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“For al-​Ghazālī, knowledge of God leads to nothing less than eternal felicity in the
hereafter. But what method does he prescribe to gain knowledge of God? Nabil
Yasien Mohamed offers a lucid and insightful answer to this crucial and surpris-
ingly vexing question.”
Kenneth Garden, author of The First Islamic Reviver:
Abu Hamid Al-​Ghazali and His Revival of the Religious Science,
Tufts University, United States

“Nabil Yasien Mohamed provides insightful analysis of al-​Ghazālī’s understanding

of certainty that corrects many misunderstandings regarding his epistemology. This
essential contribution demonstrates the centrality of Sufism and the knowledge of
unveiling in al-​Ghazālī’s thought and its relationship to philosophy and other fields
of knowledge.”
Joseph Lumbard, Associate Professor of
Quranic Studies at the College of Islamic Studies,
Hamad Bin Khalifa University, Qatar

“This study on the nature of doubt and certainty in al-​Ghazīlī’s thought will prove
to be a useful contribution to the age-​old controversy surrounding al-​Ghazālī’s dif-
ferential attitude towards philosophy and Sufism. The author skilfully adjudicates
between the two seemingly polarized views of al-​Ghazālī with respect to the place
of philosophy and Sufism in his thought and demonstrates a fine understanding of
the various contentious issues involved in these matters.”
Farid Al-​Attas, author of Applying Ibn Khaldun:
The Recovery of a Lost Tradition in Sociology,
National University of Singapore

“This book provides an eye-​opening and well-​structured exploration of Imam al-​

Ghazālī’s epistemology. It highlights the continuum between his rational and mys-
tical deliberations on the nature of knowledge. Crucially, the centrality of praxis
as a mode of knowing in Islam is foregrounded. I believe admirers of Ghazalian
thought will derive much benefit from this book.”
Auwais Rafudeen, Associate Professor in the
Department of Religious Studies and Arabic,
University of South Africa

“Nabil Yasien Mohamed’s study takes both philosophical demonstration and the
Sufi method in a parallel fashion. He puts equal weight on both sides of al-​Ghazālī
in order to acknowledge each discipline in its right place. There is no doubt that this
book will be a noteworthy contribution to the literature on Islamic epistemology
and more particularly on Ghazālī studies.”
Alparslan Açıkgenç, Professor Emeritus,
Uskudar University, Istanbul Honorary Member,
Turkish Academy of Sciences (TUBA)
“This is a clear and accessible introduction to the philosophical and mystical trad-
ition of one of the towering figures of Islamic thought. It shows al-​Ghazali’s syn-
thesis of Greek philosophical thought and Islamic mysticism while remaining
faithful to the more traditional Islamic jurisprudence and theology.”
Mariam al-​Attar, author of Islamic Ethics:
Divine Command Theory in Arabo-​Islamic Thought,
the American University of Sharjah, UAE

“Ghazālī’s Epistemology: A Critical Study of Doubt and Certainty is a carefully

written and source-​based monograph on the relationship between faith and reason
in the thought of Ghazālī. The book is an excellent exhortation to reflect on scep-
ticism as imperfect knowledge that requires belief as striving after the knowledge
of God by doing the good.”
Hans Daiber, Professor Emeritus,
Johann Wolfgang Goethe-​Universität

“Nabil Yasien Mohamed has managed to navigate the complexities of al-​

Ghazālī’s life and thought in a clear manner. His writing is lucid and traverses
a vast array of literature. He has shaken loose many of the confusions that still
hang over the life of the Imam, and avoids reducing the Imam to one method:
rational or spiritual.”
Steven Styer, Al-​Bhukhary Fellow at the Oxford Centre for
Islamic Studies and lecturer at the Faculty of
Theology and Religion, University of Oxford
Ghazālī’s Epistemology

Focusing on Abū Ḥāmid al-​Ghazālī (d. 1111) –​ one of the foremost scholars and
authorities in the Muslim world who is central to the Islamic intellectual trad-
ition –​ this book embarks on a study of doubt (shakk) and certainty (yaqīn) in his
epistemology.
The book looks at Ghazālī’s attitude towards philosophical demonstration and
Sufism as a means to certainty. In early scholarship surrounding Ghazālī, he has
often been blamed as the one who single-​handedly offered the death blow to phil-
osophy in the Muslim world. In much of contemporary scholarship, Ghazālī is
understood to prefer philosophy as the ultimate means to certainty, granting Sufism
a secondary status. Hence, much of previous scholarship has either focused on
Ghazālī as a Sufi or as a philosopher; this book takes a parallel approach, and
acknowledges each discipline in its right place. It analyses Ghazālī’s approach to
acquiring certainty, his methodological scepticism, his foundationalism, his atti-
tude towards authoritative instruction (taʿlim), and the place of philosophical dem-
onstration and Sufism in his epistemology.
Offering a systematic and comprehensive approach to Ghazālī’s epistemology,
this book is a valuable resource for scholars of Islamic philosophy and Sufism in
particular, and for educated readers of Islamic studies in general.

Nabil Yasien Mohamed is a fellow at the Cairo Institute for Liberal Arts and
Sciences. His research interests include Ghazālian studies, classical Islamic phil-
osophy, Sufism, contemporary Islamic thought, ecology, theology, epistemology
and ethics.
Routledge Studies in Islamic Philosophy
Series Editor Oliver Leaman, University of Kentucky

The Routledge Studies in Islamic Philosophy Series is devoted to the publication

of scholarly books in all areas of Islamic philosophy. We regard the discipline as
part of the general philosophical environment and seek to include books on a wide
variety of different approaches to Islamic philosophy.

The Crisis of Muslim Religious Discourse

The Necessary Shift from Plato to Kant
Lahouari Addi

Miskawayh’s Tahḏīb al-​aḫlāq

Happiness, Justice and Friendship
Ufuk Topkara

The Covenants of the Prophet Muḥammad

From Shared Historical Memory to Peaceful Co-​existence
Ibrahim Mohamed Zain and Ahmed El-​Wakil

Vicegerency in Islamic Thought and Scripture

Towards a Qur’anic Theory of Human Existential Function
Chauki Lazhar

From the Divine to the Human

Contemporary Islamic Thinkers on Evil, Suffering, and the Global Pandemic
Edited by Muhammad U. Faruque and Mohammed Rustom

Ghazālī’s Epistemology
A Critical Study of Doubt and Certainty
Nabil Yasien Mohamed

For more information about this series, please visit: www.routle​dge.com/​middle​east​stud​ies/​ser​ies/​

RSI​NIP
Ghazālī’s Epistemology
A Critical Study of Doubt and Certainty

Nabil Yasien Mohamed

First published 2024
by Routledge
4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN
and by Routledge
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Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business
© 2024 Nabil Yasien Mohamed
The right of Nabil Yasien Mohamed to be identified as author of this work has been
asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and
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British Library Cataloguing-​in-​Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Library of Congress Cataloging-​in-​Publication Data
Names: Mohamed, Nabil Yasien, author.
Title: Ghazālī’s epistemology : a critical study of doubt and certainty /
Nabil Yasien Mohamed.
Description: First. | New York : Routledge, 2023. |
Series: Routledge studies in Islamic philosophy |
Includes bibliographical references and index. |
Identifiers: LCCN 2023023062 (print) | LCCN 2023023063 (ebook) |
ISBN 9781032517063 (hardback) | ISBN 9781032517087 (paperback) |
ISBN 9781003403562 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Ghazzālī, 1058-1111 | Belief and doubt–Religious aspects–Islam. |
Knowledge, Theory of (Islam) | Islamic philosophy–Early works to 1850.
Classification: LCC B753.G34 M64 2023 (print) |
LCC B753.G34 (ebook) | DDC 121–dc23/eng/20230720
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023023062
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023023063
ISBN: 978-​1-​032-​51706-​3 (hbk)
ISBN: 978-​1-​032-​51708-​7 (pbk)
ISBN: 978-​1-​003-​40356-​2 (ebk)
DOI: 10.4324/​9781003403562
Typeset in Times New Roman
by Newgen Publishing UK
For my mother, Zaida Mohamed, in loving memory.
Contents

Acknowledgements xi
A note on transliteration and translation xii

Introduction 1

1 Ghazālī’s scepticism and quest for the foundations of knowledge 9

Background to classical scepticism (safsaṭa) 9
The metaphysical dimensions of knowledge 14
Ghazālī’s hierarchy (marāṭib) of certainty 16
Ghazālī’s methodological doubt and foundationalism 19
The repudiation and placement of taqlīd 19
Sense perception, rational judgement, and spiritual
intuition –​the faculties of knowing 22
The Divine Light and Ghazālī’s foundationalism 23
Conclusion 27

2 Certainty at the nexus between reason and religious authority 38

Ghazālī’s critique of Bāṭinite scepticism in The Infamies and his rational
support for the validity of reason 38
Ghazālī’s hermeneutical theory (taʾwīl) in The Infamies 46
Quranic support for philosophical demonstration in The Straight
Balance 49
Conclusion 57

3 Scepticism, certainty, and the philosophical tradition 65

Early Ashʿarite and Avicennian cosmology 66
The principle of causality in The Incoherence of the Philosophers 67
Occasionalism and Ghazāli’s sceptical assault 69
Ghazāli’s modified Aristotelianism 71
Certainty and revelation (prophecy and mystical cognition) 73
Conclusion 79
x Contents

4 Certainty within the Sufi tradition 87

The second crisis and the quest for prophetic knowledge 88
Deliberation on The Deliverance from Error 92
The path to the knowledge of God and our inability to truly
know Him 94
The unknowability of God 99
Science of the path to the hereafter (ʿilm ṭarīq al-​ākhira) 102
Science of praxis (ʿilm al-​muʿāmala) 103
Science of unveiling (ʿilm al-​mukāshafa) 107
Sufi ontology of oneness as the apex of certainty 111
Trust (tawakkul) and the elements of certainty to be sought 114
The Quranic triad of certainty 116
Conclusion 119

Epilogue 134

Index 137
Acknowledgements

The original research for this work began in the Department of Philosophy at the
University of the Western Cape. I extend sincere gratitude to Prof. Simon Beck for
his supervision and guidance. I am also grateful to Prof. Alparslan Aҫıkgenҫ of Ibn
Haldun University for his extensive comments and valuable suggestions for each
chapter of this work. I am forever indebted to my father, Prof. Yasien Mohamed.
His constant support, critical remarks and valuable insights were indispensable. We
often discussed Ghazālī and Islamic thought late into the night, leaving me with
enriched ideas and little sleep. I would also like to acknowledge the constructive
comments of Prof. Auwais Rafudeen and Prof. Farid Al-​Attas.
My sincere thanks go to Prof. Oliver Leaman, editor of the Routledge Studies in
Islamic Philosophy book series, for including my book in this series and providing
valuable suggestions. Gratitude also goes to the editors, Euan Rice-​Coates and Joe
Whiting of Routledge, for their assistance during the publication process.
I thank my dear teacher, Moulana Yaaseen Abbas, for his constant support and
guidance, and for providing valuable remarks to Chapter 3. My gratitude also goes
to the Harvard/​ASIPT Annual Islamic Philosophy Conference of 2020 for the
opportunity to present Chapter 1, and the valuable feedback I received. Thanks also
go to those who proofread the manuscript, namely, Somaya Latief, Adela Jusufovic
and Ilham Mohamed. I acknowledge my friends, Dr. Yusuf Patel for his profound
insights, and Mohamed El-​Gendy for his receptive ear and perceptive remarks.
I am grateful to my beloved wife, Adela Jusufovic, for her patience, support
and willingness to entertain my long-​winded thoughts, and my son, Hasan, for
teaching me what is fiṭrah and helping me stay up at night to complete this book.
Finally, I thank my late mother, Zaida Mohamed, for her encouragement to pursue
this work. Her continuous motivation and support have kept me going. She passed
away in February 2021, and has left a massive void in my life. But, her wisdom,
love and spirit continue to resonate. I dedicate this book to her.
newgenprepdf

A note on transliteration and translation

I have used the transliteration system of the Encyclopaedia of Islam, Third Edition,
except for common Arabic words used in the English language. This transliter-
ation system uses the letter “a” to indicate the tā marbuṭa. For the sake of simpli-
fication, I have removed the definite article from “Al-​Ghazālī,” and spelled it as
Ghazālī. For the honorific phrase “May God’s peace and blessings be upon him
(ṣallā Allāh ʿalayhi wa sallam),” written after the name of Prophet Muhammad,
I have used: (ṣ). For the most part, I use the English translation of book titles, and
Arabic terms, to make the work more accessible and readable. For the translation
of Quranic verses, I have mainly used The Study Quran, and occasionally Abdul
Haleem’s translation of the Quran (referenced). All the hadith translations are from
www.had​ith.com, unless otherwise stated in the endnotes.
Introduction

Abū Ḥāmid al-​Ghazālī (d. 1111), known by the honorific title “Proof of Islam”
(ḥujjat al-​islām), was one of the foremost scholars and authorities in the Muslim
world. He was born in the period of Seljuk-​Abbasid rule in the year 1058 C E in Tūs,
Khorāsān (present day Iran). Prior to becoming a decorated scholar and holding a
prestigious appointment at the Niẓāmīyya madrasa in Baghdad, Ghazālī studied
under the tutelage of the prominent theologian and jurist al-​Juwaynī (d. 1085), in
Nīshāpūr. Ghazālī was no dogmatist or religious zealot, but a scholar with a critical
spirit who relentlessly struggled in pursuit of truth and certainty. The story of doubt
and certainty in Ghazālī’s epistemology is replete with a myriad of contrasting
views, some emphasising the rational/​philosophical dimension, others emphasising
the spiritual/​mystical dimension, with not much consensus. Ghazālī is an enigma
to many. The Andalusian Aristotelian Ibn Rushd (d. 1198) described Ghazālī as a
“Sufi with the Sufis, a philosopher with the philosophers, and an Ashʿari with the
Ashʿarites.” In this book we will navigate Ghazālī’s attitude towards philosophy
and Sufism (taṣawwuf) through the lens of Ghazālī’s understanding of doubt and
certainty.
Ghazālī has often been blamed as the one who single-​handedly offered the death
blow to philosophy in the Muslim world. The reading of Ghazālī’s The Incoherence
of the Philosophers (Tahāfut al-​falāsifa) has often perpetuated this perception.
Orientalists such as Montgomery Watt have popularised the conception that after
Ghazālī’s departure from Baghdad in 1095 CE and “conversion,” he was opposed
to philosophy, and solely embraced Sufism in his subsequent works.1 Muslim
scholars such as AbdolKarim Soroush and Hassan Hanafi held similar positions to
that of Watt regarding his attitude towards philosophy.
In the last three decades, there has been a shift in understanding Ghazālī’s attitude
towards philosophy and commitment to Ashʿarite theology and Sufism. Scholars
such as Richard Frank challenged the dominant perception, and downplayed the
influence of Ashʿarism on Ghazālī’s thought. Frank argued that Ghazālī held an
Avicennian persuasion and philosophical bent throughout his lifetime.2 Shortly
thereafter, Binyamin Abrahamov argued that to Ghazālī, the best means to know
God is through intellectual endeavours and not mysticism.3 Abrahamov assumes
that Ghazālī feigns his preference for mystical experience to the commoners, but

