"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."
"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 termTaṣawwufunites all these varying shades. As a rule, however, the great Ṣúfís of the third centurya.h.(815-912a.d.) keep their antinomianenthusiasm under control. Most of them agreed with Junayd of Baghdád († 909a.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 († 896a.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.732It 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 (pírorustádh), to whose guidance hesubmitted 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 asceticThe 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 theKitábu ’l-Luma‘, by Abú Naṣr al-Sarráj († 988a.d.) and theQútu ’l-Qulúbby Abú Ṭálib al-Makkí († 996a.d.). The twelfth century saw the rise of the Dervish Orders. ‘Adí al-Hakkárí († 1163a.d.) and ‘Abdu ’l-Qádir al-Jílí († 1166a.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 († 1273a.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 theAwliyá, 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 theChristian 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,734afford 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 (1181a.d.) and died there in 1235. HisDíwánwas 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,736the 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 ofa 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.'"
"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,736the 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 ofa 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 hisback 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 1231a.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.
HisDíwánof mystical odes, which were first collected and published by his grandson, is small in extent compared withThe 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.737Concerning its general character something has been said above (p. 325). The commentator, Ḥasan al-Búríní († 1615a.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."738His style, full of verbal subtleties, betrays the influence of Mutanabbí.739The longest piece in theDíwánis a Hymn of Divine Love, entitledNaẓmu ’l-Sulúk('Poem on the Mystic's Progress'), and often calledal-Tá’iyyatu ’l-Kubrá('The Greater Ode rhyming int'), 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 ofḥulúl,i.e., the incarnation of God in human beings. Another celebrated ode is theKhamriyya, or Hymn of Wine.740The 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:—
"Let passion's swelling tide my senses drown!Pity love's fuel, this long-smouldering heart,Nor answer with a frown,When I would fain behold Thee as Thou art,'Thou shall not see Me.'741O my soul, keep fastThe pledge thou gav'st: endure unfaltering to the last!For Love is life, and death in love the HeavenWhere all sins are forgiven.To those before and after and of this day,That witnesseth my tribulation, say,'By me be taught, me follow, me obey,And tell my passion's story thro' wide East and West.'With my Beloved I alone have beenWhen secrets tenderer than evening airsPassed, and the Vision blestWas granted to my prayers,That crowned me, else obscure, with endless fame,The while amazed betweenHis beauty and His majestyI stood in silent ecstasy,Revealing that which o'er my spirit went and came.Lo! in His face commingledIs every charm and grace;The whole of Beauty singledInto a perfect faceBeholding Him would cry,'There is no God but He, and He is the most High!'"742
"Let passion's swelling tide my senses drown!Pity love's fuel, this long-smouldering heart,Nor answer with a frown,When I would fain behold Thee as Thou art,'Thou shall not see Me.'741O my soul, keep fastThe pledge thou gav'st: endure unfaltering to the last!For Love is life, and death in love the HeavenWhere all sins are forgiven.To those before and after and of this day,That witnesseth my tribulation, say,'By me be taught, me follow, me obey,And tell my passion's story thro' wide East and West.'With my Beloved I alone have beenWhen secrets tenderer than evening airsPassed, and the Vision blestWas granted to my prayers,That crowned me, else obscure, with endless fame,The while amazed betweenHis beauty and His majestyI stood in silent ecstasy,Revealing that which o'er my spirit went and came.Lo! in His face commingledIs every charm and grace;The whole of Beauty singledInto a perfect faceBeholding Him would cry,'There is no God but He, and He is the most High!'"742
Here are the opening verses of theTá’iyyatu ’l-Ṣughrá, or 'The Lesser Ode rhyming int,' which is so called in order to distinguish it from theTá’iyyatu ’l-Kubrá:—
