Alhassanain(p) Network for Heritage and Islamic Thought

INTRODUCTION

Many factors helped to introduce the remarkable Abbasid Age under the aegis of the Caliphs of Baghdad. Their newly-founded capital had gathered together men from distant countries, and the stimulating élan of Islam was everywhere at work. The change from the Umayyads of Damascus and their tribal loyalties held fresh promise for the non-Arabs who had adopted the new Faith. It was a case of religion uniting people and giving purpose and direction to their lives.

The Arabs contributed a high sense of mission; the Persians their culture and sense of history; the Christian Syriacs their linguistic versatility; the Harranians their Hellenistic heritage and the Indians their ancient lore. All mixed freely and joined in an earnest quest for knowledge. The Persians became particularly favored. They had done most to establish the new regime; they had much experience to offer in the field of administration and State finance; and they consequently filled many of the government posts. An unfortunate consequence of this was that racial rivalry reappeared. It led to the unhappy Shu'ubiyya movement with its emphasis on the superiority of the non-Arab races, leading to occasional violence and bloodshed. The association, nevertheless, proved eminently fruitful. All branches of art and literature flourished as never before or since in the Islamic world. A new civilization was being created, and members of all the nations involved made vital contributions.

The Caliphs themselves set the pace. Al-Mansur (d. 775) added to his liberal outlook a deep love of learning. Harun al-Rashid who reigned after him established the library known as the Khaznat al-Hikma (The Treasure-house of Wisdom) under the direction of competent and earnest scholars. Material prosperity enabled the people to take an increasing interest in cultural pursuits. There was an intensive study of the Arabic language and grammar, already associated with the two rival schools of Kufa and Basra. The whole corpus of pre-Islamic poetry including some of doubtful authenticity came to be recorded. Rules of prosody were laid down and carefully studied; poetry took forms hitherto not attempted. Public and private libraries began to multiply,1 and high prices were paid for manuscripts.

Two factors were to prove of great importance to the subject of our inquiry. In the field of thought there was the emergence of a rationalistic school of theologians who came to be known as the Mutazelites and whose views eventually influenced profoundly some of the Islamic philosophers. In literature there was the gradual development of an as yet hardly existing secular prose as distinct from the purely religious, or the mystical or even the Mutazelite style of writing and terminology. This secular prose was to become the model of Arabic philosophical language and a chief source of its technical terms. It first appeared in the late Umayyad period in Syria and Iraq, and was created by Muslims of foreign extraction, mostly Persians. At first it was used for correspondence concerned with the administration of the new empire and the organization of secretarial offices. Its chief exponent was Abd al-Hamid al-Katib, a school-master who rose to high office under the Umayyads. With the establishment of the Abbasid Caliphate in 750 (132 a.h.) it developed in the form of court-literature and belles-lettres. The Caliphs from the time of Umayyad Hisham realized the necessity of some guide to help them to formalize their relations with the various communities they were now to rule. This they found in the court-literature of the erstwhile Sasanian empire which although at the time of its conquest was hopelessly divided within itself, deeply impressed the Arab conquerors by its outward majesty and efficient system of administration. It was from them [the Persians] that we took the methods of royalty and government, the organization of the chosen and the common classes, and the suitable policy towards the governed… Consequently the secretarial katibsundertook the translation of some of these Persian court-books, describing the duties of the monarch to his people and the proper procedure at court.

Together with epistolary and court-literature came belles-lettres, to be known as adab. The outstanding writer in this genre, if not its actual originator, was Ibn al-Muqaffa (killed in early age). One of the creators of Arabic secular prose, he was also perhaps the earliest to introduce Aristotelian Logic to the Islamic world. This author has grown in stature since modern scholarship began to devote attention to him and recognize the valuable services that he rendered to the Arabic language. It has been possible to show that some of the happiest philosophical terms in Arabic that are not of Coranic origin, borrowed by the translators and philosophers alike, are first met with in his writings and are presumably of his coining. Discussing this aspect of Arabic literature and the advent of secular prose, Professor Gibb remarks that in the second century therefore there were in Iraq two schools of Arabic letters, entirely distinct from one another, deriving from different sources, animated by a different spirit, serving different purposes, and almost entirely negative towards each other.

It was, however, during the Caliphate of Al-Mamun (d. 833), which might from the political point of view be considered the beginning of that general decline in the fortunes of the Abbasids, that learning flourished most. His special interest in foreign culture and philosophy is commemorated in the story that Aristotle appeared to him in a dream and spoke words of encouragement to him. Thus inspired, Al-Mamun sent groups of scholars to Asia Minor and Cyprus to bring back Greek books. He wrote to the Emperor of Byzantium asking him to send some of those fine collections of Greek learning that were still stored and treasured in his country, and the Emperor after some hesitation complied. Al-Mamun also made the old medical and philosophical school of Gundishapur in southern Persia the object of his special care; and he lavishly rewarded poets, scholars, and translators.

The general intellectual climate of tins time is typified by the literary and philosophical gatherings in the homes of wealthy patrons or learned men, and the heated discussions that took place there. Very engaging accounts of these have survived in the writings of an unappreciated but gifted littérateur. Men went on journeys in search of knowledge; linguists hastened to the heart of Arabia to learn the pure tongue; geographers went to visit the lands conquered by Islam; and Hunain arrived in Syria to study Greek and search for books to take back with him.

