1 Introduction
This chapter is a theoretical exploration of al-Ṭibb al-RūḥÄnÄ« (âSpiritual Medicineâ) by AbÅ« Bakr al-RÄzÄ« (d. 313/925),1 analysing the bookâs overarching argument. It aims to demonstrate that al-RÄzÄ«âs work constitutes a sustained effort to elaborate and defend three interconnected claims. Firstly, it posits that vice and psychic ailment stem from epistemic deficiencies, where individuals may lack a complete understanding of what is good or the consequences of their actions. Secondly, it asserts the causal efficacy of reason and moral understanding in providing incentives for individuals to believe what is right and act accordingly. Lastly, on the basis of the first two claims, al-RÄzÄ« contends that possessing the right knowledge, under the guidance of reason, is sufficient to set one on the path of virtue and psychic well-being. By investigating these aspects, this chapter seeks to provide an understanding of al-RÄzÄ«âs significant contribution to the field of philosophical ethics and psychological therapy. This chapter begins with a brief background on al-RÄzÄ«âs life, times, and works, contextualising him within the philosophical tradition. It then moves on to discuss the key issues that reflect the bookâs overarching argument.
2 Al-RÄzÄ«âs Life, Times and Works
AbÅ« Bakr Muḥammad ibn ZakariyyÄ al-RÄzÄ« was born in Rayy, present-day Iran in 250/864. In his late thirties, he embarked on the study of medicine in the Ê¿AbbÄsid capital, Baghdad. Upon completing his studies, he practised medicine in his native city of Rayy, but he later returned to Baghdad. In both places, he directed hospitals and gained fame as a distinguished physician. He enrolled in the service of local rulers, wrote many books on medicine and philosophy, and travelled extensively before he died in his native Rayy in 313/925. Despite his outspoken ideas on philosophical topics and matters of religion, he managed to lead a peaceful life, free from the types of persecution that some of his contemporaries, or near contemporaries, were subjected to, such as Aḥmad Ibn Ḥanbal (d. 241/855) and Ibn al-RawandÄ« (d. 298/911), to mention but two examples from opposite sides of the theological spectrum.
Al-RÄzÄ« lived in the Islamic golden age. During his time, Baghdad was the centre of learning in the civilised world, having benefited from the patronage of a succession of enlightened Ê¿AbbÄsid rulers who actively supported the Arabic translations of much of the legacy of antiquity in the fields of science, medicine, and philosophy. A brief mention of the names of some the figures who lived not long before or after al-RÄzÄ« bears witness to the intellectual achievements and riches of the Islamic civilisation at that point in time. Keeping in mind some uncertainty about the dates of some of the major thinkers of classical Islam, we can see that al-KindÄ« (d. 256/870), the first philosopher in Islam, died when al-RÄzÄ« was just a child; al-FarÄbÄ« (d. 339/951), known to Muslims as âthe second teacherâ (after Aristotle) survived al-RÄzÄ« by some 25 years only; al-AshÊ¿arÄ« (d. 324/936), one of the key figures in kalÄm (Islamic theology), outlived al-RÄzÄ« by only 10 years; Ibn Ḥanbal, one of the central figures of fiqh (Islamic jurisprudence), died only 10 years before al-RÄzÄ« was born; and Ibn SÄ«nÄ (Avicenna, d. 427/1037) was born a quarter of a century after al-RÄzÄ«âs death. All this and more, attests to the fact that al-RÄzÄ« lived during a period of intellectual ferment and creativity.
To his credit is the fact that he was a creative participant in the intellectual and scientific life of his times. His greatness of stature was such that Arthur Arberry (d. 1969) could claim that âWith the possible exception of Avicenna and Averroes [â¦] no man so powerfully affected the course of learning in the Middle Ages and the early Renaissance as Rhazesâ (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 8). Indeed al-RÄzÄ«âs achievements were varied. He is, of course, primarily known and famous for his medical writings, which continued to be printed in Europe as late as 1866 (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 8). But of more interest to us here are his contributions to the fields of ethics, religion, and philosophy, where his writings were typically controversial, in fact, so unorthodox as to draw critique and censorship from nearly all sides, philosophers, jurists, and kalÄm figures. In many cases, we know about his views only through fragments preserved by his opponents in books written for rebuttal. This applies, in particular, to the infamous book MakhÄrÄ«q al-AnbiyÄʾ (âOn the Tricks of the Prophetsâ), parts of which survive in the rebuttal written by his namesake and countryman, the other al-RÄzÄ«, AbÅ« ḤÄtim (d. 322/934).2
Al-RÄzÄ« wrote his al-Ṭibb al-RūḥÄnÄ«, the subject of the present chapter, at the behest of al-Manṣūr ibn IsḥÄq (d. 302/915), who was governor of Rayy, between the years 290/903 and 296/909. The book was intended to be a companion volume to his medical tract known as KitÄb al-ManṣūrÄ« (âThe Book for al-Manṣūrâ) (Mohaghegh 1967, 6). In writing this book al-RÄzÄ« has contributed to the creation of a new genre of writing about spiritual maladies and cures.3 According to Mehdi Mohaghegh (1967, 7), several books bearing titles similar to that of al-RÄzÄ«âs own text were produced, often reviewing material covered in al-RÄzÄ«âs own book, and having similar divisions. Of these, Mohaghegh mentions Ibn al-JawzÄ«âs (d. 597/1201) al-Ṭibb al-RūḥÄnÄ«, and we may mention two other books, namely Ê¿UyÅ«b al-Nafs (âThe Maladies of the Soulâ) by Ê¿Abd al-RaḥmÄn al-SulamÄ« (d. 74/693 or 75/694) and MudÄwÄt al-NufÅ«s (âRemedies for the Soulsâ) by Ibn Ḥazm (d. 456/1064). We may take this to be a sign of the influence which al-RÄzÄ« had on those who followed him.
