Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān in the 20th Century

LOYOLA UNIVERSITY, MARYLAND ḤAYY IBN YAQẒĀN IN THE 20TH CENTURY SUBMITTED TO FREDERICK BAUERSCHMIDT, PH.D IN FULFILLMENT OF MASTERS THESIS REQUIREMENTS BY DAVID EHREN RUSSELL APRIL 1ST 2014 Table of Contents INTRODUCTION 1 THE LIFE OF IBN ṬUFAYL 3 SUMMARY OF THE TEXT AND ITS ARGUMENTS 8 ḤAYY IBN YAQẒĀN: AUTODIDACT OR RECONCILOR? 21 The History of Scholarship 22 A Summary of the Debate 72 ḤAYY IBN YAQẒĀN AND NATURAL LAW 74 Natural Law and its Precepts 75 Fitrah 78 Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān as an Explication of Natural Law 82 CONCLUSION 88 BIBLIOGRAPHY 91  INTRODUCTION Ibn Ṭufayl’s Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān, written towards the end of the 12th century, has been thought to be “about” many different things. Some argue that Ibn Ṭufayl was attempting to demonstrate the harmony between religious truths and philosophical truths. Others believe that Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān is about a person’s capacity to be self-educated through their own rational faculties. Some see the novel’s protagonist to be an archetype of man, with the narrative showing the progress of human history throughout the ages like a child growing into an enlightened adult. Or Ḥayy is an archetype of a Muslim philosopher, developing from Aristotelian empiricism to Sufi gnosticism. Ḥayy might be the ideal mystic, living in isolation in total harmony with his surroundings, or the ideal philosopher whose rational capacities drove him to the height of human knowledge. There is also the issue of the treatise’ form: did Ibn Ṭufayl write Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān as a narrative in order to draw a veil over his communication of dangerous philosophical knowledge, hiding it from unworthy eyes? Or was Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān written as a narrative in order to make an oft-obtuse philosophical discourse comprehensible to those lacking training in the natural sciences? How autobiographical is this work? Some scholars argue that Ibn Ṭufayl considered himself to be Ḥayy: an enlightened member of the intellectual elite, socially distant from the ignorant throngs of those blindly following religious laws. Others argue that Ibn Ṭufayl disguised his philosophical claims beneath religious symbols and Qur’anic references to keep him safe against the totalitarian and religiously zealous regime of the Almohads. In the present essay, I will draw attention to the diversity of opinions held by scholars since the publication of Léon Gauthier’s critical Arabic edition of Ibn Ṭufayl’s Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān near the turn of the 20th century. This small novel has a very important position in the history of ideas, as many have demonstrated. See Samar Attar, The Vital Roots of European Enlightenment: Ibn Ṭufayl's Influence on Modern Western Thought, (Lanham: Lexington Books, 2007), G. A. Russell, The “Arabick” Interest of the Natural Philosophers in Seventeenth-Century England, (Leiden; New York: E.J. Brill, 1994), Avner Ben-Zaken, Reading Ḥayy Ibn-Yaqẓān: a Cross-Cultural History of Autodidacticism, (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2011), and Ziad Elmarsafy, “Philosophy Self-Taught: Reason, Mysticism and the Uses of Islam in the Early Enlightenment,” in L’Islam visto da Occidente: Cultura e religione del Seicento europeo di fronte all’Islam, ed. by Mercedes Garciá-Arenal, Bernard Heyberger, Emanuele Columbo and Paola Vismara, (Genoa and Milan: Marietti, 2009), 135-155. Therefore, it is important to understand the author’s intentions in writing the book as well as his intended message. This is apparently very difficult, as indicated by the diversity of opinions on the matter. However, this is perhaps not due to any ambiguities in the text or to the scarcity of biographical information of Ibn Ṭufayl but rather due to a preconceived disparity among the truths and merits of philosophy and religion and mysticism and the moral life. In a close reading of the text, I will demonstrate that Ibn Ṭufayl himself does not distinguish between a theological definition of a human being and a philosophical, scientific definition. Furthermore, in the narrative of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān, Ibn Ṭufayl continuously shows God’s relationship as Creator and Sustainer to the whole of creation. Endowed with fitrah, Ḥayy is teleologically ordained towards intimate knowledge of God. By showing that Ḥayy’s mystical union with God necessarily develops from the knowledge of the natural sciences, Ibn Ṭufayl demonstrates the inevitability of the eternal return to the Alone. THE LIFE OF IBN ṬUFAYL Abū Bakr Muḥammad ibn ‘Abd al-Malik ibn Ṭufayl Referred to from now on as Ibn Ṭufayl. As is the case with any subject in Islamic studies where Arabic names and phrases are transliterated, there have been many permutations of the spelling of Ibn Ṭufayl and the title of his book. I will be using the spelling with diacritical marks as used by the scholars who participated in the Wellcome Institute’s symposium on Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān. I have avoided abbreviating the title of the book in this discussion to prevent confusion as to whether I am indicating the book as a whole or its titular character. was born in Wadi Ash in Andalusia (Guadix, Spain) in around 1116. The son of a scholar from Marchena, Ibn Ṭufayl most likely studied philosophy and medicine at Seville and Cordoba. He started his career as a member of the Almohad administration in around 1154 when he became the Confidential Secretary for the governor of Ceuta. Shortly after his appointment, Ibn Ṭufayl made acquaintances with Abū Ya`qūb Yūsuf, the caliph of the newly established Almohad dynasty, and was made his personal physician. The Almohads, led by Ibn Tūmart (d. ca 1130) came into power by overthrowing the Almoravids in the middle of the 12th century. Ibn Tumart and his successor `Abd al-Mu`min were successful in their conquests, as they had won the support of Sufi spiritual leaders who had been persecuted by the Mālikī Almoravids. The Mālikī School of law was characterized by strict literalism in Qur'anic interpretation and rigid formalism in its application to daily life. As such, the universities in Al-Andalus primarily focused on rationalistic sciences, such as Islamic jurisprudence (fiqh), logic, mathematics, and astronomy. See Ben-Zaken, Reading Ḥayy Ibn-Yaqẓān, 26. A warrior for tawḥīd, or the doctine of the Oneness of God, Abd al-Mu'min was a severe ruler and systematically slaughtered those who were unwilling to convert to Islam. His successor, Abū Ya'qūb Yūsuf, seems to have been a little more open minded, as made apparent by his relationship with Ibn Ṭufayl. Lenn Evan Goodman and Ibn Ṭufayl, Ibn Ṭufayl’s Ḥayy ibn Yaqzān: a Philosophical Tale, (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2009), xi. Ibn Ṭufayl was well liked by the caliph and later became an aide to the Almohad court. Ibn Ṭufayl is often referred to as a vizier, however in Andalusia this is more frequently an honorary title of scholastic achievement than one denoting political office. See Lawrence Conrad, The world of Ibn Ṭufayl: interdisciplinary perspectives on Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1966), 3-4. In this position, Ibn Ṭufayl introduced the caliph to philosophers and scientists from all across Andalusia, including a young Ibn Rushd in around 1169. After the death of Abū Ya`qūb Yūsuf in 1184, Ibn Ṭufayl remained in his lofty position as an aide to the caliph’s son and successor until his own death in 1185. Vincent J. Cornell, “Ḥayy in the Land of Absāl: Ibn Ṭufayl and Ṣūfism in the Western Maghrib during the Muwaḥḥid Era,” in The World of Ibn Ṭufayl, ed. Lawrence Conrad (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1996), 133-164, 134-135; Majid Fakhry, A History of Islamic Philosophy, 3rd ed., (New York: Columbia University Press, 2004), 274. Nearly everything that is known about the life of Ibn Ṭufayl is found in the account of ‘Abd al-Wāḥid al-Marrākushī in Al-Mu`jib fī talkhīṣ akhbār al-Maghrib, written around 1224. There, Ibn Ṭufayl is described as a polymath with a passion for education who was beloved by the Almohad caliph yet was humble enough to consider himself a public servant among the rest of the court employees. From Cornell’s translation of Al-Mu`jib: “I was informed that he took a salary from the state, along with a number of those who performed occupations of service, such as doctors, architects, secretaries, poets, archers, and the military, including those of other groups. He used to say: “If they had lost the science of music, I would have provided it for them!’” Cornell, “Ḥayy in the Land of Absāl,” 134. Little else is known about Ibn Ṭufayl’s life and character. From historical accounts of the period, we find that Ibn Ṭufayl was an established physician, Conrad, The World of Ibn Ṭufayl, 7-8. astronomer, Antonio Pastor, The Idea of Robinson Crusoe (Watford: Gongora, 1930), 82. a philosopher, Henry Corbin, History of Islamic Philosophy tr. Liadain Sherrard, Philip Sherrard (London: Kegan Paul International, 1993), 238; Fakhry, History of Islamic Philosophy, 274. and occasionally dabbled in poetry. See our discussion of Pastor’s scholarship on Ibn Ṭufayl below. He had three sons, Pastor, The Idea of Robinson Crusoe, 81. one known disciple in astronomical studies, Leon Gauthier, Ibn Thofaïl: Sa Vie, Ses Oeuvres (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1909), 20. and was claimed as shaykh in a particular Sufi spiritual lineage in Morroco. Cornell, “Ḥayy in the Land of Absāl,” 136. Towards the end of his life, if al-Marrākushī’s biography is correct, Ibn Ṭufayl became increasingly interested in metaphysics and “renounced all else.” Ibid., 134. Elsewhere, al-Marrākushī recorded a conversation between Ibn Ṭufayl and Ibn Rushd that supposedly took place after Ibn Ṭufayl introduced the philosopher to Abū Ya`qūb Yūsuf where Ibn Ṭufayl encouraged Ibn Rushd to accept the caliph’s patronage to create a comprehensive commentary on Aristotle. Ibn Ṭufayl admitted that he himself could not do it, both because of his age and because he was currently engaged in a special project himself. This project was most likely Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān. Conrad, The World of Ibn Ṭufayl, 7. Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān was written between 1177 and 1182. Ibid. While it did not gain much popularity in the west until the 17th century, the book did not lay completely ignored in that lacuna. Albertus Magnus (d. 1280) was at least nominally aware of Ibn Ṭufayl due to his appearance in works by Ibn Rushd. Rudolph Attrochi, “Dante and Tufail.” Italica 15, no. 3 (1938): 125–128, 127. Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān was translated into Hebrew by Moses of Narbonne (d. ca 1362) in 1349, and was subsequently translated into Latin by Pico della Mirandola (d. 1494). In 1651, Baltazar Gracian published El Criticon, a work considered by many to be influenced by Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān due to its similar themes. Gauthier, Ibn Thofaïl: sa vie, ses oeuvres, 53-54. Twenty years later, Edward Pococke the Younger would immortalize Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān as Philosophus Autodidactus with his Latin translation, undertaken with the encouragement of his father, Edward Pococke the Elder. Michael Nahas notes that, according to letters of correspondence between Robert Boyle, Samuel Hartlib and John Worthington, Edward Pococke the Elder had begun an English translation of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān before his son began his Latin translation, published in 1671. Also, P. M. Holt discovered a fragment of this translation with the first page dated July 10, 1645. The correspondence shows that Boyle, Hartlib and Worthington were encouraging Pococke the Elder to finish his translation. Barring any further discoveries, it appears that Pococke did not finish it. Nahas wonders if this is due to the “puritan intellectual mood of England at the time,” but perhaps not, as it was not published after the Restoration in 1660. Perhaps instead Pococke was too busy with other translation projects, namely Grotius De veritate, Carmen Tograi, and Historia compediosa Dynastiarum. See Michael Nahas, “A Translation of Ḥayy B. Yaqẓān by the Elder Edward Pococke (1604-1691).” Journal of Arabic Literature (1985): 88–90. It is possible that John Locke was aware of Pococke’s work, however the level of influence Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān had in John Locke’s philosophy is debated. G. A. Russell observes that Edward Pococke the Younger worked under the supervision of his father, who also provided the historical prefix to the Latin translation of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān. The publication of Philosophus Autudidactus occurred at a turning point in John Locke’s intellectual career. Locke turned from social, political and practical concerns to epistemology around 1671, when Philosophus was published. Russell demonstrates that Locke was very close with the Pococke family during his time at Christ Church, Oxford. Philosophus’ popularity, as a text, was largely due in part to the popularity of Edward Pococke, the Elder. Russell notes the text’s reception through Europe, including its reception by the Jesuits Baltasar Gracian and Paul Rycaut. Concerning the contents of the book, Russell does not describe Ḥayy’s ultimate achievement as felicity or mystical experience, but the awareness of God from which develops morality, which is the ultimate meaning of human existence and the major distinction between man and animals. According to Russell, the author of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān shows how experience via the senses transforms the vacuous mind of an infant to the subtle complexity of a mature adult intellect. In this way, Ḥayy is an embodiment of the 17th century debates over the existence of a natural law and natural religion. The emphasis of this application is evident in the lengthy title of the translation, wherein the theme of the use of reason and experience to attain understanding is presented clearly. Russell also mentions the possibility that the idea for the title of the Latin translation could have come from Locke himself, as earlier attempts by Edward Pococke the Elder to translate the work into English were untitled. See G. A. Russell, The “Arabick” Interest of the Natural Philosophers in Seventeenth-Century England, (Leiden: Brill, 1994), 224-265. The first English translations of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān were published by the Scottish Quaker George Keith (d. 1716) in 1674, George Ashwell (d. 1695) in 1686, and Simon Ockley (d. 1720) in 1708. Robert Barclay (d. 1690) incorporated the philosophical ideas of illumination found in Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān in his Apology written in 1678. Also influenced by Robert Boyle’s The Christian Virtuoso, Cotton Mather (d. 1728) wrote The Christian Philosopher as a response to Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān in 1721. For Mather, Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān, only an ambiguously Islamic tale, is a positive example of a monotheistic scientist and a potential chastiser of narrow Puritan minds. Mather argues that Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān aided European natural scientists in the quest for liberation from Christian dogmatism while at the same time providing the language to demonstrate the harmony of theology and natural science. The translations of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān are evidence of this, as each translation emphasized certain aspects of the book’s theological and philosophical arguments in response to their religious, dogmatic environment. According to Doyle R. Quiggle Jr., Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān was written very eloquently and subtly so that a reader might easily be led to an erroneous interpretation of Ibn Ṭufayl’s message. Due to this situation, the translator must first understand the text in order to keep its arguments intact through the process of translation. Therefore, it is important for the study of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān to consider the history of its reception and translation to understand the significance of the text. Quiggle identifies Pastor as one of Ibn Ṭufayl’s most careful scholars, especially because, according to Quiggle, he traced the reception of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān through the English schools of Orientalism to Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe and identified Ḥayy as the archetypal Noble Savage. Mather seized upon Ibn Ṭufayl’s literary symbol, the Noble Savage, to create one of his own which he could use against the strictures of Puritan theology. See Doyle R. Quiggle Jr., “Ibn Ṭufayl‘s Ḥayy Ibn Yaqdan In New England: a Spanish-Islamic Tale in Cotton Mather’s Christian Philosopher?” Arizona Quarterly: a Journal of American Literature, Culture and Theory 64, no. 2 (2008): 1–32. Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān was translated into many languages, including Spanish, German, French and Dutch. The Dutch manuscript is fairly enigmatic, as it appeared one year after Pococke’s Latin translation and was published anonymously. Two second editions of the text were published in 1701 in both Rotterdam and Amsterdam. Both included very fine engravings of different scenes and both identified the translator as S.D.B. While it is improbable that Spinoza himself translated the work into Dutch, it is highly likely that the work was done by his friend Johan Bouwmeester, perhaps even with Spinoza’s encouragement. See Conrad, The World of Ibn Ṭufayl, 276. However, scholastic interest in the text was restricted to Western Europe until the 20th century when it was translated into Russian, Polish, Urdu, Turkish, Czech and Persian. Scholars have been interested in Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān because of its apparent influence on many ideas developed during the Renaissance and Enlightenment eras, such as the idea of the Noble Savage and an inherent, inborn natural philosophy and natural religion. The text has also been of interest to scholars as it engages with medieval Islamic philosophers, namely Al-Fārābī, Al-Ghazālī and Ibn Sīnā. The narrative form of the philosophical treatise has also captured the imagination of scholars who have endeavored to connect the 12th century Islamic novel to English novels published in the 18th century, specifically Daniel DeFoe’s Robinson Crusoe. Aside from passing observations made by scholars such as Antonio Pastor, no one aside from Remke Kruk has really paid attention to The Life and surprizing Adventures of Don Antonio de Trezziano, who was Self-educated, and lived Forty-five years in an uninhabited Island in the East-Indies. The book was written anonymously, is 188 pages long and was published by H. Serjeant who was active in the latter half of the 18th century. The Catalog of Printed Books of British Libraries gives 1761 as the date of publication, apparently without sufficient grounds, and identifies it as an abridged translation of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān. While the book indeed borrows heavily from Ockley’s English translation of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān verbatim, it is also heavily influenced by Robinson Crusoe. Innovations by the author include a Roman Catholic backdrop for the story, as Salandio, the new name for Absāl, was a Portuguese monk. Indeed, the author notes that the Portuguese saw religion and piety as the road to success. The narrative is awkward due to the integration of large portions of Ockley’s translation of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān, especially because the focus of attention for Don Antonio has been shifted from theology and mysticism to material concerns. Don Antonio wishes to visit the populated island of Goa, where Salandio is from, not to proselytize but because he is lonely. Also, Don Antonio considers himself lord and master over the island, killing mercilessly out of sport, in contrast to Ḥayy’s ascetic concern for the well being of all plants and animals. One peculiar feature about this book is that Don Antonio teaches the horses he tames to eat meat and drink blood. Kruk does not know why, nor what this might signify. As H. Serjeant was also known to have published a book on Masonic philosophy, Kruk examined Don Antonio de Trezziano for traces of Masonic elements, but found none, especially as the illustrations of the text are simply reprints of the illustrations for the second edition Dutch translation of Ḥayy. See Remke Kruk, “An 18th-Century Descendant of Ḥayy Ibn Yaqẓān and Robinson Crusoe: Don Antonio De Trezzanio.” Arabica 34, no. 3 (1987): 357–365. With so many scholarly interests come as many scholarly opinions as to what Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān is about and what it means. But before examining the recent scholarship on Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān, I will present a brief summary of the narrative of the novel and its philosophical arguments based on Lenn Goodman’s translation, retaining Ibn Ṭufayl’s original episodic indicators that divide Ḥayy’s life into periods of seven years. Goodman and Ṭufayl, Ibn Ṭufayl’s Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān. SUMMARY OF THE TEXT AND ITS ARGUMENTS Ibn Ṭufayl introduces the story of Ḥayy ibn Yaqzān by addressing a companion’s request for an explanation of Ibn Sīnā’s Illuminative philosophy. I have attempted to prepare this summary in a way that avoids any unnecessary coloring of the text. However, it is impossible to avoid altogether a biased reduction of some points and amplification of others altogether. In the interest of transparency, this summary is made in anticipation of my argument in the final section of this essay and most undoubtedly highlights the instances in the text where Ibn Ṭufayl mentions God’s providential actions in Ḥayy’s development. Ibn Ṭufayl claims that the contemplation of this philosophy led him to an experience of God transcending expression through language. This then, was the problem with Illuminative, esoteric philosophy: that it was concerned with the experience of the Unity of God but attempted to describe God’s identity with words which were predicated of material beings. Even more, although a person might come to knowledge of God and God’s attributes through pure reason, that knowledge of God’s Unity is less complete than the knowledge of someone who has experienced it through practice. As a response to his companion’s inquiry, Ibn Ṭufayl has prepared an allegorical tale illustrating the path towards unity with God. The story begins on an island off the coast of India, whose equatorial climate is suited to the spontaneous generation of human beings.  According to one account of the story of Ḥayy ibn Yaqzān, Ḥayy began his life as a lump of clay in a cave on that island. Conditions in the cave were suited perfectly for the formation of his physical form, and, once he was formed as a gamete, his spirit filled his heart and was joined to God's emanating spirit. This joining submitted Ḥayy's physical form to his spirit and to God, who guided the rest of Ḥayy's physical development. Once Ḥayy became a fully formed infant, his clay shell cracked and fell away, leaving him crying for food. According to the book, those who deny the possibility of the spontaneous generation of human beings tell another account of the origins of Ḥayy. Adjacent to the equatorial island was a populated island ruled by a proud and possessive king. The king had a sister over whom he was very protective, but she married a man named Yaqẓān (Aware) in secret and conceived a child. To keep her marriage a secret from her brother, she put her son in a sealed ark and set him out to sea, praying to God for his safety. Providentially, the tidal currents carried the infant across to the uninhabited island and pushed him far up shore, crying for food. At this point the story continues the same from either account. A gazelle heard Ḥayy's cries for food, mistaking them for the sound of one of her own infants. Finding the boy, the doe felt sorry for him and suckled him. The doe was fond of Ḥayy and became a diligent and loving nurse to the boy. After Ḥayy learned how to walk, he and the doe joined the rest of the herd. The doe taught Ḥayy how to forage for food and kept him safe from the natural elements. Ḥayy learned how to communicate with the herd by imitating their calls. He also began imitating the calls of the other animals on the island. Ḥayy then discovered that he had developed either an aversion or an attraction to others based on memories of previous experiences. From this perspective Ḥayy realized that his human form was at a disadvantage compared to the other animals in that it lacked the protection offered by a heavy coat of fur and claws or hoofs. Ḥayy became very unhappy that his body was not like the other animals. To remedy this, just before his seventh birthday, Ḥayy fashioned a skirt for himself out of palm leaves and took a stick for self-defense. While these were not very durable instruments, Ḥayy became much happier about his human form when he realized that his hands were superior to the other animals’ physical endowments.  