Arab Poet Muslim Saint Ibn al-Farid
 |    |
Ibn al-Farid,
His Verse, and His Shrine
Th. Emil Homerin
The American University
in Cairo Press
Cairo • New York
Perhaps your phantom
will visit my bed
in the darkness of dreams.
Preface to the Paperback
Edition vii
Preface xiii
Time, Place, and
Pronunciation xi
Introduction 1
Chapter 1. Metamorphosis 15
Chapter 2. Sanctification 33
Chapter 3. Controversy 55
Chapter 4. Disjunction 76
Epilogue 93
Notes 99
Glossary 135
Select Bibliography 143
Index 157
Preface to the
Paperback Edition
I am grateful to the
American University in Cairo Press for publishing this second edition of From
Arab Poet to Muslim Saint. Originally published in 1994, the first edition
has been sold out for several years, and so a new edition will continue to
address those interested in Ibn al-Faridand the larger issues of Islamic
mysticism and Muslim saints in Egypt. I have taken this opportunity to add a
list of addenda and corrections to the first edition, and to provide an
additional bibliography of sources, most of which were published after 1994.
Finally, in this new preface, I have continued Ibn al-Fârid’s story through the
year 2000, based largely on my recent research in Cairo. For this, I would like
to express my gratitude to the National Endowment for the Humanities and the
American Research Center in Egypt, and to the members of ARCE’s Cairo office,
especially director Mark Easton, and Amira Khattab and Amir Hassan. I am also
indebted to Raymond Stock for graciously introducing me to Naguib Mahfouz, and
to Ken Cuno for our spirited conversations, during which he suggested I
approach the AUC Press regarding a second edition of this book. Many other
friends, some old and some new, made my family and me welcome in Egypt once
again, and in particular I want to thank Hassan ‘Khalid’ Ibrahim, and Umm ‘Umar
and her family at Ibn al-Fârid’s shrine. As ever in Cairo, John Swanson remains
a knowledgeable and generous friend.
At Century’s End
Shaykh Gad Salim Gad was
the tireless caretaker of Ibn al-Fârid’s shrine for nearly twenty-five years,
and his sudden death in 1984 left the shrine and its mawlid, or ‘saint’s
day,’ in disarray. Both appeared in jeopardy for some years, yet his family and
followers carried on. Today, a permanent caretaker, Shaykh Mustafa Hanafi,
supervises the mosque, whose interior has been refurbished and freshly painted;
older trees have been replaced in the courtyard to maintain the cool shade
there. The annual mawlid is again a very lively affair and remains under
the supervision of the Rififï, Sufi order to which Shaykh Gad belonged. His
sons, cUmar and Tâhâ, now grown men with their own families, have a
prominent place in the event, as does their mother Umm timar.
In 2000, the mawlid
took place over three days, culminating on a Thursday with a procession of the
Rifat, order and a rousing evening of chant and song performed by Yâsîh
al-Tuhâmî, perhaps the most popular Sufi singer in Egypt today. Early in the
afternoon, the procession formed at the western end of the neighborhood, on
the main street leading up to the shrine. Male members of the Rifat order
gathered round as some pierced their cheeks with needles and skewers (dabbüs).
An elderly man pierced his eyelid, while the youngest member, a ten-year old
boy, had his cheeks pierced for the first time. Shaykh Gad’s eldest son, timar,
assisted many of the participants by first rubbing the needles and skewers with
lemon, and then carefully forcing them through the skin. Finally, he pierced
his own cheeks. Then, the pierced devotees formed a long column, with each
person holding the shoulder of the man walking before him. They were
accompanied by other Rifats, some of whom carried flags and banners with the
name of the order, as others blew whistles, played cymbals and tambourines, or
beat drums. A rhythm arose with the chant “Allâhu-1-hayyu,” (‘God, the
living’), and many began to dance as they slowly moved toward the shrine. One
Rifat Sufi appeared to be in charge of a small, rather sluggish snake, which he
draped around the neck of the ten-year old boy and others during the
procession, including one of two teenaged girls, who had joined their father in
the march. At points along the way, the procession stopped and recited, in
unison, the Fâtihah, the opening chapter of the Qur’an. They were joined in
this by the many women, children, and men who lined the street to share in the
event.
At sunset, the procession
finally arrived and entered the courtyard of Umm thnar’s residence adjacent to
the shrine, where various members of the procession respectfully greeted her.
Then, the needles and skewers were withdrawn and the sunset prayers performed
in the mosque shrine containing Ibn al-Fârid’s tomb. Following the prayers and
a light meal, the participants gathered together with hundreds of supporters,
to listen to Yasin al-Tuhami sing Ibn al-Farid’s mystical verse. timar, Tâhâ,
and a few other Rifat Sufis formed a line on stage behind Yasin and swayed to
the rhythm of his songs. Below and to one side of the stage, Umm timar and a
group of women formed their own section, where they enjoyed the performance.
YasTn sang long into the night, much to the delight of his enamored audience.
Relatives of Umm <Umar
taped the festivities, and she gladly shows the video to visitors at her home
on a VCR purchased by her sons. With their support, Umm <Umar has
been able to retire and devote her full attention to her younger children, her
grandchildren, and the annual celebration of the saint. Once a modest event,
Ibn al-Fârid’s mawlid now draws hundreds of participants, along with a
number of Arab television stations and reporters. Recently, a French crew has
also filmed the mawlid for a documentary on the saint and the Sufi path,
and Ibn al-Fârid, as a poet, mystic, and saint, has drawn renewed scholarly
attention as well. Though these gains are modest, to be sure, they suggest
that after two centuries of decline, Ibn al-Fârid’s saintly appeal may once
again be ascendant.
Addenda and Corrigenda
Thanks are due to Todd
Lawson and Roger Allen for pointing out several of the errors corrected below.
Pages 15-16: The identity
of Ibn al-Fârid’s student quoted on page 16 is Jamal al-DTn Muhammad ibn Yüsuf
ibn Mûsâ ibn Yusuf ibn Musdï al-Azdî (598-663/1202-65), a hadîth scholar, poet
and litterateur, and author of a work entitled Mu jam al-shuyükh, the
probable source for this biographical notice. Originally, I had ascribed the
passage to al-Mundhiri, who composed a work under the same title (see page 101,
note 3). Later, I found a portion of Ibn MusdT’s account of Ibn al-Fârid cited
by Ibrahim al-Biqâ'ï in his Tanbih al-ghabî, edited and published in Masra‘al-tasawwuf
by cAbd al-Rahmân al-Wakïl (Cairo, 1953), 138. For more on Ibn
Musdï, see 'Umar al-Kahhâlah, Mujam al-mu^alliftn (Damascus: al-Maktabah
al-cArabiyah, 1957), 12:140, and Khalil ibn Aybak al-Safadï, al-Wdfi
bi-1-wafayât, edited by Sven Dedering, et al. (Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner
Verlag, 1959-), 5:254-55.
Page 16: The published
edition of Ibn MusdT’s account of the poet, noted above, gives the preferred
reading tasarruf (‘He decided to undertake’) in place of tatarruf
CÜ& pushed to the limits’). The latter reading may be found in CA1T
ibn Muhammad al-Fayyûmï, Nathr al-jumân fi tardjim al-a^yan, Cairo: Arab
League Manuscript Institute, microfilm 428 (Ta’rTkh) of ms 1746, Istanbul:
Maktabat Ahmad al-Thalith, 70b.
Pages 65-66, 74, 122, n.
80: al-Matbülï for al-MatbulT.
Page 74: Ibn al-Qattân
for Ibn al-Oattân.
Page 91, 94: Yasm
al-Tuhânû for Yâ Sin al-Tuhâmai
Page 113, n. 53: Shadharât
5:399-400 for Shadharât 5:500.
Page 113, n. 55: Qur’an
12:44 for Qur’an 22:44.
Page 139: Muhammad ibn
Idrîs al-Shâfi'î for Idas al-Shâfi'ï.
Page 144: Al-Kâshânï’s Kashfis
MS 4106(3979), not (3879).
Page 147, 158: Abu Hâmid
al-Ghazzali for Abu Hamid al-
Ghazzali.
Page 153: Tahâ cAbd
al-Bâqï Surûn for Taha cAbd al-Bâqï Suriln.
Page 155: Tahâ al-Hâjirî
for Tahâ al-Hâjiri.
Page 161: al-Qünawï for
al-Qunawï.
Additional Bibliography
Cornell,
Vincent J. Realm of the Saint: Power and Authority in Moroccan Sufism.
Austin: University of Texas Press, 1998.
The Way of Abü
Madyan. Cambridge: The Islamic Tests Society, 1996.
De Jong,
Frederick and Bernd Radtke, editors. Islamic Mysticism Contested: Thirteen
Centuries of Controversies and Polemics. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1999.
Ewing,
Katherine Pratt. Arguing Sainthood: Modernity, Psychoanalysis, and Islam.
Durham, N.C.: Duke University
Press, 1997.
Gramlich,
Richard. Die Wunder der Freunde Gottes. Wiesbaden: Steiner Verlag, 1987.
Hallenberg,
Helena. “Ibrâhîm al-Dasüqi (1255-96): A Saint Invented.” Ph.D. dissertation,
University of Helsinki, 1997.
Hermansen,
Marcia K. “Miracles, Language and Power in a 19th Century Islamic
Hagiographical Text.” Arabica 38 (1991): 326-50.
Hoffman,
Valerie. Sufism, Mystics, and Saints in Modem Egypt. Columbia, S.C.:
University of South Carolina Press, 1995.
Homerin, Th.
Emil. Ibn al-Fârid: Sufi Verse, Saintly Life. New York: Paulist Press,
Classics of Western Spirituality Series, 2001.
“Ibn
al-Fârid,” and “Munawi’s Literary Hagiography of Ibn al-Fârid” In Windows on
the House of Islam. Edited by John Renard. Berkeley: University of
California Press, 1998, 194-208.
“A Saint, His
Shrine, and Poetry’s Power.” Forthcoming in Islamic Mysticism in Practice.
Edited by Carl Ernst. Princeton: University of Princeton Press.
“Saving Muslim
Souls: The Khânqâh and the Sufi Duty in Mamluk Lands.” Mamluk Studies Review
3 (1999): 59-83.
“Sufis and
Their Detractors in Mamluk Egypt: A Survey of Protagonists and Institutional
Settings.” In Islamic Mysticism Contested. Edited by F. De Jong and B.
Radtke. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1999, 225—47.
Karamustafa,
Ahmet T. God’s Unruly Friends: Dervish Groups in the Islamic Later Middle
Period, 1200-1550. Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1994
Mayeur-Jaouen,
Catherine. Al-Sayyid al-Badawi, un grand saint de l’Islam égyptien.
Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale, 1994.
O’Fahey, R.S. Enigmatic
Saint: Ahmad Ibn Idris and the Idrisi Tradition. Evanston: Northwestern
University Press, 1990.
Qasim, cAbd
al-Hakim. The Seven Days of Man. Translated by Joseph Norment Bell.
Evanston:
Northwestern University Press and the American University in Cairo Press, 1996.
Radtke, Bernd
and John O’Kane. The Concept of Sainthood in Early Islamic Mysticism.
London: Curzon Press, 1996.
Sadiq,
Ramadan. Shfr Ibn al-Fârid' dirâsah uslübiyah. Cairo: Al- Hayah
al-Misriyah al-'Ammah li-1-Kitâb, 1998.
Sanneh, Lamin.
“Saints and Virtue in African Islam: An Historical Approach.” In Saints and
Virtues. Edited by John Straton Hawley. Berkeley: University of California
Press, 1987, 127—43.
Scattolin,
Giuseppe. “Al-Farghânï’s Commentary on Ibn al-Fârid’s Mystical Poem Al-Tatiyyat
Al-Kubrâ,” MIDEO 21 (1993): 331-83.
L’esperienza
mistica di Ibn al-Fârid attraverso il suo poema Al-Tâtiyyat Al-Kubrâ. Rome: PISAI,
1988.
“L’expérience
mistique de Ibn al-Fârid a travers son poèma Al-Ta’iyyat Al-Kubrâ,” MIDEO
19 1989): 203-23.
“More on Ibn al-Fârid’s Biography,” MIDEO 22 (1994):
197-242. '
Sperl, Stefan.
“Qasida Form and Mystic Path in Thirteenth Century Egypt: A Poem by Ibn
al-Fârid.” In Qasida Poetry in Islamic Asia and Africa. Edited by Stefan
Sperl and Christopher Shackle. 2 vols. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1996,1:65-81;
2:106-11, 423-24.
Taylor,
Christopher. In the Vicinity of the Righteous: Ziyâra and the Veneration of
Muslim Saints in Late Medieval Egypt. Leiden: E.J.
Brill, 1999. ’
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This work is about the
sanctification of the renowned Arab mystical poet ‘Umar Ibn al-Fârid
(576-632/1181-1235). It charts and analyzes the course of Ibn al-Fârid’s
posthumous manifestations over seven and a half centuries to present a case
study of saint and shrine formation in classical Islam and, particularly, in
Mamluk Egypt. Further, this study gauges the weight of religious belief within
specific historical, social, political, and economic contexts in order to evaluate
Ibn al-Farid’s rising reputation as a saint in the fourteenth through
seventeenth centuries and his decline over the last hundred years. Through the
systematic study of a premodern and, now, modern saint this work aims to deepen
our understanding of a neglected dimension of Islam and to contribute to the
broader study of saints and sainthood within the field of religion.
As will become apparent,
the many and changing views of Ibn al-Fàrid and his verse have often stood at
the center of a complex network of competing modes of authority and
interpretation, including the poetic and prophetic, the ecstatic and
theosophical, the institutional and political. A major theme of this work,
then, is about the different ways in which people read—how some have read
poetry and other writings, other people and events—and how such readings may
influence and be influenced by religion and literature.
Though this work is based
largely on sources unused by previous scholars of Ibn al-Fârid, I remain
indebted to the pioneering work on the poet by R. A. Nicholson, C. A. Nallino,
and M. M. Hilmi. I am also indebted to a number of institutions, colleagues,
and friends who have aided my research. I wish to thank, in Egypt, Dâr al-Kutub
al-Miçnyah, Dâr al-Wathâ’iq, the Arab League Manuscript Institute, the American
Research Center, the Netherlands Research Institute, and the very kind and
knowledgeable Arabist Ahmad ‘Abd al-Majid Handi.
I would also like to
express my gratitude to the Fulbright Foundation and to the Mrs. Giles Whiting
Foundation for their generous support; to the following additions: the hamzah
(’) is a glottal stop; the cayn (c) is produced by
“swallowing” the vowel immediately preceding or following it (e.g., Iraq, macârif,
‘Umar); kh approximates the ch of loch or Bach; h resembles
a breathy, whispered ha! Finally, there are four velarized, or
“emphatic,” consonants: i, </, A z; they give a “darker” quality to
the surrounding vowels (e.g., Arabic 5 is pronounced like the English sad, while
s approximates sod). The emphatics are of importance to this
study since the poet/saint’s name is Ibn al-Fârid; the emphatic dgives
the â the sound of a prolonged a as in father.
Time, Place,
and Pronunciation
Because many important
classical Arabic sources are arranged according to Islamic “Hijrï” dates, all
dates prior to the twentieth century are given in the Islamic years followed by
their “common era” equivalents (e.g., A.H. 1-7/622-29 C.E.).
The purpose of the
glossary is twofold: to give succinct definitions of technical terms, place
names, and concepts that are unfamiliar to most nonspecialists (e.g., wait,
Fusfâç, monism) and to offer a brief overview of important periods in Muslim
Egyptian history (i.e., Ayyubids, Mamluks, and Ottomans).
My transliteration of
Arabic, Persian, and Tùrkish in Latin characters follows the system used for
these languages by the Library of Congress, with the following exceptions: (1)
well-known names and terms are cited in their common English forms (e.g.,
Naguib Mahfouz for Najib Mahfuz, Cairo for al-Qâhirah), and (2) titles of
Arabic, Persian, and Tùrkish works beginning with the definite article are
consistently cited with the article whether or not they are preceded by the
English the or a possessive pronoun (e.g., the al-Tâ'tyah al-kubrâ,
not the Tâ'tyah al-kubrâ)-, this should minimize confusion regarding a
work’s proper title.
There are three short
Arabic vowels: (1) a as in bat, (2) i as in bit,
(3) u as in put. Usually, long vowels are lengthened short
vowels. There are two Arabic diphthongs: (1) ay as in the i of bite,
and (2) aw as in cow. The majority of Arabic consonants sound
like their English counterparts, with Bruce Craig of Regenstein Library,
University of Chicago; and to the Firestone Library, Princeton University, for
obtaining additional source materials important to my research. Finally, I
particularly appreciate the comments and criticism from friends and colleagues
who have read or discussed parts of this work with me: Daniel Beaumont, Douglas
Brooks, Frederick De Jong, Shaun Marmon, Rudolph Peters, Carl Petry, Helga
Rebhan and, especially, William Cleveland, William Scott Green, Michael Sells,
Ruth Tonner, and Nora Walter. Finally, I extend thanks to the members of my
dissertation committee—Robert Dankoff, Heshmet Moayyad, the late Fazlur Rahman,
and Jaroslav Stetkevych—for their patience and encouragement.
I dedicate this book to my family, my friends,
and most affectionately to Floyd A. Homerin, my father, and Miriam J. Homerin,
my recently departed mother.
../rom Arab Poet
/o Muslim Saint
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In 875/1470 'All ibn Khâçs Bay, the father-in-law of the
sultan Qâ’it Bay, was riding toward Cairo’s Qarâfah cemetery when he saw before
him a man of fine bearing. As 'All pulled up on his horse’s reins, a second man
of awesome appearance approached the first man, and the two conversed. The
second man left, so cAll asked the first:
“Who was that man?”
“Don’t you know him?”
“No.”
“Don’t you know him?”
“No.”
“Y)u don’t know him?”
“No!”
“That was 'Umar Ibn al-Fârid! Everyday he rises up from this
place, seeking God’s protection from those who speak ill of him!”
The man left,
and 'All did not know from where he had come, but God knows best.1
This miraculous
appearance of Ibn al-Fârid’s ghost two centuries after his death attested to
his sainthood in political as well as religious terms. For the incident
involved an important relative of Egypt’s Muslim ruler, and it gave an ominous
warning to Ibn al-Fârid’s opponents, who had stirred up a controversy
threatening a new sultan’s power. As we shall see, their failure to convict the
poet of heresy would not only end their careers but would also insure Ibn
al-Fârid’s saintly reputation.
At issue in the dispute was not the existence of
sainthood but, rather, the criteria for sanctification. Lacking an
ecclesiastical hierarchy like that of the Catholic church, Islam never
developed a formal means of canonization, and debate has raged over who is or
is not a saint. At stake have
been the accepted models
of appropriate social behavior and personal piety and, as important, the very
basis of religious authority, since those closest to God can act on His behalf.
Thus, the saints have remained a nagging problem for Muslim conservatives who
would establish, once and for all, God’s final laws for society.
Yet the saints could not be denied; they are
mentioned in the Qur’an. While the Qur’an does not articulate a doctrine of sainthood,
the word most commonly used in later Arabic to refer to a saint, wait
(pl. awliyâ^, is found in numerous Qur’ânic verses, such as 2:257:
God is the wait
of those who believe; He takes them from darkness into light!
And 10:62:
The waits of God!
They have no fear nor do they grieve!
In these and similar instances, wait is
best translated as “protector,” “protected friend,” or “ally.” In
seventh-century Arabia a wait was a patron or guardian who was required
to treat his wards, allies, and other clients (mawâll) as if they were
blood relatives, to the extent of taking blood vengeance on their behalf {-wall
al-dam, “avenger”). What the Qur’an asserts in such verses, then, is that
God protects His special friends whom He will redeem in this world and the
next. In a famous tradition God declares:2
Whoever treats
a wait of mine as an enemy, on him I declare war!
As a later
seventeenth-century Muslim scholar explained, God and his saints were like a
great king and his companions. An insult to the king’s favorites could result
in political disaster; insolence toward the saints invited eternal doom.3
While the Qur’an
explicitly states that all God-fearing Muslims are His waits, or
protected friends (7:34), by the ninth century wall had become a special
title for those select Muslims believed to possess God-given spiritual power {barakaK),
which was verified by their ability to perform miracles {karàmât).
Sufism, or Islamic mysticism, was essential to this elaboration of the term.