Al-Ṭibb al-RuḥanÄ« is often discussed in association with al-SÄ«ra al-Falsafiyya (âOn Philosophical Lifeâ), a short treatise which is commonly viewed as al-RÄzÄ«âs intellectual autobiography. On the one hand, Meir Bar-Asher (1989, 130â147) takes the view that the autobiographical treatise is inconsistent with the book: whereas al-Ṭibb al-RūḥÄnÄ« is hedonistic and this-worldly, al-SÄ«ra al-Falsafiyya is more concerned with the life of the intellect and the afterlife. Thérèse-Ann Druart (1996), on the other hand, has argued that the apparent inconsistency can be explained by reference to the different audiences and purposes of the two pieces of writing. Be that as it may, I shall focus solely on the book, leaving al-RÄzÄ«âs autobiographical treatise aside.
3 Al-RÄzÄ« and the Philosophical Tradition
Al-RÄzÄ« is often viewed as one of the âfree thinkersâ of classical Islam, along with such figures as Ibn al-RÄwandÄ«, Ê¿Umar al-KhayyÄm (d. 525/1131), and AbÅ« al-Ê¿AlÄʾ al-MaÊ¿arrÄ« (d. 449/1057). In Stroumsaâs definition of the term, free thinking is the â[advocacy] of autonomous reï¬ection on the major metaphysical and human issues, with no commitment to the monotheist traditionâ (Stroumsa 1999, 9). Majid Fakhry, on the other hand, does not offer a definition of âfree thinking,â despite his frequent usage of the term. Instead, he proposes an understanding of al-RÄzÄ« and other kindred spirits in the context of âthe philosophical awakening that followed in the wake of the introduction of Greek philosophy, and was attended by the rise of a hitherto unknown spirit of free inquiryâ (Fakhry 2004, 95). In al-RÄzÄ«âs case, this becomes evident in his belief in the sufficiency of reason for knowledge of the truth and the conduct of human life, with no reference to prophecy (Fakhry 2004, 106).
Non-specialists and people with only but a general knowledge of Islamic intellectual history tend to associate al-RÄzÄ«âs free thinking with the anti- prophetic tracts which are attributed to him. But, in fact, al-RÄzÄ«âs free-thinking reveals itself no less in his ethics than in his discussion of prophecy (see Agraygar 2018; al-KirmÄnÄ« 1997). The reason for the aforementioned association is probably the fact that al-RÄzÄ«âs views on prophecy were perceived, at least in retrospect, to have been more revolutionary and intellectually destabilising than his ethical views, which were not, on the whole, something that Islamic thought could not, at least to some degree, accommodate. As luck would have it then, the same free-thinking spirit sparked in al-RÄzÄ« by his introduction to Greek learning climaxed, for posterity, in his anti-prophetism, rather than in the ethical system which he propounded.
Many of al-RÄzÄ«âs views on ethics and related subjects, such as moral psychology, have Greek origins. By the year 263/877 (the year in which the great translator Ḥunayn ibn IsḥÄq died), many philosophical works by Plato (d. 348 BC), Aristotle (d. 322 BC), and Plotinus (d. 270 CE) had been translated, and such Platonic ideas as the tripartite division of the soul (rational, spirited, and appetitive) were known to al-RÄzÄ«. According to Fakhry, âthere can be little doubt that the inspiration for his metaphysical thought is essentially Platonicâ (Fakhry 2004, 100). As to his ethical ideas, Lenn Goodman has forcefully argued that al-RÄzÄ« was a hedonist and an Epicurean (Goodman 1971, 5â26). Among many other things, al-RÄzÄ«âs well-known position on the âfear of deathâ adds little to what is to be found in Epicurusâs (d. 270 BC) EpistolÄ pros Menoikea (âLetter to Menoeceusâ) (reprinted in Inwood, and Gerson 1988, 28â32). As we shall also see later in this chapter, al-RÄzÄ«âs views on the relationship between knowledge and virtue bear a clear Platonic stamp.
In this chapter, I will not offer a chapter-by-chapter analysis of the contents of al-Ṭibb al-RūḥÄnÄ«, nor pause to comment on the many particular assertions that he makes about the sizable list of âspiritualâ ailments he proposes to treat. This has been done by other writers, notably Druart (1996) and Mohaghegh (1967). Rather, I will present a theoretical analysis of the book in terms of a few basic concepts which include the concept of practical reasoning, the idea of moral failure as an âepistemic deficiency,â the causal efficacy of knowledge and understanding, and the idea of cognitive therapy.
4 Vice as Epistemic Deficiency
The first thing we must do to lay the ground for thinking in a theoretical vein about al-RÄzÄ«âs discussion of the âspiritual afflictionsâ (which cause and/or manifest themselves in what people do or fail to do) is to introduce the notion of practical reasoning. The notion can be briefly explained thus: people who have desires and goals, and who find themselves in situations where they must make certain practical decisions, or undertake certain actions, often engage in what might be referred to as âpractical reasoning.â They reason, deliberate, or consider what do, and as a result of this, they either reach a decision to do something, or they do it right away.4 Aristotle gives a memorable example of such practical reasoning:
I need a covering, a coat is a covering; I need a coat. What I need I ought to make, I need a coat, I make a coat. And the conclusion I make a coat is an action.
Aristotle 1978, 701a10â20
We can reasonably imagine that this bit of practical reasoning takes place in a setting (practical situation) of a certain sort, where one finds oneself needing a coveringâperhaps it is getting cold, or perhaps one needs to venture outside the house.
The above is also an example of what Aristotle called âpractical syllogism.â To give other examples of such practical reasoning which are closer to al-RÄzÄ«âs concerns, we borrow two from Donald Davidson:
Pleasure is to be pursued; this act is pleasant. [So] this act is to be pursued [The agent proceeds to perform the action in question]. No fornication is lawful; this is an act of fornication. [So] this act is not lawful [The agent forthwith refrains from performing the action].
