46.2.kukkonen

No Man Is an Island: Nature and Neo-Platonic Ethics in �ayy IbnYaq��n

Taneli Kukkonen

Journal of the History of Philosophy, Volume 46, Number 2, April2008, pp. 187-204 (Article)

Published by The Johns Hopkins University PressDOI: 10.1353/hph.0.0013

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Journal of the History of Philosophy, vol. 46, no. 2 (2008) 187–204

[187]

No Man Is an Island: Nature and Neo-Platonic

Ethics in H. ayy Ibn Yaqz.anT a N E l I K u K K o N E N *

the story of h. ayy ibn yaqz. an (“living, Son of Conscious”) recounts the travails and triumphs of a boy growing up to be a philosopher, alone on an equatorial island. It contains a wealth of information about the way the late ancient philosophical synthesis was understood and developed in twelfth-century andalusia. It is also one of the few literary-minded philosophical works we possess from the period. Yet perhaps precisely because of these qualities, what abu Bakr Ibn T. ufayl (1116–85 CE) meant to say with his philosophical parable remains debated to this day.

at first glance, the solitary philosopher’s tale seems to unfold along a single spiraling path of ascension. H. ayy passes through the phases of human evolution sketched at the outset of aristotle’s Metaphysics, with concern for mere survival gradually giving way to a more inquisitive spirit and, finally, a full-fledged life of contemplation.1 For Ibn T. ufayl, theoretical reflection itself shades into a rapturous vision of the Godhead and absorption of the self (fana’) into the divine—a move we might expect from a respected Sufi master.2 This would seem a natural end-point to our story: “Tiring of the sense-world, H. ayy longed to attain what lay beyond it. . . . His attainment, time and time again, of that noble station grew ever easier and lengthier; finally, there came the point when he could attain it upon will, and did

* Taneli Kukkonen is Professor of History at the university of Jyväskylä.

1 See aristotle, Metaphysics, 1.1.981b14–25, 1.2.982b22–24, 12.7.1072b14–30; and Nicomachean Ethics, 10.6–9. In all likelihood, Ibn T. ufayl received his picture of human progress not from aristotle himself (judging by Ibn Rushd’s monumental Commentary, the first half of Metaphysics alpha was missing from the arabic translations then circulating in the Maghreb) but from al-Farab K’s Kitab al-h.uruf. For details see Cecilia Martini, “la tradizione araba della Metafisica di aristotele: libri a-a,” in Aristotele e Alessandro di Afrodisia nella tradizione araba, ed. C. D’ancona and G. Serra (Padua: Il Poligrafo, 2002), 75–112.

2 See now Vincent J. Cornell, “H. ayy in the land of absal: Ibn T. ufayl and Sufism in the Western Maghrib During the Muwah. h. id Era,” in The World of Ibn T. ufayl: Interdisciplinary Perspectives on H. ayy Ibn Yaqz. an [The World of Ibn T. ufayl], ed. lawrence I. Conrad (leiden: E. J. Brill, 1996), 133–64.

188 journal of the h istory of philosophy 46 :2 apr il 2008

not need to break off except when he so wished.”3 There remains only the long wait for death, an event the self-taught philosopher has come to view as his final liberation from the shackles of worldly necessity (H. ayy, 135).

The wait, however, is broken by the intrusion of civilization upon the scene. H. ayy meets asal, an eager seeker after the truth like he himself, and H. ayy is shipped off to glimpse what monotheist society has to offer. To say that the encounter is anticlimactic would be an understatement. H. ayy is brought to the brink of de-spair by the people’s obstinacy and their inability to assume a reflective stance with respect even to the simplest matters. In the end, the philosopher decides to renounce society altogether. He returns to his island with only asal to keep him company (H. ayy, 150–55).

The closing act is so out of key with the uplifting mood of what has gone before that it has driven some scholars to view the entire story in light of its fram-ing sequence, that is, the author’s introduction and final words. The essential harmony of philosophy and revealed religion is at stake in these passages, as is the need for the canny philosopher to hide the more obscure truths from those who will not understand. But then, how do these themes relate to the Bildungsro-man sandwiched in between? as a result of this perceived dichotomy, accounts of H. ayy have tended to stress either the self-taught philosopher’s intellectual quest, or the question of the solitary philosopher’s relation to the rest of humanity.4 Few scholars have assigned anything like equal weight to both. Yet even if we accept that a single work need not have a single agenda to advance, surely an integrated account that would encompass at least these two central aspects of the story would constitute a desideratum.

My aim in this article is to approach the question in a roundabout manner. Instead of beginning with societal issues, I will take my cue from H. ayy’s longest-standing relation: that which the philosopher enjoys with the natural subjects of his little island. Starting from those aspects of this tale that are most likely to strike the modern reader as strange or morally disquieting, I mean to show that not only are the tensions and twists purposefully situated so as to showcase important turning points in H. ayy’s spiritual development, but that they also point the way towards integrating the book’s final act with the rest of the work. They serve to highlight another question, this one genuinely philosophical and common to most late ancient and medieval ethics: what are the philosopher’s responsibilities to the wider world, seeing as the intellectualist tradition recommends a dispassionate disposition and a setting aside of mundane concerns?

When viewed in this light, the world that H. ayy inhabits comes to be perceived as a single moral universe, one that encompasses both the natural world and hu-man society: either all is to be embraced, or everything is to be left behind. and,

3 H. ayy Ben Yaqdhan. Roman philosophique d’Ibn Thofaïl [H. ayy], ed. léon Gauthier (Beirut: Imprim-erie Catholique, 1936, 2nd ed.), 134.9–135.4. all page references are to this edition. While gratefully acknowledging lenn Goodman’s English translation (los angeles: Gee Tee Bee, 2003, 5th ed.), I have chosen to retranslate all cited passages. a French translation by Gauthier also exists (Paris: J. Vrin, 1983, 2nd ed.).

4 See lawrence I. Conrad, “Through the Thin Veil: on the Question of Communication and the Socialization of Knowledge in H. ayy Ibn Yaqz. an” [“Through the Thin Veil”], in The World of Ibn T. ufayl, 238–66.

189no man i s an i sland

in a move that replicates the late ancient school tradition’s penchant for following metaphysics up with practical philosophy (ethics and politics), Ibn T. ufayl’s resolu-tion must hinge upon showing how the contemplative soul’s true understanding of reality will lead necessarily to the rest of creation benefiting from this peculiar perfection as well. Though the approach already can be read into the opening lines of al-Kind K’s (d. ca. 870) work, On First Philosophy,5 it is due to Abu Nas.r al-Farab K’s (d. 950) efforts that this way of proceeding became dominant in Arabic Aristotelianism;6 and al-Farab K’s influence on Ibn T. ufayl’s political philosophy has been well charted in previous studies. However, there is a further cosmological parallel to H. ayy’s encounter with Asal that has hitherto gone unnoticed. To be specific, it is this author’s understanding that Ibn T. ufayl’s answer to the philosophi-cal problem of involvement versus withdrawal ultimately draws on Ibn S Kna’s (the Latin Avicenna, 980–1037) discussions of how final and efficient causality operate in the universe as a whole.

