8. The theoretical development of Ethics and Politics may be left to

the teachers of the ‘fiqh’. Our philosopher feels himself on the level

of a inspired person, exalted like a God above all human laws.

Religious or Civil Law is binding only on the Many. Mohammed’s object

was, to civilize the Bedouins; and, in order to aid in accomplishing

that object, he preached, among other doctrines, that of the

Resurrection of the Body. They would never have understood the meaning

of purely spiritual blessedness; and so he had to educate them by

setting before them the prospect of bodily pleasure or pain. As for the

Ascetics,—notwithstanding their willingness to renounce entirely the

world and the senses,—they chime in with this sensuous multitude (whose

worship of God consists in the observance of outward forms), in respect

that they practise their works of piety with an eye to a reward also,

even though it be a heavenly one. Higher than the many or the pious

stand those who truly worship God in spiritual love, entertaining

neither hope nor fear. Their peculiar possession is Freedom of the

Spirit.

But this secret should not be revealed to the multitude; and the

philosopher confides it only to his favourite pupils.

9. In the course of his travels Ibn Sina met with many of the learned

men of his time; but it would appear that these interviews did not give

rise to any enduring intimacies. Just as he feels indebted to Farabi

alone, of all those who preceded him, so the only persons of his own

day, whom he sees fit to thank, are the princes who patronized him. He

criticized unfavourably Ibn Maskawaih (v. IV, 3), whom he met with

still more frequently. With Beruni, his superior in research, he

conducted a correspondence, but it was soon broken off.

Beruni (973–1048) deserves a short notice here, to illustrate the

character of the time, although Kindi and Masudi have a better claim to

be called his masters, than Farabi and the younger Ibn Sina. He was

particularly occupied in the study of Mathematics, Astronomy, Geography

and Ethnology; and he was a keen observer and a good critic. For many a

solution of his difficulties, however, he was indebted to Philosophy;

and he continually bestowed attention upon it, as one of the phenomena

of civilization.

Beruni brings into striking prominence the harmony which exists between

the Pythagorean-Platonic philosophy, Indian wisdom, and many of the

Sufi views. No less striking is his recognition of the superiority of

Greek Science, when compared with the attempts and performances of the

Arabs and the Indians. ‘India’, he says, ‘not to mention Arabia, has

produced no Socrates: there no logical method has expelled phantasy

from science’. But yet he is ready to do justice to individual Indians,

and he quotes with approval the following, as the teaching of the

adherents of Aryabhata: “It is enough for us to know that which is

lighted up by the sun’s rays. Whatever lies beyond, though it should be

of immeasurable extent, we cannot make use of; for what the sunbeam

does not reach, the senses do not perceive, and what the senses do not

perceive, we cannot know”.

From this we may gather what Beruni’s philosophy was: Only

sense-perceptions, knit together by a logical intelligence, yield sure

knowledge; and for the uses of life we need a practical philosophy,

which enables us to distinguish friend from foe. He doubtless did not

himself imagine that he had said all that could be said on the subject.

10. From the school of Ibn Sina, we have had more names handed down,

than we have had writings preserved. Djuzdjani annexes to his

Autobiography an account of the life of the master. And, farther, we

have one or two short metaphysical treatises by Abu-l-Hasan Behmenyar

ibn al-Marzuban, which are nearly in complete agreement with the system

of his teacher. But Matter appears to lose somewhat of its

substantiality: as Possibility of Existence it becomes a relation of

thought.

According to Behmenyar, God is the pure, uncaused Unity of Necessary

Existence,—not the living, all-producing Creator. True enough, He is

the cause of the world, but the effect is given necessarily and

synchronously with the cause; otherwise the cause would not be perfect,

being capable of change. Essentially, though not in point of time, the

existence of God precedes that of the world. Three predicates thus

pertain to the highest existence, viz., that it is (1) essentially

first, (2) self-sufficing, and (3) necessary. In other words God’s

essential nature is the Necessity of his Existence. All that can

possibly be,—owes its existence to this Absolutely Necessary Being.

Now that is quite in harmony with the doctrines of Ibn Sina; and the

same is the case with the disciple’s scheme of the world and his

doctrine of Souls. Whatever has once attained to full reality,—the

various Sphere-Spirits according to their kind, Primeval Matter, and

the individually different Souls of Men,—all lasts for ever. Nothing

that is completely real can pass away, inasmuch as the completely real

has nothing to do with mere possibility.

The characteristic of all that is spiritual is its knowledge of its own

essential nature. Will is nothing else, in Behmenyar’s opinion, than

the knowledge of that which is the necessary outcome of that nature.

Farther, the life and the joy of rational souls consist in

self-knowledge.

11. Ibn Sina achieved a far-reaching influence. His Canon of Medicine

was highly esteemed even in the West, from the 13th century to the

16th, and it is still the authority for medical treatment among the

Persians of the present day. On Christian Scholasticism his influence

was important. Dante placed him between Hippocrates and Galen; and

Scaliger maintained that he was Galen’s equal in Medicine, and much his

superior in Philosophy.

For the East he stood and yet stands as the Prince of Philosophy. In

that region Neo-Platonic Aristotelianism continues to be known under

the form which was given it by Ibn Sina. Manuscripts of his works

abound,—an evidence of his popularity,—while commentaries on his

writings, and epitomes of them, are countless. He was studied by

physicians and statesmen, and even by theologians: It was only a few

who went farther back and consulted his sources.

From the very first, of course, he had many enemies, and they were more

noisy in their demonstrations than his friends. Poets cursed him:

theologians either chimed in with him, or tried to refute him. And in

Bagdad in the year 1150, the Caliph Mustandjid consigned to the flames

Ibn Sina’s writings, as part of a certain judge’s philosophical

library.

5. Ibn al-Haitham.

1. After the days of Ibn Sina and his school, little more attention was

paid to the cultivation of Speculative Philosophy in the Eastern

regions of the Muslim empire. In these lands Arabic was forced more and

more to yield to Persian, both in life and in literature. That the

Persian tongue is not so well adapted for abstract logical and

metaphysical discussion—might be only of quite secondary importance, in

connection with this decline in speculation; but the conditions of

civilization, and with them the subjects which interested men, were

sadly changed. Ethics and Politics came more to the front, although

without assuming an actually new form. But in the later Persian

literature the predominant place was unmistakeably held by Poetry,

partly of a free-thinking tendency, partly, and indeed

preponderatingly, of a mystic kind, which satisfied the need for

wisdom, experienced by people of culture.

From about the middle of the 10th century, the scientific movement

which originated at Bagdad had in part turned westward. We have already

found Farabi in Syria, and Masudi in Egypt: In the latter country Cairo

was becoming a second Bagdad.

2. In Cairo, at the beginning of the 11th century, we come upon one of

the most considerable mathematicians and physicists in all the Middle

Ages, Abu Ali Mohammed ibn al-Hasan ibn al-Haitham (Alhazen). He had

formerly been a government-official in Basra, his native town.

Confiding too much in the practical value of his mathematical

knowledge, he imagined that he could regulate the inundations of the

Nile; but having been summoned on that account by the Caliph al-Hakim,

he became aware, soon after his arrival, of the futility of his

efforts. Thereupon he fell into disgrace as a public official, and went

into hiding till the Caliph’s death, in 1021. From that time he devoted

himself to literary and scientific work, up to his own death, in 1038.

His chief strength is shown in mathematics and its practical

application; but he also devoted great attention to the writings of

Galen and Aristotle, nor did he confine that attention to the physical

treatises. By his own confession he had, in a spirit of doubt about

everything, been engaged, from his youth up, in considering the various

views and doctrines of men, until he came to recognize in all of them

more or less successful attempts to approximate to the truth. Moreover

truth for him was only that which was presented as material for the

faculties of sense-perception, and which received its form from the

understanding, being thus the logically-elaborated perception. To seek

such truth was his aim in the study of philosophy. In his view

philosophy should be the basis of all the sciences. He found it in the

writings of Aristotle, inasmuch as that sage had best understood how to

knit sense-perception into a coherent whole with rational knowledge.

With eagerness therefore he studied and illustrated Aristotle’s works,

for the use and profit of mankind, as well as to exercise his own

intellect and provide a treasure and consolation for his old age. Of

these labours, however, nothing seems to have been preserved for us.

The most important of Ibn al-Haitham’s writings is the “Optics”, which

has come down to us in a Latin translation and redaction. In it he

shows himself to be an acute mathematical thinker, always taking pains

with the analysis of hypotheses and of the actual examples. A Western,

belonging to the 13th century (Vitello), was able to give a more

methodical account of the whole subject; but yet in keenness of

observation on specific points, Ibn al-Haitham may be reckoned his

superior.

3. Ibn al-Haitham’s thinking is expressed in quite a mathematical

style. The Substance of a body consists, according to him, of the sum

of its essential attributes, just as a whole is equal to the sum of its

parts, and a concept to the sum of its marks.

In the “Optics” the psychological remarks on Seeing and on

Sense-Perception in general—are of special interest for us. Here he

exerts himself to separate the individual Moments of the Perception,

and to give prominence to the condition of Time as characterizing the

whole process.

Perception then is a compound process, arising out of (1) sensation,

(2) comparison of several sensations or of the present sensation with

the memory-image which has been gradually formed in the soul as a

result of earlier sensations, and (3) recognition, in such fashion that

we recognize the present percept as equivalent to the memory-image.

Comparison and recognition are not activities of the Senses, which

merely receive impressions passively, but they devolve upon the

Understanding as the faculty of judgment. Ordinarily the whole process

goes forward unconsciously or semi-consciously, and it is only through

reflection that it is brought within our consciousness, and that the

apparently simplex is separated into its component parts.

The process of Perception is gone through very quickly. The more

practice a man has in this respect, and the oftener a perception is

repeated, the more firmly is the memory-image stamped upon the soul,

and the more rapidly is recognition or perception effected. The cause

of this is that the new sensation is supplemented by the image which is

already present in the soul. One might thus be disposed to think that

Perception was an instantaneous act, at least after long practice.

That, however, would be erroneous, for not only is every sensation

attended by a corresponding change localized in the sense-organ, which

demands a certain time, but also, between the stimulation of the organ

and the consciousness of the perception an interval of time must

elapse, corresponding to the transmission of the stimulus for some

distance along the nerves. That it needs time, for example, to perceive

a colour, is proved by the rotating circle of colours, which shows us

merely a mixed colour, because on account of the rapid movement we have

no time to perceive the individual colours.

Comparison and Recognition are, according to Ibn al-Haitham, the

significant Mental Moments of Perception. On the other hand Sensation

tallies with the Material; and the Sense experiencing the sensation

exhibits a passive attitude. Properly all sensation is in itself a kind

of discomfort, which ordinarily does not make itself felt, but which

emerges into consciousness under very strong stimuli, for example,

through too bright a light. A pleasurable character accrues only to the

completed perception, that is to the recognition which lifts the

material given in sensation, up to the mental form.

The comparison and recognition, which are put in operation in

Perception, constitute an unconscious judgment and conclusion. The

child is already drawing a conclusion, when of two apples he chooses

the finer one. As often as we comprehend a connection, we are

concluding. But, since judging and concluding are quickly settled, men

are easily misled in this matter, and frequently they regard as an

original concept that which is merely a judgment derived by a process

of ratiocination. In the case of everything which is announced to us as

an axiom, we should be on our guard and trace it up, to see whether it

cannot be derived from something more simple.

4. This appeal of our philosopher had little effect in the East. It is

true that in Mathematics and Astronomy he created somewhat of a school;

but his Aristotelian philosophy had comparatively few admirers. We know

only one of his scholars who is counted among the Philosophers,

Abu-l-Wafa Mubasshir ibn Fatik al-Qaid, an Egyptian emir, who in the

year 1053 produced a work made up of proverbial wisdom, anecdotes in

illustration of the history of philosophy, and so on. Hardly anything

can be traced in it which is the result of his own thinking. It should

have been pleasant reading. And the inhabitants of Cairo in after times

found edification,—more even than in such a work,—in the tales of the

Thousand and One Nights.

