Mishneh Torah, Human Dispositions 3

Hook

Remember those dusty old ideas about holiness? The ones that whispered that to be truly spiritual, you had to swap your comfy clothes for sackcloth, your delicious meal for dry bread, and maybe even find a cave to live in? It’s a pretty stale take, and if you ever bounced off Judaism because it felt like a cosmic diet plan or a vow of perpetual self-denial, you weren't wrong to question it.

But what if I told you that one of Judaism's greatest minds, Maimonides himself, fundamentally disagreed with that whole vibe? What if he thought that extreme asceticism—the kind that makes you miserable and detached from the world—was actually a bad path? Get ready to ditch the hair shirt (metaphorical or otherwise) because we’re about to unpack a vision of spiritual living that's vibrant, engaged, and surprisingly, deeply rooted in the everyday.

Context

For many, the path to spiritual growth seems to demand a withdrawal from the world. Think monks in monasteries, hermits in the wilderness, or even just the nagging feeling that "real" spirituality happens far away from your spreadsheets, laundry piles, and dinner plans. But the Rambam (Rabbi Moshe ben Maimon, Maimonides), a giant of Jewish thought, offers a radically different perspective, one that challenges this age-old assumption head-on.

Rule-Heavy Misconception: "Being spiritual means denying the physical."

This common misconception suggests that the body, its needs, and its pleasures are inherently obstacles to a higher life. That to ascend, you must suppress. But the Rambam flips this script entirely. For him, the physical isn't a barrier to be overcome, but rather a foundational tool for spiritual engagement. Your body, your health, your daily activities – they aren't distractions from God, but potential avenues to Him. He argues that the very act of maintaining your physical well-being, earning a living, or raising a family, when done with proper intention, becomes an integral part of serving the Divine. The physical world isn't a trap; it's the stage upon which our spiritual drama unfolds.

Here are three core ideas that set the stage:

• The Ascetic Trap: Many spiritual traditions, and even some interpretations within Judaism, have seen extreme self-denial as the pinnacle of piety. Think fasting for weeks, abstaining from all worldly pleasures, or embracing poverty. The idea is that by "mortifying the flesh," you elevate the spirit.
• The Rambam's Reversal: Maimonides, however, views this extreme path not as virtuous, but as deeply flawed, even calling those who pursue it "sinners." He argues that such practices can actually hinder, rather than help, one's connection to the Divine.
• The Forbidden "Extra": Judaism already has a clear set of commandments and prohibitions. The Rambam asserts that adding extra prohibitions upon oneself, beyond what the Torah requires, is not only unnecessary but actively discouraged. It’s like being given a perfectly balanced recipe and deciding to throw out half the ingredients just to prove how dedicated you are.

Text Snapshot

A person might say, "Since envy, desire, [the pursuit] of honor, and the like, are a wrong path and drive a person from the world, I shall separate from them to a very great degree and move away from them to the opposite extreme." For example, he will not eat meat, nor drink wine, nor live in a pleasant home, nor wear fine clothing, but, rather, [wear] sackcloth and coarse wool and the like - just as the pagan priests do.

This, too, is a bad path and it is forbidden to walk upon it. Whoever follows this path is called a sinner... "Do not be overly righteous and do not be overly clever; why make yourself desolate?"

A person should direct his heart and the totality of his behavior to one goal, becoming aware of God, blessed be He.

Even when he sleeps, if he retires with the intention that his mind and body rest, lest he take ill and be unable to serve God because he is sick, then his sleep is service to the Omnipresent, blessed be He.

New Angle

Okay, let's zoom in on what the Rambam is really getting at here, because it’s far more nuanced and liberating than that old "sacrifice everything" narrative. This isn't about being "less religious"; it's about being more effectively religious, integrating spirituality into the very fabric of your adult life.

Insight 1: The Body as a Sanctuary, Not a Sacrifice

When you hear phrases like "Whoever follows this path is called a sinner" about someone abstaining from wine or pleasure, it can be jarring. If your Hebrew school experience leaned into the "don't do this, don't do that" side of things, this might feel like a paradox. "Wait, I thought giving things up was good?" You weren't wrong to think that some forms of self-restraint are central to spiritual growth. The Rambam agrees we must steer clear of "envy, desire, [the pursuit] of honor." But he's drawing a crucial distinction: moderation in pursuing these things is good; extreme denial of the physical world is not.

Why is this "bad path" forbidden? The commentary (especially Seder Mishnah and Peri Chadash) sheds light on this. The Rambam isn't condemning self-discipline; he's condemning misguided self-punishment that ultimately prevents you from serving God. The idea is simple: if you starve yourself, wear scratchy sackcloth, or constantly deny your body's legitimate needs, you'll become weak, sick, and unable to think clearly or engage with the world. How can you study Torah, perform acts of kindness, support your family, or truly "know God" if your body is failing you? The very vessel through which your soul connects to the Divine becomes compromised.

Think of it this way: your body isn't a cage for your soul; it’s the vehicle, the instrument, the sanctuary that enables your soul to operate in this world. A musician doesn't smash their instrument to prove their devotion to music; they maintain it, tune it, and practice with it. Similarly, we are meant to care for our bodies so they can be strong and healthy enough to perform God's will. The commentary notes that the Rambam specifically uses the term "constant fasting" (תמיד) in his condemnation. This implies that occasional, purposeful fasting (perhaps for repentance, or to sharpen focus) can be permissible for those who can sustain it without harm. Indeed, the Peri Chadash commentary points out that great rabbis fasted extensively, particularly when repenting for sins or striving for intense spiritual insight. However, this was never the default path, and certainly not the path for an individual who is not physically or spiritually equipped for it. It was for specific, often extreme, circumstances.

