Çeviri
PROPHETHOOD AND SAINTHOOD IN THE DOCTRINE OF IBN ‘ARABI
Michel Chodkiewicz
Translated by
Liadain Sherrard
Golden Palm Series
THE ISLAMIC TEXTS SOCIETY
Cambridge • 1993
o_
© The Islamic Texts
Society 1993
English translation©The Islamic Texts Society 1993
Translated from the French by Liadain Sherrard
First published as Le Sceau des Saints by Michel
Chodldewicz
Editions Gallimard 1986
This edition published 1993 by The Islamic Texts
Society
5 Green Street,
Cambridge, c B 2 3 j u, u K.
1SBN094662Ï403 paper
ISBN o 946621 39 xeloth
British Library
Cataloguing in Publication Data
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Typeset by Goodfellow & Egan, Cambridge
Printed by The Alden Press, Oxford
:
System of
transliterations vi
Editions and Abbreviations vii
Foreword 3
2 'He who sees thee sees Me' 26
5 The Heirs of the Prophets 74
7 The Highest Degree of Ws lâya 103
9 The Seal of Muhammadan Sainthood 128
Index 183
Fusiis al-Hikam, Ibn'Arabî,
edited A. A. Affifi, Beirut, 1946.
Al-Futühât al-Makkiyya, Ibn cArabî,
Bülàq, 1329AH (4 vols.). There is also reference to Osman Yahya's critical
edition in progress (Cairo : al-Hay'a al-Misriyya al-cÂmma
lï'J-Kitâb, 1972- ).
ABBREVIATIONS
El: Encyclopaedia of
Islam (El1 first edition, El2 second edition).
GAL: C. Brockelmann, Geschichte
derArabischen Literatur, Leiden, 1945-49.
GAS: Fuat Sezgin, Geschichte
des Arabischen Schrifttums, Leiden, 1967- .
Içt. : Ibn cArabï
Kitâb Istilâlr al-süfiyya, Hyderabad, 1948.
R.G. : the 'Répertoire
général' in Osman Yahya's Histoire et classification de l'oeuvre d'Ibn
Arabi, Damascus, 1964. The letters R.G. are followed by the number of the
work as it is to be found in O. Yahya's classification.
Itis reported in Muslim's
Sahth that the Messenger of God said: 'God is beautiful and He loves
beauty'. It is God who made the world and endowed it with existence. The entire
universe is therefore supremely beautiful. There is nothing ugly in it. On the
contrary, in it God has brought together all perfection and all beauty . . ..
The gnostics see it as being nothing other than the form of the divine Reality
... : for God is He who is epiphanized in every face, He to whom every sign
refers back, He upon whom all eyes rest, He who is worshipped in every object
of worship .... The whole universe offers up its prayers to Him, falls down
before Him, and sings His praises. All tongues speak of Him alone, and Him
alone all hearts desire .... If if were not so, no Messenger and no Prophet
would ever have loved woman or child.
Ibn cArabï, al-Futühât
al-makkiyya m, pp. 449-50.
In -1845, at
Leipzig, Gustav Flügel, a student of Silvestre de Sacy, published as an annex
to Jutjânî's Tacñfáf a short treatise entitled Definitiones
theosophi Muhjied-din Mohammed b. Ali vulgo Ibn Arabi dicti. With these few
pages, which were written at Malatya in the year 615/1218, the work of Ibn
'Arabi made its discreet entrance into the field of Oriental studies.[1]
[2]
However, the first studies of any importance were long in appearing. It was not
until 1911, in London, that Nicholson brought out his edition and translation
of the Tarjumân al-ashwaq (The Interpreter of Desires). It is true that
another work attributed to Ibn 'Arabi, the Treatise on Unit}/, had been
translated into English by Weir in 1901, and by lyan-Gustav Agueli (Abdul-Hadi)
into Italian (1907) and French (1910); but this attribution, which gave rise to
much misunderstanding, was unfortunately mistaken.[3] The year 1919 was particularly
fruitful: in Leyden, Nyberg published his Kleinere Schrif- ten des Ibn
al-Arabl, together with a long introduction; and at the Royal Spanish
Academy, Asin Palacios gave a notable talk which constituted the initial
version of his La Escatologia musulmana en la Divina Comedia. In it he
put forward the hypothesis that Dante had
been influenced by Ibn
'Arabi, thereby arousing a controversy which continues to this day.4
His subsequent studies led him to publish, in 1931, El islam cristianizado,
a work which despite its unindicative title is entirely devoted to Ibn 'Arabi.5
The year 1939 saw the appearance in Cambridge of The Mystical Philosophy
ofMuhyiddin Ibnul Arabi by A. A. 'Afifi, an Egyptian researcher, which is,
as far as I know, the first thesis on the author of the Futühât to be
written in a Western university. The post-war years were to see a succession of
texts, translations and studies, most of which will find mention in the course
of the present book.6 For the moment, we should bear in mind two of
the most important worksin this field of research: Henry Corbin's Creative
Imagination in the Sufism of Ibn Arabi (London 1970), and .Toshihiko
Izutsu's Sufism and Taoism (Berkeley and London 1984), a comparative
study of Ibn 'Arabi and Lao-Tzù, to which must be added William Chittick's more
recent work, The SufiPath ofKnowledge (Albany 1989).
The reception initially
accorded to Ibn'Arabi by those engaged in Islamic studies was one of extreme
reserve. Massignon vowed an enduring hostility towards him which his students
often inherited. Other more well-disposed authors spoke of Ibn 'Arabi with
rather comical condescension: Clement Huart, while agreeing that he is reputed
to be 'the greatest mys tic of the Muslim East', expresses concern about his
'disorderly imagination'.7 Carra de Vaux acknowledges that 'in the
East, even in our own times, his popularity is on the increase', but says of
him, 'such syncretism has its charm, and his work in its entirety is earthy,
full of life and movement'8—an ambiguous commendation, and one which
4. In 1924 Miguel Asin Palacios published his Historia critica de
una polémica, which was added to the 1924 edition of the Escatología
musulmana (Madrid-Granada). For an account of this issue, see M. Rodinson,
'Dante et l'Islam d'après les travaux recents', in Revue de ¡'histoire des
religions, vol. cxl, no. 2,
1951,pp. 203-36.
5. Only the subtide, which does not figure on the cover, describes
the subject matter: Estudio del 'sufismo' a través de las obras de Abenarabi
de Murcia. A French translation, which leaves much to be desired, has been
published under the tide L'Islam christianisé, Paris 1982.
6. A well-informed critical inventory, covering the last 15 years of
Western language publications on the subject of Ibn 'Arabi, may be found in James
W. Morris' article 'Ibn Arabi and his Interpreters', published in the Journal
of the American Oriental Society, vol. cvi, iii, iv; vol. cvn, i (1986-87).
7. ClémentHuart, Littérature arabe, Paris 1923, p. 275.
8. Alexandre Carra de Vaux, Les Penseurs de I'Islam, Paris
1923, w, pp. 218-23.
does not point to much
depth of understanding. That pious ecclesiastic Asin Palacios skilfully
practises what we would today call the art of rehabilitation: Ibn “Arabi is a
Christian without Christ and owes to the Desert Fathers what all unknowingly he
was to restore to Catholic spirituality. ‘Afifî, and later the far more
comprehensive Izutsu, suggest an interpretation of the work which is primarily
philosophical and hence very reductionist: Ibn ‘Arabi is not a 'thinker' among
other thinkers, and nor is his doctrine the systematic exposition of merely
intellectual speculation. Corbin, by far the most subtle of all these exegetes,
does not commit such an error of perspective. Nevertheless, in his persistent
attempts to uncover a clandestine Shiite in the writings of this self-confessed
Sunni, he presents a picture of him which in many respects needs correction.
The combination of
sainthood and genius in the person of Ibn ‘Arabi, and the fusion in his work of
the most diverse sciences and literary forms, do indeed make it extremely
difficult to grasp, and to enable others to grasp, the nature and stature of
the man and his work. The bibliography of Ibn ‘Arabi, although not yet
definitive, has been firmly established, thanks to the labours of Osman Yahia:
when the apocryphal or dubious texts have been discounted, there remain over
four hundred works. Some of these are no more than short opuscules. Others
consist of several hundreds or, in the case of the Futühâi Makkiyya,
several thousands of our pages. But the list would lengthen considerably if we
were able to indude in it the works considered lost, among them a commentary on
the Qur'an which even though uncompleted comprised 'sixty-four volumes'.
A serious bibliography of
Ibn ‘Arabi remained to be written. The biographical notes on him written by
Muslim authors or orientalists are full of gaps, and do not make use, in any
exhaustive or critical manner, of the many sources available, beginning with
his own works. Now, however, we have Claude Addas' indispensable study of him.9
Here we ’ will confine ourselves to a few7 salient points. Muhyi
al-Din Abu ‘Abdallah Muhammad b. ‘Ali b. Muhammad b. al-‘Arabi al-Hatimi
al-Ta'i was bom at Murcia on the 27th day of Ramadan 560 (7th August 1165). In
France, where Louis VII was king, the construction of Notre-Dame de Paris had
been under way for two years. In Muslim Spain, the pow’er of the Almoravids was
in decline, to be succeeded
9. Claude Addas, Quest for the Red Sulphur: The Life of Ibn
‘Arabi, Cambridge U.K. 1993.
shortly by the Almohads.
In Egypt, another dynasty was ending, the dynasty of the Fatimids that Saladin
was preparing to supplant. On the banks of the Onon in Eastern Siberia, Gengis
Khan was bom; less than a century later his grandson, Hûlâgü, would destroy
Baghdad and have the last Abba sid caliph put to death.
Ibn "Arabi spent his childhood in Seville,
where his family settled in 568/1172. At about the age of sixteen he ''entered
upon the Way'[4]
[5]
[6]
and began to keep company with the spiritual masters of Andalusia (later on, in
his Rüh al-Quds, he describes fifty or so of them). His meeting with
Averroes must have taken place at this time and not, as Corbin thinks, when he
was nearer twenty years old. His initial 'conversion', however, was succeeded
by a period of laxness (fatra) 'well-known to men of God and which no
one who takes this path can avoid'.11 He had a vision which
rekindled his zeal; he gave up all his worldly goods, practised asceticism, and
went on retreats in graveyards.11 By the age of twenty he had
already passed through a whole series of the 'stations' (maqâmât) which
in Sûfî terminology punctuate the journey towards God, and had received
exceptional gifts of grace.[7]
Athough at first his travels were confined to Andalusia, they extended after
590/1193 to the Maghrib. Until he reached the age of sixty, in fact, he was
constantly on the move. Thus in 590 he was in Tunis and Tlemcen, in 591 at Fez,
in 592 at Seville, in 593 and 594 once more in Fez, and in 595 at Cordoba. In
597 he returned to Morocco. In 598 he went to Murria, then to Salé, and then to
Tunis, where the period of his life spent in the West came to an end, and by
which time he had certainly written almost sixty works. A vision which came to him
at Marrakesh[8]
directed him- to go to the East, and he left the Maghrib, never to return.
During this same year 598 (1201-1202 of the Christian era) he went successively
to Cairo, Jerusalem and finally Mecca, where a major spiritual event took place
of which we will give an account later. In 599-600 he stayed in the Hijaz,
before resuming his way: Mosul, Baghdad, Jerusalem (6oi), Konya, Hebron (602),
Cairo (603). In 604 he was in Mecca, in 606 at Aleppo, in 60S at Baghdaá
Some of his disciples accompanied him, while others were waiting for him
wherever he stopped. Princes sought his company; doctors of the Law desired to
take issue with him. A contemplative anchored in immutability, Ibn ‘Arabi
nevertheless travelled without pause over Anatolia and the fertile Muslim East,
tirelessly imparting as he went his initiatic teaching and his metaphysical
doctrine. The journeys continued, with several sojourns in Asia Minor, until
620/1223, when he settled in Damascus. Here he completed a preliminary version
of the Futühât, his summa mystica begun at Mecca twenty-one years
previously (a few years before his death he was to write a second version, of
which we possess the autograph manuscript in thirty-seven volumes). Here, too,
he wrote his Fusus al-hikam after having had a dream which we will
describe in due course.
He was surrounded by an
assembly of disciples, continuing to teach and to expound his work up to the
end: the last 'attested reading' in his presence known to us (of the Tanazzulât
mawsiliyya, a treatise on the esoteric meaning and spiritual results of
ritual practices which was written at Mosul in 601/1204) is dated the 10th Rabí
al-awwal 638. In Damascus a few weeks later, on the 28th Rabi* al-thânî (16th
November 1240) this 'Revivifier of the Religion' (a translation of his name
Muhyi al-Din) whom posterity was also to know as al-Shaykh al-Akbar, the
'Greatest Master', and Sultan al-'ârifïn, 'Sultan of the Gnostics',
died.[9]
At the beginning of
Chapter Four of his Futühât Makkiyya (The Illuminations of Mecca), Ibn
‘Arabi, addressing his Tunisian teacher and friend cAbd al-cAziz
Mahdawi—to whom the work is dedicated— recalls the occasion when he stayed with
him in 598/1201, and tried to persuade him to join him in the Holy Qty, 'most
noble of all the dwellings of stone and earth'. He then goes on to speak about
the nature of one's place of residence and whether it is more or less
favourable to contemplation. 'Places', he says, 'produce an effect in subtle
hearts, and a hierarchy therefore exists of corporeal dwelling places (manâzil
jismâniyya), just as there is a hierarchy of spiritual dwelling places (manâzil
rühâniyya).' He reminds 'Abd al-'Aziz that the latter had refused to shut
himself away in one of the rooms in a lighthouse east of Tunis, and had preferred
to make his retreat a little further off among the tombs, saying that 'he was
better able to find his heart there than in the lighthouse'. 'I too', he adds,
'experienced there the truth of what you said. ' He explains that the special
character of certain places owes its existence to those who have stayed or are
staying there, be they angels, jinn or men. This is so, for example, in
the case of the house of Abu Yazïd Bistâmî, which was nicknamed the 'house of
the Just', bayt al-abrar; of the zâwiya of Junayd, the great Sùfi
of ninth century Baghdad; of the cave of the ascetic Ibn Adham; and of all
places generally which have some connection with the pious dead (al-salihtri).[10]
Earthly space
is therefore not neutral: the passage of a saint or his posthumous sojourn in a
place somehow establishes in it a field of beneficent power. With this personal
testimony the Shaykh al-Akbar presents us both with a warning and with the
basis of one of the most visible forms of the 'cult of the saints'. As we shall
see, he has much more to say on this subject.
The text we
have just been citing was written by Ibn 'Arabi shortly after his arrival in
the East at the start of the thirteenth century. A century later, the Hanbalite
polemicist Ibn Taymiyya launched a relentless campaign against ziyârat
al-qubür, the visiting of tombs and similar practices, and also condemned
the practice of seeking the intercession of saints, or even of the Prophet.[11]
The celebration of the mawlid (birthday) of the Prophet and a
fortiori of the saints was likewise condemned by him as bid‘a, a
deplorable innovation.[12]
Although he
was not the first to engage in polemics on this subject, Ibn Taymiyya was by
far the most violent, and for centuries the most influential: it is he who is
responsible, through the Wahhabis, for the destruction of places in the Arab
world which had been venerated by countless generations of Muslims. His work,
even today, is the source of vehement campaigns against the 'deviations' which
have distorted the original purity of Islam.
Needless to
say, the 'cult of the saints' did not arise in the thirteenth century. It was
initially addressed, very early on, to members of the Prophet's family (ahi
al-bayt) and to his Companions (sahâba). From the fourth century of
the Hegira at least, funeral monuments were being erected at Baghdad in honour
of the illustrious saints of the third century.[13] The accounts of journeys,
such as that written by Ibn Jubayr in the twelfth century, the collections of fadail
(the 'daims to fame' of a áty or a region), like the Fadâ'il al-Sham by
Ruba'i,[14]
the 'pilgrim's guides', of which a model example is Harawî's Kitâb
al-Ishârât ilâ ma <rif at al-ziyârât, edited by Janine Sourdel-Thomine,[15]
all bear witness to local traditions which are without doubt very ancient, even
though they can rarely be dated with any accuracy. Finally, this fervour was
both produced and nourished by the literature of hagiography, whose major works
include Sulamï's Tabaqdt and the ten volumes of the Hilyat al-awliya'
(The Ornament of the Saints'), written in the eleventh century by Abû
Nu'aym al-Isfahânî. Before proceeding, we should note that, for the most part,
neither at this time nor at a later date was this hagiography 'popular'
literature. This label cannot be applied either to the works we have just
mentioned or even to the more modest compilations of strictly regional interest
like the Tashawwuf by Tâdilï (the learned author of a respected
commentary on Hariri's Maqâmât) about the saints of southern Morocco of
the fifth and sixth centuries ah, (manâzil
rühâmyya).' He reminds Abd al-cAziz that the latter had refused
to shut himself away in one of the rooms in a lighthouse east of Tunis, and had
preferred to make his retreat a little further off among the tombs, saying that
'he was better able to find his heart there than in the lighthouse'. T too', he
adds, 'experienced there the truth of what you said.' He explains that the
special character of certain places owes its existence to those who have stayed
or are staying there, be they angels, jinn or men. This is so, for
example, in the case of the house of Abù Yazïd Bistâmî, which was nicknamed the
'house of the Just', bayt al-abrar, of the zâwiya of Junayd, the
great Sùfî of ninth century Baghdad; of the cave of the ascetic Ibn Adham; and
of all places generally which have some connection with the pious dead (al-salihm}.'6
Earthly space
is therefore not neutral: the passage of a saint or his posthumous sojourn in a
place somehow establishes in it a field of beneficent power. With this personal
testimony the Shaykh al-Akbar presents us both with a warning and with the
basis of one of the most visible forms of the 'cult of the saints'. As we shall
see, he has much more to say on this subject.
The text we
have just been citing was written by Ibn cArabi shortly •I after his arrival in
the East at the start of the thirteenth century. A
century later,
the Hanbalite polemicist Ibn Taymiyya launched a relentless campaign against ziyârat
al-qubür, the visiting of tombs and similar practices, and also condemned
the practice of seeking the intercession of saints, or even of the Prophet?7
The celebration of the mawlid (birthday) of the Prophet and « fortiori
of the saints was likewise condemned by him as bicTa, a deplorable
innovation?8
17. Ibn Taymiyya, Majmü'at al-msâ'il wa 'l-masâ'i! (MRM), ed.
Rashid Rida, V, pp. 85, 93; al-Fatâwâ al-kubrâ, Beirut 1965,1, pp.
93,127,344,351; h, pp.
! 218, 226. See also in
M. V. Memon's Ibn Taimiya's Struggle against Popalar
Religion (The
Hague-Paris 1976) chapters 18 and 19 of the Kitâb Iqtida’ al-simt
al-mustaqim. In connection with the visits to the Prophet's tomb and the
prayers for his intercession, c£. the answer given by his contemporary Taqi al-Din
al-Subld, the Shafi'ite jurist, in his Shifâ' al-siqâm (Beirut 1978),
who finds justification for this practice in a series of hadith. The
later compilation by Yüsuf Nabhani, Shawâhid al-haqq fî istighâthat sayyid
al-khalq, Cairo 1974, gives a summary of several centuries of polemics on
this subject and on the intercession of the saints.
18. Cf. Ibn Taymiyya, MRM v, pp. 81-104, Risâlat almbadât
a!-sharciyya wa 'l-farq baynahâ wa-bayna 'l-bida ‘iyya.
Although he
was not the first to engage in polemics on this subject, Ibn Taymiyya was by
far the most violent, and for centuries the most influential: it is he who is
responsible, through the Wahhabis, for the destruction of places in the Arab
world which had been venerated by countless generations of Muslims. His work,
even today, is the source of vehement campaigns against the 'deviations' which
have distorted the original purity of Islam.
Needless to
say, the 'cult of the saints' did not arise in the thirteenth century. It was
initially addressed, very early on, to members of the Prophet's family (ahi
al-bay t) and to his Companions (sahâba). From the fourth century of
the Hegira at least, funeral monuments were being erected at Baghdad in honour
of the illustrious saints of the third century.[16] The accounts of journeys,
such as that written by Ibn Jubayr in the twelfth century, the collections off
add'il (the 'claims to fame' of a city or a region), like the Fadâ'il
al-Shâm by Rubai,[17]
the 'pilgrim's guides', of which a model example is Harawï's Kitâb
al-Ishârât ilâ macrifat al~ziyârât, edited by Janine
Sourdel-Thomine,[18]
all bear witness to local traditions which are without doubt very ancient, even
though they can rarely be dated with any accuracy. Finally, this fervour was
both produced and nourished by the literature of hagiography, whose major works
include Sulami's Tabaqdt and the ten volumes of the Hilyat al-awliya'
(The Ornament of the Saints), written in the eleventh century by Abu Nueaym
al-Isfahânï. Before proceeding, we should note that, for the most part, neither
at this time nor at a later date was this hagiography 'popular' literature.
This label cannot be applied either to the works we have just mentioned or even
to the more modest compilations of strictly regional interest like the Tashawwuf
by Tadili (the learned author of a respected commentary on Hariri's Maqâmât)
about the saints of southern Morocco of the fifth and sixth centuries ah, or like the Maqsad written by
his successor Bádisi.” It would be a fortiori incongruous to attach such
a label to later works of this type written by great poets such as 'Attar or
Jami.
Nevertheless,
and without succumbing to the perverse taste for dividing things up into
periods, the age of Ibn 'Arabi must be regarded as the start of a new era. It
witnessed the appearance both of the theoretical formulations and of the
institutions that were to dictate all later developments in Islamic mysticism
down to our day. It was a period of transition in the political history of the
community of believers, the more dramatic aspects of which arc sufficiently
indicated by the taking of Baghdad by the Mongols in 1258 and the fall of the
Abbasid caliphate. It is no accident that this was also the period of
transition in Sufi doctrine from implicit to explicit, and the start, sociologically
speaking, of its transition from informality to formality, fluidity to
organisation. Its fundamental concepts were defined and organized, in the work
of Ibn 'Arabi, into a comprehensive synthesis; and from then on, viewed as a
summit or as a target, acknowledged or unacknowledged, for followers and
adversaries alike this work constituted an essential landmark and a fruitful
source of technical terminology.[19]
[20]
At the same time the turuq ('brotherhoods') came into being and began to
codify the practices they had inherited into rules and methods. Although the
'cult of the saints' is not necessarily related to these brotherhoods,
nevertheless the veneration of the founding shaykh and his more eminent
successors played an important part in its development. Its forms were
progressively structured along the lines taken by the Muslim community in its
devotion to the Prophet—a devotion which was itself marked by the official
recognition of the mawlid under the Ayyubids. Ibn Taymiyya was not wrong
in thinking that the actions which he censured and the concepts underlying them
were gaining an ever-wider influence.
His critique
is not limited to a furious inventory of the ravages brought about by these
'innovations' : he sets out to explain them, tire better to eradicate them. In
his eyes, these aberrant devotions on the part of the zamma,
the ignorant masses, are purely and simply evidence of polytheism (s/n'rfc).
They are foreign as well as heterodox: their existence and diffusion are due to
the pernicious influence of the Jews, the Sabians, the Zoroastrians and above
all of the Christians, who, in the guise either of insidious guests or of
ambiguous converts, are present at the very heart of the Muslim community.24
What we are seeing here is the emergence of the 'two-tiered model', a theme
which has been brilliantly discussed by Peter Brown in relation to Christianity.25
Here as there this model, in all its various forms, and often enriched by
concepts borrowed from Ibn Khaldun, was to become popular in later
interpretations of the 'cult of the saints'. Classic Islamology, whose sights
are set on the empyrean, the dwelling-place of Islam as it ought to be, tends
to be condescending towards those mental attitudes and patterns of behaviour
which are irreducible to this paradigm, and to treat them as residual •
archaisms or unconscious borrowings which, in spite of being eventually
canonized a posteriori by the religious authorities, are nevertheless
corrupting influences. Colonial ethnography is formed by the same dichotomy,
but tends to overestimate the importance or even to exalt the positive
qualities of the indigenous substrata (Berber, African, Malay) at the expense
of a universalist orthodoxy which, in the hands of the pan-Islamicists, could
threaten the peace of mind of the empire's loyal subjects. 'Progressive'
interpretations, which are obviously based on very different principles, are
tom between a reluctance to defend 'superstitious' practices and 'reactionary'
social structures, and the temptation to sec an emerging class consciousness in
everything that opposes the ideology of those who represent or arc allied to
the powers that be. There is no need to extend this list: whether 'authenticity'
is viewed as attachment to the Islam of the hdamâ' or else to the more
or less exuberant forms of popular piety, the presence of the 'two-tiered
model' is everywhere
24. Similarly, Abraham b. Maimonides, son of the author of the Cuide
of the Perplexed and one of the great figures of thirteenth century Jewish
pietism (hasiduth), was accused by his co-religionists of introducing
practices into Judaism which were an imitation of Gentile customs (in this case
of the Muslims). A complaint was even lodged against him with the Sultan
al-Malik al-cAdil with the aim of obtaining a condemnation of these
reforms. Cf. Paul Fenton, Deux traites de mystique juive, Paris 1987, p.
87.
25. Peter Brown,'The Cult of the Saints, its Rise and Function in
Latin Christianity, Chicago 1981.
apparent. It
is beginning, in fart, to be questioned, thanks above all to the response that
Peter Brown's work has elicited among some American researchers in the field
of Islamology and anthropology, and the opposition between Great Tradition and
Folk Tradition, Scripturalism and Maraboutism, is no longer a question of
dogma?6 But much work remains to be done.
There is, of course, no
question of ignoring the differences that separate the rational, legalistic
piety of the fuqahà' city-dwellers from the turbulent faith of the
illiterate mountaineers, unconcerned with the interdicts of the jurisprudents.
But it is important to be at least as aware of the continuities as of the
ruptures, It is important to remember that within the spectrum of religious
attitudes there was always a place, between these two extremes, for a large
number of doctors of the Law and traditionalists who justified and encouraged
devotion to the saints. One example is the extraordinary cAbd
al-Qâdir al-Jïlânî, a twelfth century Hanbalite lawyer and m uffi, of
whom we will speak later. [21]
[22]
The history of a tarïqa like theNaqshbandiyya, famous for its attachment
to the Qur'an and the sunna, will serve later on to illustrate the
artificial nature of the diametrical opposition that has been postulated
between the Islam of the culama' and the Islam of the
brotherhoods, between an Islam which is pure and one which is hybrid or deviant
: for centuries the Naqshbandiyya retained its coherence while bringing
together attitudes which some would consider irreconcilable. Its spiritual
masters induded many distinguished scholars, rigorous upholders of orthodoxy,
and so actively opposed to innovations (bidac) that certain
modem authors have represented them under this aspect alone. Yet these same
masters were not only wholehearted members of the brotherhoods, but taught and
practised initiatic techniques which were based on an extreme concept of
sainthood, where the saint, living or dead, is perceived as the pivot of all
spiritual realisation.[23]
Many things,
moreover, lead us to question the theory of a popular origin for the 'cult of
the saints'. Sufism and sainthood are inseparable. In the absence of saints
there is no Sufism: it is bom of their sainthood, nourished by it, and led to reproduce
it. In one sense, although there is no lack of saints from distinguished
backgrounds, Sufism has always been 'popular'. The ahi al-suffa of
Medina, exemplary figures in the nascent community, were mendicants; the great
saints of later hagiography were often, like their disciples, blacksmiths,
cobblers, or even slaves. They were often poor and frequently unlettered. This
is true equally of the most renowned figures of the 'golden age' in the third
century' of the Hegira as of Ibn ‘Arabi's masters whom Asin Palacios,
translating the Rûh al-quds, calls 'santones', and who were extraordinary
men of God. The new element in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries was not the
different proportion of saints among the patricians and the plebeians, the
learned and the ignorant. In any case, the saints, whether scholars or
illiterate, are always those who possess knowledge, the true (ulama',
not just miracle-workers and rain-makers. This knowledge, in fact, is their
most essential feature. Abu Ya'za, a rough Berber who was unable to speak
Arabic, never led the prayers himself; yet if the imam whom he had
ordered to do so made a mistake in reciting the Qur'an, he would immediately
replace him with another.[24]
‘Abd aI-‘Aziz al-Dabbagh, also illiterate, amazed the learned author of
the Kitâb al-ibrîz, who was a great reader of Ibn ‘Arabi, by explaining
to him some of the difficult passages in the Futühât.[25]
What was new
was the fact that little by little, within an umma riddled with
dissension, while on its Eastern as on its Western borders storms were brewing
or bursting, Sufism was openly becoming a focus of communal integration, which
until then it had never been and had never needed to be. Hence the progressive
appearance of the turuq which, in comparison to the past, were mass
organisations. Hence too the dearer affirmation, in doctrinal teaching, of the
reassuring, mediating function of the saints. And hence the progressive
transition from free personal practices to collective and formal ones. But
there is plenty of evidence to suggest that this was a deliberate adaptation
engineered from above— meaning, in the first instance, by the princes. Ibn
Taymiyya was not wrong. He railed against the câmma, but he
was addressing the sovereigns or the agents of their authority; and the
precaution of his discourses does not hide the fact that in inciting them to
prohibit the abominations he denounces, he is accusing them of more than negligence:
he sees them as veritable adversaries. And it is true that, either through
personal conviction or through policy, the Ayyubids, the Mamluks, the Mughals
and the Ottomans regularly protected the saints, living or dead, and encouraged
the devotion surrounding them?1 But behind the princes were the
princes' counsellors; a spiritual aristocracy whose faith and knowledge are
evident in their actions and writings, and whom we have no reason to suspect of
coming under the sway of pagan revivals or corrupt idolatries. The part played
by Timar Suhrawardi in the case of the caliph al-Nasir, or by Shaykh Manbiji in
the case of Baybars, or by Ibn 'Arabi in the case of Kaykâ'ûs the Seljuldd or,
later, of several members of the Ayyubid family—all these are worth considering
as indications of the conscious or deliberate influence exerted by an élite on the
changes that occurred. Here again, Ibn Taymiyya is more perceptive than his
statements give Us reason to believe at first sight, and his vehement heckling
is unerringly aimed at judiciously chosen culprits : Karim al-Dïn Âmulï, the shaykh
al-shuyükh of the khanqd Sacid al-Sidadâ'; the
influential Shaykh Manbiji; Ibn 'Atâ' Allah, second in succession to Abu-Hasan
al-Shadhili and the real founder of the tanqa which bears the latter's
name; but above all Ibn'Arabi, first expounder of a global doctrine of sainthood—a
doctrine whose foundation at this particular moment in time can scarcely be
conceived as coincidental.
31. In particular, they were often responsible for the mausoleums
built on the saints' tombs (the one on Ibn ‘Arabi's tomb was constructed on the
orders of Salim I after the conquest of Damascus in 972/1516) and which became
centres of devotion for the faithful. They patronized and regulated the mawâlid,
whose prototype was the mawlid of the Prophet, first celebrated at the
Fatimid court and later, on the initiative of one of Saladin's brothers-in-law,
institutionalized in Sunni Islam.
The debate is
open, and it would be premature to do more than call attention to it. Since the
researches carried out by Goldzihcr a hundred years ago, the material has
accumulated. But the existing monographs leave many gaps to be filled and are
often permeated by pre-conceived ideas (usually the result of the 'two-tiered
model') which distort the interpretation of the facts. They certainly disallow
any attempt to write a history of sainthood in Islam which would be both a
history of the saints and an account of the community's relationship with its
saints—a history both of the doctrines and of the practices and attitudes. The
present book is no more than a simple documentary contribution to this vast
enterprise, one which we hope at a later date to supplement by researching into
the function of the saints with respect to the inception of the tuniq.
If the reader comes away with the conviction that in any investigation into
Islamic sainthood, the writings of Ibn 'Arabi constitute a major reference
point, which the researcher ignores at the risk of laying himself open to many
misinterpretations, our labours will not have been in vain.
But the
present work was not conceived with a view to this perspective alone. The
saints belong to history. Sainthood, in the understanding of the Shaykh
al-Akbar, overshadows history. It has seemed worthwhile, for the salce of those
who, indifferent to the controversies we have mentioned, nevertheless sense the
importance of Ibn 'Arabi but have no access to his work, to attempt an
organised and faithful presentation of his teaching based solely on the texts—a
teaching which merits study on the grounds of its singular greatness alone. On
certain points, the succeeding pages furnish facts which have already been
indicated by previous writers who have explored the vast corpus of writings by
the Shaykh al-Akbar. On others, it is our belief that we llave introduced
elements which have either escaped their attention or whose correct
significance they have failed to appreciate. Although our aim has been to
define the main points of the doctrine, we have not attempted to give an
exhaustive description of it. It would not be untrue to say that in one sense
Ibn 'Arabi, from the first to the last line of his work, never spoke of
anything other than sainthood, of its ways and its goals, and that 'ocean
without a shore' (to use a formula dear to the Sufis) will never be charted in
its en tirety.
Here I must
acknowledge, with no hope of repaying, the debt that I owe to Michel Valsan. It
was he who, forty years ago, introduced me to the work of Ibn 'Arabi, of which
his own knowledge was both extensive and penetrating, and aided my. groping
attempts at understanding. It was he, too, who enabled me to grasp the
fundamental aspects of his hagiology. My gratitude therefore is addressed first
and foremost to his memory.
Several of the
themes that will be touched upon here were first broached during the course of
a seminar at the Ecole des Hautes Études en Sciences sociales in the years
1982-83 and 1983-84. Thanks are due in particular to François Furet, then
president of the École, who so kindly received me into itj and to all those
who, like him, encouraged me in my work—Alexandre Bennigsen, Fierra Nora,
Lucette Valensi among others—or who agreed to take part in our discussions,
notably James W. Morris, J.-L. Michon and Alexandre Popovic. Many more were
assiduous participants under conditions which were not always comfortable. I
cannot name them all, but they should know that this book is a tribute also to
their tenacity.
The present
edition takes account of remarks and suggestions made to me by some readers of
the original edition, among whom I must mention my friend Hermann Landolt and
my daughter Claude Chodkiewicz-Addas. She likewise corrected the odd lapsus
calami or typographical error which had escaped my vigilance.
CHAPTER
I contemplated
all the prophets, from Adam to Muhammad, and God made me contemplate also all
those who believe in them, so that there is no one whom I did not see of those
who have lived or will live until the Day of the Resurrection, whether they
belong to the élite or to the common body of believers. And I observed the
degrees of this assembly and knew the rank of all who were in it.1
This vision, according to the Fusils al-hikam,2
took place at Cordoba in 586/1190. Ibn 'Arabi, who was bom in 560/1165, was
thus twenty-five years of age (twenty-six lunar years), and his 'entry upon the
way7 had taken place only six years previously.3 Several
other texts, written by fbn 'Arabi himself or by his disciples, furnish us with
additional details about this event, of which we will have occasion to speak at
greater length. One of these texts4 tells us that the vision
unfolded in two stages. On the first occasion, Ibn 'Arabi saw the Prophets by
themselves; on the second, hesawthem in the company of all their followers, a
fact which enabled him to conclude that the saints (awliya') walk 'a/ñ aqdâm
al-anbiyâ'), 'in the footsteps of the prophets'—an expression which, as we
shall see, is not metaphorical but possesses a precise technical meaning; and
in this connection he cites the example of his teacher, Abù 'l-'Abbàs
al-'Uryabï, who was 'ala qadam 'Isa, 'in the footsteps of Jes us'.5
This vision, however,
important as it is, is only one of many. According to Sadr al-Dîn Qùnawï, Ibn
'Arabi's step-son and disciple, 'our teacher had the ability to encounter the
spirit of whomsoever he wished among the prophets and saints of the past, in
three ways: sometimes he caused those who inhabit that world [of the spirits]
to
5. For references to this shaykh, who will be discussed at greater
length in Chapter Five, see note 8, p. 76.
descend and
perceived them in a subtle corporeal form; sometimes he caused them to be
present to him in his sleep; and sometimes he would cast aside his own material
form.'6 It is a fact that the writings of the Shaykh ai-Akbar speak
of innumerable occasions when he met with the prophets7
or—especially in the subtle dialogues of the Book of Theophanies
(Kitab al-tajalliyat)—with the saints of the past,8 in a manner
as natural as when he speaks of the awliyâ' of his time whom he knew and
visited. Thus it goes without saying that the word 'doctrine' in the title of
the present work refers to the written translation of a visionary knowledge and
a personal experience of sainthood: we do not find in Ibn ‘Arabi, in connection
with this or with any other subject, the systematic exposition of a theory such
as a theologian might write. He warns us of this often enough, moreover, when
speaking of the conditions under which his works were written: 'I have not
written one single letter of this book save by divine dictation (imlâ'
ilâhi) and dominical vouchsafing (ilqa 'rabbaniy.9
Elsewhere he insists that even the ordering of his subject-matter does not
proceed from his own will. If that were the case, he says, the order would be
different: for example, the chapter in the Futühât on the sharica,
the divine Law, should logically speaking come before the chapters on ritual
prescriptions, whereas in fact it occurs some way after them.10
Thus, only a tortuous progress through the thousands of pages which make up his
work, and a comparative reading of texts which may at first sight appear
contradictory, make it possible to demonstrate the coherence of his teaching
and to understand
6. Quoted by Ibn al-‘Imâd, Shadharât al-dhahab, Beirut, n.d.,
v, p. 196 (year 638).
7. See for example Futù/yït I, p. 151 ; iv, pp. 77,1B4.
8. The Kitâb al-tajalliyât was edited at Hyderabad in 1948,
and again in Beirut (n.dJ. Osman Yahia has brought our a new edition of it with
two commentaries, one by Ibn Sawdalun (a disciple of Ibn ‘Arabi, who simply
transcribes the commentary delivered by the Shaykh al-Akbar himself), and the
other anonymous (attributed by Brockelmann to ‘Abd al-Karim al-Jïlï), entitled Kashf
al-ghâyât (in the review al-Mashriq, 1966-67). Several chapters of
the Kitab al-tajalliyat give an account of meetings with a whole series
of people who lived several centuries prior to Ibn ‘Arabi, such as Junayd,
al-Hallaj, Dhu' 1-Nun al-Misri, Sahlal-Tustari, etc.
10. Ibid, n, p. 163. On the inspiration for Ibn ‘Arabi's writing, see
also— among other texts—Futiïhât 1, p. 59; ibid, m, p. 334; and the
prologue to the Fusils: a work which, according to him, was delivered to
him, during a vision he had at Damascus in 627/1229, by the prophet Muhammad
himself (Fusüs 1, p. 47). its implications. The reader must not
be surprised if at times in the course of this journey the wood cannot be seen
for the trees.
Ibn ‘Arabi's
claim to be divinely inspired (either directly or, as in the case of the Fusüs
aFhikam which he received from the Prophet's own hands, indirectly), his
recourse, on almost every page, to the evidence of the invisible world, the
difficulty, ultimately, of grasping his doctrine in all its breadth and shades
of meaning through the profusion of its statements and the diversity of its
successive points of view—these are sufficient, doubtless, to explain in part
the violent attacks made on his doctrine of sainthood. Blindness and bad faith
would do the rest. 'The spirit from whom the writer of the Futühat
claims to have received this work is a devilish spirit', declared Ibn Taymiyya
(d. 728/1328); and in support of this view he cites an account given by Shaykh
Najm al-Din ibn al-Halum, who was present at the funeral of Ibn ‘Arabi in 63
8/1240 : 'My arrival in Damascus coincided with the death of Ibn ‘Arabi. I saw
his funeral procession and it was as though covered with a rain of ashes. I
realized that it in no way resembled the funeral processions of the awliya'.'11
But Ibn Taymiyya, not content with such impressionistic observations, wrote a
lengthy pamphlet in which he systematically criticized the ideas of Ibn ‘Arabi
and his school on the awliya', and which he entitled al-Farq bayna
awliya' al-Rafyman wa awliyâ' al-Shaytân : 'On the difference between the
saints of God and the saints of Satan'.12 He could not have made it
more clear! Against this, as against certain other themes (Ibn ‘Arabi's
supposed 'pantheism', his interpretation of the Qur'ânic verses concerning
Pharaoh in the story of Moses, and of the verses relating to infernal
punishment etc.), a polemical campaign was unleashed at the end of the
thirteenth century, just at the time when, in Paris, two hundred and nineteen
propositions of the 'Larin Averroists' (among them Siger of Brabant, whom Dante
was to place in Paradise) were being branded as 'heretical' by Etienne Tcmpicr.
IJ The campaign continues to this day. Osman Yahia lists
11.
Ibn Taymiyya, MajrmT
fatâwâ Shaykh al-Isliim Ahmad b. Taymiyya, Riyadh 1340-82, xt, p. 511 (the
account of Shaykh Najm al-DIn comes in the MajmiFatal-rasffilwa l-masâ'il,
ed. Rashid Rida, rv,p. 77).
12.
Ibn Taymiyya, Majmüc
fatâwâ, xi, pp. 156-310.
13.
The accusations made in
both cases have many points of resemblance; the heretical interpretation of
scriptural and traditional teaching on the pains of hell, the eternity of the
world, sexual licence (a constantly recurring theme in Sakhâwï's work. Cf. al-Qawl
al-munbi, ms. Berlin 2S49, Spr. 790, e.g. fos. 17a, 97b). The accusation of
ibaha (antinomianism), a classic anti-Sûff allegation, formalized by thirty-four
works and one hundred and thirty-eight fatwas (jurists' responsae)
between the seventh century of the Hegira and the end of the ninth which are
hostile to Ibn ‘Arabi; and this list is not exhaustive for it does not take
into account many authors of merely local repute, nor the literature written in
Persian.14 These diatribes were repeated from generation to
generation, and usually derived the essential part of their argument from the
register of 'reprehensible propositions' compiled by Ibn Taymiyya;15
and, although they never came to an end, they acquired renewed vigour at the
end of the last century with the salafiyya movement/6 More
recently, they have been revived with considerable violence in Egypt, where the
debates in the press, on the radio and even in Parliament resulted in a ban
being imposed (it has since been lifted) on the critical edition of the Futûhat
Makkiyya, undertaken by Osman Yahia. This campaign started with an open
letter published in the daily newspaper al-Akhbar on the 14th November
1975. Here as elsewhere, one of the questiones disputatae which obsessed
Ibn 'Arabi's critics concerned the nature and forms of sainthood. *7
The critics of
the Shaykh al-Akbar usually opposed those of his ideas which they judged
heretical with facts taken from the scriptures and with the opinions or
practices of 'pious men of the past7—meaning the Prophet's
companions and the Sufis of the early Islamic era. Before embarking on an
exposition of Ibn 'Arabi's doctrine, therefore, we must
Ibn al-Jawzi
in his Taibis Iblis (Cairo n.d., pp. 351-5Ó), and often lodged against
Ibn ‘Arabi, is directly contradicted by his views on the divine Law (sharica),
to which we will return.
14. Osman Yahia also lists thirty-five fatwas which ate
favourable to the Shaykh al-Akbar. With regard to the hostile fatwas, we
should note that Yahia's principal source is the Qawl al-munbiby Sakhâwî
(died 902/1497). But the 500 or so folios of this work are frequently reduced
to a catalogue of gossip or spiky remarks which cannot easily be regarded as fatwâs
stricto sensu. Of course, this does notmake the polemic less violent and
far-reaching.
15. On this subject, see the PhD thesis of Cyrille Chodkiewicz, Paris
iv, November 1984, 'Les Premieres Polémiques autour d'lbn ‘Arabi: Ibn
Taymiyya', and on the subject of sainthood in particular, see. pp. 142-221 of
the same work.
16. On the position adopted by the salafiyya with regard to the
saints, and on the cult of saints in Sufism, see J. Jomier, Le Commentaire
coranique du Manar, Paris 1954, chapter 7.
17. See the articles by Shaykh Kamal Ahmad ‘Awn (Dalâlât ft Idtâb al-
Futühât) in the review Lima' al-islam, first five numbers of 1976,
especially May-June, pp. 32-39, and September-October, pp. 23-30. return
to the source par excellence, which is the Qur'an. But first we must
draw attention toa tricky problem of terminology.
The word wall,
plural awliyâ', from the root w./.y., is translated here, in conformity
with established usage and for lack of a better term, by the word 'saint'.
Without anticipating the analogies or the differences which will come to light
later between the nature and function of a wait in the economy of
Islamic spirituality and those of the saints in other religions, we must
observe at once that, from a strictly etymological point of view, the true
equivalents of the terms 'saint' or 'sainthood' should be formed from the root q.d.s.,
which expresses the idea of purity and inviolability, and hence corresponds
appropriately to the Greek hagios and the Latin sanctus (Hebrew qâdôsh).
Alternatively, they should be formed from the root h.r.m., which, while
expressing a notion different in principle (the notion of 'sacredness',
translated in Greek by hieras and in Latin by sacer), in practice is not
always distinguishable from the idea of sainthood: in English 'the holy' means
'the sacred', but 'die holy man' usually means 'the saintly man'. Now, neither
the words derived from the root q.d.s. nor those derived from the root h.r.m.,
are normally applied to a person designated by the term wall, with
the exception, in the case of q.d.s., of the posthumously spoken
traditional eulogy, qaddasa 'Llâhu sirrahu, 'May God sanctify his
secret!' On the other hand, it is interesting to note that in Christian Arabic
terminology, the word qiddîs is used to designate the saints. This
discrepancy between two vocabularies within the same language, although easily
explained by historical considerations, is nevertheless worth bearing in mind.
The primary meaning of w.l.y.
is proximity or contiguity, and this in turn gives rise to two further
meanings. One of these is 'to be a friend', and the other is 'to direct, to
govern, to take in charge'. Thus, the wall, properly speaking, is the
'friend', he who is close; but, as Ibn Manzür emphasizes in the Lisân al-
"arab, he is also the ndsir, 'he who assists', and the mudabbir,
he who disposes.
Here we must insert a
parenthesis. If (for the sake of convenience, and because we will define the
analogies and differences between the semantic values of the two terms later on)
we translate the word wall as 'saint', what is the Arabic word
corresponding to 'sainthood' ? We find the words wilâya and waldya
used concurrently. For Henry Corbin, who establishes a categorical
distinction between the two, the use, current in Sufism, of wilâya
(which is generally accepted as implying the nouon of auctoritas) is a
spiritual misconstruction which demonstrates the ambiguity of 'an imamology
which dares not reveal its name'.18 We will come back to this
assertion, and to similar ones which, especially in the case of Ibn cArabï,
reduce tasawwuf to nothing more than crypto-Shfism.
From the
strictly linguistic point of view, it is beyond doubt that the fi cala
pattern (wazn) on whichthe word wilâya is constructed is normally
used to express the execution oí a function. Thus, khilâfa
signifies the function of a caliph, imâra the function of an emir;
similarly wilâya, in political and administrative terminology, signifies
the function of a wait (with a long a)—a governor or prefect—and
by extension his realm of competence. The fa câla pattern on
which walâya is modelled expresses a state of being, and would
thus appear to be a more adequate basis for the term denoting the nature of a wait
(with a short a), that which makes him what he is. Nevertheless, the original
manuscripts of the Sufi texts, when they are vocalized—for wilâya and walâya
are indistinguishable in the written form—betray a hesitation between the use
of the two terms. The spoken language, and particularly that spoken in the
furuq in the Arab countries, exhibits a clear preference for wilâya, a
vocalization that appears to be based on a long tradition, In part at least,
this preference can probably be explained by a consideration for euphony which
often leads Arabic speakers to turn a short a into an i when it
occurs near a long â. But there may be other reasons, and this
preference is not unrelated to the way in which the wait is perceived in
the Muslim community: for the câmma, the common run of
believers, the powers with which a wait is invested are more evident and
of a more ob viouslyimmediate importance than the essential characteristics
from which such powers actually arise. However that may be, the opposition
between walâya and wilâya should not be exaggerated. Arabic lexicographers,
for their part, put forward various arguments about the precise meanings to be
attached to these two words and the relationship between them; but, after
citing the different opinions on the matter, they are manifestly hesitant to
come to a decision. Let us observe in passing that for a late Roman, amicitia,
the usual term for defining one's relationship with a patron saint, also
connoted (as Peter Brown says) the idea of 'friendship' in the broad sense, and
the idea of protection and power: both walâya and wilâya.19
18. Cf. En Islam iranien, Paris 1971,1, p. 48, note 20, and m,
pp. 9-10.
19. Cf. Lisân al- carab, Beirut, n.d., xv, p.
407; Tâj al-'arûs, place and date unknown, x, p. 398 ff. On contemporary
usage, see also al-Mu ‘jam ai-wastt,
The fact remains
that the best argument in favour of walâya, from the point adopted here,
is that this term, unlike wilâya, possesses Qur'ânic
references—something which for the Sufi masters and certainly for Ibn cArabî
was sufficient reason for preferring it. It actually occurs twice over: on the
first occasion it is applied to men, and is connected (significantly) with the
term awliya which comes into the same verse (Qur'an 8:72), and on the
second occasion it has reference to God (Qur'an 18:44). We will therefore retain
the form walâya, without however condemning the concurrent use of wilâya.
This cautiousness is strengthened by the fact that, just to complicate
matters, the scriptural argument is not as conclusive as it might appear: of
the seven traditional 'readings' of the Qur'an retained by Ibn Mujahid, the
Hamza reading of these two verses has wilâya, whereas theothersix have walâya.20
Furthermore,
the occurrences in the Qur'an of the root w.l.y, are manifold: it appears,
in different forms, two hundred and twenty-seven times. Wa/iand its plural awliya
occur with widely divergent meanings, The meaning can be positive, as in verse
10:6z where mention is made of awliya' Allah, the 'saints of God'
who are exposed 'neither to fear nor to affliction': Lâkhawftm
'alayhimwalâhumyahzanün, This expression, by a subtle play of echo, reveals
that the establishment of walâya is coincident with the startingpoint of
the human cycle, for it is foundagain in the text (Qur'an 2:38) in the divine
speech addressed to Adam after his fault is pardoned (God has'come back to
him': fa-taba cn/ay/ti),whenhe is sent to earth in order to
carry out his mandate as khalifa or locum tenens. Other verses
carry a negative connotation, such as verse 4,76 which speaks of the awliyâ'
al-shaytân, the 'saints of Satan'—an expression which was to furnish Ibn
Taymiyya with the title of the work already referred to, and which holds the
mysterious suggestion of a 'counter-sainthood', a hierarchy which is the
symmetrical inversion of the hierarchy of the 'saints of God' and which
likewise possesses a Pole.21
published by
the Arabic Academy in Cairo, 1961, p. 1070. Orientalists are themselves divided
on the question: Massignon sometimes employs wilâya and at other times walâya;
'Afifi, in his thesis on Ibn 'Arabi, and P. Nwyia in his Exegèse coranique
et langage mystique (both of them native Arabic speakers) employ ■
wilâya. On the use of amicitia in Christian terminology, cf. Peter
Brown, Society and the Holy in Late Antiquity, London 1982.
20.
Râzï's Tafsîr,
Tehran, n. d., vx, p. 210, in connection with verse 8:72.
21. The 'pole' of the 'saints of Satan' is no other than the Dajjâl
or impostor, who is not only identified with the Antichrist but also represents
a function of which the Antichrist is the ultimate possessor. (Cf. Sha'rânï, Mukhtasar
tadhkirat
On the other
hand, although wall can be applied to man, it is also one of the divine
Names; and for Ibn 'Arabi, as we shall see, this point is of enormous
importance: 'Allait is the Wall of those who believe; He causes them to
come out of darkness into the light' (Qur'an 2:257). 'Allah is the Wall
of the pious' (45:19). The Muslim exegetes, although unable at times to resist
the inclusion of somewhat arbitrarily distinguished shades of meaning,
attempted to classify the different meanings of wait in the sacred
Book. Muqâtil (eighth century) detected ten meanings22 which can in
feet be reduced to two. The first is directly related to the idea of proximity
which, as we saw, is the primary meaning of the root, and signifies, according
to the context, 'friend', 'companion', 'relative', 'ally', 'counsellor'. The
second meaning is 'protector' or 'governor'. The existence of these two classes
of meaning is connected with the very nature of the word wall. This word
is constructed on the ambivalent /a Ï/ pattern which in Arabic can possess both
an active sense (normally expressed by the form fall} and a passive
sense (corresponding to the form mafcul}. Thus the wait
is simultaneously one who is close, the beloved, he who is protected, taken in
charge, and the protector, the 'patron' (in the Roman sense), the governor (al-wall,
the active participle constructed on the /«'//) paradigm. Ibn 'Arabi was, moreover,
to extract major doctrinal consequences from the ambivalence of the
/a'íí-based divine Names in the Qur'an, demonstrating for example that al-
Alim, usually translated as 'the Knower', signifies God in His capacity as
both al-cÁlim (He who knows) and al-Malüm (He who is
known): the sole Knower and the sole Known in all known things?3
All the
doctrinal developments of the concepts wall and walâya arise al-Qurtubl,
Aleppo 1395 ah, p. 179, where he
quotes a Ijadith according to which the number of dajjâlûn
approaches thirty; cf. also Suyùtî, al-Jâmic al-saghlr, Cairo
1954, n, p. 78, who quotes another hadïth which states that there will
be twenty-seven, 'four of them women').
22. P. Nwyia, Exegèse coranique et langage mystique, Beirut
1970, PP- M4-15-
23. Putuhat m, p. 300. There is another word from the root w.l.y.
which is frequently employed in the Qur'an and which possesses, for different
reasons, the same ambivalence as wait, so that it can be applied
sometimes to God and sometimes to man. This is the word mawlâ, an
approximate translation of which may be either 'patron' or 'client'—in the
Roman sense—and which is part of the 'false addad'-, the words, that is,
which can be used impartially to designate either side of a relationship, as in
the French 'hôte'.
out of the
Qur'an and lead back to it. But meditation on the revealed Book is enriched
through meditation on the hadïth (pl. ahadïth), the words spoken
by the Prophet. Here again derivatives from the root w.l.y. are
frequent.[26]
For the moment, we will limit ourselves to a few of the most-quoted ahadïth
in the writings of tasawwuf, ignoring the slight variations present in
the different readings. It should be noted that in most cases these are ahadïth
qudsiyya, where God Himself speaks in the first person through the mouth of
the Prophet. 'The most enviable of My awliyâ' close to Me is a believer
whose possessions are few, whose joy is prayer, who accomplishes the service of
his Lord to perfection and obeys Him in secret. He is obscure among men and no
one points at him . . ,.'[27]'Know
that God has servants who are neither prophets nor martyrs and who are envied
by the prophets and martyrs ■ for their position and their nearness to God ...
on the Day of Resurrection thrones of light will be placed at their disposal.
Their faces will be of light. . .. These are then wliya' of God.'[28]
Another hadïth—man
çâdâ li waliyyan . . .—is repeated over and over in countless
texts and plays a major role in Ibn 'Arabi's teaching on waldya. Since we
give the full text later on, together with the Shaykh al-Akbar's commentary,
the first line only is quoted here: T declare war on him who is my wall
s enemy'.[29]
[30]
[31]
Mention should also be made of two further ahadïth which are of
importance in defining the walv. 'Among My servants, My awliyâ'
are those who remember Me' (or 'who invoke Me', yadhkurima bi-dhikrï);*3
'For My awliyâ' I have set aside ninety-nine Mercies . . ..'2?
In the course of this work we will come across many other prophetic traditions,
and the interpretation of these by the Sufi masters will prove essential to an
understanding of the wall. But we may as well say at once that it is the
Prophet 's very being which is the definitive key to the secret of the
name that is shared between God and man.
CHAPTER
Our first brief survey has allowed us to glimpse in the words wait
and walaya two complementary meanings. The most general of these
attaches to the notion of 'proximity' (qurb)—hence the use of these
words to express kinship; and the other, which derives from the first, to the
notion of 'taking in charge' or 'governing'. These two series of semantic
values, conveyed by the root and confirmed by scriptural references, determine,
implicitly or explicitly and to the exclusion of neither, each and every
definition of the word wait, 'saint'. For Ibn Taymiyya,1 the awliyâ'
are purely and simply the muqarrabim, 'those who arc close': a Qur'ânic
term signifying the highest category of the chosen, beyond the binary distinction
of the 'People of the Right' and the 'People of the Left'; it is a category
also called in the Qur'an (56:10-11) sâbiqûn, 'those who go before', or
the 'forerunners'. In the fourteenth century, Jurjânï (who, in his Tacrïfât,
clearly distinguishes between walaya and wilâya making them
correspond respectively to the state of the u>a/rand to his cosmic
functions) defines walaya as the proximity [of God].1
Similarly, in the eighteenth century, Ibn ‘Ajiba gives al-u ns as the
equivalent of walâya: intimacy (with God)? Ibn eArabî, on the
other hand, sometimes emphasizes the idea of divine assistance (mtsra).
'The awliyâ',' he writes, 'are those of whom God has taken charge by
aiding them (hum al-ladhma tawallâhum Allah bi-nusratihi: the verb tawallâ
used here is derived from the root w.l.y.) in their battles against
the four enemies: the passions (al-hawa), the ego (al-nafs), the
world (al-dunya) and the devil (al-shaytân). '4
But the texts we have
been quoting are, relatively speaking, late. What was the position at the
beginning of the Islamic era? According to
1. Ibn Taymiyya, Majmû cat al-rasa'il 1, p. 40.
2. Jurjânï, Ta 'rifat,Istanbul 1327 ah, p. 172.
3. J.-L. Michon, Le Soup marocain Ahmad Ibn ‘Ajïba et son mi'raj,
Faris 1973, p. 204.
