Chapter VIII

ORTHODOXY, FREE-THOUGHT, AND MYSTICISM

We have already given some account of the great political revolution which took place under the ‘Abbásid dynasty, and we have now to consider the no less vital influence The ‘Abbásids and Islam. of the new era in the field of religion. It will be remembered that the House of ‘Abbás came forward as champions of Islam and of the oppressed and persecuted Faithful. Their victory was a triumph for the Muḥammadan over the National idea. "They wished, as they said, to revive the dead Tradition of the Prophet. They brought the experts in Sacred Law from Medína, which had hitherto been their home, to Baghdád, and always invited their approbation by taking care that even political questions should be treated in legal form and decided in accordance with the Koran and the Sunna. In reality, however, they used Islam only to serve their own interest. They tamed the divines at their court and induced them to sanction the most objectionable measures. They made the pious Opposition harmless by leading it to victory. With the downfall of the Umayyads it had gained its end and could now rest in peace."684 There is much truth in this view of the matter, but notwithstanding the easy character of their religion, the ‘Abbásid Caliphs were sincerely devoted to the cause of Islam and zealous to maintain its principles in public life. They regarded themselves as the sovereign defenders of the Faith; added the Prophet's mantle (al-burda) to those emblems of Umayyad royalty, the sceptre and the seal; delighted in the pompous titles which their flatterers conferred on them, e.g., 'Vicegerent of God,' 'Sultan of God upon the Earth,' 'Shadow of God,' &c.; and left no stone unturned to invest themselves with the attributes of theocracy, and to inspire their subjects with veneration.685 Whereas the Umayyad monarchs ignored or crushed Muḥammadan sentiment, and seldom made any Influence of theologians. attempt to conciliate the leading representatives of Islam, the ‘Abbásids, on the other hand, not only gathered round their throne all the most celebrated theologians of the day, but also showed them every possible honour, listened respectfully to their counsel, and allowed them to exert a commanding influence on the administration of the State.686 When Málik b. Anas was summoned by the Caliph Hárún al-Rashíd, who wished to hear him recite traditions, Málik replied, "People come to seek knowledge." So Hárún went to Málik's house, and leaned against the wall beside him. Málik said, "O Prince of the Faithful, whoever honours God, honours knowledge." Al-Rashíd arose and seated himself at Malik's feet and spoke to him and heard him relate a number of traditions handed down from the Apostle of God. Then he sent for Sufyán b. ‘Uyayna, and Sufyán came to him and sat in his presence and recited traditions to him. Afterwards al-Rashíd said, "O Málik, we humbled ourselves before thy knowledge, and profited thereby, but Sufyán's knowledge humbled itself to us, and we got no good from it."687 Many instances might be given of the high favour which theologians enjoyed at this time, and of the lively interest with which religious topics were debated by the Caliph and his courtiers. As the Caliphs gradually lost their temporal sovereignty, the influence of the ‘Ulamá—the doctors of Divinity and Law—continued to increase, so that ere long they formed a privileged class, occupying in Islam a position not unlike that of the priesthood in mediæval Christendom.

It will be convenient to discuss the religious phenomena of the ‘Abbásid period under the following heads:—

I. Rationalism and Free-thought.

II. The Orthodox Reaction and the rise of Scholastic Theology.

III. The Ṣúfí Mysticism.

I. The first century of ‘Abbásid rule was marked, as we have seen, by a great intellectual agitation. All sorts of new Rationalism and Free-thought. ideas were in the air. It was an age of discovery and awakening. In a marvellously brief space the diverse studies of Theology, Law, Medicine, Philosophy, Mathematics, Astronomy, and Natural Science attained their maturity, if not their highest development. Even if some pious Moslems looked askance at the foreign learning and its professors, an enlightened spirit generally prevailed. People took their cue from the court, which patronised, or at least tolerated,688 scientific research as well as theological speculation.

These circumstances enabled the Mu‘tazilites (see p. 222 sqq.) to propagate their liberal views without hindrance, and finally The Mu‘tazilites and their opponents. to carry their struggle against the orthodox party to a successful issue. It was the same conflict that divided Nominalists and Realists in the days of Thomas Aquinas, Duns Scotus, and Occam. As often happens when momentous principles are at stake, the whole controversy between Reason and Revelation turned on a single question—"Is the Koran created or uncreated?" In other terms, is it the work of God or the Word of God? According to orthodox belief, it is uncreated and has existed with God from all eternity, being in its present form merely a transcript of the heavenly archetype.689 Obviously this conception of the Koran as the direct and literal Word of God left no room for exercise of the understanding, but required of those who adopted it a dumb faith and a blind fatalism. There were many to whom the sacrifice did not seem too great. The Mu‘tazilites, on the contrary, asserted their intellectual freedom. It was possible, they said, to know God and distinguish good from evil without any Revelation at all. They admitted that the Koran was God's work, in the sense that it was produced by a divinely inspired Prophet, but they flatly rejected its deification. Some went so far as to criticise the 'inimitable' style, declaring that it could be surpassed in beauty and eloquence by the art of man.690

The Mu‘tazilite controversy became a burning question in the reign of Ma’mún (813-833 a.d.), a Caliph whose scientific enthusiasm and keen interest in religious matters we have already mentioned. He did not inherit the orthodoxy of his father, Hárún al-Rashíd; and it was believed that he was at heart a zindíq. His liberal tendencies would have been wholly admirable if they had not been marred by excessive intolerance towards those who held opposite views to his own. In 833 a.d., the year of his death, he promulgated a decree which bound all Moslems to accept the Mu‘tazilite doctrine as to the creation of the Koran on pain of losing their civil rights, and at the same time he established an inquisition (miḥna) in order to obtain the assent of the divines, judges, and doctors of law. Those who would not take the test were flogged and threatened with the sword. After Ma’mún's death the persecution still went on, Rationalism adopted and put in force by the Caliph Ma’mún. although it was conducted in a more moderate fashion. Popular feeling ran strongly against the Mu‘tazilites. The most prominent figure in the orthodox camp was the Imám Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal, who firmly resisted the new dogma from the first. "But for him," says the Sunnite historian, Abu ’l-Maḥásin, "the beliefs of a great number would have been corrupted."691 Neither threats nor entreaties could shake his resolution, and when he was scourged by command of the Caliph Mu‘taṣim, the palace was in danger of being wrecked by an angry mob which had assembled outside to hear the result of the trial. The Mu‘tazilite dogma remained officially in force until it was abandoned Mutawakkil returns to orthodoxy. by the Caliph Wáthiq and once more declared heretical by the cruel and bigoted Mutawakkil (847 a.d.). From that time to this the victorious party have sternly suppressed every rationalistic movement in Islam.

According to Steiner, the original Mu‘tazilite heresy arose in the bosom of Islam, independently of any foreign influence, The end of the Mu‘tazilites. but, however that may be, its later development was largely affected by Greek philosophy. We need not attempt to follow the recondite speculations of Abú Hudhayl al-‘Alláf († about 840 a.d.) of his contemporaries, al-Naẓẓám, Bishr b. al-Mu‘tamir, and others, and of the philosophical schools of Baṣra and Baghdád in which the movement died away. Vainly they sought to replace the Muḥammadan idea of God as will by the Aristotelian conception of God as law. Their efforts to purge the Koran of anthropomorphism made no impression on the faithful, who ardently hoped to see God in Paradise face to face. What they actually achieved was little enough. Their weapons of logic and dialectic were turned against them with triumphant success, and scholastic theology was founded on the ruins of Rationalism. Indirectly, however, the Mu‘tazilite principles leavened Muḥammadan thought to a considerable extent and cleared the way for other liberal movements, like the Fraternity of the Ikhwánu ’l-Ṣafá, which endeavoured to harmonise authority with reason, and to construct a universal system of religious philosophy.

