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Good and
Bad Books
by Joseph Solomon Delmedigo
People say that the art of printing has brought
us great advantages, whereas it has in fact been
detrimental to us. For in former days authors were
handsomely paid and people would buy from them only
the good, pleasing, useful books, while the
useless, vain books would of themselves disappear.
Not so, however, in our days, when many ignorant
people assume airs, and, though benighted and
smaller than the least throughout their lives, seek
to set themselves up as shining lights to another
generation that has not leaned to know them. And
everyone who possibly can, and whose wealth is
greater than his understanding, connives to publish
books in which he is arbitrarily referred to as a
great and worthy man, whereas he is no more an
authority than is a carpenter's apprentice.
The only concern for the publishers is for new
books. No one pays any attention to the writings of
the early authors, or makes effort to preserve them
and to shake the dust from them. Because of the art
of printing you find a topsy-turvy world -- the
native below and the stranger on top.
It seems to me that books are subject to the
same process as souls: they migrate from one body
to another. Not by chance are son and book
designated in Latin by the same term, liber.
And so it is in the case of scholarly books
that are translated from one language into another,
in a different style, in other words, and in
changed order. The language becomes different but
the content is the same. And the book is given a
new title -- for example, a book originally
entitled Precious Vessel will be called
Costly Vessel. The matter remains exactly
the same except that it has been poured from one
receptacle into another. Ecclesiastes has taught us
all this in these his words: "That which hath been
is that which shall be, and that which hath been
done is that which shall be done; and there is
nothing new under the sun. Is there a thing whereof
it is said: 'See, this is new'? -- it hath been
already, in the ages which were before us. There is
no remembrance of them of former times; neither
shall there be any remembrance of them of latter
times that are to come, among those that shall come
after." He also said: "Seeing that in the days to
come all will long ago have been forgotten."
It is true indeed that there is no cause for
concern about the good, useful, pleasing authors,
for under any circumstances their names will live
for many days, perhaps they will even shine
forever, like stars. But not so in the case of
those who pen spurious writings, who have consumed
their time and their money to no advantage. When
their ignorance is laid bare and their mischief
gives offense, their shortcomings are recognized
and their hope turns to despair. For their eye is
dimmed. Even if they were to offer their books as
gifts, no one would accept them. They become like
thorns in their eyes, they are piled high in their
houses, heaps upon heaps, and the rats feed upon
and glut themselves with them. And the rain falls,
drips down upon them drop upon drop, and the birds,
pigeons, and chickens nest among them. The sun sets
at noon for the authors of these books, before
their very eyes, and their books die in their
lifetime.
But if the authors were only wise enough to
realize all this, they would recoil from "much
study that is a weariness of the flesh." But their
love for themselves is great, and they shut their
minds to the fact that the ultimate end of their
books is but a vain one, for no one would ever
commit the folly of publishing them anew. Thus one
who writes a number of inferior books will live
unto all generations just as little as the name of
one who begets many illegitimate children.
Excerpted from Elim
(Psalms).
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The
Jewish Philosophy
Reader,
by
Daniel H. Frank
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