5. Hnjvññ, Kashfal-mahjüb, trans. R. A. Nicholson, London
1911,p. 44. a sarcastic comment reported by Hujwiri,5 tasawwuf
(a word that, since publication in 1821 by Tholluck of his Ssufismus, sive
theosophia Persarum pantheistica, has been rather awkwardly translated as
'Sufism') 'is today a name without reality, whereas it was once a reality
without a name'. Bearing in mind the spiritual brilliance of the era in which
this curt judgement was pronounced, the first part of this statement must be
seen as a mere paradox intended to stimulate the zeal of novices, but the
second part has a basis in history: the first recorded appearance of the term süfï
dates from the middle of the second century of the Hegira (eighth century ce), when it was applied in Kufa to the
famous Jâbir ibn Hayyân, a follower of Ja'far al-Sadiq. In the same way, in the
case of walâya, the thing existed before the word. According again to
Hujwiri, it was actually al-Haldm al-Tirmidhï who in the ninth century introduced
the term into the technical vocabulary of Sufism, where it had not previously
existed.[32]
Hujwiri was aware, of course, that the terms walâya, walï, and awliyâ',
which were part of the vocabulary of the Qur'an and the hadith, could
not have been totally unknown for two centuries; but any evidence we possess of
their use prior to this date does not contradict his statement. This is
corroborated, indeed, by a fact of more importance than the mere introducing of
a term: although some of Tirmidhi's contemporaries, such as Sahl al-Tustari in
his Tafstr (of which more later) and Abu SaTd al-Kharrâz in his Rasa'il
throw light on the concept of walâya, Tirmidhi himself is indeed the
first author to provide a greatly expanded doctrinal exposition of it, which is
sufficient to explain the place occupied by his work in the writings of Ibn
'Arabi on this subject.
Tirmidhi was bom in
Khorasan, and died at a very advanced age at the-beginning of the
fourth-century of-the-Hegira. According to his pupil Abû Bakr al-Warrâq, he had
been a disciple of al-Khadir (or Khizr, to transcribe the Persian form of his
name), the immortal itinerant initiator, who used to visit him every Sunday.[33]
His view on the problem of walâya apparently led him to be accused of
being a mutanabbi—of laying claim, that is, to the dignity of the
prophets; he was denounced to the governor of Balkh and underwent painful
trials. His major work, the Kitab Khatm al-awliya (The Book of the Seal of
the Saints, probably written around 260/873), was long thought to be lost,
and was known only through the quotations from it in Ibn cArabï's Tutühât
Makkiyya. The discovery of two manuscripts in Istanbul about thirty years
ago (a third has since been identified in London) has enabled Osman Yahia to
bring out a first critical edition of this work.8
The Khatm
al-awliya' is far from being a treatise containing a systematic exposition
of the author's ideas on walâya. Thus, in Osman Yahia's division of it
into twenty-nine chapters, the idea of a 'Seal of the Saints' appears in
chapter eight, recurs in chapter thirteen, and is the subject of chapter
twenty-five. The remarkable text, which takes the form of a tortuous dialogue
between Tirmidhi and one of his followers, is first and foremost the record of
a spiritual experience that is discreetly veiled by an impersonal tone. The
subject ofitis defined in the firstlines:
You have just
mentioned the debate aroused by some people on the subject of walâya.
You have ashed questions about walâya, about the dwellings of the awliyâ',
about the implications of putting one's faith in them. You asked whether the wall
is conscious or not of his state of being, because you hâve heard it said that
those who possess walâya have no awareness of it. Finally, you asked
about those who think that they are in possession of it even though they are in
fact far from being so. Know, in truth, that those who talk about walâya
know nothing about it
g. Kitâb Khatm
al-awliyâ', Beirut 1965. Osman Yahia, in his dissertation for the diploma
of the École pratique des Hautes Études, has made an (unpublished) translation
of this work. The dissertation contains (pp. 41-69) a bibliography of
Tiimidhi's works (cf. also GAL 1, p. 199, and S 1,355; GAS
1, pp. 653-59). To our knowledge, the only published works of his, apart from
the Khatm al-awliyâ', are the Kitâb al-riyâda wa adab al-nafs,
ed. Arberry, Cairo 1947; the Bayân al-farq bayna 'l-sadr wa 'l-qalb wa
T-fu'ad wa 'l-lubb, ed. Nicholas Heer, Cairo 195g; and al-Hajj
wa-asrâruhu, ed. IlusnI Nasr Zaydân, Cairo 1969. On Tirmidhi himself see
the translation of the principal passages from his spiritual autobiography, Bad'
al-sha'n, in Osman Yahia's introduction to his translation of the Khatm';
'Attar, Tadhkirat al-awliya', ed. Nicholson, London 1905-7, rr, pp.
91-99; L. Massignon, Essai sur les origines du lexique technique de la
mystique musulmane, Paris 1954, pp. 286-94 (a superficial and somewhat
malicious piece, written, moreover, at a time when Massignon had no access to
the text of the Khatm}; 'Abd al-Muhsin al-Husayni, al-Ma ''rifa 'inda
'l-Hakïm al-Tirmidhî, Cairo, n.d. (in any casepriorto the following work in
which it is quoted); ‘Abd al-Fattah ‘Abdallah Baraka, Al-Hakïm al-Tirmidhî
wa-nazariyyatuhu fî T-walâya, Cairo 1971, 2 vols, (of which the first is
biographical); M. I. el-Geyoushi, 'Al-Tirmidhi's Theory of Saints and
Sainthood', Islamic Quarterly xv (1971), pp. 17-61; B. Radtke, Al-Hakîm
al-Tirmidhî, Ein islamischer Theosoph des 3/9 jahrhunderts,
Freibourg 1980; Ahmad ‘Abd al-Rahim ai-Sabih, al-Sulùk 'indaT-Hakîm
al-Tirmidhî, Cairo 198g.
whatsoever.
They try to perceive it with a knowledge which is external, and they express
only their personal opinions or else rely on fallacious analogies. Such people
do not find favour with their Lord. They have no access to the dwelling places
of walâya and have no conception of the way in which Allah operates.9
A fundamental
distinction is made at the beginning of the work. It is based on the idea of Haqq
Allah, which strictly speaking means 'the right of Allah', that right which
is the consequence of His Absolute suzerainty over all beings. For Tirmidhï, it
is essential not to confuse the wait haqq Allah with the wall Allah
haqqan. These are actually two modalities, or, rather, two stages of the
spiritual life. One is founded on the practice of sidq—veracity or
sincerity, the greatest of all the virtues—which involves the total fulfilment
of all obligations, both inner and external, arising out of the 'feudal'
relationship between the vassal and his lord. The other is based on the
operation of grace (minna). In the first of these cases the person is
characterised by 'ibada, 'observance'; in the second he is characterised
by htbudiyya, a word derived from the same root but which can be
rendered as 'servitude' and which, in Tirmidhï as in Ibn ‘Arabi, signifies the
awareness of a radical ontological indigence. 'Ibâda, which is situated
on the level of action, does not totally exclude the illusion of autonomy;
‘«büdiyya, which has reference to being, does away with this illusion once and
for all. The 'right of God' over a created being has as its implicit corollary
the right of the created being over the Creator: the wait haqq Allah,
whose sainthood consists in serving the right of God, gives in order to
receive. The wall Allah, on the other hand, serves God alone and has
nothing to exchange. But his absolute servitude constitutes the empty space
within which Absolute Plenitude is displayed; and this is why one of the
characteristics of authentic walâya, or rather the guarantee of its
authenticity, is, according to Tirmidhï, the descent of saklna: the
'Peace' and also, in accordance with the etymology, the 'Presence' of God. It
is not surprising, therefore, that one of the external signs whereby we may
recognize a true wait is as expressed in the hadîth: 'The saints
among you are those whom one cannot see without remembering Allah'.10
The essential feature of the awliyâ' is the transparency which makes
them the privileged vehicles of theophany.
9.
The translation used here
corresponds, with very slight modifications, to thatofOsmanYahia, pp. dt.,pp.
100-1 (pp. 114-16 of the Arabic text).
10. Ibid., p. 166 (p. 361 of the Arabic). Cf. also pp. 177-79 (pp.
372-74 of the Arabic). On this hadîth, cf. Suyütï, al-Fath al-kabïr,
Cairo 1351 ah, 1, p. 214.
A question
arises here which had inevitably to be confronted in Islam by any doctrine of
spiritual perfection, whatever the terms used to describe its forms and stages:
what is the relationship between the wait on the one hand, and the nabi
(prophet) or rasül (messenger) on the other? Here we touch on the
particular point in Tirmidhi's doctrine which aroused the ire of some fuqahâ'
and which caused him, throughout a whole period of his life, to be persecuted,
as he says in a short autobiographical document entitled Bad' al-sha'n.
According to him, both nubuwwa and risâla have an end, which
coincides with the end of the world. When the Day of Resurrection dawns, the
eschatological message and the promulgation of the divine Law, which are the
respective missions of the nabiand the rasül (we may recall that
every rasül is a nabi but not vice versa) will no longer have a
point: with the consummation of the centuries, the time of faith and of the law
is over. Walâya, on the other hand, subsists to eternity, which explains
why God himself is called wait although neither nabi nor rasül
have a i place among the divine Names. This does not in the least mean that the
awliyà' are superior to the prophets and the messengers: every rasül and
every nabiis above all and by definition a wait. Walâya is
superior to nubuwwa or risâla in the persons of the
prophets and messengers; it is the hidden and enduring face of their being; and
the mandate which they execute here below represents only its external and
transitory aspect. An initial link is thus clearly established between
prophetology and hagiology, which Ibn 'Arabi was later to elucidate.
What is meant,
however, by the 'Seal of the Saints', the title of Tirmidhi's work? Here again,
it was Ibn ‘Arabi who defined its nature and function. Tirmidhi, although he
speaks of it several times both here and elsewhere, only gives vague hints as
to the meaning of the term, which no one before him appears to have used. It is
'the proof of
God before the awliyâ'. To these God will say: 'Oh you assembled awliyâ'l
I bestowed my walâya upon you but you did not protect it from the
interference of the ego. Now behold, it has been given to the weakest and
youngest among you to contain truly within himself walâya in all its
wholeness, to the total exclusion of his ego. And this is from all eternity, by
virtue of a special grace from God with regard to his servant, on whom He will
confer the Seal so as to rejoice the heart of Muhammad [literally: to refresh
his eye] and to put Satan aside . . . [On the day of Resurrection] Muhammad
will come furnished with the Seal |of Prophethood] and will be a surety for
created beings against the terror of the Judgement; and this saint will come,
likewise furnished with his seal, and for the awliyâ' who have need of
him he will be the guarantee of the authenticity of wfl/ôyc.11
In another text quoted by
Osman Yahia,[34]
[35]
Tirmidhi gives a lyrical description of the Khatm al-awliya' which
deserves to be recorded :
He is a servant whom God has taken into his
charge.
He is under the divine aegis ; he speaks through
God, hears
through God,
He listens, sees, acts and meditates through God.
God has made him famous throughoutthe world
And has established him as the imam of
created beings.
He is the keeper of the emblem of the awliyâ'
The surety of the inhabitants of the earth,
The spectacle of the beings of heaven.
Flower of paradise, chosen one of God, object of
His gaze,
Mine of His secrets, scourge of His justice,
Through him God quickens hearts,
Through him He guides created beings along the
Way,
Through him He enforces the divine laws.
This being is the key to the right direction,
The flaming torch of the earth
Guardian of the registers of the Saints
And their guide.
He alone gives God the praises that are due to
Him . . .
He is the lord of the saints
Heisthe Wisest of the Wise . . .
While this may
appear fairly enigmatic, the Kitab Khatm al-awliyâ' contains an even
more mysterious section: the long questionnaire which makes up the fourth
chapter of Osman Yahia's edition of the book. Challenging the claims of those
who 'talk like the awliyâ" without possessing the necessary
qualifications, these one hundred and fifty-seven questions are given with no
answers and no commentary. 'What is salaria?' 'What is meant by the hadîth:
God created creatures in a darkness? What was their condition in this
darkness?' 'What is meant by the hadtth: Allah has one hundred and
seventeen qualities? What are these qualities?' 'What words will Allah address
to the Messengers on the Day of Resurrection?' 'What are the Keys of
Generosity?' 'How many stages are there in prophethood?' 'What is prostration?
How did it begin?' 'What is the primordial Name from which all other Names
proceed?' 'Where is the door which reveals the hidden Name to created beings?'
In most cases, there is no obvious logical sequence to these questions, whose
very form is often so cryptic that before envisaging a reply one would like to
be sure of having understood the nature of the question. As far as we know, for
three centuries no one ventured to pass this test, which the sage of Tirmidh
imposed on any person who thought himself worthy to attain to the secret of walâya.
It fell to Ibn 'Arabi, first in a short unedited treatise entitled al-Jawâb
al-Mustaqïm cammâ sa ala zanhu al-Tirmidht al-Hakim (The
Reply to the Questions ofTirmidhi al-Haldm), and then at greater length in
chapter seventy-three of the Futühât, to take up the challenge
triumphantly.[36]
It was a spiritual tournament between two solitaries, confronting each other
across the ages.
In spite of
its sometimes sybilline statements and the apparent lack of organization, for
those who knew how to read it, the Kitab khatm al-awliya' clarified
certain essential aspects of walâya. Yet this first step towards a
doctrinal exposition remained for a long time without a successor. This may
possibly have been because the subject-matter cannot be handled without seeming
to call into question prophetic privilege, and therefore needed to be
approached with extreme caution as regards language.
The scandal
raised by Tirmidhï's assertions, and perhaps by his followers' imprudent
remarks, may serve to explain the circumspection of later writers on this
theme. We will leave the theologians out of it: one might expect, for example,
a writer such as Bâqillânï (tenth century) to come up with some definitions. He
devoted a work to the difference between miTjizât (miracles of the
prophets), karâmât (miracles of the saints), sorcery, and
prestidigitation.[37]
Yet he confines himself to affirming, as against the Mu'tazilites, the
possibility of karâmât. As far as he is concerned, the awliya are
the sâlihün, the pious—an equivalent which is no substitute for a
definition.
If one turns
to the Süfîs one discovers, it is true, some allusions which can be most
illuminating; but there is also an evident desire to be discreet on the subject
of what constitutes walâya per se. Needless to say, many texts where the
word walâya does not occur make mention of carif
(gnostic), süfïor other similar terms, and thereby contribute to a
definition of the nature of walâya. But we may well be surprised that a
term which, unlike the others, possesses Qur'ânic references, is either omitted
altogether or only given a brief mention. Also surprising is a curious remark
of Hujwïrî's in his Kashf al-mahjüb, where he says : 'Certain shaykhs in
the old days wrote works on this subject, but these became rare and quickly
disappeared. Surely this remark, which may be deliberately vague, can only be
an allusion to the writings of Tirmidhi or of his followers, the Hakimiyya,
whose characteristic features are described by Hujwiri in the chapter from
which this quotation is taken. In this chapter, in fact, the author simply
recalls, with the help of a few anecdotes, what we find in Tirmidhi's own
writings (stressing the fact that all prophets are awliyâ' but that not
all awliyâ' are prophets), and does not discuss the concept of a 'Seal
of the Saints'. This can hardly be an accident, considering that Hujwiri
mentions the work of that title (calling it Khatm al-wilâya).[38] [39]
The great
texts of tasawwuf, whose authors are themselves frequently acknowledged
to be awliyâ', prove on investigation to be equally lacking in
precision.[40]
[41]
In one section of his Qüt al-qulüb (The nourishment of Hearts), Abu
Tâlib al-Makki (died 380/990) speaks of the 'People of the spiritual stations
among the Proximate' (ahi al- maqâmât min al-muqarrabm)lB and
distinguishes three categories of awliyâ'. In ascending order, these
are; the 'People of the knowledge of Allah' (ahi al-'ilm bi'Llah), the
People of Love (ahi al-hubb), and the People of Fear (ahi al-khawf);
and he cites, in relation to the saints, a remark attributed to Jesus which
enumerates their characteristic virtues. Another great Süfi classic, the Kitab
al-Lunuf by Abu Nasr al-Sarrâj (died 377/987), contains a chapter'9
which issues a strict warning against those who situate walâya above nubuwwa.
We may ask ourselves whether this could be an indirect criticism of Tirmidhi,
who is not mentioned by name, or of certain Hakimiyya who deviated from
him or who at any rate gave ill-considered expression to their teacher's
doctrine. Another chapter20 is devoted to the 'miracles of the
saints' (karâmât al-awliyâ') and criticizes those (in this case the
Mu'tazilites) who persist in denying them. Yet here again, we will look in vain
for any detailed account of walâya.
Among the
authors contemporary with those we have just mentioned, the work of one is
also considered to contribute fundamentally to our knowledge of Sufism:
Kalâbâdhî (died 385/995), whose Kitab al-Ta carruf, with its
methodical construction, can truly be considered a treatise. Once again, and
not for the last time, the subject of Chapter Twenty-Six is the problem of
miracles.21 Predictably, it is a defence both of the possibility and
of the legitimacy of karâmât: the miracles of the saints, in relation to
the prophet whose authority the latter acknowledge, are not of a competitive
but of a confirmative nature (zuhiir al-karâmât ta'yïd H 'l-nabï)—a
statement which is based on a remark of Abu Bakr al-Warrâq, mentioned above as
one of Tirmidhi's immediate followers, to the effect that 'the miracle does not
make the prophet'. Kalâbâdhî goes on to reply in the affirmative to the
question which Tirmidhi had already been asked by the student to whom the Khatm
al-awliyâ' is addressed; can or cannot the saint be aware of his sainthood?
Finally, he distinguishes between two types of walâya: in its
19. Abü Nasr al-Sarraj, Kitab al-Luma‘, ed. 'Abd al-Halim
Mahmud and Taha 'Abd al-Bâqï Surtir, Baghdad i960, pp. 535-37. (Nicholson's
edition is more reliable but less complete; but the editors, unfortunately,
give no indication as to what manuscripts they have used).
21. Kalâbadhï, Kitab al-Ta^arruf li-madhhab ahi al-tasaurwuf,
ed. 'Abd al-Halim Mahmud and Tâhâ 'Abd al-Bâqï Surür, Cairo i960 (copied from
the Arberry edition, Cairo 1953), pp. 71-79. There is now an excellent French
translation of this work by R. Deladrière, entitled Traité de soufisme,
Paris 1981. Chapter 26 corresponds to pp. 74-83.
more general
sense it can be applied to all believers, and in the more limited sense which
it possesses in the vocabulary of Sufism it is the privilege of the elect. 'He
who possesses it is preserved from all concern "" with his ego (mahfüzan
‘anal-nazar ilâ nafsihí) . . . and from all — afflictions pertaining to the
human condition (min à fat al- — bashariyya).' This passage contains two
points, not new but important enough to bear in mind. One is the relationship
between wall and nabi: the saint's role in relation to the
prophet is confirmatory, and consequently any ideas of autonomy with regard to
the Law, and of equality or superiority with regard to the prophet, are ruled
out; and the other is the definition of the saint as a being who has lost sight
of his nafs or ego.
We come now to the authors of a somewhat later date. Sulami died in
412/1021. In the introductory doxology of his Tabaqât al-süfiyya,2î there
is a brief reference to the saints as the successors of the prophets (wa
atbaca 'l-anbiyâ' bi 'l-awliya'), but even though the words wall,
awliya, walâya occur often in this hagiographie compilation, there is an
absence of doctrinal expositions even where one might logically expect to find
them. It is in fact extraordinary that the note about Tirmidhi[42]
[43]
does not refer to one single remark of his about wa lâya. Still on this
subject, Sulami also quotes a severe judgement made by Ja'far al-Khuldi (died
348/959): when asked whether he possessed any works by Tirmidhi, he replied
'that he did not number him among the Çûfis'[44] [45]—a remark which should
probably be interpreted as meaning that he numbered him among the philosophers.
Needless to say, the logia compiled by Sulami raise the classic
questions (concerning karamât, whether the wall knows that he is
a wall), recommend frequent visits to the awliya’ and their
tombs, describe their distinctive features and, in particular, speak of their
earthly status as an anticipation of their condition in paradise: 'It has been
given to the awliya' by -
Allah in
advance to enjoy His dhikr and to have access to His proximity. -
The life of
their body is that of earthly beings and the life of their spirit is that of
heavenly beings. ' This quote is taken from Abü Sa'id al-Kharraz (died
286/899).2J But the most attractive definition of a saint to be
found in the Tabaqât and the one which best sums up many of the ideas
expressed by the Shaykh al-Akbar is undoubtedly the following by Abu
Yazïd
al-Bistàmï (died 261/874 or 234/857), for whom 'the saint of Allah has no
feature by which he is distinguished nor any name by which he can be named.'16
We can compare this statement with another made by Bistâmï, and quoted by
Sahlajï:[46]
[47]
[48]
[49]
'I asked Abû Yazïd, "How are you this morning?" He answered,
"There is no morning or evening. Morning and evening exist only for the
man to whom one can assign a quality; but I am without a quality (wa anâ la
si fata It)".' Neither morning nor evening, but the lux perpetua
of the Eternal Day which has already dawned for the man who, having shed both
name and ( attributes, is henceforth beyond all forms.
Another monument
of Islamic hagiography, the Hilyat al-awliya' (The Jewel of the Saints)
by Abû Nucaym al-Isfahânï (died 430/1038), leaves us, despite its
title, still unsatisfied, although it contains elements of interest. This
ten-volume catalogue, containing no fewer than six hundred and eighty-nine
biographies, includes a notice on al-Haltim al-Tirmidhi;a8 and here
again there is an omission which must be intentional, for it says nothing about
the teachings on walâya which were his major contribution to the
doctrines of tasawwuf. Thus, from scattered allusions and at times
conflicting descriptions of character, a picture emerges of the wait and
a typology of the awliyâ' starts to take shape. But the actual essence
of sainthood escapes structured definition. It is significant that the
introduction to the work simply describes the external characteristics (al-nu‘ût
al-zdhira) of the wall using a series of
— hadîth and 'sayings' (akhbâr) of the ancients.19
According to these, the
— saints remember God (or invoke Him: yadhkurüna 'Llâha), and
— through their mere presence arouse the desire to remember Him.
They
— are preserved from error during times of sedition (fitna).
They live in
— poverty and obscurity ('Many a man', said the Prophet, 'with
unkempt
— hair, whose possessions amount to no more than a couple of dates,
„ whom no one wants to look at, may, if he adj ures God, have his prayers _
answered').[50]
The theme of the saint's occultation is consistently
'He who sees thee sees
Me'
emphasized.
Another hadtth quoted by Abü Nucaym says:. 'The — servants
whom God loves best are the pious and the hidden. When they — are away no one
misses them, and when they are present they are -— ignored. These are the imams
of good guidance and the torches of _____________________________
Knowledge.'[51]
[52]
Mention is also made of the hierarchy of the saints and of asceticism (zuhcl),
and sayings are quoted about the latter which are attributed to Jesus, as well
as the advice which God is supposed to have given Moses and Aaron before their
meeting with Pharaoh. Further on is a reference to Dhû'1-Nùn al-Misri's
marvellous phrase, 'the Qur'an — has mingled with their flesh and blood',[53]
which clearly echoes the — words of cA'isha, the Prophet's wife, who
in answer to questions about his nature (khuluq), said, 'His nature was
the Qur'an'. Another hadtth — which comes into this introduction says:
'Among the best in my community, as the supreme Pleroma has taught me, the
highest ranks _ contain people who laugh outwardly because of the immensity of
their — Lord's Compassion and weep inwardly for fear of the harshness of their
— Lord's punishment.'[54]
Among the features to which Abû Nu'aym — wished to give prominence by his
considered choice of quotations, we may note in particular the fact that walâya
does not necessarily involve spectacular manifestations; on the contrary,
the_saint—the 'man with- out a quality7 as Bistami. terms
him—often avoids being seen. Yet paradoxically, this effacement
(which cannot be reduced to the mere
Qur'an on the
subject of the awliyâ', Qushayri, like his predecessors, quotes the hadïth
qudst 'Man câdâ lïwaliyyan. . . ('I declare war on him who is
the enemy of My wall'). He then goes on to emphasize that wait is
a word in facïl and hence, as we pointed out earlier,
possesses two meanings, passive and active. For theauthor oftheKísñ/a,wa/im the
first senseis he of whose affairs God takes charge, and, in the second sense,
he who takes charge of the service of God and the obedience due to Him.
Furthermore, walâya presupposes a condition to be fulfilled: just as the
true prophet must be without sin (ma 'süm), the true wall must be
'preserved' (m ahfüz) from all that is contrary to the Law.
We come next to the usual
question: does the saint know that he is a saint? Qushayn speaks of the
arguments aroused by this problem and cites the affirmative answer to it given
by his own teacher and father-in-law, Abu 'All al-Daqqaq. The chapter continues
with a series of quotations which give us a brief glimpse of themes that we
have already encountered: the saint's occultation, together with a remark of
Abu Yazïd al -Bistâmï on the awliyâ' as the 'brides' ( ~arais) of
God whom He conceals from alien eyes; the continuity between walâya and nubuwwa,
and words of Sulami (who was also one of Qushayri's teachers) to the effect
that 'the prophets begin where the saints end'; and the dissolution of the ego,
accompanied by a definition of wall by Abu "Ali al-Juzjânï. Qushayn
concludes with a short commentary on the verse from the Qur'an with which the
chapter begins. In a famous phrase, slightly transposed (and more often applied
to the Sufi), the wall is 'the son of the moment': he has no past and no
future, and therefore, as the Qur'an says, is not subject either to fear or to
unhappiness.
Another chapter of the Risâla
treats, as usual, of the 'miracles of the saints' (karâmât al-awliyâ')
but has nothing new to say-about them. Similarly, if we turn to Qushayri's
commentary on the Qur'an, published for the first time in Cairo a few years
ago, it contains few additional elements, apart from a definition of the
difference between
— ma csüm and mahfüz : the prophet's freedom
from sin lies in the fact that
— he does not even experience the desire to commit a sin. The saint,
on the
- other hand, is not shielded from temptation and may yield to it;
but
- divine grace preserves him from persevering in his fault (wa-lâkin
la -■ yakünu lahu isrâr).35
35. Qushayn, Latâ'if al-ishâriît, ed- Ibrâhîm Basyünï, with a
preface by Hasan 'Abbas Zalá, Cairo, n.d., 6 vols. For the commentary on
verse 10:62, see m, p. 105. The commentary on verse 4 76 gives no clue as to
the awliyâ’ al-shaytân.
Despite the fact that his
father had been a follower of a shaykh from Tirmidh through whom he claimed
spiritual descent from al-Haklm al-Tirmidhï, cAbdallâh Ansari (died
481/1089), in what is known to us of his work, does not appear to have devoted
particular attention to the subject of walâya.[55]
The same is true of al-Ghazâlï (died 505/1111) who, as was standard practice in
treatises on tasawwuf, criticizes in his Ihyâ' those who deny the
karâmât al-awliyâ' A[56]
Who then are the awliyâ'l It is walâya that can explain karâmât,
not the reverse. Sainthood is concealed behind its manifestations and symbols, and
it is in this roundabout way that Najm al-Dîn Kubrâ (died 617/1270) for
example, approaches the problem in his Fawaih al-jamalj[57]
Thus, among the calâmât al-walï, the saint's distinguishing
features, Kubrâ singles out the facts that he is mahfüz (stressing the
difference between this relative immunity and the cisma, the
prophet's absolute freedom from sin), that the requests he makes of God are
granted, that he knows the Supreme Name of God as well as the names of the jinns
and the angels, and so on. For him, walâya is the third and final stage
of the~\ spiritual journey, whose division into three parts is expressed by a
series of ternaries: 'service' (or the act of worship, eibada),
'servitude' fiibüdiyya), and lastly 'absolute servitude' fitbitda);[58] the 'knowledge of
certitude' film al-yaqïn) which is acquired (muktasab), the
'truth of certitude' (haqq al-yaqïn) which is a permanent state, and the
'eye of certitude' firyn al-yaqïn), which is the extinction (fana')
of the knower in the Known;[59]
'instability' (talwin), 'stability' (tarn kin), and the
'existentializing power' (takwm) conferred on him whose own will has
been entirely annihilated in the divine Will and through whose mouth the divine
Command itself of 'Be!' (kun!) is expressed—an allusion to verse 16:40
('The Word that We say to a thing when We wish it to be is:
Be! and it
is'). 'The spiritual traveller', says Kubrâ, 'will acquire the qualification of
sainthood only when he has been accorded this "Be!"' Unlike Ibn
‘Arabi later, Najm al-Din Kubrâ makes no attempt to justify metaphysically this
seemingly extravagant appropriation of the creative word for the benefit of a
created being; he simply finds support for it in the scriptures, citing verse
76:30 of which the translation must now run: 'And you wish nothing which Allah
does not [also] wish. '41
Even though
Najm al-Din Kubrâ does not furnish us with a discursive account of walâya,
he does tell us more about it than any of the others. What we know of his
spiritual life through his own writings justifies us in thinking that, had he
wished, he could have gone a great deal further. But apart from his personal
experience, he was undoubtedly also familiar with the problem of walâya
as defined by Tirmidhi: his teacher 'Ammar Bidlisi (died 590/1194), from whom
he borrows several of his expressions, actually refers several times in his
writings to the author of the Khatm al-awHya. Like Tirmidhi, Bidlisi
stresses the relationship between walâya and sahína, the divine
Peace or Presence. Again, like Tirmidhi, he distinguishes various stages of
sainthood: there is, he says, a limited sainthood (muqayyada) and an
absolute sainthood (mutlaqa). The saint who possesses the latter is no
longer subject to natural appetites, nor to desires of the soul. He knows
neither personal will nor passion. He acts through God and God through him.41
Bidlisi also derives from Tirmidhi the idea of the Seal of the Saints,
and paraphrases his definition without going any deeper into it. But at least
he bears witness to the fact that, however discreetly, the teaching of the
master of Tirmidh was still being passed on.
The great
saints of the twelfth century, among whom are included those we have been
quoting, prove through their writings that the question of walâya
concerned them and, no doubt, that they were asked about it. At first glance,
however, their laconic answers tell us nothing,
41. The usual translations give it as: 'And you wish for nothing if it
is not what God wants.' Metaphysically speaking, these two possible
interpretations of the verse are not contradictory, since the two wills (of God
and of His creations), for tire man who attains to the supreme stage of walâya,
are neither successive nor distinct from each other in any relation. This is
expressed by Kubrâ when he says that then, 'God wishes for nothing without the
servant wishing for it, and the servant wishes for nothing without God wishing
for it' (ibid., p. 86).
42. The passages here referred to from Bidlïsï's Bahjat al-tâ'ifa
have been published by Osman Yahia as an annex to the Khatm al-awliyâ',
pp. 469-71, copied from a manuscript in Berlin.
and only a patient
exegesis of their words and actions, to which Ibn “Arabi holds the key, reveals
their coherence and depth. One of the greatest figures of the time, Abd
al-Qâdir al-Jïlânî, whose death in Baghdad in 561/1165 coincided with the birth
in Andalusia, to the west of the Muslim world, of Ibn “Arabi, says only (as
“Ammar Bidlisi also says, using another image ofatreeandits branches) that wa
laya is 'the shadow ofthe prophetic function' (zill al-mibuwwa), as
the prophetic function is the shadow of the divine function[60]—a metaphor which, while it
confirms the close link between prophetology and hagiology, is too vague to
provide us withan adequate doctrinal perspective. We will have occasion to
return to Abd al-Qâdir aJ-Jilani; but in order to conclude this brief survey of
the texts on walâya which appeared during the three centuries that
separate TirmidhI from the author of the Futühât, we must turn to a
spiritual teacher contemporary with the latter: Rüzbehân Baqlî, who ~7 died in
606/1209, a dozen years after Ibn “Arabi's arrival in the East. Henry Corbin
has written a great deal about Baqll,[61] as well as editing his Le
Jasmin des Fideles d'Amour [62] At the risk of
overlapping with him on certain points, we feel it would be useful to draw
attention to some sections of his work of which we now possess more recent
editions than were ava liable to Corbin. There also exi sts at present[63]
a slightly different and more complete version of Baqll's spiritual
autobiography, the Kashf al-asrâr. First, however, we will quote from
another work, the Mashrab al-arwâh (The Watering-place of Spirits), in
which Baqli, taking his cue from the systematic description suggested by Ansari
both in his Book of a Hundred Lands and then in his Book of the
Travellers' Stages, embarks on the analysis of one thousand and one
stations (maqâmât), which he divides into twenty chapters. Among them is
a section on walaya.[64] [65] 'The J start of the
Way', writes Rüzbehân Baqli,
is the will
[or desire, irada], and it is accompanied by spiritual battles. The
middle of the Way is love (mahabba), and it is accompanied by miraculous
graces (karâmât). The end of the Way is gnosis (ma'rifa), and it
is accompanied by contemplation (mushahadat). When a being is firmly
established in these stages, when the laws of change (talwm) are no
longer operative for him and he swims in the oceans of unicity and the secret
of solitude (tafnd), then he is a wait, a deputy of the prophets
and truly pure among the pure. The word walâya is a synthetic term
encompassing all the dwelling places of men of spiritual realisation [al-siddîqün,
literally: those who confirm the truth because they have experienced it for
themselves], ... A wise man has said: malaya is the fact of
appropriating the divine attributes to oneself (al-takhalluq bi khuluq
al-haqq).
This abstract text is
illustrated by the account left to us by Rùzbehân, aged fifty-five years, of
his personal experience of the Way in the Kashf al-asrar (The Unveiling of
the Secrets)—an account so significant and so moving that we have no hesitation
in quoting a few passages from it:
I saw God—may
He be blessed and exalted!—clothed in Magnificence and in eternal Majesty,
while I was on the terrace of my house. It seemed to me that the entire
universe was transformed into a shining light, abounding and immense. He called
to me out of the heart of this light and said to me in Persian: 'O Rùzbehân, I
have chosen thee far malaya and I have selected thee for love (mahabba).
Thou art My wait and thou art My lover (muhibb). Do not fear and
do not be unhappy [an allusion to verse 10:64, quoted above], for I will make
thee perfect and I will help thee in all that thou desirest. ' And Í saw as it
were from the Throne to the earth*8 an ocean like the rays of the
sun. Then my mouth opened without my will and this entire ocean entered into me
until there remained no d rop which 1 had not drunk.-*9
The words wait
and walâya which we have left untranslated are obviously to be
understood here in the sense of 'proximity', which is, as we saw, the primary
meaning attaching to the root. But insofar as walâya applies to God, it
is also al-misra, the divine Assistance from which the wait
benefits and which is promised to Rùzbehân during the course of this vision.
The texts which follow,
while not referring explicitly to walâya, nevertheless contain very
valuable indications as to its nature :
I saw God
under His attributes of Majesty and Beauty and the angels wece with Him. I said
to Him, 'O my God, how wilt Thou take my spirit?' He said to me, 'I will come
to thee from the inmost depths of the Eternity which has no beginning and I
will take thy spirit into My hand. Then I will bring thee to the station of
48. Al-tharâ-, Corbin—or the copyist of the Mashhad manuscript
whom he used—reads al-thurayya, the Pleiades, by mistake.
"My
home". I will give thee the drink of proximity and 1 will reveal to thee
for ever My Beauty and My Majesty, as thou desirest and without a veil. '5°
One night, I
saw an immense ocean and this ocean was composed of a drink that was red in
colour.[66]
[67]
And I saw the Pmphet seated, drunk, in the midst of the depths of this ocean.
He held a cup of the drink in his hand and was drinking it. When he saw me, he
took some of that ocean into the palm of his hand and gave me to drink. And
that which was opened to me was opened ! Then I understood that the Prophet was
above all other creatures, who die thirsty while he stands intoxicated in the
middle of the ocean of divine Majesty,[68] [69]
I saw, in the
universe of non-manifestation, a world illuminated by a blaring light And I saw
God—to Whom be Glory!—clothed in the garment of Majesty, Beauty and Splendour.
He poured out the sea of Tenderness for me to drink and honoured me by according
me the station of Proximity. When I was immersed in the clarity of eternity, I
stooped at the gate of Magnificence and saw all the prophets there—Peace be
upon them! I saw Moses holding the Torah, Jesus holding the Gospel, David
holding the Psalms and Muhammad with the Qur'an, Then Adam made me drink 'the
most beautiful names'[70]
[71]
and the Supreme Name. Then I understood what I understood of the high reserved
knowledge with which God favours Hisprophets and saints.[72]
In another vision,
Rûzbehân Baqlï sees a yellow lion (the solar symbolism is doubly obvious here)
walking on top of Mount Qâf, the inaccessible emerald mountain which marks the
limit of the terrestrial world. This lion has devoured all the prophets and
their blood is still dripping from its mouth. Rûzbehân realizes that this is a
subtle reference (ishara) to the overwhelming power of divine Unity (qahr
a!-tawhîd) andthatit is GodHimself who is epiphanizedin the form of a lion,54
A little further on there
is a long account of a spiritual event that occurred when Rûzbehân was in his rib
at ('convent') at Shiraz. 'Then He clothed me in His Attributes and made me
one with His Essence. Then 1 saw myself as though I were He (thumma ra'aytu
nafsï ka-annî huwd) .... Afterwards I returned from this state and I
descended from the rank of Lordship (rubübiyyd) to that of servitude [cùbüdiyya)',s6
We will dte one more of Rûzbehân's communications, in relation to
what was said earlier about the saint's 'transparency' and his role as a
favoured vehicle of theophany :
Once, I was
sitting during the first part of the night beside my son Ahmad who was ill with
a violent fever; and my heart was almost breaking with anxiety. Suddenly I saw
God in His aspect of Beauty. He gave evidence of Goodness towards my son and
myself. Ecstasy and agitation seized hold of me .... I said to Him, 'O my God,
why dost Thou not speak to me as Thou didst speak to Moses?' He replied, 'Is it
not enough that he who loves thee loves Me and that he who sees thee sees
Me?"[73]
As we saw,
only the prophets are completely shielded from temptation (such at any rate is
the Sunni attitude in this regard; the Shfite doctrines extend this
impeccability to the imams). While the life of Rüzbehân Baqli allows us to
perceive the nature of the divine Grace accorded the wall, it also gives
us a striking example of the dangers attendant upon the Way. In the chapter of
the Futühât Makkiyya which treats of the Station of Knowledge (maqam
al-maerifa), Ibn 'Arabi speaks of the spiritual lapses which
teachers must know how to remedy in their disciples. After speaking of 'the
illnesses which affect actions' (amrâd al-af'âl), he describes 'the
illnesses which affect the spiritual state' (amrâd al-ahwâl), and refers
to an episode in the life of the saint of Shiraz which occurred during his
visit to Mecca :
It is related
of Shaykh Rüzbehân that he was smitten by love for a woman, a singer, and was
carried away by transports of passion. It was his custom, when he experienced
ecstasies inspired by God, to utter such cries that he disturbed people who
were walking around the KaT>a at the time when he was staying in Mecca and
walking on the terrace of the Holy Mosque. But his spiritual state was genuine.
When he was
smitten with love for this singer, no one perceived it; for the state that had
been inspired in him by God was now inspired in him by the woman. When he
realized that people thought that his ectasies were still being inspired by
God, as had originally been the case, he took off his khirqa [the Sufi
'habit'], threw it towards them and related his story to everyone, saying, T do
not wish to tell lies about my condition.' Then he placed himself at the
service of the singer. She was then told of what had happened to him, of the
transports that he experienced for her and that he was one of the greatest of
holy men. The woman was ashamed and asked God to forgive her her faults through
die baraka of Rûzbehân's sincerity. She placed herself at his service
and God caused the attachment that Rüzbehân felt for her in his heart to cease.
He returned to the Sufis and put on his khirqa again.58
The example of Baqlï
reveals some aspects of walâya which, in appearance at least, contrast
strongly with those aspects of it that we encounter in the case of other
people. Mad love—and its eventual aberrations—is one of the elements that make
up tasaurwuf. Eminent men like Shibli or Hallâj in the ninth century, or
Jalâl al-Din Rümï in the thirteenth, and many more, bear witness to this fact.
Such love is distinguished by verbal lyricism—always threatened by hyperbole or
staleness but which sometimes attains a heart-rending beauty—and by rather
ostentatious irregularities of behaviour. However, it would be too simple to
oppose a 'way of knowledge' and a 'way of love' : spiritual life is not a choice
between light and warmth. Both of them exist in the case of all those who are
recognized in Islamic tradition as awliyâ', including Ibn 'Arabi whose Tarjumân
al-ashwâq (The Interpreter of Desire) was inspired by a woman, as was
Rüzbehân Baqlï's Le Jasmin des Fidèles d'A m ou r.59 Although
it is comm on, especially for those who pay a pious visit (ziyara) to
their tombs, to designate Ibn 'Arabi as Sultan al-cârifîn,
'Sultan of Gnostics', and Ibn al-Farid or Jalal al-Din Rümï as Sultan
al-muhibbin, 'Sultan of Lovers', yet it is the case that every wall
is both a 'ârif, a gnostic, and a muhibb, a lover. In a text
quoted above, Rüzbehân Baqlï likens walâya to the 'appropriation of the
divine characters'—an equivalence which, although not always so clearly formulated,
is present in all the Süfî writings on walâya and is corroborated by the
fact that the word wall is a name shared between God and created being.
God is both al-Alim, He who knows, and He who loves: yuhibbuhum,
'He [i.e. Allah] loves them', says the Qur'an (5:54) in a passage which is
immediately followed (5:55) by the statement 'God is your wall'.
Knowledge and love are
indissolubly linked. The predominance of one or the other is just one of the
many criteria determining a typology of the saints—a typology that we will
later come to understand in all its
5g. Futühâtu,p. yty.
59. On the circumstances in which the Tarjumân al-ashwâq was
written, cf. the Beirut edition, 1961, pp. 8-io, and Nicholson's translation,
London 1911, pp. 3-5. On the jasmin des Fidèles d'Amour, cf. Corbin, En
Islam iranien, nr, p. 71 ff. richness. In all cases the Way has
dangers which, however diverse, are merely forms of the ultimate temptation of
idolatry. There is idolatry of the self on the way of gnosis, if the seeker,
aiming at knowledge of the One, pauses on the road in the belief that the One
resides within his own soul. There is idolatry of the other on the way of love,
for the mnhibb may forget that the other is simply an aspect of the One.
Rûzbehân Baqli fell into this trap at least once and possibly twice, for the
prelude to the Jasmin is ambiguous. He is in love with divine Beauty,
but for a time he ends up worshipping a reflection of it. Properly speaking,
this is 'infidelity', kufr in Arabic: a term, as Ibn cArabi
often reminds us, which etymologically signifies the act of veiling or hiding
something,[74]
for by preferring one theophany, it excludes or conceals all the others and
hides the Theas of whom it is just one of the infinite modes of
manifestation. Hence the danger, repeatedly alluded to in the literature of tasawwuf,
of taking any human being, whether man or woman, to be a 'witness of
contemplation'. Hence also the necessity of observing the rules of prudence
which are tirelessly reiterated by the teachers, and which are not the fruit of
conventional morality but the dictates of wisdom. Needless to say,
transgressions are numerous, and not even exceptional men are immune to the
divine guile (makr) which is a test of the believer's sincerity. But
although the saints can be deceived, they do not deceive. 'He who loves thee
loves Me, and he who sees thee sees Me': these are the words heard by Rûzbehân,
while he watched, with such human tenderness, over his fever-stricken son.[75]
CHAPTER
Despite the fact that
the texts to which we have hitherto referred are far from explicit, it is
already clear that walâya cannot be reduced to a heroiciton of
the theological and cardinal virtues such as that which defines the criteria of
sainthood for Roman Catholic theologians. The concept of walâya was to
be given definition by Ibn ‘Arabi; and later on we will leam what the authority
was on which he based his teaching, and which was acknowledged both by himself
and by his followers, as well as the providential necessity which called forth
his disclosure at that particular moment in time.
The doctrine of walâya
is the cornerstone of all that is initiatic in Ibn ‘Arabi's work (as opposed to
what is purely metaphysical),1 and it comes into many texts where
the wall does not always go by the name of wall. He may also be
called ‘«n/(gnostic), muhaqqiq (a term favoured by Ibn Sahin and meaning
'man of spiritual realization'), malâmî 'the one associated with blame',
wârith (heir), or quite simply süfï, cabd (servant) or
even rnjul (man, in the sense of vir perfectus). However, in our
preliminary investigation we will confine ourselves to the texts which refer
explicitly to walâya and to the awliyâ' as such.
In this connection, and
for reasons which will become clear, special prominence must be given to one of
Ibn ‘Arabi's last works. 'Ibis is the Twsms
al-hikam* a title which has been variously translated as The [76] [77] Wisdom of the Prophets,
The Gems of Wisdom, The Seals of Wisdom,3 but which strictly
speaking means The Settings of Wisdom. The book contains a prologue and
twenty-seven chapters, each of which has reference to a prophet, of whom the
first was Adam and the last Muhammad. The order followed is not chronological:
the chapter about Jesus precedes the one about Solomon, which precedes the one
about David. It is worth noting, moreover, that two out of the twenty-seven,
namely Seth (Shith in Arabic) and Khâlid ibn Sinân, who is mentioned in a hadith,
do not come into the Qur'an, whereas two of the prophets whose names appear in
the Qur'ân (Dhü' 1-Kifl and al-Yasa^ do not figure in this catalogue. It is
also worth noting that Luqmàn, whose name is the title of one of the chapters
of the Fusüs, appears in the Qur'ân as a sage rather than a prophet.
The setting (fass,
plural fusüs) of a ring is the part which encloses the precious stone.
The word recurs in the title of each chapter where it is followed by two
determinants: a 'wisdom' (hikma), which is itself qualified by an
adjective; and a 'word' (kalima) connected with one of the twenty-seven
prophets. Thus, for example, we have 'the setting of divine wisdom in the Word
of Adam', 'the setting of the wisdom of the heart in the Word of Shu'ayb', and
so on. In this way a series of spiritual types is built up, of whom each is in
some sense defined as the
fact, as
established by ms. bn 6104, ff. 1
to 28b, and by Ibn Sawdaldn's commentary, Fatih 5322, ff. 201-14, >s
not 311 autonomous text at all, but forms the preamble to the Mashâhid
al-asrâr al-qudsiyya, R.G. 432). It deals with other themes as well; and
even though, in response to a remark of Mahdawi's which Ibn ‘Arabi undertakes
tn explain to the latter's disciples, some fundamental ideas about walâya
are expressed, there are others which are passed over completely. We will refer
later to this text, which is, even so, deeply interesting; and our thanks are
due to James W. Morris for alerting us to its publication under the tide Risilla
fï'1-walâya. As regards the Fusiis al-hikam, we are still using the
critical edition by A. A. ‘AfiE, Beirut 1946—the best in existence even though
it does not take account of the most ancient extant manuscript, copied by Sadr
al-Din QQnawi and with an attested reading date of 630 ah (Evkaf Müzesi 1933). The chief commentaries employed are
by Jandi (died c. 700/1300), edited by Ashtiyânï (not critical, many faults),
Mashhad 1982; by ‘Abd al-Razzâq Qâshâm (died 730/1330), Cairo 1321 ah; by Dâwûd Qaysan (died 751/1350),
lithog., Bombay 1300 ah; and by
Ball Effendi (died 960/1553), Istanbul 1309 ah.
3. On the two most recent English translations of the Fusüs
al-hikam, by R. W. Austin (The Bezels of Wisdom, London 1980), and
by ‘Â'isha al-Tarjumâna (The Seals of Wisdom, Norwich 1980), cf. my
review in Bulletin critique des Annales islamologiques, xx, pp. 334-37.
intersection of an aspect
of divine Wisdom with the human vessel which encloses it and thereby imposes
its own limits on it. As we shall see, this structure is in no way a mere
rhetorical device, but corrresponds symbolically with the actual structure of walâya.
We are justified in the
importance we accord to the Fusils by the information given in the
prologue about the circumstances of its composition; the prologue likewise
contains details about Ibn 'Arabi's function of which the full significance
will emerge later on. The essential passages are as follows :
In the nair e
of Allah, the All-Merciful, the Most-Merdful ! Praise be to Allah, who has
caused wisdom to descend upon the hearts of the Words from the station of
absolute Eternity by a straight path whose unity is unaffected by the diversity
of beliefs and religions, which results from the diversity of human
communities. And may Allah bestow His Grace upon Muhammad (who by means of the
most righteous word pours out upon the aspirations [of created beings] what he
draws from the treasure-house of Generosity and Munificence) and upon his
family; and may Hegive him peace.
I saw the Messenger
of Allah in a vision of good augury which was imparted to me during the last
ten days of the month of Muharram* in the year 627 at
4. Not 'the tenth day of the month of Moharram' as Henry Corbin
states in the french introduction to"HaydarÂmoil's Nass al-Nusüs,
Tehran-Paris 1975, p. 4, where he is manifestly obsessed with discovering
Shi'ite allusions and believes this date to correspond with the anniversary of
the martyred Imam al-Husayn. For an recount of Corbin's thesis on the transposition
(and the denaturation) of Shfite concepts in Sufism, especially the doctrine of
the Imamate, see, in particular, the chapter entitled 'P-ophétologie et
imâmologie' in En islam iranien 1, pp. 219-84. A similar thesis is
sustained in a more historicist fashion by Dr Kâmil Mustafa Shaybî in a!-SHa
bayna 'l-tasawwuf wa 'l-tashayyue, znded., Cairo 1969 (seepp.
339-79 on walâya). It would of course be absurd to deny that, both in
vocabulary and conceptually, Shfism and Sufism were connected, and therefore
interacted, with each other, especially prior to the coming of the Safavids.
But these influences were reciprocal, and the influence of Ibn 'Arabi on the
Shi'ite doctrine of walâya is obvious, its importance being acknowledged
by the Shi'ite authors themselves. The case of Haydar Âmolï who, in his vast
commentary on the Fusüs, forcefully expresses his admiration for Ibn 'Arabi and
the extent of his indebtedness to him, is particularly significant. Let us
merely note that on p. 267 of the Arabic text of the Nass al-nitsits, in
a section devoted to the awliyâ’, Amolï justifies the need to explain
the ideas he is dealing with by the need to make them understood by the Sunnïs
(who refuse to admit them even though it is implied that they are aware of
them) and by the Imâmite Shi'ites, for 'statements of this kind have never
reached their ears or been uttered by their tongues'. This does not prevent
Corbin from saying several times over that, in accepting certain of Ibn
'Arabi's ideas, Shfism was merely 'takirgbackits own'.
Damascus—may
God protect it ! In his hand he held a book and he said to me, This is the book
of the Fusiis al-hikam. Take it and bring it to men that they may profit
by it'.
I replied, T
hear and obey "Allah, His Messenger and those among us who are keepers of
the Commandment", as it has been laid down' (Qur'an 4:59).
I therefore
undertook to carry out his request. To this end, I purified my intention and
aspiration with a view to making known the book as it had been consigned to me
by Allah's Messenger, with nothing added or taken away. And I asked Allah, in
this task and in all my states, to place me among those of his servants over
whom Satan has no power, and to favour me in all that my hands write, in all
that my mouth speaks, in all that my heart contains, with a projection of His
Glory, an inspiration breathed into my spirit and an assistance to protect me,
in order that 1 may be an interpreter and not an author, so that the men of God
and the teachers of the heart who read this book will be certain that it
proceeds from the station of inviolable Sainthood, which is beyond reach of the
deceptive desires of the individual soul. I hope that God, having heard my
prayer, has answered it. I have uttered nothing which has not been sent to me, I
write nothing which has not been inspired. I am neither a prophet nor a
messenger, but simply an inheritor; and I labour forthe life to come.5
In Chapter Fourteen of
the Fusils, which is under the sign of ‘Uzayrrt (whom Muslim
tradition usually compares to the Biblical Ezra), Ibn ‘Arabi throws light on
some aspects of walâya which are of major importance.
'Know', he writes, 'that walâya
is the sphere which encompasses all the other spheres, and for this reason it
has no end in time .... On the other hand, legislative prophethood (nubuwwa')
and the mission of the Messengers (risâla) do have an end which they
have reached in the person of Muhammad, since after him there is neither any
other prophet—meaning a prophet who brings a revealed Law or submits himself to
a previously revealed Law7—nor any other legislating
5. Fusus I, pp. 47-48. Because of the particular nature
of the prophetic trust of which the Fusüs is the repository, and
concerning which, as we saw, Ibn ‘Arabi said that he was the interpreter and not
the author, we learn from Jandi (a pupil of Qûnawî, who was an immediate
follower of Ibn ‘Arabi) that he had forbidden it to be bound together with any
other of his books (Jandi, Sharh al-Fusüs, p. 5 of the Arabic text).
6. Fusus 1, p. -134 ff. TJzayr is only mentioned once in
the Qur'an (9:3o).
7. This explanation, which defines prophethood stricto sensu,
is necessary because of the extended meaning which Ibn ‘Arabi, as we shall see,
attributes to the term nubuwwa. For example, the prophets who submit to
a previous Law are the biblical prophets who come after Moses and who do not
bring any laws to their community.
50
AMERICAN UNTvr.Rt'T? ÏN
CAIRO
HHRARY
Messenger.[78]
This news is a terrible blow for the awliyâ', for it implies the impossibility
of experiencing total and perfect servitude.' This last point, which may appear
obscure, is explained by Ibn cArabi as follows: since no being can
henceforth term himself nabi or rasül—names which properly belong
to created being because they form no part of the divine Names—the only name
which remains available is al-walï, which is one of the Names of God.
For the spiritual man, awareness of his ‘ubüiliyya (his servitude or
ontological nothingness) goes contrary to such a sharing with God of the same
name, for it implies participation in the rubübiyya, or Lordship. But,
he adds, if prophethood stricto sensu is ended, 'general prophethood' (nubuwwa
‘Umma) remains. This is what is more commonly termed walâya, and
even though it is not accompanied by the legislative authority which
characterizes the prophets in the narrow sense of the word, nevertheless it
does possess a legislative aspect in that it implies the possibility of
interpreting the statutes of the Law. This is why a AndriA says that the
learned (al-‘it lama)—and the awliyâ' alone are truly worthy of
the name— 'are the heirs of the prophets'.[79] As we shall see, the
concept of inheritance is crucial.
Next, IbncArabi broaches a theme which
we encounteredin Tirmidhi.
When you see a
prophet expressing himself in wonls which do not arise from his legislative
authority, it is because he is a wait and an ‘arif (a gnostic or
knower); and the station which he occupies by virtue of being ‘alm
(wise) is more complete and more perfect than the station he occupies by virtue
of being a messenger or a legislative prophet. Likewise, when you hear a man of
God saying—or when someone tells you that they have heard him say—that walâya
is superior to wwfwraai, you must know that he means by this exactly what we
have just said. Similarly, if he says that the wait is superior to the nabi
or the rasül, he implies that this is so in the person of one and the
same being. In other words, the rasül is more perfect in his capacity as
a wait than in his capacity as a nabi. So this does not mean that
the wait who follows a prophet is superior to the latter, for he who
follows can never catch up with him whom he follows, inasmuch as he is his
follower. If it were otherwise, he would not be a follower. Therefore understand!
The source of the rasül and the nobflies in walâya and in
knowledge,[80]
[81]
[82]
The preliminary
conclusions to be drawn from this passage of the Fusüs may appear hard
to reconcile with each other. On the one hand, walâya encompasses nubuwwa
and risâla which proceed from it, and hence it is superior to them in
the person of him who combines the three qualifications. On the other hand, we
have witnessed the emergence of the idea of 'inheritance', which implies the
passing on to the awliyâ' of something which was originally the property
of the prophets. Thus walâya is in some way dependent on nubuwwa,
and in short represents a mode of participation in it. This is emphasized in
other texts, such as these passages from the Futühât: 'If you are a wait,
you are the heir of a prophet and nothing will reach you [literally, your
composition, or constitution, ilâ tarkïbika] which is not in proportion
to your share of this inheritance.'” 'No one receives a prophet's heritage in
full. If this were the case, it would mean that that being was himself a
messenger or a legislating prophet in the same way as he whose heir he is. A
similar notion is found in the Kitâb al-Tajalliyât (The Book of Theophanies)[83] and the Risâlat
al-Anwar (The Epistle of the Lights) :
Know that
prophethood and sainthood possess three things in common: a knowledge not
derived from study intended to acquire it; the faculty of acting through
spiritual energy alone (hitnma) in cases where it is normally possible
to act only through the body, or even in cases where the body is powerless to
act; and finally, the sensible vision of the imaginai world (‘âlam
al-khayâl). On the other hand, they differ from each other as far as the
divine discourse is concerned, for the divine address to the saint is other
than that made to the prophet, and it must not be imagined that the spiritual
ascensions (macarij, plural of mfrâj) of the saints
are identical to those of the prophets. This is by no means the case . . . The
ascensions of die prophets are effected by means of the prindpial Light (al-nur
al-asli), whereas thoseof thesaintsareeffected through
whatisreflcctcdofthisprinci pial light.14
Before attempting to
reconcile these seemingly disparate elements, and at the risk therefore of
somewhat confusing the reader, we must refer to some other texts in the work of
the Shaykh al-Akbar in which he speaks of the wait and walâya.
