Alhassanain(p) Network for Heritage and Islamic Thought

CHAPTER VI: PROBLEMS OF RELIGION

Nowhere in Islamic philosophy are the problems of reason and revelation better contrasted, and an agreement in essentials more consistently attempted, than in the system of Avicenna. Nothing remaining from the pen of Kindi, and nothing from the more extensive writings of Farabi that we possess, requires us to qualify that statement. Of Avicenna’s successors, Ghazali’s chief concern was to emphasize the limitations of reason, to insist on the necessity for dogma, and to call men to the higher regions of religious experience. As to Averroes, even when applying himself directly to the issue in question he had nothing new to contribute, and confined himself to a re-statement of the position as he found it.

Avicenna’s devotion to the principles of rational thought always predominated; but that need not cast doubt on his protestations of religious faith even though his faith is different from the orthodox. He may have refused to submit to tradition and unquestioned dogma, but he realized that the mind does not succeed in proving the truth of things in every case. He may never have failed to attack the theologians when he thought they were in error, yet he was deeply animated by the desire to see both disciplines brought into harmony. He may not have succeeded completely, yet he captured and expressed the spirit of his age.

God, for Aristotle, was an ever-living being whose influence radiates throughout the universe; and who, though himself unmoved, moved everything by inspiring love and desire in them. This Being whose existence he proves, among others, by what amounts to a form of the ontological argument, namely, that where there is a better there must needs also be a best, is form and actuality, life and mind. But his activity is only mental, and his knowledge involves no transition from premises to conclusion. It is direct and intuitive, he has only himself as the object of his thought. God has no knowledge of the universe around us; nor of the evil that there may be in it. His influence is not direct, and does not flow from his knowledge. It would indeed detract from his perfection were he to be interested in this world of ours. Those who have tried to attribute to Aristotle a theistic view of the universe have failed to win general agreement.

The Neo-Platonic conception colored much of Islamic thought. For Plotinus God was the One, the First, and (according to Plato) the Good. As the One he is the first cause; and as the Good, the final cause. He is transcendent as well as immanent in the world of the soul. The One is beyond substance, and, pace Aristotle, he is beyond activity, beyond intellect and intellection.

Finally, there was the religious belief in God as the all-knowing, all-powerful, all-controlling Creator of heaven and earth, to which Avicenna was anxious to conform and be faithful as far as he possibly could; not as a matter of policy or convenience as some have thought, but out of sincere desire. And between these hardly reconcilable views, and many others of which he was aware, he set out to develop his own conception of the Deity.

God, he says, is not a body, nor the matter of a body, nor the form of one; nor an intelligible matter for an intelligible form, nor an intelligible form in an intelligible matter. He is not divisible, neither in quantity, nor in principle, nor in definition, he is One. Hence as a transcendental being God is, in accordance with the tenets of his Faith, strictly one. He is complete in himself, and no state in him is to be awaited. He is a Necessary Being in essence as well as in all other respects. He could not be a necessary being in one sense and a possible being in another. He could not be both at the same time, because that would involve contradiction. And if he is necessary in every way, and everything that is possible has already become necessary in him, there remains nothing incomplete or lacking in him to be awaited - neither will, nor nature, nor knowledge, nor any of his attributes. Furthermore, he who is a necessary being in his essence, is pure Good and pure Perfection. The Good is what every being keenly desires in order to perfect its existence; it is a condition of perfection, and evil does not exist in essence. Existence is a goodness, and the perfection of existence is the goodness of existence. Thus a being that does not suffer any evil in the form of the absence of a substance, or of any undesirable state of it, is pure Good. This could not apply to what is in essence a possible being. Good in the sense of useful and profitable is only with the object of attaining perfection in things. God as a source of help becomes a source of Good and free of all defect or evil.

God as a necessary being in essence is pure truth, since the reality of everything is the particularity of its existence which can be proved to belong to it; and there is nothing more true than him. By the very fact that he is in essence necessary he becomes a species apart and particular to himself; and therefore he has none like him, no associate and no contrary. And as a species in himself he is One because he is complete in his existence, because his definition applies only to himself, because he is indivisible and because in the scale of existence his position is that of the necessity of existence which he does not share with any other. God is in essence an intelligence, he intellects and he is intelligible. It is as a separate and abstracted entity that he is an intelligence; it is in consideration of the fact that he is aware that his essence has a separate entity that he 'intellects'; and he is intelligible because everything that is in essence separate from matter and all the accidents, is intelligible in essence. God possesses the purest of beauty and light, for 'there can be no beauty or light more than in a state where the quiddity is pure intellectuality, pure goodness, unblemished by any form of defect'. Every suitable beauty and perceptible good is desired and loved; it is perceived through the senses or the imagination or the mind and the intellectual perception is the highest of them all. So the Necessary Being who possesses the utmost beauty, perfection and light and who intellects himself with full intellection, considering that the subject and the object of intellection are in reality one and the same in this case, his essence would be to himself the greatest lover and beloved and the greatest source of pleasure.

As compared with the sensual, intellectual perception is much the stronger, and it is superior as regards the objects that it perceives and the manner of doing so and the purpose which it has in view. There is in fact no experience to be compared to it. This brings us to the nature of God's knowledge of things. God does not think of things from perception of those things directly; his intellection is not of changeable things with their constant changes in so far as they are individuality changeable in time; he cannot think of them as sometimes existent and at other times non-existent, for in that case they would not be intellected but sensed or imagined and that would be a defect for him. The Necessary Being intellects everything in a general way and yet He is not ignorant of every particular thing. Not the smallest atom in the heavens or on earth is hidden from him and this is one of the miracles the imagination of which requires a subtle nature. Thus Avicenna departs from Aristotle in asserting that God does have knowledge of the world, though that knowledge is only in a general way. Then he feels constrained to quote a Qur'anic passage and to assert that He is at the same time aware, to the extent of a single atom, of all that happens in heaven and earth. Avicenna realizes the difficulty of his position and therefore proceeds to explain further.