DOI: 10.4324/9781003403562-1
2 Introduction

truly prefers philosophical reason. In more recent scholarship, Alexander Treiger’s

work on Ghazālī’s mystical cognition and Frank Griffel’s work on Ghazālī’s cos-
mology shows the unquestionable influence of Avicennian philosophy on Ghazālī’s
mysticism and cosmology respectively.4 Griffel argues that in The Incoherence of
the Philosophers, Ghazālī does not aim to prove the falsehood of the teachings
of the philosophers (falāsifa), but to show their inability to demonstrate their
teachings.5 He argues that the complexity of his “refutation” leaves room for
Ghazālī to adopt many of their teachings.6 Treiger makes the argument that The
Incoherence is a pseudo-​refutation, and Ghazālī’s real views were not meant for
the consumption of the commoners.7 He further suggests that Ghazālī accepted key
philosophical ideas, such as the denial of the bodily resurrection in the afterlife.8
In Afifi al-​Akiti’s analysis of Ghazālī’s Major Maḍnūn, he shows not only its close
resemblance to Avicennian philosophy, but also Ghazālī’s critical editing aimed at
preserving Islamic orthodoxy and ameliorating the shortcomings of the falāsifa.9
Kenneth Garden contends that Ghazālī’s autobiography, The Deliverance from
Error (al-​Munqidh min al-​ḍalāl), is misleading as it depicts him as an outright
Sufi. Garden argues that it is an apologetic work meant to vindicate him from
accusations of holding philosophical and Ismāʿīlī Shiʿī ideas, which ensued during
the Nīshāpūr controversy in 1106 CE .10 He states that Ghazālī was not a Sufi recluse
after his departure from Baghdad. He argues that Ghazālī actively continued to
be connected to the political class and engaged in philosophical activity.11 Jules
Janssens states that Ghazālī “gives preference to the path of learning by acqui-
sition”; however, he also argues that Ghazālī wavered between philosophy and
Sufism.12 Luis Xavier Lόpez-​Farjeat presents a rationalist account of certainty in
Ghazālī’s epistemology. He states that for Ghazālī, “the mystical practices of the
Sufis did not entirely satisfy him.”13 He further argues that Ghazālī “conceives that
intellectual knowledge is the best way to know God.”14
Recent scholarship has also continued to reveal Ghazālī’s commitment to Sufism
as a path to truth and certainty. Joseph Lumbard recognises the role of philosophy
in Ghazālī’s thought. However, he argues that Ghazālī placed a higher value on
Sufism, and its concomitant witnessing (mushāhada) in attaining certainty than on
other epistemic avenues.15 Massimo Campanini takes a middle position; he argues
that philosophy held a crucial place in Ghazālī’s yearning for God. He defines
philosophy as ḥikma, which is connected with religion, and not the peripatetic phil-
osophy (falsafa) of the falāsifa. But he also maintains that Ghazālī recognised the
superiority of the mystical path.16 Eric Ormsby argues that in Ghazālī’s thought,
the highest truth is found at the nexus between knowledge and action (ʿilm wa
ʿamal), which is signified by taste (dhawq) or incommunicable spiritual experi-
ence, and not authority, argumentation or philosophical demonstration.17 Osman
Bakar positions Ghazālī as a Sufi before a philosopher, and stresses the intuitive
faculty as a means to “knowledge from on high.”18
In the prior discussion, we’ve focused solely on the literature surrounding
the notion of certainty. But doubt and certainty are two sides of the same coin,
interrelated subjects, and both significant themes in Ghazālī’s epistemology. The
majority of scholarship surrounding Ghazālī’s notion of doubt and certainty has
been in comparison to Descartes.19 In this book we aim to study doubt and certainty
 Introduction 3

within the Islamic intellectual tradition (via Ghazālī) alone and not in anticipation
of René Descartes, David Hume or other Western philosophers.20 Thus, we hope to
approach the subject in a more focused manner.
There have been a few studies focusing on Ghazālī’s scepticism alone, and
not in comparison to other thinkers. Osman Bakar argues that Ghazālī’s scepti-
cism was methodological, and a sincere quest to attain certainty. He states that
Ghazālī’s “doubt was not of truth itself, but of modes of knowing and modes of
accepting truth.”21 Sobhi Rayan views Ghazālī’s doubt as a method of thinking
to discover truth rather than a psychological state of doubt.22 However, he does
not make mention of Ghazālī’s acknowledgement of a higher faculty of knowing
and commitment to taṣawwuf as a means to higher certainty. Tanneli Kukkonen
discusses the various dimensions of Ghazālī’s doubt, recognising the place of
philosophical certainty, but also the domain of the Sufi tradition in attaining cer-
tainty.23 Paul Heck describes Ghazālī’s brand of scepticism as “learned ignorance,”
which is the recognition that rationality has its limitations when attempting to
attain knowledge of the reality of God.24 He states that the submission of the intel-
lect leads to metaphilosophical adjudication, and the use of revelation and mystical
insight as a means to greater certainty.25
The general trend, including the studies comparing Ghazālī to Descartes, has
been to read Ghazālī’s doubt as either existential or methodological. The latter
reading aims at critiquing the methods of knowing, establishing the foundations
of knowledge and undermining heterodox doctrines. The former reading also has
a place in Ghazālī’s epistemology. However, Ghazālī was not a universal sceptic.
He did not question all systems of knowledge or the fundamentals of the Islamic
faith. He held that knowledge of the nature of reality is possible, and sought the
best means of acquiring knowledge of it. Ghazālī’s scepticism is akin to a critical
inquiry aimed at truth and certainty. We will pursue our study of his scepticism in
a dual manner, considering both, his existential and methodological scepticism,
while recognising his affirmation of the possibility to acquire knowledge of the
nature of reality.
In the above brief sketch, we surveyed recent scholarship surrounding Ghazālī’s
scepticism and certainty, with special reference to his attitude towards philosophy
and Sufism. It is often assumed that acquired knowledge received through philo-
sophical demonstration (burhān), and experiential knowledge achieved through
spiritual unveiling (mukāshafa) are regarded as mutually exclusive in their attempt
to achieve certainty. In the present work, we do not assume that Sufism and phil-
osophy have an antagonistic relationship in Ghazālī’s writings but propose that
they are complementary. We will navigate the philosophical and Sufi dimensions of
Ghazālī’s epistemology through providing a comprehensive account of his notion
of doubt and certainty. The essence of this research asks, what was the nature of
Ghazālī’s scepticism, and what approach to knowledge did he regard as yielding
the greatest certainty?
Our intention in this study is to carry out a close reading and philosophical
analysis of a broad variety of Ghazālī’s writings to develop a systematic presenta-
tion of his theory of knowledge and the place of doubt and certainty within it. We
assume that Ghazālī was consistent in his writings throughout his life; however,
4 Introduction

we will contend that through looking at the context and audience, we may recon-
cile perceived inconsistencies. We do not assume that after Ghazālī’s conversion
he abandoned his philosophically inclined views, or that before his conversion he
was not steeped in knowledge and acceptance of Sufi teachings (at the least, he
theoretically accepted it). As will emerge, the later works of Ghazālī have obvious
elements of philosophical thought, and during his student years in Nīshāpūr he
received tutelage from the Sufi master al-​Fārmadhī. Ghazālī’s student Abū Bakr
ibn ʿArabi (d. 1148) attested to the fact that Ghazālī practiced taṣawwuf at least two
years before his departure from Baghdad.26 Ghazālī had been consistent at a theor-
etical level, but he intensified his ethical and spiritual practice later in his life. This
included his desire to write works on religious and ethical praxis. The “conversion”
Ghazālī experienced was not an intellectual conversion; rather, it was an existential
one, influencing his practice and academic focus, but not necessarily his position.

In addition to the introduction and conclusion, this book consists of four chapters.
Chapter 1 discusses Ghazālī’s scepticism and his quest for the foundations
of knowledge. We begin with a historical overview of classical scepticism.
Thereafter, we discuss the metaphysical dimensions to knowledge in Ghazālī’s
epistemology. The literature concerning Ghazālī’s scepticism concerns whether
it is of a psychological/​existential or a methodological nature. In our study, we
pursue a dual approach. We begin with the former, discussing the trajectory from
doubt (shakk) to philosophical certainty, and the subsequent attainment of experi-
ential certainty. Thereafter, we discuss his methodological scepticism, and its
role in establishing the foundations of knowledge, and a faculty of knowing that
exists beyond reason. To prevent an infinite regress in logical reasoning, Aristotle
emphasised the importance of first principles. Likewise, Ghazālī sought to estab-
lish the foundations of knowledge through taking scepticism to its absolute
conclusions, and couching it in a “logic” from on high. Relevant to understanding
Ghazālī’s foundationalism, we discuss the notions of “divine light” and “innate
predisposition” (fiṭrah).
In Chapter 2, we discuss certainty at the nexus of reason and religious authority.
We evaluate Ghazālī’s polemical treatises, The Infamies of the Esotericists (Faḍāʾiḥ
al-​bāṭīniyya) and The Straight Balance (al-​Qiṣtās al-​mustaqīm), which aim at
undermining the anti-​rationalism (scepticism) of the Ismāʿīlī Bāṭinites. We show
Ghazālī’s “rationalist” justification and Quranic support for the certainty (yaqīn)
and the legitimacy of philosophical demonstration (burhān) in contradistinction
to the authoritative instruction (taʿlīm) of the Bāṭinites. Thereafter, contrary to the
esotericism of the Bāṭinites, we briefly show how Ghazālī’s hermeneutical theory
harmoniously integrates the literal, the rationalist and the esoteric meanings of
the source texts. Ghazālī is often read as an absolutely anti-​authoritarian figure.
However, we also discuss his appropriation of authoritative instruction (taʿlīm)
within the framework of Sunni orthodoxy.
Ghazālī straddled two polemical battles, one with the Bāṭinites, undermining
their anti-​rationalism, and the other with the philosophers (falāsifa), curbing their
overconfidence in rationalism. In Chapter 3, we turn to Ghazālī’s famous work
 Introduction 5

The Incoherence of the Philosophers (Tahāfut al-​falāsifa), with a special focus on

the seventeenth chapter, dealing with causality, miracles and the omnipotence of
God. We discuss Ghazālī’s sceptical assault on the philosophers’ (falāsifa) con-
cept of causality. We examine his argument for the rational possibility of the
occurrence of miracles, and the vindication of revelation as a source of certainty
on matters outside the domain of reason. We show that Ghazālī was not averse
to philosophy, but sought to cast doubt on particular unorthodox ideas of the
falāsifa, and was concerned about the limitations and misapplication of philo-
sophical logic. Finally, we demonstrate that Ghazālī’s chief aim was to humble
the philosophers, and give epistemic room for the place of revelation (waḥy) and
divine inspiration (ilhām).
Chapter 4 ventures to discuss certainty within the Sufi tradition. Recent schol-
arship has often ignored or undermined the importance Ghazālī placed on spir-
itual experience (dhawq) or unveiling (mukāshafa) as the highest level of certainty.
This chapter will show the complementary relationship between philosophical and
spiritual knowledge, but highlight the superior station of the latter in Ghazālī’s
epistemology. We begin the chapter discussing Ghazālī’s spiritual crisis, and quest
to taste a portion of prophecy, or otherwise put, the spiritual experiences of the
Sufis. Thereafter, we discuss the philosophical and Sufi path to knowledge of God,
followed by an analysis of the “inability to truly know Him,” and yet at the same
time “to know only Him,” as a station of certainty.
Next, we discuss Ghazālī’s main intellectual focus, promoting the “science
of the path to the hereafter” (ʿilm ṭarīq al-​ākhira), and its two components, the
“knowledge of praxis” (ʿilm al-​muʿāmala) and the “knowledge of unveiling” (ʿilm
al-​mukāshafa). We show that the knowledge of praxis is mainly the Sufi path, but
includes elements of Greek moral philosophy. Thereafter, we examine that the
knowledge of unveiling is the product of religious and moral praxis (al-​muʿāmala),
and represents the esoteric knowledge of the Sufis, not philosophical knowledge,
as some scholars have argued. We show that ʿilm al-​mukāshafa provides both cer-
tain knowledge and knowledge not accessible to the mind, and also secures feli-
city in this world and the hereafter. Thereafter, we discuss the apex of certainty in
Ghazālī’s epistemology, the monistic vision of God, and the concomitant qualities
in a person who has attained this station. Finally, we examine the parallels between
Ghazālī’s theory of certainty and the Quranic triad of certainty.

Notes
1 See Watt, Muslim Intellectual: A Study of Al-​Ghazālī.
2 Frank, Al-​Ghazālī and the Ashʿarite School; Frank, Creation and the Cosmic System: Al-​
Ghazâlî & Avicenna. Frank’s writings did not go unopposed, it was challenged by scholars
such as Michael Marmura and Ahmad Dallal. See Dallal, “Ghazali and the Perils of
Interpretation”; Marmura, “Ghazālian Causes and Intermediaries.”
3 Abrahamov, “Al-​Ghazālī’s Supreme Way to Know God.”
4 Treiger, Inspired Knowledge in Islamic Thought: Al-​Ghazālī’s Theory of Mystical
Cognition and its Avicennian Foundation. Griffel, Al-​Ghazālī’s Philosophical Theology.
5 Griffel, Al-​Ghazālī’s Philosophical Theology, 98.
6 Introduction

6 Ibid.
7 Treiger, Inspired Knowledge in Islamic Thought: Al-​Ghazālī’s Theory of Mystical
Cognition and its Avicennian Foundation, 96.
8 Ibid., 92–​93.
9 Al-​Akiti, “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly of Falsafa: Al-​Ghazālī’s Maḍnun, Tahāfut,
and Maqāṣid, with Particular attention to their Falsafī Treatments of God’s Knowledge
of Temporal Events,” 80.
10 See also van Ess, who initially made the observation that the autobiography is an
apologetic work. van Ess, “Quelques remarques sur le Munqidh Min Aḍ-Ḍalâl”
11 Garden, The First Islamic Reviver: Abū Ḥāmid al-​Ghazālī and His Revival of the
Religious Sciences.
12 Janssens, “Al-​Ghazālī between Philosophy (Falsafa) and Sufism (Taṣawwuf): His
Complex Attitude in the Marvels of the Heart (ʿAjāʾib al-​qalb) of the Iḥyāʾ ʿulūm al-​
dīn,” 626 and 632.
13 Lόpez-​Farjeat, “Al-​Ghazālī on Knowledge (ʿilm) and Certainty (yaqīn) in al-​Munqidh
min aḍ–​ḍalal and in al-​Qisṭās al-​mustaqīm,” 241–​242.
14 Ibid., 230.
15 Lumbard, “Abū Ḥāmid Al-​Ghazālī and the Art of Knowing.”
16 Campanini, Al-​Ghazali and the Divine, 5 and 9.
17 Ormsby, “The Taste of Truth: The Structure of Experience in Ghazālī’s Munqidh.”
18 Bakar, “The Place of Doubt in Islamic Epistemology: Al-​Ghazzali’s Philosophical
Experience.”
19 See Sharif, “Philosophical Influence from Descartes to Kant”; Sami, “The Place and
Function of Doubt in the Philosophies of Descartes and al-​Ghazālī”; Götz, “The Quest
for Certainty: Al-​Ghazālī and Descartes”; Albertini, “Crisis and Certainty of Knowledge
in al-​Ghazālī (1058–​1111) and Descartes (1596–​1650)”; Moad, “Comparing Phases of
Skepticism in Al-​Ghazālī and Descartes: Some First Meditations on Deliverance from
Error”; Zamir, “Descartes and Al-​Ghazālī: Doubt, Certitude and Light.”
20 Halevi shows the functional scepticism of Ghazālī in the Incoherence. He briefly
compares Ghazālī’s and Hume’s critique of causality. However, Halevi prefers to com-
pare Ghazālī to Wittgenstein, stating that their scepticism is a “different game.” He states
that it is a tool applied for polemical reasons and not to flex one’s scepticism for its
own sake. Halevi states that despite the historical gap, there are structural similarities
between Ghazālī and Wittgenstein, for instance, the polemic Wittgenstein waged against
natural science, and Ghazālī against Peripatetic philosophy. Halevi, “The Theologian’s
Doubts: Natural Philosophy and the Skeptical Games of Ghazālī.” See also Akdogan,
“Ghazālī, Descartes, and Hume.”
21 Bakar, “The Place of Doubt in Islamic Epistemology: Al-​Ghazzali’s Philosophical
Experience.”
22 Rayan, “Al-​Ghazali’s Method of Doubt.”
23 Kukkonen, “Al-​Ghazālī’s Skepticism Revisited.”
24 Heck, “Chapter 14: Skepticism in Classical Islam: The Case of Ghazali,” 203; Heck,
Skepticism in Classical Islam: Moments of Confusion.
25 Heck, “Chapter 14: Skepticism in Classical Islam: The Case of Ghazali,” 203.
26 Griffel, Al-​Ghazālī’s Philosophical Theology, 9.