"Yea, in me the Zephyr kindled longing, O my loves, for you;Sweetly breathed the balmy Zephyr, scattering odours when it blew;Whispering to my heart at morning secret tales of those who dwell(How my fainting heart it gladdened!) nigh the water and the well;Murmuring in the grassy meadows, garmented with gentleness,Languid love-sick airs diffusing, healing me of my distress.When the green slopes wave before thee, Zephyr, in my loved Ḥijáz,Thou, not wine that mads the others, art my rapture's only cause.Thou the covenant eternal743callest back into my mind,For but newly thou hast parted from my dear ones, happy Wind!Driver of the dun-red camels that amidst acacias bide,Soft and sofa-like thy saddle from the long and weary ride!Blessings on thee, if descrying far-off Túḍih at noonday,Thou wilt cross the desert hollows where the fawns of Wajra play,And if from ‘Urayḍ's sand-hillocks bordering on stony groundThou wilt turn aside to Ḥuzwá, driver for Suwayqa bound,And Ṭuwayli‘'s willows leaving, if to Sal‘ thou thence wilt ride—Ask, I pray thee, of a people dwelling on the mountain-side!Halt among the clan I cherish (so may health attend thee still!)And deliver there my greeting to the Arabs of the hill.For the tents are basking yonder, and in one of them is SheThat bestows the meeting sparely, but the parting lavishly.All around her as a rampart edge of sword and point of lance,Yet my glances stray towards her when on me she deigns to glance.Girt about with double raiment—soul and heart of mine, no less—She is guarded from beholders, veiled by her unveiledness.Death to me, in giving loose to my desire, she destineth;Ah, how goodly seems the bargain, and how cheap is Love for Death!744
"Yea, in me the Zephyr kindled longing, O my loves, for you;Sweetly breathed the balmy Zephyr, scattering odours when it blew;Whispering to my heart at morning secret tales of those who dwell(How my fainting heart it gladdened!) nigh the water and the well;Murmuring in the grassy meadows, garmented with gentleness,Languid love-sick airs diffusing, healing me of my distress.When the green slopes wave before thee, Zephyr, in my loved Ḥijáz,Thou, not wine that mads the others, art my rapture's only cause.Thou the covenant eternal743callest back into my mind,For but newly thou hast parted from my dear ones, happy Wind!Driver of the dun-red camels that amidst acacias bide,Soft and sofa-like thy saddle from the long and weary ride!Blessings on thee, if descrying far-off Túḍih at noonday,Thou wilt cross the desert hollows where the fawns of Wajra play,And if from ‘Urayḍ's sand-hillocks bordering on stony groundThou wilt turn aside to Ḥuzwá, driver for Suwayqa bound,And Ṭuwayli‘'s willows leaving, if to Sal‘ thou thence wilt ride—Ask, I pray thee, of a people dwelling on the mountain-side!Halt among the clan I cherish (so may health attend thee still!)And deliver there my greeting to the Arabs of the hill.For the tents are basking yonder, and in one of them is SheThat bestows the meeting sparely, but the parting lavishly.All around her as a rampart edge of sword and point of lance,Yet my glances stray towards her when on me she deigns to glance.Girt about with double raiment—soul and heart of mine, no less—She is guarded from beholders, veiled by her unveiledness.Death to me, in giving loose to my desire, she destineth;Ah, how goodly seems the bargain, and how cheap is Love for Death!744
Ibnu ’l-Fáriḍ came of pure Arab stock, and his poetry is thoroughly Arabian both in form and spirit. This is notthe place to speak of the great Persian Ṣúfís, but Ḥusayn b. Manṣúr al-Ḥalláj, who was executed in the Caliphate of Muqtadir (922a.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.745The 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)747was born at Mursiya (Murcia) in Spain on the 17thIbnu ’l-‘Arabí.of Ramaḍán, 560a.h.= July 29, 1165a.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 (638a.h.= 1240a.d.). His tomb below Mount Qásiyún was thought to be "a piece of the gardens of Paradise," and was called the Philosophers' Stone.748It is now enclosed in a mosque which bears the name of Muḥyi ’l-Dín, and a cupola rises over it.749We 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 hisvoluminous 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—theFutúḥát al-Makkiyya, or 'Meccan Revelations,' and theFuṣúṣú ’l-Ḥikam, or 'Bezels of Philosophy.' TheFutúḥátis 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.750Such 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. TheFúṣúṣ, 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."751He rejected all authority (taqlíd). "I am not one of those who say, 'Ibn Ḥazm said so-and-so, Aḥmad752said so-and-so, al-Nu‘mán753said 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 († 1414a.d.), the author of the great Arabic lexicon entitledal-Qámús; Jalálu ’l-Dín al-Suyúṭí († 1445a.d.); and ‘Abdu ’l-Wahháb al-Sha‘rání († 1565a.d.). The fundamentalprinciple 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 onceThe 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:—
