Introduction
The Translation
This translation is based on Fauzi Najjar’s excellent edition of the Arabic text.1 Although he indicates the page numbers of the older Hyderabad version2 in the margins of his text, his edition is so much more reliable and readable that it renders the former one obsolete. For that reason, I indicate the pages of his edition within square brackets in this translation. While I usually follow Najjar’s division of the text into major paragraphs or sections, there are occasions when I depart from it. The numbering of the sections is my own, as is their further division into unnumbered paragraphs. Moreover, while accepting Najjar’s division of the text into two major parts, I have further divided it into subparts and divisions of subparts—placing them between square brackets—in an attempt to make sense of Alfarabi’s larger exposition. To provide an overview of these different divisions of the text, I have placed a summary outline of it before the translation.
In my quest to make sense of this often recondite text and render it into readable English, I have been fortunate to have access to two unpublished working translations—namely, that of the whole work by Thérèse-Anne Druart and also the one Miriam Galston did of part 1—as well as to Najjar’s published translation of part 2.3 Generally speaking, the present translation falls between that of Druart on the one hand and those of Galston and Najjar on the other. That is, it seeks to steer a middle course between the literalness of Druart—one that sometimes makes it difficult to seize the sense of the text—and the more readable, but at times less accurate, renderings of Galston and Najjar. By no means is such a description of these three translations to be taken as a criticism. On the contrary, in the course of seeking to find my own way through this text, I have repeatedly marveled at the wisdom and depth of understanding shown by my predecessors. If I have succeeded in any measure, it is because I have had such excellent guides.
The 2007 translation of Political Regime, part 1 by Jon McGinnis and David Reisman4—of which I learned only after having finished my own translation—reads more smoothly than the versions of Druart and Galston, but is nowhere near as helpful or trustworthy. In part, that is due to McGinnis and Reisman allowing their sense of how the text should read to guide the way they present what it actually does say. Thus, their lack of interest in the practical—or ethical and political—aspect of Alfarabi’s teaching (what they call “value theory”5) and predilection for considering Alfarabi as primarily a thinker interested in physics and metaphysics lead them to ignore central terms in Alfarabi’s vocabulary. When Alfarabi speaks of the fair or beautiful with respect to human action—what is generally understood as “noble” (Arabic, jamīl; Greek, kalos)—McGinnis and Reisman translate that as “virtuous.” They then translate the term Alfarabi uses for “virtue” (faḍīla) as “excellence” and thereby obscure how his use of such terminology allows him to bring his own thinking into line with that of Plato and Aristotle precisely with respect to these issues concerning human action.
Moreover, they render technical terms inconsistently and flout grammatical rules. For example, the title by which the work has been traditionally known—Political Regime—is transformed by them into Governance of Cities. They arrive at that formulation by translating a single noun modified by a corresponding adjective (siyāsa modified by madaniyya) as though it were a single noun in a genitive construction with a plural noun, that is, as though the title were siyāsat al-mudun, and by misconstruing the familiar term siyāsa as a synonym for tadbīr. Similarly, without explanation of any sort, they present the subtitle of this work as its title, while making the title appear to be the subtitle. While this highlights what they deem to be the basic characteristic of Alfarabi’s text, it does so by distorting the way the text has been traditionally known and cited.6 Additional examples could be adduced, but these suffice to indicate that their translation—smoothness notwithstanding—is unreliable.
An excellent way to apprehend the differences between the version of the text they offer and the one I set forth here is to compare our respective translations of sections 4 and 55, below (secs. 4–7 and 57 of their text, pp. 82–83 and 101). In both instances, it is patent that McGinnis and Reisman are more intent on providing an image of what they think Alfarabi should be saying than on putting into English the equivalent of what he has actually said in Arabic. Explanation of what an author says, even interpretation of it, is important and highly desirable as a means of approaching a particular text. But it is not the same as a translation of what the author has composed, for it does not allow the author to express himself in his own voice—difficult as it may be for a translator to decipher that voice at times.
Their procedure apparently stems from conviction that they understand Alfarabi better than he understood himself—an opinion linked to a questionable interpretation of the history of ideas—and that what he actually has to say is not all that important. That disposition likewise guides their introduction to the collection and casts doubt on what might otherwise have proved to be a helpful, lucid summary account of Aristotelian and Neoplatonic doctrines familiar to Alfarabi and other authors in the medieval Arabic-Islamic tradition. It is highly regrettable that blemishes such as these detract from their undertaking, for the texts they present could offer interested readers a fine overview of the writings characterizing philosophy within that general tradition.
The French translations of the Political Regime by Philippe Vallat and Amor Cherni have proved useful for making sense of some of the more recondite passages in the text. Solid grounding in the writings of Aristotle, evident in the annotations of both, permits them to identify and propose persuasive solutions to elusive problems. However, Vallat’s conjectures about Alfarabi and his teaching, as well as about the text itself, tend to distract more than they help. By contrast, Rafael Guerrero’s Spanish translation is commendable and appealing because of its directness even though it has not influenced my own reading of Alfarabi’s text.7
Part 1 of the Political Regime is especially difficult to put into clear English, because it is so laden with terminology evoking a Neoplatonic metaphysical perspective used by Alfarabi to demonstrate its limits, even while presenting a detailed and apparently sympathetic exposition of it. In part 2, he speaks more directly and much more simply about things familiar to most readers. Yet he prefaces that exposition by following the earlier Neoplatonic presentation through to its consequences in human action and thus preserves the unfamiliar terminology of part 1. Moreover, throughout the work as a whole, Alfarabi unduly tries the patience of his reader by using pronouns whose antecedents fade into the mists. Though these antecedents can usually be located, one must wonder why he refers to them by pronouns rather than by their proper names. Still, so as not to prejudge Alfarabi’s explanation, I refrain—insofar as is possible in keeping with clear English usage—from replacing the pronouns by their antecedents. For the same reason, I have not capitalized terms like “the first,” “the first cause,” or “the active intellect.” After much hesitation, I also decided to let the text at times read in as stilted and artificial a manner in English as it does in Arabic: while desiring to do nothing that would keep a dedicated reader from following Alfarabi’s argument, I also wish in no way to lull that reader into thinking the text is somehow patently clear and simple. The larger goal of this translation, then, is to reflect, as accurately as possible, both Alfarabi’s terminology and his repetitive use of it as he painstakingly explains the parameters of the physical and even metaphysical setting in which human associations are formed.