The generous support of literary men by the Caliphs set an example to the members of certain old and well-known families who had attained power and wealth. The Barmakids, although primarily concerned with government and administration, paid thousands ofdirhams to medical men and translators of books. The Nowbakht family, less interested in politics, were distinguished authors themselves, translated books from Persian, and supported those who translated from Greek. Furthermore they held regular meetings in their homes at which religious as well as literary subjects were discussed. One of them entertained a group of those who translated books on philosophy; and himself wrote a detailed commentary on the De Generatione et Corruptione of Aristotle. The Munajjim (astronomer) family who, as their name shows, were interested in astronomy, became perhaps the most famous patrons of literature in Baghdad. They also were authors themselves, held meetings and, we are told, were enterprising enough to help their wealthy friends to start private libraries; they used to provide for a group of translators about five hundred dinars per month for translations; and for their company. And Zayyat, the son of an olive-oil merchant of Tabaristan, who became the vizier to three different Caliphs, did not fail in the patronage of literature. His bounties to the translators and copyists was nearly two thousand dinars every month. And many books were translated in his name. There were also some Arabs equally interested and enthusiastic about the new learning.

It was in this brilliant milieu, at a time when the age of Arabic prose and poetry was approaching its zenith, that Islamic philosophy began to take shape with a free and vigorous exercise of reason.

The sources of Islamic philosophy are not far to seek, but they are numerous and complex. The main stream comes from classical Greece, with a strong current of Muslim religious thought associated with the Mutakallemun and the Mutazelites. To these were added varying measures of Stoic, Neo-Platonic, Gnostic, Manichaean, Hermetic and other ideas proceeding from the different schools that nourished in the late Hellenistic age. This is not to say that Islamic philosophy is a sterile hybrid denied the capacity to produce any characteristic thought of its own. It is only to stress the contrast with Greek philosophy as a secular discipline, not much influenced by foreign and conflicting views, occupied with the problems of analysis, not synthesis, and addressing itself to a people with a common culture and heritage.

It may well be asked whether there is such a thing as Islamic philosophy proper. The term philosophy has admittedly had different connotations at various periods of history and in various parts of the world. This is as true today as it was many centuries ago. Philosophy meant one thing to the pre-Socratics, another to Aristotle, and still another to the Stoics and the thinkers of the Hellenistic age. It is not surprising therefore that what actually developed in Baghdad during the Abbasid Caliphate, differed materially from the classical conception of that subject. But it was philosophy inasmuch as it aimed at the establishment of a system rationally conceived, logically argued, and based on the general principles of the Greek discipline, even while attempting to harmonize it with the fundamentals of religion. In outlook it was deeply influenced by Stoic and Neo-Platonic thought in addition to the thought of classical Greece. And it was in turn to influence, far more than is generally conceded, Christian philosophy in the Middle Ages. It will be noted that almost all the translators of Greek works into Arabic were Christians; and there were a few who wrote philosophical treatises of their own; nevertheless the term Islamic philosophy is justified because although its outstanding figures were often of different countries, they were either Muslims by birth or converts from Christianity, Judaism, and Zoroastrianism. Furthermore their chief aim was the application of reason to revelation, and the reconciliation of Greek thought with the tenets of Islam. None of the Christian thinkers of Baghdad grew to the same stature. Not until mediaeval Europe and the rise of Scholasticism, do we find a corresponding intellectual effort.

Greek learning reached Baghdad by different routes. The teaching of classical philosophy from its source in Athens established itself in the museia and academies of Alexandria; and when the Arabs conquered Egypt, these institutions were still nourishing. Farabi does not say why, but he is quoted to the effect that “it was transferred from Alexandria to Antioch, and kept there for a long period, until there was only one man to teach it. Two others studied with him, one was from Harran [Carrhae] and the other from Marw ...” After a stay in his home town, the first went to teach in Baghdad. The second also eventually left Persia for the same destination; and Farabi studied Greek philosophy under a pupil of the latter by the name of Ibn Hailan. The chief route of Greek learning, however, led through the Christian communities of Syria and northern Iraq.

In opposition to the pagan origin of the school of Alexandria and in imitation of it, Eustathius, Bishop of Antioch, founded a school there not long after the Council of Nicea in A.D. 325. The language of the Church was Greek and religious problems were debated in that language with the support of classical learning and philosophy, thus making it a Hellenizing institution. And soon after, Bishop Jacob founded a school at Nisibis. It was headed by St Ephraim, a noted poet and theologian in Syriac. Because of political uncertainties, it was later transferred to Edessa, capital of Osrhoene, and since the second century centre of Christianity in Iraq. The institution became known as the school of the Persians, perhaps because the students and teachers were mostly from that country.

The schism which broke up the Eastern Church into Orthodox or State Church, Jacobite or Monophysite, and Nestorian, had important literary consequences for the Aramean world. Although Syriac translators from the Greek had been active even before the schism, the Nestorians, to break away from the other two Churches, helped the development 01 the Syriac language by the translation of many important works, including those of Aristotle, Hippocrates and Galen, as well as writings by the Christian Fathers, thereby stimulating if not actually originating that movement, until it was superseded by the more virile and resourceful Arabic. Their centres were at Nisibis, Edessa Seleucia on Tigris and Gundishapur, not to mention minor places; while those of the Monophysites were Alexandria, Antioch and Amida. It was from these towns and from their convents that some Syriacs moved to Baghdad to teach and to translate Greek classical learning into their mother-tongue and into Arabic. To them must be added a few notable translators from the Sabean community of Harran who rendered valuable services particularly in the translation of Greek mathematical texts into Arabic.

There was still another route to which some reference has already been made above. Although one scholar has entertained doubts, it is hardly disputable that Ibn al-Muqaffa did translate some parts of Aristotle’s Organon from the Persian (presumably in its Pahlawi form). And Ibn al-Qifti calls him “the first person in the Islamic nation to occupy himself with the translation of the Logic books for Abu Jafar al-Mansur ...”; then proceeds to specify and enumerate them. It has not yet been established whether the two manuscripts so far traced, and purporting to be an abstract of some of the books of the Aristotelian Organon, are by him or his son. Various sources have testified to the acquaintance of some of the Sasanian kings of Persia and particularly Chosroes I (531-578) with the works of Plato and Aristotle; the Syriac version of the treatise which Paulos Persa wrote for him on the logic of the Stagirite, as well as a Latin rendering of Chosroes discussions with Priscianus, the Greek philosopher who had sought refuge at his court, have remained.

