The relationship between religion and philosophy reaches an intensity and complexity in Maimonides' work that has hardly any precedent within the Jewish tradition. His thinking stands at the intersection of revelation and reason, of Torah and Aristotle, of halakhic obligation and metaphysical contemplation. In this tension he develops a model in which religion and philosophy do not cancel each other out, but rather make each other possible. His famous dictum קַבֵּל הָאֱמֶת מִמִּי שֶׁאָמְרָהּ (“Accept the truth of whoever speaks it”) (Commentary on the Mishnah, Avot 4:1) is not just an intellectual openness, but a theological statement: truth is one, and where it appears, there it is a trace of God. This belief forms the basis for his attempt to integrate Aristotelian philosophy into the fabric of Jewish tradition.
That Maimonides was able to carry out this integration is because he did not see Aristotle as a threat to the Torah, but as a necessary addition. The Aristotelian cosmos, with its hierarchical order, its emphasis on form, purpose, and necessity, and its idea that the highest human activity is theoria (Nicomachean Ethics X.7), became for Maimonides a framework for re-understanding the Torah. Where Aristotle states that the highest happiness consists in contemplation of the highest being, Maimonides transforms this into a religious duty. In Mishneh Torah, Yesodei haTorah 2:2 he writes: מִתְבּוֹנֵן בְּמַעֲשָׂיו וּבְרוּאָיו הַנִּפְלָאִים וְרוֹאֶה מֵהֶם חָכְמָתוֹ (“When one contemplates His wonderful works and creatures and sees His wisdom therein”), one is filled with love and awe. Aristotelian contemplation is thus incorporated into the structure of the mitzvot: the study of nature is not merely an intellectual pursuit, but a form of avodat HaShem, service to God.
Yet Maimonides is not a slave of Aristotle. Where Aristotle regards the world as eternal (Metaphysics XII.6), Maimonides holds fast to creation (Moreh Nevukhim II.13). Where Aristotle has no room for revelation, Maimonides sees the Torah as a divine pedagogy that leads man to the highest insight. But the structure of his thinking — the emphasis on order, purpose, intellectual perfection — is Aristotelian. Philosophy thus becomes not an alien addition to the Torah, but an instrument for understanding it more deeply. In the Moreh Nevukhim (III.27) he explicitly states that the Torah has two goals: perfecting society and perfecting the soul. The first occurs through halacha, the second through intellectual contemplation of God. This dichotomy is taken directly from Aristotle's distinction between practical and theoretical reason.
This integration of philosophy has major implications for his understanding of mitzvot. For Maimonides, the commandments are not merely commands that test obedience, but pedagogical tools that shape man. In Moreh Nevukhim III.31 he writes that the commandments are intended to lead man away from worldly pursuits and focus him on God. Through the mitzvot, man is trained in attention, discipline and focus. Ultimately, they must bring him to yedi'at HaShem, the knowledge of God. In his words: וְאַהֲבַת ה' אֵינָהּ נִתְקַיֶּמֶת אֶלָּא בְּדֵעָה (“The love of God consists only in knowledge”) (Yesodei haTorah 2:1). Love of God is not an emotion that arises from nowhere, but the result of intellectual contemplation. Religion and philosophy meet at exactly this point: the commandments are the form, the knowledge of God is the content that brings this form to life.
In this light, Maimonides also reinterprets classical religious language. The rabbinic expression קַבָּלַת עוֹל מַלְכוּת שָׁמַיִם (“taking upon oneself the yoke of the kingship of heaven”) is understood by him not only as submission, but as embracing the knowledge of God's unity and the love of God. In his commentary on the Mishnah (Berakhot 2:2), he explains that reciting the Shema is not just a ritual act, but an intellectual recognition of God's oneness: יְחֻד הַשֵּׁם וְאַהֲבָתוֹ (“the unity of God and the love of Him”). Accepting God's kingship is therefore not just a legal or ritual act, but a movement of the mind and heart.
At this point the contrast with Christian scholasticism becomes sharply visible. Thomas Aquinas also integrates Aristotle into his theology, but he does so from a different starting point: the incarnation. For Thomas, God has become known in Christ, in flesh and blood, in history (Summa Theologiae III.1). For Maimonides that is impossible. God iscompletely transcendent, without body, without qualities, without change. Where scholasticism speaks of the analogia entis, the analogy between God and creature, Maimonides speaks of the radical incomparability of God. Where Scholasticism attributes positive predicates to God — God is good, God is wise, God is powerful — Maimonides rejects this as anthropomorphism. In Moreh Nevukhim I.58 he writes: אֵין הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא מִתְאַפֵּס בְּתֹאַר (“The Holy One, blessed be He, is not described by properties”). Christian scholasticism seeks a middle way between revelation and philosophy; Maimonides opts for a radical transcendence that makes every positive statement about God problematic.
This brings us to his negative theology. For Maimonides we cannot say what God is, but only what He is not. Every positive quality we attribute to God makes Him smaller, more human, more limited. Therefore, he writes: הַשְּׁלִילָה הִיא הַיְדִיעָה הָאֲמִתִּית (“Denial is the true knowledge”) (Moreh Nevukhim I.59). God is not body, not multiplicity, not changeable, not limited. Even “God is wise” is misleading, he says, because it suggests that God's wisdom resembles human wisdom. The only safe way is the way of negation: God is not ignorant, not powerless, not unjust. This negative theology is not skeptical but rather a form of reverence: by refusing to capture God in human categories, Maimonides preserves His transcendence.
At the same time, this negative theology is not empty. It leads to a religious attitude of contemplation, wonder and love. When man realizes that God is incomprehensible, he is not discouraged, but rather attracted. The distance becomes a source of longing. The unknowability of God becomes the space in which man rises. Philosophy thus becomes a form of worship: thinking that recognizes its own limits becomes an act of humility.
This also follows from his plea for the integration of secular studies such as philosophy and medicine. For those who are able to do so, these disciplines are not a threat, but a necessary addition. They contribute to a more complete understanding of reality and thus indirectly to a more complete understanding of God. The fact that this approach provokes resistance and even leads to temporary bans on philosophical study for young people shows how radical his project is: he pushes the line between “sacred” and "profane" and shows that truth, wherever it is found, can ultimately serve the knowledge of God.
In all these movements it becomes clear how Maimonides redefines the relationship between religion and philosophy. Religion is not abolished in philosophy, but neither is it closed to philosophical questions. The mitzvot remain commanded, and the Torah remains normative, but their deepest meaning is sought in the formation of a person who knows and loves God. Philosophy does not become autonomous but teleological: it finds its goal in theology. The tension between faith and reason is not denied but transformed into a dynamic in which both correct and elevate each other. This creates a model in which religion does not have to be anti-intellectual, and philosophy does not have to be without religion: a Jewish form of life in which thinking itself becomes a form of service.


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"Dare to use your own reason" - Immanuel Kant