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Introducing Shinran and Maimonides

Shinran

Born in 1173 as Hino Arinori,¹ Shinran belonged to a once aristocratic family, which eventually fell from political favor.² The course of Shinran’s life directly affected the development of his thought, and his life can be analyzed through the lens of four distinct periods. Except for his childhood, he lived during the Kamakura period hence the first period of Shinran’s life falls between 1181 and 1201. At the age of nine, Shinran became a Tendai monk and studied on Mount Hiei. During this study, Shinran was an ordinary temple monk (dōsō), exposed to the Tendai system’s major doctrines as well as Pure Land thoughts of such Tendai masters as Ennin, Ryōgen, and Genshin. In addition, he was influenced by a prevalent religious consciousness in society known as the veneration of Prince Shōtoku (574–622),³ who was traditionally credited with the formal adoption of Buddhism in Japan and was seen as a manifestation of the Bodhisattva ⁴ of compassion: Avalokites̕vara (Jpn.: Kannon) and who in effect also preserved the link to Shinto’s concept of kami.⁵

The second period falls between 1201 and 1207. At the age of 29, despite being significantly influenced by the Shōtoki consciousness as well as the Tendai teachings of the Pure Land, Shinran left Mt. Hiei. After a period of spiritual turmoil, he joined Hōnen (1133–1212), the religious reformer and founder of the first independent branch of Japanese Shin Buddhism (Jōdo shū) and his Pure Land movement. This period ended dramatically in 1207, when Hōnen and his disciples, including Shinran, were exiled. The third period, 1207 to 1245, consists of two periods of exile: an imposed exile, which lasted until 1214 and a self-imposed exile, which lasted until 1245.

From 1207 to 1214, Shinran lived in Echigo where he broke the monastic tradition by marrying and raising a family. It is during this time that he became especially cognizant of the perils of life and started a self-conscious exploration of human nature with its passions and instincts. He developed a highly skeptical view of the traditional Tendai principle of attaining enlightenment by foregoing the “life of passion.”⁶ Shinran’s appreciation of the non-dualistic principles of not dichotomizing the religious life and lay life as two separate realms grew in tandem with his skepticism of Tendai principles. He not only recognized the inadequacy of the reliance on self-power (jiriki)⁷ but also perceived self-power as being fruitless and misleading. Instead, he turned to Other-power (tariki), the Power of Amida’s Primal Vow, which he defined as power “free from any form of calculation.”⁸ The exile had stripped Shinran of his ordination names, Shakku and Zenshin, and he choose the name Gutoku⁹ (“the foolish stubble-head”). The name denotes Shinran’s sense of awareness of deep self-attachment and recognition of his self-centeredness and wrongdoing. In 1214 the exile was lifted but instead of returning to Kyoto, Shinran chose a self-imposed exile and moved to another rural area, Kantō area. During this period, Shinran built a substantial following among the common people and established places for worship, dōjōs, where his followers gathered to listen to his teachings.

The overall exilic period was the most significant time in Shinran’s life for the crystallization of his thought. During this period, he became further disillusioned with both Buddhist institutional power and institutionalized societal power. In Kantō, Shinran began writing his magnum opus commonly called in Japanese Kyōgyōshinshō (Teaching, Practice, Faith, and Realization).¹⁰ In Kyōgyōshinshō, Shinran provides not only a systematic exposition of the various Pure Land texts but also compiles his own interpretation of Pure Land tradition. In his Postscript to Kyōgyōshinshō, Shinran shares his desire to retain his exilic identity and to remain separate from monastic institution.¹¹ Here he calls himself Toku (“stubble-haired”) and thus does not identify himself as a monk. By saying he was not a monk, he divorced himself from the temporal power of the Buddhist tradition in Japan, and by saying he was not a layperson (“nor one in worldly life”), he distanced himself from the nobility or warriors but also highlighted his exilic identity. These words clearly articulated his political views as well as by stating his displeasure with the lack of ethical treatment of Hōnen’s followers.

In 1235, he returned to Kyoto, where he spent the rest of his life. Ironically, his return to Kyoto resulted from an imminent threat of persecution for teaching the exclusive practice of nenbutsu, senju nenbutsu but now in the countryside. However, during the fourth and the last period of his life from 1235 to 1262, Shinran continued teaching and explicating his ideas in various writings as well as in correspondence with his disciples. Shinran’s correspondence carries specific significance since it allows us a glimpse into his personality. It testifies not only to Shinran’s commitment to the teachings of Pure Land but also exemplifies his efforts to ensure that these teachings are not misinterpreted and wrongly accused of any antinomian charges. Shinran died in 1262.

Let us turn briefly to Shinran’s cultural background to understand Shinran’s thought better. It is important to acknowledge that early Japanese thinkers were characterized by their ability to syncretize the outside influences of Confucianism and Buddhism by adapting these influences to their own specific cultural factors: the indigenous tradition of Shinto. We already mentioned the impact of Prince Shōtoku’s role on Shinran’s thought and the fact that Shinran’s first monastic community was Tendai Buddhism. Tendai Buddhism was founded by Saichō (767–822), who was a competitor of Kūkai (774–835), the founder of the Shingon tradition known for its esoterism and its focus on the Buddha called Dainichi.¹² Tendai Buddhism combined elements of both esoteric and exoteric Buddhism. Buddhism became deeply ingrained into Japanese society, during the Heian period (794–1185), via the support of the aristocrats and clergy. During the Heian period, “the ideal relationship between politics and religion was expressed in the statement: ‘The Imperial law and the Buddhist law are the two wheels of the cart’: the mutual support of these two well-balanced forces would assure the power and prosperity of both.”¹³ With the advent of the Kamakura period (1185–1333) much devastation and suffering occurred. Shinran’s mentor Hōnen and Shinran himself, both trained as Tendai monks, responded to this decline with their interpretation of the human condition, offering their own Pure Land solution. We recall that in various schools of East Asian Buddhism for Pure land practices, it was common to invoke the name of Amida Buddha by using the practice called nenbutsu (calling the name of Amida Buddha) or contemplate on Amida Buddha’s Land. In 1175, Hōnen established Shin Buddhism (Jōdo shū school), which later was further radicalized and transformed by Shinran. Before addressing any specifics of Pure Land tradition, for our purposes it is important to understand the period to which this tradition responded, specifically, the so-called degenerated age of mappō.

Mappō

The Kamakura period with all its devastation and suffering represented the crisis of the age, the degenerated age of mappō, characterized by the increased distance from the teachings and practices of the Buddha. We recall that relatively early in its history, Buddhism developed the idea of three periods of Buddhist law: the Period of Righteous law (Shōbo), the Period of the Counterfeit Law (Zōbo) and the Period of the Decay of Law (mappō).¹⁴ The Japanese concept of mappō denotes the third and eschatologically decisive period in the history of Buddha’s Dharma. It is also known as the period of Final Dharma during which enlightenment becomes unattainable. This declining period stems from the growing deficiencies of the Buddhist community (sangha), including the increased corruption of its leaders and the belief that the traditional teachings are no longer relevant to the needs of religious people. Given its eschatological undertones, mappō reflects the belief in the end of times as the end of the world itself. The impotence of imperial rule, the decline of the aristocracy, various natural and man-made calamities seemed to confirm the reality of the impending collapse. Pure Land thinkers accepted this view as a proof of a manifestation of human condition—weakness, imperfection, vulnerability, inability to withstand temptations.¹⁵

Shinran’s mentor Hōnen was one of the first thinkers of the Kamakura period who applied the doctrine of mappō to Buddhist practices, opening the Buddhist sangha to both men and women and all socioeconomic classes. For Hōnen, mappō offered both a challenge and an opportunity since it “did not mean the rampant violation of precepts but the disintegration of the sacrosanct authority of precepts that discriminated against certain groups of people” and thus “an age of boundless hope and optimism for the disadvantaged.”¹⁶ Shinran, as we will see, advanced this approach even more radically. For Shinran, mappō is more than just a period of history; it is also the manifestation of life itself and the exhibition of human nature. In Hymns of the Dharma Age, Shinran writes:

As the time of kalpa-defilement¹⁷ advances, / The bodies of sentient beings gradually grow smaller; / Their evil and wrongdoing amid the five defilements increase, / So that their minds are like poisonous snakes and evil dragons.¹⁸

Shinran’s view of human nature, particularly human evilness is directly impacted by mappō conditions and exacerbated by his own exilic experience. For Shinran, evil, though specific to each individual, comprises the essence of humanity in the circle of birth and rebirth, samsāra. It is Amida Buddha’s compassionate Vow, discussed below, which allows humans to be delivered into the Pure Land, free from suffering. The Pure Land tradition became a direct response to the hardships, human imperfections, and uncertainties. Already enjoying some popular support among the non-elite in the earlier Heian period, in the Kamakura period the Pure Land tradition took a critical stance toward the decline of the preceding Buddhist traditions into monastic formalism, sectarianism, and the focus on individual liberation.

Pure Land and Amida Buddha

So what exactly is this Pure Land tradition?¹⁹ The Pure Land tradition became an admixture of a Mahāyāna conception of enlightened wisdom and the karmic nature of human existence. We note here that the Pure Land path based on Amida Buddha is expounded in the Larger and Smaller Sutras, which trace their origins back to northwestern India in about the first century CE. These two sutras, along with the later Sutra of Contemplation on the Buddha of Immeasurable Life, form the foundation for the East Asian Pure Land tradition. In Japan, the Pure Land teachings, brought from Korea, have played a significant role since the sixth century CE. We have been mentioning Amida Buddha without explaining who he is. Here we are turning to a brief discussion of Amida Buddha by first noting that all the teachings of the Pure Land tradition pivot around the Buddha Amida, a Bodhisattva Hōzō (Sanskrit: Dharmākara) who attained the state of Buddhahood and whose essential quality became that of bringing all beings without exception, and regardless of their capacities, to enlightenment.

Amida Buddha—the Buddha of Immeasurable Light and Immeasurable Life, also the Tathāgata of Unhindered Light. Tathāgata means “one who comes to us from the world of reality-as-is and whose sole purpose is the illumination of our darkness and its transformation.”²⁰ Amida Buddha’s definition in terms of “immeasurable light” reflects the Buddhist understanding of light as a symbol of wisdom. For Shinran, the historical existence of Shakyamuni is of a rather limited significance, understood as the “manifestation of Amida, perhaps one among countless others.”²¹ The reason is that for Shinran, the key point is that wisdom-compassion underlies all enlightened existence, even the existence of Shakyamuni. In essence, Shinran maintains that Amida is the primordial Buddha who is beyond time. This brings us to the question of the origins of Amida Buddha. We already mentioned that for Shinran, Amida is the primordial Buddha who is beyond time. Here we turn to the trajectory of the idea of “Buddha” and its culmination in the image of Amida Buddha.

We recall that the idea of human compassion exemplified by Shakyamuni Gautama was born from the Indian historical environment of the fifth century BCE. After the death of the Buddha, there appeared more than twenty different schools of Buddhist thought. However, some of these schools vanished and/or became insignificant. By and large, Buddhism split into two great systems: Mahāyānist (“the great vehicle” of salvation) and Hinayanist (“small or insignificant vehicle” of salvation).²² Mahāyāna represented a more liberal and progressive approach than Hinayana/Theravada²³ and became characterized by metaphysical and speculative thought. However, Mahāyāna Buddhism is not one unified phenomenon and, by and large, was a response to Theravada’s positions. It counter-distinguished itself from Theravada by viewing enlightenment as “a universal rather than individual accomplishment.”²⁴

We know of Amida Buddha through the sutras supposedly preached by Shakyamuni, but this does not answer the ontological question of the source of this Amida Buddha. The Larger Sutra of Immeasurable Life, one of the foundational sacred texts of the Pure Land tradition, recalls the story of Amida Buddha. As with Mahāyāna Buddhism in general, the Pure Land tradition envisions each land representing the expression of a particular Buddha’s wisdom-compassion. To understand Amida Buddha, requires for us to turn to the Larger Sutra, according to which Shakyamuni told his followers the previously mentioned story of the Bodhisattva Hōzō. The narrative maintains that a certain king became so enthralled by the notions of compassion that he abandoned his throne and made vows as a Bodhisattva. This Bodhisattva, while able to attain his own enlightenment, felt a strong sense of compassion for those who, despite their persistent efforts, failed to achieve enlightenment. Hence, he vowed to hold back his own enlightenment until all sentient beings attained enlightenment. As he was examining the many pure lands, he vowed to establish a land specifically designated for those who are unable to attain enlightenment by using their own power or efforts. To seal his commitment, he undertook a series of the forty-eight vows,²⁵ which spelled out both the conditions of Pure Land (jōdo), a “land imagined to be beyond karma”²⁶ and the way to be reborn there. As he fulfilled his vows, he became the Buddha called Amida. The ethical implication is that the person of true entrusting mediates Amida’s compassion and in fact becomes “a carrier or even embodiment of Amida’s compassion.”²⁷ Particularly significant for our discussion is the fact that if Amida is the epitome of ethics as expressed through his compassion, those embraced by the Power of Amida’s compassionate Vow assume ethical standing as well. This non-discriminatory compassion later came to be perceived as the embrace of evil-doers alongside those who possess human goodness. So, the conventional distinction between traditionally conceived notions of “good” and “bad” changed its significance. This radical reinterpretation of this distinction is essential for our further exploration of Shinran’s conceptualization of human nature and the role of Amida Buddha in relation to it.

