To contemporary philosophical sensibility, many of the features just listed have come to seem eccentric. The idea, in particular, that ethical considerations could intersect or even—in some manner still to be defined—coincide with aesthetic ones is liable to appear intellectually indefensible if not morally pernicious. Despite certain structural similarities, such as the ostensible independence of both moral and aesthetic value from antecedent personal interests or purposes, these kinds of value would seem to be separated by a gulf. Aryeh Kosman articulates part of the ground of this concern when he remarks that
we would find it decadent or something like belleletristic to be directed to keep a promise because it would be lovely or in good taste to do so, or enjoined not to commit mass murder because doing so would be tacky. For us, “she acted beautifully” and “she acted rightly” do not mean the same thing.
Put differently, moral reasons carry a type of normative demand that aesthetic considerations do not.3
Yet more recently, there has been a surge of philosophical efforts to bridge this perceived gulf. Taking their focus from the virtues and the vices, the most significant of these projects have set out to restore credibility to talk of beauty with reference to human character or the human soul. “Moral beauty,” in the view of Panos Paris, is neither loose talk nor a category error, but perfectly in order when applied to the excellence of a person's character traits taken as complex forms that promote a particular end (the human good). Defending this view involves expanding the cramped conception of aesthetic objects that has come to dominate philosophical aesthetics, with art and nature, and by extension sensory objects, monopolising the discussion.4
Many of these philosophical projects are framed as attempts to honour our ordinary ways of thinking and talking about ethics, and about human character in particular. “We may call someone who exhibits many moral virtues a beautiful person,” Berys Gaut points out, just as “we may say of a kind and generous action that it was a beautiful action.” Colin McGinn lists a number of terms of approval and disapproval that he suggests have substantial aesthetic connotations, including “sweet” and “pure,” “foul,” “disgusting,” “or “grotesque.”5 We can see these linguistic intuitions at work in prominent literary texts, as in Jane Eyre's admiring ascription of a “beauty neither of fine colour nor long eyelash, nor pencilled brow, but of meaning, of movement, of radiance” to one of the characters of the eponymous novel.6 These intuitions unite us to the proximate past, as this literary example attests. The same applies to Gaut's expression, which echoes nothing more than Hume's remark, in the Treatise, that “[t]here is no spectacle so fair and beautiful as a noble and generous action.”7 The latter remark reflects a broader willingness among Hume and his contemporaries to reach for aesthetic language in speaking about qualities of character. Recent projects have thus also taken their bearings from philosophical history, both proximate (as represented by Hume and his peers) and remote (as represented by their ancient precursors), viewing their project as in part one of restoration.
In this work, my aim is to broaden the philosophical record to include an important episode that has not yet received adequate consideration. This is the episode contributed by the prominent eleventh-century Muslim theologian Abū Ḥāmid al-Ghazālī (d. 1111). Many of the ideas picked out on the previous page as central tropes of ancient philosophical thinking—particularly in the Platonic and Neoplatonic schools—turn out to have significant counterparts within the Islamic world. Partly, this is the result of intellectual influence, as ancient texts that formed key vectors of these ideas were translated into Arabic and found their way into the hands of Arabic-speaking intellectuals. That material process, it must be said, was not the most straightforward, and in certain regards, the textual links appear surprisingly thin. Plato's Symposium, for example, seems never to have been translated into Arabic, though some of its ideas made it into Arabic-Islamic culture through indirect routes, reflecting a generally patchy record of transmission for Plato's corpus as a whole. Plotinus’ Enneads, in which these kinds of ideas achieved a critical articulation, was only available in part and in paraphrase under the title The Theology of Aristotle.8 Yet a reasonable leaven of these philosophical ideas made it into the mix of intellectual elements at work in the Islamic world, and it entered into a variety of intellectual schemes that elaborated the relations between ethics, aesthetics, and metaphysics. This includes, above all, Sufism, where the idea of God's transcendent beauty—which worldly entities either naturally manifest or normatively seek to emulate—formed a cynosure of spiritual preoccupation.9
A thinker of boundless ambition, breadth, and curiosity, al-Ghazālī drew equally from the granary of philosophical and Sufi ideas in crafting his own intellectual vision. Both influences can be seen at work in his late-life multi-volume masterpiece, The Revival of the Religious Sciences, where this vision receives its most powerful and influential expression. Al-Ghazālī's purpose in this book is to guide the reader through the process of ethical and spiritual formation required to reach ultimate happiness, this being happiness in God. It is in this context that al-Ghazālī makes an approach to a theme that has formed the defining focus of Sufi spirituality, the love of God. This approach turns out to be an account of ethics, aesthetics, and metaphysics rolled into one. Love of God is love of beauty; and virtue is one of the forms of beauty.
Although al-Ghazālī's account of divine love in the Revival has justly received considerable attention, its special way of drawing the good into relation with the beautiful has oddly escaped remark.10 One reason for wishing to focus attention on it, as already suggested, is to enrich the historical record we survey and seek to mine as we attempt to rethink the relationship between the good and the beautiful, ethics and aesthetics. If we believe this effort is worthwhile, a broadened sense of intellectual community will seem worth cultivating. But a closer meditation on this aspect of al-Ghazālī's thinking is also important if we are interested in gaining a clearer insight into al-Ghazālī's ethics on its own terms. Al-Ghazālī's ethics simply cannot be understood without taking into account the aesthetic framework in which he locates the ethical life, and more specifically the life of virtue. As I will show, the insight that results from this engagement is not entirely free from difficulty. Al-Ghazālī's account of the relation between the good and the beautiful turns out to problematise the unity of his thought, and to raise on fresh grounds an enigma familiar to his major interpreters concerning the consistency between the viewpoints of his different works. If we are to appreciate the complexity of al-Ghazālī's thought, and of Islamic ethical discourse more broadly, this is a challenge well worth confronting.
After a brief foray into al-Ghazālī's attitude to aesthetic enjoyment more generally (Section 2), I set out some of the linguistic, religious, and philosophical background that provides a context for al-Ghazālī's specific way of linking aesthetics with the domain of ethics (Section 3). I then begin to unpack the relation between the good and the beautiful as al-Ghazālī presents it in his key virtue-centred works, especially the Revival, focusing on the account of moral beauty he develops in the context of his discussion of the love of God (Section 4). Moral virtue is the prime exemplar of an intelligible type of beauty, and the disinterested love that human beings universally experience towards beauty provides the central paradigm for thinking about the love they may direct to God. Having explored this model philosophically, I then turn to consider the quandary it poses for our understanding of al-Ghazālī's oeuvre as a whole, given its apparent antagonism to the (anti-rationalist, anti-objectivist) view of ethical value expressed in his theological and legal works (Section 5). I try to meet this challenge by outlining a number of approaches that would allow us to remove the apparent contradiction, including appeals to chronology, levels of discourse, and “supercharged” hermeneutics (Section 6). A concluding comment (Section 7) tries to broaden the vista against which we engage with this particular episode and place the historical record in the service of the beautiful and the good.