After Ḥayy's seventh birthday, he began looking for alternative materials for making clothing. Ḥayy wanted to take a tail from a dead animal but noticed that the other animals shunned corpses. Ḥayy followed their example and couldn't make any clothing until, one day, he found the corpse of an eagle. The other animals didn't avoid the eagle's corpse, so Ḥayy took it. Ḥayy segmented the eagle and tied its wings to his arms and strapped its hide to his back. Ḥayy's appearance then terrified the other animals, which before were unafraid of him. However, the doe who had adopted Ḥayy still recognized him and loved him. At this point the doe was getting very old, and Ḥayy attended to her needs as much as he could, but could not prevent her from passing away. Ḥayy was beside himself with grief.  Mourning, Ḥayy sought to find the source of his deer mother’s immobility, thinking that there might be something obstructing a vital organ necessary for life. Knowing from past experience that animals were hollow, and knowing instinctively that there was something important for life in the abdominal cavity, Ḥayy took chips of stone and cut into the deer’s chest. Ḥayy found the deer’s heart centered in her chest, encapsulated by strong ligaments. Ḥayy cleared the heart of its protective covering and, squeezing it, discovered it was hollow. Cutting open the heart, he noticed its two chambers: one filled with congealed blood and one empty. Ḥayy deduced that whatever was necessary for the life of his adopted mother had once occupied this empty space, but had now departed. What’s more, the vital spirit was unlikely to return to the deer’s body now that it had been cut into. The deer’s body now seemed worthless compared to the being that once gave it life. Ḥayy realized that he did not love the body of his adopted mother, but her vital spirit, that is, the being that gave her body movement. Noticing the behavior of the other animals, Ravens, specifically, whom Ḥayy saw bury their own dead. This is most likely a reference to the Qur’anic account of the murder of Abel by Cain: “Then Allah sent a raven, who scratched the ground, to show him how to hide the shame (corpse) of his brother.” Q 5:31. Ḥayy respectfully buried the deer’s corpse, which was now beginning to decay. Ḥayy observed the other deer he had grown up with and loved them even more than before because they possessed the same form and figure as his adopted mother. This made Ḥayy lonely for other humans, as he could not find another being that shared his form and figure. One day a fire broke out in a bed of dry reeds. Ḥayy audaciously took some flaming fronds into his cave and built it up. He was fascinated by the flame as it was constantly straining upward, leading Ḥayy to assume that it was made of the same substance as the stars in the heavens. Ḥayy experimented with burning things in his fire and discovered that animal flesh became particularly savory when roasted, increasing Ḥayy’s fondness for his new tool. Ḥayy compared his fondness for the fire to his fondness for his adopted mother. Remembering her warmth, he concluded that the vital spirit in one of the chambers of her heart must also be of the same substance of fire. Seeking to test this theory, Ḥayy captured an animal and quickly dissected it. When Ḥayy laid the heart bare, he noticed a white mist filling one ventricle and touched it. It was very hot and immediately dissipated, leaving the animal dead. This proved to Ḥayy the correspondence between life and the presence of the vital spirit. Ḥayy eagerly dissected many varieties of animals and studied their integral parts, becoming very knowledgeable in the anatomical sciences. He concluded that although animals were made up of distinct parts, they were essentially one due to the organization in the body as a tool for the vital spirit. In the same way, Ḥayy’s tools were made for a purpose that could only be fulfilled through his mastery over them. However, Ḥayy could only use the tools as long as they were working properly, just as the vital spirit could only make use of the body if its parts were working properly and the interconnecting channels, the nerves, were working properly. Ḥayy was now twenty-one years old, and had begun fashioning clothes and tools for himself out of the animals he dissected or cooked over his fire. Ḥayy also began capturing and breaking horses so he would be able to hunt other fast animals. Ḥayy observed the physical world around him and came to the conclusion that, although the differences between each material object approached infinity, they were connected to each other and could be considered as parts of the whole, that is, the physical world. They each had different functions, like bodily organs, but contributed to each other’s purpose, also like bodily organs. Observing animals in particular, Ḥayy perceived their differences were due to the disposition of their animal spirit, but in the same way as bodily organs made one body, that animal spirit could also be considered as one spirit. Each animal was given a share of this one animal spirit. Ḥayy began to think of the entire animal kingdom as one being. Looking at the plant life on the island in the same way, Ḥayy also thought of the plants as being one in essence, while being many in particular. All physical things together could be understood this way, as being one body for a governing spirit that filled its parts and used them for its own purpose. Ḥayy contentedly contemplated the unity of the physical world for some time.  Ḥayy later resumed his examination of the natural world by noticing that each body has a particular motion to it. Some bodies, like fire or bubbles of air in water move upwards, while other objects moved down towards the ground. Ḥayy postulated that heaviness and lightness were distinct properties from the physical bodies. From this Ḥayy realized that beings have two aspects, their physical corporeality and their spiritual form. Ḥayy then realized that the animal spirit must also have a governing form, being the animal soul, as well as plants, being the nature of beings. Ḥayy began to be repulsed by physical forms, realizing the superiority of the soul. Ḥayy divided the soul into divisions that emanate modes of behavior to the forms it governs, such as forms of earth, plants and animals. Ḥayy then sought out the simplest forms, and thereby classified the four elements. These elements of fire, water, earth and air, though, still shared the common trait of materiality. After observing the plasticity of clay, Ḥayy concluded that physical beings are made up of both materiality, that is - matter - and form. Ḥayy wondered if there existed a being that lacked both materiality and form, but he felt alone in his thoughts and again sought the world of the senses. Ḥayy observed water, one of the simplest elements he could think of. Water was naturally cold and heavy, but became buoyant when warmed, altering its form to steam. Ḥayy already knew by necessity that all things that came into being had a cause, so he realized that the action of a form was also caused by an external being. This is to claim that certain truths are known innately and do not require demonstration or proof, especially concerning truths that surpass reason. Ḥayy then set out to understand this cause of creation and action. He knew that it could not be susceptible to change or decay, as it caused change and decay in other beings. He then turned to contemplate the celestial bodies on his 28th birthday. Ḥayy knew that the celestial beings were objects in space, but he was unsure whether space was infinite or not. He struggled with this problem, but was later satisfied with an argument from geometry, aided by his natural, inborn brilliance, that space could not be infinite. By observing the celestial bodies, Ḥayy discovered the movement of the spheres and their order. Contemplating the universe, Ḥayy wondered if it had a beginning or if it had always existed. He struggled with this problem for years, unable to develop a convincing argument either way. Ḥayy then realized that both arguments had the same requirement: an uncaused creator who existed outside of time and materiality, ineffable and unimaginable, infinitely sustaining the physical world. Ḥayy was satisfied with this result. Ḥayy then began to contemplate his surroundings in the light of his discovery, marveling at the craftsmanship of the Creator, noting the Creator’s Wisdom. From the observation of animal instinct Ḥayy realized that the Creator was Good and Merciful. Observing the beauty of creation, Ḥayy knew that the Creator was even more beautiful, and that the more beautiful and perfect a being was, the closer it was to the Creator. Ḥayy also realized that because all existence was predicated on there being a Creator and Sustainer, there was no existence but the Creator’s existence. By his 35th birthday, Ḥayy could not look at anything without seeing the excellence of the Creator in it, deepening his own love for the Creator. Noting that he himself was corporeal, Ḥayy wondered how it came to be that he was capable of knowing the existence of the ineffable Creator. Because his bodily senses and imagination were only capable of knowing physical things, he realized that he must also have spiritual faculties. Ḥayy deduced that his spirit nature was eternal, like the Creator, but wondered what happened to the spirit after it left his physical being. Just as the eye retains the image of the object after it is closed in memory, so must the image of the Creator remain in his soul after it perceived it. If his soul were unable to reach the Creator after death, he would remain in infinite torture longing after the Creator. However, if his spirit were able to find the Creator after death, he would remain in perpetual bliss. Knowing this, Ḥayy then understood that there were three fates for rational beings after death. If a spirit never knew anything of its Creator, it would pass along with the body, essentially fading from existence as it would yearn for nothing. If a spirit had become aware of its Creator, but turned away to pursue physical passions, it would remain in constant torment after the physical faculties for physical enjoyment decayed unless it managed to remember the Creator and seek after the Ultimate Good. If the spirit knew its Creator and directed its physical faculties in constant contemplation, its happiness would be unbroken by death as it would proceed directly to a more complete contemplation of the Necessarily Existent. Ḥayy then wondered how to maintain contemplation while his spirit was bound to his physical form. He found no example in other animals, as they were preoccupied with the preservation of themselves and their species. Plants were the same: the whole of their energy went to nutrition and reproduction, as they were lower than animals. The stars, however, must be closer to the Creator even than he was, as they did not appear to decay and thus were not preoccupied with survival. Ḥayy observed that the more a being's form was in equilibrium with its matter, the higher it was, and the closer to the Creator. Because Ḥayy was able to be aware of the Creator through his own conscience, he was sure that he was the most ideally balanced animal, kindred to the celestial spheres, created for a special task separate from other animals. Ḥayy understood that he should imitate the celestial bodies, so that through imitation he might be close to the Creator like they were. He also realized that he was like the Necessarily Existent as well, in that, being also an incorporeal spirit, he was able to transcend physical space. Ḥayy sought to imitate the Necessarily Existent and to surrender his will to the Uncreated Will. Ḥayy also realized that he was still made in a physical form, and, like the animals, should seek to preserve himself from danger and take care of its sensory needs. Ḥayy understood that he should practice imitating these three forms of life so that he could begin to contemplate the Creator's Beauty without distraction. While he would not find ecstasy by imitating animals, it was necessary that he take care of his physical body so that he could imitate the stars. While the stars brought him closer to the Creator, he remained self-aware in his mimicry. He would need to train himself vigorously and discipline his physical nature in order to release himself from self-awareness. Ḥayy set out for himself an ascetic regimen, wherein he would abstain from eating more than what was necessary for survival, and he would abstain from depriving any other being of life for his own nourishment as much as possible. He already had sufficient clothing and shelter to protect him. He imitated the stars' brilliance and purity by being of service to all forms of life on the island, aiding animals and plants if he saw that they were injured or imperiled. He also imitated them by keeping himself and his clothing clean and fragrant. Also like the stars Ḥayy began to move in circles, either by running around the island or a particular rock or spinning on an axis until he was dizzy. By spinning he was able to shut out the sensory world for an instant and felt his spirit rise towards the Necessarily Existent. This didn't fully facilitate a total loss of self, as motion was predicated by physical form. Ḥayy had already learned that the Creator had positive attributes as well as negative attributes that prevented the notion of plurality when contemplating the positive. Ḥayy now realized that to be like the Creator he needed simply to know the Creator in the Creator's transcendent Unity, not distinguishing between the Creator's Identity and the Creator's Essence, as they were identical. In order to transcend the positive attributes of himself in order to imitate the Creator, Ḥayy descended into his cave and sat in the dark focusing all of his attention on the Creator. He would occasionally be successful in stripping away all notions of his physicality, but would still remain self-aware. He struggled with this for a time, becoming increasingly adept at meditation, until one day, he successfully freed his spirit from identity. Although Ḥayy did not know any language, he felt hewas summoned closer to the One True Being. At this point, Ibn Ṭufayl admonishes his audience that any attempt at describing what Ḥayy experienced was dangerous, as he is only capable of speaking symbolically to express what cannot be expressed through language. Ḥayy had died to himself, losing his identity to participate in the True Identity. Ḥayy thought that by participating in the One Identity, he might become that One Identity, and that his spirit was identical with the One Identity. In God's Mercy, God redirected Ḥayy's thoughts back towards the truth. Ḥayy was wrong in thinking that his spirit was separate but identical with God's, when such thinking was predicated on physical things wherein plurality exists. But there is no plurality in God, only everlasting Unity. Ibn Ṭufayl again admonishes his audience to remain aware that he is speaking symbolically, lest they be led astray by the images of the Truth. He warns his readers that he is speaking of that which transcends the language of rationality and that anyone who is incapable of understanding anything more than particulars and universals should leave at this point and return to society. In his trance, Ḥayy beheld the First Sphere as something neither identical nor distinct from the Uncaused Cause, like the image of the sun in a mirror. The subsequent heavenly spheres were the same, each as images of the light passed down from the previous sphere. Each sphere was blissful, down until the sphere of the Moon. In this sphere there were seventy thousand faces, each with seventy thousand mouths, each with seventy thousand tongues. Each tongue ceaselessly praised God. Ḥayy saw that he belonged here. Ḥayy also saw an infinite number of identities like himself, reflecting the light of God. Aside from these were identities that were like tarnished mirrors, dirty and cracked, with their backs turned to the brilliant identities. The ugly mirrors were tortured in flames and restrained in a prison. Ḥayy also observed identities that were like mirrors that had once been bright but were now dimmed. Finally Ḥayy became witness to the whole of the cosmic narrative of life: creation, death, revelation and resurrection. At the sight of all of human history Ḥayy returned to his senses and found himself back in his cave. Ibn Ṭufayl once again interrupts his narrative to rebuke any readers who have forgotten that he was speaking strictly symbolically. He reminds his audience once again that God cannot be described directly but only hinted at. Ibn Ṭufayl argues that he is able to at least hint at a description of the Divine Realm because the physical realm is a shadow of it, relying on the Divine World for its form and substance. Ḥayy continuously practiced his meditation, stopping for food only when necessary. On his 50th birthday, he met Absāl. Absāl lived on a populated island adjacent to Ḥayy's. The people on the island practiced a religion that had been based on the teachings of an ancient prophet. Absāl, and his friend Salāmān, grew up practicing this religion fervently and studying its principles. Absāl felt that there was a deeper, allegorical meaning to the religious texts, while Salāmān preserved the literal meaning. The texts were ambiguous as to the proper path to salvation, and Salāmān felt that the texts supporting social life were more important than the texts supporting isolated contemplation, which Absāl practiced. In pursuit of isolation, Absāl made his way over to Ḥayy's island. Absāl spent some time on the island in contemplation, unaware of the existence of Ḥayy, who was at this point staying in his cave for up to a week at a time. One day, however, Absāl spotted Ḥayy emerging from his cave. It was obvious from Ḥayy's appearance that was practicing an extremely ascetic religion, and Absāl thought that Ḥayy was another individual seeking isolation from society. Ḥayy, however, was very startled by Absāl's presence but very curious, as Absāl was unlike any animal he had previously encountered. Absāl fled, respecting Ḥayy's privacy, but Ḥayy secretly followed him. Thinking he was alone, Absāl resumed his meditation, reciting the holy texts and weeping. Ḥayy was struck by the pattern of Absāl's language and realized that Absāl was the same as Ḥayy in form. Ḥayy also realized that Absāl was seeking after God and began to approach Absāl to find out what made him cry. Absāl was startled and fled once again, but Ḥayy overtook him and caught his arm. Absāl was terrified at the hairy Ḥayy, clothed in animal furs, and begged for mercy. Ḥayy tried to console Absāl by responding to Absāl's pleas with the animal calls he knew. Absāl tried to speak to Ḥayy in many languages, but they could not communicate. To establish friendship, Absāl produced some of his food and offered it to Ḥayy. Ḥayy refused, thinking of his dietary restrictions, but Absāl kept urging Ḥayy to take it. Ḥayy finally relented and took some of the food out of kindness towards Absāl, but after taking a bite, was mortified by its amazing taste and fled back to his cave to renew his vow of asceticism. However he couldn't keep Absāl from his thoughts, and returned to the surface to search for him. Absāl taught Ḥayy his language and immediately began asking about Ḥayy's origins. Ḥayy told him about his life experience culminating in contact with God. Hearing Ḥayy describe his ecstatic experiences, Absāl's eyes were opened and he realized the harmony of reason and tradition and understood the truth of his religion. Ḥayy then asked Absāl about his life and his religion. Ḥayy found no discord between his experience of God and the laws that Absāl described, and believed that the prophet was a true man of God. Ḥayy resolved to follow the prophet's prescribed laws, however there were two problems with the prescription. Why did the prophet rely on symbols to transmit knowledge of God, and why did he neglect to provide restrictions on the gain of personal property, which prevented uninhibited contemplation of God? Ḥayy thought that the laws concerning private and public property were superfluous if everyone in society had seen and experienced the Truth. Ḥayy pitied the people living without experiential knowledge of God’s existence and he and Absāl decided to return to the inhabited island to preach to the populace. By God’s providence, a ship had lost its bearings and had been blown ashore. Ḥayy and Absāl got on the ship, and God sent a wind blowing them directly to inhabited island. Absāl introduced Ḥayy to his friends, using them as a barometer for the possible success of their mission. If they didn’t understand Ḥayy, no one else would. Salāmān, who was now king of the island, joined them. Unfortunately, the more Ḥayy spoke of his experiences, the more confused Absāl’s friends became. They were incapable of understanding Ḥayy because they wanted to know God in a human way. Despairingly, Ḥayy understood that his audience was not suited for such information as they were not given the wisdom necessary to transcend their physicality and that the truth was hidden by their attachment to material possessions. Ḥayy saw their identities cast into the fiery pit, knowing only a few would make its way upwards towards the Light of God. A person was created specifically for their life, and Ḥayy would be unable to alter God’s plan for their existence. Downhearted, Ḥayy went to Salāmān and the assembly and apologized for confusing them. Ḥayy recanted all that he said and exhorted them to maintain their religious tradition, be submissive to all of its laws, and not to stray from the text’s literal meanings. Ḥayy and Absāl understood that they were to be saved in their own way, through adhering to laws. If they attempted to leave tradition for experiential knowledge they would never reach it because they were weak. Ḥayy knew that the masses would be saved by their faith and actions and sit at the right hand of God, but those who knew God experientially in this life would be drawn near in God’s Unity. Ḥayy and Absāl quietly returned to the deserted island with God’s help and lived there in contemplation for the rest of their life. Ibn Ṭufayl closes his novel by declaring that the discourse in the narrative belongs to a “hidden branch” of study practiced only by those who are experientially aware of God. By relating this story, Ibn Ṭufayl hopes to address the damage done by corrupt philosophies spread by his peers concerning esoteric practices by offering them a glimpse of the true mysteries of God, which he himself has experienced. ḤAYY IBN YAQẒĀN: AUTODIDACT OR RECONCILOR? While there had been some interest in Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān prior to the 20th century, this study will be focused on the work of scholars after the publication of Léon Gauthier’s translation of his critical Arabic edition in 1900. Gauthier undertook the task of creating a critical edition of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān so that he might study Ibn Ṭufayl’s philosophy in a more complete sense, something that, in his opinion, previous scholarship had been lacking. Indeed, he notes critically, “Quant à sa doctrine, personne n’a encore entrepris de l’étudier de près, d’en rechercher les origines, d’en suivre les destinées, d’en apprécier le degré d’originalité, d’en marquer la place dans le développement des idées philosophique à travers le monde musulman et dans l’histoire universelle de la philosophie.” “As to his doctrine, no one has yet undertaken a close study to find the origins, to follow the fate, to assess the degree of originality, to mark the place in the development of philosophical ideas throughout the Muslim world and in the universal history of philosophy.” Muḥammed ibn ʻAbd al-Malik Ibn Ṭufayl and Léon Gauthier, Ḥayy ben Yaqdhân: roman philosophique d'ibn Thofaïl (Alger: Impr. orientale, P. Fontana, 1900), iii. While some of the scholars mentioned here did not make use of Gauthier’s edition and French translation, they conducted their research with similar motivation. The scholars of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān in the 20th century can be organized into two general camps: those who argue that the book’s primary focus is the demonstration of a person’s natural capacities for philosophical contemplation and the distance that person is able to go in their studies of the natural world and its creator without a human tutor, and those who argue that the book is primarily concerned with demonstrating that the truths found in philosophical contemplation are the same truths that can be found in religious traditions. These groupings can be further subdivided to highlight each scholar’s opinion of Ḥayy’s mystical experience. Of those who read the text philosophically, some claim that Ḥayy’s union with God is an inevitable extension of Neo-Platonically informed peripatetic philosophical contemplation, some either downplay Ḥayy’s experience or raise it as the climax of the tale, and others see the mystical transformation as a gain of experiential knowledge of the ineffable God that transcends rational thought entirely. Some who read Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān as a reconciliatory text defend their position with an argument from a literary perspective, making claims to the author’s intent based on the format of the narrative. Others argue that Ibn Ṭufayl demonstrates that only the most esoteric branch of religious tradition can be reconciled with Ḥayy’s philosophical gnosis. Further, several