Yet another route by which Greek learning reached Baghdad and the Islamic world was by way of the medico-philosophical school of Gundishapur in southern Persia. This institution had very much declined by the time of the early Abbasid Caliphs; but the names of the many physicians who left it to settle in the capital of the new Empire, and who attained considerable wealth and renown, have been recorded.

If these were the routes, the Kitab al-Fihrist composed in 9o7 gives us valuable information about the extent to which Greek learning was rendered into Arabic. Source-book for almost all our knowledge of the works written and translated in Baghdad, whether from Syriac, Greek, Persian or Indian, it shows that Greek scientific, medical and philosophical writings were far more appreciated and studied than the purely literary, such as poetry and tragedy.

The currents of orthodox and Mutazelite religious thought are explained by the fact that the Falasifa were true Muslims even though unable to subscribe to all the dogmas expounded by the theologians of the time; and themselves had received a thorough training in the tenets of their faith. Furthermore their fundamental problem - sometimes called the scholastic problem - was the reconciliation of religion and philosophy. It was therefore only natural and necessary for them to devote equal attention to the often conflicting principles of the two disciplines. The significance of the term kalam as denoting theological speculation, may be disputed; and the name Mutazila for those who professed “a state intermediate between two states” may not be quite clear; but their religious views became the official theology of the Abbasids for a hundred years, and had considerable influence on the climate of thought at the time. The Caliph al-Mamun infuriated orthodoxy by publicly joining them. Although these were intellectually inclined, and attempted to explain an things rationally, they were neither philosophers, nor free-thinkers, nor always very liberal, they were good theologians. Nevertheless their influence proved profound and widespread.

As regards Stoic, Neo-Platonic and other currents in Islamic philosophy, it should not be supposed that it is always easy to detect them. The Fihrist attests to the fact that such works were translated into Arabic, and that justifies the supposition in doubtful cases that these influences were in fact operative. Very often there is no direct link, between the two, yet the traces seem undeniable.

With Hunain (Ioanitus) as the central and dominating figure, the professional translators, most of whom were Christians, fall into three groups. There was first the pre-Hunain school; second, the school of Hunain, his relatives and pupils; and third the post-Hunain school. The nature of their activities may be deduced from a valuable report by Hunain on the translation of the works of Galen. In this we find that there had been cases of:

translations from Greek into Syriac;

translations from Greek into Arabic;

translations from Syriac into Arabic;

translations from Arabic into Syriac;

separate translations of the same work by different persons;

separate translations of the same work by the same person;

revision of previous translations by their authors or by others;

translations by one person into both Syriac and Arabic of the same or different works;

translations by different persons of different parts of the same work;

some translations remaining incomplete due to the absence of the necessary texts.

He further informs us that in Alexandria there were daily meetings at which a specific book of Galen was carefully studied and discussed. And that in Baghdad the Christians were in the habit of copying that practice, and meeting every day in their school which bore the Syriac name of Eskol, an adaptation of the Greek scholé.

Another document establishes the fact that they had for aid suitable compilations in the form of instruments de travail; among them were lexicons called by the Persian name ofChahar Nam which, as the title implies, gave equivalents in the four languages more often employed in their work, viz. Greek, Syriac, Arabic and Persian. And it may be assumed that at least some of the translators were proficient in all four. They also had glossaries for special books “covering strange words and the explanation of the difficult among them”.

The list of their translations is enumerated in three Arabic source-books of great value. And their careful collation of different copies of the text, their faithfulness to the original, and their painstaking effort to find suitable equivalents have won the admiration of modern scholars. In some cases they could be used to correct present-day Greek texts the originals of which reached the West by way of Constantinople. But they blundered also, and lamentably sometimes. In the translation of Aristotle’s Poetics, tragedy was thought to be panegyric poetry, and comedy was understood as invective; with the result that none of the Islamic commentators, even centuries afterwards, ever realized that tragedy and comedy are acted on a stage. They considered them parts of logic and studied them together with rhetoric. The actor was in one rendering translated “the hypocrite” (al-munafiq), and in another “the taker of faces”. And Avicenna speaks in despair of “this thing they call the taking of faces”.

The literary value of the Arabic versions varies. The cultural background of the translators could be Greek, Syriac, Arabic or Persian, and they could be more influenced by one of these languages than by the other. There were those who knew no Greek at all and translated only from Syriac. The Arabic style of Hunain was accepted with some reluctance, while that of Quwairi was declared dreadfully complicated and unnecessarily involved. The same applies to terminology which was of course more important because of its adoption by their successors. In the Paris manuscript of the Arabic translation of the Organon there are three different renderings of the Sophistics, and a comparative study of their terms has produced some very interesting results.

Among the pre-Hunain group we have the case of Ustath, about whom very little is known except that he was a contemporary and associate of Kindi. His version of a large part of the Metaphysica of Aristotle has survived in a commentary of Averroes. Arabic sources speak of him as a mediocre translator; and yet historically his work is worthy of note because his terms sometimes differ from those of the Hunain school which were later adopted by the Falasifa. We find these in the writings of his friend Kindi, and curiously enough in the history of Yaqubi. He may well have been the originator of some of the neologisms that shocked Arab purists and delighted the followers of the new school of writing. The terms anniya and huwiyya? we believe, were coined by him.