The East set the stigma of heresy upon Ibn al-Haitham and his works,

and now it has almost completely forgotten him. A disciple of

Maimonides, the Jewish philosopher, relates that he was in Bagdad on

business, when the library of a certain philosopher, (who died in 1214)

was burned there. The preacher, who conducted the execution of the

sentence, threw into the flames, with his own hands, an astronomical

work of Ibn al-Haitham, after he had pointed to a delineation therein

given of the sphere of the earth, as an unhappy symbol of impious

Atheism.

V. THE OUTCOME OF PHILOSOPHY IN THE EAST.

1. Gazali.

1. We have already seen that the theological movement in Islam was

strongly influenced by Philosophy. Not only the Mutazilite, but also

the Antimutazilite Dialectic drew its opinions and the arguments with

which it supported its own teaching or disputed that of its opponents,

for the most part out of the writings of the philosophers. Out of these

one took just what he was able to make use of: the rest he left in

peace, or else he endeavoured to refute it. Thus numerous writings came

into existence, directed against some particular philosophical

doctrine, or some individual philosopher. No attempt, however, had been

made before the time of Gazali, to direct an attack from general points

of view and after thorough-going study, against the entire system of

Philosophy which had been built up in the East on a Greek foundation.

Gazali’s undertaking had also a positive side. Along with the Dialectic

which sought to make the doctrines of the Faith intelligible, or even

to provide them with a rational basis, there were movements in Islam of

a mysticism which tended to a conception of dogma, profound and full of

feeling. Its wish was, not to comprehend or demonstrate the contents of

the Faith, but to learn them by experience and live in them through the

Spirit. The highest certitude ought to belong to the Faith. Ought it

then to be in the power of any to transform it into a derived

knowledge? Or must its tenets be principles of the Reason, neither

capable of farther proof, nor requiring it? But the fundamental

principles of the Reason, when once they are known, must be universally

recognized; and universal recognition is lacking in the case of the

tenets of the Faith. From what other source does unbelief arise? Thus

the questioning proceeded; and it seemed to many that the only way out

of these doubts was to base religious doctrine upon an inner,

supra-rational illumination. At first this came about unconsciously,

under a mystic impulse, whereby the contents of moral and religious

teaching were often brought into neglect. Gazali took part in this

movement also. That which had perhaps been typified by the Salimites

and Karramites, Antimutazilite sects, he set forth completely and in a

dignified style; and ever since his time Mysticism both sustains and

crowns the Temple of Learning in Orthodox Islam.

2. The story of this man’s life is a remarkable one; and, in order to

understand the effectiveness of his work, it is absolutely essential to

examine it with a measure of detail. He was born at Tos in Khorasan in

the year 1059, being thus a countryman of the great poet Firdausi. And

just as the latter furnishes a proof of the old glory of the Persian

nation, so Gazali was destined to be a “testimony and ornament” for all

future Islam. Even his early education,—obtained after his father’s

death, in the house of a Sufi friend,—was rather cosmopolitan than

national in its direction. Farther, any limitation was displeasing to

the youth’s restless and fanciful spirit. He did not feel at home in

the hair-splitting casuistry of the teachers of Morals with their

precise formulas: he regarded it as a worldly knowledge, from which he

turned away, to immerse his spirit in the knowledge of Allah. Then he

studied theology in Nishabur with the Imām al-Haramain, who died in

1085; and at the same time he may himself have begun to write and to

teach, and, perhaps even thus early, to entertain doubts of his own

science. Thereafter he was in attendance at the court of Nizam al-Mulk,

the Vizir of the Seldjuk prince, until in 1091 he was appointed a

Professor in Bagdad. It was during this time at all events that he

busied himself most with philosophy. But it was not pure love for the

science, which impelled him to that study, but the longing of his heart

to find a solution of the doubts which assailed his understanding. Not

any explanation of the events of the world, nor any clearing up of his

own thinking, but peace of mind and the experience of a higher reality

constituted the object which he strove to reach. He subjected to a

thorough study the writings of the philosophers, in particular those of

Farabi and Ibn Sina; and, following chiefly the system of the latter,

he composed a Compendium of Philosophy, regarding it objectively, but

still with some appearance of sympathy with its contents. He said,—at

first in a kind of whisper to pacify his own mind, but afterwards

publicly in self-defence,—that he composed that work in order that he

might follow up the statement of the doctrines of philosophy with the

refutation of the same. And that refutation did appear, probably not

long after. It was the famous “Destruction of the Philosophers”,—which

was composed in all likelihood while he was still in Bagdad, or shortly

after he had left it.

But by the end of four years, viz. in 1095, Gazali had discontinued his

work of teaching in Bagdad, attended though it had been with outward

success. His mind, continually in a state of doubt, probably found no

satisfaction in dogmatic prelections. He was alternately attracted and

repelled by his own brilliant position, and he came to think that he

could, and that he should, fight against the world and its wisdom in

some other way, to more purpose. Ambition with him embraced far more

than this world. Profounder still his musings became; and during an

illness of his, the inner call presented itself to his soul. He had

secretly to prepare for the work, by means of Sufi exercises,—perhaps

even to assume the character of a religious and political reformer. At

the very time that the Crusaders were equipping themselves in the West

against Islam, Gazali was preparing himself to be the spiritual

champion of the Muslim faith. His conversion was not of a violent

character, like that of St. Augustine, but was rather to be compared to

the experience of St. Jerome, who was summoned in a dream from his

Ciceronian predilections to practical Christianity.

For ten years Gazali travelled here and there, dividing his time

between pious exercises and literary work. In the first part of that

period it may be conjectured that he wrote his principal

theologico-ethical work, “The Revival of Religious Sciences”: towards

the end he endeavoured to exercise influence as a reformer. His

journeyings led him by way of Damascus and Jerusalem—before it was

taken by the Crusaders,—Alexandria, Mecca and Medina, back to his home.

After his return Gazali once more engaged in teaching for a short time

in Nishabur; and he died in Tos, his native town, on the 19th of

December, 1111. His closing years were chiefly devoted to pious

contemplation and the study of the Traditions, which as a youth he

could never remember. A beautifully complete and rounded life, in which

the end comes back to the beginning!

3. Gazali passes in review the spiritual tendencies of his time. These

are: the Dialectic of the Theologians; Sufi Mysticism; Pythagorean

Popular Philosophy; and Neo-Platonic Aristotelianism. That which

Dialectic desires to establish is also the object of his own faith; but

its arguments appear to him rather weak, and many of its assertions on

that account open to question. He feels most in sympathy with the Sufi

Mysticism: to it he owes his dearest possession, viz., the

establishment of his own faith in Personality,—so that he can postulate

as an inner experience that which the Dialecticians attempt to derive

by a process of reasoning. He thanks also the Popular Philosophy for

the instruction it gives, particularly in Mathematics, which he fully

recognizes as a science, together with its Astronomical deductions. He

concedes the validity of its Physics, where that is not in conflict

with the Faith. But Aristotelianism,—as it has been taught by Farabi

and Ibn Sina, with as much subservience to authority as has been

exhibited by the Theologians,—seems to him to be the enemy of Islam;

and in the name of all the Muslim schools and tendencies of thought

together, he feels bound to do battle with it, as from a catholic

standpoint. And in truth he does this with Aristotle’s own

weapons,—those of Logic; for the axioms of thought which Logic lays

down are, in his eyes, just as firmly established as the propositions

of Mathematics. Fully alive to this, he starts from the Principle of

Contradiction, to which, according to his contention, God himself

submits. Of the Physico-Metaphysical doctrines of Philosophy then, he

attacks three in particular: 1. That the world is eternal; 2. That God

takes cognizance only of the Universal, and that consequently there is

no special providence; 3. That the Soul alone is immortal, and

therefore a Resurrection of the Body is not to be looked for. In the

refutation of these doctrines Gazali is in many respects dependent on

the Christian commentator on Aristotle, Johannes Philoponus, who also

has written against the doctrine of the eternity of the world

maintained by Proclus.

4. (1) The world, according to the philosophers, is a sphere of finite

extent but of infinite duration. From all eternity, it proceeds from

God, even as the effect is in existence at the same time with the

cause. Gazali, on the contrary, is of opinion that it is not admissible

to put such different constructions on the notions of Space and Time

respectively; and he holds that the Divine Causality should be defined

as free Creative Might.

First then as to Space and Time: we are as little able to imagine an

outermost boundary of Space as a beginning or end of Time. He who

believes in an endless Time, must, in consistency with that notion of

his, assume also the existence of an infinite Space. To say that Space

answers to the external sense, and Time on the other hand to the

internal,—does not alter the case, for we do not after all get rid of

the Sensible. Just as Space bears a relation to Body, so does Time to

the movement of Body. Both are merely relations of things, created in

and with the things of the world, or rather relations between our

conceptions, which God creates in us.

Still more important is that which Gazali advances about Causality. The

Philosophers distinguish between an operation of God, of Spiritual

Beings endowed with will, of the Soul, of Nature, of Chance and the

like; but for Gazali, just as for the orthodox Kalam, there is really

only one causality, that of the ‘Willing’ Being. He completely puts

aside the causality of Nature, which is reducible without remainder

into a relation of Time. We see one definite phenomenon (Cause)

regularly succeeded by another definite phenomenon (Effect); but how

the latter results from the former is left an enigma for us. Of

operation in the objects of Nature we know nothing. Farther, any

alteration is in itself inconceivable. That any one thing should become

a different thing is incomprehensible to thought, which may just as

well ask about facts as about causes. A thing either exists, or it does

not exist; but not even Divine Omnipotence can transform one existing

thing into another thing. It creates or else annihilates.

And yet it is a fact of our consciousness that we do effect something.

If we ‘will’ anything, and possess the power to carry it out, we claim

the result as our act. Action, proceeding from a free will, and

conscious of the exertion of power, is the only causality of which we

know; and we argue from this to the Divine Being. But by what right?

The warrant for such a conclusion Gazali thinks that he finds in his

own personal experience of the image of God in his soul; while on the

other hand he declines to credit Nature with the likeness to God which

belongs to his own soul.

For him accordingly, God, in so far as he can be known from the world,

is the Almighty Being, free in will and efficient in operation. No

spatial limit may be set to his causative activity, which yet the

philosophers do, when they grant only his influence in his first

created work. But on the other hand He can limit his own work both in

Space and Time, so that this finite world has only a finite duration.

That God should call the world into existence out of nothing by an

absolute act of creation—seems to the Philosophers to be absurd. They

recognize only an exchange of Accidents or Forms in the one material, a

passing of the actual from possibility to possibility. But does nothing

new ever come then into being? Is not every apprehension of the

senses,—asks Gazali,—and every spiritual perception, something entirely

new, which either exists or else does not exist, but at whose coming

into existence the contrary does not cease, and at whose vanishing from

existence, the opposite does not make its appearance? Consider farther

the numerous individual souls which, according to Ibn Sina’s system,

must be in existence: have not these come into being, absolutely new?

There is no end to the putting of questions. The representative process

wanders about in all directions and far; and thought leads us on ad

infinitum. The chain of causation can nowhere be brought to an end, any

more than Space or Time. In order then that there should be a definite,

final Existence,—and in postulating this, Gazali is at one with the

Philosophers—, we need an Eternal Will as First Cause, different from

everything else.

We may at all events make this acknowledgement to Gazali, that Ibn

Sina’s fantastic doctrine of Forms and Souls makes no stand against his

criticism.

5. (2) We have now come to the idea of God. In the view of the

Philosophers, God is the highest Being, and his essence is Thought.

That which He knows, comes into existence, emanating from his

abundance; but he has not positively ‘willed’ it, for all Willing

presupposes a deficiency,—a need—, and is conditioned by some change in

the Being that wills. Willing is movement in the material: completely

real Spirit wills nothing. Therefore God beholds his creation in a

contemplation which is undisturbed by any wish. He recognizes himself,

or even his first Creature, or, according to Ibn Sina, the Universal,

the eternal Genera and Species of all things.