As with the other texts presented in this series of translations, the overriding goal here is to render Alfarabi’s prose faithfully in intelligible and readable English. Thus, to the extent possible, a single English word is used to render a single Arabic word. Yet because this text is so opaque, and because Alfarabi frequently uses terms in multiple senses, it has at times been necessary to render a single Arabic term by different English terms. When it seemed important to alert the reader to this change in terminology, that has been done via the notes. Moreover, readers are warmly encouraged to consult the Arabic-English and English-Arabic glossaries at the end of the volume for particular questions about Alfarabi’s vocabulary and how it is rendered here.
The Teaching of the Text
The Political Regime begins abruptly with a detailed account of the universe from something like a Neoplatonic perspective. There is no introduction, nor any attempt to explain what the book is about. The detailed account of the universe reveals it to be thoroughly ordered, with everything that occurs in it forming part of the larger order. There follows an explanation of how human beings fit into that order, of the way political life allows them to fulfill their purpose, and a taxonomy of imperfect cities. Cities are imperfect because their inhabitants misapprehend that order and turn away from conduct that would allow them to achieve human perfection and thus be in accord with the order so thoroughly detailed in the earlier parts of the treatise.
Yet simple reflection reveals that no regime adheres to that order. If all existing political regimes are thus flawed, what can be done to transform them into something admirable? Or, as the subtitle8 suggests, is the work better understood as a treatise on metaphysics rather than on politics?
Major Themes
The treatise clearly consists of two parts. One focuses on nature and natural existing things as well as the principles beyond nature that guide the existing things. Of concern in the other are human beings, their development and fulfillment or ultimate happiness, and their forms of political association. There are no formal divisions in any of the manuscripts that have come down to us—not even of these two major parts. Thus, the division of the text into two parts, each part into sixty-three sections, and the sections into paragraphs and sentences is my doing. It should be noted, nonetheless, that there are roughly as many pages devoted to the exposition of what is termed here part 1 as to that of part 2. Moreover, almost half of the second part of the text (sections 64–91) continues to elaborate the Neoplatonic perspective that characterizes the discussion in the first part. In the second part, the exposition centers on human beings and their place in the larger cosmic whole, as well as on how a proper organization of human life in political association provides the conditions whereby human beings might achieve their purpose. Only in what is roughly the last fourth of the text does Alfarabi consider political life as it usually is, this perhaps as an indirect indication of why so few human beings attain the ultimate perfection that is their purpose or end.
the world around us
Six sorts of principles, ranked so that each has precedence over the next, account for the bodies and accidents constituting the world. The first three—namely, the first principle or first cause, the secondary causes (the spiritual existing things that bring about the heavens and the planets), and the active intellect—are in no way corporeal. They are neither bodies nor in bodies. Although the latter three—that is, soul, form, and material—are in bodies, they are not bodies. Not only are there six sorts of principles that comprise six rankings, but there are also six kinds of bodies: heavenly, rational animal, nonrational animal, plant, mineral, and elemental (earth, water, fire, and air).9
Such is the world—the cosmos or the universe, the whole. But is it always such? That is, does the world always exist with all of these principles, rankings, and bodies? Or do some come into existence after others, some having been derived from others? If not, are bodies alone subject to temporal constraints? And what about the whole itself? Has it always been such? Questions such as these are not addressed directly in our text, but the numerous allusions to them suggest that coming into existence does not apply to the world—that it has always been as it is described here. Occasional exceptions to this generalization—references to the way things are “from the outset,” to the passage from potential to actual existence, or to forms being created—underline its tenuous character.10
What we can infer from this description is that these sorts of principles, these rankings, and these bodies account for all that exists, starting from the most remote cause and coming down through all of the different strata of the heavens to our human sphere of existence—to the sphere beneath the moon. Of the first cause, we are told that it is perfect in all respects and without defect of any kind; that there is nothing prior to it; and that it is distinct, complete, and one. Consequently, it is without material and exists as intellect. Indeed, “it is an intelligible insofar as it is intellect”; that is, “it intellects its essence itself” and “through what it intellects of its essence, it becomes something that intellects and, in that its essence intellects it, an intelligible.” In a manner similar to this, it is possible to explain how the first cause may be said to have knowledge and wisdom or how they may be attributed to it.11 Only when it is so described does Alfarabi’s declaration that “the first [cause] is what ought to be believed to be the deity”12 make sense. Note, moreover, that he does not say the first cause is the deity, but only that it is “what ought to be believed” to be the deity.
There is more. Precisely because the first is first, all else comes from it. Yet there is nothing in the first, which has already been described as complete in and of itself, that needs to give rise to other existing things. Rather, its existence is such that a flowing or emanating of existence from it brings about another thing. Alfarabi explains that because the first “exists for its own sake,” then “attached to, and following from, its substance is that something else exists from it.” In other words, “its existing such that existence emanates from it to something else is in its substance.” This is the way it is. And “its existing such that it becomes substantiated in its essence is the very existence by which something else attains existence from it.” Consequently, there is no reason to think of prior and posterior when considering the way existence comes about from the first cause: “the existence of what exists from it does not become subsequent to it in time at all; rather, it is subsequent to it only in all the rest of the modes of being subsequent.” In other words, the world is eternal.13
It is also providential, that is, ordered in such a manner that it is normal or natural for humans to find their fulfillment in the world as do the other existing things. This comes about through the intermediary of the active intellect or, more precisely, by means of its activity. Whereas existence alone suffices for the first cause and the secondary causes, a new mode of existence is introduced with the active intellect. It acts upon human beings by drawing them toward it, but in such a manner that they eventually lose their corporeal attributes in order to become one with it and then to remain in that state of unity. Alfarabi offers no reason for humans needing to shed their bodies. Nor need he do so. Reflection shows how much the body is in tension with thought. But in alerting the reader that “of the active intellect it ought to be said that it is the trustworthy spirit and the holy spirit,” he points to a broader context that sheds some light on the stipulation.14
Alfarabi’s explanation of the universe in terms that take human well-being into account necessarily comes close to opinions expressed in religious discourse and generally accepted by those adhering to the major religious traditions of his day. Indeed, his description of the first cause and the way it works is highly evocative of speech used to describe the deity and its actions. Insofar as the planets move independently of the earth and—although subordinate to the first cause—according to their own principles, it is as reasonable to call such principles secondary causes as to consider them noncorporeal or spiritual existing things. Alfarabi’s ready acknowledgment of such parallels or similarities, their superficiality notwithstanding, indirectly suggests that the agreement may be deeper.