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Halevi, Leor. “The Theologian’s Doubts: Natural Philosophy and the Skeptical Games of
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1 Ghazālī’s scepticism and quest for the
foundations of knowledge

For a paradigmatic figure like Ghazālī, the foundationalism present in his popular
and well-​studied text The Deliverance from Error (al-​Munqidh min al-​ḍalāl)
has hardly been the subject of investigation. In this chapter, we show Ghazālī’s
engagement with a methodological scepticism aimed at establishing the founda-
tional truths. To prevent an infinite regress in logical reasoning, Ghazālī sought to
establish the foundations of knowledge through taking his own brand of scepticism
to its absolute conclusions. His sceptical engagement with the epistemological
sources, such as taqlīd (uncritical imitation), sense perception and necessary truths,
is important in order to evaluate his epistemology and approach to acquiring cer-
tainty (yaqīn). To understand his foundationalism and vindication from a sceptical
frame of mind, the concepts of “Divine Light” and fiṭra (primordial predisposition)
will be discussed.
We further show in this chapter that in contradistinction to classical scepticism,
Ghazālī’s scepticism was not a denial or a suspension of the assertions of reality.
Neither was it a denial of Muslim doctrine, but a methodological attempt to estab-
lish the foundations of knowledge. We do not consider his scepticism to be akin
to atheism, or a denial of all systems of knowledge, nor to that of a secularist who
wishes to free himself of religious authority, but we conceive it to be a process
of critical human inquiry. It is not scepticism for its own sake. However, doubt
is essential to human consciousness itself, not just a feigned operation. Ghazālī
is normally either viewed as experiencing a psychological/​existential scepticism
or engaging in a methodological scepticism. In this chapter we pursue a dual
approach: we primarily focus on his methodological scepticism as a means of
attaining truth and certainty, but also recognise and discuss the place of psycho-
logical scepticism.

Background to classical scepticism (safsaṭa)

Abū Ḥāmid al-​Ghazālī did not operate in a philosophical vacuum. He was aware
of Greek scepticism and its Arab usage, namely, safsaṭa.1 The literal translation
of safsaṭa is “sophistry”; however, in its usage in the Islamic tradition, it is more
broadly a reference to the philosophical scepticism of the ancient Greeks. Ghazālī

DOI: 10.4324/9781003403562-2
10 Ghazālī’s scepticism and the foundations of knowledge

acknowledges falling into safsaṭa. In The Deliverance from Error (al-​Munqidh

min al-​ḍalāl), he says, “this malady was mysterious and it lasted for nearly two
months. During that time I was a sceptic in fact, but not in utterance and doc-
trine.”2 The translators of The Deliverance, Richard McCarthy, Montgomery Watt,
and Muhammad Abūlaylah understand and translate the term safsaṭa as scepti-
cism.3 The striking parallels between Ghazālī’s brand of scepticism and that of
Descartes have led to numerous studies. But few have compared Ghazālī’s scep-
ticism to Greek scepticism (safsaṭa) because of the disparity between them.
However, Ghazālī recognises his “malady” as a symptom of a bout of Greek scep-
ticism (safsaṭa), albeit that his scepticism was of a different nature altogether. Prior
to understanding the nature of Ghazālī’s doubt, it is imperative to understand the
nature and scope of scepticism in the Hellenic tradition and the Islamic tradition’s
reception of safsaṭa.
Prior to the dominant schools of scepticism, namely, Academic and Pyrrhonian
scepticism, the germination of a sceptical tradition in Greece began with Socrates
(d. 399 B CE ). The Socratic method of inquiry embodied a spirit of investigation, not
a dogmatic attachment to belief. This dialectical approach called into question one’s
opinions. In Plato’s Apology, it is stated that the Delphic Oracle proclaimed that no
one is wiser than Socrates. In a sceptical fashion, Socrates sought counterexamples
of wiser individuals in Athens, and failing to find anyone, he concluded:

It is likely that neither of us know anything worthwhile, but he thinks he knows

something when he does not, whereas when I do not know, neither do I think
I know; so I am likely to be wiser than he to this small extent, that I do not think
I know what I do not know.4

This is not necessarily an assertion that “he knows nothing” like typical sceptics
proclaim, but it is an advocacy for the critical examination of worthwhile matters.5
It is no wonder Socrates was accused of being a Sophist, and consequently given
the hemlock. The Sophists were progenitors to scepticism in their method of dia-
lectical engagement; they persuasively argued for both sides of an argument, laying
bare the inconsistencies of their interlocutor. Thus, they held no position regarding
the truth or the falsity of an issue, or the nature of how things are.
The Academic Sceptics were members of Plato’s Academy. The turn in scepti-
cism of the Academy began with the later leader (scholarch) of Plato’s Academy,
Arcesilaus (d. 240 BCE ), and following him, Carneades (d. 129 B C E ). The Academic
Sceptics were opposed to Stoicism. Zeno, the founder of Stoicism and a contem-
porary of Arcesilaus, held that knowledge is achievable and within the capacity
of human beings. The Academic Sceptics took a contrasting view, asserting that
knowledge is not possible and that there is no criterion for truth, eventually leading
to a suspension of judgement.6 Arguments were not induced to establish a conclu-
sion but to arrive at a suspension of judgement. According to Diogenes, Arcesilaus
“was the first to suspend judgement owing to the contradictions of opposing
ideas.”7 Thus, Academic Sceptics made no assertions of belief or disbelief of any
proposition, but merely suspended judgement.
 Ghazālī’s scepticism and the foundations of knowledge 11

Academic Sceptics are still regarded as dogmatic because they assert that know-
ledge is not possible, whereas the Pyrrhonian Sceptics avoid making assertions that
knowledge is not possible. This is an important difference between the two schools.
Hazlett regards Academic Scepticism as something professional or scholastic,
whereas Pyrrhonian Scepticism is understood to be a way of life aimed at inducing
“a state of tranquillity.”8 Through mainly the writings of Sextus Empericus (d. 210
BC E ), we learn about the proponents of Pyrrhonian Scepticism, from its founder
Pyrrho (d. 275 BCE ) to its later advocates Aenesidemus (d. 10 B C E ), Agrippa (d. 12
BC E ), and Empiricus himself.
Pyrrho of Elis emphasised three questions outlining his philosophy and prescrip-
tion to attain happiness. The first question asks, “what are things like by nature?”,
and he answers stating that things are indeterminate or undecidable. The second
question asks, “in what way ought we be disposed to them?”, and he claims that
we cannot make a claim of truth or falsehood. The third question asks, “what will
be the result for those who are so disposed?”, and he responds by stating that what
follows is speechlessness and tranquillity (ataraxia).9 Due to Pyrrho’s distrust of
his senses or lack of affirmation to any belief, caricatures have been attributed to
him. It is said that he was unmoved by the sight of a drowning man, and he merely
walked past him without concern, or that friends had to protect him from a collision
with a moving wagon or from falling over a cliff.10 However, there have also been
reports to the contrary, stating that he was sensible, not to mention that his phil-
osophy adheres to appearances.11
In Aenesidemus’s Pyrrohnian Discourses, he gives an account of ten modes
of advancing a sceptical argument. It is an approach to putting appearances and
thoughts into opposition. The ten modes create disagreements of equal weight,
which then brings about a suspension of judgement, and finally induces a state of
tranquillity. The ten modes are meant to establish arguments based on the difference
in human beings, sense perception, states, positions, intervals and places, custom or
belief, relativity, and so on. For instance, doubt may be induced regarding whether
from a distance, a boat is stationary or moving; or whether honey is bitter or sweet
using one of these modes.12
At the heart of Pyrrhonian Scepticism’s epistemic arsenal are Agrippa’s five
modes. Agrippa develops five modes used to bring about doubt to a dogmatist’s pos-
ition, namely, the modes from dispute, infinite regress, relativity (which captures
many of the ten modes), hypothesis (assumption), and circularity. Collectively,
the modes from infinite regress, assumption and circularity are commonly known
as Agrippa’s trilemma, or what Fogelin regards as the “Challenging Modes.”13
Agrippa’s trillemma essentially challenges the grounds of professed knowledge:

1) The mode from infinite regress throws into disrepute arguments with a possibly
infinite number of premises. Since there is no initial premise, a suspension of
judgement follows.
2) The mode from hypothesis invokes a suspension of judgement if a premise is
made on the basis of an assumption without an argument, for these assumptions
may be false.14
12 Ghazālī’s scepticism and the foundations of knowledge

3) The mode from circularity is applied “when that which ought to confirm a given
investigated matter requires confirmation from that matter.”15 The sceptic’s
application of it throws the argument into disrepute and induces a suspension
of judgement.

These modes are meant to undermine any argument or notion that knowledge is
possible. Scholars such as Fogelin imply that the Agrippan argument cannot be
defeated.16 Williams states that the Challenging Modes are meant to investigate the
grounds of those who claim to hold “knowledge of how things really are.”17 The
Challenging Modes imply an assumption that every proposition is subject to proof;
they ignore the reality that knowledge is established on foundations, first principles
or a priori axioms not subject to justification.
Agrippa’s trilemma implies that there is no standard or criterion for truth: “know-
ledge always requires prior knowledge –​which suggests that knowledge is impos-
sible.”18 For example, you may believe that a bird is sitting on a perch, and you
justify this through presupposing sense perception to be a criterion of truth.19
However, sense perception itself, as a criterion of truth, can be called into question
using the trilemma, concluding that no criterion of truth exists and knowledge is
not possible. In our later discussion of Ghazālī’s methodological scepticism, he
does not resort to reason to save himself from this type of quandary but the reality
of foundational knowledge acquired through God’s grace.20 In a similar manner,
Aristotle held that there are basic beliefs which require no justification, lest one
finds a demonstration continues ad infinitum. This foundational knowledge acts as
a plinth for acquired knowledge, consequently dislocating Agrippa’s trilemma or
sceptical assault.
Standing on the shoulders of these scholars, Sextus Empiricus in Outlines
of Pyrrhonism refines Pyrrhonism and responds to its interlocutors. Although
Empiricus stresses that scepticism is a philosophy of investigation for the discovery
of “truth,” and the inducing of a suspension of judgement and subsequent tran-
quillity, it is not a sincere aim at the truth, considering that no assent takes place.21
The very notion of investigation implies predisposed or implicit knowledge: “the
sceptic’s ability to understand involves some knowledge, namely a kind of know-
ledge that does not entail any belief.”22 In the sceptic’s dialectical confrontation with
the dogmatist, it is inconceivable that they do not adhere to logical laws, concepts
or rules of inference, which a foundationalist would argue are innate or implicit.
The famous contention regarding Pyrrhonism is the charge that sceptics cannot
act without belief. In other words, that it is impractical. Aristotle asks, “what diffe-
rence will there be between him and plants?”23 Socrates remarks that,

We will be better men, braver and less idle, if we believe that one must search
for the things that one does not know, rather than if we believe that it is not pos-
sible to find out what we do not know and that we must not look for it.24

Empiricus argues that sceptics follow appearances as a standard of action which

does not necessarily involve belief. He also argues that a sceptic is compelled to
 Ghazālī’s scepticism and the foundations of knowledge 13

action (i.e. drinking out of thirst); that he habitually follows custom; or that he does
what he has been professionally trained to do.25 Despite the logical gymnastics
applied by Empiricus, action does seem to imply a degree of belief –​perhaps what
scholars call an urbane scepticism, which is not a suspension on all matters (rustic
scepticism), but solely on scientific and philosophical matters, while still holding
ordinary beliefs.26
Evaluating the scope of scepticism, we note that it is not a monolith. A sceptic
might be focused on particular disciplines alone, be it ethical, scientific, theological
propositions, and so on. Or the target of the scepticism may be the sources of
knowledge, such as sense perception, testimony (authority), revelation, or rational
inquiry.27
The nature and scope of Academic and Pyrrhonian scepticism loosely fall under
the category of safsaṭa. Ghazālī was unique among Muslim theologians in his
appropriation of scepticism to establish the foundations of knowledge, or his appli-
cation of it to bring about suspicion of heterodox positions (I will return to this in
Chapter 2 and Chapter 3). Many other theologians within the Islamic traditions
have defined and responded to scepticism (safsaṭa). The founder of the Māturīdī
school of theology, Abū Manṣūr al-​Māturīdī (d. 944), in his main work, The Book
of Monotheism (Kitāb al-​Tawḥīd), states that the sophists are described as those
who deny the real essences (ḥaqāīq) of things and claim that knowledge does not
exist.28 Ghazālī’s teacher, the Ashʿari theologian Imām al-​Ḥaramayn al-​Juwaynī
(d. 1085), states that there are four groups of Sophists: those who deny necessary
knowledge; those who say that knowledge cannot be proven; those that do not
deny knowledge but the human ability to know; and those relativists who say that
firmly held beliefs all constitute knowledge, and thus there is no objective know-
ledge, only subjective knowledge (i.e. the universe is eternal or temporal, and the
Euphrates River is sweet or bitter; all constitute knowledge).29
Another Māturīdī theologian, Najm al-​Dīn al-​Nasafi (d. 1142), in his widely
commented-​upon work, The Creed of al-​Nasafi (Al-​ʿAqāid al-​Nasafiyya), states at
the beginning of the text that the people of truth hold that the essences of things
are real and knowledge of it is demonstrable, in contradistinction to the Sophists.30
The Ashʿari theologian Saʿd al-​Dīn al-​Taftāzānī (d. 1390) comments on al-​Nasafi’s
text, stating that the Sophists are of three kinds: the obstinate, who deny the real
essences of things, positing that they are illusions; the opinioners, who deny the
reality of things and claim that essences follow what one wishes to believe; and
the agnostics, who deny that knowledge can be established or not.31 Al-​Taftāzānī
provides a rebuttal to these positions but concludes that in reality, you cannot have
an argument with them because they do not assent to anything, and thus nothing
can be established.32 He states that the only way to deal with them is to punish them
with fire. They will either affirm the reality that fire burns or they will be consumed
by it.33
It is apparent from the remarks of al–​Māturīdī, al–​Juwaynī, al-​Nasafi, and al-​
Taftāzānī that the term safsaṭa is in reference to scepticism but not wholly of a
Greek persuasion.34 It was not just in the Islamic tradition that the sceptics were
referred to as “sophists,” but among Hellenic philosophers as well.35 However, in
14 Ghazālī’s scepticism and the foundations of knowledge

the Islamic tradition, there was no systematic philosophy of scepticism like that
of Greek scepticism. The engagements with scepticism were of a methodological
nature aimed at establishing certainty, or bringing about suspicion of unorthodox
beliefs.36