When the Necessary Being intellects his essence and the fact that he is the principle of every existing being, he intellects the origin of the existent things that have proceeded from him. And there is no single thing the existence of which did not become in some way necessary through him. It is the action and interaction of these causes that bring about particular events and matters. He who is the first cause knows full well the various causes and their application and working, and therefore knows necessarily the effects that they produce and the time involved between them and their recurrence. This is because He could not know the original causes and yet be unaware of their results. Hence God would be conscious of individual matters inasmuch as they are in principle general matters in their circumstances and nature, even though they may have occurred to a single person at a particular time and under special conditions. As an illustration, if you know the heavenly movements you can tell in a general way every eclipse or conjunction of the stars. Yet your knowledge would be limited by your ability to make the proper calculations and by the fact that you are yourself a momentary being. In the case of God his time, his knowledge and consequently his judgment are eternal and all-embracing. For you it is necessary to know a whole series of causes and effects in the movement of the heavenly bodies in order to know the circumstances of just one eclipse; but God knows everything because he is the principle of everything. He knows the causes and therefore the effects, the movements and therefore the results, and this leads to the knowledge of the world and the keys of what is hidden from us.

God contemplates his essence as well as the order of the Good pervading all things. And by doing so, that order emanates from him to all existent things. We love and seek the good, but only for a purpose. God entertains no such purpose; and he possesses this form of pure intellectual will with no specific aim in view. Life for us is perfected through perception and action - two different forces in themselves. God only needs to think of things, and that becomes the cause and the starting-point of his acts and the origin of all that comes to be. The intelligible form that moves us, and becomes the source of the concrete form that we reproduce in art, is, when emanating from him, in itself sufficient to produce results without any intermediary. Moreover, in essence, the will of God does not differ from his knowledge. The knowledge that he has is exactly the will that he has. And the power that he has, is due to the fact that his essence intellects every single thing, and that intellection becomes the principle of all things. It is a principle in itself, and is not derived from anything nor dependent on the existence of anything. In emanating existence, this will is not bound up with any specific consideration; it is out of sheer bounty. In fact God’s will is itself a bounty.

This leads to what became the subject of heated discussion among theologians of all shades of opinion, viz. the attributes of God. The first attribute of the Necessary Being is that he is and is existent. The other attributes have this specified existence with some additional quality affirmed or denied, without implying in any way muttiplicity in essence. When it is said that he is an essence or an immaterial substance, it means that he is not in a subject. When said that he is One, this means that his existence does not allow division in quantity, or in definition, or in association with other than himself. When it is said that he is an intellect, he is intelligible, and is bent on intellection, the implication is that his existence is beyond the possibility of mixing with matter or with anything related to it. When it is said that he is the first, it is in relation to all other things; and powerful denotes that the existence of all things proceeds from him. When it is said that he is a living God, the meaning is that his being, as pure intellect, perceives and acts continuously. When it is said that he is sought as a refuge, and supplicated in times of trouble, the reason is that he is the principle of the order of the Good. When it is said that he is bountiful, it is meant that he seeks nothing for himself. God, moreover, is pre-eternal as well as post-eternal. As a pure substance, he is simple; and, unlike an possible beings, his essence and his existence are one. He is love, he loves and he is beloved. He rejoices in all that emanates from him, and he is the most happy of beings. He has no quiddity, for every being that has quiddity besides existence is caused. These emanate from him, and he himself is pure existence. Since he has no quiddity, he has no genus, for genus defines the nature of what is. And if he has no genus, he has no differentia, and hence has no definition. Nor do any of the categories of being apply to him. He cannot therefore be demonstrated; he demonstrates all things.

What of God's providence of which we are all in need, and the evidences of which we see all around us? God, knowing himself and the existence of an order of the Good; being the source of all good and perfection in so far as it is possible; and desirous of the working of such an order, contemplates it in its highest conceivable form, and as a result of that contemplation it emanates from him to this world. This may be called divine providence. And in another place Avicenna says that providence is the all-compassing knowledge of God about things, and how they should be that they may attain the best order. This knowledge of the proper order of existence becomes the source from which good emanates to everything. Hence his notion of providence is very general and rather abstract. It was probably for this reason that the Christian scholastics of the thirteenth century accused him of having denied divine providence completely. Actually his conception is in full accord with the principles of his metaphysics. It was seen how reflection or contemplation on the part of God makes what is possible in essence necessary for all possible beings. Here, then, as in the question of the attributes of God, Avicenna attempts a reconciliation between purely intellectual conceptions and the more concrete ideas of tradition and religious dogma. The attributes to which theologians attached such importance were numerous, and God's intervention through divine providence explained many a perplexity. Avicenna would not deny any of them, but in his characteristic manner gave them a purely rational interpretation.

Creation is one of the acts of God most emphatically stressed by religion. How is that consummated? It takes two forms. One is through the process of emanation which is inherent in the Necessary Being; and by means of which the different spheres including our sub-lunary world come into existence. The other more active form of creation, which is specified by distinct terms, is more direct. In all cases it requires that God should be living and powerful and should possess a knowledge and a will of his own. These are all united in him and act in unison, not separately. His knowledge is his will, and his life is his power. With these he brings together the necessary causes; and through the action and interaction of the efficient cause and the material or receptive cause, creation takes place. The efficient cause may be a necessitating will or nature or instrument; and the material cause may be a particular disposition that did not exist previously. What is essential is that the two elements must be present. There must be an agent and there must be matter. The absence of one or the other renders an act of creation impossible of consummation. In other words, creation is not altogether ex-nihilo as dogma asserts. The matter that constitutes the material cause must be there. Moreover, creation does not depend merely on the wish and will of God at one specified moment and not at another. It necessarily takes place in consequence of His will and nature. There is necessity involved in the act, contrary to the views of the theologians to whom in any case the theory of emanation was also unacceptable. Thus God could not have will and wished not to create the world. The world could not have failed to proceed from Him.