He praises me (by manifesting my perfections and creating me in His form),And I praise Him (by manifesting His perfections and obeying Him).How can He be independent when I help and aid Him? (because the Divine attributes derive the possibility of manifestation from their human correlates).For that cause God brought me into existence,And I know Him and bring Him into existence (in my knowledge and contemplation of Him).754
He praises me (by manifesting my perfections and creating me in His form),And I praise Him (by manifesting His perfections and obeying Him).How can He be independent when I help and aid Him? (because the Divine attributes derive the possibility of manifestation from their human correlates).For that cause God brought me into existence,And I know Him and bring Him into existence (in my knowledge and contemplation of Him).754
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,755the 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.
"My heart is capable of every form,A cloister for the monk, a fane for idols,A pasture for gazelles, the pilgrim's Ka‘ba,The Tables of the Torah, the Koran.Love is the faith I hold: wherever turnHis camels, still the one true faith is mine."756
"My heart is capable of every form,A cloister for the monk, a fane for idols,A pasture for gazelles, the pilgrim's Ka‘ba,The Tables of the Torah, the Koran.Love is the faith I hold: wherever turnHis camels, still the one true faith is mine."756
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 attentionwhich he deserves.757In 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 theMathnawí, 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
It will be remembered that before the end of the first century of the Hijra, in the reign of the Umayyad Caliph, Walíd b. ‘Abd al-Malik (705-715a.d.), the Moslems under Ṭáriq and Músá b. Nuṣayr, crossed the Mediterranean, and having defeated Roderic the Goth in a great battle near Cadiz, rapidly brought the whole of Spain into subjection. The fate of the new province was long doubtful. The Berber insurrection which raged in Africa (734-742a.d.) spread to Spain and threatened to exterminate the handful of Arab colonists; and no sooner was this danger past than the victors began to rekindle the old feuds and jealousies which they had inherited from their ancestors of Qays and Kalb. Once more the rival factions of Syria and Yemen flew to arms, and the land was plunged in anarchy.
Meanwhile ‘Abdu ’l-Raḥmán b. Mu‘áwiya, a grandson of the Caliph Hishám, had escaped from the general massacre‘Abdu ’l-Raḥmán, the Umayyad.with which the ‘Abbásids celebrated their triumph over the House of Umayya, and after five years of wandering adventure, accompanied only by his faithful freedman, Badr, had reached the neighbourhood of Ceuta, where he found a precarious shelter with the Berber tribes. Young, ambitious, and full of confidence in his destiny, ‘Abdu ’l-Raḥmán conceived the bold plan ofthrowing himself into Spain and of winning a kingdom with the help of the Arabs, amongst whom, as he well knew, there were many clients of his own family. Accordingly in 755a.d.he sent Badr across the sea on a secret mission. The envoy accomplished even more than was expected of him. To gain over the clients was easy, for ‘Abdu ’l-Raḥmán was their natural chief, and in the event of his success they would share with him the prize. Their number, however, was comparatively small. The pretender could not hope to achieve anything unless he were supported by one of the great parties, Syrians or Yemenites. At this time the former, led by the feeble governor, Yúsuf b. ‘Abd al-Raḥmán al-Fihrí, and his cruel but capable lieutenant, Ṣumayl b. Ḥátim, held the reins of power and were pursuing their adversaries with ruthless ferocity. The Yemenites, therefore, hastened to range themselves on the side of ‘Abdu ’l-Raḥmán, not that they loved his cause, but inspired solely by the prospect of taking a bloody vengeance upon the Syrians. These Spanish Moslems belonged to the true Bedouin stock!