Mention was made earlier of Tirmidhi's famous questionnaire. Ibn cArabi
replies to it in the long Chapter Seventy-Three of the Futühàt. The
first question is: 'What is the number of the dwellings (manazity of the
saints?' These dwellings, writes Ibn cArabi, are of two kinds:
sensible (hissiyya) and spiritual ' (maQnawiyya). The
number of the first kind, which in turn is subdivided into sub-categories, is
'higher than one hundred and ten', which means that these manazil are
the 114 suras of the Qur'an. The number of the second land is two hundred and
forty-eight thousand; these belong exclusively to this community and no one has
previously attained them. These 'spiritual dwellings' are linked with four
types of knowledge (implicitly related to four suras); the 'knowledge through
Me' (ci/m ladunni, an allusion to verse 18:65, where this
knowledge, which is related to the divine I, is attributed to Khadir); the
knowledge of the Light (‘firn al-nilr); the knowledge of union and of
separation (‘¿/m al~jamtwa T-tafriqa); and the knowledge of
the divine Scripture ( film al-kitâba al-ilahiyyd). Ibn cArabï
goes on to say that, according to him, the number of saints is five hundred and
eighty-nine; but he adds that he is talking here about the awhya'
belonging to the categories described at the start of Chapter Seventy-Three,
who correspond to initiatory functions whose titulars are at all times fixed in
number: in every epoch, as we shall see, there is a 'Pole' (qutb), four
'Pillars'
14. Risnint al-anwar, Hyderabad 1948, p. 15. The distinction
between wait and nabîis constantly emphasized by Ibn 'Arabi in
order to avoid the confusion that might be engendered by some of his own
statements or by statements to which other Süfïs have had recourse. The Risilla
ft ’l-walaya mentioned in note 2 is a typical example. It is intended first
and foremost to clarify a statement made by cAbd al-'Azïz Mahdawi (died
621/1224). It was for his benefit that Ibn 'Arabi undertook to write the Futühât—ci.
1, pp. 6-9—and it was for him too that he wrote the Rilh al-quds—cf. the
Damascus edition, 1964, p. 3; in the Risâla, pp. 29-32, he enlarges on
his merits and says that he will devote a work to him, although no manuscript
of it seems to’have been identified: cf. R.G. 119. The statement, to the
perplexity of his disciples, was as follows: 'The wise (=awliya] of this
community are the prophets of other communities' (Risnia fï'1-walâya, p.
21 ff. ).
^ütâd)^5 and so on. But he also
says[84]
[85]
that the total number of the saints in all the categories is, in
perpetuity, at least equal to the number of the prophets who have succeeded
each other during the course of the human cycle—that is, in conformity with
Islamic tradition, one hundred and twenty-four thousand. If the figure amounts
to more than this, it is because the heritage of some prophet has been divided
up between several awliya. s
In reply to
Tirmidhï's nineteenth question ('How is the station of the prophets situated in
relation to that of the saints?'), Ibn cArabi says that it is its
specification, and that, in order to be more precise, one would have first to
know what kind of prophethood is meant: legislative prophethood (to which the
answer given above applies specifically), or prophethood in an indeterminate
sense (nubuwwa mutlaqa)? This last actually represents the highest
degree of sainthood, that of the afrâd or 'solitaries' among whom is the
Pole, the supreme authority in the initiatory hierarchy.[86]
Question
Sixty-Eight concerns the prophets, but the answer tells us something about the
saints. 'What is the lot of the prophets', asks Tirmidhi, 'as far as looking
towards Him is concerned ?'
I do not know
(for I am not a prophet and what the prophets experience is known only to them)
at least if by 'prophet' he [Tirmidhi] means those to whom God has accorded
legislative authority, whether general or limited. If, on the other hand, he
has in mind those who are 'prophets among the saints' [i.e. those who are
mentioned in the preceding texts], their lot is proportionate to the number of
forms of belief (wujüh a!-i‘tiqâiiât) that they possess concerning God.
For the man who possesses them all, his lot is the sum of the parts
corresponding to each belief. He enjoys total felicity. He enjoys what is
enjoyed by all the types of believers, and no joy can be ¡ ¡rcater than that !
For the man who only possesses some [forms of belief], his enjoyment is
proportional to what he possesses. The man who possesses only one enjoys what
is allotted to that form of belief and no more.[87]
In this
passage we encounter one of the fundamental themes of Ibn cArabï's
doctrine: each belief concerning God is a limited representation—and thus inadequate
in that it excludes other 'aspects' of the divine infinity—yet it nevertheless
contains a part of the total Truth because it is, of necessity, based on a
theophany, 'The perfect gnostic knows Him in all the forms in which He is
epiphanized and in which He 'descends'. He who is not a perfect gnostic knows
[when he manifests Himself] only in the form of his particular belief, and does
not know Him when He is epiphanized under a different form.'19 The
'looking at Him', that is to say the extent of the vision of God to which a man
may aspire, is determined by the image he already has of Him; the most perfect
vision, therefore, which is that of the 'prophets among the saints' or afrâd,
is possessed by those who 'have all of the beliefs'. Needless to say, what is
in question here is not simply the sum of the mental images corresponding to
these beliefs, but a full realisation of the specific modalities of knowledge
and worship connected with each of them.
There are ten chapters in
the Futühât which are of particular interest in this connection.îC
In these, Ibn cArabi discusses the 'stations' (maqâmât) of
sainthood, of prophethood and of the mission of the Messengers (risâla),
first in general terms and then in terms of how they relate to the human
condition on the one hand and the angelic state on the other. He does not
forget to remind us that we are dealing here, in a sense, with three concentric
spheres, of which the first, the sphere of walaya, encompasses all the
others: every rasül is a nsbfand every nabi is a wali.1L
He concludes his discussion with a chapter rich in autobiographical detail,
where he speaks of the 'station of proximity' (maqâm al-qurba) which
represents the fullest degree of sainthood, in accordance with the etymology
of the Arabic word for it.
In the first of these
chapters, however, the Shaykh al-Akbar draws attention to a meaning of walâya
which has a connection with this etymology but is distinct from it. Walaya,
he says, is the nasr, meaning help or assistance. This help can be
envisaged as active—tire help that
19. ibid., m, p. 132. On this recurrent theme in the teaching of Ibn cArabï,
see among other texts Futühât n, pp. 219-20; m, pp. 162,309; iv, pp.
142,165, 211-12, 393; Fnsws i, pp.
113, 122-24. Henry Corbin deals with this subject—in terms concerning which we
have certain reservations—in his Creative Imagination in the Sufism of Ibn
Arabi.
20.
Chapters 152 to 161
inclusive (Futühüt n,pp. 246-62).
one gives—or
as passive—the help that one receives. It is help in the active sense that is
discussed here, and specifically walâya inasmuch as it is a divine
attribute. Ibn 'Arabi makes the observation that in verse 2:257, which states,
as we have seen, that 'God is the wall of those who believe', the
reference is to 'those who believe' in general, not just to 'monotheistic
believers' (muwahhidun). He concludes that the walâya of Allah
extends to the mitshrik, or polytheist, and that the latter's faith, no
matter what its immediate object may be—a stone, an idol, a star—in fact has no
object but God. 'All that is in the universe,. believing or unbelieving,
glorifies Cod.'[88]
This divine assistance accorded to the mushrik explains how it is that
the latter can triumph over the 'believer' in the usual sense (al-mu'min
al-muwahhid) who neglects the duties of his faith. This interpretation, he
says, is formulated 'in accordance with the language of the spiritual élite':
in the language of the majority of believers, when an infidel triumphs over a
believer it is perceived solely as a punishment inflicted on the believers, not
as a result of positive assistance rendered to the infidels. Only the gnostics
know that 'Allah's walâya is universal and extends to all His creatures
inasmuch as they are His servants', whether or not they desire it. At the time
of the primordial Covenant, when God caused beings to issue from Adam's loins
(Qur'an 7:172), the question He asked them was: 'Am I not your Lord?' He asked
them, then, to bear witness to His suzerainty (rubübiyya), not to His
unidty. The undertaking that they made to Him in replying 'Truly' (bala)
is observed by the polytheist as well as by the believer: he may add other
lords to this Lord, but he always acknowledges Him as the Lord. God's walâya
is promised to all those who believe, and 'here below there are only believers
and non-belief is an accident' which veils the faith that is inscribed upon the
essence of all created beings. This accident is the result of the establishment
of revealed Laws which, in accordance with a providential Wisdom, determine the
particular ways in which human communities represent and therefore worship God
at certain moments of their history. Grave as the consequences may be of
disobedience to these Laws, it cannot alter the original, imprescriptible bond
e stablished by the Covenant.[89]
In the next chapter the
Shaykh al-Akbar turns from discussing walâya as a divine attribute to a
consideration of it as a human attribute. He makes a clear distinction between'
walâya câmma, walâya in its broadest sense, which consists in
the co-operation of created beings, each of them volens nolens occupying
its place and playing its partin the hierarchy of being, and walâya khâssa
or walâya in the limited sense, which consists in the capacity of the
saints to receive, according to the circumstances, the authority and power of
one of the divine Names, and to reflect Justice or Mercy or Majesty or Beauty,
according to what is required by the state of things at any given moment. Among
these saints, we must also distinguish between the ashab al-ahríál, the
beings who are governed by their spiritual states, and the ashâb al-maqâmât,
who master the 'stations' while remaining masters of their states, and are
'the most virile men along the Way'. The former are relatively imperfect, but
their walâya can be seen by most people. The walâya of the
latter, in a certain way, is even more evident, but its very brilliance
conceals it from man's eyes: 'They manifest themselves endowed with the divine
Attributes (bi-sifat al-Haqq) and for this reason they are unnoticed.'
We have already encountered, and will encounter again, this idea of perfect
sainthood as occulted.[90]
Whereas the passages from
the Futühât which we have been considering envisage walâya in
terms of 'taking charge' or 'helping', and are thus concerned with the function
of the wall rather than with what constitutes the wall as such,
in the concluding chapter of the series Ibn 'Arabi considers walâya
inasmuch as it is proximity to God.
According to al-Ghazali,
the coming of Muhammad put the stage of prophethood out of bounds once and for
all, the highest level attainable by human beings is the stage of sîddïqiyya,
a word derived from the surname of the caliph Abu Bakr al-Siddïq, 'the truthful'.[91]
In this as in other texts[92]
Ibn 'Arabi contradicts the author of the Ihyâ', saying that there is a
spiritual station which is higher than the siddïqiyya, intermediate
between that and the 'prophetic station'. This is the 'station of proximity' (maqâm
al-qurba), which represents the ultimate point in the hierarchy of the
saints, a point which he also calls the station of non-legislative prophethood
or 'prophethood of the saints'. It is accessible only to the afrâd,
otherwise known as the miiqarrabim, 'those who are close'—a term which,
as we have seen, originates in the Qur'an. One of these is the Pole, qutb,
the one being in this world who is 'the place of Allah's gaze',27
and who therefore carries out the mandate of heaven' in all the universe. But
the superiority he possesses in respect of his function does not make him
superior in spiritual rank: he is primus inter pares and has no
authority over the afrâd. We will come back to the metaphysical
significance of this 'proximity', as well as to the information provided by Ibn
'Arabi on the subject of the Pole and the initiatic hierarchy, defining and
supplementing the information we can gather from tasawwuf in general.
But we should note that in this chapter Ibn 'Arabi gives an account of his own
entry into the maqâm al-qurba. It happened when he was in Morocco,
during the month of Muharram in the year 597 (October-November 1200)—the same
year, that is, in which he had a vision at Marrakesh of the divine Throne
during which was revealed to him the name of the companion whom he met later on
at Fez, and with whom he finally set out for the East in 598.18 T
wandered about this station', he writes, 'without meeting a soul, and the
solitude oppressed me. ' At that point there appeared to him 'Abd al-Rahmân
al-Sulami, author of the Tabaqât al-süfyya, who had died almost two
hundred years previously and who had come, through the operation of divine
Grace, to relieve this sense of overwhelming loneliness by his presence and to
teach Ibn 'Arabi the name and nature of this maqâm.
Prophethood
and sainthood, therefore, are related. But there exists another relationship as
well, in virtue of which the saints are the heirs of the prophets. The idea of
this inheritance existed prior to Ibn 'Arabi, although it was not much
developed: Sahl al-Tustari, for example, says :
1948, which
makes a more cautious mention of Ibn 'Arabi's arrival at this spiritual
station, and also makes a brief reference to some of the general facts
concerning walâya and its relation to nubuwwa and rísñla.
x-j. 1st.,
definition no ..19.
28. Futühât, n, p. 436. This companion, Muhammad al-Hassâr,
died in Egypt shortly after their arrival.
'There is no
prophet who does not have someone similar to himself in this community, that is
to say, a wall who shares in his charisma.'[93] Earlier on, the
Shaykh al-Akbar was quoted as saying: 'If you are a wall, you are the
heir of a prophet.' He goes on to explain: 'And if you have inherited knowledge
from Moses or Jesus or from any prophet in between, all you have actually
inherited is Muhammadan knowledge.'[94] But if all the saints are
in a sense the 'heirs of Muhammad', there is a crucial difference between those
who have received this heritage in full, and the others. Before analysing Ibn cArabî's
views on the subject, we must go more deeply into the doctrinal basis of the
role assigned to the Prophet Muhammad.
CHAPTER
F o r a saint, to be the heir of one of the
prophets is always to be the heir of Muhammad. Indeed, 'the prophets were his
deputies in the created world when he [i.e. Muhammad] was pure spirit, aware of
being so, prior to the appearance of his body or flesh. When he was asked,
'When were you a prophet?', he replied, T was a prophet when Adam was between
water and day', meaning; when Adam had not yet come into existence. And this
was so until the appearance of his most pure body. At that moment the authority
of his deputies came to an end ... the authority, that is to say, of the other
messengers and prophets.'1 As we will see later, other texts by Ibn
‘Arabi define more dearly the nature and function of this primordial Muhammadan
Reality (haqtqa muhammadiyya), of which every prophet since Adam; the
first prophet, is but a partial refraction at a particular moment of human
history.
What is the
real meaning of the word haqiqa, which we have translated as 'Reality'?
According to the Lisàn al- ‘arab, it signifies the true meaning of a
thing as opposed to its metaphorical meaning (majâzï); it also signifies
the 'heart' of a thing or matter, its true nature, its essence, and thus the
inviolable inmost self of a being, its httrmad The concept of a Muhammadan
reality which is not only fully constituted and active before the appearance
in this world of the person named Muhammad, but is also situated prior to
history, has been the subject of heated debate in Islam. Ibn Taymiyya and
several other writers, in accordance with their usual practice, attempted to
prove its innovative and aberrant nature (bid's) by challenging the main
scriptural reference for it, which is the hadtth quoted above where
Muhammad says, T was a prophet when Adam was between water and day'. For the
Hanbalite polemicist, this hadïth is a forgery and the only permissible
version of it
2. Ibn Manztir, Lisin al-'arab, Beirut, n.d., x, p. 52. See
also the article by Louis Gardet, EF,s.v. haqiqa.
is the one
quoted by Ibn Hanbal and Tirmidhi, where the Prophet apparently says, 'I was a
prophet when Adam was between spirit and flesh' (bayna' l-rilh wa 'l-jasad).3
Without stressing the fact that the differences in phraseology between these
two concurrently existing forms of the same statement seem to us, ultimately,
to be minor, we should point out that the criteria by which traditionists judge
the authenticity of a hadtth are purely external and have reference
essentially to the reliability of the chain of transmission. Yet Ibn 'Arabi,
who, even when an old man, never ceased to study the hadtth in the usual
ways and knew everything there was to know about the traditions, says on
several occasions4 that an 'unveiling' (kashf) is the only
sure way of judgingthe validity ofaparticular remark attributed to the Prophet,
and in so saying he challenges the doctrinal authority of the doctors of the
Law.
On the other hand, even
though the phrase haqiqa muhammadiyya made its appearance late and in
this sense is indeed a bidca or innovation, the concept that
it represents in abstract terms is one of the most traditional in Islam, where
it is clearly symbolized as the 'Muljamma- dan light' (nûr muhammadï, nür
Muhammad). Moreover, the association of tire Prophet with a symbolism of
light is not, in Islamic terms, a human invention, but is based on the actual
words of God. In the Qur'an (33:46), Muhammad is called 'a torch which
illumines' (sirâjan munïran); another verse (5:15) says that 'a light
has come to you from God', which is interpreted by the commentators as a
reference to the Prophet.5 For Muslims, this 'light' is not simply a
metaphor. Ibn Ishaq, who was bom only seventy years after the Prophet's death,
reports that the Prophet's father 'Abdallah, just before his marriage with
Amina, met a woman who tried in vain to seduce him. When he saw her again on
the day after his wedding, and the Prophet had already been conceived, this
same woman turned away from him, and on being asked
3. Ibn Hanbal, tv, p. 66; v, p. 59; v, p. 379; Tirmidhi, manâqib,
1. On Ibn Taymiyya's repeated criticism, see Majmû ‘at aTrasâ'il, tv,
pp. 8, 70-71. Ghazâli (al-Madnûn al-saghïr, printed in the margin of
Jill's al-lnsan al-kâmil, Cairo 1949, n, p. 98) accepts the version when
'Adam was between water and mud', but interprets it more narrowly as a
reference to the predestined nature of the Muhammadan mission. Suyûtï, in
response to Sublet's critique, only cites the version 'between spirit and
flesh', but he uses the expression haqïqat al-nabî (al-Háuñli'1-fatmcñ,
Cairo 1959, n,p. 189).
4. Futühât, i, p. 150; n, p. 376.
5. Cf. Tabari, Tafsïr, ed. Shaldr, x, p. 143. why,
said, 'The light which was upon you yesterday has left you'.6 Ibn
Ishaq explains that his own father told him that this woman had seen between 'Abdallah's
two eyes a radiant white mark, which disappeared when the Prophet was
conceived. According to a slightly different version of this story, as related
by Ibn Ishaq, the woman speaking to 'Abdallah was no other than the sister of
Waraqa ibn Nawfal—the Christian from Mecca who, when questioned by the Prophet
after the first visit of the angel Gabriel, assured him of the authenticity of
the Revelation—and had been warned by her brother of the imminent coming of a
prophet. What she had perceived in the face of 'Abdallah was the 'light of
prophethood' of which he was the transmitter.7
This story was
taken up by later historians such as Taban (died 310/923 )8 and
widely diffused by all the writers who wrote 'histories of the prophets'.9
The interpretation of it very soon introduced the explicit theme of the verus
propheta, based, among other things, on a hadîth quoted by Bukhari10
in which the Prophet, 'borne' century after century and generation upon
generation (qarnan fa-qaman), appears
6. This account of Ibn Ishaq's (died 150/767) is transmitted by Ibn
Hishâm, a!-Sira al-riabawiyya, Cairo 1955, 1, p. 155. For the latest
research on the development of the sïra in Ibn Ishaq and Ibn Hishâm, see
La Vie du Prophète Mahomet, ed. T. Fahd, Paris 1983, the article by R.
G. Khoury ('Les sources islamiques de la sira avant Ibn Hishâm'), pp.
7-29, and the article by W. Montgomery Watt ('The reliability of Ibn Ishaq's
sources'), pp. 31-43. This last shows the accusations of Shnsm levelled against
Ibn Ishaq to be baseless.
7. The case of Waraqa ibn Nawfal—in any case a fairly mysterious
person— merits a study of its own. The confirmation he gives the Prophet must
be understood as the acknowledgement, by the inspired representative of a
previous tradition (in this case Christianity) of the validity of a new cycle
of tradition. It thereby possesses, on a more restricted scale, a meaning
analogous to that of the visit of the Three Kings to Bethlehem (cf. René
Guenon, The Lord of the World, Ellingstring U.K., 1983, chapter 6). It bears a
particular relation to the Quriânic affirmation (61:6) that Jesus foretold the
coming of the Prophet—an affirmation which, as understood in Islamic
exoteridsm, is supported only by unconvincing exegeses of Gospel texts (John
14:16 and 14:26) or else by obvious forgeries such as the pseudo-Gospel of
Barnabas. (To our mind, the most probable theory on the origin of this work is
that put forward by Mikel de Epalza, who attributes it to Moorish writers; cf.
his article 'Le milieu hispano-moresque de 1'Evangile de Barnabe', in Islamochristiana,
no. 8, Rome 1982, pp. 159-83).
8. See the excerpt from the Zotenberg translation published under the
title Mahommed, Sceau des prophètes, Paris 1980, p. 56.
9. Thalabï, Qisas al-anbiyâ', Cairo 1371 ah, pp. 16-17.
10. Bukhâri, manaqib, 23. to be travelling through
time towards the point where his physical nature becomes manifest. Is this
journeying of the prophetic Seed to its final birth to be understood as taking
place in the 'loins' of his ancestors, of his carnal lineage, or as a series of
stopping-places in the persons of the successive bearers of the Revelation, the
one hundred and twenty- four thousand prophets of whom he is both the
forefather and the final Seal? Ibn ‘Abbas (died 68/687), the tarjumân
al-qur'an or 'interpreter par excellence of the Qur'an', commenting
on verse 26:219, seems to favour the second meaning: according to him, Muhammad
goes from prophet to prophet (min nabiyyin ilâ nabiyyin) until the
moment when God causes him to 'emerge' (akhraja) as a prophet in his
turn.11 Ibn Sacd, who cites this, also refers to a hadith
which Taban likewise mentions, and in which Muhammad says, 'I am the first man
to have been created and the last to have been sent [i.e. as a prophet].'11
The truth is that both these themes are bound up with each other, for the
traditional genealogy of Muhammad also includes a series of prophets, among
whom are Abraham and Ishmael. However, another hadith, which is absent
from the canonical collections, and in which explicit reference is made to Nür muhammadï,
vias destined to play a major part in the meditation on the Prophet's
primordiality. It is mentioned by one of the Companions, Jabir ibn ‘Abdallah,
and runs as follows: 'O Jabir, God created the light of your Prophet out of His
Light before he created things.'1J [95]
[96] [97]
The Muhammadan Light and
later interpretations of it in the doctrine of the haqïqa muhammadiyya
soon gave rise to an idea which appears in many texts prior to Islam, under
various guises. There is the Logos spermatikos which enabled St Justin
(died c. 165) to 'christianize' retrospectively the forms of truth which had
existed prior to the coming of Christ;14 there is, above all, the vents
propheta mentioned above, who travels from prophet to prophet until his
perfect and definitive manifestation as Jesus. The 'pseudo-Clementine romance'
(attributed to the fourth Pope, Clement of Rome, who died in 97), which derives
its subject-matter from Jewish and Judaeo-Christian sources strongly redolent
of gnosticism, illustrates this doctrine, whence Islam, according to Oscar
Culman, was to reap the heritage that orthodox Christianity rejected.15
Goldziher was the first to look for traces of neo-platonic and gnostic
influence in the texts relating to the Nilr mithammadi.16 There
is evidence that analogies exist with Manichean beliefs as well as with the
Hindu concept of avatara. But without ruling out, here as elsewhere, the
earlier or later borrowings by Islam of vocabulary and conceptual tools from various
religious heritages that it took under its wing, we nevertheless find these
historical explanations unacceptable, because they end by denying the
specificity and coherence of the spiritual experience of believers. Similar
attempts have been made to prove that tasawwuf was merely a heterogenous
collection of non- Islamic ideas and practices—a thesis of which Massignon,
among others, has effectively demonstrated the inanity.
The Muhammadan revelation
is explicitly viewed as the confirmation and fulfilment of the revelations
preceding it (musaddiqan bi-ma
created was
the Intellect'. On Ibn Taymiyya's discussion of the Sûfï interpretation of
these, see Majmü 'fatâwâ xi, p. 232, and xvm, pp. 336-38.
14. Patrologie grecque, vi, 397, b, c.
15. O. Culman, Le Problème littéraire et historique du roman
pseudo-clémentin, Paris 1930 (see p. 208 ff. and 230 ff. on the verus
propheta). It is hardly necessary to say that, despite Henry Corbin's
support of him, we are unable to accept the thesis of L. Cirillo, according to
which the Gospel of Barnabas (cf. note 7) transmits, on this and other points,
a genuinely Judaeo-Christian teaching. CL L. Cirillo and Michel Frémaux, L'Évangile
de Barnabe, Paris
16. I. Goldziher, 'Neuplatonische und Gnostische Elemente im Hadïth' (Zeitschrift
fur Assyriologie, 1909, xxn, pp. 317-44). CL also A. A. ‘Afîfï, Nazariyyât
al-islâmiyytn fî 'l-kalima (Majallat kulltyat al-âdâb, Fuad I University
1934, pp. 33-75), and The Influence of Hermetic Literature in Muslim
Thought, B.S.O.A.S.,xni, 1950, pp. 840-55. bayna yadayhi,
Qur'an 46:30): according to the Qur'an (2:4, 2:136, etc.), the true believers
are those who believe in what was revealed to Muhammad and in what was
revealed before him. The concept of the verus propheta, symbolized
by the long pilgrimage of the Muhammadan Light through the aeons, is a logical
consequence of this fundamental doctrine, according to which the successive
prophetic messages, as multiple manifestation s of the one Truth, are so many
stages leading up to him who will bring the 'full sum of the Words' (jawâm
i' al-kalim),17 simultaneously perfecting and abrogating the
previous Laws. But the Qur'an is not only a source of doctrine. The experience
of the souls and tongues which express it is formed within it as within a
matrix, and stamps its shape indelibly upon the burning metal of its visions
and symbol’s.
Leaving aside
the historical problem, which appears to us to lead nowhere, let us turn to
some of the texts which, from century to century, bear witness to the
unwearying attention given by the Muslim spiritual masters to the Nür
muhammadt. Ja'far al-$adiq, commenting on verse 68:1 which starts with one
of the fourteen 'luminous' (nûrâniyya) single letters that occur at the
beginning of twenty-nine suras, says: 'The nun is the light of
pre-etemity out of which God created all beings and which he bestowed on
Muhammad. This is why it was said [in verse 4 of the same siira] :
"You are endowed with a sublime nature"—endowed, that is, with this
light which you were privileged to receive in pre-etemity.'18 Sahl
al-Tustari, one of the teachers most frequently quoted by Ibn 'Arabi,19
relates how Khadir said to him, 'God
17. Üfítu jawâmi1 a!-kalim; this hadîth
occurs in Bukhâri, ta‘bïr, 11; Muslim, masajid, 5, etc.
18. This text is an extract from Ja'far al-Sâdiq's Tafsîr,
which has been piwerved, albeit in an incomplete form, in Sulamï's Haqâ'iq
al-tafstr and edited by Nwyia in the Mélanges of the Saint-Joseph
University, Beirut 1968, XLtn, with the title Le Tafsir mystique attribue
à ¡afar Sâdiq (p. 226). Nwyia has a slightly different translation of it
in Exégèse coranique et langage mystique, Beirut 1970, p. 167. It goes
without saying that this remark of the sixth imam is closely related to the
identification (legimate but restrictive) of the 'luminous letters' with the
fourteen immaculate ones in Imâmic ShFism. Nevertheless, it is quoted by Sunni
writers—along with other remarks of Ja'far's—as the expression of a truth which
is part of the undivided Islamic inheritance. We should note likewise that
Corbin mentions a reference to the Muhammadan Light made by the fifth imam,
Muhammad al-Bâqir (En islam iranien, 1, pp. 99-100).
19. Cf. Ritahât, il, p. 60, 662; m, pp. 41, 86, 395; w,
pp. 249, 376; Kitâb al-tcqallîyüt, ed. Osman Yahia, m, pi 304, etc. created
the Light of Muhammad out of His own Light .... This Light dwelt before God for
a hundred thousand years. He directed His gaze towards it seventy thousand
times each day and each night, adding a new light to it with each glance. After
it, He created all the creatures.'10 Al-Hâkim al-Tirmidhi, a
contemporary of Sahl, also emphasizes Muhammad's pre-existence: 'The first
being to be mentioned by God was he. The first to appear within the divine
Knowledge was he. The first to be desired by the divine Will was he. He was
first in the divine Decrees, first in the well-guarded Tablet, first when the
Covenant (mïthâq) was made. '[98]
[99] [100] [101]
In the Kitâb
al-tawâsîn, al-Hallâj (died 309/922), referring to the 'Verse of the Light'
(Qur'an 24:35), identifies the 'tabernacle' (mishkat) mentioned in this
famous text with Muhammad, and the 'torch' (miçbfl/î) in the tabernacle with
the Nür muhammadt. He also says of the Prophet's tribe that it is
'neither of the East nor of the West', thereby assimilating it to the 'blessed
tree' whose oil, according to this verse, feeds the 'torch'. 'The light of
prophethood', he writes, 'has sprung from his light; and his light issues from
the Light of mystery .... The design [allotted to this light] precedes the
[other] designs, the existence [prepared for him] precedes the void, the name
destined for him precedes the Calamus .... All knowledge is but a drop of his
knowledge, all maxims are a mouthful of his river, all epochs an hour of his
time .... He is the first to have been included in the divine prescience, he is
the last to have been sent as a prophet I'21
Furthermore, this
extolling of the Prophet, which assigns him a cosmic function beyond his
historical role, is not limited to a small circle, but occurs in popular texts
such as the Kitâb al-Shifâ bi-ta'ñf al-Mustafâ,Z5 written by
the famous Maliki judge QadJ ‘Iyad (died 544/1149J. Seven centuries later, the
emir cAbd al-Qâdir al-Jaza'iri, after writing a brief commentary on
the first verse of the süra of the 'Night Voyage', the audacity of which
might alarm someone 'to whom the secret of the Muhammadan Reality has not been
unveiled', wonders whether 'Perhaps he might say to me, as did Ibn Taymiyya on
looking at “Iyad's Shifâ: this little Maghribi is exaggerating!' “Abd
al-Qadir was reassured by a vision in which he was required instead to add to
what he had already written.[102]
During the age
of Ibn ‘Arabi, on the initiative of the Ayyubids or, rather, of the Süfis who
inspired them, the Prophet's mawlid, or birthday, began to be celebrated
on a regular basis. In the poetical compositions, naive or accomplished, that
flourished in the same period, the themes of which we have been speaking were
developed in terms that were sometimes allusive but more often perfectly
explicit This is so in the case of the Tâ'iyya by Ibn al-Fârid, in which
he has the Prophet say, 'There is no living thing that does not derive its life
from me, and all desiring souls are subject to my will'; 'Even though I am a
son of Adam in form, in him I have an essence of my own which testifies that I
am his father.'[103]
However, it is
to Ibn ‘Arabi himself that we must turn for a more detailed explanation of the
doctrine which is contained indpiently within the theme of the Nwr muf,iammadi,
and of its relationship with walâya. Chapter Six of the Futühât
Makkiyya is entitled 'On the knowledge of the start of spiritual creation' (al-khalq
al-riiham), and lists, under this heading, the questions to be discussed:
Who was the first to be endowed with existence? Where was he endowed with
existence ? In accordance with what model ? What is his aim?'
The beginning of
creation, replies the Shaykh al-Akbar, was al- haba, the primordial
'dust'—a term which is the equivalent, in his writings, of al-hayülâ,
what philosophers call the materia prima;16 and the first
thing in al-haba' to be endowed with existence was the haqiqa
muhammadiyya rahmâniyya, the Muhammadan Reality which proceeds from the
divine Name al-Rahmân, the All-Merciful, 'which was not confined withi n
any space because it was illimitable'.[104] [105] God
epiphanized
Himself by means of His Light to this dust, which is called by speculative
thinkers the first universal matter and in which the entire universe existed in
potentia, and each thing that was in this dust received this Light
according to its capacity and predisposition, as the comers of a room receive
the light of a torch, and are more fully and brightly lit up the nearer they
are to the torch. Indeed, God said, 'The symbol of His Light is like a niche
with a torch in if (Qur'an 24:35), thus comparing His Light to a torch. Now
there was nothing in the dust that was closer to the light, or more disposed to
receive it, than the Reality (haqiqa) of Mufiammad, which is also called
the Intellect.[106]
[107]
He (i.e. Muhammad] is thus the head of all the universe and the first being to
come into existence . . .. And the universe proceeeds from his epiphany?9
Chapter Three Hundred and
Seventy-one of the Futühât (section 9: 'On the universe, that is to say
on all that is other than God, and on its organization') contains a long
account of the birth of the cosmos, in
which Ibn cArabi describes the successive appearance of
the forms of beings in the original 'cloud' (al- ‘ama'), which is no
other than the 'Breath of the Merciful One' (nafas al-Rahmâri). The
first being to be endowed with existence in this 'sphere of the cloud' was the
'divine Calamus', the 'first Intellect' who is also the 'Muhammadan Reality' or
the 'Reality out of which all things were created', the 'universal Holy
Spirit', the 'point of balance of the divine Names'.[108] In another work by Ibn
‘Arabi, the ‘Anqd' Mughrib, whose main theme is actually the 'Seal of
Sainthood', there is a series of highly significant observations: 'The Spirit
attributed to God [in verse 32:8, where it is said that God breathed "His
Spirit" into Adam] is the Muhammadan Reality. '[109] The Prophet 'is the
ultimate kind (al-jins al- câlï) who contains all kinds, the
supreme father of all creatures and of all men, even though his clay (tïnatuhu,
his physical nature) only appeared afterwards'?[110] [111] 'The Muhammadan Reality
arises out of the Lights of Absolute Plenitude (min al-anwâr al-samadiyya)
in the dwelling of Unity (al-ahadiyya).}i 'The Muhammadan
Reality was endowed with existence, and then outof it He drew the universe'.[112]
The last chapter of the is just as
explicit: 'He is
the most
perfect creature of the human race. For this reason things begin with him and
will be sealed by him : indeed, he was a prophe t when Adam was between water
and clay; and then [when he manifested himself] through his elemental form, he
was the Seal of the Prophets. '[113]
Another concept, which
forms a complement to the haqiqa muhammadiyya, is that of the 'Perfect
Man' (al-insan al-kamity.
It is through
him that God looks at His creatures and dispenses His Mercy upon them; for he
is the adventitious man, and yet he has no beginning; he is ephemeral and yet
he is everlastingly eternal. He is also the Word which divides and unites. The
world subsists in virtue of his existence. He is to the world what the setting
of a seal is to the seal: that is to say the place where the imprint is
engraved, the symbol with which the king seals his treasures. This is why he
has been called khalifa [lieutenant, vicar, deputy] : for through him
God preserves His creation, aS the seal preserves the treasures. As long as the
king's seal remains unbroken, no one would dare to open the treasures without
his permission. Thus Man has been charged to guard the kingdom, and the world
will be preserved for as long as the Perfect Man subsists therein?6
Properly
speaking, the term insân kâmil is applied to man insofar as he is in
actu what he was intended and created to be, that is to say, insofar as he
realizes in an effective manner his original theomorphism; for God created Adam
'according to His form'?7 As such, he is 'the place where the two
seas flow together' (majma'al-bahrayntan expression borrowed from verse
18:60), he in whom the two realities, higher and [114] [115]
The Muhammadan Reality lower, are
united, the intermediary or 'isthmus' (barzakh) between the haqq
and the khalq, between God and creation.3® He is also
'brother o£ the Qur'an',[116]
[117]
'pillar of heaven',[118]
[119]
[120]
'the Word which totalizes' (¡calima jâmfia)^—for all beings are Words of
God[121]
and He contains all of them synthetically within His perfect nature.
These various expressions
can strictly be applied only to the haqtqa muhammadiyya, for it alone
possesses these attributes ab initio and in full measure. In another
sense, however, they are adequate to designate the qutb and any beings
who are able to assume his cosmic function. In any case, the terms haqtqa
muhammadiyya and insân kâmil are not purely synonymous, but express
differing views of man, the first seeing him in terms of hi s primordiality and
the second in terms of his finality. The kdmâl or perfection of the insân
kâmil should not be understood in a 'moral' sense (so as to correspond with
the 'heroic virtues'), but as meaning 'fulfilment' or 'completion'.43
Properly speaking, this perfection is possessed only by Muhammad, the ultimate
and total manifestation of the haqtqa muhammadiyya. Yet, on the other
hand, it is equally the goal of all spiritual life and the very definition of walâya,
Hence, the wa lâya of the wa It can only be participation in
the walâya of the Prophet.
As we have seen, this
participation or heritage (wirâtha) can be either direct or indirect.
'Of the people on this Way, there are only two types of spiritual men who can
be called stricto sensu Muhammadans: those
who have been
privileged to inherit a knowledge relating to a legal provision which did not
exist in any previously revealed Law or else those who, after having mastered
all the stations (maqàmât) have come to [the stage mentioned in the
Qur'an, 33:13] the "non-station",[122] such as Abû Yazîd
[al-Bistâmï| and others like him. They also can be said to be Muhammadans. '[123]
In the first case, the word 'Muhammadan' is used in a restricted sense: it
applies to those favoured with a spiritual knowledge which results from the
practice of one specific aspect of the Law brought by. Muhammad—that is to say,
of a provision which belongs to this Law and does not merely confirm a previous
one.[124]
It refers, therefore, to the historical Prophet. In the second case, however,
which concerns the awliya who have transcended all stations on the Way,
the qualification of 'Muhammadan' establishes a connection with the haqïqa
muhammadiyya itself.
'As for all
the rest' [those who cannot be called Muhammadans in either of these senses],
continues Ibn 'Arabi, 'each of them is linked to one of the [previous]
prophets. That is why the Prophet said that "the wise are the heirs of the
prophets",[125]
not that they are all the heirs of one and the same prophet; and by "the
wise" are meant the wise of this community. The Prophet is also reported
to have said, "The wise of this community are as the prophets of
other communities", or, as one variant has it, "are like the prophets
of the children of Israel". '
Do those who
inherit directly from Muhammad possess characteristics which distinguish them
from the awliyd who participate in the Prophet's heritage only through
the intermediary of other prophets? Referring to two verses of süra al-Fath
(48:4 and 48:18), Ibn cArabi concludes that, whereas the sakma—the
Hebrew shakinah—was manifested externally to the Children of Israel (in
the Ark of the Covenant, or tSbüt, Qur'ân 2:249), it descends 'upon' or
'into' the hearts of believers in the Muhammadan community. This is the
principle upon which the two types of awliyâ' can be distinguished: 'The
Signs (ay at) given to the Children of Israel were visible; those which
are given to us are in our hearts.4® This is where the difference
lies between the Muhammadan heirs and the heirs of the other prophets: the
latter are known to ordinary people by the suspension of natural laws (kharq
al-cawâ'icty*9 which is made manifest in their
person. By contrast, the heir of Muhammad is unknown to ordinary people and
known only to the élite, for in him the suspension of natural laws is only
manifested in his heart, as spiritual knowledge and spiritual state. At every
moment he increases in knowledge of his Lord—and by that I mean a knowledge
which has been realized and experienced.'[126] [127] [128] This initial distinction,
however, is merely a starting-point for a typology of the awliyâ', about
which Ibn 'Arabi, in the rest of this text andin other passages of his work,
has a great deal more to say.
CHAPTER
And it came to
pass, when Moses came down from Mount Sinai with the two tablets of tes timony
in Moses' hand, when he came down from the mount, that Moses wist not that the
skin of his fare shone while he talked with him. And when Aaron and all the
children of Israel saw Moses, behold, the skin of his face shone; and they were
afraid to come nigh him , And till Moses had done speaking with them, he put a
veil on his face.
This biblical account (Exodus 34,29-35) has its equivalent in
Islamic tradition.1 It is to the episode described in it that Ibn
'Arabi refers when he uses an example to illustrate the general considerations
mentioned at the end of the las t chapter :
When Moses
returned from his Lord, God clothed his fare in light as a sign of the
authenticity of that which he declared; and so fierre was this light that no
one could look on him without being blinded, so that he had to cover his face
with a veil in order that those who looked in his face would not be taken ill
when they saw him. Our teacher Abu Ya'zâ in the Maghrib was [a] Moses-like
[type of saint] (müsntnt al-wirth), and God had bestowed on him the same
miraculous sign. No one could look him in the free without losing their sight.
He would then rub the man who had looked at him with one of the garments he was
wearing and God would give him back his sight. Among those who saw him and were
blinded in this fashion was our shaykh Abü Maydan, on an occasion when he paid
him a visit. Abii Maydan rubbed his eyes with the garment that Abu Ya'zâ was
wearing and recovered his sight. The miracles of Abu Ya'zâ are famous in the Maghrib.
He lived at a time when 1 myself was there, but I was busy with other things
and never saw him.1 There were other [129] [130] saints then—among the
Muslims—who were superior to him in knowledge, spiritual state and divine
proximity, and who were known neither to Abu Ya'zâ nor to anyone else.3
The quality of being heir
to a prophet—and in another passage on the wirâtha mûsawiyya Ibn
"Arabi stresses that the heritage received in this way may sometimes be
total, but may also be no more than partial4— essentially means
conforming to the parti cular spiritual type represented by that prophet. Yet
the relationship which is established between the saintand theprophet who is
his model is nota vague 'patronage', butmay rather be compared to the
transmission of a genetic inheritance. It confers a precise and visible
character on the behaviour, virtues and graces of the wail. An entire
chapter of the Futûhât is devoted to the 'Christ-like' saints,5
those who, whether fully or not, are the heirs of cïsâ, or Jesus.
Our analysis of it follows the sometimes disconcerting order in which Ibn
'Arabidiscusses the various aspects of thesubject. '
The description
'Christ-like' Ç'isawî) is applied first and foremost to the actual
disciples of Jesus (al-hawâriyyün; cf. Qur'an 3:52, 5:12, etc.)-. But it
is not simply a question of historical reminiscence, for some of them lived
long enough to know and accept the revelation of
We have looked
at two manuscripts of this work from the Abbey of Toumliline, thanks to the
kindness of the librarian father at the Benedictine Abbey of En-Calcat. Also,
there is now an excellent edition by A. Tawfiq (Rabat 1989) of the Di'âmat
al-yaqtn by Abu 'l-'Abbas al-'Azfi (died 633). On the social and political
context which explains the interest taken in this saint by the Alaouite
dynasty, cf. Jacques Berque, Ulémas, fondateurs, insurgés de Maghreb,
Paris 1982. Ibn 'Arabi appears to intimate that he might have met Abü Ya'zâ.
But the date generally given for the death of Abü Ya'zâ (572/1177) cannot be
reconciled with the hypothesis that he was still alive when the author of the Futûhât
was in the Maghreb: in 1177 Ibn ‘Arabi, who was then seventeen years of age,
was living in Seville and had apparently never been away from his own country.
This is doubtless a chronological error on his part—not the only one in the Futühüt.
It seems unlikely that Abu Ya'zâ has been confused with his son Abu ‘Ali. On
Abü Madyan (died 594/1197), see the article by G. Marçais in EP. This
shaykh, who, despite the fact that they never met in the flesh, was one of Ibn
‘Arabi's teachers, is very often mentioned in his writings (Fiitühdt, 1,
p. 221; 111, pp. 65,94,117,130,136; rv, pp. 137,141,195; Muhâdarat af-«br¿r,Beiruti968,i,p.344;
Mawâqi ’al-nujûm,p. 140,etc.)
4. Ibid., I, p. 482: The heir can inherit up to a half, a quarter, an
eighth, a third, asixthandsoon.
5. Chapter 36 (Futûhât, 1, pp. 222-26; O. Yahia's edition,
111, pp. 356-89). Muhammad, and there are still some
among us today (Ibn ‘Arabi comes back later on to these cases of miraculous
longevity). The former, who are obviously exceptions to the rule, therefore
possess two inheritances, one received directly from Jesus and the other
received indirectly from him through the intermediary of Muhammad. As a result,
they have the privilege of two fath—illuminations—and of knowing two
modes of spiritual experience (dhawq).
Furthermore,
the Christ-like saints are the awhya who are bom into Islam and who
inherit only from Jesus, through the intermediary of Muhammad. Their chief
feature is the realisation of divine Unity through the elimination of all
sensible representations (mithâlj.
In fact, Jesus
was not bom of a male belonging to the human species, but of a Spirit who
manifested himself (tamaththul) in a human form; that is why, in the
community of Jesus the son of Mary more than in any other, the doctrine of the
legitimacy of images predominates. Christians fashion representations of the
divinity and turn towards them in order to worship, because the very existence
of their prophet proceeded from a Spirit who clothed himself in a form; and so
it is to this day in his community. But then came the Law of Muhammad, which
forbade symbolic representations. Now Muhammad contains the essential reality
of Jesus and the Law of Jesus is encompassed within his own. The Prophet thus
tells us 'to worship God as though we were seeing Him', thereby causing Him to
enter our imaginative faculty (khayal). This is the oidy lawful mode of
figurative representation for Muslims. But this representation, which is
permissible and even commanded when it operates within the imagination, is
prohibited in the sensible world, and it is forbidden to the Muhammadan
community to give Goda sensible form.[131]
Thus, the
worship of God as though we were seeing Him—-by making use of the imaginative
faculty—is a part of Christ's law which is ratified, in a way peculiar to
Islam, by the Law of Muhammad. It is also significant, observes Ibn ‘Arabi,
that this should have been prescribed by the Prophet in response to a question
asked by the angel Gabriel, the Angel of Visitation, whom Islam identifies with
the Spirit who assumed human form (Qur'an 19:17) and whose breath engendered
Jesus in the person of Mary.[132]
The particular contribution of Muhammadan Law is the remainder of the same hadîth
('. . . for if you do not see Him, He
Th e Heirs of the
Prophets
sees you').
Insofar as he is a Muslim, the Tsawîsaint could not of course be unaware
of the second part of this hadith. But insofar as he is a saint, it is
the principle voiced in the first part which determines the specific modalities
of his course.
A hide later
Ibn 'Arabi cites the example, quoted at the start of this book, of his teacher
Abu '1-“Abbas al-'Uryabi,s who, he says, was an cîsawt
at the end of his fife. He also provides us with an important piece of
autobiography when he adds that he himself, on the other hand, was an ctsawt
to begin with, then müsawï ('Moses-like'), then hüdï (derived
from the name of the prophet Hüd; cf. Qur'an iityoff.,
26:124Íf.),
after which he was the heir of all the prophets in turn, ending with Mufiammad
himself. We will have occasion to speak further about the very special
relationship between Ibn “Arabi and Jesus. For the moment, let us say that the
statement we have just quoted in this connection is explained in various
passages in the Futûhât, in which the Shaykh al-Akbar says that at the
time of his entry upon the Way, Jesus was his firstteacher.[133] [134]
We have already touched
briefly on the question of the continued survival of witnesses of previous
revelations in the midst of the Islamic community. Ibn 'Arabi returns to it
here: 'In our age, and even today, there are some companions of Jesus and also
of Jonah who live apart from men.' With regard to the companions of Jonah, the
Shaykh al-Akbar tells us that he saw the tracks of one of them, who had been a
little ahead of him, on the edge of the sea: the imprint of his foot was three
and three quarters of a span long and two spans wide. A friend of Ibn 'Arabi's,
Abu 'Abdallah ibn Khazar al-Tanjl, had spoken with this mysterious personage,
who had'foretold with faultless accuracy the events that were to take place in
Andalusia in 585 (the year in which this meet! ng occurred) and 5 86.[135]
With regard to the
existence of the immediate disciples of Jesus in the wake of the establishing
of Islam, Ibn 'Arabi relates a story which goes
back to Ibn
Umar,11 adding that even if his chain of transmission is subject to
dispute, this does not make it less valid 'for us and those like us', because
it has been confirmed by an 'unveiling' (kashf). According to Ibn Umar,
the caliph Umar, his father, wrote a letter to Nadia ibn Mucawiya
when the latter was in Iraq with his soldiers, ordering him to undertake a
series of forays into the area surrounding the town of Hilwân. While carrying
out this order, Nadia stopped at the foot of a mountain to say the afternoon
prayer, and uttered the great call to prayer, or adhân. A mysterious voice
echoed each formula of this ritual call, and shouted to him: 'O Nadia, I
testify that Muhammad is the Messenger of Allah. Such is [the right] religion,
which Jesus the son of Mary proclaimed to us. And the Hour will dawn over the
community of Muhammad!'
Suddenly the mountain
split open and the head of the invisible person who had spoken these words
appeared. He said that his name was Zurayb ibn Barthalmà. He had been commanded
by Jesus, whose 'representative' (tunsi) he was, to remain in that place until
the day at the end of time when the son of Mary would descend again to earth. A
dialogue ensued in the course of which Ibn Barthalmà ('son of Bartholomew')
charges Nadia to greet the caliph Umar- for him and to give him a message in
which he lists a certain number of signs which will herald the Day of
Judgement.
When this message reached
Umar, he remembered that the Prophet had mentioned that a wast of Jesus
dwelt in this mountain on the edge of Iraq. He sent one of his companions to
the spot in order to find Ibn Barthalmà and convey his greetings to him. On
this occasion, Jesus' disciple did not reply to the call to prayer, even though
the messenger repeated it five times a day for forty days, and no one was able
to find out where he was hidden. But, says Ibn cArabi, at the end of
this story Ibn Barthalmà was still dwelling on this mountain, devoting himself
in solitude to the worship of God.
In his commentary on this
strange story, the Shaykh al-Akbar points out that this person and all those
who, like him, are the still living 'representatives' or 'executors' (awsiyâ)
of past prophets, are numbered among the saints of the Muhammadan community,
even though the content of the Revelation brought by the Prophet did not reach
them in the ordinary way, but was received by them from Khadir in person, the
ii. This account, which we have taken here from the Futûhât, I,
p. 223 ff., also occurs in Muhâdarat al-abrâr, n, p. 146 ff. teacher
of the 'solitary ones' (afratty. The existence of such beings is the
reason why the Prophet forbade the killing of monks (ruhbarty, who live
apart from other created beings to be alone with their Lord, and ordered that
they should be left to devote themselves in peace to their worship. “ The duty
of tablïgh or transmission of the faith, which is normally imposed on
believers, does not need to be performed in their case, for they already
possess 'evidence which comes from their Lord' (Qur'an 6:57).
Ibn cArabi
remarks that cases like these, in which God takes over the instruction of exceptional
people (who are not necessarily rmfamma- run like Ibn Barthalma, i.e.
men from a pre-Islamic past endowed with supernatural longevity), resolve the
apparent contradiction between the Quranic affirmation that the Prophet is
'sent to all men' (7:158), and the indisputable fact that his message has not
reached all of humanity. We can guess the significance that this elliptiçal
statement has in relation to the esoteric status, in the Islamic economy, of
the spiritual elites who by exoteric criteria belong to Revelations which have
been abrogated. Such an interpretation is borne out by a reference to those who
receive this divine assistance and who are also 'People of the Book', and as
such have to pay the 'jizya', the tribute levied on Jews and Christians;
for, in paying this tribute, and thereby recognizing an obligation imposed by
Muhammadan Law, they are integrated into the Islamic order of things, and by
this very fact their own Law, which theoretically has been invalidated by the
coming of Islam, re-acquires for them a validity which is so to speak
derivative. Nevertheless, as we may gather from the reference to the jizya,
we are no longer speaking of anchorites, who by definition are outside the
norms of a community, but of individuals who are, technically, 'infidels'.
As we can see, this
excursus deviates only in appearance from the main theme, for it leads Ibn cArabi
to depict walâya in a way which i s far more inclusive than the
definitions which confine it within the framework of a sociological Islam. The
chapter continues with a description of the signs whereby one can distinguish
the Christ-like type of saints : the graces they possess present an analogy
with the miracles attributed to Jesus, and this is why they may be endowed, for
example, with the ability to walk on water, but do not possess the ability to
fly through the air. The latter is associated with the Muhammad-type of saint,
who
12.
Bukhari, anbiyâ,
45; Muslim, (01060,46-47, zu/td, 73. inherits from Muhammad a privilege
of which the model and source is the nocturnal Ascension (isra, micrâ}).1J
They can also be distinguished by a spiritual energy (himma) which
operates effectively on men and on things—a probable allusion to the power of
Jesus (Qur'an 3:49) to heal the blind and the lepers and to bring the dead back
to life. Finally, their behaviour with regard to created beings, whatever
religion they may profess, is remarkable for its compassion and gentleness. The
7sawï saint sees the best in all things. This is also true of Muhammad,
inasmuch as he is the sum of all the prophetic types and consequently
integrates within himself the particular virtues of each: on passing by a
decaying carcases, his companions said: 'How it stinks!', but the Prophet said:
'How white are its teeth!' But in the case of the Muhammad-type of saint, the
universal compassion that results from this perception of the positive quality
of created beings, of the beauty or perfection which is inherent in them, is
not made nakedly manifest as in the case of the Christ-like saint. God is
compassion; but He is also Rigour, and the latter aspect may at times veil the
former in the behaviour of the Prophet of Islam or of his heirs.
Is it possible to
identify historic personages whose characters permit them to be identified as
'Christ-like' saints? As we.saw, Ibn ‘Arabi, in the example he gives of his
teacher Abu 'l-‘Abbas al-‘Uryabi, explains that the latter was 7sawt at
the end of his life, whereas he himself was Tsawf when he entered upon the Way,
after which he became successively müsairn, hüdï, and so on. Leaving
aside for the moment Ibn ‘Arabi's personal situation, let us note that the same
wait may, during the course of his existence, accumulate several
prophetic heritages, which of necessity obscures the distinguishing features of
each and effectively prevents us from mechanically employing the Shaykh
al-Akbar's typology. It is none the less true that certain awliya
possess features that enable an identification to be made, which is sometimes explicitly
confirmed by Ibn ‘Arabi himself. This is so in the case of Hallâj, who is
mentioned several times in Chapter Twenty of the Futühât where the
Shaykh al-Akbar discusses 'the knowledge of Jesus',
13. It is none die less true that all the awliya experience a micraj
insofar as this symbolizes the stages of the spiritual journey which leads to
perfect walâya: we will have occasion to discuss this point funher when
we analyse the Risafat al-anwâr in the final chapter of this book. The
restriction to the Muhammadan saints alone of the privilege whose prototype is
the Prophet's Ascension has reference only to the physical reality of moving
'through the air'. and where he actually says, 'This
knowledge was possessed by Husayn ibn Mansur'—a remark which has particular
reference to Hallâj's doctrine of tül and card
('height' and 'breadth'), terms which are plainly related to the symbolism of
the cross.14 The miracles traditionally associated with Hallâj, the
sayings attributed to him, especially the famous verse: 'I will die in the
religion of the cross' (fa-fi dîn al-salîb yakünu mawtï},15
even his 'passion'—all these are a powerful confirmation of his connection
with the Christ-like type of saint, which should be seen simply as the
manifestation of one of the possibilities included in the sphere of Muhammadan walâya.
Ibn 'Arabi also warns his
readers against the misunderstandings to which the behaviour of a wait
may give rise: for example, his special relationship with a pre-Islamic prophet
may cause him, on the point of death, to call on the name of Moses or Jesus,
and thus make him wrongly suspected of having become a Jew or a Christian.16
Another
14. Futühât, 1, p. 169. On the Islamic references to the
symbol of the cross, see Michel Vâlsan's article of this title in Études
traditionelles, March-June and November-December 1971, where he translates,
analyses and comments on chapter 20 of the Futulpit.
15. L Massignon and P. Kraus, Akhbâr al-piallâj, Paris 1936,
Arabic text p. 82, French text p. 95. We will not elaborate on the case of
Hallâj, concerning whom one need do no more than refer to the works by
Massignon and above all to the posthumous edition of the Passion, as
well as to R. Amaldez' book Hallaj ou la religion de la croix, Paris
1964 (see in particular chapter 4). The fact that Massignon, even in the
vocabulary of his translation (and his choice of the word Passion) was unable
to resist the temptation to Christianize Hallâj, thereby arousing a somewhat
suspect interest in certain sections of the Christian community, accompanied by
a devaluation of other aspects of Islamic spirituality, undoubtedly justifies a
cautious approach to his works. Yet the astonishingly Christian resonance of
certain of Hallâj's words, particularly the famous Ann 'l-haqq, which is
difficult not to compare with T am the Way, the Truth and the Life' in St
John's Gospel (14:6), was bound to create a confusion that only Ibn 'Arabi's
criteria can resolve.
16. Risâlat al-AnwSr, Hyderabad 1948, p. 16. Herman Landolt has
drawn our attention to a curious story, to which this interpretation of Ibn
'Arabi's might provide a due. It concerns the Mughul prince Dârâ Sliikûh, whose
spiritual teachers were Süfïs who were profoundly influenced by the Shaykh
al-Akbar, and who was executed for heresy at Delhi in 1069/1659. According to
the Venetian traveller Nicholas Manucd (Indian Text Series, Storia del
Mogol, translated by William Irvine, London 1907,1, p. 557 if.), while he
was in his cell he said several times over: 'Mahommet kills me, .the Son of God
gives me life.' It is obviously doubtful that these reported words were
literally the words spoken, and the significance that Manucd attaches to them,
as the indication of an unlikely conversion to Christianity, is more titan
suspect. If this story has any foundation, the concept of the ' ‘isotot easily
recognized ïsawi saint, similar in many ways to Hallaj, is cAyn
al-Qudât Hamadhani,17 a disciple of Ahmad Ghazâlï. He was accused of
being a zindiq (heretic) and of laying claim to the dignity of a prophet,
and was hanged at Hamadhân in 525/1131 at the age of thirty-three— the same age
as Jesus, and the age, according to one hadtih, of all the chosen people
in Paradise;18 and later §ûfï writers have often said of him: fsawt
'l-mashrab wa mansürt 'l-maslak, 'His source was Jesus, his way was the way
of Mansùr (al-Hallâj).'19 Similarly, one of the most venerated
teachers of the Naqshbandiyya tarïqa, Ubaydallâh Ahrâr, says explicitly
of himself that he is 'isawt, and explains that in virtue of this feet he
has inherited the ability to 'quicken hearts', as Jesus had the ability to
bring the dead back to life.20
There are,21
however, more recent examples to be found. Michel Valsan, who forty years ago
led me to discover the importance of the idea of wirâtha in Ibn 'Arabi's
doctrine of walâya, wrote practically nothing on the subject. However, a
few precious pages of his22 describe the specifically ÏSfliw nature
of a contemporary Muslim saint, Shaykh Ahmad al-cAlawi, who died in
1934 and whose face, in some indefinable fashion, bore a Christ-like stamp
which struck several of his European
type' might
explain it. For other possible cases of ‘isawi saints, see the article
by M. Baliver, 'Chrétiens secrets et martyrs christiques en Islam', Islamochristiana,
no.