Of all the translators none attained greater renown and had more works to his credit than Hunain (d. 873). He had the good fortune to have a gifted son who not only shared his interests but surpassed him in ability; and another close relative and numerous pupils all devoted to the task of translating Greek and Syriac books. But he had the ill-fortune to incur the displeasure of his Church, and was eventually excommunicated and forced to choose suicide. In him are united all the four traditions already referred to. Arab sources claim that he was the most proficient of his time in Greek, Syriac and Persian; and had a command of these languages that none of the other translators could equal. He constantly endeavored to improve his Arabic, which was not particularly strong. His son came to write much better and was more appreciated by the Arabs. The terminology of Hunain’s renderings, and that of his son and pupils, is very important. Though sometimes different from that of his predecessors, it was adopted by almost all the Falasifa who helped to establish it as the technical language of philosophy. After Kindi, who was still attached to the earlier school, the terms of Hunain are invariably employed by those writing in Arabic. And today, after the lapse of centuries, they still constitute the basis of all books on logic, metaphysics, and even psychology. In spite of the fact that there is very little originality in them, and that it may be doubted whether he himself coined a single new term, they are universally accepted. It is otherwise in the case of medical works. There he was often obliged to use Syriac and Persian terms for lack of an Arabic equivalent.

On the whole, early versions abound in transcriptions from Greek. Whenever the translator is in a difficulty and cannot find an Arabic word suitable to the context of the treatise, he gives the original Greek term. Among later translators we find the transcription side by side with a tentative translation whenever the writer is in doubt. And lastly come those who give a definite Arabic equivalent of their own, or a term borrowed from some literary author, for every Greek expression. Very often Syriac is made use of in an Arabized form. Even among these there is very little linguistic boldness, and hardly any coining; and when not using a Quranic or classical term, they show a decided inclination to benefit from the writings of some celebrated stylist. This is why so many of the words found in the Kalila wa Dimna of Ibn al-Muqfffa, are met with in the translation of Greek philosophical writing. None of the translators was a pure Arab sure of his language and with the courage to coin new expressions. The Arabs themselves were not interested in linguistic innovations and frequently showed marked disapproval of neologisms. Among some of the Falasifa, and especially with Farabi, we find two alternative renderings of the same Greek term used together as synonyms; for the simple reason that the author not knowing Greek could not make the proper choice, and preferred to give both terms. It may also be noted that there is a slight difference in style and terminology between books translated directly from Greek and those translated first into Syriac. The translation of mathematical works, associated with the people of Harran, among whom was the highly competent Thabit ibn Qurra, needed a different terminology; but they succeeded in overcoming this difficulty, and were notably successful in their choice of terms.

The field of Islamic philosophy is dominated by three figures: Kindi, an Arab; Farabi, a Turk, and Avicenna, a Persian. The Falasifa stand in sharp contrast to religious thinkers such as Ghazali and Ibn Taimiya, to philosophers of history as Ibn Khaldun, and to those who were primarily commentators like Averroes and his Andalusian school.

Of the works of Kindi, a pure Arab of princely lineage, born in Kufa (middle of the ninth century a.d.) where his father was governor, educated in Basra and Baghdad, and a member of the Mutazelites, regrettably little has survived. The source-books quote over two hundred titles but what remains fills two small volumes. A man of means associating with Caliphs and Emirs, he was in close touch with the early translators and may well have supported some of them. He was famous in the Islamic nation for his profound knowledge of the Greek, Persian and Indian arts of wisdom, and he was an expert astronomer. He became known as the philosopher of the Arabs, but it is not certain that he had many pupils or formed a school of his own.

From the list of his works it may be inferred that he was most interested in the natural sciences though he also left treatises on Logic and Metaphysics. Like Plato he was devoted to mathematics and wrote a book entitled In that Philosophy cannot be Attained except by way of Mathematics.

Some early Arabic sources have stressed that Kindi was the first to introduce Aristotelian thought into the Islamic system. Whether that can be taken as a fact or not, there is no doubt that in the field of secular thought as distinct from religious speculation, he is the first of the Falasifa to be deeply influenced by the Stagirite, and is the author of a treaty stiol extant On the Number of the Works of Aristotle and those Necessary to the Study of Philosophy. There is no reason to believe that, as has often been asserted, Kindi translated Greek works into Arabic. Admittedly his terminology differs sometimes from that of the Falasifa who followed him, but that is only because he was using the versions of Ustah to whom reference has already been made, whereas his successors used the versions of Hunain and his school. The new terms thought to have been coined by him are actually those chosen by Ustath.

But there is also Platonic thought in Kindi. His cosmology owes a great deal to theTimaeus and his theory of the soul is derived from the Phaedo - a book deeply appreciated by Islamic thinkers. He may have been the first in Islam to be inspired by the personality of Socrates on whose exemplary life he is supposed to have written some treatises. His mathematical writings are based on the Neo-Pythagorean principles which he considered the fundamentals of all the sciences. His theory of the intellect has been traced back to Alexander of Aphrodisias, and in true Neo-Platonic fashion he felt he could combine Plato with Aristotle.

Two books proved to be most confusing elements in Islamic philosophy, and Kindi was associated with one of them. The first was a work that became known as the Theology of Aristotle, though it was actually parts of the Enneads of Plotinus (Books IV-VI). This was translated by Ibn Naima, and Kindi probably helped him in polishing up the Arabic. The other work was what the Occident called Liber de Causis, actually comprising parts of theElementatio Theologica of Proclus. With occasional doubts, as will be seen, it was throughout believed that they were both by the Stagirite; and in this manner Neo-Platonic thought was unknowingly introduced into Islamic philosophy.

Kindi’s treatises on logic have been lost, but we have a short essay on the intellect which was translated into mediaeval Latin under the title of De Intellectu et Intellecto. In tins he proceeds to discuss the intellect and its varieties according to what he supposes to have been the opinion of the early Greeks and also of Plato and Aristotle the most esteemed of them. He then goes on to state that in the view of Aristotle intellect may be divided into four kinds. There is first the intellect that is always in actu, second comes the intellect that is in potentia; third is the intellect that has passed in the soul from a potential to an active state. And towards the end of his essay he speaks of the fourth kind which he says is apparent in the soul once it has appeared in the active state.