But according to Gazali there must eternally belong to God a Will, as

one of his eternal attributes. In a conventional way he grants, it is

true, that in metaphysical and ethical considerations knowing precedes

willing, but he is convinced that unity of Being does not more reside

in knowing than in willing. Not only the multiplicity of the objects of

knowledge, and their different relations to the knowing Subject, but

even Self-Consciousness, or knowing about the knowing, considered per

se, is an endless process. An act of will is absolutely necessary to

bring it to a conclusion. In directing the attention and in

self-communing an original “Willing” is in operation; and thus even

Divine knowledge comes to a conclusion as a coherent unity, in its

Personality, by means of an original eternal Will. In place of the

assertion of the Philosophers that God wills the world, because he

thinks of it as the best, Gazali substitutes the statement: “God has

cognizance of the world because he wills it and in his willing it”.

Must not then He, who wills and creates all, have cognizance of his

work down to the smallest part of its material? Just as his eternal

will is the cause of all individual things, so his eternal knowledge

embraces at one and the same time every particular thing, without the

unity of his nature being thereby taken away. There is consequently a

Providence.

To the objection that Divine Providence makes every particular event a

necessary event, Gazali, like St. Augustine, replies that this

fore-knowledge is not distinguishable from knowledge in memory,—that is

to say, that God’s knowledge is exalted above every distinction of

time.

It may be questioned whether, in order to save the eternal, almighty,

creative Will, Gazali has not sacrificed to that absolute might both

the temporary character of the world, which he would like to prove, and

the freedom of human action, from which he sets out, and which he would

not altogether surrender. This world of shadows and images, as he calls

it, vanishes for the sake of God.

6. (3) The third question, with regard to which Gazali separates

himself from the Philosophers, has less philosophic interest. It refers

to the Resurrection of the Body. According to the Philosophers it is

only the Soul that is immortal, either in its individuality or as a

part of the World-Soul: The Body on the other hand is perishable.

Against this Dualism, which in theory led to an ascetic Ethics, but

which in practice was easily converted into Libertinism, the religious

and moral feeling of Gazali rose in rebellion. If the flesh is to have

its obligations, it must in turn be invested with its rights. The

possibility of the Resurrection cannot be denied, for the reunion of

the Soul with its (new) bodily frame is not more wonderful than its

first union with the earthly body, which has been assumed even by the

Philosophers. Surely then every soul at the resurrection-time may

obtain a new body suited to it. But in any case Man’s real essence is

the Soul; and it is of little consequence what the material is, out of

which its heavenly body is formed.

7. Even from these last propositions it is clear that Gazali’s theology

did not remain unaffected by philosophical speculation. Like the

Fathers of the Western Church, he had, whether consciously or

unconsciously, appropriated a good deal from philosophy; and for that

reason his theology was long proscribed as a heretical innovation by

the Muslims of the West. In reality his teaching regarding God, the

World, and the human Soul exhibits many elements which are foreign to

the oldest type of Islam, and which may be traced back,—partly through

the intervening agency of Christian and Jewish writers and partly

through that of more recent Muslim authors,—to heathen wisdom.

Allah, Lord of the Worlds, God of Mohammed, is for Gazali a living

personality it is true, but yet far less anthropomorphic than he

appeared to simple Faith or in the Antimutazilite dogma. The surest way

of coming to know him must be to refuse to attribute to him any of the

properties of his creatures. But that does not mean that he possesses

no attributes: the very reverse is the case. The plurality of his

qualities does not prejudice the Unity of his Being. Analogies are

presented in the bodily world: A thing certainly cannot be both black

and white at the same time, but it may well be cold and also dry. Only,

if the qualities of men are attributed to God, they must be understood

in another and higher sense, for he is pure Spirit. Besides omniscience

and omnipotence, pure goodness and omnipresence belong to Him. By means

of this omnipresence this world and the next are brought in a manner

nearer to one another than by the usual representation.

The conception of God is thus spiritualized. But resurrection and the

future life are also regarded as being much more spiritual in character

than the present life. Such a conception is facilitated by the doctrine

of the Gnostic Philosophy, that there are three or four worlds. One

above the other in regular order rise the Earthly and Sensible World of

Men, the World of Celestial Spirits, to which our Soul belongs, the

World of Supra-celestial Angels, and lastly God himself, as the World

of purest Light and most perfect Spirit. The pious and enlightened Soul

ascends from the lower world through the heavens till it is face to

face with God, for it is of spiritual nature and its resurrection-body

is of celestial essence.

In a manner corresponding to the different worlds and grades of Souls,

men themselves differ from one another. The man of sensuous nature must

be content with the Koran and Tradition: he should not venture beyond

the letter of the Law. The study of duty is his bread of life;

philosophy would be a deadly poison to him. He who cannot swim should

not venture into the sea.

However there are always people who go into the water for the purpose

of learning to swim. They want to elevate their faith into knowledge,

but in the process they may easily fall into doubt and unbelief. For

them, in Gazali’s opinion, a useful remedy may be found in the study of

Doctrine and Polemics directed against Philosophy.

Those, however, have reached the highest degree of human perfection,

who, without any laborious cogitation, experience in themselves by

means of an inward and Divine illumination the truth and the reality of

the Spiritual World. Such are the prophets and pious mystics, among

whom Gazali himself may be reckoned. They see God in everything,—Him,

and Him alone—, and in Nature just as in the life of their own Soul;

but they see Him best in the Soul, for although it is not Divine it has

at least a likeness to the Divine. How altered now is every outward

thing! That which seems to be in existence outside of us, becomes a

condition or a property of the Soul, which in the consciousness of its

union with God, advances to the highest bliss. All things then become

one in Love. The true service of God transcends fear of punishment and

hope of reward, attaining to Love of God in the Spirit. The perfect

servant of God is raised above endurance and thanksgiving,—which

constitute the obligation of the pious wanderer upon the earth, so long

as he remains imperfect—, so that even in this world he loves and

praises God with joy of heart.

8. From what has been said it follows that there are three stages of

Belief or Certainty. First, the belief of the multitude, who believe

what some man worthy of belief declares to them, for instance, that

So-and-so is in the house; secondly, the knowledge of the learned,

gained by deduction: they have heard So-and-so speaking, and conclude

that he is in the house; but thirdly we have the immediate certainty of

the ‘knowing’ ones, for they have entered the house and seen the person

with their own eyes.

In contradistinction to the Dialecticians and Philosophers, Gazali

everywhere lays stress upon experience. The former, with their

Universal Ideas, in the first place fail to do justice to the

multiplicity which attaches to this world of sense. The sensible

qualities of things,—even the number of the stars for example,—we come

to know only through experience, and not from pure Ideas. Much less,

however, do such Ideas exhaust the heights and depths of our inner

being. That which the friend of God knows intuitively, remains hidden

for ever from the discursive intellect of the learned. A very small

number attain to this height of knowledge, where they meet with the

Apostles of God and Prophets of all times. It is the duty then of the

Spirits who stand at a lower level to strive to follow them.

But now how are we to recognize the superior Spirit whom we need as our

guide? That is a question, on which every religiously-determined

system, which cannot do without human intermediaries, must founder, if

considered purely in the light of the understanding. Even Gazali’s

answer is indecisive. This much is certain to him, that grounds

furnished by the reason alone cannot decide this question. The Prophet

and Teacher who has been actually inspired by God is recognized by

merging ourselves in his peculiar personality, through the experience

of an inward relationship. The truth of Prophecy is authenticated by

the moral influence which it exercises upon the Soul. Of the

truthfulness of God’s word in the Koran we acquire a moral, not a

theoretical certainty. The detached miracle is not capable of

convincing; but the revelation as a whole, together with the

personality of the Prophet, through whom the revelation has been

conveyed, produce an irresistible impression upon the kindred soul.

Then, wholly carried away by such impression, the soul renounces the

world, to walk in the way of God.

9. Gazali is without doubt the most remarkable figure in all Islam. His

doctrine is the expression of his own personality. He abandoned the

attempt to understand this world. But the religious problem he

comprehended much more profoundly than did the philosophers of his

time. These were intellectual in their methods, like their Greek

predecessors, and consequently regarded the doctrines of Religion as

merely the products of the conception or fancy or even caprice of the

lawgiver. According to them Religion was either blind obedience, or a

kind of knowledge which contained truth of an inferior order.

On the other hand Gazali represents Religion as the experience of his

inner Being. It is for him more than Law and more than Doctrine: it is

the Soul’s experience.

It is not every one who has this experience of Gazali’s. But even those

who cannot follow him in his mystic flight, when he transcends the

conditions of any possible experience, will at least be constrained to

acknowledge that his aberrations in searching for the highest are not

less important for the history of the Human Mind than the apparently

surer paths taken by the philosophers of his time, through a land which

others had discovered before them.

2. The Epitomists.

1. In a history of scholarly Education as conducted in the Muslim

nations, this subject would necessarily have a larger space assigned

it: but here we shall dismiss it in a few words.

That Gazali has annihilated philosophy in the East, for all time to

come, is an assertion frequently repeated but wholly erroneous, and one

which evidences neither historical knowledge nor understanding.

Philosophy in the East has since his day numbered its teachers and

students by hundreds and by thousands. The teachers of the Faith have

no more discontinued their dialectical arguments in support of Doctrine

than the teachers of Morals have abandoned their hair-splitting

casuistry. General culture too has adopted an element of philosophical

learning.

But it is true that Philosophy did not succeed in conquering for itself

a commanding position, or in retaining the consideration which it once

enjoyed. According to an Arab anecdote a Philosopher, who had been

thrown into prison, on being asked what he was fit for, by a man who

wanted to purchase him as a slave, is said to have replied: “For

freedom”. Philosophy needs freedom. And where was this Freedom to be

met with in the East? Freedom from material cares, freedom to exemplify

unprejudiced thinking, tended continually to dwindle away from regions

where no enlightened despots were to be found, able to warrant and

protect it. But that is just a symptom of the general decay of

civilization. And although travellers from the West in the twelfth

century praised highly the culture of the East, it had, in comparison

with earlier times, at least begun to decline. In no department did

they pass the mark which had been reached of old: Minds were now too

weak to accomplish such a feat. Literary production became stagnant,

and the only merit which belongs to the voluminous compilers of the

following centuries is that of elegant selection. Ethical and religious

doctrine had ended in Mysticism; and the same was the case with

Philosophy. After the time of Ibn Sina, the Prince of Philosophy, no

one felt called upon to come forward with independent views. The day

had come for Abridgements, Commentaries, Glosses, and Glosses upon

Glosses. The learned world occupied their time in school with work of

that nature, while the believing multitude placed themselves more and

more under the guidance of the Dervish orders.

2. That which general education borrowed most from philosophical

Propaedeutics was a little Mathematics &c., naturally exceedingly

elementary as a rule. By sectaries and mystics a good deal was taken

over from Pythagorean-Platonic wisdom. In particular these doctrines

had to be drawn upon in order to support the belief in saints and

miracles; and a barren syncretistic Theosophy was tricked out

therewith. The system even enrolled Aristotle among its teachers, of

course the spurious Aristotle, but it turned him into a disciple of

Agathodaemon and Hermes.

The more sober-minded thinkers, on the other hand, kept to

Aristotelianism, so far as it agreed with their own views or with the

orthodox Faith. The system of Ibn Sina was almost universally followed

by them; and it was only a few that went back to Farabi, or that

endeavoured to combine the two. Very little notice was taken of

Physical and Metaphysical doctrines: Ethics and Politics were rather

more attended to. Logic was the only subject universally studied; for

it could be admirably conveyed in scholastic form; and, as pure Formal

Logic, it was an instrument which every one was able to make use of. In

fact with the resources of Logic everything might be proved; and even

if the demonstration should be recognized as faulty, there was this

consolation that the averment might still be true, although its

demonstration had not been properly conducted.

Even in the Encyclopaedia of Abu Abdallah al-Khwarizmi, a production of

the last quarter of the tenth century, a larger space was assigned to

Logic than to Physics and Metaphysics. The very same thing was done in

many later encyclopaedias and compilations. The Dogmatists also

commenced their system with logical and epistemological considerations,

in which a traditional eulogy was pronounced over “knowing”. And from

the twelfth century onwards there arose a whole multitude of separate

arrangements of the Aristotelian Organon. Here may be mentioned

only,—as being much used, commented on, and so forth,—the works of

Abhari († 1264), who gave a short summary of the whole ‘Logic’ under

the title of “Isagudji” (εἰσαγωγή); and the works of Qazwini († 1276).