16, Rome 1990.
17. On ‘Ayn al-Qudât, ci. L. Massignon, Passion, index, s.v.
Hamadhânï. His Shakioa T-gharib (The Complaint of the Exile), written in
prison in the year of his death, has been edited and translated by M. b. Abd
EI-Jalil, journal asiatique, 1930 (January-March).
18. Baghawi, Masâbïh al-sunna, ii, p.152.
19. Abd El-Jalil, op. dt., pp. 12-13; L. Massignon, Passion, n,
p. s.fj. It is hardly necessary to point out that the use of these terms
is later than Ibn ‘Arabïand is evidence that his doctrine of walâya, and
the distinctions established by him between the types of sainthood, were
accepted in Sufi drdes. Characteristically, ‘Ayn al-Qudât performed a
'Christ-like' miracle by restoring a dead man to life (cf. his Tamhtdât,
ed. A. Usayrân, Tehran 1962, pp. 250-51).
20. Cf. Muhammad al-Rakhâwi, al-Amvâr al-qudsiyya fi manâqib
al-sâda al-naqshbandiyya, Cairo 1344 ah.,
pp. 157-58. (The sentence about the maqdm ihyâ' al-qiilüb refers to the
Qur'an,3:49).
21. Cf. Études traditionelles, July-October 1962, p. 166, note
2 and p. 169, note 12.
22. 'Sur le cheikh Al-Alawï', Études traditionelles,
January-February 1968. This note completes a review, already published in the
same review, of Martin Lings' book, A Moslem Saint of the Twentieth Century,
London 1961. visitors. Michel Valsan bases himself for the most
part on the recurrence of Je sus himself or of his name in a series of visions
in which the shaykh appeared to the members of the zâwiya of
Mostaghanem, at the time when their last teacher b ad died and they were having
to find a successor. 'Forus', he writes,
th:s
particular ser es of visions is indicative not only of Shaykh al-cAlawi's
spiritual condifon, but also of his initiatic function . . .. [The tariqa
to which he belonged], apart brom its normal role in the Islamic scheme of
things, had also to demonstrate by its existe ice the effective presence of tasawwuf,
as a way of initiation, on the borders of the Western world and even within
the sphere of European influence on die Muslim world . . .and it thus had to
express itself in terms which were suited to an effective an d efficient
contact with Western intellectual sensibilities.
The-^ery
powerful attraction that the Shaykh al-'Alawi exercised over certain Europeans
who became his disciples, and the part played by his tariqa in
introducing tasawwuf into France and other Western countries, are
confirmation both of the suitability of the type of walâya he incarnated
and of the nature of the milieu in which he was called upon to represent tasawwuf.23
A correspondence of this sort, no doubt, can explain both the fascination of
Hallâj for the Christian world [in the wake of Massignon's writings on him),
and enable us also to understand the strange fate of a thirteenth century Sùfi
like Ibn Hùd, in whose house the Jews of Damascus used to gather to study,
under his direction, Mcimonides' Guide of the Perplexed.14 In
this case, the wall would be a mûsawt type or, more probably, ibrâhïmï,
since Abraham represents
23. The ‘isawi character of Shaykh al-'Alawi is further
confirmed by certain details of his dying moments, to which Michel Valsan has
chosen to make no more than a discreet reference at the end of his article. A
similar interpretation would seem to apply to the case of the emir 'Abd
al-Qâdir, whose person, behaviour and virtue of character likewise mark him
otit as an 'isawf-type, but who in addition played a part in rhe relations
between Islamic esotericism and the West which we intend one day to explore.
Some preliminary facts can be found in the introduction and the notes of our
translation of extracts from his Kitab ai-Mawaqif, published under the
title Écrits spirituels, Paris 1982.
24. Kutubî, Fawât al-wafâyât, Cairo 1951, 1, pp. 123-25;
Safedî, Waft, Wiesbaden 1979, xm, pp. 156-57. Ibn Hûd was bom in Murcia
in 633/1235, and died at Damascus in 697/1297. He was connected with the school
of Ibn Sabin (who speaks of the Guide of the Perplexed in his Risâla
Nüriyya: see Rasâ'il Ibn Sabcîn, ed. Badawi, Cairo 1965, p. 157)
and was therefore classed by Ibn Taymiyya among the ittihâdiyya. On the
Hvdid dynasty, see ER, s.v., (see the article by D. M. Dunlop, fon Hûd
was the brother of Muhammad ibn Yüsuf al-Mutawakkil, the Sultan of Granada).
the common
trunk and the point of junction of Judaism and Islam. The details we possess,
however, are neither sufficient nor sufficiently accurate to justify a definite
pronouncement. Neither is it possible to decide, on the basis of information
handed down by the hagiographers, that Ahmad Badawi (died 675/1276), the famous
saint of Tanta, was a miisawi type, in spite of the similarities between
him and Abu Ya'zâ, about whom Ibn 'Arabi speaks in the passage we cited
earlier. Like Abü Ya'zà, Ahmad al-Badawi used to veil his face, and although
some writers, both Muslim and Western, have tried to explain this in a very
prosaic fashion, others tell us that on the insistent request of one of his
disciples, he agreed one day to lift his veil and the indiscreet disciple died
on the spot.15
Just as there is no 'key
to dreams' instantly available to anyone who happens to want one, there is no
instant 'key to the saints' to unlock the doors of walâya: if conjecture
is permissible—and in rare cases based on evidence which is beyond doubt—only
the carif, the true gnostic, thanks either to his spiritual
perspicacity (firâsa) or to an 'unveiling' (kashf), knows how to
interpret unerringly and in all circumstances the evidence of the mark of the
prophet present in the wait himself or in his reported acts and words.
The same saint can 'inherit' from several prophets; alternatively, he may
receive only part of the inheritance of one of them. In both cases,
identification becomes a more delicate matter, since the distinguishing
features are either too many or too few. Furthermore, we must not lose sight of
the fact that the prophetic 'words' {kalimat) which form the structure
of walâya cannot be reduced to the twenty-seven prophets mentioned in
the Fusils: we referred in Chapter Three to a text in which it is stated
that at any given moment there are one hundred and twenty-four thousand saints
(or types of sainthood), corresponding to the one hundred and twenty-four
thousand prophets who, according toa hadith, have succeeded each other
25. Sha'rânî, al-Tabaqât al-Kubrâ, Cairo 1954, 1, p. 184. On
Ahmad al- Badawï, see the article by K. Vollers and E. Litmaiui in El2,
which contains a large number of references but the tone of which is deplorably
contemptuous (Badawi is described in it as 'representing the lowest type of derwish',
of having 'extremely feeble intellectual powers'). Veiled saints are not rare
in the history of Sufism. In Nabhanî's Jâmic karâmât al-awliyâ'
(Beirut, n. d., 1, p. 308), for example, in the pages immediately preceding the
section on Ahmad ai-Badawi, there is a brief mention of another saint of the
seventh century of the Hegira, Shaykh Abu 'I-'Abbas Ahmad, who was actually
named al-mulathiham, 'the veiled one', and who was considered a mu
‘animar, being gifted with prodigious longevity. since
the start of human history. As the multiplicity of the divine Names can be
reduced to a limited series of 'mother Names' fummahât),26 in
the same way the multiplicity of the prophets can be reduced to a restricted
number of main types, from whom the others proceed by means of differentiation.
These are the basic models who appear in ch apter after ch apter of the Fmshs. Even so, whether or not we take
the figure of one hundred and twenty-four thousand at its face value, it is
still a fact that from each of these models there derives a large family of
lesser 'words' whom any thorough typology would have to take into account, and
of whose very names we are ignorant.27 On the other hand, even if we
confine ourselves to the twenty-seven prophets in the Fusils, and supplement
the information, often allusive in character, contained in it with information
from other texts (such as Ibn 'Arabi's account of his meeting with the prophets
of the seven planetary heavens, to be discussed later on, or the highly cryptic
Kitab al- cAbádila),2Í it is still very difficult
to discover criteria in the work of the Shaykh al-Akbar which everyone has the
ability to grasp. The content of the chapters in tire Fusils, even their
very titles, alert us to particular forms of spiritual knowledge which are the
exclusive property of one or other of the prophets and which the awliya
will inherit: the knowledge
26.
Cf. Fusûs, 1, p. 65.
According to the point of view adopted, Ibn‘Arabi gives different lists of
these ummahât al-nsma'. In Futûliât, 1, p. 100, he lists seven: al-Hayy,
al-’Âlim (sic), al-Murid, al-Qàdir, al-Qâ'il, al-Jawwâd and al-Muqsit
(the corresponding passage of O. Yahia's edition omits the name al-Qadir),
and explains that they are themselves engendered by the Name al-Mudabbir
and al-Mufnssil. In Futûhât n, p. 437, he reduces them to three: Allah,
al-Rabb, al-Rahman.
27.
Islamic literature,
particularly the ¡¡isos al-anbiyâ' genre, contains a number of facts,
most often considered to be suspect isrâ'îlîyyât, and whose sources are either
Jewish (the Bible or the Talmud) or Christian (the canonical or apocryphal
Gospels, the Acts of the Apostles), about certain people whose stories come to
be included among the accounts concerning the prophets mentioned in the Qur'an,
The inclusion—hotly disputed by the hilarrta'—of these people in the
series of the anbiya does not noticeably modify the problem.
28.
One edition exists of the
Kitâb al- 'Abàdila—very imperfect but which has the merit of being the
first—which we owe to ‘Abd al-Qadir Ahmad ‘Ata (Cairo 1969). The emblematic
names at the head of the maxims are variously constructed, but often include
the name of a prophet. Twenty-three out of the twenty-seven prophets in the Fusils
appear (Luqmân, Shu'ayb, ‘Uzayr and Nüh are missing), as well as several of the
non-Qur'ânic figures mentioned in the qisas al-anbiyâ', such as Shamwil,
Dânyâl, Yiïhannâ, Jirjïs, Yûsha‘. In the final chapter of this book we will
speak in more detail of the Kitâb al-r'Abâdiln. of
the divine Names in the case of Adam, of the divine gifts in the case of Seth,
of divine transcendence in the case of Noah, of passionate love in the case of
Abraham, of destiny in the case of cUzayr, of compassion in the case
of Solomon, of 'divine lieutenancy' (khilâfa) in the case of David, and
so on. Yet the information collected about each nabt from scripture or
tradition, and the record of what has been either written or spoken of him,
which we find in Ibn cArabi, leave large areas obscure. One central
idea, however, is fully present: the Muhammadan community, in the person of
its saints and at any given moment in its history, simultaneously
recapitulates the 'wisdoms' contained in the successive prophetic revelations
which have taken place since the Start of the human cycle/9 and the
modes of spiritual realisation which correspond to them. This idea finds
expression in the equivalence between the number of the anbiya, both
known and unknown, and the number of the awliya, even if the exact
relationship between the people in the first category and the people in the
second escapes profane perception.
The number twenty-seven,
which is the number of the main prophetic types mentioned by the author of the
Fusiis, is also the number of prophets' names mentioned in the Qur'an 'from
which God has left out nothing' (cf. Qur'an 6:38). What this means, in effect,
is that this number contains synthetically the sum of all the forms of nubuwwa,
and hence of walâya, manifested by each prophet individually out of the
one hundred and twenty-four thousand. If this were not so, God, who cannot not
tell us everything we need to know, would have mentioned others, if not all, of
the prophets. The replacement of two of the names in the Qur'an by two others
in the Fusiis is not explained, as far as we know, anywhere in the work
of Ibn ‘Arabi. But, in the perspective of his work, the substitution makes
sense only if the two Quranic prophets who are not in the Fusiis, Dhu '1-KifI
and al-Yasa; about whom the Qur'an gives no precise information, are in feet
identical (in terms of their cyclic function and as manifestations of a
particular 'wisdom') with the two others whose names have been substituted for
theirs (Shith and Khalid ibn Sinân).3° We should also
29. In all strictness, one should speak here of a human cycle, since
for Ibn ‘Arabi, innumerable 'Adams' have succeeded each other, each of whom is
the startingpoint ofoneofthese cycles (Futûhât, m, pp. 348,549).
30. It is interesting to note that the two non-Qur'anic persons who
are named in the Fusüs are situated at the two extremes of the cycle of
prophethood: Shith observe that the number twenty-seven,
as we saw above, is the same as the number of dajjaliln, 'impostors' or
powers of illusion, who obviously bear the same relation to the 'saints of
Satan' as the 'major' prophets to thesaints of God.3’
Finally, it must be noted
that the number twenty-seven has a very significant connection with the Qur'an
itself: for the 'descent' of the Book took place on the Night of Destiny (laylat
al-qadr), which is traditionally celebrated on the 27th of the month of
Ramadan (Qur'an 97:1). As we saw in Chapter Four, for Ibn ‘Arabi the 'Perfect
Man' is the 'brother of the Qur'an', for he, like it, is kalima jamica,
tire 'Word which totalizes'. Therefore, according to the Shaykh al-Akbar's
interpretation, this 'Night' is none other than the Prophet Muhammad himself,
for during it the fulfilment is accomplished, at the end of history, of nubuwwa
and walâya of which all the previous prophets were simply aspects. Thus,
laylat al-qadr is both the symbolic date of the last divine message, and
also, for man himself, the date of the second birth through which he becomes
that which he was from all eternity. This correspondence between the Qur'an and
the insân kâmil is strengthened by the fact that the descent of one and
the ascension of the other come under the sign of the same number. In fact, it
is on the night of the 27th of the month of Rajab that Islam each year
celebrates the ascension (mi craf) from heaven to heaven
which took the Prophet to the threshold of the divine Presence, at a 'distance
of two bow-lengths or nearer' (Qur'an 53:9). These two bows, according to Ibn
‘Arabi, are the two semicircles whose conjunction brings together the divine
realities
(Seth) is the
first prophet after Adam, and Khâlid ibn Sin.ín the last prophet before
Muhammad. We should explain that, in order to bring the number of names to
twenty-seven, the list of Qur'Snic prophets, like Ibn ‘Arabi's list in the
Fusüs, must indude the name of Luqmân (who is normally counted among the sages
rather than the prophets) and that of ‘Uzayr (the Ezra of the Bible) mentioned
in the Qur'an, 9:30, to whom the commentators do not usually attribute the
quality of nabi, even though he is the restorer of the Torah and his
association with Jesus in the same verse emphasizes the exceptional nature of
his office (Tabari, Tafsîr, ed. Shakir, xrv, p. 202, speaks of him as an
inspired ‘âlim). Suyûtï (al-Itqân fi culüm al-Qur'ân, Cairo
1368 ah, n, pp. 137-41), who does
not include these two names, thus lists only twenty-five Qufanic prophets.
31.
See the hadîth
mentioned in chapter 1, note 21. Let us repeat that the rendering of dajjâl
as 'antichrist' must therefore be applied only to him who is the seal of the dajjâlün,
and whose appearance is one of the traditional signs that the end of time is
approaching.
(haqâ'iq
haqqiyyaj and the created realities [haqâ'iq khalqtyya) and restores
the original unity containing the total sum of possibilities, symbolically
expressed, here again, by the number twenty-seven.[136]
CHAP TEA
6
The types of sainthood defined by Ibn ‘Arabi correspond in a way
to a horizontal manifestation of the possibilities contained within the total walaya,
of which Muhammad is the source and fulfilment. On the other hand, the
community of the saints is built upon a vertical axis, along which the various
degrees and functions are distributed,
Fath—a word that
we have translated as 'illumination' but which strictly speaking means
'opening'—'tears open' time and space. It is the immediate and instantaneous
relationship of man with God, and as.such it annuls both the 'where' and the
'when' : as Abu Yazîd al-Bistâmï said, for the saint there is, in a sense,
'neither morning nor evening'. From another point of view, however, sainthood,
being an assumption of human nature in its fullest sense, must paradoxically
manifest itself under the forms and conditions intrinsic to the latter. In a
sense the saint is 'nobody's son': between him and God there exists a
relationship with no intermediary, expressed in Ibn ‘Arabi's terminology by the
technical term wajh khâss, meaning both the 'particular face' which in
each being is e temally turned towards God, and the particular face of God or
particular divine aspect which corresponds to that being.*1 Even so,
the saint included within a framework of time, a fact which is demonstrated
explicitly by his belonging to an initiatory lineage (siisila), and more
discretely by his being the heir to a prophet. He is emancipated from the six
directions which determine the perception of ordinary men.2 His
'place' is the 'non-place' ('the "where" no longer has a place',
writes Hallàj in a famous quatrain); but he none the less occupies a strictly
defined place on a cosmic stage whose, determining principle is the hierarchy
of the saints. Here typology becomes topology.
The origin of this
hierarchical configuration and the terminology in which it is expressed are a
matter of dispute, but arc certainly prior to Ibn ‘Arabi. In Ibn Taymiyya's
opinion, all the hadïth invoked to bear
* Due to the
extensive nature of the footnotes belonging to this section they are placed at
the end of the chapter, beginning on page 98. out this doctrine are
apocryphal.3 Ibn Khaldun views these beliefs as borrowings from the
Shi'ites.4 Conversely, to call to witness a Sùfïwho was also a faqîh
and a specialist in hadïth, Suyüü devoted an entire treatise5
to this problem, based on the prophetic traditions that he considered
authentic. It contains an account which, being prototypal, is of especial
interest, and which is as follows: Abù Hurayra recounts: 'I went in one day to
the Prophet. He said to me:
'In a moment a
man will come towards me through that door; he is one of the seven men by means
of whom Cod protects the inhabitants of the earth.' And behold, an Ethiopian (habashïj
came through that door. He was bald and his nose had been cut off. On his head
he carried a pitcher of water. Allah's messenger said, 'This is he.' Now this
man, explains Abu Hurayra, was the servant of al-Mughira ibn Shuba, and it was
he who washed down and swept out the mosque.'6
An extensive
literature very soon developed around the theme of the 'Council of the Saints' (dîwàn
cil-ciwliyâ'), and has continued to do so down to our day.7 One
of its main features is the recurring theme of the 'hidden saint', already
known to us from the hadïth quoted in Chapter One ('He is obscure among
men and no one points at him'), and who also comes into the story told by Abu
Hurayra. A more detailed illustration of this aspect of walâya comes in
the hagiographie texts relating to one of the great saints of the twelfth
century, cAbd al-Qadir al-Jîlânï. The episode has an interest which
is more than merely anecdotal, and which is conferred on it by the importance
of this saint, who is frequently mentioned by Ibn ‘Arabi8 and of
whom we will speak further, by the evident connection between these types of
story, which are often held to be no more than folk tales, and by an essential
element in Ibn 'Arabi's doctrine of walâya. What follows is one version
of the story:
Shaykh Abü
T-Hasan al-Baghdâdî,'commonly known by the name of Ibn Satan- tana al-Baghdâdï,
recounts : I devoted myself to the pursuit of knowledge under the direction of
our teacher, Shaykh ‘Abd al-Qâdir, and I was in the habit of spending most of
the night awake in order to ensure that he wanted for nothing. One night in the
month of Safar 553,9 he went out of his house. I held out a pitcher
to him [thinking that he wanted to perform the ritual ablution] but he did not
take it, and went towards the gate of the madrasa. The door opened
before him of its own accord. He went out and I went out behind him, saying to
myself, "He does not know that I am here. " Then the gate closed
again and the shaykh walked to the gate of Baghdad which opened before him. He
went out and 1 went out after him, and the gate shut. He only went a short
distance but suddenly we were in a country that was unknown to me.
He entered a
place that resembled a ribât ['convent']. There were six people there
who greeted him with eagemess. I took refuge behind a pillar. Then I heard a
groan nearby. After a second, the groaning ceased. A man came in and went
towards the place where the groans had come from. He came out again carrying
someone on his shoulders. Then another man came into the room. He was
bare-headed and had a long moustache.™ He sat down in front of Shaykh 'Abd
al-Qadir, who made him say the two shahâdas, cut his hair and moustache,
made him cover his head with a skullcap and gave him the name Muhammad. Then
the shaykh said to the people who were present, '1 have been commanded that
this man should replace him who is dead' (umirtu an yakûna hâdhâ badalan ean
al-mayyit).
They answered,
'So be it!' Then the shaykh went out and left them. I went out and walked
behind him. We only went a short distance, and there we were in front of the
gate of Baghdad which opened before us as before. Then the shaykh went to the madrasa,
where the gate also opened, and entered his dwelling.
The next day,
when 1 sat down before the shaykh to study with him, I begged him to explain to
me what I had seen. He replied, 'As regards the place, it is Nihàwand.11 As
for the six people whom you saw there, they were the noble abdàl. The
man who was groaning was the seventh of them, and when he was cm the point of
death I came there to be present for it. As for the man whom I made to say the
two shahâdas, he was a Christian, an inhabitant of Constantinople. God
had ordered me to put him in the place of the badal who had died. He
came to me, made a profession of Islam before me, and now is one of them.
Finally, as regards the man who entered and who bore the dead man on his
shoulders, it was Abü'I-1 Abbas al-Khadir; he took him away to see
to his funeral.'
The shaykh
then made me promise not to speak of all this to anyone during his lifetime.11
Although other
hagiographie accounts tell of the sudden appointment to a position of
importance in the invisible college of the saints of individuals who are of no
particular note, and even of avowed sinners/3 the paradox of divine
election in this case is even more surprising. The man who is suddenly assigned
a place among the abdàl—one of the highest ranks in the hierarchy of the
saints, as we shall see14—is not simply an obscure Muslim; he is an
infidel, a rümï, and his investiture takes place immediately after his
profession of faith.15
Islamic
information in the first centuries about the Pole (tjwfb), the awtad and
the abdàl is, for the most part, difficult to interpret: the terminology
is fluid, and the different sources vary and contradict each other as to the
number of holders of each 'grade' and the nature of their functions in a way
which the commentators do their utmost to resolve, without eliminating the
confusion. Here again, Ibn 'Arabi was the first to organize and explain these
traditional facts, allusive and variable as they were, and to lend them
coherence with an overall doctrine of waláya. But we would be gravely
mistaken as to the nature of his undertaking if we were to see it merely as the
systematic classification of already existing material and the establishment of
a more rigorous vocabulary. It is with a description that we are concerned, and
the person who records it claims over and over again to have been a witness :
at Cordoba, he saw twenty-five Poles who preceded the Prophet Muhammad;16
at Fez, in 593ah, he met the Pole
of his own time.17 In the texts to be analyzed we will come across a
great deal of this sort of thing. Thus, we are not dealing here with some sort
of theoretical construct but—as we have said from the beginning—with the expression
of a conviction based on direct vision and personal experience. Furthermore, we
shall see that Ibn 'Arabi does not speak in the sole capacity of a witness, but
that he prides himself on the authority he possesses on a different account.18
The Shaykh
al-Akbar wrote a good deal about the subject in hand.19 However, the
most comprehensive survey of it comes at the start of Volume Two of the Futiihât,
in the very lengthy Chapter Seventy- Three which also contains the answers to
Tirmidhi's questions. We will use this text as our guide. First of all, there
are some general considerations about risâla—the status proper to the rasiil
or Messenger—and nubuwwa or Prophethood. What is’sealed by Muhammad, Ibn
'Arabi says, is legislative prophethood (nubuwwat al-tashri^, which is
acquired only through- divine election. On the other hand, there is
"general prophethood', which does not involve the establishment of a new
sacred law and which can be acquired (muktasaba). There are four
corner-stones of religion (arkân al-din): risâla, nubuwwa, walâya and imán
or faith. But risâla is the rukn jami': it contains die other
three. This appears to contradict what was said earlier in Chapter Three,
namely, that the most universal sphere is walâya. In fact, the problem
is only one of vocabulary: to avoid all confusion, instead of risâla we
should say rasiil; for each Messenger is by definition rasiil, nabi,
wall and mu'min—messenger, prophet, saint and believer—whereas the
reverse is not true because not every believer is a saint, not every saint a
prophet, and not every prophet has the supreme status of a Messenger. The
status of rasiil, then, is the most inclusive of all. Its disappearance
would bring in its wake the disappearance of the human race. As a result, the
world is never without a living rasiil who is its Pole (qutb). By
'living', says Ibn 'Arabi, we should understand: corporeally alive (hayy
bi-jismihí). He explains that after Muhammad's death,.'Allah preserved
three of the Messengers, corporeally alive m this world. ' The first of these
in the list that follows is Idris, who is generally identified in Muslim
tradition with Enoch of the Bible, but of whom the Qur'an (19:56-57—verses
21:85-86 merely mention his name) says only that he was 'lifted up [by God] to
a sublime place'.20 'God preserved him alive in body', writes Ibn
‘Arabi,
and assigned
him the fourth heaven to be his dwelling place. Now the seven heavens are part
of this world; they exist for as long as it exists and their form vanishes when
it vanishes . , .. God also preserved, living in this world, Elijah and Jesus .
. .. These are the three whom everyone acknowledges to be rusul.
Regarding Khadir, the fourth, there is some divergence of opinion, though not
as far as we are concerned, about his being rasûL These four beings
exist in the flesh in this world below, and are its Pillars (mitiîd,
singular walad). Two of them are the two Imams and one of them is the
Pole, who is the place of God's beholding on this earth. Messengers have not
ceased and will not cease to be in this world until the Day of Resurrection,
and this does not contradict the fact that [in spite of the status of raswl,
which usually involves legislative authority] they do not bring a religion
which revokes the religion brought by Muhammad and profess no religion but his.
But most people are ignorant of this matter.
Thus, one of
these four Messengers, Jesus, Elijah, Idris and Khadir, is the Pole. The latter
is one of the corner-stones of the House of Religion, and corresponds [in the
Ka*ba] to the comer of the Black Stone. Two of the others are the Imams, and
the four of them make up the whole assembly of Pillars. Through one of them God
protects faith, through another sainthood, through another prophecy, through
the fourth the mission (risa/a), and through all of them He protects the purity
of religion. He among them who is the Pole will never die, that is to say, he
will be preserved from the loss of consciousness [which will come upon all
beings when the angel's trumpet sounds on the Day of Judgement, Qur'an 39:68] .
. .. Within this community, there corresponds at all times to each of these
Messengers a being who is 'on the heart' of that Messenger and is his deputy
(n«Tb). Among our companions on the way, most of the saints know the Pole, the
two Imams and the Pillar (ivatad, the fourth person of the group) only
through these deputies; and that is why all seek to attain that station (maqâm).
But when they attain it, they discover that they are merely the vicars of the
Pole, the Imam and so on, and that the true Imâm is someone else; the same is
true of the office of the Pillar .... Do not under-estimate the importance of
what I have been saying, for you will find it said nowhere else among those
whose words concerning the secrets of this way have come down to us.
Even though it
is generally held in Islam that the four people mentioned by Ibn ‘Arabi belong
forever to the world of the living (two of them, Idris and Jesus, dwell in the
celestial spheres, and the other two, Elijah and Khadir, dwell on this earth
unseen by most mortals), this is the first time that they have been assigned
the supreme offices in the esoteric hierarchy. All previous traditional
teaching, in fact, seems to identify the rightful holders of these offices as
being individuals who, according to Ibn ‘Arabi, are really only the successive
deputies of the true awtâd. Thus the connection between prophethood and
sainthood is confirmed and strengthened: the sphere of walâya is not
autonomous, but is subject until the end of time to the perennial authority of
the only prophets who are still living since the death of Muhammad.
How are the
roles divided between these four prophets? Chapter Seventy-Three of the Futûhât
has nothing very specific to say on the subject, but other texts fill the gap.31
Idris, dwelling in the fourth heaven of the Sun and occupying a middle position
in the centre of the seven planetary spheres, has the office of qutb or
Pole of the universe. The two Imams are Jesus and Elijah. Lastly, Khadir is the
fourth wat ad.22 The visible hierarchy described later on is
in fact simply a reflection of this permanent structure, which in turn is
itself no more than the reflection of the higher reality whence it derives its
authority. Indeed, another passage from the Futûhât,23
apparently contradicting what went before, states : 'As for the one and only
Pole, it is the spirit of Muhammad (rüfy Muhammad), by which all the
Messengers and ail the Prophets are sustained.' Idris, Elijah, Jesus and Khadir
are, likewise, simply differentiated projections of the haqïqa muhammadiyyat
in a certain sense, they too are only 'deputies'.
Next, Ibn
‘Arabi embarks on a detailed description of the 'men of God' (rijâl Allah).
These are divided into many classes or categories (tabaqât). Among these
categories, whose definition sometimes involves a highly complex blend of
criteria, a distinction is to be made between a first series of thirty-five tabaqât,
which maintain a constant number of individuals in every epoch and correspond
to cosmic functions, and a second one which corresponds either to types or to
degrees of sainthood. The first category of all is the category of the Poles (aqtab),
who are the
sum of all the states and all the stations, in either an immediate or a
derivative fashion by means of deputies, as we saw. However, the meaning of the
word 'Pole' may be stretched to cover all those who are the pivots of a certain
spiritual station and who alone are in full possession of it at any given
moment. One may also say of a man dwelling in a certain place that he is its
Pole. In the same way, the shaykh who presides over an assembly is the Pole of
that assembly. But in the technical sense, and in the absence of any other
definition, the Pole is a term which p -operly speaking can be applied only to
one person in every epoch. He is also named gkawt^heip'. Heis one of the
'proximate' (al-muqarrabûn; cf. Qur'an 56:11), and is tb e b ead of the
community for his time.
Some of the
Poles possess an authority which is manifested and hold the office of caliph in
the external sense, just as they are caliphs in the inner sense in virtue of
their spiritual rank. This was so in the case of Abu Bakr, “Umar, ‘Uthman and
‘Ali, Hasan andMuawiya ibn Yazîd, ‘Umar ibn ‘Abd al-'Aziz24 and al
Mutawakldl/5 Others are ca’-phs only in the inner sense and possess
no apparent external authority, such as Ahmad ibn Harûn al-Rashid al-Sabtr^ or
Abti Yazid al-Bistâmî and most of the Poles.
Next are the
Imams, of whom there are never more than two at any given time. One of them is
called‘Abd a1 -Rabb ('servant of the Lord') and the other ‘Abd
al-Malik ('servantof the King”), while the Pole is called ‘Abd Allah : for
every man has a divine Neme that corresponds to him, and the Pole is named ‘Abd
Allah, whatever his (profane) name may be. It is always so, just as the Imams
are always “Abd al-Rabb' and '-‘Abd al-Malik'.27
The Kitab manzil
al-qutb, or Book of the Spiritual Dwelling of the Pole, throws
additional light on these three offices.28'The Pole is both the
centre of the circle of the universe, and its circumference. He isthe Mirror of
God, and the pivot of the world. He is bound by subtle links to the hearts of
all created beings and brings them either good or evil, neither one
predominating. But from the point of view of the Pole, these things in
themselves are neither good nor evil: they are (wa-htiwa cindahu
la khayrwa- là sh art wa-lakin wujü T), and become good or bad as a result
of the vessel that receives them . . ..29 The Pole's dwelling place
is the dwelling place of pure existentiation (ÿad) . . .. He is the
universal Veil within Existence.30 He keeps the treasures of divine
Generosity. God is perpetually epiphanized to him . . .. He is located in
Mecca, whatever place he happens to be in bodily. When a Pole is enthroned at
the level of the qutbiyya, all beings, animal or vegetable, make a
covenant with him other than men and jinns (with a few exceptions) ....
This explains the story about the man who sa w the huge snake that God has
placed around Mount Qaf,J1 which encircles the world. The head and
the tail of this snake meet. The man greeted the snake, who returned his
greeting and then asked him about Shaykh Abu Madyan, who lived at Bijâya in the
Maghrib. The man said to it, 'How do you come to know Abu Madyan ?' The snake
answered, 'Is there anyone on earth who does not know him?'32
Chapter Three Hundred and Thirty-Six of the Futühâtyi is
entirely about this pact of allegiance with the Pole, and says that all the
spirits (arwâh) participate in it; each of them asks the qutb a
question inspiredby God and receivesan answerit did not know.34
On the other
hand, the distinctions which apply to the awliya' in general apply to
the aqtab as well :
The most
perfect of the Poles is the Muhammadan Pole. The ones below him are divided
hierarchically according to the rank of the Prophets whose heirs they are; for
there are the heirs of Jesus, of Abraham, of Joseph, of Noah, and so on; and
the position of each pole is determined by the position of the prophet whose
heir he is, but all of them proceed from the 'tabernacle' [mishkât,
which is of course the 'tabernacle of light', mishkât al-anwâr, sa
designated in verse 24:35] of Muhammad. Thus, some are superior to others, but
this superiority relates only to their spiritual knowledge, and there is no
distinction to be made between them as regards their office (qutbiyya)
and the government of the universe (tadbir al- wujud}.35
This Pole, who
is a 'face without a nape' (wajh hila qafa) because nothing escapes his
eyes/'’himself escapes the eyesofothers. The earth does not fall back before
him, he does not walk through the air or on water, he does not feed himself by
emancipating himself from secondary causes. Hemakes use of supernatural powers
only at rare moments, when divinely commanded to do so. If he hungers, it is of
necessity and not through choice: he does not call attention to himself by
excessive asceticism. He is patient in wedlock, for there is no state in which
he can more perfectly realize absolute servitude (al-cubüdiyya)
than the state of marriage?7
The Kitáb
manzil al-qutb, in common with other texts, describes the nature and the
respective roles of the two Imams?8 The Imam on the left, whose
secret 'name' is ‘Abd al-Rabb, watches over the equilibrium of the world (salâh
al-câlam). He is the 'sword of the Pole' (sayf al-qutb)
and usually succeeds him. If he dies first, the Imam on the right becomes the
Imam on the left and is himself replaced by the fourth 'pillar'. As regards
Shaykh Abu Madyan, who as we saw above succeeded the previous Pole one or two
hours before his death, Ibn Arabi explains in this passage that from now on his
esoteric name was Abd al-Ilâh (the equivalent of ‘Abdallah), and that his
previous name, ‘Abd al-Rabb, passed immediately to a man from Baghdad,
previously the Imam on the right, whose esoteric name was ‘Abd al-Wahhab?9
The Imam on the right, ‘Abd al-Malik, has the task of watching over the
world of the spirits (‘aiam al-arwah) ; 'His knowledge is knowledge of
the things of heaven and he knows nothing about the earth. '4°
Having been
viewed in terms of their functions as such, the Pole and the two Imams are
considered insofar as they are elements of the next category, the category of
the four Pillars or awtâd which they constitute with the addition of a
fourth person, the watad, who is Khadir's 'substitute'. 'Through one of
them God protects the east, through another the west, through another the south
and through another the north—all of this must be understood from the Kaija.
They are also called 'mountains' (jibafy on account of Allah's words
(Qur'an 78:6): 'Have we not made the earth into a cradle and the mountains into
pillars (awtâdan)? For He stabilized the movement of the eartit by means
of the mountains, and the authority (hukm) of those of whom we are
speaking (over the world) is analogous to the authority of the mountains over
the earth.
Allah is also
referring to their station when He repeats the words of Iblis.- 'We will
approach them [j.e. men] from in front and from behind, from their right and
from their left' (Qur'an 7:17). It is by means of the awtâd that God
protects these four directions, and they themselves are guarded against all
that.might come from there. Thus the demon has no power over them because he
can only come at the son of Adam from one of these sides. As for above and
below [if these are added to the four directions already mentioned], perhaps
they are the concern of the six [spiritual men] of whom, if God wills, we will
speak later.41
At die start
of this s ection, Ibn 'Arabi claims to have known one of the awtâd of
his time, in Fez. His name was Ibn Ja'dûn, and he earned his living sifting
henna. One of the notes in the Rüh a!-quds is about him, and provides
more information. There is one remark which merits particular attention, for it
describes a characteristic which we have already come across both in the
prophetic traditions and in the literature of Sufism: when Ibn Ja'dûn was
absent, says Ibn 'Arabi, no one noticed, and when he was present, no one asked
him his opinion. When he arrived somewhere, no one thought to welcome him. When
a subject was being debated in front of him, the speakers discussed it as though
he were not present.42 Here, the saint's transparency is complete.
Before going
on to the next category, the Shaykh al-Akbar makes two further points. The
first concerns the 'name' of the awtâd, which in the case of three of
them is added on to the name conferred on them in their capacity as Pole or
Imam : they are 'Abd al-Hayy (servant of the Living One), 'Abd al-'Alim
(servant of the Knower), 'Abd al-Qâdir (servant of the Powerful), and 'Abd
al-Murid (servant of Him Who Wills). The second point is much more general and
precludes the possibility of a serious misunderstanding: 'All that we say
here', writes Ibn 'Arabi, 'is said in connection with spiritual men (rijâl),
but it may apply equally to women.' This statement is further emphasized and
clarified in other texts: 'Each category that we speak of contains both men and
women.' 'There is no spiritual quality belonging to men to which women do not
have equal access. ' 'Men and women have a part to play at all levels,
including the level of the Pole (hattafi'l-qutbiyya)'.43
Notes to Chapter Six
1. On the wajh khâss, cf. Futuhat, r, pp. 319,347; n,
p. 294; nr, pp.‘ 23,235, 248,260; tv, p. 315; Eusns,i,p. 174.
2. This spatial indeterminacy—for 'whichever way you turn, the Face
of God is títere', Qur'an 2: 2x5—is conveyed chiefly by the fact that, as
regards his physical being, the saint becomes a face without a nape: like die
Prophet who could see the faithful praying behind him, he sees in all
directions at one glance. Ibn ‘Arabi describes his experiences of this charisma
in Futuhat, 1, p. 491, and n, p. 486. Part of the same order of
phenomena is the fact that the body is freed from the Specialization of its
organs. Any sense can substitute for any of the others: the wait is able
to 'see' scents or 'hear' visible things, and so on (Futühât, 1, p.
221). On this characteristic aspect of the experience of the fath, see
the autobiographical account by‘Abd al-‘Aziz al-Dabbágh (Kitab al-Ibm),
Cairo 1961, pp. 14-16; cf. alsop. 354), which is one of the most extraordinary
documents known on this subject. All this should be compared to Ibn ‘Arabi's
statement that the divine writings which, in certain exceptional circumstances,
fall into the hands of man, are to be read in all senses (Futifyat, nr,
p. 605). On this subject, see also ibid., 1, p. 320; Taj., ed. O.
Yahia,m,p. 462.
3. Ibn Taymiyya, Majmú'at al-rasâ'il, 1, pp. 21-26; see also
M. U. Memon, Ibn Taymiyya's Struggle Against Popular Religion, The Hague
1976, p. 65.
4. Discours sur l'histoire universelle (Muqaddinia), trans. V.
Monteil, Beirut 1967-1968, m, pp. 1022-23. On this vast and complicated theme,
see the excellent article by F. de Jong in EP, s.v. qutb (w, p.
548 ff.), which, however, says nothing about an essential point of Ibn ‘Arabi's
doctrine on this subject. Without embarking on a detailed analysis of the
positions adopted by Orientalists, let us recall that for L. Massignon (Essai
sur les origines du lexique technique, Paris 1954, pp. 132-34), we are
dealing with 'a doctrine which is far more ancient in Islam than is generally
believed', '. . . which is not necessarily Imâmite in origin, whatever Ibn
Khaldun may have said about it. In the tenth century it was already classic
.... Indeed, it was specifically spoken about from the ninth century onwards'.
Henry Corbin (En islam iranien, 1, p. 229; n, p. 76; m, p.279 . . .)
sees it as a crypto-ShFite doctrine (in his opinion, the qutb is a
metamorphosis of the imam) and he suggests that the hierarchy of the awliyâ'
in Sufism was inspired by the hierarchy of the Ismafli secret societies.
5. This treatise occurs again in al-Hâwt It' l-fatâwï, Cairo
1959, n, pp. 417-37. In the next century, Ibn Hajar al-Haytamî (Fatâwâ
hadtthiyya, Cairo 1970, p. 322) was to adopta position similar to Suyütî.
-j. One of the most interesting
descriptions—for the topographical details it gives—of the diwan al-awliya'
occurs in 'Abd al-'Azïz al-Dabbâgh-'s, Kitâb al-Ibriz,p, 326 if.
8. Cf, for example Futûhât, 1, p. 233; n, pp. 14,19, 223,308;
nr, pp. 34,560. Ibn 'Arabi further says, in his attestation of investiture
which concludes his Kitâb Nasab al-khirqa, that he received the khirqa
(the gown or mantle of initiation) in Mecca from the hands of Shaykh Jamâl
al-Din Yunus al-'Abbasi, who had it directly from 'Abd al-Qâdir al-Jïlânï.
Despite being invested with the khirqa in other ways, this investiture
establishes a special relationship between him and 'Abd al-Qâdir. On 'Abd
al-Qâdir al-Jïlânï (or al-Jïlï, or al-Kilânï, or al-Gïlânï), see the article by
Margoliouth in EP and by W. Braune in EP; see also the thesis by Jacqueline
Chabbi, ''Abd al-Qâdir al-Jïlânï, idées sociales et politiques', Sorbonne 1971,
and her article "Abd al-Qâdir al-Jïlânï, personnage historique', in Studia
islámica, no. 38 (1973), pp. 75-106. The most interesting hagiographical
source is the Balijat al-asràr wa macdan al-anwâr by
Shattanüfi (died 713/1314), Cairo 1330 ah
(with Jilânî's Futülj al-ghayb in the margin), of which the Qala'id
al-jawâhirby Muhammad ibn Yabyâ al-Tâdhafi, Cairo 1956, is a plagiary.
There are many editions of works attributed to 'Abd al-Qâdir, in particular al-Ghunya
H tâlibî tariq al-haqq and al-Fath al-rabbání.
9. This event took place, therefore, eight years before the death of
‘Abd al-Qâdir, who is said to have died in 561 ah.
10. These two details enable us to identify the newcomer as a
non-Muslim.
11. This town in the province of Hamadhân is several hundred
kilometres away from Baghdad.
12. Tâdhafî,Qoii'îd«/-jflw«hir,p. 31.
13.
The characteristic
features of this type of account are found in the apologue of the sincere mund
and the false shaykh, related by ‘Abd al-'Aziz al-Dabbagh,lbriz,pp.
371-72.
14.
Unlike other terms which
we will come across later in this chapter, the term abdâl (singular badal)
comes into at least one hadïth (La tasubbü ahlal-Shâm fa-irma fïhim
al-abdâl. . .), mentioned by Suyûtï in the treatise cited in note 5.
15.
Some further points of
interest in this account are: the presence of Khadir; the part played by ‘Abd
al-Qádir, who is obviously the Pole (qutb)—although this means there is
one too many, for, as we shall see, the Pole is one of the Abdâl; the
presence of die 'indiscreet witness'—whose part is taken here by the narrator—
which cannot be fortuitous, and which suggests that he himself will be called
on one day to fill the office of badal-, the departure from the rule
according to which, at each level of the hierarchy, the replacement of the
deceased titular is effected by a member of the category below 'going upa
stepi.
17. Ibid., iv, p. 76. This person, who is not named in the Futûhât,
is identified in the Durra Fakhira (trans. Austin, Sufis of
Andalusia, London 1971, p. 152, number 62) as goingby the name of al-Ashall
al-Qabâ'ilï.
18. The definitions provided by Ibn ‘Arabi and the structure of the
hierarchy of the saints as he describes it (see below) are found later, in
outline at least and often in detail, in most of the works of Sufi literature
in which these problems are raised or discussed. We cannot here undertake an
analysis of this vast body of documents, where, besides the classics,
consideration would also have to be given to the innumerable smaller works
arising out of the literature of the turutj, even to the literature produced by
a movement as unorthodox as the ansâr of the Sudanese Mahdi. Later on,
we will give several examples relating to the Seal of Sainthood. However,
strict precision is not always uppermost in the use of traditional elements or
of Ibn ‘Arabi's formulation of them: there is no local saint who has not been proclaimed
sâhib al-zamân, no shaykh who has not been credited with the power to
make his followers into awtâd or abdâl, no tanqa which
does not claim the exclusive privilege of supplying at every epoch the Pole of
the time. When one is not just dealing with pious hyperbole, Ibn ‘Arabi's
explanations and his criteria usually make it possible to become aware of the
underlying confusion of doctrine.
19. Apart from chapter 73 of the Futûhât, part of which we
summarise below and in which this subject is discussed from page 3 to page 39
of volume n, the chapters of particular interest are: chapter 270 (n, pp.
571-74); chapter 336 (u, pp. 135-40); chapters 462 to 556 (tv, pp. 74-196). See
also several short treatises: ffilyat al-abdâl, Hyderabad 1948,
translated into French by M. Valsan with the title 'La parure des abdâl', in Études
traditionelles, nos. 286-87, September-October and November 1950; Kitâb
Manzil al-qutb, Risâlat al-Anwàr (analysed below), Kitab al-Tarâjim,
all three published in Hyderabad in 1948; Mawâqi' at-nujûm, Cairo 1956,
The treatise on the Mubâya'at al-qutb, of which Osman Yahia has not
registered a single manuscript, is undoubtedly identical to chapter 336 of the Futûhât.
20. Cf. the article by G. Vajda, s.v. in £P; the references it
contains should, of course, be expanded to include—in addition to the passage
from the Futûhât (r, p. 5) summarized here—chapter 4 of the Fusùs
(ed. 'AfifT, 1, pp. 75-80), and chapter 22 (1, pp. 181-87), in which Idris is
assimilated to Ilyas (i.e. Elijah).
21. Cf. Futûhât, it, p. 455; Kitâb al-kfàr, Hyderabad
1948, p. 32; Tarjtmân al-ashwâq, Beirut 1961, p. 24.
22. The fourfold nature of this structure, which corresponds
explicitly with the four comers (rukn, plural arkân) of the
Ka'ba, also bears a relation to the levels of universal Manifestation, as we
shall see when we discuss Ibn ‘Arabis cosmology (see chapter 10, n. 70).
24. The Poles named here are; firstly, the four initial caliphs (the râshidûn
caliphs, meaning orthodox or well-guided), who successively took over tire
leadership of the community after the Prophet's death. Next is Hasan, son of
‘Ali, who, when elected caliph, abdicated in favour of Mu‘awiya, who founded
the Umayyad dynasty. Mu'âwiya was the grandfather of the next-named Mu‘awiya
ibn Yazld, whose rule was brief in the extreme (forty days according to some,
two or three months according to others; cf. Ibn ‘Arabi's note on him in Muhâdarat
al-abrâr, Damascus 1968, 1, p. 67—a work whose authenticity is beyond
doubt, despite certain suspicions, on which see GAL, Si, 799—and Suyütí, Ta'ñkh
al-khulafâ', Cairo 1969, pp. 210-11), and who died aged twenty-one. ‘Umar
ibn ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, eighth Umayyad caliph, famous for his piety, reigned from
the month of Safar 99 until the month of Rajab 101 (717-18).
25. Al-Mutawakkil (206/822-247/861), the twelfth Abbassid caliph, put
an end to the persecution (mihna)—started by the caliph al-Ma'mûn—of
Muslims who, contrary to the Mutazilites, held that the Qur'an was uncreated in
nature.
26. Ahmad ibn Hârün al-Rashîd, son of the fifth Abbasid caliph, is
mentioned several times by Ibn ‘ArabûTanazzulât mawsiliyya (published in
Cairo in 1961 under the title Latâ'if al-asrâr, p. 194); Futûhât,
n, p. 15 (where Ibn ‘Arabi relates how he met him one Friday in front of the
Ka‘ba in 599AH, i.e. several centuries after his death) and iv, p. 11.
28. Kitâb manzil al-qutb, p. 2.
29. This means that his function is on a level which, ontologically
speaking, precedes the level at which things endowed with existence become
qualified as good or evil.
30. This perhaps surprising name derived from the fact that the Pole,
his function being what it is, in a sense comes between God and created being.
•*31. On the theme of Mount Qâf in Islamic cosmology, see the
article by M. Streck and A. Miquel in £T, s. v. Kâf.
32. Kitâb manzil al-qulb, p. 4. Ibn 'Arabi explains {Kitâb
manzil al-qutb, p. 12; Mawâqi‘ al-nujüm, pp. 139-40) that Abu Madyan
was the 'Imam of the left' and only acceded to the qutbiyya 'one or two
hours before his death' (in 595/1197). The same story, in expanded form, comes
in the Rüh al-quds, where the man talking to the snake is identified as
Müsâ Abu ‘Imran al-Sadrânï, of whom more later.
34. Those who are exempt from the obligation imposed by the pact are
the 'sublime spirits' (nl-’âlïn; see Qur'an 38:75)—that is to say,
according to Futûhât, tv, p. 312, the muhayyamûn, the 'spirits
overcome with love', who never cease their contemplation of the divine Beauty
and Majesty and are unaware that the world even exists. The muhayyamûn
are also called the karûbiyyün, or Cherubim.
35. Kitâb manzil al-qutb, p. 6.
36. Ibid., p. 2. On the expression 'a face without a nape', see above,
note 2.
38. Information about the two Imams is contained in all the texts
which have reference to the Pole, as indicated in note 19.
39. Kitâb manzil al-qutb, p. 12.
40. In Futûhât, chapter 270 and in MawâqP al-nujüm, p.
139, Ibn ‘Arabi alludes to the correspondence between the three functions of
the Pole and the Imams, and the three divine functions ('Lord of men', 'King of
men', 'God of men') mentioned at the start of the last sura of the Qur'an
(114:1-3), which is, as we know, a sura of protection. This
correspondence is not without significance with regard to the modes of
operation of the protection invoked by the believer who reates these verses.
Let us note, on the other hand, that a contradiction exists between most of
Ibm'Arabi's texts about the esoteric names of the two Imams and Futûhât,
u, p. 571, where it is the Imam of the right who is named ‘Abd al-Rabb. If this
is not a mistake on the part of the author or a copyists's error, the most
bkely explanation is that there has been a reversal of perspective, with the
Imam on the left of the Pole appearing to an observer to be on his right, and
the Imam of the right on his left.
41. Futûhât, n, p. 7. On the awtâd and the next
category, the abdâl, cf. Futûhât,!, pp. 152-61 (chapters 15 and 16).
42. Ruh al-quds, p. 72, number 17 (Austin, Sufis of Andalusia,
pp. 114-16).
Ibn Ja‘diin died at Fez
in 597/1200.
43. These three quotations are taken respectively from Futûhât, n,
p. 26; n, p.
35; andm,p. 89.
CHAPTER
Chapter Seventy-Three of the Futûhât lists eighty-four
'classes' of spiritual men, thirty-five of which have a constant number of
occupants at any given moment. We cannot deal with all the categories here, so
we will merely mention the most important of them, intending, in this chapter
and the next, to concentrate in greater detail on the two which represent,
respectively, what we might call the arch and the keystone of them all.
Having discussed the four
'pillars', Ibn 'Arabi goes on to speak of the seven abdâl (singular badal),
so named because
when they
depart from a place and wish to leave a substitute (badal) in it,
because they see that it will be of profit either to themselves or to others,
they leave a 'person' (shakhs) who is so like them in seeming that
whoever looks at him has no doubt that he has seen the being in question. In
fact, it is not he, but a spiritual form that he leaves in place of himself,
having in view the purpose that his knowledge has assigned [to this
substituf'on].
It is through
the abdâl that God preserves the seven dimes.1 The first
among them is in the footsteps (literally, 'on the foot', 'ala qadam) of
Abraham and is in charge of the first clime, the second is in the footsteps of
Moses, the third is in the footsteps of Aaron, the fourth is in the footsteps
of Idris (this is the clime in the middle, corresponding to the heaven of the
Sun in the hierarchy of the planetary spheres, and this bada! is none
other than the Pole himself), the fifth is in the footsteps of Joseph, the
sixth is in the footsteps of Jesus and the seventh is in the footsteps of Adam.
Once again, the connection between mtbuwwa and walâya is plain.
The symbolic names of the abdâl (among which are the names of the awtâd,
since each of these categories, as we saw, is induded in the one below it) are
the expression of a privileged relationship with one of the divine Names.
Besides 'Abd al-Hayy, 'Abd al-'Alim, 'Abd al-Wadüd (servant of the Most Loving,
similar to 'Abd al-Murid in the [137] previous listing) and ‘Abd
al-Qâdir, there are 'Abd al-Shakür (servant of Him who is grateful), 'Abd
al-Samf (servant of Him who hears), and ‘Abd ai-Basir (servant of Him who
sees).
To each of
these divine qualities there corresponds one of the abdâl. Allah looks
upon them through these qualities and each quality has a dominant influence on
one of them.
Ibn
"Arabi saw the seven abdâl of his time at Mecca together, but says
that he had met two of them before: Müsâ al-Sadrânï in Seville'in 586* and
Muhammad ibn Ashraf al-Rundi, named Shaykh al-JabaU
Next come the nuqaba,
a word usually translated as 'leaders' (in the Qur'an 5:12 it is applied, in
the singular, to the twelve heads of the tribes of Israel), but which it would
be better to render as 'seekers', a word which accords with its etymology and
also corresponds more closely to the characteristics of these people as Ibn
'Arabi describes them. There are twelve of them, 'the number of the signs in
the Zodiac', and they possess the knowledge of the revealed Laws. 'They have the
power to see the evil hidden in men's souls and to know their deceits and their
trickeries. As for Iblis [the devil], they can see right through him . . ..
When they see someone's footsteps in the sand, they know whether these are the
tracks of one of the chosen 0 r one of the damned. ' The mtjaba', or
Nobles, are eight in number. 'The signs of the divine approval are manifest in
them because of their spiritual state, not through their own choice but because
their states govern them.' Whereas the nuqabâ' know the secrets of the
ninth heaven—the heaven without stars—the nujabS' possess the secrets of
the eight lower spheres: the heaven of the fixed stars and the seven planetary
heavens.[138]
[139]
[140]
The hawâriyyün, a rather enigmatic name used in the Qur'an to
designate the apostles of Jesus (cf. Qur'an 3:52, 5:112, 61:14, an<l
so on), constitute a very small category, since there is never more
than one
The Highest Degree of Malay a
of them at any
given time. This one hawârî 'defends religion both by the sword and by
convincing evidence, for he has been given the knowledge of how to express
himself and present evidence, and also the knowledge of swordfighting, as well
as bravery and the ability to answer the challenges made against the
authenticity of revealed religion.' Since the Prophet's death, only this one hawart
has been permitted, as the 'inheritance' due to him, to perform tmfjizât—that
is to say, supernatural acts which, unlike the karâmât granted to the
saints, are the exclusive privilege of the prophets.[141]
The next category, the
name and nature of which are somewhat surprising, is the category of the rajabiyyuti
or 'men of Rajab', who number forty. They are so named because 'the spiritual
state (hal) whichxórresponds to their station (maqâm) is manifest
in them only during the month of Rajab, from the moment of the appearance of
the new moon until the end of the lunar month. They, then lose this state and
do not regain it until the month of Rajab the following year .... In some of
them there survives throughout the year something of what they perceived
(through intuitive unveiling) in the month of Rajab, while in others nothing of
it survives at all.' Ibn 'Arabi tells of the visit he paid to one of them at
Dunaysir in Mesopotamia. This person, who is identified briefly in the Durra
fâkhira as al-Khatari, had the singular gift, and not only in the month of
Rajab, of being able to detect the
extremist
Shi'ites (rawâfid) even when they were posing as Sunnis, because they
appeared to him metamorphosedinto swine.[142]
Whereas the first
thirty-five categories correspond to specific hierarchical functions connected
with the government of the higher worlds fâlam al-arwâh, malaküt) and
the lotver worlds fâlam al-ajsâm, mulk), this is no longer so in the
case of most of the tabaqât, described, one after another, in the rest
of Chapter Seventy-Three of the Futûhât. The individuals who make up
these groups possess knowledge and powers, and they all have some role to play
in the divine economy of Manifestation, but this role does not define the
category in question. These categories contain a variable number of beings
whose common bond is the feet of their having attained to a certain degree,
or realized a certain modality, of spiritual life. To add to the
complexity, this means that, among other things, the same man can be present in
several categories simultaneously. Several of the modalities, in fact, can be
possessed concurrently, and the attainment of a certain degree implies thathe
who has attained it is eminently in possession of the levels below. If we add
to these various parameters those which are furnished by the typology of the
prophetic heritages described earlier, we arrive at a combination of
inexhaustible richness. The example of the Pole is particularly revealing. From
the point of view of function, he belongs to the category of the qutbiyya
(of which he is the sole representative), but he also belongs to the categories
of the awtâd, the abdâl, and so on (and in addition he may, or
may not, hold the external office of khilâfa). On the other hand, like
all saints he is part of a prophetic 'familyh he is müsavñ, ibrâhtmî, shu caybi,
and so on, and, ultimately, all of them at once. He is in possession of 'all
the states (ahwal) and all the stations (maqamât)' concurrently,
and by the same token occupies a place in the groups or sub-groups which
correspond to this double series of distinctions. Finally, in a most logical
fashion, he is also present in a lastcategory which we are about to explore,
and wdiich represents the highest degree of walâya. This is the category
of the afradar solitaries.[143]
The Highest Degree of Wa laya
The
information contained in Chapter Seventy-Three on the subject of the afrâd
is relatively succinct, and will therefore be supplemented here by an analysis
of the wealth of detail contained in Chapters Thirty to Thirty-Two of the t'utühât.