Davidson 2001, 33
Now from the point of view of a moralist (al-RÄzÄ« or anyone else) a given piece of practical reasoning may result in an action that is moral, or it may result in an action which is not. Furthermore, to a moralist like al-RÄzÄ«, concerned as he was with character reformation,5 the question of why and how someone may fall into moral error must have been ever-present. So, what was al-RÄzÄ«âs answer?
The answer, I believe, runs through al-RÄzÄ«âs discourse like a subterranean stream which is not visible to the eye, but one whose existence is revealed by the vegetation along its path. In more mundane philosophical language, al-RÄzÄ«âs answer is an implicit background assumption which explains his almost exclusive recourse to a certain way of diagnosing and treating spiritual ailments. I submit that according to al-RÄzÄ«, spiritual ailments are, at root, a manifestation of a certain type of deficiency, a deficiency in the knowledge which people bring to bear on their affairs. To use a catchy modern phrase, the cause of spiritual ailment lies in an epistemic deficiency of sorts.6
To explain further: epistemic deficiency may reside in not fully knowing the consequences of what one is doing, or it may reside in failure to adopt the right values, or choose for oneself truly moral and/or rationally justifiable goals. To give an example of the first type, suppose I have a goal of helping poor people. Coming upon a poor family sitting at a table for a modest supper, I proceed to destroy their food, in the belief that this will only serve to make them join in a revolution against an unjust social order. Here, it is arguably the case that my goal is moral, but that my knowledge of the nature and consequences of my action was deficient. Not only did my action cause people to go hungry for a night, but it is very doubtful that it was one that could be justified as a way to help poor people.
To illustrate the second type of epistemic deficiency, suppose I have a goal of putting an end to human life on the planet, and I am in a position to push a button which would start a nuclear world war. Putting the two together, I push the nuclear button. It is obvious here where I went wrong. The trouble lies in my goal. In and of itself, it was not a moral goal. I was not ignorant on the score of the chosen instrument, or the consequences of my action, but on the score of the goals and values that a moral being can set for himself.
In al-Ṭibb al-RūḥÄnÄ«, we find instances of both kinds of moral failure, sometimes relating to oneâs values and goals, while at other times relating to the actions one chooses to perform. Invariably, we find that some sort of epistemic deficiency causes the failure (alike in thought, desire, or action), as I seek to illustrate in the next section.
5 Knowledge and Psychic Ailments
In the previous section, I made two claims about al-RÄzÄ«âs understanding of moral failures. These were: (1) vice is explained by reference to a certain kind of epistemic deficiency, and (2) epistemic deficiency manifests itself, at least, on two levelsâthe level of goals and values which regulate oneâs life, and the level of actions which one may undertake. Let us now see how al-RÄzÄ«âs texts can be read in this light. The two claims are generalisations of a certain kind; hence they are best supported inductively, in view of the fact that al-RÄzÄ« does not make them explicitly, much less argue for them.
There is hardly a place where al-RÄzÄ« talks about spiritual ailments without reference to the concept of knowledge, either directly, or indirectly (as when he employs concepts such as reason, persuasion, error, intelligence, and understanding, all of which are related to knowing in one way or another). He begins his book, quite appropriately, by praising reason: âReason is the thing without which our state would be the state of wild beasts, of children and lunaticsâ (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 20). In essence, we are rational creaturesâelsewhere al-RÄzÄ« unequivocally states that the rational soul is âthe true manâ (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 41). Fairly early on in the book, he goes as far as to define âspiritual physickâ as âpersuasion through arguments and proofsâ (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 30). Persuasion and proof, of course, do or can yield knowledge of how things are, and may involve giving up mere opinions which do not amount to knowledge. A close look at a few examples of the way al-RÄzÄ« explains the nature of spiritual ailments, and the errors which we may fall into as we deliberate over (sometimes dash into) actions to fulfil our goals, will amply illustrate the structural role of knowledge in al-RÄzÄ«âs thinking about these matters.
Let us begin with the matter of the values and goals which we set for ourselves. It goes without saying that one will, normally and for the most part, act in light of the values and goals which one has. Consequently, if these values and goals are of a morally inferior or simply wrong sort then it can hardly be expected that the moral quality of the actions which one undertakes will be any better. Thus, it behoves the rational agent (âthe true man,â according to al-RÄzÄ« (1950, 41)) to know what his values and goals are. He may seek the advice of an intelligent, experienced man to help him discover what is amiss in this thinking or practice (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 32), and failing that, we may (not unreasonably) presume on al-RÄzÄ«âs behalf, that he must rely on his reason. This is not too much to expect, for a man who is willing and able to find another intelligent and experienced man who can diagnose his faults, must already possess enough reason to help himself diagnose his own faults, to some degree at least. For how else would he be able to recognise the intelligent and experienced man in the first place?
We can ask now: What kind of knowledge does one need to have about values and goals, to close at least one path to moral error? Al-RÄzÄ«, in his exploration of human psychology and ethics, sheds light on areas where individuals may fail to have the proper understanding.
Firstly, individuals may fail to know the fact that reason is the noble part of the self and should reign instead of being reigned by the base instincts (without this knowledge, all other types of knowledge would not be accepted nor acquired).