At the greatest University in the Muslim world, that of Cairo, the

Epitomes of the 13th and 14th centuries are used, up to this day. There

the word still is, as for a long time it was with ourselves: “First of

all a College of Logic”, and, we need scarcely add, with no better

result. They indulge themselves, within the limits of the Law, in the

luxury of studying the rules of thinking discovered by the ancient

philosophers, but all the while they smile at these men and at the

Mutazilite Dialecticians, who “believed in Reason!”

VI. PHILOSOPHY IN THE WEST.

1. Beginnings.

1. Western North-Africa, Spain and Sicily are reckoned as forming the

Muslim West. North-Africa, to begin with, is of subordinate importance:

Sicily is regulated by Spain, and is soon overthrown by the Normans of

Lower Italy. For our purpose Muslim Spain or Andalusia first falls to

be considered.

The drama of culture in the East passes here through a second

representation. Just as Arabs there intermarried with Persians, so in

the West they intermarry with Spaniards. And instead of Turks and

Mongols we have here the Berbers of North-Africa, whose rude force is

flung into the play of more refined civilization with a blighting

influence ever on the increase.

After the fall of the Omayyads in Syria (750), a member of that House,

Abderrakhman ibn Moawiya, betook himself to Spain, where he contrived

to work his way up to the dignity of Emir of Cordova and all Andalusia.

This Omayyad overlordship lasted for more than 250 years, and after a

passing system of petty States, it attained its greatest brilliancy

under Abderrakhman III (912–961), the first who assumed the title of

Caliph, and his son al-Hakam II (961–976). The tenth century was for

Spain, what the ninth was for the East,—the time of highest material

and intellectual civilization. If possible, it was more fresh and

native here than in the East, and, if it be true that all theorizing

betokens either a lack or a stagnation of the power of production, it

was more productive also: The sciences, and Philosophy in particular,

had far fewer representatives in Spain. Speaking generally, we may say

that the relations of intellectual life took a simpler form. There was

a smaller number of strata in the new culture than in the old. No doubt

there were, besides Muslims, Jews and Christians in Spain, who in the

time of Abderrakhman III played their part in this cultivated life, of

the Arabic stamp, in common with the rest. But of adherents of

Zoroaster, atheists and such like, there were none. Even the sects of

Eastern Islam were almost unknown. Only one school of Law, that of

Malik, was admitted. No Mutazilite dialectic troubled the peace of the

Faith. True enough the Andalusian poets glorified the trinity of Wine,

Woman and Song; but flippant free-thinking on the one hand, and gloomy

theosophy and renunciation of the world on the other, rarely found

expression.

On the whole, intellectual culture was dependent upon the East. From

the tenth century onwards many journeys in search of knowledge were

undertaken thither from Spain, by way of Egypt and as far as Eastern

Persia, for the purpose of attending the prelections of scholars of

renown. And farther, educational requirements in Andalusia attracted to

it many a learned Eastern who found no occupation in his own home.

Besides, al-Hakam II caused books to be copied, all over the East, for

his library, which is said to have contained 400,000 volumes.

The West was mainly interested in Mathematics, Natural Science,

Astrology and Medicine, precisely as was the case at first in the East.

Poetry, History and Geography were cultivated with ardour. But the mind

was not yet “sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought”, for when

Abdallah ibn Masarra of Cordova, under Abderrakhman III, brought home

with him from the East a system of Natural Philosophy, he had to submit

to see his writings consigned to the flames.

2. In the year 1013 Cordova, “the Gem of the World”, was laid waste by

the Berbers, and the kingdom of the Omayyads was split up into a number

of minor States. Its second bloom fills up the eleventh century,—the

Medicean age of Spain, in which Art and Poetry still flourish in

luxuriant growth at the courts of the various cities, upon the ruins of

ancient splendour. Art grows refined; poetry becomes sage, and

scientific thought subtle. Intellectual nutriment continues to be

fetched from the East; and Natural Philosophy, the writings of the

Faithful Brethren, and Logic from the school of Abu Sulaiman

al-Sidjistani find admission one after the other. Towards the close of

the century it is possible to trace the influence even of the writings

of Farabi, and the “Medicine” of Ibn Sina becomes known.

The beginnings of philosophical reflection are found chiefly with the

numerous men of culture among the Jews. Eastern Natural Philosophy

produces a powerful and quite singular impression upon the mind of Ibn

Gebirol, the Avencebrol of Christian authors; and Bakhya ibn Pakuda is

influenced by the Faithful Brethren. Even the religious poetry of the

Jews is affected by the philosophical movement; and what speaks therein

is not the Jewish Congregation seeking after God, but the Soul rising

towards the Supreme Spirit.

Among the Muslims, however, the number of those who addressed

themselves to a thorough study of Philosophy was very limited. No

master gathered about him a numerous band of disciples; and meetings of

the learned, for the discussion of philosophical subjects, were

scarcely ever held. The individual thinker must have felt very lonely

in these circumstances. In the West, just as in the East, Philosophy

was developed subjectively; but here it was more the concern of a few

isolated individuals; and, besides, it stood more apart from the faith

of the mass of the people. In the East there were countless

intermediary agencies between faith and knowledge,—between the

philosophers and the believing community. The problem of the individual

thinker, confronted by political society and the faith of narrow-minded

fanatical multitudes, was accordingly realized more acutely in the

West.

2. Ibn Baddja.

1. Towards the end of the eleventh century, when Abu Bekr Mohammed ibn

Yakhya ibn al-Saig ibn Baddja (Avempace) was born in Saragossa, the

fair kingdom of Andalusia was approaching the time of its disappearance

in a system of petty States. It was threatened from the North by the

less civilized but yet powerful and brave Christian knights. But the

Berber dynasty of the Almoravids came to the rescue, who were not only

firmer in the faith but also wiser in their policy than the voluptuous

ruling race of Spain. Then the time of refined culture and free enquiry

seemed gone for ever. Only traditionalists, of the strictest rite,

ventured to make a public appearance, while philosophers, unless they

kept concealed, were persecuted or put to death.

2. But barbarous lords have their caprices, being fond of

appropriating, at least superficially, the culture of those who have

been subjugated by them. Thus Abu Bekr ibn Ibrahim, brother-in-law of

the Almoravid prince Ali,—who was for some time Governor of Saragossa,

made Ibn Baddja his intimate friend and first minister, thereby giving

great offence to his Faqihs and soldiers. Now this was a man, skilled

both in the theory and practice of the Mathematical Sciences,

particularly Astronomy and Music, as well as an adept in Medicine, and

one who was devoted to speculative studies in Logic, Natural Philosophy

and Metaphysics; and in the opinion of the fanatics he was an utterly

abandoned atheist and immoral person.

We know nothing more of the outward life of Ibn Baddja except that he

was in Seville in the year 1118, after the fall of Saragossa, and that

he composed several of his works there, afterwards betaking himself to

the Almoravid court in Fez, where he died in 1138. According to

tradition he met his death by poison, administered at the instigation

of a jealous physician. His short life, as he himself confesses, had

not been a happy one; and he had often longed for death, as a final

refuge. Material want, and, above all, intellectual isolation, may have

weighed down his spirits. His extant writings abundantly evince that he

was unable to feel at home in that day and that environment.

3. He conforms almost entirely to Farabi, the quiet, solitary Eastern.

Like him he was little given to systematizing. His original treatises

are but few in number; and they consist chiefly of brief expositions of

Aristotelian and other philosophical works. His observations are of a

desultory character: Now he makes a beginning in one place; again, he

starts afresh in another. In continually renewed approaches he

endeavours to get nearer Greek thought, and to penetrate from every

possible side to ancient science. He does not discard philosophy, and

he does not deal conclusively with it. On a first glance, that produces

a puzzling impression; but, in the sombre impulse which is upon him,

the philosopher has become aware of the path he is pursuing. In

searching for truth and righteousness, he is coming upon another

thing,—unity and joy in his own life. In his opinion, Gazali took the

matter much too easily, when he thought he could be happy only in the

full possession of the truth comprehended by means of Divine

illumination. In his love for the truth, which is concealed rather than

revealed by the sensuous images of religious mysticism, the philosopher

must be strong enough to renounce that happiness. Only pure thinking,

undisturbed by any sensuous desire, is privileged to behold the supreme

Godhead.

4. In his logical writings Ibn Baddja hardly departs from Farabi. Even

his physical and metaphysical theories agree generally with the views

of the master. But perhaps the mode, in which he represents the history

of the development of the human spirit and the position of man in

knowledge and in life, may claim a measure of interest. There are two

kinds of existence, according to his view,—one which is moved, and one

which is not moved. That which is moved is corporeal and limited, but

its everlasting movement cannot be explained by finite Body. On the

contrary, in order to explain this endless movement, an unending power

is needed, or an eternal essence, namely Spirit. Now while the

corporeal or the natural is moved from without, and the Spirit, itself

unmoved, confers movement upon the corporeal, the Soul-substance

occupies a middle position, being that which moves itself. The relation

between the natural and the psychical presents as little difficulty to

Ibn Baddja as to his predecessors; but the great problem is this:—‘How

are the Soul and the Spirit related to each other, that is to say in

Man?’

5. Ibn Baddja starts with the assumption that Matter cannot exist

without some Form, while Form may exist by itself, without Matter.

Otherwise, in fact, absolutely no change is thinkable, because that is

rendered possible only by the coming and going of substantial Forms.

These Forms then, from the hylic up to the purely spiritual, constitute

a series, to which the development of the human spirit corresponds, in

so far as it realizes the rational ideal. Man’s task is to comprehend

all the spiritual Forms together; first the intelligible Forms of all

that is corporeal, then the sensible-spiritual presentations of the

Soul, next the human Spirit itself and the Active Spirit over it, and

lastly the pure Spirits of the celestial spheres. By rising through

successive stages from the individual and sensible, the presentation of

which constitutes the material on which the Spirit operates, Man

attains to the superhuman and the Divine. Now his guide in this process

is Philosophy, or the knowledge of the universal, which issues from

knowledge of the particular through study and reflection, aided however

by the enlightening Spirit from above. Contrasted with this knowledge

of the universal or the infinite,—in which Being, and becoming the

object of cognition coincide,—all perception and presentation prove

deceptive. Thus it is by rational knowledge, and not by religious and

mystical dreaming, with the sensuous invariably clinging thereto, that

the human Spirit arrives at perfection. Thinking is the highest bliss,

for its very purpose is to reach all that is intelligible. But since

that is the universal, the continued existence of individual human

Spirits beyond this life cannot be assumed. It may be that the

Soul,—which apprehends the particular in the life of sensuous-spiritual

presentation, and notifies its existence in separate desires and

actions,—has the faculty of continuing that existence after death, and

of receiving reward or punishment; but the Spirit or the rational part

of the Soul is one in all. It is only the Spirit of the entirety of

Mankind, or, in other words, the one Intellect, Mind or Spirit in

Humanity,—and that too in its union with the active Spirit over

it,—which is eternal. This theory, which made its way into the

Christendom of the Middle Ages, under the name of Averroes’ Theory, is

thus found even with Ibn Baddja, if not quite distinctly conceived, at

all events more clearly given than with Farabi.

6. Every man does not rise to such a height of contemplation. The

greater number grope about continually in the dark; they merely see the

adumbrations of things, and like shadows they will pass away. Some see

the Light, it is true, and the coloured world of things, but very few

indeed recognize the essence of what they have seen. It is only the

latter, the blessed ones, who attain to life eternal,—in which state

they themselves become Light.

But now, how does the individual man get to this stage of knowledge and

blessed existence? Through action directed by reason, and the free

cultivation of his intellectual powers. Action directed by reason is

free action, that is, action in which there is a consciousness of

purpose. If one, for instance, breaks a stone to pieces, because he has

stumbled against it, he is behaving without purpose, like a child or a

lower animal; but if he does this in order that others may not stumble

against the stone, his action must be called manlike, and directed by

reason.