This is the philosophical framework in which I propose to situate Ibn T. ufayl’s narrative, and framing it in this manner will help to solve the literary puzzle as well. For, quite aside from any interest Ibn T. ufayl may have had in explicating the relationship between philosophical wisdom and the divine law (and I do not mean to suggest there is none), there are independent philosophical reasons for why H. ayy’s story should culminate in an encounter with another being capable of choice and rational thought. Indeed, on my analysis, the internal logic of the story would be deeply unsatisfactory if it did not:7 H. ayy’s relationship with his human companion develops organically out of his prior relationship with nature, as both together chart the inquisitive soul’s ascendance throughout the cosmic hierarchy. To see how this is so, however, we must begin from the beginning.

1

Much of H. ayy’s material and intellectual advancement seems to progress in natural and uneventful fashion. Nevertheless, there are several passages in which within the space of a few printed pages, some startling reversals take place in regard to the philosopher’s attitudes towards nature.

5 “The aim of the philosopher is, as regards his knowledge, to attain the truth, and as regards his action, to act truthfully” (Oeuvres philosophiques scientifiques d’al-KindK, vol. 2, Métaphysique et cosmologie, ed. Roshdi Rashed and Jean Jolivet [Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1998], 9.9–10; English translation by Alfred Ivry in Al-KindK’s Metaphysics [Albany: State University of New York Press, 1974], 55). The next sen-tence oddly pulls back from this compact and attractive formulation, stating that action ceases once the truth is ascertained; this brings into play a different and seemingly unrelated idea, viz. Aristotle’s contention that the search for explanations cannot go on indefinitely (cf. Met. 2.2). The rest of the chapter bears out the interpretation that, for al-Kind K, right knowledge is followed by right action. On this text, see Cristina D’Ancona, “Al-Kind K on the Subject-Matter of First Philosophy: Direct and Indirect Sources of Falsafa al-ula, Chapter One,” in Was ist Philosophie im Mittelalter? ed. Jan A. Aertsen and Andreas Speer (Berlin: Walter De Gruyter, 1998), 841–55, at 845–46.

6 Dominic O’Meara’s Platonopolis (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003) devotes a chapter to al-Farab K, describing the ways in which the latter continues the late ancient project; the topic merits fuller investigation.

7 Compare with George Hourani, for whom (in Lawrence Conrad’s words) “one could almost prune these sections out of the text without sensing any loss from the argument” (George F. Hourani, “The Principal Subject of Ibn Tufayl’s H. ayy ibn Yaqz. an,” Journal of Near Eastern Studies 15 [1956]: 40–46).


1.1

The first of these comes with the death of H. ayy’s adoptive mother, a doe that had taken interest in the boy when the latter had been just a helpless infant. The doe at first succors the baby boy out of pity (H. ayy, 26.7); she then goes on to provide H. ayy with permanent sustenance and shelter (H. ayy, 33–34). The doe also introduces H. ayy to his initial peer group, a herd of deer. It is with these that the boy plays and grazes, and through these activities that he comes to realize that his own constitu-tion is somehow especial. The comparative weakness and vulnerability of H. ayy’s body is offset by the special aids he has been given in the struggle for survival, two hands superbly suited to any and every task (H. ayy, 34–37; cf. 54.5–6).

Throughout this trying (trial) period, the one thing that remains constant is the tender relationship between boy and doe. Yet change in the long run is inevitable. Where earlier, the doe had provided H. ayy with everything the boy might need, it now becomes H. ayy’s turn to care for his ailing foster-mother (H. ayy, 38.1–4). The boy’s efforts are described in affectionate terms, just as the mother’s had been. The doe’s death scene goes one better:

all her motions ceased; her actions, too, came to an end. When H. ayy saw the doe in such a state, he became greatly upset. It was as if his soul were overflowing with sor-row. He tried to call her with that sound to which she customarily responded upon hearing it; but though he cried with all his might, he could detect neither motion nor change. (H. ayy, 38.4–8)

In an effort to discern what could be wrong with his one-time provider, H. ayy first peers into the doe’s eyes, then examines her other body parts, but finds noth-ing that would explain the doe’s sudden impassivity. It is at this point that H. ayy decides that some drastic emergency surgery is in order, and he proceeds to ex-cavate the doe’s chest in methodical fashion. This course of action is given initial justification as being part of a rescue effort. H. ayy’s goal is said to be the discovery and removal of whatever caused the doe harm (H. ayy, 41.2–10). Yet sight of this mission seems to be lost halfway through. H. ayy, or else the author, becomes so engrossed in recounting the intricacies of the heart that when (a full few pages down in the text) it finally comes to assessing whether any hope remains for the subject, the notion registers as little more than an afterthought, and a cold and impersonal one at that:

When H. ayy saw that the inhabitant of this domicile had emigrated before its ruin-ation—that it had left it while it still stood—he realized that it was unlikely to make its return in the wake of all the devastation and laceration that had occurred since. The doe’s body in its entirety now appeared to him base and worthless compared to that [entity which] he firmly believed had inhabited it for a time, then taken its leave. (H. ayy, 44.11–45.3)

after this experience, H. ayy “no longer showed any longing [shawq] for anything except this,” that is, for the commanding principle that had used the body as one would an instrument (‘alah) (H. ayy, 45.11–13; see also 51.4–7; the metaphor is Platonic in origin). The body of the doe appears disgusting in H. ayy’s eyes now, and is summarily disposed of.

Due to the other deer having the same manifest shape (shakl), form (s. urah), and principle of motion as his one-time provider, H. ayy reasons that they stand to


possess a similar principle of motion, and due to this likeness, he is said to continue treating them with familiarity and compassion (H. ayy, 46.8–12). However, no sooner is this said than these creatures—formerly the boy’s closest companions—vanish from the picture, never to be heard from again. Instead, H. ayy is drawn to scrutinize (yatas. affah.u) dispassionately the various life forms (H. ayy, 47.1). Through vigorous dissection work performed on a multitude of species, he becomes an expert in the constitution of animals (H. ayy, 49.11–51.12), while through a chance experiment with the properties of fire, he becomes a meat-eater and a connoisseur (H. ayy, 48.12–49.5). Elsewhere, H. ayy’s struggles to become master of all he surveys meet with such success that, by the time he comes of age at twenty-one, nothing on the island may threaten him. He has tamed some animals, managed to strip others of their hide, and learned to store his wares so that none may share in the spoils of his conquests (H. ayy, 53–55).

one could be forgiven for viewing H. ayy’s exploits in modern environmentalist terms, as so many steps in a potentially disastrous process of alienation. on this reading, H. ayy, spurred on by a deceptively innocuous sense of natural curiosity, would be led ever further away from an organic relationship with nature and to-wards the kind of driving ambition that would make a modern industrialist proud.8 The imperial gaze with which H. ayy is repeatedly said to “see” (ra’a’) and “reflect upon” (naz.ara) things could accordingly be viewed as indicative of the project’s underpinnings: it would indicate the way H. ayy comes to view other creatures as mere objects for disinterested reflection.

1.2

The next major turning point thankfully puts paid to any such interpretation. It occurs roughly halfway through the work, towards the end of the fifth heptad of H. ayy’s natural existence. It is at this point that the nascent philosopher comes to recognize the dependence of the world on a transcendent creator, the Necessary Existent. This leads to a newfound respect for the cosmos precisely as created, as a manifestation of divine wisdom and design.