Like most branches of Muslim religious knowledge
and practice, Sufism has its roots in the Qur’an and the traditions of Muhammad
(hadith}. Muslim tradition abounds with accounts of Muhammad’s ascetic
life-style and spiritual experiences, and the Qur’an contains numerous passages
that declare God’s vital presence in His creation:
Wherever you turn, there
is the face of God! (2:115)
If My servants
inquire of you concerning Me, lo, I am near! (2:186)
We are nearer
to [the human being] than his jugular vein! (50:16)
And, above all, there is
the haunting “Light Verse” (24:35):
God is the
light of the heavens and the earth. The semblance of His light is like a niche
in which is a lamp, the lamp in a glass. The glass is like a shining star lit
from a blessed tree, an olive, of neither east nor west, whose oil would seem
to shine even if not touched by fire. Light upon light, God guides to His light
whom He wills, and God strikes parables for humanity, for God knows everything!
Such passages were inspirational to individuals
inclined toward reflection. In addition, the sensuality and civil unrest
within the expanding Islamic empire of the seventh and eighth centuries
reinforced ascetic trends among the pious of the community. As Islam became
progressively codified over the next several centuries, religious thinkers
inevitably became specialized as exegetes, hadith experts, legal
authorities, theologians, and, also, mystics. Parallel to other areas of
scholarship such as jurisprudence and theology, Sufism developed into a more
formalized discipline as Sufis sought to clarify their experiences and views
and to map out spiritual itineraries to bring believers closer to God. By the
thirteenth century organized Sufi orders (fariqah [pl. turuq\}
had thousands of members from virtually all segments of society.4
A number of Muslim scholars, many with mystical
proclivities, such as al-Kalâbâdhï (d. 385/995) and al-Ghazzâlï (d. 505/1111),
attempted to give some order to the increasingly specialized divisions of
Islamic scholarship by linking each discipline to others within a larger and
comprehensive whole. Given a prominent place in many of these systems were the
devout, charismatic Muslims—often Sufis—believed to have been favored by God.
Various grades and ranks were erected for the saintly folk of each generation,
and, though they were subordinate to the sinless prophets, these pious saints
were appropriate subjects for emulation and, more often, favored objects of
veneration, mediators of divine grace. For most Muslims, including the
religious elite, saints had become an accepted fact of life.[I]
Yet the criteria and process for their
sanctification remain obscure. It is understandable that relatives of the
prophet Muhammad came to be venerated. Muhammad’s daughter Fâtimah, her husband
cAli—who was also Muhammad’s cousin and a caliph—and al-Husayn, CA1T
and Fatimah’s martyred son, have had a special place in Islam for centuries.
Similarly, other martyrs, and the insane too, have been numbered among the
saints of many religious traditions. The situation, however, is not so clear
for many other Muslim saints, and thus I have tried to set some markers in this
largely unexplored territory through a detailed study of a single saint and his
fortunes over the centuries.
cUmar Ibn al-Fari(J is an
ideal subject for such an analysis. Regarded as a saint within a generation of
his death, Ibn al-Fâriçl continues to be venerated at his shrine in Cairo. We
can follow his path from poet to saint over a 750-year trail of extant
sources—including biographies, hagiographies, polemics, legal rulings,
histories, and travel accounts—which allow us to see Ibn al-Fâriçl from
contrasting perspectives.
Because he was considered by many to be the
greatest poet of his day, a few individuals visited his grave shortly after his
death. But soon this grave became the goal of pilgrims who sought blessings
from sacred sites. Stories of Ibn al-Fârid’s reported miracles began to
circulate, and his position as a holy man was elaborated and standardized by
his grandson and later admirers, while his tomb evolved from a humble grave of
religious importance to an established center of economic and political
consequence. In the late fifteenth century Ibn al-Fârid’s tomb and poetry
became crucial points of contention between opposing factions of Cairo’s
religious leadership, and the resolution of the controversy in the poet’s favor
firmly established him among Egypt’s saints. His shrine continued to prosper
under Ottoman rule as it became a house of worship for Muslims of all social
strata. While support slackened beginning in the eighteenth century, Ibn
al-Fâri(J’s shrine and saintly reputation have endured to administer to the
needs of the poor and desperate.
Ibn al-Fârid’s sanctity
is tied directly to his beautiful religious poetry, which has been admired even
by those who opposed his sainthood. Although the amount of verse preserved in
his Dtwán is modest when compared to collections by his contemporaries,
Ibn al-Fârid has won lasting fame for two poems: his wine-ode, the al-Khamriyah,
and the massive al-Tà^tyah al-kubrâ, or “Greater Poem Rhyming in ‘T’ ”
In these and other poems Ibn al-Fârid reinterpreted classical themes—whether
the love of women or of wine—to intimate a Sufi view of life which he shared
with many of his contemporaries.5 [II]
Ibn al-Farid’s skill in
using the Arab poetic tradition for such religious ends is readily apparent in
his shorter formal odes. The classical ode {qa§ïdah} normally begins in
an elegiac mood, as the poet expresses feelings of grief and loss amid the
ruined campsite abandoned by his former lover. Often the poet recalls the days
of blissful union with her, but he leaves this past and the ruins to cross the
blazing desert on his sturdy she-camel. The tone of the poem then turns heroic
as the poet completes his quest and arrives at his tribe or patron, whom he
praises.7
Ibn al-Fârid added
further nuance to these classical themes and topoi through wordplay and other
rhetorical devices that made reference to the Qur’an and well-known Islamic
beliefs and practices. This should remind us that Ibn al-Fârid was a consummate
poet, and we must grasp some of the beauty of his poetry, its moods, meanings,
and spiritual import, to appreciate Ibn al-Fârid’s honored place among his
contemporaries and among later generations, who spoke of other mystical poets
as composing “in the way of Ibn al-Fârid.”8
at Dhü Salam
or did lightning flash
at al-Zawra’ and
al-'Alam?
where is dawn’s breath?
Oh water of Wajrah,
where is my first
draught?
rolling up the perilous
deserts
aimlessly like a scroll,
at Dhât al-Shîh of Idam
(4) liirn aside at the sacred precinct—
May God preserve you!—
seeking the thicket possessing sweet bay and lavender,
at al-Raqmatân watered by
flowing rains?”
if you cross al-'Aqîq at
forenoon,
greet them boldly
(7) And say: “I left him stricken,
lying in your encampments, living like the dead,
sickness infecting disease!”
like a torch, my eyes awash in endless torrents.
bound to a fawn every
limb
is racked with pain.
blaming me for loving
them, enough!
Could you love, you
wouldn’t blame.
and noble love, and by the steadfast covenant of pre-eternity,
(12) I have not broken from them
seeking solace
or another;
I’m not like that.
perhaps your phantom will
visit my bed
in the darkness of
dreams.
at al-Khayf—
had they been ten— but
how could they last?
could cure me,
and remorse
recover
what has
passed.
(16) Fawns of the winding valleys,
leave me
alone—please.
I have bound
my eye
to face only
them,
who decreed a
wondrous thing:
the shedding
of my blood
in unhallowed
and sacred grounds.
(18) Deaf—he did not hear the plea—
dumb—he did
not answer—
blind to the
case
of one bound
by desire.
Ibn al-Fârid begins this
ode by recollecting his lost love, whom he calls Layla. Within the Arabic
tradition the most celebrated Layla was the beloved of the legendary
eighth-century poet-lover Majnûn, who perished from unrequited love. The
appearance of her name in the first verse signals the poem’s recurring themes
of love and separation. Further, Layla is a homonym of the Arabic word laylah,
meaning “night,” the time of the opening scene. There the poet is uncertain if
the distant light he saw was that of a campfire or a flash of lightning,
suggesting his anxious and confused state. Ibn al-Fárifl’s references to fire,
air, water, and his use of winds, arwàh—also meaning “spirits”—imply
that his entire being is in need of immediate relief (vv. 1-2).
The poet’s condition is
desperate, and his description of the camel driver rolling up the deserts “like
a scroll (sijill)'' brings to mind the Qur’ânic deed sheets, or the Book
of Life, which is closed at death (21:104). The poet then envisions the caravan
as it proceeds to the environs of a sacred precinct at Medina, the city of the
prophet Muhammad and a recommended stop for pilgrims, which is situated in the
valley of Iflam with the hill known as Salc and the valleys of
al-Raqmatân and al-cAqiq nearby.
The poet recalls a dâl
thicket teeming with sweet bay and lavender located within the sacred precinct.
The ddl trees and fragrant foliage are recurrent features in the Arab
poetic landscape, which invariably resonates with memories of the beloved. But
this paradisiacal garden may also be a place of wondrous encounter, for a ddl
is a lote tree and so synonymous with the sidrah, the lote tree that
served as the locus of divine revelation during Muhammad’s visionary night
journey referred to in 53:13-16 of the Qur’an:
[Muhammad] saw [the agent of revelation] descend again near
the furthest lote tree where the Garden of the Abode is, when there enveloped
the lote tree what enveloped it!
The poet longs to return to the Muslim holy land,
and his message to his beloved in verses 8-9 presents him as the archetypal
lover standing dazed among the ruins of her abandoned camp. Like Majnün, the
poet may move among the living, but he is dead to all self-will. His lovesickness
is the very essence of all disease; his eyes are full of tears. His heart is so
inflamed by passion that it could serve as a torch (qabas), an allusion
to Moses’ encounter with God in the burning bush, as told in the Qur’an
(27:7-10). A possible reference to another prophet may be found in verse 9 of
the poem:
This is the
lovers’ law [sunnabj
bound to a
fawn
every limb
is racked with pain.
Within Islam accounts of Muhammad’s sayings and
actions—his sunnah, or “custom”—were collected and codified in hadith,
and these traditions are second only to the Qur’an as a source for religious
practice and law. But in the poet’s case the lovers’ custom is king, and so he
must be consumed totally by love. The poet rejects those who blame him for this
passionate love (v. 10), and then, in verse 11, he rises to the poem’s climax
as he swears by the holy union of pre-eternity and the covenant (al-'-ahdal-wathïq=al-mïthâq}
made there between God and all of humanity. Here we find an allusion to Qur’an
7:172:
And when your Lord drew from the loins of the children of
Adam their progeny and made them bear witness against themselves: “Am I not
your Lord?” They said: “Indeed! We so witness!” Lest they say on the
Resurrection Day, “Indeed, we were unaware of this [fact]!”
This Qur’ânic passage attests to humanity’s
eternal dependence on and servitude to God, and so Ibn al-Fârid swears that he
has remained a true servant, taking no substitute for his beloved (w. 11-12).
Then, calling upon an ancient image, the poet prays that the beloved’s phantom
might visit him while he sleeps; though apart, lovers may still be united, if
only in a dream (v. 13).
But the poet’s humbled and very human condition
tempers such an expectation as he longs for the joyous days spent with the
beloved at al- Khayf mentioned in verse 14. Al-Khayf is the name of the famous mosque
located at Mina near Mecca, where Muslims festively pass their last three days
of the pilgrimage, hence Ibn al-Fâriçl’s wish to prolong the days. Though Ibn
al-Fari<J devotedly recalls this most precious memory of his beloved,
undistracted by beautiful fawnlike women, the powerful feelings that he
experienced during his pilgrimage encounter fade (w. 15-16). Life remains hard
and seemingly capricious, and Ibn al-Fârid concludes his poem with a portrayal
of fate or love—and, possibly, God—as an insensitive judge who has decreed
every person’s death; lord over all things, he need not be concerned with his
servants until Judgment Day (vv. 17-18).
The pilgrimage to Mecca is a pivotal theme in
this and other poems by Ibn al-Fârid, as he recalls some of the pilgrims’ rites
and rituals and several stopping places along the way. To a degree these
references reflect the poet’s personal experience of the pilgrimage, which he
made several times. Yet the pilgrimage had long served Arabic love poetry as a
licit meeting place for men and women, which concealed the illicit love affair
between the poet and his mistress. In contrast, religious literature often has
viewed the pilgrimage as the closest earthly experience to an encounter with
God, and this together with Ibn al-Fârid’s several allusions to meetings
between the human and the divine within the poem (vv. 4, 8, and, especially,
11) leave a strong impression that his beloved Layla may, in fact, be a symbol
for God.9
Ibn al-Fâriçl performs his poetic pilgrimage in
memory, and, front a Sufi perspective, he makes an inward journey to witness
the divine in the Ka'bah of the human heart, to recollect and reaffirm the mtthaq,
the primordial covenant between God and humanity referred to in verse 11. For
many Muslims this original meeting with God accounts for humanity’s innate
knowledge of His oneness and their love of Him. This longing for God is a
subliminal one, however, since most people have forgotten their pre-eternal
pledge following the disobedience of Adam and Eve and their eviction from the
garden. As a result, humanity struggles with the test of creation; individuals
must resist the temptations of this world and of Satan and willingly submit to
God, if they are ever to see Him again in paradise. To assist in these
endeavors God has sent prophets to remind humanity of their neglected covenant.
Thus, dhikr, “remembrance,” by believers is essential to religious life,
and the Qur’an frequently exhorts humanity to remember God and His blessings:
“If you remember Me, I remember you” ( fa-dhkurüm adhkurkum [2:152]).
Of course, all Muslims are to recollect God
during their five daily prayers and other required religious acts. But many
devout believers have undertaken additional practices in order to discipline
their selfish thoughts and desires. According to a popular tradition, God will
reward such pious behavior with a state of mystical union:10
My servant continues to draw near to Me through supererogatory
acts until I love him, and when I love him, I become his ear with which he
hears, I become his eye with which he sees. . . .
Among the oldest Sufi devotional exercises is
meditation on a passage of the Qur’an or a tradition of the prophet Muhammad in
hopes that a hidden mystical significance will come to light. Such a practice
may underlie many of Ibn al-Fâriçl’s Qur’ânic references and his allusions to
the prophet Muhammad, as in the following verse:11
adir dhikra
man ahwâ wa-law bi-malâmt
fa-inna
ahâditha-1-habibi mudâmi
Pass round remembrance of the one I love— though that be to blame
me— for tales of the beloved are my wine.
Ahàdïtha-1-habtbi, “tales of the beloved,”
makes an obvious allusion to Muhammad, habib Allah, the “beloved of
God,” whose traditions (ahàdïth} have been a constant source of
inspiration to generations of Muslims.12 But, as important, this
verse also contains the key term dhikr—“memory,” “remembrance.” This
word and others related to it occur throughout Ibn al-Fârid’s verse drawing
attention to the poet’s recollection of the past, both personal and collective,
and his reflections on present and future existence. In this sense Ibn
al-Fârid’s verse is a poetry of meditation, sharing much in common with
pre-Islamic and classical Arabic poetry. There are, however, several
indications within Ibn al-Fârid’s verse that his remembrance, his dhikr,
possessed a distinctly mystical component.13
From an early period Sufis developed a number of
methods for the remembrance of God, which usually involved the frequent
repetition of one of the “divine names”—often Allah—or an established religious
formula. Such practices came to be known as dhikr, and their aim has
been both to praise God and to purify the worshipper’s heart of anything other
than the divine beloved. In fact, several early Sufi authorities asserted that dhikr,
properly performed, returns the mystic to the day of the primordial covenant,
and Ibn al-Fârid may allude to such a belief in the opening verse of his al-Khamñyah:x*
sharibnâ ''alâ
dhikri-l-habïbi mudâmata
sakimà bihà min qabli an
yukhlaqa-l-karmu
We drank in memory of the
beloved a wine— we were drunk with it before creation of the vine.
In this celebrated wine-ode Ibn al-Fârid praises
a wine in existence before creation. Clearly, then, the first intoxication
occurs in pre-eternity, where humanity bore witness before God. But Ibn
al-Fârid goes on to tell us that this blissful state is now lost, while the
beloved is veiled by creation. None of the miraculous wine is left to drink;
only its fragrance lingers. But this is enough for those who seek it; even its
mention {dhukirat [v. 6J) will intoxicate the spiritually sensitive
while arousing others who have forgotten its very existence.
Although numerous commentaries have expounded on
the poem’s possible mystical meanings, several medieval commentators have
focused specifically on Ibn al-Fârid’s use within the ode of terms relating to dhikr,
and so they have offered intriguing interpretations. Since the primordial
covenant bears witness to God’s unity, these commentators have read the al-Khamñyah
as an account of the spiritual effects resulting from the controlled repetition
of the first portion of the Muslim profession of faith “Zâ ilâh ilia
hllâh" (There is no god but God!)15
Whatever its merits, such a reading of the al-Khamñyah
draws attention to the recurrence of dhikr in Ibn al-Fâriçl’s poetry,
and the importance of this practice to the poet is evident in his Sufi classic,
the al-TcPtyah al- kubrd. This ode, also known as the Nazm al-sulük
(The Poem of the Way), is an exposition of Sufi thought and doctrine spanning
761 verses. The first 163 verses of the al-Tà^îyah al-kubrd could stand
alone as one of Ibn al-Fârid’s love poems. Using classical wine and love
imagery, the poet recollects his prior intoxicating union with his beloved and
his present sorry state in separation from her; though near unto death, he
remains ever faithful to their covenant and his cherished memories of their
previous encounter. Again, Ibn al-Fârid adds a mystical dimension to his love
poetry by making distinct references to the primordial covenant and the
pilgrimage combined with his consistent use of technical language derived from
Islamic mysticism, law, and theology.
Then, abruptly, Ibn al-Fârid informs his audience
that it is time to explain himself. The approximately six hundred verses that
follow are a wide-ranging discourse on the Sufi path, as the al-TcPïyah
al-kubrâ takes the form of a guide to the perplexed. The poet advises the
sincere seeker on a variety of topics, including selfless love, spiritual
intoxication, and mystical union. He also points out the religious significance
underlying many of his poetic themes and images. In what would later become one
of the more controversial passages of the al-Tâ'îyah al-kubrâ, Ibn
al-Fârid declares that his references to love, lovers, and beloveds—such as
Layla— allude to the revelation of the divine to itself through creation and,
in this case, specifically via the poet-lover (vv. 261-63):16
Every brave of love am I and she the beloved of
every brave— all names of a disguise,
Names which named me
truly
as I appeared
to myself by a self
that was hidden.
I was still her,
and she still me;
no separation—
one essence in love.
Not surprisingly, dhikr has a special
place in Ibn al-Fâriçl’s itinerary for mystical union, particularly in the form
of the Sufi samâz. Over the centuries Sufis have gathered
together to perform their dhikr as part of a larger ceremony called samâ\
an “audition” in which selections from the Qur’an and poetry provide material
for group meditation and dance. In one of the most moving passages of the al-Tâ'îyah
al-kubrâ Ibn al-Fâriçl explains that during such sessions the attuned
seeker may “recollect” his past union with God in pre-eternity and, perhaps,
momentarily secure a taste of future bliss. This is possible, says Ibn
al-Fârid, because the session stirs up forgotten memories, which send the
entranced mystic into an ecstatic dance. All humans possess these inborn
memories, even as infants (vv. 431—41 ):17
When the infant moans
from the tight swaddling
wrap,
and restlessly yearns
for relief from distress,
He is soothed by
lullabies and lays aside
the burden that covered
him—
he listens silently to
one who soothes him.
The sweet speech makes him forget his bitter
state and remember \yudhkiru\ a secret whisper of ancient ages.
His state makes clear the state of audition and
confirms the dance to be free of error.
For when he bums with
desire from lullabies, anxious to fly
to his first abodes,
He is calmed
by his rocking cradle as
his nurse’s hands
gently sway it.
I have found in gripping rapture— when she is
recalled [dhiirihâ] in the chanter’s tones and the singer’s tunes—
What a suffering man feels when he gives up his soul,
when death’s messengers come to take him.
One finding
pain
in being driven asunder
is like one pained in rapture yearning for friends.
The soul pitied the body where it first appeared,
and my spirit rose to its high beginnings,
And my spirit soared past the gate beyond my
union where there is no veil of communion.
This lyrical account of the power of dhikr
and meditative trance is yet another example of Ibn al-Farid’s highly charged
and emotive poetic
language. His verse had
an immediate impact on his students and, later, on generations of poets and
litterateurs who admired Ibn al-Fârifl’s aesthetic sensitivity, his style and
ingenuity when composing poetry on love or wine, and his poetic innovation in
Sufi verse.
It was, however, this
mystical poetry, particularly the al-TiPiyah al- kubrâ, which became the
primary focus for the majority of his later admirers. While the poet’s views on
dhikr and other Sufi topics were not new and were, in fact, rather
traditional, his expression of them was both original and highly nuanced,
lending itself to a wide range of interpretations. Many even went so far as to
regard his verse as flowing from divine ecstasy, and this view is reflected in
the numerous accounts of how Ibn al-Farifl fell into a trance upon hearing a
verse and in the many stories of how his poetry did the same to others.
Ibn al-Fari(j’s mystical
concerns and the intricate beauty of his refined poetry have inspired many
Muslims in their own meditations, whether in commentaries on the al-Taliyah
al-kubra and al-Khamriyah or in samiF sessions, during which
the recitation of his poems became a featured event. For them this intoxicating
verse was a miracle, a blessing granted by God to one of His special friends.