Shinran, contrary to the traditional narrative, radically alters certain elements in earlier Pure Land thought and devotion. Specifically, Shinran repeatedly refers to Dharmākara in the chapter on shinjin, which is defined as “‘true, real, and sincere heart and mind’ (makoto no kokoro).”²⁸ The chapter on shinjin in Kyōgyōshinshō addresses shinjin by stating that “our attainment of shinjin ²⁹ arises from the heart and mind with which Amida Tathagata selected the Vow.”³⁰ However, Shinran’s interpretation of Dharmākara reverses the traditional interpretation in which Amida Buddha is seen as the savior and the object of faith, to being the true subject of faith, hence transforming the subject/object paradigm. While this interpretation is not explicitly articulated by Shinran, it comes from Shinran’s description of Dharmākara as “the source and foundation of shinjn” hence not “exterior and eventual” but “interior and immediate to the believer.”³¹ This view is particularly relevant to our subsequent discussion of ethics and we note here that this internalization of Dharmākara leads humans to share aspiration of Dharmākara to affect liberation of all sentient beings: “the faithful take on the significance of Dharmākara through the transformative instant of awakening to the meaning and message contained in the name [of Amida Buddha].”³² Shinran’s view of the Buddha Amida was a direct result of his understanding of the concept of mappō and subsequently of Amida Buddha as the equivalent of human agency.

We recognize that the view of human agency is irreducible from the views of karma. Shinran’s own life conditions made him cognizant of life’s challenges and compassionate to those afflicted by negative karmic effects. His exposure to the common people led him to a more nuanced interpretations of such terms as “good” and “evil” and he did not use these in terms of people’s actions, but viewed karmic “evil” as “suffering and the awareness of suffering.”³³ Shinran’s early works, although lacking sophistication of Kyōgyōshinshō, already demonstrated a humanistic focus driven by his aforementioned compassion for all beings. For instance, in Kangyo-amidakyo-shuchu (annotated Amitayur-dhyana sutra) composed in 1217, he cited a passage from Le-pang-wen-lei written by Tsung-hsiao in 1200, in which he discussed the rebirth of the animal slaughterer. In medieval China, by the standards of that time, the animal slaughterer was considered unable to die a peaceful death. Shinran reflected on this story by arguing that it is entirely possible for a butcher to be saved through Pure Land faith. Here we can see the beginning seeds of Shinran’s Pure Land akunin-shōki’s theory—an ego-driven “bad person” theory.³⁴ This theory is intricately connected to Shinran’s complex conceptualization of shinjin, which in addition holds that the realization of shinjin results in becoming bombu—a foolish being.³⁵ This cognizance of human weakness and wickedness (one’s own and that of others) led him to realize the absolute or eternal truth of the Buddha Amida’s Vow, the Vow which was explicitly directed toward those whose karmic situation made it impossible for them to reach a place of enlightenment by their own efforts. For Shinran, that karmic situation was, however, shared by everyone living in the degenerated age of mappō.

In his Kyōgyōshinshō’s chapter on faith, which is admittedly one of its most important chapters, Shinran reflects and acknowledges the difficulty of overcoming human inclinations, including a propensity for violence and greed. Shinran refers to the Buddha’s compassion by turning to the story of the King’s discussion with Jīvaka:

When there is sickness among the seven children, although the father and the mother are concerned equally with all of them, nevertheless their hearts lean wholly toward the sick child. Great King, it is like this with the Tathāgata. It is not that there is no equality among all sentient beings, but his heart leans wholly toward the person who has committed evil.³⁶

As its name alludes, Shin Buddhism by definition relates to a “pure land” (jōdo) which is defined broadly as “the field of a particular Buddha’s or Bodhisattva’s spiritual power” and narrowly as “the specific realm created by such a buddha when taking the Bodhisattva Vow to assist others.”³⁷ The most important is the Eighteenth Vow—Primal Vow (hongan), the Vow of birth through the recitation of the name of Amida Buddha (shōmyō nenbutsu). This Vow expresses the desire to free all beings from the weight of karmic evil. In the Pure Land tradition, the recitation of the name of the Buddha Amida (shōmyō nenbutsu) nullifies one’s karmic evil and revokes karmic causation. Hence, any human attains the potentiality of enlightenment.

One’s views do not originate in vacuum and we turn here to the question of Shinran’s influences. From where did Shinran’s ideas derive and who affected his thought?

Shinran’s Seven Patriarchs

Shinran’s work demonstrates carefully argued religious logic largely informed by his views on human nature, including human imperfections. Human nature, prone to weakness and wickedness, exhibits an inability to know Buddhist reality (to be reborn hence to attain enlightenment) through one’s own efforts. In Shinran’s thought, this inability became an equalizer among all human beings, regardless of their wealth, social status, education, or heredity. To contextualize Shinran’s thought further, we turn now to a brief review of those whom Shinran considered his teachers, “Seven Patriarchs.”³⁸

All these Seven Patriarchs are great masters of Buddhism and Shinran highly praised them all, quoting each one of them in The Hymn of True Faith. As we discussed, Shinran’s direct exposure to the Pure Land teaching was through his mentor, Hōnen. Yet, the history of the Pure Land tradition goes back much further, and Shinran acknowledges the influence of the Seven Patriarchs. Prior to turning to the discussion of the Seven Patriarchs, we highlight once more the importance of Prince Shōtoku for the development of Shinran’s thought. The compassionate response of Amida Buddha to save people during mappō exemplifies Shinran’s interpretation of Prince Shōtoku’s ideals. We recall Shinran’s words:

Take refuge in Prince Shōtoku of the country of Japan! / Our indebtedness to his propagation of the Buddhist teachings is profound. / His compassionate activity to save sentient beings is far-reaching; / Do not lax in reverent praise of him!³⁹

Ostensibly, Shinran’s veneration of Prince Shōtoku intersects with the myth of Prince Shōtoku’s image as the Bodhisattva of compassion Kannon.⁴⁰

To understand better the influence of Shinran’s Indian Patriarchs requires us to briefly recall the thought of three major Mahāyāna Buddhist thinkers: Nāgārjuna (c. 150 CE), Asaṅga (c. 325 CE), and Vasubandhu (c. 325 CE). Mahāyāna Buddhism focused on the altruistic aim of assisting the spiritual development of all sentient beings. This led to a distinctive notion of the Bodhisattva characterized by altruism, compassion, and a desire to assist all sentient beings in their pursuit of enlightenment. Nāgārjuna, the most renowned Mādhyamika School⁴¹ sage, was Shinran’s first Indian Patriarch.⁴² Nāgārjuna affected the Mahāyāna Buddhist thought by making its focus more philosophical and less grounded in a specific historical figure. For Nāgārjuna, compassion served an ultimate aim of alleviating human suffering and he attempted to break down the dichotomous thinking that erroneously conceives of the world of suffering (samsāra) as distinct and separate from the world of enlightenment (nirvāna). As a result, the Mādhyamika School has viewed the samsaric world as ontologically identical with the world of enlightenment (nirvāna). Deluded humans fail to recognize that to destroy dichotomous thinking one must move beyond fixed categories and accept the non-substantiality of the self. While this was already argued by Shakyamuni, Nāgārjuna enhanced this recognition by rejecting all absolutes and pointing out the limits of dualistic thinking, which failed to take into account the interdependence and interchangeability of nirvāna and samsāra.

This interpretation stemmed from Nāgārjuna’s view of two types of truths: conventional and ultimate. According to Nāgārjuna, all phenomena are empty of essence, of independence, and of substance. The ultimate truth is that the things are impermanent, interdependent, and have merely conventional, nominal identity. Ultimate and conventional truths from an ontological point of view are identical.⁴³ Consistent with his rejection of any absolutes and given his view of emptiness, Nāgārjuna argued that the two types of truth are also interdependent. Nāgārjuna, however, accepted the idea that humans speak of many things as conventionally real (true) because they contain relational identities. This relationality is what Nāgārjuna calls interdependence (pratītya-samutpāda) and relates directly to his view of emptiness.⁴⁴ While this thought reflected the traditional Buddhist concept of interdependence, Nāgārjuna enhanced it by proposing the further deconstruction (or maybe even destruction) of all absolutes, including, as mentioned, the rejection of the distinction between samsāra and nirvāna. In Nāgārjuna’s view, all distinctions are relative rather than absolute, including, what is particularly important to our discussion, the distinction between good and evil, or in other words, nothing is absolutely good or absolutely bad.⁴⁵ Ultimate wisdom involves seeing the emptiness of things.⁴⁶ This view affected Shinran’s view of human nature, specifically his conception of the akunin shōki as part of a “cluster” that we will discuss in the next chapter.

By challenging human perception, Nāgārjuna’s thought paved the way to the Yogācāra tradition’s thinkers such as Vasubandhu (fourth or fifth century CE) and his brother Asaṅga (c. 300–370 CE). Yogācāra tradition taught that “our ordinary perception and cognition construct illusory objects whose nature emerges when consciousness is purified.”⁴⁷ Given Yogācāra’s view of human cognition and perception, these thinkers’ conceptions of Buddha were no longer tied to the historical, corporeal Buddha alone. Rather, these Yogācāra thinkers advanced a premise that posited the existence of the Buddha on three distinct levels, each having its own form of the body. The three bodies (Trikāya) are Dharmakāya (the Dharma-body of the Buddha as the highest, cosmic body),⁴⁸ Sambhogakāya (as celestial bodies known through meditation and devotional practices), and nirmānakāya (as the physical and corporeal bodies appearing historically in this world as enlightened human beings).⁴⁹ This school of thought allowed later thinkers to view nenbutsu—the practice of calling the Name of Amida Buddha—as a “provisional name” which “frees humans from the limits of ordinary consciousness and calls them back to their original identities as buddhas.”⁵⁰ Both Shinran and Hōnen refer to Nāgārjuna and Vasubandhu as their Indian “patriarchs.” In sum, Mahāyāna included the view of buddha as “cosmic processes” (the Buddha’s embodiments) and the idea of Bodhisattva.⁵¹

While Nāgārjuna and Vasubandhu built “a bridge between the Mahayana Bodhisattva and Pure Land ideals,” it was the Chinese Pure Land masters, who were “concerned about the practicality and accessibility of their religion, [and who] adapted the Pure Land tradition to broaden its appeal.”⁵² Shinran’s Chinese patriarchs start with Tanluan (Jpn. Donran, 476–542).⁵³ Being cognizant of the tribulation of the age of mappō, he maintains the need for a clear differentiation between the “easy” practice (as a reliance on the power of Amida Buddha’s vows) and the “difficult” practice (as a reliance on one’s own power).⁵⁴ To draw this differentiation, Tanluan articulated the difference between jiriki (self-power) and tariki (other-power) as the distinction between the “difficult” practice for the former and the “easy” practice for the latter which was a practice of entrusting oneself to the power of Amida’s Vow as the power outside oneself. In Tanluan’s view, jiriki reflected on human pride and ego’s influences and “brought the Pure Land tradition in line with the general Buddhist doctrine of no-ego; even he was claiming the usual Buddhist path was no longer effective.”⁵⁵

Daochuo (Jpn.: Dōshaku, 562–645), the second of Shinran’s Chinese patriarchs, like Nāgārjuna and Tanluan, divided all the teachings of the Buddha into two categories: the path of sages (difficult path) and the path of the Pure Land (easy path). While Daochuo followed Tanluan’s argumentation, he made it even more pointed by directing his assertions upon the age of mappō and arguing that self-power (jiriki) is no longer conducive to attaining enlightenment and placing his emphasis on an “easy” path practice. Daochuo’s differentiation between jiriki and tariki was an assertion that tariki is the only true practice.