When H. ayy saw that all beings were of His making [fi‘lu-hu], he came to view them in a way different than before. It was as an expression of its Maker’s power that he saw each thing now, marvelling at His wonderful craftsmanship, the elegance of His plan, and the ingenuity of His knowledge. In the least of things, to say nothing of the greatest, H. ayy found marks of wisdom and divine creativity that exhausted his powers of admiration and confirmed his belief that all of this could issue only from a Cause of consummate perfection, one that was indeed beyond perfection. “Not an atom’s weight escapes Him either in heaven or on earth.”9

This second development points in an opposite direction from the first. It neatly dissolves the threat of nature becoming depreciated in the speculative process;

8 This interpretation finds circumstantial support in the early-modern, British reception of H. ayy Ibn Yaqz. an, which focuses on the self-taught philosopher (philosophus autodidactus) being at once the pre-eminent natural theologian and the ultimate self-made man. See the reprint of Simon ockley’s 1708 translation in The Improvement of Human Reason, Exhibited in the Life of Hai Ebn Yokdhan (Hildesheim: Georg olms Verlag, 1983); and for further materials, see Remke Kruk, “an 18th-Century Descendant of H. ayy Ibn Yaqz. an and Robinson Crusoe: Don antonio de Trezzano,” Arabica 34 (1987): 357–65.

9 H. ayy, 88.6–13; the Qur’anic allusion is to verses 10:62 and 34:3.


indeed, one is left with the impression that provided that one has the correct ori-entation, vision cannot help but be duly appreciative. But this revelation comes at a price. Nature is accorded value primarily as a manifestation of God’s wisdom and power, rather than as an entity in its own right. It is a certain brand of creation theology that allows for a respect for natural things, and this kind of metaphysical heavy-lifting is unlikely to prove attractive to everyone.

Be that as it may, H. ayy’s naturalist brand of creationism does lead him in some interesting directions. operating on the assumption that nature and God do noth-ing in vain, H. ayy reasons that anything he finds (whether in himself or in other beings) has been put there for a reason and should accordingly be given its due.10 all natural species have their own goals to pursue, and the conscientious believer will do as little as humanly possible to hinder any living being from fulfilling its potential. This leads to drastic revisions to H. ayy’s diet. Though the philosopher does not rule out any foodstuffs outright, protecting the natural potentialities of species becomes a priority, and a de facto vegetarianism is put in place.11 Spe-cial attention is paid to the question of a possible extinction of species (H. ayy, 110.4–112.10). In the next phase, H. ayy goes further, taking as his responsibility the active promotion of the life-goals of all manner of creatures, as he comes to recognize a kinship between himself and the heavenly bodies. The latter H. ayy believes to act as God’s vice-regents, disseminating his providence (‘inayah) and shepherding all creatures that roam the earth. anyone who would wish to become like the heavens will exhibit similar care and compassion towards all.12

1.3

The story so far sounds a satisfactory note, by and large. Despite initial warning signs of otherworldliness and disdain for the body, it now appears that intellectual activity need not come into conflict with earthly duty after all. To the contrary, a deepening understanding of the nature of things will lead to an improved ability to help them along their way. However, H. ayy’s development is to go through one more phase, and this will turn everything on its head once more.

H. ayy had originally recognized three distinct dimensions to his own life, each representing a different aspect of the macrocosm and therefore meriting its own

10 See H. ayy, 88.13–14, 106.9–10; for aristotle, inter alia, De caelo et mundo [De caelo], 1.4.271a32–33 (also, 2.8.290a31–33, 2.11.291b11–14).

11 ancient arguments for philosophically motivated vegetarianism culminate in Porphyry of Tyre’s treatise On Abstinence from Killing Animals, for which see now the excellent English translation by Gillian Clark in the Ancient Commentators on Aristotle series (london: Duckworth, 2000). In the arabic tradition abu Bakr ar-RazK (d. ca. 925) also advocates not killing or eating animals. The latter, however, argues on the basis of a doctrine of transmigration, and the line of reasoning bears next to no resemblance to Ibn T. ufayl’s, which assumes a creationist as well as God’s-eye point of view.

12 Ibn T. ufayl’s description of H. ayy’s beneficial activity elicits practical questions with which we need not concern ourselves, but which serve to highlight some perennial problems associated with the conservationist ideal. For instance, dispensing aid to certain creatures in the name of protecting their latent possibilities may prove a more complicated matter than would seem at first blush. Why help the prey (H. ayy, 115.2–5), when this will inevitably hinder the predator? In cases of conflicting interest, whose potentialities get protected and nurtured? If an answer is to be found in Ibn T. ufayl’s work, it lies with H. ayy’s estimation that the more complex organism inherently commands more respect (H. ayy, 100.10–101.3).


form of imitation (tashabbuh)—a kind of likening of both thought and action to the very best and most salient aspects of that type of existence. His bodily nature, “dull and dark,” only deserved minimal attention, just enough to get by (H. ayy, 108–13); his likeness to the heavens required of H. ayy that he show kindness to all existents, that he keep himself clean and in circular motion,13 and that he turn his attention towards the Necessary Existent (H. ayy, 113–17). This leaves only the third imitation, the one meant to actualize H. ayy’s likeness to the Necessary Ex-istent itself. Such a likeness would have to exist for H. ayy to be able to recognize the Necessary Existent in the first place; and he had, so it must (H. ayy, 105.3–4, 105.12–13). But in what could such a likeness consist? Several laudable qualities come under consideration—mindfulness, blissful ecstasy, surrender to God’s will (islam), and an acceptance of His judgment at all times—yet Ibn T. ufayl’s first and final answer comes down to this: what a proximity to the Necessary Existent requires, first and foremost, is a going-beyond of all that is physical, and of any-thing that would contain so much as a trace of multiplicity or particularity (H. ayy, 90.9–91.12, 105.12–106.2, 119.2–120.1). The contemplative life at its purest requires such a single-minded consciousness and concentration of effort that no room remains any longer for worldly entanglements of any kind. This will obviously preclude the possibility of any remaining motion, whether circular or otherwise, but what is more alarming:

Similarly with the compassion and kindness [H. ayy] had shown animals and plants as well as his urge to remove all kinds of impediments [to their progress]. These [dispositions], too, were of a bodily character: for a start, he would never even have noticed such things, had he not made use of a faculty that was likewise corporeal. [H. ayy] therefore took it upon himself to expel all of this from himself [or ‘from his soul’: min nafsi-hi]. None of it would help him attain the state [h. al] he now sought. (H. ayy, 119.6–10)

as a consequence, H. ayy retreats into his cave, seeking only oblivion and whole-sale absorption into divinity. With this development, nature—whether viewed in terms of outside influences or of H. ayy’s own animal nature—recedes into the background, seemingly for good.

These, as I count them, are the major reversals in H. ayy Ibn Yaqz. an’s attitudes towards nature. It remains for me to make sense of each as part of a unified whole and to relate them to the late, surprise visit paid to H. ayy’s island by the one thing he had never expected to encounter (H. ayy, 47.2–5): a fellow human being like himself. I will start by retracing my steps.

2

The suggestion has been floated that the devastation visited upon the doe’s body represents a form of matricide, a final cutting off of females from the male utopia that Ibn T. ufayl seeks to construct.14 This, perhaps, we may set to one side. Still, it

13 The demand for ritual purity derives from the translucent quality of the skies, while the circling of the island, of H. ayy’s house, and of certain rocks is meant to mimic stages in the pilgrimage to Mecca; H. ayy also takes to spinning around in an effort to shut out the sensory world, which appears to be a reference to dervish practice.