In these chapters, moreover, in a way most unusual in the work of the Shaykh
al-Akbar, the afrâd are designated by the symbolic name of al-rukbân,
the 'riders' or, more precisely, the 'camel-riders'. Unlike the fursân,
who ride on horses (rukkâb al-khayl), the rukbàn in question ride
on camels (rukkâb al-ibil)—an essentially Arab mount, and as such one
which possesses a symbolic character that is specifically Islamic and
Muhammadan. These rukbân (a term to be explained later}, 'who are the
solitaries' [hum al-afrâd), are dividedinto two groups: those who travel
'on the camel of spiritual energy' (nujub al-himam; in the abundant
camel vocabulary of Arabia, nujub means a pure-bred camel), and those
who travel 'on the camel of action' (nujub al-acmdl). The
Pole, the awtâd, the abdâl, the nuqabâ', the nujabâ',
and the rajabiyyün, along with others, are all included among the afrâd,
the number of whom varies but is always an odd number and always greater than
three.
The afrâd,
situated at the same spiritual level as the Pole, are not subject to his
authority, except for those of them who are invested with a specific function (imam,
badal, and so on) and who are thus equivalent to those in the initiatic
hierarchy. In the human order they are equivalent to those in the angelic order
who are the muhayyamûn or ‘spirits overcome with love, also known as al-karübiyyün,
the Cherubim. The divine Name which governs them is al-Fard, the
Unique, which explains the fact that their spiritual level is unknown (yujhal
maqâmuhum) and why they experience misunderstanding and reproach, for 'they
have received a knowledge from God which is known to them alone'. This is
illustrated by a reference to the story of Moses and Khadir (one of the afrâd)
in Süra 18, in which Moses, in spite of repeated promises to keep
silent, is astonished by his companion's strange and, legally speaking,
aberrant behaviour. Reference is also made to the case of 'Ali ibn Abi Talib,
who declared, pointing at his own breast, that innumerable forms of knowledge
were stored in it, but that he could find no one capable of receiving them.
Other past afrâd are mentioned, including Ibn 'Abbas and Zayn
al-'Âbidïn, Umar ibn al-Khattab and Ibri Hanbal. Ibn 'Arabi, who says that in
the course of a 32 (1, pp. 199-208). Cf. also i, p. 93; n, pp. 25,675;
m, p. 137; Kitâb al-Tajalliyât, ed. O. Yabia, 1967, i,p. 39; Kitâb
al-Masâ'il, Hyderabad 1948, p. 28, etc.
single day at
Mecca, on Mount Abü Qubays, he met seventy afrâd (in a later passage he
mentions the names of some whom he had visited in person), identifies as such
several outstanding figures of twelfth century tasawwuf: 'Abd al-Qâdir a]-Jîlânï,a
and two of his companions, Abü al-Su'üd ibn al-Shibl[144] [145] and Muhammad ibn Qâ'id
a]-Awânï.[146]
Leaving aside several
paragraphs in which the fuqaha or doctors of the Law are severely
criticized for their attitude towards the gnostics (Ibn ‘Arabi calls them the
'pharaohs of the saints' and the 'antichrists of the pious servants of God'),
Chapter Thirty of the Futühât furnishes us with some essential facts. To
begin with, the afrâd do not, normally, have disciples (the reservation
is explained later): their task is not tarbiya, the initiatic
instruction of novices, but is confined to nastha or counsel. They
spread knowledge around them without claiming ultimate authority or imposing a
discipline, as a giftwhich maybe accepted or refused. In their 'spiritual
ascensions' fmfrâj), they see before them only the 'foot of the
Prophet', whereas the other aw/iyâ', according to their different levels, see
the foot of the Pole, of the aw tad, of the abdâl, and so on.
This proves the autonomy of the afrâd in relation to all hierarchies.
Finally, they have the right of sway over beings (tasarruf), but those
of them who belong to the first category (the rukkâb al-himam, who are
mounted on the camels of spiritual energy) refuse to exercise it, as in the
case of Abu al-Sûcüd ibn a]-Shibl. 'Abd al-Qâdir
The Highest Degree ofWalaya
al-Jflânï, on
the other hand, exercised this power in obedience to a divine command. Muhammad
ibn Qâ'id used it without being ordered to do so, which is a sign of
imperfection. They have entered the Tents of Mystery (surâdiqât al-ghayb)
and are hidden beneath the veils of ordinary behaviour (hujub al-^awa'id).
They observe total servitude ( £ubüda), and their attitude
towards Allah is one of absolute dependence (iftiqâr). They are the
Heroes (fityan), the Hidden (al-akhfiyar), 'those who
draw blame upon themselves' (al-malâmiyya).11 Ibn Ja‘dun, who
was mentioned at the end of the last chapter, is a striking example of the malâmiyya
(Ibn ‘Arabi prefers this form o£ the word to the more frequent but less correct
malâmatiyya) : when they are present, no one pays them any attention;
when they withdraw, their absence goes unnoticed. They blend into the camma,
the main body of believers: no apparent asceticism, no excessive visible
devotions, no manifestly supernatural intervention in their very ordinary lives
draws people's attention to them. The 'blame' is both what they inflict on
themselves in a ceaseless effort to detect their own imperfections, and that to
which they are subjected by the élite: the fuqahâ' and the Süfis (in
this case Sufis who are still far from the end of the Way) treat them with
condescension, and, insofar as they notice their existence, are critical of
their spiritual ordinariness. Tire motto of the malâmiyya could be the
adage of which Ibn ‘Arabi, in the Futühât,11 says : 'these
words conceal immense knowledge', and according to which '[true] Sufism
consists of thé five prayers and the expectation of death'. The way of
perfection ends, paradoxically, in pure and simple conformity with the Law.
Ibn ‘Arabi comments
repeatedly on the famous hadith qudst, in which God says: 'My servant
does not cease to approach Me through supererogatory acts of obedience until I
love him. And when I love him, I am the hearing with which he hears, the sight
with which he [147]
[148]
sees, the hand
with which he grasps, the feet with which he walks . . ..'IJ
Notwithstanding,
this is not the most perfect proximity—and proximity, we must remember, is the
true meaning of walâya. In the performing of supererogatory acts there
is still the implicit affirmation of choice, of the servant's own will. But the
pure servant—al-cabd al-mahd, a term which the Shaykh al-Akbar
uses of himself14—is totally without ikhtiyâr, free will.
Thus, at the end of the path, it is only by practising the farâ'id, or
legal obligations (epitomized by the five prayers in the saying quoted above)
that he can realize fully his spiritual destiny. We are a long way from the ibaha,
the laxness of fact or alleged antinomianism of principle that Ibn 'Arabi's
detractors so noisily condemn. He goes on to explain that when this point has
been reached it is no longer God who becomes the hearing and the sight and the
hand of the cabd, but the cabd who becomes
the hearing with which God hears, the sight through which He sees, the hand
with which He grasps. The malâmiyya 'in this world are the hidden, the
pure, the trustworthy, those who are concealed among men .... For them alone is
there a perpetual theophany.'15 'They are the princes and the imams
of the People of the Way; one of them is the supreme head of this world, and
that is Muhammad, God's Messenger. They are the wise men who put each thing in
its rightful place. They affirm the secondary causes where necessary and deny
them where they should be denied. '16
The ignorant
man may say of the malâmî (singular of malâmiyya) what the
infidels said of the Prophet: ya'kulu 'l-taeâm wa-yamshîfi
'l-aswâq (Qur'ân 25:7): he feeds like everyone else and attends to his
business in the market place. The malâmî, as Ibn 'Arabi describes him,
knows at each moment that God acts within secondary causes and not
through them ( 'inda 'l-asbâb la bi 'l-asbâb), and that they are thus
the Veil of the Peerless One. But He has chosen this veil and it is not up to
the servant to tear it. So the malâmî, like the ordinary man—and he is
13. Bukhân, bâb al-tawâdu This hadîth qudsî forms part
of the ahâdïth collected by Ibn 'Arabi in his Mishkat al-anwar,
Aleppo 1346 ah, no. 91. For the
commentary on this hadtth, see Futûhât, r, p. 406; m, p. 68; iv,
pp. 20,24,30,449; Naqsh al-Fusûs, Hyderabad 1948, pp. 3-4; see also the
anonymous commentary on the Kitâb al-Tajalliyat, known by the title Kashf
al-ghâyât in the edition by O. Yahia, in the journal al-Mashriq,
1966, p. 679.
15. Ibid.,i,p. 181. Seealsom,p. 35.
16. Ibid., n, p. 16. On the malâmiyya, see also chapter 23
ibid., I, pp. 180-82.
The Highest Degree o/Walaya
ordinary in
the fullest sense, through his conscious and voluntary conformity to the divine
order of things—submits to the chain of secondary causes. He never makes use of
exceptional powers and refrains from shatahât, the ecstatic utterances
which are considered by the vulgar to be proof of the highest sainthood. In the
opinion of Ibn ‘Arabi, who comes back often to this point, 'the ecstatic
utterance (sha th) is an imperfection in man, for in the shath he
is raising himself to the level of divinity and thereby takes leave of his
essential reality.'17 This essential reality is cubüdiyya,
absolute servitude. With reference to the doctrine of man as the microcosm
joining within himself the four natural kingdoms, the Shaykh al-Akbar says,
'There is nothing higher in man than the mineral nature (al-sifa
al-jamâdiyya)', for it is the nature of stone, when left to itself, to
fall, 'and this is true ^ubüdiyya.'^ The malâmî is a pebble in
the hand of God.39
We will now return to
what Ibn ‘Arabi has to say about the afrâd who are the highest among the
malâmiyya. Chapter Thirty-One of the Futûhât describes the
principles (wçmI) on which their
special status is founded and explains the choice of the symbolic term rukbân
as a name for them. The characteristic feature of the afrâd is their
renunciation of all personal movement (al-tabam min al-ltaraka): the
image of the stone which never stirs of its own accord is exactly appropriate
here. The afrâd have preferred repose (sukûri) to movement
because the state of repose alone is in conformity with the original status,
the ontological definition, of the true.'abrf (al-iqâma 'ala ’l-asl).
They are therefore 'carried' (Ibn ‘Arabi had already used this expression in
his early work, the Risâla fi T-walâya), and their 'mount' is the hawqala,
the formula which is their perpetual invocation (hijjir) and which runs;
la hawla wa lâ quwwala ilia bi'Llâh, 'There is no strength and no power
save
17. Ibid., u, p. 232. Cf. ibid.,n,pp. 387-88; Istilâh al-sûfiyya,p.
3. It is chiefly because of this imperfection that 'Abd al-Qâdir al-Jïlânî,
even though he is one of the malâmiyya (Futûhât, tn, p. 34), is situated
on a less eminent level than Abu Su'ûd ibn al-Shibl (cf. note 9).
18. Futûhât.i, p. 710. Cf. also ibid., I, p. 529.
19. The fundamental text concerning the malâmiyya is Sulâmï's Risâlat
al-malâmaliyya, ed. A. A. ‘Afifi in al-Ma!âmiyya wa 'l-sûfiyya wa-ahl
al- futtitmoa, Cairo 1945, pp. 86-120. The historical aspect of the
problem—the emergence in Nïshâpûr in the ninth century of a malâmî
movement and its consequences—does not concern us here, but forms the subject
of Jacqueline Chabbi's article 'Remarques sur le développement historique des
mouvements ascétiques et mystiques au Khorassan', Studia islámica xlvi, Paris 1977, pp. 5-72.
through God. '
The response to this total giving up of their beings to God is that God takes
them totally in charge. They are not those who desire (al-muñdün) but
those who are desired (al-murâdün), not those who move forward step by
step under the illusion that they are walking of their own volition (al-sâlikûn),
but those whom God 'pulls' towards Him (al-majdhûbûri). During sleep
they veil their faces and sleep on their backs, in a position of abandonment.
Each of their nights, and better still every moment of their sleep, even in the
daytime, is a mi crSj, an effortless ascension like that of
the Prophet who, similarly, did not travel but whom God caused to travel (asm
bi^abdihi, Qur'an 17:1). Secrecy (hitman) is one of their
principles: they conceal what they are and what they know until such time as
they are commanded to reveal it to the outside world.
The next chapter deals
with the afrâd in the second category. These are invested with an auctoritas
and, in order to perform the governing role (tadbir) that God has
assigned to them, are therefore obliged, at least in appearance, to take
initiatives and exercise powers: a sacrificial renunciation of the eubüdiyya
in the name of the 'ubüdiyya, since the servant must clothe himself with
the attributes of the rubübiyya or lordship. Ibn ‘Arabi knew several rukbân
of this type during his youth in Andalusia: Abu Yahyâ al-Çinhâjï, a blind man
who lived in a mosque in Seville;10 $âlih al-Barbari who, after
travelling for forty years, spent the next forty years in another mosque in
Seville, where he lived in the most abject poverty;11 Abu ‘Abdallah
al-Sharafi who used to disappear each year at the moment of the Pilgrimage,
having been transported miraculously to Mecca, and whose requests to God had so
great a reputation for being granted that people would sidle up to him in the
mosque and utter their own prayers aloud, thereby forcing him to say the 'Amen'
which would ensure their fulfilment;11 Abü 'I-Hajjàj al- Shuburbalï,
who was so deeply absorbed in God that it took a visitor's comment to make him
aware, in extreme old age, of the existence of a tree in front of the house he
had lived in since childhood.13
Even though
they do not benefit to the same degree from the sort of
20. Futûhât, i, p. 206; Sufis of Andalusia, p. 79,
number 5.
si. Futûhât, I, p. 206; n, p. 15; m, p. 34. This
character is discussed in the Rûh al-quds, pp. 51-52, under the name of
Sâlih al-‘Adawï; Sufis of Andalusia, pp. 73-76, number 3.
22. Futûhât, i, p. 206; Ruh al-quds, p.52; Sufis of
Andalusia, pp. 76-79.
23. Futûhât, I, p. 206; Ruh al-quds,p. 53; Sufis of
Andalusia,pp. 79-S3.
The Highest Degree of Walâya
invisibility
which protects the inmost selves of the other afrâd, the afrâd
who have a function to perform and whom Ibn ‘Arabi calls al-mudabbirün
(in the front rank of whom are the Pole, the awtâd and the abdâl)
are still malamiyya. They know that they are themselves included in the
secondary causes which are a veil before God; they act without acting, like the
Prophet, who is told in a paradoxical verse which both affirms and denies that
the act was performed by the seeming àgent of it: 'It was not you who threw
[the dust] when you threw, but God who threw' (Qur'an 8:17).24 Their
hijjtr, their initiatic formula and constant invocation, is: 'He rules (yudabbir)
all things and makes His signs visible' (Qur'an 13:2): the mudabbirün
are mudabbirün only in the eyes of others, the tadlñr or
government (all these words have the same root) belongs to God alone. For them,
the signs of God are visible in all’things, or, rather, all things in their
eyes are nothing other than the signs of God. Ibn ‘Arabi embarks on a rich
and.subtle exposition of this concept of signs, distinguishing finely between
the many occurrences in the Qur'an of the word âyât; and, with
reference to verse 30:23, he compares "he decipherment of the meaning of
the things of this world, which is the attribute of this category of afrâd,
with the interpretation of dreams. He ends the chapter by saying that one of
the grrces bestowed on these men who are among 'the greatest of the saints' is
the knowledge of the secret and the meaning of laylat al-qadr, the night
of descent discussed above. This constitutes a most illuminatmg reference to
the chief feature of these mudabbirün, which is precisely the feet that
they descend toward :he creatures after having achieved the ascension to the
Creator—that, having arrived at Unity, they return to multiplicity. The word
'return' (rujtT) is used by Ibn ‘Arabi in Chapter Forty-Five of the Futühât?,;
to designate the final stage of the Way for those who are the most perfect of
the heirs, thereby contrasting 'those who return' with the saints who 'come to
a stop' (al-wâqifün) after
24.
This verse refers to an
episode during the battle of Badr. On the interpretation ofit, see Futûhât,
tv, pp. 41,213; Fusiis,
i,p. 185.
25.
Chapter 45 [Futûhât,
I, pp. 250-53) has been translated with a commentary by Michel Valsan in his
article 'Un texte du Cheikh al-Akbar sur la "realisation
descendante",' in Études traditionelles, no. 307, April-May 1953,
pp. 120-39. The concept of a return toward the creatures, the importance of
which will soon become clearer, is already evident in the Risâla fî
'l-walâya, pp. 25-27. We will leave aside the distinctions drawn by Ibn
'Arabi between those who arrive (al-wâsi!ün), based cn whether they have
reached God through one of the Names of the Essence or throughcr.othcrof tne
divineNames.
reaching the
summit. The latter, 'who know nothing but Him and whom He alone knows', may in
fact be identified with the muhayyamim, the Cherubim overcome with love.
Their spiritual realization, however exceptional, does not have the same
character of plenitude as that of the râji'ün, those who return; for the
return to created being with the intention of teaching and guiding, whether
spontaneous, as in the case of Abu Madyan, or divinely commanded, as in the
case of Abu Yazïd al-Bistâmï, is the supreme mode of participation in the
heritage of the prophets, who likewise had to 're-descend' from the highest
station in order to carry out their mission. Such a descent is painful. Abu
Yazid, on receiving the divine command, 'took a step' in obedience to it and
fainted, whereupon God said, 'Bring My beloved back to Me, for he cannot bear
to be far from Me.' Nevertheless, it must not be thought of as a fall or
regression, or even as a real absenting. The saint who is sent back to mankind
does not lose what he has gained; his sacrificial exile is not a banishment.
Thus the second category of afrâd in the order of speaking is, in
reality, the first.26
Finally, with regard ®
the level of the afrâd, we must remember that the 'station of proximity'
(maqâm al-qurba) is situated between the çiddtqiyya (which other
Sufis, such as Ghazali, take to be the highest point of walaya) and
legislative prophethood, nubuwwat al-tashrt*.27 Furthermore,
as we saw, Ibn ‘Arabi has no hesitation in calling this supreme degree of
sainthood—which, he says, was possessed by Muhammad before the Revelation—by
the name of 'general prophethood' (nubuwwa câmma)
or'freeprophethood' (nubuwwamutlaqa).13 The line of
demarcation between the awliyâ' and the prophets in the
26. The difference between the state of the wâqifün, those who
come to a stop, and that of the râji'ün, those who return, dearly
presents an analogy with the drunkenness (suJcr) and the sobriety (sahw)
which may predominate, according to the moment and the predisposition of one's
being, at various stages of the spiritual life, even in the case of mere
novices; but it cannot be reduced to this classic Sufi opposition: as far as
these awliya are concerned, it is no longer a question of simple states
but of permanent status and objective realities.
27. Futühât, n, p, 19. The siddtqiyya, or station of
'Absolute Truth', is a term derived from the first caliph Abu Bakr, who was
sumamed al-siddtq. The notion that there may exist a level higher than
the level which bears the name of Abu Bakr has often come under attack. These
critiques are based on a misunderstanding which is possibly deliberate in some
cases, for the notion does not call into question the eminence of Abu Bakr
himself—indeed, Ibn ‘Arabi expressly considers him to belong to the category of
the afrâd. Cf. Futûhât, m, p. 78.
The Highest Degree oj Wai aya
strict sense is clear (the former are no more than the heirs of the latter),
but it becomes tenuous, and it is easy to understand how Ibn Taymiyya and many
after him found it a cause for alarm.
In conclusion, we should
remember that we can make two sorts of distinction between diese 'solitaries'
who have arrived at the extreme point beyond which, since thedeath of the Seal
of the Prophets, there is no proceeding—distinctions which are necessary if we
are to grasp Ibn 'Arabi's dextrine in its entirety. Certain of the afrâd
have received in full the heritage of the Muhammadan walây a and, as we
shall see, this line of them has come to an end; others are the heirs of
previous prophets, and their line remains open until the end of time. Also,
there are some among the afrâd who exercise no sway over another
creature or over themselves ; and there are others who 'return' to this world
below from which they began their ascent, and they are the most perfect. All of
them, however—in spite of the seeming distance , between the two categories—are
par excellence 'proximate' (hum al-'muqarrabûn, as Ibn ‘Arabi writes
at the beginning of the section devoted to them in Chapter Seventy-Three). In
them the equivalence between walâya and qurba, sainthood
andproximity, finds its definitive andunrivalled expression.
CHAPTER
Or the
spiritual functions listed at the beginning of Chapter Seventy- Three of the Futühât,
by far the most important is one which we have hitherto passed over in silence.
This is the function of 'Seal of the Saints', which we alluded to briefly at
the start of this book in connection with abHakim al-Tirmidhi. The use of the
singular, although doctrinally justified, does not take full account of what
follows, for as we shall see, in itshistorical dimension sainthood is sealed
three times.
Unlike many of the other
terms we have encountered, the title of Seal of the Saints, or Seal of
Sainthood (both these forms appear in the writings of the Shaykh al-Akbar), has
no precedent in the vocabulary either of the Qur'an or of the hadîth. It
is, therefore, an 'innovation' (bidca), condemned as such
even in our own day. The only scriptural backing it possesses, and which failed
to convince the fitqaha, is the prophetic tradition already mentioned,
according to which the wise (a/- ‘ulama']—i.e. those who alone possess
true knowledge, the awliyâ'—are the heirs of the Prophets. Since there
is a seal of the Prophets, who is Muhammad (Qur'an 33:4o),[149] it follows that the saints
must also have their Seal. Tirmidhi was the first to arrive at this conclusion
in the third century of the Hegira. But the passages in his work in which
reference is made to this novel idea are hardly very enlightening. In addition
to those we have already quoted, there is the following:
Someone asked him, 'So what qualifies this saint, who has the
caliphate of sainthood, and directs it and seals itT He replied, 'He is dose to
the prophets and is almost on their level.' They asked him, 'Where is his
station He
said, 'In the
highest dwelling-places (manâzil) of the saints, in the kingdom of
Singularity [fardaniyya), for he is alone in the contemplation of Unity.
His private conversations [with God] take place face to face in the assemblies
of Kings . . ..For him the veil has been lifted which covers the station of the
saints, their degrees, the gifts and presents with which they have been
favoured.'[150]
[151]
The
expressions 'close to the Prophets' and 'Singularity' (a word that comes from
the same root as afrnd) refer to themes already encountered and which
willbe further elucidated in the doctrine of Ibn cArabî.
But who is the Seal of
the Saints? On this subject Tirmidhi is silent. He confines himself to asking
the question in his famous questionnaire, where it comes thirteenth and is
phrased as follows: 'Who is he who is worthy to be the Seal of the Saints as
Muhammad is worthy to be the Seal of Prophethood?' Ibn 'Arabi answers this
question on two occasions. In a first text written in 603AH, the jawâb
mustaqïm (the complete title is: 'The correct answer to the questions of
Tirmidhi al-Háldm')? he says only, 'He who is worthy of this is a man who
resembles his father. He is a non-Arab, of harmonious constitution . . .. The
cycle of the Kingdom and of Sainthood will be sealed by him. He has a minister
whose name is Yahya [i.e. John], His nature is spiritual as to its origin and
human as to its place of manifestation. ' The text of the Futühât is
more explicit and, above all, provides additional information of major
importance;
There are in
fact two Seals, one with which God seals sainthood in general and another with
which He seals Muhammadan sainthood. 'ïsâ [i.e. Jesus] is the Seal of Sainthood
in an absolute sense. He is the saint who par excellence possesses the
non-legislative prophetic function in the time of this Community [i.e. the
Muslim community], for he is henceforth set apart from the function of
legislative prophet and of Messenger (rosul)- When he descends at the end of
time, it will be as the heir and the Seal, and after him there will be no
saint to be the holder of prophethood in general . . ..
The office of the Seal of
Muhammadan Sainthood belongs to an Arab, one of the noblest in lineage and
power. He is alive in our time. I met him in 595.1 saw the sign which is
exclusive to him and which God has hidden away in him from the eyesof His
servants, but which He revealed to me in the town of Fez in order that I might
perceive in him the presence of the Seal of Sainthood. He is thus the Seal of
free [i.e. non-legislative] prophecy about which most men know nothing. God has
tested him by exposing him to the criticism of people who dispute the knowledge
of God which he, in his innermost being, has the absolute assurance of having
received from God Himself. As God has sealed legislative prophethood through Muhammad,
through the Muhammadan Seal he has sealed the sainthood which comes from the
Muhammadan heritage, not the sainthood which comes from the heritage of
other prophets: among the saints, in fact, some, for example, inherit from
Abraham, some from Moses, some from Jesus, and after this Muhammadan Seal there
will be others; whereas no other saint will ever be 'on the heart' of
Muljammad.
The Seal of
Universal Sainthood, after which there will be no other saint [who will reach
that level], is Jesus, and we have met a number of saints who were 'on the
heart' (ca/ñ qalb) of Jesus or another of the Messengers. I
took my companions 'Abdallah [Badr aJ-I.Iabashi][152] and Ismâ'il ibn Sawdaldn[153]
to see this Seal. He prayed to God on theirbehalfand they profited from it.[154]
There are thus
two Seals, one of whom is unambiguously identified: he is Jesus 'who
resembles his father', that is to say the Spirit (rich) breathed by the
angel into Mary, and who is associated with John in the exercise of this
function as he was during his first mission as a rasiil. The second Seal
is an Arab, Jiving, like Ibn ‘Arabi, in the sixth century of the Hegira. In
reply to Tinnidhi's fifteenth question, the Futûhât explains further
that lus name is the same as the Prophet's (i. e. Muhammad), and that he does
not belong to the latter's physical lineage but to his spiritual posterity. He
cannot therefore be confused with the Mahdi, who is a descent of Muhammad by
blood.7 This assurance is strengthened by a poem which comes in
another passage, inwhich Ibn ‘Arabi says :
Yes, surely, the Seal of
the Saints is present
When the Imam of the
worlds is still absent, the rightly guided lord (al-say y id al-mahdt)
of Ahmad's line.8
Yet this still
does not tell us who the Seal of Muhammadan Sainthood is, nor does it
enable us to distinguish clearly between the respective roles of the two
Seals—of whom there will soon be three, which does not simplify matters. Before
proceeding to the arguments aroused by the contradictions and obscurities of
Ibn 'Arabi's writings, and attempting to reply to the questions raised in his
texts or in the commentaries on them, we must run the risk both of increasing
the reader's confusion and of repeating ourselves, and bring together all the
main facts that we possess on the subject. Some of these have already been made
known through the work, in particular, of 'Afiff, Corbin and Izutsu,[155]
but they are almost always in the form of short extracts which represent only a
part of the theme under consideration.
Among them
[i.e. al-rijâl, spiritual men] there is the Seal who is unique not only
in every epoch but unique in [all the history of] the universe. Through him God
has sealed Muhammadan sainthood and there is no one among the Muhammadan saints
who is above him. There is also another Seal with whom God seals universal
sainthood from Adam to the last of the saints, and this is Jesus. He is the
Seal of Sainthood as he is also the Seal of the cycle of the Kingdom ( ‘Siam
al-ntulk, for his coming is a sign that the end of time is approaching).[156]
[157]
The Seal of
Muhammadan Sainthood is the most knowledgeable of created beings on the subject
of God. There is not now, and after him there will not be, a- being who knows
more than him about God and the Sunsets of Wisdom (tnawâqf al-hikam), He
and the Qur'an are brothers, as the Mahdi is brother to the sword.11
The 'Sunsets oí
Wisdom' are here the prophets inasmuch as they are saints, for in
them—in the inmost part of themselves, their walâya—is concealed the
divine Wisdom whose essential aspects were described, as we know, in the
twenty-seven chapters of the Fusus. On the other hand, the prophets as
such, that is to say inasmuch as they are the revealers of the sacred Laws,
are the 'Sunrises of Wisdom' (matâlic al-hikam). They are
'oriental' in terms of nubuwwa, and occidental in terms of walâya.
The reference to the brotherhood which unites the
Qur'an with
the Seal is identical with a statement we came across in connection with the
Perfect Man,[158]
[159]
[160]
[161]
but it may also be compared to a famous verse at the beginning of the Futühât^
in which Ibn 'Arabi says:
lam the Qur'an and the
Seven oft-repeated (al-sab'al-mathanJ).
The expression
'the Seven oft-repeated' is traditionally used to designate the introductory sura
of the Qur'an, or Fatiha, 'the one that opens'.
The role of Jesus as the
Seal of Universal Sainthood is affirmed several times, but in the various texts
where it appears it is accompanied by explanations or nuances which oblige us
to take them all into account. In Chapter Fourteen of the Futûhât ('On
the knowledge of the Secrets of the Prophets—by which I mean those of the
saints who are prophets'; the reference here is to the highest level of walaya,
where it becomes non-legislative prophethood), Ibn 'Arabi writes :
When Jesus descends
at the end of time, he will judge only according to the Law revealed to
Muhammad. He is the Seal of the Saints. One of the favours accorded to Muhammad
was that the sainthood of his community and sainthood in general should be
sealed by a noble Messenger Prophet.... On the day of the Resurrection, Jesus
will be present in two groups simultaneously: with the Messengers in as much as
he is one of them, and with us [i.e. with the Muhammadan community] in as much
as he is a saint. This is a station with which God has honoured only him and
Elijah, and no other prophet.’4
The following are two
more passages which provide us with apparently contradictory information about
the relationship between the Seal of Universal Sainthood and the Seal of
Muhammadan S ainthood :
Muhammadan
Sainthood, that is to say the sainthood of the Law revealed to Muhammad, has a
particular Seal who is inferior in rank to Jesus because the latter is a
Messenger. This Seal of Muhammadan Sainthood is bom into our times. I too have
seen him;’51 met with him and I saw in him the sign of his office.
There will be no saint after him who is not subordinate to him, as there will
be no prophet after Mufiammad who is not subordinate to him. In this community,
for example, it will beso in th e case of Elijah, Jesus and Khadir.16
When Jesus
descends to earth at the end of time, it will be granted to him by God to seal
the Great Sainthood {al-walâya al-kubra) which extends from Adam to the
last of the prophets. This will be an honour for Muhammad, since the universal
sainthood—the sainthood of all communities—will be sealed only by a Messenger
who is a follower of the Law. So Jesus will seal both the cycle of the Kingdom,
and universal sainthood. He is thus one of the Seals in this world. As for the
Seal of Muhammadan Sainthood, who is the special Seal of the sainthood of the
community which is visibly that of Muhammad/7 Jesus himself will
be placed under the authority of his office along with Elijah, Khadir and
all the saints of God who belong to this community. In this way, Jesus,
although a Seal, will himself be scaled by the Muhammadan Seal?8
A work written
by Ibn 'Arabi before his final departure for the East has the khatm as
its central theme. The work in question is the 'Anqa' mughrib,*9
whose full title means: 'The astonishing Phoenix: on the Seal of the Saints and
the Sun of the West. ' The expression 'Sun of the West' draws attention to the
apocalyptic nature of this book, and in this case is a reference to the Mahdi?0
However, the information contained in it, which is frequently cryptic, is
essentially concerned with the Seal of Universal Sainthood, ibn 'Arabi singles
out twenty-nine (unspecified) verses from the Qur'an, occurring in fourteen
(named) silras,
16. Futiihat, 1, p. 185. It may be noted that the last
sentence of this text Seems to imply the possibility of the existence, in other
communities, of similar cases or, rather, of specific manifestations of the
universal functions which in the language of the Mufeammadan community are represented
by the figures of Elijah, Jesus and al-Khadir.
17. That is, the Muslim community in the historical sense of the term.
This must be specified, since fi'l-batin, all the communities founded on
the successive Revelations are Muhammadan, in accordance with the doctrine of
the haqtqa muhamrnadiyya.
18. Fufti/ifit, m,p. 514; tv,p. 195.
19. We refer here to the commercial edition of the 'Anqa Mughrib,
published in Cairo in 1954. We have also consulted the MS Ragib Paja 1453 (fos.
ijj-iSob), and, in particular MS Berlin Mo 3266, which is dated 597 AH and
which was read in the presen ce of die author. The work was probably written in
595 ah (sec pp. 15-17 of the Cairo
edition). Ibn 'Arabi discloses that he intended initially to write about the
Seal and the Mahdi in the Tadbïrât Ilahiyya, but eventually decided
against it (pp.5-6).
20. This expression echoes the hadith on the 'signs of the
Hour', in connection with which Ibn 'Arabi was questioned (cf. p. 10) by 'a man
from Tabriz'. He refused to answer, because the questioner was prompted only by
speculative motives, and showed no aptitude for genuine spiritual knowledge. which
speak of the Seal; a series of cross-checks establishes that these are passages
in the Qur'an which are cither about Jesus or else contain an allusion to him.[162]
[163]
In any case, we should observe that in this treatise the author is emphatic
about the need to avoid confusing the office of the Seal with that of the
Mahdi, and also to avoid interpreting the concept of the Seal in chronological
terms. 'The Seal', he writes, 'is not called the Seal because of the moment in
which he appears, but because he i s the person who most completely realizes
the sta tion of direct vision (maqâm al-tycm).'11 Finally—and
this is a precaution to be observed whenever Ibn 'Arabi mentions the cosmic
functions or touches on problems of eschatology—we should note that the reader
is asked not to lose sight of the fact that everything said about the macrocosm
has its correspondence in the microcosm. Within each being there is a Mahdi, a
Seal and so on : 'When I speak in this book, or in another, of an event in the
external world, my intention is simply to establish it firmly in. the hearing
of the listener and then to set him face to face with that which corresponds to
it within man .... Tum your eyes towards your inner kingdom!'[164]
[165]
The following extract
from the Fusüs takes us back to the Seal of Muhammadan Sainthood and
gives us some dues about the relationship between his office and the office of
the Seal o f the Prophets—that is to say, Muhammad himself or, rather, the haqiqa
miihammncliyya:^
He to whom God
is epiphanised sees nothing but his own form in the mirror of absolute Reality (aFHaqq):
he does not and cannot see absolute Reality, even though he knows that in it he
has perceived his own form. It is like a mirror in the sensible world: when you
see a form in it, you do not see the mirror itself, even though you know that
you only perceived the forms, or your own form, in that mirror. God has made
this a symbol of the epiphany of His Essence, in order that he to whom He is
epiphanized may know that he docs not truly see Him . . .. We have already
explained these things in the Futühât Makkiyya.[166]
When you have experienced this you have experienced the nec plus ultra
of what it is given to created beings to experience. Do not aspire to anything
more and do not exhaust yourself in a vain attempt to reach a higher level:
there is none; beyond it there is only pure nothingness.
He is thus
your mirror in which you look at yourself; and you are His mirror, in which He
contemplates His Names and the manifestation of the powers which belong to each
of them—and all this is nothing but Him !
This is a source
of confusion. Among us, there is he who professes ignorance in spite of his
knowledge and who says, like Abu Bakr, 'To recognize that one is powerless to
reach Him is a form of reaching Him. ' There is also he who knows yet does not
say this (even though these words [Abu Bakr's] are excellent), but whose
knowledge leads him to keep silent and not profess the impossibility of
reaching Him. Such a man has the highest knowledge of God.
Properly
speaking, this knowledge is possessed only by the Seal of the Messengers and
the Seal of the Saints. No one among the prophets or Messengers may acquire'it
save from the Tabernacle of the Seal of the Messengers. No one among the saints
may acquire it save from the Tabernacle of the Seal of the Saints, to the
extent that the Messengers themselves only acquire it, when they do acquire it,
from the Tabernacle of the Seal of the Saints. You must know, indeed, that the
Mission (risota) and Prophecy (mdmuwfl)—I am speaking here of legislative
Prophecy and the legislative Mission—come to an end, whereas sainthood does
not. That is why the Messengers themselves, inasmuch as they are saints, may
acquire that of which we are speaking only from the Tabernacle of the Seal of
the Saints; and this is a fortiori true of the saints who are below
them in rank. The fact that the Seal of the Saints obeys the Law which was
brought by the Seal of the Messengers in r.o way diminishes his spiritual
station, neither does it contradict what we were saying: from one point of
view he is below [the Seal of the Messengers], and from another point of
view he is above him. Exoteric teaching confirms this when it speaks of
tire superiority of Timar [over the Prophet] in connection with the fete of the
prisoners of Badr/6 or in the story of the fertilization of the palm
trees/7 Perfection does not imply the pre-eminence of the perfect in
all things and at all levels. Spiritual men attach importance only to a higher
degree of knowledge of God. That is all they seek. Their thoughts take no
account of what happens in the phenomenal world. Test the truth of what we say
!
When God's
Messenger compared prophethood to a wall of bricks, finished except for the
placing of one more brick/8 [he added that] he was that brick.
Whereas as far as he is concerned there is only one brick missing, the Seal of
the Saints of necessity enjoys the same vision and sees the same thing as the
Messenger
26. After the battle of Badr, the Prophet asked his Companions what
should be done with the prisoners. The opinion expressed by 'Umar, which the
Prophet was inclined not to follow, was confirmed by a revelation (Qur'an8:67).
27. This is an allusion to an episode in the Prophet's life during
which he said to his Companions, 'When it comes to the tilings of this world
below, you are the ones whoknow most about them'(Suyütï,«l-Fat/î al-Kabir,i,p.
147).
of God, but
there are two bricks missing from the wall, one of gold and the other of
silver. They are not in the wall and it will not be finished until they are in
place. He must then himself be put into the place reserved for these two
bricks, for the Seal of the Saints is these two bricks and it is through him
that the wall is completed. The reason why he sees two bricks is, on the one
hand, because outwardly he obeys the Law brought by the Seal of the Messengers
: this corresponds to the silver brick, which is symbolic of his outward form
and also symbolizes that to which, in this form, he submits in matters of legal
status. On the other hand, he derives directly from God, within his inmost
self, the very thing of which outwardly speaking he is merely a follower. This
is so because he perceives the true nature of the divine order of things and it
cannot be otherwise. This is symbolized esoterically by the laying of the golden
brick. For he draws from the same source that the angel draws from who brings
the revelation to the Messenger. If you understand what it is that I am
referring to, you have acquired a knowledge that will be of benefit to you in
all things.
Every prophet,
from Adam down to the last of them, draws from the Tabernacle of the Seal of
the Prophets, even though this Seal, in his corporeal manifestation, comes
after them; for in terms of his essential reality he was already in existence.
This is what the Prophet meant when he said, T was a prophet when Adam was
still between water and mud.'1? But each of the other prophets only
became a prophet at the moment when he was sent [to his community]. Similarly,
the Seal of the Saints was a saint when Adam was still between water and mud,
whereas the other saints only became saints when they fulfilled the conditions
of sainthood by qualifying themselves with the divine characters—God named
himself a saint when He said He is al- Wall al-H amid [the Saint, He who
is praised, Qur'an 42:28].
Inasmuch as he
is a saint, the relationship between the Seal of the Messengers and the Seal of
the Saints is the same as the relationship between himself and the prophets and
messengers, for he is simultaneously saint, messenger and prophet. The Seal of
the Saints is the saint, the heir, he who draws from the original source and
contemplates all levels. He is one of the perfections of the Seal of the
Messengers, Muhammad, who will be the head of the assembly of prophets and the
master of the sons of Adam when the gate of intercession is opened.
The last
paragraph of this long passage is of major importance in establishing a
perspective. To say that the messengers and the prophets themselves are
dependent on the Seal of Muhammadan Sainthood—to say, above all, that from one
point of view this Seal is superior to the Seal of the Prophets—does certainly
appear not only to be scandalous from the point of view of Muslim exotericism,
but to contradict other texts where it is categorically stated that the
prophets are superior to the saints. But as we have just seen, the Seal of
Muhammadan Sainthood is 'one of the perfections of the Seal of the Messengers'.
A few lines in
29. On this hadtth, see chapter 4 and ibid., note 3. the Futûhât
throw light on this fundamental point.[167]
[168]
'This Muhammadan Spirit—another of Ibn ‘Arabi's names for the Muhammadan
Reality—'has places in the universe where it manifests itself. The most perfect
[of these places] are the Pole of Time, the afrâd, the Muhammadan Seal
of Sainthood and the Seal of Universal Sain thood, Jesus.' In other words, like
the Pole and the other functionaries in the initiatic hierarchy, the Seal of
Muhammadan Sainthood, as a specific individual in history, is no more than a
deputy, the support of the sensible manifestation of the khatmiyya or
office of the Seal, which belongs always and forever to the Muhammadan Reality
alone. Outwardly, Muhammad is the Seal of Sainthood, both universal and
Muhammadar, and so the somewhat surprising statements made in the FifsSs have
reference not to his dependence with regard to another being but to the
subordinado n within himself of the visible aspect to the hidden aspect, of the
nubuwwa, which is an attribute of created being and comes to an end, to
the walâya, which is a divine attribute and exists to eternity. The
pa-adoxical relationship between the Seal of Universal Sainthood, Jesus, and
the Seal of Muhammadan Sainthood is to be understood in a similar fashion : as
an individual, the visible holder of the latter office, being neither rasül
nor nabi, is inferior to Jesus, who is both. But as the outward
manifestation in historical terms of the most inward and most fundamental
aspect of the Muhammadan Reality which is the source of all walâya,
'Jesus himself will come under the authority of his office' and will be 'sealed
by this Muhammadan Seal'.
Many other points need to
be clarified. Bui before we approach the question of the identity of the
Muhammadan Seal, and define what is respectively 'sealed' by each Seal, mention
must be made of a third person who is thus designated?1 If we are
not mistaken, Ibn ‘Arabi speaks only once of this person, in the last lines of
the chapter in the Fusils from which the preceding quotation was taken :
The last-bom
of the human race will be in the footsteps of Seth ( calâ qadam
Shlth) and will possess his secrets. No child will be bom after him in the
human race. He is the Seal of Children (khatm al-awlâd). He will have a
sister bum at the same time as him but she will emerge before him [from her
mother's womb] and he after her. The head of this Seal will be near the feet of
his sister. The place of his birth will be China and his language will be the
language of the people of his country. Sterility will spread among men and
women and there will be more and more marriages with no children.
He will call
people to God and they will not respond to his call. When God takes his soul
and the soul of the believers of his time, those who live after him will be
like beasts. They will take no account either of the lawfulness of what is
lawful, nor of the unlawfulness of what is not lawful. They will obey only the
authority of their animal natures, and will follow only their passions,
deprived of all reason and all sacred Law, And over them the Hour will dawn.[169]
This 'Seal of
Children' does more than merely herald by his appearance the end of the human
race, which becomes infertile. The expression 'in the footsteps of Seth' tells
us clearly in the language of Ibn 'Arabi that we have to do with a wait,
and specifically a wait of the shtthi type. No man, and
consequently no saint, will be bom after him. How then is he situated in
relation to Jesus who, at the corning of the Last Day, will seal the 'cycle of
the Kingdom and of sainthood?' Before going more deeply into this, we must
approach the problem of the identity of the Seal of Muhammadan Sainthood. In a
passage quoted above, Ibn 'Arabi claims to have known him at Fez in 595AH. In
another passage of the FutühâP[170]
he says, 'I was informed about him at Fez, in die Maghrib, in 594AH'.
Let us say at once that the date 595 is probably a lapsus calami, and
that we should adhere to 594. The Kitab al-lsra', completed, the author
says in fine, at Fez in the month of Jumada 594/1198, actually
contains an allusion which in our opinion can only be explained with reference
to a major spiritual event: the meeting, that is to say, with the Seal.[171]
We will suggest that it may be necessary to envisage an even earlier date as
the start of the process of identifying the Seal. But first we must go back to
the vision of the two gold and silver bricks, which we have already encountered
in the Fusüs al-hikam and which occurs again in the Futûhât in
the form of a highly personal narrative.
CHAPTER
The Seal of Muhammadan Sainthood
IN a chapter
devoted to Paradise, its 'dwelling places' (manâzil) and its 'levels' (darajât),
Ibn “Arabi speaks of the possibility for man of perceiving his own Heavenly
nature here and now, and thus of being 'in several places at once'—of
occupying, that is, simultaneously and with full awareness, all states of
Being, and not merely the human condition as it is commonly experienced. At
this point, the theme of the two bricks makes an abrupt reappearance:
1 had a vision
of myself which was of this type, and I received it as good news (bushra)
from God, for it corresponded to something the Prophet said when he used a
parable to describe his position in relation to the other prophets. He said,
'My place among the prophets is as when a man builds a wall and completes it
except for one brick. 1 am that brick, and after me there is neither Messenger
nor Prophet.'*’ He compared the prophetic function, therefore, to a wall, and
the prophets to the bricks which enable the wall to remain standing. This
parable is perfect. Truly, that which the 'wall' signifies and which is being
alluded to here can be made manifest only through the 'bricks' [i.e. the
prophets], and the Messenger of God is the.Seal of the Prophets [and thus
corresponds to what is symbolizr d by the last brick].
While I was in
Mecca in 599, I had a dream in which I saw the Kata built of alternate gold and
silver bricks. The building was complete; nothing remained to be done. I looked
at it and admired its beauty. But then I turned to face the side between the
Yemeni comer and the Syrian comer, and I saw, nearer the Syrian comer, a gap
where two bricks, one gold and one silver, had not been laid in two of the rows
of the wall. In the top row a gold brick was missing, and in the row beneath a
silver one. Then I saw myself placed in the gap made by these two missing
bricks. I myself was these two bricks, by means of which the wall was completed
and the Kata made perfect. I was standing, looking, and I was conscious of
standing; and at the same time I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I was
these two bricks and that they were me. Then I awoke and gave thanks to God.
When I was
interpreting this vision, I said to myself: my place among the 'followers', in
my own category [i.e. the category of the awfiya’j, is like that of the
Messenger of God among the prophets, and perhaps it is through me that God has
sealed sainthood. 'And that is not difficult for GodT (Qur'an 35:17). Indeed, I
’ Due to the extensive nature of the footnotes belonging to this
section they areplacedattheendofthechapter,beginningonpage 141/ ,
retailed the Prophet's hadtth
in which he used the parable of the wall, and the fact that he himself was the
missing brick. I told this vision to someone who was an expert on these
matters, a man who carre originally from Tozeur and who was in Mecca at that
time.1 He interpreted what had happened to me, but I did not tell
him the narre of the pe"scn who had seen this vision.3
The word casa,
which we have translated here as 'perhaps', can have an optative meaning in Ibn
‘Arabi. In that case, the same phrase would run: 'May I be he through whom God
has sealed sainthood !'4 Yet, even though this text suggests that
Ibn‘Arabi himself is, or hopes that he is, the Seal of Mv’iamr.iadan Sainthood,
it does not clearly affirm that this is so. Moreover, the author leaves us in
ignorance of the interpretation i of his vision given by the 'man from Tozeur'
whom he consulted. The textszwe quoted previously make the matter
even more ambiguous, since in them Ibn ‘Arabi speaks of the Seal as a person
whom he has met, and who must therefore be other than himself. However, it
would be most imprudent to deduce from his turn of phrase, which is ambiguous
enough in itself, that Ibn ‘Arabi is definitely not the Seal : it is
often the case, with him as with other Sufis, that an event is recounted in
which the main character is defined vaguely and in the third person, and that a
subsequent cross-checking of various passages of his work establishes that this
fulân or unspecified person or 'man of our Way' is no other than
himselfi Only a regard for discretion or prudence has dictated the grammatical
dissociation.
That this is so in the
case under discussion is evidenced by other passages in which Ibn ‘Arabi states
directly that he himself is indeed the Seal. For example, a poem at the
beginning of Chapter Forty—Three of the Futûhà ! reads :
I am, without any doubt,
the Seal of Sainthood
In that 1 am the heir of
the Hâshimite and of the Messiah.5
The 'Hâshimite' obviously
means the Prophet Muhammad, and the Messiah is ore of the Qur'ânic names for
Jesus, who was, as we saw, Ibn ‘Arabi's 'first teacher'.6 It is
important, chronologically, to note that this poem, in which Ibn ‘Arabi
formally states that he is the Seal, was writter before the account of his
vision of the two bricks, in which he seems to be less categorical. It figures
in the first draft of the Futûhât, which was composed between 599AH and
629AH, and was most probably written at the beginning of this long period.7
Another, later text may appea. to be less specific. Speaking of the 'station of
Abraham' (maqâm Ibrâhîm), a term which can apply both to a place in
Mecca opposite the Ka'ba and to the spiritual 'station' of that prophet, Ibn
‘Arabi says, 'We hope to receive a portion of the divine Friendship [al-khulla,
in allusion to the name khaltl Allah, 'God's intimate friend', given to
Abraham, Qur'an 4:125] bestowed on Abraham, as on us was bestowed, in
accordance with good news (bushra) from God, a generous portion of the
degree of the perfection and office of Seal.'8 It could be concluded
that at the time of writing these lines, Ibn ‘Arabi was not in full possession
of the office of Seal. But the reservation he expresses in the words 'a
portion' is sufficiently explained by the fact that the office of Seal is
twofold and even threefold. The khatmiyya is common to Jesus, the last
of the saints, and to the Seal of Muhammadan Sainthood: the latter, therefore,
possesses only part of it. This interpretation is confirmed by another poem
(to which we have been unable to assign a date) in which Jesus is explicitly
referred to along with Ibn ‘Arabi himself as holding the title of Seal:
I was created to assist
the religion of God—
But the assistance comes
from Him, as it is laid down in the Books—
For I come of Hâtimî's
lineage, and so I am generous And of TaT and of ‘Arabi—ancestor after ancestor.
’ . . . I am the Seal of all who follow him [i. e. the Prophet Muhammad] . . .
Jesus, I say this without lying, is the Seal of those who went
before.9
When it is
remembered that Ibn ‘Arabi's full name is Abu ‘Abdallah ibn ‘Ali al-Hâtimî
al-Tâ't, there can be no confusion about the identity of the T in the poem.
Moreover, the verse contains a reference to a very famous figure of pre-Islamic
Arabia, the poet Hâtim al-Ia'i, whose generosity was legendary and who was an
ancestor of Ibn ‘Arabi's.10
But there is
another text which is even more important, both because of the nature of it—it
describes what Michel Valsan has rightly termed the appointment of the Shaykh
al-Akbar to the supreme Centre'—and because of its position in the work. This
is the opening account with which the prologue to the Futühât begins,
and in which the relationship between Jesus and Ibn ‘Arabi, inasmuch as they
are both, in different ways, the Seals of Sainthood, is solemnly expressed by
the Prophet himself or, rather, by the Muhammadan Reality:
He [i.e. lhe
Prophet] saw me behind the Seal [i.e. Jesus], a place where I was
standing because of the community of status that exists between him and me,
and he said 10 him, This man is your equal, your son and your friend. Set up
for him before me the Throne of tamarisk.'11 Then he made a sign lo
me, 'Rise, oh Muhammad, and ascend to the throne, and celebrate the worship of
Him who sent me, and my worship also, for in you there is a fragment of me
which can no longer bear to be away from me, and that fragment governs your
innermost reality.' . . . Then the Seal set up the Throne in thal solemn place.
On its front was written in blue light : "This is the most pure Muhammadan
station ! He who ascends into it is its heir, and God sends him to watch over
the respect for the divine Law!" At that moment the Gifts of Wisdom were
bestowed on me: and it was as though I had been granted the Sum of the Words (jawâmi
' al-kalim}.™
'Finally',
writes Ibn 'Arabi at the end of this account, T was sent back from this sublime
vision to the world below, and I used the holy praise that I had just
celebrated as the prologue to this book.'’3
It is to be noted that
although Ibn 'Arabi stands behind Jesus—a fact which indicates the personal
superiority of the latter, inasmuch as he is a rasül, over a mere wait
who is his 'son'—the .relationship is then reversed, since Jesus receives the
order from the Prophet to set up the minbar from which the Shaykh
al-Akbar will pronounce the divine praises—a fact which testifies to the functional
supremacy of the Seal of Muhammadan Sainthood.
The event described in
the first pages of the Futühât Makkiyya, which initiates the series of
'openings' or 'revelations'’4 recorded in the book and reflected in
its title, took place in Mecca at the start of Ibn 'Arabi's first sojourn
there. He arrived in Mecca in 598AH and the account was written in 599AH.15
We are thus in possession of texts which, from the date of their composition
and that of the events described in them, would seem to testify that the Meccan
period following Ibn 'Arabi's emigration to the East was when he acquired the
certainty that he was indeed the Seal of Muhammadan Sainthood. Yet we are
informed elsewhere that it was in Fez in 594 that he learned the identity of
this Seal and saw 'the sign which distinguishes him'. We are thus confronted
with a chronological enigma; but the problem is even more complex than it
appears.
At thestartof this book,
we referred to.the 'vision of Cordoba'. In the Fusils, Ibn 'Arabi s ays
of this vision, 'Know that when God caused me to see and made me a witness of
the meeting of all the messengers and prophets of the human race from Adam to
Muhammad, in a place in Cordoba where I was taken in the year 586, Hüd was the
only one among them who spoke to me. He told me the reason for their meeting
together.'’6 This reason is not given in the Futühât, where
several references are made to the event?7 The biographical note in
the Ruh al-quds about Shaykh Abu Muhammad Makhlüf al-Qabâ'ilï, who lived
in Cordoba, seems to furnish an answer, as follows :
One day, I
left the shaykh in good health and returned home. When night fell, I went to
bed. And behold, in my sleep I saw myself on an enormous plain covered in
clouds, in which I was suddenly aware of a neighing of horses and a noise o f
hooves. I saw a troop of men, some on horseback and others on foot, who
descended into this vast space until it was filled. I have never seen faces so
beautiful, such brilliant garments, or more magnificent steeds. Among him I saw
a tall man with a full beard, whose hand was on his cheek. He was the one I
spoke to among all the members of this gathering. I said to him, 'Tell me the
nature of this gathering.' He answered, 'They are all the prophets from Adam to
Muhammad. Not one is missing.' I said to him, 'And which one of them are you?'
He answered, 'I am Hud, the prophet of the people of !Âd.' I asked
him, 'Why have you come here?' He said to me, 'We have come to visit Abu
Muhammad [al-Qabâ'ilï] in his sickness.' Then I awoke and enquired about Abu
Mufiammad Makhlüf, and learned that he had fallen ill that same night. He lived
for a few days, and then died. May God have mercy on him !18
Even though
this account tells us nothing about place or date, the nature of the gathering
('all the prophets'], the presence of Hud, the fact that Shaykh Abu Mufiammad,
whom Ibn 'Arabi had just left when he had this vision, lived in Cordoba, must
serve to convince us that this event is the same as the one recounted in the
passages of the Fusüs and the Futûhât quoted above. The Rûh
al-quds, then, seems to provide the explanation for the mysterious meeting
of anbiyâ' and rusul which Ibn 'Arabi was privileged to behold.
But there are more
complications to come. In his great commentary on the Qur'an, the Rüh
al-bayan, the Turkish Sufi IsmâTl Haqqi (died 113 7/1725) cites a text of
Ibn 'Arabi's which sounds authentic but which does not appear anywhere else, as
far as we know,39 and in which another motive is given for the
gathering at Cordoba: the messengers and prophets are supposed to have met
together in order to intercede with the Prophet Muhammad for Hallâj, who had
been insolent about him.20 This second interpretation fits in with
other writings of the Shaykh al-Akbar relative to Hallâj. But the last words of
Haqqi (or of Ibn 'Arabi: the use of inverted commas is unknown in classical
Arabic and we cannot tell where the quotation ends) casts doubt on it again:
'Between the moment when Hallâj left this world below and the time the
aforementioned gathering took place, more than three hundred years had
elapsed.' Since Hallâj died in 309AH, the vision must have
The Seal of
Muhammadan Sainthood occurred sometime after 609. But by 598, Ibn
‘Arabi had left Andalusia, never to return. If Ismail Haqqi's account is
authentic, it must be admitted either that the event took place somewhere other
than Cordoba, or that it happened much earlier than 609. Another consideration,
too, is cause for concern: at the beginning of the Rich al-baycm, this
same Ismail Haqqi recounts a similar story in which the chief character is not
Ibn ‘Arabi but Abu '1-Hasan al-Shadhili, a much younger contemporary of his,
and the setting Jerusalem.11
There exists
another interpretation of the vision of Cordoba which brings us back to our
main theme, and the source of which is, in this case, very close to Ibn ‘Arabi.
In his commentary on the Fusils, Jandi (died c. 700/1300), a direct
disciple of Sadr al-Din Qûnawï who was both the Sháykh al-Akbar's stepson and
his pupil, says with regard to this vision that the messengers and prophets had
met together in honour of Ibn ‘Arabi himself, in order to celebrate his
accession to the office of Seal of the Saints and heir to the Seal of the
Prophets. This, without any doubt, was an oral tradition that in Ibn ‘ArabFs
circle was considered reliable because it originated from the Master himself.21
The same interpretation is given by Qâshânï (died 730/1330), one of Jandi's
followers,21 and then by Dâwûd Qaysari (died 751/1350), who was a
follower of Qâshânï.24
Nor is this
all. In another passage of his commentary on the Fusils, Jandi, using
the formula 'according to the reports that we have of the Shaykh's own words',
which in his works introduces information received from Qûnawï, says that it
was in Seville, in the course of a nine-month fast, that Ibn ‘Arabi was
notified about his office as Seal. We know that the Shaykh al-Akbar did
actually stay in Seville during the same year (586) in which the vision of
Cordoba took place?6 A chapter of the Futühât which speaks of
the Seal of Universal Sainthood and the Seal of Muhammadan Sainthood also
refers to an 'unveiling' (kashf) that occurred at Seville.27
Jandi's information is thus quite likely, at least, to be true. But he adduces
a third fact which he expressly says that Qünâwi told him, who in turn claims
that he is repeating Ibn ‘Arabi's own words. According to the latter, when he
was preparing to sail from Andalusia to the Maghrib, he decided not to put to
sea until all the future events of his life, both inner and outer, had been
revealed to him in detail. God granted his request and showed him all his
future situations ('inriuding' he said to Qûnawï, 'the fact that one day your
father was to be my companion') up to his death. 'Then,' he adds,
'furnished
with this intuitive perception and this certainty, I embarked.'28
The date of this departure for the Maghrib is undoubtedly in 589. This subtle
showing of his destiny, therefore, must of necessity have included
préfigurations of the visionary experiences he was to undergo in the East, most
notably the solemn 'appointment' related in the prologue to the Futühât.