The metaphysical dimensions of knowledge

In contradistinction to the Greek sceptics, Ghazālī held that knowledge is pos-
sible. We can apprehend the reality of things. Ghazālī’s scepticism was not a
denial or a suspension of judgements about reality, but a methodological attempt
to establish the foundations of knowledge. In The Book of Knowledge (Kitāb al-​
ʿilm), Ghazālī states that certainty or true knowledge is “seeing things as they
really are,”37 which is the reality (haqīqa), the essence (dhāt), quiddity (māhiya),
or spirit (rūḥ) of a thing as opposed to the appearance or contingent properties of
the thing. In The Deliverance from Error, he states that he had a yearning from
a tender age already to seek the “real meaning of things.”38 Besides the fact that
he recognised knowledge as possible, it is unquestionable that he placed a high
value on its acquisition. The very opening of his magnum opus, the Revival of
the Religious Sciences (Iḥyāʾ ʿulūm al-​dīn), begins with The Book of Knowledge
and a discussion of the virtues of knowledge. Ghazālī’s brand of scepticism was
unique in that it was not aimed at the suspension of judgement but the attainment
of true knowledge.
Ghazālī regards the seat of knowledge as the heart.39 He uses the term “heart”
(qalb) most often; however, relative to the context of usage, it can also be called
spirit (ruḥ), soul (nafs), or intellect (ʿaql).40 The heart in this context is understood
as a subtle substance that is of a spiritual sort, not the physical organ.41 He explains
that the usage of the term “heart” in the Quran and Sunna is that which “discerns
and comes to know the real nature of things.”42 Thus, the “heart” (qalb) can be
termed the “intellect” (al-​ʿālim) in the context of it discerning the real nature of
things. To understand the metaphysics of the acquisition of knowledge, Ghazālī
uses the metaphor of a mirror. He states that the heart is like a mirror to the image
of the specific nature of things.43 The specific nature of things is regarded as the
intelligibles (al-​maʿlumāt).44 The image of the intelligibles which are reflected in
the mirror is termed intelligence (al-​ʿilm). Thus, the “mirror” of the heart is the
receptacle which receives representations or images of the nature of things, in the
same way that an individual is not in the mirror itself, but an image of the indi-
vidual reflected in the mirror. Ghazālī understands intelligence as the grasping of
reality or that which exists in the heart through its representation.
However, the mirror of the heart may be prevented from receiving knowledge
for one of five reasons: the heart of a youth is imperfect or underdeveloped and
cannot reflect intelligibles; there is dullness and filth on the surface of the heart
because of acts of disobedience; the mirror of the heart may not be faced in the
direction necessary to receive the knowledge of reality; the veil of uncritical imi-
tation (taqlīd) may be a deterrent to receiving true knowledge of the realities;
or there is ignorance of the direction in which to obtain the knowledge of the
 Ghazālī’s scepticism and the foundations of knowledge 15

realities.45 Ghazālī states that if it were not for these reasons (the veils), the heart
would readily be a recipient of the real nature of things. The heart itself is innately
endowed with the ability to know; it is a divine trust (ʾamāna) bestowed upon
humankind.46 It is what makes humanity unique, and distinct from animals or
other material entities. Ghazālī regards this trust as experiential knowledge of
God (maʿrifa) and as the declaration of his Oneness (tawḥid), the highest level of
knowledge.47
All that exists in the material world came into manifestation from an arche-
type written on the Preserved Tablet (al-​lawḥ al-​maḥfūẓ). The veil that prevents
the heart from knowing the true realities of things hangs between the Preserved
Tablet and the heart. The knowledge of the real nature of things is inscribed on the
Preserved Tablet.48 The Preserved Tablet exists in the immaterial world on a level
of existence that is prior to corporeal existence.49 The Preserved Tablet has on it
recorded all that God has decreed until the day of judgement. It contains all things
and events that exist in the material and immaterial world. Ghazālī states that the
true knowledge of things is reflected from the Tablet onto the “mirror” of the heart.
Aside from axiomatic knowledge, knowledge of things comes into the heart
either through the door of general inspiration (ilhām), or through the door of
acquired knowledge. In the case of general inspiration, through God’s grace alone,
the veil is lifted, and gleams of reality written on the Preserved Tablet are directly
reflected upon the heart.50 In the case of acquired knowledge, from the phenom-
enal world (which comes into existence from the Preserved Tablet), the external
senses transmit an image to the retentive imagination (khayāl), and subsequently
it is transmitted as a representation in the heart.51 In the former case, the veils are
lifted and knowledge gushes forth into the heart without the senses as a means.
These two doors to the attainment of knowledge are the ways of the Sufis and
the learned (ḥukamāʾ). The Sufis aim to purify and polish the heart and directly
gain knowledge into the heart, whereas the learned (i.e. the philosophers) aim to
gain knowledge into the heart indirectly through the acquisition of knowledge from
reality itself.
According to Ghazālī, there are two types of knowledge, intellectual know-
ledge and religious knowledge. Intellectual knowledge is divided into that which
is axiomatic or foundational (ḍarūriyya), and that which is acquired (muktasaba).
The latter deals with this world and the hereafter. The sciences of this world are
subjects such as medicine, engineering, and astronomy; whereas, the knowledge of
the hereafter has to do with the states of the heart: knowledge of God, his attributes
and His actions.52 Religious knowledge, on the other hand, is received on the basis
of authority (taqlīd) via the prophets. It is through the study of the Quran and the
Sunna that it is acquired. Although the heart requires the intellectual sciences, it
is through the religious sciences that the heart is protected from spiritual diseases.
Ghazālī thus regards the former as food and the latter as medicine. Thus, he states
that, “the intellect cannot dispense with instruction, nor can instruction dispense
with the intellect.”53
Ghazālī establishes an epistemic criterion of the true meaning of reality in The
Deliverance:
16 Ghazālī’s scepticism and the foundations of knowledge

So I began by saying to myself: “What I seek is knowledge of the true meaning

of things. Of necessity, therefore, I must inquire into just what the true meaning
of knowledge is.” Then it became clear to me that sure and certain knowledge
is that in which the thing known is made so manifest that no doubt clings to it,
nor is it accompanied by the possibility of error and deception, nor can the mind
even suppose such a possibility. Furthermore, safety from error must accom-
pany the certainty to such a degree that, if someone proposed to show it to be
false –​ for example, a man who would turn a stone into gold and a stick into a
snake –​his feat would not induce any doubt or denial. For if I know that ten is
more than three, and then someone were to say: “No, on the contrary, three is
more than ten, as is proved by my turning this stick into a snake” –​ and if he
were to do just that and I were to see him do it, I would not doubt my knowledge
because of his feat. The only effect it would have on me would be to make me
wonder how he could do such a thing. But there would be no doubt at all about
what I knew! I realized, then, that whatever I did not know in this way and was
not certain of with this kind of certainty was unreliable and unsure knowledge,
and that every knowledge unaccompanied by safety from error is not sure and
certain knowledge.54

In this passage, Ghazālī emphatically remarks that certainty (yaqīn) or indubitable

knowledge is of such a nature that no doubt (shakk) clings to the knowledge, and
nor is the mind susceptible to error or trickery. Ghazālī uses the weight of axiomatic
knowledge or necessary truths, for example, that ten is more than three, as an indi-
cation of what he deems to be indubitable. Thus, for knowledge received through
acquisition or testimony to be of certainty and utmost clarity, it should meet the
weight of axiomatic knowledge. This level of certainty which Ghazālī speaks
of is an absence of doubt.55 Prior to Ghazālī, al-​Bāqillānī (d. 1013) regarded
certain knowledge as that which has no doubt attached to it, and connected it to
axiomatic knowledge as well.56 Equipped with a criterion of certainty, Ghazālī
began his sceptical journey of scrutinising his knowledge, sifting between error
and truth.

Ghazālī’s hierarchy (marāṭib) of certainty

It is important to distinguish between Ghazālī’s methodological doubt, discussed
in the following section, and the presence of an existential or psychological doubt.
In Ghazālī’s intellectual journey, it is apparent that he aimed to remove doubt and
attain the highest degree of certainty. He describes those who seek to strengthen
their certitude as “scholars of the hereafter.”57 To him, certitude is not just intellec-
tual but also experiential. In his exposition on certitude in The Book of Knowledge,
he opens his discussion referencing numerous statements from the Islamic trad-
ition: that the Prophet Muhammad (ṣ) said that “certitude is faith in its entirety”58
and encouraged his followers to “learn the knowledge of certitude.”59 He also
relates Luqmān’s advice to his son: “O my dear son, knowledge without certitude
 Ghazālī’s scepticism and the foundations of knowledge 17

is not possible, a person only acts in accordance with his certitude; one who acts
diminishes not in his efforts until his certitude diminishes.”60
Ghazālī explicitly states that there are two meanings or grades to the term “cer-
titude.” The first meaning is employed by proponents of theoretical knowledge
(theologians and philosophers), and the second meaning is employed by the
practitioners of religious knowledge (jurists and Sufis). The former group uses
the term “certainty” to express the absence of doubt. This level of certainty, the
absence of doubt, is succeeded by prior stations of progress:61
The first station is the case of a particular matter holding equal weight between
truth and falsehood. The soul does not incline towards a judgement on the matter.
This station is referred to as doubt (shakk). The second station is the proclivity
towards one of two positions; however, the possibility of the veracity of the other
opinion remains. This station is referred to as supposition or opinion (ẓann). The
third station is the inclination of the self towards the truth of a thing. The mind is
convinced of it, no other opinion arises, and in the case that it does, it refuses to
accept it. However, this station is not based on indubitable knowledge; there is no
proof. If a person is exposed to discursive arguments of an opposing viewpoint, he
may assent to the possibility thereof. This is the conviction of the common people
attained through partisanship. This station is referred to as conviction (ʿitiqād).
The fourth station, the final station, is the acquisition of indubitable knowledge
attained through demonstrative proof (burhān). There is no doubt in it, nor is doubt
possible. This station is referred to as certainty (yaqīn). Ghazālī further states that
certain knowledge (al-​ʿilm al-​yaqīn) of which no doubt exists, may be attained
through philosophical speculation (naẓar), sense perception, first principles,62
unanimous narration (tawātur),63 or empirical observation.64 This type of cer-
tainty is an objective certainty aimed at the negation of doubt and acquired through
logical demonstration. He states that this level of certainty cannot be associated
with weakness or strength; a proposition is either affirmative or not. Thus, there are
no degrees in the absence of doubt.
The second group (Sufis and jurists) possesses the certainty of an experiential
and subjective type. It signifies the degree to which it overwhelms the heart. This
certitude involves no doubt but rather the extent to which a matter engulfs the heart.
Thus, this certitude has the attribute of strength. For example, the fact of death is
a matter of no doubt; however, a person may be considered either weak or strong
in his certitude of death depending on his attitude towards it or preparation for it.
Thus, this type of certitude inclines the self to affirm a matter and overwhelm the
heart to the extent that it manifests itself in sound judgement and proper conduct.65
Ghazālī combines the two types of certitude, defining them as: “on the one hand,
the negation of all doubt; on the other hand, the governance of certainty over the
soul that it is the dominant factor for judgment and action.”66 Reading Ghazālī
in a linear fashion does an injustice to understanding the clear hierarchy of cer-
tainty present in his epistemology. The first level or meaning of certainty is of a
rational nature, concerned with the removal of doubt. The second level is experien-
tial; it encompasses the heart and manifests itself in sound action. Ghazālī shows a
18 Ghazālī’s scepticism and the foundations of knowledge

holistic understanding of certainty; it is a clear blend between the rational and the
mystical dimensions. Otherwise put, it is a synthesis between the theoretical and
the practical/​experiential components of certainty. The two types of certainty are of
different kinds, the one objective and the other subjective; however, in this grading
he clearly regards the subjective or mystical certitude as superior.67 To convey
this point, in The Deliverance, he states that the knowledge of the definitions and
causes of health and drunkenness is clearly different to the actual state of experi-
encing what it is to be healthy or of being in a state of drunkenness. Bakar states:

For al-​Ghazālī, both kinds of yaqīn need to be strengthened, but it is the second
kind of yaqīn which is the nobler of the two, since without it serving as an
epistemological basis for the first kind of yaqīn, the latter would definitely
lack epistemic substance and value. Moreover, it fosters religious and spiritual
obedience, and praiseworthy habits. In other words, philosophical certainty is
of no value if it is not accompanied by submission to the truth and by the trans-
formation of one’s being in conformity with that truth.68

The gradation of certainty is a common discussion in Ghazālī’s writings. In The

Marvels of the Heart (Kitāb sharḥ ʿajāʾib al-​qalb), he presents three degrees of
faith or illumination. The first degree is that of the commoners, who attain their
faith through uncritical imitation (taqlīd) of authority or custom. The second
degree is that of the theologians, who acquire their faith through logical proofs.
And the third degree, the highest, it is that of the Sufis, who attain their faith “with
the light of certainty.”69 He states that it is real experiential knowledge based on
direct observation (mushāhada). In The Niche of Lights (Mishkāt al-​anwār), a text
of mystical philosophy, he opens the work discussing the meaning of the term
“light” or illumination with respect to the commoners, the elect, and the elect of
the elect.70 This is followed by a discussion of those sects and groups veiled with
darkness, darkness and light, and pure light with respect to their approximation to
God (Al-​Haqq). The highest level of unveiling (mukāshafa) and illumination is that
of the elect of the elect, the mystic’s witness of divine unity (tawḥīd), and the anni-
hilation (fanā) of other existents.71
It is apparent in this discussion that doubt is of a psychological or existential kind,
too, not just methodological, as shown in the subsequent discussion. According to
the stages of certainty, doubt is a particular stage in the journey towards certainty.
Doubt is a “constitutive moment in human consciousness” prior to establishing cer-
tainty.72 In theoretical matters, Ghazālī meticulously outlines the stages from doubt
towards the absence of doubt, that is, certainty, as well as the epistemic tools used
to achieve it. In Ghazālī’s chief work of theology, Moderation in Belief (al-​Iqtiṣād
fī al-​iʿtiqād), he advises the use of demonstrative arguments to rejuvenate the faith
of individuals plagued with doubts and move them to certainty. In matters of faith,
he says that “the dispelling of doubts about the fundamentals of beliefs is obliga-
tory.”73 Ghazālī does not entertain religious scepticism; however, he recognises that
doubt is a reality of many believers, and thus advocates the application of dialect-
ical theology (kalām) to strengthen a believer’s faith.
 Ghazālī’s scepticism and the foundations of knowledge 19

Ghazālī’s methodological doubt and foundationalism

The repudiation and placement of taqlīd

Before Ghazālī embarked on his journey to critically investigate his knowledge,

from a young age he had already loosened the shackles of uncritical imitation
(taqlīd). He noticed the diversity of religious groups and disagreement among
Muslims, with each group or sect claiming truth and salvation. However, most
of the affiliations were through uncritical imitation (taqlīd), and not study or crit-
ical inquiry. He states that he witnessed, “the children of Christians always grew
up embracing Christianity, and the children of Jews always grew up adhering
to Judaism, and the children of Muslims always grew up following the religion
of Islam.”74 Here, he recognises that most individuals adopt beliefs uncritically
from their teachers and parents, without critical evaluation of their truth or fal-
sity. In The Deliverance, he acknowledges that most beliefs are imposed exter-
nally, via authority, and not through a valid criterion of truth which may distinguish
between truth and falsehood.75 In contradistinction to Agrippa’s first mode, the
mode of dispute, Ghazālī is not rejecting truth or knowledge itself on the basis
that differences of opinion exist, but his doubt is aimed at undermining uncritical
imitation of authority (taqlīd) as a means to attain true knowledge. Ghazālī is crit-
ical of the instruments of attaining knowledge, not the value of knowledge itself.
Thus, the usage of correct instruments may ensure the soundness of the contents
of knowledge.
Affirming his observation that individuals grow up in conformity with the reli-
gion of their parents, he quotes the following hadith: “Every infant is born endowed
with the fiṭra: then his parents make him Jew or Christian or Magian.”76 Thus,
Ghazālī remarks that he had a deep yearning to know and seek “the true meaning
of the human fiṭra.” He is essentially seeking to know the nature of the primordial
disposition and remove the epistemic fetters of upbringing. It is important to note
that Ghazālī did not apply his scepticism to Muslim doctrine itself but to the con-
formism which leads to belief. The primordial disposition (fiṭra), in this context,
epistemologically speaking, refers to the innate capacity to know the true nature of
things, and consequently the ultimate Reality.77 For Ghazālī, the acquisition of doc-
trine through blind imitation of authority and convention is in contradiction to the
fiṭra, which equips one to know and acquire knowledge through one’s own innate
intuition and rational inference.78 The spirit of Ghazālī‘s scepticism was an attitude
of critical appraisal of potentially false ideas and irrational reliance on authority.
As we discussed earlier in The Marvels of the Heart, Ghazālī discusses the
various grades of faith of those who accept Islam. He grades uncritical imitation
(taqlīd) as the lowest in rank, followed by the faith of the theologians, and then
the highest, the Sufis.79 He states that the faith of the blind adherents stems from
their high esteem for their parents and teachers, and that although it is sufficient to
attain salvation, they will not draw in proximity to their creator. Taqlīd is based on
uncritical acceptance of authority and not the certainty of dialectical argumentation
or spiritual unveiling; thus, it may be imbued with error. He says that the degree
20 Ghazālī’s scepticism and the foundations of knowledge

of “faith” of the blind adherent is the same as that of the Jews and the Christians;
however, the latter is mistaken and the former happen to have the truth transmitted
to them.
Earlier in The Marvels, he states that one of the five causes which veil the heart
from true knowledge is the impediment of taqlīd.80 Ardent fanaticism towards
theological or legal schools may harden the heart, and prevent receptivity of it to
the truth.81 In The Scale of Action (Mīzān al-​ʿamal), his concluding statement is the
following:

If only these words [prescription to forgo taqlīd and to be independent in

thought] will lead you to doubt your inherited beliefs so that you devote your-
self to seeking [the Truth], that in itself will be beneficial, for doubts lead one to
the Truth. For the person who does not doubt does not look; and one who does
not look does not have insight; and one who does not truly have insight remains
in blindness and delusion.82

