguish Avicenna from Aristotle when they encountered them in works such as al-Ġazālī's Maqāṣid. Now while this may be true for Maimonides’ non-philosophical readers of his legal works, it could hardly be true for his philosophical ones. If we consider, for example, the reception of al-Ġazālī's Maqāṣid in Hebrew translation, we recall that by the fourth decade of the fourteenth century it circulated in two – and possibly three – translations: one by Isaac Albalag (completed by Isaac Pulgar), one by Judah ben Solomon Nathan, and an anonymous one, which may be a revision of the second translation. Albalag in his introduction to his translation distinguishes the method of its author, al-Ġazālī, from the demonstrative method of Aristotle. At the outset of his comments on the book, he explains that al-Ġazālī, like Maimonides, followed al-Fārābī and Avicenna, both of whom strayed from the path of Aristotle. Differences between the teachings of al-Ġazālī and Avicenna and those of Aristotle and Averroes are noted in his comments. Judah ben Solomon had a more positive attitude to the book, but in the introduction to his translation he warned that al-Ġazālī's book contains some non-Aristotelian teachings of Avicenna, “who deviates a little from the path of Aristotle in a few places.”Footnote ¹⁷ In addition, Moses Narboni, in the most popular Hebrew commentary on the Maqāṣid, repeatedly uses Averroes to correct al-Ġazālī/Avicenna.Footnote ¹⁸ Hebrew readers of the Maqāṣid knew it was by al-Ġazālī, and while some may not have known that it contained Avicennian teachings, it was clear that it was not pure Aristotle. Of course, there were other ways for Hebrew readers of the time to distinguish Avicenna's teachings from those of Aristotle. For example, the most popular Hebrew texts of Aristotelian philosophy and science were the translations of Averroes’ commentaries, and in them could be found Averroes’ critique of Avicennian positions. Also in 1328 Qalonimos ben David translated Averroes’ Tahāfut al-tahāfut, and here Avicenna's teachings are cited in his name. Incidentally, according to Zonta, Maimonides “very probably” knew al-Ġazālī's Tahāfut al-falāsifa, and this could have informed him that Avicenna was the source of certain Avicennian teachings found in the Maqāṣid.Footnote ¹⁹

(iii) The third thinker in the list is David II Maimonides. In this ten-line account of him, F-Z indicate that they indeed have in mind not only David II Maimonides, but also “some” other of Maimonides’ descendants. Maimonides’ son Abraham is mentioned as a second example. Why is he then not included in the reception of Avicenna among Jews in the East? The discussion here is based on a fascinating recent article by Paul Fenton on the influence of Avicenna's Naǧāt on Maimonidean refutations of metempsychosis, with a passing footnote to a 1984 article by Fenton. What is omitted is a picture of the extent of this influence. According to Fenton in the 1984 article, “only too often the doctrines of the more important sources, such as Maimonides and [Avicenna], are so inextricably bound up with our author's thought as to be impossible to isolate.”Footnote ²⁰

(iv) The fourth and last figure F-Z mention is Ibn Kammūna, whom they explain “wrote exclusively as a philosopher for philosophers, never as a Jew on Jewish philosophy” and hence “has no direct bearing on our overview” (p. 229). They then mention as a sign of his Jewish interests, his Examination of the Inquiries into the Three Faiths, which draws on Ha-Levi and Maimonides. Returning to Ibn Kammūna as a philosopher, they mention a learned study in Arabic Sciences and Philosophy (2005) by Tzvi Langermann that “has pointed out the importance of Avicenna's concept of ḥads for Ibn Kammūna” in his encyclopedia of science and philosophy, al-Ǧadīd fī al-ḥikma. But the Examination, despite its often impartial stand, was certainly written by a Jew as a Jew, and it does contain philosophy, especially in its first chapter on prophecy. In fact, one need look no further than the Examination to appreciate the importance of Avicenna's concept of ḥads for Ibn Kammūna, for he cites from Avicenna's discussion. Indeed, his citation is so literal that the editor of the Examination takes Avicenna's text as a testimonium for his edition of this passage. Ibn Kammūna also borrows here literally from the famous section at the end of the Metaphysics of the Šifā ʾ on the need of human beings for an association, a legislator, and, in particular, a prophet.Footnote ²¹

AVICENNA AMONG ARABOPHONE JEWS: THE WEST

Here again we find a list of “no fewer than” four arabophone Jewish authors who “were familiar with and drew on Avicenna's works: Judah Hallevi, Abraham ibn Daʾud, Moses ha-Levi, and Joseph ibn Waqār”Footnote ²² (p. 230). This list contains four of the most important such thinkers, as previous research has shown, but this list too may be easily expanded. To give but another four names, scholars have pointed to the likely – in some cases, certain – familiarity with Avicenna of the anonymous author of the Kitāb Maʿānī al-nafs, Isaac ibn Ġiyāt, Joseph ibn Ṣaddiq, and Joseph ibn ʽAqnin.Footnote ²³ F-Z's list here, like the prior list, must not be viewed as comprehensive, but rather as providing four of the best known illustrations of this reception.