To be sure, the fragility, even the questionableness, of his procedure becomes especially evident when he turns to the issue of providence deriving from the active intellect or holy spirit. Or does it? Here, nothing is to be found that resembles Plato’s depiction of how inquiries about human concerns pursued by variously gifted speakers invariably leads to confusion or Aristotle’s cautious weighing of the pros and cons in the way different thinkers have addressed the same kinds of opinions. By setting forth a single view as the sole account of the whole, expressing no doubts about what he affirms, insisting that what he says fully explains the way things are, and pointing to the way it conforms with generally accepted opinions, Alfarabi forestalls the reader’s uncertainty and forces him to figure out for himself just how accurate the portrait is. Still, however necessary, such reflections lead away from the major task of examining that portrait more closely. So let us return to it.
While there are at least as many secondary causes as there are heavenly bodies, the multiplicity of existing things first comes to light with the explanation of the soul. It encompasses not only the souls of the heavenly bodies, but those of rational and nonrational animals as well. The highest manifestation of the soul is reason, the kind of reason that apprehends other entities intellectually. It is highest because intelligence—full rational knowledge of self or essence and thus of existence—is most characteristic of the first cause and thus of the effect it has on all other entities. That is to say, the universe is intelligible. It is such as to be intellectually apprehended. Therefore, whatever is or exists fully and completely has knowledge of itself as it is. In this sense, it is actual and thus substantial.
Now the souls of the heavenly bodies differ from those of the rational and nonrational animals in that they are always actual and thus always intellectually apprehending and in that their souls are less complex. The souls of rational animals—human beings—move from being potential to becoming actual as they intellect more. Those of nonrational animals remain potential because they have no means of intellectually apprehending anything. The rational faculty proper to human beings allows them to intellect, to distinguish between noble and base actions and moral habits, to deliberate about the course of action that ought to be pursued in a particular instance, and to grasp what is pleasurable and painful as well as useful and harmful. Other faculties of the human soul—the appetitive, imaginative, and sense-perceptive—contribute to the functioning of the rational. Thus, the appetitive faculty prompts pursuit and desire, flight and aversion, and gives rise to the various passions. By the imaginative faculty, both the useful and harmful and the pleasurable and painful are apprehended; while the sense-perceptive apprehends only the pleasurable and painful.15
It seems, then, that in human beings the appetitive faculty works most closely with the rational and the sense-perceptive least closely. Moreover, while they can apprehend what is useful and harmful as well as what is pleasurable and painful by nonrational faculties, they can apprehend what is noble and base—whether with respect to actions or moral habits—by the rational faculty alone. Thus, nonrational animals endowed with the appetitive, imaginative, and sense-perceptive faculties are able to apprehend both the useful and harmful and the pleasurable and painful. Those not having the imaginative faculty act in response only to apprehensions of pleasure and pain. Simply put, human beings alone can act in accordance with what is noble and base.
The active intellect stands as a demarcation of sorts in the chain of existence. As noted, the secondary causes—that is, the souls of the heavenly bodies—are above it in rank. They attain to an intellectual apprehension of their own existence, then look up to the first cause and seek to apprehend it intellectually. Only on itself does the first cause look. In apprehending its own self or essence intellectually, it apprehends all other existing things. That is evident insofar as it is the first cause. This singular focus on self and on what is higher comes to an end only with the active intellect. Although it forms an intellectual apprehension of the secondary causes, the first cause, and its own self or essence, it also assists the rational intellect of human beings to gain an intellectual apprehension of their own selves or essences. In a manner of speaking, then, the active intellect looks down as well as up.
When human beings gain such an intellectual apprehension, their soul passes from being a potential intellect to being one in actuality. The human being becomes complete, and “his happiness is perfected.” To express this transition, Alfarabi has recourse to a simile.
The status of the active intellect with respect to the human being is that of the sun with respect to vision. For the sun gives light to vision so that, through the light procured from the sun, vision becomes actual viewing after having been potential viewing. By that light, it views the sun itself, which is the cause for it having vision in actuality. Moreover, the colors that were potentially seen become seen in actuality, and the vision that was potential becomes actual vision. Similarly, the active intellect provides a human being with something it traces upon his rational faculty, the status of that thing with respect to the rational soul being the status of light with respect to vision.
Even more important than the simile is the explanation Alfarabi provides of what has taken place.
By means of that thing, the rational soul intellects the active intellect; and by means of it, things that are potentially intellected become intellected in actuality. By means of it, a human being, who is potentially an intellect, becomes an intellect in actuality and in perfection until he comes to be in proximity to the rank of the active intellect. So he becomes an intellect in his essence after having not been like that and an intelligible in his essence after having not been like that.
Finally, Alfarabi notes, the human being thereby “becomes divine after having become material.”16 What this final judgment means, given the context, is that the human being comes to be fully complete or fully substantial by becoming fully intellectual. That is because the divine is intricately linked to the intelligible in this whole exposition.