This section of the text deals not with doctrinal affiliation outside of Islam, but
within Islam. He makes reference to both theological and legal affiliation (i.e.
Muʿtazilite or Ashʿarite, or Shāfiʿī or Ḥanafī). Ghazālī did not doubt or question
the fundamental tenets of Islam regarding God, prophecy, and the last day, but the
divergent opinions within Islam.
The context of the application of this doubt concerns the case of individuals
who do not wish to accept their legal or theological doctrine on blind imitation but
through reflection and understanding. In The Scale of Action, he mentions different
degrees of affiliation to doctrine: 1) those who are biased on the basis of following
their forefathers, teachers, or land, and thus fanatically defend their doctrine and
deride other doctrines;83 2) those who follow a doctrine to seek theological and
moral educational benefit from its guidance; 3) those who establish doctrine on the
basis of understanding and not fanatical adherence to beliefs inherited from their
early education. Ghazālī is not necessarily averse to those who follow the second
group, but for himself and his companions who seek certainty, he encourages them
to “seek the truth by way of inquiry and reflection.”84 He further states that the
blind following of a guide may lead one to error, and that the path to truth and cer-
tainty is through intellectual independence.85 The doubt that Ghazālī speaks of in
this case is a type of critical inquiry, a means of seeking the truth and of eventual
removal of doubt itself. Contrary to Greek scepticism, in Ghazālī’s epistemology
the very act of doubting is a means to attain certainty, not an end in itself. He does
not give merit to an existential doubt (although he recognises it as a constitutive
reality of human consciousness), but employs a methodological doubt aimed at
achieving certainty.
Although a common theme of repudiation in Ghazālī’s writings is uncritical
imitation (taqlīd) as a source of knowledge, contrary to many scholars,86 Ghazālī
is not an absolute anti-​authoritarian figure, but allows taqlīd in certain contexts.
As much as Ghazālī is an iconoclast in many ways, he recognised the place for
authority and embraced the importance of a hierarchy of knowledge. As discussed
 Ghazālī’s scepticism and the foundations of knowledge 21

in the Scale, Ghazālī particularly addresses the elect (khawāṣ) in his prescription of
undoing the yoke of uncritical imitation to attain the highest stations of certainty.
However, in the case of simple believers (ʿawāmm), truth should be accepted on
the basis of authority. Bakar agrees, stating that Ghazālī’s quest for certainty is the
concern of himself and an elect few, but not necessarily the interest of the common
believer.87 He states:

Al-​Ghazālī’s rejection of taqlīd for himself stemmed from his methodological

criticism of its inherent limitations, while in accepting it for the simple-​minded
he was simply affirming an important aspect of the subjective reality of the
human order, namely, that individual human beings differ from one another in
intellectual capability.88

Bakar further argues that taqlīd has a positive function in Ghazālī’s epistemology,
namely, that matters of theological and spiritual importance should be placed
under the authority or trust of those who are equipped to interpret and explain
knowledge.89 In Ghazālī’s last work, Restraining the Laity from Engaging in the
Science of Kalām (Iljām al-​ʿawāmm ʿan ʿilm al-​kalām), written in the year of his
death, he encourages the laity to accept the teachings and prescriptions of those
privileged with spiritual authority.90 He states that certain meanings are concealed
from the layperson because of “his inability and the limits of his strength. Thus, he
should not equate himself, for the angels are not equated with the blacksmiths.”91
Ormsby in an explicit manner acknowledges that Ghazālī gave a place to taqlīd in
his teachings. He states that Ghazālī admits that the function of the intellect itself is
to recognise its limitations and assent to a higher authority.92 Ormsby notes that in
some cases, Ghazālī uses a more nuanced term than taqlīd. He uses the term taslīm,
which means consent, ascent, acceptance, or surrender.93
In Ghazālī’s polemical engagement with the Bāṭinites (Ismāʿīli Shiʿī esotericists),
he acknowledges the importance of authoritative teachings. The Bāṭinites professed
the need for an infallible teacher, that is, the Imam. Ghazālī, on the other hand, did
not reject the need for an infallible teacher, but argued that the infallible teacher is
the Prophet Muhammad(ṣ).94 It is not a matter of whether authoritative teachings
are allowed or not, but from whom should we take these teachings. To understand
Ghazālī’s seemingly conflicting attitude towards taqlīd, Zamir makes the pertinent
point that a distinction should be drawn between rational taqlīd and irrational
taqlīd.95 The latter, Ghazālī is averse to; however, the former he encourages as it is
when reason rationally accepts a higher authority such as revelation, the prophet,
or a Sufi Shaykh.96 Rational taqlīd thus submits to a higher epistemic authority
which may guide the seeker on his path to truth and certainty. Thus, in reading
Ghazālī, we should ask who we are making taqlīd of, and what type of taqlīd we
are speaking of, when branding Ghazālī as an anti-​authoritarian figure.97
Ghazālī sought to deconstruct his epistemic edifice, and rebuild it on grounds
of certainty. He began with the weakest surety of certainty, that is, taqlīd. He thus
remarks that once conformism to authority has been abandoned, one cannot return
to it, for like glass, once it is shattered, it cannot be pieced together, only melted
22 Ghazālī’s scepticism and the foundations of knowledge

and reshaped.98 Following his “abandonment” of uncritical imitation (taqlīd), he

began to evaluate his other sources of knowledge, namely, sense perception and
rationality.

Sense perception, rational judgement, and spiritual intuition –​the faculties of knowing

Through Ghazālī applying his criterion of knowledge, he found that he was bereft
of any knowledge. The only confidence he had was knowledge attained from sense
data (ḥissiyāt) and self-​evident truths (ḍarūriyāt).99 He thus applied his scepticism
to these means of knowing; he aimed at understanding whether the confidence he
had in them was genuine or was like the frailty of uncritical imitation of authority.
Starting with the lower faculty of knowing, he began to doubt the knowledge
attained from sense perception. Ghazālī states that from the sense data of sight,
we assume that a shadow is still, and we deny the attribution of motion to it, but
from experience and observation, we come to know that it is gradually moving.100
In a similar instance, he says that sight affirms a star to be the size of a dinar, but
through geometrical proofs, we come to know that it is bigger than the earth. He
thus states: “In the case of this and of similar instances of sense-​data the sense-​
judge makes its judgments, but the reason-​judge refutes it and repeatedly gives it
the lie in an incontrovertible fashion.”101
After inducing doubt in sense perception, Ghazālī turned towards challenging
a more advanced epistemological stage, self-​evident truths, such as “ten is more
than three,” “one and the same thing cannot be incipient and eternal, existent and
non-​existent, or necessary and impossible,” and “one and the same thing cannot be
simultaneously affirmed and denied.”102 Earlier, we discussed that Ghazālī regards
the weight of necessary truths as that which has no doubt attached to it, and is
subject to neither error nor trickery. This rank of certainty is now subject to doubt.
He argues that rational perception undermined sense perception, but there may be
a higher faculty that can undermine and refute the judgement of reason. Ghazālī
considered that a higher faculty of knowing may be possible, if we consider that
during the state of dreaming, we assume everything we experience to be true; how-
ever, when we wake up we realise our beliefs during our sleep were false. In the
same sense, there may be a state that would undermine the rational data of the
waking state. He thus states, “ If you found yourself in such a state, you would be
sure that all your rational beliefs were unsubstantial fancies.”103
After taking himself to have undermined sense perception and necessary truths,
Ghazālī speculates regarding a third epistemological stage, the state that exists
beyond reason. He remarks that it may either be the spiritual states which Sufis pro-
fess to experience or the state of death. He says that the Sufis claim that during their
states of spiritual ecstasy, they experience phenomena that are contrary to the data
of rational perception. To corroborate the otherworldly nature of the state of death,
he references the “hadith of awakening,” which says: “Men are asleep: then after
they die they awake.” He follows this with the following Quranic verse: “[T]‌oday
We have removed your veil and your sight is sharp (Q. 50:22).”104 This affirms the
reality that our experiences of this world are limited, and another state, more lucid
 Ghazālī’s scepticism and the foundations of knowledge 23

than the waking state, exists. These reflections led to Ghazālī ultimately under-
mining rational data and arriving at an epistemic impasse. He states that he could
not string together a proof, for it relies on primary truths itself, which he doubted.
Ghazālī describes his epistemological crisis as a “mysterious malady,” which lasted
for two months. Without question, Ghazālī’s doubt was of a methodological kind;
however, it induced a psychological doubt, too, owing to the fact that he describes
it as a sickness in The Deliverance. In The Marvels, The Book of Knowledge, and
The Scale, he describes doubt as a particular stage on the journey to certainty.
Doubt as a phenomenon is constitutive to human consciousness itself, not just a
feigned operation.105 However, Ghazālī was in no way a comprehensive sceptic. He
explicitly states that he was a “skeptic in fact, but not in utterance and doctrine.”106
Ghazālī took his scepticism regarding rational perception to its logical conclusion,
to the extent that he could not affirm or deny anything. He could neither rely on
sense data or rationality to save him from this condition. It is at this critical juncture
that he found deliverance.

The Divine Light and Ghazālī’s foundationalism

Finally, Ghazālī was released from his sceptical impasse through a Divine Light.
He states that:

At length God Most High cured me of that sickness. My soul regained its
health and equilibrium and once again I accepted the self-​evident data of reason
and relied on them with safety and certainty. But that was not achieved by
constructing a proof or putting together an argument. On the contrary, it was the
effect of a light which God Most High cast into my breast. And that light is the
key to most knowledge.107

Ghazālī admits that his sceptical journey arrived at a point where he sought the
unseekable, that is, primary truths.108 He states that it was unseekable because it
was present in the mind, not outside of it or something acquired. To use Kantanian
terms, Ghazālī was essentially affirming the a priori nature of self-​evident truths.
However, the affirmation was not through a precisely formulated proof, which
requires the fundamental truths itself, but through a Divine Light cast in his breast.
Ghazālī’s foundationalism establishes the intellectual first principles which act as
a plinth for rational inquiry. Every demonstration eventually needs premises which
require no justification, lest it continues ad infinitum. The establishment of founda-
tional knowledge immunises an argument from a sceptical assault. It is important
to note Ghazālī’s endorsement of demonstration as a means of intellectual certitude
or proof.109 Agrippa’s trilemma, which includes the mode from infinite regress,
assumption, and circularity cannot undermine a proposition or knowledge itself if
prior or foundational knowledge exists. Ghazālī took a sceptical journey, methodo-
logically speaking, to arrive at a point of certitude in the fundamental truths. The
scepticism Ghazālī employed in the Deliverance is without a doubt of a methodo-
logical kind which is meant to establish certainty in fundamental axioms.
24 Ghazālī’s scepticism and the foundations of knowledge

Ghazālī does not attempt to undermine nor is he sceptical of the sources of

knowledge for the sake of being sceptical, but in order to establish knowledge
on grounds of certainty. This is a certainty which comes ultimately from a trans-​
rational source, the Divine Light. It is on this basis that Ghazālī establishes intellec-
tual axioms. To affirm the foundations of intellectual logic, a “logic” from on high
is needed.110 Ghazālī speaks about the Divine Light as an experiential phenomenon
but also explains and affirms it through references to the religious sources. He
references the Quranic verse “Whomsoever God wishes to guide, He expands his
breast for submission (Q. 6:125).”111 When the Prophet Muhammad (ṣ) was asked
about “the expansion,” he said, “it is a light that God, Glory be to Him, cast into
the heart of the believer.”112 In the Quranic exegesis of Al-​Rāzī (d. 1210) and al-​
Ṭabarī (d. 923), they understand the notion of Divine Light or the expansion of the
breast as a metaphor for God’s Kindness and Favour and a reward for the willing-
ness to be guided to truth and belief.113 Ghazālī references another ḥadith which
states: “God Most High created men in darkness, then sprinkled on them some of
His light.” Ghazālī remarks that “from that light, then, the unveiling of truth must
be sought”; and secondly that the light sprouts forth from God’s generosity at cer-
tain times.114
From the above verse and those hadith related to it, the light can be under-
stood in two senses, as an innate capacity to guide humankind to truth (the a
priori inheritance of necessary truths), and as a metaphor of God’s grace and
favour for the believers and spiritual seekers of truth. This is consistent with
Ghazālī’s remark that the Divine Light is the key to most knowledge, both innate
necessary cognitions and spiritual unveilings (mukāshafa). Kukkonen remarks
that “for Ghazālī, it is not merely special gifts such as prophetic inspiration and
mystic visions that have their origin in the divine realm, the necessary truths do,
too, and through them all other veracious cognitions.”115 Ghazālī’s version of
foundationalism posits that necessary truths are a priori. It is not from a “logical
source,” but a divine source, and hence their certitude. The innate knowledge
of these fundamental axioms is by God’s grace alone and not by our own intel-
lectual volition. The fact that necessary truths are premised on a divine source,
safeguards knowledge from scepticism.116
In Ghazālī’s intellectual journey, his epistemological crisis or sceptical
dilemma lasted for a period of two months. Later in his life, he experienced a
spiritual crisis which lasted for a period of six months and induced him to leave
Baghdad in 1095 CE and go on a spiritual sojourn devoted to purification of his
heart and cultivation of virtues for a period of 11 years. In commenting on the
path of the Sufis, he states that “for all their motions and quiescences, exterior and
interior, are learned from the light of the niche of prophecy. And beyond the light
of prophecy there is no light on earth from which illumination can be obtained.”117
It is important to notice that the “light [which God cast in his breast] is the key
to most knowledge” which saved him from his sceptical impasse is arguably the
same light as “the light of prophecy.”118 The descriptions of the two lights are
similar. The former gave him certitude in the first principles and the latter was
 Ghazālī’s scepticism and the foundations of knowledge 25

the key to his experiential certitude. Both the foundations of knowledge and the
highest level of certitude are grounded in a higher reality, beyond the realm of the
sensory and rational faculty.
To further elaborate upon this foundational knowledge, we turn to Ghazālī’s
Book of Knowledge. In his exposition of the intellect he states that there are four
different meanings for the term “intellect” (ʿaql). The first meaning regards it as an
innate capacity (gharīza) which allows humans to acquire knowledge of the specu-
lative sciences and is that which distinguishes humans from animals.119 Further,
Ghazālī affirms that it is a light that God cast into the heart which prepares one to
comprehend the reality of things.120 The second meaning regards it as the ability
to discern between the possible and the impossible, like the axiomatic knowledge
that two is more than one or that one person cannot be in two places at the same
time. Both meanings regard it as an innate disposition,121 and that it is received
intuitively through a Divine Light. Ghazālī states that the existence of the innate
intellect in an infant is like the existence of a palm tree in a date pit.122
Griffel argues that the second meaning of the term “intellect” (i.e. the necessary
truths) is the fiṭra. He states that although it is not stated by Ghazālī himself, it is an
adaptation from Avicenna’s Book of Definitions, who termed it “the initial original
disposition” (al-​fiṭra al-​ūlā).123 For Ghazālī, the human fiṭra is a means by which
all humans can attain the truth, whereas convention or authority is an impediment
towards the truth.124 In the Scale of Action, he states that “the human soul is a
mine of wisdom and knowledge, embedded in human nature (fiṭra).”125 In the book
entitled Censure of Pride and Vanity in the Revival, Ghazālī states, “I mean by it
[the intellect] the inborn original disposition (fiṭra) and the initial light through
which people perceive the essences of things.”126 The fiṭra is an innate intelligence
by which God constitutes humankind to ultimately know the reality of things. It
is evident in these remarks that Ghazālī regards the necessary truths as an innate
disposition (fiṭra) of indubitable certainty, attained through a Divine Light, not our
own rational efforts.
In The Marvels, Ghazālī remarks that the knowledge of the things of this world,
the hereafter, and the intellectual realities are beyond the objects of sense per-
ception, and this is a peculiar characteristic of humankind which distinguishes
them from the animal.127 He continues, stating that necessary universal knowledge
(alʿulūm al-​kulliyya al-​ḍarūriyya) is unique to the intellect of humankind.128 Thus,
through the unique characteristic of knowledge and human will constituted in his
innate disposition (fiṭra), mankind is honoured and can draw closer to the creator.129
Ghazālī mentions two stages in the development of the human. The first is the com-
prehension of necessary first principles (alʿulūm al-​ḍarūriyya al-​awaliyya) such as
knowledge of the possible and the impossible (i.e. a thing cannot be in two places
at the same time).130 He compares it to a writer who only knows of writing: an
inkstand, a pen, and separate letters that are not combined. The second stage is
the human who has accumulated knowledge of the speculative sciences acquired
through thought and experience, an ability he can apply at any time. He says, such a
stage is like a writer skilled in writing, and still regarded as a writer even when he is
26 Ghazālī’s scepticism and the foundations of knowledge