This insight is profoundly relevant to adult life. We live in a world that often demands extreme self-denial in different forms: endless work hours, sacrificing sleep for career advancement, or pushing our bodies to unhealthy limits in pursuit of an ideal. The Rambam cautions against any path that makes you "desolate." He's telling us that burning out, neglecting our health, or becoming so detached that we can't function effectively in the world isn't holy; it’s counterproductive to our ultimate purpose. This matters because it shifts our focus from "what can I give up?" to "how can I optimize my well-being—physical, mental, and emotional—to be a more effective servant of God and a more present, purposeful human being?" It allows us to embrace self-care not as a luxury, but as a spiritual imperative.

Insight 2: Intentional Living: Every Moment a Mitzvah

Here’s where the Rambam truly re-enchants the mundane. He moves from what not to do (excessive asceticism) to what to do: "A person should direct his heart and the totality of his behavior to one goal, becoming aware of God, blessed be He." This isn't some abstract, ethereal goal that only happens in a synagogue or during meditation. The Rambam makes it startlingly practical.

He gives examples:

• Business dealings/working for a wage: Don't just think of gathering money. Do it "so that he will be able to obtain that which the body needs – food, drink, a home and a wife."
• Eating, drinking, intimate relations: Don't do these solely for pleasure. Do them "in order to be healthy in body and limb."
• Raising children: Not just to have "children who will do his work and toil for him" (a selfish intent), but "with the hope that perhaps he will be a wise and great man in Israel."
• Even sleep: If you sleep "with the intention that his mind and body rest, lest he take ill and be unable to serve God because he is sick, then his sleep is service to the Omnipresent, blessed be He."

This is revolutionary! It transforms every single activity of adult life into a potential act of divine service. The Rambam isn't saying you shouldn't enjoy your food or your spouse; he's saying these aren't the ultimate purpose. The pleasure is a natural byproduct, a gift, but the underlying "why" should be oriented towards enabling you to better know and serve God.

For Hebrew-School Dropouts who might have felt that Judaism was confined to specific rituals or synagogue attendance, this opens up an entirely new universe of meaning. Your challenging job, your exhausting parenting duties, your daily chores, your workouts—they are not outside the realm of spirituality. They are precisely where your spirituality can flourish. The Rambam offers a framework where the relentless demands of adult life, which often feel like they pull us away from spiritual pursuits, can actually become the very means through which we connect to the Divine.

This matters because it provides a powerful antidote to the fragmentation many adults feel. We juggle work, family, self-care, and often feel like we're failing at all of them, or that our "spiritual life" is a separate, often neglected, category. The Rambam says: bring it all together. Every decision, every action, every moment, can be imbued with purpose. "Know Him in all your ways," as Proverbs says, becomes a mantra for integrated, intentional living. It's about living a life where your "why" is always tethered to your highest values, making your entire existence a continuous, profound act of connection. You don't have to choose between a full life and a holy life; you just have to choose a purposeful one.

Low-Lift Ritual

This week, let's try a simple "Intention Pause." It's less than two minutes and can transform a mundane activity into a moment of spiritual connection.

Choose one recurring daily activity that you normally do on autopilot. It could be eating a meal, starting your workday, getting into your car, or going to sleep.

The Ritual:

1. Before you begin the activity, pause. Take two slow, deep breaths.
2. Mentally (or quietly aloud) state your intention. Connect the activity to your overall purpose of living a full life in service of a higher good.
   • If eating: "I am about to eat this meal. My intention is to nourish my body so I have the health and energy to be present for my loved ones, to perform my work with focus, and to learn and grow in my understanding."
   • If starting work: "I am about to begin my work. My intention is to contribute meaningfully, to use my talents responsibly, and to earn a livelihood that supports my family and allows me to engage in acts of generosity and learning."
   • If going to sleep: "I am going to sleep now. My intention is to allow my body and mind to rest deeply, so I may awaken refreshed and renewed, ready to engage with the world and serve with a clear mind and strong spirit."
3. Perform the activity, holding that intention gently in the background. Don't overthink it; just let it color your experience.

This small shift in perspective, practiced consistently, helps rewire your brain to see the sacred in the ordinary, turning routine into ritual and every action into a step on your path to "knowing Him in all your ways."

Chevruta Mini

Grab a friend, partner, or even just your journal, and reflect on these questions:

1. The Rambam challenges the idea that denying physical pleasure is inherently spiritual. What's one everyday activity in your life that you often do purely for pleasure (e.g., watching a show, enjoying a treat)? How might reframing your intention for that activity – not eliminating the pleasure, but connecting it to a larger purpose – change your experience of it?
2. The Rambam says even sleep can be an act of service if done with the right intention. What does "knowing God" mean to you in the context of your daily adult life, and how does your physical and mental well-being (or lack thereof) directly impact your ability to pursue that "knowing"?

Takeaway

You were never meant to choose between being a person of the world and a person of spirit. The Rambam offers a profound re-enchantment of life itself, dissolving the artificial wall between the sacred and the mundane. Your work, your meals, your family, your rest—every single aspect of your existence, when lived with intention, can be a vibrant, continuous act of "knowing God." You don't have to give up living to be holy; you just have to give living a deeper "why." This path isn't about asceticism; it's about integrated, purposeful engagement, making your entire life a beautiful, meaningful service.