Aristotle had no theory of divine providence nor of divine creation. In fact he had argued against the creation of the world. But the translators of his works had used in their Arabic renderings a number of religious terms for creation which gradually came to acquire somewhat different connotations. They also came to mean one thing to the theologians and another to the Falasifa, and the latter did not always define them in the same way. There was the case of ibda, which appears in some verbal forms for the equivalent of various Greek words in the Arabic translation of the Theology and therefore of Plotinian texts. Then there was khalq, then hadth or ihdat, then kawn or takwin. These were not always used in a specific sense, and Avicenna differentiated between them and considered that ibda is special to the intelligence khalq to the natural beings . and takwin to the corruptible among them. The purest and the most original act of God may be called an ibda because it is when from one thing existence is granted to another - an existence belonging to it only - without an intermediary, be it matter or instrument or time so that ibda is of a higher order thantakwin, or ihdath. Kindi and Farabi had not given it the same connotation; and though it may have been used by some Ismaill authors, it was after Avicenna that it became established in its specific sense. Before that it was a purely religious word of Qur’anic origin.

There were also some doctrinal questions involved in the problem of creation; as for instance: does God know what he creates; and after creation does he continue to keep some sort of relation with his creatures; and who or what determines the time of creation? Avicenna did not take the traditional view on these matters and thereby incurred the displeasure of the theologians. The time of creation was the most important issue. The Mutazelite school of theologians said that the world was created at the time was determined by God’s own will only. Avicenna argues at length to show that there can be no time more suitable than another for creation. How could one distinguish when pre-existence, which was a period of non-existence, began and when it ended; and in what way does one time differ from another? Creation must be due to God’s nature, or some accident besides his will. There is no question of compulsion or chance. Must we suppose that these are changeable and they actually changed when the suitable time for creation arrived? God creates either for the very act of creation or for some purpose or profit. There could be no purpose or profit when the existence or non-existence of a thing in no way affects him and would be the same for him. If it is for creation itself, and it took place at a fixed time, are we to suppose that the moment for doing so just pleased him, or the time for it suddenly arrived, or that it was only at that moment that he felt puissant enough to do so? No, between God and his creation there is no priority in time.

Moreover, if God be considered the agent or artificer who acted, designed or brought into being what did not exist before, it may be supposed that once the act has taken place, there is no more need for the agent or artificer. Should he disappear, his creation will continue to exist. Architects often die leaving their buildings intact after them. In any case, God's disappearance could do no harm to the world nor injury to anyone. The way to answer this is to find out what exactly is meant by designing or bringing into effect. If the first beings are the intelligences, after which come the souls, and then the bodies, they are all distinct from the Necessary Being in that they came to be after not being. On another interpretation beings may be necessary in themselves and in their essence, or possible in themselves and in essence, but necessary through some something else. This latter class may be continuously necessary, or for a period of time. In either case they are necessary through some other agency and not in their essence. Surely those that are continuously necessary are the more general, and those necessary for only a certain period, just particular cases. Hence the relation or attachment of the Necessary Being with those that are caused or that have been acted upon is predominantly continuous only in special circumstances is it temporary. And that being so, it has to extend beyond the period of creation in order that it may continue to be, though a possible being in essence, a necessary being through the agency of what is always and for ever a necessary being in essence.

The prophet and his role in society was a subject that Avicenna could not overlook in a system which though philosophical had to consider religious questions as well. Greek thought had nothing to contribute in this field; and the traditional teachings he could not accept in their entirety. Farabi, as was seen, devoted some attention to the question, perhaps because the theologians had elaborated a rather complicated theory about it. His successor in turn developed one of his own which seemed to satisfy his rational inclinations, though the more religious took strong exception to it. What kind of a man is a prophet; in what way does he differ from others; and what is his mission in life? Man lives in a society, Avicenna argues; no one is happy entirely alone. And in a human society men are bound to have constant association with one another. These relations must be governed and directed so that justice may prevail. To dispense justice there must needs be laws and to lay down laws there must be a law giver. To be a lawgiver, a man must rise to become the leader of men, and devote his life and efforts to the problems of society. And to be chosen for that mission he must possess merits that others either do not have at all or have to a lesser extent than he. By these merits he must win the submission and support of his fellow-men. Having gained these, he can attend to their needs and apply the order of the Good provided for them by God. Obviously this leader could not but be a human being like all the rest; except that he is chosen, authorized and inspired by God who mates his holy spirit descend upon him.

Already in his psychology Avicenna had pointed out the lucidity of mind and unusual intellectual faculties that a prophet must possess. By an extraordinary capacity for intuition, the Prophet acquires knowledge from within himself and by that same power he comes into contact with the Active Intelligence. This is the highest stage which man can reach. It is then that the material intelligence may be called the Divine Spirit; and it would then belong to the genus of intellectus in habitu. Furthermore, his faculty or imagination would be so strong as to reach the point of perfection. And presumably it is for this reason that he can use such vivid imagery and speak so effectively in metaphors and allegories. All others must seek the middle term of a syllogism in their logical reasoning. He who is endowed with the prophetic gift need not do so. The intense purity of his soul and his firm link with the Active Intelligence make him ablaze with intuition. The forms of the Active Intelligence become imprinted on his soul, and this is prophetic inspiration which becomes transformed into revelation. He is thus a superior representative of the human species in his capacities; the most noble in character, and distinguished by godliness. To these is added what he receives through contact with the Active Intelligence. Hence contrary to the general opinion, God did not have an absolutely free choice, and could not appoint any man and make him the instrument of his divine dispensation. The qualities of a prophet were perfectly human and in no way supernatural, yet his unequalled excellences were sufficient to make him a necessary and not a free choice. The matter that receives an entelechy or perfection like his, occurs in very rare temperaments.

It is, however, the importance of his mission that makes it necessary in God’s own wisdom to send him forth as a messenger and prophet. This mission is political and social as well as religious. The Islamic conception of prophethood combined these three elements; and the Falasifa, mainly under the influence of Plato's Republic and Laws and Aristotle’sPolitics, chose to stress the political and social aspects so prominently featured in Farabi. The religious teachings of the prophet are composed of these essentials that men should accept and those practices that they must follow. He must teach that there is a Creator who is one and powerful and whom man must obey because He has provided rewards and punishment for all human acts. The prophet must not enter into abstruse disquisitions on the nature of God because the vast majority do not understand such things. They are apt to rush into the street and argue and quarrel and be kept away from their proper duties. He must speak in allegories and symbols, and of things that people value highly. His descriptions of the hereafter must be full of imagery depicting eternal bliss or torment. There is, however, a danger that his teachings be neglected or completely lost sight of in later ages. To make them a permanent influence, he must lay down religious practices. Of these are prayers and fasting and a pilgrimage to the home of the prophet. This last makes men think of him, and by doing so think of God who chose him. It is to the common man that he must address his exhortations - the person who is most in need of his help and guidance.