The looking down put in motion by the active intellect continues with human beings. But their looking down does not result in the elevation of other existing things. Their looking down allows them to explain the role of the nonrational existing things, even those like plants and rocks that admit of being intellectually apprehended yet cannot apprehend anything intellectually in turn, and thus to understand the order among the existing things beneath them as well as those above them.17 According to what has been posited thus far, it is evident that the first cause as well as the secondary causes and the active intellect are now just as they always have been or that those aspects of the universe above our own—above the sphere of the moon to paraphrase Alfarabi18—are eternal. It is only in our domain that change, coming into being and passing away, is to be found. More important, whereas we can affect those higher causes or rankings in no way, we can and must act upon the causes within our sphere. From reflection on the order of the whole, then, we must now focus on how we can turn to our advantage the consideration or providential concern offered us by the active intellect.
happiness or ultimate perfection
Just as part 1 of the Political Regime may be divided into three subdivisions—one providing an overview of the general principles constituting the universe, another explaining the way the highest principles function, and a final one detailing the operation of the lower principles and their relationship to the higher ones—so part 2 may be divided into three similar sorts of subdivisions. Here, the overview enumerates the different kinds of political or civic associations formed by human beings and how they are affected by natural phenomena, the explanation of the higher principles is an account of the virtuous city, and the one parallel to the lower principles and their functioning is a taxonomy of the nonvirtuous cities.19 Lest a hurried reader fail to notice the parallel between the two parts, Alfarabi points directly at the end of the first to the continuation of the theme in the second. The very first sentence of the final section in the first part affirms that “some species of animals and plants are able to gain their necessary affairs only by individual members coming together with one another in an association.” He continues and explains how different species of animals and plants provide for their well-being with respect to the issue of associating with others in the species or remaining isolated from one another. The reason for such attention to this question becomes patent with the declaration, at the very beginning of part 2, that “human beings are of the species that cannot complete its necessary affairs nor gain its most excellent state except by coming together as many associations in a single dwelling-place.”20
These human associations may be classified as perfect and imperfect, with the perfect divided into city, nation, and association of nations. The city stands forth as first among the perfect associations, but not necessarily as most perfect. There is cause to wonder, not only because of the way Alfarabi presents the city with all of its defects in the taxonomy that closes the treatise, but also because of his assertion at the beginning of this second part that “the unqualifiedly perfect human association is divided into nations.”21 If this is his final word, it is one by which he distances himself dramatically from Plato and Aristotle. But it is not certain that this is all he has to say about cities and nations. In the sequel, he tacitly turns his gaze away from nations to speak primarily—albeit not exclusively—about cities. At the very least, Alfarabi raises here a new question about the proper size for sound human association.
For the rest, the political teaching set forth in part 2 is perfectly consonant with the teaching about the universe presented in part 1. Because individual human beings do not have all the virtues needed for human perfection, they work together so that all may obtain what is needed and a few succeed in reaching ultimate perfection. In this, there is no more reason to hope for exceptional aid from the heavenly bodies than to fear interference from them. Good and evil arise from human volition, not from extraordinary intervention on the part of the universal order or anything superseding it. So human beings must learn to choose responsibly, use their volition wisely, and pursue praiseworthy and noble actions rather than blame-worthy or base ones. To this end, the primary sciences and primary intellectual apprehensions acquired by the rational part of the soul guide them.
Different natural climates and soils coming about from the interaction between the heavenly bodies and the earth account for the variety in flora and fauna, physical distinctions among human beings, and even diversity in speech—nothing more.22 Whereas the heavenly bodies thereby play a minor role in human affairs, there is no clearly discernible one on the part of the first cause. Human well-being thus results solely from human effort and striving. Provision for it or providence derives from the active intellect being knowable.
Beginning with a sentient longing to know that functions as will, human beings acquire an imaginative longing as another will and, later, a third will generated from reason. Unique to human beings, it enables them to discern what is worthy of praise or blame as well as what is noble or base and choose between them. Voluntary good and evil become identical to the noble and base as what foster or hinder the intellectual apprehension that is happiness. Due to ignorance or error, it may be misapprehended as pleasure, wealth, honor, domination, or yet other things. Again, having correctly discerned what happiness is, individuals may fail to strive with all their might for it.23 To do either is to fall short of good action and bring about evil, as Alfarabi explains when discussing the nonvirtuous cities.
Yet simple observation reveals that some humans grasp things intellectually more easily and readily than others, just as some are more attentive to the voice of reason and less lured by passion. Moreover, all too few are those who receive an education teaching them to understand how the things they first discern through the senses fit into the larger whole or how knowledge of some things permits others to be inferred. Even fewer are those fortunate enough to encounter and be able to profit from the instruction of a teacher or guide cognizant of the way things interact. Because such intellectual strengths or weaknesses derive from natural dispositions—the material of which humans are constituted—and are not due to any intention on the part of the heavenly bodies, the role of human volition remains paramount. Though Alfarabi is silent about chance, the absence of intention on the part of the heavenly bodies or first cause must allow it to exist along with the variety arising from material.24
In sum, the goal for human beings is to become aware of true happiness, distinguish it from what only appears to be happiness, and use deliberation and other faculties to strive toward its attainment. Those unable to accomplish these actions on their own need teachers and guides. Some may even need to be prodded or compelled by a ruler. There are also gradations among rulers so that some follow the lead of others or discern how to achieve certain kinds of good things, but not all, and thus fall short of bringing their subjects to happiness. The one who can achieve this stands out as a supreme or first ruler—a king in truth according to the ancients and one of whom, Alfarabi notes, “it ought to be said that he receives revelation.”25 His existence, exceedingly rare, but surely providential, results from his own endeavor and is in accord with the order of the universe. It is not due to the first cause or active intellect singling out a particular human being. Revelation consists in the human being starting from things that are first known and learning about the way the whole functions.26
Thus, here, as in what he says earlier about the first cause and the active intellect, Alfarabi intimates how philosophic doctrines sustain and enrich the generally received opinions of his day. He thereby buttresses the popular view, even while indirectly correcting it. Not only does he give new meaning to terms like “God,” “holy spirit,” and “revelation”; he also uses others familiar to religious discourse, such as sharī‘a and sunna, in novel ways to indicate their applicability to wider horizons. Lest the occurrence of overly technical or recondite terminology here arouse suspicion that the explanation is not quite orthodox, he brings it all back to the first cause in a reassuring manner:
This emanation proceeding from the active intellect to the passive intellect by the intermediary of the acquired intellect is revelation. Because the active intellect is an emanation from the existence of the first cause, it is possible due to this to say that the first cause is what brings revelation to this human being by the intermediary of the active intellect. The rulership of this human being is the first rulership, and the rest of the human rulerships are subsequent to this one and proceed from it. And that is evident.27
Even the admission that some virtuous few who have profited from the rulership of this remarkable individual may happen to live in separate cities and be governed by other rulers does not detract from the seemliness of the argument. It is as possible for the revelation of that supreme ruler not to hold sway in all places as it is for philosophers to spring up in cities not supportive of its teachings. Both appear strange to the inhabitants of these other cities.28
As noted, the individual soul that successfully discerns the ultimate principles unites with the active intellect. It attains happiness insofar as it frees itself from body or material. Hence, the virtuous city is one in which the best citizens move on to a noncorporeal existence; only those who have not yet filled their soul with good and rid it of evil remain as citizens. The first ruler, somehow still tied to material, strives to assist these laggards to advance to true happiness. His task, one in keeping with the subtitle of the work, is quite unambiguous:
Each of the inhabitants of the virtuous city needs to be cognizant of the principles of the ultimate existents, their rankings, happiness, the first rulership that belongs to the virtuous city, and the rankings of its rulership. Then, after that, [each needs to be cognizant of] the defined actions by which happiness is gained when they are performed. These actions are not to be restricted to being known without being done and the inhabitants of the city being brought to do them.29
It is not clear when or even how those fortunate enough to attain happiness divest themselves of their material forms. But it is patent that those who do inhabit a city where the citizens are primarily intent on improving their intellectual and moral faculties so as to grasp fully the way things are, thereby attaining happiness, will benefit mightily from the goodwill and gracious conduct of their fellow citizens whatever their own rank in this hierarchical chain marking the pursuit of happiness.