not writing. He acknowledges this stage as the highest stage in the human, and that
it has different grades of contrast in knowledge between individuals. The varying
degrees may be attained either through intellectual acquisition or direct spiritual
intuition.131 In our understanding of Ghazālī’s epistemology, both the knowledge
of necessary truths and the ability to acquire knowledge of the speculative sciences
are constitutive of the human primordial disposition (fiṭra), and allow one to climb
the various stages of truth and certainty.
In Ghazālī’s sceptical journey, he unequivocally states that he was not a sceptic
of Muslim doctrine. Further, he states that he gained certainty in the fundamentals
of Islam: faith in God, revelation (or prophethood), and the Last Day through the
practice and study of the rational and religious sciences.132 He remarks that they “had
become deeply rooted in my soul, not because of any specific, precisely formulated
proofs, but because of reasons and circumstances and experiences too many to
list.”133 In the Iljām, Ghazālī remarks that “the original healthy primordial nature
(fiṭra) is [always] prepared to accept faith without any argument or exposition of
the realities of proof.”134 Ghazālī’s sceptical inquiry was not directed at revelation
or faith but at the instruments of knowing. In particular, regarding the question of
God’s existence, Ghazālī regarded it as firmly rooted in the human fiṭra. In The
Scale of Action, Ghazālī discusses the following verse: “And when your Lord took
from the Children of Adam, from their loins, their progeny, and made them bear
witness concerning themselves, [asking] ‘Am I not your Lord?’ they said: yea, we
bear witness (Q. 7:172).” Ghazālī says that the knowledge of the existence of God
is innately etched upon the soul of mankind even if he may verbally deny the exist-
ence of God.135 The witnessing or the acknowledgement of God’s existence took
place in the pre-​existential world. However, in the corporeal world, humankind
may either reject it, forget and disbelieve, or reflect, remember, and believe. In the
Book of Knowledge, Ghazālī references the following verses: “And if you asked
them who created them, they would surely say, ‘God’ (Q. 43:87)”136 and “So direct
your face toward the religion, inclining to truth (ḥanīf).137 [Adhere to] the fiṭra of
Allah upon which He has created [all] people (Q. 30:30).” He comments on these
verses, stating that humankind is endowed with a primordial disposition (fiṭra) to
believe in God and comprehend the reality of things.
In the Jerusalem Tract of The Principles of the Creed (Qawāʿid al-​ʿaqāʾid),
Ghazālī is more explicit. He remarks that the fiṭra is sufficient to believe in the
existence of God. He argues that the intent of sending the prophets was not to pro-
fess that a God exists but to call to monotheism that “There is no God but God.”138
He states that the existence of God is “inborn in their minds from the time of their
birth.”139 His discussion in The Scale of Action and The Book of Knowledge is
repeated in the Jerusalem Tract; however, he adds to it, stating: “There is then in
the nature of man and in the testimony of the Quran enough evidence to make the
necessity of [logical] proof (burhān) superfluous.”140 Although Ghazālī takes this
position, he does not undermine the value of rational arguments to prove God’s
existence. In fact, he is well known for his conception of the cosmological argu-
ment for the existence of God.141 He continues in the same paragraph to present a
syllogism for the existence of God:
 Ghazālī’s scepticism and the foundations of knowledge 27

However, we wish to produce such supporting proofs in emulation of the well-​

known among the learned, as follows: It is self-​evident to human reason that
there must be a cause (sabab) for the origination (ḥudūth) of anything originated
(ḥādith). Since the universe is originated it follows that there was a cause for its
origination.142

Here we can see, on the one hand, Ghazālī affirms the existence of God by
virtue of the innate disposition (fiṭra), but on the other hand does not repudiate
the value of philosophical demonstration (burhān) or the kalām tradition. Ghazālī
anticipated Ibn Taymiyya in the former but not the latter.
Ibn Taymiyya was much more explicit than Ghazālī in the profession that God
can be known through one’s innate disposition (fiṭra). He states that the existence
of God is self-​evident and requires no reflection to those with a sound fiṭra.143
However, he says that due to contaminated environments, spiritual diseases, and
the methods of philosophy and kalām (dialectical theology), the fiṭra becomes
corrupted.144 In the case of a corrupted fiṭra, Ibn Taymiyya recommends a contem-
plation (taffakur) of the “signs” of God, engagement with the Quranic discourse,
and acquaintance with the prophetic guidance to awaken one’s fiṭra and affirm the
existence of God.145 Khan argues that, according to Ibn Taymiyya, the use of syl-
logistic reasoning to prove the existence of God is not necessary, but it is also an
inadequate method to justify the existence of God.146 He states that the engagement
in syllogistic reasoning leads to falling into the trap of Pyrrhonian scepticism. In our
earlier discussion, we have shown this is not the case. Ghazālī’s foundationalism
establishes the first principles, which supports philosophical arguments and prevents
falling into a sceptical impasse. Ibn Taymiyya was averse to the methods of the
philosophers and theologians (mutakallimūn) to prove the existence of God, solely
relying on the fiṭra as an epistemic justification, whereas Ghazālī embraced the role
of fiṭra and recognised a place for syllogistic reason to prove the existence of God.

Conclusion
The innate human nature (fiṭra) predisposes one to not only epistemologically com-
prehend the reality of things, and thus acquire knowledge of the speculative sciences
or establish axiomatic knowledge, but it also has the innate capacity to know God.
This intuitive knowledge is obtained through a trans-​rational source. The covenant
of alast147 imprints within the human soul a pre-​existential consciousness. Thus,
humankind has been created upon the primordial disposition (fiṭra) to believe in
God and comprehend the reality of things.
The idea of the “Divine Light” cast into the breast is a reference to certain know-
ledge obtained through God’s grace, and not rational inference. The intuitive know-
ledge obtained through God is the foundation by which other knowledge can be
established. Ghazālī’s sceptical journey led him to affirm this intuitive knowledge
which is the foundation of acquired knowledge. In contradistinction to Descartes,
Ghazālī’s rational foundations were not based on thought itself but on the certitude
provided by divine guidance.
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
 Fig. 118. Fig. 119. Fig. 120.

Fig. 121. Fig. 122.

In the wealthy cities of Belgium, where the corporations were queens

(reines), the goldsmiths, by virtue of their privileges, dictated the law and
swayed the people. No doubt in France they were far from enjoying the
same political influence; nevertheless, one of them was that provost of
merchants, Etienne Marcel, who, from 1356 to 1358, played so bold a part
during the regency of the Dauphin Charles. But it was especially in periods
of peace and prosperity that the goldsmith’s art in Paris shone in all its
splendour; then its banners incessantly waved in the breeze for the festivals
and processions of its numerous and wealthy brotherhoods to the churches
of Notre-Dame, St. Martial, St. Paul, and St. Denis of Montmartre.
Fig. 123.—The Corporation of the Goldsmiths of Paris carrying the Shrine of St. Geneviève. (From
an engraving of the Seventeenth Century.)

In 1337 the number of the wardens of the goldsmith’s guild in Paris had
increased from three to six. They had their names engraved and their marks
stamped on tablets of copper, which were preserved as archives in the town-
hall. Every French goldsmith, admitted a master after the production of his
principal work, left the impression of his sign manual, or private mark, on
similar tablets of copper deposited in the office of the guild; while the
stamp of the community itself was required to be engraved at the mint to
authorise its being used. Every corporation thus had its mark, which the
wardens set on the articles after having assayed and weighed the metal.
These marks, at least in the later centuries, represented in general the
special arms or emblems of the cities; for Lyons, it is a lion; for Melun, an
eel; for Chartres, a partridge; for Orleans, the head of Joan of Arc, &c.
(Figs. 112 to 115).

Fig. 124.—Gold Cross, chased. (A French Work of the Seventeenth Century.)

The goldsmiths of France manifested, and with reason, a jealousy of

their privileges, it being more indispensable for them than for any other
artisans to inspire that confidence without which the trade would have been
lost; for their works were required to bear as authentic and legal a value as
that of money. Therefore, it may be understood that they exercised keen
vigilance over all gold or silver objects which were in any way under their
warranty: hence the frequent visits of the sworn masters to the ateliers and
shops of the goldsmiths; hence the perpetual lawsuits against all instances
of negligence or fraud; hence those quarrels with other trades which
arrogated to themselves the right of working in precious metals without
having qualified for it. Confiscation of goods, the whip, the pillory, were
penalties inflicted on goldsmiths in contraband trade who altered the
standard, concealed copper beneath the gold, or substituted false for
precious stones.
It, indeed, seems remarkable that while for the most part other trades
were subject to the control of the goldsmiths, the latter were responsible
only to themselves for the aggressions which they constantly committed
within the domain of rival industries. Whenever the object to be
manufactured was of gold, it belonged to the goldsmith’s trade. The
goldsmith made, by turns, spurs as the spur-maker; armour and arms, as the
armourer; girdles and clasps, as the belt-maker and the clasp-maker.
However, there is reason to believe that in the fabrication of these various
objects, the goldsmith had recourse to the assistance of special artisans, who
could scarcely fail to derive all possible advantage from such fortuitous
association. Thus, when the gold-wrought sword which Dunois carried
when Charles VII. entered Lyons in 1449, mounted in diamonds and rubies,
and valued at more than fifteen thousand crowns, was to be made, the work
of the goldsmiths probably consisted only of the fashioning and chasing the
hilt, while the sword-cutler had to forge and temper the blade. In the same
manner, when it was required to work a jewelled robe, such as Marie de
Medicis wore at the baptism of her son in 1606, the robe being covered with
thirty-two thousand precious stones and three thousand diamonds, the
goldsmith had only to mount the stones and furnish the design for fixing
them on the gold or silk tissue.

Fig. 125.—Pendant, adorned with Diamonds and Precious Stones. (Seventeenth Century.)

Long before Benvenuto and other skilful Italian goldsmiths were

summoned by Francis I. to his court, the French goldsmiths had proved that
they needed only a little encouragement to range themselves on a level with
foreign artists. But that patronage having failed them, they left the country
and established themselves elsewhere; thus at the court of Flanders, Antoine
of Bordeaux, Margerie of Avignon, and Jean of Rouen, distinguished
themselves. It is true that in the reign of Louis XII., whose exchequer had
been exhausted in the Italian expeditions, gold and silver had become so
scarce in France, that the king was obliged to prohibit the manufacture of
all sorts of large plate (grosserie). But the discovery of America having
brought with it an abundance of the precious metals, Louis XII. recalled his
ordinance in 1510; and thenceforth the corporations of goldsmiths were
seen to increase and prosper, as luxuriousness, diffused by the example of
the great, descended to the lower ranks of society. Silver plate soon
displaced that of tin; and before long personal display had attained such a
height, “that the wife of a merchant wore on her person more jewels than
were seen on the image of the Virgin.” The number of the goldsmiths then
became so great that in the city of Rouen alone there were in 1563 two
hundred and sixty-five masters having the right of stamp!

Figs. 126 to 131.—Chains.

Figs. 132 to 136.—Rings.

To sum up this chapter. Until the middle of the fourteenth century it is

the religious art which prevails; the goldsmiths are engaged only in
executing shrines, reliquaries, and church ornaments. At the end of that
century, and during the one following, they manufactured gold and silver

Figs. 137 to 141.—Seals.

plate, enriching with their works the treasuries of kings and nobles, and
imparting brilliant display to the adornment of dress. In the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries the goldsmiths applied themselves more to chasing,
enamelling, and inlay-work. Everywhere are to be seen marvellous trinkets
—necklaces, rings, buckles, chains, seals (Figs. 124 to 142). The weight of
metal is no longer the principal merit; the skill of the workman is especially
appreciated, and the goldsmith executes in gold, in silver, and in precious
stones, the beautiful productions of painters and engravers. Nevertheless,
the demand for delicate objects had the disadvantage of requiring much
solder and alloy, which deteriorated the standard of metal. Then a desperate
struggle commenced between the goldsmiths and the mint—a struggle
which was prosecuted through a maze of legal proceedings, petitions, and
ordinances, until the middle of the reign of Louis XV. At the same time the
Italian and German goldsmiths making an irruption into France and
introducing materials of a low standard, the old professional integrity
became suspected and was soon disregarded. At the end of the sixteenth
century very little plate was ornamented: there is a return to massive plate,
the weight and standard of which could be easily verified. Gold is scarcely
any longer employed, except for jewels; and silver in a thousand forms
creeps into the manufacture of furniture. After cabinets, covered and
ornamented with carving in silver, came the articles of silver furniture
invented by Claude Ballin. But the mass of precious metal withdrawn from
circulation was soon returned to it, and the fashion passed away. The
goldsmiths found themselves reduced to manufacture only objects of small
size; and for the most part they limited themselves to works of jewellery,
which subjected them to less annoyance from the mint. Besides, the art of
the lapidary had almost changed its character, as well as the trade in
precious stones. Pierre de Montarsy, jeweller to the king, effected a kind of
revolution in his art, which the travels of Chardin, of Bernier, and of
Tavernier, in the East had, so to say, enlarged. The cutting and mounting of
precious stones has not since been excelled. It may be said that Montarsy
was the first jeweller, as Ballin was the last goldsmith.
Fig. 142.—Chased and Enamelled Brooch, embellished with Pearls and Diamonds. (Seventeenth
Century.)
 HOROLOGY.
Modes of measuring Time among the Ancients.—The Gnomon.—The Water-Clock.—The
Hour-Glass.—The Water-Clock, improved by the Persians and by the Italians.—Gerbert
invents the Escapement and the moving Weights.—The Striking-bell.—Maistre Jehan des
Orloges.—Jacquemart of Dijon.—The first Clock in Paris.—Earliest portable Timepiece.
—Invention of the spiral Spring.—First appearance of Watches.—The Watches, or
“Eggs,” of Nuremberg.—Invention of the Fusee.—Corporation of Clockmakers.—Noted
Clocks at Jena, Strasburg, Lyons, &c.—Charles-Quint and Jannellus.—The Pendulum.

MONG the ancients there were three instruments for measuring

time—the gnomon, or sun-dial, which is only, as we know, a
table whereon lines are so arranged as successively to meet the
shadow cast by a gnomon,[20] thus indicating the hour of the day
according to the height or inclination of the sun; the water-clock
(clepsydra), which had for its principle the measured percolation of a
certain quantity of water; and the hour-glass, wherein the liquid is
exchanged for sand. It would be difficult to determine which of these three
chronometric modes can lay claim to priority. There is this to be said that,
according to the Bible, in the eighth century before Christ, Ahaz, King of
Judah, caused a sun-dial to be constructed at Jerusalem; again, Herodotus
says Anaximander introduced the sun-dial into Greece, whence it passed on
to the other parts of the then civilised world; and that, in the year 293 before
our era, the celebrated Papirius Cursor, to the astonishment of his fellow-
citizens, had a sun-dial traced near the temple of Jupiter Quirinus.
According to the description given by Athena (Athenæus?), the water-
clock was formed of an earthenware or metal vessel filled with water, and
then suspended over a reservoir whereon lines were marked indicating the
hours, as the water which escaped drop by drop from the upper vessel came
to the level. We find this instrument employed by most ancient nations, and
in many countries it remained in use until the tenth century of the Christian
era.
 Fig. 143.—The Clockmaker. Designed and Engraved by J. Amman.