scholars, defending Ibn Ṭufayl’s intelligence, also argue that any religious language found in his book serves as a smoke-screen over his philosophy against either an oppressive government or as a preventative measure against a public outcry. There are as many nuances in each scholar’s arguments as there are scholars, however, so an attempt to shoehorn each individual into a specific group would compromise their theses. Instead, the following review of scholarship is organized chronologically with the hope that each scholar’s arguments are given a fair summary. To conclude this section I will briefly organize each scholar into typologies to establish the groundwork for the defense of my own critical reading of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān. The History of Scholarship In The History of Philosophy in Islam, published in 1903, T. J. De Boer makes some interesting assertions about Ibn Ṭufayl's character, stating that he was a contemplative thinker and consumer of knowledge more than a writer, teacher, or practitioner of science. Presumably because they only extant work of Ibn Ṭufayl’s is Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān. T. J. De Boer, The History of Philosophy in Islam, trans. Edward R Jones B D (London: Luzac & Co., 1903), 182. He quickly states that when Ibn Ṭufayl did write, it was strictly in an attempt to combine Greek science and Oriental wisdom into a contemporary anthropology. “That was to him a personal concern,” writes de Boer, just as it was to his predecessors, Ibn Sīnā and Ibn Bajjā. Ibid. According to de Boer, Ḥayy as a character is representative of the historical development of philosophy. Ibn Ṭufayl alludes to this in his decision to put Ḥayy on the mythical island of Ceylon, where Adam was supposed to have been created and where “the Indian king came to the Wise Man.” Ibid., 184. De Boer also claims that Ibn Ṭufayl is making a reference to “the Persian religion” in Ḥayy’s encounter with fire as a spiritually illuminating substance, see ibid., 185. The development of Ḥayy’s rational capacities “Like a Robinson Crusoe,” ibid., 183. into spiritual illumination is similar to that found in Ibn Sīnā’s allegory of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān, “only, the figure of Ḥayy in this case presents a more human appearance.” Ibid., 185. For Ibn Ṭufayl, Ḥayy is a personification of the natural Human Spirit illuminated by God. Any application of religious prophecy must be informed by the perspective that religious truths are to be understood allegorically. In this, de Boer claims, “Ibn Ṭufayl has thus arrived at the same result as his Eastern predecessors.” Ibid. Any attempt to expose a religious person to the bare truths realized through philosophical contemplation is disastrous and results in hostility and civic unrest. Concerning Ḥayy’s final stage of development, De Boer identifies Ḥayy's enlightened state as Pythagorean. Ibid., 186. Ḥayy realizes that, like himself, all of nature is striving to reach unity with God. Because Ḥayy has the rational and dexterous physical capacities other beings on the island lack, he understands that it is his duty to live harmoniously with all other beings. He knows that no being exists for his own sake, but for the sake of God. Ibid. By enacting this realization as practiced asceticism, Ḥayy is able to transcend the physical realm and gain unmediated audience with God. Ibid., 187. In Ibn Thofaïl: sa vie, ses oeuvres, published in 1909, Gauthier continues his study of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān, criticizing previous scholarship for being incomplete in their scope. Guathier claimed that scholars did not take the entire novel into consideration when making claims purporting to identify its object. Gauthier stresses that scholars had ignored the final episode of Ḥayy, where Ḥayy ventures to educate the masses, and that by considering this section as “un épisode parasite” those scholars missed the entire point of the narrative. Gauthier, Ibn Thofaïl: Sa Vie, Ses Oeuvres, 63-65 The point is, then, according to Gauthier, to demonstrate the difficulties met by philosophers in their efforts to reconcile religion and philosophy. Concerning Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān’s apparent influence on deFoe’s Robinson Crusoe, Gauthier argues that the main object of that book, being man’s return to Nature to escape society’s ills, is significantly different from Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān’s object to make any substantial comparison between the two. Robinson Crusoe is more obviously influenced by Gracian’s El Criticon, which, according to Gauthier, could not at all have been influenced by Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān, as Gracian published his book nearly 20 years prior to Pococke’s Latin Philosophus autodidactus. See ibid., 53-54. This reconciliation is the culmination and the organizing principle of the whole narrative, and is also indicative of the premier concern for Almohad philosophers. Ibid., 66. Gauthier postulates that Ibn Ṭufayl must have written Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān some time after 1169 when Ibn Ṭufayl introduced Ibn Rushd to the caliph. This is due to Gauthier’s identification of Ibn Rushd as one of the philosophers that Ibn Ṭufayl mentions in his introduction. Gauthier also offers as evidence to his claim a transcription of a conversation between Ibn Ṭufayl and Ibn Rushd recorded by al-Marrākushī, wherein Ibn Ṭufayl suggests to Ibn Rushd that he make a critical edition of Aristotle for the caliph as Ibn Ṭufayl is currently preoccupied with a more important project. This preoccupation was Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān, according to Gauthier, as Ibn Ṭufayl is not known to have written any other works of philosophy. This is contrary to al-Marrākushī’s claim of having seen a treatise of the soul written in Ibn Ṭufayl’s own handwriting, but Gauthier claims that the historian often makes erroneous claims, especially about philosophical topics, ibid., 17-18. Concerning the substance of the narrative, Gauthier claims that Ibn Ṭufayl borrowed heavily from Ibn Sīnā, incorporating Ibn Sīnā’s characters and their allegorical significance. Ibid., 84. Gauthier claims that Ibn Ṭufayl was not being derivative when using existing tropes, but that the narrative was a creative, original work that relied on preexisting characters as an appeal to authority, ibid., 93-94. Gauthier also commends Ibn Ṭufayl’s writing style as being very clear, like that of other Arabic philosophers, and unlike the writings of mystics, ibid., 96. Ḥayy is a symbol of the Active Intellect, reason and philosophy. Absāl and Sālāmān represent two aspects of religion, the mystical and gnostic aspect and the popular, vulgar aspect, respectively. Ibid., 89-90. As Ibn Ṭufayl demonstrates in the narrative, it is impossible for Sālāmān’s religion to experience any reconciliation with philosophy. However, union is possible between mystical religion and philosophy, as symbolized by Ḥayy and Absāl’s return to the island in harmony. Ibn Ṭufayl stands out in a world of philosophers who had been limited in scope to writing commentaries on Aristotle. Ibid., 96. However, Gauthier cannot yet say anything concerning Ibn Ṭufayl’s philosophy in any depth as such a study would require a study of the philosophy and mysticism of his predecessors. Ibid., 98. In his introduction to the revised edition of Simon Ockley’s English translation of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān, A. S. Fulton agrees with Gauthier in spirit that the central idea of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān is the harmony between philosophy and religion. While Fulton does not cite Gauthier in his introduction, he does mention that he relied on Gauthier’s critical Arabic edition of the text to correct Ockley’s translation. Abū Bakr Muḥammad ibn ‘Abd al-Malik ibn Ṭufayl, The History of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān, by Abu Bakr ibn Tufail…, trans by Simon Ockley, ed. by A. S. Fulton (New York: Frederick A. Stokes Company, 1929), 37. Instead of presenting the harmony of religion and philosophy as an argument, Ibn Ṭufayl demonstrates through narrative their inevitable extension into the same mysticism. Ibid., 34. Also like Gauthier, Fulton considers Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān to be well-constructed, “comparatively free from that diffuseness which the Oriental teller of tales can rarely avoid,” and that it avoids “the obscurity in which Muslim philosophers often get involved through their craze for elaborate refinements.” Ibid., 17. Ibn Ṭufayl’s philosophical endeavor is indicative of the state of Muslim philosophy as a whole. Concerning the nature of Muslim philosophy, Fulton claims that it is nothing more than Greek philosophy “in an Arab dress,” citing the history of the libraries in Baghdad as proof, ibid., 18. Fulton describes the task of Muslim philosophy as primarily concerned with reconciling the truths presented by Plato, Aristotle and the Qur’an. Ibid., 21. Fulton also notes that the erroneously attributed Theology of Aristotle, the Uthūlūjiyā of Plotinus, heavily influenced Muslim philosophy in general and Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān in particular. Ibid., 20. Fulton asserts that the name “Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān,” meaning “Alive son of Awake,” is symbolic of the Intelligence’s relationship with the Eternal one in a Plotinian “wakefulness” (ὲγρήγορσις), ibid., 25. While Fulton makes the conscious choice to continue in the tradition of previous English translators of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān and omit Ibn Ṭufayl’s introduction to the narrative, it is obvious in Fulton’s brief outline of Ibn Ṭufayl’s philosophical context that he himself had read it. It “contains nothing of general interest,” ibid., 37. Fulton claims that Ibn Ṭufayl is indebted largely to Al-Farabi for philosophical inspiration, as Al-Farabi “played the leading part in directing the course of Muslim philosophy” because of “his Oriental love of syncretism” and efforts to reconcile Qur’anic doctrine with Plotinus and Aristotle. Ibid., 22-23. Fulton notes Ibn Ṭufayl’s indebtedness to Ibn Sīnā for the names of the characters in his narrative, but describes Ibn Sīnā’s Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān only as “a mechanical and lifeless production compared with ibn Ṭufayl’s story, and quite different from it in plan.” Ibid., 23. Instead, Ibn Bajjā is presented as the primary source of inspiration for Ibn Ṭufayl as Fulton claims Ibn Ṭufayl was very familiar with Tadbīr al-Mutawaḥḥid, or The Hermit’s Regime, which “doubtless gave him the idea of his Self-taught Philosopher.” Ibid., 24. Concerning Ḥayy’s natural, unassisted development, Fulton identifies it as “Crusoe-like” and notes that Ḥayy’s innate intelligence becomes so developed that he is able to “dominate his brute companions.” Ibid., 15. According to Fulton, Ibn Ṭufayl’s motive for writing the story was to deliver philosophical instruction to an intelligent audience contrary to the practices of the reclusive Almohad philosophers. Ibid., 8, 18. Fulton outlines the political context of Ḥayy by presenting the history of the Almohad dynasty and identifying Ibn Ṭufayl’s career title as “Wazir” to the Alhomad caliphate by reprinting a large selection from Al-Marrakesh’s history, ibid., 10. The story also offers a concise survey of the conflict between Muslim philosophy and theology. The perennial problem has been that religious knowledge was too material for philosophers. The descriptions of the afterlife as a pleasant garden found in the Qur’an were written so that the basest person might be enticed to follow the Divine Law, while a philosophically inclined person would chafe at such a materialistic description of the Beatific Vision. Ibid., 30-31. However, it was better that each person in the community understands Truth according to their own capacity. Ibn Ṭufayl’s message for the Almohad aristocrats as demonstrated by Ḥayy and Absāl’s affirmation of practiced religion’s social rituals, then, was that “the average man’s religion” was a “regrettable but necessary vulgarisation of the truth.” Ibid., 33. Concerning Ḥayy’s failure in his career as missionary, Fulton observes that Ḥayy’s life was preserved despite the anger of the crowd because the masses’ “Oriental sense of hospitality seemed to have checked their herd instinct for heresy hunting.” Also, Salāmān, whom Fulton identifies as a representation of the beloved caliph Abu Ya’qub, was on Ḥayy’s side, ibid., 32. The oft-cited More often than not based on the title alone, apparently, as many scholars cited Pastor as an authority on the connection between Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān and Robinson Crusoe. The first volume deals only with the historical context and philosophical content of Ibn Ṭufayl’s book, but mentions a second volume wherein Pastor was to have demonstrated the connection between the two texts. That volume was apparently never published. work of Antonio Pastor, The Idea of Robinson Crusoe, follows Fulton’s edition of Ockley’s English translation of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān chronologically, but Pastor notes that he was unable to refer to Fulton’s work in his research. Pastor, The Idea of Robinson Crusoe, xin1. Instead, Pastor relies on Ockley’s original translation and Pococke’s Latin, as he is admittedly not an “Arabist.” Ibid., x. Like Fulton, Pastor begins his analysis of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān by briefly describing the historical context of Ibn Ṭufayl’s writing career. Pastor is intent upon identifying the Muslims living in Al-Andalus as Spanish, as the Almoravids and their successors were neither “Arabs nor Berbers,” ibid., 13-15. In this case, Pastor makes no qualms about incorporating Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān into the larger history of Spanish literature, however he does not demonstrate the presumed fact but indicates its veracity by spending some time discussing the history of philosophical writing in Spain, ibid., 49-53. The Mutazilites, as exemplified by the political reformer Ibn Tūmart, are figures that are instrumental for a proper understanding of the philosophical and political concerns of Ibn Ṭufayl. Ibid., 64. Pastor describes the Mutazilites as reacting against Almoravid inclinations for rationalizing dogmatism and anthropomorphizing God. It is clear to Pastor that Ibn Tūmart, as a proto-Almohad, sought the dissemination of philosophical principles and arguments while Almoravid philosophers sought to keep them to themselves. Ibid., 66. As the final episode of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān concerns the socialization of knowledge, it is also clear to Pastor that Ibn Ṭufayl wrote with this recent political struggle in mind. Agreeing with Gauthier, Pastor speculates that Ibn Ṭufayl wrote Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān after introducing the young Ibn Rushd to Yusuf, the Almohad caliph, based on the reports of interactions between the philosophers as recorded by al-Marrākushī. Ibid., 78. Apart from Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān, Pastor notes that there are no other extant works by Ibn Ṭufayl other than a poem that one of ibn Ṭufayl’s 3 sons, Yahya, related to al-Marrākushī. Pastor is unique among recent scholars of Ibn Ṭufayl for mentioning this work, which he describes as a “confession of the faith of a Neoplatonist.” Pastor’s English translation of Fagnan’s French translation is reprinted here, as it is of some interest: “Thou, who lamentest the vast distance which separates Thee from Thy friends, dost Thou not also weep over the separation of the soul from the body? A light enclosed in a small piece of mud has reached the highest goal: it returns to the heights and leaves in the winding-sheet nothing but mud. In this separation of two things that were united, I can see but a short interruption, the end of which is inscrutable. If God had not decreed their reunion, would not this be the worst of frauds?” Histoire des Almohades, d’Abd el-Wâh’id Merrâkechi, traduite et annotée par E. Fagnan, Alger, 1893, 208, cited in Pastor, The Idea of Robinson Crusoe, 81. Pastor also notes that Ibn Ṭufayl was an established astronomer, although no work of Ibn Ṭufayl’s on astronomy exists nor is widely mentioned. However, Pastor contemplates the implications of Ibn Ṭufayl’s opinions on astronomy as “an improvement upon Ptolemy,” which is to say a rejection of the notion of elliptical orbits in favor of an Aristotelian circular purity. Ibid., 82. Indeed, Pastor claims that one of the primary aims for Ibn Ṭufayl in writing Ḥayy was to return to Aristotle, who was “truth incarnate.” Ibid., 83. In this effort, Ibn Ṭufayl was participating in the unique human endeavor of attempting to find a unifying theory of everything, the urge for scientific simplicity. Ibid., 84. One of Pastor’s more interesting claims in The Idea of Robinson Crusoe is that Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān was inspired by an ancient Persian myth about Alexander the Great, and that Ibn Ṭufayl directly modeled his narrative on this obscure text. Pastor credits Don Emilio Garcia Gomez as the discoverer of this myth and for providing the evidence necessary to make his claim. Ibid., 127. As evidence, Pastor cites only the fact that the Alexandrian myth is “Oriental,” aside from textual similarities. Called “The story of Dhu’l Karnain and the Story of the Idol, the King and his Daughter (Iskandar dhū al-Qarnain),” Pastor does concede that he has no evidence of its transmission from Persia to Al-Andalus, but postulates that Ibn Ṭufayl most likely heard it because of his position as a sort of minister of culture in the Almohad court. Having heard it, Ibn Ṭufayl “carefully examined” it and, being inspired, fashioned his narrative using the Alexandrian myth as a blueprint. Ibid., 131. The Alexandrian myth does seem to be similar to Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān in genre, as the protagonist of that tale is also cast as an infant on a deserted island. That castaway, however, is a bastard of royal lineage and is ultimately restored to power after going on several adventures being a missionary to the people of the outlying islands. See ibid., 132-144. While Pastor is familiar with Ibn Sīnā’s version of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān, Ibn Sīnā’s contribution to Ibn Ṭufayl’s narrative is reduced to the “natural,” that is autochthonous, story of Ḥayy’s birth, the names of the characters, and the metaphysical message. Ibid., 145. See also 298-99. Pastor claims that the Alexandrian myth provides the structure of Ibn Ṭufayl’s narrative, as they are both divided into four identifiable sections: parentage and exposure, conquering nature, coming to complete knowledge and the attempt at reconciling religion and philosophy. Ibid., 150. Pastor argues that Ibn Ṭufayl’s detailed elaboration on the basic narrative of the Persian story is only a mark of his tendency of deviation as an attempt at originality. Ibid., 153. Another striking feature of Pastor’s treatment of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān is his insistence that Ḥayy demonstrates his superior position in the hierarchy of created beings over plants and animals by “conquering” them. Pastor cites the section of the narrative where, at age 21, Ḥayy’s ingenuity and skill in tool-making and animal-taming culminates in taming horses to overtake animals who are, at this point, scared of Ḥayy and flees when he tries to capture them. Ibid., 158. Nowhere in Ockley’s translation does it explicitly describe Ḥayy as conquering nature and exercising dominion over animals. As noted in 157n2, Pastor is reading paragraph 31 in Ockley’s text, “Now when he perceiv’d that his Hand supplied all these defects very well, and that none of all the various kinds of Wild Beasts durst stand against him, but ran away from him,” as demonstrating Ḥayy’s mastery over nature. See Ibn Ṭufayl, The Improvement of Human Reason, 58. However, the protagonist in the Alexandrian myth, as related by Gomez, is explicitly described as a conqueror. See Pastor, The Idea of Robinson Crusoe, 159. Pastor spends a considerable amount of time examining the whole of Ibn Ṭufayl’s narrative and introduction. Pastor includes, as chapter II of The Idea of Robinson Crusoe, a detailed summary of Ḥayy based on Ockley’s translation and makes a few notes concerning his disappointment with the dryness of the edition. As an appendix, Pastor attaches an abridged version of George Keith’s translation of Pococke’s Latin, which is written in a prose that is much more florid. Indeed, Gauthier could not fault Pastor for neglecting to consider the importance of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān’s final episode wherein the harmony between philosophy and religion is addressed, which Pastor also identifies as a typical concern for Spanish philosophers. Ibid., 162, 246. Concerning the conclusion of the narrative and Ḥayy’s apparent rejection from society, Pastor argues that Ḥayy was treated civilly by the religious society although they did not understand him. However, Ḥayy had no need for human communities, as he saw the entirety of creation as a community. For Ḥayy, practical morality, necessary for living in society, serves only social ends and lacks transcendental value, ibid., 118-119. The conclusion to Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān carries the “allegorical message” that “is this discovery, that the teachings of respectable philosophers are in fundamental agreement with the opinions of a peculiarly enlightened theology, which is not meant for the masses but only for a small intellectual aristocracy.” Ibid., 246-247. Pastor claims that, to address this most important doctrinal issue, Ibn Ṭufayl deliberately transformed his source material, being the aforementioned Alexandrian myth, to suit his pursuits. Perhaps rendering it unrecognizable in the process, ibid., 163. Ibn Ṭufayl inserted himself into the Alexandrian myth as the character Absāl, seeking the truth yet “able to represent the most spiritualised (sic) aspect of orthodox Islam.” Ibid., 167. Ḥayy, then, “embodies with extreme force the doctrines of Platonism.” Ibid. To introduce the discussion of the transmission of Ibn Ṭufayl’s text from medieval Spain to modern London, Pastor offers brief biographies of Edward Pococke the Younger, George Keith, George Ashwell and Simon Ockley. Ibid., 181-240. He notes that an in-depth analysis of the transmission follows in a second volume, especially concerning Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān’s connections to Baltasar’s El Criticon and Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe, which does not appear to have been published. See ibid., 176. Pastor claims that Ibn Ṭufayl lived in the transitional period between the “unbridled liberty of thought” in the Almoravid era and the culmination of “Hispano-Muhammadan” philosophy that was Ibn Rushd in the Almohad era. Ibid., 243. Ibn Ṭufayl practiced “illuminative philosophy,” which sought to rectify the erroneous conclusions concerning the practices of the Sufis and self-identification with God in fana’. Ibid., 244. What Ibn Ṭufayl really detailed was not the harmony of religion and philosophy, but the harmony of respectable philosophy with enlightened theology, the sort practiced by intellectuals. Ibid., 246. Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān, as a book, then, would have been written by Ibn Ṭufayl, a snobbish intellectual, as an invitation for the educated to become philosophers and engage in this dialogue for themselves. Ibid., 295. For the Arabs, philosophy was nothing but a regulating practice for the progression upwards in a gradual acquisition of Ideas. Ibid., 254. Pastor also claims that all Arabic philosophy is Neoplatonic and therefore lacks a good epistemology. Ibid., 253. The narrative of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān is a “philogenetic account” of the development of Muslim thought in this fashion. Ibid., 277. Pastor briefly notes, in his introduction to The Idea of Robinson Crusoe, the influence of Islamic philosophy on Dante Alighieri’s eschatology, citing Miguel Asín Palacios. Ibid., 12. In 1938, Rudolph Altrocchi published an article continuing Asín’s research to speculate on the possible influence Ibn Ṭufayl’s narrative had on Dante’s Divine Comedy. Altrocchi notes that Asín mentions Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān only briefly, as it is nearly certain that Dante was not aware of Ibn Ṭufayl’s book. However, Altrocchi notices “vague parallelisms” between the two works, suggesting some sort of “a penumbra of relationship.” See Altrocchi, “Dante and Tufail,” 125, 127. Altrocchi’s observations are that Ibn Ṭufayl and Dante both know their Aristotle, and therefore develop their narratives with similar philosophies of a divinely ordered universe and the operations of the celestial spheres, and the use of the sun as symbolism of divine enlightenment. Ibid., 127-128. Altrocchi also briefly notes that both Ibn Ṭufayl and Dante are familiar with the speculative natural sciences concerning spontaneous generation of forms, see ibid. While it cannot easily be demonstrated that Dante was in fact familiar with Ibn Ṭufayl’s novel, as the earliest Latin translation was published at the end of the 15th century, Altrocchi does postulate Dante’s nominal knowledge of at least Ibn Ṭufayl’s existence through the work of Albertus Magnus, who forms part of a “direct philosophical lineage from Aristotle to Averroës, to Albertus Magnus, to Saint Thomas [Aquinas], to Dante.” Ibid., 127. While Altrocchi’s exploration into the unlikely relationship between Ibn Ṭufayl and Dante is cursory and largely speculative, focusing on shared philosophical and theological themes which might only be due to the shared themes found between the Bible and the Qu’ran, it is important to our current study as Altrocchi demonstrates that a comparative study of a Muslim, while Andalusian, philosopher and a “great, rigidly dogmatic Catholic” can be postulated without making any ideological claims of exclusivity. Many scholars, perhaps most notably Pastor, have speculated the connection between Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān and Robinson Crusoe from a historiological perspective, but a convincing study has yet to be made. For an examination of the relationship between the two desert-island narratives from a post-structural and hermeneutic perspective, see Thomas Lamont, “Mutual Abuse: the Meeting of Robinson Crusoe and Ḥayy Ibn Yaqzân.” Edebiyât 13, no. 2 (November 1, 2003): 169–176. It would be several years until Guathier’s assessment that it is “l’accord de la religion et de la philosophie, qui fait l’objet essentiel du Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān d’Ibn Ṭufayl” was directly confronted. While historians like Gustave E. von Grunebaum would mention Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān as a work demonstrating a philosophus autodidactus in their histories, little to no argument is given in support of their assumptions. Von Grunebaum states that Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān is a self-taught philosopher "who by the force of his reasoning arrives at the doctrine of the one God." He also seems to be of the opinion that Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān is built on an Ibn Sīnā-n foundation, as he refers the reader to De Boer's treatment of Ibn Sīnā's Recital Trilogy in The History of Philosophy in Islam. See Gustave E. von Grunebaum, Medieval Islam (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1966) 289n73. In 1956, George F. Hourani challenged Gauthier’s position in a paper appropriately entitled “The Principal Subject of Ibn Ṭufayl’s Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān.” While Hourani’s final claim concerning Ibn Ṭufayl’s intentions is a return to previous scholars’ opinions, asserting that “an earlier answer was closer to the truth,” the essay is important to the study of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān for many reasons. Hourani, George F. “The Principal Subject of Ibn Ṭufayl's Ḥayy Ibn Yaqẓān.” Journal of Near Eastern Studies 15, no. 1 (1956): 40–46, 40. Hourani is the first to attempt an organization of the text into “parts” in order to analyze the structure of the narrative and isolate a climax. The parts are as follows: (1) The author’s introduction and discussion of mystical philosophers, (2) Ḥayy’s unaided progress from a naïve child to illuminated mystic, (3) The harmony of Ḥayy’s philosophy with Absāl’s esoteric religion, (4) Ḥayy’s awareness of the human condition and the suitability of revealed religion, and (5) The author’s conclusion. Ibid. Using these divisions, Hourani attempts to consolidate and clarify Gauthier’s argument in order to refute it: “Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān is a perfectly constructed book; therefore the last parts of the fable, Parts 3 and 4, cannot be superfluous; therefore the preceding parts must lead up to them. These last parts deal primarily with the harmony of religion and philosophy, therefore that is the principal subject of the book. And that is precisely the most important subject of Muslim philosophy.” Ibid., 41. See also above. While the claim that certain sections of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān are superfluous - “une rallonge inutile, un épisode parasite” - is indeed untenable, Hourani objects that parts 3 and 4 cannot de facto be considered to form the climax of the book due solely to the ordering of the narrative. Also, as it appears from Hourani’s reconstruction of his position, Gauthier’s claim that the subject of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān is the harmony of philosophy and religion because all Muslim philosophy has that subject is dangerous one. Gauthier may have been “misled by expectations aroused by a study of other books.” Ibid., 42. Hourani’s argument that Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān is about the soul’s unaided ascent to union with God is as follows: (1) Ibn Ṭufayl explicitly states in his introduction that he wrote Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān in response to a query about Ibn Sīnā’s Eastern philosophy and in his conclusion that its argument belongs to the hidden science of mystical experience, Hourani dispels any objections that Ibn Ṭufayl’s statements might be the “thin veil,” as there would be no merit in veiling the subject of the book. Also, according to Hourani, the “veil” is obviously the “fable form in which the main message is cast in Parts 2-4.” Ibid. (2) Part 2, showing the development of Ḥayy as a “philosophic mystic,” is much more dense and detailed than Part 3, where “the accord of religion and philosophy is merely asserted. […] Nowhere is it shown how the knowledge of the man of reason and the man of tradition are in agreement,” Ibid., 43. Hourani suggests that if Ibn Ṭufayl wanted to demonstrate the harmony of philosophy and religion he either would have spent an equal amount of time discussing that harmony in Part 3 or would have explicitly drawn comparisons between the two along the way in Part 2 as Ibn Rushd did in Faṣl al-maqāl. Ibid., 44. (3) The introduction does not mention the harmony of religion and philosophy, only Eastern philosophy, (4) The artistic climax is obviously the Beatific Vision, and the “release of tension in Parts 3 and 4 is aesthetically satisfying.” Ibid., 45. Parts 3 and 4 serve as an anticlimax which “many greater writers from the Greek tragedians onwards” have employed. The attention Ibn Ṭufayl gave to the accord of philosophy and religion in parts 3 and 4 was necessary and “had to be affirmed by a philosopher in an age and country that suspected falsafah of being un-Islamic.” The position of these parts at the end of the narrative was a purely aesthetic choice, as their function is exterior to the main argument of the book. Ibid., 45-46. According to Hourani, citing Gauthier and Leo Strauss, “an author felt it necessary to perform this task in self-defence and in defence of philosophy, also to assure the reader (sic).” Though he admits the existence of several subjects, Hourani remains firm in his conviction that the central subject of this book is the philosophus autodidactus and the philosopher’s care of the soul, which, riskily echoing Gauthier, “reflects one of the leading features in the scale of values of Greek and Arabic philosophers alike.” Ibid., 46. Henri Corbin includes a brief section on Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān in his History of Islamic Philosophy, originally published in 1964. There, Corbin notes that Latin scholars knew of Ibn Ṭufayl as “Abubacer” through Ibn Rushd’s De Anima, book V. In that section, Ibn Rushd confronts Ibn Ṭufayl for identifying the potential intellect as the Imagination and for arguing that the Imagination has the ability to receive intelligibles without the need for a mediating intellect. Corbin, History of Islamic Philosophy, 237-238. However, Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān was unknown to Latin scholars as it was translated into Hebrew by Moses of Narbonne in the 14th century. In Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān, Corbin notes that Ibn Ṭufayl shares strikingly similar intentions with Suhrawardi’s writings, which he claims was to elucidate on Ibn Sīnā’s Oriental philosophy. Ibid. Corbin claims that Ibn Ṭufayl was indebted to Ibn Sīnā only for the use his stock characters and their identities, not simply their names. Corbin claims that Ibn Ṭufayl incorporated Ibn Sīnā’s explanation of the significance of the characters Salāmān and Absāl in his narrative. Corbin relates an anecdote of Ibn Sīnā’s recorded by al-Tūsi where Ibn Sīnā explains the allegory of Salāmān and Absāl, interpreting Salāmān, the character, to signify the reader and Absāl to signify the reader’s stage of mystical gnosis. Ibid., 239. Ibn Ṭufayl was ultimately original in his work, according to Corbin, as Ḥayy does not represent the Active Intellect, as he does in Ibn Sīnā’s recital of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān, but is instead a model of Ibn Bajjā’s “solitary.” Ibid. Corbin argues that any description of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān as a Robinson-Crusoe story is wrong, as all of the external events in the narrative must be understood spiritually. Indeed, Corbin believes Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān to be Ibn Ṭufayl’s spiritual autobiography. Therefore, the education of Ḥayy is not completed through human capacities, but through the illumination of the Active Intelligence. This can only occur after the philosopher strips himself of his worldly ambitions. Ibid., 241. Corbin finally notes that the final chapter of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān reinforces the image of Ibn Bajjā’s ideal hermit and that any reconciliation between philosophy and religion is observed by philosophers alone, as religious people can not understand philosophy. Ibid., 242. While Hourani’s contribution to the study of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān is important, it is brief. It did, however, serve to inspire Sami S. Hawi to write Islamic Naturalism and Mysticism, which was a response to what he felt was a void in serious and adequate scholarship. Hawi published his study in 1974, the same year the second edition of The Legacy of Islam, edited by Joseph Schacht, was published. In that volume, Georges C. Anawati presents Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān simply as a philosophical novel whose purpose is to show the concord of reason and faith. In the progression of the narrative, Ḥayy “rediscovers” all religious truths. See Joseph Schacht, Clifford Edmund Bosworth, and Thomas Walker Arnold, The legacy of Islam (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1974) 386-387. The book is one of the first monographs written on the subject and systematically examines Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān to extract Ibn Ṭufayl’s philosophy. Z. A. Siddiqi also wrote an often-overlooked monograph on Ibn Ṭufayl and Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān in 1965. Siddiqi also translated Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān into Urdu. The Philosophy of Ibn Ṭufayl is not discussed here in length as much of the content does not venture beyond simple exposition of the philosophical arguments made in Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān. Of some note, however, is Siddiqi’s claim that Ibn Ṭufayl wrote Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān as a work of prose to demonstrate the inevitability of his mystical and philosophical conclusions. Siddiqi also discusses the different possible vocalizations of المشرقية and, like Hawi and Bashier, settles with interpreting it as “illuminative” according to its object, which Siddiqi identifies as the Illuminative philosophies of Ibn Sīnā, Suhrawardi and Ibn Ṭufayl. Chronologically speaking, Siddiqi was the first to settle this debate, contrary to Lawrence Conrad’s claim that Sami Hawi settled it. See Z. A. Siddiqi, The Philosophy of Ibn Ṭufayl (Aligarh: Aligarh Muslim University Press, 1965). Hawi identifies Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān as a work of philosophy, which permits him to engage the text critically to examine its merits and relevance with little concern for the book’s cultural context. “For the examination of Ibn Ṭufayl’s views and the and the views of other Islamic philosophers as well should not be considered as an archaeological expedition into some musty layers of the dark terrains of the history of ideas.” Sami S. Hawi, Islamic Naturalism and Mysticism (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1974), 4. Contrary to Gauthier and his contemporaries, Hawi argues that Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān is a creative and original work despite Ibn Ṭufayl’s statement that he had written this work as a response to the work of his predecessors. This is why, Hawi claims, Gauthier gave so little attention to the content of the work in his scholarship. Also, no work of philosophy is completely original, as in some way each philosopher is reacting to those preceding him. Ibid., 10. As to the narrative structure of the book, Hawi reasons that poetry and allegory are frequently used by philosophers to satisfy certain intellectual and psychological needs. Humans are animals “symbolicum.” Ibid., 15. Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān is, then, part of a tradition of allegory in philosophical writings starting with the pre-Socratics and further developed in Plato’s dialogues. Plato’s direct influence on Ibn Ṭufayl is unclear, however the literary connection with Plato’s Cave seems obvious. There are also connections to Arabic myths, such as the Alexandrian myth “Iskandar dhū al-Qarnain.” Ibid., 18-21. See also the discussion on Pastor and Iskandar dhū al-Qarnain, above. Hawi argues that even though Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān is presented as a narrative does not mean that it is symbolic, nor totally a work of fiction. Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān is a direct exposition of Ibn Ṭufayl’s philosophy. Ibid., 26 The characters of the allegory are archetypes, not symbols. Concerning the indisputable use of symbols in the section concerning Ḥayy’s Beatific Vision, Hawi reiterates Ibn Ṭufayl’s disclaimer that speaking in symbols is necessary due to the ineffable nature of the experience. Ibid., 30. According to Hawi, this work is plainly a treatise on the traditional triad of philosophical concerns: man, the universe, and God. Hawi agrees with Hourani that the theme of reconciliation between philosophy and religion is minor, as Ibn Ṭufayl merely states that they are in harmony rather than demonstrating it. Hawi also divides Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān into parts following Hourani’s example. See Ibid., 22-25. Therefore Pococke’s title, Philosophus autodidactus, is a valid one. Ibid., 28. See also the above discussion on Hourani’s return to the philosophus autodidactus. By thinking that this work is a “romance,” scholars have missed Ibn Ṭufayl’s point entirely. Hawi blames Ockley primarily for beginning this tradition by omitting Ibn Ṭufayl’s philosophical introduction in his translation. Hawi therefore declares the opinions of Watt, de Boer, Fultion, Lachia, Carra de Vaux, El-Ehwany, Yazigi and al-Juni invalid. Ibid., 29. Why, then, did Ibn Ṭufayl write Ḥayy Yaqẓān as a narrative tale? It could be either to evoke sympathy from the audience, to conceal Ibn Ṭufayl’s controversial philosophical beliefs from political authorities or the religious masses, or to echo the sequential and progressive path of mystical practice. Or, Hawi conjectures, because Ibn Ṭufayl was primarily a poet. Ibid., 33-36. At the literal level, Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān does not contradict traditional Muslim teaching. However, Hawi claims, Ibn Ṭufayl’s frequent use of Qur’anic allusions are a diversion to shield his true controversial beliefs. As proof, Hawi cites Ibn Ṭufayl’s explicit reference to two distinct motives for writing Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān: to explain his views on Oriental philosophy and to help the reader understand what it is through philosophical discourse. Ibid., 38. Hawi argues that the “thin veil” of religious language covers Ibn Ṭufayl’s true, unorthodox beliefs, such as the possibility of a birth of a man from clay and the eternality of the universe. Ibid., 40. This should not be difficult to understand, Hawi argues, as Ibn Ṭufayl is not the first to employ blinds to cover his real opinions. Ibn Sīnā concealed his real arguments, and Plato hid his behind myths. Ibid., 42. Hawi elaborates upon Hourani’s theory of aesthetics and claims that it is apparent that Ibn Ṭufayl wrote the final section of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān solely for the sake of his audience. The section seems superadded, disconnection on a narrative level and appears to have a separate philosophical agenda of reconciliation. Indeed, Hawi criticizes, there is no artistic reason to extend the story in anticlimax beyond the description of Ḥayy’s Beatific Vision. Also, Ibn Ṭufayl also should not have addressed the audience directly, as it interrupts the narrative too abruptly. Ibid., 46. Hawi describes Ibn Ṭufayl’s philosophy as “naturalism-mysticism,” or an empirically informed transcendentalism, and as pantheistic. Ibid., 49. Hawi demonstrates Ibn Ṭufayl’s pantheism in the following way: Ibn Ṭufayl demonstrates that the material “animal spirit” is the link between physical bodies and souls. The aforementioned turn-to-the-subject that was crucial to Ḥayy’s development was a turn from the objective science of physical bodies to a subjective focus on souls. Souls fulfill themselves in becoming active bodies then becoming the vital force that animates the bodies. In this way, souls and bodies are two sides of one reality, dispelling any notions of dual natures. In Ibn Ṭufayl’s pantheism, all matter has form and therefore a soul. In this way, Hawi argues that Ibn Ṭufayl exhibits belief in a “cosmic soul.” Furthermore, distancing himself from other Neo-Platonists, Ibn Ṭufayl does not identify this “cosmic soul” with the intermediary Nous, but with God directly. Not only is God in everything, but also everything is in God. There is no distance from the created to God as emanation, but one whole, coexisting from eternity. Therefore, the journey to God is not expressed as a journey “up,” but “in,” that is, in diffusion. Man’s soul is not just a rational faculty, but also a mystical faculty. Hawi observes that Ibn Ṭufayl’s presentation of the soul is the least original of his ideas and relies heavily on Al-Fārābī. See ibid., 140-156. Hawi engages with Ibn Ṭufayl philosophically, and notes that Ibn Ṭufayl’s quotes and presentations of others in the introduction to Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān are generally only faithful in content, not form, and was unfaithful totally in regards to al-Fārābī. Generally, Ibn Ṭufayl criticizes his predecessors for not attaining the Beatific Vision, but only theorizing about it. Hawi claims that Ibn Ṭufayl also thought al-Fārābī was Godless and only promotes despair. See ibid., 53. However, Ibn Ṭufayl contradicts himself and employs al-Fārābī’s paradox of the immortality of the soul in his narrative. Therefore, Hawi proclaims, his earlier character-bashing was only a method of concealing his true beliefs. Ibid., 54. Hawi notes that the other apparent misrepresentation of previous scholars by Ibn Ṭufayl may be due to a possible lack of access to their texts when he wrote the introduction to Ḥayy. See Ibid., 55. Hawi argues against previous scholars who held the opinion that Ibn Ṭufayl was mostly indebted to Ibn Sīnā both philosophically and allegorically, noting that Ibn Ṭufayl only ascribes theoretical knowledge of union with God to Ibn Sīnā and degrades him for not being ascetic enough. Ibid., 56. Also, Hawi claims, Oriental philosophy does not originate with Ibn Sīnā, see ibid., 57. Ibn Ṭufayl only borrowed Ibn Sīnā’s names for his characters. It is also apparent to Hawi that Ibn Ṭufayl did not actually read Ibn Sīnā’s book on Oriental philosophy (if it ever existed). Hawi charges that Ibn Ṭufayl would have quoted from it if he had and would have disputed its contents as he disputes the arguments in Ibn Sīnā’s Al-Shifa’. Ibid., 60. Ibn Ṭufayl’s real inspiration was al-Ghazālī, despite Ibn Ṭufayl’s charge against al-Ghazālī’s self-contradictory behavior, which Hawi claims is irrelevant and wrong. Concerning Ibn Ṭufayl’s charge that al-Ghazālī is consistently self-contradicting about exoteric and esoteric knowledge, Hawi observes that Ibn Ṭufayl did not read al-Ghazālī’s book on esotericism (as there was only one) because it did not exist in Al-Andalus in the 12th century. The same argument about Ibn Ṭufayl’s knowledge of Ibn Sīnā’s esoteric book applies in this case: Ibn Ṭufayl quotes a sentence of al-Ghazālī’s Jawāhir al-Qur’ān discussing the existence of esoteric truths. Because Ibn Ṭufayl did not quote from Al-maḍnūn bihi ‘ala ghair ahliki, the book mentioned in that sentence from Jawāhir that containts Al-Ghazālī’s esoteric philosophy, Ibn Ṭufayl could not have known about it. See ibid., 65-66. Ibn Ṭufayl is obviously directly influenced by al-Ghazālī’s mysticism throughout Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān, especially with Ḥayy’s Beatific vision, which is described as fana’, a word popularized in al-Ghazālī’s writings. Ibid., 67. Hawi notes that Ibn Ṭufayl’s criticism of ibn Bajjā is obviated as Ibn Ṭufayl is a pantheist. Ibid., 70. Hawi identifies Ibn Bajjā’s philosophy as a blend of Aristotelianism and Neoplatonism. For Ibn Bajjā, happiness is a connection with the Active Intellect as distinct from the Necessary Being in its entirety. Hawi paraphrases Ibn Ṭufayl’s criticisms, describing Ibn Ṭufayl’s gnosis as a blind man given vision, while Ibn Bajjā remains blind. Ibid., 71. According to Hawi’s reading of Ibn Bajjā’s Opera Metaphysica, Ibn Bajjā believes that esoteric mysticism is only imaginary and sensual conjecture. Ibid., 72. Hawi observes that Ibn Ṭufayl criticized Ibn Bajjā’s for his social concerns, which prevented him from gaining gnosis. However, Hawi defends Ibn Bajjā arguing that his social concerns were indicative of his enacted pragmatic social mysticism. To Hawi, this truths of this mysticism are more plausible than esoteric truths. Ibid., 73-74. Hawi condemns the existing scholarship of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān for being too hasty and unwarranted in its reduction of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān’s influences to one source. Ibid., 76. Hawi argues that, among a multitude of influences, Ibn Ṭufayl’s ultimate philosophical predecessor is Plato, as they share a similar definition of matter. Hawi notes, however, that Ibn Ṭufayl does not share Plato’s encouragement for philosophers to enter political careers. Ibid., 77. Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān is also influenced by Islamic sources, and Hawi notes that this is apparent in Ibn Ṭufayl’s pantheistic cosmology and the validity of revelation as authoritative in his arguments. In fact, the narrative of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān can be considered as a presentation of the history of Islamic philosophy, moving from al-Fārābī and Ibn Sīnā in natural reason to al-Ghazālī and Ibn Bajjā in enlightened mysticism. Ibid., 78. Hawi observes that Ibn Ṭufayl is distinguished from his predecessors because of his argument that reason alone is sufficient to attain felicity. Also, Ibn Ṭufayl wanted to distance himself from other Islamic Neoplatonists and be simply pantheistic and avoid referring to an Active Intellect distinct from God. Ibid., 79. However, Ibn Ṭufayl agreed with Ibn Sīnā on the eternality of souls and uses Ibn Sīnān methods of concealment and Ibn Sīnān physics. Ibn Ṭufayl was also effective in his use of Ibn Sīnān influences because he was able to detect what Ibn Sīnā had incorporated into his philosophy from Aristotle or Plotinus directly and what was innovative in his arguments, because, Hawi claims, ibn Ṭufayl was not confused about the authorship of Uthūlūjiyā, or The Theology of Aristotle. See ibid., 80-81. Ultimately, though, Ibn Ṭufayl was indebted most to al-Ghazālī, as his theory of God’s emanation is crucial to Ibn Ṭufayl’s presentation of the cosmos. Ibid., 82-83. Hawi defines Ibn Ṭufayl’s philosophy as “naturalism” using the definition developed by Ralph Perry and Marvin Farber, and defines naturalism as “philosophical generalization of science and its various forms that are determined by the content and method of the sciences.” Ibid., 87. Hawi claims that Ibn Ṭufayl was primarily a scientist by discipline and therefore viewed empiricism as the springboard for all speculation. Hawi thinks this is made evident in Ibn Ṭufayl’s detailed argument for a “natural birth,” see below. He commits science to the service of philosophy, but is aware that empiricism falls short of facilitating the attainment of felicity. Ibn Ṭufayl demonstrates in Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān that science culminates in gnosis. Which, Hawi opines, is a message that modern scientists need to hear. Ibid., 88-89. The setting of the desert island for the narrative is an emancipation from presuppositions. This was a novel development for Islamic philosophy, as philosophy was previously considered to be a socially developed science. Ibid., 95. Of course, Hawi clarifies, Ibn Ṭufayl was not operating without presuppositions, but was intent upon presenting Oriental philosophy and reinstating mysticism to its place in Islamic philosophy. See ibid., 102. Hawi compares Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān to Al-Munqidh min al-Ḍalāl and concludes that, unlike al-Ghazālī, who returned to God and tradition after confronting his epistemological doubts, Ḥayy remained unassisted and radical throughout his development. Ibid., 96. Hawi then compares Ibn Ṭufayl’s epistemology to Hume’s and concludes that while they both began their epistemological procedures by “bracketing off” inherited knowledge, Ḥayy ultimately confirmed knowledge gained empirically. Ibid., 98. In the same way, Ḥayy’s fresh start was a quest for certainty like Descartes, but ultimately Ḥayy affirmed reality. Ibid., 100. Also, Ibn Ṭufayl is like Husserl in that they practiced phenomenology, but, Hawi notes, Ibn Ṭufayl only used it to begin his quest for certainty. Ibid., 101. Hawi claims that Ibn Ṭufayl was a scientist first and foremost as evidenced in Ibn Ṭufayl’s detailed presentation of the “natural” birth story of Ḥayy. Hawi identifies the natural birth story as the inner story in the narrative of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān. The natural birth story is longer and more difficult for the layperson to understand and, Hawi thinks, is indeed even restrained due to a possibly negative reception from his audience. However, this indicates what Ibn Ṭufayl actually believed. Ibid., 104-105. The story is by no means literal, but is presented to show the plausibility of the generation of life from dead ground. Ibid., 108. Hawi notes that this is presented contrary to the position of the Pre-Socratics, who maintained that the matter of the cosmos is alive with potential. See ibid., 111. Ibn Ṭufayl’s tendency towards materialism, as also evidenced by his presentation of the soul as a material object, is in accord with his pantheism. Ibid., 113. Hawi spends some time comparing Ibn Ṭufayl’s presentation of spontaneous autochthony with contemporary and ancient theories concerning evolution theory and surmises that Ḥayy’s progress can be considered Darwinian only in the sense that Ḥayy’s development was driven by the necessity of his survival. The stress of adaptation is only relaxed with the attainment of the Beatific Vision. Ibid., 113-120. The need for self-preservation sparked artifice, which in turn led to safety, a crucial aspect of Ḥayy’s environment for the promotion of contemplative activity. Philosophy is a reward for those who have mastered practical concerns. See ibid., 128-129. Hawi claims that Ibn Ṭufayl was also a pioneer of the scientific method. At the beginning of his life, man, with Ḥayy as his archetype, is a realist by nature. Hawi does note, though, that Ibn Ṭufayl gives the impression that Ḥayy has a superior nature and curiosity. Ibid., 124-127. Hawi identifies a turn to the subject that occurred when Ḥayy began comparing himself to other animals on the island as Ḥayy’s first great development. Ibid., 127. Another major development for Ḥayy was the discovery of fire. While the chance discovery of the burning reeds was a mere occurrence, the interpretation and application of the fire made it valuable. In Ḥayy’s contemplation of the fire, Hawi claims that he is using scientific methods to understand it. Ḥayy both develops and tests hypotheses and deduces its importance. Ibid., 131-135. Hawi claims that Ibn Ṭufayl posits that the soul is totally amoral and that it is shaped by experiences in an epistemological process. According to Hawi’s interpretation of Ibn Ṭufayl, true knowledge transforms the whole man and becomes an experiential knowledge. Indeed, the origin of knowledge is experience, and its scope is nothing less than Divine Nature. Ibid., 158-160. There is no prior knowledge of universals and indeed no prior existence of the soul before the body is created. Hawi reads Ibn Ṭufayl to declare that God only gives the soul its intellectual capacity and what we call instinctual knowledge. Ibid., 161. Perception is the process of sensory information concerning objects, which naturally leads to speculation. As, Hawi observes, Locke demonstrates. Hawi also notes that, unlike Hume, Ḥayy confirms God as a necessary and sustaining cause of the cosmos through speculation. Ibid., 165-168. Hawi identifies four methods for processing knowledge found in Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān: deductively, inductively, intuitively, that is, internally, and behaviorally, that is, externally. Ibid., 169. Hawi compares Ibn Ṭufayl’s philosophy to Gestalt theory and concludes several similarities: for both, complexity is not considered a summation of wholes, but differentiation within the whole. All is alive, all is one whole. Any perceived parts are completely interdependent. Ibid., 176. Hawi also compares Ibn Ṭufayl’s phenomenology to Husserl’s at some length and concludes that Ibn Ṭufayl was more cautious than Husserl because Ibn Ṭufayl eventually confirmed empirical facts through speculation. Ibid., 178-183. Hawi claims that Ibn Ṭufayl’s appeal to the authority of revelation, even on the level of intuition, is ultimately an untenable position. Revelation, says Hawi, is transphenomenal, operates at the lowest level of reason, and is only an imitation of the truths of philosophy at best. Ibid., 183. Ultimately, Hawi claims, arguments from revelation are untenable because on an intimate level they are solipsistic and on an external level religious authorities have diverse opinions. Ibid., 185. Hawi spends some time extracting what he considers to be proofs for the existence of God intertwined in the narrative of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān. Hawi identifies a cosmological proof in the section where Ḥayy begins to observe the necessity of causes for the existence of material bodies. Ibid., 193. Ḥayy also discovers that he observes the effects of an unobserved power and identifies this power as God due to the absence of a causal connection to any material object on empirical grounds. Ibid., 194. Whether or not Ḥayy concludes that the universe is eternal or created, he understands it still needs a cause and that the cause needs to be incorporeal to avoid an infinite regression of causes. Ḥayy is also observed to know this intuitively, which Hawi criticizes as subjective and non-propositional. Ibid., 196. Hawi then demonstrates several refutations of the classical proofs which he claims are present in Ibn Ṭufayl’s book, accusing Ibn Ṭufayl of making transphenomenal leaps in his deductions, potentially identifying God as a lifeless being, and of being subjective. Ibid., 197-202. Concerning Ibn Ṭufayl’s apophatic concept of God, Hawi identifies Ibn Ṭufayl as being in agreement with both Plotinus and the Mu’tazilites in that God does not posses distinct attributes separate from God’s essence and that God can only be spoken of in pure negatives or in metaphors. Ibid., 202. As demonstrated by Ibn Ṭufayl and observed by Hawi, only God exists and it is only the manifestation of form that gives the appearance of difference in creation. Form cannot exist without matter and vice versa. Matter is a privation of reality and illusory. Ḥayy observes that form, while changeable, is restricted to constantly existing in three dimensions, thereby proving the unity of Nature. Ibid., 207-209. Hawi criticizes other scholars for identifying the notion of unity and sameness to Ibn Rushd and suggests that this might be due to Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān’s narrative structure obscuring philosophical arguments, see ibid., 206. The seventy thousand mirrors Ḥayy encounters, representing individual souls, are only reflections and externalizations of God. Ibid., 216. Hawi claims that this differentiation within the unity of God and the identification of creation as God and simultaneously not-God only appears to be paradoxical on the rational level. Through extreme subjectivism, God’s identity and the identity of the created world becomes identical . This is not paradoxical from a mystical perspective. Ibid., 217-218. Hawi spends some time comparing Ibn Ṭufayl’s pantheism with Spinoza’s and concludes that emanation is a good compromise for the problem of an eternal creation. The distinction Ibn Ṭufayl makes between a logical and temporal posteriority of God is proof of Ibn Ṭufayl’s belief in an eternal creation. This is part of what Hawi calls Ibn Ṭufayl’s “naturalistic” thought. Ibid., 219-229. This is presented as a refutation of Siddiqi’s opinion to the contrary, see ibid., 227-230. Hawi notes that, for Ibn Ṭufayl and in general, mystical experiences do not lend themselves to reason. Hawi characterizes Ibn Ṭufayl’s mystical knowledge as intuitive, immediate, non-theoretical, arational, ineffable, non physical, nondistinguishable, transphenomenal, only capable of being expressed indirectly, and ultimately Islamic. Ibid., 234. Hawi claims that Ibn Ṭufayl’s mysticism is extreme and that “nothing less than total absorption in God satisfies the pulsating passion of his inner being.” Ibid., 233. Ibn Ṭufayl’s mystical knowledge is also developed into practiced ritual, which is due, according to Hawi, to its pantheistic sensibility. Also, Ḥayy is observed to be obliged to love and serve himself, others and God. Hawi compares Ibn Ṭufayl’s mysticism to Kierkegaard’s and notes their similarities as an aesthetic, ethical and religious awareness. Ibid., 236-246. For Ḥayy, of course, the others are the animals and plants on his island. Hawi concludes his study of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān with the condemnation that such an indirect communication of mysticism found in this narrative is ultimately neither original, nor are its arguments tenable. Ibid., 248-253. The debate over if and how Ibn Ṭufayl assimilated existing philosophies, narratives and symbolism has many facets. Perhaps the most heated discussion concerns Ibn Ṭufayl’s identification of a supposed Eastern or Oriental philosophy. The debate over how to vocalize المشرقية is itself very heated, with nearly each generation of scholars declaring a finality of discussion. Three positions are taken: that the word is vocalized as al mashriqīya, meaning “eastern” or “oriental,” as al mushriqīya, meaning “illuminative,” or that either vocalization is valid as it expresses the same thing. Hourani and Gutas are the most notable defenders of “eastern” while Gauthier and Corbin defend “illuminative.” Gauthier did not always translate the word as mushriqīya, as he writes “orientale” in the first edition of his French translation. Hawi and Bashier both are content to translate the word as “eastern,” but with the compromise that ultimately either word speaks to the same object, which is Ibn Sīnā’s illuminative philosophy. Dimitri Gutas argues that Ibn Ṭufayl wrote Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān to be seen in the light of Ibn Sīnā’s Eastern philosophy, most obviously because of Ibn Ṭufayl’s explicit reference to the fact (the ambiguous relationship to Ibn Sīnā’s philosophy in the actual narrative notwithstanding.) Dimitri Gutas, “Ibn Ṭufayl on Ibn Sīnāa’s Eastern Philosophy,” Oriens 34 (1994): 222-241. However, Ibn Sīnā’s Eastern philosophy and Ibn Ṭufayl’s understanding of what it is are very different things. Gutas demonstrates that Ibn Ṭufayl distorted Ibn Sīnā’s introduction to al-Shifā’ by highlighting Ibn Ṭufayl’s references to the text and comparing it with Gutas’ own translation of Ibn Sīnā’s words. Gutas does this because, he complains, existing translations of each, especially Goodman’s translation of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān, is faulted for being too “literary” to convey the nuances of philosophical discourse. Ibid., 224. In his examination, Gutas concludes that Ibn Ṭufayl’s knowledge of Eastern philosophy was limited to Ibn Sīnā’s reference to his book, not the book itself. See also Hawi’s defense of this position above. Also, Gutas notes, Ibn Sīnā’s books on Eastern philosophy were not available in the West at that time. Ibid., 229. Therefore, Ibn Ṭufayl was extremely innovative in his presentation of Eastern philosophy. Gutas claims that Ibn Ṭufayl invented the “secrets” aspect of Eastern philosophy, as Ibn Sīnā himself does not present his book as secretive or exclusive. Ibid., 230. Gutas explains that the difference between Ibn Sīnā’s books was a difference in style, not substance, as al-Shifā’ was written in a direct, peripatetic tone while al-Mashriqīyūn’ had more expansive arguments. Because Ibn Sīnā’s introduction to al-Shifā’ was written in a plain style that was not susceptible to corruptions in translation, Ibn Ṭufayl must have intentionally distorted Ibn Sīnā’s words. Ibn Ṭufayl writes that he is presenting Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān as a response to a friend’s query about Eastern philosophy. Because Ibn Ṭufayl did not have access to the book, he understood the question to ask either about the object of Eastern philosophy or for a description of the object of Eastern philosophy, which is complete knowledge. Ibn Ṭufayl’s diversion in response created the implication that the original text was concerned with mystical gnosis. Indeed, scholars have perpetually been fooled by Ibn Ṭufayl. Including the “epigone” Corbin. Ibid., 232-234. Instead, Ibn Ṭufayl was responding to Ibn Sīnā’s challenge presented in his parable of Absāl and Sālāmān: “Salāmān is an image referring to yourself, Absāl is your position in gnosis, now analyze the allegory if you can.” Ibid. See also Corbin above, Bashier below. Ibn Ṭufayl’s Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān is his answer to the riddle, thus we find the characters Salāmān and Absāl in his book. Ibn Ṭufayl was obviously not familiar with Ibn Sīnā’s Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān, otherwise, Gutas claims, Ibn Ṭufayl’s rendition would be more similar. Ibid. According to Gutas, Ibn Ṭufayl’s Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān is an epistemological tale, demonstrating reason’s potential for acquiring all knowledge unaided. The philosophus autodidactus concept was not new to Islamic philosophy, and indeed was demonstrated fully by Ibn Sīnā. Ibid., 236. Ibn Ṭufayl borrowed heavily from Ibn Sīnā’s epistemology, but presented knowledge as a single grade of acquisition with two points of access: reason and direct vision. Ibn Ṭufayl appears to be placing direct vision above reason, but is really grading on a horizontal scale. This is a compromise between Ibn Sīnā’s epistemology and al-Ghazālī’s epistemology, as al-Ghazālī demonstrated several gradations of knowledge each with distinct points of access. Ibid., 239. Gutas explains that Ibn Ṭufayl wanted to present his emendations of the work of the master of philosophy, Ibn Sīnā, with an appropriate appeal to authority. As Ibn Sīnā’s book on Eastern philosophy was eagerly but vainly sought after, Ibn Ṭufayl presented his philosophy as a response to such quests. Therefore, it seems that Ibn Ṭufayl’s real intent in writing this book was to present Andalusia with a comprehensive philosophy, something the area had been sorely lacking. Ibid., 241. In 1996, Lawrence Conrad edited a volume of various essays on Ibn Ṭufayl and his philosophical novel, which were presented at a Wellcome Institute symposium on the topic. Conrad’s introduction to this volume provides a rich account of the political climate in which Ibn Ṭufayl wrote Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān. Much of Conrad’s own research concerns Ibn Ṭufayl’s career as propagandist for the Almohads, citing references to poems written by Ibn Ṭufayl encouraging Muslims to enjoin the armed forces in repelling the attacking Christian troops. See Conrad, The world of Ibn Ṭufayl: interdisciplinary perspectives on Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān, 1-37. Contributors such as Remke Kruk, J. Christoph Bürgel, Vincent J. Cornell, Bernd Radtke and others examined the narrative and philosophy of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān and the life of Ibn Ṭufayl from their own disciplinary perspective. In “Ibn Ṭufayl: a Medieval Scholar’s Views on Nature,” Remke Kruk compares the presentation of the natural world in Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān to contemporary natural scientific theories. One peculiar connection is made between Ibn Ṭufayl and the Ikhwān al-Ṣafā, the Brethren of Purity, who also demonstrate the possibility of spontaneous development of life from clay on an island similar to Ḥayy’s. Kruk also notes that Ibn al-Nafis, in his allegorical response to Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān, presented the formation of the soul as dependent on the body first having a form. Also, for Ibn al-Nafis, the soul is generated as a result of favorable, equilibrated conditions. This stands in contradistinction to Ibn Ṭufayl’s Neo-Platonic demonstration where the soul is emanated from God at the time of the body’s creation. Kruk also comments that although Ḥayy appears to be the first ecologically-conscious Muslim, it must be understood that Ḥayy’s care for creation was a means to his end of sustaining communion with God. Remke Kruk, “Ibn Ṭufayl: A Medieval Scholar’s Views on Nature,” in The World of Ibn Ṭufayl, ed. Lawrence Conrad (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1996), 69-89. The problem of the linguistic mediation of esoteric truths is paramount for Ibn Ṭufayl. In his essay, Christoph Bürgel examines the precedents for hiding the actual intent of a philosophical writer behind a veil and notes that Ibn Ṭufayl was indeed not the first to practice veiling. Ibn Ṭufayl presents Ḥayy as the ideal man: extending beyond Aristotelian philosophy to become God-like through Neo-Platonic mystical practice. Bürgel claims that Ḥayy’s criticism of religious society was indicative of Ibn Ṭufayl’s criticism of Islam as a practiced religion. Placing the criticism in a fictional character’s mouth was a hint to Ibn Ṭufayl’s true intentions. Ibn Ṭufayl also presents verses from the Qur’an that support his position, showing that the dichotomy between philosophy and religion was real. Ibn Ṭufayl uses the Qur’an to appear as a devout Muslim while criticizing Islam at the same time. Contrary to some scholars, Bürgel argues that Ḥayy is not symbolic of the development of humanity, but that Ḥayy is a presentation of Ibn Ṭufayl’s own frustration towards the conservative legal framework of the Almohad caliphate. J. Christoph Bürgel, “‘Symbols and Hints:’ Some Considerations Concerning the Meaning of Ibn Ṭufayl’s Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān,” in The World of Ibn Ṭufayl, ed. Lawrence Conrad (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1996), 114-132. Vincent J. Cornell’s essay is an invaluable source for the history of the Almohads and the socio-political context of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān. The essay also identifies an apparently gaping hole in scholarship concerning Ibn Ṭufayl’s daily life: whether or not Ibn Ṭufayl was a practicing Sufi. Cornell accuses previous scholars of neglecting to incorporate the history of Sufism in Africa in their research, for if they did, they would have uncovered the claim of the Sufi Tādilī that his teacher, Yazīd, was taught by Ibn Ṭufayl. Cornell compares Ibn Ṭufayl’s mystical philosophy with that of Ibn al-‘Arīf, a contemporary of Ibn Ṭufayl’s who would have shared a Sufi lineage with Ibn Ṭufayl if the latter had indeed been a Sufi. The differences are profound. Also, the fact that Ibn Ṭufayl does not mention al-Ghazālī’s Ihyā’ ‘Ulūm al-Dīn signifies a Mālikī background in Ibn Ṭufayl’s education, as that book was anathema to the Almoravids. Also, notes Cornell, Ḥayy, the philosophically guided mystic, is presented as superior to the Sufi Absāl. So, Ibn Ṭufayl was not a Sufi, but indeed a falsafa. However, according to Cornell, it is apparent that Ibn Ṭufayl borrowed heavily from Sufi illuminationism from Morrocan schools. Vincent J. Cornell, “Ḥayy in the Land of Absāl: Ibn Ṭufayl and Ṣūfism in the Western Maghrib during the Muwaḥḥid Era,” in The World of Ibn Ṭufayl, ed. Lawrence Conrad (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1996), 133-164. Bernd Radtke asserts that the purpose of Ibn Ṭufayl’s philosophy is union with God, which previous philosophers had failed to correctly demonstrate. Ibn Ṭufayl’s mysticism is divided into three stages of imitation and engagement. First, the physical world is engaged as minimally as possible to avoid distraction. Secondly, the mystic imitates the celestial bodies in their indifferent love towards all things. Third, the mystic contemplates God’s positive attributes, then negates any discrimination, leaving only God’s essence. It does seem that Ibn Ṭufayl was aware of Sufi epistemology, but there has been little research on Sufi philosophy as, according to Radtke, scholars have been too reductionist in their approach to the history of Sufi thought, considering Sufis to have been primarily concerned with theology. To resolve this issue, Radtke presents a history of the demonstration of the mechanics of union between the soul and God by Ibn Ṭufayl’s predecessors and contemporaries. Al-Kindī, whom Ibn Ṭufayl does not mention in his introduction, asserts the existence of a divine spark in man that only realizes its divinity through ascetic practice. Al-Fārābī identified the Aristotelian Active Intellect as the lowest celestial sphere, and claimed that a person’s intellect is actualized by abstract thought to union with the Moon, not God directly. Ibn Sīnā was influence by Sufi thought and posited that asceticism makes a person’s intellect like a shiny mirror wherein God is reflected. The individual remains distinct in the process. Suhrawardi, Ibn Ṭufayl’s eastern contemporary, also elaborated on Ibn Sīnā’s presentation but kept the distinction between God and the soul firm. Al-Ghazālī demonstrated that, metaphorically, the creature is said to unite with God, while in reality, God unites with Godself. Al-Ghazālī identifies two paths to unity with God: philosophically prepared gnosis (al-‘irfan al-‘ilmī) and spontaneous mystical ecstasy (dhawq) It appears that Ibn Ṭufayl was largely influenced by al-Ghazālī’s method of integrating Sufism with classical philosophy, as Ḥayy follows the philosophical path. Ibn Bajjā claims that Sufi expressions of unity with God are purely subjective and that philosophical unity is ultimately granted as a gift from God. Ibn Rushd agreed, claiming that Sufis eschew reason and therefore their union is only an imitation of that gift of God granted through philosophical thought. Ibn Ṭufayl’s union is between the divine being and the general essence of God, echoing al-Kindī. However, Ibn Ṭufayl’s expression of the essence of God as a divine spark is unique among philosophers, but can be traced back to several Sufi sources. Ibn Ṭufayl may have been aware of such sources, but what is more likely is that Ibn Ṭufayl inadvertently revised such language as the result of a misinterpretation of al-Hallaj’s infamous self-identification as God. Radtke points out that early Sufism was creationist, not emanationist, contrary to Hawi’s claim, and union was considered a death of the created body to life in the Real. Ibn Ṭufayl was an emanationist who borrowed Sufi language but not Sufi cosmology. Bernd Radtke, “How can Man Reach the Mystical Union? Ibn Ṭufayl and the Divine Spark,” in The World of Ibn Ṭufayl, ed. Lawrence Conrad (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1996), 165-194. In his contribution to the volume, Lawrence Conrad notes that the issue of the identity and location of Ibn Ṭufayl’s “thin veil” had been largely ignored for centuries as Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān was thought to be a sort of manual for natural philosophers. Indeed, the very idea that the book could be about anything else was unchallenged until Gauthier presented his argument that Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān was about the reconciliation of philosophy and religion. Gauthier argues that Ibn Ṭufayl’s book was free of superfluous details; therefore the episode of Ḥayy’s interaction with society was not simply an epilogue. Gauthier was of the opinion that Muslim philosophers were predominately occupied with the task of reconciling religion and philosophy. The conclusion to Ḥayy reflected this important aspect of Muslim philosophy, and its position at the end signified its importance. See our discussion of Gauthier’s arguments above. Conrad objects against Gauthier that the final episode is the smallest part of the book and that it does not necessarily follow that the conclusion should handily contain the thrust of the author’s argument. Also, Conrad points to several apparent self-contradictions within the text of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān. However, as al-Marākushī was of the opinion that Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān was indeed concerned with this task, Conrad examines the episode in question. It appears to Conrad that there was no harmony in Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān, only acquiescence and acknowledgment. Absāl’s knowledge is illuminated by Ḥayy’s superior experience and Ḥayy is only reaffirmed in his knowledge. Also, there certainly wasn’t any reconciliation between Ḥayy and the religious masses as Ḥayy was ultimately unsuccessful in his missions. Conrad identifies Salāmān as representing the popular level of revealed religion as practiced by the Mālikītes. There is no harmony between Ḥayy and Salāmān, only an understanding of sufficiency in belief. Conrad notes that Gauthier’s argument is defended