In order to be able to live as a man should, and to act in a rational

way, the individual man, must as far as circumstances permit, withdraw

from society. The name borne by the Ethics of Ibn Baddja is “Guidance

to the Solitary”. It demands self-culture. Generally, however, one may

avail himself of the advantages attending social life in man, without

including in the bargain its disadvantages. The wise may associate

themselves in larger or smaller unions; such indeed is their duty, if

they light upon one another; and then they form a State within the

State. Naturally they endeavour to live in such a manner that neither

physician nor judge is necessary among them. They grow up like plants

in the open air, and do not stand in need of the gardener’s skill. They

keep at a distance from the lower enjoyments and sentiments of the

multitude. They are strangers to the movements of worldly society. And

as they are friends among themselves, this life of theirs is wholly

determined by Love. Then too as friends of God, who is the Truth, they

find repose in union with the superhuman Spirit of Knowledge.

3. Ibn Tofail.

1. The sovereignty over Western Islam remained with the Berbers, but

the Almohads speedily took the place of the Almoravids. Mohammed ibn

Tumart, the founder of the new dynasty, had, from the year 1121, come

forward as Mahdi. Under his successors Abu Yaaqub Yusuf (1163–1184) and

Abu Yusuf Yaaqub (1184–1198), their sovereignty, which was centred in

Marocco, reached its culminating point.

The Almohads brought with them a startling novelty in theology: The

system of Ashari and Gazali, which till then had been branded as

heretical, was adopted in the West. That meant an infusion of

intellectualism into the teaching of the Faith,—a proceeding which

could not be altogether satisfactory either to the adherents of the old

Faith or to freethinkers, but which may have incited many to farther

philosophizing. Hitherto an attitude of repudiation had been maintained

towards all reasoning in matters of faith; and, even later, many

politicians and philosophers were of opinion that the faith of the

multitude should not be violently disturbed, nor elevated to knowledge,

but that the provinces of Religion and of Philosophy should be kept

scrupulously separate.

The Almohads were interested in questions of theology, but yet Abu

Yaaqub and his successors manifested, as far as political conditions

permitted, such an appreciation of secular knowledge, that philosophy

was enabled to enjoy a brief period of prosperity at their court.

2. We find Abu Bekr Mohammed ibn Abdalmalik ibn Tofail al-Qaisi

(Abubacer) in the position of Vizir and Body-Physician to Abu Yaaqub,

after holding an appointment as Secretary in Granada. His place of

birth was the small Andalusian town of Guadix, and he died in Marocco,

the seat of Government, in the year 1185. The life that lies between

appears to have been by no means eventful. He was fonder of books than

of men, and in his sovereign’s great library he gathered, by reading,

much information which he required for his art, or which met his ardent

thirst for knowledge. He was the dilettante of the philosophers of the

West, and was more given to contemplative enjoyment than scientific

work. Rarely did he set himself to write. We need not perhaps put

absolute faith in his assertion that he could have fundamentally

improved the Ptolemaic system. Many Arabs made a like assertion,

without carrying it into effect.

Of Ibn Tofail’s poetic ventures, one or two poems have been preserved

to us. But his principal endeavour, like that of Ibn Sina, was to

combine Greek Science and Oriental Wisdom into a modern view of the

world. That was to him a personal concern, just as it was to Ibn

Baddja. He too occupied his mind with the relation of the individual

man to Society and its prejudices. But he went farther: Ibn Baddja, as

a rule made out the individual thinker or a small association of

independent thinkers, as constituting a State within the State,—a copy,

as it were, of the great total, or a model for happier times: Ibn

Tofail on the other hand, turned to consider the original.

3. He states the case clearly, in his work “Hai ibn Yaqzan”. The

scenery is contributed by two islands, on one of which he sets human

society with its conventions, and on the other an individual man, who

is being developed naturally. This society as a whole is governed by

lower impulses, subjected only to some measure of outward restraint by

a grossly sensuous religion. But out of this society two men, called

Salaman and Asal (Absal, cf. IV, 4 § 7), rise to rational knowledge and

control of their desires. Accommodating himself to the popular

religion, the first, who is of a practical turn of mind, contrives to

rule the people; but the second, being of speculative disposition and

mystic leanings, wanders off to the island which lay opposite, and

which he imagines to be uninhabited,—there to devote himself to study

and ascetic discipline.

On that island, however, our Hai ibn Yaqzan,—i.e. ‘the Active one, the

son of the Vigilant’,—had been trained into a perfect philosopher. Cast

upon the island when a child, or else brought into existence there by

spontaneous generation, he had been suckled by a gazelle, and then had

been in the course of time left, like a Robinson Crusoe, and that

entirely, to his own resources. Yet he had secured a material

existence, and farther, by observation and reflection, had acquired a

knowledge of Nature, the heavens, God, and his own inner being, until

after seven times seven years he had attained to that which is highest,

viz., the Sufi vision of God, the state of ecstasy. In this situation

he was found by Asal. After they had come to understand each other,—for

at first Hai was still without speech,—it was found that the philosophy

of the one and the religion of the other were two forms of the same

truth, except that in the first form it was somewhat less veiled. But

when Hai came to know that on the opposite island an entire people

continued in darkness and error, he resolved to proceed thither and

reveal the truth to them. Here, however, he was brought to learn by

experience that the multitude were incapable of a pure apprehension of

the truth, and that Mohammed had acted wisely in giving the people

sensuous forms instead of full light. After this result therefore he

repaired again with his friend Asal to the uninhabited island, to serve

God in spirit and in truth till the hour of death.

4. Ibn Tofail has devoted by far the largest portion of his romance to

the course of Hai’s development; but he cannot certainly have thought

that the individual man, left to himself, is able, with the resources

of Nature alone and without the help of society, to advance so far as

Hai did. And yet his conception is perhaps rather more historical, than

certain views which have been entertained since his day, e.g. by some

of the Rationalists of the 18th century. Many little touches in his

work shew that Hai was intended to represent humanity as it stands

outside of revelation. That which is accomplished in him, is the

development of Indian, Persian and Greek wisdom. One or two hints

pointing in that direction, but which cannot be farther followed out

here, may help to lend probability to this view. Thus it is

significant, to begin with, that Hai lives on the island of Ceylon, the

climate of which was held to be such as to render spontaneous

generation possible, where also, according to the legend, Adam, the

first man, had been created, and where the Indian king came to the Wise

Man. Then Hai’s first religious sentiment of wonder, after he had

struggled up out of the primary, animal stage, through shame and

curiosity, is elicited by fire, which has been discovered by him,—a

circumstance which recalls to us the Persian religion. And his farther

speculations are borrowed from Greco-Arabic Philosophy.

The affinity to Ibn Sina’s Hai, which Ibn Tofail himself indicates, is

clear: Only, the figure of Hai in this case presents a more human

appearance. With Ibn Sina the character of Hai represents the

Superhuman Spirit, but the hero of Ibn Tofail’s romance seems to be the

personification of the natural Spirit of Mankind illuminated from

above; and that Spirit must be in accordance with the Prophet-Soul of

Mohammed when rightly understood, whose utterances are to be

interpreted allegorically.

Ibn Tofail has thus arrived at the same result as his Eastern

predecessors. Religion must still be kept up for the ordinary man,

because he cannot go beyond it. It is only a few who rise to an

understanding of religious symbols; and very rarely indeed does any one

attain to the unrestrained contemplation of the highest reality. This

last truth he accentuates with the greatest emphasis. Even if we do

find in Hai the representative of human nature, we cannot gainsay this

truth; for the representation given sets forth the supreme perfection

of Man as consisting in submerging his own self in the World-Spirit, in

the most lonely quietude, and withdrawn from all that is sensuous.

It is true that this condition is attained only in mature age, in

which, besides, a human friend has been met with; and attention to what

is material, and to the arts and sciences, forms the natural

preliminary stage of spiritual perfection. Thus Ibn Tofail is permitted

to look back without regret or shame upon his life spent at court.

5. We have already met frequently with the philosophical views, which

Hai developed in his seven life-periods. But even his practical

behaviour is specially considered by Ibn Tofail. Sufi exercises, as

they are still observed among the religious orders of the East, and as

they had been recommended even by Plato and the Neo-Platonists, have

taken the place of the observances of religious worship enjoined by the

Muslim Law. And Hai forms for himself in the seventh period of his life

a system of Ethics which has a Pythagorean appearance.

Hai has set before him as the aim of his action,—to seek for the One in

all things and to unite himself to the absolute and the self-existing.

He sees in fact all Nature striving to reach this Highest Being. He is

far above the view that everything on the earth exists for the sake of

Man. Animals and plants likewise live for themselves and for God; and

thus he is not permitted to deal capriciously with them. He now

restricts his bodily wants to what is absolutely necessary. Ripe fruits

are preferred by him, the seeds of which he piously consigns to the

soil, taking anxious precaution that no kind may die out through his

avidity. And only in extreme need does he touch animal food, in which

case he seeks in like manner to spare the species. ‘Enough for life,

not enough for sleep’ is his motto.

That has reference to his bodily attitude towards the earthly; but the

living principle binds him to the heavens, and, like the heavens, he

strives to be useful to his surroundings, and to keep his own life

pure. He therefore tends the plants and protects the animals about him,

in order that his island may become a paradise. He pays scrupulous

attention to the cleanliness of his person and his clothing, and

endeavours to give a harmonious turn to all his movements, in

conformity with those of the heavenly bodies.

In this way he is gradually rendered capable of elevating his own self

above earth and heaven to the pure Spirit. That is the condition of

ecstasy, which no thought, no word, no image has ever been able to

comprehend or express.

4. Ibn Roshd.

1. Abu-l-Walid Mohammed ibn Akhmed ibn Mohammed ibn Roshd (Averroes)

was born at Cordova, of a family of lawyers, in the year 1126. There

too he made himself master of the learned culture of his time. In 1153

he is said to have been presented to the prince Abu Yaaqub by Ibn

Tofail; and we possess a report of that occurrence, full of character.

After the introductory phrases of politeness the prince asked him:

“What is the opinion of philosophers about the heavens? Are they

eternal, or have they been brought into existence?” Ibn Roshd

cautiously replied that he had not given attention to philosophy.

Thereupon the prince commenced to discuss the subject with Ibn Tofail,

and, to the astonishment of the listener, shewed that he was acquainted

with Aristotle, Plato, and the philosophers and theologians of Islam.

Then Ibn Roshd also spoke out freely, and won the favour of his

high-placed master. His lot was fixed: He was destined to interpret

Aristotle, as no one before him had done, that mankind might be put in

complete and genuine possession of science.

He was, besides, a jurist and a physician. We find him in 1169 in the

position of judge in Seville, and shortly afterwards in Cordova. Abu

Yaakub, now Caliph, nominates him his Body-Physician in the year 1182;

but, a short time after, he is again judge in his native city, as his

father and grandfather had been. Circumstances, however, change for the

worse. Philosophers are pronounced accursed, and their writings are

committed to the flames. In his old age Ibn Roshd is banished by Abu

Yusuf to Elisana (Lucena, near Cordova), but yet he dies in Marocco the

capital, on the 10th December, 1198.

2. It was upon Aristotle that his activity was concentrated. All that

he could procure of that philosopher’s works, or about them, he

subjected to diligent study and careful comparison. Writings of the

Greeks, which are now lost either entirely or in part, were still known

to Ibn Roshd in translated form. He goes critically and systematically

to work: He paraphrases Aristotle and he interprets him, now with

comparative brevity, and anon in greater detail, both in moderate-sized

and in bulky commentaries. He thus merits the name of “the

Commentator”, which also is assigned to him in Dante’s “Commedia” [19].