Ibn Daʾud was not only acquainted with and borrowed from Avicenna, as we read in F-Z, but he was the first Jewish Aristotelian. His theological-philosophical treatise, the Exalted Faith, is based, more than any other such work by a Jewish author, on Avicennian science and philosophy. Indeed he sought to harmonize this “true [Avicennian] philosophy” with the principles of Judaism. F-Z rightly point to the two monographs that appeared in the 1990s on Ibn Daʾud, one by Amira Eran and one by Resianne Fontaine for evidence of his borrowing from Avicenna. It may be added that in the past few years, Fontaine has published two papers that further clarify this influence.Footnote ²⁴ F-Z focus most of their attention in the brief discussion of Ibn Daʾud on the claim that he is to be identified with Avendauth, the co-translator with Dominicus Gundissalinus of philosophical works by al-Ġazālī and Avicenna. It may be noted that new evidence will soon be published that strengthens this claim.Footnote ²⁵

One additional comment on this section: In the discussion on Ibn Waqār, F-Z write that “[a]ccording to [Georges] Vajda, Ibn Waqār, unlike other arabophone Spanish philosophers (notably Ibn Ṭufayl and Averroes), did not have first-hand knowledge of all of Avicenna's oeuvre” (p. 233). It is difficult to imagine that Vajda could have made such a statement, even fifty years ago, but it is not at all true that arabophone Spanish philosophers, other than Ibn Waqār, had “first-hand knowledge of all of Avicenna's oeuvre.” This is not true for the other Jewish arabophone Spanish philosophers, including the other three in F-Z's list, and it is not even true for Ibn Ṭufayl and Averroes. In truth, we are just now beginning to understand – in part through citations of the Hispano-Jewish philosophers – which texts of Avicenna were available in the West and when they may have arrived.

AVICENNA IN HEBREW TRANSLATIONS

After outlining the titles of the medieval translations into Hebrew of Avicenna's writings, F-Z rightly point to the Hebrew translations of al-Ġazālī and Averroes as major sources for the knowledge of Avicenna in Hebrew. Yet it is naïve to believe with F-Z that “[i]t is important to realize,” that since al-Ġazālī's Maqāṣid “did not reveal its Avicennian pedigree, readers could know this only if they had access to external sources of information, notably in Arabic, as the translators did” (p. 244). As we have seen, the translators did not keep this information to themselves. Judah ben Solomon, the author of the most popular translation of the text, stated explicitly that it contains teachings of Avicenna, “who deviates a little from the path of Aristotle in a few places”;Footnote ²⁶ and Albalag, the other known translator, noted that al-Ġazālī follows al-Fārābī and Avicenna. What is true is that Hebrew readers not familiar with Avicenna's teachings through other sources such as Hebrew translations of Averroes’ commentaries and of al-Ġazālī's Tahāfut al-falāsifa (or Averroes’ Tahāfut al-tahāfut, translated earlier in the 1320s) would be unable to discern which particular teachings were indeed those of Avicenna.

The only major philosophical text of Avicenna translated in the medieval period into Hebrew was Avicenna's al-Naǧāt. This point is aptly emphasized by F-Z, but some details of their account should be clarified. Indeed our knowledge of this translation by Ṭodros Ṭodrosi is much improved as a result of the 2010 Harvard dissertation by Gabriella Berzin, cited by F-Z on p. 240, n. 88. F-Z state that al-Naǧāt “was translated into Hebrew, albeit partially and late” (pp. 239 and 242). It is certainly true that the translation was “late,” but this is a relative term. It was made between 1330–1340 at the end of the bulk of the Arabic-to-Hebrew translation movement (although, as F-Z noted a page earlier, this translation movement continued till the end of the fifteenth century), but the immensely popular translation of the Maqāṣid by Judah ben Solomon Nathan was made only a few years earlier. Its seeming lack of influence cannot thus be blamed on its date. As for the text being only partial, this seems true based on the two surviving Hebrew manuscripts. F-Z explain that the section on logic was “probably deliberately skipped,” while the sections on physics and metaphysics were translated (p. 240). Actually, if we rely on the manuscripts, less than a third of the section on metaphysics (the first third) was translated. But Berzin has shown that one of the manuscripts is a poor copy of the other, and so we rely only on a single manuscript, which begins without any mention of the title of the book. She concludes that it is “difficult to determine whether Ṭodros translated the logic of al-Najāt.”Footnote ²⁷