This short treatise exemplifies problems typical of many passages of Islamic philosophical writing. The fourfold division of the intellect is not to be found in the De Animaof Aristotle and scholars have searched in vain for its source. One distinguished authors has claimed that it comes from the De Anima of Alexander of Aphrodisias, but there the division is threefold only. The fact is that Islamic philosophers made much use of Peripatetic and Stoic commentaries on Plato and Aristotle and very often what they thought was genuine Platonic or Aristotelian thought was actually the interpretation or the personal opinion of some commentator. They were particularly well acquainted with the works of Themistius of which Arabic translations have recently begun to be found and studied. Another difficulty is that whenever an attempt is made to put a particular passage from Arabic into some European language it is found that it often defies translation altogether, and when scholars have taken it upon themselves to infer the original Greek of some Arabic philosophical term without reference to the actual translation on which the Falasifa worked, they have fallen into serious errors. The “apparent intellect” of Kindi is a typical example. What could the original Greek be?

Kindi’s treatise on Metaphysics- the longest of his extant writings, and addressed to one of the Abbasid Caliphs - is important because it deals with one of the main themes of Islamic philosophy. Aristotle had said that the world was eternal, whereas theMutakallemun (Loquentes) vehemently protested that it was created ex nihilo by an act of the Almighty. How to reconcile these two conflicting views expressed in the terms qadim(old, eternal) and muhdath (created)?

Metaphysics he calls “the highest in honor and rank . because the science dealing with the cause is more honourable than the science dealing with the caused”, and this is typical of the attitude of all the Falasifa. He pays tribute to “philosophers before us not of our tongue We should not be timid in praising truth and in seeking it, from wherever it may come, even if it be from distant races and people different from us”. This marks the dawn of the true scientific spirit in Islamic philosophy and is perhaps its first enunciation. “We maintain in this our book our custom to recall what the ancients have said and to amplify what they have not discussed conclusively … to the extent to which we are capable avoiding the interpretations of those who trade in religion and have none of it themselves, for he who trades in something sells it, and he who sells something loses it, for the true prophets, upon whom may God’s benediction rest, came only to confess the divinity of God, and the necessity of those virtues pleasing unto Him man’s existence is twofold a sensual and an intellectual existence”.

With these introductory remarks, Kindi enters into the discussion. Contrary to the views of Aristotle, he argues at length to show that Time and Movement are not eternal and infinite for “Time is the period of the existence of a thing so long as it exists”, and again in an early Latin translation “Tempus ergo est numerus numerans motum”. If Time and Movement are not infinite, and creation is only a form of Movement, then the world cannot be eternal either. It must have had a beginning and might have an end. Its beginning was in the hand of God, He created it ex by His own divine Will and will end it when he wills. And again in proof of God, if the world is finite it had a beginning, if it had a beginning it was created, if it was created, it must have a Creator. All caused things must have a cause and the chain of causation cannot go back indefinitely, because that would be absurd. It goes back to God who is the Primal Cause. Thus in this difficult problem he takes the religious view in opposition to Aristotle.

Kindi was known to the Mediaeval Latins; Gerhard of Cremona was among his translators and Cardan, a Renaissance philosopher, considered him one of the twelve subtlest minds.

With Abu Nasr al-Farabi (d. 339/950-951) we enter into the field of Islamic philosophy proper. Not much more is known of him than of Kindi, though more of his works have survived and his influence was much greater. Called the “second teacher” (Aristotle being the first), he was born in Transoxiana, grandson of a pagan Turk. Educated in Baghdad, protégé of the Hamdanite dynasty in Aleppo, he wrote only in Arabic and left a valuable heritage for all Islamic thinkers after him. Modest and of a retiring nature, he was intellectually bold and tireless. He eclipsed Kindi and except for Avicenna, who was greatly indebted to him, stands foremost among the Falasifa.

Farabi was in many ways different from Kindi and has more in common with his successor. He did not belong to the same social class and although he had come in his early youth to Baghdad he was always known as a Turk. He did not share Kindi’s particular admiration for Socrates nor was he very much inclined towards mathematics and the natural sciences. Ibn al-Qifti calls him “the unrivalled philosopher of the Muslims” while Ibn Taimiya calls him “the greatest of the Falasifa in the exposition of Logic and its branches”. Andalusian commentators also regarded him as a great logician, but unfortunately very little of his work on that subject has survived, though there are already traces of Stoic logic, which were to become more marked in Avicenna.

In thought Farabi is not lacking in originality. His was a very suggestive restatement of the speculative thought of his day, with all the different influences that were shaping it. Yet there is nothing new or peculiar in his terminology; it is that established by the Hunain school, and there is no evidence that he knew any Greek. As his language includes terms associated with the theologians, the mystics, and the Ismaili heterodoxy, we may presume that he was familiar with their literature. His intellectual background is wholly Islamic, but he is far better informed than Kindi about Greek philosophy in both its classical and its Hellenistic form. His is a more comprehensive attempt to reconcile religion with philosophy. He considers the personality of a prophet as a social and intellectual leader, apart from his spiritual mission, and he shows a strong interest in political science.