It looks as if the Philosophy of the Muslims had been fated in him to

come to an understanding of Aristotle, just that it might then expire,

after that end had been attained. Aristotle for him is the supremely

perfect man, the greatest thinker, the philosopher who was in

possession of an infallible truth. New discoveries in Astronomy, Art or

Physics could make no alteration in that respect. Of course it is

possible to misunderstand Aristotle: Ibn Roshd himself came to have a

different and better understanding of many a point which he took from

the works of Farabi and Ibn Sina; but yet he lived continually in the

belief that Aristotle, when rightly understood, corresponds to the

highest knowledge which is attainable by man. In the eternal revolution

of worldly events Aristotle has reached a height which it is impossible

to transcend. Men who have come after him are frequently put to the

cost of much trouble and reflection to deduce the views which readily

disclosed themselves to the first master. Gradually, however, all doubt

and contradiction are reduced to silence, for Aristotle is one who is

more than man, destined as it were by Providence to illustrate how far

the human race is capable of advancing in its approximation to the

World-Spirit. As being the sublimest incarnation of the Spirit of

Mankind, Ibn Roshd would like to call his master the ‘Divine’ Teacher.

It will be shewn by what follows, that even in the instance of Ibn

Roshd, unmeasured admiration for Aristotle did not suffice to bring

about a perfect comprehension of his thoughts. He allows no opportunity

to pass of doing battle with Ibn Sina, and, upon occasion, he parts

company with Farabi and Ibn Baddja,—men to whom he owes a great deal.

He carps at all his predecessors, in a far more disagreeable fashion

than Aristotle did in the case of his teacher Plato. And yet he himself

is far from having got beyond the interpretation of Neo-Platonic

expositors and the misconceptions of Syrian and Arab translators.

Frequently he follows even the superficial Themistius in opposition to

the judicious Alexander of Aphrodisias, or else he tries to combine

their views.

3. Ibn Roshd is above all a fanatical admirer of the Aristotelian

Logic. Without it one cannot be happy, and it is a pity that Plato and

Socrates were ignorant of it! The happiness of men is measured by the

degree of their logical attainments. With the discernment of a critic

he recognizes Porphyry’s “Isagoge” as superfluous, but he still counts

the “Rhetoric” and the “Poetics” as forming part of the Organon. And

then the oddest misapprehensions are met with. For example, Tragedy and

Comedy are turned into Panegyrics and Lampoons; poetical probability

has to be content with signifying either truth capable of

demonstration, or deceptive appearance; recognition on the stage

(ἀναγνώρισις) becomes Apodictic judgment, and so on. Of course he has

absolutely no conception of the Greek world; and that is venial, for he

could not have had any notion of it. And yet we do not readily excuse

one who has been so severe a critic of others.

Like his predecessors, Ibn Roshd lays especial emphasis upon Grammar,

as far as it is common to all languages. This common principle, and

therefore the universal one, Aristotle, he thinks, keeps always before

him in his Hermeneutics, and even in the Rhetoric. Accordingly the Arab

philosopher is also bound to adhere to it, although in illustrating

universal rules he may take his examples from the Arabic language and

literature. But it is universal rules which form his object, for

science is the knowledge of the universal.

Logic smooths the path for the ascent of our cognition from sensuous

particularity to pure rational truth. The multitude will always live in

the sensuous element, groping about in error. Defective mental parts

and poor education, and depraved habits to boot, prevent them from

making any advance. But still it must be within the power of some to

arrive at a knowledge of truth. The eagle looks the sun in the face,

for if no being could look at him, Nature would have made something in

vain. Whatever shines there is meant to be seen; and so whatever exists

is meant to be known, were it only by one single man. Now truth exists;

and the love for it which fills our hearts would have been all in vain,

if we could not approach it. Ibn Roshd thinks that he has come to know

the truth in the case of many things, and even that he has been able to

discover absolute Truth. He would not, with Lessing, have cared to

resign himself to a mere search for it.

Truth, in fact, has been given him in Aristotle; and from that

standpoint he looks down upon Muslim theology. Certainly he recognizes

that religion has a truth of its own, but theology is repugnant to him.

It wants to prove what cannot be proved in this way. Revelation, as

contained in the Koran,—according to the teaching of Ibn Roshd and

others, and similarly of Spinoza in later times,—does not aim at making

men learned, but at making them better. Not knowledge, but obedience or

moral practice is the aim of the lawgiver, who knows that human welfare

can only be realized in society.

4. That which especially distinguishes Ibn Roshd from those who

preceded him, and in particular from Ibn Sina, is the unequivocal mode

in which he conceives of the world as an eternal process of ‘becoming’.

The world as a whole is an eternally necessary unity, without any

possibility of non-existence or of different existence. Matter and Form

can only be separated in thought. Forms do not wander like ghosts

through dull Matter, but are contained in it after the manner of germs.

The Material Forms, in the guise of natural forces, operate in an

eternal process of generation, never separated from matter, but yet

deserving to be called divine. Absolute origination or extinction there

is none, for all happening is a transition from potentiality to

actuality, and from actuality back to potentiality, in which process

like is ever generated by like and by that alone.

But there is a graded order in the world of Being. The material or

substantial Form stands midway between mere Accident and pure (or

separate) Form. Substantial Forms also exhibit varieties of

degree,—intermediate conditions between potentiality and actuality.

And, finally, the whole system of Forms, from the nethermost hylic Form

up to the Divine Essence, the original Form of the whole, constitutes

one compact structure rising tier upon tier.

Now the eternal process of Becoming, within the given System,

presupposes an eternal movement, and that again an eternal Mover. If

the world had had an origin, we might have reasoned from it to another

and a similarly originated corporeal world, which had produced it, and

so on without end. If again it had been a ‘possible’ entity, we might

have inferred a ‘possible’ entity out of which it had proceeded, and so

on ad infinitum. And according to Ibn Roshd, it is only the hypothesis

of a world moved as a unity and of eternal necessity, that yields us

the possibility of inferring a Being, separate from the world, yet

eternally moving it, who in his continually producing that movement and

maintaining the fair order of the All, may legitimately be called the

Author of the world, and who in the Spirits that move the Spheres,—for

every separate kind of movement demands its separate

principle,—possesses agents to give effect to his activity.

The essence of the First Mover, or of God, as well as of the

Sphere-Spirits, is found by Ibn Roshd in Thought, in which unity of

Being is given him. Thought which is identical with its object is the

sole positive definition of the Divine Essence; but Being and Unity

absolutely synchronize with such Thought. In other words, Being and

Unity are not annexed to the Essence, but are given only in Thought,

just like all universals. Thought produces everywhere the general in

the particular. It is true that the universal as a disposition is

operative in things, but the universal qua universal exists in the

understanding alone. Or, in possibility (or potentiality) it exists in

things, but it exists actually in the understanding,—that is, it has

more Being,—a higher kind of existence,—in the understanding than in

things.

If now the question is asked,—‘Does Divine Thought take in merely the

general, or does it take in the particular too?’, Ibn Roshd replies,

‘It does not directly take in either the one or the other, for the

Divine Essence transcends both of them. Divine Thought produces the All

and embraces the All. God is the principle, the original Form, and the

final aim of all things. He is the order of the world, the

reconciliation of all opposites, the All itself in its highest mode of

existence.’ It follows of course from this theory, that there can be no

talk of a Divine Providence in the ordinary sense of the term.

5. Two kinds of Being we know: one which is moved, and one which causes

motion, though itself unmoved,—or a corporeal and a spiritual. But it

is in the spiritual that the higher unity or perfection of all Being

lies, and that too in graded order. It is thus no abstract unity. The

farther the Sphere-Spirits are from the First, so much the less simple

are they. All know themselves, but in their knowledge there is at the

same time a reference to the First Cause. The result is a kind of

parallelism between the corporeal and the spiritual. There is something

in the lower Spirits which corresponds to the composition of the

corporeal out of Matter and Form. What is mingled with the purely

spiritual is of course no mere Matter, that could suffer anything, but

yet it is something resembling Matter,—something which has the faculty

of taking to itself something else. Otherwise the multiplicity of

intelligibilia could not be brought into harmony with the unity of the

Spirit which apprehends them.

Matter suffers, but Spirit receives. This parallelism, with its subtle

distinction, has been introduced by Ibn Roshd with special reference to

the human Spirit.

6. Ibn Roshd is firmly of opinion that the human soul is related to its

body, as Form is to Matter. He is completely in earnest on this point.

The theory of numerous immortal souls he most decidedly rejects,

combating Ibn Sina. The soul has an existence only as a completion of

the body with which it is associated.

As regards empirical psychology he has anxiously endeavoured to keep by

Aristotle, in opposition to Galen and others; but in the doctrine of

the “nous” he diverges from his master not inconsiderably, without

being aware of it. His conception,—springing from Neo-Platonic

views,—of the Material Reason, is peculiar. It is not a mere aptitude

or capacity of the human soul, neither is it equivalent to the

sensuous-spiritual life of presentation, but it is something above the

soul, and above the individual. The Material Reason is eternal,

imperishable Spirit, as eternal and imperishable as the pure Reason or

the Active Spirit over us. The ascription of a separate existence to

Matter in the domain of the corporeal, is here transferred by Ibn

Roshd,—following of course Themistius and others,—to the region of the

spiritual.

The Material Reason is thus eternal substance. The natural aptitudes,

or the capacity of the human individual for intellectual knowledge Ibn

Roshd denominates the Passive Reason. That comes into being and

disappears, with men as individuals, but the Material Reason is

eternal, like Man as a race.

But a measure of obscurity remains, and it could hardly have been

otherwise, about the relation between the Active Spirit and the

Receptive Spirit, (if we may for the time use this last term for the

Material Reason). The Active Spirit renders intelligible the

presentations of the human soul, while the Receptive Spirit absorbs

these intelligibilia. The life of the soul in individual men thus forms

the meeting-place of this mystic pair of lovers. And such places differ

very greatly. It depends on the entire capacity of a man’s soul, and on

the disposition of his perceptions, in what degree the Active Spirit

can elevate these to intelligibility, and how far the Receptive Spirit

is in a position to make them a portion of its own contents. This

explains why men are not all at the same stage of spiritual knowledge.

But the sum of spiritual knowledge in the world continues unaltered,

although the partition of it undergoes individual variations. By a

necessity of nature, the Philosopher re-appears, without fail, whether

an Aristotle or an Ibn Roshd, in whose brain Being becomes Idea. It is

true that the thoughts of individual men occur in the element of time,

and that the Receptive Spirit is changeable, so far as the individual

has a part in it; but considered as the Reason of the Human Race, that

Spirit is eternally incapable of change, like the Active Spirit from

the last Sphere above us.

7. On the whole, three great heresies set the system of Ibn Roshd in

opposition to the theology of the three world-religions of his time:

first, the eternity of the material world and of the Spirits that move

it; next, the necessary causal nexus in all that happens in the world,

so that no place is left for providence, miracle, and the like; and,

thirdly, the perishable nature of all that is individual, by which

theory individual immortality is also taken away.

Considered logically the assumption of a number of independent

Sphere-Spirits under God does not appear to have any sufficient basis.

But Ibn Roshd, like his predecessors, gets over this difficulty by

asserting that these Sphere-Spirits do not differ individually but only

in kind. Their sole purpose was to explain the different movements in

the system of the world, so long as its unity was still unknown. After

the Ptolemaic system of the world had been put aside, and these

intermediary Spirits had become superfluous, men identified the Active

Spirit with God, as, for the matter of that, they had even in earlier

times attempted to do, on speculative and religious grounds. It was

merely one step farther, to identify even the eternal Spirit of Man

with God. Ibn Roshd did neither of these things, at least according to

the strict letter of his writings; but his system, when consistently

carried out, made it possible to take these steps, and in this way to

arrive generally at a Pantheistic conception of the world. On the other

hand Materialism might easily find support in the system, however

decidedly our philosopher contended against such a view; for where the

eternity, form and efficacy of all that is material are so strongly

emphasized, as was done by him, Spirit may indeed still receive the

name of king, but seemingly by the favour merely of the material.

Ibn Roshd deserves at all events to be called a bold and consistent

thinker, although not an original one. Theoretical philosophy was

sufficient for him; but yet he owed it to his time and his position to

come to an understanding with religion and practice. We may devote a

few words to this point.