by some compromising presumptions and an ethnocentric agenda, but affirms the importance of his contribution. Conrad criticizes Hourani’s objections to Gauthier’s argument as being untenable, as Hourani argued that because the conclusion seems to be exterior to the rest of the narrative, the object must also be exterior to the rest of the narrative. See our discussion of Hourani’s arguments above. Instead, Conrad offers a reading of the text as a presentation of the problem faced by the educated elite in 12th century Andalusia, which Conrad calls the problem of the “socialization of knowledge.” Conrad illustrates the issue by first noticing that the concluding episode of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān is crucial for Ibn Ṭufayl’s readership who cannot relate personally to an autodidactic hermit. Also, Ḥayy’s interaction with society occurs at the liminal stage of Ḥayy’s ultimate septenary, which would have signaled to the reader that, at age 50, the narrative reach culmination. Conrad also notes that Ibn Ṭufayl could not have been writing about the successes of Aristotelian philosophy, as it is usurped by Neo-Platonic emanationism and the Beatific Vision. Ibn Ṭufayl must have been influenced by authors other than philosophical ones, as the text is often theological, incorporating God’s grace. Conrad claims that Ibn Ṭufayl’s real audience is his educated fellows, regardless of the mention of a specific addressee in the introduction. Conrad claims that, in the narrative, Ibn Ṭufayl was answering the question: given the possibility of ascension to mystical realms of knowledge, how should the elite manage this information of how to do it? Traditionally, Conrad states, the mystics kept such knowledge secret, hidden behind veils. Hawi, then, was wrong in identifying the veil as Qur’anic references over his real intentions for writing the book. If Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān was addressed to the masses to discuss a social problem, it would have been self-defeating for Ibn Ṭufayl to have kept its message a secret. Writing is a social act, a “socialization of knowledge.” Conrad argues that Ibn Ṭufayl did not deliberately hide anything from his readers, but that he understood that his readers would only be able to understand the text according to their capabilities. Ibn Ṭufayl even made it easy for readers to approach the text by employing several contemporary literary techniques, such as the division of Ḥayy’s life into septads. Ibn Ṭufayl is not hiding his true beliefs behind an Islamic veil, as Ḥayy apparently naturally develops into a Muslim. However, Ibn Ṭufayl’s veil worked as made evident by the multiple and varied reactions scholars of the text have had over the centuries. Like his predecessor Ibn Tūmart, Ibn Ṭufayl understood the personal responsibility an educated person has to act upon his knowledge. While Ḥayy was ultimately unsuccessful in altering the ignorance of the masses, this episode was not an exercise in futility. Ḥayy’s knowledge was not complete until he became aware of Absāl and the state of society. Furthermore, the message Ibn Ṭufayl gives to his readers is that what is important is that Ḥayy fulfilled his social responsibility. Lawrence I. Conrad, “Through the Thin Veil: On the Question of Communication and the Socialization of Knowledge in Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān,” in The World of Ibn Ṭufayl, ed. Lawrence Conrad (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1996), 238-266. In Islam and Natural Law, published in 2002, A. Ezzati argues that an analysis of Ibn Ṭufayl’s writings can help illuminate the position al-Ghazālī had against philosophers. Ezzati states that Ibn Ṭufayl was “basically a follower of Ibn Sīnā,” but also admired al-Ghazālī, “so he admired the philosophy and approach of the representatives of the two supposedly opposing extreme tendencies on Islamic thought.” A. Ezzati, Islam and Natural Law, (London: Islamic College for Advanced Studies Press, 2002), 157. Ezzati briefly introduces Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān as a philosophical argument demonstrating “that even without the help of tradition and revelation man is able to attain the knowledge of nature and through that to the knowledge of God.” Ibid., 160. Ibn Ṭufayl wrote his treatise in response to the insistent dilemma haranguing every Islamic philosopher, namely the harmony between reason and revelation. Ezzati states that Ibn Ṭufayl’s solution was more “mystical than epistomological,” because the primary message of the text was the “quest for knowledge through union with the active intellect,” thus limiting the appeal of his argument. Ibid. In a brief outline of Ibn Ṭufayl’s biography found in A History of Islamic Philosophy, Majid Fakhry corrects previous scholars, claiming that Ibn Ṭufayl was probably an aide to the Almohad caliph, not a vizier. Fakhry, A History of Islamic Philosophy, 274. Fakhry also notes that al-Marākushī, the historian of the Almohad dynasty, was apparently aware of another philosophical treatise written by Ibn Ṭufayl on the soul. Of course, no trace of it exists elsewhere. According to Fakhry, the first scholar to take notice of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān was Edward Pococke. Also, the question of whether or not Robinson Crusoe is derivative of Ḥayy is purely an academic question as the texts have little in common with each other. Fakhry states that the significance of the title Ibn Ṭufayl gave to his narrative is difficult to ascertain and that the question of its significance is most likely a fruitless one. The chief merit of the book is its literary form, which Fakhry notes had been attempted by Ibn Sīnā. However, Ibn Ṭufayl is concerned with much more ordinary subject matter than Ibn Sīnā. Fakhry claims that Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān is generally an exposition on Neo-Platonic themes developed by al-Fārābī, Ibn Sīnā and Ibn Bajjā. Ibn Ṭufayl wrote Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān as an allegory to attempt to describe the ineffable condition of mystical experience. Fakhry believes that Ibn Ṭufayl accepts the “naturalistic” story of Ḥayy’s birth over the “traditional” version. Agreeing with Hawi, see above. According to Fakhry, Ḥayy’s most profound discoveries concerned the phenomenon of life. First, through the death of his foster mother, Ḥayy was made aware of life. Then, Ḥayy discovered fire, allowing him to identify the soul as the source of life. Fakhry notes that for Ibn Ṭufayl, like Maimonides and St. Thomas Aquinas, the question of whether the cosmos was created or is eternal is irrelevant to the knowledge of God as Creator and Sustainer. Ibid., 275-277. Instead, Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān demonstrates that the ultimate goal of the seeker of truth is fanā’, annihilation of the self in God’s unity. Fakhry claims that during his vision Ḥayy observed the intelligible world of Neo-Platonism in his transcendent vision. See ibid. 278. Fakhry identifies God’s corrective interaction with Ḥayy at the threshold of fanā’ as grace. Like Hourani, Fakhry considers the final section of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān to be an “epilogue,” and notes that the issue of establishing harmony between philosophy and religion was of perennial concern for Muslim Neo-Platonists, especially the Almohad rulers. From this perspective, Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān is a defense of the argument made by Ibn Bajjā that truth in its pure, unmediated form is reserved for the select few and should be guarded from the masses. Ibid., 279-280. Lenn Evan Goodman published three essays as an introduction to his translation of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān in 2009. In the first essay, titled “Educational Philosophy,” Goodman argues that from one angle, Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān is a discourse on the philosophy of education. The narrative of Ḥayy’s life, divided in to seven septenaries, correlates to the ages of humanity as well as an individual person. In the first age, childhood, Ḥayy only experiences emotions, primarily frustration, as Ḥayy lacks the rational abilities to seek means to desired ends. During the second septenary, the age of practical reason, Ḥayy does something about the perceived physical inequalities between him and the other animals on the island. The third age, puberty, is when Ḥayy discovers the action of the souls and spiritual matter. He becomes quasi-spiritual when, after discovering fire, loves it and worships it. At 21, Ḥayy moves into metaphysics. This is the age of wonder, when Ḥayy begins to know God. The fifth septenary is the experience of the limit of reason and the beginning of wisdom. When contemplating infinities and the problem of an eternal universe, Ḥayy stops short of an answer as God is shown to be the cause of the universe either way: his theology remains the same whether or not the universe is infinite. Ḥayy develops an existential self-awareness in the cosmic context. At 35, Ḥayy begins to react to God with love and the development of spiritualism, seeking God and transcendental self-awareness. The final age is austere asceticism culminating in experiential knowledge of God found in the beatific vision. Lenn Evan Goodman and Ibn Ṭufayl, Ibn Ṭufayl’s Ḥayy ibn Yaqzān: a Philosophical Tale, (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2009), 9-12. When comparing Ḥayy’s unaided progress to other education philosophies focusing on natural development, Goodman notes that one of Ibn Ṭufayl’s premises is that Ḥayy was endowed with a remarkably large capacity for knowledge and curiosity. In other words, Ḥayy’s fitrah suited him for his success on the island. This fitrah was given to Ḥayy by God. Ḥayy is never alone: his fitrah, his potential, is from God, and God is also the sustaining force and the fulfillment of his potential. Contrast Rousseau, who declared that “God makes all things good; man meddles with them and they become evil,” he does not advocate abandoning an infant in the woods, as “under existing conditions a man left to himself would be more of a monster than the rest.” See ibid., 14. As is demonstrated in the narrative, whatever exists is an emanation of the Divine. Indeed, Ḥayy is explicitly made in the image of God. Also, Ibn Ṭufayl notes that God teaches the animals the actions we consider “instincts.” Goodman names this essential dependence of man on God “Providence.” Ḥayy’s education is the leading out of tendrils from seeds planted by God. This, too, is the root of Islam: the progressive assimilation of the self to God, which is man’s fulfillment. This is what the phrase “Know Thyself” truly means. See ibid., 17. Ibn Ṭufayl, Goodman argues, is therefore clearly “Muhammadan.” Ibn Ṭufayl demonstrates God’s grace as evident in God’s providential actions, and in this grace is found the key to moral freedom. By freely submitting to God, Ḥayy realizes his potential and perfects himself. This is true even when considering the alternate history of Ḥayy’s origin. The perfectly balanced island is the answer to Ḥayy’s mother’s prayers, “the material shadow-symbol of the outflowing immanence in Ḥayy of God.” Ibid., 21. While Ḥayy is certainly provided with a blueprint, being his capacities and potential to know God, and is molded by his educator, who is God acting providentially, “the being molded is filled with God’s being, and the mold is no determinate pattern by the cast of humanity: to use human choice, to invoke human values, to be, at times, surprising.” Ibid., 22. In “Religious Philosophy,” Goodman begins by making the distinction between theology and philosophy of religion by describing theology as the “public record of groping after God” and philosophy as the “intellectual confrontation of that groping.” Ibid., 24. Ibn Ṭufayl must have a philosophic understanding of religion, Goodman argues, which can be divided into three categories: First is rational religion, which makes the claim that all of humanity can know God, and this can only happen through reason. God is a reality, and human reason is a necessary and sufficient condition for the knowledge of God. However, this approach is cold and unpoetic. The guilt-ridden soul of the individual needs an all-powerful “big brother” for assistance. Rational religious theology is the struggle to conceptualize God without resorting to anthropomorphism. Rational religion, then, is chastity of mind and is universal: it does not rely on a particular cultural context to be understood. Rational religion is contemplative, obliged to imitate God in action and knowledge. Rational religion recognizes the need for faith and revelation, as it knows its own limits. However, revelation is found in natural law. Mass religion, on the other hand, makes the claim that humanity should know God. It is an emotional, revealed religion dependent on ethnic identity. It appeals to tradition and asks the question, “How can we serve God?” Because the distinction between God and humanity is made very clear, the observance of religious law becomes an end unto itself. Rational religion and mass religion both assume that there is a problem with humanity’s knowledge of God. For the followers of Mystical religion, on the third hand, God is manifest; God is a friend and a lover, and humanity must know God. Rational knowledge and religious exercises lead to emotional absorption in God. While Rational religion is universal and Mass religion is particular, Mystical religion is solo. Ibid., 25-37. Goodman identifies the climax of Ḥayy’s narrative as the Beatific Vision, the meeting of the alone with the Alone. Reason must precede this vision, also emotion, while the emotion of experience is guided and disciplined through revealed law. While it may seem that shari’a and myth are obviated by Ḥayy’s mystical experience, they both form the path to the experience. Goodman identifies the religious society on the inhabited island as Islamic. Ibid., 39-47. Goodman claims that the “Oriental” philosophy demonstrated in Ḥayy’s life sought to replace emotionless Peripatetic philosophy of the West. Goodman notes that the term “Oriental” is not to be distinguished from an alternate translation of المشرقية, which is “Illuminative.” For an opposing view, see the discussion of Gutas’ arguments above. “Oriental” philosophy appeals to heal the fissure between logic and religion, as it is a reasoned approach to the mystical religious experience. Because it is a reasoned approach, the path to the Beatific Vision can be communicated by the experienced to others. In “Man and Society,” Goodman argues that Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān is a thought-experiment conducted by Ibn Ṭufayl to discover the essence of the human being. Ibid., 57. Goodman compares Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān to The Lord of the Flies and notes that Ibn Ṭufayl has a different premiss than other isolators, being the goodness of creation and God’s providential interaction with it. Also, Goodman identifies the characters of the novel as ideals, which are often used to explore limits in thought experiments: Ḥayy is the ideal person, Absāl is the model of a contemplative scholar, and Salāmān is the ideal social animal. See ibid., 90. Ḥayy’s foundation is fitrah, which is his congenital endowment of capacities. However, Goodman observes, without the activating causality of external agents Ḥayy would be nothing, so it can be said that Nature is Ḥayy’s true foster mother. Taking Ḥayy’s cave-birth into consideration, it can also be said that Ibn Ṭufayl considers Earth as humanity’s womb. See also the section on Ben-Zaken below. Nature is the mirror and matrix of the human qualities it projects. Ibid., 57-63. The balanced climate found on the island is necessary for Ḥayy’s development. While abundant with food, it requires Ḥayy to exercise his rational capacities. Nature demands artifice of humans. The culmination of Ḥayy’s mechanical skills, according to Goodman, was dissection, a skill developed through Ḥayy’s desire to know the cause of things. Ḥayy’s soul, as essence, manifests itself in progressively realized stages of fitrah: from resembling animals, celestial beings, and God. The modality of possibility is expressed in potentiality and capacity. Here, action is the actualization of potentiality. Ḥayy’s virtues are not progressively actualized by himself, but are placed in Ḥayy by God at the time of his creation. They are irreducible, not made of elements. Indeed, all of the soul’s actions are the result of the activation of capacities granted by God. Ibid., 64-66. Because Ḥayy lives without the assistance of society, he must recapitulate the progress of humanity for himself, not through tradition, but through reason. Goodman notes that for Muslims, “primitive humans” were the Bedouins, generally considered a noble people. Indeed, just as cosmopolitan mothers would send their children off to be fostered by Bedouins, Ḥayy’s mother sent him off into the wilderness to encourage the development of virtue. See ibid., 69, 91. For Ibn Ṭufayl, Goodman claims, the ideal man is antisocial. Ḥayy is also oblivious to sin, as sin only generated through conflicting interests found in society. At any rate, sin is irrelevant to Ibn Ṭufayl’s study. Being a thought-experiment and a study, Ibn Ṭufayl did not write Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān to tell us to expose our infants to the elements, but to show what can be achieved by a return to nature. “There is something blotted out in man when society devours his every waking moment: the apotheoisis of society is the death of the transcendent soul.” Ibid., 91. Exposure, in this instance, is a symbol of complete independence. Indeed, this is why Ibn Bajjā found criticism in Ibn Ṭufayl, as he was accused of being too distracted by worldly concerns to fully explore mystical knowledge of God. Ibn Ṭufayl demonstrates that thought creates language. In the same way, Goodman claims, man creates society and is not created by society. As Goodman sees it, the message of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān is like the message of Walden: an individual needs friends, but should seek truth in isolation. Much like the reality of Walden. Ibid., 71-90. Avner Ben-Zaken’s Reading Ḥayy Ibn-Yaqẓān: A Cross-Cultural History of Autodidacticism, is a self-described practice in “historical sampling,” which is “an organizing famework for cross-cultural accounts that stand as both microhistorical and prismatic.” Ben-Zaken explains, “The art of sampling in contemporary music and in visual art offers a method to bring together freestanding objects, sequencing them in a new order so that new meaning arises out of their conjunction.” Ben-Zaken, Reading Ḥayy Ibn-Yaqẓān: A Cross-Cultural History of Autodidacticism, 14. Ben Zaken begins his analysis of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān by making the claim that “its central argument is that human reason can independently access scientific knowledge unaided by religion or society and its conventions, leading not only to the tenets of natural philosophy but also to the attainment of mystical insight, the highest form of human knowledge.” Ibid., 2. One of Ḥayy’s achievements, identified by Ben-Zaken, is mastery over nature, that is, the rest of creation, through the use of instruments, a particularly human power. Ibid., 4. Ben-Zaken looks at Ibn Ṭufayl’s position as court physician to the Almohad dynasty to offer clues as to his motivation for writing Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān. By placing Ibn Ṭufayl’s political career in its historical context, Ben Zaken argues that Ibn Ṭufayl wrote in response to the revolt of persecuted Sufis against the Almoravid dynasty in 1144. As Ben-Zaken observes, the Almohads aligned themselves ideologically with the Sufis and used their unrest to their political advantage. The Almoravid persecution of Sufis produced certain “Sufi Masters” who argued against Almoravid Maliki literalism and dogmatism and promoted individualized experiences of tawḥīd. These Sufi masters became very popular and commanded a great deal of social influence. The Sufis’ popularity opened the door for the aspiring Almohads who used the shift of social influence from genealogical authority to a meritocracy. However, when the Almohads gained power in Andalusia, measures were taken to prevent new Sufi masters from shifting power away from the Caliphate. One such measure was Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān. The book was an attempt “to tame the Sufi theory of practice and to subject it to philosophical procedures and disciplinary hierarchy,” thereby reining in and shaping the desire for an individual experience of the divine to a practice that was less inclined to promote Sufi radicalism. Ibid., 24. But what was Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān’s intended audience, if its primary objective was to “solidify the political theology of God’s oneness and centralize the political rule of the Almohads?” Ibid., 29. Ben-Zaken identifies Ibn Ṭufayl’s pamphlet as a text in the tradition of adab, that is, belles lettres, written for the literate elite to provide them with “the basic foundations of philosophy, […] a tool with which to reconcile an older al-Andalusian philosophical tradition with Almohadi political theology.” The character Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān is the “ultimate pious Almohadi.” Ibid., 28. Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān, then, was propaganda for the newly developed Almohad Caliphate. According to Ben-Zaken, the genius of Ibn Ṭufayl extends beyond his synthesis of the classical philosophical tradition and modern Sufi pietism. Ben-Zaken notes that the Iberian peninsula is full of caves that contain dramatic examples of the earliest recorded forms of human expression, that is, cave paintings. In a daring conjecture, Ben-Zaken states that gazelles, often depicted in the caves of Gaudix, Ibn Ṭufayl’s hometown, symbolize awareness in shamanistic religions and totems. Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān, whose name translated literally means “Alive Awakeson,” was suckled by a gazelle in Ibn Ṭufayl’s philosophical treatise. The significance of this is, in Ben-Zaken’s words, that “Ibn Ṭufayl not only merged mysticism with philosophy, he also fused ancient local rituals and totems with contemporary philosophical procedures, positing that the first and the quintessential autodidact was the first man, prehistoric man, or, in his baptized form, the biblical Adam.” Ibid., 40. Salman H. Bashier utilized another unique methodological approach to the study of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān in his book, The Story of Islamic Philosophy: Ibn Ṭufayl, Ibn al-‘Arabi, and Others on the Limit between Naturalism and Traditionalism. Bashier’s book examines the story of Islamic philosophy as endeavoring to understand the limits of religious knowledge found in Scriptures and in Law and philosophical knowledge as perfected by Aristotle. Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān most explicitly demonstrates the liminal nature of both knowledges, and Bashier uses Ibn Ṭufayl’s arguments to illuminate similar arguments made by Ibn Bajjā and al-Fārābī. Concerning the identity of the so-called “Illumination” or “Oriental” philosophy that Ibn Ṭufayl is responding to in Ḥayy, Bashier argues against Gutas and Tarabishi who claim that Ibn Ṭufayl invented it. Bashier argues that Gutas misinterprets Ibn Ṭufayl’s paraphrase of Ibn Sīnā concerning a distinction between Peripatetic knowledge and Oriental knowledge, and that such a distinction can only be a distinction in style, not in substance. What Ibn Ṭufayl is actually saying in his introduction to Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān is that what Ibn Sīnā considered to be real truth was contained in his book on Oriental philosophy, to be distinguished in substance from the truth contained in his book on Peripateticism. Ibn Ṭufayl is also criticized as being paradoxical by exhorting his reader to seek Ibn Sīnā’s book as well as seek beyond any book. However, Bashier claims, this is due to the paradoxical nature of Oriental knowledge. Oriental knowledge concerns the state of a person experiencing knowledge of the One, which cannot be described, as it would be a statement on the state, not the state itself. Concerning the obvious influence Neoplatonism had upon medieval Islamic philosophy due to the frequent use of Uthūlūjiya, Bashier agrees with ‘Abd al-Raḥmān Badawī that the authorship of that book was attributed to Aristotle not because medieval scholars were completely ignorant that it was actually a section of Plotinus’ Enneads but because Aristotle signified the entire philosophic endeavor. This is especially the case as The Theology of Aristotle is a crucial work for examining the reconciliation of philosophy and religion. The idea of the distinction of Oriental and Peripatetic truths can be clarified by Ibn Rushd’s distinction between human wisdom (Aristotle) and divine wisdom. Human wisdom will not by itself be capable of correctly interpreting itself and its relationship to Law, but divine wisdom can. The task for both philosophers and Sufis is ta’wil, that is, right interpretation of philosophy, seeking the “original state.” Attempting to interpret Law and philosophy without divine reason is dangerous, as Ibn Ṭufayl demonstrates with Ḥayy’s departure from the island after exhorting Salaman and the others in society to remain in the Law as he realized they were incapable of being illuminated. See Salman H. Bashier, The Story of Islamic Philosophy: Ibn Ṭufayl, Ibn al-‘Arabi, and Others on the Limit between Naturalism and Traditionalism, (Albany: State University of New York Press: 2011), 14-25. Bashier briefly notes the untenability of Hourani’s (and therefore Hawi’s) and Gauthier’s opinions about the subject of Ibn Ṭufayl’s arguments, citing Conrad’s refutations. See above. Bashier then refutes Conrad’s criticisms of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān with accusations of poor scholarship. Concerning Conrad’s criticism that Ibn Ṭufayl’s narrative is inconsistent, Bashier cites Goodman’s demonstration that any apparent lack of continuity in Ḥayy’s surroundings on the island is due to an intentional equilibration so that Ḥayy would develop completely balanced. See above. The apparent preference of the traditional birth story over the naturalistic is also explained to be intentional, as the two stories complement and complete each other. Ibid., 27. Conrad’s objection to Ḥayy’s acceptance of religious prescriptive laws is also unfounded, as Ḥayy is seen to be exercising these practices before he explicitly learns of their prescriptive nature from Absāl. Conrad also has difficulty with Ibn Ṭufayl’s double intentions for writing Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān, that is, to explore Oriental philosophy and to refute fake philosophers. Conrad goes with the latter, stating that Ibn Ṭufayl wrote Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān as a reflection on his social context and the power struggles of the Almohads against the Almoravids. However, Bashier argues, that is why Ibn Ṭufayl wrote and doesn’t explain what Ibn Ṭufayl wrote. Instead, taking both stated intentions into consideration, Bashier argues that Ibn Ṭufayl was using Oriental philosophy to demonstrate the harmony of religion and philosophy and to address the fact that fake philosophers were operating without divine reason and arriving at incorrect interpretations. Bashier also responds to Conrad’s musing on the identification of the intended recipient of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān, posing the idea that Ibn Ṭufayl was addressing himself so that he might attempt an articulation of his own mystical experience. As previously noted, this is difficult because Unity cannot be articulated. This also provides a distinction between knowledges, which Bashier calls ma’rifa (knowledge1) and ‘ilm (knowledge2). Knowledge1 is the thing itself, distinguished from other things, which has been absent from the mind, perceived by reflection, whose contrary is “failure to acknowledge.” Knowledge2 is the qualities of the thing, as collectively known with other things that have been present in the mind. In other words, knowledge1 is of the essence and knowledge2 is of the attributes. Ibid., 32-33. Bashier notes that Ibn Ṭufayl does admit that Ghazālī has both knowledge1 and knowledge2 despite Ibn Ṭufayl’s criticisms of al-Ghazālī’s scholarly morals. This is most of all found in his Niche of Lights, which, Bashier claims, Ibn Ṭufayl read. Ghazālī’s distinction between knowledge1 and knowledge2 is described as seeing a reflection in the mirror and first thinking that the mirror contains the reflection and then realizing that it is only a reflection and asking God for forgiveness for your mistake. See ibid., 34. According to Bashier, Ibn Sīnā describes the attainment of knowledge1 as beginning in the experience of flashing lights when at the limits of spiritual exercise. The possessor of knowledge1 becomes the very liminal instant he contemplates. After a while the flashes of light grow steady until the limit is passed. This is also demonstrated in the Hermetistic account of Salāmān and Absāl. Which Corbin argues Ibn Sīnā was not aware of. See ibid. 39, Corbin, History of Islamic Philosophy, 239. The so-called Hermetistic account of Salāmān and Absāl was most famously recited by the poet Jāmī (d. 898) but was translated into Arabic originally by Ḥunayn ibn Isḥāq (d. 873). The alchemical allegory narrates the life of Prince Salāmān, son of Hermanos, and his love for Absāl, his nurse and lover. Salāmān, an eagerly awaited heir to the throne of Hermanos, was raised as a child in a perfect environment free from all hardships so that he might be able to focus all of his attention to the study of philosophy. Unfortunately for Hermanos, Salāmān fell deeply in love with his nurse, Absāl. The two escaped from the palace but despaired for their freedom. The lovers cast themselves into the ocean, but Salāmān was saved by his father’s guards. Salāmān found it impossible to return to his studies, so the court sage took Salāmān to exercise meditation in a cave. The sage remained in continuous contemplation but organized it so Salāmān would periodically be shaken from his exercise with a vision of Absāl. These visions became less frequent and finally ceased when Salāmān received a vision of Venus, the ideal form of beauty. Salāmān forgot Absāl and was able to wholly pursue wisdom. See Henry Corbin, Ibn Sīnā and the Visionary Recital, trans. William R. Trask (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1960), 210-223. Using Ibn Sīnā’s interpretation of his own recital of Salāmān and Absāl, Bashier explains that, although it pains Salāmān immensely and appears initially to be a setback for Salāmān’s rational maturity, it was necessary for Absāl to die so that Salāmān could begin anew and understand gradually that Absāl was only a symbol for true beauty, being wisdom. Ibn Sīnā’s recital, distinct from the Hermetistic account, exists only in a condensed form in a commentary on his Ishārāt by Naṣīrraddīn Ṭūsī. There, Absāl is Salāmān’s younger brother who, after escaping Salāmān’s wife’s seductions, commits to conquering the lands on his brother’s behalf. Salāmān’s wife bribed the commanders of Absāl’s troops to fall back, exposing Absāl, and Absāl was severely wounded and left to die on the battlefield. A sympathetic gazelle nursed Absāl back to health with her potent milk. Absāl then returned to the palace, which was under siege, and destroyed the enemy troops, declaring his brother to be king. During this time, Salāmān grieved his brother’s loss and became a recluse. In his solitude, God showed him the truth about his brother and his wife. Salāmān returned to the kingdom and killed his wife and the generals of his army with poison. See Corbin, Avicenna and the Illusionary Recital, 224-226. As Ibn Sīnā interprets his own account, Salāman is the reader, and Absāl is the state of the reader’s intellect. Ibid., 41. See also Corbin’s discussion of Ibn Sīnā’s allegory above. Arguing against Hawi’s interpretation of the dual accounts of Ḥayy’s birth as being told as an attempt to conceal Ibn Ṭufayl’s true message, Bashier claims that the traditionalistic account of Ḥayy’s birth (by a human mother) is also mystical. Furthermore, the two birth accounts are not opposed to each other, but complement and complete each other. The naturalistic account of Ḥayy’s birth demonstrates the liminal nature of the souls (e.g. animal souls) in creation. This is supported by Ḥayy’s intentional care for the beings on the island as part of his spiritual quest for holism. The souls of plants, animals, and humans are not distinct but flow into each other. Ibid., 48. In the same way, the main characters of the novel are limits of each other. Applying Plato’s parable of the Divided Line, Bashier identifies Salāmān as the limit between society at large and Absāl as the liminal stage between Salāmān and the ideal man, being Ḥayy. This idea is supported by the fact that Salāmān was afraid of Absāl and his tendencies to study the esoteric aspects of revealed religion and by Absāl’s initial fear of Ḥayy. Because they are afraid, they express the capacity to understand what is beyond them. Of course, Absāl loses his fear when he realizes that Ḥayy does not know how to speak. Ibid., 57-60. According to the Mu’tazilites, whom Bashier identifies as philosophers, language was developed by a particular philosopher who designated nouns for identifying things. Orthodox tradition holds that God taught Adam all nouns, as found in Qur’an 2:31. “And He taught Adam the names of all things.” On this island, without society, Ḥayy is Adam. To combine the naturalistic and traditional accounts of Ḥayy’s origin, Ibn Ṭufayl gives Ḥayy both the language of philosophy and God’s language. Because Absāl discovered Ḥayy as having so much wisdom without the tool of language, Absāl had all the more reason to believe in Ḥayy’s superiority. Ḥayy is an example for Absāl and provides allusions for the interpretation of Law. Bashier notes that Ibn Ṭufayl was critical of Ibn Bajjā, al-Fārābī, and al-Ghazālī because they exposed the paradoxes of Oriental philosophy. Also, al-Fārābī did not demonstrate any mysticism and failed to really express the limits of rationality. Bashier spends some time examining a passage of Ibn Bajjā’s and concludes that Ibn Bajjā does express some notion of the limits of human reason, but, as Ibn Ṭufayl accuses, he does not pull them together as one declaration. See ibid., 87-95. Illuminative philosophy transcends rational philosophy because rational philosophy is limited by words. Bashier claims that the importance of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān is not the subject of Ibn Ṭufayl’s argument, but the object of his declaration, which is the limit of human understanding. An example of this is the contemplation of infinities. See ibid., 65. Regardless of the supporting arguments for the finite nature of creation, Ḥayy innately knows this due to his fitrah. To Bashier, this is a demonstration that logic is a real language prior to the language of symbols of things. Hawi argues that Ḥayy’s struggle with infinities conceals Ibn Ṭufayl’s true belief in a created infinity, as the final word in the struggle is the allegory of the hand moving a ball. See above. However, this is instead a demonstration of the liminal relationship between God and creation. The naturalistic account of Ḥayy’s birth is mystical because God creates Ḥayy’s potentiality as his fitrah. For Ibn Ṭufayl, fitrah is the primordial state of human nature, existing prior to a person’s creation. Contrasted to al-Fārābī, for whom fitrah is not inspirational, but reactive and is the shaping of the intellect based on experiences. See ibid., 80. This is demonstrated by Ḥayy’s realization that the pursuit of transcendence requires fixity, when all Ḥayy experienced was movement. Fixity is Unity: by imitating the movement of creation Ḥayy is able to surpass its limit and imitate the spheres in their perfect movement. Perfect movement is unchanging, therefore Ḥayy was able to pass that limit and enter fixity in his cave. Ibid., 102. Also, Bashier notes, Ḥayy had some sense of language, as he imitated the animals and their calls. This is the language of movement. When Ḥayy met Absāl, it was necessary for him to learn Absāl’s language to gain his knowledge. As a type of Adam, Ḥayy needed Absāl’s knowledge of society so that he could return to his contemplation as his focus was broken due to his curiosity. Ḥayy’s knowledge of creation was superior to Absāl’s because Ḥayy lacked the restrictions of language to distinguish things from each other. Instead Ḥayy understood things liminally, as evident in Ibn Ṭufayl’s metaphor of “divided waters” to describe form and being in individual objects. Ibid., 81-83. The divided waters metaphor demonstrates how individual bodies participate in one soul, like different shaped bowls holding water and pouring the water back into a larger basin. Bashier identifies this metaphor as Qur’anic, citing Q 21:30 (“Do not the Unbelievers see that the heavens and the earth were joined together as one unit of Creation, before We clove them asunder? We made from water every living thing. Will they not then believe?”) and Q 24:45 (“And Allah has created every animal from water.”). Concerning chance and Ḥayy’s development, Bashier shows that chance is only considered to be unexpected by the person experiencing an event, but that every event, although unexpected, can still be demonstrated to have a necessary cause. Thus, Ḥayy’s protection and the equilibrium on the island is not a chance occurance, but is caused by God acting through nature. Ḥayy’s introduction to fire was therefore not a chance encounter. Indeed, Bashier claims that Ibn Ṭufayl foreshadows Ḥayy’s rational development in the episode of the fire. First, Ḥayy is afraid of the fire, which reflects religious belief. Then, Ḥayy wonders at the fire, which is symbolic of philosophical belief. Ḥayy finally loves fire, representing mystical belief. It is obvious to Bashier that fire is a symbol of illumination. Also, like the fire in the thicket being caused by friction, Absāl’s intellect is ignited when his religious beliefs are rubbed against Ḥayy’s experiential knowledge. Ibid., 98-101. Bashier spends some time discussing a myth about Moses and al-Khadir, which results in his comparison of Ḥayy and Moses. As Moses’ ark was caught in a thicket, so was Ḥayy’s: the same thicket that caught fire. See ibid., 103-113. Bashier argues that describing Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān as a demonstration of rationalism does not sufficiently mark the distinction between the form of Ibn Ṭufayl’s argument, his motivation and inspiration, and the presentation of his argument. Only by knowing the limits of rational thought can the philosopher transcend them. Limits are Plato’s mysticism, and in a modification of a classic phrase, Bashier defines Islamic philosophy as the rationalistic endeavor to understand what Aristotle, Plato’s disciple, had perfected. Ibid., 137-140. In The Story of Islamic Philosophy, Bashier also examines the Epic of Gilgamesh and shows how it demonstrates the liminal nature of knowledge. See ibid., 115-136. A Summary of the Debate While it is clear that each scholar’s argument is unique in its nuances, together as a collection of theses they can be grouped loosely into two typological camps: those who argue that Ibn Ṭufayl was primarily concerned with demonstrating the harmony of philosophy and religion and those who argue that Pococke’s title, Philosophus autodidactus, was an apt description of Ibn Ṭufayl’s project. The latter group is the largest, and comprises of Fulton, Grunebaum, Hourani, Hawi, Bürgel, Radtke, Ezzati and Fakhry. These scholars largely argue that Ḥayy is an archetypal man who gains knowledge solely through his rational capacities. For these scholars, Ḥayy’s mystical experience is considered to be the culmination of Ḥayy’s unguided reason. Corbin, Ben-Zaken and Bashier also belong to this camp, but focus on the mystical episode in the book, arguing that Ḥayy was illuminated by God and had an experiential knowledge of the created cosmos that transcended rational knowledge. Cornell can also be placed here as he argues that Ibn Ṭufayl was a falsafa, not a Sufi, but he makes no explicit claim concerning Ibn Ṭufayl’s intent in writing Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān. The camp arguing for Ibn Ṭufayl’s reconciliatory intentions contains de Boer, Gauthier, Pastor, Gutas, Conrad and Goodman, however, only Gauthier and Goodman make any claims about Ibn Ṭufayl’s defense of a universal, shared truth between philosophy and religion. De Boer, Pastor and Gutas argue that Ibn Ṭufayl was indeed concerned with demonstrating a harmony, but it was with the intent to establish a comprehensive philosophy for the education of the upper class that blended Aristotelian philosophy and regional religious traditions. Conrad also fits in this group as he emphasizes Ibn Ṭufayl’s career as a propagandist for the Almohad court. I must stress, however, that these typological distinctions are very loose and serve only to explain the positions of each side in the debate over Ibn Ṭufayl’s intentions. In the next section I will argue that either hermeneutic serves as a distraction from Ibn Ṭufayl’s theological claims which are crucial to any reconstruction of his intentions. ḤAYY IBN YAQẒĀN AND NATURAL LAW As an attempt to address each scholar’s arguments individually and in any depth is beyond the scope of this essay, I will offer my own reading and interpretation of Ibn Ṭufayl's bildungsroman as a response. I will attempt to show that Ibn Ṭufayl demonstrates in the narrative a recognizable outline of the precepts of natural law, being self preservation, procreation, education of offspring, co-habitation with others in society, and contemplation of God. The narrative of Ḥayy's life on the island demonstrates the innate teleological ordination of all created beings towards God. While it may or may not be the case that Ibn Ṭufayl demonstrated the harmony of philosophy and religion when Ḥayy met Absāl, the harmonious relationship between natural, civil and divine law was indeed affirmed, which I will argue is due to Ibn Ṭufayl's opinion of their shared source: eternal law. However, when Ḥayy is introduced to religious society, practicing what Goodman calls "mass religion," it appears as though the members of the community are living at cross-purposes with their natural inclination towards the Good by indulging in commerce and accumulating wealth. However, using St. Thomas Aquinas' analysis of natural and civil (human) law in Summa theologiae, it will become apparent that Ḥayy realized the impossibility of prohibiting all evils based on the varying degrees of moral maturity represented by the individuals in the community. Reading Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān from this perspective will show that it is difficult to support a reading of Ibn Ṭufayl’s book with an emphasis on a specifically philosophical or religious interpretation. Through the lens of moral philosophy, it is clear that Ibn Ṭufayl’s religious influences cannot be extracted or distinguished from his philosophical arguments and his narrative should be read with this in mind. To those who might object that this approach is engenders a colonial attitude towards Islamic philosophy, it must be stressed that I do not intend to propose that this approach is the only possible approach nor am I arguing that it is necessary to analyze Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān through a Thomistic hermeneutical lens in order to understand the author’s arguments. The natural law perspective is only one way to show that Ibn Ṭufayl’s philosophy cannot be distinguished from his theology by considering his anthropology. Once this conclusion is reached, it remains to be determined how it can be supported fully by an Islamic understanding of human nature, which will be the subject of a later project. Natural Law and its Precepts Natural law is connected with natural reason insofar as it is a moral code developed solely through a person’s natural rational capacity. As Ḥayy’s knowledge of creation increased throughout his life based solely on empirical knowledge and intuition, natural law as a code is also developed from a few non-reducible and self-evident claims. In order to begin our analysis of Ḥayy ibn Yaqzān from the natural law perspective, we must establish a working definition of natural law. St. Thomas Aquinas provides a neat definition of a law that is ideally suited for the discussion of natural law, which is as follows: "It is nothing else than an ordinance of reason for the common good, made by him who has care of the community, and promulgated." Saint Thomas Aquinas, Treatise on Law, (Washington: Regnery Gateway, 1996) 10. It is easy enough to test this definition against existing civil laws - traffic laws - for example, and by doing so the logic of the statement is made clear. The law states that a driver must stop at a designated point when presented with a red traffic light. This law is an ordinance, in that the person is obliged to stop as indicated by the signal of the red light. Moreover it is a reasoned ordinance, in that it is not an arbitrary demand to stop. It is in the driver's best interest that the driver stops when indicated to prevent collision with other vehicles and so preserve the driver's life. It is also in the best interest of other drivers crossing the intersection; therefore the law was made for the common good. The law was made by city officials who have the care of the community, and it is promulgated by instructors in driver's education courses and through educational materials. A law is not precisely a law if it is not openly declared; otherwise it is neither just nor capable of being observed. However, it is not necessary that a law be universally known; it binds objectively once it has been promulgated. Martin D O'Keefe S J, Known From the Things That Are: Fundamental Theory of the Moral Life, (Houston: Center for Thomistic Studies, 1987) 146. Natural law works in the same way as a civil law in that it is a promulgated ordinance of reason made by an authority for the common good. Aquinas also provides a definition of natural law, that it is "nothing else than the rational creature's participation of eternal law." Aquinas, Treatise on Law, 146. So, then, there is one more step to take before understanding what natural law is and how it is promulgated. Eternal law, being distinguished from divine law - which is the revealed law of God – is concerned with nature and existence. God the Creator gives a person’s nature and existence to them, as the person cannot be the cause of their own existence. That person also has a telos, or goal, the end, or final cause, of its nature. It is in that person's nature that the person achieves that goal. Therefore, it can be said that God, by giving a person their nature, also commands that person to fulfill their potential and realize their goal. This is the eternal law by which all things are governed, "a law expressed in their very natures." Ibid., 150. In the case of a human being, then, free will and reason are part and parcel of that human's nature. Therefore, in order to achieve its telos, a person must make use of both reason and free will to discern which actions are appropriate for the realization of that telos. This, then, is natural law: "the humanly understood obligation that human beings have to live according to their nature, i.e., rationally." Ibid. Natural law is the understanding and application of eternal law, which is the command that all beings act in accordance to their nature. Natural law is also universal for all human beings, in that it concerns human nature, and its precepts are promulgated through human nature itself. In Aquinas' formula, natural law is an ordinance of divine reason promulgated through the apprehension of human nature. The precepts of human nature, and therefore natural law, can be universally apprehended in the same way as the classical First Principles. The Law of Non-Contradiction is the simplest of the precepts of logic, as it deals with being and not-being (a being cannot be said to exist and not exist at the same time). The simplest precept of natural law discerned through practical reason is "good" and works in the same way: a universally apprehended good cannot be said to be not-good, that is, evil, at the same time. Considering that natural law governs the movement of a human being towards their goal, the first and simplest precept can be expressed as an imperative: "do good, avoid evil." Once the first principle of natural law is established, five principles follow with such ease that they are also considered universally known, at least to "every morally mature adult." Ibid., 152. From "do good, avoid evil," we can establish principles of, first, self-preservation, which, at its most basic level, is simply care for the body. A person must eat and drink water, sleep, defend themselves against threats, etc., in order to stay alive. Second, a person is charged with the responsibility for the continuation of the species. This of course manifests itself primarily as a biological urge that requires little reasoning to put into action. However, the resulting children from procreative acts require more work than simply sexual intercourse in order to become capable of continuing the species. Therefore, thirdly, parents are responsible for the education of their offspring. Fourth, because an individual is incapable of providing all that is necessary for sustained existence and procreation in seclusion, humans must live in a society. It follows, then, that each individual is responsible not only for their own happiness but for the happiness of others in their community. As human nature is universal throughout a population, so also is its goal; therefore happiness, that is, progress towards the achievement of that goal, which requires the endurance of the species, relies on a mutually supportive community. Finally and fifthly is the precept of knowing and worshipping God. Because natural law is the comprehension of eternal law by a rational human being based on the ability of that human being to comprehend its own nature, that human being also has the ability to know God through reason and the relationship God has with God's creation. We will discuss this precept in much more depth when we apply it to Ḥayy's development of his knowledge of God. Fitrah Natural law, in its Islamic context, is called fitrah. The word comes from the Arabic root "f-t-r," which means to split and to crack as well as to create or cause to exist. Ezzati, Islam and Natural Law, 95. According to Ezzati, the word is an Islamic term, as it gains its meaning as "the