Yet to others Ibn al-Farid’s elegant poetry was laced with heresy, seducing
those who heard it, robbing them of reason. In the opinion of this contentious
and powerful minority Ibn al-Farifl was not a saint, not even a good Muslim,
but, instead, an infidel poet whose verse was as forbidden as wine itself.
Chapter 1
Metamorphosis
Our earliest references
to Ibn al-Fârid are two by his student, the famous hadîth scholar, Zakî
al-Dîn al-Mundhirî (581—656/1185—1258):1
On the second
of Jumada I [632/1235] in Cairo, died the shaykh, the superior litterateur, Abü
al-Qâsim ‘Umar ibn al- Shaykh Abu al-Hasan ‘All ibn al-Murshid ibn cAlT,
of Hama by origin, Egyptian by birth and residence, a Shâfi‘1, known as Ibn
al-Fârid. He was buried the next day at the foot of Mt. Muqattam under
al-‘Arid. He heard \hadîth\ from al-Hâfiz Abu Muhammad al-Qâsim ibn ‘All
of Damascus. He spoke excellent poetry in accordance with the way of Islamic
mysticism [’ala fariqat al-ta$awwuf[ and other than that. He related hadîth.
I heard something of his poetry from him.
I asked him
about his birthday, and he said, “The end of the fourth of Dhü al-Qa‘dah in the
year seventy-six”—meaning 576 [1181]—“in Cairo.” In his poetry, he would
combine purity of expression with sweetness, and he composed a lot of it.
According to this obituary notice, Ibn al-Fârid
was born in 576/1181 in Egypt, where he resided. He died in 632/1235 and was
buried in Cairo’s Qarâfah cemetery near Mt. Muqattam. His family was from Hama
in Syria. He belonged to the Shâfi‘ï law school and had studied hadîth
with the noted scholar al-Qâsim ibn ‘Ali Ibn ‘Asâkir (527-600/1132-1203).2
Ibn al-Fárid later taught hadîth and his own poetry, which
al-Mundhirî had studied. AI-MundhirT further noted that Ibn al-Fârid had
composed fine mystical and nonmystical verse.
To this account of the poet al-Mundhirl added the
following in a biographical dictionary of his teachers:’
His father was
a women’s advocate \farid] before the judge of Egypt; he was among the
people of religious knowledge and scholarship. He gave his son Abü al-Qâsim a
broad education in belles lettres \adab\. [Ibn al-Fârid] was of gentle
nature, a sweet pool and spring, of pure Arabic in expression, refined of
allusion, fluent and sublime in pronunciation and quotation. He pushed to the
limits \ta(arruf\ and then studied Sufism. So he became like a
variegated meadow, perfumed by beauty, clad with good nature, gathering from
the generosity of the self all varieties [of good things]. He lived in Mecca
and then returned to his country [of Egypt] and took up residence in the Azhar
congregational mosque. He heard {hadtth} from Abü [Muhammad] al-Qâsim
ibn 'Ali al-cAsâkirï and others, and he taught hadtth. I
heard something of that and some of his poetry.
Al-Mundhiri mentioned in this excerpt that Ibn
al-Fârid’s father was a women’s advocate at court, a fârid, hence the
poet’s name Ibn al-Fârid, “son of the women’s advocate.” His father’s
profession required a religious education, and he was numbered among the
religious scholars of his day. Al-Mundhin specifically mentioned Ibn al-Fârid’s
literary education in addition to his study of hadtth, implying that
Ibn al-Fârid went as far as he could go in his literary studies; Ibn al-Fârid
then applied himself to the study of mysticism, which enhanced his amiable
personality and elegant verse. Al-Mundhirï noted that the poet lived for a time
in Mecca and later returned to Cairo, where he resided at Azhar. Finally, al-
Mundhiri stated that he had studied hadtth as well as poetry with Ibn
al- Fârid.
A number of al-Mundhiri’s statements were
corroborated by another well-known hadtth scholar and student of Ibn
al-Fârid, Yahyâ al-cAçtâr (584-662/1188-1264). In his biographical
collection of teachers al-'Atfâr proclaimed Ibn al-Fârid to be “the eminent
shaykh, the litterateur” who had4
excellent
verse and a keen intellect. He followed the way of mysticism while embracing
the Shâfi'i legal school. He resided in Mecca for a time. He associated with a
group of the shaykhs.
Both al-Mundhiri and al-'Attâr mentioned Ibn
al-Fârid’s interest in Sufism. They appear, however, to have viewed their
teacher more as a poet than a mystic, and Ibn al-Fârid’s verse certainly
inspired Ibn Khallikân (608-80/1211-82) to write his biography of the poet. Unlike
the three earlier accounts, Ibn Khallikân’s biography probably was not based on
personal contact with Ibn al-Fâriçl, since Ibn Khallikân was not his student,
nor did he mention ever having met the poet. Nevertheless, the biography
contained in Ibn Khallikân’s detailed and invaluable biographical dictionary, Wafayât
al-â'yân, is the most extensive account of Ibn al-Farid written in the
first decades following the poet’s death, and it features perhaps the earliest
written quotations of Ibn al-Fàrid’s verse:5
Abu Hafs and
Abu al-Qâsim, cUmar ibn Abû al-Hasan cAli ibn al-Murshid
ibn cAli, of Hama by origin, Egyptian by birth, residence, and
death, known as Ibn al-Farid, having the title al-Sharaf [i.e., Sharaf al-Dln],
He has a fine [lafif]
volume of poetry in which his style is pure and elegant, following the mystics’
way. He has an ode of about six hundred verses in accordance with [the
mystics’] technical language and method.6
How fine is his statement in one of the long
odes:7
Welcome to
what
I was unworthy to receive, the bearer’s glad
tidings of relief from despair:
“Good news for
you—
so strip off what’s on
you,
for you’ve been
remembered despite your crookedness!”
And his saying from another ode:8
Because of you,
I’m never free of envy.
So don’t waste my night
vigil
with the shocking
phantom’s disgrace.
Ask the
night’s stars
if sleep ever visited my
eyes,
for how can it visit
one it doesn’t know?
And from it:9
And despite
the skill
of those who describe his
loveliness,
time will pass away with
things in him
yet to be described!
He has rhymed couplets [dübayt],
colloquial verses \mawa- liya\, and riddles [alghdz],
I have heard that he was
a pious, virtuous, and abstemious man. He lived for a time in Mecca—May God add
to its honor! He made a fine companion and was praiseworthy. One of his
companions told me that one day in solitude \khalwah\, [Ibn al-Farid]
was humming a line of al-Harïrï, the author of the al- Maqâmàt™
Who is the one
who never sinned,
who is he who
has only the best?
[The
companion] said, “He heard a speaker—but saw no one—recite:
Muhammad, the
guide, to whom
was Gabriel’s
descent!”
A group of his companions
recited his colloquial verses [mawâliyâ] to me about a young man who was
a butcher by profession. They are clever, but I have not seen them in his Dîwân:
I said to a
butcher: “I love you,
but oh how you
cut and kill me!”
He said:
“That’s my business,
so you scold me?”
He bent and
kissed my foot to win me,
but he wanted
my slaughter,
so he breathed
on me
By the life
of my longing
for you,
by the
sanctity
of dignified patience,
My eyes have
never held
other than
you,
nor have I
desired
another friend.”12
His
birthday was on the fourth of Dhü al-Qacdah, in the year 576 [1181]
in Cairo, and he died there on Tuesday, the second of Jumada I, in the year 632
[1235]. He was buried the next day at the foot of Mt. Muqaffam. May God most
high have mercy upon him!
Al-Fàri<J
is one who draws up the legal shares \furüd\ that men must pay to women.13
This biography echoes statements by al-Mundhiri
and al-cAçpîr, and in some instances Ibn Khallikàn elaborated on his
older contemporaries. Ibn al-Farid’s piety and abstinence are mentioned for the
first time, and he is described as being of good company as well as
good-natured. Further, Ibn al-Fari(J’s humming of al-Harïrï’s verse regarding a
sinless person suggests that Ibn al-Fàrid was at times preoccupied with
religious and ethical questions.
But, while Ibn Khallikàn noted Ibn al-Fàrid’s
interest in mysticism and his long mystical poem the al-TcPtyah al-kubra,
he never called Ibn al- Fàrid a Sufi nor did he even mention the poet’s study
of hadith. Rather, Ibn Khallikàn was concerned with Ibn al-Fàrid’s
literary work, and so he noted the existence of a collection of Ibn al-Fàriçl’s
poetry, which included rhymed couplets, colloquial verse, and riddles, all
signs of an accomplished litterateur. Ibn Khallikàn gave an example of the
colloquial verse, though one not included in early editions of the Diwan.
Apparently, Ibn Khallikàn, and those who related these verses to him, felt them
to be a delightful example of Ibn al-Fàrid’s literary wit.14
Finally, Ibn Khallikàn’s appraisal of Ibn
al-Fàrid can be more accurately gauged by comparing his biography of this poet
to accounts of Sufis and other poets found in the Wafayât. Based on such
a comparison, one finds that Ibn Khallikàn recognized Ibn al-Fârid’s use of
mystical themes and terminology, while viewing him primarily as a poet, not as
a Sufi. Ibn Khallikàn appreciated and admired Ibn al-Fàrid’s verse, which he believed
to be quite good but short of the best.15
These early sources
provide vital information regarding Ibn al-Fârid’s life and poetry, yet they
say nothing about his female relatives and children and very little about his
means of livelihood. Later sources, however, note that Ibn al-Fârid had at
least one daughter, who is never named, and two sons, 'Abd al-Rahmân and Kamâl
al-Dïn Muhammad. The biographer al- Safadï (d. 764/1363) gave a short notice to
the latter, who died in 689/ 1290. Al-$afadi stated that Kamâl al-Dïn studied hadith
with Ibn al-Fâriçl and other scholars and that he became a hadith
scholar and teacher in his own right.16 But to later generations
Kamâl al-Dïn was better known as the primary source for the Dibâjah,
written by his nephew, 'Alï, Sibt Ibn al-Fâriçl.
'Alï was Ibn al-Fârid’s grandson by the poet’s
daughter (hence his designation as sib{}, and he composed this
hagiography on his grandfather about one hundred years after the poet’s death.
Although 'Alï was not writing a biography, the Dibâjah does contain some
relevant biographical material, which may be gleaned from the miraculous
stories and fabulous tales related in the work. According to 'Alï, the young
Ibn al-Fârid accompanied his father at legal proceedings and in study sessions,
though he was more inclined to the solitary life. After his father died Ibn
al-Fârid traveled to Mecca, where he lived for fifteen years. He then returned
to Cairo and took up residence at the Azhar mosque, where he composed poetry,
which he dictated to his students. In 628/1231 Ibn al-Fâriçl again went on the
pilgrimage to Mecca, where he met the renowned Sufi Shihâb al-Dïn 'Umar
al-Suhrawardï (d. 632/1234). Ibn al-Fârid was accompanied by his two sons, who
were among those invested by al-Suhrawardï with the habit of his order.
This information given by 'Alï does not
contradict our earlier sources, though one may question whether Ibn al-Fâriçl
ever met al-Suhrawardï and how long the poet spent in the Hijaz.17
At present there is no way of knowing precisely when Ibn al-Fâriçl first left
for Mecca, but he was probably a young student traveling to further his
education. If he did in fact stay there for about fifteen years, he must have
returned to Cairo before 620/1223, since one of his students, Muhammad Ibn
al-Najjâr (578-643/1182-1245), left Cairo and returned to Baghdad in that year.18
'Alï also related two tales involving possible
sources of Ibn al-Fârid’s income. The stories tell of unsuccessful attempts by
the Ayyubid sultan al-Malik al-Kâmil (r. 615-35/1218-38) and one of his amirs,
Fakhr al-Dïn 'Uthmân (d. 629/1232), to build a tomb for the poet and give him
large sums of money. Despite the improbability of these specific events, 'Alï
may have been right to assert his grandfather’s independence from the regime and
its court, and his refusal to accept royal patronage, which many considered to
be morally tainted.
Similar to other Islamic dynasties, the Ayyubids
encouraged and patronized poetry for purposes of propaganda and legitimation.
Court poets composed verses that praised the sultans for their military
exploits and the religious fervor, which supposedly drove them to defend Islam
and foster Muslim unity. Ibn Sana* al-Mulk (550-608/1155-1211), a panegyrist
of the famous Salâh al-Dïn ( = Saladin [532-89/1138—93]), wrote:19
The Arab
community
has become
mighty
by the nation
of the Turks.
And the
crusader king
has been
humbled
by Ibn Ayyüb!
For in the
time of Ibn Ayyüb,
Aleppo became
part of Egypt,
and Egypt part of Aleppo.
With these verses the poet praised his Kurdish
and Turkish overlords for reinvigorating the Islamic community, and he singled
out Salâh al- Dïn ibn Ayyüb for defeating the Crusaders. Further, Ibn Sana’
al-Mulk implied that, as a natural consequence of Salâh al-Dïn’s pious
endeavors, Egypt and Syria were properly united, though in fact Salâh al-Dïn
had wrested much of his Syrian territory from rival Muslim rulers, while
allowing the Crusaders to retain some of their strongholds in the area.
Clearly, then, such poetry is more than simple eulogy, since it contains
political positions and interpretations of events. Not surprisingly, money,
precious gifts, and important government offices were bestowed on those poets
who could articulate a ruler’s actions and aspirations and legitimize them
within an acceptable Islamic framework.20
No such political panegyric poetry has ever been
ascribed, however, to Ibn al-Fârid. References to rulers, influential amirs, or
historical events contemporary with him are conspicuous by their absence from
his verse. This is not to say that the important persons and events of this
time did not affect Ibn al-Fârid, who must have been touched by the wars,
pestilence, and famine that were all too frequent in his lifetime. Yet Ibn
al-Fârid’s poetry was of a different type, one not concerned with the fleeting
desires of dynasts.
Still, this does not eliminate the possibility
that a sultan or amir may have offered Ibn al-Fârid a gift in appreciation of
fine poetry. Al-Malik al-Kâmil, in particular, appears to have been a lover of
poetry and scholarship, which he substantially patronized.21 But,
other than ‘All’s Dïbâjah, our sources do not mention any contacts
between Ibn al-Farid and the royal court. Further, Ibn al-FârkJ’s residence at
a mosque may imply that the poet had little inclination toward government
service and the moral compromise it represented.
Many hadtth
scholars held teaching positions that provided some income, and Ibn al-Fárid
may have received a stipend for relating hadith. However, he probably
earned a reasonable sum from instructing his students in poetry, perhaps enough
to support himself and his family.
Poetry was taught like other important subjects
of the day; the master recited the lesson, which the students wrote down and
memorized. With time and perseverance a student could internalize the forms,
motifs, rhymes, and meters of poetry and could begin to compose his own verse.
The master poet no doubt criticized and corrected his students’ compositions,
refining their poetic sensibilities, which would be essential to their future.22
The extent to which an individual studied poetry
differed in accordance with the desire to learn and master the subject. Those
who wished only a general knowledge of poetry might have read an anthology or
two and works by rhetoricians. Also, they may have occasionally attended halqahs,
or “circles,” at which poetry was read and taught. More serious students who
aspired to be fine poets would have regularly attended these circles and sought
out more intensive contacts with the great poets of the day. Sometimes a
student became a râwï, or “transmitter,” of verse composed by one or
several poets, by memorizing their poetry. Neither al-Mundhiri, al-‘Attar, Ibn
al-Najjâr, nor another student, Ibn al-Acma (d. 692/1293), however,
appear to have been a râwïof Ibn al-Fariql. If Ibn al-Fârid had a râwï,
it was probably his son Kamâl al-Din Muhammad.23
Although most poetry students did not become râwïs,
they often obtained ijazahs, or “certifications,” of having read and
studied a given work, which they in turn could teach to others. Al-Mundhiri
probably obtained an ijazah for Ibn al-Fârid’s Dïwân and the al-Tâdyah
al-kubrâ, and many copies of both works were made and studied during the
thirteenth century.24 Though a student could receive an ÿâzah
for a work without ever having met its author, personal contact and instruction
no doubt enhanced an education and insured proper certification. Recognized
poets such as Ibn al-Fari<j must have been in demand, and this was clearly
the case in a famous literary dispute that took place in Cairo.
Ibn Israeli (603-77/1206-78) was one of the
better poets of the thirteenth century and one said to have composed poetry
following “the way of Ibn al-Fârid.” The sincerity of his Sufism and the
soundness of his doctrinal positions were doubted by some of his
contemporaries, who, nevertheless, praised the high quality of his poetry, much
of which was panegyrics for the Ayyubid sultans.25 According to
several sources, Ibn Israel chanced upon a fine poem while he was on the
pilgrimage and so admired it that he claimed it as his own. Apparently, the
poem belonged to another rising poet of the time, Shihâb al-Dïn Muhammad Ibn
al- Khiyami (602-85/1205-86).26 The two claimants later met in Cairo
at a meeting of litterateurs, and an argument ensued regarding the authorship
of the ode, which began:27
Oh goal of my quest, my sole desire, to you, the
search returns; in you, the quest ends.
Both poets agreed that Ibn al-Fârid should judge
the matter, so he in turn requested that both Ibn Israel and Ibn al-Khiyamï
compose a number of verses similar to the contested poem ending in b and
using the same rhyme and meter. Both men complied with his request. When they
had finished their recitations Ibn al-Fârid turned to Ibn Israel and recited:28
You copied but fell short
of the cool white teeth!
This hemistich is from verse 23 of the disputed
ode, which reads:
Oh lightning flash
appearing
in the
highlands of al-Raqmatân, you copied but fell short of the cool white teeth!
The verse implies that
the beloved’s smile is so bright that nature can only imitate but never match
the brilliance of her teeth. So, Ibn al-Fârid applied this verse to Ibn
Israel’s futile efforts to compose poetry comparable to the disputed poem. Ibn
Israel did not contest Ibn al-Fârid’s decision in favor of Ibn al-Khiyami, and
after the session he left Egypt in disgrace.29
This story sheds light upon the way in which some
literary disputes were resolved but also upon Ibn al-Fârid’s literary
activities and reputation. Ibn al-Fârid was probably chosen as a mediator in
this dispute, as one source noted, due to his “knowledge of the art of belles
lettres and poetic criticism.”30 But it is also possible that both
Ibn al-Khiyamî and Ibn Isrà’îl had been students of Ibn al-Fârid, who then
would have been the logical choice to judge between the two men. Ibn
al-Fâriçi’s grandson, ‘A1T, claimed that Ibn al-Khiyamï was “like a son” to Ibn
al-Fari<i, who took the youth with him on pilgrimage in 628/1231.31
Although there is no evidence of such a strong relationship with Ibn Isrâ’ïl,
practically all accounts of him note that much of his poetry was in conscious
imitation of Ibn al-Fârid’s mystical verse.32
It should be reiterated
that the argument centered on poetry and not on mysticism. Certainly, all three
poets had mystical proclivities and used Sufi ideas and terms in their verse.
But the dispute involved the authorship of a poem and not the soundness of
religious doctrine. The issue was resolved by Ibn al-Fârid’s literary intuition
during a gathering of litterateurs, which suggests that Ibn al-Fâriçl actively
participated in the literary and cultural life of the time. Further, in a
slightly later notice to Ibn al-Fâriçl the Arab historian Abii al-Fidâ
(672-732/1273-1331) stated that Ibn al-Fâriçl composed:33
excellent poems among which is his ode that he made Yami-
lahâ\ in accordance with the way of the mystics, it being about six hundred
verses.
Significantly, Abu
al-Fidâ chose the verb lamil (to do, to work, to make, to
manufacture) to refer to Ibn al-Fari<J’s composition of his mystical poem;
this is the language of literary craftsmanship, not of religious inspiration,
lb Abu al-Fidâ, and many other Muslims of the thirteenth century, Ibn al-Fârid
was an accomplished poet, probably with mystical inclinations, but not an
enlightened gnostic and still less one of God’s saints.
In contrast to this sober
image of Ibn al-Fârid was an early alternative one of him as an inspired and
articulate Sufi. This is quite evident in two stories found in the Kitâb
al-\Nahtdft sulük ahial-tawhtd, a work on Islamic mysticism by the
theologian cAbd al-Ghaffar al-Qüsî (d. 708/1309). Al- Qü?î related
both stories in a chapter on sama1, the very controversial
“audition” of inspirational verse that might induce ecstasy, a practice he
defended:34
It is related
that, if an audition were held in Cairo or Fusjat and the shaykh Sharaf al-Dîn
Ibn al-Fârid did not attend, that it would not be delightful. So it happened
that someone invited the shaykh and held an audition for him, but the shaykh
was dispirited (kána iinda-l-shaykhi qabdun), and so the
occasion was ill at ease because the shaykh was. So the host was pained, but
the eloquent singer (al-mughannt) said to him, “Give me ten dinars, and
I’ll delight (absufu) the shaykh for you!” [The host] replied, “Fine.”