These 'Brethren of Purity,'692 as they called themselves, compiled a great encyclopædic work in fifty tractates (Rasá’il). Of The Ikhwánu ’l-Ṣafá. the authors, who flourished at Baṣra towards the end of the tenth century, five are known to us by name: viz., Abú Sulaymán Muḥammad b. Ma‘shar al-Bayusti or al-Muqaddasí (Maqdisí), Abu ’l-Ḥasan ‘Alí b. Hárún al-Zanjání, Abú Aḥmad al-Mihrajání, al-‘Awfí, and Zayd b. Rifá‘a. "They formed a society for the pursuit of holiness, purity, and truth, and established amongst themselves a doctrine whereby they hoped to win the approval of God, maintaining that the Religious Law was defiled by ignorance and adulterated by errors, and that there was no means of cleansing and purifying it except philosophy, which united the wisdom of faith and the profit of research. They held that a perfect result would be reached if Greek philosophy were combined with Arabian religion. Accordingly they composed fifty tracts on every branch of philosophy, theoretical as well as practical, added a separate index, and entitled them the 'Tracts of the Brethren of Purity' (Rasá’ilu Ikhwán al-Ṣafá). The authors of this work concealed their names, but circulated it among the booksellers and gave it to the public. They filled their pages with devout phraseology, religious parables, metaphorical expressions, and figurative turns of style."693 Nearly all the tracts have been translated into German by Dieterici, who has also drawn up an epitome of the whole encyclopædia in his Philosophie der Araber im X Jahrhundert. It would take us too long to describe the system of the Ikhwán, but the reader will find an excellent account of it in Stanley Lane-Poole's Studies in a Mosque, 2nd ed., p. 176 sqq. The view has recently been put forward that the Brethren of Purity were in some way connected with the Ismá‘ílí propaganda, and that their eclectic idealism represents the highest teaching of the Fátimids, Carmathians, and Assassins. Strong evidence in support of this theory is supplied by a MS. of the Bibliothèque Nationale (No. 2309 in De Slane's Catalogue), which contains, together with fragments of the Rasá’il, a hitherto unknown tract entitled the Jámi‘a or 'Summary.'694 The latter purports to be the essence and crown of the fifty Rasá’il, it is manifestly Ismá‘ílite in character, and, assuming that it is genuine, we may, I think, agree with the conclusions which its discoverer, M. P. Casanova, has stated in the following passage:—

"Surtout je crois être dans le vrai en affirmant que les doctrines philosophiques des Ismaïliens sont contenues tout entières dans les The doctrines of the Brethren of Purity identical with the esoteric philosophy of the Ismá‘ílís. Epîtres des Frères de la Pureté. Et c’est ce qui explique 'la séduction extraordinaire que la doctrine exerçait sur des hommes sérieux.'695 En y ajoutant la croyance en l'imám caché (al-imám al-mastúr) qui doit apparaître un jour pour établir le bonheur universel, elle réalisait la fusion de toutes les doctrines idéalistes, du messianisme et du platonisme. Tant que l'imám restait caché, il s'y mêlait encore une saveur de mystère qui attachait les esprits les plus élevés. . . . En tous cas, on peut affirmer que les Carmathes et les Assassins ont été profondément calomniés quand ils out été accusés par leurs adversaires d'athéisme et de débauche. Le fetwa d'Ibn Taimiyyah, que j'ai cité plus haut, prétend que leur dernier degré dans l'initiation (al-balágh al-akbar) est la négation même du Créateur. Mais la djâmi‘at que nous avons découverte est, comme tout l'indique, le dernier degré de la science des Frères de la Pureté et des Ismaïliens; il n'y a rien de fondé dans une telle accusation. La doctrine apparait très pure, très élevée, très simple même: je repète que c'est une sorte de panthéisme mécaniste et esthétique qui est absolument opposé au scepticisme et au matérialisme, car il repose sur l'harmonie générale de toutes les parties du monde, harmonie voulue par le Créateur parce qu'elle est la beauté même.

"Ma conclusion sera que nous avons là un exemple de plus dans l’histoire d'une doctrine très pure et très élevée en théorie, devenue, entre les mains des fanatiques et des ambitieux, une source d'actes monstrueux et méritant l'infamie qui est attachée a ce nom historique d'Assassins."

Besides the Mu‘tazilites, we hear much of another class of heretics who are commonly grouped together under the name of Zindíqs.

"It is well known," says Goldziher,696 "that the earliest persecution was directed against those individuals who managed The Zindíqs. more or less adroitly to conceal under the veil of Islam old Persian religious ideas. Sometimes indeed they did not consider any disguise to be necessary, but openly set up dualism and other Persian or Manichæan doctrines, and the practices associated therewith, against the dogma and usage of Islam. Such persons were called Zindíqs, a term which comprises different shades of heresy and hardly admits of simple definition. Firstly, there are the old Persian families incorporated in Islam who, following the same path as the Shu‘úbites, have a national interest in the revival of Persian religious ideas and traditions, and from this point of view react against the Arabian character of the Muḥammadan system. Then, on the other hand, there are freethinkers, who oppose in particular the stubborn dogma of Islam, reject positive religion, and acknowledge only the moral law. Amongst the latter there is developed a monkish asceticism extraneous to Islam and ultimately traceable to Buddhistic influences."

The ‘Abbásid Government, which sought to enforce an official standard of belief, was far less favourable to religious liberty than the Umayyads had been. Orthodox and heretic alike fell under its ban. While Ma’mún harried pious Sunnites, his immediate predecessors raised a hue and cry against Zindíqs. The Caliph Mahdí distinguished himself by an organised persecution of these enemies of the faith. He appointed a Grand Inquisitor (Ṣáḥibu ’l-Zanádiqa697 or ‘Arífu ’l-Zanádiqa) to discover and hunt them down. If they would Persecution of Zindíqs. not recant when called upon, they were put to death and crucified, and their books698 were cut to pieces with knives.699 Mahdí's example was followed by Hádí and Hárún al-Rashíd. Some of the ‘Abbásids, however, were less severe. Thus Khaṣíb, Manṣúr's physician, was a Zindíq who professed Christianity,700 and in the reign of Ma’mún it became the mode to affect Manichæan opinions as a mark of elegance and refinement.701

The two main types of zandaqa which have been described above are illustrated in the contemporary poets, Bashshár b. Bashshár b. Burd. Burd and Ṣáliḥ b. ‘Abd al-Quddús. Bashshár was born stone-blind. The descendant of a noble Persian family—though his father, Burd, was a slave—he cherished strong national sentiments and did not attempt to conceal his sympathy with the Persian clients (Mawálí), whom he was accused of stirring up against their Arab lords. He may also have had leanings towards Zoroastrianism, but Professor Bevan has observed that there is no real evidence for this statement,702 though Zoroastrian or Manichæan views are probably indicated by the fact that he used to dispute with a number of noted Moslem theologians in Baṣra, e.g., with Wáṣil b. ‘Aṭá, who started the Mu‘tazilite heresy, and ‘Amr b. ‘Ubayd. He and Ṣáliḥ b. ‘Abd al-Quddús were put to death by the Caliph Mahdí in the same year (783 a.d.).