In this section on Avicenna in Hebrew translation, F-Z repeatedly cite the studies of Moritz Steinschneider. This is only natural as, even after over a century, his detailed and comprehensive works are still indispensable. However, even Steinschneider's works need to be updated, and F-Z are not always careful to do so. Thus on p. 247, F-Z, relying on Steinschneider, state that Moses Narboni's commentary on the Maqāṣid is extant in over 30 copies, but Gitit Holzman in her 1996 study of Narboni lists 50 manuscripts, and the online catalogue of Institute of Microfilmed Hebrew Manuscripts, National Library of Israel, Jerusalem (IMHM, referred to on p. 234) yields a few additions from 1996.Footnote ²⁸ Also on p. 247, F-Z refer to Abraham Avigdor's versified Hebrew version of the Maqāṣid, and mention that Steinschneider published the author's introduction. It may be added that in 2006 this fascinating introduction was edited critically and translated into English, along with a preliminary investigation of Avigdor's book, which includes not only a versified version of the Maqāṣid, but a prose commentary, apparently written later.Footnote ²⁹ F-Z close their section on al-Ġazālī with mention of the Hebrew translation of his Tahāfut al-falāsifa, also based on Steinschneider, which they say was “late (first decade of the fifteenth century) and had little influence” and “seems to have played only a minor role in the reception of Avicenna in Hebrew” (p. 248). Indeed, Steinschneider said this text was “very rare” and could list only four manuscripts. A quick glimpse at the IMHM shows twice that number of manuscripts, and this takes the work out of the rare category. Again, it must be remembered that the book was known in Hebrew from the earlier translation of Averroes’ Tahāfut al-tahāfut, which Steinschneider said was “not rare” (he listed about ten manuscripts, and IHMH adds several more). But apart from the number of manuscripts, al-Ġazālī's Tahāfut al-falāsifa was well known in the circle of Ḥasdai Crescas and is cited throughout the fifteenth century by scholars as diverse as Abraham Bibago and Isaac ʽArama. ʽArama, a well-known preacher, is a particularly good example as al-Ġazālī's Tahāfut had a major impact upon him and he cites it at length many times in his ʽAqedat Yiṣḥaq.Footnote ³⁰

The following section on Hebrew translations of Averroes as a source for knowledge of Avicenna's teaching is short (less than a page), but to the point. Two generalizations, however, need to be qualified. First, F-Z write that in Averroes’ “earlier works, notably the epitomes of Aristotle's works, his positions on many subjects were not far removed from Avicenna's: readers of these works, most of which were translated into Hebrew, encountered in them positions fairly close to Avicenna's, though not labeled as such” (p. 249). This statement, based on a remark by Herbert Davidson, is true only in a limited sense, and, in fact, Davidson spoke only of the early commentaries espousing a “cosmology similar to Avicenna's.”Footnote ³¹ The statement is hardly valid, for example, for the popular Hebrew translation of the Epitome of the Physics. At the outset Averroes tells us that “What moves us to [write] this [treatise] is that many people undertake to reject the teachings of Aristotle without [first] comprehending the reality of his teachings,” to which Gersonides, the most learned of the supercommentators, adds, “such as Avicenna and al-Ghazālī.”Footnote ³² Near the end of book two – in a rare citation by name of Avicenna in the Epitome – Averroes writes: “Avicenna's statement that the student of this science must accept the existence of prime matter from first philosophy is astonishing. … When you consider carefully most of this man's doubts against the Peripatetics, you will find [them] of the same class as his statement on nature which was previously mentioned [and rejected several pages earlier].”Footnote ³³ F-Z's second generalization is that in his Tahāfut al-tahāfut “Averroes reported only those of Avicenna's ideas he took to task” (p. 249). It is true that Averroes in this book is again and again willing to sacrifice Avicenna (and, at times, al-Fārābī) for the sake of philosophy and often makes comments such as Avicenna is the only philosopher who says such a thing. But F-Z's statement is not quite accurate, for Averroes also cites Avicenna with qualified approval and, in some cases, to show that al-Ġazālī misrepresented his argument. In any case, F-Z conclude that “readers of this work could become aware only of these – Avicenna's more controversial views.” Controversial or not, through al-Ġazālī's presentation and critique of Avicenna's views and through Averroes’ responses, readers could become aware of many of his most characteristic philosophical teachings.

In this sub-section on Hebrew translations of Muslim authors as sources for knowledge of Avicenna, F-Z discuss in addition to translations of al-Ġazālī and Averroes, two short Hebrew passages from Faḫr al-Dīn al-Rāzī's al-Mabāḥit al-mašriqiyya – translated by Ṭodros Ṭodrosi as annotations to his translation of ʿUyūn al-masāʾil – which have been brought to light by Zonta in previous studies.Footnote ³⁴ F-Z conclude this sub-section: “It is quite likely that additional Arabic texts containing Avicennian materials were translated into Hebrew. They await identification by scholars” (p. 250). In a footnote, they add a fourth Muslim author, al-Tabrīzī, whom Tzvi Langermann has shown “draws heavily on Avicenna,” although as Langermann states, no one seems to have been influenced by the Avicennian science in the Hebrew translations of this text. But what is surprising about F-Z's statement that other Hebrew translations of “Arabic texts containing Avicennian materials … await identification by scholars” is the omission of the already-identified quite popular Hebrew translation of Ibn Ṭufayl in this list. Also conspicuous by its absence is one of the most popular works of Islamic philosophy among the Jews in the Middle Ages, in Arabic as well as in several Hebrew translations, al-Baṭalyawsī's Kitāb al-Dawā'ir al-wahmiyya. As Ayala Eliyahu has noted, al-Baṭalyawsī cites Avicenna by name. Eliyahu also argues that Avicenna's influence upon him is deeper than previous scholarship has shown.Footnote ³⁵ The Hebrew translations of the works by Ibn Ṭufayl and al-Baṭalyawsī are two important sources for the transmission of Avicennian teachings in Hebrew.