8. Ibn Roshd often takes the opportunity of expressing himself against

the uneducated rulers and obscurantist theologians of his own day; but

he continues to prefer life as a citizen to a solitary life. He even

thanks his opponents for many a piece of instruction,—and that is a

pleasing touch of character. He thinks that the solitary life produces

no arts or sciences, and that one can at the most enjoy in it what has

been gained already, or perhaps improve it a little. But every one

should contribute to the weal of the whole community: even women as

well as men should be of service to society and the State. In this

opinion Ibn Roshd agrees with Plato (for he was not acquainted with the

Politics of Aristotle), and he remarks with entire good sense that a

great deal of the poverty and distress of his time arises from the

circumstance that women are kept like domestic animals or house plants

for purposes of gratification, of a very questionable character

besides, instead of being allowed to take part in the production of

material and intellectual wealth, and in the preservation of the same.

In his Ethical system our philosopher animadverts with great severity

upon the doctrine of the professors of Law, that a thing is good or bad

only because God so willed it. On the contrary, says he, everything has

its moral character from nature or in conformity with reason. The

action which is determined by rational discernment is moral. It is not,

of course, the individual Reason, but the Reason which looks to the

welfare of the community or State, to which appeal must be made in the

last instance.

Ibn Roshd regards religion also from a statesman’s point of view. He

values it on account of its moral purpose. It is Law, not Learning. He

is therefore constantly engaged in fighting the Theologians, who wish

to understand intellectually, instead of obeying with docile faith. He

makes it a reproach to Gazali, that he has allowed philosophy to

exercise an influence upon his religious doctrine, and thereby has led

many into doubt and unbelief. The people should believe, exactly in

accordance with what stands in the Book. That is Truth,—Truth meant no

doubt for a bigger sort of children, to whom we convey it in the form

of stories. Whatever goes beyond this, comes of evil. For example, the

Koran has two proofs of the existence of God, which are evident to

every one, viz: the Divine care of everything, especially of human

beings,—and the production of life in plants, animals, &c. These

deliverances should not be disturbed, nor should the literal

acceptation of revelation be quibbled about, in the theological

fashion. For, the proofs which theologians adduce of the existence of

God can make no stand against a scientific criticism, any more than the

proof which is furnished from the notion of the possible and the

necessary, in Farabi and Ibn Sina. All this leads to Atheism and

Libertinism. In the interests of morality, and therefore of the State,

this semi-theology should be fought against.

On the other hand, philosophers who have attained to knowledge are

permitted to interpret the Word of God in the Koran. In the light of

the highest truth they understand what is aimed at therein; and they

tell merely just so much of it to the ordinary man as he is capable of

apprehending. In this way the most admirable harmony results. Religious

precept and philosophy are in agreement with one another, precisely

because they are not seeking the same thing. They are related as

practice and theory. In the philosopher’s conception of religion, he

allows its validity in its own domain, so that philosophy by no means

rejects religion. Philosophy, however, is the highest form of truth,

and at the same time the most sublime religion. The religion of the

philosopher, in fact, is the knowledge of all that exists.

But yet this view has the appearance of being irreligious; and a

positive religion can never be content to recognize the leading

position of philosophy in the realm of truth. It was only natural that

the theologians of the West, like their brethren of the East should

seek to profit by the favour of circumstances, and take no rest until

they had reduced the mistress to the position of the handmaid of

Theology.

VII. CONCLUSION.

1. Ibn Khaldun.

1. The Philosophy of Ibn Roshd, and his interpretation of Aristotle,

have had extremely little effect upon the Muslim world. Many of his

works, in the original, are lost, and we have them only in Hebrew and

Latin translations. He had no disciples or followers. In retired

corners no doubt many a free-thinker or Mystic might be met with, to

whose mind it looked sufficiently fantastic to toil earnestly with

philosophic questions of a theoretical kind; but Philosophy was not

permitted to influence general culture or the condition of affairs.

Before the victorious arms of the Christians the material civilization

as well as the intellectual culture of the Muslims retreated farther

and farther. Spain became like Africa, where the Berber was ruler. The

times were serious: the very existence of Islam in these regions was at

stake. Men made ready for fighting against the enemy, or even against

one another; and pious brethren everywhere formed unions for mystic

observances. In the Sufi orders of these people, a few philosophical

formulae at least were still preserved in safety. When, towards the

middle of the thirteenth century, the emperor Frederick II submitted a

number of philosophical questions to the Muslim scholars of Ceuta, the

Almohad Abdalwahid charged Ibn Sabin, founder of a Mystic order, to

reply to them. He did so, drawling forth in a pedantic tone the views

both of ancient and recent philosophers, and affording a glimpse of the

Sufi secret,—that God is the reality of all things. The only thing,

however, which we can learn from his answers, may be said to be, that

Ibn Sabin had read books, of which he thought the Emperor Frederick had

not the faintest notion.

2. In small State-systems, the Muslim civilization of the West drifted

away, now rising, now falling. But before it vanished completely, a man

appeared, who endeavoured to discover the law of its formation, and who

thought to found therewith a new philosophical discipline,—the

Philosophy of Society or of History. That remarkable man was Ibn

Khaldûn, born at Tunis is the year 1332, of a family belonging to

Seville. There he also received his upbringing, and there he was next

instructed in philosophy, partly by a teacher who had been trained in

the East. After studying all known sciences, he occupied himself

sometimes in the service of the Government, and sometimes in travel,

proving everywhere an excellent observer. He served various princes in

the capacity of secretary, and he was ambassador at several courts in

Spain and Africa: as such he visited the Christian court of Peter the

Cruel in Seville. He was also at the court of Tamerlane in Damascus. He

had thus acquired a wide and full experience of the world, when he died

at Cairo in the year 1406.

In character perhaps he does not take a high rank; but a measure of

vanity, dilettantism and the like, may readily be forgiven to the man

who, above all others in his time, lived for Science.

3. Ibn Khaldûn was not satisfied with the School-Philosophy, as he had

come to know it. His picture of the world would not fit its

conventional framing. If he had been somewhat more given to theorizing,

he might no doubt have constructed a system of Nominalism. Philosophers

pretend to know everything; but the universe seems to him too great to

be capable of being comprehended by our understanding. There are more

beings and things, infinitely more, than Man can ever know. “God

creates what you know nothing of”. Logical deductions frequently do not

agree with the empirical world of individual things, which becomes

known by observation alone. That we can reach truth by merely applying

the rules of Logic, is a vain imagination: therefore reflection on what

is given in experience is the task of the scientific man. And he must

not rest satisfied with his own individual experience; but, with

critical care he must draw upon the sum of the collected experience of

mankind, which has been handed down.

By nature the soul is devoid of knowledge; but yet by nature it has the

power of reflecting on the experience which is given, and elaborating

it. In the course of such reflection, there frequently springs forth,

as if by inspiration, the proper middle term, by means of which the

insight which has been gained may be arranged and explained according

to the rules of Formal Logic. Logic does not produce knowledge: it

merely traces the path which our reflection ought to take: it points

out how we arrive at knowledge; and it has the farther value of being

able to preserve us from error, and to sharpen the intellect and keep

it to accuracy in thinking. It is therefore an auxiliary science, and

ought to be cultivated even for its own sake by one or two qualified

men, called specially to that task; but it does not possess the

fundamental importance which is attributed to it by the Philosophers.

The path which it indicates for our reflection to take, is at need

followed by scientific talent in any individual science, quite

independently of logical guidance.

Ibn Khaldûn is a sober thinker. He combats Alchemy and Astrology on

rational grounds. To the Mystic rationalism of the Philosophers he

opposes frequently the simple doctrines of his religion, whether from

personal conviction, or from political considerations. But religion

exercises no greater influence upon his scientific opinions than

Neo-Platonic Aristotelianism. Plato’s Republic, the

Pythagorean-Platonic Philosophy, but without its marvel-mongering

outgrowths, and the historical works of his oriental forerunners,

particularly of Masudi, have had most influence on the development of

his thoughts.

4. Ibn Khaldûn comes forward with a claim to establish a new

philosophical discipline, of which Aristotle had no conception.

Philosophy is the science of what exists, developed from its own

principles or reasons. But what the Philosophers advance, about the

high Spirit-world and the Divine Essence, does not correspond thereto:

that which they say on these subjects is incapable of proof. We know

our world of men much better; and a more certain deliverance may be

given regarding it, by means of observation and inner mental

experience. Here facts permit of being authenticated, and their causes

discovered. Now, so far as the latter process is feasible in History,

i.e. so far as historical events are capable of being traced back to

their causes, and historical laws capable of being discovered, History

deserves actually to be called Science and a part of Philosophy. Thus

the idea of History as Science clearly emerges. It has nothing to do

with curiosity, frivolousness, general benefit, edifying effect &c. It

should, although in the service of the higher purposes of life,

determine nothing except facts, endeavouring to find out their causal

nexus. The work must be done in a critical, unprejudiced spirit. The

governing principle which rules here is this,—that the cause

corresponds to the effect,—that is to say, that like events presuppose

the same conditions, or, that under the same circumstances of

civilization the like events will occur. Now, as it is a probable

assumption that the nature of men and of society undergoes no change by

the advance of time, or no considerable change, a living comprehension

of the present is the best means of investigating the past. That which

is fully known and is under our very eyes permits us to form

retrospective conclusions in regard to the less fully known events of

an earlier time: it promises even a glance into the future. In every

instance, therefore, tradition must be tested by the present; and if it

tells us of things which are impossible now, we must for that very

reason doubt its truth. Past and Present are as like one another as two

drops of water. If understood absolutely, that might have been said

even by Ibn Roshd. But according to Ibn Khaldûn it is only quite

generally valid as a principle of research. In detail it suffers many a

limitation; and in any case it has itself to be established by facts.

5. What then is the subject of History as a philosophical discipline?

Ibn Khaldûn answers that it is the Social life,—the collective,

material and intellectual culture of Society. History has to show how

men work and provide themselves with food, why they contend with each

other and associate in larger communities under single leaders, how at

last they find in a settled life leisure for the cultivation of the

higher arts and sciences, how a finer culture comes into bloom in this

way out of rude beginnings, and how again this in time dies away.

The forms of Society which replace one another are, in the opinion of

Ibn Khaldûn; 1) Society in the Nomad condition; 2) Society under a

Military Dynasty; and 3) Society after the City type. The first

question is that of food. Men and nations are differentiated by their

economical position, as nomads, settled herdsmen, agriculturists. Want

leads to rapine and war, and to subjection to a monarch who will lead

them. Thus dynastic authority is developed. This again founds for

itself a city, where division of labour or mutual assistance produces

prosperity. But this prosperity leads to degenerate idleness and

luxury. Labour has in the first place brought about prosperity; but

now, at the highest stage of civilization, men get others to labour for

them, and often without any direct equivalent, because regard or even

servility to the upper classes, and extortionate treatment of the

lower, secure success. But, all the same, men are coming to depend upon

others. Needs are always growing more clamant, and taxes more

oppressive. Rich spendthrifts and tax-payers grow poor, and their

unnatural life makes them ill and miserable. [20] The old warlike

customs have been refined away, so that people are no longer capable of

defending themselves. The bond,—formed by a sense of belonging to one

community, or the bond of Religion,—by the help of which the necessity

and the will of the chief knit the individual members together in older

days, is relaxed, for the citizens are not pious. Everything,

therefore, is ready to break up from within. And then appears a new and

powerful nomad race from the desert, or a people not so greatly

over-civilized, but possessed of a firmer public spirit; and it falls

upon the effeminate city. Thereafter a new State is formed, which

appropriates the material and intellectual wealth of the old culture,

and the same history is repeated. It fares with States and the larger

associations of men, just as with single families: their history is

brought to a close, in from three to six generations. The first

generation founds; the second maintains, as perhaps the third or even

farther generations also do; the last demolishes. That is the cycle of

all civilization.

6. According to August Müller the theory of Ibn Khaldûn is in

conformity with the history of Spain, West Africa and Sicily, from the

eleventh to the fifteenth century,—from the study of which, in fact, it

was taken. His own historical work is a compilation, it is true. In

detail he is often at fault, when he criticizes tradition with the help

of his theory; but there is an abundance of fine psychological and

political observation in his philosophical Introduction, and as a whole

it is a masterly performance. The ancients never dealt thoroughly with

the problem of History. They have bequeathed to us great works of art

in their historical compositions, but no philosophical establishment of

History as a Science. That mankind, though existing from all eternity,

long failed to attain to much of the higher civilization, was explained

by elementary occurrences, such as earthquakes, floods, and the like.