A few months later ‘Abdu ’l-Raḥmán landed in Spain, occupied Seville, and, routing Yúsuf and Ṣumayl under the walls of Cordova, made himself master of the capital. On the same evening he presided, as Governor of Spain, over the citizens assembled for public worship in the great Mosque (May, 756a.d.).
During his long reign of thirty-two years ‘Abdu ’l-Raḥmán was busily employed in defending and consolidating the empire which more than once seemed to be on the point of slipping from his grasp. The task before him was arduous in the extreme. On the one hand, he was confronted by the unruly Arab aristocracy, jealous of their independence and regarding the monarch as their common foe. Between him and them no permanent compromise was possible, and since they could only be kept in check by an armed force strongerthan themselves, he was compelled to rely on mercenaries, for the most part Berbers imported from Africa. Thus, by a fatal necessity the Moslem Empire in the West gradually assumed that despotic and Prætorian character which we have learned to associate with the ‘Abbásid Government in the period of its decline, and the results were in the end hardly less disastrous. The monarchy had also to reckon with the fanaticism of its Christian subjects and with a formidable Spanish national party eager to throw off the foreign yoke. Extraordinary energy and tact were needed to maintain authority over these explosive elements, and if the dynasty founded by ‘Abdu ’l-Raḥmán not only survived for two centuries and a half but gave to Spain a more splendid era of prosperity and culture than she had ever enjoyed, the credit is mainly due to the bold adventurer from whom even his enemies could not withhold a tribute of admiration. One day, it is said, the Caliph Manṣúr asked his courtiers, "Who is the Falcon of Quraysh?" They replied, "O Prince of the Faithful, that title belongs to you who have vanquished mighty kings and have put an end to civil war." "No," said the Caliph, "it is not I." "Mu‘áwiya, then, or ‘Abdu ’l-Malik?" "No," said Manṣúr, "the Falcon of Quraysh is ‘Abdu ’l-Raḥmán b. Mu‘áwiya, he who traversed alone the deserts of Asia and Africa, and without an army to aid him sought his fortune in an unknown country beyond the sea. With no weapons except judgment and resolution he subdued his enemies, crushed the rebels, secured his frontiers, and founded a great empire. Such a feat was never achieved by any one before."759
Of the Moslems in Spain the Arabs formed only a small minority, and they, moreover, showed all the indifference towards religion and contempt for the laws of Islamwhich might be expected from men imbued with Bedouin traditions whose forbears had been devotedly attached to the world-loving Umayyads of Damascus. It was otherwise with the Spanish converts, the so-called 'Renegades'Islam in Spain.orMuwalladún(Affiliati) living as clients under protection of the Arab nobility, and with the Berbers. These races took their adopted religion very seriously, in accordance with the fervid and sombre temperament which has always distinguished them. Hence among the mass of Spanish Moslems a rigorous orthodoxy prevailed. The Berber, Yaḥyá b. Yaḥyá († 849a.d.), is a typical figure. At the age of twenty-eight years he travelled to theYaḥyá b. Yaḥyá.East and studied under Málik. b. Anas, who dictated to him his celebrated work known as theMuwaṭṭa’. Yaḥyá was one day at Málik's lecture with a number of fellow-students, when some one said, "Here comes the elephant!" All of them ran out to see the animal, but Yaḥyá did not stir. "Why," said Málik, "do you not go out and look at it? Such animals are not to be seen in Spain." To this Yaḥyá replied, "I left my country for the purpose of seeing you and obtaining knowledge under your guidance. I did not come here to see the elephant." Málik was so pleased with this answer that he called him the most intelligent (‘áqil) of the people of Spain. On his return to Spain Yaḥyá exerted himself to spread the doctrines of his master, and though he obstinately refused, on religious grounds, to accept any public office, his influence and reputation were such that, as Ibn Ḥazm says, no Cadi was ever appointed till Yaḥyá had given his opinion and designated the person whom he preferred.760Thus the Málikite system, based on close adherence to tradition, became the law of the land. "The Spaniards," it