From this admirable work, in which he neither hides his follies nor
flaunts his talents, we learn that Maimon possessed rare virtues. His
sympathy for the poor, his ready helpfulness even at the sacrifice of
himself, rendered him as uncommon in moral action as in philosophic
speculation. To the English reader a striking parallelism suggests
itself between him and his contemporary Oliver Goldsmith. Both were
afflicted with generosity above their fortunes; both had a "knack at
hoping," which led frequently to their undoing; neither could subscribe
easily to the "decent formalities of rigid virtue"; and, as of the
latter we may also say of the former, in the language of a reviewer, "He
had lights and shadows, virtues and foibles--vices you cannot call them,
be you never so unkind."

As Goldsmith came to London, so came Maimon to Berlin, "without friends,
recommendation, money, or impudence." His only luggage was two
manuscripts: a commentary on the works of Maimuni, whose name he had
adopted, and to whom he paid divine reverence; and a treatise in which
he attempted to rationalize the recondite doctrines of the Cabbala, and
which he always kept by him "as a monument of the struggle of the human
mind after perfection in spite of all hindrances which were put in its
way." The little bundle, which, to the zealot Jewish elders of that
community, seemed sufficient indication that Maimon was tainted with
heresy, and that his intentions were to devote himself to the study of
science and philosophy, proved a great impediment to entering Berlin;
and when, after a long, incredible struggle, he was finally admitted, he
found himself incapable of earning a livelihood. In his childlike
naïveté he was betrayed by the very persons upon whom he relied most.
All this could not deaden his love for knowledge and truth. By chance he
obtained Wolff's _Metaphysics_, and this marked a new epoch in his life.