This Ṣáliḥ belonged by birth or affiliation to the Arab tribe of Azd. Of his life we know little beyond the circumstance Ṣáliḥ b. ‘Abd al-Quddús. that he was for some time a street-preacher at Baṣra, and afterwards at Damascus. It is possible that his public doctrine was thought dangerous, although the preachers as a class were hand in glove with the Church and did not, like the Lollards, denounce religious abuses.703 His extant poetry contains nothing heretical, but is wholly moral and didactic in character. We have seen, however, in the case of Abu ’l-‘Atáhiya, that Muḥammadan orthodoxy was apt to connect 'the philosophic mind' with positive unbelief; and Ṣáliḥ appears to have fallen a victim to this prejudice. He was accused of being a dualist (thanawí), i.e., a Manichæan. Mahdí, it is said, conducted his examination in person, and at first let him go free, but the poet's fate was sealed by his confession that he was the author of the following verses:—

Abu ’l-‘Alá al-Ma‘arrí, himself a bold and derisive critic of Muḥammadan dogmas, devotes an interesting section of his Risálatu ’l-Ghufrán to the Zindíqs, and says many hard things about them, which were no Abu ’l-‘Alá al-Ma‘arrí on the Zindíqs. doubt intended to throw dust in the eyes of a suspicious audience. The wide scope of the term is shown by the fact that he includes under it the pagan chiefs of Quraysh; the Umayyad Caliph Walíd b. Yazíd; the poets Di‘bil, Abú Nuwás, Bashshár, and Ṣáliḥ b. ‘Abd al-Quddús; Abú Muslim, who set up the ‘Abbásid dynasty; the Persian rebels, Bábak and Mázyár; Afshín, who after conquering Bábak was starved to death by the Caliph Mu‘taṣim; the Carmathian leader al-Jannábí; Ibnu ’l-Ráwandí, whose work entitled the Dámigh was designed to discredit the 'miraculous' style of the Koran; and Ḥusayn b. Manṣúr al-Ḥalláj, the Ṣúfí martyr. Most of these, one may admit, fall within Abu ’l-‘Alá’s definition of the Zindíqs: "they acknowledge neither prophet nor sacred book." The name Zindíq, which is applied by Jáḥiẓ († 868 a.d.) to certain wandering monks,705 seems in the first instance to have been used of Manes (Mání) and his followers, and is no doubt derived, as Professor Bevan has suggested, from the zaddíqs, who formed an elect class in the Manichæan hierarchy.706

II. The official recognition of Rationalism as the State religion came to an end on the accession of Mutawakkil in 847 a.d. The new Caliph, who owed his throne to the Turkish Prætorians, could not have devised a surer means of making himself popular than by standing forward as the The Orthodox Reaction. avowed champion of the faith of the masses. He persecuted impartially Jews, Christians, Mu‘tazilites, Shí‘ites, and Ṣúfís—every one, in short, who diverged from the narrowest Sunnite orthodoxy. The Vizier Ibn Abí Du’ád, who had shown especial zeal in his conduct of the Mu‘tazilite Inquisition, was disgraced, and the bulk of his wealth was confiscated. In Baghdád the followers of Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal went from house to house terrorising the citizens,707 and such was their fanatical temper that when Ṭabarí, the famous divine and historian, died in 923 a.d., they would not allow his body to receive the ordinary rites of burial.708 Finally, in the year 935 a.d., the Caliph Ráḍí issued an edict denouncing them in these terms: "Ye assert that your ugly, ill-favoured faces are in the likeness of the Lord of Creation, and that your vile exterior resembles His, and ye speak of the hand, the fingers, the feet, the golden shoes, and the curly hair (of God), and of His going up to Heaven and of His coming down to Earth.... The Commander of the Faithful swears a binding oath that unless ye refrain from your detestable practices and perverse tenets he will lay the sword to your necks and the fire to your dwellings."709 Evidently the time was ripe for a system which should reconcile the claims of tradition and reason, avoiding the gross anthropomorphism of the extreme Ḥanbalites on the one side and the pure rationalism of the advanced Mu‘tazilites (who were still a power to be reckoned with) on the other. It is a frequent experience that great intellectual or religious movements rising slowly and invisibly, in response, as it were, to some incommunicable want, suddenly find a distinct interpreter with whose name they are henceforth associated for ever. The man, in this case, was Abu ’l-Ḥasan al-Ash‘arí. He belonged to a noble and traditionally orthodox family of Yemenite origin. One of his ancestors was Abú Músá al-Ash‘arí, who, as the reader will recollect, played a somewhat inglorious part in the arbitration between ‘Alí and Abu ’l-Ḥasan al-ash‘arí. Mu‘áwiya after the battle of Ṣiffín.710 Born in 873-874 a.d. at Baṣra, a city renowned for its scientific and intellectual fertility, the young Abu ’l-Ḥasan deserted the faith of his fathers, attached himself to the freethinking school, and until his fortieth year was the favourite pupil and intimate friend of al-Jubbá’í († 915 a.d.), the head of the Mu‘tazilite party at that time. He is said to have broken with his teacher in consequence of a dispute as to whether God always does what is best (aṣlaḥ) for His creatures. The story is related as follows by Ibn Khallikán (De Slane's translation, vol. ii, p. 669 seq.):—

Ash‘arí proposed to Jubbá’í the case of three brothers, one of whom was a true believer, virtuous and pious; the second an infidel, a debauchee and a reprobate; and the third an infant: Story of the three brothers. they all died, and Ash‘arí wished to know what had become of them. To this Jubbá’í answered: "The virtuous brother holds a high station in Paradise; the infidel is in the depths of Hell, and the child is among those who have obtained salvation."711 "Suppose now," said Ash‘arí, "that the child should wish to ascend to the place occupied by his virtuous brother, would he be allowed to do so?" "No," replied Jubbá’í, "it would be said to him: 'Thy brother arrived at this place through his numerous works of obedience towards God, and thou hast no such works to set forward.'" "Suppose then," said Ash‘arí, "that the child say: 'That is not my fault; you did not let me live long enough, neither did you give me the means of proving my obedience.'" "In that case," answered Jubbá’í, "the Almighty would say: 'I knew that if I had allowed thee to live, thou wouldst have been disobedient and incurred the severe punishment (of Hell); I therefore acted for thy advantage.'" "Well," said Ash‘arí, "and suppose the infidel brother were to say: 'O God of the universe! since you knew what awaited him, you must have known what awaited me; why then did you act for his advantage and not for mine?" Jubbá’í had not a word to offer in reply.

Soon afterwards Ash‘arí made a public recantation. One Friday, while sitting (as his biographer relates) in the chair Ash‘arí's conversion to orthodoxy. from which he taught in the great mosque of Baṣra, he cried out at the top of his voice: "They who know me know who I am: as for those who do not know me I will tell them. I am ‘Alí b. Ismá‘íl al-Ash‘arí, and I used to hold that the Koran was created, that the eyes of men shall not see God, and that we ourselves are the authors of our evil deeds. Now I have returned to the truth; I renounce these opinions, and I undertake to refute the Mu‘tazilites and expose their infamy and turpitude."712

These anecdotes possess little or no historical value, but illustrate the fact that Ash‘arí, having learned all that the Mu‘tazilites could teach him and having thoroughly mastered their dialectic, turned against them with deadly force the weapons which they had put in his hands. His doctrine on the subject of free-will may serve to exemplify the method of Kalám (Disputation) by which he propped up the orthodox creed.713 Here, as in other instances, Ash‘arí took Ash‘arí as the founder of Scholastic Theology. the central path—medio tutissimus—between two extremes. It was the view of the early Moslem Church—a view justified by the Koran and the Apostolic Traditions—that everything was determined in advance and inscribed, from all eternity, on the Guarded Tablet (al-Lawḥ al-Maḥfúẓ), so that men had no choice but to commit the actions decreed by destiny. The Mu‘tazilites, on the contrary, denied that God could be the author of evil and insisted that men's actions were free. Ash‘arí, on his part, declared that all actions are created and predestined by God, but that men have a certain subordinate power which enables them to acquire the actions previously created, although it produces no effect on the actions themselves. Human agency, therefore, was confined to this process of acquisition (kasb). With regard to the anthropomorphic passages in the Koran, Ash‘arí laid down the rule that such expressions as "The Merciful has settled himself upon His throne," "Both His hands are spread out," &c., must be taken in their obvious sense without asking 'How?' (bilá kayfa). Spitta saw in the system of Ash‘arí a successful revolt of the Arabian national spirit against the foreign ideas which were threatening to overwhelm Islam,714 a theory which does not agree with the fact that most of the leading Ash‘arites were Persians.715 Von Kremer came nearer the mark when he said "Ash‘arí's victory was simply a clerical triumph,"716 but it was also, as Schreiner has observed, "a victory of reflection over unthinking faith."