is observed by a learned writer of the tenth century, "recognise only the Koran and theMuwaṭṭa’; if they find a follower of Abú Ḥanífa or Sháfi‘í, they banish him from Spain, and if they meet with a Mu‘tazilite or a Shí‘ite or any one of that sort, they often put him to death."761Arrogant, intensely bigoted, and ambitious of power, the Muḥammadan clergy were not disposed to play a subordinate rôle in the State. In Hishám (788-796a.d.), the successor of ‘Abdu ’l-Raḥmán, they had a prince after their own heart, whose piety and devotion to their interests left nothing to be desired. Ḥakam (796-822a.d.) was less complaisant. He honoured and respected the clergy, but at the same time he let them see that he would not permit them to interfere in political affairs. The malcontents, headed by the fiery Yaḥyá b. Yaḥyá, replied with menaces and insults, and called on the populace of Cordova—especially the 'Renegades' in the southern quarter (rabaḍ) of the city—to rise against the tyrant and his insolent soldiery. One day in Ramaḍán, 198a.h.(May, 814a.d.), Ḥakam suddenly found himself cut off from the garrison and besieged in his palace by an infuriated mob, but he did not lose courage, and, thanks to his coolness and skilful strategy, he came safely out of theThe Revolt of the Suburb.peril in which he stood. The revolutionary suburb was burned to the ground and those of its inhabitants who escaped massacre, some 60,000 souls, were driven into exile. The real culprits went unpunished. Ḥakam could not afford further to exasperate the divines, who on their part began to perceive that they might obtain from the prince by favour what they had failed to wring from him by force. Being mostly Arabs or Berbers, they had a strong claim to his consideration. Their power was soon restored, and in the reign of ‘Abdu ’l-Raḥmán II (822-852a.d.) Yaḥyá himself, the ringleader of the mutiny, directed ecclesiastical policy and dispensed judicial patronage as he pleased.
The Revolt of the Suburb was only an episode in the long and sanguinary struggle between the Spaniards, Moslem or Christian, on the one hand, and the monarchy of Cordova on the other—a struggle complicated by the rival Arab tribes, which sometimes patched up their own feuds in order to defend themselves against the Spanish patriots, but never in any circumstances gave their support to the detested Umayyad Government. The hero of this war of independence‘Umar b. Ḥafṣún.was ‘Umar b. Ḥafṣún. He belonged to a noble family of West-Gothic origin which had gone over to Islam and settled in the mountainous district north-east of Malaga. Hot-blooded, quarrelsome, and ready to stab on the slightest provocation, the young man soon fell into trouble. At first he took shelter in the wild fastnesses of Ronda, where he lived as a brigand until he was captured by the police. He then crossed the sea to Africa, but in a short time returned to his old haunts and put himself at the head of a band of robbers. Here he held out for two years, when, having been obliged to surrender, he accepted the proposal of the Sultan of Cordova that he and his companions should enlist in the Imperial army. But ‘Umar was destined for greater glory than the Sultan could confer upon him. A few contemptuous words from a superior officer touched his pride to the quick, so one fine day he galloped off with all his men in the direction of Ronda. They found an almost impregnable retreat in the castle of Bobastro, which had once been a Roman fortress. From this moment, says Dozy, ‘Umar b. Ḥafṣún was no longer a brigand-chief, but leader of the whole Spanish race in the south. The lawless and petulant free-lance was transformed into a high-minded patriot, celebrated for the stern justice with which he punished the least act of violence, adored by his soldiers, and regarded by his countrymen as the champion of the national cause. During the rest of his life (884-917a.d.) he conducted the guerilla with untiring energy and made himself a terror to theArabs, but fortune deserted him at the last, and he died—felix opportunitate mortis—only a few years before complete ruin overtook his party. The Moslem Spaniards, whose enthusiasm had been sensibly weakened by their leader's conversion to Christianity, were the more anxious to make their peace with the Government, since they saw plainly the hopelessness of continuing the struggle.