One of the practices that a prophet should enjoin people to observe is prayer. But what is prayer? In contrast to his natural, animal and personal acts, man has a rational soul with activities of its own that are far more elevated and noble. Among these are contemplation and reflection and the thought of Him who has fashioned the world and all that is found therein. These make the soul turn to realms beyond the life it leads on earth, and, like the angels who perceive without the need of senses and who understand without speech, ponder and speculate. They make it seek knowledge and perception and this timeless quest leads to worship. When man knows God through reasoning, and perceives him through his mind, and finds his grace through understanding - and be it noted that the recognition that Avicenna stresses is all intellectual - he is bound to think of the reality of creation. This moves him and makes him anxious and eager, and the emotional response drives him to worship the being he has come to accept as the Absolute Truth and appeal to his unfailing loving-kindness. Prayer is an act of knowledge as well as an act of gratitude to the Necessary Being. It takes two forms, one is the outward and the ritualistic, the other is the inward and the real. The outward is the one required by the religious law. It includes reading and kneeling and prostrating and has its usefulness because not all people can scale the heights of the mind. But it is the inward prayer that is the most real and elevating. It means beholding the Truth with a pure heart and a self cleansed of earthly desires. Supplication to God is not through the members of the body, nor by means of the human tongue. They who exercise inward prayers, behold God through the mind; and they who partake of true worship do so through the love of God. Hence, according to Avicenna's view, there is a twofold process in prayer. It begins as a purely intellectual recognition and wonder which provokes an emotional response; and that in turn inclines, if not forces, a man to turn towards God.

The love of God extends throughout nature. It is a force that pervades all beings, even the simple inanimate substances. It takes different forms, and chooses different means to express itself, but the impulse is the same, whether it be sensuous love or the love of heavenly beings. Every living thing possesses an inherent love of the Absolute Good which in turn shines forth and illumines it. Death does not sever the bonds of love, for death is nothing but the separation of the immaterial soul from its material attachments. It is ignorance of what there is in store that makes us so fearful of death. And just as there is a life of the will and a natural life, so also there is a death of the will and a natural death. We need not sorrow because there is death. If men were immortal, the world would have no room to hold them. And if the consequences of such a possibility be considered, it would soon be realized that death is an act of divine wisdom.

If death is a release that men should never mourn, what about the doctrine of the Resurrection insisted upon by religious dogma? Here Avicenna is obviously unhappy and feels constrained to point out that there are things which the religious law lays down, others which we can prove by reasoning and demonstration. In lengthy expositions he completely disregards the resurrection of the body and dwells on the return of the soul after its separation from the body. And in this he is very much influenced by Plotinian ideas passed on to the Islamic world through the so-called theology of Aristotle. The perfection of the rational soul is achieved in attaining full intellectual knowledge, in receiving the imprint of the form of the universal order of the intelligible, and in partaking of the Good that emanates from God. It is in these that it finds eternal existence, not in the pleasures of a fleeting life on earth. The soul must perceive the essence of perfection by deducing the unknown from the known, and by striving towards it with constant effort and action. What it has suffered or will suffer as a result of what the body has done or sustained will not torment it for ever, but will gradually disappear until it has gained the happiness that is its due. And just as beings originated first as intelligences, then as souls and then as bodies, so on its return the soul leaves the body behind and goes to join the intelligences and through them the source of all emanations, who is God. Hence to speak of the resurrection of the body is only figurative. It is in fact the release and the resurrection of the soul that takes place. It is the soul and not the body that is immortal.

The manner in which Avicenna treats the doctrine of the resurrection is still better illustrated by the interpretations that he places on some of the verses of the Qur’an. He does not claim to be a fundamentalist, and does not feel bound by the literal meaning of certain of the passages. It is, we believe, with sincerity and in perfect good faith that he accepts the Scriptures of his religion; but he considers the language symbolic and metaphorical, meant to make the ideas more vivid. If it is full of Imagery, that is in order that it should appeal to the ordinary man who is unable to appreciate the true significance of all that he reads. Otherwise, to accept the Scriptures literally and in their entirety is an affront to the intelligence, which for him was something that is in essence divine. He finds it idle to indulge in the formal exegesis associated with the different schools of theology. He seeks philosophical meaning and he incorporates them into his system; and does not hesitate to quote Greek philosophers in support of his interpretations. His interpretation of one of the most impressive and elevating passages in the Qur’an, where God is spoken of as the light of the heavens and earth, is a most revealing example of his religious writings; and shows clearly the attitude he chose to take. Only a Muslim can appreciate its boldness. It is, however, significant that the authors of the Epistles were among the very few - if there were any - who had taken that attitude before him; and that not many after him had the courage to do the same. He goes still farther and asserts that if there is a world of the senses, a world of the imagination, and a world of the mind; then that of the senses deserves to be considered the world of the graves; and the world of the mind is the true abode and that is paradise.

Avicenna was not a moralist and all he has to say on ethics is derived from Aristotle, but he dwells at some length on the problem of evil. He takes various forms. It may be a defect coming from ignorance or from the disfigurement of the body; it may be something that causes pain or sorrow as the result of some act; it may be just the lack of what brings happiness and provides for the good. In essence it is the absence of something a negative and not a positive element. It is not every form of negation, but the non-existence of what has been provided by nature for the perfection of things. Hence it is not something definite and determined in itself, otherwise there would be what might be called universal evil. As an accident it is the concomitant of matter and may come from outside and be an external factor, or from inside and be an internal factor. If clouds gather and prevent the sun from shining on a plant which as a result fails to reach fruition, the evil has come from outside. And if the plant has failed to respond to warmth and growth, the evil has come from the plant itself and as a result of some defect in it. All the causes of evil are to be found in this sub-lunary world the evil that is in the sense of privation is an evil either with relation to some necessary or useful matter or an evil with relation to something that is at least possible [of attainment]. In the first case of course it is a greater evil. Its interaction with the good is not wholly devoid of usefulness and may be sometimes even profitable.