Shandao (Jpn.: Zendo, 613–681), Daochuo’s direct disciple added his focus on human nature as “karmically corrupted through the accumulation of negative propensities.”⁵⁶ He supported Daochuo’s focus on the nenbutsu but also insisted on the importance of the state of one’s mind and argued that a proper attitude of entrusting oneself to Amida’s Vow revolves around “three mindful hearts”: sincerity, profundity, and a desire for rebirth in the Pure Land which result from right kinds of practice.⁵⁷ He argued for ten soundings or voicings (as invocations of Amida’s name) rather than ten thoughts. (The nen of nenbutsu ordinarily means “holding in mind”; so Shandao was deliberately shifting the traditional emphasis). Shandao also emphasized repentance and considered all men (including himself) to be evil. However, as it was in the case of Tanluan, Shandao continued to assign the substantial role to self-power (jiriki) despite holding that because of human evilness the only appropriate practice is one of other-power (tariki). In Shandao’s and subsequently Hōnen’s thought, shinjn became perceived interchangeably with the nenbutsu.⁵⁸

Genshin (942–1017) was Shinran’s first Japanese born patriarch of the Pure Land tradition. Genshin aimed to popularize the Shin Buddhism teachings by blending its monastic elements with elements suited for lay people. Genshin accepted the possibility that lay people can attain birth in the Pure Land through the process of vocalization of nenbutsu rather than contemplative nenbutsu. Specific to Genshin’s influence on Shinran’s thought, Shinran drew on his spirit of “deep self-reflection and sensitivity to defiling passions.”⁵⁹ Genshin’s approach, however, was on instilling fear of hell.⁶⁰ His way to the Pure Land required the “fivefold practice of nenbutsu”: worship of Amida and his land, praise as meditation and oral praise, mastering of the Buddhist teachings, meditation, and merit dedication.⁶¹ The most important practices, according to Genshin, were contemplative nenbutsu (meditation of Buddha’s marks and features) and invocational nenbutsu (calling upon Amida’s name).⁶²

We note that the Seven Patriarchs are clearly marked by their differences in approaches and Nāgārjuna, Vasubandhu, Tanluan, and Genshin remained “practitioners of the path of the sages⁶³ their whole lives long. The other-power doctrine’s link with their life looks extremely tenuous.”⁶⁴ We also note that there is a tradition within Shin doctrinal studies from the Edo period that assigns a certain relative importance to these patriarchs by considering Nāgārjuna, Vasubandhu, and Tanluan to base their teachings on the Contemplation Sutra; and Daochuo, Shandao, Genshin, and Hōnen on the Vow from the Larger Sutra in which the Primal Vow was revealed.⁶⁵ Hōnen was Shinran’s main influence as he indisputably impacted Shinran’s thought most significantly. Shinran viewed his encounter with Hōnen as the “encounter with the yoki hito (the ‘good person,’ or ‘master brings me grace’).”⁶⁶

Hōnen

We turn here to a brief excursion into Hōnen’s life. Hōnen was a thirteen-year-old monk when he went to Mount Hiei to study the Tendai doctrines. At the age of seventeen, he moved to a holy site to a life of seclusion and stayed there until he turned twenty-four. He then moved to Kyoto to learn from the eminent monks of different Buddhist schools, but never felt that these teachings were meeting his spiritual needs. In Kyoto, he was faced with the contrast between the suffering of the common people and the magnificence of the Buddhist temples. Driven by his spiritual desire to reconcile this contrast, at the age of forty-three, started Jōdo Shū. Hōnen, advocated belief in the power of the Amida’s Vow and the recitation of Amida’s name (the practice of the nenbutsu) as the sole means for birth in Amida Buddha’s Pure Land.

The popularity of Hōnen’s nenbutsu teaching drew attention from the Buddhist establishment. In 1186, a leading Tendai monk Kenshin requested Hōnen to address some of his questions. A dialogue between Kenshin and Hōnen drew approximately 300 attendees. Hōnen claimed to win this debate. As a result of this debate, Hōnen’s approach spread throughout the country. Hōnen articulated the core of his nenbutsu practice in the Collection on Nenbutsu compiled in 1198. The purpose of this collection was to “clarify for the ignorant, weak, and karmically defiled the means of deliverance through recitation of nenbutsu, while at the same time confronting the established Buddhist schools of the Nara and Heian periods.”⁶⁷

Hōnen’s teachings challenged the prevailing Tendai’s view of the Pure Land thought by articulating the nenbutsu practice as exclusive nenbutsu (senju nenbutsu), as an independent and self-sufficient path of Buddhist practice. He proposed a radical redefinition of Buddhist practice by removing the focus on austere meditation practices for gaining positive karmic effects. Hōnen was greatly influenced by Shandao, who, following Vasubandhu, maintained that in order to be reborn in the Pure Land, the recitation should always be accompanied by one’s mental state characterized by the three minds: the sincere mind (shijōshin), the profound mind (jinshin), and the mind that transfers all merit toward rebirth in the Pure Land (ekōhotsuganshin). For Hōnen, these three mental states became identical with the recitation itself. Hence reciting the name of Amida Buddha meant assuming the state of the three minds. Recognizing that at the age of the mappō humans are incapable of attaining enlightenment on their own, Hōnen consolidated all religious practice into the act of reciting Amida Buddha’s name. Since man cannot predict the moment of his death, Hōnen favored continuous recitation and connected recitation to one’s death. He recommended as many recitations as possible since for him, while it is true that one recitation or ten will equally bring about rebirth, its frequency increased the merit that one can accrue and ensure the rebirth in the Pure Land. Hōnen linked nenbutsu to gaining spiritual merit and claimed that when one recites the nenbutsu, all of one’s negative karmic actions, however heavy, are expunged, an approach that was later rejected by Shinran. Although Hōnen elevated the practice of recitation to an unprecedented level, he did not fully abandon the traditional Buddhist practice embedded in the principle of the self-power (jiriki) since, as mentioned, he still perceived the practice of recitation as a merit-producing act.

Hōnen recognized that his confrontation with the established Buddhist schools could result in challenges and he wrote that “It is my earnest wish that once you have read this work [Collection on Nenbutsu], you should conceal it in a mud wall and never leave it by your window.”⁶⁸ As his teaching continued to spread, some erroneously interpreted his teachings as his permission to indulge in wine and meat and not to follow central Buddhist precepts. This led the monks on Mount Hiei to prohibit the nenbutsu practice. In November 1204, Hōnen responded by issuing the Monition on Seven Articles in which he aimed to correct the misunderstanding of his teaching. There he pointed out that he had no intention to undermine the prevailing Shingon and Tendai schools. He also stated that the practice of nenbutsu does not allow committing adultery, or breaking Buddhist dietary restrictions. Most significantly, he insisted that “the ignorant must not willingly teach nenbutsu, preach falsity without fundamental knowledge of the true Dharma.”⁶⁹ Hōnen’s aim was to emphasize the fact that he had “no intention to dispute with the monks of other more traditional schools.”⁷⁰

However, Hōnen’s teaching, at least implicitly, questioned the Tendai school’s focus on the significance of merit transfer and self-power (jiriki). As his teaching of the exclusive nenbutsu spread throughout the country, old temples at Mt. Hiei and in Nara tried to prevent the further dissemination of this practice. Particularly troublesome for the Buddhist establishment was the fact that Hōnen never differentiated in his teaching practices between the monks and the lay people, men and women, and the aristocrats and common folks. This lack of differentiation was perceived as a challenge to the traditional Buddhist institution since it ultimately ensured everyone’s access to the sacred. Hōnen’s approach was seen as a “religious democratization.” Already in 1204, the priests of Mt. Hiei appealed to the chief abbot to abolish the exclusive nenbutsu practice.

In 1207, when two ladies of the court secretly converted to Pure Land Buddhism after attending a special nenbutsu retreat held by Hōnen’s disciples, Hōnen and his main disciples, including Shinran, were exiled from Kyoto to different remote parts of Japan. Shinran’s tenure with Hōnen was short since he never saw Hōnen again after being exiled. “The transformation from the meditative nenbutsu to the vocal nenbutsu was a major shift in Buddhism’s historical development”⁷¹ and Shinran’s role became particularly significant in the further development of this shift. We note here that it was Shinran who “turned Shandao’s and Hōnen’s nenbutsu as ‘daily duty’ into a nenbutsu of spontaneous gratitude and Nāgārjuna’s and Genshin’s Path of Sages’ observance of the precepts into the easy human path of the King’s Law.”⁷²

Hōnen’s teachings led to be perceived as dangerous and he and his followers seen as undermining the existing order and hence their influence had to be curtailed. As in many other historical instances, the ones who carried dissident thought had to be exiled. The exilic period led to Shinran’s crystallization of his thought since it allowed him not only to observe the life from the outside of the monastic confinement but threw him directly into a life as a lay person. We already mentioned the centrality of Amida Buddha’s significance in Shinran’s views, particularly in relation to his compassion. We also mentioned that as Amida Buddha made forty-eight vows,⁷³ he established a Pure Land (Jōdo). We turn now to a quick discussion of Shinran’s view of “pure land” followed by the discussion of the Primal Vow (hongan).

Shinran’s Version of Shin Buddhism

Shinran was particularly attracted to the non-discriminative nature of this tradition. However, for Shinran, contrary to his predecessors, the practice of the invocation of the name, shōmyō nenbutsu was much less significant than attaining the sincere mind (shinjn). It is sincerity and spontaneity (jinen) that Shinran emphasized, not any form of calculative thinking (hakarai).⁷⁴ In other words, for Shinran, shinjin cannot be attained through one’s own deliberation (hakarai). It arises instead by the working of jinen, spontaneously and genuinely. We note in passing here that for Shinran, hakarai (used to justify one’s actions) can lead to the perpetuation violence: “the resolution of issues of violence must lie in the arising of insight into the nature of the ego-self and can never be achieved through assertion and affirmation of self-will.”⁷⁵

Nonetheless, two of the concepts addressed by all Seven Patriarchs became particularly prominent in Shinran’s thought, namely, the Amida Buddha’s name, or more specifically, the recitation of his name, or practice of the nenbutsu; and the differentiation between self-power (jiriki) and other-power (tariki). These concepts led Shinran to define shinjin in a dramatically new and unorthodox way since, rather than defining it as “faith,”⁷⁶ it became described, as mentioned, in relation to “true, real, and sincere heart and mind.”⁷⁷ The concept of trust, as we will see, is significant to Shinran’s thought as it relates to entrusting oneself to the Amida’s Primal Vow as well.

While it would be incorrect to argue that Shinran’s reform of Buddhist practice started only during his exile, it did, however, help him to crystallize certain of his contentions which resulted in some radical changes. Shinran’s own experience of exclusion from a monastic community, together with his refusal to be merely a layman either, resulted in the need to reinvent his identity and increased his sensitivity to the issues of inclusion. His firsthand familiarity with exile enlarged his awareness of the arbitrariness of judgments about good and evil and contributed to his amplified compassion for all sentient beings. While remaining committed and devoted to these ideals, this experience further informed his thought and his dedication to ordinary men and women. The ordinary people who followed Shinran’s teaching were spared anxiety over salvation and continual rebirth. This angst was alleviated with the relocation of the center of agency to the Buddha Amida. Shinran refers to the Sutra of Salvation through the Perfect Enlightenment of Amida,

Among those who see it [Amida’s immeasurable light], there is none that does not come to possess a heart of compassion and rejoice. Among all beings in the world who are possessed of licentious desires or wrath or folly, there is none who, on seeing Amida Buddha’s light, does not perform good acts.⁷⁸

As we continue our exploration of Shinran’s thought, we will continue wrestling with the meaning of the effects of exile on such issues as tolerance, exclusion, and inclusion alongside with the issues of good and evil. But who exactly was Shinran’s reading audience and why did he aim to communicate his thought?