In 912a.d.‘Abdu ’l-Raḥmán III, the Defender of the Faith (al-Náṣir li-díní ’lláh), succeeded his grandfather, the Amír ‘Abdulláh, on the throne of Cordova. The character, genius, and enterprise of this great monarch are strikingly depicted in the following passage from the pen of an eloquent historian whose work, although it was published some fifty years ago, will always be authoritative762:—
"Amongst the Umayyad sovereigns who have ruled Spain the first place belongs incontestably to ‘Abdu ’l-Raḥmán III. What he‘Abdu ’l-Raḥmán III (912-961A.D).accomplished was almost miraculous. He had found the empire abandoned to anarchy and civil war, rent by factions, parcelled amongst a multitude of heterogeneous princes, exposed to incessant attacks from the Christians of the north, and on the eve of being swallowed up either by the Léonnese or the Africans. In spite of innumerable obstacles he had saved Spain both from herself and from the foreign domination. He had endowed her with new life and made her greater and stronger than she had ever been. He had given her order and prosperity at home, consideration and respect abroad. The public treasury, which he had found in a deplorable condition, was now overflowing. Of the Imperial revenues, which amounted annually to 6,245,000 pieces of gold, a third sufficed for ordinary expenses; a third was held in reserve, and ‘Abdu ’l-Raḥmán devoted the remainder to his buildings. It was calculated that in the year 951 he had in his coffers the enormous sum of 20,000,000 pieces of gold, so that a traveller not without judgment in matters of finance assures us that ‘Abdu ’l-Raḥmán and the Ḥamdánid (Náṣiru ’l-Dawla), who was then reigning over Mesopotamia, were the wealthiest princes of that epoch. The state of the country was inkeeping with the prosperous condition of the treasury. Agriculture, industry, commerce, the arts and the sciences, all flourished.... Cordova, with its half-million inhabitants, its three thousand mosques, its superb palaces, its hundred and thirteen thousand houses, its three hundred bagnios, and its twenty-eight suburbs, was inferior in extent and splendour only to Baghdád, with which city the Cordovans loved to compare it.... The power of ‘Abdu ’l-Raḥmán was formidable. A magnificent fleet enabled him to dispute with the Fáṭimids the empire of the Mediterranean, and secured him in the possession of Ceuta, the key of Mauritania. A numerous and well-disciplined army, perhaps the finest in the world, gave him superiority over the Christians of the north. The proudest sovereigns solicited his alliance. The emperor of Constantinople, the kings of Germany, Italy, and France sent ambassadors to him."Assuredly, these were brilliant results; but what excites our astonishment and admiration when we study this glorious reign is not so much the work as the workman: it is the might of that comprehensive intelligence which nothing escaped, and which showed itself no less admirable in the minutest details than in the loftiest conceptions. This subtle and sagacious man, who centralises, who founds the unity of the nation and of the monarchy, who by means of his alliances establishes a sort of political equilibrium, who in his large tolerance calls the professors of another religion into his councils, is a modern king rather than a mediæval Caliph."763