The victory, however, was not soon or easily won.717 Many of the orthodox disliked the new Scholasticism hardly less than the old Rationalism. Thus it is not surprising to read in the Kámil of Ibnu ’l-Athír under the year 456 a.h. = 1063-4 a.d., that Alp Arslán's Vizier, ‘Amídu ’l-Mulk al-Kundurí, having obtained his master's permission to have curses pronounced against the Ráfiḍites (Shí‘ites) from the pulpits of Khurásán, included the Ash‘arites in the same malediction, and that the famous Ash‘arite doctors, Abu ’l-Qásim al-Qushayrí and the Imámu ’l-Ḥaramayn Abu ’l-Ma‘álí al-Juwayní, left the country in consequence. The great Niẓámu ’l-Mulk exerted himself on behalf of the Ash‘arites, and the Niẓámiyya College, which he founded in Baghdád in the year 1067 a.d., was designed to propagate their system of theology. But the man who stamped it with the impression of his own powerful genius, fixed its ultimate form, and established it as the universal creed of orthodox Islam, was Abú Ḥámid al-Ghazálí (1058-1111 a.d.). We have already sketched the outward course of his life, and need only recall that he lectured at Baghdád in the Niẓámiyya College for four years (1091-1095 a.d.).718 At the end of that time he retired from the world as a Ṣúfí, and so brought to a calm and fortunate close the long spiritual travail which he has himself described in the Munqidh mina ’l-Ḍalál, or 'Deliverer from Error.'719 We must now attempt to give the reader some notion of this work, both on account of its singular psychological interest and because Ghazálí's search for religious truth exercised, as will shortly appear, a profound and momentous influence upon the future history of Muḥammadan thought. It begins with these words:—

"In the name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate. Praise be to God by the praise of whom every written or spoken discourse Ghazálí's autobiography. is opened! And blessings on Muḥammad, the Elect, the Prophet and Apostle, as well as on his family and his companions who lead us forth from error! To proceed: You have asked me, O my brother in religion, to explain to you the hidden meanings and the ultimate goal of the sciences, and the secret bane of the different doctrines, and their inmost depths. You wish me to relate all that I have endured in seeking to recover the truth from amidst the confusion of sects with diverse ways and paths, and how I have dared to raise myself from the abyss of blind belief in authority to the height of discernment. You desire to know what benefits I have derived in the first place from Scholastic Theology, and what I have appropriated, in the second place, from the methods of the Ta‘límites720 who think that truth can be attained only by submission to the authority of an Imám; and thirdly, my reasons for spurning the systems of philosophy; and, lastly, why I have accepted the tenets of Ṣúfiism: you are anxious, in short, that I should impart to you the essential truths which I have learned in my repeated examination of the (religious) opinions of mankind."

In a very interesting passage, which has been translated by Professor Browne, Ghazálí tells how from his youth upward he was possessed with an intense thirst for knowledge, which impelled him to study every form of religion and philosophy, and to question all whom he met concerning the nature and meaning of their belief.721 But when he tried to distinguish the true from the false, he found no sure test. He could not trust the evidence of his senses. The eye sees a shadow and declares it to be without movement; or a star, and deems it no larger than a piece of gold. If the senses thus deceive, may not the mind do likewise? Perhaps our life is a dream full of phantom thoughts which we mistake for realities—until the awakening comes, either in moments of ecstasy or at death. "For two months," says Ghazálí, "I was actually, though not avowedly, a sceptic." Then God gave him light, so that he regained his mental balance and was able to think soundly. He resolved that this faculty must guide him to the truth, since blind faith once lost never returns. Accordingly, he set himself to examine the foundations of belief in four classes of men who were devoted to the search for truth, namely, Scholastic Theologians, Ismá‘ílís (Bátiniyya), Philosophers, and Ṣúfís. For a long while he had to be content with wholly negative results. Scholasticism was, he admitted, an excellent purge against heresy, but it could not cure the disease from which he was suffering. As for the philosophers, all of them—Materialists (Dahriyyún), Naturalists (Ṭabí‘iyyún), and Theists (Iláhiyyún)—"are branded with infidelity and impiety." Here, as often in his discussion of the philosophical schools, Ghazálí's religious instinct breaks out. We cannot imagine him worshipping at the shrine of pure reason any more than we can imagine Herbert Spencer at Lourdes. He next turned to the Ta‘límites (Doctrinists) or Báṭinites (Esoterics), who claimed that they knew the truth, and that its unique source was the infallible Imám. But when he came to close quarters with these sectaries, he discovered that they could teach him nothing, and their mysterious Imám vanished into space. Ṣúfiism, therefore, was his last hope. He carefully studied the writings of the mystics, and as he read it became clear to him that now he was on the right path. He saw that the higher stages of Ṣúfiism could not be learned by study, but must be realised by actual experience, that is, by rapture, ecstasy, and moral transformation. After a painful struggle with himself he resolved to cast aside all his worldly ambition and to live for God alone. In the month of Dhu ’l-Qa‘da, 488 a.h. (November, 1095 a.d.), he left Baghdád and wandered forth to Syria, where he found in the Ṣúfí discipline of prayer, praise, and meditation the peace which his soul desired.

Mr. Duncan B. Macdonald, to whom we owe the best and fullest life of Ghazálí that has yet been written, sums up his work and influence in Islam under four heads722:—

First, he led men back from scholastic labours upon theological dogmas to living contact with, study and exegesis of, the Word and the Traditions.

Second, in his preaching and moral exhortations he re-introduced the element of fear.

Third, it was by his influence that Ṣúfiism attained a firm and assured position within the Church of Islam.

Fourth, he brought philosophy and philosophical theology within the range of the ordinary mind.

"Of these four phases of al-Ghazzālī's work," says Macdonald, "the first and third are undoubtedly the most important. He made his Ghazálí's work and influence. mark by leading Islam back to its fundamental and historical facts, and by giving a place in its system to the emotional religious life. But it will have been noticed that in none of the four phases was he a pioneer. He was not a scholar who struck out a new path, but a man of intense personality who entered on a path already trodden and made it the common highway. We have here his character. Other men may have been keener logicians, more learned theologians, more gifted saints; but he, through his personal experiences, had attained so overpowering a sense of the divine realities that the force of his character—once combative and restless, now narrowed and intense—swept all before it, and the Church of Islam entered on a new era of its existence."

III. We have traced the history of Mysticism in Islam from the ascetic movement of the first century, in which it originated, Ṣúfiism in the ‘Abbásid period. to a point where it begins to pass beyond the sphere of Muḥammadan influence and to enter on a strange track, of which the Prophet assuredly never dreamed, although the Ṣúfís constantly pretend that they alone are his true followers. I do not think it can be maintained that Ṣúfiism of the theosophical and speculative type, which we have now to consider, is merely a development of the older asceticism and quietism which have been described in a former chapter. The difference between them is essential and must be attributed in part, as Von Kremer saw,723 to the intrusion of some extraneous, non-Islamic, element. As to the nature of this new element there are several conflicting theories, which have been so clearly and fully stated by Professor Browne in his Literary History of Persia (vol. i, p. 418 sqq.) that I need not dwell upon them here. Briefly it is claimed—

(a) That Ṣúfiism owes its inspiration to Indian philosophy, and especially to the Vedanta.

(b) That the most characteristic ideas in Ṣúfiism are of Persian origin.

(c) That these ideas are derived from Neo-platonism.