14 See F. Malti-Douglas, “H. ayy Ibn Yaqz. an as a Male utopia,” in The World of Ibn T. ufayl, 52–68, at 62–63.


is hard to deny that there is something deeply unsettling about the way in which H. ayy’s attention shifts midstream from an attempt to find what is ailing the doe to an examination of the heart in its own right and, so it appears, for its own sake.

Yet must we necessarily view this development as exposing a character flaw of some sort? Evidently the author does not. If anything, H. ayy’s nascent intellectual curiosity is presented to us as something to be admired and, if possible, emulated. In trying to envision where the command center for the animal functions might be located, H. ayy conducts what is effectively his first thought experiment. and upon settling on the chest as the most promising candidate, he embarks on a series of actions that in sophistication far outstrips anything he has attempted previously (H. ayy, 38.11–43.9). all this, moreover, is merely a warm-up for what comes next, an event as momentous in its consequences as it is inconspicuous in its beginnings: H. ayy’s very first glimpse into the role that form and function have to play in the universe. It all begins with the principle that had guided the doe’s movements:

H. ayy’s thought [fikrah] turned to this thing. What was it, and of what kind? What had bound it to this body? Where had it gone, and where did it find its exit? What was the cause that had forced it to leave, or else made it so detest the body as to result in separation (if the exit was by choice)? His cogitative faculty [fikr]15 was awash with all these questions. (H. ayy, 45.4–8)

For the moment, the answers continue to elude H. ayy, but this much is clear: the answers do not lie with the now lifeless body. a comparison of the doe with the rest of the deer-herd proves more promising.

H. ayy persisted in thinking [yatafakkaru] about this thing that governed the body. He could not figure out what it was, except for [one thing]: he came to reflect [na- z.ara] on all the individual deer and saw them as possessing the shape of his mother, as well as her form. In his reckoning, it was likely that every one of them was moved and governed by some thing akin to that which had moved and governed his mother. (H. ayy, 46.7–11)

To be sure, this is a far cry from a scientific definition—of deer, of soul, or of form in general. But it is a start nonetheless. Here begins the search for generalizations and, ultimately, true universals.16 What is more, it is this cognitive judgment that results in H. ayy showing courtesy and kindness towards the other deer. Not emo-tional attachment, but philosophical detachment allows the boy to recognize the essential kinship between his departed foster-mother and the herd of animals with which he had only recently been in competition; not sensitivity, but sense allows for a correct appraisal of, and appreciation for, the workings of nature.

This point is reinforced at a later stage, at the precise moment when the true nature of the spiritual world (al-‘alam ar-ruh. anK) finally dawns upon H. ayy. The

15 ‘Fikr’ and its cognates in this and the following passages denote the operation of this, the most refined of the inner senses. Ibn T. ufayl’s proximate source once more is Ibn SKna, for whom see G. Strohmaier, “avicennas lehre von den ‘inneren Sinnen’ und ihre Voraussetzungen bei Galen,” repr. in Von Demokrit bis Dante (Hildesheim: Georg olms Verlag, 1996), 330–41; the most comprehensive account of fikr in the andalusian philosophical tradition is offered in R. C. Taylor, “Remarks on Cogi-tatio in averroes’ Commenarium Magnun in Aristotelis De Anima Libros,” in Averroes and the Aristotelian Tradition, ed. Jan a. aertsen and Gerhard Endress (leiden: E. J. Brill, 1999), 217–55.

16 From the initial rounding of the deer into a single shape H. ayy moves on to recognize how each type of animal and plant finds multiple instantiations (H. ayy, 46.12–47.3).


forms, which are “not apprehended through the senses, but only through a certain kind of intellectual reflection” (H. ayy, 64.8–9) are for the first time recognized for what they are: a factor supervening upon, and at least analytically separable from, the corporeality common to every natural being. It is these, we are told, that form the proper object of the philosopher’s love and desire (shawq): the chosen term, while at once reminiscent of Sufi doctrine and Plato’s Symposium, also quite delib-erately echoes that used earlier to describe H. ayy’s affection for the animal spirit that had guided the doe (H. ayy, 45.13, 65.9). What was there given precedence is now more precisely identified, along with the reason why that thing was worthy of admiration in the first place. It is the form in things that lends them cohesion and uniformity: form both sets clumps of matter apart from each other and unites a given conglomerate into a definite and definable unit.17

But if this is true, then the developments grouped under rubrics (a) and (b) in our original sketch can be perceived as moments in a single process of recogni-tion and (re-)evaluation. For is it not the form in things that H. ayy admires in his newfound respect for creation?

[H. ayy] reflected upon each type of animal, on how [God] had [first] given every thing its constitution [khalqa-hu] and then provided instruction in its [proper] use. Had He not guided [the animals] in the intended and beneficial use of those parts that for them constituted their nature, the animals could just as soon have possessed them or not. Thus H. ayy came to know that God is most Generous and Merciful. Thereafter, whenever he came to reflect [naz.ara] upon the beauty, splendor, perfection, power, or excellence of a given being, he apperceived [these qualities] and knew them to stem from the overflow, liberality, and activity of this agent. (H. ayy, 88.13–89.6)

If life is defined along aristotelian lines as denoting functionality and form, and if form itself (at least as regards living nature) is defined as a sort of purposeful life, then this seems a reasonable conclusion to draw: that whosoever praises the Creator’s handiwork primarily praises His formative and form-giving activity. Certainly this in-terpretation was common enough among neo-Platonists:18 it is further worth noting that in the author’s immediate intellectual milieu, Ibn Rushd (the latin averroës, 1126–98) adopts the exact same line of interpretation when it comes to explicating what talk about God’s creation means. It is the form in things and their supreme adaptation to their environment that most truly manifests the divine wisdom.19

17 H. ayy, 64.7–65.12. For earlier intimations of these principles, see 51.2; for the aristotelian background, see Metaphysics, 7.3.1029a27–32, 7.16.1040b5–27, 7.17.1041b11–32. (Cf. also H. ayy, 90.6–9, quoted in note 20 below.) It should be noted that this means that when H. ayy is said early on to recognize the formal similarity between the doe and the other deer (that is to say, to distinguish the s.urah that they share), this need not to be taken in the strict technical sense, since at this stage H. ayy does not yet have an adequate conception of form. Indeed, we may not be dealing with properly intellectual reasoning at all: perhaps what is at issue is the kind of grasping of “intention” (ma‘na) that avicennian theory grants even to the higher animals, that is, a maturation of the estimative faculty (wahm). This may also be the reason why the alternative, and less technical, term ‘shape’ (shakl) is given first when describing H. ayy’s observations. Cf. also the account labeled ‘physical’ concerning the various types of “spirit” (ruh.) at 56–61, and the attendant explanation that as of yet H. ayy knows nothing beyond the bodily.

18 Recall Proclus’s contention that it is characteristic of the greatest Good to impose “limits on the unlimited” (Procli Diadochi in Platonis Timaeum commentaria, ed. E. Diehl [leipzig: B. G. Teubner, 3 vols., 1903–06], 2: 66.11–12).