If Islamic philosophy is by nature synthetic when compared to the analytical method employed by the Greeks of the classical age, it is also theocentric in contrast to the anthropocentric conceptions of the Athenian thinkers. Both trends are distinctly reflected in the systematic speculations of Farabi, for whom philosophy had two sides, one religious and the other secular, with no fundamental opposition between the two. There was also, he thought, an agreement on essentials; and where there is an apparent divergence, it is only due to our faulty understanding. To demonstrate that principle, he wrote a whole treatise to prove the complete agreement and unity of thought between “Plato the godly, and Aristotle”. The Neo-Platonists before him had done the same. There is nothing in the world with which philosophy is not concerned, he claimed. By contrast with Plato, the method which Aristotle chose involved observation, classification, clarification and exposition, all conducted with remarkable insight into the nature of things. The commentators, Farabi thought, helped us to understand Aristotle better, and among those whom he mentions are Ammonius, Themistius and Porphyry. On the vexing question of the eternity of the world, however, he tries to show that Aristotle never really meant that the world was eternal; adding - and here comes the source of confusion already referred to - “he who looks into his statements on the Deity in the book known as the Theology, will not fail to understand his position, and his proof for an original creator of this world”. He was thus asserting that a creation must have an original creator, as the theologians insisted.

God as the efficient cause was the originator of all things. He is the One and the True. Farabi proceeds to quote from Plato’s Timaeus and Politeia, as well as from Book Lambda of Aristotle’s Metaphysica, what he regards as proofs for the existence of God as the first cause. But his chief source is always the theology. Some had had doubts with regard to the authenticity of this work. Farabi confidently asserts that it is not true that only some parts of it are by Aristotle, whilst others are not. Avicenna, however, was among the doubters, though he nevertheless continued to make full use of it, in spite of its obvious disagreement with other writings of the Stagirite.

The contribution of Platonism to Islamic thought was certainly not inconsiderable, though it still awaits careful assessment; but Aristotle soon became the chief guide and continued so ever after. The nature of his writings and their subject-matter helped to give him that paramount influence. His logic and his metaphysics supplied a great want; and his natural philosophy was a source of information unobtainable elsewhere. His doctrine of the eternal nature of Time, Movement and the world was indeed a stumbling-block, though attempts were made to explain it away by some of the passages of the Theology, as has been said. Plato, on the other hand, held some very attractive and congenial views, especially on the immortality of the soul. Nevertheless he seemed to the Islamic thinkers to be occupied with aspects of human life which properly belonged to the domain of religion. For them it was God and not man who is the measure of all things. The Republic was studied, and much was borrowed from it, but Aristotle was in general preferred.

Like Kindi, Farabi devotes a whole treatise to the various meanings of the term Intellect. It is often used, he thinks, without properly specifying the sense intended. According to him, Intellect could have six possible meanings. First there is the intellect the common man has in mind when he says somebody is intelligent; second is the intellect the theologians speak of; third is the intellect that Aristotle discusses in the Analytica Priora; and fourth is the intellect he expounds in the sixth book of the Ethics. Fifth is the intellect he analyses in the De Anima, and sixth is the intellect he mentions in his Metaphysica. It should not be supposed that this list is meant as a strict classification by Farabi; it is rather a set of illustrations of the different meanings that can be given to the word intellect, and he explains each in some detail. Curiously enough when he reaches the fifth sense of the term, he remarks that the intellect which Aristotle mentions in the book on the soul (De Anima), he makes of four modes, an intellect in potentia, another in actu, an acquired intellect, and an active intellect. So here we meet again the fourfold division found in Kindi and the problem of how it entered Arabic philosophy.

Intellect is, however, distinct from the soul which is an entity entirely separate from the body, yet - contrary to Plato - it could not have existed before it, nor can it transmigrate by metempsychosis which is a conception abhorrent to the Islamic mind. In accordance with the views of Aristotle, he teaches that the soul has parts and faculties through which it acts and that these parts and faculties form a single soul. It is the human soul that is endowed with the reasonable faculty and it is this that is responsible for our acts of cerebration. Hence intellect is one of the faculties of the rational soul.

In expounding his metaphysics, Farabi raises two points which were to be developed by Avicenna who made it the basis of his own thought and connected it with his proof of the existence of God, whom he calls the necessary being. First is the division of all beings into two kinds. One kind, upon contemplation of itself, finds that its existence does not follow necessarily; so it is called a possible being. The other kind when it reflects upon and considers its own self, finds that its being is duly necessitated; so it is called a necessary being. This division is found in a treatise so similar in style and context to the writings of Avicenna that he may well be its author: just as another work commonly attributed to Farabi has been proved to be by his successor. Second is the distinction among created things between their essence and their existence which differ from one another as different entities. Only in God do they become identical. None of these two points, however, should be over-emphasized in Farabi’s system, as has sometimes been done. They do not constitute a fundamental element in his speculations, and it is not until we reach Avicenna that they become metaphysical essentials and play the role of an ontological distinction of great significance.

The most representative work of Farabi that we now have is his Ideas of the Inhabitants of the Virtuous City. It is one of the very few books in Islamic philosophy to be directly inspired by and modelled on the Republic of Plato; nevertheless it is not wholly Platonic in substance. As will be seen, there is plenty of Aristotelian and Plotinian thought intermixed. Nor is the influence of the commentators entirely absent. Farabi begins by enunciating a form of theodicy rather than advancing proofs for the existence of God. The first being is the first cause, and the creator of all other beings. It is he who gives them existence. He is different in substance from all others besides himself. He has no opposite; it is in fact impossible that he should have one. He cannot be defined, because he is not divisible into elements constituting his substance. His oneness is his actual essence. He is the knowing and the wise, and the true and the living and the life. He is not corporeal, and does not reside in matter. In essence he is an intelligence in actu. And as such he is the first from whom being proceeds. From the being that is his due other beings proceed necessarily. His existence is not governed by the will of man nor by his choice. He transcends all and everything. But how and in what manner do other beings proceed from him? Here Farabi maintains that it is by way of emanation (faid) from God’s own essence that all existent things come to be. And the process is not direct but takes place through successive stages until it reaches this sublunary world of ours.