In the following sub-section on Avicenna in Hebrew translations of Judaeo-Arabic works, F-Z return to Ha-Levi, Ibn Daʾud, and Maimonides, and explain that through the Hebrew translations of their works, “[t]hey introduced Avicennian doctrines … into the Jewish philosophical discourse” (p. 252). They emphasize correctly that Avicenna is not mentioned by name in the three works under discussion, but they conclude that “[o]nly learned arabophone readers who were acquainted with Avicenna through their readings in Arabic could identify the Avicennian doctrinal items encountered in these works.” This is very misleading, and indeed in the following sentence F-Z even mention the identification of certain Avicennian teachings in Maimonides’ Guide by early commentators on the book. And this, as we have seen, is but one avenue that Jewish thinkers had that enabled those who could not read Arabic to identify Avicennian teachings in these works. This is particularly true with regard to Ibn Daʾud, whose Exalted Faith, was not translated into Hebrew until around 1370, at the earliest, when many of Avicenna's main teachings were already known as Avicennian to learned Jewish thinkers who could not read Arabic.

AVICENNA IN PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS BY ARABOPHONE JEWISH SCHOLARS WRITING IN HEBREW

The opening sentence of this sub-section is puzzling: “The first major composition to expound philosophical matters in Hebrew was Sefer ha-Maddaʿ (Book of Knowledge), the opening part of Maimonides’ great code of Jewish Law, the Mishneh Torah” (p. 253). For one earlier example from the eleventh century, one might mention the writings of Abraham bar Ḥiyya (who was not an Avicennian), especially his Yesodei ha-Tevunah u-Migdal ha-Emunah, the first major Hebrew encyclopedia of science. But perhaps F-Z mean the first to expound Avicennian philosophical matters. Then what about Abraham ibn ʽEzra, whose Hebrew biblical commentary, as we are told on the following page, shows that he “adhered to and expressed” Avicennian views? Do F-Z not consider his biblical commentary a major work?

A bit later in this sub-section, F-Z turn again to Ṭodros Ṭodrosi's translations. Here F-Z refer to Ṭodros's fascinating collection of Hebrew translations of a wide variety of texts, as found in a unique 321-folio British Museum manuscript, including sections of texts by Avicenna. This manuscript begs a comprehensive study, and Zonta has for some time been interested in it and pointed to its importance. Here F-Z observe that the section on logic in the manuscript contains translations of sections from Avicenna's logical writings. What were Ṭodros's motives in preparing this collection? F-Z turn to his friend, Judah ben Solomon Nathan, to help understand them. They conjecture: “The two scholars in fact acted in tandem. We know something of Judah Nathan's motives for appropriating Avicennian bodies of knowledge into Hebrew; perhaps he shared them with Ṭodros.” F-Z conclude that both seem “to have had a clear philosophical agenda, namely, to promote Avicenna and al-Ghazālī as a philosophical alternative to radical Averroism” (p. 259). This claim is not without merit, but Ṭodros happens to have stated explicitly his motives in including Avicenna's logic in his collection, and F-Z have ignored his own explanation. This is what he wrote in his introduction to this section: “Our intention in this science, that is the science of logic, is to collect in a book … from the treatises of the compilations of some of those who followed the philosophy of Aristotle, be it Themistius or Alexander or al-Fārābī or Avicenna or al-Ġazālī. My intention is that readers of the commentaries of Averroes on the books of Aristotle on this science will read and understand the books of the above mentioned philosophers on this science, and [so I] compile what is new and most useful in their lengthy books in this book.” Ṭodros adds that these selections from these lengthy important works can help us understand Averroes’ explanations which are expressed concisely.Footnote ³⁶ In other words, Ṭodros had no intention of replacing Averroes’ logic with that of Avicenna or anyone else, but rather very much respected Averroes as a guide to truth, and used Avicenna and others in part to understand Averroes. It may be added that Ṭodros completed the project of translating Averroes’ commentaries into Hebrew by translating his middle commentaries on the Rhetoric and Poetics. He explained his motives in translating these works in an introduction that extols their great importance and utility.