Still, not all human beings can form a concept of the order of things or become cognizant of the principles of the ultimate existing things. Lack of ability or having no experience in such endeavors makes them dependent on images or representations. Happily, that does not matter. The “meanings and essences are one and immutable,” even though the language and images used to represent them vary. Differently stated, the type of speech used is less important than what is said. Despite his use of scientific or philosophic language here, Alfarabi readily acknowledges the merit of a presentation that imitates what he has said—one set forth in language appealing more readily to most people and approximating the way things are, the language of religion.30
Even so, it all too frequently happens that people are not persuaded by such imitations and persist in pursuing what they imagine to be happiness. Distinct from the best or virtuous city governed by a ruler who strives to lead citizens to what they can achieve of true happiness are ignorant, immoral, and errant cities as well as individuals within the best city who refuse opinions and actions that would ensure their happiness. There are also individuals who see beyond the dominant images in all cities and point to their insufficiency, apparently without success. Their recalcitrance stems from their discernment that the city might aim higher, and they are thus exceptions to the larger exposition.31 Apart from the passing reference to them, Alfarabi’s analysis of these different kinds of cities and the recalcitrant citizens whom he calls “weeds” focuses on ignorant cities, those in which the citizens aim at goods they mistakenly believe will lead them to happiness. The goods in question range from what is needful to preserve their bodies, to wealth, pleasure, honor, domination, and, finally, freedom.32
Three things stand out in Alfarabi’s account of the ignorant cities and the weeds. First is the fulsome detail lavished upon them, especially in the description of the timocratic and democratic cities, the city of domination, and the weeds. The second is his recourse to unusually strong language when labeling the city intent on wealth as depraved and the one that pursues pleasure as vile. No such terminology occurs in Alfarabi’s lengthy account of the city of domination, but there is little doubt he deems it simply the worst. Third is his ambiguous judgment about the necessary, timocratic, and democratic cities—one contrasting starkly with the lack of nuance in his account of the immoral and errant cities. Attributing the rise of the one to the flawed character of the citizens and that of the other to the faulty instruction they received, he voices no hope for reform with respect to either one. Lack of resolve to pursue the actions they recognize as leading to happiness prompts the citizens of immoral cities to succumb to their desires and substitute one of the goals pursued in the ignorant cities, whereas the citizens of errant cities are prevented from achieving happiness due to their receiving a representation of the universe and the existing things different from the one set forth in this treatise.33
Because the timocratic city introduces a hierarchical order among the citizens and obliges them to be useful to one another, Alfarabi calls it “similar to the virtuous city” and deems it “the best among the ignorant cities.” Subsequently, he revises that judgment and urges that “it is more possible and easier for the virtuous cities and the rulership of the virtuous to emerge from the necessary and democratic cities than from the other [ignorant] cities.”34 Although he offers no reason for the new opinion, perhaps it is prompted by concern that the wrong things might come to be honored in the timocratic city or excessive love of honor lead it to become tyrannic. What sets the necessary city apart, despite its focus on the most basic of human goods—self-preservation—is that it promotes an orderly and successful pursuit of this goal.35
That the democratic city—the city or association of freedom—offers promise of such radical transformation arises from the great variety in pursuits permitted in it.
The democratic city is the city in which every one of its inhabitants is unrestrained and left to himself to do what he likes. Its inhabitants are equal to one another, and their traditional law is that no human being is superior to another in anything at all. Its inhabitants are free to do what they like. One [inhabitant] has authority over another or over someone else only insofar as he does what removes that person’s freedom.
Thus there arises among them many moral habits, many endeavors, many desires, and taking pleasure in countless things. Its inhabitants consist of countless similar and dissimilar groups. In this city are brought together those [associations] that were kept separate in all those [other] cities—the vile and the venerable ones. Rulerships come about through any chance one of the rest of those things we have mentioned. The public, which does not have what the rulers have, has authority over those who are said to be their rulers. The one who rules them does so only by the will of the ruled, and their rulers are subject to the passions of the ruled. If their situation is examined closely, it turns out that in truth there is no ruler among them and no ruled.36
Freedom and lack of ordered hierarchy, characteristics that seem at first glance to be great flaws, are precisely what allow it to be so malleable:
Of [all] their cities, this is the marvelous and happy city. On the surface, it is like an embroidered garment replete with colored figures and dyes. Everyone loves it and loves to dwell in it, because every human being who has a passion or desire for anything is able to gain it in this city… .