Shinran’s Genres in Writing and His Intended Audience

Most of Shinran’s writing was done in the latter part of his life when his thought crystalized after much self-reflection. His writing exhibits at least four distinct genres. His magnum opus Kyōgyōshinshō was written in 1247 when Shinran was seventy-five years old. It is considered his most philosophical work with the intended audience of “the scholar-monk or intellectual.”⁷⁹ However, most of his other writing was directed toward ordinary Pure Land followers with the exception of the Jōdo monrui jushō (“Passages on the Pure Land Way”). His Ichinen Tanen mon’i (“Notes on ‘Once-Calling and Many-Calling’”), Yuishinshō—mon’i (“Notes on ‘Essentials of Faith Alone’”), the three Wasan (Hymns), his letters,⁸⁰ particularly the Mattōshō (“Lamp for the Latter Ages”), Tanninshō (“A Record in Lament of Divergences”) and Gutokushō (“Gutoku’s Notes”) all were written with the ordinary people in mind. These writings were animated by the idea that what might appear simple on surface can be quite challenging to understand. This notion is manifested by the fact that two of the works (Yuishinshō—mon’i and Ichinen Tanen mon’i) conclude with exactly the same words:

That people of the countryside, who do not know the meaning of written characters and who are painfully and hopelessly ignorant, may easily understand, I have repeated the same things over and over. The educated will probably find this writing peculiar and may ridicule it. But I am paying no heed to such criticisms; I write only that ignorant people may grasp their meaning.⁸¹

Rather than interpreting these words as being elitist, they demonstrate that “[t]he truth is simple but not necessarily so easy to grasp because we are led astray by our attachment to words and letters.”⁸² However, by making his writing accessible to the ordinary people does not mean that Shinran had any intention of “devaluing the intellect.”⁸³ Even Kyōgyōshishō, which includes a systematic study of Pure Land doctrine and is intended for scholar-monks, shows that by periodically including his own name in the discussion, Shinran aimed to make this work more personal, personable, and accessible to all.⁸⁴

Maimonides

Moses Maimonides⁸⁵ was born in Cordoba, Andalusia, in 1138,⁸⁶ which was then an Arabic metropolis. Maimonides’ life, like Shinran’s, can also be roughly divided into four periods: the Andalusian period (1136/1138–1148); the Almohadian period (1148–1165); the period of the wandering (1165–1171) including a short stay in Christian Spain; and the life in Egypt under the Fatimids (1166–1171) and the Ayyubids (1171–1201/1204). Each of these periods implicitly affected Maimonides’ thought as exhibited through his writing and politico-religious participation.

In Cordoba, Maimonides’ family experienced a fairly peaceful life under the Almoravids (1086–1147). Maimonides’ father was a highly respected rabbi who served as dayyan (the judge of the Jewish court) in Cordoba. During that time Jews and Christians were given the status of dhimmi—the protected minorities—and were able to combine their secular and religious interests without any fear of persecution. By the early 1150s, the Almohads had conquered a wide area of North Africa as well as the western portion of Muslim Spain, including Cordoba. By 1160, the Almohads had expanded their control covering vast territories, including by then Tunisia and Tripoli. Ten years later, the Almohads had completed their conquest of Muslim Spain. By that time the Almohads had forced conversion on all non-Muslims and ended previous protection of minority religions (dhimmi status). Already in the late 1140s, the relatively safe Andalusian environment fell apart and Jewish lives dramatically changed. Unable to live under these conditions, Maimonides’ family left Cordoba in 1148. The Andalusian period lasted for about twelve years when Maimonides and his family wandered from place to place in Andalusia and Maimonides became an exile and a refugee at an early age.

In 1160, Maimonides and his family settled in Fez, Morocco, where they stayed for about five years. Some information on the treatment of the Jews during this time can be gleaned from a letter by Maymun b. Yusuf, father of Maimonides, when in 1160 he wrote: “Overwhelmed with humiliation, blamed and despised, the seeds of captivity surround us and we are submerged in its depth.”⁸⁷ About five years after arriving in Fez, driven by compassion for his fellow Jews, Maimonides wrote his Epistle on Forced Conversion (Iggeret ha-Shemad) also called Treatise on Martyrdom (Ma’amar Qiddush ha-Shem) written in 1160 or 1161. In this letter, he privileges human life and states that if general persecution and transgression is public, the Jew must die rather than transgress.⁸⁸ He shows compassion and tolerance by advising Jews to confess the Islamic creed rather than die. Yet, when this Jew is forced to transgress, he should do it to the smallest extent possible and aim to leave that place as soon as it becomes possible.

In 1165, Maimonides and his family arrived in Acre, the capital of the Crusader towns of Syro-Palestine. They stayed there for the summer of 1165. In October 1165, they made a three-day pilgrimage to Jerusalem. In 1166, Maimonides and his family finally came to Fustat (Old Cairo) after a brief stay in Alexandria.

These wanderings from place to place influenced Maimonides’ ability to integrate various influences and later manifested in his intellectual versatility and testified to his “cosmopolitan” nature. Perhaps this ability was enhanced by the fact that even before his exile, Maimonides’ life was embedded in the Islamic culture of Muslim Spain (Andalusia), characterized at that time by a peaceful coexistence of Muslims, Jews, and Christians. Although his ability to adapt to a new environment was developed prior to his final exile in Egypt, his life under Islamic dominance made him well aware of a certain inherent duplicity.

While still wandering from Andalusia and not settled in any permanent place, Maimonides started writing his Commentary on the Mishnah,⁸⁹ a preparatory work to his own Mishneh Torah (Repetition of the Torah) that consisted of fourteen books that were compiled between 1170 and 1180. It grew out of his focus on the preservation of Jewish community and led to his emphasis on the commandments.⁹⁰ The Commentary was his major compilation of comprehensive law code.⁹¹ Because the Talmud records conflicting explanations of the Mishnah, Maimonides took upon himself to determine which explanations are authoritative. It mirrors, to some extent, Shinran’s approach to the commentary on the sutras, particularly his translation of some sutras. In the Commentary on the Mishnah, conclusion to Seder Taharot,⁹² Maimonides explicitly addressed exile by stating that his “heart is often burdened by the troubles of the time and what God has decreed for us with regard to exile and wandering the world from one end to another.”⁹³

While Maimonides recognized that complete adherence at times might not be feasible, he considered following the commandments as being imperative to preserving Jewish heritage. The possible inability to have a complete devotion to the commandments necessitated certain creative reinterpretations. By contextualizing specificity of the exilic conditions and putting Mishneh Torah into language accessible to everyone, he converted it into a mechanism central to the construction of a viable diaspora. In his discussion of laws of inheritance and laws related to the poor, Maimonides transformed the Talmudic elliptic style with its variety of overlapping arguments into comprehensible material and a functional tool for continual survival, imbued with a sense of compassion for the disadvantaged and the excluded other.

Maimonides’ life significantly improved when he moved to Egypt in 1166. The Fatimid dynasty that ruled Egypt at that time was spared Almohads’ fanaticism. In Fustat, Maimonides became integrated into Egyptian society and involved with the day-to-day life of the Egyptian Jewish community. There the boundary between the Jewish community and the other communities was largely demarcated by the commandments and the requirement to adhere to them. Maimonides did not necessarily translate this legal separation into strict relational boundaries and did not erect any impenetrable boundaries between his existence as a Jewish leader and a thinker influenced by Islamic thought.

In 1171, Egypt was conquered by the Ayyubids, a Muslim dynasty of Kurdish origin. Shortly after Saladin became sultan over Egypt, Maimonides was elected to become the head of Egyptian Jewry—ra’is al-yahud. Navigating between Jewish and Islamic communities, Maimonides exercised the highest judicial authority by appointing chief judges and having broad communal responsibilities. In addition, he functioned as a respondent to legal inquiries from Jewish communities in Egypt and elsewhere. Maimonides’ active participation in public affairs demonstrated his concern with the lives of the Jewish community. Maimonides’ Epistle to Yemen (Iggeret Teiman), written in 1172, is a further testimony to his commitment to the Jewish community as well as his recognition of the forced duplicity.⁹⁴ In this letter, Maimonides reminds the Jews that they were constantly challenged, “Kings attempted to destroy God’s Law and religion with the Sword. Thinkers—Syrian, Persian, and Greek—tried to undermine it with their writings” and the Christian and Muslims, “combined both tactics, force together with persuasion.”⁹⁵ When Maimonides is subsequently told that a Jewish convert to Islam Jacob ben Fayyum claimed that Islam fulfilled the mission of Judaism, his response exemplifies an attempt to raise Jewish consciousness. Maimonides avoids contrasting Judaism and Islam in terms of their monotheistic claims but rather does so in terms of their respective revelations. He concludes this epistle by noting that, despite having concerns about his own safety after making his views public, he is convinced that “the public welfare takes precedence over one’s personal safety.”⁹⁶ Maimonides’ diasporic personality allows him to speak in the language that is close and clear to those who share his fate. His goal was never to claim the impossibility of coexistence with other traditions, despite this commitment to the preservation of Judaism.

Maimonides’ articulation of the laws related to the poor demonstrates his ability to empathize. Maimonides stipulates that one should break the Sabbath (“make it a weekday”) rather than depend “on other people and cast oneself upon public charity.”⁹⁷ Here we can see some parallels to Shinran’s attitude when he is willing to challenge the existing views. Not only does Maimonides implicitly challenge the religion-based approach but he also contests the Jewish government officials who state that “one should die before becoming dependent upon other people.”⁹⁸ Maimonides writes: “offering the poor a partnership or gainful employment or a loan or a gift that could be used to build economic security” is “the highest form of philanthropy.”⁹⁹ In order to stipulate the laws so as to take into account his concern for the poor and the foreign, Maimonides splits into two the law which prioritizes the familiar over a more distant (the so-called ladder of charity: “My people come before a Gentile. . . . . The poor of your town come before the poor of another town”). He argues for “a poor relative from ‘another town’ who deserves immediate assistance despite being a foreigner.”¹⁰⁰ Maimonides’ views of inheritance also testify to his recognition of the challenges experienced by those who are transplanted from their places of birth as he considers laws of inheritance in terms of morality.

Another good illustration can be gleaned from Maimonides’ approach to captives. In 1180, Maimonides received a legal query related to ransoming a captive in Alexandria.¹⁰¹ Maimonides was also actively involved in obtaining funds for the Jewish prisoners from Bilbays captured by the Crusaders. He sent letters to Jews throughout Egypt asking for contributions to pay out ransom fees demanded by the Crusaders for these prisoners. Maimonides’ commitment to his community was not limited to writing letters and listing his name as a signatory, but he also served as campaign treasurer who oversaw the distribution of the obtained funds.

Maimonides’ commitment to his community is further manifested in his articulation of laws of charity in the Mishneh Torah. While the Talmud Bava Batra tractate considers ransoming captives the most important form of charity of all, Maimonides makes it even more explicit the Mishneh Torah when he writes: “the ransoming of captives has precedence over the feeding and closing of the poor . . . not only the captive included among the hungry, the thirsty, and the naked, but his very life is in jeopardy.”¹⁰²

Despite his focus on preserving community’s religious and cultural identity, in some cases, Maimonides had to go against the prevailing views even of his own community and to enter into a struggle with the dominant and well-established local power. Case in point is his refusal to collect funds for the support of halakhic scholars.¹⁰³ Perhaps this explains why, despite Maimonides’ integration into the society and his role of ra’is al-yahud, he held this position only for two years, from 1171 to 1172. He did not regain his position until later in his life, from 1196 to 1204.¹⁰⁴ We observe here a certain resonance with Shinran’s stance. Shinran objected to the established approach to religious practice, and Maimonides similarly did not always go along with the rules of the prevailing religious establishment and was not afraid to challenge local Jewish leadership.

Despite Maimonides’ full integration into Egyptian life and society, his commitment to the Andalusian halakhic tradition remained firm implicitly testifying to his diasporic mentality. This commitment was tested again between 1189 and 1191 when Maimonides argued against some of the prevailing views held by the Babylonian Geonim—presidents of the Babylonian Talmudic Academies. A head of the Yeshiva in Baghdad, Samuel ben Eli, tried to do all in his power to discredit Maimonides’ rulings that it was permissible to sail on the Sabbath in the Euphrates and the Tigris. Maimonides’ approach combined an allowance for compromise (to ensure survival) with an argument against complacency. He combined his love for the Jewish people and anxiety for their personal safety with his concern for the Jewish community’s continual existence while also navigating a complex terrain of a possible intrareligious resistance.