For this section on Jews who read Avicenna in Arabic and cite or refer to his teachings in their Hebrew books, F-Z cite fourteen authors including one from the East. This time, to their credit, F-Z clearly state that this list “has no pretensions to be exhaustive.” However, they then add that “texts that have been little studied may add new and valuable information” (p. 267). This goes without saying,Footnote ³⁷ but the addition implies that texts that have been carefully studied are all included in the list, which is not correct. For example, one important name, missing from the list, and referred to earlier by F-Z is Isaac Albalag (see pp. 244–5). Another well-known name is Isaac ibn Laṭif. The thirteenth-century encyclopedist Levi ben Abraham of Villefranche also cites Avicenna, but is he an “arabophone Jewish scholar writing in Hebrew”? He certainly knew some Arabic, enough to compare Ibn Tibbon's translation of Maimonides’ Guide with the Arabic original and to discuss textual problems in that translation, but could he really read an entire philosophical text in Arabic? We do not know.Footnote ³⁸ The same may be asked, for example, about the fourteenth-century poet and philosopher, Jedaiah ben Abraham ha-Penini, and the fifteenth-century scholar, Abraham Bibago, who also cite Avicenna. Hagar Kahana-Smilansky is currently studying the extent of ha-Penini's knowledge of Arabic. As for Bibago, he too relied on Hebrew translations of Arabic texts, but knew enough Arabic to make some corrections to Qalonimos's Hebrew translation of Averroes’ Middle Commentary on the Metaphysics.Footnote ³⁹ In such cases, what seems most important is not whether a scholar knew some Arabic, but whether he could read entire texts of Avicenna in Arabic and, in fact, referred to passages of Avicenna's texts that were not available in Hebrew or at least that he read in Arabic. This does not seem to be the case for Levi, ha-Penini, and Bibago, but neither am I sure that it is the case for Moses Narboni and Simeon Duran, both of whom are part of F-Z's list, and both of whom seem to have read the Arabic texts of Avicenna they cite in Hebrew translation. F-Z say that Simeon Duran “must have read [Avicenna] in Arabic” (p. 266), but this is not clear from his writings, and Langermann writes elsewhere that “it remains to be seen whether [Duran] read Avicenna in the original Arabic.”Footnote ⁴⁰ With regard to Narboni, most modern scholars who study his commentaries on Arabic texts conclude that he knew some Arabic, but that he relied on the Hebrew translations of the Arabic texts he studied. Holzman, who studied several of these commentaries, writes that they “reveal [Narboni's] absolute dependence on the Hebrew version.”Footnote ⁴¹ Thinkers like Narboni and Duran may have known Avicenna's philosophical teachings well, but it seems that this knowledge was from Hebrew texts and had little to do with the level of knowledge of Arabic that they may have attained.

F-Z'S CONCLUSION: AVICENNA AMONG THE JEWS

F-Z sum up their conclusions concerning the interest in Avicenna's philosophical writings among arabophone Jewish authors by stating that in the East it “was nearly nil,” and thus Avicenna was “absent from the overt, public agenda of Arabophone Jewish intellectuals in both East and West.” “This absence,” we are then told “is prolonged in Hebrew-writing cultures” (p. 273). On the other hand, Avicenna left “his imprint on Jewish philosophical thought,” primarily through “works containing accounts of Avicenna's thought.” This leads F-Z to a two-page discussion of Avicenna's presence in Hebrew philosophical texts, half of which is devoted to a distinction between “committed Avicennians” and “eclectic Avicennians.” Committed Avicennians “saw Avicenna's writings as a source of philosophical truth and accepted the essentials of Avicenna's thought, or explicitly sided with Avicenna against other philosophers (notably al-Ghazālī and Averroes)”; eclectic Avicennians “chose to appropriate one or more Avicennian doctrinal items, that is, isolated views on some subject, which they integrated in their works … [and they] characteristically did not have direct access to Avicenna's works and did not adhere to an overall Avicennian scheme or defend Avicenna's positions” (p. 274). As an illustration of the former they list Samuel ibn Tibbon, whom they say “overtly endorsed Avicenna against Averroes,” and as an illustration of the latter they count Ibn Daʾud, whom they state cannot “be said to be an Avicennian” and is “not committed to Avicenna's philosophy.” However, these two examples are surprising and by no means clear. With regard to Ibn Tibbon, Georges Vajda, in a pioneering study on the influence of Avicenna on Ibn Tibbon, described him as “a venerabilis inceptor of a composite ideology,” who “seems to show already clear indications of the influence of Ibn Roshd, even though in certain respects he still adheres to an Avicennism already out of date.” As Vajda showed, Ibn Tibbon made significant use of Avicenna and adopted Avicennian positions on certain topics – and Freudenthal has provided further evidence for this in recent studies – but Ibn Tibbon was not a committed Avicennian as F-Z describe it.Footnote ⁴² In his 2007 book on Ibn Tibbon's philosophical Commentary on Ecclesiastes, James Robinson makes this perfectly clear. He shows that in three of the main themes in the Guide of the Perplexed where Maimonides inclines toward Avicenna, Ibn Tibbon inclines toward Averroes.Footnote ⁴³ In another book on Ibn Tibbon, published in the same year, Carlos Fraenkel, makes a similar point.Footnote ⁴⁴ In contrast, like a committed Avicennian, Ibn Daʾud viewed Avicenna's “writings as a source of philosophical truth and accepted the essentials of Avicenna's thought.” While he did not follow Avicenna blindly and sided with al-Fārābī regarding some matters, he was significantly the first Jewish Avicennian, and a more committed one than Ibn Tibbon.Footnote ⁴⁵

Having made their distinction between Avicennians, F-Z next consider the question of Avicenna's presence in Hebrew. Here they count translations of the above-mentioned Judaeo-Arabic works that incorporate Avicenna's “doctrinal items,” certain Hebrew commentaries on Maimonides’ Guide by arabophone scholars, Hebrew works by arabophone scholars that discuss Avicennian theories and attribute them to Avicenna, and Hebrew translations of writings by the Muslim authors al-Ġazālī and Averroes. This list is a partial summary of the lists of books and translations by arabophone Jews discussed earlier. Conspicuously missing are those books and translations by Jews who knew Avicenna from the Latin, a topic mentioned briefly by F-Z on pages 267–8. This is currently a hot topic in scholarship, and ironically Zonta himself has been a major factor in arousing interest in it through his book on Hebrew Scholasticism in the Fifteenth Century. I would only add that it is not just the translations of the Latin Avicenna that are relevant, but also the translations of those Scholastics who cite Avicenna by name and directly from Arabic-to-Latin translations, particularly of works, unavailable in Hebrew, such as the Metaphysics of the Šifā ʾ.