Instead of arguing for or against any of the above theories, all of which, in my opinion, contain a measure of truth, I propose in the following pages to sketch the historical evolution of the Ṣúfí doctrine as far as the materials at my disposal will permit. This, it seems to me, is the only possible method by which we may hope to arrive at a definite conclusion as to its origin. Since mysticism in all ages and countries is fundamentally the same, however it may be modified by its peculiar environment, and by the positive religion to which it clings for support, we find remote and unrelated systems showing an extraordinarily close likeness and even coinciding in many features of verbal expression. Such resemblances can prove little or nothing unless they are corroborated by evidence based on historical grounds. Many writers on Ṣúfiism have disregarded this principle; hence the confusion which long prevailed. The first step in the right direction was made by Adalbert Merx,724 who derived valuable results from a chronological examination of the sayings of the early Ṣúfís. He did not, however, carry his researches beyond Abú Sulaymán al-Dárání († 830 a.d.), and confined his attention almost entirely to the doctrine, which, according to my view, should be studied in connection with the lives, character, and nationality of the men who taught it.725 No doubt the origin and growth of mysticism in Islam, as in all other religions, ultimately depended on general causes and conditions, not on external circumstances. For example, the political anarchy of the Umayyad period, the sceptical tendencies of the early ‘Abbásid age, and particularly the dry formalism of Moslem theology could not fail to provoke counter-movements towards quietism, spiritual authority, and emotional faith. But although Ṣúfiism was not called into being by any impulse from without (this is too obvious to require argument), the influences of which I am about to speak have largely contributed to make it what it is, and have coloured it so deeply that no student of the history of Ṣúfiism can afford to neglect them.

Towards the end of the eighth century of our era the influence of new ideas is discernible in the sayings of Ma‘rúf Ma‘rúf al-Karkhí († 815 a.d.). al-Karkhí († 815 a.d.), a contemporary of Fuḍayl b. ‘Iyáḍ and Shaqíq of Balkh. He was born in the neighbourhood of Wásiṭ, one of the great cities of Mesopotamia, and the name of his father, Fírúz, or Fírúzán, shows that he had Persian blood in his veins. Ma‘rút was a client (mawlá) of the Shí‘ite Imám, ‘Alí b. Músá al-Riḍá, in whose presence he made profession of Islam; for he had been brought up as a Christian (such is the usual account), or, possibly, as a Ṣábian. He lived during the reign of Hárún al-Rashíd in the Karkh quarter of Baghdád, where he gained a high reputation for saintliness, so that his tomb in that city is still an object of veneration. He is described as a God-intoxicated man, but in this respect he is not to be compared with many who came after him. Nevertheless, he deserves to stand at the head of the mystical as opposed to the ascetic school of Ṣúfís. He defined Ṣúfiism as "the apprehension of Divine realities and renunciation of human possessions."726 Here are a few of his sayings:—

"Love is not to be learned from men; it is one of God's gifts and comes of His grace.

"The Saints of God are known by three signs: their thought is of God, their dwelling is with God, and their business is in God.

"If the gnostic (‘árif) has no bliss, yet he himself is in every bliss.

"When you desire anything of God, swear to Him by me."

From these last words, which Ma‘rúf addressed to his pupil Sarí al-Saqaṭí, it is manifest that he regarded himself as being in the most intimate communion with God.

Abú Sulaymán († 830 a.d.), the next great name in the Ṣúfí biographies, was also a native of Wásiṭ, but afterwards emigrated to Syria and settled at Dárayá (near Abú Sulaymán al-Dárání († 830 a.d.). Damascus), whence he is called 'al-Dárání.' He developed the doctrine of gnosis (ma‘rifat). Those who are familiar with the language of European mystics—illuminatio, oculus cordis, &c.—will easily interpret such sayings as these:—

"None refrains from the lusts of this world save him in whose heart there is a light that keeps him always busied with the next world.

"When the gnostic's spiritual eye is opened, his bodily eye is shut: they see nothing but Him.

"If Gnosis were to take visible form, all that looked thereon would die at the sight of its beauty and loveliness and goodness and grace, and every brightness would become dark beside the splendour thereof.727

"Gnosis is nearer to silence than to speech."

We now come to Dhu ’l-Nún al-Misrí († 860 a.d.), whom the Ṣúfís themselves consider to be the primary author of their Dhu ’l-Nún al-Misrí († 860 a.d.). doctrine.728 That he at all events was among the first of those who helped to give it permanent shape is a fact which is amply attested by the collection of his sayings preserved in ‘Aṭṭár's Memoirs of the Saints and in other works of the same kind.729 It is clear that the theory of gnosis, with which he deals at great length, was the central point in his system; and he seems to have introduced the doctrine that true knowledge of God is attained only by means of ecstasy (wajd). "The man that knows God best," he said, "is the one most lost in Him." Like Dionysius, he refused to make any positive statements about the Deity. "Whatever you imagine, God is the contrary of that." Divine love he regarded as an ineffable mystery which must not be revealed to the profane. All this is the very essence of the later Ṣúfiism. It is therefore desirable to ascertain the real character of Dhu ’l-Nún and the influences to which he was subjected. The following account gives a brief summary of what I have been able to discover; fuller details will be found in the article mentioned above.

His name was Abu ’l-Fayḍ Thawbán b. Ibráhím, Dhu ’l-Nún (He of the Fish) being a sobriquet referring to one of his miracles, and his father was a native of Nubia, or of Ikhmím in Upper Egypt. Ibn Khallikán describes Dhu ’l-Nún as 'the nonpareil of his age' for learning, devotion, communion with the Divinity (ḥál), and acquaintance with literature (adab); adding that he was a philosopher (ḥakím) and spoke Arabic with elegance. The people of Egypt, among whom he lived, looked upon him as a zindíq (freethinker), and he was brought to Baghdád to answer this charge, but after his death he was canonised. In the Fihrist he appears among "the philosophers who discoursed on alchemy," and Ibnu ’l-Qifṭí brackets him with the famous occultist Jábir b. Ḥayyán. He used to wander (as we learn from Mas‘údí)730 amidst the ruined Egyptian monuments, studying the inscriptions and endeavouring to decipher the mysterious figures which were thought to hold the key to the lost sciences of antiquity. He also dabbled in medicine, which, like Paracelsus, he combined with alchemy and magic.

Let us see what light these facts throw upon the origin of the Ṣúfí theosophy. Did it come to Egypt from India, Persia, or Greece?

Considering the time, place, and circumstances in which it arose, and having regard to the character of the man who The origin of theosophical Ṣúfiism. bore a chief part in its development, we cannot hesitate, I think, to assert that it is largely a product of Greek speculation. Ma‘rúf al-Karkhí, Abú Sulaymán al-Dárání, and Dhu ’l-Nún al-Miṣrí all three lived and died in the period (786-861 a.d.) which begins with the accession of Hárún al-Rashíd and is terminated by the death of Mutawakkil. During these seventy-five years the stream of Hellenic culture flowed unceasingly into the Moslem world. Innumerable works of Greek philosophers, physicians, and scientists were translated and eagerly studied. Thus the Greeks became the teachers of the Arabs, and the wisdom of ancient Greece formed, as has been shown in a preceding chapter, the basis of Muḥammadan science and philosophy. The results are visible in the Mu‘tazilite rationalism as well as in the system of the Ikhwánu ’l-Ṣafá. But it was not through literature alone that the Moslems were imbued with Hellenism. In ‘Iráq, Syria, and Egypt they found themselves on its native soil, which yielded, we may be sure, a plentiful harvest of ideas—Neo-platonic, Gnostical, Christian, mystical, pantheistic, and what not? In Mesopotamia, the heart of the ‘Abbásid Empire, dwelt a strange people, who were really Syrian heathens, but who towards the beginning of the ninth century assumed the name of Ṣábians in order to protect themselves from the persecution with which they were threatened by the Caliph Ma’mún. At this time, indeed, many of them accepted Islam or Christianity, but the majority clung to their old pagan beliefs, while the educated class continued to profess a religious philosophy which, as it is described by Shahrastání and other Muḥammadan writers, is simply the Neo-platonism of Proclus and Iamblichus. To return to Dhu ’l-Nún, it is incredible that a mystic and natural philosopher living in the first half of the ninth century in Egypt should have derived his doctrine directly from India. There may be Indian elements in Neo-platonism and Gnosticism, but this possibility does not affect my contention that the immediate source of the Ṣúfí theosophy is to be sought in Greek and Syrian speculation. To define its origin more narrowly is not, I think, practicable in the present state of our knowledge. Merx, however, would trace it to Dionysius, the Pseudo-Areopagite, or rather to his master, a certain "Hierotheus," whom Frothingham has identified with the Syrian mystic, Stephen bar Sudaili (circa 500 a.d.). Dionysius was of course a Christian Neo-platonist. His works certainly laid the foundations of mediæval mysticism in Europe, and they were also popular in the East at the time when Ṣúfiism arose.