natural constitution with which a child is created before he or she was born" in the Hadith and in commentaries on the Qur'an. Ibid. Fitrah appears in Qur'an 30:30: So set thou thy face steadily and truly to the Faith: Establish Allah's handiwork according to the pattern (fitrah) on which he has made mankind: no change let there be in the work wrought by Allah: that is the standard Religion: but most amongst mankind understand not. Note that Abdullah Yusuf Ali has translated fitrah as "pattern." Translated in this way, fitrah encompasses more than a person's base nature but includes the framework to structure the entirety of the person's character as it develops. That is to say, fitrah is not only the foundation, but also the scaffolding with which a person's identity and character is constructed. Also, a person's fitrah is "wrought by Allah." God makes manifest the ground floor, the slate that will be written upon, as well as the scaffolding, a guide for the hand writing on the slate. So why, then, is every person not living in direct orientation to the design God has wrought for their lives? In Ali's commentary on this verse, he describes fitrah as the original state of a person as well as their potential: Innocent, pure, true, free, inclined to right and virtue, and endued with true understanding about his position in the Universe and about Allah's goodness, wisdom and power. That is his true nature, [...] but man is caught in the unclean meshes of customs, superstitions, selfish desires, and false teaching. This may make him pugnacious, unclean, false, slavish, hankering after what is wrong or forbidden, and deflected from the love of his fellow-men, and the pure worship of the One True God. Abdullah Yusuf Ali, The Meaning of the Holy Qur'an, (Beltsville: Amana Publications, 2004) 1016. A person is created as a blank slate, but in this instance blank is a positive state in that it denotes innocence and purity. A person freely chooses what to write. Any negative writing on the slate throughout a person's development is influenced by forces other than God such as forces from other people in society. Specifically, according to the hadith, the influences of the parents and their cultural context. See Abul Hussain Muslim bin Al-Hajjaj, Sahih Muslim, ed. Huda Khattab, Abu Khaliyl, and Hafiz Abu Tahir Zubair 'Ali Za'i, trans. Nasiruddin al-Khattab, vol. 7, (Riyadh: Darussalam, 2007) 32. This ayah might suggest, then, that if a person were to remain uninfluenced by the misguided wills of others through the mediums of various institutions of society, such as culture, economic markets, and romantic attraction and marriage, that person might remain in a pure and innocent state. Furthermore, as that person is "endued with true understanding about his position in the Universe and about Allah's goodness, wisdom, and power," that person might, through the contemplation on that person's own nature, understand the Faith that is the standard Religion. To conclude the discussion of natural law in its Islamic context, we will provide a summary of Ezzati's survey of the topic. Ezzati states that "Muslims reject Platonic archetypal forms of virtues," that is, virtues as forms that exist prior to a person's birth and whose existence is independent from a person's existence. Ezzati, Islam and Natural Law, 102. Instead, the virtues are "given by God as potentials [...] at the time of birth and are only actualized later on in life when they are given the chance to be actualized." Ibid. This is to say that virtues are given to a person by God as capacities to be developed throughout a person's life as results of their interactions with God, with other individuals and with the created world. While Ezzati does not explicitly state the tradition from which he is presenting his survey of natural law in its Islamic context, it appears that he is drawing heavily from Mu'tazilite philosophy. As a contrast, Ash'arites argued that while a person is only capable of acting on capacities that person already has, the capacities are given by God at the time of action. This argument supports a theology of God acting as a creative force continuously. See Lenn E Goodman, Islamic Humanism, (New York: Oxford University Press, 2003) 98. While every person has the potential to act virtuously, that person requires guidance for full development of virtuous habits. Fitrah, to some extent, is a guiding power unto itself, ontologically speaking. God created fitrah; therefore, it is possible to know something about God and God's attributes ("goodness, wisdom and power"). At the primordial level, this guidance can be found the in the nature of the entire created world as it is God's design. Guidance on the primordial level also facilitates the recognition of virtues acquired through educational guidance. Educational, or acquired guidance, in turn, facilitates the actualization of ontological guidance. The potential virtues are realized through the practice of right reason, practice of the revealed divine law, and through God's interaction with an individual on a personal level through Providence. Ezzati identifies three major primordial properties of fitrah: cognitive, normative, and psychological. The cognitive property of fitrah is the knowledge of the First Principles, that is, "the innate non-sensual, non-experimental principles [that] form the basis of human knowledge." Ezzati, Islam and Natural Law, 101. These would be the laws of non-contradiction and the rejection of an infinite regression of causes. Fitrah's normative properties concern universal morals such as the sanctity of justice and truth. Finally, love is identified as the psychological property of fitrah: love for the self, love for others, offspring, the virtues, and beauty. All of these are "universal, absolute, innate, primordial axioms, intuitional, inborn, obvious and divinely bestowed at the time of birth. They are in the form of potential properties until later on at the time when individuals are rationally mature when they become the actual properties of natural man." Ibid., 102. Knowledge of the existence of God is also innate, universal, and divinely bestowed, as well as the capacity to know God and God's attributes intuitively, that is to say, through reason, or through "acquired knowledge," that is, revelation. Ibid., 104. On a "spiritual dimension," fitrah is also a primordial need to worship God regardless of the perfection of that person's knowledge of God. Fitrah is "a multi-dimensional and multi-functional realistic attribute and property of man." Ibid. It is a person's natural innocence and that person's inclination to do good and avoid evil. Fitrah is human nature and its principles are universal, therefore aspects of its functions as innate ethical guidance can be expressed as precepts of Natural Law. Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān as an Explication of Natural Law Ḥayy notices the first principle of natural law at a very early age. Ibn Ṭufayl divides Ḥayy's moral, rational, and spiritual development into periods of seven years, and the realization that good was to be sought after and evil avoided occurred in the first septenary. At the same time, Ḥayy realized that he was able to make generalizations about "good" and "evil" based on his prior experiences. This thought was immediately followed by a realization of a perceived deficiency in his human form when he compared himself to the animals on the island that had fur, talons and beaks to protect themselves against weather and competitors. Ṭufayl and Goodman, Ibn Ṭufayl’s Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān, 110. Frustrated in his attempts to defend himself against the better-equipped animals when fighting over food, Ḥayy makes coverings for his softer parts out of palm leaves and fashions spears from sticks. Subsequently, Ḥayy realizes that his human form is indeed superior to the forms of the animals due to his manual dexterity. Ibid. Ḥayy's innate drive for self-preservation guides his transition from a helpless infant to a boy capable of securing his own safety. Ḥayy does not yet understand death, as that occurs when he is faced with the death of his gazelle caregiver. However, he recognizes the necessity of keeping himself alive at the most basic level. Much later, as Ḥayy begins to develop his ascetic practices designed to assist him when contemplating God, he is again faced with a dilemma concerning food. This time, however, Ḥayy is concerned with maintaining his own bodily health at the cost of the bodily integrity of other beings on the island. After Ḥayy's 21st birthday he came to understand that the urges for survival and self-propagation was the most basic unifying feature of plant and animal beings. Ibid., 121. Later, at 35, Ḥayy recognized in himself the same urges due to his physical form. His participation in the animal soul was necessary, however, as Ḥayy would not been created with a physical form “idly. It had not been linked with him for nothing.” Ibid., 142. So, although it frequently distracted him from his meditations, Ḥayy recognized the necessity of eating, at least enough for self-preservation. Furthermore, if Ḥayy were not to eat he would be acting against the telos of his nature and counter to the design of his Creator. Ibid., 144. Ḥayy also recognized in himself, at the animal level, an innate desire for procreation. Ibid., 142. This occurs, apparently, only at the physical level, as at this point Ḥayy believes himself to be the only human being in existence. Ibn Ṭufayl does not mention this, but Ḥayy might have inferred the procreative uses for his genitalia when he was in the stages of comparing himself to other animals. After Ḥayy turned 14, he was inspired by observing sparrows to build a storehouse for surplus food. In this instance, Ḥayy's basic urge for self-preservation is aided by his rational capacities. Ḥayy might have observed his own biological urges and compared them to procreative acts committed by animals. So, of course, Ḥayy is not concerned with the second precept of natural law in the outline above. Furthermore, we can postulate that if Ḥayy were aware of the existence of female human beings, he would abstain from sexual acts because they would be a distraction from his contemplative exercises. See ibid. 144. Is Ḥayy, by electing to remain celibate, acting against his nature and thereby breaking a natural law? Ibn al-Nafis (d. 1345), an Egyptian physician thought so. Ibn al-Nafis also wrote a treatise in the form of a novel as a refutation of the arguments in Ḥayy ibn Yaqzān, which he entitled al-Risāla al Kāmiliyya fil-Sīra al Nubawiyya, or The Treatise of Kāmil on the Biography of the Prophet. The only English translation of Ibn al-Nafis' work is the work of Max Meyerhoff and J. Schacht is given the title Theologus Autodidactus solely as a response to the title Pococke gave Ḥayy ibn Yaqzān. See Ibn al-Nafīs, M Meyerhof, and J Schacht, The Theologus Autodidactus of Ibn Al-Nafīs, trans. Max Meyerhof and Joseph Schacht, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1968) 2. The story of Kamil (meaning the Perfect One), as related by an intermediary character Fāḍil ibn Nātiḳ (meaning Virtuous son of Rational), follows the same pattern as Ḥayy ibn Yaqzān. Kāmil is spontaneously generated, undergoes a period of autodidactic exercises on an uninhabited island and later encounters the civilized world. However, in Kāmil's case, he immediately recognizes that humans are social animals and realizes the necessity of society for the human flourishing. Ibid., 45. Instead of experiencing mystical unity with the Necessary Being, Kāmil spends his life among society deductively reasoning a deterministic history of the Islamic empire. When contemplating the physical characteristics of the Prophet, Kāmil reasoned that Muhammad necessarily must have been a virtuous man, and that part of his virtue would have been a healthy sexual appetite for his wives. Ibid., 54. It was important for Muhammad to procreate because of his position as a religious and political leader as sexual virility is a good quality for a leader to have. Ibn al-Nafis does not mention if Kamil takes any wives for himself. Ḥayy, however, did not consider himself to be a leader, at least not in a political sense, and neither was he a prophet. I am not sure that Ḥayy was acting as a leader when attempting to emancipate religious society from an inhibiting materialistic understanding of God's transcendent unity. However, such a distinction is not important as Ḥayy's reputation as spiritual guru would not rely on physical signs of virility for validation, as made evident by Absāl's immediate recognition of Ḥayy's power. See Ṭufayl and Goodman, Ibn Ṭufayl's Ḥayy Ibn Yaqzān, 158. Because Ḥayy remained alone on the island until he was "past his prime," he was not obligated to fulfill this need upon entering into society. If Ḥayy felt obligated to engage in sexual acts, he would only be able to congress with animals. This would be an unacceptable violation of his nature and the nature of the unwilling animal. Because an evil (bestiality) cannot be performed for the sake of a good (sexual congress), Ḥayy is relieved from such requirements. See O'Keefe, Known From the Things That Are, 234 and Aquinas, Treatise on Law, 63. The application of the following two precepts of natural law is also tricky, as Ḥayy does not live in society with other human beings. However, as was the case for Ḥayy's sex life, in his own way Ḥayy follows the precepts of educating children and living in society in his own way. As we briefly noted earlier, when Ḥayy learned about the mass religion, he endeavored to deliver them from its materialistic and anthropomorphic symbolization of the ineffable Truth that prevented them from transcending the physical realm and experiencing the Truth for themselves. However, Ḥayy realized that he would be unsuccessful due to the "human condition," that is, "that most men are no better than unreasoning animals." Ṭufayl and Goodman, Ibn Ṭufayl’s Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān, 164. In this situation, the religious society had only developed as far as Ḥayy's development after 21 years on the island. Ibid., 9. Ḥayy realized that there was nothing he could do, and that any attempt to supplement the tenets of revealed religion would only cause confusion and faith-destroying doubt for the adherents. Ibid., 165. This is also the reason why Ḥayy could not live "publicly and openly" among a society of humans, as he would be sought out for destruction as a heretic. Ibid., 164. Instead, Ḥayy lives in harmony with the society of beings, and later with Absāl, on his island. As part of his ascetic exercises, Ḥayy tends to the island as though it was his garden, watering and removing obstructions frustrating the growth of plants and feeding and tending to the animals. Ḥayy performs these tasks because he recognizes that the entirety of creation has a telos and that, as a superior creature, it was his responsibility to assist the rest of creation in the realization of its goal as it assisted him in the realization of his goal, which was union with God. See also Kruk, “Ibn Ṭufayl: A Medieval Scholar’s Views on Nature,” 88-89. And of course, Ḥayy does live in a society at the end, albeit a very small one. Although Ibn Ṭufayl does not explicitly state that they were mutually supportive of each other, we can infer that they indeed were as we read that Absāl relied on Ḥayy as a model for his own ascetic practices. Ṭufayl and Goodman, Ibn Ṭufayl’s Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān, 165. How does Ḥayy's criticism of religious society fit in our discussion of natural law? Ḥayy observes that the Prophet did not repress all vices through law, as individuals were permitted to accumulate wealth thereby obstructing their own path towards experiential knowledge of God. However, when Ḥayy was introduced to the society of the faithful, he realized that they did not have the same capacity for virtues as he did. Their salvation would be gradual and would rely on their adherence to religious law, which does promote harmonious living. The accumulation of wealth would be tolerated because it is not an incredibly grievous vice like murder or theft, but it would be permitted with the hope that society would eventually grow to be more virtuous and would be less dependent upon wealth for happiness. Aquinas, Treatise on Law, 92. Finally, it is quite easy to see that Ḥayy ibn Yaqzān was faithful to the fifth precept of natural law, concerned with the knowledge and worship of God. But for the sake of our discussion it is important to note that Ḥayy developed his knowledge of God due to a natural urge, and that the practices of worship Ḥayy develops as an imitation of the celestial bodies support the tenets of revealed religious law, namely the Five Pillars of Islam. In Goodman's introduction to his translation of Ḥayy ibn Yaqzān, he identifies three methods of knowing God represented by three phases of Ḥayy's development: philosophical, religious, and mystical. A philosophical knowledge of God is grounded on rational arguments for the existence of God and subsequent arguments for humanity's relationship to God based on their nature as created beings. Such a rational knowledge is universal, in that it is not grounded in a particular cultural context but is applicable to the entirety of humanity. Ṭufayl and Goodman, Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān, 30. The precepts of natural law are derived from this knowledge, as they are based on universal truths concerning the nature of human beings. It is in the nature of human beings to pursue good for themselves. Once a human has attained knowledge of God and identified God as the Ultimate Good through reason, that human is obligated to pursue God. Religious knowledge of God operates on the emotional level, filling the void left by cold rationality. This knowledge is dependent on tradition as it facilitates cultural symbols for its expression. In contrast to philosophical knowledge, operating on a contemplative level, religious knowledge is concerned with obedience to God as an expression of worship. Observance of traditional, scripturally based legal systems becomes an end to themselves as knowledge of God expressed through action. Ibid., 35. See also Goodman, Islamic Humanism, 88, Qur’an 2:177. Finally, mystical knowledge of God is an experienced knowledge of God made possible both by reason and by religious ritual. Reason provides the support of an immaterial knowledge of God's essence and religion supports the mystic by satisfying an emotional urge to know God. Ibid., 40-42. Mystical experience does not supplement reason and religion but transcends them, as, although it seems that rational discourse and observance of the law is obviated by experiential knowledge of God, they are necessary to achieve the mystical experience and support continued experience. Ibid., 50. We see this in action in Ḥayy's ascetic practices. On the rational level, Ḥayy lives in accordance to his nature and maintains his health, is content with assisting Absāl in achieving the fulfillment of his nature, and lives in harmony with the society of beings on his island. On the religious level, Ḥayy develops exercises that are similar to the Five Pillars: he believes in the unity of God, he prays and fasts, is mindful of the needy, and even performs circumambulatory exercises reminiscent of the tradition of the Hajj. Ibid., 146. These philosophical and religious exercises together provide the conditions necessary for Ḥayy's mystical transcendence. The mystical experience, then, confirms and illuminates the partially understood truths expressed in rational language and religious laws. Hawi, Islamic Naturalism and Mysticism, 214. CONCLUSION Reading Ḥayy ibn Yaqzān from the perspective of natural law is useful as it provides us with an account of the universality of the precepts of natural law and its relationship to eternal law. Because Ḥayy's nature, his fitrah, is created by God, it is innately ordered towards the pursuit of knowledge and worship of God as the Ultimate Good. By understanding his nature, Ḥayy is naturally able to develop rational knowledge of God. In keeping the precepts of natural law, Ḥayy engages in virtuous acts and, in so doing, develops a rational understanding of the necessity of ritual as a way of emotionally connecting with God. While all virtuous acts are prescribed by natural law, Ḥayy's introduction to society results in the demonstration that all vices must not be prohibited by civil law due to the varying capacities of individuals for virtuous acts. While Ibn al-Nafis demonstrates that humans are social animals by nature due to the fact that a person is incapable of self-sustenance, Ibn Ṭufayl's thought experiment shows that life in society and observance of religious law, while an end itself for some, is transcended by mystical experience, and that society, for Ḥayy, is the entirety of the created cosmos. Civil law and its permission of certain vices is demonstrated to be the result of the combination of revealed, religious law and the precepts of natural law, which is itself an understanding of eternal law. Due to the lack of other extant works of Ibn Ṭufayl’s, any claim concerning Ibn Ṭufayl’s intended message and audience would be tenuous. However, reading Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān this way supports Ben-Zaken’s claim that Ibn Ṭufayl wrote this novel as a pedagogical tool for aspiring intellectuals living in al-Andalus under Almohad rule. The book’s demonstration of philosophical knowledge shows that it has fitrah as its foundation. Fitrah, being God-given, and the knowledge gained through the influence of fitrah have the same eternal source as eternal law. As Sufism was becoming popular due to the political power of Sufi leaders, it would have been important for Ibn Ṭufayl to show that Sufi mystical exercises did not supersede obedience to the laws, either natural, civil or religious, but that the Beatific Vision is only achieved through the support of both and is a privileged experience reserved for those who exercise both to their fullest. While, of course, this is not strictly all that Ḥayy ibn Yaqzān is "about," natural law is certainly a fascinating theme of this particularly enigmatic story. Furthermore, reading the text from this perspective demonstrates that Ibn Ṭufayl’s philosophy cannot be extracted from his theological thought. Ibn Ṭufayl’s philosophical presentation of Ḥayy as an archetypal, if not ideal, human being, formed naturally either from the ground or from a human mother, is informed by a theological understanding of what it means to be a human. Ḥayy is created by God and is endowed with fitrah, enabling Ḥayy to develop into a mature adult who seeks after his own Creator. Even more, Ḥayy is not left to develop on his own, even with the God’s design in his DNA. Ibn Ṭufayl repeatedly demonstrates God’s interventions and interactions throughout the narrative; from providential winds guiding boats to and from islands to a gentle admonition at the height of mystical ecstasy. For Ibn Ṭufayl, the definition of “human being” does not stop at “rational animal,” but extends to include the teleological ordination of created beings to God and God’s Goodness and the special relationship humans share with God. God’s Providence is irresistible for all; however, a human is only capable of truly appreciating it through the practice of ascetic religious rituals. Confronted with the diversity of opinions concerning the subject of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān and their demonstrative arguments, it is clear that Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān has been thought to be “about” several different things. However, these opinions are largely shaped by the scholar’s pre-existing notions about the dichotomy between philosophy and religion. This distinction is what permits the scholar to develop a reconstruction of Ibn Ṭufayl’s philosophy as if it can be extracted from religious beliefs, discovered hiding underneath religious language and symbolism. While it would be very foolish to deny that Ibn Ṭufayl was engaging in philosophical discourse altogether in Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān, a denial that Ibn Ṭufayl was in any way a theologian would be equally unfounded. This is, of course, not limited to scholars in the past century, as it is clear that scholars in 12th century Andalusia were also concerned with an apparent disparity between religious and philosophical truth. Ibn Ṭufayl wrote Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān in the midst of, and perhaps even in response to, these debates. However, Ibn Ṭufayl did not merely state the harmony between religion and philosophy without argument, as Hawi argues, but demonstrated it throughout the narrative of Ḥayy’s development, even going so far as to demonstrate the reasonableness of the Pillars of Islam and the necessity of religious rituals. For Ibn Ṭufayl, knowledge of the natural sciences fosters and encourages a yearning for knowledge of higher things. Rational thought inevitably leads to knowledge of God, which inevitably leads to living a moral life in harmony with the self and with the rest of creation.  BIBLIOGRAPHY Al-Hajjaj, Imam Abul Hussain Muslim bin. Sahih Muslim. Edited by Huda Khattab, Abu Khaliyl, and Hafiz Abu Tahir Zubair 'Ali Za'i, Translated by Nasiruddin al-Khattab. Vol. 7, Riyadh: Darussalam, 2007. al-Nafīs, Ibn. The Theologus Autodidactus of Ibn Al-Nafīs. 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