Inexplicably, after their repetition of the main ways in which Avicenna's teachings were known to Jews who did not read Arabic (or Latin), F-Z tell us they cannot consider the reception of Avicenna among these Jewish scholars, for “[t]his task is far beyond what we can endeavor to do here at present” (p. 276). In other words, the whole history of the impact of Avicenna on Jewish thinkers who did not know Arabic, that is, of most of the post-Maimonidean Jewish thinkers, is omitted from this “comprehensive” study. In its stead, F-Z content themselves with a note or rather part of a note (p. 276, n. 235), which mentions primarily Dov Schwartz's study of a fourteenth-century Neoplatonic circle of Jewish thinkers influenced by Avicenna.Footnote ⁴⁶ It does not take much effort to fill in this huge hiatus in F-Z's study. New scholarly research effectively documents the presence of Avicenna among late medieval Jewish philosophers, and indices to recent editions of their works record the various references to him. It is hoped that a future comprehensive study of Avicenna's impact on Jewish thought would benefit from this research. A list of these thinkers would include most of the late medieval Jewish ones and many of the best known among them. Such a list would include among many others: Gershom ben Solomon, Nissim ben Moses of Marseilles, Moses ben Judah Nogah, Ḥasdai Crescas, Profiat Duran, Joseph Albo, Abraham Shalom, Isaac Abravanel, Leone Ebreo, Isaac ʽArama, Joseph ibn Shem-Ṭov, Moses Almosnino, David ben Judah Messer Leon, Eli Ḥabillo, Judah Moscato, Johanan Alemanno, and those thinkers mentioned above who knew some Arabic, but seem to have relied, for the most part, on the Hebrew translations of Avicenna's writings. While scholarship has shown the use of Avicenna by such scholars, a study comparing their sources for knowledge of Avicenna and the extent of his influence would be most welcome. Also of interest would be a study of those Jewish Aristotelians who mention Avicenna, but not very kindly, and had little use for him, such as Gersonides, Qalonimos ben Qalonimos, and Joseph ibn Kaspi.

WHY SO LITTLE OF AVICENNA IN HEBREW?

F-Z conclude their conclusion with an eight-page section on why there is so little Avicenna in Hebrew (pp. 276–83). Here I must confess frustration as this section begins with a three-page rebuttal of my own suggested explanation that Avicenna was little translated into Hebrew as a consequence of Maimonides’ relatively weak praise for him in his letter to Samuel ibn Tibbon in which he recommends which philosophers to study and which to avoid. F-Z's argument is ostensibly persuasive and might have convinced me were I not familiar with my own study and realized that their entire argument was specious and misleading. F-Z's account of my argument runs as follows: (1) Maimonides’ explicit recommendation of Avicenna's works is “presented as reserved or even negative”; (2) “Based on this (mis-)reading, it has been claimed that the agenda of the Arabic-to-Hebrew translation movement was influenced or even ‘determined’ by Maimonides’ letter”; (3) “Maimonides’ allegedly unfavorable remark [is] the reason why translators shunned Avicenna's writings.” To this argument, F-Z reply that the recommendation is neither reserved nor negative (“the only reservation being that they are somewhat inferior to al-Fārābī's”). Q.E.D. Quite convincing on the face of it, but this is not my argument. First, I do not call the recommendation for Avicenna “reserved” or “negative.” I simply point out that according to the letter, his “works are not as good as those of al-Fārābī, but are still useful and worth studying.”Footnote ⁴⁷ Moreover, my argument is not based on this praise of Avicenna, but on a series of unusual facts about the philosophical texts actually translated into Hebrew: (1) only three texts of Aristotle were translated directly from the Arabic to Hebrew, while all but one or two of Averroes” commentaries on them were so translated; (2) there is an almost total absence of translations of ancient philosophers other than Aristotle and his commentators, Alexander of Aphrodisias and Themistius; (3) there appears to have been minimal interest in translating the many Neoplatonic books written in Arabic or translated into Arabic; (4) there is a marked and early interest in translating the logical and propaedeutic writings of al-Fārābī; and yes (5) there is a surprising disinterest in translating the writings of Avicenna, especially al-Šifāʾ. These facts are unique to the Arabic-to-Hebrew translation movement, and differ, to a great extent, from what one might have expected on the basis of Greek-to-Arabic translations and the Latin translations. They correspond only to Maimonides’ particular recommendations in his letter to Ibn Tibbon. I thus concluded that Maimonides’ letter “very likely determined, either directly or indirectly, with some exceptions, the philosophers that would be translated into Hebrew.”Footnote ⁴⁸