Thus this city comes to be many cities, not distinguished from one another but interwoven with one another, the parts of one interspersed among the parts of another. Nor is the foreigner distinguished from the native resident. All of the passions and ways of life come together in it. Therefore, it is not impossible as time draws on that virtuous people emerge in it. There may chance to exist in it wise men, rhetoricians, and poets concerned with every type of object. It is possible to glean from it parts of the virtuous city, and this is the best that emerges in this city. Thus, of the ignorant cities this city has both the most good and the most evil. The bigger, more prosperous, more populous, more fertile, and more perfect it becomes for people, the more prevalent and greater are these two.37
As long as doubt about the highest human good prevails or to the extent that it appears to be beyond reach, there is need for a city that permits variety of this sort. Such circumstances make freedom and the association that promotes it—the democratic city—worthy of praise.
Implications
In sum, we learn from Alfarabi’s exposition that it is not certain what the universe—and in particular the sphere beneath the moon inhabited by human beings—is like. However, it looks very much as though it is ordered and also as though its order is beneficent with respect to them. Differently stated, it looks to be intelligible or such as to be figured out and that human beings become complete or more fully human to the extent that they do make sense of it. Many signs point to things being like this. But they are no more than signs. That guarded observation is even more warranted with respect to the spheres beyond the moon—the spheres of the heavenly bodies—and with respect to whatever it is that brings all of this into existence.
Yet the more we reflect on these things, the more evident it becomes that such a conclusion is more tenable than one that denies order, intelligibility, or fulfillment of existence. In addition, a conclusion of this sort allows us to make sense of the ephemeral incidents that occur in life and of the traditional ways people have tried to make sense of things. It provides a means of understanding better the wisdom of generally accepted opinions and, more important perhaps, of what they try to help us fathom. Still, precisely because we have the fortune of taking such an excellent teacher as Alfarabi for our guide, we must not fail to recognize that what is more tenable is by no means the same as what is more certain.
From him, we have now learned that what occurs in political life mirrors what occurs in the universe—or at least it should mirror it. Just as there is an order in the universe, such that some existing things are subordinated to others according to their functions, so should there be an order in the political realm. Some human beings do perform better actions of concern to all than others, just as some human beings are clearly better at ruling than others. In order that what is established by reason reflect what exists by nature, political arrangements should take into account that human beings are not equal. Even more, those setting down political arrangements should observe the natural differences or inequality of talents that exist among human beings when legislating what human beings do.
Such a lesson raises three questions, each pointing to an important political consequence. First, what is theoretical knowledge really, that is, what is actually known about the universe and its parts or even about human beings? Second, are the differences in ability that can be pointed to among human beings, that is, the inequalities, so important as to be respected politically? Third, what is the significance of those differences not being respected now? Differently stated, but coming back to the same point, does democracy fly in the face of natural order?
All that has preceded in the exposition points to the way our theoretical understanding of the universe and its parts can guide practice, but falls short of showing whether we can realistically claim to possess theoretical knowledge. The account presented here, like any account, is no more than a likely story. If we are to be perfectly honest with ourselves, we must admit that we do not have sufficient theoretical understanding on which to base practice. At best, we have only inferences based on what appears to us—unless this is what theoretical understanding is all about. According to Alfarabi, wisdom—which is one element or aspect of theoretical knowledge or understanding—allows us to discern the unity in all things and eventually to see the one.38 Even if we do not actually have wisdom, we have some inkling of what it aims at and thus can base our practice on that inkling.
Moreover, reflection about the whole and about the order of the existing things in it, especially our species, gives us some idea of what we can and should strive for in order to reach our end or perfection. Though it is difficult to lay out all the steps for achieving that end in political association, we can point to what is wrong with political associations that do not strive for ultimate happiness. Still, if we are to be perfectly honest about this line of reasoning, we must admit that we discern the error about ends only by analyzing our usual actions and seeking to understand why we perform various activities—what we do them for. Such reasoning falls short of the standards for theoretical knowledge.
Observation of political life today—observation guided by these broader considerations, but clearly not by theoretical knowledge or certainty about the way things are—shows it to be based not on citizens sharing in common goods, but on selfish acquisition. That is, we strive to obtain wealth, honor, or pleasure for ourselves; at most, we show some concern not to harm others while engaged in this pursuit. If we knew what justice were in itself, we could say that such conduct is not just. But even given our present ignorance, we can be sure that it does not build a sense of association.39 In sum, it is possible to argue persuasively that the pursuit of such ends, especially in this selfish manner, is not the highest goal for human beings. It is likewise possible to make some inferences about what a better human life would entail. Greater certainty is not available.
Another way out of our ignorance is to examine how people interact and to think about how greater unity can be achieved among them. The premise here is that it is good to have unity among those who live together and cooperate for a common enterprise, whether that enterprise be the advancement of a household’s welfare, that of a city, a nation, or even—on the off chance that we could come to discern how important it is to respect our common humanity—an association of nations. Were love or friendship to prevail among the citizens of a polity and, even more, were they all to hold the same opinions—opinions, not facts or knowledge—about the beginning, the end, and what falls between the two, there would be great unity among them; and it would have a positive force.40
Now, however, at least two reasons prompt us no longer to consider striving for such unity appropriate—at least not on this level. Although both are based on the practical awareness we have about human beings, neither reaches to the heart of the matter—that is, to determining whether a particular set of opinions is true. First, despite being aware of different opinions among human beings about all of these issues, we can detect no way to reconcile the differences. Nor do they, in fact, admit of being reconciled. The most it is possible to do today is accept them as different and thus refrain from critiquing and criticizing them or arguing against them in order to promote our own. Differently stated, it is possible only to strive to be tolerant of the opinions held by others and to search for a new ground that might promote unity among human beings. (This is, in some respects, what respect for human rights is all about.) Second, what we have learned about the many intolerant attempts over time to force citizens to hold the same opinions prompts us to conclude that endeavors to promote unity must lead to irreparable loss of freedom. We fear such a danger more than the promised benefit unity of opinion might promote.