So the singer asked God’s help and recited:
My tears
left a part of me
in the Hijaz
on the day of separation.
And I suppose—
no I am certain—
that it was my heart, for
I don’t see it with me!
Then the
shaykh Ibn al-Fârid arose and went into ecstasy, and with that a splendid
moment \waqt jaltl\ passed over all.
In this story al-Qüçî affirmed Ibn al-Fârid’s spiritual
sensitivity by alluding to the poet’s enlightened state with Sufi terminology. Qabd
(constriction) and bast (expansion) form a contrasting pair of
mystical states (hâl [pl. ahwal\), corresponding to contrition
and exhilaration, between which a mystic fluctuates during his spiritual quest.
Application of these terms to Ibn al-Fârid left no doubt about his spiritual
status, which was further supported by the use of the word waqt (moment,
time) to describe the end result of the poet’s ecstasy; in the Sufi lexicon waqt
signifies the moment of mystical inspiration, the “eternal now.”35
Al-Qûsî related his second story of Ibn al-Fârid
from a Sufi contemporary, 'Abd al-'Azïz al-Munûfî (608-703/1210-1304), who
said:36
One day I was in the Friday mosque at Fustât,37
and Ibn al- Fârid was there with a circle [of students] around him. A youth
arose from where [Ibn al-Fârid] was, came to me, and said, “A strange event
occurred to me when I was with the shâykh”—that is Ibn al-Fârid.
I said, “What is it?”
He said, “He
gave me some dirhams and said, ‘Buy something with this to eat.’ So, I bought
[some food], and we walked to the shore and sailed up [the Nile] in a boat
until we entered Bahnasâ.38 He knocked on a door, and a person came
out and said, ‘In the name of God!’ [i.e., ‘Come in!’]. So the shaykh went in,
and I went with him. Suddenly, there were women with tambourines and reed
flutes in their hands, all singing to him. The shaykh danced until he was done
and exhausted. We left and traveled until we arrived at Fustât.
“But I kept thinking to
myself, ‘How can the shaykh dance to the singing of women?’ Within the hour the
person who had opened the door came and said to [Ibn al-Fârid], ‘Oh sir, such
and such a woman has died!’ and he mentioned one of those who had sung to him.
So Ibn al-Fârid sought the slave dealer [hujari] and said to him, ‘Buy
me a slave girl’—or perhaps he said, ‘Replace [this loss].’
“Then he grabbed me by
the ear and said to me, ‘Don’t you dare rebuke the mystics!’—or ‘Don’t
criticize the mystics!’—‘All of those [women] you saw today are my slave
girls!’ ”
Al-Qûsï added that his
informant, cAbd al-cAzîz, felt that Ibn al-Fârid should
have told the young man, before their visit to Bahnasâ, that the women were his
legal property, which made the poet’s interactions with them lawful. cAbd
al-cAzîz believed this would have been best, for, had the youth died
while harboring a bad opinion of Ibn al-Fârid, the poor boy would surely have
been punished by God. But al-Qüsï countered that Ibn al-Fârid had known by
mystical insight (tashf) that the youth would not die, and so he left
the boy ignorant of the real situation in order to clearly demonstrate to him
later the heedlessness of criticizing true mystics.39
Both of al-Qûsî’s tales
portray Ibn al-Fârid as a powerful mystic with the abilities to produce states
in others and discern a person’s innermost thoughts. Ibn al-Fârid’s attendance
at an audition, in the first story, was requisite for the session’s success, and
when the Muslim holy land of the Hijaz was mentioned, reminding Ibn al-Fârid of
his days there, a spiritual resonance was established, flowing from the
mystically attuned poet to the other listeners. Likewise, in the second story
Ibn al-Fârid was moved to dance by music and song, and later he used the
occasion to induce another’s enlightenment.
These accounts of Ibn
al-Fârid directly link his spiritual state to his aesthetic sensibilities and
so underscore an important feature of his posthumous spiritual reputation.
Dance, music, and poetry often stir human emotions, but Sufis have maintained
that these feelings may be intensified and transformed within the heart of the
spiritual adept. From this perspective many began to regard Ibn al-Fâriçl as an
ecstatic poet. Hearing a verse or song, he would fall into a trance, which
later served as the source for his amazing verse and supernatural powers.40
This view undoubtedly contributed to Ibn al-Fâriçl’s religious popularity, and
his reputation as an enlightened and inspired mystic was elaborated further by
commentaries on his poetry. These commentaries contain scant biographical data,
yet the terms used to refer to Ibn al-Fârid, and the interpretations of his
verse, reveal a deepening reverence for the poet and his work.
The earliest known commentator, the Sufi Sa'ïd
al-Dïn al-Farghani (d. 699/1300), noted in an introduction to his commentary on
the al- Ta'ïyah al-kubrâ that mystics varied in their allusions to what
they had spiritually witnessed and experienced. Though all descriptions fell
short of the states described, some individuals were more expressive due to
their determination and perseverance. Such gifted individuals wrote mystical
poetry to spread their message and to encourage others to follow the mystic
path. Al-Farghânï declared that, among these eloquent mystics, the greatest
was Ibn al-Farid:41
After his
vicissitudes in the valleys and peaks of love, and after his evolving stages
among the lofty mountains of proximity to God [qurb], he was acquainted
with the splendors of the beauty of this exalted reality to the most perfect
degree, beyond the veils of the robe of his pride.
So he devoted himself to
spending the rest of this life and the next, in stringing the necklace of
unique and guarded pearls, in order to . . . clarify the requirements of the
mystical station \maqâm\. For the perfection of the follower results
from the thing followed, and the beauty of the part. . . results from its
whole.
Even allowing for the hyperbole that classical
Arabic commentators traditionally employed when first mentioning the author of
their subject work, al-Farghânï perceived Ibn al-Fârid to be a Sufi poet who
had scaled mystical heights. Al-Farghânï left no doubt concerning the spiritual
sources from which, he believed, Ibn al-Fâriçl had drawn his great poems. The
mystic poet’s own intense experiences of love and his metamorphosis in the
phases of divine proximity inspired his profoundly religious verse, and
al-Farghânï interpreted the poems accordingly; drinking wine symbolized Ibn
al-Fârid’s mystical experience, while the burning pains of love alluded to this
mystic’s pained separation from God.42
Following al-Farghânï’s interpretation of Ibn
al-Fârid as an impassioned Sufi were two later commentators, cIzz
al-Dïn al-Kâshânï (d. 735/1334) and Dâ’üd al-Qaysarï (d. ca. 747/1346).
Al-Kâshânï declared Ibn al-Fârid “the shaykh, the scholar, the realized and
thorough gnostic,”43 while al- Qaysarï extolled the poet as “the
exemplar of the gnostics of the worlds, the chief of the greatest scholars, the
pride of those with spiritual insight, the adornment of the saints, and the
axis of the true friends [¿w/rya’].”44 Al-Kâshânï and al-Qaysarï
also followed al-Farghânï in their assertions of the inspired nature of Ibn
al-Fârid’s verse, and they went so far as to draw daring parallels between the al-TcPlyah
al-kubrâ and the inimitable Qur’an. Echoing the Qur’ânic challenge to the
unbelievers to “produce a chapter like it” (fa'tü bi-süratin mithlihi
[10:38]), al-Kâshânï wrote of the al-TcPtyah al-kubrâ:^
With its composition, he disabled the great masters among the
eloquent composers and fluent orators, from producing the likes of it [ityân
bi-mithâlihâ\. By its excellence, he amazed the great authorities of
spiritual insight and vision, as well as the sultans of meaning and eloquence,
and they all recognized the perfection of its beauty.
And al-Qayçarï added:46
No one has ever produced the likes of it [lam ya't bi-mithliha\
in any age or epoch! Its expression, by nature, will never again be
permitted as long as night turns to day, and it is impossible to describe it by
explanation or characterize it by allusion!
Just as the Qur’an had proclaimed itself to be
Muhammad’s miracle and the proof of his prophecy, so too did these Sufi
commentators point to Ibn al-Fârid’s extraordinary verse as evidence of his
deep mystical wisdom and his exalted saintly status; his poetry had become his
miracle.
Such appraisals of Ibn
al-Fârid and his poetry present him as an enlightened gnostic and divinely
inspired poet of the Sufi way. Even more specifically, the mystical theologies
expounded by al-Farghânï, al-Kâshânï, and al-Qaysarï in their commentaries
reveal that they believed Ibn al-Fâriçl to have been a spokesman for the very
popular doctrines of Ibn al-cArabï (560-637/1165-1240),
unquestionably the most influential theorist of Islamic mysticism. Of
particular importance was Ibn al-cArabï’s theosophy of divine unity,
later known as wahdat al-wujüd (the unity of being), which posited that
“the existence of everything is identical with the relation of that particular
being to Being itself, that existents are nothing but the relation they possess
to the Absolute.”47 Based on this ontological principle, creator and
creation—indeed, all things—are interdependent and so possess only relative
existence. Yet, when seen aright from an appropriate mystical perspective,
everything reflects a facet of unlimited divine unity.48
Although there is no reliable evidence that Ibn
al-Farifl ever knew or embraced Ibn al-cArabï’s teachings, the
direct link between the Wujüdï theosophical school and the commentaries was
noted by a leading Cairene Sufi of the thirteenth century, Shams al-Dïn al-Aykï
(d. 697/1298). He claimed that al-Farghânï had derived his commentary on the al-Td*tyah
al-kubrâ from Sadr al-Dïn al-Qünawï (d. 673/1274), probably Ibn al- c
Arabi’s most famous and influential student. Al-Aykï is reported to have told
Ibn al-Fâriçl’s son, Kamâl al-Dïn Muhammad:49
Our shaykh
[Sadr al-Dïn’s] sessions would be attended by groups of scholars and students
of religious knowledge, and he would . . . conclude his discourse by mentioning
a verse from the ode, Nazm al-sulük. He would speak on it—in Persian—words
that were strange and mystical, which were not understood save by the possessor
of intuition and desire.
The next day he would
say, “Another meaning came to me on the commentary of the verse we spoke about
yesterday,” and he would say a more amazing thing than he had the day before!
[Sadr al-Dïn] used to
say, “It is desirable that the Sufi memorize this poem, and it is requisite for
one who understands it that he comment on it.”
The shaykh Sa'ïd al-Dïn
al-Farghânï devoted himself with determination to understand what Sadr al-Dïn
mentioned as commentary on this ode, and he wrote it down in his presence,
first in Persian, and, after that, he translated it into Arabic.
Like al-Farghânï, al-Qay§arï was also an adherent
of al-Qünawï’s interpretations of Ibn al-c Arabi’s teachings, and,
although al-Kâshânï was not a member of the Wujüdï school, he interpreted the al-Tâ?îyah
al-kubrâ in similar monistic terms.50 Clearly, then, these
commentators are crucial to an understanding of Ibn al-Fârid’s postmortem
metamorphosis. Their conviction that Ibn al-Farid’s verse was a personal
account of monistic religious experiences led to his portrayal as a great
mystic of the Ibn al- c Arabi school, and this interpretation of him
was a vital link between the earliest biographies of Ibn al-Fàrid the poet and
later accounts of Ibn al- Fârid the saint.
But these commentaries also provided ammunition
to those who were suspicious of the doctrinal underpinning of Ibn al-Fâriçl’s
poetry and of his al-Tddyah al-kubrâ, in particular. A number of Muslim
legal scholars and theologians actively opposed beliefs promoting or resembling
those of divine incarnation in creation (hulül I hulülïyah), mystical
union with the divine (ittthâd I ittihadtyah), or monism (wahdat al-wujüd
I ittihâdïyah). Such doctrines, they asserted, undermined the God-humanity
distinction upon which all law was based. Though very few of these scholars
totally rejected Sufism, they did attempt to censor mystical works, like the al-
Tadyah al-kubra, which they believed encouraged deviation from God’s truth
as revealed in the Qur’an and prophetic custom of Muhammad and codified in the
law.51
This led another student of al-Qünawî, cAfîf
al-Dïn al-Tilimsânî (61090/1213-91), to compose his commentary on the ode in
support of the poet. Unlike al-Farghânî, whose commentary he paraphrased,
al-Tilimsânî did not laud Ibn al-Fâriçl’s poetic skills, as he assumed a more
defensive position in order to prove the genuine quality of Ibn al-Fârid’s
mystical experiences and the soundness of his religious beliefs. Al- Tilimsânï
did not specify who had criticized Ibn al-Fârid, saying only that they had
misunderstood the poet and ascribed the doctrine of incarnation to him as well
as other things that violated Islamic law. Perhaps he was making an oblique
reference to a controversy that had occurred in Cairo around 687/1288. In this
dispute Ibn Bint al-Acazz (d. 695/1296), the vizier of the Mamluk
sultan Qalâ’ün and chief Shâfi'ï judge, publicly disgraced Shams al-Dîn al-Aykï
for encouraging the study of the al- Tâdyah al-kubrd, which the vizier
believed propagated incarnationism.52
It is, however, more likely, that al-Tilimsânï
was consciously refuting a Sufi rival, al-Qutb Ibn al-Qastallânî (d. 686/1287),
who had denounced al- Tilimsânï along with Ibn al-Fâriçl and others for being
incarnationists.53 As part of his defense, al-Tilimsânï related an
account in which the prophet Muhammad allegedly appeared to Ibn al-Fârid in a
dream and asked him what he had named his long ode. Ibn al-Fârid replied that
he had named it LawâUh al-janân wa-rawddh al-jinan (The Flashes of the
Heart and the Fragrances of the Gardens). But Muhammad said: “No. Rather, name
it Nazm al-sulük." According to Islamic tradition, to have met the
prophet in a dream is to have met him in person, and so al- Tilimsânï offered
this story as a clear proof of Muhammad’s approval of the poem and his high
regard for its author.54
But such popular tales probably
had little effect on Ibn al-Farid’s detractors, such as the Hanbali jurist
Ahmad Ibn Hamdan (631-95/123496), who wrote a commentary critical of the al-Ta^îyah
al-kubrâ. Though his work is lost, quotations from it preserved by later
writers show that Ibn Hamdan believed the ode to be overflowing with doctrines
of incarnation and monism.55 Similarly, other critics in the late
thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries denounced what they perceived as Ibn
al- Fârid’s adherence to monism. These opponents included Ibn al-Qasjal- lâni’s
student, the noted grammarian Abu Hayyân (654—745/1256— 1344),56
and, more important, the great Hanbali legal scholar and theologian Ibn
Taymiyah (661-728/1263-1328).
Ibn Taymiyah was an
intractable opponent of Ibn al-cArabi and anyone else whom he
perceived to be an adherent of the unity of being. Ibn Taymiyah misinterpreted
Ibn aPArabi’s abstract and sophisticated doctrines as the grossest pantheism,
and on these grounds he took exception to specific verses in Ibn al-Fâriçl’s al-Tâ^ïyah
al-kubrâ. Not to be beaten by al-Tilimsânï, Ibn Taymiyah related his own
story, which alleged that, when Ibn al-Farid was at the point of death, he
realized the vanity of his belief that he was God and so repented, saying:57
If my resting
place
in love near
you
is what I’ve
seen,
then I wasted
my life.
A desire
seized my soul
for a time,
but now it
seems
just a jumbled
dream.
Apparently, Ibn Taymiyah
and other critics of Ibn al-Farid accepted the Sufi commentaries on his verse
at face value, as accurate portrayals of the poet’s intent and belief, and, not
surprisingly, they attacked these works too. When Ibn Taymiyah censured
adherents of incarnationist and monistic doctrines, he condemned Ibn aPArabï,
al-Qünawï, and Ibn al- Fârid as well as al-Tilimsânï and al-Farghânï, “who
commented on the ode of Ibn al-Fâriçl.”58 Even earlier the ShafiT
scholar Ibn cAbd al-Salam (577-660/1181-1262) had rebuked Sufi
commentators in general for attempting to interpret poetry metaphorically. He
believed that divine truths could not possibly be alluded to by erotic imagery,
not to mention by wine and intoxication, which were forbidden by religious law.59
But these sporadic criticisms of Ibn al-Fâriçi
did not check his rise in popularity, and, in fact, they reinforced the popular
Sufi view of the poet. By the beginning of the fourteenth century the notorious
image of Ibn al- Fârid as an extremist Sufi was visibly interacting with the
two prominent conceptions of him as a learned poet and an inspired mystic. A
few decades later cAlï, Ibn al-Farid’s grandson, would attempt to
reconcile these positions with his own personal interpretation based on family
sources.
Chapter 2
Sanctification
Sibt Ibn
al-Fârid and His Dïbajah
Often in the genesis of a
saint the second generation fashions and recounts miraculous proofs of a
person’s saintly status, and it was Ibn al- Fârid’s grandson, ‘All (fl.
735/1334), who contributed most to the poet’s sanctification. ‘All made a
collection of his grandfather’s poetry, prefaced by an account of Ibn
al-Fârid’s adult life. This introduction, the Dïbajah, reports in some
detail the poet’s inspirational moments and creative states, which had been
assumed by the early writers.
‘AH was born sometime after his grandfather’s
death in 632/1235. Hence, the tone of the Dïbajah is more one of awe and
reverence than of personal affection.1 As expected, ‘All never
quoted his grandfather directly; the majority of his stories were based on
conversations with his uncle, Kamal al-Din Muhammad, one of Ibn al-Fârid’s
sons. This direct link to the poet via his offspring lends a factual quality to
‘All’s unadorned Arabic prose, and this has led many scholars to read the Dïbajah
as a biography and defense of Ibn al-Fârid.
‘All was certainly aware of criticisms leveled
against his grandfather’s poetry and the supposed Sufi doctrines underlying it.
But he did not state—as had al-Tilimsani before him and others after—that he
intended to refute the critics and establish Ibn al-Fârid’s agreement with
“correct” Islam. Rather, he appended his introduction to the Dïwân as “a
memorial [tadhkirah] ... to the glorious deeds of the fathers and
grandfathers,” as a repository for “the secrets of [Ibn al-Fârid’s] renowned
miracles \kara- mat\ and the excellence of his appearance.”2
‘All’s purpose was not refutation or biography but hagiography, the praise and
glorification of an ancestor whom he admired and venerated. When we read the
work as such we discover and understand a decisive stage in Ibn al-Fârid’s rise
to sainthood.’
With hagiographie intent ‘All structured his Dïbajah
around a few major themes roughly divided into four sections: (1) stories of
the young Ibn al-
Farid’s mystical calling;
(2) accounts of his inspired states and the al- TiPtyah al-kubrâ; (3)
stories of the elderly poet’s religiosity, including his dealings with the
ruling elite; and (4) Ibn al-Farid’s death and a long account of his last hours
and burial. As a preface to his stories, cAlï presented a short
sketch of his grandfather, providing an appropriate image of Ibn al-Fârid to be
borne in mind by his readers. Quoting Ibn al- Fâriçl’s son, CA1I
wrote:4
The shaykh—may
God be satisfied with him—was of medium build, his face being handsome with a
ruddy appearance. When he participated in an audition \samip\ and showed
ecstasy, a state coming over him, his face would increase in beauty and
brightness, and sweat would pour from the rest of him until it flowed beneath
his feet onto the ground. I have not seen among Arabs or non-Arabs one as
handsome of form, and I, of all people, resemble him the most in appearance.
He had a
light, a diffidence, a splendor, and a venerableness. When he attended a
session, there would appear over the people there a silence and reverence, a
tranquility and dignity. I saw a group of the shaykhs from the jurisprudents
and the mendicants, and the great ones of the country, from the amirs, viziers,
and the judges, and the leaders of the people, attending his session, and they
treated him with the utmost respect and humbleness; when they addressed him, it
was as if they were addressing a great king.
When he walked
in the city, people would crowd around him seeking spiritual blessing [barakah]
and benediction from him, while trying to kiss his hand. But he would not allow
anyone to do that, rather he shook hands with them. His clothes were fine and
his odor fragrant.
He would spend
amply on those who visited him, being very generous. He never demeaned himself
by seeking to obtain anything from this world, and he never accepted anything
from anyone. The Sultan Muhammad al-Malik al-Kamil . . . sent 1,000 dinars to
him, but he sent them back. [The Sultan] asked if he could prepare a cenotaph
for him next to the grave of [the Sultan’s] mother in the domed shrine of alimaña
al-ShaficT . . . but [Ibn al-Farid] would not allow it. Then [the
Sultan] asked his permission to build a shrine especially for him, but he was
uneasy with that.