F-Z raise another objection. There were 150–200 Hebrew translators. How could a single sentence in a letter, even by Maimonides, possibly have played a significant role in the decisions taken by so many individual translators in so many locations over such a long period of time? This is an intriguing question, but cleverly misleading. My paper dealt with the translation from Arabic of philosophical works by the Greek and Islamic philosophers, not with the hundreds of translations from Latin to Hebrew. It also, as I explained, dealt only with the subjects treated in Maimonides’ letter, and thus did not have anything to do with the translations of works of medicine, mathematics, and astronomy, which make up the great bulk of the translated texts. Thus, apart from several anonymous translations, virtually all of the Arabic-to-Hebrew translations of Greek and Islamic philosophical works were made by 12–15 translators, and most of these were made by the Ibn Tibbon family and the Qalonimos circle. At the heart of this movement was a concerted effort, extending a little over a century, to translate all of Averroes’ known commentaries on Aristotle. Could a single sentence have determined which philosophical texts would be translated? Very unlikely, but that was not my claim! Is it unreasonable to suppose that a tradition stemming from Maimonides’ letter regarding which philosophical texts are worth studying and which not – a letter which is cited by several of the translators – could possibly have determined, with exceptions, which texts would be translated? I don't think so, particularly when the choice of texts translated supports this supposition.Footnote ⁴⁹

Finally F-Z point to Samuel ibn Tibbon and Shem-Ṭov Falaquera as further indications against my explanation. Ibn Tibbon, they argue, the very addressee of the letter, used and cited from Avicenna and “in all likelihood understood that Maimonides recommended Avicenna.” That he had such an understanding is trivially true, since Maimonides did recommend him, just not as much as others.Footnote ⁵⁰ As for Falaquera, they argue, he too studied Avicenna and “probably” understood Maimonides as recommending him. Again, this is trivially true. F-Z add that he also “meticulously” shows where Maimonides borrows from Avicenna. Indeed he does. I actually discuss Falaquera at some length in my article, and it is unfortunate that F-Z apparently did not read this part of my article, for they would have found stronger reasons that I provide for challenging my own explanation in light of Falaquera, but I explain Falaquera's approach and put his use of Avicenna in proper perspective.Footnote ⁵¹ I also challenge my own claim by citing Abraham ibn Ḥisdai, who translated Neoplatonic texts, and suggest that he may be an anomaly among the translators. In any case, I point out in the article that translations were certainly made of texts not recommended by Maimonides, and that he did not exercise totalitarian control over all the translators.

In short, my claim was quite simple. It did not focus on Avicenna, but he was one part of it. A reasonable way to explain the unique features of the Arabic-to-Hebrew translation movement of philosophical texts is Maimonides’ letter, whose recommendations just happen to coincide with these features. If the explanation is to some extent true and if the translators of these texts sought, in general, to make available the most important texts first, then it is understandable that Avicenna – who was not praised as highly as others by Maimonides – might have to wait till these other texts were translated first. What is disappointing about F-Z's critique is that it is specious and does not seem to be based on a reading of the entire paper. Yet, this is surprising for Zonta has understood my claims adequately in the past, has referred positively to them in his two papers on Avicenna, and in his recently-updated entry in the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy refers the reader to my article for “the real influence of this letter.”Footnote ⁵²

Having dispensed with my suggestion to their satisfaction, F-Z advance their own. They phrase the question as follows:

Their answer is grounded in four “facts” (pp. 280–1). First, “[i]n mid-to late 12th-century, two philosophical programs were running in parallel in Andalusia.” The first, rooted in the East, “treaded notably in the footsteps of Avicenna (and al-Ghazālī).” We are told that this trend was followed by “notably the Judeo-Arabic philosophers.” The other, “consisted in a literal, philologically-grounded reception of Aristotle and his commentators and it culminated in Averroes.” The two traditions “gave rise to the two [Latin] translation programs in Toledo as described by Charles Burnett,” one favored Avicenna's philosophy, the other “the authentic works of the Greeks and their Arabic commentators.” Second, Avicenna was little known among arabophone Jewish scholars, there are few extant Arabic manuscripts in Hebrew letters of his philosophic writings, and those who did use him in the twelfth-century did not attribute the Avicennian teachings to him. Third, “[b]eginning in the third decade of the thirteenth century, Averroes’ commentaries on Aristotle began to be systematically translated into Hebrew,” and became very popular after that. Fourth, “[s]ome of Avicenna's views were rather controversial.” F-Z then explain that the early Andalusian scholars followed the Avicennian trend, but because they did not attribute the teachings to Avicenna, he did not become an authority. At the beginning of the thirteenth century, the translator, Samuel ibn Tibbon, was a “committed Avicennian,” but did not translate Avicenna, and his son, “Moses Ibn Tibbon, [also a translator], turned away from his father's Avicennian commitments to become a leader of Jewish Averroism.” In short: “[W]hereas the early Judeo-Arabic scholars in Andalusia silently followed the Avicennian tradition, their Hebrew-writing successors in 13th-century Provence switched allegiance to the competing philosophical program.” Averroes became more and more popular, and his commentaries seemed to refute Avicenna's positions and make his philosophy “obsolete.” Moreover, as Averroes became more popular, they surmise, it must have become harder to find manuscripts of Avicenna's works and, in any case, “access to manuscripts held by Muslim scholars [became] more difficult.” F-Z's explanation is thus that Avicenna was not translated because by the time the translation movement gained momentum, Averroes had already replaced Avicenna as the representative of true philosophy.