A parallel can be seen in Maimonides’ behavior with his commitment to the Andalusian halakhic tradition and to those whom he considered his Andalusian “teachers”¹⁰⁵ and Shinran’s loyalty to Hōnen. In both cases, an approach chosen by these two thinkers respectively was not always entirely in line with the position of those in power. Who was it that Maimonides agreed most?

Maimonides’ “Patriarchs”—Influences

In our discussion related to those who influenced Shinran’s thought, we focused on his Seven Patriarchs. In the case of Maimonides, his debt to his predecessors appears to be less straight-forward and depends on whether it addresses Maimonides’ debt in relation to his halakhic works or in relation to his philosophical writings. He acknowledges the influence on his thought of Aristotle, though read through the eyes of Alexander (active in the late second and early third century CE), Themistius (317–390), and Ibn Rushd (1126–1198). In addition to praising Ibn Rushd (al-Farabi), namely his Political Regime, Maimonides speaks highly of Ibn Bâjja and his Governance of the Solitary. He articulates his reverence for these thinkers in his introduction to the Commentary on Tractate Avot (“Eight Chapters”). Without referring to any specific names, he states that

the matters discussed by him are not invented on my own nor explanations I have originated. Indeed, they are matters gathered from the discourse of the sages in the Midrash, the Talmud, and other compositions of theirs, as well as from the discourse of both the ancient and modern philosophers, and from the compositions of many men.¹⁰⁶

Explicitly naming Aristotle (or those who explicated his writings) would have been dangerously unprecedented, but even the reference to the “ancient and modern philosophers” and “many men” as a guide for his explanation of the commandments was already revolutionary. Maimonides further challenges authority by adding: “Hear the truth from whoever says it.”¹⁰⁷ It is truth that matters not whether it comes from the mouth of a given sage. Similar to Shinran, holding his “teachers” in high esteem does not translate, however, into Maimonides’ complete agreement with their views.

While Shinran’s life never took him outside of his own cultural environment, Maimonides’ life placed him under different Islamic regimes and their different schools of legal thought. This forced immersion in the different culture and religion creatively influenced both, his thought and his writing. Maimonides’ embeddedness in Arabic culture can be seen even in the way he composed the Book of Commandments (Sefer ha-misvot). For instance, in Maimonides’ treatment of the poor, we note that in his discussion of the 197th commandment that addresses lending to the poor, he deploys a metaphor that cannot be found in any rabbinic sources, but uses “Arabic imagery” that “comes from his Arabic surrounding.”¹⁰⁸

In other cases, these influences led Maimonides either to embrace the “potentially suspect sources,” such as already mentioned those of Greek and Muslim philosophers, or to strongly argue against the Kalām theologians whom Maimonides viewed as anti-philosophical.¹⁰⁹ Despite his arguments against Islamic theologians and specifically Kalām theologians, Maimonides was more concerned that Kalām views could appeal to the Jewish circles, especially to the views of some Gaonim and the Karaites.¹¹⁰ This concern attests to Maimonides’ apprehension about the possibility of the decreased ability to exercise rational thought.¹¹¹ Maimonides’ aim was to alert that “Jewish mutakallimūn” were the imitators of Muslim Kalām whose goal was to similarly manipulate the ignorant masses and prevent them from using their rational faculties.¹¹² As seen from the above, Maimonides exercised an eclectic approach and his legal methodology reflects his deep immersion in the Almohad society and its law (fiqh).¹¹³

Analogous to Shinran’s writings, in which he further democratized and radicalized Hōnen’s teachings, Maimonides’ writings exhibit certain heretical features as well. Like Shinran, Maimonides espoused certain opinions that contradicted established norms and, as previously noted, also fearlessly integrated various influences. Nonetheless, he never strove to undermine the Jewish tradition, but rather focused on ensuring the preservation of Judaism and the Jewish people. By analogy, but also in contrast with Shinran, who interpreted (or in some cases translated) the words of his Seven Patriarchs in a slightly different vein than intended by them, Maimonides offered his own objections to some of the views of the sages but also to the views of those whom he called his “teachers.” Similar to Shinran, who introduced a radically new religious thought, but never aimed to destroy Tendai Buddhism, Maimonides’ aim was to transform in order to ensure continuous survival rather than to destroy Jewish thought and tradition. As discussed above, in some cases, it required the ability to compromise without yet betraying one’s tradition.

Like Shinran, Maimonides did not have any institutional support that could have helped him to legitimize the transformations he envisioned. Neither did Maimonides claim any divine inspiration nor, contrary to Shinran, did he back up his claims by directly referring to the thinkers before him. In his introduction to the third part of his magnum opus titled Guide for the Perplexed, Maimonides writes: “I followed conjectures and supposition; no divine revelation has come to me to teach me that the intention in the matter in question was such and such, nor did I receive what I believe in these matters from a teacher.”¹¹⁴

Maimonides’ Guide for the Perplexed (GP), was written entirely in Egypt between 1185 and 1190. The term “perplexed” connotes those who hesitate between the conflicting claims of philosophy and religion.¹¹⁵ In this work, Maimonides sought to help those “perplexed” to integrate religion and philosophy: to achieve a full knowledge of philosophical truths without giving up the observance of religious commandments.¹¹⁶ In GP I: 71, Maimonides spells out the components of his own philosophy in relation to the Jewish heritage, both biblical and Talmudic. Being well versed in Islamic philosophy and theology, Maimonides positions himself against the approach exercised by the Islamic theologians. In addition to objecting to the anti-philosophical position of the Kalām theologians,¹¹⁷ one of his other major objections is the mutakallimūn¹¹⁸ articulation of imagination since, in his view, they mistake imagination for intellect: “follow the imagination and call it intellect.”¹¹⁹ Instead Maimonides argues for a “demonstrative method as to which there is no disagreement in any respect.”¹²⁰ Maimonides’ skeptical approach to imagination testifies to Aristotle’s influence. Imagination more closely relates to sense perception than to abstract thinking.¹²¹ Maimonides’ approach to imagination has no analogy in Shinran’s thought since Maimonides aims to prevent the occurrence of anthropomorphism.¹²² Maimonides’ discomfort with any occurrence of anthropomorphism leads him to link imagination to “the evil impulse.”¹²³ since it can result in perceiving Separate Intellect (angels) as having bodies. Yet, Maimonides straddles between Aristotelian skepticism¹²⁴ and a more positive outlook of imagination. He exhibits a slightly less skeptical approach when he discusses imagination in relation to prophecy. In that discussion, Maimonides relates imagination to the political reason as an important component of prophecy, which we will address in the subsequent part of this chapter, but first, we turn to Maimonides’ view of God.

Maimonides’ Views of God

Whereas Shinran’s views cannot be discussed outside of his view of Amida Buddha, Maimonides’ dedication to the preservation of Judaism is inextricable from his view of God. At the core of this view lies his conviction of God’s incorporeality.¹²⁵ We already mentioned his concern related to the excessive dependence on imagination, which he feared can lead to anthropomorphism. The correct belief is incongruent with an anthropomorphic image of God and Maimonides affirms God’s unity and argues that having a body means having form and matter and hence being divisible and subject to affects. Recalling Shinran’s conception of Amida Buddha as a highly relational and hence an affect-driven being, Maimonides’ view of God contrasts to that of Shinran. For Maimonides, “[A]ffection is a change” and God “is not touched by change. He is not like unto any thing of all those that are other than He, nor is He comprehended together with one of these things in any definition whatever.”¹²⁶ Further, multiplicity leads to the grave misconception of many gods and introduces the notion of comparability, hence relative perfection. Whereas for Shinran, as we recall, Amida’s ethical perfection extends to those who become embraced by Amida’s Primal Vow, according to Maimonides, God is absolutely perfect. Multiplicity also vitiates God’s self-sufficiency. However, since God represents perfection and, given that affection relates to some change, God cannot be discussed in terms of affection.

God’s uniqueness also adds to God’s nonaffectability and hence to the lack of relationality. In the GP I: 35, Maimonides argues for God’s absolute uniqueness and His incorporeality. Here he insists that:

there is absolutely no likeness in any respect whatever between Him and the things created by Him; that His existence has no likeness to theirs; nor His life to the life of those among them who are alive; nor again His knowledge to the knowledge of those among them who are endowed with knowledge.¹²⁷

Here we can draw some parallels to Shinran who does not discuss Amida’s attributes in corporeal terms. Maimonides’ God is discussed in terms of His actions. But for Maimonides, it is God’s incompatibility with humans that leads him to state that God’s attributes represent God’s actions rather than His qualities (GP I: 51).

Moreover, for Maimonides, God “performs actions resembling the actions that in us proceed from moral qualities.”¹²⁸ Yet, Maimonides reiterates that compassion and affection felt by humans (as their perceived experience of God’s grace) cannot be attributed to God since God does not experience affection. Maimonides states: “It is not He, may He be exalted, is affected and has compassion. But an action similar to that which proceeds from a father in respect to His child and that is attached to compassion, pity, and an absolute passion, proceeds from Him . . . , not because of a passion or a change.”¹²⁹

In Maimonides’ view, God’s actions can be analogous to the actions of a strict father¹³⁰ who retains a strong intellectual differentiation between himself and his child and hence retains an unsurpassable distance. This type of a relationship does not produce reciprocity since, while God brings humans into existence and governs them, humans do not have any claims upon God. When the circumstances require, God exhibits not only His grace but also His jealousy, anger, and wrath. These actions do not result from any passions experienced by God, but are the outcome necessitated by the actions of those who transgress and deserve to be punished. Both God’s support and judgment are not emotional but are articulated through the commandments. Maimonides states that there are six positive and four negative commandments in the Torah starting with the principle commandments of “I am the Lord thy God” (Exodus 20:2) and “Thou shalt have no other gods before me” (20:3). These principle commandments exemplify the positive commandment to both love and fear God. Maimonides refers to love of God in terms of human contemplation of God’s works.

Contrary to Shinran’s view of Amida Buddha who does not encompass fear, Maimonides’ love of God is conjoined with the fear of God. Rather than personal recognition of one’s wickedness and imperfection that leads one to become embraced by Amida, it is the recognition of God’s perfection that guides the human sense of imperfection. God’s intelligence, incomparable to human intelligence, confirms God’s perfect unity by functioning as a self-recognizing entity:

The Holy One recognizes His own verity and knows it as it really is, and does not know it with an intelligence outside Himself as [humans] do; for [humans] and [human] intelligence are not one. But the Blessed Creator, He and His understanding and existence are one, in every aspect of His unity.¹³¹

Since God can only be discussed in equivocal terms, Maimonides builds his doctrine of negation which is based on the premise that humans can only know what God is NOT.¹³² Maimonides’ negative theology not only negates God’s corporeality but also denies “His having a likeness to created things and of His being subject to affections.”¹³³ Maimonides’ conception of God is summarized under the rubric of “demythologizing” rabbinic Judaism by “depersonalizing” the Jewish conception of God.¹³⁴ Maimonides’ “depersonalized” God has no resemblance to any gods of idolaters but also is quite contrary to Shinran’s Amida Buddha, particularly because of the absence of any relationality.

Maimonides connects one’s perception of God with one’s ethics. Idolatry in his view testifies to a lower level of human intellectual and hence ethical development. Maimonides’ insistence on God’s incorporeality attests to his understanding of human ethical development.¹³⁵ According to Maimonides, God realized that the Israelites, embedded in the pagan environment, could not abandon idolatry instantaneously. As a result, some of the commandments (i.e., the sacrifice of the animals) served as the intermediary steps similar to the other anthropomorphic verses of the Torah. In other words, paganism is a preliminary stage in any developed ethical religious system. The first intention of the commandments, Maimonides states, was to put an end to idolatry and eradicate “unhealthy opinions” and “crazy notions.”¹³⁶ The elimination of idolatry is the “first divine intention,” whereas the ethical improvement of the individuals and the just governance of society are the “second divine intention.” This second intention represents a qualitatively higher intention (see GP 3.27, 3.29, and 3.32). In order to attain intellectual perfection, humans first need to part with an archaic way of thought.