In one of his dialogues Plato declares that the philosophers are far more
fortunate than the orators—“these being the slaves of a miserable water-
clock; whereas the others are at liberty to make their discourse as long as
they please.” To explain this passage, we must remember that it was the
practice in the Athenian courts of justice, as subsequently in those of Rome,
to measure the time allowed to the advocates for pleading by means of a
water-clock. Three equal portions of water were put into it—one for the
prosecutor, one for the defendant, and the third for the judge. A man was
charged with the special duty of giving timely notice to each of the three
speakers that his portion was nearly run out. If, on some unusual occasion,
the time for one or other of the parties was doubled, it was called “adding
water-clock to water-clock;” and when witnesses were giving evidence, or
the text of some law was being read out, the percolation of the water was
stopped: this was called aquam sustinere (to retain the water).
The hour-glass, which is still in use to a considerable extent for
measuring short intervals of time, had great analogy with the water-clock,
but was never susceptible of such regularity. In fact, at different periods
important improvements were applied to the water-clock. Vitruvius tells us
that, about one hundred years before our era, Ctesibius, a mechanician of
Alexandria, added several cogged-wheels to the water-clock, one of which
moved a hand, showing the hour on a dial. This must have been, so far as
historical documents admit of proof, the first step towards purely
mechanical horology.
In order, then, to find an authentic date in the history of horology, we
must go to the eighth century, when water-clocks, still further improved,
were either made or imported into France; among others, one which Pope
Paul I. sent to Pepin le Bref. We must, however, believe that these
instruments can have attracted but little attention, or that they were speedily
forgotten; for, one hundred years later, there appeared a water-clock at the
court of Charlemagne, a present from the famous caliph Aroun-al-Raschid,
regarded, indeed almost celebrated, as a notable event. Of this Eginhard has
left us an elaborate description. It was, he says, in brass, damaskeened with
gold, and marked the hours on a dial. At the end of each hour an equal
number of small iron balls fell on a bell, and made it sound as many times
as the hour indicated by the needle. Twelve windows immediately opened,
out of which were seen to proceed the same number of horsemen armed
cap-à-pie, who, after performing divers evolutions, withdrew into the
interior of the mechanism, and then the windows closed.
Shortly afterwards Pacificus, Archbishop of Verona, constructed one far
superior to all that had preceded it; for, besides giving the hours, it indicated
the date of the month, the days of the week, the phases of the moon, &c.
But still it was only an improved water-clock. Before horology could really
assume an historical date, it was necessary that for motive power weights
should be substituted for water, and that the escapement should be invented;
yet it was only in the beginning of the tenth century that these important
discoveries were made.
“In the reign of Hugh Capet,” says M. Dubois, “there lived in France a
man of great talent and reputation named Gerbert. He was born in the
mountains of Auvergne, and had passed his childhood in tending flocks near
Aurillac. One day some monks of the order of St. Benedict met him in the
fields: they conversed with him, and finding him precociously intelligent,
took him into their convent of St. Gérauld. There Gerbert soon acquired a
taste for monastic life. Eager for knowledge, and devoting all his spare
moments to study, he became the most learned of the community. After he
had taken vows, a desire to add to his scientific attainments led him to set
out for Spain. During several years he assiduously frequented the
universities of the Iberian peninsula. He soon found himself too learned for
Spain; for, in spite of his truly sincere piety, ignorant fanatics accused him
of sorcery. As that accusation might have involved him in deplorable
consequences, he preferred not to await the result; and hastily quitting the
town of Salamanca, which was his ordinary residence, he came to Paris,
where he very soon made himself powerful friends and protectors. At
length, after having successively been monk, superior of the convent of
Bobbio, in Italy, Archbishop of Rheims, tutor to Robert I., King of France,
and to Otho III., Emperor of Germany, who appointed him to the see of
Ravenna, Gerbert rose to the pontifical throne under the name of Sylvester
II.: he died in 1003. This great man did honour to his country and to his age.
He was acquainted with nearly all the dead and living languages; he was a
mechanician, astronomer, physician, geometrician, algebraist, &c. He
introduced the Arab numerals into France. In the seclusion of his monastic
cell, as in his archiepiscopal palace, his favourite relaxation was the study
of mechanics. He was skilled in making sun-dials, water-clocks, hour-
glasses, and hydraulic organs. It was he who first applied weight as a
motive power to horology; and, in all probability, he is the inventor of that
admirable mechanism called escapement—the most beautiful, as well as the
most essential, of all the inventions which have been made in horology.”
This is not the place to give a description of these two mechanisms,
which can hardly be explained except with the assistance of purely
technical drawings, but it may be remarked that weights are still the sole
motive power of large clocks, and the escapement alluded to has been alone
employed throughout the world until the end of the seventeenth century.
Notwithstanding the importance of these two inventions, little use was
made of them during the eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth centuries. The
water-clock and hour-glass (Fig. 144) continued exclusively in use. Some
were ornamented and engraved with much taste; and they contributed to the
decoration of apartments, as at present do our bronzes and clocks more or
less costly.
 Fig. 144.—An Hour-glass of the Sixteenth Century,—French Work.

History does not inform us who was the inventor of the striking
machinery; but it is at least averred that it existed at the commencement of
the twelfth century. The first mention of it is found in the “Usages de
l’Ordre de Cîteaux,” compiled about 1120. It is there prescribed to the
sacristan so to regulate the clock, that it “sounds and awakens him before
matins;” in another chapter the monk is ordered to prolong the lecture until
“the clock strikes.” At first, in the monasteries, the monks took it in turn to
watch, and warn the community of the hours for prayer; and, in the towns,
there were night watchmen, who, moreover, were maintained in many
places to announce in the streets the hour denoted by the clocks, the water-
clocks, or the hour-glasses.
The machinery for striking once invented, we do not find that horology
had attained to any perfection before the end of the thirteenth century; but,
in the commencement of the following it received its impulse, and the art
from that time continued to progress.
To give an idea of what was effected at that time, we will borrow a
passage from the earliest writings in which horology is mentioned; that is,
from an unpublished book by Philip de Maizières, entitled “Le Songe du
Vieil Pélerin:”—“It is known that in Italy there is at present (about 1350) a
man generally celebrated in philosophy, in medicine, and in astronomy; in
his station, by common report, singular and grave, excelling in the above
three sciences, and of the city of Padua. His surname is lost, and he is called
‘Maistre Jehan des Orloges,’ residing at present with the Comte de Vertus;
and, for the treble sciences, he has for yearly wages and perquisites two
thousand florins, or thereabouts. This Maistre Jean des Orloges has made an
instrument, by some called a sphere or clock, of the movement of the
heavens, in which instrument are all the motions of the signs (zodiacal), and
of the planets, with their circles and epicycles, and multiplied differences,
wheels (roes) without number, with all their parts, and each planet in the
said sphere, distinctly. On any given night, we see clearly in what sign and
degree are the planets and the stars of the heavens; and this sphere is so
cunningly made, that notwithstanding the multitude of wheels, which
cannot well be numbered without taking the machinery to pieces, their
entire mechanism is governed by one single counterpoise, so marvellous
that the grave astronomers from distant regions come with great reverence
to visit the said Maistre Jean and the work of his hands; and all the great
clerks of astronomy, of philosophy, and of medicine, declare that there is no
recollection of a man, either in written document or otherwise, who in this
world has made so ingenious or so important an instrument of the heavenly
movements as the said clock.... Maistre Jean made the said clock with his
own hands, all of brass and of copper, without the assistance of any other
person, and did nothing else during sixteen entire years, if the writer of the
book, who had a great friendship for the said Maistre Jean, has been rightly
informed.”
It is known, on the other hand, that the famous clockmaker, whose real
name Maizières assumes to be lost, was called Jaques de Dondis; and that,
in spite of the assertion of the writer, he had only to arrange the clock, the
parts of which had been executed by an excellent workman named Antoine.
However this may be, placed at the top of one of the towers of the palace of
Padua, the clock of Jaques de Dondis, or of “Maistre Jean des Orloges,”
excited general admiration, and several princes of Europe being desirous to
have similar clocks, many workmen tried to imitate it. In fact, churches or
monasteries were soon able to pride themselves on possessing similar chefs-
d’œuvre.
Among the most remarkable clocks of that period, we must refer to that
of which Froissart speaks, and which was carried away from the town of
Courtray by Philip the Bold after the battle of Rosbecque in 1382. “The
Duke of Burgundy,” says our author, “caused to be carried away from the
market-place a clock that struck the hours, one of the finest which could be
found on either side the sea; and he conveyed it piece by piece in carts, and
the bell also. Which clock was brought and carted into the town of Dijon, in
Burgundy, was there deposited and put up, and there strikes the twenty-four
hours between day and night.”
It is the celebrated clock of Dijon which then as now was surmounted by
two automata of iron, a man and a woman, striking the hours on the bell.
The origin of the name of Jacquemart given to these figures has been much
disputed. Ménage believes that the word is derived from the Latin
jaccomarchiardus (coat of mail—attire of war); and he reminds us that, in
the Middle Ages, it was the custom to station, on the summit of the towers,
men (soldiers wearing the jacque) to give warning of the approach of the
enemy, of fires, &c. Ménage adds that, when more efficient watchers
occasioned the discontinuance of these nocturnal sentinels, it was probably
considered desirable to preserve the remembrance of them by putting in the
place they had occupied iron figures which struck the hours. Other writers
trace the name even to the inventor of this description of clocks, who,
according to them, lived in the fourteenth century, and was called Jacques
Marck. Finally, Gabriel Peignot, who has written a dissertation on the
jacquemart of Dijon, asserts that in 1422 a person named Jacquemart,
clockmaker and locksmith, residing in the town of Lille, received twenty-
two livres from the Duke of Burgundy, for repairing the clock of Dijon; and
from that he concludes, seeing how short the distance is from Lille to
Courtray, whence the clock of Dijon had been taken, that this Jacquemart
might well be the son or the grandson of the clockmaker who had
constructed it about 1360; consequently the name of the jacquemart of
Dijon is derived from that of its maker, old Jacquemart, the clockmaker of
Lille (Fig. 145).
 Fig. 145.—Jacquemart of Notre-Dame at Dijon, made at Courtray in the Fourteenth Century.

Giving to each of these opinions its due weight, we confine ourselves to

stating that, from the end of the fourteenth century to the beginning of the
fifteenth, numerous churches in Germany, Italy, and France already had
jacquemarts.
The first clock possessed by Paris was that in the turret of the Palais de
Justice. Charles V. had it constructed in 1370 by a German artisan, Henri de
Vic. It contained a weight for moving power, an oscillating piece for
regulator, and an escapement. It was adorned with carvings by Germain
Pilon, and was destroyed in the eighteenth century.
In 1389, the clockmaker Jean Jouvence made one for the Castle of
Montargis. Those of Sens and of Auxerre, as well as that of Lund in
Sweden, date from the same period. In the last, every hour two cavaliers
met and gave each other as many blows as the hours to be struck: then a
door opened, and the Virgin Mary appeared sitting on a throne, with the
Infant Jesus in her arms, receiving the visit of the Magi followed by their
retinue; the Magi prostrating themselves and tendering their presents.
During the ceremony two trumpets sounded: then all vanished, to re-appear
the following hour.
 Fig. 146.—Clock with Wheels and Weights. Fifteenth Century. (Cabinet of Antiquities, Bibl. Imp.,
Paris.)

Until the end of the thirteenth century, clocks were destined exclusively

Fig. 147.—A portable Clock of the time of the Valois.

to public buildings; or they at least affected, if we may say so, a

monumental character which precluded their admission into private houses.
The first clocks with weights and the flywheel made for private use
appeared in France, in Italy, and in Germany, about the commencement of
the fourteenth century; but naturally they were at first so costly that only
nobles and wealthy persons could obtain them. But an impulse was given
which led to the manufacture of these objects more economically. In fact, it
was not long before portable clocks were seen in the most unpretentious
abodes. This of course did not prevent the production of expensive
examples, either as regards ornamentation or carving, or in placing the
clock on costly pedestals or cases, within which were suspended the
weights (Fig. 146).
The fifteenth century has distinctly left its mark on the progress of
horology. In 1401 the Cathedral of Seville was enriched with a magnificent
clock which struck the hours. In 1404, Lazare, a Servian by birth,
constructed a similar one for Moscow. That of Lubeck, which was
embellished with the figures of the twelve Apostles, dates from 1405. It is
proper to notice also the famous clock which Jean-Galeas Visconti had
made for Pavia; and more especially that of St. Marc of Venice, which was
not executed until 1495.
The spiral spring was invented in the time of Charles VII.: a band of
very fine steel, rolled up into a small drum or barrel, produced, in unrolling,
the effect of the weights on the primitive movements. To the possibility of
enclosing that moving power in a confined space is due the facility of
manufacturing very small clocks. In fact, one finds in certain collections,
clocks of the time of Louis XI., remarkable not only for the artistic richness
of their decoration, but still more so for the small space they occupy,
although they are generally of very complicated mechanism; some marking
the date of the month, striking the hour, and serving also as alarm-clocks.
It is difficult, if not impossible, to determine the exact date of the
invention of watches. But, in truth, we ought perhaps to regard the watch,
especially after the invention of the spiral spring, as only the last step taken
towards a portable form of clock. It is however true, according to the
statements found in Pancirole and Du Verdier by the authors of the
“Encyclopædia of Sciences,” that at the end of the fifteenth century watches
were made no larger than an almond. Even the names Myrmécides and
Carovagius are cited as those of two celebrated artisans in such work. It was
said that the latter made an alarm-watch which not only sounded the hour
required, but even struck a light to ignite a candle. Besides, we know for
certain that, in the time of Louis XI., there were watches very small yet
perfectly manufactured; and it is proved that, in 1500, at Nuremberg, Peter
Hele made them of the form of an egg, and consequently the watches of that
country were long known as Nuremberg eggs.
We learn, moreover, from history that in 1542, a watch which struck the
hours, set in a ring, was offered to Guidobaldo of Rovere; and that in 1575,
Parker, Archbishop of Canterbury, bequeathed to his brother Richard a cane
of Indian wood having a watch placed in its head; and, finally, that Henry
VIII. of England wore a very small watch requiring to be wound up only
every eighth day.
It is not inappropriate here to remark that the time kept by these little
machines was not regular until an ingenious workman, whose name has not
come down to us, invented the fusee, a kind of truncated cone; to the base
of this was attached a small piece of catgut which, spirally rolling itself up
to the top, became fastened to the barrel that enclosed the spring. The
advantage of this arrangement is, that owing to the conical form of the
fusee, the traction of the spring acting as it relaxes on a greater radius of the
cone, it results in establishing equilibrium of power between the first and
the last movements of the spring. Subsequently a clockmaker named Gruet
substituted jointed (articulées) chains for catgut; the latter having the great
disadvantage of being hygrometric and varying in tension with the state of
the atmosphere.
The use of watches spread rapidly in France. In the reigns of the Valois,
a large number were made of very diminutive size, to which the
clockmakers gave all sorts of forms, especially those of an acorn, an
almond, a Latin cross, a shell (Figs. 148 to 150). They were engraved,
chased, enamelled; the hand which marked the hour was very frequently of
delicate workmanship, and sometimes ornamented with precious stones.
Some of these watches set in motion symbolic figures, as well as Time,
Apollo, Diana, the Virgin, the Apostles, and the saints.
It may be conceived that all these complicated works required numerous
craftsmen. It was therefore considered proper to unite these artisans in a
community. The statutes which they had received from Louis XI. in 1483
were confirmed by Francis I. They contained a succession of laws, intended
to protect at the same time the interests of members of the corporation and
the dignity of their profession.
 No one was admitted as master but on proof of having served eight years
of apprenticeship, and after having produced a chef-d’œuvre in the

CLOCK OF DAMASCENED IRON AND WATCHES Of the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries.

house, or under the supervision, of one of the inspectors of the corporation.

The visiting inspectors, elected by all the members, as well as by the
trustees and the syndics, were authorised when introducing themselves into
the workshops, to look after the proper construction of watches and clocks;
and if it happened that they found such as did not appear to be made
according to the rules of art, they could not only seize and destroy them, but
also impose a fine on the maker for the benefit of the corporation. The
statutes also gave exclusive right to the accredited masters to trade, directly
or otherwise, with all the stock, new or second-hand, finished or unfinished.

Figs. 148 to 150.—Watches of the Valois Epoch. (Sixteenth Century.)