"Amongst the Umayyad sovereigns who have ruled Spain the first place belongs incontestably to ‘Abdu ’l-Raḥmán III. What he‘Abdu ’l-Raḥmán III (912-961A.D).accomplished was almost miraculous. He had found the empire abandoned to anarchy and civil war, rent by factions, parcelled amongst a multitude of heterogeneous princes, exposed to incessant attacks from the Christians of the north, and on the eve of being swallowed up either by the Léonnese or the Africans. In spite of innumerable obstacles he had saved Spain both from herself and from the foreign domination. He had endowed her with new life and made her greater and stronger than she had ever been. He had given her order and prosperity at home, consideration and respect abroad. The public treasury, which he had found in a deplorable condition, was now overflowing. Of the Imperial revenues, which amounted annually to 6,245,000 pieces of gold, a third sufficed for ordinary expenses; a third was held in reserve, and ‘Abdu ’l-Raḥmán devoted the remainder to his buildings. It was calculated that in the year 951 he had in his coffers the enormous sum of 20,000,000 pieces of gold, so that a traveller not without judgment in matters of finance assures us that ‘Abdu ’l-Raḥmán and the Ḥamdánid (Náṣiru ’l-Dawla), who was then reigning over Mesopotamia, were the wealthiest princes of that epoch. The state of the country was inkeeping with the prosperous condition of the treasury. Agriculture, industry, commerce, the arts and the sciences, all flourished.... Cordova, with its half-million inhabitants, its three thousand mosques, its superb palaces, its hundred and thirteen thousand houses, its three hundred bagnios, and its twenty-eight suburbs, was inferior in extent and splendour only to Baghdád, with which city the Cordovans loved to compare it.... The power of ‘Abdu ’l-Raḥmán was formidable. A magnificent fleet enabled him to dispute with the Fáṭimids the empire of the Mediterranean, and secured him in the possession of Ceuta, the key of Mauritania. A numerous and well-disciplined army, perhaps the finest in the world, gave him superiority over the Christians of the north. The proudest sovereigns solicited his alliance. The emperor of Constantinople, the kings of Germany, Italy, and France sent ambassadors to him.
"Assuredly, these were brilliant results; but what excites our astonishment and admiration when we study this glorious reign is not so much the work as the workman: it is the might of that comprehensive intelligence which nothing escaped, and which showed itself no less admirable in the minutest details than in the loftiest conceptions. This subtle and sagacious man, who centralises, who founds the unity of the nation and of the monarchy, who by means of his alliances establishes a sort of political equilibrium, who in his large tolerance calls the professors of another religion into his councils, is a modern king rather than a mediæval Caliph."763
In short, ‘Abdu ’l-Raḥmán III made the Spanish Moslems one people, and formed out of Arabs and Spaniards a united Andalusian nation, which, as we shall presently see, advanced with incredible swiftness to a height of culture that was the envy of Europe and was not exceeded by any contemporary State in the Muḥammadan East. With his death, however, the decline of the Umayyad dynasty began. His son, Ḥakam II († 976a.d.), left as heir-apparent a boy eleven years old, Hishám II, who received the title of Caliph while the government was carried on by his mother Aurora andRegency of Manṣúr Ibn Abí ‘Ámir (976-1002a.d.).the ambitious minister Muḥammad b. Abí ‘Ámir. The latter was virtually monarch of Spain, and whatever may be thought of the means by which he rose to eminence, or of his treatment of the unfortunate Caliph whosemental faculties he deliberately stunted and whom he condemned to a life of monkish seclusion, it is impossible to deny that he ruled well and nobly. He was a great statesman and a great soldier. No one could accuse him of making an idle boast when he named himself 'Al-Manṣúr' ('The Victorious'). Twice every year he was accustomed to lead his army against the Christians, and such was the panic which he inspired that in the course of more than fifty campaigns he scarcely ever lost a battle. He died in 1002a.d.A Christian monk, recording the event in his chronicle, adds, "he was buried in Hell," but Moslem hands engraved the following lines upon the tomb of their champion:—