19 Ibn Rushd, TafsKr ma ba‘d at.-t.abK‘ah, ed. M. Bouyges (Beirut: Imprimerie Catholique, 4 vols., 1938–52), 3:1499–505; Kitab al-kashf ‘an manahij al-adilla-ti f K ‘aqa’id al-millah, in Philosophie und Theologie


We can see now how the first two moments in H. ayy’s intellectual maturation, far from pulling in opposite directions, instead join together in a common cause and contribute to a single process that allows the nascent philosopher to appreciate more fully the stable and abiding formal properties of nature. Yet something just as troublesome is also carried over from stage to stage: the philosopher’s unwavering, indeed intensifying, disdain for embodied reality considered as such. Over and over we are prompted to depreciate corporeality and to disregard it altogether to the extent that this is conceivable.20 This happens equally in connection with H. ayy’s sudden disgust at his foster-mother’s carcass, his turning from the mate-rial to the formal properties of things, and finally his resolution to abstain from giving further care to worldly matters such as the wellbeing of animals and plants. Viewed in this context, the philosopher’s eventual wait for death as his final release merely begins to seem like the logical end-point to a life-long search for what is truly worthy in this world. But it also flushes out a question that has troubled most readers of neo-Platonic ethics, if not of all ancient ethics, at one time or another. Is this not an excessively otherworldly ideal, and one that runs the constant danger of slipping into outright immoral behavior?

Of course, one must be wary of overstepping the mark and exaggerating the difficulties. In H. ayy’s case, one may ask whether the philosopher, upon respond-ing to the higher calling of pure contemplation, will cease to observe the rules he has set for himself earlier. The answer, obviously, will be in the negative. Inasmuch as H. ayy continues to engage in any kind of physical activity at all, his actions will surely meet the highest standard. We can scarcely imagine H. ayy becoming a glut-ton or an unthinking carnivore again, nor would we think that he would return to going unwashed.21 Still, the qualification here is all-important—that any of this applies only insofar as the philosopher continues to engage in any worldly activ-ity. And it is not at all clear that the perfect philosopher does anymore. In H. ayy’s life, the dominant virtue of contemplation takes over from the multiple worldly virtues being developed simultaneously; and the process seems one of exclusion,

von Averroes, ed. Marcus J. Müller (Munich: Die Königliche Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1859), 43–46. For an analysis of Ibn Rushd’s argument from design, see my “Averroes and the Teleo-logical Argument,” Religious Studies 38 (2002): 405–28.

20 Consider the example set by H. ayy’s newly minted creationist account of nature at 90.6–9:

There was not a single thing to which [H. ayy] could turn his gaze without immediately see-ing in it signs of craftsmanship [as. -s.an‘ah]: his cogitative faculty would instantly turn to the Maker [as.-s. ani‘] and away from the thing made [al-mas.nu‘], strengthening his desire for the [former]. Thus [H. ayy’s] heart became completely detached from the sensory world [al-‘alam al-mah. sus] and attached to the intelligible [al-‘alam al-ma‘qul].

21 Apart from the fact that there is no reason whatsoever to assume such a change for the worse, a strong independent tradition exists according to which the lower virtues always “either precede or grow together” with wisdom; see, e.g., Plotinus’s treatise, On Dialectic (1.3.6.17–18). The point is taken over by Ibn S Kna and by al-GhazalK (1058–1111), both of whom influenced Ibn T. ufayl directly and were keen to insist that the person with the deepest insight into the truth will also be the one most diligent in matters related to religious observance. See here especially the final chapter in al-Ghazal K’s autobiography, al-Munqidh min ad. -d.alal; and consider also al-GhazalK’s warning in his work, The Criterion of Action, that a failure to show obedience to the divine law always signals spiritual sloth and barely concealed passion: MKzan al-‘amal, ed. S. Dunya (Cairo: Dar al-ma‘arif bi-mis. r, 1964), 400.


rather than inclusion.22 So the fundamental question remains. Is it really enough for the philosopher to contribute to the universe’s perfection by seeking to per-fect his own intellectual nature? or is it in some way natural to expect more? To put it another way: is it enough for those who are wise to be good—to exist in the most excellent state—or should we expect them to do some good as well? Does divinity always come accompanied by beneficence? or is the opposite the case—is the highest kind of excellence the kind that remains wholly undisturbed by that which lies lower than itself?

There can be no doubt that Ibn T. ufayl enthusiastically embraces the last claim. The perfect philosopher’s sights are so firmly set inward and upward that no con-cern remains anymore for external and base matters. It is only knowledge of the Necessary Existent that the philosopher seeks, not knowledge about anything else (let alone knowledge for the sake of action; see H. ayy, 118.12–13, 120.7–10). Yet that is not quite all there is to the story, or so I hope to show. lack of care need not entail lack of beneficence; following upon the divine model, and in proper neo-Platonic fashion, fulfillment can and will naturally lead to overflow, which will extend as far as the recipient’s capacities will allow.23 To demonstrate how this can be so, one final detour is necessary.

3

It becomes useful at this point to reference Ibn S Kna and his treatment of divine causality, as masterfully handled by Rob Wisnovsky in his study, Avicenna’s Meta-physics in Context. as Wisnovsky tells the story, Ibn S Kna in his metaphysics strives to resolve the late ancient quandary of having to ascribe both efficient and final causality to aristotelian divinity. In the simplest of terms, the problem is this: how is one to reconcile the seemingly conflicting accounts of the Prime Mover’s causal powers in aristotle’s Physics, book 8 and in Metaphysics lambda, when one describes a vaguely kinetic sort of influence, while the other speaks unequivocally of a motion that takes place by the Prime Mover acting as an object of desire and a final cause? The two vie for first place in Ibn S Kna’s conception of God, too, with efficient causality coming out narrowly on top. Put briefly, as something completely perfect, the Necessary Existent acts as the final cause of the world and an object for every existent to imitate, while as something altogether beyond perfection the Necessary Existent can exercise a more direct mode of creativity. as the apex of perfection and a final cause, the Necessary Existent provides the model on which all essences are founded as so many forms of imitation; as something beyond perfection, he is the fountain of all existence.24 The expressions ‘perfection’ and ‘that which lies beyond’ have previously been evoked in Ibn T. ufayl’s description concerning divinity’s relation to the created world, as we have seen.

22 For these issues in aristotle, see, for instance, many of the essays collected in Essays on Aristotle’s Ethics, ed. amelie o. Rorty (Berkeley: university of California Press, 1980).

23 For the principle, see, for example, Plotinus, On Dialectic, 4.8.6, 5.2.1; Proclus, Stoikheiôsis the-ologikç, propositions 25 and 27.

24 See Robert Wisnovsky, Avicenna’s Metaphysics in Context (Ithaca: Cornell university Press, 2003), 181–95; and “Final and Efficient Causality in avicenna’s Cosmology and Theology,” Quaestio 2 (2002): 97–123.


Wisnovsky focuses on two themes: the mode of divine causality and the separabil-ity of the human soul. Consequently, he does not describe the order of procession in any great detail.25 Still, perhaps one may apply his results concerning divine causality to the rest of the heavenly hierarchy. If this is done, then it soon becomes apparent that, even as Ibn S Kna completes ammonius’ (d. 517/526) program of conjoining efficient and final causality in the Prime Mover, he balances this out by setting up a division of labor of sorts in the heavens. Here the order of priori-ties gets reversed: where in the case of the Necessary Existent efficient causality trumps final causality, in the heavenly hierarchy the final cause is set above the efficient. In effect, what Ibn S Kna does in his metaphysics is—as if in passing—take a stab at resolving an ages-old puzzle of aristotelian interpretation: the apparently kinetic type of movement described in aristotle’s Physics Theta gets assigned to the celestial souls, while its ultimate determination as something done for the sake of will and desire (the final causality account of Metaphysics lambda) is now thought to reveal the existence of a different class of being altogether, that is, the separate intelligences.