This first glimpse of Ibn al-Farid is one of an
enlightened and spiritually attuned mystic. He was handsome and distinguished,
honored by the most respectable classes of society. Although well dressed and
generous, Ibn al-Fari<j never craved the things of the material world and
kept his distance from royal patronage. Al-Malik al-Kâmil’s request to build a
shrine for Ibn al-Fâriçl and the deference others showed the poet as they
sought his blessings suggest to the reader that Ibn al-Fârid was venerated
during his lifetime for his piety. Further, Ibn al-Fârid’s refusal to allow
people to kiss his hand and his disregard for the sultan’s attentions confirmed
the poet’s saintly humility.
'All elaborated on this
general assessment of his grandfather, beginning with Ibn al-Fârid’s recollections
of his youthful asceticism. When Ibn al- Fârid obtained his father’s permission
to go into solitude, he would wander in the Muqattam hills east of Cairo. Then,
out of regard for his father, he would return and sit with him in court and in
study sessions. The craving for solitude would seize the youth, however, and,
with his father’s consent, he would return to wandering. This was the situation
until Ibn al-Fârid’s father was asked to be the chief judge; he refused, gave
up his judicial life, and devoted himself to God.5
In this account Ibn al-Fârid is obedient and
considerate to his father, who is presented as a well-respected scholar and
official. His father’s refusal to accept the position of chief judge would have
legitimized his piety and religious sincerity among Muslims, since this office
had always been considered morally tainted by temptations to compromise one’s
integrity in order to please a ruler or for material gain.6 Ibn
al-Fârid’s father appears to have understood the persistent spiritual unrest
that led his son to a solitary life, and in his old age he too shunned human
society.
Ibn al-Fârid continued his asceticism after his
father’s death, but he remained unenlightened until one day when he passed by a
law school, the Suyüfïyah madrasah:[V]
Hijaz, in
Mecca—may God glorify it! So head for it, for the time of your enlightenment is
near!”
Then I knew that the man was among the saints of God most
high and that he disguised himself with [this] manner of living and by feigning
ignorance of the order of ablutions. So I sat before him and said, “Oh sir, I
am here but Mecca is there, and I will not find a mount or a travel companion
in the non-pilgrimage months.”
Then he looked at me and pointed with his hand and said,
“This is Mecca before you!” And I looked with him and saw Mecca—may God glorify
it! So I left him and sought it, it remaining before me until I entered it at
that moment. When I entered, enlightenment came to me wave after wave, and it
never left.
This account of Ibn al-Farid’s mystical awakening
belongs to a well- established genre of conversion stories in which an old
saint readily educates a naive, though well-meaning, youth.8 Here
the young Ibn al- Fârid , who has led a life of self-abnegation, lacks the
necessary spark to kindle the fire of illumination. Proud of his piety, Ibn
al-Fârid contemptuously criticized an elder’s behavior, but he was amazed when
the old man spoke his name and knew of his inner spiritual frustration at being
unenlightened. This shock jolted Ibn al-Farid out of his complacency, as he
realized that the old man was, in fact, a saint. Humbly, Ibn al-Fâriçl
submitted to the shaykh, who visualized Mecca, the axis mundi of Islam,
before them. Attentive to his master’s advice, Ibn al-Farid followed the image
to Mecca, where he was enlightened permanently. The heedlessness of youth and
the letter of the law gave way to wisdom and mystical insight. cA1T
found an allusion to this enlightenment in two verses by his grandfather:
Oh my night companion, refresh my spirit singing
of Mecca if you wish to cheer me.
In her was my intimacy
and the ascent
of my sanctity,
and my station was
Abraham’s
and the enlightenment
clear!9
Having established Ibn al-Fàrid’s possession of
gnosis at the outset, cAli substantiated this claim with miracles.
He said that the wild animals of the Hijaz did not run from Ibn al-Fâriçl, who
was accompanied every day during the five prayers at the Kacbah by a
ferocious lion. Further, Ibn al-Fârid and the lion would daily transverse the
ten-day journey between the oasis in which Ibn al-Fârid lived and Mecca. The
lion would repeatedly ask Ibn al-Fârid to ride, but he would refuse, no doubt
out of humility and concern for another living creature. One day a group of
religious scholars who resided at the Kacbah were said to have been
speculating on the preparations Ibn al-Fârid must make in order to undertake
the arduous desert crossing, when suddenly they saw the lion and heard him say,
“Oh sir, ride!” They immediately asked God’s forgiveness and apologized to Ibn
al-Fârid for having believed that his coming to Mecca every day to pray was due
to anything less than a miracle from God.10
After fifteen years of spiritual preparation in
the wilderness of the Hijaz, Ibn al-Fâriçl heard the voice of the greengrocer
calling him back to Cairo: “Oh cUmar, return to Cairo to attend my
death and pray over me!” Ibn al-Fârid instantly returned, in time to find his
master on the point of death. The shaykh requested that his burial be at a
place called al-cArid in the Qarâfah cemetery, and he told Ibn
al-Fârid to wait there for a man to meet him. Ibn al-Fârid fulfilled his
shaykh’s wishes, and after the old man died a man descended from Mt. Muqattam,
though his feet never touched the ground. The two men prayed over the corpse.
During the prayer Ibn al-Fârid noticed rows of white birds and green birds
hovering in the air and praying along with them, and then a huge green bird
alighted at the foot of the bier, gobbled up the body, and rejoined the other
birds, as they flew off singing loudly in praise of God. Ibn al-Fârid was
speechless, but his companion explained:
Oh cUmar, haven’t you heard that the spirits of
the martyrs are in the stomachs of green birds, which roam where they will in
Paradise? They are the martyrs of the sword. As for the martyrs of love, both
their spirits and their bodies are in the stomachs of green birds, and this man
was among them!"
The stranger from the mountain added that once he
too had been among this elect group, but he had sinned and so was excluded. Now
he was doing penance for his error. Then he turned away, ascended the mountain,
and disappeared. Ibn al-Fârid’s son concluded this story saying:
My father said to me, “Oh
Muhammad, I have mentioned this
to you only to make you
desire to enter our [mystical] way.
So, don’t
mention it to anyone during my lifetime.” So I mentioned it to no one until he
died.
This last comment clarifies Ibn al-Fâriçl’s
purpose for relating the miraculous events of this story; he wanted to
strengthen his son’s commitment to the Sufi way but without drawing undue
attention to his own special role in the events.12 No doubt, this
story of the greengrocer’s death and burial enhanced Ibn al-Fâriçl’s reputation
and the sanctity of the site where he also was buried.13 But 'All
probably included this account to depict spiritual succession as Ibn al-Fâriçl
assumed his master’s place as a saint of Cairo. As we shall see, this
interpretation is supported by the last story in the bïbâjah, which
deals with Ibn al-Farid’s death as witnessed by Ibrâhîm al-Ja'barî
(599-687/1203-88), who discovered there that he too was a saint.
Not surprisingly, Ibn
al-Fâriçl’s privileged membership among the lovers of God is the theme of'All’s
next story, in which the Prophet Muhammad appears to Ibn al-Fârid in a dream to
ask him his lineage. Ibn al-Fârid testified that he was a descendant of the
Sa'd tribe, the tribe of HalTmah, Muhammad’s wet nurse, but the Prophet
insisted that Ibn al-Fârid was his direct relative. 'Alî explained the
discrepancy in lineage by distinguishing between blood relations and those of
love; the latter are nobler, for Noah’s son and Muhammad’s own uncle, Abû
Tâlib, perished for lack of faith, while others who were attached to Muhammad
only by love of him were saved.14 'Alî then mentioned one of his own
dreams about another man’s lineage to the Prophet, and, staying with the
subject of dreams, he related from his uncle the story of Ibn al-Fâriçl’s dream
of Muhammad and the Prophet’s suggestion to name the al-TcPtyah al-kubrâ the
Nazm al-sulûk.15
This led 'Alî to stories about the famous poem.
The first is about a man who came to Ibn al-Fârid requesting the poet’s
permission to write a two-volume commentary on the work. But Ibn al-Fârid
smiled and said, “Had I wanted, I could have commented two volumes on each
verse,” so profound was the ode. Next 'All related the passage quoted in the
previous chapter concerning al-Aykî, al-Qûnawï, and al-Farghânï’s commentary,
which 'Alî had read.16
Turning his attention to the state in which Ibn
al-Fârid composed this great mystical poem, 'Alî noted that, unlike normal
poets, who struggled to compose, his grandfather would become entranced and,
upon recovery, recite. Quoting his uncle, 'All wrote:17
The shaykh ...
in most of his moments [of inspiration (awqat)}, was always perplexed,
eyes fixed, hearing no one who spoke, not even seeing them. Sometimes he would
be standing, sometimes sitting, sometimes he would lie down on his side, and
sometimes he would throw himself down on his back wrapped in a shroud like a
dead man. Ten consecutive days—more or less—would pass while he was in this
state, he neither eating, drinking, speaking, nor moving, as has been said:
See the lovers felled
in their encampments,
like the youths of the
Cave, not knowing how long they’ve lingered.
By God, had the lovers
sworn
to go mad from
love or die, then they would not break their oath!18
Then he would regain consciousness and come to, and his first
words would be a dictation of what God had enlightened him with of the ode Nazm
al-sulúk.
This account of Ibn al-Farid’s trance confirms
and develops the inferences of the earlier commentators concerning the poet’s
inspiration by giving a supposed eyewitness report. The poet’s state resembles
that of the pre-Islamic diviners, who sometimes covered their heads when possessed.
Further, two chapters of the Qur’an refer to Muhammad as being wrapped or
covered, and 'All’s readers would have recalled that, according to tradition,
the Prophet Muhammad emerged from unconsciousness with God’s revelation upon
his heart. Entranced and unconscious, Ibn al-Farid was an unblemished surface
upon which the divine mysteries were impressed.19
'Ali related another
version of Ibn al-Fâriçl’s dream of the Prophet and the naming of the ode. This
second account differs only slightly from the first story, and 'Ali probably
included it for the additional information that, unlike most poets, who spent
hours on a single line, Ibn al-Fârid would awaken from his trance and instantly
recite between thirty and fifty verses of the poem. 'All also may have cited
this second account from an unnamed anthologist to lend objective, nonfamilial
evidence to prove his grandfather’s exalted state when composing his ode. In
any case both versions of the story unquestionably assert prophetic approval
for this inspired, if controversial, poem.20
CA1T then
concluded discussion of the al-Tâ'ïyah al-kubrâ by reporting an incident
involving the ode and Ibn al-FâriçI’s religious beliefs, which occurred at the
end of Qalâ’ûn’s sultanate (r. 678-89/1279—90). CA1T stated that,
when the chief judge Taqî al-Dïn cAbd al-Rahmân ibn Bint al-Acazz
(d. 695/1296) was Qalâ’ûn’s vizier, he publicly criticized the leading Sufi
official of Cairo, the shaykh al-shuyflkh, Shams al-Dïn al- AykT
(631-96/1234-98) at the latter’s al-Salâhîyah monastery, for urging the Sufis
to study Ibn al-Fâri<fs al-Ta'tyah al-kubrâ.1' Ibn Bint
al-Acazz believed that Ibn al-Fàrid showed an inclination toward
incarnation (hulül) in the work, and so the vizier denounced it. Al-Aykï
was disgraced by Ibn Bint al-Acazz’s criticism of him and his verbal
insults, and, as a result, al- Aykï cursed him, saying, “May God make an
example of you as you have done to me!”22
Later Ibn Bint al-Acazz
gave up the position of vizier, and then, following Qalâ’ûn’s death, he was dismissed
from his judgeship and imprisoned on charges of heresy, slander, and
irreligious behavior. cAlï went on to say that a base person bore
false witness against Ibn Bint al- Acazz at the instigation of Shams
al-Dïn Muhammad ibn al-Sal'ûs (d. 693/ 1294), who despised the judge.
Nevertheless, CA1T explained Ibn Bint al- A'azz’s misfortunes as
simply “the recompense for his slandering the spiritual elect.”23
cAlï claimed
that he was instrumental in Ibn Bint al-Acazz’s release from prison,
after which he visited the judge to congratulate him for his exoneration.
During this visit cAlï defended the propriety of his grandfather’s
religious beliefs by reciting verses from the al-TiPtyah al-kubrâ, which
warn against belief in a divine incarnation. Ibn Bint al-A'azz apologized and
asked God’s forgiveness for what he had said against Ibn al-Fârid. Further, the
judge claimed that he was a great admirer of the poet, whose Diwan he
had memorized when he was a young man. cAlï then raised the issue of
Ibn Bint al-Acazz’s argument with al-Aykï, and the judge answered:24
Yes, I remained anxious from his curse until this oppression
befell me. So I ask God most high to pardon me and him, and I turn in
repentance to God most high for slandering the reputation of the folk of this
way [i.e., the Sufis] for because of them this calamity befell me. I implore
their blessings [barakât] from God.
‘All added that Ibn Bint al-Acazz left
on pilgrimage to the Hijaz, where he humbly recited a beautiful poem in praise
of Muhammad. When he returned to Cairo he found that many of his enemies had
perished, and he was reinstated in the judgeship, a position he held until his
death.
‘All’s account of Ibn Bint al-A‘azz and his
personal crisis is intriguing. The verses critical of incarnation quoted by ‘AH
from his grandfather’s work appear to be in defense of the poet.25
Yet the story as a whole, and especially in its wider context of this
hagiography, suggests that its inclusion was not primarily to defend Ibn
al-Farid’s beliefs but, rather, to demonstrate the dire consequences to be
suffered by those who slander God’s elect. This is clearly ‘All’s
interpretation of the events and consistent with his intent to commemorate his
grandfather’s good name.
Ibn Bint al-A‘azz’s fall from power was viewed
differently, however, by those writing history and biography, and a comparison
with these accounts highlights the style and goals of ‘All’s hagiography.
Reference to the event may be found in several works, but the most detailed
account is by Ibn al-Furât (d. 807/1405) in his Mamluk history, Ta'rikh
al-duwal wa-al-mulùk.ïb
According to this work, the argument occurred in
687/1288 shortly after Ibn Bint al-A‘azz was named vizier. Ibn al-Furât noted
that it was then customary for a new vizier to have a prayer rug unrolled for
him at the al- Çalâhïyah monastery; this represented the vizier’s status as a
chief shaykh, a position he shared with the shaykh al-shuyükh of the
establishment.27 Ibn Bint al-A‘azz sent a rug for this purpose to be
unrolled as usual after the afternoon prayer in the presence of the residents
of the monastery. This was done, and al-Aykl and all of the Sufis prepared to
meet the new vizier, but he kept them waiting. Al-Aykl feared that he would
miss his appointed hour for reading the Qur’an, so he started to read it, and
the Sufis followed the example of their leader.28
Ibn al-Furât stated that al-Aykl would not
interrupt his reading for any reason or for anyone. Therefore, when Ibn Bint
al-A‘azz arrived during the reading al-Aykl did not rise to meet him, nor did
he break his concentration, and he continued to read seated, although the rest
of the Sufis had stood up and gone to greet Ibn Bint al-A‘azz. This insult
perturbed the vizier. After the Qur’an reading, dhikr ceremony, and
prayers, al-Aykl stood and greeted Ibn Bint al-A‘azz and then sat down.
Ibn al-Furât said that a Sufi who was jealous of
al-Aykl sensed the vizier’s displeasure, and he sat before Ibn Bint al-A‘azz,
who was still the chief judge, in order to lodge a complaint against al-Aykl.
Ibn Bint al- A‘azz called al-Aykl to stand next to his adversary that he might
judge between them, but al-Aykl refused, saying that no quarrel existed. Ibn
Bint al-A‘azz became furious. He rebuked al-Aykl and commanded that all present
take hold of al-Aykï and make an example of him. So they seized him and knocked
off his turban. Al-Aykï then turned to Ibn Bint al-Acazz and said,
“You have made an example of me, so may God do likewise to you!” Al-Ayki’s
curse increased the vizier’s anger, but he also grew fearful because of it.29
Ibn al-Furat’s account
suggests that Ibn Bint al-Acazz desired that the Sufis await his
arrival in order to assert his authority and importance. Nevertheless, al-Aykï,
as symbolic head of the Sufis, began his Qur’an reading without the vizier and
so stressed his own sovereignty in spiritual matters. Ibn Bint al-Acazz
hoped to check this presumed insolence by attempting to humble the shaykh to
the status of the accused before the judge. But al-Aykï gave further insult when
he denied Ibn Bint al-Acazz his right of judicature by declaring the
case nonexistent. Neither man sought compromise, not to mention cooperation on
the matter of Sufi leadership. The vizier drove home his point with worldly
power; the shaykh answered in otherworldly kind.
Two years after the
argument Ibn Bint al-Acazz held al-Aykï’s former position as shaykh
al-shuyükh.30 No doubt, al-Aykï gave up his position in Cairo due to
this disgrace by Ibn Bint al-Acazz; one biographer noted that
al-Aykï resigned as shaykh of the monastery and returned to Damascus because
“the Sufis spoke ill of him.”31 But the fact that Ibn Bint al- Acazz
obtained the directorship of the al-Salâhïyah monastery suggests that the
quarrel between the two men was motivated by more mundane than religious
concerns.
Senior religious scholars
of this period customarily occupied a number of positions simultaneously,
appointing substitutes for those duties that they were too busy to fulfill.
Multiple posts could enhance one’s reputation and income, and it was not
unusual for a chief judge to accrue substantial sums from nonjudicial duties.
Accordingly, by 690/1291 Ibn Bint al-Acazz held at least seventeen
posts, including the judgeship and the position of shaykh al-shuyükh, from
which he secured a sizable income.32 It is quite possible, then,
that Ibn Bint al-Acazz used his leverage as chief judge and
vizier—and perhaps the point of Ibn al-Farid’s religious beliefs—to undermine
al-Aykï’s position at the monastery in order to assume it himself and eliminate
a rival.
Ibn Bint al-Acazz’s
wealth and influence, however, were also instrumental in his own undoing. In
689/1290 Ibn Bint al-Acazz’s patron, the sultan Qalâ’ün, died, and
he was succeeded by his son al-Ashraf (d. 693/1294). The new sultan did not
like Ibn Bint al-Acazz because the judge had favored Qalâ’ün’s older
son al-Malik al-Salih over him.33 Of added importance was the
enmity al-Ashraf’s vizier Ibn al-Salcüs harbored against Ibn Bint
al-Acazz and other members of Qalâ’ûn’s inner circle, for past
indignities he had suffered.34
The new vizier resolved to humble or eliminate
all rivals whether they were Mamluks or religious scholars, like Ibn Bint al-Acazz,
who was replaced as chief judge. So determined was Ibn al-Salcûs
that, when there was an attempt to have Ibn Bint al-Acazz appointed
judge in Damascus and thus allow him to retain some professional respect, the
vizier arranged for individuals to testify before the sultan against the judge.
The witnesses included a handsome youth who confessed to having committed
sodomy with the accused, while others alleged that Ibn Bint al-A'azz was
secretly a Christian and wore the zunnàr, or sash marking a Christian,
beneath his clothes.35
In his defense Ibn Bint al-Acazz
appealed to common sense, arguing that, while many of the charges were
possible, the wearing of a zunnàr was absurd, since the Christians had
been forced to wear it prominently displayed in order to be distinguished from
the Muslim majority; it was an odious badge to the Christians, who would
dispose of it if they could.36 But by the trial’s end Ibn Bint al-Acazz
was severely abused by Ibn al- Sal'ûs and was fined an enormous sum of money.
The vizier wanted to beat him, but this was not allowed. Later the former judge
was forced to ascend to the Citadel on foot while his guards rode, a disgrace
for a person of Ibn Bint al-Acazz’s status and an act that outraged
a number of Mamluk amirs who were incredulous of the charges brought against
him.37
Still not satisfied, Ibn al-Salcûs
held a session the next year in which Ibn Bint al-Acazz was again
accused of disgusting behavior. This time Ibn Bint al-Acazz was
imprisoned and threatened with execution. Yet, on the first of Ramadan,
692/1293, he was released from confinement and permitted to return to his
residence in Cairo. Ibn Bint al-Acazz then composed a panegyric in
praise of Ibn al-Salcûs, which he desired to read personally before
the vizier. But Ibn al-Salcûs ordered another to recite it, and,
obviously satisfied, the vizier cleared Ibn Bint al-Acazz of any
wrongdoing.38
Ibn Bint al-Acazz then left on
pilgrimage, but, before he returned to Cairo in 693/1294, the sultan al-Ashraf
and Ibn al-Salcûs were assassinated. Al-Nâsir (684-741/1285-1341),
the nine-year-old son of Qalâ’ûn, was named sultan by the assassins, with the
support of some of Qalâ’ûn’s trusted administrators. Shortly thereafter, Ibn
Bint al-Acazz was reinstated by his old allies in all of the
positions occupied by him in 689/1290, including that of chief judge, which he held
until his death in 695/1296.39
Ibn al-Furât’s account of Ibn Bint al-Acazz
and his misfortunes contrasts sharply with that by Ibn al-Farid’s grandson,
most notably concerning the matter of cause. Clearly, Ibn al-Furat numbered the
argument with al- Aykï among the reasons for Ibn Bint al-A‘azz’s fall from
power. The vizier’s craving for worldly recognition and his desire to assert
his religious superiority over the shaykh led to predictable consequences, for
God protected those concerned only with Him. While Ibn al-Furat made no mention
of Ibn al-FâritJ or his al-TiPtyah al-kubrâ, they may have been the
source of the Sufi’s complaint against al-Ayki. Nevertheless, in his account
al-Ayki—not Ibn al-Fari<j—is only one of several reasons for the vizier’s falling
into the hands of the vindictive Ibn al-Salcùs.
