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Prior to Avicenna, philosophy in Arabic-speaking lands was identified with a Neoplatonized Aristotelianism; however, after him it was Avicenna’s philosophical vision that came to dominate, which itself incorporated the best of ancient Greek science and philosophy with the Islamic religion, law, and theology. Even among later Jewish and Christian philosophers, Avicenna was to have a significant influence. This chapter, thus, considers some of the more notable instances of Avicenna’s influence both on Judeo-Islamic philosophical theology and Christian scholasticism. The chapter gestures at Avicenna’s influence on such luminaries within the intellectual circles of Muslims and Jews as the great Islamic theologian al-Ghazālī, as-Suhrawardī, the founder of the Illuminationist school, and the renowned Jewish philosopher Moses Maimonides, while Christian philosophers in the Latin West inspired by Avicenna include Albert the Great, Thomas Aquinas, and Duns Scotus.

Over the course of many centuries, one Arabic author after another borrowed different materials from earlier works and synthesized them together to form new accounts of the ancient life and significance of Hermes Triplicate-in-Wisdom. The early identification of Hermes with the prophet Enoch connected Hermes with stories of Enoch's heavenly ascent. After Abū Maʿšar, Ismāʿīlī missionaries used Hermes as their example of a prophet who revealed the sciences. The widely read Book of the Apple, a 10th-century adaptation of Plato's Phaedo, expresses a similar view of Hermes. After the 11th century, Hermes found esteem among philosophers, rather than among just astrologers and alchemists, partly because he was included in two influential gnomologia that played the part of histories of science, the Ṣiwān al-ḥikma and al-Mubaššir ibn Fātik's Muḫtār al-ḥikam. Hermes was more generally famous thereafter among Arabic scholars as the prophetic founder of the sciences and philosophy. The innovative as-Suhrawardī (d. ca 1191) helped to make Hermes especially renowned among later philosophers and Ṣūfīs. The sum result of these and other developments is that Hermes came to be accepted very widely by Arabic scholars as the prophet Enoch-Idrīs, who had revealed the sciences on the basis of his experiences in a heavenly ascent to the celestial spheres, where the angels taught him astrology and other secrets.

This chapter traces the history of the unification argument from the Greeks to Mullā Ṣadrā. It begins with earliest statements of the problem in Plato and Aristotle. Aristotle provides the first clear statement of the problem. However, he lends himself to multiple readings, and Ṣadrā does not miss the opportunity to read Aristotle as supporting the unification argument. Ṣadrā takes a similar approach in reading Alexander of Aphrodisias and Plotinus. The Muslim Peripatetics rejected the unification argument as a remnant of Plotinian mysticism for a number of ontological and epistemological reasons. They, however, accepted the idea when it applied to God only. Suhrawardī follows suit and denies the unification argument any epistemic legitimacy. It is against this long and complicated tradition that Ṣadrā tries to make his case for unification. While the debate over unification has many defenders and detractors in Islamic philosophy, in tracing its history, the chapter focuses on those whom Ṣadrā mentions explicitly in the Asfār and his other writings.

For many Persian poets, Sufis in particular, the ethereal modes through which music communicates with its listeners embodied the somatic ‘taste’ (ẕauq) of the suprasomatic divine realities. Through a dialectic of revelation and concealment—or in the Qur’anic terms often employed by the Sufis, ẓāhir and bạ̄tin, exoteric and esoteric—proper musical experience (samāᶜ) becomes both a means of accessing the transcendent harmonies of the cosmos and conduit to the very transcendence of music itself. Proper hearing is not delimited by the audible range of the material ear, for this external sense (ḥiss-i ẓāhir) must yield to an internal sense (ḥiss-i bāṭin), signified by the gūsh-i jān and gūsh-i dil, the ‘ear of the soul’ and ‘ear of the heart’. These auricular metaphors express a deeply Pythagorean but specifically Persianate philosophy of audition, one not (only) grounded in the rationality of mathematical ratios, but (also) modelled upon Pythagoras’ cosmic auditory powers, bestowed through ritual purity.

This chapter discusses Shihab al-Din Abu Hafs ،Umar Suhrawardi, one of the towering figures of medieval Sufism. It discusses his Persian works on futawwat, the Kitab fi،l-futawwat and the Risalat al-futawwat, with its central focus on his latter work. Suhrawardi's futawwat was marked as rigorously sober and was devoid of any mention of potentially dangerous Sufi rituals or activities that would have left the groups open to criticism, instead focusing on the outer attributes of the fata because of the communal nature of the futawwat. For instance, Suhrawardi advocated for immaculate appearance, and proper conduct at the communal eating. Although he focused on the outer dimensions of act, he also placed an emphasis on the inner dimension to achieve perfection. Suhrawardi focused on spiritual enlightenment. While other jawanmardi groups aimed for tajrid or a state of separation and tafrid or seclusion, Suhwardi focused on delineating jawanmardi as a communal association for urban and artisanal workers who wished to participate in the less arduous forms of Sufi activity. He also focused on ،Ali and made him exemplar of compassion, mercy, bravery, and loyalty to God. Three hundred years after Suhwardi, his treatises were the core of the futawwat namas of this period. Three main elements that recur in the futawwat namas of this era are: the theme of mercy and compassion; attempts to illustrate the linkages of futawwat and Sufism; and the desire for scrupulousness in observing the correct procedures in ritual activity.

This chapter provides a translated rules of conduct and regulations of Suhrawardi's futawwat nama, first presenting the meaning of futawwat and its etymology, fatwa, and then discussing other kinds of futawwat such as the murawwat, the Holy Law, the Way, the Reality, and the Gnosis. Included also are prescribed conducts and attributes that would lead a futawwat member into perfection and righteousness. Second, the chapter discusses the meaning of the Master's duty with the trainee, and the trainee's duty with the Master. It discusses first the duty of the master to his trainee, which is defined by utmost concern and dedication to the trainee. To be a true master, he must draw his insight (dida), eyes (chism), ears, consciousness, thoughts, and effort (himmat) towards the trainee. Absence of such qualities renders the master as a fake (majazi) master. Aside from discussing the duty of the master to his trainee, the second section also discusses the overall attributes of the master. Suhrawardi's futawwat advocates for qualities such as piety, generosity, and purity, among others. As for the student, it is expected of him to follow the commands and examples of the master, to extend courtesy, to observe the hierarchy of the organization, to observe discipline in communal eating, and to observe proper grooming and appearance. The third section of the chapter discusses the regulations of eating and its courtesies. Such regulations include the propriety in the partaking of food, the observance of the proper time to speak, and the observance of proper decorum for drinking and cleaning after a meal.

Western scholars have long assumed that during the sixth/twelfth century “religious” forces hostile to the practice of philosophy in Islam became so powerful that they successfully suppressed and persecuted philosophers, so much so that this discipline waned and eventually disappeared in Islam. This chapter looks at the evidence for suppression and persecution of philosophy from the side of religious and political authorities. It particularly asks whether al-Ghazali’s fatwa on the unbelief and apostasy of philosophers who hold three clearly identified positions was ever applied. The chapter discusses several examples, most importantly the executions of ‘Ayn al-Qudat al-Hamadhani in 525/1131 and Shihab al-Din Yahya al-Suhrawardi around 588/1192. It concludes that al-Ghazali’s fatwa was likely instrumental in the death of ‘Ayn al-Qudat, yet it brought with it so many legal problems that it had next to no effect beyond the generation of al-Ghazali’s immediate students.