Secondly, concerning pleasure, al-RÄzÄ« emphasises that âMost of those who incline after pleasure and follow it blindly do not know it for what it really isâ (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 40). Thus he argues that pleasure should not be viewed as additional good to what one already has in the natural state. Properly understood,
Pleasure consists simply of the restoration of that condition, which was expelled by the element of pain, while passing from oneâs actual state until one returns to the state formerly experienced.
al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 39
For instance, the pleasure of eating follows the pain of hunger but diminishes once one is sated. The reasonable conclusion one should draw from this is that pleasure is not to be sought after; at most one may seek to avoid pain whose removal constitutes pleasure in that one is ârestoredâ to oneâs natural state.7
Thirdly, considering the value of love, one can also be the victim of conceptual (hence broadly epistemic) error. Here, al-RÄzÄ« offers the corrective: one ought to know that love is not what ignorant people take it to be, viz. âa habit [â¦] of reï¬ned natures and subtle brains, [which] encourages cleanliness, elegance, spruceness and a handsome turnâoutâ (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 44). On the contrary, âLove is in fact the habit of gross natures and stupid mindsâ (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 45). The things to which it is supposed to lead are not âsigns of perfect intelligence and wisdomâ (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 45); and in its carnal form, it is a beastly function which animals (to their credit, one may say) engage in according to natureââso much and no moreâ (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 41).
Fourthly, with regard to miserliness, it is sometimes rationalâas when one saves to guard against misfortune and future hardships. But when one is a miser because one âtake[s] pleasure in keeping things to [himself] purely for its own sakeâ there is a difference (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 64). One catches a glimpse of the inherent irrationality of this type of miserliness âwhen one asks a person what reason he has for holding on to his possessions and he cannot ï¬nd any clear and acceptable argumentâ (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 64). Clearly, such a person does not understand the nature of the values and goals which he sets for himself. He does not know the proper attitude to take when it comes to acquiring material possessions. If he were to listen to the voice of reason, he would know that the proper attitude towards spending would be one of moderation.
Fifthly, greed stems from erroneous evaluative beliefs, causing individuals to prioritise material desires over rational considerations. The greedy man does not set his priorities correctly; he seems to believe that one lives in order to eat, whereas he should rightly believe that âthe appetitive soul is united with the rational soul only in order that it may supply this body, which serves the rational soul as an instrumentâ (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 76).
In addition to the aforementioned examples of qualities and activities, one may also consider the goal of ambitionâthe yearning to ascend to higher ranks and positions in life. A person who is ambitious has simply chosen the wrong goal endeavours for his life: he ought to know that value and the worthy goal do not lie in these endeavours. What is superior to higher rank and social prestige? According to al-RÄzÄ«, the person afflicted with ambition ought to âremember and keep in mind [â¦] the superiority of reason and rational actionâ (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 93).
The cases of pleasure-seeking, love, miserliness, greed, and ambition which we have discussed illustrate the bearing of knowledge (and ignorance) on the values and the goals one sets for oneself.8 One can be wrong in oneâs choice of values and goals. The antidote is nothing but proper knowledge.
Life goals and values are not the only areas where knowledge is relevant for al-RÄzÄ«. Action is another field where knowledge matters a great deal. Here we find a strain of a consequentialist line of argument that runs through al-RÄzÄ«âs book from beginning to end: actions have consequences, and agents who undertake wrong actions are ones who do not fully appreciate (that is, know) the consequences of their actions. In other words, they have a case of epistemic deficiency with respect to knowledge of (the consequences of) their actions, regardless of their epistemic situation with respect to the values and goals which they may have set for themselves.
Let us go further into some of the examples explored by al-RÄzÄ«. One such example is love, a potent emotion that often leads individuals to partake in intense and passionate activities. Yet, as al-RÄzÄ« points out, âMany [lovers] are reduced by prolonged insomnia, worry and undernourishment to a state of madness and delusion, of consumption and wasting awayâ (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 42). The pleasure derived from love, like any other pleasure, is such that âwhen it is attained, [it] is in strict proportion to the degree of suffering and pain that stimulate and incite to such pleasureâ (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 42). Moreover, it is a consequence of being in love that it must eventually come to a painful end, for âto part from the beloved is an inescapable necessity, that is to say at death, even if one be secure from all the other mundane accidents and incidents that scatter friends and divide loversâ (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 42). These are all things which lovers ought to know. To fail to know them is to miscalculate, and miscalculation is an epistemic deficiency.
Another example is conceit, which involves placing a high value on oneself and oneâs achievement while underestimating oneâs shortcomings (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 50). What are the consequences of being conceited, and thus engaging in all manner of conceited actions? âOne of the calamities of conceit is that it leads to the diminution of the very thing about which a man originally became conceited; for a conceited man never seeks to increase or improve, or acquire from others, the quality about which he is conceitedâ (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 50). This self-inflated perspective proves to be detrimental, hindering personal development and fostering stagnation.
Moreover, the adverse effects of envying others warrant our attention. Al-RÄzÄ« denounces envy as a âhurtful disease of the soulâ that invites both divine and human wrath upon the envious individual (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 52). The envious soul bears the burden of âprolonged sorrow, anxiety and care,â while the body endures âprolonged insomnia and malnutritionâ (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 56). In sum, envy âfuddles [the envierâs] mind and tortures the body; by preoccupying his soul and weakening his body it enfeebles his cunning and endeavours against the envied if it continues long enoughâ (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 56). As we contemplate these examples, it becomes evident that proper knowledge of values and goals is indispensable for a life lived virtuously.
Action undertaken in anger is a straightforward case of regrettable consequences. For example, the angry person strikes, but being blinded by his anger, he does not know the right measure in retaliation. âUpon my word,â says al-RÄzÄ«, âthere is no great difference between the man who loses his powers of thought and reï¬ection when he is angry and a lunaticâ (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 59). Action undertaken in a fit of anger may have consequences for the person himself too; al-RÄzÄ«, for example, reports seeing a man âget into a rage and scream and spit blood on the spotâ (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 59).
To give one final example, consider ambition and the consequences of embarking on its path. To begin with, there is the emotional strain involved when we âpress and exhaust ourselves, in order to rise to a grander stateâ (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 95). Having reached his goal âit is not long before [the ambitious person] loses all happiness and enjoyment of it; for his new circumstances become like all other customary and usual conditionsâ (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 95). As he rises higher and higher in rank, he becomes weary from his continuous exertions, fearful about the loss of rank, and stressed by the need to adapt to new situations (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 92).