To the question why God did not make the pure good always prevail unaffected by the presence of evil, the answer is that such a situation would not be suitable for our genre of being. It could possibly be conceived of absolute being emanating from God and occupied with matters pertaining to the intelligence and the soul but not of the world as it is. If we were to suppose the absence of those privations which we have called evil, the consequences would constitute a still greater evil. Our judgment of evil is always relative and in terms of human action it is with reference to something. For the vindictive man vindictiveness is a perfection; should this quality in any way diminish in him, he would consider it an evil that has befallen him; and it is of course at the same time an evil for those who suffer from his vindictiveness. Burning is for fire a perfection, and for those who may lose something as a result of it, an evil. God may be said to desire the good as the essence of everything and evil as an accident, since it necessarily occurs. In this sense of the word there is much evil in the world, but it cannot be said that it is overwhelmingly more than the good. When we measure the two we still find reason to be grateful that there is more good in the world than evil. Here again we find Avicenna following Aristotle who believed that there is no evil principle in the world and that there is no evil apart from particular things. It is not a necessary feature of the universe but a by-product that seems to occur

What are angels and where do they reside? An angel is a pure substance endowed with life and reason, intellectual, immortal. With this definition Avicenna goes on to explain that angels are intermediaries between the Creator and terrestrial bodies. Some have intelligences, others have souls, and still others have bodies. The highest in rank are the spiritual angels that are pure and free of matter; they are called intelligences. Then come the spiritual angels that are called souls, and these are the active angels. And the third are the angels represented by the heavenly bodies. These last differ in grades, and beginning with the most noble of them, come down to those that are only one grade above corruptible bodies composed of matter and form. The spiritual angels that are intelligences and stand highest, are called by the philosophers active intelligences, and correspond to those that in the language of religion are spoken of as the angels nearest and closest to God. Of the third class, Avicenna remarks, “It is said that the celestial spheres are living, reasonable, do not die; and the living, reasonable, immortal, is called an angel; then the celestial spheres are called angels”. The angels that act as intermediaries between God and his prophets, are those that possess souls, that act as the souls of the celestial spheres. They are the bearers of inspiration. They speak in the sense that they make themselves heard, but not in the language of men and animals. The prophet sees and hears them, but not with his ordinary senses.

What is happiness, and what may be called good-fortune? The common people suppose that the most intense of pleasures are the sensuous, but that is not difficult to disprove. We see the man bent on avenging a wrong done to him, deny himself of all such forms of pleasures, and finding far more satisfaction in the accomplishment of his aim. And the same may be said of those who choose to renounce the world and become ascetics; they often gain a pleasure beyond anything we can imagine. The man who wishes to become a leader deems it necessary to forgo many forms of pleasure, without the least regret, in order to attain the greater pleasure of realizing his ambition. These and many other similar examples go to show that the inward pleasures are far more powerful than the sensuous. They produce a satisfaction deeper and more lasting. That being the case, what should be said of intellectual pleasures that are more elevated than both the sensuous and the inward? But what exactly is pleasure? Pleasure is a perception and an attainment in the quest for that which to the perceiver is a perfection and a good in itself. And in like manner pain is a perception which to the perceiver is a harm and an evil. But good and evil are relative, they differ according to the criteria with which they are judged. The human emotions have one conception of good and evil, and the mind has another, and they do not always agree.

Aristotle had discussed pleasure and pain at great length, and had analyzed the views of his predecessors, none of which he could accept in their entirety. And when his works were rendered into Arabic, the subject became a favorite topic of discussion among the Falasifa, producing some very curious theories, though the majority followed along Aristotelian lines. In Persian one of the most interesting and detailed arguments is found in a work of Nasir Khosrow who strongly disagrees with Razi's definition of pleasure as nothing but a return to the normal state, which is not altogether what Aristotle had said, though somewhat related. For Avicenna what is more important is the relation of the different forms of pleasure to one another, and the comparative value of each. He arrives at the conclusion that the highest and purest form is the intellectual pleasure available to those who can rise above the vulgar notions and practices of the rest. Under Plotinian influence he emphasizes the two elements of pleasure, viz. perfection and the perception of it as such. These can be attained far more effectively and fruitfully in the intellectual sphere, and with more elevating results. There is of course nothing new in his appreciation of the pleasures of contemplation. The Greeks, and Aristotle in particular, had stressed them long before him. What he tried to point out without expressly affirming it, was the contrast of this conception with the doctrinal ideas of pleasure and pain, the most sensuous forms of which were promised for the righteous and for the wicked in the world to come. He seemed to have had a natural aversion to this doctrine, and sometimes openly challenged its validity. His detractors hit back by saying that this was because he knew exactly where he was destined to end and he feared the punishments in store for him.

Scholars have been undecided as to whether to call Avicenna a rational mystic or a mystic rationalist. There may be little in his early works to show an inclination towards mysticism; his hectic life could not have been particularly conducive to such a discipline; and the stories about his association with celebrated mystics are not authentic. And yet he devotes the closing pages of one of his latest books, viz. the Ishara,t to what is avowedly mystic thought. There are besides a number of short treatises, not all of which have been published, containing mystic tales and allegories. The dates of these have not yet been determined, but it is safe to assume that they are an rather late works; and that his interest in the mystics and their way of life did not develop early in him. Yet he had never denied what may be called divine truths and spiritual values. He had admitted and justified such things as inspiration, revelation, and the power of prayers. It is not therefore surprising that he should have gradually come to see the significance of the mystic path. Farabi had done the same before him, and there is much that is similar in their attitudes towards it; except that they were of entirely different temperaments themselves. Unlike his predecessor, Avicenna was a high-spirited, active and ambitious man; and perhaps for that reason his is an intellectualized form of mysticism that never became a fundamental part of his philosophical system. The importance that some have attempted to give to this aspect of his thought is hardly justified. He writes with appreciation and sympathy about the mystics, but in a very objective tone, not pretending to be one of them.