We juxtapose here Maimonides’ view on idolatry expressed in the GP with those in Laws of Idolatry chapter 2. Keeping in mind a possibility of a varied target audience, we recognize here that Maimonides appears more intensely anti-pagan in his legal works than in the Guide. In Laws of Idolatry Maimonides emphasizes controlling one’s thoughts.¹³⁷ One’s mental state appears as important, if not even more important than one’s physical acts. The focus on the importance of the mental acts is stressed in the GP as well, specifically in III: 8 when Maimonides characterizes human evilness by expanding on the Talmudic expression that “thoughts about sin are worse than the sin.”¹³⁸

Maimonides is concerned with internalization of incorrect views that could lead in turn to the improper beliefs. In GP I: 50, Maimonides states that “belief is not the notion that is uttered, but the notion that is represented in the soul when it has been averred of it that it is in fact just as it has been represented.”¹³⁹ A relationship between a belief and an action is demonstrated in one’s actions. The foundation for correct actions lies in the idea of habituation.¹⁴⁰ In Pereq Heleq (Sanhedrin, chapter 10), Maimonides addresses human propensity for subscribing to the wrong opinions. In the introduction to Pereq Heleq, he articulates his view of the hierarchy of human ability to interpret complex ideas. He identified three types of interpretations of the words of the sages and three groups of people and reaffirms his conviction in the superiority of intellectual comprehension. The third group is the smallest elite group and is characterized by their predisposition for rational thought. Maimonides favors this group for their ability to recognize hidden wisdom and concealed meaning. Maimonides states: “if you belong to the third group, when you encounter a word of the sages which seems to conflict with reason, you will pause, consider it, and realize that this utterance must be a riddle or a parable.”¹⁴¹

While humans have a free will to choose, Maimonides is concerned that human intellectual limitations can lead them to perceive reward and punishment in rather concrete terms and to make the wrong choices. Not following the commandments is connected to the fear of punishment. Yet Maimonides remains consistent in his endorsement of human free will because humans can choose not to abide by these principles while being aware of the consequences.

Maimonides’ Views of Resurrection

Maimonides’ understanding of reward (attaining it) and punishment (being deprived of it) can be better understood through recourse to his view of resurrection. We briefly note here that for Shinran, the understanding of reward and punishment is inseparable from his conceptualization of “sin,” or what he terms “human evilness” or “wrongdoings.”¹⁴² These notions, as connected to karmic cause and effect, represent “the matrix out of which wrongdoings arise and within which they are negotiated.”¹⁴³ To develop his conceptualization of wrongdoings and then to radically transform it to articulate his idea of akunin shōki,¹⁴⁴ Shinran borrows from three Buddhist expressions: the ten evil acts (juāku), the five grave offenses (goguaku), and the denigration of the Dharma (hōbo or hihō shōbo).¹⁴⁵ However, he argues that the Buddha appeared and remained in the world precisely because of his compassionate aim to help those who cannot help themselves because of their karmic nature that led them to commit these acts. It is from this conception that the idea of the akunin shōki originated that we are contrasting here with Maimonides’ notion of reward and punishment. Maimonides devotes considerable attention to this question in his three works: Pereq Heleq Mishneh Torah, Laws of Repentance, and Treatise on Resurrection.¹⁴⁶

Maimonides differentiates among the concepts of the world to come (ha-olam ha-ba), the Garden of Eden (gan eden), the days of the Messiah, and the resurrection of the dead and “demythologizes” these terms.¹⁴⁷ By maintaining no ontological distinction between this world and the world-to-come (ha-olam ha-ba), he refers to the Talmudic statement that “There is no difference between this world and the days of the Messiah, except for (the elimination of) subjugation to the (wicked) kingdoms.”¹⁴⁸ The world-to-come hence is ruled by the principles of justice. His vision of the world-to-come is dressed in terms of moral and virtuous sophistication which is inseparable from his position on Law: “The entire Law of Moses will be obeyed, without weariness, worry, or oppression.”¹⁴⁹

In the Laws of Kings,¹⁵⁰ Maimonides stipulates that the Messiah will not perform miracles or resurrect the dead: “Do not suppose that the messianic king needs to give signs, perform miracles, and make new things happen in the world, or resurrect the dead and do similar things.”¹⁵¹ The world-to-come is presented as the world of knowledge and high tolerance in which one will “pursue the virtues and avoid the vices” to be “distinguished from the beasts.”¹⁵² Maimonides reluctantly admits that humans always seek to be rewarded or fear to be punished. Therefore, he admits that “in order that the masses stay faithful and do the commandments, it was permitted to tell them that they might hope for a reward and warn them against transgressions out of fear of punishment.”¹⁵³ For Maimonides, to obey the commandments out of fear of punishment and hope for reward is acceptable since following the commandments “strengthens and habituates” the masses’ loyalty to what the Torah requires.¹⁵⁴

In the Laws of Repentance, he posits that “the life of the world-to-come is the reward for performing the commandments” since God “will remove from us everything preventing us from following [the Torah]—such as sickness, war, hunger, and so forth.”¹⁵⁵ The educational aspect of studying the Torah and practical exhibition of following the commandments are producing a twofold outcome: first, God blesses one with good things and keeps away the curses; and second, as one becomes wise, he attains the merit for the world-to-come. Maimonides states: “[God] will benefit you with a world that is totally good and lengthen your days in a world whose length does not end.”¹⁵⁶ Nonetheless, it is intellectual perfection that leads to one’s eternal existence and Maimonides states: “When a man achieves perfection, he is in the class of the man who is not hampered by any obstacle that would prevent his soul from remaining permanently with its knowledge.”¹⁵⁷ In Maimonides’ terms, punishment is also portrayed in intellectual terms. While he does not appear to be interested in eternal punishment, he nonetheless implicitly excludes from eternal existence those who do not attain knowledge and do not actualize their intelligence. Being excluded from eternal existence can be likened to eternal punishment. Consistent with his negative perception of matter, Maimonides views matter as corruptible and subject to disappearance. Theological difficulty relates to his treatment of those who did not attain perfection making their treatment dangerously close to the treatment of the wicked and evil.

Contrary to Shinran who is in line with Buddhist notion of non-dualism, Maimonides regards matter as an impediment that inherently prevents the attainment of perfection. For instance, in GP III: 9, he states:

Matter is a strong veil preventing the apprehension of that which is separate from matter as it truly is. . . . Hence whenever our intellect aspires to apprehend the deity or one of the intellects, there subsists this great veil interposed between the two . . . we are separated by a veil from God.¹⁵⁸

The corporeal nature is strongly articulated in GP III: 8 through 12: “all passing-away and corruption or deficiency are due solely to matter.”¹⁵⁹ His negative view of matter informs his view of sin. Maimonides is explicit about the connection between matter and sin: “every living being dies and becomes ill solely because of its matter and not because of its form. All man’s acts of disobedience and sins are consequent upon his matter and not upon his form, whereas all his virtues are consequent upon his form.”¹⁶⁰

Given his skepticism related to human nature, Maimonides fears that without following the commandments, humans can become perpetually swept by their evil inclinations. In GP III: 27, Maimonides states that the Mosaic Law (commandments) in its entirety brings the Jewish people both perfection of the soul and perfections of the body which will result in the world’s “perpetual preservation.”¹⁶¹ Perpetual preservation, however, is reserved only for this world and human “corporeal preservation” will last only “for a certain duration.” Maimonides complicates the idea of “eternal existence” by imbuing it with political significance. In GP III: 51, he argues that human preservation results from human welfare in terms of political association. Human happiness (or their state of felicity) depends on the soul’s perfection and is independent of “the genus of bodily pleasures.”¹⁶² Yet, in some instances, despite the bodily deterioration, an old age can ensure intellectual perfection and Maimonides states: “The result is that when a perfect man is stricken with years and approaches death, this apprehension [of intelligibles] increases very powerfully.”¹⁶³ Ostensibly, Maimonides continues to view human perfection in terms of a non-corporeal, intellectual pleasure. Yet, given Maimonides’ view of human limitations, scholars still debate whether Maimonides did truly believe in the possibility of human perfection in terms of attainment of metaphysical knowledge.¹⁶⁴

Throughout these discussions, we note the tension between solitude and politico-religious involvement, whereupon Maimonides feels a strong pull to be actively involved in the affairs of his community despite longing for solitary contemplations. The same tension is observed in Maimonides’ Eight Chapters in chapter 5 when he presents solitude and contemplation as most conducive to the ultimate goal of knowledge of God: “If a man sets this notion (i.e., knowledge of God) as his goal, he will discontinue many of his actions and generally diminish his conversations.” Trying to navigate between involvement and abstaining from it, he positions the middle way (the doctrine of the mean) as most natural to humans. In his words, “it is necessary to aim at the mean in actions and not depart from it toward one of the two extremes.”¹⁶⁵

How to deal with human tendency for any harmful behavior and the propensity for exercising the extremes? For Maimonides, the doctrine of the mean is a corrective for any excessive approaches. It serves to balance the Jewish view of morality, which favors extreme piety, with the Greek approach of moderation, and hence, once again, links the Jewish tradition with Greek philosophy. Precisely because of his aim to unite these two traditions, Maimonides defines a pious man (hasid) as a virtuous man. While, in general, the pious man in the Jewish tradition is conceived of as someone who goes beyond what is required by the commandments, here Maimonides defines a pious man in terms of moderation and argues that he “weigh[s] all his actions with a view to this mean.”¹⁶⁶ The principle of moderation ensures balance: “when the body gets out of equilibrium, we look to which side it inclines in becoming unbalanced, and then oppose it with its contrary until it returns to equilibrium.”¹⁶⁷ Maintaining this equilibrium is similar to upholding moral habits: when the soul becomes “sick,” its treatment “must follow the same course in treating it as in the medical treatment for bodies.”¹⁶⁸ We already discussed Maimonides’ unfavorable view of matter, how does Maimonides conceive of the human soul?

Maimonides’ Views of Human Body and Human Soul

Maimonides’ views of human body are borne out of his view of human psycho-physical constitution. Since there is no counterpart that deals with the issue of the body and the soul in the Jewish tradition, Maimonides follows the Aristotelian model but gives it a specifically Jewish “twist.” He shadows Aristotle’s articulation of the soul’s five faculties (nutritive, sentient, imaginative, appetitive, and rational) and in Eight Chapters strongly asserts that despite the soul’s five faculties, it is a “single soul.”¹⁶⁹ The soul, he argues, possesses moral habits and in order to cultivate these virtues, the soul should be treated similarly to the way a physician cures the body. Whereas the physician needs to know all the parts of the body, the “physician of the soul” should likewise be well aware of all the faculties of the soul. The most important faculty of the soul is rationality. According to Maimonides, all parts of the soul, but the intellect, are “like matter,” “the intellect is [soul’s] form.”¹⁷⁰ Given the absence of any philosophical definition of the soul in the Jewish tradition, Maimonides invokes Solomon’s statement that “Indeed, without knowledge a soul is not good.”¹⁷¹ By referring to this statement, he connects the intellect (rational part of the soul) to overall human perfection and implicitly links Greek philosophy’s focus on the attainment of intellectual knowledge with a similar focus within the Jewish tradition.