What
conclusions are to be drawn from all this? Firstly, Ibn 'Arabi, in spite of
some ambiguous statements, identified himself categorically with the Seal of
Muhammadan Sainthood, He wrote it; he said it. His immediate followers
transmitted it from one to the other and never questioned it. Qn the other
hand, although we cannot establish a precise chronology, the news that the
office of khatm was to be his was announced very early in the spiritual
life of the Shaykh al-Akbar—at all events, it preceded both his arrival in
Mecca and the 'meeting' in Fez in 594ah
by several years. If this is so, how are the apparent contradictions to be
reconciled ? If Ibn 'Arabi knew that he was the Seal from his youth onwards (he
was twenty-six lunar years old in 586AH), what is the meaning of the visions
which came later and which would seem a priori to be redundant? The
answer, it seems to us, is that we must distinguish the announcement itself
from the signs which were later to confirm and explain it, and above all from
the effective realisation of what had been announced. The prophetic mission of
Muhammad, which is the archetypal point of reference for the 'Muhammadan heir'
that Ibn ‘Arabi considered himself to be, only commenced, strictly speaking,
with the appearance of the angel who brought the initial revelation to the cave
of Jabal al-Nur. But, as a famous hadîth says,23 the Prophet
was prepared for the descent of the divine Word upon him by a series of visions
over a period of several months. Similarly, the 'unveilings' and dreams which
punctuate Ibn ‘Arabi's career should be viewed not as merely repeating each
other but as successive stages in it. Seen in this light, his appointment by
the Prophet himself in the presence of all the messengers represents the
culminating point of his ascent, and consecrates, as Michel Valsan points out,
the universal character of the office of Seal of Muhammadan Sainthood.30
Before
attempting to describe the nature of this office and the relation it bears to
that of the other Seals, we must go further into the question of the identity
of their respective titulars. We have seen that the first disciples in direct
succession agreed on Ibn ‘Arabi's being the Seal of Muhammadan Sainthood.31
The identity of the Seal of Universal Sainthood, Jesus, is dearly stated by the
Shaykh al-Akbar and does not generally give rise to argument, except, as we
shall see, among ShiFite authors. The 'Seal of Children' is not named, and—in
the writings at any rate of Qünawî, Jandî and Qâshânî—is dearly distinguished
from the other two. This is not so in the case of Qay sari,32
according to whom the title of 'Seal of Children' is another name for the Seal
of Universal Sainthood; a curious mistake to make, considering that the Fusüs
describes him as having quite different characteristics from those of
Jesus. Jilt (died 826/1423) confirms the identifications made by the first
commentators,33 and so does Bali Effendi (died 960/1553), who
stresses, like his predecessors, that the Seal of Muhammadan Sainthood is he
after whom no saint will again be 'on the heart of the Seal of the Prophets',
although this does not mean that there will not be saints who are the heirs of
other prophets. It is only the Muhammadan heritage that has come to a full
stop.34
In his summary
of the Futiihât,^ Sha'raiu (died 973/1565) quotes Ibn 'Arabi briefly on
the subject, without comment. In his long hagiographie work, al-fabaqat
al-kubrâ, however, he introduces a new element. Speaking of the great
Egyptian saint Muhammad Wafa (died 801/1398), he says that the latter's son,
‘Ali Wafâ, stated that his father was the Seal of the Saints.36
Sha'raru, with customary prudence, adds: ■ 'Many men of sincere spirituality
have claimed to occupy this office of Seal. It seems to me that at every epoch
there is a Seal, just as—in accordance with Muhammad Wafa's words quoted
above—there is a Khadir for every saint.' What is certain is that as we get
further away from the age of ibn 'Arabi, the concept of the oneness of the
Seal— which is explicit in his writings and which seems moreover logically
inseparable from the finality of the role of Seal, as the name itself
implies—is gradually lost sight of, even by those whom one cannot accuse of not
reading his works properly.
The eminent
Naqshbandi spiritual master Ahmad Sirhindi (died 1034/1624J, who is often
represented (wrongly, as Y. Friedmann has pointed out) as an adversary of Ibn
'Arabi's, claims to be in possession of the knowledge that the Shaykh al-Akbar
says is reserved for the Seal of the Saints, and even appears to attribute to
himself a rank superior to that of the Seal.37 Safi al-Dm Qushashi
(died 1071/1661), who had received the khirtjd akbariyya and is a link
in one of its still 'living' chains of transmission, apparently claimed the khatmiyya
for himself. The author of the biography which comes at the end of his Simt
al-majîd?3 tells us that in the margin of Ahmad Shay khan
Ba'alawi's Shaqq al-jayb, beside a passage saying that there is only one
Seal (of Muhammadan Sainthood) and that this seal is Ibn 'Arabi, Qushâshï has a
note which says that this refers to a 'divine level' (martaba ilâhiyya) to
which all beings may hope to attain, and that this office is secure until the
end of time. 'We have achieved this', adds Qushâshï, who says that he had five
teachers before attaining to this level, 'and we have lived [in that
dwelling-place]. '
Also curious is the case
of 'Abd al-Ghanï al-Nâbulusï (died 1143/ 1731), one of Ibn 'Arabi's great
commentators and defenders in the Ottoman world. In one of his poems he says,
'He [i.e. Ibn 'Arabi] is the Seal of the Saints in his time/Y ou will find this
to be true if you read his Fusils. '39 In his al-Radd
al-matin, an unpublished work in which he refutes the anti-Akbarian
polemicists, he identified the Seal with the 'inheritor in full of Muhammad
sainthood' and explains that there have been many Seals, the last to date being
Ibn 'Arabi.40 But Nâbulusï's grandson, Kamal al-Din al-Ghazzi, tells
us something which contradicts the above and is even more disconcerting when he
says that his grandfather considered himself to be one of the Seals of
Muhammadan Sainthood (lahu rutbatal-khatm al-khass).41
The examples are not
limited to these. Among the classics of the tarîqa tijemiyya, a similar
claim is said to have been made by Shaykh Aljmad Tijâni (died 1230/1815), who
apparently even maintained that when he had claimed the office of Seal for
himself, Ibn 'Arabi renounced his own claim to it.41 On the other
hand, there exists a Shi'ite solution to the problem of the identity of the
Seal, or rather Seals, which seems to have found its first expression in a
fundamental work to which Henry Corbin drew attention. This is the Nass
al-nusüs, written by Haydar Amolï, who died at the end of the
eighth/fourteenth century, and the massive prolegomena to which have been
edited by Corbin and Osman Yahia. It constitutes a vast and penetrating
commentary on the Fusüs al-hikam, a work for which Haydar Amoli
professes an admiration and even a veneration which are profound and moving.43
Nevertheless, the Shi'ite writer differs from Ibn 'Arabi in one essential: for
him, the Seal of Universal Sainthood is not Jesus but 'Ali ibn Abi Tâlib; and
the Seal of Muhammadan Sainthood is the Mahdi.44 This
interpretation, although perfectly respectable, is none the less in direct
contradiction to Ibn 'Arabi's view of the economy of the cycle initiated by the
Prophet, in which the functions of 'Ali and the Mahdi are eminent, indeed, but
totally different. According to this view, 'All is one of the Poles of Islam—a
role, says Ibn 'Arabi, which none of the Seals may assume45—and the
Mahdi's task, at the end of time, is to secure, by the sword, the
submission of the universe to the sacred Law whose inspired interpreter he is.46
Amoli, then, exhibits typically Shi'ite characteristics: an obsessional regard
for the purely blood lineage of the Prophet (Ali is his cousin and son-in-law;
the Mahdi is descended from him by blood), and, consequently, a highly
exclusive personalisation of spiritual functions, in accordance with what is
ultimately a literalistic conception of the faditional idea of ahi al-bayt.
However this may be, and leaving aside any value judgement, it can still be
acknowledged that Âmoïi's interpretation is a dissident version of the Shaykh
al-Akbar's doctrine; and it is, to say the least, surprising to see Henry
Corbin or one of his students reverse the situation and represent Ibn 'Arabi's
teaching as an errant Imâmology.47
We have
already drawn attention to the exceptional importance of the emir 'Abd al
-Qâd'r al-Jazâ'irî, as representing Akbarian tradition in its purest form.4®
After being released by Napoleon III, he retired to Damascus and wrote his Kitâb
al-Mawâqif {The Book of Stopping Places), a work which arises entirely out
of his meditations on Ibn 'Arabi's writings and his visionary conversations
with the Andalusian Master, close to whom he had himself buried. Over and over
again, 'Abd al-Qadir calls the Shaykh al-Akbar the 'Seal of Muhammadan
Sainthood':49 as far as he is concerned, there is no question of
argu-. ment. But he is not content simply to affirm it, and there is a chapter
where, with a clarity which is often lacking in the disciples of Ibn 'Arabi who
preceded him, he summarises and puts in order all the facts relating to the
three Seals and their respective offices.50 This short chapter,
which on every point conforms to the scattered information provided by Ibn
'Arabi himself, will guide us here in presenting the reader with an overall
picture of the problem.
The Emir's exposition results in the following
conclusions:
—Every wall,
nabî or rasûl 'draws' from the 'Muhammadan ocean' (al-bahr
al-muhammadi)—a symbolic term for the concept known to us already as the haqïqa
muhammadiyya.
—'General
prophetkood' [al-nubuwwa al- câmma) corresponds to the
highest degree of wàlâya, also called the 'Station of Proximity' (maqâm
al-qurba)—a term presenting an obvious connection with the primary meaning
of the root w.l.y., which should always be bome in mind. This proximity,
evoked by the Qur'ânic image 'of two bow-lengths or even nearer', expresses, in
language which accords with the Islamic perspective, the restoration of the
primordial Unity.51
—Those who
attain this level are the afrâd. They are 'the prophets among the
saints'. Here, of course, we are concerned with a prophethood which is
non-legislative, since legislative prophethood has been definitively sealed by
Muhammad.
—'General
prophethood' may be mutlaqa—free, undetermined— when inherited from a
prophet other than Muhammad, or muqay- yada—restricted—when inherited
from Muhammad.
—The general
prophethood which is restricted is sealed by the Seal of Mufeammadan Sainthood,
who is Ibn 'Arabi. Afrer him, the saints who attain to the maqâm al-qurba,
the rank of the afrâd, are the heirs of prophets other than Muhammad,
and are thus in receipt of the Muhammadan heritage in an indirect and partial
manner.
—The. general
prophethood which is undetermined is sealed by Jesus when he returns at the end
of time, after which no saint will ever be able to attain to the level of the afrâd.
—The other
degrees of walâya will remain open, however, until the coming of the
Seal of Children, who is both the last-bom of the human race and the last of
the saints, and will be the last guardian of the heritage of Seth. The destiny
of this third Seal, at the outer extremity of history, of necessity falls
within the period within which Jesus, according to traditional eschatology,
will cause peace to reign on earth. It is doubtless this concomitance which
explains the apparent confusion we observed in Qaysari of Jesus with the Seal
of Children.
We thus have a
series of closures, beginning with the closing-off by Ibn 'Arabi of the chief
form of the highest degree of walâya, containing the fulness of the
Muhammadan heritage. Next, Jesus closes off its lesser degrees; and finally
sainthood itself, in all its forms and all its degrees, is closed off by the
last man to be bom into this world. But it must be understood that the
different Seals are never anything other than manifestations, more or less
complete, of Muhammadan Sainthood, which is veiled in the historical person of
Muhammad by his prophetic office, as Qâshânï tells us.51 Thus,
despite what some of Ibn Arabi's texts might lead us to suppose, there is no
question of any superiority of the Seal of Muhammadan Sainthood over the Seal
of the Prophets, since in fact these two offices belong to one and the same
person. In his commentary on the Fusüs, Qaysari describes the
relationship between the Muhammadan Seal (who for him is Ibn 'Arabi) and the
Prophet himself, employing an image which Amoll is very mistaken in
criticizing: this relationship, he says, is like the relationship of a king
with the guardian of his treasure. Everyone who takes any of the treasure,
including the king himself, has to go through the guardian of it. This does not
mean, of course, that the king is subordinate to him.53
The reference to a
'treasure' is not accidental, but is directly related to the symbolism of the
Seal. In the language derived by Islam from its Qurianic sources, the Seal is
that which completes and fulfils: the Seal of the Prophets (Qur'an 33:40) is he
with whom the cycle of prophethood comes to a final end. But the Seal is also,
and primarily, that.which preserves the thing sealed and guarantees its
inviolability. Ibn 'Arabi actually refers to it in this sense in a poem from
his Anqd' mughrib:54
If the house were without a seal
The thief would come unexpectedly and kill the
child.
Verify this,
oh my brother, by considering him who protects the house of sainthood
If he were not already present in the father of
us all [Adam]
The angels
would not have been commanded to bow down before him [cf. Qur'an 2:34].
'Guardian of the Treasure',
'Protector of the House of Sainthood' (bayt al-walâya): for Ibn 'Arabi,
the Seal is not only the holder of an office of high dignity, but has a mission
to accomplish. When the author of the Futûhat writes (and this is only
one such comment among many): T was created to assist the religion of Allah',55
he is referring to this mission. His role, as he conceived it and as he has in
fact fulfilled it, openly or secretly, for more than seven hundred years, is
perceived by Sufis as twofold: it both possesses a doctrinal aspect, and is a
source of grace. Through his work, and especially through that mighty
synthesis, the Futûhat, he has preserved the spiritual deposit (amana)
intact when it was being imperilled both by the internal rifrs in the Muslim
world and by the dangers that threatened from outside. Solitary watcher in the
night of the century,56 he keeps, for whoever is worthy of it, the
'treasure' which can no longer be fully transmitted by the teaching of masters;
and this is the sense in which he is the Shaykh al-Akbar, the supreme teacher,
the teacher of teachers. Through him, the spiritual knowledge contained in the bayt
al-walâya remains living and accessible to those who possess the necessary
qualifications, until the day comes when men will be 'like beasts'.
But Ibn ‘Arabi is not
only the archivist and interpreter par excellence of sacred knowledge.
Through his invisible presence, beyond death itself, he maintains and transmits
a spiritual impulse or baraka which, when the circumstances require it,
comes to quicken individuals and groups, to re-establish the ways of sainthood,
and to restore what can be restored of the traditional Islamic order. Hence the
importance of the khirqa akbariyya, whose course, like that of an
underground river, may suddenly surface for a while into the light of day, and
leave the imprint of Ibn ‘Arabi on one of the branches of an existing tartqa.SJ
Hence too the importance of the appearance of the Shaykh al-Akbar's rühâniyya
in the visions of Çûfis down to our time: from Qunawi to the emir ‘Abd
al-Qadir, a long succession of people, known and unknown, was guided, aided and
instructed by a teacher whom the grave did not divide from those who werc still
alive.sR
However important the
role, at a certain time or place, of those who, like Muhammad Wafâ, Qushâshî,
or Ahmad Tijânî, appear to have identified themselves—or whom their disciples
have identified—as the Seal of Muhammadan Sainthood, it is as nothing compared
with the role that Ibn ‘Arabi has played and still plays, in a fashion discreet
but observable, in the collective history of Sufism and above all in the
personal history of many Suhs. No less evident is another fact: namely, the
sincerity of the men who claim for themselves an office which is of necessity
reserved for one being alone, since a Seal is, by definition, final. Their
conviction can only derive from an inner, irrefutable awareness of a particular
connection with this office: if error exists, it lies in the interpretation of
the elements of this awareness, not in these elements themselves. Akbarian
doctrine, especially the idea of the 'deputy' (nâ'ib) that we
encountered in the case of the Pole, furnishes us with an explanation.
According to a formula employed by Qâshâni in his commentary on the Fusils,
the Seal possesses the walâya shamsiyya or 'solar' sainthood, whereas
the other awliyâ’ possess only a walâya qamariyya or 'lunari
sainthood, whose light is therefore only reflected. In this perspective, the
people mentioned can be viewed as a series of mirrors which receive and give
back the rays of the walâya shamsiyya, or, if one prefers," as the
known intermediaries (for there are unknown and less known ones)
through whom
the grace operates of which the one Seal is both guardian and dispenser.
Notes to Chapter Nine
2. This could be a figure whom Ibn ‘Arabi mentions on several
occasions, namely Abu 'I-'Abbâs ibn ‘Ali ibn Maymûn ibn Ab al-Tawzari, called
al-Qastallânï, who died in Mecca in 636/1238. It was in answer to a question of
his that Ibn ‘Arabi wrote the Kitab al-Khalwa al-MutJaqa (Futühât, 1,
pp. 391-92), For more about this person, see also Futühât, rv, pp. 123
and 474. He must not be confused with Taqï al-Dïn Abü' 1-Qâsim ‘Abd al-Rahmân
ibn ‘Ali ibn Maymûn ibn Âb, named in the Kitâb'Nasab al-khirqa and in Futühât,
1, p. 187, as the man who passed on the khirqt: khadiriuya to Ibn
‘Arabi.
3. Futühât, I, pp. 318-19 (v, pp. 68-70 in O. Yahia's edition).
It should be remembered that this vision, which occurred in 599AH is
considerably earlier than the passage from the Fusiis that we quoted in the
last chapter. The Fusils was not written until 627AH.
4. In connection with ‘asá and la ‘alia, see for example Futühât,
n, p. 276, and in, p. 264. In general, the commentators (see for example ]andi,
op. cit., p. 113) are of the opinion that whenever Ibn ‘Arabi, speaking of his
own function, uses an expression which conveys hope rather than certainty, he
does so out of regard for the proprieties (âdâb) to be observed with
respect to God.
5. Futüliât, 1, p. 244. In accordance with O. Yahia's
critical edition (rv, p. 71) li-un'rth should be corrected to read li-wirtht.
7. Cf. note 15 below. A second draft of the Futühât, of which
we possess the autograph manuscript, was written by Ibn ‘Aral» between 632 and
636AH. See O. Yahia's critical edition for a comparison between the two drafts.
The vision of the two bricks also took placein 599, but wasriot recorded in
writing until much later.
8. Futühât, 1, p. 722 (at the time of writing, O. Yahia's
edition stops just short of thechapter containing this passage).
9. DiruÆrç, Bülâq, 1271 ah,
p. 259.
10. On Hâtim al-Tai, cf. EIZ, s.v., the article by
C. Van Arendonk. See also the Cambridge History of Arabic Literature,
Cambridge 1983,1, pp. 382-83.
11. The Prophet's pulpit (minbarj at Medina was made out of
tamarisk wood (Bukhari, jum‘a, 26), so in this text—as confirmed a few
lines further on—the reference is indeed to the Muhammadan throne itself, in
which Ibn ‘Arabi will be seated by virtue of being the heir of Muhammad in the
fullest sense. The special relationship between the Prophet and the Shaykh
al-Akbar is further emphasized by the fact that the latter's name is also
Muhammad, and that in addressing him the Prophet uses the name that they
possess in common.
12. Futühât, i, p. 3; O. Yahia's edition 1, pp. 44-45. The
translation used here is, with a few minor modifications, Michel Vâlsan's in
his article 'L'investiture du Cheikh al-Akbar au Centre Suprême', Etudes
traditionelles, no. 311 (1953J, pp. 300-11. On the hadlth of the ]awâmic
al-kalim, cf. Bukhâri, ta'bîr, 11, and Muslim, masâjid, 5-8,
etc. The Wisdom is the content or meaning of the Words, while the word 'sum'
expresses the total and final nature of the Muhammadan Revelation. As Michel
Valsan observes (ibid., p. 304, note 5), the last sentence is specifically
about the Shaykh al-Akbar's appointment to the status of heir to the Muhammadan
station from the point of view of universal Tradition.
13. Futûhât, 1, p. 6; O. Yahia's edition , 1, p. 58.
The epistle in verse form addressed by Ibn 'Arabi to his friend ‘Abd al-'Aziz
al-Mahdawi, which follows immediately after the text just quoted (Futûhât,
I, pp. 6-9; O. Yahia's edition, 1, pp. 59-68) likewise contains several
allusions to Ibn ‘Arabi's office as Seal. One of the last lines ('When I, the
Imam, depart, I will be unable to appoint a successor in my place') stresses
the strictly unique nature of this office, which for Ibn ‘Arabi has, as we saw,
only one holder, unlike the office of Pole, of watad, etc. The term Imam
in this line should be understood in its more general sense, and not in the
more limited technical sense (Imam of the right, Imam of the
left) which we mentioned in chapter 6, and which can in fact be applied to a
whole succession of individuals.
14. The word 'revelation' used here to translate the Arabic term Futûhât
is, obviously, merely an approximation, and should normally be used as a
translation ofthe termtuaky.
15. On the date of commencement of the Futûhât, see O. Yahia's
introduction to his edition, 1, p. 28 of the Arabic text.
17. Cf. Futûhât, m, pp. 208 and 323, and iv, p. 77.
18. Rûh al-quds, Damascus 1964, p. 76, trans. Austin, pp. 123-24
(no. 20).
19. No mention of this story appears—as far as we know—in any work of Ibn
‘Arabi's in which al-Halláj figures and in which one might logically,
therefore, expect to find this account (Kitáb al-Intisar, pp. 14 ff; Futûhât,
I, p. 169; n, pp. 122, 126,337,364,370; m,pp. 17,40,104 (reference), 117;
iv,pp. 84,156,194,241,328, 332; Tajalliyât, p. 31). But Ibn ‘Arabi also
wrote a treatise about al-Hallaj entitled al-Sirâj al-Wahhaj fF sharh kalâm
al-Hallâj (cf. O. Yahya, R.G., no. 651), of which no manuscript is known to
exist, and from which Haqqî may have been quoting.
20. Rûh al-bay an, Istanbul 1330AH, x, p. 456. This account comes
in the commentary on sura 93. Hallâj's insolence consists in his having
reproached the Prophet for not having asked God for permission to intercede for
all creatures without exception on the Day of Judgement, but only for the
gravest sinners in his community. Cf. L. Massignon, La Passim de Hallâj,
n, pp. 257, 332, 418. Jalal al-Dïn al-Rümï has a commentary on this episode in
Hallâj's life, which he sees as the true reason for his condemnation (Aflâkî, Les
Saints des Derviches tourneurs, trans, into French by Cl. Huart, 2nd
edition, Paris 1978,1, p. 254).
21. Rûh al-bay cm, 1, p. 248. We should add that Haqqi refers in
this connection to the Muhâdarât al-udabâ' by al-Râghib al-Isfahânï, who
died in 1108, well before the birth of Abu '1-Hasan al-Shâdhilï. There must of
necessity be a mistake as regards either the source or the person. Since
Shadhill arrived in the East at the end of the first half of the seventh Hegira
century, the gap of more than three hundred years between the death of
al-Hallâj and the vision is more plausible in his case.
22. Jandi, Sharh Fusils al-hikam, p. 431.
23. Qâshânï, Sharh Fusils al-hikam, Cairo Ï321AH, p. 130.
24. Qaysari, Sharh Fusüs al-hikam, lithograph edition, Bombay
X300AH, p, 200,
26. On Ibn1 Arabi's presence in Seville in 586AH, cf. Futühât,
n, pp. 7-8,167, and iv, p. 156.
28. Jandi,op. dt.,pp. 219-20,263.
29. Bukhari, ta‘blr, 1, tafsir, s. 96,1-3, etc. The hadith
according to which the vision of good augury (rw'yñ Itasana) is the
forty-sixth part of prophethood (Bukhari, ta Tir, 3) alludes to the
relationship between the period of time preceding the Revelation and the total
duration of Muhammad's prophetic mission.
30. Michel Valsan, op. cit., p. 301. We will see later on why this
character of universality is not incompatible with the separate existence of a
Seal of Universal Sainthood.
31. Besides the texts already indicated, cf. Jandi (op. dt. pp.
234-37), who explains that one of the signs marking Ibn 'Arabi out as a Seal
was a hollow between his shoulder blades the size of a partridge egg,
corresponding to the analogous sign, in the form of a lump, that the Prophet
has in the same part of his body. This makes the relationship between the bâfin
(walâyaj and the zñ/rir (nubuwwa) very clear. See also Qâshânï; op.
cit., pp. 34 ff.
33. See his commentary on the Risalat al-amvâr, Damascus 1929,
especially PP- 5' 45' 54' z94- ln his al-Insân al-Kâmi!
(Cairo 1963, p. 97) he makes the khitam (the 'affixing of the Seal') the
highest of the three levels of the 'station of Proximity' (the other two are
Friendship, al-khulla, and Love, al-mahabba). This station in
Jill corresponds to what Ibn 'Arabigenerally terms non-legislative prophecy.
34. Bali Effendi Sharh a l-Fusiis, Istanbul 1309AH, pp. 52-56.
35. al-Yawâqît wa' l-jawahir, Cairo 1369AH, it, p. 89.
36. al-Tabaqât al-kubra, Cairo 1954, n, pp. 21, 30, 31. A previous
case in which such a claim was made deserves mention. H. Landolt, in his
article in the Encyclopedia Iranica about Abu '1-Hasan Kharaqânï (died
425/1033), refers to an Istanbul manuscript (Murad Molla 1796, fos. 337 f~35^
f) in which, in a text written at the end of the twelfth century, this famous waliis
called the Seal of the Saints.
37. Sirhindï, Maktübât-e Emâm-e Rabbani, Lucknow 1889 (see for
example letter no. 31). Cf. Y. Friedmann, Shaykh Ahmad Sirhindï,
Montreal/London 1971, pp.33ff.
38. Qushashi, nl-Simt al-Majïd, Hyderabad 1327AH, p. 183. The
note by Nabhânï, Jami* karâmât al-awliyâ', 1, pp. 335-37, is merely a
repeat of this biography.
39. Quoted by Kamil Mustafa al-Shaybi, al-Sila bayna 'l-tasawwuf wa
’1-tashayyiT, Cairo 1969, p. 474.
40. Ms Zahinyya 9872, fo. 45b. Strangely, this text, in spite of the dear
distinctions made by Ibn 'Arabi in works which Nâbulusï read and often
commented on judiciously, states that the Seal of Universal Sainthood is . .
.theMahdi!
41. Kamâl al-Din al-Ghazzi (died 1214/1799), al-Wird al-unsî wa
'l-warid al-qudsï fi tarjamat al-‘arif al-shaykh ‘Abd al-Ghant al-Nabulust.
This manuscript is in the possession of a descendant of Nabulusi, Muhammad
Radb al-Nâbulusï, and we owe our information about it to Mr. Bahn ‘Alá' al-Din.
The passage in question comes at the end of chapter 11.
42. Cf. the Bughyat al-mustafid by Muhammad al-'Arabî al-'Uman
al- Tijani, Cairo 1959, pp. 192 ft, which tells us that Shaykh Ahmad Tijâni had
received the news of his appointment to this office from the Prophet himself in
the course of a waking vision. See also al-Hajj 'Umar al-Füfi, Kitiib Rimâh
hir.b al-rahïm, in the margin of 'Alî al-llarâzim's ¡awahir al-ma‘ânï,
Beirut 1383AH, n, p, 4 (section 36), and al-Fath al-Rabbant by Shaykh
Muhammad ibn 'Abdallah ibn Husayn, Beirut, n.d., pp. 15 ff. There is also an
unpublished work, which we have not been able to consult, by Shaykh Tijâni
Ahmad ibn al-'Ayyâ$hï Sukaraj al-An§an (died 1363/1944), entitled Qurrat
al-‘ayn fi '1-jawSb ‘an al-as’ila al-muwâda ‘a ft khabkat al-kawn, which is
a reply to Tirmidhi's questionnaire. The idea of the khatmiyya as a
level which is in theory accessible to all, and not as an office unique in
history, has been taken up again in our day by Dr. Abu T-Wafâ al-Taftâzânï in
his article in Kitâb tadhkârî: Ibn ‘Arabi, Cairo 1969, p. 312. More
recently, in his book al-Jawib al-ShSfi ‘ala as'Hat al-Hahim al-Tirmidhi,
Cairo 1988, Muhammad 'Ali Salama claimed the office of seal for an Egyptian
shaykh, Muliammad ibn 'Abdallah Abu' l-'Azâ'im (died 1356/1938).
43. hiaydar Âmoli, Kitab Nass al-nusüs fi shark al-fusûs, Paris
and Tehran 1975. See the passages in praise of the Fusùs and their
author, particularly pp. 64-154.
44. Ibid., pp. 173,175 (where Âmoli says that he bases himself on ‘aql,
naql and hash ft reason, tradition and intuitive unveiling), pp. 182
ff. Ámolí is strongly criticical of Ibn 'Arabi's Sunni commentators—and
especially of Qaysan, cf. p. 233 ff.—or else interprets them in a most curious
way, saying (p. 231) that Qâshânï states that the Seal of Muhammadan Sainthood is
the Mahdi, or that Jandi says that ‘Ali is the Seal of Universal Sainthood. It
is true that Qâshânï, in a passage of his commentary on the Qur'an (Ta'wîlât,
1, p. 728, in connection with verse 17:79) makes an ambiguous statement which
could justify this interpretation. But in his commentary on the Fusüs
(p. 35) he makes a clear distinction between the Mahdi and the Seal, and (p.
130) is unequivocal about the office of Seal being Ibn ‘Arabi's.
45. Futühñt, iv, p. 77. This incompatibility between the
function of the Seal and that of the Pole (which is made too clearly for
argument, even though some passages which allude to it, such as Futühñt,
1, p. 160, could lend themselves to a contrary interpretation) must have been
familiar to Qûnawï. Nwyia's interpretation of the meeting between Qûnawï and
Abu '1-Hasan al-Shâdhilï (ibn ‘Atâ Allah et la naissance de la Confrérie
shadilite, Beirut 1972, p. 26), which is based on a passage in Ibn ‘Ata'
Allah's Latâ'if al-m inan (written in the margin of the work of the same
title by Sha'ram, Cairo 1357AH, 1, p. 95), is undoubtedly wrong, as we had
occasion to point out to him shortly before his death.
46. On the Mahdi's function, see Futûhât, m, pp. 327-40,
chapter 366, which deals with the Mandi's ministers (wuzarâ').
47. C£ chapter 3 of the present book, with note 4. Corbin's thesis
with regard to the doctrine of the Seal is taken up again by Stephane Ruspoli
in his article 'Ibn Arabi et la prophéto’cgie shFite' (cL note 9, chapter 8),
where he accuses Ibn 'Arabi of gravely distorting Shi'ite doctrine—an
accusation which is a priori absurd, seeing that it is addressed to a
Sunni; but for Ruspoli, the account of the vision described in Futûhât,
I, pp. 319-20 is 'the spiritual testament of a Sunni who is a Shi'ite at
heart'. Ruspoli's evidence would be more convincing if he were not unaware of
many of Ibn 'Arabi's writings on the Seal (to the extent where he states—p.
232—that Ibn 'Arabi never said, ' I am the Seal of walâya'j, and if his
reading of the texts that he has read were correct. Cf. p. 231 where he reads: wa-qultu
muta'awwalânî (sic), when what is actually written is: wa-qultu
muta'awioilan: Innt, etc. Cf. also p. 234, where instead of hashran
ma‘nan (sic) he has read hashran ma ‘ana. The passage in Ibn
'ArabJ's' FHrii/iflf, n, p. 49 about Jesus is not a reference to the Paraclete
'as clear as could possibly be' : fun ‘Arabi does not speak of 'a man like
Jesus' but of 'a being such as Jesus'. It is true that Suhrawardi (died
587/1199), in his Hayâkil al-nur (ed. Muljammad 'Ali Abü Rayyân, 2nd
edition, Cairo 1957, p. 88), referring to Jesus' words in John 14:15-17, says
that while the tanzil is entrusted to the prophets, the ta'wtl
and the bayân belong to al-mazhar al-a‘zam al-fâraqRtï, the
supreme manifestation of the Paraclete, which for his commentator Ghiyath
al-Din al- Dawwani (died 907/1501), who became a Shi'ite as the result of a
dream, is the place of manifestation of walaya (ibid., p. 104). Haydar
Amoli (op. dt., p. 212), likewise in a reference to the words of Jesus,
identifies the Paraclete with the Mahdi. But in Sunni tradition (see for
example Ibn Hishâm, al-Sira al-nabawiyya, Cairo 1955,1, pp. 232-33), the
Paraclete (Baraqlitus) is none other than the Prophet himself, in
accordance with a well-known interpretation of verse 61:6.
48. CL my translation of extracts from his Kitâb al-Mawâqif,
published under the title Écrits spirituels, Paris 1982, espedally the
introduction, pp. 20 ff.
49. CL Kitab al-Mawaqif, and edition, Damascus 1966-1967 (3
volumes successively paginated), pp. 742,826,861,87Z, 1277,1285, etc.
50. Ibid., pp. 1157-58 (mawqif^yy).
51. CL theendofchapter5,withnote32.
54. 'Anqa Mughrib,pp. 62-63; Dituñn, p. 32.
55. D’.w.ïn, p. 259. See, among other references made by Ibn
‘Arabi to his own mission, Futûhât, 1, p. 658; in, p. 323; Kitâb
al-Isrâ', pp. 21-26; Taj. (ed. O. Yahia), pp. 300-1.
56. The entire universe fell asleep when the Messenger of God died
.... We are p resently living through the last third of this night of the
universe' (Futûhât, m, p. 188).
57. In connection with the second half of the nineteenth century, we
have drawn attention to one phase of this Akbarian renaissance (which is
sometimes indicated by the addition of the nisba 'al-akbarF to the name
of a spiritual teacher) in our introduction to the Écrits spirituels of
the emir ‘Abd al-Qadir (pp. 35-36), where we point out that the tanga
shadhiliyya and the tanga naqshbandiyya seem to have been
particularly, although not exclusively, centres for this posthumous form of Ibn
'Arabi's influence.
58. This type of spiritual realisation, in which the murid is
attached in other respects to a living shaykh and through him to a
regular silsila, yet whose true teacher is in fact a wall who is
deceased, is well known in tasawwuf, where it comes into the category of
the Uwaysiyya. We may mention, among other famous cases of Uwaysiyya,
Abu Yazîd al-Bistâmï, a posthumous disciple of Ja'faral-Sâdiq; Abri '1-Hasan
Kharaqani, posthumous disciple of Bistâmï; Bahâ' al-Dïn Naqshband, posthumous
disciple of'Abd al-Khâliq Ghujdawani. On the visions of Ibn ‘Arabi in Qûnâwî,
cf. his Nafahdt Ilahiyya (Ms BN 1354, fos. 70a, 70b, nob, 111a). Another
important example, this time in JAI, is the account of a vision that took place
at Yanbü' in 789AH, and which he reports in his commentary on the Risâlat
al-anwâr, p. 6 (the date of 889AH found in the Damascus edition is
obviously a copyist7 s error or a printing mistake : Jill died at
the beginning of the ninth century).
CHAPTER
Akb Arian hagiology is ultimately arranged around three
fundamental notions: wirâtha, niyâba, qurba. Wirâtha—the heritage of a
spiritual knowledge or, if one prefers, of a mode of knowledge of God peculiar,
to one of the prophetic models—explains the forms taken by sainthood. Niyâba—the
substitution of the wait in a role which, in the last'analysis, actually
belongs to the Muhammadan Reality alone— forms the basis of the functions of
sainthood. Qurba—proximity— defines its nature. We have already
mentioned qurba in connection with the highest level of walâya.
Its full significance will now become apparent.
How does one become a
saint? Although sainthood of necessity forms part of a spiritual economy which
regulates its forms and allocates its functions, none the less it is first and
foremost the fruit of a quest which is personal and always without precedent:
'To each one of you We have assigned a road and a way' (Qur'an 5:48). Ibn
'Arabi always insists on the unrepeatability in an absolute sense of theophanies,
and hence of beings, things and actions.[172]1 Two 'travellers' (sñlifc)
will never travel the same road. The fatethatbefallsonewillneverbefalltheother.
It is none the less true
that, all initiatic journeys, whatever their particulars, encounter stages and
dangers whose nature and distribution conform to a model in the absence of
which the notion itself of a 'spiritual teacher' would make no sense. This type
of journey, enriched with innumerable variations, is one of the topoi of
Sufi literature. As elsewhere, but to a greater extent because in Islam the
Prophet's micraj is a major point of reference, it is often
described in symbolic form as an ascent.2 We turn now to Ibn
'Arabi's use of this theme of ascent, considered as a symbol of the journey
leading to walâya.
The Epistle of the Lights
(Risalat al-Anwar), to which we will refer for guidance, was
written at Konya in 6o2AH, and
thus at the start of ibn 'Arabis life in the East, when he was forty-two lunar
years old.3 There are at least three editions of it in existence,
all very inaccurate;4 so our analysis is based on one of the oldest
manuscripts, whose quality is excellent and which carries the guarantee of
having been read in QünawTs presence.5 The subtitle of this short
work, 'On the secrets bestowed on him who practises retreat in a cell', gives
the impression that it is a treatise on khalwa, a subject to which Ibn
'Arabi devoted Chapters Seventy-Eight and Seventy-Nine of the I'utiihat
and a separate opuscule, the Kitab al-Khalwa (or Kitab al-Khalwa aLmutlaqa),
written after the Risâlat al-Anwar, to which it refers, but which is
often confused with it.6 In fact, although the practices of
isolation (‘«2/rt) and retreat (khalwa) are mentioned at the very
beginning of the text as prerequisites to the quest, the intention of this risala,
as the author explains in his introduction, is to describe 'the modes of the
journey towards the Almighty Master' : a vertical journey, an ascent ofthe
spiritwhich leads the sâlik from heaven to heaven in the footsteps of
the Messenger of God, whose mi'raj has traced the map of the journey to
be accomplished. The ascent to God is first and foremost an imitatio
Prophetae.7
The Risâlat al-Anwâr,
the extracts from which are given in italics, and which discusses the mi'rcij
oí the awliyâ' with succinctness, is not the only work by Ibn 'Arabi
on the subject. He speaks of it elsewhere, under various guises: allegorically
in Chapter One Hundred and Sixty-Seven of the Putühát, more
autobiographically in Chapter Three Hundred and Sixty-Seven of the same work,
in the Kitâb al-I$ra' (the Book of the Night Voyage). We will therefore
refer to these whenever it becomes necessary to clarify the often very
elliptical statements in the Epistle, thereby adopting—though
adapting—the method followed by 'Abd al-Karim al-Jili, whose commentary is
essentially a collection of quotations from Ibn 'Arabi, and will assist us on a
number of important points.
The person to whom the Epistle
of the Lights is addressed is not a novice. The author, therefore, does not
linger on the preliminaries of the Way, analysed in detail in the classic
manuals of tasawwuf, or as he himself explains them in other passages of
his works. This (unknown) person has already arrived, through the appropriate
disciplines, at the central point at which the ascent begins. After uttering
the traditional doxology, the first paragraphs are simply a reminder of the
conditions to be fulfilled and the disposition required of him who embarks on
this perilous enterprise :
I am replying,
oh my dearest friend and most dose companion, to the question you asked me
about the modes of the journey (su/ûk)8 to the Almighty Master, the
arrival in His presence, and the return,9 from and through Him, to
His creatures—a return which yet involves no separation, for nothing exists
other than God, His attributes and His acts. Everything is He, is through Him,
proceeds from Him, returns to H im; and were He to veil Himself from the
universe even for the space of the blinking of an eye, the universe would
straightaway cease to exist, for it survives only through His protection and
His care. Yet of Him whose appearance in His Light is so brilliant that the eye
cannot see Him (Qur'an 6:103), ’l must be said that His appearance
is aconcealment.
It is scarcely
necessary to call attention to the density of these few lines, in which so many
of Jbn cArabi's fundamental ideas are summed up. 'Oneness of Being' (wahdat
al-wujUd) is posited from the start. The idea that it is God's very
conspicuousness that hides Him from our view is a constantly recurring theme in
his doctrine.10 The necessity for the perfect wait' to return
to created being, to follow his 'ascent' with a 'descent' (this is discussed
again at the end of the treatise) is affirmed at once.
1 will first of
all explain to you—may God assist you by His Grace I—how one makes one's way to
Him, then how the arrival happens and how one stands still before Him, how one
sits down on the carpet of contemplation of His Face and what He then says to
you. Next I will explain how one returns from Him to the level of His acts,
through Him and towards Him, and also how one is annihilated in Him—but this
spiritual station is inferior to that of the return.
Know, oh my
dearest brother, that although there are roads without number, there is only
one that leads to God; and solitary (a/rad) are those who travel it!
Nevertheless, although this road is unique, it takes different forms, in
accordance with the different states of being of tire travellers. Indeed, these
forms vary according to whether the travellers' constitution is or is not
harmonious, according to whether their motivation is constant or subject to
eclipse, according to the intensity or the feebleness of their spiritual
energy, according to the uprightness or the obliquity of their resolution,
according to whether their orientation is pure or tainted ....
The first
thing about which we must enlighten you is knowledge of the 'dwelling places'
(irf-mowofin), of their number and of what is imposed upon you by the
'dwellingplace' I have in view here.
These
'dwelling places', which are innumerable, are reduced by Ibn cArabl
to six. The first is the dwelling place of 'Alastu bi-Rabbikum?’ ('Am I
not your Lord?', Qur'an 7:172)—that is, of the primordial Covenant through
which created beings solemnly acknowledged the divine suzerainty.11
The second is the dwelling place of this world below. The third is the
intermediate world (barzakh) to which we go 'after the lesser and the
greater death'. This barzakh, sayslbn cArabielsewhere, is
'neither existent nor non-existent; it can be neither affirmed nor denied. And
it is no other than the khayâl, the imaginai. ' It encompasses all that
is and all that is not, or all that contains within itself a contradiction (the
'possible-impossible', a square árele). What is formless assumes a form there,
and it is this fact which, in the dreams of the ordinary man or the visions of
the gnostic, makes it possible for knowledge to appear as milk, or wine, or a
pearl, Islam as a dome or a pillar, the Qur'an as honey or butter and God in
the guise of a man.11 The 'lesser death' is i nitiatic death (al-mawt
cil-ikhtiyârï), which is voluntary, while the greater death is the common
fate of all.15 The fourth dwelling place is that of the 'gathering
on the earth of awakening' (areference to Qur'an 79:14), where men will
assemble to await the Judgement.14 The fifth is that of Paradise and
Hell.15 Finally, the sixth is the 'Dune of Vision' (a reference to
Qur'an 73:14) which is 'a hill of white musk where created beings will be when
the vision of God takes place [in the fu ture life] .'16
The reference
to these six fundamental states of total being is in the nature of a warning:
Everyone who
is endowed with intellect should know that the journey necessarily involves
suffering, discomfort, trials and tribulations, confrontations with danger and
terrifying fears. It rules out happiness, security and pleasure. The water
[that the traveller finds on the way] tastes different every time, the winds do
not blow in the same direction; the people he meets at one stage are different
from the people at the next stage . . . : all this is by way of warning to
those who wish prematurely to taste the joys of contemplation17
somewhere other than in the dwelling place assigned to them.
The water and
its different tastes represent spiritual knowledge, and the winds are the nafahàt
ilnhiyya, the breath of divine Grace. Their diversity and the diversity of
the people whom he meets on the way are the result of the nature of the
journey, which in reality is a journey from divine Name to divine Name: at
every step the sâlik must conform to the implication of the particular
Name under whose authority he is placed. Moreover, this world below (the
'second dwelling place'), to which he still belongs, is the world of effort and
struggle (mujahadd). It is the 'prison' in which God for a time shuts up
His creatures:
He who directs
his spiritual energy and invocation to the end of bringing Him here, does in
feet do so : but this contravenes the laws of spiritual propriety which apply
to Him and must be obeyed .... You should defer the obtaining of what you have
thus obtained and reserve it for the appropriate dwelling place, that is to say
the future world in which works will no longer have a place .... The subtle
part of the human being will indeed be restored to Efe according to the form of
knowledge that it has acquired, and the bodies will be restored to life
according to the form, whether ugly or beautiful, of the acts performed by them
until their last breath. It is only when you have left the world of legal
obligations and the realm of levels and ascensions thatyou will reap the fruit
of what you have sown.
The goal of
the sâlik must not be fath (opening, illumination), nor the
vision of God: if the case arises, he will receive these as additional gifts.
The time that he spends in this world must be devoted first and foremost to the
Acquisition of spiritual knowledge, in the understanding that this does not
mean mere theoretical know-how. This priority is explained in a passage from
the Fnsw? : 'On the Day of the Resurrection, men will see God according to the
degrees of the knowledge they had about Him [here below] .... Take care, then, not
to lock yourself into one particular concept and accuse everything outside it
of lack of faith. If you do so, a great good will pass you byl Apply yourself
to becoming the materia prima of all the representations of God I '1S
At the end of this
preamble, Ibn cArabî explains some practical rules. The manner in
which they are formulated, and the reference to the gifts which accompany iheir
practice, are clear proof that the Epistle is intended for those whose
spiritual aptitude is exceptional :
You must withdraw
yourself ('uzla) from men and you must choose retreat (khalwa)
rather than company.1’ You will be nearer to God in proportion to
your retreating, both inwardly and outwardly, from created beings. It is
demanded of you that you should have acquired beforehand the knowledge needful
for you to discharge your responsibilities in respect of legal honourablcness,
prayer, lasting, piety, and all tliat has been prescribed you, no more. This is
the first gateway of the journey. Next comes the performing of these acts, the
practice of scruples,10 ascesis,11 and confident
abandonment to God (tawakkul).2* In the first of the
successive states that you will experience, this abandonment to God will confer
upon you the benefit of four supernatural favours (karâmât)~}
which are the signs and the proof that you have reached the first level : the
earth will fold up under your feet, you will walk on water, you will travel
through the air, and all created beings will provide you with food [without any
effort on your part]. In this matter, abandonment to God is die fundamental
reality. After that, the stations (matjâmâf), the states (ahwâlj,
the supernatural favours (karâmât) and the divine descents (tanazzulât)
will succeed each other until death. But I adjure you in the name of God, do
not enter your cell until you arc aware of your station and of the
extent to
which you are able to oppose the power of the imagination. If your imagination
has power over you, you must go into retreat only under the guidance of a
teacher who is trained in discerning spirits and familiar with the Way. If, on
the other hand, your imagination is under your control, do not fear to go into
retreat.
This retreat, which is
viewed here in its technical sense as a method of preparing one for the ascent
to God, assumes its full significance when we turn to Chapter Seventy-Eight of
the Futühât, in which, as we said above, Ibn ‘Arabi discusses it from a
metaphysical point of view. According to him, the khalwa, properly
speaking, is the return to the original Void (al-khala, a word which
comes from the same root)— that is to say, to the doud (aljama') where,
according to one hadtth,24 God was 'before creating
creation'. What is in question, therefore, is a de-creation, an idea which
occurs in Jilt's introduction to his commentary where he compares the phases
of the journey to the successive removal of 'tunics' (thiyab, sing, thawb)
corresponding to each of the levels of universal manifestation-, a
progressive laying bare which is followed, during the return journey, by a
reverse process of re-creation in which the traveller, from stage to stage,
puts on again the coverings that he had left behind him. With regard to the
word tanazzulât in the passage from the Epistle just quoted, Jili
says, 'When the traveller divests himself of his sensible form, which he is
able to cast off thanks to spiritual discipline, to retreat and to continual
invocation, and passes through the heavens and the spheres, through the
stations of the pure spirits and the levels of the Names, God comes down to
meet him in each of the mansions that he occupies in turn, and gives to him
according to His good will. These gifts are called munâzalât—a word that
for Ibn ‘Arabi means a 'halfway meeting' between God and the sâlik.2’’
The text of
the Epistle continues with more advice :
It is
incumbent upon you, before you go into retreat, to submit yourself to the
discipline of initiation, that is to say, to purify your character, renounce
heedlessness, and become able to bear what does you harm. He in whom
illumination (failij precedes the practice of this discipline will not,
save in exceptional cases, attain spiritual virility.
Let us note in
passing that on his own admission, Ibn ‘Arabi is one of these very rare
exceptions.16
Dietary precautions are
also recommended when the person in retreat breaks his fast: both 'satiety and
excessive hunger'.must be avoided. 'Excessive dryness in the system leads to
fantasies and prolonged delirium. ' The ability to discern spirits is
absolutely necessary :
You must
distinguish between the inspirations (wâridât) which are angelic in
nature and those whose nature is fiery and Satanic, by the effects you observe
in yourself after they have passed. An angelic inspiration is followed by a
sensation of freshness and joy, you experience no suffering, you are not
altered in form; and it leaves in its wake a knowledge [which is new]. A
satanic inspiration, on the other hand, leaves you with a sense of exhaustion in
your limbs, you experience pain, sorrow and humiliation, you are in a state of
bewilderment and mental derangement. Be on your guard, therefore, and persevere
in your invocation until the moment when God empties your heart [of these
suggestions] : for that is your goal?7
Neither must
the sâlik allow himself to fall into the trap of theophanies:
When you enter
your cell, let your resolution be, if it pleases God: 'Truly, nothing is like
God' (Qur'an 42:11). Consequently, if any form manifests itself to you in your
retreat and says to you: '1 am God!', you must reply: 'Glory be to God! You are
through God!'i8 Keep in mind the form which appeared to you,
but tum away from it and absorb yourself in perpetual invocation. This is the
first resolution you must take. The second is to ask for nothing save from I
lim alone, and to assign no object to your aspirations other than Him. Even
supposing that the whole universe were offered to you, you would have to accept
it out of respect for the spiritual proprieties, but pay no attention to it and
continue your quest: for He wished to test you. Each time you pay attention to
it, He eludes you. But when you attain to 1 Jim, nothing eludes you.
There will be
many tests. For example, from the beginning of this motionless journey in the
solitude of his cell, the sâlik will see 'what is normally invisible in
the sensible world: neither walls nor darkness will prevent you from seeing
what people do in their homes.' But the secrets perceived in this way must be
silenced by the sâlik's identifying himself with the divine Name al-Sattâr,
'He who veils'. One must also distinguish between perceptions of this kind and
mere hallucinations: if they are genuine, they disappear as soon as one shuts
one's eyes, whereas if they are not, they persist.
In the course
of his Night Journey, the Prophet was offered wine, water and milk, and chose
the milk.23 Drink will also be offered to the sâlik. He must
accept only water, mille or honey, on their own or mixed together, but mùst not
drink the wine 'unless it is mixed with rainwater'. Ibn cArabi says
that he wrote an opuscule, now lost, on the subject of these symbolic drinks
(which are related to the four rivers of Paradise, Qur'ân 47.-15-16).30
But in the Kitab al-Isrff,31 he describes his own 'night
journey' during which he was offered wine and milk: fa sharibtu mïràth tamam
al-laban, 'and I drank the prophetic heritage of milky perfection; but I
abstained from the wine for fear of unveiling the secret under the influence of
intoxication, in which case he who followed me would lose himself and become
blind.' Honey too is dangerous, for it leads to a rejection of the revealed Law
'because of a secret in the bee'. Milk, says a hadith,22
symbolizes both knowledge and the fitra, the original pure nature. Honey
is a 'remedy for men' (Qur'an 16:69). But the 'secret of the bees' which may
cause him who drinks it to reject the Law, is found in verse 16:68 ('And your
Lord revealed to tire bees . . in which the verb awhâ is the same as the
one used of the prophetic revelation (wahy). This is a reference to what
is communicated directly by God to all beings, quite apart from any law
brought by a prophet, and which may also cause spiritual 'intoxication'—a fact
implied in another hadith which says that an intoxicating drink is
sometimes made out of honey.33 With regard to water, one must
distinguish between rainwater, which is heavenly and pure and a symbol of the
divine Rafjma, and the water of rivers, which is earthly and tainted.34
To consider these as mere allegories, comparable to the rhetorical dangers
marked on the 'Carte du Tendre',35 would be to understand notliing
of Ibn ‘Arabi's teaching. For him as for all Sûfîs they are real ordeals, which
the traveller must experience of necessity and, on occasion, with pain.
Common
temptations have long been overcome. Those that remain are the more formidable
in that they are more subtle :
Next, God will
test you by displaying before you the levels of His kingdom. If He shows them
to you in order, first will come the secrets of stones and minerals. You will
thus learn the secret of each stone and its useful or harmful properties. If
your desire is aroused by this mineral world, you will be kept there and
therefore rejected (by God]; His protection will be withdrawn from you and you
will perish. However, if you detach yourself from it and persevere in your
invocation, and take refuge with Him who is invoked, this category of unveiling
will be taken away from you. Then the vegetable world will be unveiled. Each
plant will call out to you to tell you what useful or harmful properties it
contains?6
The same goes
for the animal world. 'And each of these worlds will also teach you its own way
of praising and glorifying God.' Here again, Ibn Arabi is making an implicit
reference to his personal experience, as some passages in the Futiihat
confirm; 'We heard the stones invoking God . . .. Each species of God's
creatures constitutes a community and God has so created them that they worship
Him each with its own form of worship.'37 'At the beginning of our
spiritual life, we heard the stones glorifying and invoking God.'38
The Epistle, however, wisely and prudently warns against the aberrations of the
imagination :
If you
consider that the worlds invoke God with the same invocation as you, your
unveiling is imaginary, not genuine, and you are quite simply seeing your own
condition in created beings. However, if you perceive in them the diversity of
then- invocations, then your unveiling is genuine.
This journey
through the four 'kingdoms' of the sublunary world (mineral, vegetable, and
animal, the human kingdom being represented by thesâltk himself) corresponds
to the first stage of the ascent proper, leading to 'the heaven of this world
belov/. It also corresponds to the first phase of the progressive laying bare
referred to above : the traveller, according to what Ibn 'Arabi says in the
autobiographical account in the Futühât,39 has now left
behind him the four elements of earth, water, air and fire. This is why, at
this point in the journey, the Epistle points out that the ascent (nii craj)
described is an ascent of dissolution (mi'raj tahltl) and proceeds in a
specific order [tartib), which is the order of the levels of existence
in the universe. First to be 'dissolved' are the elemental 'coverings', which
are symbolic of all that makes up the human condition. This initiatic death,
which is a necessary prelude to palingenesis, is a painful operation : 'You
will be in a state of contraction (qabd) all the way as you pass through
these successive worlds. '
For a detailed
description of this first heaven, where the traveller has just arrived, we must
turn to the first-hand account in Chapter Three Hundred and Sixty-Seven of the Futûhât.
Here Ibn 'Arabi, having shed his corporeal nature (nash'atial-badaniyya),
meets Adam and finds that he is simultaneously in front of him and on his
right. Adam, with a smile, says to him: That is how 1 was as well at the time
of the primordial Covenant.4 both in from of God and in I lis right
hand with my sons. 'land my sons', he adds, 'are all in Allah's right hand',
and thus all vowed to felicity. In reply to a question from Ibn 'Arabi, he
explains that this felicity is eternal, even though the places where created
beings will dwell after the last Judgement—that is, Paradise or Hell—arc
different: 'Allah will furnish each of these two dwellings with whatever is
needful for the happiness of those who inhabit it, but each of them must be
inhabited.' The divine wrath will be extinguished on the Day of Judgement and
universal Compassion (al-rahma al- câmma) will have the last
word. This universal Compassion, which rules out eternal punishment in Hell, is
a basic element of the Shaykh al-Akbar's doctrine.40 The knowledge
imparted to him about it is identified here as belonging to the 'heritage' of
Adam.
Like Chapter
Three Hundred and Sixty-Seven, but this time in an impersonal way, Chapter One
Hundred and Sixty-Seven also describes the journey through the heavenly
spheres, employing two characters in the process. One of these is the tàbï',
he who 'follows' a prophet and conforms to his Law, and the other is the sahib
al-nazar, the philosopher who, in his search for truth, relies on
speculative thought alone. In each heaven, the former converses with the
prophet who dwells in it (in this case Adam) and receives spiritual knowledge
from him, whereas the latter speaks only with the ruling angel of that sphere
and receives only cosmological knowledge from him. From the angel of the first
heavenly sphere, whom Jili identifies, in the language of the philosophers,
with the tenth intellect, the sahib at-nazar receives only the knowledge
of the 'world of generation and corruption'.
The next
paragraph of the Epistle—'After this it will be revealed to you how the
life of causation is diffused within living beings, and the effect that it
produces within each essence in accordance with the predispositions of that
essence'—signals the arrival at the second heaven, which is the heaven of
Mercury ('Utiirid or, especially for the Maghrib, al-katib, the
'scribe', which is the form preferred by Ibn 'Arabi). According to Chapter One
Hundred and Sixty-Seven, this is the 'dwelling of eloquence' from which the
inspiration of orators comes. The kâtib or angel of the second heaven
confirms the truthfulness of the Prophet by demonstrating the unsurpassable
nature of the Qur'an, and also teaches the knowledge of signs, which enables
one to act 'through the letters and the Names', and the secret of the kunl,
the 'fiat!' which bestows existence. But this is also the heaven of Jesus and
John (Yahya), who are associated here as they are in sacred history because
Yahya, whose name, taken etymologically, symbolizes life, and Jesus, whom the
Qur'an calls rilh, or spirit (Qur'an 4:171), are inseparable: where
there is spirit there is life. Chapter Three Hundred and Sixty-Seven represents
Yahya as a theophany of the divine Name al-Muhyï, 'He who quickens';
whence, according to one hadîth, it will fall to him on the Day
of Resurrection to put death to death (which will appear in the form of a ram).41
Jesus, for his part, has the power to bring the dead back to life and to bestow
life on the birds of clay (Qur'an 3:49). The connection of these two prophets
with the diffusion of the 'life of causation' in livingbeings is obvious.