In all of these examples al-RÄzÄ« leaves us with the strong impression that the victims of these various ailments do not fully know what their actions mean, what their consequences are. To al-RÄzÄ«, not only are these types of action misguided, but their consequences are foreseeable by any man who is willing to consult reason. This follows from the very nature and function of reason, as al-RÄzÄ« conceives of it. For it is the function of reason to put knowledge of consequences at our command. In the very first chapter of his book entitled Faá¸l al-Ê¿Aql wa-Madḥuh (âOn the Excellence and Praise of Reasonâ), al-RÄzÄ« credits reason with quite a few things, including useful inventions, medical knowledge, knowledge of the physical world, knowledge of âobscure and remote matters,â but, more interestingly, being able to âpicture our intellectual acts before they become manifest[ed] to the senses, so that we see them exactly as though we had sensed them [â¦]â (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 20â21). Thus, for him, it is a mark of reason that we should be able to conceive of the consequences of our actions before we undertake them. Failure to put reason to use in regard to consequences is thus an epistemic failure because reason is a source of knowledge; to lapse out of reason is to lapse into ignorance, which can straightforwardly lead to engaging in misguided action.
Thus, we can see how it is that, for al-RÄzÄ«, vice, moral failure, and other spiritual ailments have their source in our failure to make use of reason, or in his words, allowing ourselves to be ruled by passion rather than reason. As reason is a spring (if not the spring) of knowledge, failure to be guided by it is an epistemic deficiency. It remains for us to see how al-RÄzÄ« makes use of these insights in his method of treating spiritual ailments.
6 Al-RÄzÄ«âs Cognitive Therapy
We begin by drawing attention to an idea on which al-RÄzÄ«âs type of therapy is based, one whose importance cannot be overemphasised. This is the idea that sheer knowledge (belief, understanding, realisation) is causally efficacious, in the sense that it can bring about changes in desires and behaviour, including, of course, actions which one may undertake or refrain from undertaking. There is no explicit acknowledgement of this idea, but we see it very much at work in the recommendations which he offers for treating psychic ailments of different kinds.
Typically, we find al-RÄzÄ« using several techniques, singly or in combination. Firstly there is a narrative technique, which involves telling stories, anecdotes and giving examples; secondly, there is the imaginative technique where al-RÄzÄ« invites the âpatientâ to picture or imagine situations; thirdly, there is a conceptual technique where al-RÄzÄ« analyses concepts, offers definitions, and asks the patient to dwell on thoughts of consequences; finally (at his best) al-RÄzÄ« employs a demonstrative technique in the course of which he provides arguments and proofs that recommend wise choices or right actions.
Now all of these activities which we have just mentioned are (to varying degrees) cognitive, in the sense that they put the mind of the patient in a thinking mode. For what are illustrative stories, examples, imaginings, analyses of concepts, and arguments but different modes of ideation? A patient who is paying attention to any of the things which his âspiritual doctorâ is doing is bound to think and put things together, and if all goes well he comes to believe, know, or even desire certain things which he did not hitherto believe, know, or desire. All of this is a thinking (which is to say, a cognitive) activity in the broad sense of the term. If al-RÄzÄ«âs method of treatment involves some or many of the activities which we have just enumerated, then it is, by definition, a cognitive type of therapy.
To complete our reconstruction of al-RÄzÄ«âs therapeutic strategy, we need only to mention the rather uncontroversial idea that we are normally moved to act by our motivations, incentives, and desires. Not all the time, of course, but certainly in normal situations where there are no obstacles, internal or external, to stand in the way of our acting. You desire to drink, and in the right situation, this desire moves you to reach out for a glass of water before youâunless your hands are tied, or you believe the water is not fit for drinking, and so on. Al-RÄzÄ«âs therapy tacitly implies that when our beliefs are set right (i.e., when we have knowledge of how things are) and when our motivations fall in line with our right beliefs, right actions will follow. Vice will have no place in the system of things. Without this assumption (this rather uncontroversial idea) it is hard to imagine what good it would be to reason with someone about making a decision or taking an action.
We can now look at some examples of al-RÄzÄ«âs therapy at work. We begin with one, perhaps simplistic, example of how knowledge (vouchsafed in this instance by storytelling) provides an incentive for action. Al-RÄzÄ« tells a story of an encounter between a learned shaykh (a philosopher) and an ostentatious aesthete who sets high store on love, eloquence, literature, lexicography and artistic achievement, thinking that this is what science really is. Initially proud and confident, the fellow is asked to answer questions about what we nowadays would call the philosophy of scienceâe.g., whether the truths of science were necessary (objective) or conventional (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 45â46). The fellow is made to contradict himself several times in a short space, revealing the superficiality of his learning, as well as the activities which he greatly values. Having been reduced to a âstate of shame and great confusion and dismay,â he is admonished by the shaykh to taste the real science (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 47).
Al-RÄzÄ« states the purpose of this story thus: âWe have only recounted this story so that it may serve as an additional encouragement and incentive to the nobler part [of the soul]â (1950, 47, emphasis added). Encouragement and incentive: these words are significant, for as we have said, if all goes with the spiritual therapy of the type which al-RÄzÄ« espouses, new motivations, incentives, and desires may be created in the soul, with the expectation that these motivations will eventually lead to actions that are different from those based on a cognitively unenlightened state. Simple-minded as the story may appear to our modern sensibilities, there is no reason for us to belittle its significance. It is an edifying story, for sure, but who is to say that edifying stories have no role in our lives, in our educational practices, and the way we tend to learn from the experiences of others about whom stories are told? Simple-minded or not, what matters to us is that it reveals the cognitive, mind-involving nature of al-RÄzÄ«âs therapy.