Although ‘Ali referred to
Ibn al-Sal‘üs and the trial, details of the events and the political rivalries
involved are obscured in order to drive home a crucial point; Ibn Bint al-A‘azz
had falsely accused Ibn al-Fari<J of heresy and so faced a similar charge as
punishment. Further, ‘Ali gave only a general time frame—the end of Qalâ’ûn’s
reign—leaving the impression that the argument over the al-Ta'tyah al-kubrâ
between Ibn Bint al-A‘azz and al-Ayki took place immediately before the
former’s persecution, when, in fact, nearly three years had passed. For ‘Ali
political actions and their usual consequences were displaced by religious
issues and the miraculous.
‘Ali mentioned that
during his conversation with Ibn Bint al-A‘azz, the former judge confessed to
having been very wrong about Ibn al-Fari<J; likewise, Ibn Bint al-Acazz
attributed the calamities that befell him to his slandering of Ibn al-Farid and
not to political intrigue. Yet ‘All’s conversation with Ibn Bint al-A‘azz
occurred soon after the judge’s release and before he made the pilgrimage. No
doubt his recent imprisonment and the threat of execution had encouraged a
religious frame of mind, one in which God worked in mysterious ways.
But, in addition, the
overt cause for his calamities, Ibn al-Sal‘üs, was still alive and powerful as
vizier. Ibn Bint al-A‘azz’s panegyric of the vizier and his undertaking the
pilgrimage were two clear signs that he had submitted to the alignments of
power and Ibn al-Sal‘ùs’s domination. That Ibn al-Sal‘us did not cause Ibn Bint
al-A‘azz the added humiliation of reciting the panegyric and, later, permitted
the judge’s exoneration from all charges indicate that the vizier no longer
felt threatened by his former rival. In this light Ibn Bint al-A‘azz’s apology
for criticizing Ibn al- Fârid and blaming himself—and not the sultan or his
vizier—for his personal misfortunes may be seen as yet another proof offered to
his oppressors that he would not press his claims to government or oppose their
rule. Thus, Ibn Bint al-A‘azz’s acknowledgment of ‘All’s interpretation of the
events and the judge’s apology for slandering the poet probably had their
political dimension as well.40
cAli related
his account of Ibn Bint al-Acazz to uphold Ibn al-Fâriçl’s saintly
status, and in the next section of the btbajah he went on to cite
several examples of his grandfather’s mystical sensitivity and his ability to
induce religious states in others.41 In one of these stories a group
of guards passed by Ibn al-Fârid while they were beating clappers and singing:
Oh master,
we stayed
awake all night
wanting union
with you.
Oh master,
you wouldn’t
give it,
so we dreamed
a phantom.
But master,
[the phantom]
didn’t come—
you have
forgotten us.
Upon hearing these
verses, Ibn al-Fârid shouted out and danced in the marketplace. This attracted
a large crowd of people, many of whom fell to the ground in ecstasy as the
guards continued to sing. Ibn al-Fârid stripped off his outer garments, as did
others with him, and gave them to the guards in gratitude for the state. The
crowd then carried Ibn al-Fârid in his underwear to the Azhar mosque, where he
remained spiritually intoxicated for a number of days, “lying on his back wrapped
like a corpse.” When Ibn al-Fârid recovered the guards respectfully offered to
return his clothes, but he refused to take them. As a result, some of the
guards sold their portion of the garments for a large sum to the populace,
while other guards kept the clothing and its blessing for themselves, a clear
indication that they venerated Ibn al-Fârid as a saintly man.42
With similar stories cAli
offered proof of Ibn al-Farid’s scrupulous dealings with the ruling elite,
particularly the Ayyubid sultan Muhammad al-Malik al-Kâmil. This sultan
patronized the arts and sciences, and his study sessions with scholars were
well known. CA1T said that, during one such session, al-Malik
al-Kâmil and a number of litterateurs were reciting and discussing verses
ending with the vowelless “yâ’,” a most difficult rhyme. No one could recite
more than ten lines using the rhyme except the sultan, who had memorized fifty
verses. After he recited them, however, his secretary, Sharaf al-Dïn, recalled
that he knew an ode of one hundred and fifty lines rhyming in “yâ’.” The sultan
was amazed and commanded his secretary to recite the poem, which began:43
Oh driver of
the howdahs
rolling up the
perilous deserts,
kindly turn
aside
at the sand
dunes of lai.
Al-Malik al-Kâmil was delighted by the poem.
Sharaf al-Dïn told him that this was a composition by Ibn al-Fârid, who resided
at the Azhar. The sultan commanded his secretary:
Take one thousand of our dinars and go to him and say on my
behalf, “Your son Muhammad greets you and requests that you accept this from
him in the name of the mendicants who come to you.” If he accepts it, ask him
to attend us that we may take our share of his spiritual blessings \barakah\.
The secretary asked to be
excused from this task, since Ibn al-Fâriçl never accepted gold or attended
court. Were he to make such a request of the poet, Ibn al-Fâriçl would banish
the secretary from his presence, even though the latter represented the sultan
himself. But the sultan was resolute, and so the secretary took the gold and
went to the poet. Before Sharaf al-Dîn could speak, however, Ibn al-Fâriçl
scolded him, saying:
Oh Sharaf al-Dïn, what’s with you that you mention my name in
the sultan’s court! Return the gold to him and don’t come back to me for a
year!
The secretary returned dispirited to the sultan
and professed that he would rather die than not see the poet for a year. The
sultan exclaimed, “There is a shaykh like this in my day, and I haven’t visited
him!” That night the sultan, accompanied by a group of his amirs, secretly went
to the Azhar to visit Ibn al-Fârid. But he sensed their presence, and, as they
entered through the front gate, he left out the back for Alexandria.
Sometime later the sultan was informed that Ibn
al-Fârid had returned to Cairo, but in poor health. The sultan sent one of his
amirs to ask Ibn al-Fâriçl’s permission to build a tomb for him under al-Shâficï’s
dome and next to the grave of the sultan’s mother. But Ibn al-Fârid denied this
request and another, which proposed the construction of a shrine especially
for him. CA1T added that, after rejecting these offers, his
grandfather was amazingly restored to health.
In these stories al-Malik al-Kâmil is clearly
portrayed as an admirer of both Ibn al-Fârid’s poetry and holiness, and he
hoped to win the poet’s favor and spiritual blessings through patronage.
Further, the sultan’s request that Ibn al-Fârid accept money on behalf of the
mendicants who visited him and the sultan’s suspension of royal prerogative when
making this request suggest that Ibn al-Fârid was highly esteemed.44
Yet the poet rebuffed the sultan’s attentions, no
doubt to protect his religious life. For, while some Sufi authorities permitted
pious people to associate with sultans and the ruling elite, they cautioned
against flattery, pomposity, and, especially, moral compromise, since to accept
a gift might be unlawful if its donor had acquired it illegally. The safest
route in such matters, then, was to abstain from meeting with rulers or attending
court, so as to guard one’s piety and reputation.45 Therefore, Ibn
al-Fârid refused the sultan’s gifts, trusting, instead, in God, who healed him
after he rejected offers for constructing his tomb.
These and related tales are intended to
demonstrate the saintly Ibn al- Fârid’s attitude vis-à-vis wealth and worldly
power but also to attest to his conscientious behavior, his morality, and his
complete trust in God, the subjects of the following story. cAlî
claimed that his grandfather would keep consecutive forty-day fasts, neither
eating, drinking, nor sleeping. On the last day of one such fast Ibn al-Fârid
was consumed by a craving for hañsah, a kind of sweet pastry. He bought
it and was about to eat it when the wall of a nearby shrine burst open and a handsome
young man dressed in white emerged, saying “Shame on you!” Ibn al-Fàrid
replied, “Yes, if I eat it!” and threw the sweet away before it touched his
lips. Then he added an extra ten days to his fast.46
This story affirms Ibn al-Fârid’s piety by noting
that he regularly disciplined his physical constitution with supererogatory
acts. Although he rigorously maintained his fasts, he too was susceptible to
human nature and would have stumbled in this instance were it not for a vision,
which preserved his good intention. Yet the vision itself was an additional
proof of Ibn al-Fârid’s godliness, since such miracles were considered to be a
grace from God for His chosen ones, special favors to help them and their
faith.
There is an escalation of Ibn al-Fârid’s mystical
insights and powers in the preceding stories, as the sensitive poet, enraptured
by the hidden meanings of verse, evolves into an experienced shaykh to whom
miracles occur. The common people revere his trances, while the rulers admire
his poetry and his refusal to accept their patronage. Ibn al-Fârid’s position
among the spiritual elect rises higher still in 'All’s account of Ibn al-
Fârifl’s meeting with the great Sufi Abu Hafs 'Umar al-Suhrawardï (d.
632/1234).47
When the
shaykh Shihâb al-Dîn al-Suhrawardï, the shaykh of the Sufis . . . was on
pilgrimage ... in the year 628 [1231], many people from Iraq went on pilgrimage
with him. He noticed a huge crowd of people around him during the circumambulation
of the [the Ka'bah] and during the Standing at 'Arafat, and he noticed their
imitation of his words and actions.
It reached him that the
shaykh [Ibn al-Fârid] . . . was [there], so he longed to see him, and he wept,
saying to himself, “Oh, do you think that God regards me as these folk do? Do
you think that I am remembered in the presence of the Beloved today?”
Then the shaykh [Ibn
al-Farid] . ■ ■ appeared to him and said, “Oh, al-Suhrawardï:
Good news for
you,
so strip off
what’s on you, for you’ve been remembered despite your crookedness!
Then the shaykh Shihâb
al-Dïn screamed and stripped off everything on him, and the shaykhs and the
mendicants present did likewise. He looked for the shaykh [Ibn al-Fârid] but
could not find him, so he said, “This is news from one who was in the [Divine]
Presence!”
This account leaves no doubt about the high
regard held for Ibn al- Fârid by his son and grandson, who subordinated Abü
Hafç al-Suhrawardï, one of the most famous Sufis of his own and later times, to
Ibn al-Farid- Although the masses revered al-Suhrawardï to the extent that they
imitated his every word and deed, they were ignorant of his inner struggle and
misgivings. Ibn al-Fârid knew, however, and so suddenly appeared to
al-Suhrawardï with the happy news that God did indeed favor him despite his
imperfections, a revelation Ibn al-Fârid concealed in a verse of poetry. When
al-Suhrawardï turned to reward the poet, he discovered that Ibn al-Fârid had
mysteriously vanished, giving rise to al-Suhrawardï’s exclamation, “This is
news from one who was in the [Divine] Presence!” This declaration is a fitting
climax to the Dïbâjah, proclaiming Ibn al- Fârid’s deep mystical insight
and the divine nature of his verse.
CA1T added that the two
gnostics later met and talked in private. Al- Suhrawardï then asked permission
to invest the poet’s sons and two of their friends with the khirqah, or
habit, of the al-Suhrawardïyah Sufi order (fariqah). Ibn al-Fârid
refused saying, “This is not our way \(aríqah\.” But al-Suhrawardï
persisted and finally was allowed to present the youths with the habit of his
order.
Again, al-Suhrawardï is dependent on Ibn
al-Farid, yet what is of interest here is Ibn al-Farid’s statement, “This is
not our fañqah," since there is little evidence that any Sufi order
was organized around him during his lifetime. Perhaps, the term (añqah
should be taken to mean a Sufi “way” in general; thus, Ibn al-Fârid, as his
son’s spiritual master and that of two friends, saw no reason why they should
be affiliated with anyone else. Ibn al-Farid may have relented, knowing well
that investiture with the habit was frequently only a sign of favor without
obligations.48
Although Ibn al-Farid may have met with
al-Suhrawardï during the pilgrimage, the story of the poet’s sudden appearance
to al-Suhrawardi with glad tidings from spiritual realms is questionable. For
‘All’s younger contemporary al-Fayyùmï relates a different account of events.49
In his version a man named Abu al-Fath al-Wâsitï was told during his pilgrimage
that Ibn al-Farid was in Mecca.50 Al-Wâsitï waited for him at the Kacbah
so that he might hear some of Ibn al-Farid’s poetry and take it as an
auspicious sign for his pilgrimage. The two met, and al-Wâsitï asked Ibn
al-Fârid to recite some of his verse. Ibn al-Farid obliged him, reciting the
entire ode, whose final verse begins, “Good news for you.” Overjoyed by the
good omen contained in the last verses, al-Wàsitï stripped off his pilgrimage
garments and gave them to the poet with thanks.
Al-Fayyûmï’s less dramatic incident involving Ibn
al-Fârid and his verse would have been less appealing to cAlï, the
hagiographer, than the one involving the great Sufi al-Suhrawardï and Ibn
al-Farid’s superiority to him. Further, the version containing al-Suhrawardï
and the issue of investiture may represent an attempt—perhaps by cAlï—to
organize a distinct order around Ibn al-Fari<j comparable to the order
established by cUmar al-Suhrawardï and his uncle Abü Najïb
(490-563/1094-1169). Such a motive might also explain whycAlï wrote
his Dïbâjah in order to preserve and transmit his grandfather’s
miracles.
cAlï concluded his Meccan
tales with a humorous story. Ibn al-Fâriçl and his son Kamâl al-Dïn were
present at the Kacbah to witness the “Night of Power” (Laylat
al-qadr), which occurs between the twenty-sixth and twenty-seventh of Ramadan.
Ibn al-Fârid would keep a total fast during the holy month and pass his nights
in prayer, awaiting this special night. On its eve Kamâl al-Dïn was leaving the
sacred precinct to relieve himself, when he saw the Kacbah, the
houses of Mecca, and the mountains prostrating to God, while the sky shone
with bright lights. Terrified, he ran to his father and told him what he had
witnessed. Ibn al-Fârid shouted out to those present, “This son of mine went
out to piss and saw the Night of Power!” Everyone yelled and then prayed and
circumambulated the Kacbah. The next morning Ibn al-Fârid left in a
daze and did not return for several days.51
Events return to Cairo in
the final section of the Dîbâjah, which focuses on Ibn al-Fârid’s death
and burial. CA1I noted that his grandfather enjoyed visiting a
mosque on the island of Rodah to watch the Nile when it was high. One day, on
the way to the mosque, Ibn al-Fârid passed a fuller, who was beating and
cutting a piece of cloth on the rocks while singing:
This piece of
cloth
has shattered
my heart,
but it’s not
pure
until it’s
shredded!
Hearing this, Ibn al-Fârid swooned, and he
repeated the verse hour after hour, at times falling to the ground, until the
state finally subsided. He revealed spiritual mysteries to his son, and then
the ecstasy returned. Seeing his condition, a companion recited:
I die when I
remember you,
then I’m
revived—
how often I’m
revived for you, how many times I’ve died!
Ibn al-Fârid jumped up
and hugged his friend, who refused to repeat the verse for fear of further
agitating the poet. Again, ecstasy overwhelmed Ibn al-Fârid, and he said:
If God seals
with His
forgiveness,
then all that
I suffer
will be easy.
He died a short time
later.52
The verses in this story draw parallels between
bodily death and a mystical one. The unyielding cloth frustrating the fuller’s
efforts probably represents the obstinate nafs, the mystic’s
concupiscence, or self-will, which must be controlled and disciplined or all
will be lost. This realization spurred Ibn al-Fârid to greater self-sacrifice
and, hence, to greater spiritual truths, which he related to his son. At last
Ibn al-Fârid attained his ultimate desire of self-annihilation and spiritual
resurrection before the divine beloved. Bereft of self and pride, Ibn al-Fârid
hoped only for forgiveness.
This short poetic record of Ibn al-Farid’s death
is followed by a much longer account, also related to cAlï by his
uncle. In this case, however, the witness is not the poet’s son but, rather,
Burhân al-Dîn Ibrâhîm al- Ja'bari (599-687/1202-88), who recalled his
experiences at the time of Ibn al-Fari<J’s death and funeral. Interestingly,
neithercA1T nor his uncle claimed to have confirmed the details with
al-Jacban himself.53
Al-Jacbari’s adventure began as he was
wandering near the Euphrates contemplating the topic of spiritual annihilation (fana*).
A man suddenly appeared to him like a lightning bolt and said:54
For you never
loved me
so long as you
aren’t
annihilated in me,
And you aren’t
annihilated
so long as my
form
is not
revealed in you.
Al-Jacbarï immediately recognized the
verse as an inspired answer to his meditation, and he learned from the
mysterious stranger that the verse belonged to Ibn al-Fârid, who was on the
verge of death in Cairo. The two men turned toward Egypt, followed the poet’s
fragrance, and arrived in the nick of time. Ibn al-Fârid greeted al-Jacban
by name, though they had never met, and said, “Sit down and be glad for you are
among the saints of God.” This news overjoyed al-Jacbari, who asked
Ibn al-Fârid how he knew this. Ibn al-Fârid replied that he had requested from
God that a group of saints attend his death and funeral, and so al- Ja'bari’s
presence was a confirmation of his sainthood.
Al-Jacbari then inquired from the
other saints present if it was possible for anyone to knowingly comprehend God.
No one answered except Ibn al-Fârid, who said that, if God encompassed the
person, then that person could comprehend Him. Al-Jacbari said that
at this point paradise appeared to the poet, who changed color and cried out:55
If my resting
place
in love near
you
is what I’ve
seen,
then 1 wasted
my life.
A desire
seized my soul
for a time,
but now it
seems
just a jumbled
dream.
Al-Jacban
praised Ibn al-Farid’s attainment of paradise, but the poet countered:
Oh Ibrâhîm, Râbi'ah al-‘Adawîyah said—and she was a woman—“By
Your power! I did not worship You for fear of Your fire or in desire of Your
paradise, rather in honor of Your noble countenance and for love of You!” So
this station [of seeing paradise] is not what I sought or passed my life in
traveling to.56
Ibn al-Fârid then told
al-Ja‘barï to stay at the grave for three days to see what would happen.
Al-Ja'ban suddenly heard a voice—though he saw no one—say, “Oh ‘Umar, what do
you desire?” To which Ibn al-Fârid replied:57
I
desire—though time has passed—
one glance
from you,
but, oh, how much blood will flow before I reach my goal.
When Ibn al-Fârid spoke
these words his face shone like the moon, and he smiled. Then al-Ja‘bari said,
“He expired happily, and I knew that he had been given his desire.”
Al-Ja'ban attended the
funeral, which, he said, attracted a multitude of people and green and white
birds. It took the entire day, however, to dig the grave. Some people believed
this to be a chastisement of Ibn al- Fârid for claiming a high station in
mystical love, while others maintained that it was a sign of saintship and the
worldly deprivations that it entailed. Finally, the body was laid to rest, and
al-Ja‘barï prayed over it. During the prayer he received a vision in which he
saw the prophetic spirit of Muhammad (al-rüh al-Muhammadtyah'} and the
spirits of the prophets, the angels, and the saints of humanity and the jinn
all praying with him over Ibn al-Fârid. Al-Ja‘barï concluded:58
I stayed there [at the grave] three days and three nights,
witnessing of his state what your intellects could not bear. Then I returned to
[Iraq]. . . .
Ibn al-Fârid’s holiness
and saintliness are never in doubt throughout al- Ja'barT’s adventure. As in
‘All’s first account of Ibn al-Farid’s death, this story, too, links the poet’s
physical death to a mystical one, which Ibn al- Fârid achieves at last.
Further, Ibn al-Fârid proves his sainthood when his requests of God are
fulfilled and by his ability to answer al-Ja‘barï’s question about gnosis. The
birds hovering above the bier and the holy spirits that prayed over it are
added testimony to prove his elect status as a true lover of God.
Yet there remains a
glaring discrepancy between the two accounts of Ibn al-Farid’s death; both were
related by his son Kamâl al-Dîn. Either he was present during his father’s
illness and death, thus giving some credence to the first story, or he was
absent when his father died, allowing for the possibility that al-Jacbari
was there, though the tale ascribed to him is indeed fantastic. cAlî,
however, comfortably preserved both reports, since each one paid homage to his
grandfather.