The next lines of the Epistle
are more obscure, and on one point Jill himself is ata loss:
If you do not
stop at that point, the glow of the Guarded Tablet will be revealed to you.
Terrifying voices will call out to you. Your spiritual state will undergo
changes. A wheel will be set up for you, where you will see the forms of
metamorphoses: you will see how the gross becomes subtle and the subtle gross,
how the first becomes last and the last first (literally: how the head becomes
the tail and the tail die head), how man becomes an animal and how the
vegetable becomes man, and other similar things.
Our translation of al-lawá'ih
al-lawhiyya (two words with the same root) as 'the glow of the Guarded
Tablet' is merely conjectural : Jili says that he does not know the meaning of
the phrase. The word lawâ'ih in Ibn ‘Arabi belongs to a family of
technical terms which designate spiritual phenomena of a luminous nature, which
differ from each other in intensity and stability (the lawâ'ih are
'fleeting as lightning'). These phenomena also find mention in earlier authors
such as Qushayri,42 for whom they are confined to beginners (ahi
al-bidâya). The lawâ'ih, explains the Shaylch al-Akbar, are 'that
which radiates from the Light of the Essence and the burning Glories of the
Face, viewed in terms of their positivity and not of their negativity, to the
gaze (baçar) when it is no longer conditioned by the limitations of its
physical organ.' Every lâ'iha (singular of lawâ'ih) comes as the
result of passing from one state (hâl) to another, and involves an
increase of knowledge.43 In short, what is in question is a mode, as
yet very imperfect, of perceiving theophanies. But what is the meaning, here,
of the adjective lawhiyya? It is derived from lawh. Now the lawh
mahfûz, a Qur'ânic phrase (Qur'an 85:22) meaning the 'Guarded Tablet', is a
symbol in Islamic cosmology of the Universal Soul. Upon this 'tablet' the
Calamus—itself a symbol of the first Intellect—engraves in indelible fashion
all that will come to pass until the Day of Resurrection. Thus, its connection
with the 'wheel' of becoming, with the 'metamorphoses', and with the
manifestation of life-giving power associated with the second heaven, would
seem logical.44 We may notice that in the definition of the lawâ'ih,
it is made dear that this 'glov/ is perceived by the gaze (basar) and
not, as one might expect, by the inner vision (basira). But this gaze is
not 'conditioned by the limitations of its physical organ'. Just as the body of
the resurrected elect is a glorious and transfigured body, the gnostic's eye is
also 'glorious' and transcends the limitations of the human condition. The
continuing use of the terms 'eye' and 'gaze' serves to emphasize the fact that
we are speaking here of a perception which has the force and the immediacy of
visual perception. The object of this perception is the divine perfections in
their positive aspect—that is to say, inasmuch as they are what they are, not
inasmuch as they express God's transcendence with regard to imperfection. The
gaze perceives the fact of Beauty; the intellect, left to itself, can know this
Beauty only as the negation of all ugliness.
If you do not
stop at that point, a light will appear to you which throws out sparks in all
directions, and you will wish to protea yourself. But fear nothing and continue
your invocation: if you do,noharm will come to you.
If you do not
stop at that point, you will see the Light of the Rising Suns appear, and the
form of the universal composite. You will see what the appropriate rules are
that must be observed in order to attain to the divine Presence, to stand
before God, and then to go out of His Presence and return to created being, and
what it is to contemplate God perpetually in the infinite variety of I lis
Faces, whether visible or invisible. In this way you will come to know the
perfection that it is not given to all to know; for that which is missing from
the visible face of a thing is captured in the face which is invisible. Since
the visible and the invisible have but one Essence, there is no imperfection
present. Similarly, you will learn how to receive divine knowledge from God
Himself and what predispositions are required on the part of him who receives
it. You will come to know the rules of taking and giving, of contraction and
expansion, and you will learn how to preserve the heart from consuming itself
to death. You will also see that all paths go in a circle and that not one is
straight; and many other things that cannot be contained in this epistle.
The sparks mentioned in
the first of these paragraphs proceed, says Jïlî, 'from your own being'. The
invocation of God then causes them to disappear. On the other hand, the 'light
of the Rising Suns' (al-tawâlf) is the 'fight of divine Unity (al-tawhtd)
which rises over the heart of the gnostic and extinguishes all other lights'45—particularly
the 'light of rational proof',46 which is now useless and which
furthermore can lead only to a negative knowledge, and thus ultimately
to a conflict with revealed fact. An example of the latter is a reference to
God's 'Hands' or 'Feet'. For rational speculation, these attributes are
incompatible with divine transcendence: at best one may ascribe an allegorical
meaning to them. But the gnostic sees God's Hands or His Feet; he knows by
direct vision how, in spite of human logic, these attributes can be divine. His
knowledge of God never opposes or separates the tanzïh from the tashbth,
transcendence from immanence or likeness.47 This synthetic knowledge
alone is in conformity with the 'appropriate rules' which must be observed in
order to attain to the divine Presence.
Our translation takes
account of only one of the possible meanings of the word 'faces' (wujüh),
which Ibn cArabi almost always uses in a deliberately ambivalent
way. The wujüh are simultaneously the 'Faces of God', the visible or
invisible forms of the phenomenal world, and the modes of contemplation: all
these different meanings, moreover, are obviously related. Similarly, the
'perfection that it is not given to all to know' is the perfection of God; but
it is also the perfection of each thing inasmuch as what is manifest in it is
the 'Apparent One' (al-Zahif), that is to say the divine Reality itself.
This is a fleeting allusion to a theodicy that Ibn 'Arabi develops elsewhere,
and according to which the 'imperfection' of created being is a necessary
clement of the perfection of the universe.48 At this point Jili
employs two expressive images: when, he says, the visible face of the moon is
waning, its hidden face is waxing in the same proportion, and vice versa; when
the day (nahar) becomes shorter, the night (Zrti/Z) becomes longer, but
the duration of the nychthemeron (yawm) never changes.
The part of this passage
about the 'circularity' of paths may also appear enigmatic. Ibn 'Arabi makes
the meaning clear in a chapter of the Futühât where he represents
manifestation in symbolic form by a circumference whose starting point (the
first Intellect or Calamus, the first bring in creation) coinrides with its
final point (Perfect Man).49 The 'path' which leads from the
Principle to the ultimate frontier of creation ('the lowest part of the abyss',
asfal al-sâfilin, Qur'ân 95:5) leads back from this extreme limit to the
place of origin—symbolized in the same süra by the 'land made safe', (al-balad
al-amm)—which souls yearn after. 'If the path were straight', writes Jïlï,
'there would be no finishing point for created beings to reach; and once they
had "gone out" of the Presence of God, they would never go back to
Him. ' The statement that 'all returns to him' occurs in different forms over
and over again in the Revelation (c£ Qur'ân 24:42,42:53, etc.). But owing to
divine Infinity, which precludes all repetition,50 the return cannot
be a simple reversal of the process of going away: created beings do not
retrace their steps. It is the curvature of the spiritual space within which
they move which brings them back to their point of departure.
After this second heaven,
where the sâlik also learns 'how beings are generated by the reciprocal
influence of the world of spirit and the world of flesh', the journey continues
to the third heaven, 'the world of formation, of ornamentation and of beauty.
This is the level from which inspiration comes to poets, whereas the
inspiration of orators comes from the previous heaven. ' It is the heaven of
Venus (Zuhra) and its resident prophet is Yüsuf (Joseph): a double
reference to beauty because traditionally, and on the basis of süra 12
which bears his name, Yüsuf is considered to represent the perfection of the
human form. According to Chapter One Hundred and Sixty-Seven of the Futühât (henceforth
we will refer to this chapter as Fut. a,
and to Chapter Three Hundred and Sixty-Seven as Fwf. a), from this heaven
proceeds the harmony (ntzñm) of the four elements and the four hurrtours which
form the structure of the sublunary world. Here again, the philosopher is
instructed only in the cosmological knowledge that corresponds to this sphere,
whereas Yüsuf, the interpreter of dreams par excellence and the
decipherer of forms, imparts to the tab? the knowledge of the imaginai
world, symbolized by 'the earth which was created out of what remained of
Adam's day.'51
If you do not
stop at that point, you will find out what the levels are of the Pole's office.
Everything you had contemplated hitherto came from the domain of the Imam of
the left. But the place where you are now is the heart. When this new universe
is made manifest to you, you will leant the secret of the reflections [of
divine perfection] and also the secret of the permanence of what is permanent
and of the eternity of what is eternal. You will become acquainted with the
hierarchy of beings and with how Being is distributed among them. Divine Wisdom
will be granted to you as well as the strength required to preserve it and the
faithfulness necessary to impart it to those who are worthy of it. You will
receive the gift of symbols and of synthetic knowledge and the power to veil or
unveil.
The sâlik
now enters the fourth heaven, which occupies the central position (the 'heart')
in the hierarchy of the planetary spheres, and is therefore the heaven both of
the Sun and of Idris, the Pole of the universe.52 From Idris, the
traveller who follows the way of prophecy (Fut. a) receives the knowledge of the perpetual revolution of the
divine realities (taqlïb al-umür al-ilâhiyya)—the knowledge, that is, of
the infinite diversity and the eternal renewal of theophanies. At this stage of
his ascent, he sees 'how the night conceals the day and the day the night, how
each of them in relation to the other is sometimes male and sometimes female,
the secret of their union, and what they engender' (day and night here
represent, respectively, the manifest and the non-manifest). He learns the
difference between the 'children of day7—those whose spiritual
perfection is visible—and the 'children of night', the maldmiyya, whose
sainthood is hidden from men's eyes. During his own mi crâj (Fut.
b), Ibn ‘Arabi was received on
the threshold of this heaven by Idris, who saluted in him 'the Muhammadan heir par
excellence': a recognition on the part of the supreme Pole that he was in
the presence of the Seal of Muhammadan Sainthood. A dialogue ensues in which
Idris says that God 'conforms to all that is said about Him', This is one of
the great themes in Ibn Arabi's writings: he maintains that all perception,
whethe” of the intellect or the senses, and whether one knows it or not, is
perception of an aspect of the divine Reality, for things are simply places of
manifestation (mazdhir) for theophanies. All error, therefore, is
relative (al-khata' amr idâfî, as Idris says). Thus, every-sfatement
about God is accurate in teims of what it includes, and false'in teims of what
it excludes.55
Ibn Arabi tells Idris of
his meeting in front of the Kata with a person from one of the human races
which preceded our own,54 and asks him the following question,
before this world existed, was there another dwe'ling place? 'The dwelling
place of existence (dar al-wujüd)1, replies Idris, 'is
unique. This world is only the world below because of you, and the future world
is only different from it because of you.' The realities of Paradise are
present, here and now, for him who has eyes to see them.
If you do not
stop at that point, you will see the world of combative fervour, of anger and
of burning zeal, and you will leam the origin of the seeming divergences in the
universe andof the diversity of forms, as well as many other things.
This is the fifth heaven,
the heaven of Mars (al-Afymar, al-Mirrïkh, al-Nahs al-Asghar), which Ibn
Arabi (Fut. a) describes as
the heaven of terror, fear, affliction—in a word, of all the manifestations of
divine Severity. From here the sdlik derives the necessary strength to
resist his adversaries, both inner and outer. His conversation with Hârün
(Aaron), the prophet of this heaven is chiefly concerned with one of the most
controversial points of Ibn Arabi's doctrine: the posthumous fete of Fir awn,
the Pharaoh who was Moses'.enemy, and whose act of faith, uttered in
extremis, precludes the possibility that he is doomed to damnation, because
'the Mercy of God is too vast not to accept even faith under duress'.55
Severity itself is merely a veil over Compassion—something which is also
implied in the rule, laid down by Hârün for the tdbf, 'to let the blood
flow in ritual sacrifices so that the animals may attain to the level of human
beings': a painful but necessary alchemy which integrates creatures of a lower
order to the nature of the Perfect Man and enables them to share in his
destiny.
In the
autobiographical account (Fut. b),
other conversations take place, first of all with Yahya (John). Ibn 'Arabi had
already met him in the second heaven at the side of Jesus, and meets him again
with Hârün. 'I didn't see you on the path. Is there then another path?' he
asks. 'Everyone has his own path, on which he walks alone', replies Yahya:
'every being is unique and his relationship with God is likewise unique. ' Next
follows a dialogue with Hârün who, like Idris, greets the 'heir of Muhammad' in
Ibn 'Arabi, and in reply to a question affirms the reality of the world that is
denied by 'certain gnostics'. The 'imperfection' of their knowledge, says
Hârün, 'may be measured by the extent to which the world is veiled from them:
because for him who has knowledge of God, the universe is nothing other than
His epiphany.' In connection with this same text,56 we drew
attention elsewhere to the radical opposition on this point between Ibn 'Arabi's
doctrine and the doctrine of the so-called school of 'Absolute Oneness' (al-wahda
al-mutlaqa), whose most famous teacher was Ibn Sabin.
The traveller now comes
to the sixth heaven, the heaven of Jupiter (al-Birjis or al-Mush
tart) where Moses resides:
If you do not
stop at that point, you will behold the world of jealous Love and of the
perception of Truth in its most perfect forms. You will learn which opinions
are valid, which points of view correct, and which Laws are truly revealed. You
will see a world which God has embellished in the most beautiful fashion by
endowing it with knowledge most sacred. No spiritual station will be unveiled
to you which docs not receive you with respect, dignity and honour, inform you
clearly of its degree in relation to the divine Presence, and desire you with
all its being.
At this point of his
ascent, he who has renounced the speculative way of the philosophers and has
followed the path of prophetic teaching, receives from Moses 'twelve thousand
forms of knowledge'—an implicit reference to verse 2:60 in which twelve rivers
flow out of the rock that Moses strikes with his rod, corresponding to the
twelve tribes of Israel or, in other words, to so many aspects of the -malaya
miisaw- iyya57 (Fut. a).
Moses also teaches him that 'theophanies occur only in the form of beliefs (al-i'tiqâdât)
and of needs (al-hâjât)', in allusion to two other verses (Qur'an
28:29-30) which refer to the episode of the Burning Bush. According to Ibn
'Arabi, it was because Moses was in search of a fire, as these verses tell us,
that the voice of God came to him out of a tree on fire.5® Each time
we think about what we need (in.either a material or a spiritual sense), we are
thinking, whether or not we know it, about God, for 'all need is need of God'.59
He who desires something for its beauty is in love with the divine Beauty which
exists in it. But he will know no more of divine Beauty than what this object
can contain. It is plain that, in the language of the Shaykh al-Akbar, the word
Ttiqâdât covers a great deal more than 'beliefs' in the sense of
articulated expressions of faith, and extends to all the limited representations
that we form of whatever we aspire towards. The theophany will be in th e image
and the measure of our desire.
From the prophet of the
sixth heaven, the traveller also learns how substances (al-jawahir) can
be stripped of their forms and clothed in other forms without any change taking
place in their essential reality. An example o f this is the rod of Moses,
which looks sometimes like a rod andsomerimes like a serpent, even though its
essential nature is not affected by these metamorphoses. Armed with this
knowledge, the wa It can no longer be duped by the illusion of the
phenomenal world, but perceives the Oneness of Being in the multiplicity of
beings: 'Say [when you see something]: this is God! or: this is the world! or:
this is I! or: this is you! or: this is He! all these designations are simply
pronouns [damair, in place of the Name], and only the points of view are
different. [In this knowledge of the One beneath the diversity of appearances]
there are brimming oceans, shoreless and bottomless I '
The question of the
vision of God is at the heart of Ibn ‘Arabi's conversation with Moses (Fut. b).60 In a famous episode in
the Qur'an, Moses asks God, 'Oh my Lord, appear to me, that I may look on You
!' and hears the reply, 'You shall not see Me!' (Qur'an 7:143). 'God singled
you out among men in making you His Messenger and by speaking with you, and yet
you asked to see Him', says Ibn ‘Arabi in the course of this conversation, 'but
Muhammad said, "None of you will see his Lord before he dies".' 'That
is so,' replies Moses. 'When I asked to see Him, He granted my wish. I fell
down in a faint and I saw Him—may He be exalted!—while I was unconscious.' 'So
you were dead?' T was dead !' says Moses, who goes on to explain that he is one
of those who will not have to die when the trumpet of Isrâfîl sounds on the Day
of Judgement: he who has experienced initiatic death already shares in the
eternal life of the elect. For such a man, 'death is dead', just as it will die
for all created beings at the end of time, slain by Yahyâ (John), 'he who is
alive'. Once again, we may observe the dose correspondence that exists between
initiatic and eschatological doctrine; the apocalypse (in its real sense o£
'revelation') is a posthumous fath or illumination, and the fath
of the wa liis an apocalypse in advance.
The conversation
continues. When you asked to see Him, did you in fact not seeHim? asks Ibn
'Arabî. 'I was already seeing Him/says Moses, 'but without knowing that it was
Him I saw !'The difference between the layman and the gnostic does not lie in
what is seen. What distinguishes the :arif is the fact that
he knows whom he is seeing.
After this world, ruled
by 'jealous Love'—the love that impels Moses to destroy the golden calf (Qur'an
2:51-54, 92; 4:153; 7:748-152; 20:85-97)—the wait arrives at the seven th
heaven, the heaven of Saturn (Kaywân, Zuhal), which is 'the world of
gravity, serenity, stability and of the divine ruse'. Whereas the reigning
angel of this sphere instáis the philosopher (Fut. a) 'in a dark house', which is no other
than his own ego, the tab? is greeted by Abraham, whom he finds (as did
Muljammad during his own mfraj) leaning against the Bayt al-macnuir,
the'Visited House', which is the goal of the eternal procession of the angels
as well as the heavenly prototype of the earthly Kata.61 'Make your
heart like this House by being present to God (bi-hudürika ma 'a 'l-tjaqq}
at every moment', enjoins Abraham. .
As in the preceding
planetary heavens, each traveller receives instruction here according to the
purity (takhlisj of his being; but whereas the tab? is invited to
enter the 'Visited House',61 the philosopher leams that he has
arrived at the end of his ascent and that he will have to wait here for his
companion to return. Despite appearances, they are not 'brothers'; for, says
Abraham, only the 'brotherhood of milk' is important, which unites those who
have drunk the same drink—that is to say, who have imbibed the same knowledge.
The philosopher then declares that he submits to the prophetic Law and claims
the same status as the tab?. But this conversation does not happen here:
firsthe will have togobackdown, for it is on earth that man, created of earth,
mustaccept faithand the Law.-
As the text of the Epistle
says, it is from this heaven of serenity and stability (thabât) that
'divine ruse' (makr, istidraj) paradoxically proceeds.63 But
this is a paradox only in appearance: stability closes what is open, limits
what is infinite. It is merely a dangerous illusion, the highest and most fatal
of temptations. Spiritual perfection involves hayra ■—stupefaction,
perplexity, a perpetual marvelling at the incessantly changing theophanies,
each of them bringing a new knowledge which is never the nec plus ultra.64
The description of the next stage of the mi yâj, therefore, should come
as no surprise :
If you do not
stop at that point, you will be shown the world of perplexity, deficiency and
impotence, as well as the treasure-house of actions, that is to say [what the
Qur'an, 83:18-21, calls the ‘Illíyün.
This stage
marks the arrival at the 'Lote-tree of the Boundary' (sidrat al-muntaha,
Qur'an 53:14), the point where Jibril, the angel of the Revelation, stopped
during the Prophet's rnfraj, leaving Muhammad to continue his ascent
alone. Itis also the stopping point forthepious actions of created beings,
which the angels 'carry7 each day to God. From this tree, the îâbf
(Tut. a) sees a great river
welling up, out of which arise three smaller rivers and innumerable streams.
The great river is the Qur'an, the other three arc the Torah, the Psalms (al-zabur)
and the Gospel (al-injity, and the streams represent the suhuf
('leaves'), or minor revelations. H e who drinks one of these waters is the
heir of the prophet corresponding to it. Butthc Qur'ân, the river of Muhammad,
contains all the other Books, and he who drinks from it receives the fulness of
all the propheticinheri tances.
In Chapter
Three Hundred and Sixty-Seven of the Futühât, the detailed description
of the ascent (a description continued in Chapter One Hundred and Sixty-Seven
and in the Kitâb al-Isrâ') ends at this point on a note of glory. Ibn
'Arabi sees the Lote-tree surrounded by a dazzling light, and he himself
becomes a being altogether of light. Then, he says, 'God caused to descend upon
me [anzala :alayya: the verb used here is used in the Qur'an
of the "descent" of the Revelation]65 the verse:
"Say: we believe in God, and in what has been revealed to us, and in what
was revealed to Abraham, Ishmael, Isaac, Jacob, the tribes [of Israel] and in
what was given to Moses and Jesus . . .(Qur'an 3:84). And in this verse He gave
me all the verses . . . and He made it the key to all knowledge. ' Tbn 'Arabi
interprets this divine communication as an indication that he has attained to
the 'Muljammadan station'. He continues, 'During this night journey, I acquired
the meanings of all the divine Names. I saw that all these Names had reference
to one Named One and to one Essence. This Named One was the object of my
contemplation and this Essence was my own being. My journey took place only
within me and I was guided towards myself. And hence I knew that I was a
servant in the pure sense, and that there was not the least trace in me of
sovereignty.' These few lines contain the whole secret of the ivali's
ascent: he has visited his own inner planets, met with the prophets of his own
being, ascending in this way from heaven to heaven towards the summit of
himself, at which point, with his ontological destitution fully and finally
laid bare, the infinity of God is revealed to him.66
Whereas the autobiographical
account in the Futühât condenses the last stages of the mizraj
into a few lines,67 the Epistle of the Lights describes the
last phases of the journey in a way equally cursory but more explicit,
intersecting—in reverse order since the ascent of the wall is a
de-creation—the successive levels of Ibn cArabi's cosmology.63
The 'Lote-tree of the Boundary' is at the highest point of the 'world of
generation and corruption' (zâlam al-kawn wa 'l-fasad or (âlam
al-shahâdd) of which the planetary spheres are part. Thus the traveller
will have to cross the sphere of the fixed stars (falak al-kawâkib
al-thâbita), then the 'heaven without stars' (al-falak al-atlas),
both of them part of the 'World of Creation' ('âlam al-khalq), as are
the Footstool (al-kursï) and the Throne (al-'arsh). He will then
go up through the levels of the 'Worldofthe Commandment' Çàlam al-amr), which
are, in ascending order, the 'Universal Substance' (al-jawhar al-muzlim
al-kulty;69 Nature (al-tabi^á), in which sensible forms
are contained in potentia-, the Guarded Tablet or Universal Soul; and
lastly the Calamus, identified both with the First Intellect and with the
Muhammadan Reality or Perfect Man. Leaving behind the World of Command, he
enters next what is termed the Primordial Cloud (al- zama'),
which is produced by the Breath of the Merciful One (nafas al-Rahmân),70
and enters the divine Presence.
The lower part of the
heaven of the fixed stars is the 'roof of I lell', and its upper part is the
'floor of Paradise'. This geography determines the landscape revealed to the wall
after the stage of the Lote-tree of the Boundary has been passed:
If you do not
stop at that point, the paradises will be revealed to you in the ascending
order of their levels, and how they fit into each other, together with the
hierarchy of their felicities: all this will be revealed while you are standing
on a narrow path. Then you will see Hell and its levels in descending order . .
.,7’If youdo not stopat that point, you will be shown spirits
annihilated in their contemplation, who are lost and intoxicated in it, for the
power of ecstasy has overcome them . . ,.7Z If yoti do not stop at
that point, a light will be revealed to you in which you will see nothing but
yourself. Thereupon you will be seized by a divine ecstasy and a mad love and
you will experience a joy in the power of God such as you have never previously
known . . .. If you do not stop at that point, the Bed of the Majesty of
Compassion will appear to you. All things are there. There you will see all
that you had seen before and much more besides. There is no reality which you
cannot contemplate there, whether it be present only in the divine Knowledge or
whether it is endowed with existence. Seek for your own reality among all these
things: when your glance falls on it you will recognize your goal, your
spiritual dwelling-place and your ultimate level. Then you will know which of
the divine Names is your Lord, which portion ofknowledge and sainthood is
yours, and in what you are unique.
Akbarian eschatology is
outlined in several chapters of the Futühât, in which the maps of
Paradise and Hell are described and clarified by diagrams. Without giving a
summary of it here, we will single out two concepts which throw light on the
nature of the traveller's experience at this stage of his journey. 'Know', says
Ibn ‘Arabi, 'that the Paradise which is pre-destined for those who will come to
it in the next life is before your eyes already, this very day .... You are
there now . . . but you'do not know it.'73 This is why the Prophet
was able to say that the space contained between his tomb and his pulpit is
'one of the gardens of Paradise':74 whereas the simple believe^ is
content to accept this statement through an act of faith, the 'men of
unveiling' (ahi al-kashf), when they look at this part of the mosque in
Medina, actually see one of the gardens of Paradise, here and now. The ascent
of the wait is an apotheosis of his sight, whereby a reality is revealed
to him which has always been present to all beings, but which the majority of
them will not perceive in this world unless they have learned how to 'die
before death'. What another passage in the Futühât says about Hell75
confirms that the difference between the wall and the ordinary man
lies entirely in their way of seeing things : for Ibn ‘Arabi, Gehenna was
created out of the essential reality (haqiqa) which finds expression in
the hadïth qudst where God, addressing the sinner, says, 'I was ill and
you did not visit Me. I was hungry and you did not feed Me .... I was thirsty
and you did not give Me anything to drink . . ..' He goes on to explain to the
bewildered sinner ('How could I have visited You who are the Lord of the
Worlds?'), 'My servant "so-and-so" was ill and if you had visited him
you would have found Me at his side . . ,.'76 Thus, Hell is nothing
other than the blindness which prevented the man from seeing God in all His
forms, from perceiving His presence in all things, all beings, all places, at
all times. This blindness of him who looks at theophanies without seeing them
is the root of sin and the very substance of its punishment. Only the man
escapes it who is aware of liis own reality', his eternal haecceity (caj/n
thâbità)—the man, that is to say, who knows himself to be the theophany
of a divine Name and its place of manifestation (mazhar).77
To his own transparency corresponds the transparency of things.
At this point of the
journey of initiation, the saint attains to the level of the lawh mahfüz,
the 'Guarded Tablet'—a synonym in Ibn 'Arabi for the Universal Soul—on which
the divine Calamus has engraved indelibly that which is, was or will be ('all
things are there'). The ascent is approaching its end :
If you do not
stop at that point, the teacher and instructor of all things [i.e. the Calamus
or Universal Intellect] will appear to you. You will see the line he traces and
you will become acquainted with its message. You will see how he changes
direction,7*1 how he receives knowledge, and then how
that which he has received in synthetic mode from the angel of the tJûn
becomes differentiated.79
If you do not stop at
that point, you will see that which moves [the Calamus]—that is to say, God's
Right Hand. At this level the traveller is shown the world of the angelic
spirits overcome by Love (al- muhayyamün), who in Islamic tradition are
usually called the Cherubim (al-karübiyyim), and one of whom is the
Calamus. Lost in their contemplation of the divine Beauty and Majesty, these tnuhayyamün
'are not even aware that God created the world'. The same is true of the afrâd,
who are their equivalents on the human plane—unless, that is, they have been
assigned a task, like the Calamus, which obliges them to turn towards created
being. As we saw earlier, the Pole—among others—is one example of this.
If the wait has
been able to resist the temptation to stop at each successive stage of his
journey (a danger to which our attention is insistently drawn by the first line
of every paragraph of the Epistle), he has now arrived at the 'Station
of Proximity' (maqâm al-qurba), at the fulness of sainthood which Jesus
will seal at the end of time. The only thing forbidden to him, since the
disappearance of the Seal of Muhammadan Sainthood, is the position at the
centre, reserved in this maqâm for those who are 'heirs of Muhammad' in
the fullest sense. But to know that one is near is still to know that one is—it
still implies, for created being, a degree of ontological autonomy. True
Proximity is consummated only in the total de-creation of what has been
created, when all that survives is the Divine Oneness (al-wahda).
If you do not
stop at that point, you will be blotted out, extinguished, obliterated,
annihilated.
Then, when
this erasure and all that follows it—occultation, extinction, obliteration,
annihilation—have worked all their effects in you, you will be affirmed, made
present, existent and reassembled.
Here the loop of becoming
has come full circle: the palingenesis is complete. At the end of this mi'râj,
man is reduced to the indestructible divine secret (sirr ilâhï) which
was lodged in him at the beginning of time by the breath of the Spirit (nafkh
al-rüh) breathed into Adam's day.80 'Then', says Ibn “Arabi in
his Kitab al-Isra, 'the even and the odd come together, He is and you
are not.... And He sees Himself through Himself. '8x
However, even though the
'arrival' at God (al-wusüí) is the final point of the ascent, for the
most perfect it is not the end of the journey. The Arabic word niicraj
may be translated as 'ladder': but in this case the ladder is a double ladder.
The wall, having reached the summit, must go back down by rungs which
are different but symmetrical to those by which he climbed up.
Next, you will
be sent back on your way and you will see again what you saw previously, but
under different forms; and in this way you will return to the limited,
terrestrial world of your senses. At least, this is what wdi happen if you do
not dingon to the place where you were occulted.
The wait, then,
will travel once more through the levels of universal existence and re-visit,
in reverse order, the hierarchy of the heavens. All that he saw he will see
again. But the same things will have 'different forms', because what he used to
look at 'with the eyes of his ego' (bi-cayn nafsihi) he now
contemplates with 'the eyes of his Lord' (bi- '«yn rabbihi). At each
stage of the descent, he will take up again the part of himself that he had
left there. This progressive recovering of wha? he had left behind is not a
regression, however: to employ fill's beautiful image in his commentary,82
each 'tunic' that he took off on the way up was by the same token turned inside
out, like a garment which ore pulls over one's head hem-first. Thus, the wrong
side is now the right side; what was hidden has become visible. The wall
'reclothes himself' on the way back with all the elements of his being that he
had returned earlier to their respective worlds; but, through being turned
inside out, these elements have undergone a metamorphosis. Not all the awliya'
arrive at the highest level, represented by the maqam al-qitrba, and not
all of them 'return' to created being. Furthermore, at every stage there are
different modes of spiritual realization, which correspond strictly to the
different prophetic types inherited by the saints. These features of Akbarian
hagiology are reaffirmed in the following passage:
For each
traveller, the journey's end depends on the road he has taken. Some will be
spoken to in their own language, others in a language which is different from
theirs. Each will he the heir of the prophet who corresponds to the language he
has had spoken to him. This is why you will hear the People of the Way saying,
'So-and-so' is müsauñ, or ‘îsatvî, or ibrâh ïmî, or idnsi.
Here, each
'language' represents a particular form of the revelation (waky) or inspiration
(ilhâm) which descends from God upon the heart of the servant and which
determines, in return, a specific form of knowledge and worship. As we know,
however, the same person can accumulate many inheritances;
But there are
some among them who will be spoken to in two languages, or three, or four, and
so on. Perfect among them is he who is spoken to in all languages: this is the
exclusive privilege of the Muhammadan.
The model par
excellence of this Muhammadan who is spoken to 'in all languages', and who
as a result is the only qualified interpreter of Universal Truth in all its
aspects, is Ibn 'Arabi himself. We referred in Chapter Five to his Küâb Al-
‘Abâdila, a highly enigmatic work which, as far as we know, has never been
studied. The very word cabadila, which is rarely employed, is
an irregular plural of 'Abd Allah, 'servant of God', Throughout this
curious work, utterances of a metaphysical or initiatic nature are put into the
mouths of about a hundred people who are called by strange and obviously
symbolic names. It would be futile to attempt to identify these characters with
known Sûfï figures: as we are given to understand by the allusions in the
preface, the voice which speaks from beneath ail these masks is Ibn 'Arabi's,
'servant of the Name which encompasses all Names', 'totalizing son of a limited
father' (ibn jami'hm ab muqayyad), 'interpreter of all languages'.85
For as long as
the traveller remains at the end point of his journey and does not retrace his
steps, he is called al-wâqif, 'he who has come to a standstill'. Some,
indeed, are permanendy obliterated at this station, such as Abû Tqâl and
others.84 These will die and be resurrected at this station.
Some, on the
other hand, are 'sent back'. He who is sent back in this way is more perfect
than he who comes to a standstill and is annihilated, always provided that
their spiritual stations are similar . . . otherwise he who is sent back has to
live until the moment when he reaches the same level as he who is annihilated:
when this happens he will be above him as regards the approach (tadânî)
and die descent (tadaüï) and will outmatch him in terms of ascent
(taroqqi] and reception (ta/aqqi].85
We must
distinguish between two categories of those who are 'sent back'. He who belongs
to the first category is sent back for his own sake, as in the case discussed above.
He is termed a gnostic (cârif), and in order to perfect
himself he returns by a different way from the one he took before.
But there is
also he who is sent back to created beings in order to direct and guide them by
his words. He is the wise man (al'alim) through inheritance.86
We have drawn
attention several times to the importance of the concept of 'return' (rujity.
Here, we see once more that it occupies a central position in the definition of
sainthood. On this point the Shaykh al-Akbar's doctrine is forcefully expressed
from his earliest writings onwards. In the Risâla fl T-walaya, written
when he was thirty years old, Ibn 'Arabi makes the same distinctions: 'Among
them', he writes, 'are those who are sent back [to created being], those who
are not sent backhand those who are left to choose. He who is not sent back is
called in our technical vocabulary by the name of wâqif .... He who is
sent back specifically [i.e. for his own sake] is called an, *ârif. He
who is sent back in a general sense [i. e. in order to guide created beings] is
called cñ/ím and wârith.' But although Ibn 'Arabi is the
first to explain this concept and to bring out its implications clearly, both
as regards the course of sainthood and in the wall's personal
experience, it must be stressed that it is already present in the teaching of
earlier awliyâ', and above all that; like all the other aspects of walâya,
it is included within the Muhammadan paradigm. The rest of the text just quoted
alludes to a very significant statement made by Shaykh Abü Madyan: 'To flee
from created being is one of the signs of a novice's sincerity. To reach God is
a sign of the sincerity of his flight from created being. To return to created
being is a sign of the sincerity of his having reached God. ' This return,
comments Ibn 'Arabi, represents 'the perfection of the Station of Inheritance (wa
huwa kamâl maqâm al-wirâtha)': in fact, he says, withdrawal from created
being corresponds to the period in the Prophet's life which preceded the
Revelation. The Revelation marks the end of the phase of ascent following which
Muhammad is 'sent to all created beings'. The 'perfection of the Station of
Inheritance' implies that there is a strict equivalence between the journey of
the heir and that of the Prophet whose heir, directly or indirectly, he is.87
The 'heirs'
who rail [created being] to God in this way do not all possess the same rank
.... Some of them call created being in the language of Moses, of Jesus, of
Shem, of Isaac, of Ishmael, of Adam, of Idns, of Abraham, of Aaron or of other
prophets. They are the Suits, who, in comparison with those of us who are the
perfect Masters, are termed ashâb al-ahwâl, the 'People of the Spiritual
States'.
Others of them
call created beings to God in the language of Muhammad. They are the 'men of
blame'(fl/-m«/ârniyj/a), the Peopleof Immutability and EssentialTruth.
What
distinguishes the nialânû from the stiff and explains the 'blame' that
attaches to him is, as we said, his refusal to free himself from secondary
causes, to tear the veil beneath which God conceals the mystery of His
presence. Because he preserves God's incognito, God preserves his. Because he
has knowledge of God, he perceives Him in all things. But because the Law
prescribes servitude, he keeps his .Lord's secret: it is the transparency of
his own being which reveals him to those who have eyes to see. Only the nialâmï,
through his total acceptance of the order of things in this world, fully
satisfies all the conditions of the return to created being, in the absence of
which the saint is only half a saint. This expression may appear to be an
exaggeration, but it merely transposes what Aaron (Hârùn) says to his visitor
in the fifth heaven, or, even more directly, what Ibn 'Arabi himself says in
the Eustis. 'Elijah', he writes, 'possessed only half of the knowledge
of God', because he was 'a pure intellect emancipated from all passion' (faqlan
bi-la shahzua)?3 God was therefore known to him only in His
transcendence (tanzih) and not, simultaneously, in His similitude (tashbih).
Yet God is both the First and the Last, the Invisible and the Visible. The waqif,
who remains forever motionless at the highest point of the ascent, knows God
onl y in terms of the first two of these four Names, which in the Qur'an form
inseparable pairs. The world ivas not created in vain ( ‘abathan, Qur'an
23:115), it is not an illusion (bdtilan, Qur'an 3:191] : it is the
theatre of theophanies, it displays the 'Hidden Treasure' to which God compares
himself in a hadïth qudsî,89 it is the place where one
acquires that other half of the knowledge of God which is the essence of
sainthood. In this way the 'two bows' are joined together, and the wall
arrives at that indescribable 'nearer', qâb qawsayn aw adnâ, evoked in
the sura of the Star (Qur'an 53:9). This necessary complementarity finds
figurative expression in the rites of the pilgrimage—another symbol of the
journey of initiation in the course of which the believer, after completing the
tawâf, the act of circling the Kaija or bayt Allah, the dwelling
of the One who has no second, must return to duality by making a journey in a
straight line between the hills of Safa and Marwa.90
Hie title as a
whole of the Epistle of the Lights suggests a treatise on the khalwa,
retreat in a cell. But although monastic solitude appears at the beginning of
the text to be a necessary preliminary to the journey, it is radically opposed
to the state of perfection to which it should lead; The place of the living
saint is among men; and when he is dead he will continue, through his rühâniyya,
or spiritual presence, to mingle with them and watch over their fate. His true
'retreat' consists in concealing himself while remaining visible, khalwa fï
jalwa, also expressed in a Persian formula, which occurs among the eleven
cardinal rules of the tanqa naqshbandiyya, as retreat among the crowd (khalvat
dar anju- tm}.91 Like the architecture seen in certain dreams,
his mi ‘raj is a stair which ascends downwards; for 'all roads are
circular'. His exile, prefigured by the exile of the Prophet when he was driven
from the Sacred Territory, separates him only in appearance from the goal of
his search: he who has arrived at the centre knows that the points of the
circumference arc all equidistant from God, and that this distance is no
distance,' for 'He is with you wherever you may be' [Qur'an 5714).
Wàlâya is,
literally, proximity. But this proximity is twofold: the wait, dose to
God, is not wholly a wall unless he is.also close to created being. Ibn
'Arabi identifies the Perfect Man with the tree92 'whose root is
firm and whose branches are in heaven' (Qur'an 14:24). Earthly as well as
heavenly, the saint is he who brings together the high and the low, the Haqq
and the khalq. Like the Muhammadan Reality whose heir he is, he forms
the 'isthmus' (barzakh] of the 'two seas'. Even though he is the
guarantor of cosmic order, and thus ultimately the instrument of divine
Severity, his function—whatever rank he holds in the hierarchy of initiation—is
first and foremost to be the agent of 'the Compassion which embraces all
things' (Qur'an 7:156). This is why his 'heroic generosity' (futuwwaj
extends 'to minerals, to plants, to animals and to all that exists. '93
Although properly
speaking the role of axis mundi belongs to the Pole, every wait
shares in it to some degree. But although the walâya exists forever in
the life to come, here below it comes, of necessity, to an end. With the coming
of the first Seal, its most perfect forms were placed out of reach for ever.
The coming of the second Seal will close off permanently the maqâm al-qurba,
the highest degree of proximity. When God 'seizes the soul' of the third Seal,
who will also be 'the last-bom of the human race', 'men will be like beasts'.94
Then the Qur'an, 'brother' to the Perfect Man, will also be erased in the space
of one night from the hearts of men as from their books.95 Empty of
all that united heaven with the earth, an icy and insane universe will sink
into its death. The end of the saints is nothing less than another name for the
end of the world.
Notes to Chapter Ten
1. Futühât, i, p. 735; in, pp. 127,159, 288; iv, p. 235; Fusiis,
1, p. 202; Kitab al-’Abâdila, p. 200.
2. A start has been made in studying this theme by Nazeer El-Azma in
his article 'Some notes on the impact of the story of the Mi'raj on Sufi
Literature', The Muslim World, r.xur, April 1973, pp. 93-104. We have
not been able to consult the work by Qassem al-Samarrai, The Theme of
Ascension in Mystical Writings, Baghdad 1968. See also in C. Kappler et
al.. Apocalypses et voyages dans l’au-delà, Paris 1987, pp. 167-320, the
articles by E. Renaud and A. Piemontese on an Arab version and a Persian
version of the mi‘raj. If we are more in favour here of the spiritual
journey described in the form of a mi'râj, because of its clarity and
synthetic character as well as its unequivocally Muhammadan references, it is
none the less true that Ibn 'Arabi's work is susceptible to other modes of
representation, based (as suggested by the six-section structure of the Futühât)
on the classic Suit distinctions: ahwâl (states), maqâmât
(stations), manâzil (dwellings), etc.
3. The place and date of writing are given in one of the manuscripts
listed by Osman Yahia, Histoire et classification, 1, p. 162, R. G. no.
33, ms Çehit Ali 1344. The
authenticity of this treatise is established by Ibn 'Arabi's references to it
in the Fihris and the Ijaza, and finds ample confirmation in the
style and ideas.
4. Damascus 1329AH (with the commentary by 'Abd al-Kaiim al-Jili), Cairo
1322 ah, and Hyderabad 1948.
5. This is the ms
Bayazid 1686 (written in 667AH), fos. 21 b-26. We have also referred at times
to a later manuscript (ms Yahya
Ef. 2415, fos. 86 b-qob, dated 1293 ah),
which has the advantage of being largely vocalized. There are two translations
of this text into Western languages: one is by Asin Palacios (El islam
cristianizado, Madrid 1931, pp. 433-49), later re-translated from Spanish
into French (LTslam christianisé, Paris 1982, pp. 321-33), in a form
which is incomplete and unannotated; while the other, in English, is by Rabia
Terri Harris, Journey to the Lord of Power, New York 1981, the accuracy
of which leaves much to be desired (see our review of this translation in Bulletin
critique des Annales islamologiques, xxt (1985), pp. 278-82). The
commentary by Jili, published in Damascus in 1329ah, and the attribution of which is confirmed by—among other
things—the mention on p. 29 of his Kitâb al-Insân al-Kâmil, is entitled al-Isfâr
‘an risâlat al-anwâr fl ma yatajallâ li ahi al-dhikr min al-anwâr ('The
removal of the veil from the Epistle of the Lights: on the light which
appears to those who devote themselves to the dhikr').
6. The two chapters of the Futühât ('On khalwa' and 'On
giving up khalwaf have been translated by Michel Valsan in Études
traditionelles, no. 412-13, March-June 1969, pp. 77-86. They centre on the
metaphysical meaning and the principles of the khalwa, but refer only
briefly to practical rules or effects. The Kitab al-Khahoa, which is
much more technical in character, is in the same collection (Bayazid, 1686,
fos. 6b-n) as the manuscript of the Risâlat al-anwâr which we are using
here, and alludes to this last fo. 10b (wa-qad dhakamâ tartib al-fatl}
fïrisâlal al-anwâr). The Kitâb al-Khalwa was written (cf. Futühât,
1, p. 392) in response to a question from someone whom we have already
encountered, Abü l-‘Abbas al- Tawzari (cf. n ote 2, chapter 9).
7. On the Muslim sources dealing with the Prophet's m'Trâj,
see EP, s.v. the article by J. Horovitz. The version by Ibn ‘Abbas,
which was far and away the most popular, has been through many editions. The Kitab
al-MTraj by Qushayri, Cairo 1954, is of interest in that it has all the
versions that were in circulation during the fifth century of the h egira.
S. Ibn ‘Arabi (Futûhât, n, pp. 380-82)
distinguishes four types of sâlik (bi-rabbihi, bi-nafdhi, bi 'l-majmüc,
sâlik la sâlik) and five types of sulük (minhu ilayhi (from
theophany to theophany), minhu ilayhi phi (from Name to Name within a
name), minhu là fthi wa là ilayhi, ilayhi la minhu wa In phi (of which
the mode! in the Qur'an is the flight of Moses), la minhu wa-lâ phi wa la
ilayhi (this is thecaseoftheascetic, al-zâhid).
9. On the rujif, the return to created being, which will be
discussed again later, we refer the reader as before to chapter 45 of the Futûhât
(1, pp. 250-53), and to the-Risd/ii p' l-walâya, pp. 25 and 27. See also
Junayd, Enseignement spirituel, transi. R. Deladrière, Paris 1983, pp.
45-46 (pp. 53-54 of the Arabie text in A. H. Abdel-Kader, The Life,
Personality and Writings ofAl-Junayd, London 1962),
10. Cf. Futûhât, tv,
p. 67. On the theme of the veil, see also Fusüs, 1, pp. 54-55; Futûhât,
rv, pp. 39 and 72. Besides the reference to Qur'an 6:103, there13 allusion
here to the hadith on the seventy thousand veils of light and darkness
(Ibn Mâja, Surtan, 1, 44; cf. Ghazâlï's commentary in Mishkât
al-anwar, trans. R. Deladrière, Le Tabernacle des Lumières,
Parisi98i,pp. 85 ff.).
11. On the mtthaq, see Futûhât, n, p. 247; m, p. 465
(where Ibn ‘Arabi explains that at the moment of theophany in the life to come,
created beings would recognize their Lord if He showed Himself to them in the
form in which He had appeared at the time of the mïthâq); rv, p. 58 and
349.
12. On the barzakh, see Futûhât, 1, pp. 304-7.
13. The four levels or forms of initiatic death are distinguished in Futûhât,
n, p. 187.
15. Hie description of Hell occurs in Futilhat, 1, pp. 297-304,
that of Paradise at ibid., I, pp. 317-22.
16. Futûhât, t, p. 320; m, p. 465; rv, p. 15; Kitâb
al-Tarâjint. Hyderabad 1948, p. 27. The hath ibis situated in Eden, which
is the citadel of Paradise.
17. Contemplation (mushâhada) is different from vision (ru'ya).
In fact, 'it is preceded by knowledge about the Object of Contemplation, and
this is the knowledge envisaged when speaking about beliefs (faqa'id, a
term whose etymology suggests a limitative representation). Consequently, the
Object contemplated can be either affirmed [i.e. if He conforms to our
previous idea of Him] or denied (i.e. if He does not], whereas in the case of
vision, properly speaking, there can be only affirmation .... All contemplation
is vision but not all vision is contemplation' (Futûhât, n, p. 567; see
also Futûhât, n,pp. 494-96; 1st., definitions §§60 and 188).
19. On the concept of khalwa, see the article by H. Landolt in El2,
s ,v. In spite of Ibn Taymiyya's criticisms, who saw it as a reprehensible
innovation (MajmiTat al-rasâ'il wa T-masâ'il, ed. Rashid Rida, v, p.
85), the retreat, whose Islamic prototype lies in the practice of the Prophet
himself prior to the Revelation, has a long history in Sufism. Cf., among
others, Abu Said al-Kharrâz, Kitab a!-Haqa'iq, quoted by Nwyia, Exégèse
coranique . . ., p. 303; Muhâsibî, Kitâb a!-kha¡tí>a, ei Abdo
Khalife, al-Mashriq, 1955, xnx, pp. 43-49; Abu Nu'aym al-Isfahânï, Hilyat
al-awliya, Beirut 1967, vi, p. 376; ix, p. 356; Qushayri, Risâla,
Cairo 1957, pp. 50-52; Hujwîri, Kashf al-mahjûb, trans. Nicholson, pp.
51 and 324; GhazâlI, Ihyâ', Cairo, n.d., n, pp. 221-41; Suhrawardî, cAwârif
al-ma‘ârif (vol. 5 of the edition of the Ihyâ’), pp. 121-31, in
which chapters 26, 27, and 28 discuss the arba Tniyya, the fbrty-day
retreat.
20. Scrupulousness (w<irac) and the abandoning of
scrupulousness (tark al-wara°) form the subject of chapters 91 and 92 of
the Futühât (u, p. 175). The author explains that in the case of the
gnostic, the abandoning of scrupulousness comes about because his gaze falls
not on things but on the Face of God within those things: as he cannot escape
the evidence of this theophany, he is unable to perceive the signs which might
cause him to have scrupulousness—might cause him, that is, to renounce that
which might be, legally speaking, suspect. To renounce what is lawful but
superfluous is a result not of scrupulousness but of asœsis; whereas to
renounce what is lawful and necessary is disobedience pure and simple.
21. On ascesis (zuhd), see Futüljâtu, p. 177.
22. Tawakku! (Futühât, n, pp. 199-202) 'consists in the heart's
leaning on God alone and remaining untroubled by the absence of the secondary
causes which are [divinely] established in the universe and on which souls are
in the habit of depending.'
23. On karamat, see Futühât, n, pp. 369, 374-75; iv, p.
65. Karâmât can be either sensible (hissiyya) or spiritual (nw ‘nawiyya).
The latter are all, esse ntially, a question of greater knowledge. The former
consist in the suspension of secondary causes (kharq al-.‘atvaid); they
may conceal a divine ruse (mnkr) for testing the ’ servant, who will be
questioned about the use he made of them. The true kharq al-cawaid,
in accordance with the literal meaning of the expression, is the unloosening of
the bonds of habit, and being aided by grace in fuD observance of the Law and
in the acquisition of noble character (makârim al-akh lâq).
24. Tirmidhi, tafsir, s. 11; Ibn Hanbal, rv, pp. 11-12.
25. Cf. Futühât, m, p. 523 if.
27. The distinctions between wân'dât (or khawâtir) are
classic in Sufism. Cf. Junayd, Enseignement spirituel, trans. R.
Deladrière, Paris 1983, pp. 74-79 (pp. 58-62 of the Arabic text in A. H.
Abdel-Kader, The Life ... of Al-junayd); Qushayri, Risâla, Cairo
1957, p. 43; Suhrawardî, cAwârif, pp. 221 (chapter 57). In
the work of Ibn cArabî, cf. Futühât, 1, pp. 281-84; n, pp.
77-78 (the 55th question of Tirmidhi), pp. 563-66. Like earlier teachers, Ibn
Arabi usually distinguishes between four kinds of wârid: rabbânt
(lordly), malakî (angelic), nafsi (proceeding from the soul), and
shaytânï (satanic). Let us note that, as an example of the way in which
satanic suggestions may enter the soul under cover of feelings which are
themselves praiseworthy, Ibn ‘Arabi cites the case of the Twelver ShiTtes (al-iniamiyya)
whom the demons have led astray through their (legitimate) love for the ah!
al-bayt. To persist in seeing the author of the Futûhât as a Shi'ite
at heart is indeed something of a paradox.
z8. Tf the forms—be they
spiritual, corporeal or conceptual—which appear to you also speak to you',
notes Jili in his commentary, 'it is because the divine Ipseity is diffused in
all manifested beings; for within all beings, God has a Face which is His own'
(on this concept of Face, cf. note I, chapter 6). For Jili, the formula 'Glory
be to God' avoids the error of immanentism, while the utterance 'You are through
God' avoids the error of transcendentalism.
29. Bukhâri, anbiyâ', 24,48, etc.; Ibn Hishâm, Sira,
Cairo 1955,1, pp. 397-98. Cf. also Futûh âl, ni, p. 341.
32. Bukhm,fadtfilashabal-nabirf.
33-. Trina
min al- teal khamran: Abu Dâwüd, ashriba. Jili interprets honey as a
Symbol of the path of wisdom (al-‘ulüm a!-ljikmiyya) which leads to a
claim of autonomy with respect to the prophetic Law. Nevertheless, honey can
also signify something wholly positive: not merely a remedy (apart from Qur'an
16:69, c^ Bukhâri, tibb, 14), but a symbol of the Qur'an, and
thus of the propheticway (Dârimï,
34. Jffi warns specifically at this point against well water,
symbolofthe ‘ilmfikrt or spccv'ative knowledge, which is particularly
dangerous when mixed with wine ( ‘¡Imal-aliwal, uncontrolled
ecstaticknowledge).
35. A famous allegorical rendering in La Clélie, a
seventeenth-century French
novel by
Mademoisellede Scudéry. The lover travels from 'New Friendship' through 'Sweet
Verses', 'Gallant Notes', and 'Generosity'; he must avoid 'Negligence' and
'Lightheartedness' which would take him to 'the Lake of Indifference', but also
'Grief' or 'Calumny1 which would attract him to the 'Sea of Enmity',
and so on. It is thus a profane version of Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress. z
36. As faras Ibn'Arabi is concerned, there are no inanimate beings.
Thebeings that are called mineral and vegetable also possess spirits (arwâh)
which are not normally perceived, except by the People of the Unveiling (ahi
al-kashf) (Futûhât, 1, p. 147). This position is based on various Qur'ânic
verses, particularly Qur'an 17:44, 13113,24:41,59:24,62:1, as well as on
personal experience, as weshall see.
40. Ibid., 1, p. 656; n, p. 408; iv, p. 248; Fwsûs, p. 94 (theverse),
etc.
41. Bukhâri, tafsîr, s. 19,1; Muslim, jauría, 4,etc.
,43. Futûhât,
b, pp. 498-99. Cf. 1st.,
definitions §§87, 88, 89. (The technical termswhidi belong tothesame family areal-tawâli
‘and al-lawaim).
44. Without going into further detail, let us note at this point that
Ibn ‘Arabi (Futûhât, m, p. 61) makes a distinction between al-lawh,
in the singular, and the plural form al-alwâh, the use of which, for
him, has reference to a cosmological level below that of the Tablet. What is
engraved on the Tablet is engraved indelibly. What is engraved on the tablets
generally may, possibly, be nibbed out (mahw) or abrogated (naskh).
47. This point is further emphasized by the verses, quoted by Jili in
his commentary, on the concept of the Universal Composite (al-tarkib
al-ktdli), which is the 'manifestation of Godin the form of created being':
Do not look on God (al-Haqq)
and strip him of created being (al-khalq)
Do not look on created
being and clothe it with something other than God.
Affirm both His transcendence
and His likeness
And stand in a
place of truth [a reference to Qur'an 54:55).
The need to
know God under both these aspects simultaneously is a recurrent theme in the
Shaykh al-Akbar's doctrine. Cf. Fusils, fass Nüh (1, pp. 68-75), and
numerous passages in the Futühât which comment on verse 42:11 (Laysa
ka mithlihishay'un ...} : 1, pp. 62,97,111,220; n, pp. 129,510,516-27,541,
563; tn, pp. 109,165,266,282,340,412,492; IV,pp. 1325,141,306,311,431.
48. Cf. in particular Ibn ‘Arabis commentaries on GhazâlFs famous
phrase: Laysafî'I-imkân abda'mm hâdha T-âlam, Futühât, 1, p. 259; tn,
pp. 11,166,449; Fuçüf, I, p. 172; Tadbîrât, p. 106. The basic
idea is that God manifests His Infinity by bestowing existence on all
possibilities, including the possibility of imperfection. This idea is
expressed in the verses quoted by Jill in his commentary:
If imperfection were not
well established in the universe The BeingofGod would thereby be imperfect It
is through me that God possesses perfection.
On the
question of theodicy in Islam, cf. Eric L. Ormsby in his Theodicy in Islamic
Thought, Princeton 1984, and our review in Bulletin critique des Annales
islamolo- giques, xxn (1986).
50. Cf. the references given in note i above.
51. Chapter 8 of the Futühât (1, pp. 126-31) concentrates on
this earth which is the place of theophanic visions. Henry Corbin has
translated part of it in his Spiritual Body and Celestial Earth,
Princeton 1977.
52. Idris (who is mentioned'twice in the Qur'an, in verses 19:57-58,
and 21:85-86), is identified in Islam sometimes with Enoch, sometimes with
Elijah (Ilyas), sometimes with al-Khadir, and in addition is often assimilated
to Hennes. On Enoch, the father of Methusalah, cf. Genesis 5:21-24, where we
are told that all the days of Enoch were three hundred and sixty-five years—a
statement that has an evident connection with solar symbolism. The same passage
adds: 'And Enoch walked with God: and he was not; for God took him', which
corresponds to the observation in the Qur'an about Idris : 'Then We took him up
to a sublime place' (Qur'an 19:58). On the person of Idris in Ibn ‘Arabi's
work, see Fusils, chapter 4 (1, pp. 75-80), partially translated by
Burckhardt (pp. 62-67), translated in its entirety by Austin (pp. 82-89), ^d
chapter 22 (1, pp. 181-87; Austin, pp. 228-35), whose subject is Elijah but in
which the latter is identified with Idris. Ibn ‘Arabi speaks of his own arrival
in the fourth heaven in the Kitâb al-Isrâ', p. 21, where he is greeted
as the master of saints (sayyid al-awüyâ')—a reference to his office of
Seal, an equivalent to which comes in theaccountin chapterjây ofthe Futühât.
53. CL Futühât, n, pp. 219-20; in, pp. 132,162,309; rv, pp.
142,165,211-12, 393; Fusüs, 1, pp. 113,122-24, etc. The scriptural backing
which is usually given for this is the hadith ijurfsi which says: T
conform to the opinion that My servant has of Me' (Bukhari, tawhtd, 15,
35; Muslim, tamba, 1, dhikr, 3, etc; this hadith appears
under n 0.19 in Ibn ‘Arabi's Mishkât).