Another, perhaps more compelling example is provided by al-RÄzÄ«âs treatment of envy. Al-RÄzÄ«âs attack here is frontal: âA method of repelling it is for the intelligent man to examine envyâ (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 52, emphasis added). To repel is (or is eventually) a type of action, while to examine is a type of cognitive activity. How does one engage in the latter, and what outcome can expected? Al-RÄzÄ« uses a battery of arguments designed to show how irrational envy is. Over and over again al-RÄzÄ« makes the point that the envier has no rational grounds for resenting those who are more fortunate than him. â[T]he envious man is stamped as resenting what happens to the advantage of those who never injured or offended himâ (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 52). Further, â[â¦] the person envied has never deprived the envier of any of his possessions, or prevented him from achieving anything that he might have gained, or used him in any way to his own advantageâ (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 53). Besides, why should he, the envier, envy only the more fortunate neighbour whom he sees? In all consistency, â[â¦] should he not envy those living [in the lap of luxury] in India and China?â (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 53). If it is âfolly and madness to grieve over what [the Indian and the Chinese] have obtained,â it should be equally folly and madness to grieve over what your neighbour has achieved (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 53). For the fact that you can see him but not them should make no difference (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 53), or at least no rationally acceptable difference (as we might more guardedly add). Furthermore, it is not true that the envier has a greater right to, or need of, the goods which the envied party has (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 55). Lastly, there are various ways in which the fortune of the envied may work to the benefit of the envier (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 55).
In short, envy is against reason. It is an irrational attitude to take towards others. Al-RÄzÄ« expects that dwelling on these very reasonable arguments will repel envy. But how can this happen, unless it is thought that knowledge is something that can, in and of itself, move us to desire or act in a certain way? This is how it is normallyâwe act on what we know, believe, or desire. Thus, it would be a mistake to think that reasoning is inert, in the sense of leaving everything as it is. Reasoning isnât and doesnât: â[â¦] the reasonable man will rein his animal soul by means of the perspicacity of his rational soulâ (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 5, emphasis added). To rein in is a power which the rational soul has.
The causal efficacy of right reason is even more patent in al-RÄzÄ«âs treatment of grief. Various cognitive terms are invoked in the process of reasoning and are followed by claims, or expectations, regarding the practical behaviour-involving outcome of reasoning about grief. Initially âthe intelligent manâ is invited to examine and consider that ânothing is constant or permanent as an individual, but rather that all things pass away and perish and change and decay and vanishâ (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 72). These cognitive premises, derived from logical and natural laws, are immediately followed by an assertion concerning the affective state of the patient: âWhen he reï¬ects on all of these things, he ought not to take too much to heart or feel too outraged or stricken by the sudden deprivation of anythingâ (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 72). Furthermore, accepting the non-permanence of good things is a rational thing to do âSo long as [one] goes on desiring that they should survive forever, he is yearning for the impossibleâ (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 72), which is arguably an irrational desire. Recognition of the irrationality of this desire may go some way toward unsettling the feeling of grief. Such a realisation is expected to be followed by such a state of feeling, which can naturally be translated into appropriate action.
There are, moreover, at least two other less logic-involving but equally cognitive considerations which al-RÄzÄ« brings to bear on his treatment of grief here. Both can be expected to âassuage the impact of griefâ (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 73). One of them is for the intelligent man âto remind himself, when the misfortune is upon him, how it will presently pass and give way and he will return once more to normalityâ (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 73). This is obviously a cognitive act of looking at the bright side, saying to oneself, as it were, that the sun will rise tomorrow. The other, equally cognitive, act is to derive some consolation âby reminding oneself how many there are that share oneâs misfortunes, and how scarcely a single man is free of themâ (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 73).9
The treatments of love, envy, and grief are but three examples of al-RÄzÄ«âs therapy at work. They may be more perspicuous than some of the other examples to be found throughout al-RÄzÄ«âs book. Nevertheless, the fact remains that the book as a whole sustains a simple argument: Ailments of the soul result from lack of proper knowledge (discussed in section 3 above); when ignorance is replaced by proper knowledge, the ailing patient is set on the path to healing (discussed in section 4). What we did in the present section is illustrate how the principles on which the argument is based can be applied in therapeutic practice.10
7 Al-RÄzÄ« and the Problem of Incontinence
Al-RÄzÄ« was not the first to think of vice and âspiritualâ ill-being in terms of ailment, disease or malfunction. This view goes back to Plato and Aristotle (and Socrates). Thus, we find Aristotle describing the incontinent man, who might âfollow pleasure blindlyâ (to use al-RÄzÄ«âs words), as someone who is âasleep or drunkâ (Aristotle 2000, 1152a14â15). Plato is even more forthright about describing virtue and vice in terms of health and disease:
And injustice [â¦] is the opposite of justice, and is inharmonious and unnatural, being to the soul what disease is to the body [â¦] And virtue is the health [â¦] and well-being of the soul, and vice is the disease and weakness and deformity of the soul.
Plato 1982b, 444A
A-RÄzÄ« as also not the first to think of vice, and psychological ill-being in terms of lacking the right knowledge that is vouchsafed by the use of reason. Thus, according to Aristotle, âThe same person cannot be practically wise and incontinent at the same timeâ (Aristotle 2000, 1152a9â10). And while the ârest of the worldâ may believe âthat knowledge is [not] a principle of strength, rule, or command,â Plato is of the view that
[â¦] knowledge is a noble and commanding thing, which cannot be overcome, and will not allow a man, if he only knows the difference of good and evil, to do anything which is contrary to knowledge, but that wisdom will have strength to help him.
Plato 1982a, 325B
Al-RÄzÄ« is thus following a Greek tradition of thinking about virtue and happiness being the fruits of having knowledge and living under the guidance of reason. Nevertheless, there is a difficulty which al-RÄzÄ« does not address in his al-Ṭibb al-RūḥÄnÄ«. This difficulty is much discussed in the writings of Plato and Aristotle, and it continues to be discussed now, not just as a problem of how Plato and Aristotle are to be interpreted, but also as a problem that deserves interest in its own right. That al-RÄzÄ« does not recognise the problem may be a reflection of a cursory or incomplete knowledge of the tradition, or it may be due to the fact that, being a physician, his interest lies more in treatment than in philosophical theory.