The sources of Avicennian mysticism are twofold. There is the indigenous element and the Neo-platonic. The theory that the chief features of the Islamic form of this discipline are all of Neo-Platonic origin has been discarded. Mysticism is a native growth in many parts of the world; and there is no doubt that what is known as Sufism was in its essentials a distinctive contribution of the Persian mind. Nevertheless foreign influences from both the East and the West colored many of its doctrines. Some ideas and practices can be traced to India, while others are indubitably of Neo-Platonic, Gnostic and perhaps Hermetic provenance. Exactly how they found their way into Sufism is not clear, though oddly enough the writings of the Falasifa may have had something to do with it. Avicenna does not seem particularly attracted to the devotional aspects of Sufism; and he incurred the displeasure, and, in some cases, even the violent condemnation of Persian Sufis. As a philosopher he was drawn inescapably to some of its principal conceptions, and the interpretations which it offered for problems that he had found difficult to explain. Often in his psychology he speaks of certain relations of the soul as being mysterious and baffling to the human mind. It is in such cases that he turns to mysticism, hoping to find some help. This explains why there is so much of Plotinian thought in his account of the soul, whether in relation to God, or during the period of its sojourn in the human body. The intellectualized form of Neo-Platonic mysticism seemed congenial and more to his liking, though the indigenous element is rarely absent.

He who has been initiated into the mystic order, Avicenna tells us, has states and stages particular to him and the life that he leads. He is the man who bears the name of arif, the knower (and whom here we might call the gnostic without in any way associating him with Gnostics, though there may be some relation between the two names). Mystics while still inhabiting their earthly bodies, have a way of escaping from them in order that, separated and free, they may take the path to the world of sanctity. There are certain things that are hidden within them, and others that they show publicly. The things that they demonstrate to everyone are denounced by those who disapprove of them, and highly praised by those who know and understand; and we shall relate them to you. These introductory remarks summarize in some ways Avicenna’s whole attitude to Sufism. Interest, appreciation and acknowledgement they contain, but no commitment. Sufis are different from ascetics and pietists, he likes to point out. He who renounces the goods of the world and all the benefits that they otter, is called an ascetic; he who devotes his whole time to religious practices such as prayers, fasting and nocturnal vigils, is considered a pietist and a worshipper; and he who concentrates his thoughts on the Almighty so that the light of God may dawn upon his inner self, is given the special name of knower or gnostic. These qualities are sometimes held separately; and there are cases where they are found in combination. And yet among others besides the gnostics ascetism takes the form of a business transaction. It is as though it buys the goods of the next world with those of this world. Whereas with the gnostic, renunciation is abstention from anything that may distract his inner self from its intimacy with the Truth, a rising above everything other than the Truth.

In a similar manner pietism or worship is with other than the gnostic a commercial transaction. It is as though the pietist labours in this world for a payment that he will receive in the next world, in the form of rewards that he has been promised. But for the gnostic it is a discipline for his energy and an exercise for the estimative and imaginative faculties of his soul. He thereby turns them away from the near regions of pride to the distant realms of divine truth. There they will abide in peace with the intimate of the inner self, when Truth turns its effulgence upon them with nothing to mar the light. It is then that the intimate of the inner self becomes enamoured of the brilliant dawn; and that love and devotion become an established habit; so that whenever it wishes to penetrate into the light of truth without doubts or fears to obstruct, it will be encouraged by that light until it finds itself wholly and completely in the path of sanctity .

In this passage in which we have tried to be as faithful to the original as possible, two points are noticeable. One is the scorn with which Avicenna speaks of ascetics and pietists, the other is the respect that he entertains for the gnostic and his graphic description of mystic experience. When the ways of his life are remembered, it is not surprising that he had no use for ascetism or pietism, but can it be said that he must have had some mystic experience himself? Certain scholars have been positive about it, though we do not find sufficient evidence for that. The passage does, however, prove an intimate knowledge of and that the mystics strive for and ultimately claim to have attained.

Man does not live alone; he is in social contact with his fellow-men; there is agreement and disagreement between him and the others, a constant exchange of things and ideas; he cannot do everything for himself, nor can he think everything by himself. There must be a law to regulate these relations, and that necessitates a lawgiver who must prove by signs and symbols that he has been appointed by God. He has also to promise reward and punishment, for obvious reasons. These have to come from God; and that makes people try to know Him and worship Him. They are taught how to do so; they are enjoined to say their prayers so often because repetition helps them to remember God in their daily lives, which in turn assists in the maintenance of justice necessary for the survival of the human species. The Gnostics, on the other hand, have the advantage of deriving from these forms of worship a profit peculiar to themselves when they turn their faces completely towards God. In the regulation of this all-encompassing order we can see God's wisdom, loving-kindness and bounty at work. In contrast to the practical requirements of the ordinary man, the Gnostic seeks the truth only for its own sake. There is nothing that he would prefer to knowing God and worshipping Him; not because of hope or fear, but due to the fact that God deserves to be worshipped, and the position of worshipper is a noble relationship towards Him. It is then that the truth is no more the goal, but an intermediary leading to Him who is the ultimate goal sought by all. And yet he who gives an intermediary position to truth is to be pitied in a way. It means that he has not yet attained full satisfaction and joy. He stands to the real gnostic as a young boy in comparison to the man of mature experience.

The first stage in the progressive development of the mystic is what they call “the will”. It is that with which he strengthens his resolve to demonstrate his convictions. With it he gains the ardent desire to bind himself with the bonds of faith; to attach himself to that unfailing source of determination, and thus bring peace to his soul. It is then that the intimate of his inner self moves towards the realms of sanctity that it may profit from the bliss of attaining that goal. So long as he is in that stage, he is a seeker. But he needs other things in addition. He must have spiritual discipline and exercise. The purpose of these is threefold. First to enable him to turn away and disregard all things save the Truth. Second, to enable him to overcome the self that rules the passions, and make a satisfied and confident soul rule supreme. In such a case the imaginative and estimative faculties cease to be occupied with matters that are base and low, and become concentrated solely on what is sanctified. And third, it is to render the intimate more gentle and capable of yielding his undivided attention and complete devotion. The first form of discipline leads to real ascetism. The second form includes various exercises, such as the practice of worship associated with thought; the use of melodies to serve the faculties of the soul, to which may be added the words that are chanted; the sermon of a preacher when it is intelligent, eloquently expressed and delivered in an impressive tone. The third form requires subtle thought, and pure and chaste love directed by the beauty of the beloved, not by the force of passion.