But this merely leads back to the need to think constantly about the ends of our actions. We rightly fear the intolerant consequences of enforcing unified opinions. These consequences are known. But we fail to consider the yet unknown ones likely to result from people thinking and then doing what they please. Alfarabi does draw our attention to them, however. He first does so somewhat obliquely when, in his discussion of the immoral cities, he passes over the love people have for freedom in silence. Shortly afterward, he points more directly to them in his account of the opinions that characterize one faction of weeds.41
With respect to the second question, difference of ability has always been taken into account when there is a focus on practice. That is, no one has compunctions about demanding that a physician, ship pilot, or military leader have precise knowledge of the art in question. Possession of such skills leads to these individuals being distinguished from others in honor or financial reward. Political life differs in part because there is no clarity about what skill or ability is needed for political leadership. Leaders become such only insofar as others agree to follow them. But the art of forming political leaders remains as remote and opaque today as it was during the days of Socrates.
Here, citizens are all too willing to let their ignorance dominate. No one has conclusively shown that there is no such thing as an art of politics. Nor has it been proved that differences among human beings are politically irrelevant. Rather, paying attention to such differences has been ruled undemocratic and thus out of order.
Finally, from the perspective of natural hierarchy, the problem with democracy is that it aims at freedom and equality rather than human perfection. Insofar as those are the ends, calls for democratic or popular rule contribute nothing to human well-being. Hence, the original question returns: Is human perfection, as identified in the natural hierarchy, truly the human end? Should attention to, and focus on, it dominate political practice to the extent that all other considerations become subordinate? At this point, Alfarabi’s indirect praise of democracy becomes most relevant. As he suggests, abundant human experience shows that more human goods are fostered in democratic than in monarchic regimes. That observation holds true whether the discussion is focused on Athens as distinct from Sparta or one malevolent and ignorant caliph as distinct from a benevolent and enlightened one.
Important as these political lessons are, additional implications result from the admission of fundamental ignorance that this treatise forces on us. Thus, obvious as Alfarabi’s insistence on the need for the soul to separate from the body seems when presented in both the first and second parts of the exposition and as much in keeping as it is with our awareness of human mortality, it is a doctrine fraught with difficulties. At the very least, it turns citizens away from civic engagement and unduly prompts them to pursue private theoretical activities—perhaps even activities tending away from the civic or political and more to the mystical or irrational. Closely examined, then, it appears to be a doctrine more deserving of criticism and rejection. Alfarabi’s adoption of precisely that stance in the Selected Aphorisms shows that his ready endorsement of it here must be more closely examined.42
Nor is Alfarabi’s teaching in this treatise about the existence of natural evil in addition to voluntary evil as what keeps people from attaining happiness consonant with what he says in other writings, most notably the Selected Aphorisms and Book of Religion.43 More important, it compromises his own teaching here about providence. If evil exists by nature, even as a flaw due to material and a means to distinguish individual achievement within species, providence is severely restricted if not simply eliminated. The labored explanation in the first part of the treatise of vipers existing so as to facilitate the dissolution of material has a political parallel of sorts in the second part with the existence of weeds, despite resembling philosophers who attain human excellence. Just as dissonant is the suggestion that natural disasters and other chance events sometimes oblige excellent human beings to live separately in nonvirtuous cities and perhaps forego the attainment of happiness. Such anomalies reveal that the account of the whole presented here, painstaking details notwithstanding, is not as seamless as first appears. In one respect, that may be due to it allowing for no dialectical examination of contrasting opinions. Or it may be Alfarabi’s way of pointing to its inadequacy.
That issues like these come to the fore as problematic, even as not admitting of resolution, is in keeping with Alfarabi’s allusions here and there to how the treatise buttresses opinions set forth in religion. The subtitle of the treatise, presented as an alternative or substitute title, is “the principles of the existents.” Alfarabi explains here not only how concepts developed in philosophy resonate with those presented in religion, but also insists on accepting the different means used to bring citizens to awareness of the principles of existing things. He thus acknowledges that some people can understand these existing things and the way they come about only by forming imaginative representations of them. Coincidentally, if it is reasonable to speak of coincidence with respect to the writing of this “second teacher,” the first mention of religion in the treatise occurs in the context of this admission.44 The explicit sense of the argument is that religion explains the universe and its constituent elements—the existing things, if you will—in the same manner as philosophy, albeit in terms and images easier to grasp. A caveat is in order, all the same: imaginative speech presents the existing things not as they are, but in language that allows people to become aware of them. Reason alone perceives and presents them and their principles fully and accurately.
1. See Fauzi M. Najjar, ed., Abū Naṣr al-Fārābī, Kitāb al-Siyāsa al-Madaniyya, al-Mulaqqab bi-Mabādi’ al-Mawjūdāt (Beirut: al-Maṭba‘a al-Kāthūlīkiyya, 1964).
2. Kitāb al-Siyāsa al-Madaniyya (Ḥaidar Ābād al-Dukn: Maṭba‘a Majlis Dā’irat al-Ma‘ārif al-‘Ūthmāniyya, 1346 AH [1927]).
3. The second draft of Druart’s translation dates from 1981 and is available from the Translation Clearing House at the Department of Philosophy, Oklahoma State University, ref. no. A-30–50d. Galston’s text was distributed privately for use by students. For Najjar’s translation, see “Alfarabi: The Political Regime,” in Medieval Political Philosophy: A Sourcebook, ed. Ralph Lerner and Muhsin Mahdi, 1st ed. (New York: Free Press of Glencoe, 1963), 31–57.
4. The Principles of Existing Things in Classical Arabic Philosophy: An Anthology of Sources, trans. Jon McGinnis and David C. Reisman (Indianapolis: Hackett 2007), 81–104.
5. Ibid., xxvii–xxviii.
6. Ibid., xii.
7. See Abū Naṣr al-Fārābī: Le régime politique, trans. Philippe Vallat (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 2012); Abū Nasr al-Fârâbî: La politique civile ou les principes des existants, trans. Amor Cherni (Paris: al-Bouraq, 2012); “El libro de la política.” in Al-Fārābī, Obras filosóficas y políticas, trans. Rafael Ramón Guerrero (Madrid: Debate, CSIC, 1992), 17–70.