We note that in the Guide, Maimonides relates welfare of the body to the multitude, whereas the perfection of the soul he attributes to the capable individual’s ultimate perfection. Despite his negative views of the body, he admits that only when the body attains its perfection (i.e., health, well-being), one can strive for the ultimate perfection: “to become rational in actu” or “to have an intellect in actu.”¹⁷² Perfection of the welfare of the soul is geared toward formation of correct opinions “corresponding to [human] respective capacity.”¹⁷³ The welfare of the soul (intellectual perfection) presents a qualitatively higher value that any other perfection and does not appear to be directly related to any moral qualities. We recall that in GP I: 34 Maimonides posits that to attain human perfection requires “to train [oneself] at first in the art of logic, then in the mathematical sciences according to the proper order, then in the natural sciences, and after that in the divine sciences.”¹⁷⁴

Maimonides’ struggle between solitary pursuits and the politico-religious involvement sheds some light on his view of the pursuits of the masses as well. In his opinion, the welfare of the soul, which often results from solitary pursuits, relates to the perfection of the elite, whereas the welfare of the body relates to the multitude. His own experience led him to recognize, however, that one cannot lead a solitary existence and achieve the perfection of the body (the welfare of the body). It entails having protection, a shelter, food, and other necessities that ensure one’s proper physical functioning. Given that man’s nature, following Aristotle, is political,¹⁷⁵ bodily perfection can only be attained through man’s political association often at the expense of solitary pursuits. The welfare of the body becomes connected to one’s political association and is further linked to the well-being and well-functioning of the state. In order to improve human life, “the abolition of [humans’] wronging each other” and “useful for life in society so that the affairs of the city may be ordered.”¹⁷⁶ Preventing humans’ wronging each other and ensuing human peaceful coexistence are predicated on following the commandments. Nonetheless, Maimonides provocatively posits that certain matters are “only for a few solitary individuals of a very special sort, not for the multitude.”¹⁷⁷

Maimonides challenges the idea of extreme piety and oscillates between favoring a more moderate approach¹⁷⁸ and the rejection of it. In the Commentary to Mishnah Avot, chapter 5: VII, Maimonides defines a “wise” man as someone who perfected both moral and intellectual virtues. Specifically, Maimonides posits that the wise man has seven virtues: four moral virtues and three intellectual virtues. The moral virtues are exhibited in one’s humble behavior such as not speaking before someone who is greater in wisdom; not interrupting; and being capable of admitting lack of knowledge. These qualities do not have a direct relation to any ethical dilemmas, but rather testify to one’s respectfulness and willingness to accommodate the needs of others. The intellectual virtues, in turn, relate to one’s ability to skillfully present one’s opinion; not being easily swayed by the arguments of the others; and being able to question, and to respond skillfully to the questioning of others.¹⁷⁹ These intellectual virtues undoubtedly highlight one’s rational abilities and demonstrate the “extraordinary wisdom” in terms of learning and determining “what is proper to be given precedence, . . . [and] what is proper to postpone.”¹⁸⁰

While Maimonides defines the intellectual values of the “wise” man, he does not provide a similar description of the “saintly” man, but rather contrasts a saintly man with a wicked man. In line with his renouncement of any extremes, he endorses moderation and presents the wicked man as the one who leans toward the extreme. The saintly man is further described as temperate: slow to any feelings of anger as contrasted with an intemperate wicked man unable to control his anger. Maimonides argues that a “saintly” man is someone who holds the heightened moral virtues, but in this case, these virtues deviate from the mean and “incline a bit toward an extreme.”¹⁸¹ The term “saintly” is used interchangeably with the term hasid (“pious”) precisely because of this “increase (beyond the mean).” This deviation from the mean is in accord with Maimonides’ view that in some cases a wise man goes beyond the conception of conventional good and evil: “For the exaggeration in a matter would be termed hasid, whether that exaggeration would be in the good or in the evil.”¹⁸² But is a hasid, someone engaged in the solitary pursuits, well-suited for political leadership? We now turn to Maimonides’ view of the prophecy and prophets.

Maimonides’ View of Political Leaders and Prophets

The observed tension in Maimonides’ assessment for a proper place for the perfect individual leads to the question: can one engage in a pursuit of solitude if human needs cannot be met outside of the social and political environment? Moreover, what conditions are most conducive to a political leader? Discussing a political leader, Maimonides reiterates his skepticism for passions, which he ties to the appetitive faculty of the soul. He argues that a secular, political leader should never “let loose the reins of anger nor let passion gain mastery over him.”¹⁸³ Yet, Maimonides offers an astute political comment arguing that on some cases mercy and grace, but similarly anger and wrath, might need to be exercised for the reasons of safety “not out of mere compassion and pity, but in accordance with what is fitting.”¹⁸⁴ Nonetheless, even when the actions of hard-heartedness or vengeance are needed for a greater good, “it behooves that acts of mercy, forgiveness, pity, and commiseration should proceed from the governor of a city to a much greater extent than acts of retaliation.”¹⁸⁵ If grace and mercy are the actions dissociated from God’s affection but represent a human phenomenon, then acts of anger, vengeance, and jealousy similarly originate and are carried forward by humans. Human governance is the pinnacle of all these actions resulting more often than not from an uncontrollable, unbridled human passion. Human passions can become detrimental when humans are placed in conditions that they cannot fully control or when they lack an adequate understanding of the events. The fundamental problem that holds back human perfection remains to be grounded in the nature of intellect in relation to human body and soul, particularly body’s desires. Perhaps the most onerous hindrance is a human completely severed from any desire for intellectual pursuits.

But how cogent is the relationship between solitude and piety and the philosophical ethics articulated through the adherence to the commandments? Remembering that for a pious man God is the ultimate lawgiver, is Maimonides able to successfully avoid the controversy between the philosophical view on the rational part of the soul with its tendency for deliberation, and piety’s dislike for theoretical speculations? As discussed above, the mean (which in itself can be seen as a part of deliberation) determines what is good for the soul (the state of equilibrium). The commandments, to the contrary, expect leaning toward the extreme. While the mean focuses on the individual, the commandments promote the communal rather than merely an individual focus. What does this quandary tell us about the relationship between the mean and the commandments and also between the soul and the commandments? To bridge the two and to minimize this tension, Maimonides interprets the commandments from both the politico-religious and from the individual viewpoints. In other words, when the Torah commands something, it includes both the social (politico-religious) and the individual (religious) value. In Eight Chapters, Maimonides interprets the commandments as being good for the soul (i.e., generosity benefits the poor—the community as a whole, and the soul of the one who is generous—the individual). Specifically, in chapter 4, Maimonides argues that the perfect commandments make people perfect¹⁸⁶ since the commandments are “a discipline for the powers of the soul.”¹⁸⁷ We posit here an analogy to Shinran’s thought in relation to the fact that becoming embraced by Amida also means attaining a higher state of perfection. However, contrary to Shinran who exercises a non-dualistic view of human beings, for Maimonides, one’s soul can succumb to evil inclinations generated by matter.

But how does Maimonides see a prophet in terms of a higher state of perfection? We already mentioned that he is less skeptical in his assessment of imagination in relation to prophecy and prophets. Maimonides discusses the nature of prophecy in a number of sources,¹⁸⁸ but for our purpose we turn only to the GP II: 32 and 36 where he emphasizes the political aspects of the perfected life. Given Maimonides’ view of Moses as a politico-religious leader, Maimonides considers prophecy as “a certain perfection in the nature of man.”¹⁸⁹ In GP II: 36, Maimonides stipulates that the nature of perfection is not limited to one’s moral and rational faculties, but relates also to “the imaginative faculty in respect of its original disposition.”¹⁹⁰ However, in line with his skeptical view of the role of matter, he offers the following caveat: “the perspective of the bodily faculties, to which the imaginative faculty belongs, is consequent upon the best temperament, the best possible size, and the purest possible matter, of the part of the body that is the substratum for the faculty in question.”¹⁹¹ For Maimonides, Moses exemplifies a model of both theoretical and practical virtues. As GP I: 34, II: 36, and III: 33 discuss, to establish and preserve a society requires to have a leader with certain ethical traits. However, Maimonides does not always connect ethical skills to intellectual perfection. The prophets and Moses in particular, appear to be the exceptions. But what can we suggest about Maimonides’ overall perception of human perfection?

Irrefutably, the placement of the chapters GP III: 54 and 51 highlight the ambiguity related to Maimonides’ view of human perfection. In III: 51, Maimonides discusses Moses and the patriarchs who appear to transcend the limits imposed by matter. Maimonides states that Aaron and Miriam “died in the pleasure of this apprehension [of the intelligibles] due to the intensity of passionate love.”¹⁹² The deaths of Moses, Aaron, and Miriam testify to the divide between the attainment of intellectual perfection (theoretical perfection) and ethical perfection (practical perfection). While their death is defined as “salvation from death,” Maimonides makes sure to stipulate that this salvation does not relate to the existential permanence of matter, but rather to remaining “permanently in that state of intense pleasure, which does not belong to the genus of bodily pleasures.”¹⁹³ Recalling our argument related to different audiences and different goals, we should note that in the seventh chapter of Eight Chapters, Maimonides argued to the contrary, namely that Moses’ intellect continued being tied to matter. The difference in this argumentation might reflect on Maimonides’ goal of highlighting Moses’ uniqueness as a receiver of divine law in the former case, and of underscoring the limits of human perfection in the latter case. Already in GP I: 1, Maimonides establishes the need for intellectual apprehension: “that which is meant in the Scriptural dictum, let us make man in our image, was the special form, which is intellectual apprehension, not the shape or configuration” (221; emphasis added).¹⁹⁴

As argued above, matter continues to be a thorny issue that leads one away from either intellectual perfection or ethical perfection and might result in human evilness. How is Maimonides dealing with these inclinations and what role do the commandments play in eroding or at least in mitigating the evilness?

Human Nature and the Commandments

Maimonides differentiates between man-made laws¹⁹⁵ (the nomos) and divine law. We recognize that expecting humans to follow a man-made law has different implications than the expectation of the observance of divinely ordained commands. In GP II: 40, Maimonides identifies law as divine¹⁹⁶ by its ends and utility and posits that divine law, which, despite being attentive to “the soundness of the circumstances pertaining to the body,” places focus on “the soundness of belief” in order to “inculcate correct opinions with regard to God.”¹⁹⁷ Maimonides states: “You must know that this guidance comes from Him, may He be exalted, and this Law is divine.”¹⁹⁸ Contrary to the nomos, divine law is predicated upon the belief in God. And yet, divine law should be imparted to the humans in the manner similar to that of the nomos by the most perfect individuals. Maimonides asserts that God placed “the faculty of the ruling” in certain individuals, namely, “the prophet or the bringers of the nomos” for whom “this guidance comes from Him, may He be exalted, and that the Law is divine.”¹⁹⁹

With the divinity of the Law established in GP II: 39–40, Maimonides discusses the purpose of the commandments throughout III: 25 to 49. In GP III: 25, ­Maimonides elucidates the four kinds of actions: vain, futile, frivolous, and good or excellent. The latter kind of actions results in the attainment of noble end and is related to the acts of divine legislation. Maimonides argues that all commandments have reasons and purpose. In GP III: 35, Maimonides divides the commandments into fourteen classes and then further separates these commandments into two larger groups: “transgressions between man and his fellow man and transgressions between man and God.”²⁰⁰ The latter differentiation points out that according to Maimonides, the former are specific to the social/political concerns, while the latter relate to the metaphysical issues. In GP II: 39, Maimonides addresses the divine Law aimed at the individual perfection. Recalling his view of the welfare of the body as contrasted with the welfare of the soul, ostensibly, it is the commandments that relate to the metaphysical issues that pertain to the individual perfection.

This still does not answer the question as to why humans should abide by the commandments. In GP III: 44, Maimonides states that the commandments are “the constant commemoration of God, the love of Him and the fear of Him.” In the Laws of the Principles of the Torah,²⁰¹ Maimonides specifically addresses the commandments that focus on love for God and on His awesomeness. Only when one is obeying God out of love and without any expectations of a reward, is human perfection exemplified.²⁰² We note here, without claiming a direct analogy, that one’s love of God is reminiscent of Shinran’s conception of shinjin free of hakarai, any calculative thinking.

Moral Virtue and Individual Perfection

There still remains a question whether there is a relationship between moral issues and one’s individual perfection? Does human perfection testify to moral perfection? We recall that an outcome of being embraced by Amida, a human becomes perfected by Amida’s perfection. How does it compare to Maimonides’ view on human perfection? In GP III: 27, Maimonides is explicit in holding morality inferior to rational perfection. Some scholars argue that Maimonides differentiates between ethics known by intellect and ethics resulting from generally accepted opinion; hence, he maintains two types of ethics: rational and conventional.²⁰³ This distinction allows taking into account different circumstances and is in line with Maimonides’ view that most people cannot achieve intellectual perfection. When viewing ethics’ primary goal in terms of the well-being of humans (the generally accepted opinions ethics), the improved conditions can potentially lead to attaining intellectual perfection.²⁰⁴ Yet, for the most people, the doctrine of the mean is the most suitable approach. Therefore, the commandments, which are used to govern society-at-large rather than focus on the exceptional individuals, are perceived as an approach from the standpoint of the mean.