When speaking of the various current theories as to the origin of Ṣúfiism, I said that in my opinion they all contained Ṣúfiism composed of many different elements. a measure of truth. No single cause will account for a phenomenon so widely spread and so diverse in its manifestations. Ṣúfiism has always been thoroughly eclectic, absorbing and transmuting whatever 'broken lights' fell across its path, and consequently it gained adherents amongst men of the most opposite views—theists and pantheists, Mu‘tazilites and Scholastics, philosophers and divines. We have seen what it owed to Greece, but the Perso-Indian elements are not to be ignored. Although the theory "that it must be regarded as the reaction of the Aryan mind against a Semitic religion imposed on it by force" is inadmissible—Dhu ’l-Nún, for example, was a Copt or Nubian—the fact remains that there was at the time a powerful anti-Semitic reaction, which expressed itself, more or less consciously, in Ṣúfís of Persian race. Again, the literary influence of India upon Muḥammadan thought before 1000 a.d. was greatly inferior to that of Greece, as any one can see by turning over the pages of the Fihrist; but Indian religious ideas must have penetrated into Khurásán and Eastern Persia at a much earlier period.

These considerations show that the question as to the origin of Ṣúfiism cannot be answered in a definite and exclusive way. None of the rival theories is completely true, nor is any of them without a partial justification. The following words of Dr. Goldziher should be borne in mind by all who are interested in this subject:—

"Ṣúfiism cannot be looked upon as a regularly organised sect within Islam. Its dogmas cannot be compiled into a regular system. It Goldziher on the character of Ṣúfiism. manifests itself in different shapes in different countries. We find divergent tendencies, according to the spirit of the teaching of distinguished theosophists who were founders of different schools, the followers of which may be compared to Christian monastic orders. The influence of different environments naturally affected the development of Ṣúfiism. Here we find mysticism, there asceticism the prevailing thought."731

The four principal foreign sources of Ṣúfiism are undoubtedly Christianity, Neo-platonism, Gnosticism, and Indian asceticism and religious philosophy. I shall not attempt in this place to estimate their comparative importance, but it should be clearly understood that the speculative and theosophical side of Ṣúfiism, which, as we have seen, was first elaborated in ‘Iráq, Syria, and Egypt, bears unmistakable signs of Hellenistic influence.

The early Ṣúfís are particularly interested in the theory of mystical union (faná wa-baqá) and often use expressions which it is easy to associate with pantheism, yet none of them can fairly be called a pantheist in the true sense. The step from theosophy to pantheism was not, I think, made either by Ḥalláj († 922 a.d.) or by the celebrated Abú Yazíd, in Persian Báyazíd († 874-75 a.d.), of Bisṭám, a town in the province of Qúmis situated near the south-eastern corner of the Caspian Sea. Báyazíd of Bisṭám. While his father, Surúshán, was a Zoroastrian, his master in Ṣúfiism seems to have been connected with Sind (Scinde), where Moslem governors had been installed since 715 a.d. Báyazíd carried the experimental doctrine of faná (dying to self) to its utmost limit, and his language is tinged with the peculiar poetic imagery which was afterwards developed by the great Ṣúfí of Khurásán, Abú Sa‘íd b. Abi ’l-Khayr († 1049 a.d.). I can give only a few specimens of his sayings. Their genuineness is not above suspicion, but they serve to show that if the theosophical basis of Ṣúfiism is distinctively Greek, its mystical extravagances are no less distinctively Oriental.

"Creatures are subject to 'states' (aḥwál), but the gnostic has no 'state,' because his vestiges are effaced and his essence is annihilated by the essence of another, and his traces are lost in another's traces.

"I went from God to God until they cried from me in me, 'O Thou I!'

"Nothing is better for Man than to be without aught, having no asceticism, no theory, no practice. When he is without all, he is with all.

"Verily I am God, there is no God except me, so worship me!

"Glory to me! how great is my majesty!

"I came forth from Báyazíd-ness as a snake from its skin. Then I looked. I saw that lover, beloved, and love are one, for in the world of unification all can be one.

"I am the wine-drinker and the wine and the cup-bearer."

Thus, in the course of a century, Ṣúfiism, which at first was little more than asceticism, became in succession mystical and theosophical, and even ran the risk of being confused with pantheism. Henceforward the term Taṣawwuf unites all these varying shades. As a rule, however, the great Ṣúfís of the third century a.h. (815-912 a.d.) keep their antinomian enthusiasm under control. Most of them agreed with Junayd of Baghdád († 909 a.d.), the leading theosophist of his time, in preferring "the path of sobriety," and in seeking to reconcile the Law (sharí‘at) with the Truth (ḥaqíqat). "Our principles," said Sahl b. ‘Abdulláh al-Tustarí († 896 a.d.), "are six: to hold fast by the Book of God, to model ourselves upon the Apostle (Muḥammad), to eat only what is lawful, to refrain from hurting people even though they hurt us, to avoid forbidden things, and to fulfil obligations without delay." To these articles the strictest Moslem might cheerfully subscribe. Ṣúfiism in its ascetic, moral, and devotional aspects was a spiritualised Islam, though it was a very different thing essentially. While doing lip-service to the established religion, it modified the dogmas of Islam in such a way as to deprive them of their original significance. Thus Allah, the God of mercy and wrath, was in a certain sense depersonalised and worshipped as the One absolutely Real (al-Ḥaqq). Here the Ṣúfís betray their kinship with the Mu‘tazilites, but the two sects have little in common except the Greek philosophy.732 It must never be forgotten that Ṣúfiism was the expression of a profound religious feeling—"hatred of the world and love of the Lord."733 "Taṣawwuf," said Junayd, "is this: that God should make thee die to thyself and should make thee live in Him."

The further development of Ṣúfiism may be indicated in a few words.

What was at first a form of religion adopted by individuals and communicated to a small circle of companions gradually became a monastic system, a school for saints, with rules of discipline and devotion which the novice (muríd) learned from his spiritual director (pír or ustádh), to whose guidance he submitted himself absolutely. Already in the third century after Muḥammad it is increasingly evident that the typical Ṣúfí adept of the future will no longer be a solitary ascetic The development of Ṣúfiism. shunning the sight of men, but a great Shaykh and hierophant, who appears on ceremonial occasions attended by a numerous train of admiring disciples. Soon the doctrine began to be collected and embodied in books. Some of the most notable Arabic works of reference on Ṣúfiism have been mentioned already. Among the oldest are the Kitábu ’l-Luma‘, by Abú Naṣr al-Sarráj († 988 a.d.) and the Qútu ’l-Qulúb by Abú Ṭálib al-Makkí († 996 a.d.). The twelfth century saw the rise of the Dervish Orders. ‘Adí al-Hakkárí († 1163 a.d.) and ‘Abdu ’l-Qádir al-Jílí († 1166 a.d.) founded the fraternities which are called ‘Adawís and Qádirís, after their respective heads. These were followed in rapid succession by the Rifá‘ís, the Shádhilís, and the Mevlevís, of whom the last named owe their origin to the Persian poet and mystic, Jalálu ’l-Dín Rúmí († 1273 a.d.). By this time, mainly through the influence of Ghazálí, Ṣúfiism had won for itself a secure and recognised position in the Muḥammadan Church. Orthodoxy was forced to accept the popular Saint-worship and to admit the miracles of the Awliyá, although many Moslem puritans raised their voices against the superstitious veneration which was paid to the tombs of holy men, and against the prayers, sacrifices, and oblations offered by the pilgrims who assembled. Ghazálí also gave the Ṣúfí doctrine a metaphysical basis. For this purpose he availed himself of the terminology, which Fárábí (also a Ṣúfí) and Avicenna had already borrowed from the Neo-platonists. From his time forward we find in Ṣúfí writings constant allusions to the Plotinian theories of emanation and ecstasy.