Thus Farabi develops his theory of emanation clearly along Neo-Platonic lines, though differing in some details. From the first being there emanate successively ten different intellects or intelligences; and from each of these when substantially constituted in its proper essence, there results a sphere. The intelligences are absolutely incorporeal substances and in no way reside in matter. And the spheres that come into being from them are: the first sphere, the sphere of the fixed stars, the sphere of Saturn, the sphere of Jupiter, the sphere of Mars, the sphere of the Sun, the sphere of Venus, the sphere of Mercury, and the sphere of the Moon. This comprises all the beings that in order to exist in this fashion have no need whatever of matter in which to reside. They are separate beings, intelligences and intelligibles in their substance. And the sphere of the Moon is the last of those in which heavenly bodies move by nature in a circle. From the Moon there proceeds a pure intelligence called “the active intelligence” which bridges the gap between heaven and earth. We thus have God as the First Being, a species by himself, governed by the principle of complete unity. From him emanate the ten intelligences with their nine spheres as a second species of being which represent plurality. Then comes the active intelligence as a third, and none of these species are corporeal themselves. Finally, in the last stage come Soul, Form and Matter. There have been many modem attempts to trace the origin of this theory of the ten intelligences to Christianity, Mazdaism, Manichaeism, Sabeism, Ismaili doctrines and various others, but no conclusive proofs have emerged.

Farabi, though strongly inclined towards mysticism and himself an ascetic, also touched upon two subjects that reveal a more practical turn of mind. Unfortunately his commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics has been lost and we have no clear idea of his views on morals and human conduct; but he elaborates at length a theory of prophetism, and politics and State organization. In these he was much influenced by the Republic and perhaps by some Ismaili doctrines. Society, he thought, was composed of the common class and the élite. The common class are those who confine themselves, or are led to confine themselves in their theoretical knowledge, to what the initiator of public opinion requires. This division, so modern in its application, constitutes an entirely new conception in Islamic political thought and State administration. The whole idea is novel, and the function of an initiator of public opinion as a counterpart to consensus omnium (ijma) is to our knowledge not found anywhere in Islamic literature before him. This is an interesting point that has not been noted so far. The qualifications of the head of the Virtuous City, whom he calls the Imam, are described along the lines of those required for Plato's philosopher-king. He should be well versed in the science of the intelligibles, while the public is to be taught “by methods of persuasion and imagination”. The terms philosopher, first head, king, lawgiver and Imam all mean the same because they represent different functions of the same individual.

Farabi’s classification of the sciences was translated into Latin and widely used in mediaeval Europe; and venous scholars have traced his influence upon Scholasticism. His treatise on music has been called the most important Oriental work on the theory of that art. And yet in spite of many modern attempts, it seems difficult to arrive at a proper general estimation of his contributions to Islamic philosophy. Not until the Arabic translations of different Peripatetic and Stoic commentaries are traced and studied, can we with certainty determine in how far his ideas were original. His position in the Islamic world was undisputed for centuries after him; and an eminent theologian of much later times confidently asserts that he was the leader of the philosophers. What is not clear is whether he founded a school of his own, and what particular aspect of his thought had most appeal for the men of his time.

One of Farabi’s contemporaries chose to take a different path. Razi, known to the Europeans as Rhazes and considered the greatest clinical genius amongst the physicians of the Islamic world, was also an independent thinker bent on speculation, and fearless in the expression of his views. Born in Raiy (Rhages), a poet, singer and musician in his early youth, he left Persia to study medicine in Baghdad, and stayed long enough to become the head of a hospital there. He then returned to his native country where he won both fame and notoriety before he died blind from cataract.

Very few of his philosophical works, which were numerous, have survived complete; and what remains are fragments, some gleaned from the books of his detractors. It is therefore difficult to form a proper estimate and say with certainty whether he developed a coherent system of his own. He took the then unusual step of championing the cause of Plato against Aristotle. He expressed strong disapproval of the latter, and blamed him for parting company from his master, and for corrupting philosophy and changing many of its principles. And like Kindi he had a deep admiration for Socrates, his life and teachings, calling him “our Imam”. When people accused him of leading a worldly life himself, he answered back that Socrates had been no ascetic, and that there was no reason why he should be one. Socrates had even gone to fight for his country, and that is not easy to reconcile with the principles he declared.

The second and more important point on which Razi dissented from the views of Kindi and Farabi, was his outspoken denial of the possibility of reconciling religion and philosophy a theme they not only consistently maintained, but one which constituted the whole purpose of their thought. Yet he was no atheist, and we must believe his repeated invocations of the Deity, the “bestower of intelligence”; nor was he “the Voltaire of Islam”as some have called him. Nevertheless his theism was not considered sufficient. He was denounced as a heretic and never gained a following.

Acquainted with the Greek Atomists, Razi was much influenced by Democritus. His, however, was a very different form of atomism from that which had been adopted by the Muslim theologians. His Platonic thought stemmed mostly from the Timaeus on which he had written a commentary. For some obscure reason he became the object of violent condemnation by Ismaili authors who bitterly attacked his theories of Time and Space, and his definition of pleasure. Pleasure, he had said, was “nothing but a return to the normal state”. Space, according to him, was infinite, but there is an absolute space which is the void, and a partial space. In like manner there is on the one hand absolute Time, independent of the revolutions of the celestial sphere and co-existent with eternity, and on the other hand limited Time. In this he seems to have gone contrary to the views of one of his teachers by the name of Iranshahri, of whom practically nothing is known.

There exists an impressive list of the works of Razi; but perhaps his most interesting theme, on which he is supposed to have written a book, was what he called the five eternal substances, viz. God, Soul, Matter, Space, and Time. The source of his theory is not clear. Some Arab authors thought that the notion originated with the Harranians; Razi himself claimed that it came from some early pre-Aristotelians; and Ibn Taimiya has stated that he acquired it from Democritus. The idea, however, is typical of Razi’s unorthodox views; and it surprised and annoyed Islamic philosophers and theologians alike, providing yet another reason for condemning him. Nor had he any scruples about rejecting the metaphysics of the Falasifa with its elaborate conception of successive cycles of emanation, developed under Neo-Platonic influence. While they maintained that matter had only a potential existence, he saw no reason why it should not also have an actual existence of its own.