The details of this account work out as follows. as the entirely simple origin of everything the Necessary Existent only gives rise to a single principle, the first separate intelligence; but as the emanative force gets dissipated from this point onward, this intelligence emanates a further three entities, a celestial soul, an aetherial spherical body, and the next member in the series of intelligences. The celestial souls—called by Ibn S Kna “angels”—form parts of body-soul composites with their respective spheres, and hence act as the efficient moving causes of the heavenly rotations. The objects of their desire, the separate intelligences (or “cherubim”), provide the intelligible model for the self-same rotations and there-fore act as their final causes.26 Paralleling this division of labor, the heavenly souls know each and every particular effect that results from their actions, which renders their cognitive activity discursive. By contrast, the intelligences contemplate only the eternal essences of things, something that at once grants them uninterrupted stability and perfection, but at the same time also consigns them to ignorance as concerns the particularities of what comes after.27

But if this is so, then it becomes relevant to ask what is meant when it is said that H. ayy imitates the heavens in the second phase of his ascent. Is it merely the celestial body that forms the object of imitation? or body and soul together? or the entire triad of separate intelligence, celestial soul, and aetherial body? Plainly, only the second or the third answer will do. While the demands of cleanliness and circular rotation can be thought to derive solely from observing the nature of the heavenly body (aristotle, De caelo 1.2–4), the providential actions and careful

25 a useful thumbnail sketch is offered by Ian Richard Netton in Allah Transcendent (london: Curzon Press, 1994), 162–72; for further comments see Herbert a. Davidson, Alfarabi, Avicenna, and Averroes on Intellect (oxford: oxford university Press, 1992), 74–83.

26 abu ‘al K Ibn S Kna, ash-Shifa’: al-Ilahiyyat, bk. 9, chs. 2–3 (now available in arabic text and English translation in The Metaphysics of the Healing: A parallel English-Arabic text, ed. after anawatK, et al., trans. M. E. Marmura [Provo: Brigham Young university Press, 2005]).

27 al-GhazalK conveniently summarizes the avicennian doctrine in the Sixteenth Discussion of The Incoherence of the Philosophers: A Parallel English-Arabic text, ed. based on that by Maurice Bouyges, trans. Michael E. Marmura (Provo: Brigham Young university Press, 2000, 2nd ed.), 153–55.


attitude attributed to the heavens can be ascribed only to an intentional agent such as the celestial soul.

The case with the intellectual part of the heavens is trickier, for at first glance it is difficult to make out what difference there is between contemplating the Nec-essary Existent as the heavens do (H. ayy, 116.6–117.4) and doing so in imitation of the Necessary Existent itself (H. ayy, 117.10). This serves to muddy the waters insofar as a rigid distinction between the second and third forms of imitation (of the heavens and of the Necessary Existent) is sought.28 However, perhaps this eli-sion is part of the point. To know the Necessary Existent as the Necessary Existent knows itself denotes a direct and experiential access into the intelligible, and this is precisely what the Avicennian intelligences are said to enjoy in eternity. Even if non-discursive, this knowledge will be syllogistically structured; indeed, it will result in one’s formal identification with the entire intelligible order. This is the ecstatic experience described by the Sufis, if only they had been able to concep-tualize it correctly.29

Every part of the Avicennian picture finds confirmation in the vocalization Ibn T. ufayl gives (albeit reluctantly) to H. ayy’s revelatory vision in the third stage of his imitation. The decidedly cryptic claims made in this connection are most readily interpreted as indicating that, when arriving in his exalted state, the solitary phi-losopher assumes his rightful position among the heavenly intelligences—those disembodied and luminous creatures that inhabit the “spiritual world.” The bliss constantly enjoyed by the intelligences is described in a Ghazalian vein as a series of reflections from the sun, that is to say, the One Light.30 Finally, and perhaps most importantly, H. ayy comes to recognize himself in a sea of seventy thousand faces, each of which has seventy thousand mouths, each of which has seventy thou-sand tongues, every one of which sings God’s praises. The image, which at first sight may strike the reader as rather monstrous, in fact symbolizes the thinking done by the Agent Intellect in association with individual human minds (H. ayy, 129.6–131.1). Each of these is but an extension, or else a reduplication of the same intelligible universe, as described by Ibn S Kna in his metaphysics.31 Thus, when

28 Cf. Remke Kruk, “Ibn Tufayl: A Medieval Scholar’s Views on Nature,” in The World of Ibn Tufayl, 69–89, at 88–89.

29 See Peter Adamson, “Non-Discursive Thought in Avicenna’s Commentary on the Theology of Aristotle,” in Interpreting Avicenna: Science and Philosophy in Medieval Islam, ed. Jon McGinnis (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 2004), 87–111, at 106–10; Dimitri Gutas, “Intellect without Limits: The Absence of Mysticism in Avicenna,” in Intellect et imagination dans la philosophie médiévale: Actes du XIe Congrès international de Philosophie médiévale de la Société Internationale pour l’Etude de la Philosophie Médiévale (SIEPM), ed. M. C. Pacheco and J. F. Meirinhos (Turnhout: Brepols Publishers, 2005), vol. 1: 351–72.

30 Compare H. ayy (127.6–129.5) with al-GhazalK, Mishkat al-anwar (Arabic text and English transla-tion in The Niche of Lights), ed. based on that of Af Kf K, trans. David Buchman (Provo: Brigham Young University Press, 1998). On the equation of angelic and human with contemplative nature, see also, e.g., The Revivification of the Religious Sciences, Ih. ya’ ‘ulum ad-dKn, pt. 3, bk. 21, ch. 4 (Cairo: Dar al-kutub al-‘ilmiyyah, 2002), vol. 3: 9.12–18.

31 See, e.g., ash-Shifa’: al-Ilahiyyat, 9.7 (350.8–14 in Marmura’s edition). In Andalusian philosophy, the intellectualist ideal is first put forward in strong terms by Ibn Bajjah (the Latin Avempace, d. 1139) in his psychological works, for which see Opera Metaphysica, ed. M. Fakhry (Beirut: Dar an-nahar, 1968). In fact, in his introduction to H. ayy (5.1–12, 9.6–10.10), Ibn T. ufayl criticizes Ibn B¯ajjah for an exag-gerated emphasis on intellectual bliss and a corresponding unwillingness to accommodate the Sufi vision of beatitude. Though the subject cannot be treated here, it seems to me that the difference in their conceptions is smaller than may first appear.


talk is of perfect contemplation, it will not be out of place to say either that it is sought in imitation of the Necessary Existent, or that it is done in imitation of the heavens (i.e., their intellectual component).

However, this understanding of H. ayy’s final stage of arrival will have conse-quences for our understanding of his behavior as well. For is it not natural to assume that, in ascending through the ranks of the celestial souls to those of the separate intelligences, H. ayy will simultaneously pass from exercising an efficient mode of causality to a final one? The solicitude that H. ayy had previously shown towards creatures was closely modeled on the providential care manifested by the heavenly souls. With the philosopher so close to becoming a separate intellect himself, it would now appear to be but a small step for him to become a model and exemplar for others to imitate as well.