Mysticism was more congenial to the Persians than to the Arabs, and its influence on Arabic literature is not to be compared with the extraordinary spell which it has cast over the Persian mind since the eleventh century of the Christian era to the present day. With few exceptions, the great poets of Persia (and, we may add, of Turkey) speak the allegorical language and use the fantastic imagery of which the quatrains of the Persian Ṣúfí, Abú Sa‘íd b. Abi ’l-Khayr,734 afford almost the first literary example. The Arabs have only one mystical poet worthy to stand beside the Persian masters. This is Sharafu ’l-Dín ‘Umar Ibnu ’l-Fáriḍ, who ‘Umar Ibnu ’l-Fáriḍ. was born in Cairo (1181 a.d.) and died there in 1235. His Díwán was edited by his grandson ‘Alí, and the following particulars regarding the poet's life are extracted from the biographical notice prefixed to this edition735:—

"The Shaykh ‘Umar Ibnu ’l-Fáriḍ was of middle stature; his face was fair and comely, with a mingling of visible redness; and when he was under the influence of music (samá‘) and rapture (wajd), and overcome by ecstasy, it grew in beauty and brilliancy, and sweat dropped from his body until it ran on the ground under his feet. I never saw (so his son relates) among Arabs or foreigners a figure equal in beauty to his, and I am the likest of all men to him in form.... And when he walked in the city, the people used to press round him asking his blessing and trying to kiss his hand, but he would not allow anyone to do so, but put his hand in theirs.... ‘Umar Ibnu ’l-Fáriḍ said: 'In the beginning of my detachment (tajríd) from the world I used to beg permission of my father and go up to the Wádi ’l-Mustaḍ‘afín on the second mountain of al-Muqaṭṭam. Thither I would resort and continue in this hermit life (síyáḥa) night and day; then I would return to my father, as bound in duty to cherish his affection. My father was at that time Lieutenant of the High Court (khalífatu ’l-ḥukmi ’l-‘azíz) in Qáhira and Miṣr,736 the two guarded cities, and was one of the men most eminent for learning and affairs. He was wont to be glad when I returned, and he frequently let me sit with him in the chambers of the court and in the colleges of law. Then I would long for "detachment," and beg leave to return to the life of a wandering devotee, and thus I was doing repeatedly, until my father was asked to fill the office of Chief Justice (Qáḍi ’l-Quḍát), but refused, and laid down the post which he held, and retired from society, and gave himself entirely to God in the preaching-hall (qá‘atu ’l-khiṭába) of the Mosque al-Azhar. After his death I resumed my former detachment, and solitary devotion, and travel in the way of Truth, but no revelation was vouchsafed to me. One day I came to Cairo and entered the Sayfiyya College. At the gate I found an old grocer performing an ablution which was not prescribed. First he washed his hands, then his feet; then he wiped his head and washed his face. "O Shaykh," I said to him, "do you, after all these years, stand beside the gate of the college among the Moslem divines and perform an irregular ablution?" He looked at me and said, "O ‘Umar, nothing will be vouchsafed to thee in Egypt, but only in the Ḥijáz, at Mecca (may God exalt it!); set out thither, for the time of thy illumination hath come." Then I knew that the man was one of God's saints and that he was disguising himself by his manner of livelihood and by pretending to be ignorant of the irregularity of the ablution. I seated myself before him and said to him, "O my master, how far am I from Mecca! and I cannot find convoy or companions save in the months of Pilgrimage." He looked at me and pointed with his hand and said, "Here is Mecca in front of thee"; and as I looked with him, I saw Mecca (may God exalt it!); and bidding him farewell, I set off to seek it, and it was always in front of me until I entered it. At that moment illumination came to me and continued without any interruption.... I abode in a valley which was distant from Mecca ten days' journey for a hard rider, and every day and night I would come forth to pray the five prayers in the exalted Sanctuary, and with me was a wild beast of huge size which accompanied me in my going and returning, and knelt to me as a camel kneels, and said, "Mount, O my master," but I never did so.'"

When fifteen years had elapsed, ‘Umar Ibnu ’l-Fáriḍ returned to Cairo. The people venerated him as a saint, and the reigning monarch, Malik al-Kámil, wished to visit him in person, but ‘Umar declined to see him, and rejected his bounty. "At most times," says the poet's son, "the Shaykh was in a state of bewilderment, and his eyes stared fixedly. He neither heard nor saw any one speaking to him. Now he would stand, now sit, now repose on his side, now lie on his back wrapped up like a dead man; and thus would he pass ten consecutive days, more or less, neither eating nor drinking nor speaking nor stirring." In 1231 a.d. he made the pilgrimage to Mecca, on which occasion he met his famous contemporary, Shihábu’ l-Dín Abú Ḥafṣ ‘Umar al-Suhrawardí. He died four years later, and was buried in the Qaráfa cemetery at the foot of Mount Muqaṭṭam.

His Díwán of mystical odes, which were first collected and published by his grandson, is small in extent compared with The poetry of Ibnu ’l-Fáriḍ. similar works in the Persian language, but of no unusual brevity when regarded as the production of an Arabian poet.737 Concerning its general character something has been said above (p. 325). The commentator, Ḥasan al-Búríní († 1615 a.d.), praises the easy flow (insijàm) of the versification, and declares that Ibnu ’l-Fáriḍ "is accustomed to play with ideas in ever-changing forms, and to clothe them with splendid garments."738 His style, full of verbal subtleties, betrays the influence of Mutanabbí.739 The longest piece in the Díwán is a Hymn of Divine Love, entitled Naẓmu ’l-Sulúk ('Poem on the Mystic's Progress'), and often called al-Tá’iyyatu ’l-Kubrá ('The Greater Ode rhyming in t'), which has been edited with a German verse-translation by Hammer-Purgstall (Vienna, 1854). On account of this poem the author was accused of favouring the doctrine of ḥulúl, i.e., the incarnation of God in human beings. Another celebrated ode is the Khamriyya, or Hymn of Wine.740 The following versions will perhaps convey to English readers some faint impression of the fervid rapture and almost ethereal exaltation which give the poetry of Ibnu ’l-Fáriḍ a unique place in Arabic literature:—

Here are the opening verses of the Tá’iyyatu ’l-Ṣughrá, or 'The Lesser Ode rhyming in t,' which is so called in order to distinguish it from the Tá’iyyatu ’l-Kubrá:—

Ibnu ’l-Fáriḍ came of pure Arab stock, and his poetry is thoroughly Arabian both in form and spirit. This is not the place to speak of the great Persian Ṣúfís, but Ḥusayn b. Manṣúr al-Ḥalláj, who was executed in the Caliphate of Muqtadir (922 a.d.), could not have been omitted here but for the fact that Professor Browne has already given an admirable account of him, to which I am unable to add anything of importance.745 The Arabs, however, have contributed to the history of Ṣúfiism another memorable name—Muḥyi’l-Dín Ibnu ’l-‘Arabí, whose life falls within the final century of the ‘Abbásid period, and will therefore fitly conclude the present chapter.746