Do the improved human conditions always lead to human moral perfection? Furthermore, does moral perfection result in subsequent intellectual perfection? Some scholars argue that for Maimonides human moral perfection is the means to the final, ultimate perfection which is indisputably intellectual (theoretical and metaphysical) perfection.²⁰⁵ In their view, for Maimonides ethics relates to the faculty of the soul since the body disintegrates as the result of death. Other scholars²⁰⁶ to the contrary hold that for Maimonides practical ethics is primary. Given Maimonides’ view of God, the ultimate aim is to attain knowledge of God’s actions (i.e., loving-kindness, justice, and righteousness) rather than His incomprehensible to humans’ metaphysical essence.²⁰⁷ Keeping in mind that Maimonides often argues that the latter goal is unattainable, Maimonides’ ultimate aim seems unrelated to the pursuit of purely theoretical, metaphysical truths.

However, this interpretation seems to overlook the significance of Maimonides’ words that the true human perfection “consists in the acquisition of the rational virtues”: which are “the conception of intelligibles, which teach true opinions concerning the divine things.”²⁰⁸ To reiterate, Maimonides maintains that there are four types of perfections: “The first and the most defective . . . is the perfection of the possessions.”²⁰⁹ The second is the perfection of the bodily constitution (a corporeal perfection). The third is the perfection of moral virtues, which is “a preparation for something else and not an end in itself.”²¹⁰ The fourth is “the true human perfection.”²¹¹ In other words, ultimate perfection transcends any material concerns and assumes a metaphysical stance. In sum, ultimate perfection is “neither the perfection of possession nor the perfection of health nor the perfection of moral habits is a perfection of which one should be proud or that one should desire; the perfection of which one should be proud and that one should desire is knowledge of Him.”²¹² This statement once again exemplifies the tension between the ideal and the real state of the affairs since in GP III: 51, Maimonides states that, “mostly this [perfection] is achieved in solitude and isolation.”²¹³

The attempts for solitary pursuits are again disrupted by the politico-religious demands. Maimonides links a distraction from intellectual cognition with “the evils of this world” which is “proportionate to the duration of the period of distraction.”²¹⁴ If one cannot attain solitude, one is still capable of imitating God’s actions. Maimonides articulates imitatio Dei in III: 51: “If, however, you have apprehended God and His acts in accordance with what is required by the intellect, you should afterwards engage in totally devoting yourself to Him, endeavor to come closer to Him, and strengthen the bond between you and Him—that is, the intellect.”²¹⁵ We recall that Maimonides’ crucial discussion of imitatio Dei appears already in GP I: 54 where God is discussed in terms of His actions. Man’s imitating God relates to Maimonides’ conception of ethics, although the focus on ethics is more apparent in Maimonides’ legal works than in the Guide. In the Mishneh Torah, Maimonides discusses how one imitates divine activity.²¹⁶ To imitate God means perfecting one’s character traits and ethical activity to the extent of one’s ability. The fact that the emphasis is placed on the actions alludes to the fact that the Torah, at least partially, is a political document that spells out the guidelines for perfect political leadership capable of “translating” knowledge and divine science into the rules of governance. The human expression of imitatio Dei is this precise translation. The rules of governance demand intellectual perfection. The politico-religious focus once again intersects with the solitary pursuits in Maimonides’ discussion of the nature of prophecy. Ostensibly, one’s politico-religious environment might be a major factor.

The issue of solitude underscores this discussion again: “every excellent man stays frequently in solitude and does not meet anyone unless it is necessary.”²¹⁷ Solitude allows for the strongest bond since one’s thoughts are totally devoted to God and are emptied of anything else. But how does one engage in daily activities? Maimonides states that when one’s consciousness is empty of anything but God “his intellect is wholly turned toward Him.” He invokes Song of Songs: “I sleep, but my heart waketh; it is the voice of my beloved that knocketh.”²¹⁸ According to Maimonides, Moses’ uniqueness allows him to be engaged in performing outward activities and yet retain a complete inner concentration on God. Some scholars suggest²¹⁹ that Maimonides circumvents the tension between theoretical and practical perfection by stating that bodily actions do not always necessitate the lack of intellectual focus. He suggests that the commandments enhance intellectual focus.²²⁰

Perhaps imitatio Dei, in fact, harmoniously integrates intellectual perfection and practical activities.²²¹ This interpretation requires reading between the lines and some²²² contend that the last chapter of the Guide, III: 54 is a true representation of Maimonides’ position that refutes the view that Maimonides interprets human perfection in terms of a life of contemplation as a means to apprehend God. These scholars maintain that Maimonides’ assertion that knowledge of God comes through one’s knowledge of God’s deeds represents his true conviction. However, this position might be overlooking the fact that for Maimonides, the apprehension of God can take place “in a measure corresponding to [human] capacity.”²²³ This caveat returns us to the question as to who is capable of attaining this apprehension, but also to the conditions in which this apprehension can occur. We should also keep in mind that this capability should be coupled with one’s inclination. Nonetheless, one is to be both inclined yet also capable of emulating God’s actions.²²⁴

The noted tension between the solitary and politico-religious concerns can also be seen in the concluding chapters of GP wherein Maimonides addresses the commandments in a slightly different vein as well. Whereas in III: 25–49 focus on the observance of the commandments pertains to the multitude, in GP III: 51, to the contrary, emphasis is on the exceptional individuals. Recalling the famous Parable of the Palace discussed in III: 51, Maimonides stipulates that only the ones who engage in intellectual speculations really enter the “antechambers”—attain apprehension of the intelligibles and, hence, enter the “inner court.” This is the only group that achieves human perfection. Here again perfection appears metaphysical as attaining this perfection cancels the need for any material sustenance and one assumes immortality: “For his intellect attained such strength that all gross faculties in the body ceased to function.”²²⁵ We note that ultimate perfection to attain immortality is not necessarily in line with the intention to maintain perfect political society.

Let us look once more at the central tension discussed throughout this chapter, namely, the tension between the life of contemplation (solitary pursuits) and the politico-religious involvement. We argue that this tension is present, to some degree, in both Shinran’s and Maimonides’ thought and is exacerbated by their respective politico-religious conditions. Maimonides’ view of statesmanship and politics can be termed a “modified intellectualism.”²²⁶ Perhaps Maimonides’ approach demonstrates less tension than we have been arguing thus far? This is precisely what Leo Strauss is claiming.²²⁷ His argument is built on the premise that Maimonides is much more a Platonic than an Aristotelian thinker and thus endorses the Platonic “philosopher-king.” If this is the case, then according to Leo Strauss, Maimonides experiences less of a tension and a modified intellectualism leaves room for integrating the solitary pursuits and the politico-religious approaches.²²⁸ Notwithstanding, we suggest that Maimonides’ willingness to compromise to preserve the tradition was a more prominent feature than this model suggests.

Given his affinity for the solitary pursuits, I am asking the question: How did being in exile affect the tension between solitary pursuit and politico-religious engagement that Maimonides experienced? Ostensibly, many of Maimonides’ writings exhibit a clear tension between the ethical character traits needed for the individual’s own perfection and the traits germane to the well-functioned social environment. We argue that a similar tension illuminates some of the struggles experienced by Shinran when he declares himself as not having any followers and yet is writing letters to his students to elucidate his own position.²²⁹ If his thought was only devoted to self-perfection or, more accurately to say, enlightenment, he would not have been concerned about explaining his thought. While we cannot say that Shinran had a similar politico-religious engagement, we suggest that the tension between solitary pursuits and a more communal involvement also had been exacerbated by his exile. Maimonides’ thought is colored by the tension between the need to focus on political considerations and the desire for the solitary pursuits. The focus on political considerations is predicated upon being in exile and on the need to preserve community’s religious and cultural identity. In GP III: 42, Maimonides implicitly addresses exile when he notes the need “not begrudge his heir and squander his property.”²³⁰ He then states that “man ought to take care of his relative and grant very strong preference to the bond of the womb.” But then rather significantly he adds, “Similarly everyone of whom you have had need some day, everyone who was useful to you and whom you found in a time of stress, even if afterwards he treated you ill, ought necessarily to have merit attaching to him because of the past.”²³¹

Maimonides’ Genres in Writing and His Intended Audience

We already mentioned the centrality of Maimonides’ Guide for the Perplexed. The Guide carries perhaps the same immense significance as does Shinran’s Kyōgyōshinshō. We posit here that Shinran’s and Maimonides’ goals carry a similar undertone: in the former, to preserve the democratized way of Shin Buddhism; and, in the latter, similar to the intentions of the Talmudic scholars, leave a trace or maybe even a specific outline for the generations to come. However, we might need to consider a possibility that Maimonides’ Guide for the Perplexed might have intended a different audience than his other writings. We should also accept a speculative proposition that Maimonides might be arguing different things to these different audiences. In addition, we need to accept a likehood of Maimonides addressing different target audiences even within the same text. In the Guide, Maimonides uses carefully crafted arguments that can be understood according to “a pyramid-shaped model of human intellect. Ultimate meaning lies within the exclusive domain of the superior intellect.”²³² The Guide might not be a “guide” in its traditional sense, but rather a product of an ongoing attempt to rethink and rearticulate certain issues. It represents Maimonides’ effort to implicitly engage with the thinkers who influenced his thought and in such way, the Guide is a response to the dilemmas which arose from a comparison between Jewish views and Islamic (Aristotelian) philosophy.

We previously suggested that Shinran’s writings also addressed different audiences and yet we argued that perhaps the intention was broader and encompassed all audiences at once. Here we are making a similar argument. We recognize that the Mishneh Torah as a religious text stands alongside the Hebrew Bible and the Talmud, and that the Guide for Perplexed is Maimonides’ philosophical magnum opus. We point out, however, these works’ interrelatedness and intertextuality “the Mishneh Torah’s prescriptive enterprise demands location in the philosophical discourse of the Guide, while the Guide’s discourse demands rootedness in the prescription of the Mishneh Torah.”²³³ Does it mean that Maimonides’ intended audience is the same for all of his texts or did he, like Shinran, aim his works for different audiences? Maimonides’ audience is, without saying, Jewish as Maimonides’ goal was to preserve the Jewish culture by preserving its canon and aiming it to be followed. However, his writing, in a somewhat similar vein as Shinran’s given that Shinran was exiled for following his mentor Hōnen’s teachings, was colored by “the anxiety of writing for a private audience, all the while conscious of its inevitable appearance in the public forum.”²³⁴ Notwithstanding the anxiety, the need was great and in the Introduction to the Guide, Maimonides writes: “I have never ceased to be exceedingly apprehensive about setting down those things that I wish to set down in this Treatise. For they are concealed things; none of them has been set down in any book—written in the [Jewish] religious community in these times in Exile.”²³⁵ So who was Maimonides’ intended audience? Was his audience for the Guide for Perplexed philosophers like in the case of Kyōgyōshinshō? According to Leo Strauss, the GP is “not a philosophical book—a book written by a philosopher for philosophers—but a Jewish book: a book written by a Jew for Jews.”²³⁶ So perhaps, like Shinran who claimed to write for everyone, Maimonides’ goal was also much broader?

While we admit that Maimonides can be seen as an elitist, Shinran is known for his egalitarianism. Does it necessarily mean that Shinran’s magnum opus was intended for all audiences without privileging anyone with a higher intellect? If this is true, how do we explain some equally obscure statements that can be similarly observed in his Kyōgyōshinshō? While the argument is made that Shinran’s writing represents his “personal practice [rather] than a vessel for instruction for others,”²³⁷ when turning to his letters, we need to question the assumption that Shinran’s intention was purely personal and was not intended for his disciples. In addition, whereas Maimonides’ presumed elitism is often observed, especially when one is focusing on the Guide for the Perplexed, Shinran’s interpretation of the Buddhist sutras can also point out to a certain elitism. After all, this type of interpretation and complexity of its exposition are predicated upon Shinran’s knowledge of texts. Moreover, the manner in which these texts are explicated most likely was not accessible to the unlearned and illiterate common people.

Regardless of the implicit goal and the possibility of various audiences, we maintain that the overall intention remains the same—the advancement of a more inclusive practice for Shinran, and the preservation of the Jewish community placed in the conditions of exile. Honoring the divine and observing God’s commandments remain an important component for the continual existence of Jewish community which connects all of Maimonides’ works.²³⁸

NOTES

1. Yoshifumi Ueda and Dennis Hirota, Shinran: An Introduction to His Thought (Kyoto: Hongwanji International Center, 1989).

2. Alfred Bloom, Strategies for Modern Living. A Commentary with the Text of the Tannishō (Numata Center, 1992).