A good (albeit somewhat literary) way of stating the difficulty is the challenge posed by Fyodor Dostoevsky (d. 1881) in his ZapÃski iz Podpólâ²ya (âNotes from the Undergroundâ), which Davidson also makes use of in his text (Davidson 2001). Alluding probably to the Greeks, Dostoevsky asks:
Oh, tell me, who was the ï¬rst to proclaim that man does dirty only because he doesnât know his real interests; and that were he to be enlightened [â¦] man would immediately stop doing dirty, would immediately become good and noble? What is to be done with the millions of facts testifying to how people knowingly, that is, fully understanding their real proï¬t, would put it in second place and throw themselves onto another path, a risk, perchance, not compelled by anyone or anything?
Dostoevsky 2004, 19â20
Even if not borne by âmillions of factsâ as Dostoevsky claims, the problem is one of those âappearancesâ which theory of virtuous behaviour that is worth its salt must try to account for. In the case of the theory that Plato, Aristotle, and al-RÄzÄ« subscribe to, the problem is particularly acute in that the theory seems to make unvirtuous action practically impossible in the presence of knowledge. According to the Aristotelian account of practical syllogism which we briefly explained earlier in this chapter, the agent (say, a diabetic) believes that: such-and-such (eating a large quantity of dates) ought not to be done; this is an instance of such-and-such (e.g., the option of eating a large quantity of dates); therefore, this ought not to be done. And the conclusion, says Aristotle, is an action, of avoidance. How can we then explain the fact that many diabetic agents nonetheless proceed to eat a large quantity of dates? This ought not happen, but it does. We need to explain this.
Plato grapples with this problem in his dialogue Protagoras where his Socrates (d. 399 BC) seems to think that the problem is only apparent, it being the case that that the truly knowledgeable man would not indulge in unvirtuous action. The idea that one (or oneâs reason) may be overcome by a near-to-hand pleasure, which leads him to do something against his long-term interest, does not apply to the man who truly has knowledge, because âknowledge is a noble and commanding thing, which cannot be overcomeâ (Plato 1892a, 352B). The true knower who places himself under the guidance or reason will perform a strict calculus of good and evil, pleasure and pain, present and future, and will figure out the balance and act accordingly. When present pleasures appear great to us while distant evils appear small, âthe art of measurement would do away with the effect of appearancesâ (Plato 1892a, 356D). Thus, it emerges that knowledge of measuring, âwhen the question is one of excess and defect,â is the âsaving principle of our livesâ (Plato 1892a, 356D). The incontinent man who is deceived by appearances is not good at measuring. His is a case of epistemic deficiency. He does not have knowledge, despite what he may be thinking. This, we may presume, is how Plato would respond to Dostoevskyâs challenge.
Aristotle may also be taken to be referring to âdeceptive appearancesâ which can addle the mind and thus lead to epistemic deficiency. He discusses âthe influence of the ways [people] are affected,â and mentions such âwaysâ as drunkenness, spirited feelings, sexual appetites and âsome other such things [which] clearly alter our bodily condition as well, and in some people even produce attacks of madnessâ (Aristotle 2000, 1147a13â24). These âdeceptive appearancesâ serve as a reminder of the complexities inherent in human cognition and the importance of critical self-awareness in navigating the intricacies of knowledge and understanding.
According to Aristotle, incontinent people âsuccumb [â¦] to [temptations] that most people rise superior toâ (Aristotle 2000, 1150a13â14). But, clearly, this may be the case with other people who are not affected in the aforementioned âways.â Aristotleâs intervention at this point constitutes the progress which he makes beyond Socrates and Plato. According to him, in addition to knowledge, character is an important consideration for understanding continence, self-control, and temperance. As Alfred Mele rightly observes, Aristotle describes the continent person, ânot as a person whose âgoodâ desires outweigh his âbadâ ones with a commendable frequency, but rather as one whose âdesiring elementâ [â¦] is obedient to his ârational principleââ (Mele 1985, 381; cf. Aristotle 2000, 1102b26â28).
Aristotleâs âdispositional account of continenceâ (Mele 1985, 380) is borne out by several statements such as the following:
[R]ational choice involves not only intellect and thought, but a state of character; for acting well and its contrary require thought and character.
Aristotle 2000, 1139a45â47
[The] practically wise person is at the same time good in character. Again, a person is practically wise not only by knowing, but also by being disposed to act; and the incontinent person is not disposed to act.
Aristotle 2000, 1152a11â15
Is any of this to be found in al-RÄzÄ«? To be fair to al-RÄzÄ«, in working out the details of his cognitive style of therapy, he does refer to character. Moreover, one may charitably interpret his many discussions of the consequences of incontinent action as hinting at errors of calculation, which would allow us to say, for example, that the diabetic agent who embarks on eating a large quantity of dates is deceived, by the nearness of the lesser pleasure, into thinking that it outweighs the distant greater pain. While we are not able to prove the second claim by a reference to al-RÄzÄ« text (it is merely a conjecture, after all), the first claim can be amply supported. Speaking of character in his chapter about anxiety, al-RÄzÄ« says:
Because men differ so much in temperament and habit, there is also a difference in the amount of anxiety and worry they can stand; some can endure a great deal of them without being adversely affected, while others are unable to put up with so much. This power of endurance needs to be looked after and taken care of and gradually increased as much as possible before the matter becomes too difï¬cult; habit is of great help and assistance here.
al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 66
Moreover, al-RÄzÄ«âs talk of the reasonable man being able to ârein his animal soul by means of the perspicacity of his rational soulâ (al-RÄzÄ« 1950, 55) bears more than a slight resemblance to Aristotleâs idea of the âdesiring elementâ being obedient to the ârational principleâ. Al-RÄzÄ«, lastly, devotes an entire chapter to âal-SÄ«ra al-FÄá¸ilaâ(âThe Virtuous Lifeâ) in his book, where he outlines a virtuous way of living that is inseparable from possessing a virtuous character.