So far the man of the mystic path has gone through states and stages of preparation. He has used his will and strengthened his resolve; with discipline and exercise he has passed the different stages of self-purification. And when that has advanced sufficiently, and a certain limit has been reached, furtive glimpses of the light of God begin to be revealed to him - visions delicious to behold. Like lightning they appear and they are gone. These are the occasions they themselves call moments. And these moments are preceded and also followed by periods of ecstasy - one period leading to the moment, and the other following the mystic experience. And if he perseveres in the exercises, the moments will become more frequent, and therefore the ecstasies. Until the time comes when, with no more exercises necessary, he is overwhelmed by the frequency with which the moments come to him. It is then that by merely fixing his eyes on something, and every time that he does so, he is carried away to the realms of sanctity by the evocation of a happy memory. It might be said that he sees the Creative Truth in everything; his labours have borne fruit; he has reached the highest degree and attained the goal. He is now in contact with God. The long periods of quietude have ended; and his companions can notice that he is no more at rest. And yet he can proceed still farther. Exercise can carry him to the stage where his 'moments' would be thought to be periods of Quietude; his ecstatic escapes would become habitual; and the lightning glimpses would be transformed into flames of light. He gains an acquaintance that will remain permanently with him and whose constant companionship affords him profit and satisfaction. Should that acquaintance ever desert him thenceforth, he would be left sad and perplexed.

In the account on which this last passage is based, Avicenna unexpectedly changes his terminology. He has been describing throughout the journey of the gnostic along the mystic path in his quest for knowledge or gnosis. And when describing how he reaches the state of complete knowledge Avicenna introduces what seems a new idea. Making use of the same Arabic root meaning to know, he claims that the gnostic gains what he calls a wining acquaintance at that stage. His word connotes some sort of reciprocal relationship which, though based on knowledge, implies an exchange and a give-and-take in addition to it. At that limit, he says, all that there is hidden in the gnostic is revealed to him; but if he penetrates into this relationship of acquaintance, it becomes less and less apparent to him, so that he seems to be absent even when present, and travelling far away even when in his place. This acquaintance or mutual knowledge is at first only sometimes arrived at; later he can have it when he wishes. And he can proceed still farther and reach a stage where it depends no more on his desire. Whenever he notices one thing, he sees another also; and the idea constantly occurs to him to leave this world of illusion and seek the realms of Truth. Once he has passed all the stages of exercise and has truly attained the goal, the intimate of his self becomes a highly polished mirror turned towards the Creative Truth. And pleasures from on high will come pouring down upon him; and he will be overjoyed to find that his soul has traces of God upon it. He takes one look at the realms of Truth and another at his soul; and after that he is hesitant and never sure.

In some of his other works also, Avicenna had spoken of this twofold relation of the human soul - its contact with the heavenly world, and its attachment to the body that it occupies. This dual activity, however, is a common theme in Sufi literature; and we find it difficult to agree with the claim that it was an Avicennian contribution. The gnostic who stood with reluctant feet gazing, now at the realms of Truth, then at his own soul, finally relinquishes his self completely; and fixes his eyes solely on the Lord of sanctity. And if he ever turns again to his soul, it is only to see it looking on, and not to appreciate its splendor. It is then and there that he reaches the ultimate goal. “There is in truth the arrival”.

This account of the life-long journey stresses the different stages through which the gnostic has to pass. There is first the state in which he begins to have 'moments'; then come the periods of 'quietude'; after that he achieves 'contact'; and finally he arrives at union with the Creative Truth. Whether the stages are divided into only three, or more, the description of them by Avicenna had a profound influence on his successors; and we find it quoted by Ibn Tufail in Andalusia. Here again the problem is posed: Does this exposition prove that Avicenna had a genuine mystic experience? Some have insisted that this is the case; and maintain that he is writing of things he passed through himself. They claim in addition that while certain notions are related to Plotinan thought, others are undoubtedly Avicennian. We, however, take the view that he was animated solely by the desire to analyze an experience that he is prepared to accept as profoundly true, but of which he does not claim personal knowledge.

The traveler having climbed to the summit and readied his destination, finds himself completely transformed. His values are changed and his outlook surprisingly altered. Occupation with things that he had most reluctantly renounced now becomes a tiresome and frustrating labor; and dependence on those faculties that he always found so submissive in himself now seems an exasperating weakness. Pride in the qualities that adorned his self appears misguided even though justified; and total abandonment to Him who is creative and true seems the only salvation. There are specific elements in this quest for gnosis which we call mysticism. It begins with separation; then there is a denunciation; then a renunciation; and then a complete refusal. Through the execution of these acts the gnostic succeeds in concentrating on the essential attributes of God, in order that he may profit by them and eventually acquire them, until such time as he arrives at oneness, which is the state of complete unity; and then there is a standstill. The separation is from things that might turn him away from his quest; the denunciation is of the things that used to engage and occupy him; the renunciation is in order to gain freedom; and the complete refusal is the neglect of all else save the goal. There are certain degrees to which a gnostic can pass even beyond these, but those are very difficult to understand; words fail to describe them, they can better be imagined, and even then it is not the true thing. To arrive at the proper conception, one has to be a man of contemplation and not of lip-service, of personal insight and not of hearsay; one must be of those who have reached the fountain-head, not of those who have only listened to the tale. This is why the gnostic is so happy and gay; modest and humble withal. He could not be otherwise now that he sees the truth m everything; and finds man an object of pity in search of what is utterly futile.

The gnostic has states in which, he cannot bear even the murmur of the breeze, much less such unnecessary preoccupations as might engage him. In those moments when he has turned towards the Truth, should his self raise a veil to separate him, or the intimate of his soul cause a simple motion to disturb him, he is grieved and annoyed. But once he has reached and gained the station of arrival he then has the choice either to devote himself wholly to the Truth, and sever his relations with all else; or to try to combine the two, devoting attention to this world, and also to the other. He never loses his temper with anyone, nor is he ever very angry. And how could he be when overwhelmed by such a sense of pity for man? Instead of administering blame, he would rather advise and give gentle counsel. He is brave because he does not fear death; generous because he loves no more what he now deems futile; magnanimous because his soul is now too great to worry about the evils committed by his fellow-men; and forgetful of all that was done to him because he is now occupied wholly with God. The gnostics differ sometimes in their modes of life; according to the plans and purposes that they have in view. Some choose to be austere and lead a humble life - sometimes even a miserable one, when they disdain all earthly things. Others do not hesitate to partake of what life can offer. Some continue the religious practices, others neglect them after their arrival.