If, that is, there were anything on the island that could imitate H. ayy; but, alas, there is not. Indeed, it seems that the author has painted himself into a corner here. It hardly seems reasonable to expect the birds and the bees on H. ayy’s island to start taking their cues from his intellectual perfection. and without another deliberative agent on the island, there is no one to admire H. ayy’s luminosity who could translate his hard-won wisdom into the realm of practical action. H. ayy would seem condemned to a solipsistic existence, with most of the good that he has attained destined to remain bottled up inside.

until asal enters the picture, that is.Note how neatly everything falls into place once our second protagonist’s arrival

on the island is viewed in these terms. For instance, it has rightly been observed that asal’s character must serve some useful purpose within the logic of the narra-tive.32 But there has been little agreement over what this positive function might be. Specifically, any talk of real human companionship seems disingenuous, as the relationship between H. ayy and asal is far from balanced. H. ayy has nothing substantial to learn from his worldly-wise companion, whereas asal immediately realizes that he stands to gain a great deal from associating with the holy man he has discovered. In other words, we are less in the realm of aristotelian philia than that of the Sufi disciple and his shaykh.33

But what if this is intended not as a slight to civilized society or organized religion, but as a very precise and positive point Ibn T. ufayl wants to make? It is natural—both right and good—for the master to offer himself up as a model for the student to emulate. and it is natural for the student to desire to follow:34

[asal] observed H. ayy Ibn Yaqz. an with particular reverence and wonderment. He ascertained that here was one of the Friends of God, [one of] those who will neither fear nor grieve [cf. Q., 2:36, 2:264, 2:375]. asal wished to follow him and serve him, to imitate him (iqtida’ bi-hi) and take direction from him in matters pertaining to those legally [required] acts with which he was acquainted through his religion. (H. ayy, 144.13–45.3)

32 Conrad, “Through the Thin Veil.”33 Conrad, “Through the Thin Veil,” 244–45.34 as al-GhazalK, for one, could have told Ibn T. ufayl. See al-Maqs.ad al-asna f K sharh. asma’ Allah al-

h.usna, pt. 1, ch. 4, ed. Fadlou a. Shehadi (Beirut: Dar al-mashriq, 1982, 2nd ed.), 43.17–19. Similarly, Plotinus (On Dialectic, 1.2.5.22–32) on the effect that a perfect man will have on his neighbour (though the example is a metaphor for the soul).


It is too bad that not everyone is willing to do the same. and yet, H. ayy’s and asal’s urban misadventures notwithstanding, what roles do the two assume upon their return to the island? once more it is said that asal takes it upon himself to imitate H. ayy, and this until he manages to approximate the philosopher “or nearly so” (H. ayy, 154.12). H. ayy, for his part, stays exactly as he was: he seeks and gains ecstasy as before. In asal, H. ayy seems to have found the suitable constellation that will always and everywhere take its lead from him.35

4

This leads to a more general observation. Remi Brague has astutely observed that the cosmos of religious rites and obligations, the “spiritual Islam of asal,” cor-responds most readily to H. ayy’s second imitation, that of the celestial heavens.36 Could this be expanded to mean that in Ibn T. ufayl’s view, what revealed religion has to offer is primarily the “soulful life”—moments of motion and rest in accor-dance with certain symbolic representations and particular prescribed acts? If so, then the people of the book could be taken to be vessels of providence in the same way that the stars are, even if they “know not what they do”—not in the full sense of the word, anyway. This would represent a fusing of avicennian cosmology with Farabian political perspectives, both materials with which Ibn T. ufayl was intimately familiar and centrally preoccupied. Furthermore, where the more exalted and contemplative existence will necessarily be the province of but a few—in effect, the philosophers and the Sufis—this more varied form of imitation remains open to all. For its veracity, the latter relies upon the former (and truth trumps action, so this consideration must be the overriding one), and yet for its efficacy the former appears hardly less dependent on the latter.

(Nor need this classificatory scheme necessarily be viewed as rigid, rather than as variable and fluid. asal’s example shows how a sliding scale of positions is envi-sioned, in which seekers after truth find themselves occupying different positions at different times and phases of their spiritual career. asal’s progress in imitating H. ayy may one day result in his becoming an accomplished contemplator himself: by that time, a new pupil will have arisen to assume the newly established master’s place, God willing. In the meantime, the imitative actions asal performs are hardly without merit and represent the limits of practical possibility.37)

as lawrence Conrad has noted, H. ayy’s encounter with asal is situated at the junction where he has just turned forty-nine. on an aristotelian understanding,

35 Compare what is said regarding the cosmic order at H. ayy, 133.13–34.2 (also 85.13–88.1): the world of the senses is dependent upon the intelligible world and imitates it as a shadow would, whereas the latter is self-sufficient and stands apart. Yet it is in the nature of things that one should always benefit from the other.

36 Remi Brague, La Sagesse du monde: Histoire de l’expérience humaine de l’univers [The Wisdom of the World: The Human Experience of the Universe in Western Thought] (Paris: Fayard, 1999), trans. Teresa l. Fagan (Chicago: The university of Chicago Press, 2003), 149.

37 This perfectly commonsensical observation assumes central importance in al-GhazalK’s project. al-GhazalK repeatedly reiterates that, while a supremely austere form of spiritual reformation is reserved for true friends of God, more moderate and less demanding paths have been laid down for those who do not have the option of going to such extremes and who may need, e.g., to care and provide for oth-ers. Examples are too numerous to mention, but see, e.g., the books on Poverty, on Fasting, on Prayer, on Reforming the Character, and on Faith in Divine unity and Providence in the Ih.ya’.


this marks the point at which peak intellectual proficiency is achieved.38 Tellingly, Conrad also labels this the occasion for a “socialization of knowledge.” Could this, in fact, be the moral of the story, for those with ears to hear? Aristotle had famously described man as a political animal, meaning this: while all animals are capable of making expressive noises, only human beings are able to communicate with one another truly, that is to say, to convey intelligibly their opinions.39 This translates into a natural desire even on H. ayy’s part to make himself heard and to convey the wisdom he has learned in terms that would benefit his fellow human beings (H. ayy, 146–48).

Still, we must be careful in how we conceive of this desire; specifically, we cannot uncritically accept Conrad’s formulation, attractive as it seems, that neither

H. ayy nor Ibn T. ufayl can be satisfied to “know” in glorious isolation from the rest of mankind, much as Plato’s prisoner in the Allegory of the Cave, once he beholds the Form of the Good, recognizes his responsibility to return to free the others, however unwilling they be to follow him.40

For here a difference exists between Plato and later Platonism. Where according to the Republic the philosopher who has seen the light may have to be coaxed or even forced to put his hard-earned wisdom into communal use (Rep. X, 519c–21a), perhaps by an appeal to justice or a sense of indebtedness, H. ayy’s desire reads more like a spontaneous outpouring from a cup overflowing with the highest good. (This is to say, H. ayy’s happiness can no longer depend on the fate of anything in the material world in any way.) The pattern is familiar from later ancient neo-Pla-tonic works such as Proclus’ commentary on Alcibiades I: it is at the limit where knowledge is perfected and subsequently surpassed—where “the improvement of human reason”41 turns into an overabundance of divinely inspired ideas—that this overflow occurs. Interestingly, Ibn T. ufayl’s cosmological ethics retraces quite pre-cisely the distinction between final (perfect) and efficient (supra-perfect) causality that is found in Ibn S Kna’s theological metaphysics, as well as this more general neo-Platonic principle, according to which each perfection naturally passes into a “going beyond” and to the consequent passing on of its gifts to those standing on a lower rung on the great chain of being.42

But herein also lies the tragedy. For as much as H. ayy may be the perfect philosopher, he is no prophet: and according to the precepts of the political phi-losophy of the falasifah, it would take the latter to translate the difficult truths of

38 Conrad, “Through the Thin Veil,” 250, 259; see Aristotle, Rhet. 2.14.1390b10. Forty-nine marks the culmination of a cycle of seven times in seven years.