“Under the influence of these wise institutions,” M. Dubois remarks,

“the master-clockmakers had no fear of the competition of persons not
belonging to the corporation. If they were affected by the artistic superiority
of some of their colleagues, it was with the laudable desire to contend with
them for the first places. The work of one day, superior to that of the
preceding, was surpassed by that of the day following. It was by this
incessant competition of intelligence and knowledge, by this legitimate and
invigorating rivalry of all the members of the same industrious community,
that science itself attained by degrees the zenith of the excellent and the
sublime of the beautiful. The ambition of workmen was to rise to the
mastership, and they attained that only by force of labour and assiduous
efforts. The ambition of the masters was to acquire the honours of the
syndicate—that consular magistracy the most honourable of all, for it was
the result of election, and the recompense of services rendered to art and to
the community.”
Having thus reached the middle of the sixteenth century, and not wishing
to exceed the compass assigned to this sketch, we may limit ourselves to the
mention of some of the remarkable works produced during a century by an
art that had already manifested itself with a power never to be diminished.
 The clock which Henry II. had constructed for the château of Anet has
long been regarded as very curious. Every time the hand denotes the hour, a
stag appears from the inside of the clock, and darts away followed by a
pack of hounds; but soon the pack and the stag stop, and the latter, by
means of very ingenious mechanism, strikes the hours with one of his feet.
The clock of Jena (Fig. 151), which is still in existence, is not less
famous. Above the dial is a bronze head presumed to represent a buffoon of
Ernest, Elector of Saxony, who died in 1486. When the hour is about to
strike, the head—so remarkably ugly as to have given the clock the name of
the monstrous head—opens its very large mouth. A figure representing an
old pilgrim offers it a golden apple on the end of a stick; but just when poor
Hans (so was the fool called) is about to close his mouth to masticate and
swallow the apple, the pilgrim suddenly withdraws it. On the left of the
head is an angel singing (the arms of the city of Jena), holding in one hand a
book, which he raises towards his eyes whenever the hours strike, and with
the other he rings a hand-bell.
The town of Niort, in Poitou, possessed also an extraordinary clock,
ornamented with a great number of allegorical figures—the work of
Bouhain,

Fig. 151.—Clock of Jena, in Germany. (Fifteenth Century.)

in 1570. A much more famous clock was that of Strasburg (Fig. 152),
constructed in 1573, and which was long considered to be the greatest of all
wonders. It was entirely restored in 1842 by M. Schwilgué. Angelo Rocca,
in his “Commentarium de Campanis,” gives a description of it. Its most
important feature was a moving sphere, whereon were represented the
planets and the constellations, and which completed its rotation in three
hundred and sixty-five days. On two sides of the dial and below it the
principal festivals of the year and the solemnities of the Church were
represented by allegorical figures. Other dials, distributed symmetrically on
the façade of the tower in which the clock is situated, marked the days of
the week, the date of the month, the signs of the zodiac, the phases of the
moon, the rising and setting of the sun, &c. Every hour two angels
 Fig. 152.—Astronomical Clock of the Cathedral at Strasburg, constructed in 1573.

sounded the trumpet. When the concert was finished, the bell tolled; then
immediately a cock, perched on the summit, spread his wings noisily, and
made his crowing to be heard. The striking machinery, by means of
movable trap-doors, cylinders, and springs concealed in the interior of the
clock, set in motion a considerable number of automata, executed with
much skill. Angelo Rocca adds that the completion of this chef-d’œuvre was
attributed to Nicolas Copernicus; and that when this able mechanician had
finished his work, the sheriffs and consuls of the city had his eyes put out in
order to render it impossible for him to execute a similar clock for any other
city. This last statement is the more deserving to rank among mere legends
from the fact that, independent of existing proof of the clock being made by
Conrad Dasypodius, it would be very difficult to prove that Copernicus ever
visited Alsace, or had his eyes put out.
A similar tradition is attached to the history of another clock still in
existence, and which was not less celebrated than that of Strasburg. We
refer to that of the Church of St. John at Lyons, made in 1598 by Nicholas
Lippius, a clockmaker of Basle; repaired and enlarged subsequently by
Nourisson, an artisan of Lyons. Only the horary mechanism now acts; but
the clock is not on that account neglected by visitors, to whom the worthy
attendants still repeat, in perfect faith, that Lippius was put to death as soon
as he had finished his chef-d’œuvre. To show the improbability of this
pretended penalty it is sufficient to remark, with M. Dubois, that even in the
sixteenth century persons were not killed for the crime of making chefs-
d’œuvre; and there is, besides, proof that Lippius died in peace, and
honoured, in his native country.
To these famous clocks must be added those of St. Lambert at Liège, of
Nuremberg, of Augsburg, and of Basle; that of Medina del Campo, in
Spain, and those which, in the reign of Charles I., or during the
Protectorship of Cromwell, were manufactured and placed in England, at
St. Dunstan’s in London,[21] and in the Cathedral of Canterbury, in
Edinburgh, and in Glasgow, &c.
Before concluding, and to do justice to a century to which we have
assigned a period of decline, we are bound to acknowledge that some years
before the death of Cardinal Richelieu—that is to say, from 1630 to 1640—
artists of ability made praiseworthy efforts to create a new era in horology.
But the improvements they had in view were directed much more to the
processes of the construction of the several parts composing the clockwork
of watches and clocks than to the beauty and ingenuity of the workmanship.
This was progress of a purely professional character, in order to create a
more ready and inexpensive supply; a progress which we may regard as
services rendered by art to trade. The period of great constructions and
delicate marvels was past. Ornamental Jacquemarts were no longer placed
in belfries. Mechanical chefs-d’œuvre were no longer set in frail gems. The
time was still far off when, laying down the sceptre of that empire on which
“the sun never sets,” the conqueror of Francis I., retiring to a cloister,
employed himself in the construction of the most complicated clockwork.
Charles V. had as assistant, if not as teacher, in his work the learned
mathematician, Jannellus Turianus, whom he had induced to join him in his
retreat. It is said that he enjoyed nothing so much as seeing the monks of
Saint-Just standing amazed before his alarum watches and automaton
clocks; but it is also stated that he manifested the greatest despair when
obliged to admit it was as impossible to establish perfect concord among
clocks as among men.
In truth, Galileo had not yet arrived to observe and formulate the laws of
the pendulum, which Huygens was happily to apply to the movements of
horology.

Fig. 153.—Top of an Hour-Glass, engraved and gilt. (A French Work of the Sixteenth Century.)
 MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS.
Music in the Middle Ages.—Musical Instruments from the Fourth to the Thirteenth
Century.—Wind Instruments: the Single and Double Flute, the Pandean Pipes, the Reed-
pipe, the Hautboy, the Flageolet, Trumpets, Horns, Olifants, the Hydraulic Organ, the
Bellows-Organ.—Instruments of Percussion: the Bell, the Hand-bell, Cymbals, the
Timbrel, the Triangle, the Bombulum, Drums.—Stringed Instruments: the Lyre, the
Cithern, the Harp, the Psaltery, the Nable, the Chorus, the Organistrum, the Lute and the
Guitar, the Crout, the Rote, the Viola, the Gigue, the Monochord.

HE history of Music in the Middle Ages would commence about

the fourth century of our era. In the sixth century, Isidore of
Seville, in his “Sentiments sur la Musique,” writes as follows:
—“Music is a modulation of the voice, and also an accordance
of several sounds and their simultaneous union.”
About 384, St. Ambrose, who built the Cathedral of Milan,
regulated the mode in which psalms, hymns, and anthems should be
performed, by selecting from Greek chants those melodies he considered
best adapted to the Latin Church.
In 590, Gregory the Great, in order to remedy the disorder which had
crept into ecclesiastical singing, collected all that remained of the ancient
Greek melodies, with those of St. Ambrose and others, and formed the
antiphonary which is called the Centonien, because it is composed of chants
of his selection. Henceforward, ecclesiastical chanting obtained the name of
Gregorian; it was adopted into the whole of the Western Church, and
maintained its position almost unaltered down to the middle of the eleventh
century.
It is thought that originally the music of the antiphonary was noted in
accordance with Greek and Roman usage—a notation known as the
Boethian, from the name of Boethius the philosopher, by whom we are
informed that in his time (that is, about the end of the fifth century) the
notation was composed of the first fifteen letters of the alphabet.
The sounds of the octave were represented—the major by capital letters,
the minor by small letters, as follows:—

Major mode A B C D E F G
 Minor mode a b c d e f g

Some fragments of music of the eleventh century are still preserved, in

which the notation is represented by letters having above them the signs of
another kind of notation called neumes (Fig. 154).

Fig. 154.—Lament composed shortly after the Death of Charlemagne, probably about 814 or 815,
and attributed to Colomban, Abbot of Saint-Tron. (MS. de la Bibl. Imp., No. 1,154.)

Musical Notation expressed in Modern Signs, the Text and Translation of

the Lament on Charlemagne.
 A solis ortu usque ad occidua From the East to the Western shores,
Littora maris, planctus pulsat pectora; sorrow agitates every heart; and inland,
Ultra marina agmina tristitia this vast grief saddens armies.
Tetigit ingens cum errore nimio. Alas! in my grief, I, too, weep.
Heu! me dolens, plango.

Franci, Romani, atque cuncti creduli, French, Romans, and all believers are
Luctu punguntor et magna molestia, plunged into mourning and profound
Infantes, senes, gloriosi principes; grief: children, old men, and illustrious
Nam clangit orbis detrimentum Karoli. princes; for the whole world deplores the
Heu! mihi misero! loss of Charlemagne.
Alas! miserable me!

About the fourth century the neumes were in use in the Greek Church;
they are spoken of by St. Gregory of Nazianzus. Certain modifications in
them were introduced by the Lombards and Saxons.
“They were specially in use from the eighth to the twelfth century,” says
M. Coussemaker, in his learned work, “Histoire de l’Harmonie au Moyen
Age,” “and consisted of two sorts of signs: some formed like commas, dots,
or small inclined or horizontal strokes, which represented isolated sounds;
others in the shape of hooks, and strokes variously twisted and joined,
expressing groups of sound composed of various intervals.
“These commas, dots, and inclined or horizontal strokes were the origin
of the long notes, the breve and the semibreve, and afterwards of the square
notation still in use in the plain-chant of the Church. The hook-shaped signs
and the variously twisted and joined strokes gave rise to the ligatures and
connections of notes.
“From the eighth to the end of the twelfth century—that is, during one of
the brightest periods of musical liturgy—the neumes were the notation
exclusively adopted over the whole of Europe, both in ecclesiastical singing
and also in secular music. From the end of the eleventh century, this system
of notation was established in France, Italy, Germany, England, and Spain.”
The chief modification to which the notation of music was subject at the
end of the eleventh century is due to the monk Guido, of Arezzo. In order to
facilitate the reading of the neumes, he invented placing them on lines, and
these lines he distinguished by colours. The second, that of the fa, was red;
the fourth, that of the ut, was green; the first and the third are only traced on
the vellum with a pen. In order that the seven notes should be better
impressed upon the memory, he gave as an example the three first lines of
the Hymn of St. John the Baptist, in which the syllables ut, re, mi, fa, sol,
la, corresponded to the signs of the gamut:—

“Ut queant laxis Resonare fibris

Mira gestorum Famuli tuorum,
Solve polluti Labii reatum,
Sancte Joannes.”

The choristers, in singing this hymn, slightly raised the intonation of

each of the italicised syllables, which were soon adopted for indicating six
of the notes of the gamut. To supply the seventh, which was not named in
this system, the barbarous theory of muances (divisions) was introduced,
and it was not until the seventeenth century the term si was applied in
France.
But after the commencement of the tenth century many individuals, and
especially poets, had invented rhythmical songs, which were entirely
different from those of the Church. “Harmony formed by successions of
various intervals,” as we are told by the author whom we have before
quoted, “obtained in the eleventh century the name of discantus, in old
French déchant. Francon de Cologne is the most ancient author who makes
use of this word. During the whole course of the eleventh century the
composition of melody was independent of harmony, and henceforth the
composition of music was divided into two very distinct parts. The people,
and poets and persons in high life, constructed the melody and the words;
but being ignorant of the science of music, they resorted to a professional
musician to have their inspirations written down. The first were very justly
called trouvères (trobadori), the others the déchanteurs, or harmonisers.
Harmony was then only adapted for two voices—a combination of fifths,
and of movements in unison.
“In the twelfth century, the construction of melody continued to be in the
hands of poets. The déchanteurs or harmonisers were the professional
musicians. Popular songs became very numerous. Troubadours multiplied
all over Europe, and the greatest lords deemed it an honour to cultivate both
poetry and music. Germany had her ‘master-singers,’ who were in request at
every court. In France, the Châtelain de Coucy, the King of Navarre, the
Comte de Béthune, the Comte d’Anjou, and a hundred others acquired a
brilliant reputation by songs, of which they composed both the words and
the melody. The most celebrated of these trouvères was Adam de la Halle,
who flourished in 1260.”
In the fourteenth century, the name of counterpoint was substituted for
that of déchant; and in 1364, at the coronation of Charles V. at Rheims, a
mass was sung which was written in four parts, composed by Guillaume de
Machault, poet and musician.
Among the ancients the number of musical instruments was
considerable, but their names were even still more numerous, because
derived from the shape, the material, the nature and character of the
instruments, all of which varied infinitely, according to the whim of the
maker or the musician. Added to this, every country had its national
instruments; and as each in its own language designated them by descriptive
names, the same instrument appeared under ten different denominations,
and a similar name was applied to ten instruments. However, having
nothing but monumental representation to guide us, and in the absence of
the instruments themselves, an almost inextricable confusion arises.
The Romans carried back to their own country, as the results of
conquest, specimens of most of the musical instruments they found in use in
the countries subdued by them. Thus Greece supplied Rome with nearly all
the soft instruments of the class of lyres and flutes. Germany and the
northern provinces, being inhabited by warlike races, gave to their
conquerors the taste for loud-sounding instruments, such as trumpets and
drums. Asia, and Judæa especially, which had multiplied various kinds of
metal-instruments for use in their religious ceremonies, were the means of
naturalising in Roman music deep-toned instruments of the class of bells
and tom-toms (a kind of drum). Egypt introduced into Italy the timbrel
along with the worship of Isis. Byzantium had no sooner invented the first
pneumatic organs than the new religion of Christ took possession of them
for exclusive consecration to its service, both in the East and in the West.
All the musical instruments of the known world had therefore taken
refuge, as it were, in the capital of the Roman empire; but their fate was
only to disappear and sink into oblivion after they had played their part in
the last pomps of that falling empire, and in the final festivals of the ancient
mythology. In a letter in which he specially treats of “various kinds of
musical instruments,” St. Jerome, who lived from 331 to 420, speaks of
those which were in use in his time for the requirements of religion, war,
ceremonial, and art. He mentions, in the first place, the organ, and describes
it as composed of fifteen brazen pipes, two air-reservoirs of elephant’s skin,
and twelve large sets of bellows, “to imitate the voice of thunder.” He next
specifies, under the generic name of tuba, several kinds of trumpets: that
which called the people together, that which directed the march of troops,
that which proclaimed the victory, that which sounded the charge against
the enemy, that which announced the closing of the gates, &c. One of these
trumpets, the shape of which is rather difficult to gather from his
description, had three brazen bells, and roared through four air-conduits.
Another instrument, the bombulum, which must have made a frightful
uproar, was, as far as we can conjecture from the text of the pious writer, a
kind of peal of bells attached to a hollow metallic column which, by the
assistance of twelve pipes, reverberated the sounds of twenty-four bells that
were set in motion by one another. Next come the cithara of the Hebrews,
in the shape of a triangle, furnished with twenty-four strings; the sackbut, of
Chaldæan origin, a trumpet formed of several movable tubes of wood,
fitting one into the other; the psaltery, a small harp provided with ten
strings; and lastly, the tympanum, also called the chorus, a hand-drum to
which were fixed two metal flute-tubes.
Fig. 155.—Concert; a Bas-relief, taken from a Capital in Saint-Georges de Boscherville, Normandy.
(A Work of the Eleventh Century.)

A nomenclature of a similar kind, applying to the ninth century, exists in

a history of Charlemagne, in Latin verse, by Aymeric de Peyrac. This shows
as that, during the lapse of four centuries, the number of instruments had
been nearly doubled, and that the musical influence of Charlemagne’s reign
had made itself felt in the revival and improvement of several instruments
which had been formerly abandoned. This curious metrical composition
enumerates all the stringed, wind, and pulsatile instruments which
celebrated the praise of the great emperor, the protector and restorer of
music. The number of instruments specified are twenty-four in number,
among which we find nearly all those mentioned by St. Jerome.