Nor were Razi’s political and religious views any more orthodox; and he must have deeply shocked Muslim society by his assertion that there is no necessity for prophets whatsoever; and that any man who is sufficiently endowed with intelligence can use it to fashion his own life and achieve his own salvation. Hence it is hardly surprising that although they called him the Galen of the Islamic world and studied his medical works assiduously, his philosophy evoked horror, and his non-medical works have almost entirely disappeared.

Early in the tenth century, there was another philosopher of Persian extraction in Baghdad by the name of Sajistani. Because of a physical deformity he rarely appeared in public, but his home became the chief literary and intellectual meeting-place of his time. He was called the Logician, and is supposed to have written many commentaries on Aristotelian logic and kindred subjects. Princes as far distant as the Samanids of Transoxiana addressed philosophical Questions to him “by the hundred”. Practically all of his works have perished. We know that he was the author of a compilation of biographical notes on Greek philosophers; and extracts from this have survived in a later work that provides some useful information.

If we exclude Razi as primarily a physician, Sajistani may be considered the most distinguished thinker between Farabi and Avicenna. Most of what we know about him is found in the writings of his pupil and friend Tawhidi; and from these accounts it appears that on the crucial point of the relation between religion and philosophy, Sajistani took a position midway between the sanguine confidence of the Falasifa that a reconciliation or synthesis is possible, and the outright repudiation of any such possibility by Razi. “Philosophy is true”, he says, “but it is in no way a part of religion; and religion is true, but it is in no way a part of philosophy One is concerned primarily with inspiration and the other with the search for truth One says: I was ordained, and taught, and told, and do not say anything from my own self; and the other says: I saw, and observed, and approving accepted, and disapproving rejected. One says: the light of intelligence is what I seek guidance from; and the other says: I have the light of the Creator of creatures, by its illumination I walk He who wishes to philosophize must turn his gaze away from religion; and he who chooses religion must avoid all attention to philosophy and neither one destroys the other”.

These statements appear in an account of a discussion between Tawhidi and his master over a collection of some fifty-two semi-religious, semi-philosophical essays by a group of anonymous writers that had become the talk of Baghdad. The authors were supposed to have come from Basra, and the book was entitled Epistles of the Brethren of Purity. It had been placed quietly in the bookshops, presumably for free distribution, and constituted an invitation to join what was perhaps a secret fraternity of seekers after truth uncommitted to any particular faith or philosophy. Tawhidi was among the very few who knew some of the authors personally.

When questioned by one of the prominent citizens of Baghdad as to the religious faith of that member of the fraternity whom he happened to know, he replied that it was typical of that person (and apparently of his companions), that they did not officially attach themselves to any particular religion, nor join any special group. They regarded themselves as completely independent, keenly interested in everything, and free to examine all that might be said or written. They attached great importance to the principle that if Greek philosophy was properly introduced into religion, perfection would be attained. In the account of this discussion Tawhidi takes a copy of the epistles to his master, and Sajistani after perusal turns to explain to his pupil that the attempt is in vain. What they had imagined they could accomplish was to introduce philosophy into religion, others had tried before them and all had failed. Nor could religion be attached to philosophy, seeing that each had its separate domain and they could never merge. Philosophy was based on logical reasoning and religion on premises that the intelligence “sometimes demands and sometimes allows”. He expatiates on the distinctions between the two disciplines and ends by saying: “Where is religion, and where philosophy? Where is that which proceeds from revelation, and where that which is based on an opinion that may change.? The prophet is above the philosopher... for the prophet is delegated, and the philosopher is delegated unto him”.

This collection of essays has failed to impress students of Islamic thought; and very few have taken a favorable view of it. It is undoubtedly an extraordinary mixture of Greek, Persian, Islamic, Gnostic and even Indian ideas. But it should be remembered that originality was not the purpose or claim of the group.

They were avowedly eclectic, seeking a synthesis of some sort, and they put forward allegorical interpretations of some of the passages in the Qur'an which must have deeply disturbed the orthodox. They presented their ideas in an encyclopedic order under the various headings and in a language easy for the common man to understand, which methods upset Baghdad literary circles and caused much speculation as to the authorship of the essays. The group’s recently found Kitab al-Jamia, supposed to be only for the initiated, has unfortunately added little to our knowledge. It is a barren and disappointing work devoid of particular interest. Historically, however, the essays are important, because they reflect far better than the writings of the Falasifa the religious and intellectual ferment that was working in Baghdad under the impact of various religions, philosophies and ways of thought. It is difficult to say how much politics was involved in these tractates; but some scholars have undoubtedly gone too far in accusing the writers of deliberately subversive aims. They have, however, always been rightly associated with the Ismaili heterodoxy; and it is among its adherents that they were most popular. Avicenna, his father and his brother are supposed to have studied them either in the original or in a Persian translation. Modern Arabs while objecting to almost all that they assert, have nevertheless appreciated their simple style, free from artificiality, ornamentation or obscurity.

The purpose of this brief historical survey was to indicate the forces which were active in the Baghdad of the Abbasid Age. Here the conquering power of religion meets the restraining discipline of rational analysis and explanation, and active minds are immediately engaged in attempts at reconciliation or synthesis. Their failures and successes are part of the history of ideas, but the problem remains perennial and has to be met in every age. Its importance is compelling for a civilization on the march, and it constitutes the raison d’êtreand the justification of Islamic philosophy, which culminates in the person of Avicenna. It is to Avicenna, then, that our attention must now be directed.