Muḥyi ’l-Dín Muḥammad b. ‘Alí Ibnu ’l-‘Arabí (or Ibn ‘Arabí)747 was born at Mursiya (Murcia) in Spain on the 17th Ibnu ’l-‘Arabí. of Ramaḍán, 560 a.h. = July 29, 1165 a.d. From 1173 to 1202 he resided in Seville. He then set out for the East, travelling by way of Egypt to the Ḥijáz, where he stayed a long time, and after visiting Baghdád, Mosul, and Asia Minor, finally settled at Damascus, in which city he died (638 a.h. = 1240 a.d.). His tomb below Mount Qásiyún was thought to be "a piece of the gardens of Paradise," and was called the Philosophers' Stone.748 It is now enclosed in a mosque which bears the name of Muḥyi ’l-Dín, and a cupola rises over it.749 We know little concerning the events of his life, which seems to have been passed chiefly in travel and conversation with Ṣúfís and in the composition of his voluminous writings, about three hundred in number according to his own computation. Two of these works are especially celebrated, and have caused Ibnu ’l-‘Arabí to be regarded as the greatest of all Muḥammadan mystics—the Futúḥát al-Makkiyya, or 'Meccan Revelations,' and the Fuṣúṣú ’l-Ḥikam, or 'Bezels of Philosophy.' The Futúḥát is a huge treatise in five hundred and sixty chapters, containing a complete system of mystical science. The author relates that he saw Muḥammad in the World of Real Ideas, seated on a throne amidst angels, prophets, and saints, and received his command to discourse on the Divine mysteries. At another time, while circumambulating the Ka‘ba, he met a celestial spirit wearing the form of a youth engaged in the same holy rite, who showed him the living esoteric Temple which is concealed under the lifeless exterior, even as the eternal substance of the Divine Ideas is hidden by the veils of popular religion—veils through which the lofty mind must penetrate, until, having reached the splendour within, it partakes of the Divine nature and beholds what no mortal eye can endure to look upon. Ibnu ’l-‘Arabí immediately fell into a swoon. When he came to himself he was instructed to contemplate the visionary form and to write down the mysteries which it would reveal to his gaze. Then the youth entered the Ka‘ba with Ibnu ’l-‘Arabí, and resuming his spiritual aspect, appeared to him on a three-legged steed, breathed into his breast the knowledge of all things, and once more bade him describe the heavenly form in which all mysteries are enshrined.750 Such is the reputed origin of the 'Meccan Revelations,' of which the greater portion was written in the town where inspiration descended on Muḥammad six hundred years before. The author believed, or pretended to believe, that every word of them was dictated to him by supernatural means. The Fúṣúṣ, a short work in twenty-seven chapters, each of which is named after one of the prophets, is no less highly esteemed, and has been the subject of numerous commentaries in Arabic, Persian, and Turkish.

Curiously enough, Ibnu ’l-‘Arabí combined the most extravagant mysticism with the straitest orthodoxy. "He was a Ẓáhirite (literalist) in religion and a Báṭinite (spiritualist) in his speculative beliefs."751 He rejected all authority (taqlíd). "I am not one of those who say, 'Ibn Ḥazm said so-and-so, Aḥmad752 said so-and-so, al-Nu‘mán753 said so-and-so,'" he declares in one of his poems. But although he insisted on punctilious adherence to the letter of the sacred law, we may suspect that his refusal to follow any human authority, analogy, or opinion was simply the overweening presumption of the seer who regards himself as divinely illuminated and infallible. Many theologians were scandalised by the apparently blasphemous expressions which occur in his writings, and taxed him with holding heretical doctrines, e.g., the incarnation of God in man (ḥulúl) and the identification of man with God (ittiḥád). Centuries passed, but controversy continued to rage over him. He found numerous and enthusiastic partisans, who urged that the utterances of the saints must not be interpreted literally nor criticised at all. It was recognised, however, that such high mysteries were unsuitable for the weaker brethren, so that many even of those who firmly believed in his sanctity discouraged the reading of his books. They were read nevertheless, publicly and privately, from one end of the Muḥammadan world to the other; people copied them for the sake of obtaining the author's blessing, and the manuscripts were eagerly bought. Among the distinguished men who wrote in his defence we can mention here only Majdu ’l-Dín al-Fírúzábádí († 1414 a.d.), the author of the great Arabic lexicon entitled al-Qámús; Jalálu ’l-Dín al-Suyúṭí († 1445 a.d.); and ‘Abdu ’l-Wahháb al-Sha‘rání († 1565 a.d.). The fundamental principle of his system is the Unity of Being (waḥdatu ’l-wujúd). There is no real difference between the Essence and its attributes or, in other words, between God and the universe. All created things subsist eternally as ideas (a‘yán thábita) in the knowledge of God, and since being is identical with knowledge, their "creation" only means His knowing them, or Himself, under the aspect of actuality; the universe, in fact, is the concrete sum of the relations of the Essence as subject to itself as object. This pantheistic monism puts on an Islamic mask in the doctrine of "the Perfect Man" (al-Insán al-Kámil), a phrase which Ibnu ’l-‘Arabí was the first to associate with it. The Divine consciousness, evolving through a series of five planes (ḥaḍarát), attains to complete expression in Man, the microcosmic being who unites the creative and creaturely attributes of the Essence and is at once The doctrine of the Perfect Man. the image of God and the archetype of the universe. Only through him does God know Himself and make Himself known; he is the eye of the world whereby God sees His own works. The daring paradoxes of Ibnu ’l-‘Arabí's dialectic are illustrated by such verses as these:—

Thus it is the primary function of Man to reveal and realise his Divine nature; and the Perfect Men, regarded individually, are the prophets and saints. Here the doctrine—an amalgam of Manichæan, Gnostic, Neo-platonic and Christian speculations—attaches itself to Muḥammad, "the Seal of the prophets." According to Moslem belief, the pre-existent Spirit or Light of Muḥammad (Núr Muḥammadí) became incarnate in Adam and in the whole series of prophets, of whom Muḥammad is the last. Muḥammad, then, is the Logos,755 the Mediator, the Vicegerent of God (Khalífat Allah), the God-Man who has descended to this earthly sphere to make manifest the glory of Him who brought the universe into existence.

But, of course, Ibnu ’l-‘Arabí's philosophy carries him far beyond the realm of positive religion. If God is the "self" of all things sensible and intelligible, it follows that He reveals Himself in every form of belief in a degree proportionate to the pre-determined capacity of the believer; the mystic alone sees that He is One in all forms, for the mystic's heart is all-receptive: it assumes whatever form God reveals Himself in, as wax takes the impression of the seal.

The vast bulk of Ibnu ’l-‘Arabí's writings, his technical and scholastic terminology, his recondite modes of thought, and the lack of method in his exposition have, until recently, deterred European Orientalists from bestowing on him the attention which he deserves.757 In the history of Ṣúfiism his name marks an epoch: it is owing to him that what began as a profoundly religious personal movement in Islam ends as an eclectic and definitely pantheistic system of philosophy. The title of "The Grand Master" (al-Shaykh al-Akbar), by which he is commonly designated, bears witness to his supremacy in the world of Moslem mysticism from the Mongol Invasion to the present day. In Persia and Turkey his influence has been enormous, and through his pupil, Ṣadru ’l-Dín of Qóniya, he is linked with the greatest of all Ṣúfí poets, Jalálu ’l-Dín Rúmí, the author of the Mathnawí, who died some thirty years after him. Nor did all those who borrowed his ideas call themselves Moslems. He inspired, amongst other mediæval Christian writers, "the Illuminated Doctor" Raymond Lull, and probably Dante.758