Nevertheless, al-RÄzÄ« does not offer these ideas as a conscious response to the problem posed by the fact that it is possible for one to knowingly do what is wrong (Dostoevskyâs challenge). The idea of this possibility does not seem to have crossed his mind, and so when invoking character, or hinting at errors of calculation, this comes across as something which common sense might have suggested, not as something which can be used to alleviate the pressure of the possibility of knowingly doing that which is wrong. Is there a way to explain the omission other than by reference to his possibly cursory or incomplete knowledge of the Greek tradition, or his overwhelming interest in medical practice, rather than theory?
In his discussion of Aristotle, Mele (1985) considers why Aristotle stopped short of taking seriously the notion of full-blown akrasia, which can be explained as someone undertaking, with full knowledge, and with no rational explanation or natural cause, a course of action which is against his own happiness or interest. Precisely this is what seems to be contemplated in Dostoevskyâs text, where Dostoevsky speaks of people who âfully understanding their real proï¬t [â¦] throw themselves onto another path [â¦] not compelled by anyone or anything [â¦]â (Dostoevsky 2004, 19â20). Mele (1985, 89) suggests that that it may have been an inability on the part of Plato, Aristotle and the Greek tradition, in general, to think that humans could be so irrational as to do in full knowledge what is against their good. Mele glosses this as a kind of optimism about the human condition, or âmen as they are,â as he puts it (Mele 1985, 89).
Here we find something that al-RÄzÄ« can identify with. Al-RÄzÄ« is well-known for his whole-hearted espousal of the Greek philosophical tradition, and he may thus come under the scope of the suggestion offered by Mele: perhaps it was beyond his kin to think of akrasia to begin with, much less full-blown akrasia. To Meleâs suggestion, we can add another which applies to al-RÄzÄ« and the Greeks equally: theirs was a culture that had no place for any conception or doctrine of original sin, a doctrine that implies that man has a corrupted nature which is inherently prone to sin. Neither Islam nor the Greek tradition had a place for the notion of fallen man, which took root in Western thought after the advent of Christianity.
The experiences of modern man, and the atrocities of recent times may tell a story which is closer to the one which Dostoevsky tells than what we find in al-RÄzÄ«, Plato and Aristotle. But this is a long discussion which we cannot engage in. We shall thus conclude by saying that Plato, Aristotle, and al-RÄzÄ«, breathing the same air, bequeathed to us a view of man as an essentially a rational creature who can live happily, if only he would follow the path of reason.
8 Conclusion
In conclusion, our analysis has demonstrated that al-RÄzÄ«âs work revolves around three interconnected claims: firstly, psychic ailments are caused by epistemic deficiencies; secondly, reason and understanding are causally efficacious in guiding one towards virtuous behaviour; thirdly, in order to lead a virtuous and happy life all one needs to do is to place oneself under the governance of reason which will provide him with necessary knowledge. In this chapter we sought to show that these three propositions constitute the overarching argument of al-RÄzÄ«âs work: the first two claims are the two premisses from which the third claim follows.
Viewed in this light, al-RÄzÄ« appears to have been a unique figure. He did not only formulate a system of philosophical ethics, but he sought to show how psychological well-being is related to physical well-being, knowledge, and the use of reason. It is thus to his great credit that he made contributions to physical therapy as well as psychological therapy.
It is hoped that by contextualising al-RÄzÄ« within the philosophical tradition and exploring these key aspects of his work, this chapter has provided an adequate understanding of his philosophical insights and intellectual legacy.
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The precise date of al-RÄzÄ«âs death remains a subject of disagreement, and it is beyond the scope of our current focus to discuss this matter.
AbÅ« ḤÄtim al-RÄzÄ« was an IsmÄÊ¿Ä«lÄ« proselytiser and a critic of AbÅ« Bakr al-RÄzÄ«. According to Sarah Stroumsa, AbÅ« ḤÄtimâs AÊ¿lÄm al-Nubuwwa (âThe Proofs of Prophecyâ) is âour most detailed source for al-RÄzÄ«âs anti-prophetic viewsâ (Stroumsa 1999, 94).
So must we also say of al-KindÄ«, in reference to his memorable treatise, al-Ḥīla li-DafÊ¿ al-AḥzÄn (âOn the Means of Dispelling Sorrowsâ) (al-KindÄ« 2007). However, al-RÄzÄ«âs contribution was more systematic and wider in scope.
Practical reasoning thus differs from the kind of reasoning which a mathematician or a logician might engage in, in that the latter does not typically terminate in practical decision or action.
Review al-RÄzÄ«âs definition of the goal of âspiritual physickâ as âthe reformation of the soulâs characterâ (al-Razi 1950, 22).
The term is borrowed from Mele (1985, 375).
In his recently published book Adamson aptly refers to this as âthe restoration theoryâ of pleasure (Adamson 2021, 185).
Review al-RÄzÄ«âs constant invocation of such terms as knowing, remembering, intelligence, reason, and rationality.
Much of what we find in al-RÄzÄ«âs chapter âFÄ« al-Ghammâ (âOn Griefâ) repeats what al-KindÄ« says in his al-Ḥīla li-DafÊ¿ al-AḥzÄn (al-KindÄ« 2007). Influence cannot be ruled out, but it is probable that they were both drawing on the Greek and Hellenistic traditions of their time.
According to Adamson, al-RÄzÄ« viewed ethics as âa kind of medicineâ (Adamson 2021, 181). This is not inconsistent with our interpretation of al-RÄzÄ«. What we are saying is that al-RÄzÄ«âs medicine was a kind of applied knowledge of ethics.