54. This account, which corresponds to Futühât, m, p. 348,
occurs at the end of the same volume, p. 549.
55. On the question of the fate of Fifawn, see the article by Denis
Gril, 'Le personnage coranique de Pharaon d'après l'interpretation d'Ibn
‘Arabi', Annales ¡sismologiques, xrv (1978), pp. 37-57.
56. Cf. otir introduction to the Épître sur ¡'Unicité absolue
by Awhad al-Dih Balyânï, Parisi982, pp. 32-37.
57. The transition from twelve to twelve thousand in this context
signifies the tafsil, the setting forth in detail of the forms of knowledge
under discussion: the learning imparted to thewa liis not only synthetic
butdistinctive.
58. ThisthcmcisdiscussedinthechapterofthefijsüsonMoscs(i,pp.212-13).
59. Futühât,nt,pp. 208,265;rv,pp. 221,318.
60. On thequestionof the vision of God, see also Futühât, rv,
p. 2.
61. According to some traditions, the bay t al-ma ‘mûr (which
is mentioned in Qur'an 52:4) is no other than the primordial Salsa, which was
taken up to heaven at thetimeof the Flood.
62. Unlike the seventy thousand angels who enter the 'visited House'
each day by one door and leave it by another, never to return, the tâbi‘
(who is destined to rctu m to it) enters and leaves by the same door. On this
stage of the wall's ascension, cLrbeverybeautiful passage,in
verseandprose, inthcKtfñini/-ferá',pp. 28-34.
63. 'On the divine makr, cf. Futühât, n, pp. 529-31, and
rv, pp. 144-45. The nature of this problem in Islamic theology is discussed
more generally by R. Brunschvig,'Dela fallacicuseprospérité' in Studia
Islámico, tvin (1983), pp. 5-33.
64. The doctrine of hayra (the epokrasis of the Greek fathers)
is discussed repeatedly in theFutñhñf (i,p. 270 ff; n, p. 607; 661; ni,p. 490;
rv, p. 43,196-97,245, 280) and in the Fus ws (i,pp. 41,78,113,200).
65. This phenomenon of the descent, in the absence of any
intermediary, upon the awliya' of the Revelations received by the
prophets is described in the Futühât, n, p. 506; m, pp. 94,181; rv, p.
178. With regard to the specific event described here, we learn from theKitüi>«/-isrâ'thatittookplacein
Fezin594/ii98.
66. The doctrine of the inner prophets was to be made explicit in the
works of ‘Ala' al-Dawla Simnani (died 737/1336). Henry Corbin gives a summary
of it in his TheManof Light inIranian Sufism,London 1978.
■ 67. The rest
of chapter 367, however, includes four very dense pages which list the forms of
knowledge acquired by the wait during this phase of his journey:
knowledge of the acquiring of the divine character traits (al-takhalluq
bi-akhlâq Allah)—that is to say, knowledge of 'deification'; knowledge of
the correspondences between the Qur'an and the Perfect Man; knowledge of the
final return of all things to the divine Compassion (which consequently rules
out eternal punish- ment); knowledge of the secret of man's pre-eminence over
woman [which is accidental, not essential); knowledge revealing that Allah is
the One who is worshipped in everything that is worshipped (huwa 'l-ma‘bûd
ft kttlli ma'bûdj, whether or not the worshipper is aware of it, etc For an
explanation of the relationship between these sciences and the manzil
(spiritual abode) described in this chapter, see our book, Un océan sans
rivage, Ibn ‘Arabi, le Livre et la Loi, Paris, chapter3.
68. The cosmological order is described in the Kitâb Uqlat al-mustawfiz,
edited by Nyberg in his Kleinere Schriften, Leiden 1919, pp. 41-99
of the Arabic text, and in chapter 295 (n, pp. 674-79) of the Futûhât.
The geographical distribution of the levels of existence is illustrated by a
series of diagrams in chapter 371 (nr, pp. 416-55). Cf. also M. Asin Palacios, El
místico murciano Abetierabi, iv, Su teología ¡/ sistema del cosmos,
Madrid 1928; Titus Burckhardt, Clé spirituelle de l'astrologie musulmane,
Milano 1974; Nasr Hâinid Abu Zayd, Falsafat al-ta'wtl, Beirut 1983, pp.
45-149. The twenty-eight levels of universal existence (marâtib al-wujüd]
correspond to the twenty-eight letters of the Arabic alphabet (cf. Futûhât,
n, p. 395), which are themselves connected with the spiritual categories (cf. Futûhât,
n, p. 591).
69. The names given by Ibn 'Arabi to the marâtib al-mifüd are
variable and, in the event, interchangeable. The level attributed here to the
universal substance is sometimes attributed to the universal Body (al-jism
al-kull) and sometimes to haba' ('Dust*) or materia prima
(hawla\, But at times Ibn ‘Arabi speaks of Nature (fabity and haba'
as two twins who engender between them the universal Body (which is then no
longer the lowest level of the World of the Commandment but the highestlevel of
the World of Creation).
70. Akbarian cosmology is characterized by the recurrence of quatemate
series in the successive worlds described, the last (fourth) term of each
series being the first of the next. Even though the term al-‘ama', the
Cloud, can be used in a global sense to mean the ontological level which is in
a certain way intermediate between the absolute, single, unconditioned Essence
and the world of multiplicity, it is also used by Ibn ‘Arabi to mean the second
of the four aspects of this level. The level is then made up of al-ulüha
(the divine function, the Essence considered from the point of view of its
inner determinants—the divine Names—and thus as involving multiplicity), al-‘ama',
the Cloud or divine Reality out of which all things are created (al-haqq
al-makhliiq biht], the haqtqat al-haqâ'iq or Reality of Realities,
and finally the haqiqa muhammadiyya, the Muhammadan Reality, which is
thus the barzakh, the term which is common to this quatemate series and
to the one after it that makesup the level of the World of the Commandment.
71. A detailed description of posthumous dwelling places is found in
chapters 61-65 of the Futûhât (1, pp. 297-322). Cf. also the diagrams in
chapter 371 (in, pp. 423,425,426).
72. The ecstatic intoxication of these spirits is also caused by the
joys of Paradise and must not be confused with that of the mtihayyamün
(the spirits overcome by love) or their equivalents on the human plane, the afrad,
whom we encounter later.
76. Muslim, birr,43; Ibn'Arabi, Mishkâtal-anwâr,hadîth,
no. 98.
77. On the divine Name which is the Lord of each being, cf. our
introduction to Batyânï's Epttre sur ¡'Unicité absolue, p. 30. For Ibn
'Arabi, no created being possesses more of God than his own Lord ( Fusils,
1, p. 90). Only the Muhammadan saint, whose Lord is the totalizing Name (al-ism
al-jami') attains to God 'through all the Names at once'.
78. The Calamus is alternately active and passive. When it is turned
towards God, it receives from Him in synthetic mode the knowledge that, having
changed direction, it proceeds to inscribe on the Guarded Tablet in specific
mode.
79. There seems to be a contradiction between this reference to the
angel of the Nün (al-malak al-utlrtt) and the statement made elsewhere (Tlqlat
al- mustawfiz, ed. Nybeig, p. 55) according to which there is no
intermediary between the Calamus and God. The Nün, which is both a
letter in the Arabic alphabet and a name for the divine Inkwell (which contains
the letters that the Calamus will write on the Guarded Tablet) should not in
fact be considered as a separate entity, but as a symbol of the Calamus itself
inasmuch as it contains synthetically (ijmalan) what it will proceed to
inscribe in detail (tafsilan). On this distinction, see 1st.,
definitions §§138 and 140. On the symbolism of the letter nûn, cf. Futühât,
1 pp. 53-54; René Guénon, Les Symboles fondamentaux de la science
sacrée, Paris 1962, chapter 23.
80. On the nafkh al-rül), ci. Futühât, j, p. 168.
82. See bis introduction, p. 33.
83. Kitâb al- 'Abâdila, Cairo 1969, p. 39.
84. This ecstatic saint who lived in chains (whence his name meaning
'man of bonds') at Mecca for several years without eating or drinking is
mentioned several rimes by Ibn‘Arabi. Cf. Futühât, 1, pp. 248 and 251; Mau>âqicaLnttfüm,p.
81.
85. On these four technical terms which designate the modes of
spiritual realisation, see Futühât, chapter 331 (m, pp, 115-19), and 1st.,
definitions §§123, 124,125,126.
86. Unlike the majority of authors, Ibn ‘Arabi generally puts V/m
(knowledge), which is a divine attribute, and the ‘¿Him (the wise man)
higher than ma‘rifa (gnosis) and the ‘drif (the gnostic). Cf. Futühât,
n, p. 318; but see also ibid., 1, pp. 636,712.
87. Risâlafï'l-walâya,pp. 25-28.
89. On this hadith, which is often quoted by Ibn ‘Arabï, see in
particular Futühât, 11, pp. 232,399; m, p. 267.
90. Verse 2:158, which institutes the ritual of the journey (síu) between al-Safa and al-Marwa, has
been the object of esoteric commentaries which we cannot analyse here (cf. Futühât,
1, pp. 708-11; Qâshânï, Tafsîr, Beirut 1968,1, p. 100). We will draw
attention briefly to two essential aspects of this text from the Qur’an,
firstly, al-Safâ and al-Marwa are defined as part of the sha'a'ir Allah—that
is to say, in accordance with the etymology, the sacred places insofar as
they are modes of knowing God. Secondly, only he who completes the
pilgrimage to the House or the visit may rame and go with impunity (lñ
junâha Lalayht) between the two hills: duality is without danger
only for him who returns from Unity and never ceases henceforth to behold It in
multiplicity.
91. Verse 95 :y ('Then We sent him back to the lowest depths of the
abyss') can be interpreted as referring to this necessary return to created
being: although, taken in its obvious sense, as we said above, it expresses
man's fall from Eden, esotericany speaking it expresses die perfection of the
being who, by redescending to the world, takes on the divine Lieutenancy (khilafa)
in all its fulness.
93. Futühât,n,p. 283. See also ibid.,i,p. 244.
94. See note 32, chapter 8, for the reference to this passage of the
Fusils.
95. This erasing of the Qur'an is one of the signs of the Hour
foretold by the Prophet (Ibn Mâja, fitan, 26). Cf. Sha'rânï, MMlasar
tadhkimt al-QurtubT, Cairo, n. d., p. 272, On the identification of the
Qur'an and the Perfect Man as two brothers, see note 39, chapter 4.
Aaron:
37,74,103,161,162,171,172. 'Abâdila (Kitâbal-); 520. 10,85,170,
1740.1,1810. 83.
‘Abdallah (Father oí the
Prophet) : 61, 62.
Abdul-Hâdï: 3.
Abd el-Jalil (M.)
-.820.17.
Abdel-Kader(A.H.):i7sn.
9,17611.
*7-
‘Abdal-Qâdiral-Jazâ'irî
(emir‘Abd al-Qadir): 67,830. 23,137,140,
M5”-57<
Abraham:
63,83,86,96,103,118,129, 130,164,165,171.
Abu Bakr{ist caliph) :
4m. 46,57,95, 11411,27,123.
AbûDâwüd: 630.13,1770.33.
Abu Hariifa: 1050.5.
AbüHurayra: 90.
AbüMadyan: 74,95,96,
iO4n. 2,114, 171.
Abü Nu'aym al-Isfahám:
9,36,37, 176m 19.
Abu Rayyân (Muhammad1
Ali) : 1450.
47-
Abü Su'üdb. al-Shibl :
108, 1090. 12, mn. 17.
AbüTâlibal-Maldü: 33.
‘Adawï (Sâlihal-j: nz n.
21.
Addas (CJ: 5,16.
‘Adb 69 n. 30.
Abu Ya'za: 13,74,75,84.
Abu Yazîd: see Bistâmï.
Abu Yüsuf Ya'qub: 770.10.
Abü Zayd (NasrHâmid):
i8on. 68.
Adam:
17,23,43,48,56,60,61,67,69,
70,86,870.30,119,121,124,131,
132,139,155,156,160,169,171.
'Afîfi(A. AJ:
4,5,230.19,480.2,7011. 36,1110.19,119.
Aflâld: i42n. 20.
AgueIi:(l.G.):3. Ahlal-bayf:
9,137,1770.27. Ahlal-suffa: 13.
Ahmadb. Harün a)-Rashîd:
95. ‘Â'isha (wife of the Prophet) : 37,7111.
39- ‘Ajalûnî(lsmâ'î)
al-): 630.13. Ajurri (Abü Bakr al-): 670. 25. ‘Alá' al-Dïn (Balai) : 172. ‘Âlam
al-Khayâl: 52. ‘Alawï (Ahmad al-) : 82,83. Aleppo: 6.
‘Alîb. AbíTálib: 68n.
29,95,107,136, *37-
‘Amâ': 69,152,166, i8on.
70.
Âmina (mother of the
Prophet): 61. . ‘Anima: ii, 14,22,109.
Amolî (Haydar) :
490.4,68n. 29,136,
_ 137-Ï39-
Amulï (Karïm al-Din) :
14.
Anatolia: 7.
Anderson (J.): izn. 26.
'Anqâ' mughrib: 69,121,122n.
21, ■1220. 23,126m 34,139.
Ansâii (‘Abdallah) :
39,41. Anwâr (Risâlat al-): 52,8m. 16, loon.
19,1460.58,147,148,1740.
6. Aqlal-tiwwal (al-): 68n. 28. Arbeny (AJ.): z8n. 8,340. 21. ‘Ard: 81.
Amaldez (RJ: 700.36,8m.
15.
34. Qushayri, Risâla, Cairo 1957, p. 117-19.
[1] The Flügel edition of the Tarifât has
been published with the title Definitiones Sejjidi SherifAltb. Mohammed
Dschordshani.
[2] This is the Kitâb al-Istilâhât al-siifiyya or Kitâb
Istilâh al-siifiyya of which at least two other editions are in existence
(Cairo 1357, Hyderabad 1948). It was translated by Rabia Terri Harris in the
/owmal of the Muhyiddin Ibn Arabi Society, Oxford 1984, vol. m, pp.
27-54. A misinterpretation of a mention of the colophon relating to the comp’
etion of the copy (and not to the writing of the treatise itself) leads the
translator to say that it is only partially the work of Ibn cArabi,
whereas in reality the authenticity of the attribution of the Istilâhât
is beyond doubt. The autograph manuscript §ehit Ali 2813/24 is incomplete, but
the text of the treatise exists in full in Chapter 73 of the Futühât (n,
pp. 128-34), of which we possess a manuscript written by Ibn - Arabi himself.
[3] On this problem, see the introduction to our
translation of the Epitre sur ¡'Unicité absolue by Awhad ai-Dïn Balyânî,
Paris 1982.
[4] A passage in the Futühât (u, p. 425]
appears to give the date of this 'entry upon the Way' as 580. Other scattered
references, however, seem to indicate that Ibn ‘Arabi's 'conversion' took place
several years earlier.
[5] Futühâtw,p. 172.
[6] Futühâtm,p. 45.
[7] Futûhâtn,p. 425.
[8] FHfM/iñtn,p. 436.
[9] More biographical details can be found in the
first part of El islam cristianizado by Asín Palacios, and in Henry
Corbin's Creative Imagination in the Sufism of Ibn Arabi. A brief but
accurate biographical outline is in R. W. Austin's introduction to his
translation of the Küh al-quds (Sufis of Andalusia, London 1971).
[10] Futûhâtï,yp. 98-99.
[11] Ibn Taymiyya, Majmü'at al-rasâ'il wa
'l-masâ'il (MRM), ed. Rashid Rida, v, pp. 85,93; al-Fatâwâ a!-/cubra,
Beirut 1965, r, pp. 93,127,344,351; n, pp. 218, 226. See also in M. V.
Memon's Ibn Taimiya's Struggle against Popular Religion (The Hague-Paris
1976) chapters 18 and 19 of the Kitâb Iqtidâ' al-sirât al-mustaqim. In
connection with the visits to the Prophet's tomb and the prayers for his
intercession, cf. the answer given by his contemporary Taqï al-Dïn al-Subkl,
the Shafi'ite jurist, in his Shifâ' al-siqam (Beirut 1978), who finds
justification for this practice in a series of hadïth. The later
compilation by Yûsuf Nabhânï, Shawâhid al-haqq ft istighâthat sayyid
al-khalq, Cairo 1974, gives a summary of several centuries of polemics on
this subject and on the intercession of the saints.
[12] Cf. Ibn Taymiyya, MRM v, pp. 81-104, Radial
al-cibadat al-shariiyya wa '1-farq baynahâwa-bayna 'l-bida'iyya.
[13] Cf. L. Massignon, 'Les saints musulmans enterrés à Baghdad', in Revue
de l'histoire des religions, 1908, reprinted in Opera minora, Beirut
1963, nr, pp. 94-101. See also his article dealing with Cairo, 'La cité des
morts' in Bulletin de l'institut français d'archéologie orientale, Cairo
1958, reprinted in Opera minora, m<PP- 233-85.
[14] Abu '1-Hasan al-Rubal, Fada'il al-Shâm
wa-Dimashq, ed. S. al- Munajjid, Damascus 1951.
cAlï b. Abï
Bakr al-Harawi, Guide des lieux de pèlerinage, ed. J. Sourdel- ,
Thomine, Damascus 1953. See also ]. Sourdel-Thomine, 'Les anciens lieux de
pèlerinage damascains', in Bulletin d'études orientales, xrv, Damascus
1954, PP- 65-85.
[16] Cf. L. Massignon, 'Les saints musulmans
enterrés à Baghdad', in Revue de l'histoire des religions, 1908,
reprinted in Opera minora, Beirut 1963, m, pp. 94-101. See also his
article dealing with Cairo, 'La cité des morts' in Bulletin de l'institut
français d'archéologie orientale, Cairo 1958, reprinted in Opera minora,
m,pp. 233-85.
[18] cAli b. Abi Bakr al-Harawi, Guide
des lieux de pèlerinage, ed. J. Sourdel- Thomine, Damascus 1953.' See also
J. Sourdel-Thomine, 'Les anciens lieux de pèlerinage damascains', in Bulletin
d'étades orientales, xrv, Damascus 1954, PP- 65-85.
[19] The edition of the Tashawwuf by Ahmad Tawfiq, Rabat 1984, is
more complete and more accurate, especially with regard to place-names,than the
edition by Adolphe Faure, Rabat 1958. The Maqsad by Bâdisï, formerly
translated by G. S. Colin (Les Saints du Rif, Paris 1926), is now
available in a critical edition by Sa‘id A'rab, Rabat 1982.
[20] For this see the introduction (pp. 17-37) °f mY Un
océan sans rivage: ibn Arabï, le Livre et la Loi, Paris 1992.
[21] See for example vol, xvn of Contributions to Asian Studies,
entitled Islam in local contexts, ed. Richard C. Martin, Leiden 1982, in
which explicit reference is made to Peter Brown both in the preface and in
several of the articles. It is significant that the title of this collection,
like that of the original symposium held in 1980 in Dallas, was initially going
to be Islam and Popular Religion. The title which was chosen instead
wisely avoids any petitio principii. Cf. also Henry Munson Jr., The
house of Si Abd Allah, Yale University Press 1984, p. 28; Warren Fusfeld,
'Naqshbandi Sufism and Reformist Islam', in Ibn Khaldun and Islamic
Ideology, Leiden 1984, pp. 89-110; Jon W. Anderson, 'Conjuring with Ibn
Khaldun', ibid, pp. 111-21.
[22] It has come to be thought by some people that
'Abd al-Qâdir was no more than a pious faqih and that his reputation for
sainthood merely reflected a later legend. But we possess sources of
information about him other than the work of Shattanufi, which can assuredly be
challenged by historians in spite of its chain of transmission. The judgement
of Ibn 'Arabi—of which we will speak later—who arrived in the East a mere forty
years after 'Abd al-Qâdir's death, is based on the evidence of several of the
latter's immediate followers, particularly Yünus al-'Abbâsï, from whom he
received the khirqa qâdiriyya in Mecca.
[23] Cf. my 'Quelques aspects des techniques
spirituelles dans la tariqa naqshbandiyya' in the proceedings of the Table
ronde sur l'ordre naqshbandî, Istanbul-Paris 1990.
[24] Tâdilï, al-Tashawwiif ilâ rijâl
al-tasawwuf, ed. A. Tawfiq,p. 323.
[25] Ahmad b. al-Mubârak, Kitâb al-ibrïz,
Cairo 1961 (e.g., pp. 179-80).
[26] Cf.Wcnsinck, Concordances et indices de la
Tradition musulmane, vn, pp. 322-36.
[27] Tirmidhi, zuhd, 35-, Ibn Hanbal, v, pp.
252, 260; Ibn 'Arabi, Mishkat al-anwâr, hadïth no. 3.
[28] Tirmidhî, zwhd, 53; Ibn Hanbal, v,pp.
229,239,341,342,343.
[29] Bukhari, ritjaq, 38; Ibn
Maja,/it<m,i6; Ibn'Arabî, MisMcôt, no. 91.
[30] Ibn Hanbal, nr, p. 430.
[31] Ibid.,n,p. 514.
[32] ibid., p. 210. This section of the Knshf
al-mahjûb on the hakïmiyya, the followers of àl-Hajôm al-Tirmidhï,
illustrates the confusion which surrounds the meaning to be attributed to the
terms walâya and wilâya respectively.
[33] ibid., p. 14Ï. See also p. 142, the anecdote
reported by Abü Bakr al-Warraq, in which Khadir also figures.
[34] O. Yahia, ibid.,pp. 232-33 ip. 422 of the
Arabic). The translation has been slightly modified. At the end of the second
paragraph of the A rabie text, the reading which makes most sense is fa-htâju
ilayhi 'l-awliya', not fa-hâju ilâ 'l-awliyâ'.
[35] Ibid.,p. 91 (adapted from the Nawâdiral-u$ül,pp.
157-58).
[36] Futühât n, pp. 40-128; O. Yahia, in his
edition of the Khatm, gives the text of the replies in the ¡awâb
mustaqim, as well as excerpts from the corresponding text in the Futühât
(pp. 142-326).
[37] Bâqillânï, Kitâb bay an al-farq bayna
TmtTjizât wa' i-karâmât wa 'l-hiyâl wa 'l-sihr, ed. Richard McCarthy,
Beirut 1958, p. 56.
[38] Hujwiri, Kashf al-mahjüb, trans.
Nicholson, p. 212. A little further on (p. 216), Hujwiri observes again, 'All
the Masters have alluded to the true meaning of walâya'—an
observation which highlights the exceptional character of Tirmidhi's far more
specific teaching on the subject.
[39] laid., p. 141. It is possible that Hujwiri
feared that confusion might arise between the doctrine of the Seal of the
Saints and certain Ismaili teachings. As Herman Landolt rias pointed out, it
was during this same time that the dact al-Mu'ayyad fi '1-Dïn
al-Shirazi (died 470/1077) formulated the notion of the 'Seal of die Imams',
which was evidently suspect in the eyes of the Sunnis.
[40] Apart tom the examples given here, there are
the quotations collected by O. Yahiain the Appendix to his edition of the Khatm,
p. 449 ff.
[41] Abu Tâlib al-Makld, Qilt al-qulilb,
Cairo 1350ah, 1,pp. 111-12 (fasj29).
[42] Svdana,Tabaqat al-süfiyya,ed.
Nüral-DínShañba,Cairoi95j,p. 1.
[43] Ibid., pp. 217,220.
[44] Ibid., p. 434.
[45] Ibid., p.229.
[46] Ibid., p. 103.
[47] A.R. Badawi, Shatahât al-süfyya, 1, Abu
Yazïd al-Bistâmï, Cairo 1949, p.70.
[48] Abu Nu aym al-Isfahânï, Hilyat al-awliya’ wa tabaqât al-asfiya',
Beirut 1967, x,pp. 233-35.
[49] Ibid.,i, pp. 5-17.
[50] This hadîth occurs in a slightly different form in Muslim, birr,
138, and janna, 48.
practice of
the virtue of humility but is the result of a metamorphosis in the
etymological sense of the word) has the consequence that when the wait
is seen, an anamnesis (dhikr) takes place, be
it only a fleeting one, in the being of the, beholder.
Moreover, Dhü'1-Nûn's remarks subtly introduce a reflexion, the
fruits of which will appear later, on the identification of the divine word
itself-—an identification of which the Prophet is both the example and the
guarantee.
The Risilla
of Qushayri (died 465/1072) is one of the classics of Sufism. Walâya has
a chapter to itself,34 but here as in the other works we have
mentioned, discretion prevails. After referring to verse 10:62, which, as we
saw, is the most frequently invoked reference in the
[52] Suyûtï, al-Fath al-kablr, Cairo 1351AH,
I, p. 47, mentions this hadtth —which does not occur in the canonical
collections—with reference only to Abû Nu'aym's Hilyat.al-awliya’.
[53] tfilyat al-awliya’i,p. 14.
[54] Ibid. I, p. 16.This hadtth does
not appear in the canonical collections.
[55] On Ansari, see S. de Laugier de Beaurecueil, Khwâdja
Abdullah Ansari, mystique hanbalite, Beirut 1965.
[56] Ghazâlï, Ihyâ' 'ulûm al-dïn, Cairo,
n.d., tv, pp. 355-59.
[57] Najm al-Dîn Kubrâ, Fawâ'ih al-jamâl
wa-fawâtih al-jalâl, ed. Fritz Meier, Wiesbaden 1957, p. 82 ff. of the
Arabie text.
[58] Ibn 'Arabi also distinguishes in principle (cf.
Futûhât n, p. 519) between ■Anbñdiyya and hbtlda, without
always taking account in his writings of this
theoretical distinction.
Tirmidhï uses both of them impartially.
[59] This hierarchy of degrees of certainty, which
is classic in Sufism, is a reference to verses 5 and 7 in sura 102,
where the expressions al-yaqïn and 'ayn al-yaqïn occur. But the
usual order of these three terms is í/m al-yaqïn, cayn al-yaqïn,
haqq al-yaqïn.
[60] Shattanüfï (died 713/1314), Bahjat
al-asrâr, Cairo 1330 ah, p.
39.
[61] See especially En Islam iranien, m, pp. 9-146.
[62] H. Corbin and M. Mo'in, Le Jasmin des
Fidèles d'Amour, Tehran-Paris 1958.
[63] Dr Nazif Hoca, Ruzbihan al-Baklï ve kitab
ka$f al-asrâr, Istanbul 1971. The text of the Kashf has been
established from a manuscript preserved at Konya. We should note in passing
that the Shi'ite tone that Corbin detects in Baqli can in no way be reconciled
with the mention of Abu Bakr which occurs in the account of the ■vision on p.
104. '
[64] Kitab mashrab al-arruah,
ed. Nazif Hoca (—Khwadja), Istanbul 1973, p. 377 of the Arabic text plus
8 pages of introduction in Turkish, chapter four, section
[65] p. 89.
[66] Ibid., p. 104.
[67] The frequent occurrence of oceanic images and
the colour red is character- isticof lhe visions reported in the Kashf.
[68] Kashf al-asrar,p. 107.
[69] This is a double Qur'anic allusion, to verse
2:31 ('And He taught Adam all the names'), and to verse 7:180 ('And the most
beautiful Names belong to Allah').
[70] Ibid.,p. 109.
[71] Ibid.,p. 111.
[72] Kashf al-asrar,p. 107.
[73] Ibid., p. 117. This divine reply is the same as
the answer craved by Abu Yazid Bistâmî when he addresses God as follows: 'Raise
me up to Your Unity, that when Your creatures see me they will see You' (Kitab
at-Lumac, p. 461). And four centuries later, Shaykh Ibn Qadib
al-Ban (died 1040/1630} was to hear himself called by God in the same terms as
Baqli, during a vision in which he beheld himself invested with the station of
divine Viceregency (rnaqâm al-khilafa)-. Man ra'âka ra'ânïwa 'l-ladht
turtduhu irâdatï ('He who sees you sees Me, and what you wish is My will').
Cf. Ibn Qadîb al-Bân, Kitâb al-Mawâqif al-ilahiyya, ed. by A. R. Badawi
in his al-Insiin al-kâmilft'1-islâm, 2nd edition, Kuwait 1976, pp.
175-76.
[74] Cf. for example Futühât i,p. 4.15; n,p.
511; m,pp. 27,92,406.
[75] More valuable information on the concept of walSya
in Sufism, and on its juridical and political implications, can be found in H.
Landolt's article in the Encyclopedia of Religion, New York 1987, xv,pp.
316-23.
[76] It is scarcely necessary to explain that these
two aspects are inseparable from each other, and thus form a unity. The word
'opposed' as it is used here does not, of course, imply the existence of any
contradiction between Ibn ‘Arabi's metaphysical doctrine and his initiatic teaching;
it merely refers to the distinction between the two complementary and
alternating perspectives which inform his work.
[77] In spite of the title 'Sainthood and
Prophethood' given to Hamed Taher's article in Ali/, no. 5,1985, Cairo, pp.
7-38, which contains the first edited version of it, the untitled Risâla,
corresponding to no. 625 and possibly also to no. 632 of Osman Yahia's R.G.,
and written by Ibn ‘Arabi in 590 ah
after a visit to Shaykh ‘Abd al-'Azlz al-Mahdawi in Tunis, is not a
straightforward treatise on walâya (in
[78] The case of Jesus, who is one of the messengers
(rasül) and who will return on earth at the end of time, apparently
contradicts this statement. The attitude adopted by Ibn 'Arabi with regard to
this problem, which conforms in every point with the attitude of Islamic
exotericism, will be dealt with in the next chapter.
[79] Bukhari, ci/ni,io;
Dârimï,mwjaiWmM,j2,etc.
[80] This last passage was the object of a violent
attack from Ibn Taymiyya (Majmü'at al-rasâ'il, rv, p. 58ff.). In view of
ibn ‘Arabi's explanations concerning what should be understood by the
superiority of the wait over the nabior the rasül (in the
person of one and the same being), the remark made by A. D'Souza in his article
on Jesus in Ibn ‘Arabi's Fusus (Tbn ‘Arabi, I believe, leaves the
question open . . .') is inexplicable (see Jslamochristiana no. 8, 1982,
pp. 185-200). The superiority' of the nabl over the mere wait is
affirmed over and over again in the work of the Shaykh al-Akbar. Cf. for
example his Kitâb al-cAbâdila, ed. ‘Abd al-Qâdir ‘Ata, Cairo
1969, p. 82.
[81] Futühât, tv,
p. 398.
[82] Ibid., n, p. 80 (question 58 of Tinnidhi's
questionnaire).
[83] Kitâb al-Tajalliyât, ed. Osman Yahia, in
the review al-Mashriq, -L96G-67 (cf.no. 1,1967, pp. 53-54).
[84] Futûhât, n, pp. 40-41. The 35
categories (totalling 589 saints) described at the beginning of chapter 73
correspond to permanent cosmic functions; the 49 categories listed afterwards
represent types and degrees of sainthood.
[85] Ibid.,m,p. 208.
[86] Ibid., n, p. 53. The expression nubuwwa
mutlaqa is one of those terms whose ambiguity requires the kind of
elucidation mentioned in note 14, regarding the respective status of nobiand wall.
[87] Futûhât, n, p. 85.
[88] This concept, which needless to say is closely
related to die concept mentioned above of die 'god created in beliefs', is
often discussed by Ibn 'Arabi in relation to his interpretation of verse 17:23
('And your Lord decreed that you should worship Him alone'), as for example in
the Futûhât 1, p. 405. For Ibn Taymiyya's criticism of this
interpretation, see.Majmû'at al-rasffil, ed. Rashid Rida, I, p. 173.
[89] All these remarks are taken from Chapter 152
of the Futühât (n, pp. 246-48).
[90] Ibid., n,p. 249.
[91] Ihyâ' 'ulûm al-dîn in,p. 99; IV, pp.
199,249,etc.
[92] The maqâm al-qurba,-which forms the subject of chapter 161
of the Futühât (n, pp. 260-62) to which reference is made here, is
further discussed in ibid, n, pp. 19, 24-25, 41; m, p. 103. It also comes into
the Kitâb al-Qurba, Hyderabad
[93] Quoted by Gerhard Bôwering, The Mystical
Vision of Existence in Classical Islam, Berlin-New York 1980, p. 65.
[94] Futïihât, iv, p. 398.
[95] ibn Sa‘d, Tabaqdt, Leiden 1909,1/i, p.
5.
[96] Ibid., I/i, p.96. Tabari, Tafsir, Cairo
1323AM, xxr, p. 79. A wealth of information about the Muhammadan Light may be
found in the article by U- Rubin, 'Pre-existence and. Light', Israel
Oriental Studies, v, 1975, pp. 62-119. This almost exhaustive study is not,
of course, rendered less indispensable by our own brief reference to the
subject. Even though we are unable to accept Goldziher's thesis (of which more
later), Rubin's charge that he twisted the meaning of the texts in order
to make them confirm the idea of Neoplatonic influence, particularly in the
case of Ibn ‘Abbas' words quoted above, seems to us to go too far. Apart from
the books and articles to which direct reference is made in this chapter, the
Nûr muhammadï is the subject of L. Massignon's article of that title in EF.
See also Henry Corbin, En Islam iranien (cf. index, s.v. haqïqa
muhammadiyya and 'lumière muhammadï enne'J.
[97] Ismail al-cAjalünI, Kashf
al-khafa', Beirut 1351 ah, 1,
pp. 265-266; Zurqâni, Sharh al-mawâhib, Cairo 1329AH, 1, pp. 46-47. We
must remember that several ahadîth exist which are similar in form and
differ only in the term used at the end: 'The first thing that God created was
the Calamus' (Timiidhï, tafsïr, s. 68; qadar, 17; Abu Dâwûd, sunna,
16; Ibn Hanbal, v/317); 'The first tiling that Allah
[98] Louis Massignon, Textes-inédits concernant
l'histoire de la mystique en pays d'Islam, Paris 1929, p. 39. The
importance of the Muhammadan Light in the doctrine of Sahl al-Tustari has been
analysed by Gerhard Bôwering, The Mystical Vision of Existence in Classical
Islam, Berlin-New York 1980, p. 149 if; particular attention should be
paid, on p. 150, to Sahl's commentary on verses 13-18 of sura 53-
[99] ■ Al-IIakïm al-Tirmidlu, Khatm al-awliya'
(section 8), p. 337.
[100] The Kitâb al-Tawâsm has been
edited by L. Massignon, Paris 1913. On the subject of this work, which is a
posthumous collection of texts dating from the end of Hallâj's life, see the
second edition of La Passion de Hallaj, Paris 1975, nr, p. 297 ff., from
which (pp. 304-6) the following quotations are taken.
[101] Qadi'Iyâd,Kitâbal-shifâ,Damascus
1392/1972.
[102] Kiïâh al-Mawâqif, Damascus
1966-67,1, pp. 219-20.
[103] Ibn al-Fârid, al-Tâ'iyya al-Kubrâ,
Cairo 1310 ah, together with
Qâshânï's commentary in the margin of his Diwan, verse 639 p. 189 and
631 p. 175. Examples of these poems in praise of the Prophet, which plainly
convey the doctrine of the haqtqa muhammadiyya, can be found in “All
Safi Husayn, al-Adab al-süft fïMisr fí'I-qam al-sab'Tal-hijñ, Cairo
1964, pp. 230 ff., which contains works by Ahmad al-Badawï, Ibrâhîm al-Dasûqî,
etc. We can mention only a few representative texts; but a systematic enquiry
into prophetological doctrine would go beyond Sûfï literature to the
'professions of faith', especially those of the Hanbalites or of writers
influenced by Hanbalism, such as Abu Bakr al-Ajurri (died 360/970) in his Kitab
al-Sharia. A great deal of information about the different forms of
venerating the Prophet in Islam is contained in Annemarie Schimmel's book And
Muhammad is His Messenger, Chapel Hill, 1985.
[104] Cf. F«tiT/int,m,p. 107.
[105] Ibid.,I,p. 118; O. Yahia'sedition,n, p.
220.
[106] This identification of the haqiqa
tnu/iammadiyya with the first Intellect (al-caql al-awwal)
is based on the equivalence established between them by the ahadtth
mentioned in note 13. Ibn 'Arabi uses both versions of these ahadifh according
to the context. See for example Futühât, 1, p. 125 ('The first thing
that God created was the Calamus').
[107] Futûhât, 1, p. 119; O. Yahia's
edition, n, pp. 226-27. The end of this sentence draws attention to the
eminence of ‘Ali ibn Abî Tàlib, the closest to him (i.e. Mufiammad) of all men.
Cf. ,O. Yahia's note on line 6, p. 227, and his introduction on p. 36 of the
same, pointing out the difference in this passage between the first and second
drafts of the Futühât (cf. the 1293 ah
edition of it, 1, p. 154). O. Yahia sees it as expressive of a 'tendency
towards Shfism' which is more marked in the first draft. It should be noted,
however, that, unlike the second draft, which was completed in 636 aii and of which we possess an autograph
manuscript, the first is known to us only through a manuscript postdating Ibn
‘Arabi (the copy was completed in 683 ah)
and is thus not equally reliable. On the problem of the identification of the
Seal of the Saints, of which we will speak later, this passage furnished Haydar
Âmolî (Nos? al-nusüs, p. 195) with an argument for making Ibn ‘Arabi
contradict himself—and this in spite of the fact that he was unaware of the
first draft.
[108] Futûhât, m, pp, 443-44. We find
here the equivalences referred to in note z8, in addition to other technical
terms borrowed from previous Sufis: Ibn ‘Arabi explains (Fut Fihâl, ni,
p. 77) that the expression 'the Reality out of which all things are created' (al-haqq
al-makhlûq brhi kullu shay) goes back to Ibn Barrajan (died 536/1141) who
derived it from verse 15:85, and that it corresponds to what Sahl al-Tustari,
for his part, calls al-‘adl, Justice. A similar description of the
levels of universal manifestation, in relation, this time, to the structure of
the human being, and which assigns priority to the haqiqa muhammadiyya,
can be found in the Tadbimtllahiyya,ed. Nyberg, p. 211.
[109] 'AntjT Mughrib, Cairo 1954, p.
40.
[110] Ibid., p. 41.
[111] Ibid.,p. 36.
[112] Ibid.,p. 37. On the haqiqa
muhammadiyya, seealsopp. 50-51.
[113] Fusüs, 1, p, 214. See also Profession
de Foi (Tadhkira), edited and translated by R. Deladrière, Paris 1978,
chapter 2 ('La Réalité prindpielle de l'Envoyé'}. In our opinion, this work
cannot be attributed to Ibn ‘Arabi, although it bears the stamp of his doctrine
and contains extracts from his writings. On the problem of the attribution of
the Tadhkira, see Denis Gril's review in the critical bulletin of the Annales
islam ologiques, xx, 1984, pp. 33 7-39.
[114] Fusils, i, p. 50. On the insân
kâmil, see R. A. Nicholson, Studies in Islamic Mysticism, Cambridge
1921, chapter 2; A. A. ‘AÊfi, The Mystical Philosophy of Muhyid-Din Ibnul
Arabi, Cambridge U.K. 1939, chapter 2; L. Massignon, L'Homme parfait en
Islam et son originalité eschatologique (1948), in Opera minora,
Beirut 1963,1, pp. 107-25; H. H. Schaeder, 'Dir islamische Lehre vom
Vollkommenen Menschen', Zeitschrift des deustchen morgenlandischen
Gesellschafts' txxix (1925), pp. 192-268; T. izutsu, Sufism and Taoism,
Berkeley and London 1984, chapters 15-17; cf. also the article by R. Amaldez in
El2, s.v., and by Su ad al-Hakim in al-Mawsû ‘a al-falsafiyya al-
‘arabiyya, Beirut 1986,1, pp.
' 134-48; and
see Masataka Takeshita, Ibn Arabi's Theory of the Perfect Man, Tokyo
1987. Titus Burckhardt gives a slightly different translation of this passage
torn the Fusiis in his (incomplete) French version of the work {La
Sagesse des prophètes, Paris 1955, p. 25). Chapter 60 of ‘Abd al-Karim
al-Jïlî's al-Insân al-kâmil (Cairo 1949, pp. 44-48), where the author
discusses the subject of the title, is not included among the excerpts from
this work translated by Burckhardt in his De i'Homme universel, Lyon
1953.
[115] Ibn Hanbal, n, p. 244,3x5; Bukhari, isti'dhân,
1. On the interpretation of this hadith, quoted often by Ibn ‘Arabi,
see among other texts Futûhât, r, p. 107. The idea of the Perfect Man as
the mirror of God—another expression of his theomorphism—is also based on the hadith
(Tirmidhi, birr, 8) according to which 'the believer is the mirror of
the Believer' {al-m u'min, a word which means the man who believes, and
which is in addition one of the divine Names). Cf. Futûhât, r, p. 1X2;
m,p. 134.'
[116] Inshâ' al-tiawâ'îr, ed. Nyberg,
p. 22.
[117] Futühât, in, p. 94. That this
term, properly speaking, can be applied only to the Prophet in terms of his haqîqa
is illustrated in another passage (Futühât, tv, p. 2i), where Ibn 'Aralñ
says : He who—among the members of his community who did not live during his
epoch—wishes to see Muhammad, let him look at the Qur'an. There is no
difference between looking at it and looking at God's Messenger. It is as
though the Qur'an had clothed itself in a form of flesh named Muhammad ibn
'AbdaLah ibn cAbd al-Muttalib. This identification of the Prophet
with the divine Word itself is corroborated in scripture by the words of
‘À'isha quoted above, who, when questioned about the Prophet's nature,
answered: Tiis nature was the Qur'an'.
[118] Futühât, in, p. 418 (identified
for this reason with the tree; cf. 1st., s.v. ahajara}.
[119] Futühât,n,p.
446. 42. Ibid.,i,p. 366;
tv,pp. 5,65.
kâmil corresoond
respectively to the three stages (creation fi ahsani taqwîm; foil asfala
sâfilm; restoration through faith and works) described in verses 4,5, and 6
of süray^.
[122] Yñ afila YathriblSmuqSma ¡akum.
Our translation takes into account the interpretation that Ibn ‘Arabi gives of
this verse in several passages of his work (Futültât, m, pp.
177,216,500; rv, p. 28; Mawâqi‘, p. 141, etc.). It is to this verse,
also, that he alludes [although tire editor is evidently not aware of it) in
the Rítala ft 'l-walaya, p. 21, where he speaks of the 'station of the
inexpressible' which is beyond all the others and says that it is mentioned 'in
sùra al-Ahzab1.
[123] f«tütót,I,p. 223; O. Yahia's edition,
ni,pp. 358 if.
[124] Indeed, as Ibn 'Arabi says in the passage
immediately preceding this one, on a certain number of points the dispositions
of Islamic Law coincide with previous rulings. He stresses, however, that the
believer should accept and practise these inasmuch as they are part of the
Muhammadan Law, and not, for example, because they used to form part of the
Torah. The idea of a spiritual knowledge that is generated through the practice
of rules laid down by the law, and whose nature corresponds symbolically with
the nature of the rules under consideration, occurs particularly in chapters 68
to 72 of the Futühât as well as in the Tannazulat mawsiliyya (published
in Cairo in 1961, under the title Latâ'if al-asrar, by Ahmad Zaki
‘Atiyya and Taha ‘Abd al-Bâqï Surûr). The problem of the relationship between
the Law and the Way is discussed later on.
[125] Bukhari, ‘Um, 10; Ibn Maja, muqaddima,
17. The hadïth which is quoted next in two different forms is absent
from the canonical collections. As we saw (chapter 3, note 14), in the Rítala
ft 'l-walâya the phrase 'The wise of this community are as the prophets of
other communities' is attributed to ‘Abd al-'Aziz al-Mahdawi.
[126] This distinction, together with the
consequences that Ibn 'Arabi sees it as having for the typology of the
Muhammadan heir and the heir of another prophet, is connected with the
distinction made in verse 41 ■.53: 'We will cause them to see Our signs in the
distance [i. e. in the macrocosml and in themselves. '
[127] Strictly speaking, kharq al-'awaid
should be translated as 'the breaking of habits', since, for Ibn 'Arabi as for
most Muslim theologians, natural laws are simply statistical regularities,
which man interprets in terms of the chain of cause and effect, but which
cannot bind the Almighty. A miracle contravenes, not the nature of things, but
our idea of them.
[128] Futûhât, tv, p. 50.
[129] Thalabï,Qisasal-anbiyâ',Cairo
1371AM,pp.123-24.
[130] On Abu Ya'zâ, who was one of Abu Madyan's
teachers, see V. I.oubignac, 'Un saint berbère, Moulay Bou Azza', Hespéris
xxxr (1944); ’Al-Tadilï, al- Tashawwuf ilâ rijâl al-tasaurwuf, ed. A.
Faure, pp. 195-205, ed. A. Tawfiq, pp. 213-22; E. Dermenghem, Le Culte des
saints dans l'Islam maghrèbien, 2nd edition, Paris 1982, pp. 59-70. A. Bel
('Sidi Bou Medyan et son maître Ed-Daqqâq à Fes', Mélanges René Basset,
Paris 1923,1, pp. 31-68) mentions an unpublished work, devoted entirely to Abu
Ya'zâ, by Abü T-'Abbâs Ahmad al-Tâdilï (who died in 1013/1604 and is thus
different from the Tâdilï referred to above, who lived in the seventh/thirteenth
century), the Kitâb al-Ma'zâ fï manâqib al-shaykh Abt Ya'zâ.
[131] This passage alludes to the well-known hadtth which
says that perfection (al-ihsân) is to worship God as though you were
seeing Him (Bukhari, lafsir, s. 31, imán, yj, etc.). This 'as
though' is of major importance, since it sanctions the use of the khayâl
in the spiritual life.
[132] On Ibn ‘Arabi's interpretation of this
Qur'ânic verse concerning the conception of Jesus, see Fusûs, 1, pp.
138-39.
[133] Ibn 'Arabi often mentions Abu 'l-'Abbâs al-Uraybî
(sometimes called Abu Ja'íar). The first biographical note in the Rüh
al-quds (Damascus 1964, pp. 46-48) is about him. See also Futfihat, I,
p. 186; n,p. 177; m,pp. 208,336,539; iv,p. 123.
[134] Futühát, i, p. 155; m, pp.
43,341; IV, p. 77.
[135] The same story occurs in the Futûhât,
n, p. 415. The years 585 and 586 of the Hegira correspond to the years 1189 and
1190 of the Christian calender. It was at this time that the Almohad sovereign
Abü Yüsuf Ya'qub repulsed the Portuguese and Castilian attacks.
[136] On the identification of laylat al-qadr
with the human nature of the Prophet, see Futühât, tv, p. 44. (According
to Ibn ‘Arabi, the Night of Destiny, even though for the Muslim community its
date is fixed as the 27th of the month of Ramadan, circulates during the course
of the year, but it is given to the cârifûn alone to
recognize it when it comes and to reap the full benefit of the grace which the
periodical recurrence of this descent brings with it. Cf. Futühât, in,
pp. 94,159; tv, p. 486). On the meaning of the two arcs (qâb qawsayn),
see Futûhât, n, p. 558; m, p. 543; IV, pp. 39,51; Kitâb al-lsrâ',p.
50. See also the Tafsir by Qâshânï (published under the name of Ibn
'Arabi), Beirut 1968, n, p. 554, commentary to verse 53:9.
[137] On the iqlîms or 'dimes', see
André Miquel's article in Er, s. v. 'Iklïm'.
[138] There is a number about Müsâ al-Sadrânï in the Rilh al-quds
(pp. 74-76, number 19; Austin's translation, pp. 121-23), where it is explained
that he visited Ibn 'Arabi to bring him amessage from shaykh Abu Madyan.
[139] Cf. Rüb al-quds (pp. 72-74, number
18; Austin's translation, pp. 116-21). The Durra Fâkhira (trans. Austin,
p. 151, number 60) also mentions the story of the meeting of one of Ibn
‘Arabi's companions, ‘Abd al-Majtd ibn Salma, with another badal, Mu'âdh
ibn Ashras. This story also comes in Ililyat al-abdâl, p. 3 (French
translation by M. Vâlsan, La Parure des abdâl, Paris 1951, pp. 11-13),
and in Futûhât, 1, p. 277. The passage from the Futûhât analysed
here is from vol. ir, p. 7.
[140] Ibid.,n,pp. 7-8.
[141] Ibid., n, p. 8. For a definition of
the mup'zïïf, see Abii Hanlfa, al-Fiqh al-akbar, Cairo 1327 ah, p. 69; Bâqillânï, Kitab al-Bayân,
ed. McCarthy, Beirut 1958, pp. 37-49. Unlike the karâmât, the mufizât
are preceded by a challenge (tahaddi). In this passage from the Futûhât,
Ibn ‘Arabi criticizes the attitude adopted by Abu Ishaq al-Isfarâ'inî, an
Ash'arite theologian who died in 418/1027, according to whom the saints cannot
perform supernatural acts similar to those performed by the Prophet. The
difference between mu cjizât and karâmât lies not in
the form taken by the supernatural act, but on the one hand in the intention
(or absence thereof), of the agent of it, and on the other hand in the fact
that mufizat are the rightful property of the prophets, whereas karâmât
are inherited by the saints (and modelled in accordance with the prophetic type
who predominates in the wall's heritage). Ibn ‘Arabi also says, without further
explanation, that he met the hawan of his time in 586. He says further
that during the time of the Prophet, this office was held by al-Zubayr ibn
al-‘Awwam. Al-Zubayr was one of the first to be converted (the fifth,
apparently) and was one of the ten Companions who received the promise of
paradise, and did in fact receive the name al-Hawan from the Prophet
himself.
[142] Futûhât, n, p. 8; Durra
fakhira, trans. Austin (Sufis of Andalusia), p. 16o; Muhâdarat
al-abrâr, Damascus 1968, 1, p. 418 (where the animals are not swine but
dogs). This anecdote, even though it concerns the rawâfid, could not
conceivably have been written by someone with a secret sympathy for Shfism. On
the subject of Ibn 'Arabi's attitude towards ShFism, see Futûhât, 1, p.
282 and™, p. 343.
[143] Many passages in Ibn ‘Arabi’s writings
concern the afrâd. We are specifically referring here to Futûhât,
chapter 73 (n, p. 19) and above all to chapters.30,31,
[144] On 'Abd al-Qâdir al-Jïlânî and the
references to him in Ibn 'Arabi, see chapter 6, note 8.
[145] On Abü Su'üd ibn al-Shibl, see Futühât,
1, pp. 187, 201, 233, 248, 288; n, pp. 19, 49, 80, 131, 370, 522, 624; m, pp.
34, 223, 5Ó0. Ibn 'Arabi several times emphasizes the difference in status
between ‘Abd al-Qâdir and Abu Su'üd: the former possessed the hâl al-sjdq
but not the corresponding tnaqSm; the latter, however, possessed the maqani
and not the hâl, and thus remained unknown to the world (n, p. 223);
'Abd al-Qâdir held the office of the khilâfa, whereas Abü Su'üd,
although equally able to hold it, had handed over to his Lord all authority
over His servants (n, p. 308); ‘Abd al-Qâdir sometimes succumbed to the
temptation of idlâl (impudence, casualness), while Abu Su'üd was exempt
from this imperfection. However, for a critique of Abü Su'üd, see Futühât,
n, p. 64.
[146] The Bahjat al-asrâr by Shattanüfi,
Cairo 1330 ah, pp. 7-8, explains
that Muhammad ibn Qâ'id al-Awânï was present when ‘Abd al-Qâdir al-Jïlânï
uttered the famous phrase that established him in his capacity as Pole of his
time: This foot of mine is on the neck of every saint of God.' Nabhânï's note
in ¡ami' karâmât al-awliyâ', Beirut, n.d., 1, p. 112, repeats, after
Munâwî, the information given by Ibn ‘Arabi (cf. Futühât, 1, p. 201; n,
p. 130; m, p. 34), and says, wrongly, that al-Awânï was one of his teachers.
[147] In Ibn ‘Arabi's technical vocabulary, malâmiyya
refers to a type of sainthood while afrâd refers to the highest degree
within this type. Therefore, all the afrâd are malâmiyya but not
the reverse. The passage which we summarize here (Futühât, i, p. zoij
might lead one to think that the last characteristics described apply
exclusively to the afrâd in the first category. Taken in full, the texts
concerned with the afrâd and particularly the two following chapters
clearly prove that they apply equally to all of them. On the futuwwa and
the fityan in the doctrine of Ibn‘Arabî, see Futu/inti, pp. 241-44, and
n, pp. 231-34.
[148] Futühât, i, p. 188. Ibn 'Arabi
attributes this phrase to Abü Su'üd ibn al-ShibL
[149] On the notion of the Seal of the Prophets
and the doctrine that developed around it, see Y. Friedmann, 'Finality of
Prophethood in Sunni Islam', Jerusalem Studies in Arabic and Islam, vn
(1986), pp. 177-215.
[150] Tirmidhi, Khatm al-awliÿâ’, p.
The section of this passage imme
diately following might lead one to think that the office of Seal
of the Saints does not have one sole holder, and that it is maintained through
history by successive holders. But Tirmidlu's reply to the question asked ('Do
the saints in the category experience fear on their own account?') makes it
clear that the theme of the dialogue has changed and that the conversations
reported are concerned not with the Seal in particular, but more generally with
the category of the afrâd to which he effectively belongs. 1
[151] We quote from the text of the jawâb
Mustaqïm edited by O. Yahia, following each of the questions asked by
Tirmidhi (here, p. 161 of the Khatm al-audiyU'j.
[152] This much-loved friend of Ibn 'Arabi's
died at Malatiya around 618/1221. On his death, see Futûhât, 1, p. 221,
and the Durra Fdkhira, p. 158, number 71, in Austin, Sufis of
Andalusia.
[153] Ismâ'ïl ibn Sawdaldn, another very
close follower of Ibn 'Arabi's (and who transcribed, among other things, his
precious oral commentary on the TajaHiyat), diedin 646/1248.
[154] Futûhât,n,p.
49. 7. Ibid., n,p. 50. 8. Ibid., in,p. 328.
[155] A A. 'Afifi, The Mystical Philosophy
. . ., pp. 98-101; Henry Corbin, introduction to Haydar Amok's Nass
al-nusûs; En Islam iranien, cf. index, s.v. 'Sceau'; T. Izutsu, Sufism
and Taoism, chapter 16. Stephane Ruspoli, in his article 'Ibn Arabi et la
prophétologie shfite', Cahiers de I'Heme, issue dedicated to Henry
Corbin, Paris 1981, pp. 224-39, gives a French translation—very
inaccurate in places—of Futühât, I, pp. 319-20, and Futühât, n,
p. 49. The texts from the Fusûs are evidently included in the various
translations of this work, including the partial translation by Burckhardt.
[156] Futühât, n,p. 9.
[157] Ibid., m,p. 329.
[158] Sec chapter 4 of this book, and note 39
of the same chapter.
[159] Fntühàt, 1, p. 9. This verse is
taken from the Kitab al-isra, p. 4.
[160] Futiihat,i,p. 150.
[161] The implication here is 'as I saw Jesus'.
On Ibn ‘Arabi's meetings with the prophets, see chapter 1 and its note 3; on
his special relationship with Jesus, see chapter 5, and note 9 of the same.
[162] ‘Anqa’ Mughrib, pp. 72-74. Note
that the numbers mentioned coincide: the first 'fourteen' with the fourteen
'single Letters' or 'luminous Letters', and the 'twenty-nine' with the
twenty-nine suras where the letters occur.
[163] Ibid.,p. 71.
[164] Ibid., p. 7. This insistence on the
correspondence between the microcosm and the structure of the macrocosm occurs
equally in the Tadbîrât, which was written during the same period of Ibn
'Arabi's life (but before the cAnqa Maghrib).
[165] Fusus, I, pp. 61-64 (fo?? Shith).
[166] Cf. among other texts Fwhî/iâl, I, p.
163.
[167] Futûhât, I, p. 151. See also
ibid., m, p. 514, where Ibn ‘Arabi says, in connect’on with tire Seal of
Muhammadan Sainthood: His rank in relation to the ra ik of God's Messenger is
no more than that of a hair of his body in relation to the whole body. Cf.
alsoFntütót, I, p. 3.
[168] It should be added that for Ibn ‘Arabi
there is also a 'Seal of the Divine Names': the Name Huwa or 'He', which
designates the absolutely unconditioned Essence (Futûhât, in, p. 514).
[169] Fusüs, i, p. 67. The symbolic
meaning of China as the ultimate place of spiritual Knowledge is suggested in
the hadîth (absent from the canonical collections but which occurs in
Bayhaqi and also in Suyüñ's al-Fath al-Kabîr, 1, p. 193): 'Seek for
knowledge, even if you have to go as far as China'. Some commentators have also
seen an allusion to China in the enigmatic observation which comes in the
apocryphal Shajara Nu'mâmyya (cf. O. Yahia, R.G., no. 665): 'When the
shin enters the sin . . ..'
[170] Futühât,ia,p. 514.
[171] Kitab al-lsra', p. 14. The date
when the text was completed is given on p. 92. The date 594 is likewise
explicitly confirmed in a poem in the Dîwârt,Bülâq 1271 ah, pp. 332-33. However, we should also
note that a somewhat unclear passage in the 'Anqa' Mughrib (pp. 15-16)
seems to put the date at 595, and it is therefore difficult to be categorical
on this question of chronology.
[172] Due to the
extensive nature of the footnotes belonging to this chapter they are placed at
the end of the chapter, beginning on page 174.
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