On the other hand Christian philosophy regarded History with its

vicissitudes as the realization of, or the preparation for, the kingdom

of God upon the earth. Now Ibn Khaldûn was the first to endeavour,—with

full consciousness and in a statement amply substantiated,—to derive

the development of human society from proximate causes. The conditions

of race, climate, production of commodities, and so on, are discussed,

and are set forth in their effect upon the sensuous and intellectual

constitution of man and of society. In the course which is run by

civilization he finds an intimate conformity to Law. He searches

everywhere for natural causes, with the utmost completeness which was

possible for him. He also asserts his belief that the chain of causes

and effects reaches its conclusion in an Ultimate Cause. The series

cannot go on without end, and therefore we argue that there is a God.

But this deduction, as he calls it, properly means this,—that we are

not in a position to become acquainted with all things and the manner

of their operation: it is virtually a confession of our ignorance.

Conscious ignorance is even a kind of knowledge; but knowledge should

be pursued, as far as possible. In clearing the way for his new

science, Ibn Khaldûn considers that he has merely indicated the main

problems, and merely suggested generally the method and the subject of

the science. But he hopes that others will come after him to carry on

his investigations and propound fresh problems, with sound

understanding and sure knowledge.

Ibn Khaldûn’s hope has been realized, but not in Islam. As he was

without forerunners, he remained without successors. But yet his work

has been of lasting influence in the East. Many Muslim statesmen who,

from the fifteenth century onwards, drove so many a European sovereign

or diplomatist to despair, had studied in our philosopher’s school.

2. The Arabs and Scholasticism.

1. To the victor belongs the bride. In the wars which were waged in

Spain between Christians and Muslims, the former had often come under

the influence of the attractions of Moorish fair ones. Many a Christian

knight had celebrated “the nine-days’ religious rite” with a Moorish

woman. But besides material wealth and sensual enjoyment, the charm of

intellectual culture had also its effect upon the conqueror. And Arab

Science thus presented the appearance of a lovely bride to the eyes of

many men who felt their want of knowledge.

It was the Jews especially who played the part of matchmakers in the

transaction. The Jews had participated in all the transformations of

Muslim intellectual culture: many of them wrote in Arabic, and others

translated Arabic writings into Hebrew; not a few philosophical works

by Muslim authors owe their preservation to the latter circumstance.

The development of this Jewish study of philosophy culminated in

Maimonides (1135–1204), who sought, chiefly under the influence of

Farabi and Ibn Sina, to reconcile Aristotle with the Old Testament. In

part he expounded the doctrines of philosophy from the text of

revelation, and in part he restricted the Aristotelian philosophy to

what belongs to this earth, while a knowledge of that which is above

it, had to be gained from the Word of God.

In the various Muslim States, at the time when they were most

flourishing, the Jews had shewn an interest in scientific work, and

they had not only been tolerated, but even regarded with favour. Their

position, however, was altered, when those States were together

overthrown, and when the decline of their civilization ensued. Expelled

by fanatical mobs they fled for refuge to Christian lands, and

particularly to Southern France, there to fulfil their mission as the

disseminators of culture.

2. The Muslim world and the Christian world of the West came into

contact at two points,—in Lower Italy and in Spain. At the court of the

Emperor Frederick II in Palermo, Arab science was eagerly cultivated

and made accessible to Latinists. The Emperor and his son Manfred

presented the Universities of Bologna and Paris with translations of

philosophical works, partly rendered from the Arabic, and partly direct

from the Greek.

Of much greater importance and influence, however, was the activity of

translators in Spain. In Toledo, which had been re-captured by the

Christians, there existed a rich Arabic Mosque-library, the renown of

which, as a centre of culture, had penetrated far into the Christian

countries of the North. Arabs of mixed lineage and Jews, some of them

converts to Christianity, worked together there, along with Spanish

Christians. Fellow-workers were present from all countries. Thus

co-operated as translators, for example, Johannes Hispanus and

Gundisalinus (first half of the twelfth century), Gerard of Cremona

(1114–1187), Michael the Scot and Hermann the German (between 1240 and

1246). We are not yet in possession of sufficiently detailed

information regarding the labours of these men. Their translations may

be called faithful, to the extent that every word in the Arabic

original, or the Hebrew (or Spanish?) version has some Latin word

corresponding to it; but they are not generally distinguished by an

intelligent appreciation of the subject matter. To understand these

translations thoroughly is a difficult thing, for one who is not

conversant with Arabic. Many Arabic words which were taken over as they

stood, and many proper names, disfigured beyond recognition, flit about

with the air of ghosts. All this may well have produced sad confusion

in the brains of Latinist students of Philosophy; and the thoughts,

which were being disclosed afresh, had themselves at least an equally

perplexing tendency.

The activity of translators kept pace generally with the interest shewn

by Christian circles, and this interest followed a development similar

to that which we had occasion to observe in Eastern and Western Islam

(cf. VI, 1 § 2). The earliest translations were those of works on

Mathematical Astrology, Medicine, Natural Philosophy, and Psychology,

including Logical and Metaphysical material. As time went on, people

restricted themselves more to Aristotle and commentaries upon him; but,

at first, a preference was shewn for everything that met the craving

for the marvellous.

Kindi became known chiefly as a physician and an astrologer. Ibn Sina

produced a notable effect by his ‘Medicine’, and his empirical

psychology, and also by his Natural Philosophy and his Metaphysics.

Compared with him, Farabi and Ibn Baddja exercised a less considerable

influence. Lastly came the Commentaries of Ibn Roshd (Averroes); and

the reputation which they gained, along with that which was secured by

Ibn Sina’s Canon of Medicine, has been longest maintained.

3. What then does the Christian Philosophy of the Middle Ages owe to

the Muslims? The answer to this question lies properly outside the

scope of the present monograph. It is a special task, which

necessitates the ransacking of many folios, none of which I have read.

In general terms it may be affirmed that in the translations from the

Arabic a twofold novelty was disclosed to the Christian West. In the

first place men came to possess Aristotle, both in his Logic and in his

Physics and Metaphysics, more completely than they had hitherto known

him. But still this circumstance was only of passing importance, though

stimulating for the moment, for erelong all his writings were

translated much more accurately, direct from the Greek into Latin. The

most important result, however, was—that from the writings of the

Arabs, particularly of Ibn Roshd, a peculiar conception of the

Aristotelian doctrines, as constituting the highest truth, came to the

knowledge of men. This was bound to give occasion for contradiction, or

for compromise, between theology and philosophy, or even for denial of

the Church’s creed. Thus the influence of Muslim Philosophy upon the

scholastic development of Church dogma was partly of a stimulating,

partly of a disintegrating character; for, in the Christian world,

philosophy and theology were not yet able to proceed side by side in an

attitude of mutual indifference, as doubtless happened in the case of

Muslim thinkers. Christian Dogmatic had adopted too much Greek

Philosophy already in the first centuries of its development, to admit

of such an attitude: it could even assimilate a little more. It was

therefore relatively easier to get the better of the simple teachings

of Islam than the complicated dogmas of Christianity.

In the twelfth century, when the influence of the Arabs commenced to

operate in that field, Christian Theology exhibited a Neo-Platonic,

Augustinian character. That character continued to be kept up with the

Franciscans, even in the thirteenth century. Now the

Pythagorean-Platonic tendency, in Muslim thought, harmonized well with

this. Ibn Gebirol (Avencebrol, v. VI, 1 § 2) was, for Duns Scotus, an

authority of the first rank. On the other hand, the great Dominicans,

Albert and Thomas, who decided the future of the doctrine of the

Church, adopted a modified Aristotelianism, with which a good deal out

of Farabi, but especially out of Ibn Sina and Maimonides, agreed quite

well.

A more profound influence emanates from Ibn Roshd, but not till about

the middle of the thirteenth century, and, in fact, in Paris, the

centre of the Christian scientific education of that time. In the year

1256 Albertus Magnus writes against Averroes; and fifteen years later

Thomas Aquinas controverts the Averroists. Their leader is Siger of

Brabant (known from 1266), member of the Parisian Faculty of Arts. He

does not shrink from the rigorous, logical results of the Averroist

system. And just as Ibn Roshd censures Ibn Sina, so Siger criticizes

the great Albert and the saintly Thomas, although in terms of the

utmost respect. It is true that he asseverates his submission to

Revelation; but still, his reason confirms what Aristotle,—as he is

expounded, in doubtful cases, by Ibn Roshd,—has taught in his works.

This subtle intellectualism of his, however, does not please the

theologians. At the instance of the Franciscans, it would seem, who

perhaps wished also to strike at the Aristotelianism of the Dominicans,

he was persecuted by the Inquisition, till he died in prison at Orvieto

(circa 1281–1284). Dante, who possibly knew nothing of his heresies has

placed Siger in Paradise as the representative of secular wisdom. The

two champions of Muslim Philosophy, on the other hand, he met with in

the vestibule of the Inferno, in the company of the great and wise men

of Greece and Rome. Ibn Sina and Ibn Roshd there end the series of the

great men of heathendom, towards whom succeeding ages, like Dante, have

so often lifted up their eyes in admiration.

NOTES

[1] S. Munk, “Mélanges de Philosophie juive et arabe”, Paris 1859.

[2] Carra de Vaux, “Avicenne”, Paris 1900.

[3] [Translator’s Note: In this version the transliteration has been

adapted as far as possible to English sounds.]

[4] Cf. Snouck Hurgronje, “Mekka”, II, p. 228 sq.

[5] Job XXXVIII.

[6] Gen. XV:5.

[7] The dialogue has received this name from the circumstance that

during the conversation Aristotle holds in his hand an apple, the smell

of which keeps awake what remains of his vital powers. At the close,

his hand drops powerless, and the apple falls to the ground.

[8] Farther, an epitome of the στοιχείωσις θεολογική of Proclus, was

held even in later times to be a genuine work of Aristotle’s.

[9] Examples of both methods occur, but usually Qiyas is equivalent to

Analogy. However, in the philosophical terminology which owes its

origin to the Translators, Qiyas always stands for συλλογισμός, while

ἀναλογία is rendered by the Arabic mithl.

[10] Cf. Snouck Hurgronje in ZDMG, LIII p. 155.

[11] For this the Mystics introduced a sixth sense.

[12] Ascetics were called Sufis, from their coarse woollen garment, or

Sûf.

[13] V. Rückerts Uebers. d. Makamen II, p. 219.

[14] [Translator’s note.—‘John of Leyden’.]

[15] Cf. my Article “On Kindi and his School” in Stein’s ‘Archiv für

Geschichte der Philosophie XIII’, p. 153 sqq., from which I have taken

over, without much alteration, not a little that appears in this

chapter.

[16] [Translator’s note.—The Bagdad Caliphate lasted up to the death of

Mustassim (A.H. 656 or A.D. 1258), i.e. for 400 Mohammedan years

after A.H. 256 or A.D. 870].

[17] The Arabic ʻaql (νοῦς) is usually translated by Reason and

Intelligence (Lat. intellectus and intelligentia). I prefer however the

rendering, Geist, Spirit or Mind, because the expression includes God

and the pure (separate) spirits of the spheres. Moreover it is hard to

decide how far the personification of Reason was carried by individual

thinkers.

[18] [Translator’s note.—Accordingly Ibn Sina’s Five Internal Senses

are: A. The General or Co-ordinating Sense; 2. Memory of the Collective

sense-images; 3. Unconscious Apperception, referring to individuals; 4.

Conscious Apperception, with generalization; 5. Memory of the higher

apperceptions].

[19] “Averrois, che’l gran comento feo” Canto IV.

[20] Ibn Khaldûn speaks only of rich people who have grown poor, and

says nothing of the misery of the proletariate, and that which prevails

in large cities, as we know it. He lived too in smaller cities, for the

most part, and till late in life admired Cairo from a distance.