Undoubtedly, the
incredible events in al-Jacbari’s adventure create a supernatural
aura around Ibn al-Farid’s death and passage into the next world, and certain
elements in the account mirror those in the story of the greengrocer’s death
and burial.59 In fact, the greengrocer’s story and al-Jacbari’s
report of Ibn al-Farid’s death are meant to represent, in the first instance,
Ibn al-Farid’s status as a living saint on earth and, in the second, his
relinquishing of this position to al-Ja'barî, his successor whom he declared to
be a saint. By placing these stories at the beginning and end of the Dtbâjah,
respectively, cAli could declare his grandfather’s sainthood without
being explicit.
For cAlï and
his uncle never called Ibn al-Farid a saint {wait} or said that he was
invested with sainthood {walâyahlwilâyahY Probably such claims for a
close relative would have been considered unseemly, if not blatantly
nepotistic. CA1T did organize his Dtbâjah in such a way, however,—by
creating parallels, recording favorable opinions by nonrelatives, and, most
important, recounting Ibn al-Fârid’s miracles (karâmât) and meetings
with other mystics—to leave the unmistakable impression that his grandfather
should be numbered among God’s elect.
As a sort of postscript, cAll
noted that al-Jacbari and other learned men made pilgrimages to Ibn
al-Fârid’s grave to pay their respects, and he added his grandfather’s birth
and death dates.60 Finally, CA1T concluded his Dtbâjah
with a long prayer for mystical enlightenment, preceded by this statement:61
I have been
silent regarding mention of dubious extraordinary states, fearing base
criticism and disbelief. ... I have made [this preface to the Dîwân\ as
an enlightenment for the lovers and a memorial after me for the sons, of the
glorious deeds of the fathers and grandfathers. I ask God most high that He
help me and them to travel His paths, and that He grant us good and blessed
progeny. I give permission to the sons to relate [the work] from me with its
chain, as I linked hearing it, [to the shaykh] via his son. I advise those who
read it and ascend its stairs, that they hold fast to the Nazm al-sulük
and lead a devout life by its way.
cAli’s assurance that only
reliable, believable stories had been related may seem amusing to modern
readers skeptical about the possibility of miracles. To a citizen of Mamluk
Egypt, however, the events narrated by ‘Ali were quite possible, though in some
cases extraordinary. An individual living in the fourteenth century might have
doubted a given story or denied that a certain individual had been granted a
miracle, but not the possibility of miracles per se. God was believed to
suspend the normal custom of things in order to achieve His ends, and,
frequently, He did this by means of His chosen few. ‘All’s reliable stories,
then, are probably those that had been transmitted directly to him from his
uncle or from known individuals such as al-Ja'bari. This direct transmission
helped to sustain the stories’ credibility, as did ‘All’s plain factual style
and his specific references to the persons, places, and dates involved.
These factors help to account for the Dtbâjah's
popularity among later generations who were interested in Ibn al-Fârid’s life
and poetry. But also important to the work’s dissemination was ‘All’s written
authorization permitting readers of good intentions to transmit it. By placing
this authorization in the work itself, ‘Ali encouraged the study and spread of
its contents. The numerous later accounts of Ibn al-Fârid based on the Dîbâjah
would prove the success of ‘All’s intentions.
Chapter 3
Controversy
During the fourteenth and
fifteenth centuries Ibn al-Fâriçi became a major topic of debate among Cairo’s
educated classes. Conflicting opinions expressed earlier about him and his
poetry were codified and in some cases elaborated. At the same time a wide
range of issues and interests began to coalesce around the poet, producing
several controversies that reveal some of the religious, intellectual, and
social tensions of the period.
Writers favorable to the
poet and having strong literary inclinations focused on Ibn al-Fârid’s poetic
talents. These historians and litterateurs spoke highly of Ibn al-Fârid as a
mystical poet, but they related few of the amazing stories about him. Rather,
they cited examples of his refined verse and praised his poetic intuition and
rhetorical skills. In fact, according to the famous biographer and literary
scholar al-$afadî (d. 764/ 1363), Ibn al-Fârid’s impressive craftsmanship was a
primary cause for misunderstanding his poetry. Few individuals were qualified
to read this difficult, if beautiful, verse, and many readers failed to grasp
Ibn al- Fârid’s subtle use of double entendre (tawriyah) and the
mystical allusions concealed within the poems’ erotic imagery.[VI]
A later historian, al- FayyûmT, cited Ibn al-Fârid’s risqué colloquial verses
about a butcher boy as an example of morally questionable literal meanings
masking deeper spiritual truths:
Not finding these verses in
Ibn al-Fârid’s Dïwàn, al-Fayyümï asked his companion, 'All, Ibn
al-Fârid’s grandson, about them. 'All declared them genuine, adding this
interpretation:2
[My
grandfather] was addressing Satan by means of double entendre. Satan occupies
the place of the butcher, and [Ibn al-Fârifl] addresses him and concupiscence [nafs],
which is enticed by flattery and preyed upon by temptation until the animal
passions conquer, and one falls into the destruction of misery.
Yet, for another literary
writer, al-Udfuwï (d. 748/1347), the fine love imagery that dominates Ibn
al-Fârifl’s verse was not the product of the poet’s technical expertise but,
rather, an outpouring of his effusive passion. As evidence, al-Udfuwï claimed
that Ibn al-Fârifl loved absolute beauty in any form, human or otherwise, to
the extent that he fell in love with a camel. Mystical ecstasy is the inferred
cause for this extraordinary behavior, and new hagiographies would continue to
focus on the ecstatic dimensions of an enraptured poet.3
Clearly under the
influence of 'All’s Dïbâjah, several authors of the period concentrated
on stories of Ibn al-Fârid as the pious saint. Al-Yâfi'ï (698-768/1297-1367),
one of the most popular Arab hagiographers, gave a long account of Ibn
al-Fârid, praising the poet’s inspired verse and the spiritual meanings invoked
by its sensual imagery. Like the Dïbâjah, this hagiography was selected
and arranged to elicit feelings of awe and reverence on behalf of the mystical
poet. Ibn al-Fârid’s miracles and superb Sufi poetry were signs of God’s favor,
and al-Yafi'l reverently reported them to strengthen Sufism’s mass appeal and
to refute its detractors.4
Similarly, the
hagiographer Ibn al-Mulaqqin (723-804/1323-1401) numbered Ibn al-Fârid among
the saints of his generation,5 while the Mamluk historian Ibn Duqmâq
(750-809/1349-1406) devoted a number of pages in his history of Egypt to Ibn
al-Fârid’s miracles, quoting verbatim almost the entire Dïbâjah.b
Although these hagiographies tell us little that is new about Ibn al-Fârid’s life
and work, they do indicate that tales of his saintly life and miracles were
becoming more widespread.
Guidebooks for pilgrimage
to the Qarâfah cemetery also point toward Ibn al-Fârid’s rising popularity as
both a poet and a saint, and references to him in these guides usually combine
the praises of litterateurs with the hagiographers’ wondrous tales.7
In his extensive study of the Qarâfah, Ibn al-Zayyât (d. 805/1402) praised the
sanctity of the poet and his grave, which he used as a reference point for
other structures at the foot of Mt. Muqajtam. That is, he located a given
grave, tomb, or mosque in the area by its position vis-à-vis Ibn al-Fâri<J’s
grave, implying that Ibn al-Fari<i was the source of spiritual blessings (barakah}
in the precinct.8 For many in Cairo Ibn al-Fârid was unquestionably
a saint.
But for others Ibn
al-Fari<i was not even a good Muslim, let alone a saint. Alarmed by monism’s
popularity, the poet’s literary repute, and his growing saintly notoriety, a
number of religious scholars took issue with his verse. The most articulate and
influential of these new critics was the noted historian, hadith
scholar, and theologian al-Dhahabi (673—748/1274— 1348). Following Ibn
Taymîyah, al-Dhahabî cited Ibn al-Fârid on four separate occasions for
propagating monistic doctrines, including the possibility of mystical union
between God and His creatures:9
Ibn al-Fârid,
poet of the time [ways] ... an adherent of unification \ittihad\
with which he filled the al-TeFtyah. ... If there is no explicit monism
in that ode—and who can doubt its presence—then there is no heresy in the world
or any straying from the right path!
Al-Dhahabi was
particularly concerned that unwary readers would be seduced by Ibn al-Farid’s
beautiful poetry and so led to perdition:10
In his poetry,
he bleats with blatant monism, and this is a great misfortune. So reflect upon
his verse and don’t rush— but have a good opinion of the Sufis—for his [poetry]
is naught but the garb of Sufis and general indications beneath which is
philosophy and vipers! So, I have warned you.
But these references to Ibn al-Fârid reveal an
ambivalence that al- Dhahabi shared with many other critics of the poet; on the
one hand, they detested what they believed to be the poetry’s content, monism,
while, on the other hand, they admired the poet’s intricate and exquisite
verse:"
His Dtwân
is famous, and it is of great beauty and subtlety, perfection and burning
desire. Except that he adulterated it with explicit monism, in the sweetest of
expressions and subtlest metaphors, like pastry laced with venom!
The power and popularity of Ibn al-Fârid’s verse
were noted by other critics, including the Sufi poet Ahmad Ibn AbT Hajalah
(725-76/132575). While believing Ibn al-Fâriçi to have been misled by monism,
Ibn Abi Hajalah still regarded the poet as a sincere, though wayward, lover of
God, and he too praised the Diwan:12
It is one of the quickest to wound the hearts, and absolutely
one of the best in lamentation since it was drawn from the outpourings of
heartache, from a forsaken lover and a heart broken by the fever of separation.
The people are fond of its rhymes and its intensity. He has become so popular
that few are those who have not seen his Diwan, or have not had his
resounding odes ringing in their ears.
This respect for the Diwan helps to
explain Ibn AbT Hajalah’s concerted efforts to undermine Ibn al-Fârid’s
religious and literary influence, by composing his own poems using the same
rhymes and meters as in Ibn al-Fârid’s collection. No doubt, Ibn AbT Hajalah
hoped that his poems, purged of all questionable content, would replace Ibn
al-Fârid’s verse, but his imitations lacked the vigor of their originals.
Instead of wide public praise, Ibn AbT Hajalah earned the scorn and ridicule of
a powerful chief judge, Sirâj al-Dïn al-Hindi (714-73/1314-72), who defended Ibn
al-Fârid and his poem the al-Ta*iyah al-kubrâ. But Ibn AbT Hajalah held
his ground until his death, and he was buried with his collection of
religiously correct verse.13
A later chief judge, the renowned historian Ibn
Khaldûn (d. 808/1406), favored a more direct approach when confronting Ibn
al-Fârid’s popular poetry. In a legal opinion Ibn Khaldûn called for the
destruction of the majority of Ibn al-Fârid’s verse, al-Farghânï’s commentary
on the al- TtPiyah al-kubrâ, and other monistic works in order to
preserve “the common good of the community.”14 Another critic,
al-Husayn Ibn al- Ahdal (d. 855/1451), offered a less radical solution. He
recommended that Ibn al-Fârid’s al-Ta*ïyah al-kubrâ be read, but only to
recognize the corruption of the monists and for refutation. As for Ibn
al-Fârid’s other odes, Ibn al-Ahdal compared them to works by the infidel
pre-Islamic Arab poets; although reading such verse was permissible, it was
better left alone, since it could mislead the ignorant and stir up strife.15
And there was strife, usually caused by the al-Ta*iyah
al-kubrâ, which even one of Ibn al-Fârid’s admirers, al-Udfuwï, described
as “giving signs of wicked affairs.”16 Involved in several disputes
about the ode was the very distinguished Muslim scholar, Ibn Hajar al-'Asqalânï
(773—852/1372— 1449). Heavily influenced by al-DhahabT’s writings, Ibn Hajar
became an outspoken critic of Ibn al-Farid- Not only did he compose a long
polemical biography of the poet, but he went so far as to challenge one of his
own teachers on the issue of Ibn al-Fârid’s religious beliefs:17
I asked our
shaykh, the imâm, Sirâj al-Dîn al-Bulqini, about Ibn al-cArabï, and
he snapped the answer that he was an infidel. So I asked him about Ibn
al-Fârid, and he said, “I don’t like to talk about him.”
I
said, “What is the difference between the two of them, [their] position being
the same?” And I recited to him from the al-TiPtyah, but he cut me off
after the recitation of a number of verses by saying, “This is infidelity, this
is infidelity!”
Al-Bulqïnî had no
reservations about denouncing Ibn al-cArabi, but he tried to evade
the question of Ibn al-Fârid’s infidelity. When pressed he censured a poem but
not the poet. Ibn Hajar’s good friend, however, the Maliki judge Muhammad
al-Bisafi (760-842/1359-1439), explicitly charged Ibn al-Farid with infidelity
in his commentary on the al-TâUyah al-kubrâ. Although the work is lost,
surviving quotations from it are critical of monism and mystical union, and, in
one passage, al-Bisafi likened Sufi poets such as Ibn al-Farid to an epileptic
woman with a talking jinni in her head.18 Yet, despite his negative
opinion of Ibn al- Fârid, al-Bisâfï was criticized by other opponents of the
poet, and an altercation ensued.
In 831/1428 the very
respected Hanafi scholar and Sufi Muhammad al- Bukhârï (779-841/1377-1438)
declared Ibn al-cArabï, Ibn al-Fârid, and others
espousing unificationist doctrines to be infidels. He did this during one of
his teaching sessions attended by al-Bisâp, who, in a display of his skills in
argumentation, challenged al-Bukhârï. Al-Bisâp maintained that outwardly
objectionable expressions might, in fact, be impeccable if interpreted within
their proper technical contexts. Yet al-Bukhârï would not allow such
interpretation (4aW/); al-Bisâp disagreed. Al-Bukhârï got angry, pronounced
al-Bisâtï an infidel, and demanded his dismissal from the Maliki judgeship. He
swore that if the sultan Bars Bây (r. 825-41/ 1422-38) did not relieve
al-Bisâfï from his post, then he would leave Egypt. Although most of the
scholars present at the session agreed with al-Bukhârï’s position against the
unificationists, some, like Ibn Hajar, felt that he should have been more
restrained in his declarations of infidelity. On the advice of Ibn Hajar,
al-Bisâçï left the session to avert a worsening of the conflict.19
Hoping to muster support
against his adversary, al-Bisâçï went to another well-known Hanafi scholar and
Sufi, Muhammad ibn al-Humàm (790-861/1388-1457), for his view of the matter.
Al-Bisâtï presented Ibn al-Humàm with a copy of his commentary on the al-Ta^tyah
al-kubra, requesting a written opinion on the work. But, to al-Bisàtï’s
dismay, Ibn al-Humâm declared the commentary to be a figment of the
imagination.20
Worse still, word of the
dispute reached the sultan Bars Bay who called his judges together to resolve
the problem. During this meeting the chief judge, Ibn Hajar, conferred with
al-Bisàtï, who cleared himself of supporting the unificationists by
pronouncing their infidelity. Ibn Hajar then informed the sultan that this was
sufficient and that al-Bisàtï need not be dismissed from office. The meeting
was adjourned. The sultan next tried to pacify al-Bukhàrï, and he asked him to
retract his oath, but al-Bukhàrï was adamant that al-Bisàtï be dismissed. Bars
Bày would not be coerced, and so al-Bukhàrï left Egypt in anger.21
Similar to Ibn Bint al-Acazz’s
argument with al-Aykï, this dispute involved professional rivalries and
reputations, and, once again, Ibn al- Fàrid’s al-Tàdyah al-kubrâ was a
point of central concern. While the parties in this case were at odds regarding
the interpretation of such poetry, both agreed that Ibn al-Fàrid was an
infidel. Yet neither al-Bisàtï nor even al-Bukhàrï went so far as Ibn Khaldun
in calling for the total destruction of the ode. Though suspicious of Ibn
al-Fàrid’s intent and at times shocked by his bold poetic statements, many of
his opponents grudgingly expressed their admiration for the literary qualities
of his verse and, perhaps with a touch of envy, for his popularity as a poet
and pious man.
As for the Mamluk ruling
elite, several of them openly venerated Ibn al- Fàrid, providing religious
endowments for the erection of a shrine around his grave. These and other amirs
who built and patronized tombs and shrines did so to gain religious legitimacy
and popular support as well as to insure the financial security of their loved
ones, who usually administered the endowments. But some Mamluks also may have
felt uneasy about their earthly behavior and divine recompense, and, so, their
personal and material attentions to saints, shrines, and tombs should also be
seen as an investment in the spiritual world, an attempt to buy saintly
protection on earth and intercession in the hereafter.22
A Mamluk named Timur
al-Ibràhïmï seems to have been the first major benefactor of Ibn al-Fàrid’s
grave, and he bequeathed revenues to pay for a shrine with an attendant, a Sufi
hostel (zdwiyah'), and for the celebration of the poet’s maw lid,
or “saint’s day.” Before his death Timur appointed his protégé, the Mamluk
Barqüq al-Nâsirî (d. 877/1472), as overseer of the endowments.23 At
that time Barqüq was a lesser amir of the third class. But in 867/1463 he
became head of the sultan Khushqadam’s guard, and, in 872/1467, he was
appointed shâdd al-sharâbkhânâh, or “superintendent of the commissary,” which
placed him in charge of foods at the Citadel. This raised him to the rank of
amir of the second class. During the next year the new sultan lamurbugha (r.
872/1467—68) relied on Barqüq and some other Mamluk amirs for support, but
Barqüq sided with Qâ’it Bay and helped to insure the latter’s investiture as
sultan that year.24
Both Qâ’it Bay and Barqüq had been manumitted by
the sultan Jaqmaq, and this made them khushdash, companions in slavery
and manumission. Usually, khushdash retained strong bonds of loyalty to
their fellows after liberation. Invariably, a new sultan relied on his khushdash
to gain and hold sovereignty at the beginning of his rule and until such time
that his own Mamluks could be adequately trained to assume power. It is no
wonder, then, that Qâ’it Bay rewarded Barqüq for his support, by raising him to
amir of the first class in 873/1469.25
Barqüq continued to be one of Qâ’it Bây’s most
dependable amirs during the early years of this sultan’s reign, which were
plagued by unsuccessful military campaigns and severe financial crises. When
Qâ’it Bay assumed the sultanate, the treasury was empty, though money was
urgently needed to finance the military campaigns against Shah Suvâr (d.
876/1471), the Ottoman backed ruler of Albistân. A few months after taking
office, Qâ’it Bay left the Citadel unannounced, accompanied by one third of his
army, but by only one of his elite amirs, Barqüq. The sultan, Barqüq, and the
troops quickly rode through Egypt’s delta, extorting “gifts” from the people
and plundering the villages of money and movable property in an attempt to
raise revenues.
The expedition lasted for more than a month,
during which time lawlessness was said to have prevailed, while food prices
rose, and plague ravaged the urban centers. Qâ’it Bay made no effort to enforce
the law or to suppress the bedouin raids in the delta, though he did promise
the people that he would appoint Barqüq as an inspector to investigate. When
Qâ’it Bay returned to Cairo with his newly acquired wealth, he further honored
Barqüq by allowing him to carry the royal parasol and falcon during the entry
procession.26
Although Qâ’it Bây had temporarily replenished
his treasury, because of his careless commanders and their undisciplined
troops, his first two expeditions against Shah Suvâr were disasters. In his
attempts to finance another campaign Qâ’it Bây also confiscated sums of money
from the religious scholars, and he cut their wages and annulled arrears owed
to them.27
Meanwhile, Barquq was
having great success against the bedouins in the eastern delta. In 874/1469 he
sent the sultan nearly two hundred and fifty horses, which he had captured from
the rebellious bedouin, along with a number of prisoners. Barquq’s victories
helped to stabilize the domestic front, and they must have pleased Qa’it Bay,
who sought to consolidate his power and prolong his rule. Although Barquq
served the sultan as an investigator and commander, he continued to care for
Ibn al- Fârid’s tomb, over which he had a dome erected. This was yet another
sign of the increasing prosperity enjoyed by the shrine, which continued to
attract mendicants and the poor, who, during these years of great hardship,
were fed there free of charge.28
It was at this time, in
the years 874-75/1469-70, when prices soared, chickens and wheat became scarce,
and the people ate bread made of millet and sorghum, that the Ibn al-Fârid
controversy arose and spread among Cairo’s religious elite. The dispute was
sparked by a public reading of al-Farghânî’s commentary on the al-TcPiyah
al-kubra. Some religious scholars were disgusted by Ibn al-Fârid’s poem and
al-Farghânî’s monistic commentary on it, and they wrote legal opinions
denouncing the doctrine of wahdat al-wujüd and Ibn al-Fârid’s
application of the feminine gender to God.29
Those opposed to Ibn
al-Fârid included the chief Hanafi judge, Ibn al- Shihnah (804-90/1401-85); his
son cAbd al-Barr (851-921/1447-1515); the chief Hanbali judge,
ascetic, and Sufi, 'Izz al-Dîn al-Kinânï (800876/1397-1471); and the Shâficî
jurisprudent and hadith scholar Ibn Imam al-Kàmilïyah (808-74/1406-69).