What are the problems with F-Z's explanation? The first fact is intended to establish that the twelfth-century Jewish Andalusian scholars who wrote in Judaeo-Arabic (in particular, Ha-Levi, Ibn Daʾud, and Maimonides), earlier described as “eclectic Avicennians,” sided with the Avicennian tradition opposed to the pure Aristotle, represented by his commentators and eventually Averroes. This is relevant for them in order to establish that there had existed an early Avicennian trend among Jews that was not passed on – as the second fact reminds us – because they did not attribute their Avicennian teachings to Avicenna. But while the second fact is indeed a fact, the first is not. The main divide among twelfth-century Jews was not between these two trends, but between a kind of Neoplatonism and a version of Aristotelianism, which was represented by al-Fārābī and Avicenna. Until Ibn Daʾud, writing in 1160, there was little Aristotelianism to speak of among the Jews, apart from Ha-Levi's critique of Aristotelianism, based on Ibn Bāǧǧa and Avicenna. Although it seems that certain teachings of Avicenna appealed to Ha-Levi (particularly in the final two books of the Kuzari), he was not an Avicennian, but a critic of Aristotelian philosophy. As for Ibn Daʾud, he chose to write the first book of Aristotelian science by a Jew. He did not choose between Avicennism and pure Aristotelianism, but chose the Aristotelian tradition of Islamic philosophy, represented by al-Fārābī and Avicenna, over the Neoplatonic tradition of Ibn Gabirol. Nor did Maimonides side with Avicennism over the purer Aristotelianism of the commentators. Although he was influenced by Avicenna's metaphysical teachings, he disapproved of his tendency to part from aspects of Aristotle's natural science. As Resianne Fontaine has explained, “[Maimonides] may have disapproved of Ibn Daʾud's extensive use of Ibn Sina.”Footnote ⁵⁴ In addition, as the letter makes clear, Maimonides did not value Avicenna as highly as he did al-Fārābī, Ibn Bāǧǧa, and Averroes, nor did he wish to give the impression that he did. In any case, facts one and two are not really so relevant to F-Z's explanation. Fact three, however, that Averroes’ commentaries on Aristotle began to be translated in the 1230s, is quite important. The question is why did Jacob Anaṭoli, son-in-law and admirer of Samuel ibn Tibbon and the first of the translators of Averroes’ commentaries on Aristotle, translate these commentaries and not say the logic of Avicenna? The fourth fact, that some of Avicenna's views were “rather controversial,” is true, but does not seem very helpful, as many of Averroes’ views were controversial as well. Moreover, Zonta has rather persuasively argued in several studies, including the two on Avicenna and Jewish thought, that the interest in Avicenna and Avicennism that emerged in the 1330s and culminated in Ṭodros’ translation of parts of the Naǧāt may be viewed from an ideological perspective, namely that his teachings were easier to harmonize with Judaism than those of Averroes. In other words, according to Zonta's studies, it was the impression that Avicenna's views were closer to religion that eventually led to the partial translation of his Naǧāt.Footnote ⁵⁵

There are, as we have seen several problems with F-Z's explanation. For a student of medieval philosophy wishing to understand the paucity of Avicenna's texts translated into Hebrew, several plausible explanations may come to mind. Ultimately the question of which texts to translate is one of image, priority and availability. Which thinkers were most respected? Which texts were most needed? Which texts were available? We know Avicenna's works were available in Arabic to several translators, who chose not to translate his books. The question thus seems to be one of how Avicenna was perceived. I do not see any evidence that there was a conscious effort not to translate him, nor that he was considered “obsolete.” It seems it was rather a question of priorities, translating the most needed texts first. I have suggested that the priorities, to a great extent, were set by Maimonides’ letter. Thus among the first Greek or Islamic philosophical texts translated were the first four books of the Organon, not, as one would expect, of Aristotle's text, but in the form of Averroes’ middle commentaries (in accordance with Maimonides’ letter). Although F-Z's explanation is flawed, they are correct when they essentially say that the high authority Averroes assumed among the Jews left little desire to prioritize translating Avicenna. The prolific translator, Qalonimos ben Qalonimos, distinguished Avicenna and al-Ġazālī from the “important philosophers” (ḥashuvei ha-filosofim), Alexander of Aphrodisias, al-Fārābī, Ibn Bāǧǧa, and Averroes.Footnote ⁵⁶ He did so, not because the former were considered obsolete, but because they occasionally inclined from the path of Aristotle and, in particular, Aristotelian natural science. The “important philosophers” are precisely the main thinkers recommended by Maimonides. Among the philosophical texts translated by Qalonimos are at least eight of Averroes’ commentaries on Aristotle and al-Fārābī's Iḥṣāʾ al-ʿulūm. Qalonimos never translated Avicenna or al-Ġazālī.