Avicenna ends this chapter of the Isharat with the remark that “what is comprised in this section [of our bookl is a source of laughter for the thoughtless, an admonition for the accomplished. He who has heard it and felt revulsion, let him blame himself. Perhaps it does not suit him. And everything has been provided for him who was created for it”.

What of the prodigies usually associated with these mystic divines in the popular imagination? If you hear of a gnostic going for long periods without food, Avicenna says, or doing something no one else is capable of, or even foretelling a future event, do not be surprised and do not disbelieve it. All these have a perfectly natural explanation. It was seen in the study of psychology that the faculties of the soul are in constant interaction with one another, and that they can for long or short periods render one another ineffective and inoperative. The same applies when they interact with the physical forces and requirements of the human body. A typical case is when fear paralyses sexual passion, or digestion; and prevents the execution of the most ordinary acts. In fact psychic powers directed by the faculties of the soul have complete control over the body; and when the concerted exercise of one faculty prevents the operation of digestion and therefore of hunger, there is nothing contrary to the natural law. These psychic powers can weaken or strengthen the physical forces. Fear and sorrow weaken a man, while hate, rivalry and also joy make him stronger. It is the strength that comes from joy, and confidence and faith in God that make a gnostic capable of doing things others cannot. And the reason why he can foretell the future sometimes is that he gains an unusual capacity to judge from the past and reason things out and thus arrive at a conclusion. Furthermore, it was seen that particulars are engraved in the world of the intellect in a general way and universally; and those who develop the proper disposition can have these particulars engraved upon their own souls to a certain extent. Hence in this case also the process is a natural one, and the explanation not difficult to see.

Besides this analysis of the mystic life, Avicenna has left some tales couched in symbolic language and of semi-mystic, semi-philosophical significance. In their desire to bring about a closer rapprochement with religious belief, the Islamic thinkers had claimed that there was an exact correspondence between the different intelligences of which the philosophers spoke and the angels about whom religion was so positive. In their account of the cosmos they had argued that each of the celestial spheres had a soul of its own. These souls were celestial beings possessing imagination; and might rightly be called celestial angels. Above them stood the intelligences who might be considered the same as the cherubim. And as to the Active Intelligence, it was identified with the angel Gabriel. In a dramatized tale we find Avicenna relating how one day he went out for a ramble in the vicinity of a town together with a few companions, and there chanced to meet a man who though to all appearance extremely old, had the full vigour and alertness of youth. According to the interpretation of his pupil who has left a commentary on this tale, he himself represents the seeker after truth; his companions are his senses; and the venerable man (from whom he is to seek information), none other than the Active Intelligence personified. 'My name is "the living," and my lineage "son of the vigilant," the old man says, 'and as to my hometown, it is the city of celestial Jerusalem (the sacred abode). My profession is unceasing travel in the regions of the world and my face is always turned toward my father who is "The Living." 'In reply to the request that he should accompany him on his journeys, which symbolize the search after knowledge, the old man remarks that that could not be done while still hampered by the presence of the companions. They cannot be discarded now. The time will come when he (the narrator) will be entirely free and separate from them; and can then embark unimpeded on his quest. There are three directions he could take, though it is not given to everyone to travel the whole way. There are first the regions of the West and the countries beyond it. That is where the light sets. It is the abode of Matter; there it resides for all who seek it. Then there are the realms of the East. It is where the sun rises in all its glory. It is the home and fountain-head of Form. To it must such faces turn as seek illumination. And thirdly are the lands situated between the East and the West, wherein is to be found everything that is composed of matter and form combined. But how is he to find his way; how can he choose between the different paths? Here the rationalist emerges. It is by logical thought and reasoning that he must be guided. That should be sufficient to prevent him from getting lost in the wilderness. That should lead him to knowledge which is an all-revealing source of light. The polar regions should be avoided; they are places of darkness and therefore of ignorance. The people in the West are strangers from distant climes; and they are in constant strife. The East is where the sun dawns; and the sun is the giver of forms, the Dator Formarum. These reflections were expressed in symbolic language a thousand years ago by a philosopher who at the time of writing was actually a prisoner deep in the dungeon of a fortress.

Another such allegorical tale is entitled the Treatise of the Bird. Here a bird wings its way from place to place in search of a friend to whom it can confide its secret, and with whom it can share its sorrows; only to find that such beings are rare now that friendship has become a matter of commerce; and that not until a brotherhood is established based on truth and guided from above, can there be free communion among all. The bird calls out to its brothers in truth to share one another s secrets, to remove the veil that separates their hearts, and to join in an effort to seek perfection. It bids them make manifest their inner selves, and hide what has been apparent; to love death in order that they may live; to remain constantly in flight and not hide within the nest lest that may become a trap for them. It is he who can confront his tomorrow with confidence that is truly alive and awake. The bird then begins to relate the story of how once together with other birds it was beguiled into a pleasant place, and there they were all caught in the nets that had been carefully laid for them; and they suffered in their captivity. Until one day the narrator-bird managed to escape from its cage, as some others had done before it, and join them in their flight to lands where they could all be safe. They flew over happy fields and lovely mountains where they were tempted to remain. But they continued till after passing over nine mountains, they finally reached the City of the King. They entered into the palace and were invited into his presence. When their eyes fell on the King they were so overwhelmed that they forgot all their afflictions. He gave them courage and they reported all that they had undergone, whereupon the King assured them that such things would never happen again, for he was sending his Messenger whose mission was to make sure that peace and justice should prevail.

Of the tale of Salaman and Absal there were two versions. One was of Hermetic origin and had been translated into Arabic by Hunain; the other, to which he refers in the Isharat, was by Avicenna himself. The first version has survived, but of the second we only know through the short commentary of Tusi.