39 Aristotle, Pol. 1.2.1253a7–18.40 Conrad, “Through the Thin Veil,” 265.41 Again, a title given to Ibn T. ufayl’s work by eighteenth-century English readers primarily inter-

ested in the philosopher’s spiritual quest and less with his subsequent adventures.42 On the “two loves,” see, e.g., Proclus Diadochus, Commentary on the First Alcibiades of Plato, ed. L.

G. Westerink (Amsterdam: North-Holland Publishing Company, 1954), 22–25; translated in Proclus: Alcibiades I. A Translation and Commentary, trans. W. O’Neill (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1965), 32–37. Both texts reproduce in their margins the pagination to Creuzer’s 1820 Greek edition. Pro-clus’ system additionally sets forward the possibility of the human agent acting as a daimôn would in dispensing divine providence to the mundane world; mutatis mutandis, this seems to correspond to al-Farab K’s contention that the divinely inspired prophet might be able to assume not only a final, but an efficient mode of causality as well.


philosophy into practical terms.43 In laying down operational laws—models for introducing as much reason into the physical world as our material constitution will allow—knowledge of the theoretical sciences may be a necessary condition, but assuredly it will not suffice. It is only through an extended acquaintance with the peculiar foibles and quirks of particular human individuals and societies that aristotle thought anyone could ever hope to succeed in prescribing practical ac-tions; Islamic political philosophy, following upon al-Farab K’s works, would add divine inspiration to this already sizeable list of requirements.44 But experience H. ayy cannot possess ex definitione, by the stipulations of the story the author has just outlined, while prophetic revelation Ibn T. ufayl does not grant him. It would therefore seem that for all of his laudable aspirations, H. ayy is doomed from the outset to remain unsuccessful in his attempts to reform society. Nevertheless, even if H. ayy finds himself unable to meddle in political affairs—indeed, the de-sire to do so may constitute a category mistake of sorts on his part45—at least he has an appreciative audience of one in asal, a portrait in miniature of both the philosopher’s and the Sufi master’s dedicated circle of followers and friends. With this he will have to make do.

5

Hopefully, this telling of the story of H. ayy Ibn Yaqz. an will have succeeded in ac-counting for some of the more puzzling aspects of the narrative. I cannot make any pretence to have answered all the questions that pertain to this rich and rewarding work. For one thing, the issue of why H. ayy’s encounter with civilization should end on quite such a disappointing note is still left largely unresolved. Why will nobody besides asal listen? and why the return to the island, when the laws of society are proclaimed to correspond perfectly with what philosophy requires? another set of questions purposely left outside the purview of this study concerns Ibn T. ufayl’s intermingling of Sufi concerns with his philosophical teaching.46

For all that, I hope that the configuration of materials offered here has at least helped to demonstrate the sophistication and cogency of Ibn T. ufayl’s sole surviving philosophical treatise. Minimally, it will have offered a unitary reading of its contending strands of ethical argumentation. If my interpretation is correct,

43 The suggestion is Mr. Isaac Quinn DuPont’s; for al-Farab K’s and Ibn S Kna’s theories of prophecy, see, e.g., Davidson, On Intellect, 116–23.

44 See aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, 1.3–4, 1.13, 2.1–6; for al-Farab K, e.g., On the Perfect State, ch. 15, ed. and trans. Richard Walzer (oxford: oxford university Press, 1985), §§7–12, 238–49.

45 The question is whether the rules laid down long ago by the lawgiver represent the best pos-sible image of the intelligible truths. If so, it would be foolhardy in principle for the philosopher to attempt to improve upon perfection.

46 Perhaps world-weary pessimism concerning the possibilities of human society was simply part of the andalusian philosophical landscape at the time; compare Ibn Bajjah’s lamentations about philosophers resembling weeds, strange entities on strange soil. For the origins of this tradition, see I. alon, “Farabi’s Funny Flora: al-Nawabit as opposition,” Arabica 37 (1990): 56–90. But then how does one explain Ibn Rushd’s altogether more positive and proactive stance? Michael Marmura may be right when he postulates that it is the Sufi emphasis on isolation that lies behind H. ayy’s and asal’s final decision; see his “The Philosopher and Society: Some Medieval arabic Discussions,” Arab Studies Quarterly 1 (1979): 309–23, at 322. In that case, of course, the answer to the first question will find at least partial resolution in an examination of the second.


then Ibn T. ufayl engages directly with what is a trenchant problem in any proposed neo-Platonic ethics, namely: what responsibilities does the philosopher continue to carry towards the lower world, when that world is—let us not be coy—without a doubt in the process of being left behind?

In the narrative Ibn T. ufayl weaves, there is no question but that the moment of ascent precludes any continued concern for the lower world as such, concern that would translate into worry and unease. Yet in an ideal world, the philosopher’s upward aspirations will result in a plethora of blessings being conveyed to those who, by nature or circumstance, must remain below. But, for anyone with capa-bilities lesser than those of God’s prophet, this will come only through acting as a final cause, not through entertaining vainglorious hopes of becoming an efficient one. In the end, if all goes well, the philosopher need no longer restlessly circle the world; instead the world will slowly start to revolve around the philosopher. The suggestion is old, at least as old as neo-Platonism itself;47 it is given striking formulation in Emerson’s advice to newly graduated divinity students. Surely this could double as a description of H. ayy’s attitudes and conduct towards asal:

When you meet one of these men and women, be to them a divine man; be to them thought and virtue; let their timid aspirations find in you a friend; let their trampled instincts be genially tempted out in your atmosphere; let their doubt know that you have doubted, and their wonder feel that you have wondered. By trusting your own heart, you shall gain more confidence in other men. For all our penny-wisdom, for all our soul-destroying slavery to habit, it is not to be doubted, that all men have sublime thoughts; that all men value the few real hours of life; they love to be heard; they love to get caught up into the vision of principles. We mark with light in the memory the few interviews we have had, in the dreary years of routine and of sin, with souls that made our souls wiser; that spoke what we thought; that told us what we knew; that gave us leave to be what we inly were.48

47 See Plotinus, On Dialectic, 2.3.9.34–39, 4.8.2.27–38; nothing in the known Plotiniana arabica corresponds to the passage, but compare Ibn S Kna, Pointers and Reminders, pt. 4, namat. 9, fas. l 15 to-gether with at. -T. usK’s comments ad loc. in al-Isharat wa-t-tanb Khat, ed. S. Dunya (Beirut, 1993), 90. For a sensitive portrayal of Plotinus’ own cosmologically charged ethics, see P. Remes, “Plotinus’s Ethics of Disinterested Interest,” Journal of the History of Philosophy 44 (2006): 1–23.

48 “an address to the Senior Class in Divinity College, Cambridge, July 15, 1838,” in Ralph Waldo Emerson: Essays and Lectures (New York: literary Classics of the united States, 1983), 75–92, at 89. on Emerson’s evolving views, see Merton M. Sealts, Jr., Emerson on the Scholar (Columbia: university of Mis-souri Press, 1992). Thanks are owed to Zachary Simpson for the reference, and to the participants of the Cambridge university Seminar in Medieval Philosophy and the Montreal Interuniversity Workshop in the History of Philosophy for numerous helpful suggestions.

46.2.kukkonen

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