8. As noted, the full title is Book of the Political Regime, Nicknamed Principles of the Existents.
9. Political Regime, sec. 1; Arabic text, 31:2–11. See also Aristotle, On the Heavens 1.1.268a1–3.6.305a32; On the Soul 3.5.430a10–27.
10. Consider also Alfarabi’s comparison of our intellectual apprehension and knowledge to those of the first cause, Political Regime, sec. 26; Arabic text, 47:2–4: “There is no link between our own apprehension and its apprehension, nor between our knowledge and its knowledge. And if there is a link, it is a trifling link. Therefore, there is no link between our pleasure, gladness, and delight in ourselves and what the first has of that. Or if there is a link, it is a very trifling link.”
11. Political Regime, secs. 20–25; Arabic text, 42:14–46:3, esp. 45:5 and 7–8.
12. Ibid., sec. 2; Arabic text, 31:12. Here, as elsewhere, Alfarabi refers to this entity simply as “the first” (al-awwal), inviting the perspicacious reader to complete the thought.
13. Ibid., secs. 27–28; Arabic text, 47:11–48:17, esp. 48:10–11, 11–13, and 16–17.
14. Ibid., sec. 3; Arabic text, 32:6–12, esp. 32:11. For the Quranic references to these terms, especially that of Quran 16:102 for “holy spirit,” see below, n. 3 to sec. 3. See also the reference to “holy spirit” in Alfarabi, Book of Religion, sec. 26, in Alfarabi, The Political Writings: “Selected Aphorisms” and Other Texts, trans. Charles E. Butterworth (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2001); Arabic text, Abū Naṣr al-Fārābī, Kitāb al-Milla wa Nuṣūṣ Ukhrā, ed. Muhsin Mahdi (Beirut: Dār al-Mashriq, 1968).
15. Political Regime, secs. 4–6; Arabic text, 32:13–34:10. See also Alfarabi, Philosophy of Aristotle, sec. 99, 132:7–10 in Alfarabi, Philosophy of Plato and Aristotle, trans. Muhsin Mahdi (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2001); Arabic text, Falsafat Arisṭūṭālīs, ed. Muhsin Mahdi (Beirut: Dār Majallat Shi’r, 1961): “It has become evident that that necessary [cognizance] is for the sake of this [human cognizance] and that the one we previously supposed to be superfluous is not, but is the one necessary for a human being to become substantial or to arrive at his final perfection.”
16. Political Regime, secs. 7–9; Arabic text, 34:11–36:5. The passages cited are sec. 9; Arabic text, 35:12–17 and 35:17–36:4. See also ibid., sec. 38; Arabic text, 55:7–10 where Alfarabi explains that when “potential intelligibles become actual intelligibles and an intellect that was a potential intellect … gets to be an actual intellect,” something that “is not possible for anything other than a human being … this is the ultimate happiness which is the most excellent perfection it is possible for a human being to obtain.”
17. See ibid., secs. 53–63; Arabic text, 62:11–69:14.
18. See ibid., sec. 2; Arabic text, 32:3.
19. For part 1, see ibid., secs. 1–14, 15–35, and 26–63; Arabic text, 31:2–39:13, 39:14–53:10, and 53:11–69:14. For part 2, see secs. 64–67, 68–91, and 92–126; Arabic text, 69:16–71:13, 71:14–87:4, and 87:5–107:19. The outline at the beginning of the translation also indicates the divisions of the work.
20. Ibid., secs. 63–64; Arabic text, 69:5–17, esp. 5–6 and 16–17.
21. Ibid., sec. 64; Arabic text, 70:5.
22. Ibid., secs. 65–67; Arabic text, 70:5–71:13.
23. See ibid., secs. 68–69 with sec. 4; Arabic text, 71:14–72:14 and 32:13–33:15.
24. Ibid., secs. 70–77; Arabic text, 72:15–77:17. See also Alfarabi, Selected Aphorisms, aphs. 74–75, in Alfarabi, The Political Writings: “Selected Aphorisms” and Other Texts; Arabic text, Abū Naṣr al-Fārābī, Fuṣūl Muntaza‘a, ed. Fauzi M. Najjar (Beirut: Dār al-Mashriq, 1971).
25. See Political Regime, secs. 78–82, esp. sec. 80; Arabic text, 78:1–81:4, esp. 79:12–13. See also Alfarabi, Selected Aphorisms, aphs. 30–32.
26. See Political Regime, secs. 68 and 70; Arabic text, 71:14–72:4 and 72:15–73:8. See also Alfarabi, Book of Religion, secs. 1 and 16.
27. Political Regime, sec. 80; Arabic text, 79:17–80:4.
28. See ibid., sec. 81; Arabic text, 80:7–11.
29. Ibid., sec. 88; Arabic text, 84:17–85:2. See also ibid., secs. 83–88; Arabic text, 81:5–84:16.
30. See ibid., sec. 90; Arabic text, 85:14. See also secs. 89–91; Arabic text, 85:3–87:4.
31. See ibid., sec. 123; Arabic text, 104:17–105:6.
32. Ibid., secs. 94–119; Arabic text, 88:4–103:13. For the immoral and errant cities and the weeds, see ibid., secs. 120, 121, and 122–126; Arabic text, 103:14–104:2, 104:3–6, and 104:7–107:19.
33. See ibid., secs. 120–121; Arabic text, 103:14–104:6.
34. See ibid., sec. 117; Arabic text, 102:3–4. See also sec. 103; Arabic text, 93:13–94:4.
35. See ibid., sec. 94; Arabic text, 88:4–13.
36. Ibid., sec. 113; Arabic text, 99:7–17.
37. Ibid., sec. 115; Arabic text, 100:11–14 and 100:16–101:5.
38. See Alfarabi, Selected Aphorisms, aph. 37.
39. See ibid., aph. 62.
40. See ibid., aph. 61.
41. Political Regime, secs. 122 and 125; Arabic text, 104:7–16 and 105:13–107:17, esp. 106:15–107:17.
42. See Alfarabi, Selected Aphorisms, aph. 81.
43. See ibid., aph. 74; and Alfarabi, Book of Religion, sec. 27.
44. See Political Regime, sec. 90; Arabic text, 85:12–86:10, esp. 85:18–86:2.