The famous biographer of this period Muhammad al-Sakhâwî (831-902/1427-97)
noted that Ibn Imam al-Kâ- milïyah usually minded his own business and avoided
disputes but that he gave an opinion on the matter of Ibn al-Fàrid to placate
the entreaties of the Shâfi'ï scholar Ibrâhîm al-Biqâcï
(809-85/1407-80). By far the most venal of Ibn al-Fârid’s critics, al-Biqâcî
wrote a refutation of the poet, the Sawàb al-jawab, which fanned the
fires of controversy.30
Al-Biqâcî
opened the Çawâb with a quotation of thirty verses from the al-T(Ptyah
al-kubrâ which some scholars believed were literally opposed to Islamic law
and belief. He followed this with a series of rhetorical questions regarding
the content and intention of the verses, the permissibility of their
interpretation (ta'wil), opinions by ancient and modern scholars on Ibn
al-Fârid and his verse and the permissibility of refuting them, and questions
concerning Ibn al-Fârid’s supporters, their beliefs and technical language.
Al-Biqaci explicitly stated his
position at the beginning of his answer to these questions. He declared the
doctrines of incarnation (hului) and unification [ittihild'i to
be infidelity, along with any statement that contradicted the literal meaning
of the Qur’an or the custom of the prophet Muhammad; adherents of these
doctrines and those who made heretical statements were infidels. Al-Biqâcï
went on to say that the scholars of the past had comprehensive knowledge
concerning proper religious doctrines and creeds and, so, should not be
contradicted. As members of the pious forefathers {al-salaf al-salih},
these scholars were morally superior to later generations; their opinions
against Ibn al-Fârid were also more reliable because they were more familiar
with his case, having lived closer to his time.31
Al-Biqâcï also disallowed metaphorical
readings of Ibn al-Fârid’s poetry. Citing the opinions of al-Ghazzâlï and
others, al-Biqâcï maintained that any statement that literally
contradicted Islamic law' was forbidden, regardless of those who pleaded
symbolism, metaphor, or technical terminology as an excuse.32 Open
declaration of infidelity must be regarded as such, and symbolism, metaphor,
and technical terminology' could not be sound if they violated the law;
heretical works should be publicly condemned and burned.
Al-Biqâcï charged Ibn al-Fâriçl and
al-Farghânî with destroying the basis of Islamic law through their adherence to
a belief in absolute unity, which annulled the separation between the Creator
and His creation. Being familiar with doctrines of incarnation and mystical
union, al-Biqâcî distinguished among the Christians, the Shiah,
others who allowed the possibility of God assuming whatever form He desired,
and those Sufis who denied both doctrines on the grounds that there was no
duality or differentiation in reality and, therefore, no possibility of incarnation
or union. Al-Biqâcï found this last monistic position absolutely
absurd. He then quoted twelve verses from the al-TcPtyah al-kubra to
demonstrate Ibn al-Fârid’s affinity with these beliefs, and he stated that,
while Ibn al- Fârid may have freed himself from charges of incarnationism, he
could not deny his adherence to monism, as found in Ibn aPArabT’s writings.
This was clear infidelity.
Al-Biqâcî next censured those who
attempted to defend Ibn al-Fârid as a saint, noting that bona fide saints had
refuted such claims regarding him: if anyone was a saint, it was the
trustworthy religious scholar and not someone like Ibn al-Fârid, whose creed
was suspected by many. Then al-Biqâcï cited the names of over thirty
scholars who he claimed had charged Ibn al-Fârid with heresy. With his list of
authorities al-Biqâcï was certain of Ibn al-Fârid’s infidelity and
that of the poet’s supporters. He warned those who wished to quiet the
controversy that they should listen to the great scholars of the past and to the
Qur’an, which called true Muslims to defend their faith. What was morally
suspect must be suppressed, and especially the heretical doctrines of Ibn
al-Fârid and Ibn al-cArabï, which denied the validity of the law and
led to immorality. Already this had happened in Yemen, where, he said, mosques
were converted into taverns and riffraff assumed religious leadership.33
Al-Biqâcî went on to rule against
those who praised Ibn al-Fariqi or others who had been rebuked by the religious
authorities. These apologists were to him, infidels, heretics, or
ignoramuses—which was certainly the case of those who copied or favorably
commented on Ibn al-Fâriçl’s poetry. Al-Biqâcï added that those who
did not openly declare Ibn al- Fârid’s infidelity and call for the suppression
of his verse stood in opposition to true Muslims.34
Following a substantial conclusion, in which he
reiterated his charges against Ibn al-Fârid, al-Biqâcï ended the $awab
with a critique of those who permitted the interpretation (tà'wiï) of
statements that clearly contradicted the religious law and accepted doctrine.
If such interpretations were allowed, no one could be charged with infidelity,
not even the Jews and Christians, and morality would be destroyed. Individuals
who made such interpretations and those who did not actively oppose Ibn
al-Fari<J and those like him were accomplices in spreading corruption among
society. In al-Biqâcï’s view heretics like Ibn al-Fârid were worse
than thieves and highway robbers, for, whereas the latter deprive people of
their material goods, the former destroy the spiritual good of the community
by leading Muslims astray.35
After issuing his Sawâb al-jawab, al-BiqâcT
composed another refutation of Ibn al-Fârid and his commentators, which
included more pronouncements against them by their opponents.36
Al-Biqa'T’s persistent reference in these works to the consensus of Muslim
scholars and to lists of Ibn al-Farid’s critics leaves the impression that few
responsible Muslims accepted the poet. But such was not the case, as is evident
from the number of legal opinions and treatises written at this time in support
of Ibn al-Fâriçl and against his critics—most notably against al-Biqâcî,
who had offended a number of scholars with his condemnation of Ibn al- Fârid’s
supporters.37
Over a dozen of al-Biqâcï’s colleagues
publicly defended Ibn al-Fârid, and at least three of them wrote refutations
specifically aimed at the $awâb.x The Hanafi Sufi Badr al-Dîn
Ibn al-Ghars (833-94/1429—88) argued in his refutation that enlightened
gnostics like Ibn al-Fârid had access to a unique, certain vision (kashf).
This gnosis was beyond the range of reason and the intellect, and those who
blindly followed their own intellectual tradition—be it a specific theological
or legal school or something else—were veiled from this deep mystical
knowledge. Ibn al- Ghars was amazed that scholars who dealt with speculative
arts and sciences and who disagreed among themselves could criticize the
gnostics and their experiential knowledge derived from union with the divine.
Literalists could not even begin to imagine this profound experience, not to
mention judge the sayings and writings of Ibn al-Fârid and other genuine
saints.
Based on this general
defense, Ibn al-Ghars refuted al-Biqaci’s opinions one by one and
criticized his use of authorities, particularly on the permissibility of
interpretation (ta'wîJ), which Ibn al-Ghars deemed requisite for a
proper grasp of the poet’s penetrating spiritual insights. Not only was Ibn
al-Fârid innocent of all charges brought against him, but he was also a great
saint, whose al-TtPïyah al-kubrâ must be read and whose grave should be
visited.39
A similar stance was
assumed by the renowned Muslim scholar al- Suyütï (839-911/1445-1505). Though
never mentioning al-BiqacT by name, al-Suyúti attacked his
misreading of sources and defended the scholars’ right of interpretation.
Further, al-Suyúp was very critical of those persons, like al-Dhahabï, who had
censured Ibn al-Fârid centuries after his death, since the poet had received
only praise from his students and other contemporaries, including the great
Sufi ‘Umar al-SuhrawardT. Al-Suyütï advised his readers to honor Ibn al-Fârid
and God’s other saints because, he said, the narrow-minded people who oppose
them only hurt themselves.40
Al-Biqâcï
responded to these refutations of his $awab by writing a
counter-refutation of Ibn Ghars. Holding fast to his previous authoritarian and
literalist positions, al-Biqâcï accused Ibn al-Ghars of
unconscionable lies and adherence to doctrines of unification, and so he
charged him and his allies with infidelity.41
The Ibn al-Fâriçl
controversy raged for over seven months, during which time al-Biqâcï,
Ibn al-Shihnah, and others opposed to Ibn al-Fârid gained the support of the
very popular Sufi, Ibrahim al-Matbuli (d. 877/ 1472). Al-Matbuli claimed to
have been spiritually guided by the prophet Muhammad himself, and he was
affiliated with the rural-oriented Ahma- diyah order. Although he seems to have
maintained reasonably good relations with more educated religious scholars,
al-Matbuli was accused by some of sleeping with boys; he never married.
Much of al-Matbuli’s fame
came from his farm and Sufi hostel located near Cairo. As shaykh and overseer,
al-Matbuli distributed bread and fodder to followers and visitors, and, when
food prices soared in Qâ’it Bay’s reign, this Sufi freely fed many people. This
increased al-Matbuli’s popularity among the common people, but he was also careful
to court the amirs with gifts of fruit from his garden.42
Al-Biqâcî and
others visited al-Matbuli at his hostel during the controversy, probably in an
attempt to establish a wider, more popular base for their position. When they
asked him about Ibn al-Fârid, al-Matbulï replied: “He and those like him fill
the world with clamor! None of them has been given enough of the divine mystery
to cover a mosquito’s proboscis!”43
But Ibn al-Fârid’s
supporters also escalated their activities on the poet’s behalf, and al-Biqa'I
and other opponents were the targets of lampoons. The most famous Cairene poet
of the time, the Hanball Afimad al- Mansürl (798 or 799-887/1387 or 1388-1482),
wrote a long ode in which the second hemistich of each line was a verse from Ibn
al-Fârid’s al- Tâ^ïyah al-kubrâ. The poem scolded al-Biqa'T for his
false charges and intransigence and praised Ibn al-Fârid for his nobility,
spiritual insight, and beautiful verse.44
More frequently, the
invectives consisted of a few verses written on a page and then attached to Ibn
al-Fârid’s shrine for all to read. In one invective al-Mansûrl said of al-BiqâcI:45
Indeed
al-Biqâ'ï is accountable
for what he
has said;
do not
consider him safe
for his heart
will be punished!
The poet Muhammad ibn
Qânsûh min Sâdiq (fl. 900/1495) wrote:46
'Umar Ibn
al-Fârid, the learned one,
whose desire
thought cannot comprehend,
no one would
harm him save a fool!
So dismiss the
fool; be pleased with 'Umar.
And someone satirized Ibn
al-Shihnah, saying:47
Oh Ibn
al-Shihnah, the Hanafi,
you’ve become
the unique of
the ages
in all hateful
things!
In Egypt, you
foolishly claim
knowledge of
Abu Hanifah,
while you are
truly
his disgrace!
The invectives and
feuding suggest that the Ibn al-Fárid controversy involved more than religious
ideology, which, of course, was a central issue. The political and economic
crisis beginning Qa’it Bay’s reign had evoked a response from religious
conservatives who demanded the eradication of suspected innovations in
doctrine and practice and a return to the pious faith of their forefathers, lb
this group in Mamluk Egypt Ibn al-Fârid symbolized the most abhorrent heresies:
the doctrine of wahdat al-wujûd, believed to permeate his al-TaUyah
al-kubra, and the veneration of saints, as people gathered at his tomb for
blessings and food. Indeed, both beliefs threatened conservative religious
authority; Ibn al-cArabi’s theosophy denied the existence of a
simple and absolute literal Truth, while the existence of saints theoretically
represented a direct access to religious power uncontrolled by traditional
scholarly supervision.48
Even a cursory glance at the disputants, however,
would warn against dismissing the controversy as a “Sufi-Culama”
conflict or as a confrontation between mystics and legal authorities, a more
sophisticated if no less convincing analysis. Both sides of the debate had
representatives from the four major law schools, and Sufis, jurisprudents, and
judges took both sides on the issue. Certainly, Ibn al-Fâri<j’s supporters had
a broader, more inclusive view of Islam, but age may have been a more important
factor.49
At the time of the dispute the major antagonists
of Ibn al-Farid were sixty years or older; they were backed by a group of their
students who were probably in their early twenties.50 Ibn
al-Fâriçi’s supporters included some elder scholars and poets,51 but
the majority were between the ages of twenty-five and fifty-five and, thus,
represented the next generation of senior religious officials. Given the
unusually desperate economic situation—which included pay cuts for religious
scholars and confiscations of their wealth—the competition for jobs and wages
must have been fierce, and the issue of Ibn al-Farid’s infidelity could be used
to discredit one’s opponent whether he was a rising youngster or an entrenched
elder.52
Further, old wounds and differences in
personalities also colored the affair, as did self-interest. Al-Suyütî, for
instance, appears to have had a friendship with Barqûq and his son 'All Bay.
Perhaps in gratitude for al- Suyütï’s defense of Ibn al-Fâriçl, Barqûq
appointed al-Suyûçî shaykh of Sufism at the former’s tomb complex in 875/1470,
a paid position al- Suyütí held until he resigned the post in 901/1491.55
Other supporters of Ibn al-Fârid seemed to have
been more inclined to the court and its amusements than to religion or
scholarship. Muhammad al-Sakhâwï accused al-Khatîb al-Waziri (b. 847/1443) of
being a pushy fraud and a sycophant. Al-Wazîrî was a companion of Ibn al-Ghars,
another courtier, whom al-Sakhâwî criticized for an addiction to chess and
worldly things. Al-Sakhâwï also berated two other defenders of the poet, Ibn
Sharaf al-Jawjarî (b. 820/1417) and his companion, Ibn al-Qattân
(814-79/1412-74), for roaming the taverns. He further noted that, while Ibn
al-Qattân was servile before his patrons, with others he acted haughty. Ibn
al-Qattân always wanted to be seated in the places of highest distinction, and
he fought for this privilege, on one occasion, with al- Biqâ'ï and, on another,
with cAbd al-Barr Ibn al-Shihnah.54
Another of Ibn al-Fârid’s
allies, Qâsim ibn Quçlübughâ (c. 802—79 / c. 1399-1474) also bore a grudge
against Ibn al-Shihnah and his son cAbd al-Barr. Muhammad al-Sakhâwî
stated that Ibn Quçlübughâ had been among Ibn al-Shihnah’s most intimate
friends until the latter said terrible things about him in the sultan’s court.
Al-Sakhâwî did not mention what caused Ibn al-Shihnah to slander his friend,
but Ibn Quçlübughâ was a widely respected Hanafî scholar, and Ibn al-Shihnah, the
chief Hanafî judge, may have felt threatened by him.55
Indeed, Ibn al-Shihnah
was known to have jealously guarded his numerous positions, and Muhammad
al-Sakhâwî described him as greedy and prone to indebtedness; he was disliked
by some of Qa’it Bay’s amirs. Ibn al-Shihnah frequently appointed his son cAbd
al-Barr as a substitute to fulfill a number of jobs. But the young man became
conceited, and al- Sakhâwî said that cAbd al-Barr acted
high-handedly as a substitute, earning the contempt of other scholars and of
Qa’it Bay himself. Al- Sakhâwï added that cAbd al-Barr would insult
anyone, including his teachers.56
Not surprisingly, the
most controversial figure in the affair was Ibrâhîm al-Biqâcî.
Al-Biqâcï was primarily a hadtth scholar and biographer, and he
and Muhammad al-Sakhâwî had been fellow students of Ibn Hajar al- cAsqalânï.
This experience, however, seems to have embittered al-Sakhâwî, who not only
denounced al-Biqâcî in his al-Daw* but also wrote a separate
work against him. Al-Sakhâwî depicted al-Biqâcî as a vile imposter
who would say anything and stop at nothing for his own personal aggrandizement.57
While a hostile professional rivalry between the two men provoked many of
al-Sakhâwî’s biting remarks, another contemporary, al-Khaçïb al-Jawharï
(819-900/1416-95), also noted that al-Biqâcï was of extremely bad
character and was quick to slander others.58 In this light al-Biqâcî
may have stirred up and prolonged the Ibn al-Farid controversy in order to
exhibit his religiosity, display his erudition, and, perhaps, gain professional
notoriety and advancement.59
In addition to religious,
economic, and personal issues, the Ibn al-Fârid controversy involved important
political factors. Any prolonged conflict among Cairo’s religious elite was an
alarming situation for the Mamluk sultans, since discord could generate
domestic tension and undermine the sultan’s religious legitimacy. Religious
controversies, such as the one involving Ibn al-Fârid, implied that all was not
well in the kingdom, which had become infected with heresy and infidelity. Such
ideological unrest, combined with political instability and a strained economy,
might precipitate a rebellion within the Mamluk ranks, and it was in the
sultan’s best interests to promptly quiet disruptive elements.
More specifically, the
Ibn al-Fârid controversy directly challenged Qá’it Bay’s power by threatening
one of his favorite amirs, his khushdash Barqûq. The charges of Ibn
al-Fârid’s infidelity had, by extension, been applied to Barqûq, who had
administered the endowments for the tomb. If Ibn al-Fârid were an infidel, the
endowments would be illegal, and Barqûq and others who had labored on the
shrine’s behalf would be disgraced and accused of stupidity or infidelity.
Further, they would lose all of the religious merit and blessings that they
assumed had been earned as well as any further revenues, which they might have
derived from the site. This religious and economic loss might well have angered
Barqûq and alienated him from Qâ’it Bay had the sultan done nothing to prevent
Ibn al-Fârid’s conviction as an infidel. Given the empire’s insecure state in
874/1469, Qâ’it Bay could not afford to placate a group of disgruntled elder
scholars at the expense of Barqûq, a most reliable khushdash amir.
Though Qâ’it Bay may have appreciated Ibn al-Fâri<J as a poet or venerated
him as a saint, the political dimensions of the controversy were undoubtedly a
catalyst for the sultan’s resolution of the problem at the end of the year.60
The historian Ibn lyâs
(852-930/1448-1524) wrote:61
In fact, a certain amir was biased in favor of Ibn al-Fârid.62
Indeed, the sultan was too, and he ordered his private secretary, Ibn
Muzhir, to write a qualified question to the shaykh Zayn al-Dîn Zakariyâ
al-Shâficî. So he wrote this question as follows:
“What does the shaykh, the imam, the great scholar, the ocean
of comprehension, Zakariyâ al-Ansârï al-Shâficï—may God benefit the
Muslims by way of him—say about those who call an infidel our lord and master,
the shaykh, the gnostic of God, ‘Umar Ibn al-Fârid—may God protect him with His
mercy and be satisfied with him—whose doctrine is considered depravity due to
a [misjunderstanding of his words, which make specific references to meanings
well known among the great Sufis, in the technical language of their discourse
in which there is no danger to the religious law. Do the words of this gnostic
refer to the technical terminology of his way or to the technical terminology
of a non-Islamic community? So what is the answer to this? Give a legal opinion
to us who will reward!”
He sent this
question to the shaykh Zakariyâ who refused to write upon it for as long as
possible. But [the secretary] beseeched him for a number of days until
[Zakariyâ] wrote and answered saying:
“The words of
this gnostic—may God’s mercy be upon him and may He give benefit with his
spiritual blessings \bar- akat\—refer to the technical terminology of
the folk of his way. Indeed, to them it is literal since the technical term is
true in its technical meaning, being metaphorical in any other meaning, as is
well established. One should not look at what one supposes to be an expression
of incarnationism or unifica- tionism in some verses of the al-Ta’tyah,
though there is none of that in his state or poetry in the al-TcPtyah,
as he has said in the ode:
In the clearer
of two visions
I have a sign
that keeps my creed free
of the incarnation view.63
“Sometimes
when the gnostic of God is submerged in the sea of oneness \tawhld\ and
gnosis to the extent that his essence and characteristics have vanished in His
characteristics, and he is absent to all save Him, expressions issue from him,
which are perceived as incarnationism and unificationism because the
expressions fall short of clearly explaining his state to which he has
ascended, as a group of the scholars of theology have said.64 But
these expressions should be concealed from those who cannot comprehend them,
for not every heart is fit for the secret nor is every oyster suited for the
pearl. For every folk there is a way of speaking, but not everything known is
spoken. So, it is incumbent on those who do not comprehend it, to refrain from
refutation, just as one of [the Sufis] has said concerning spiritual meaning {maQnâ\.
If you are
deceived
by the senses,
you will see
by staring,
not by arguing.
But if you
don’t see
the crescent
moon, be at peace,
for mankind
sees it
with vision.65
“Had the critic tasted
what the gnostic tasted, he would not have rebuked him, as this speaker has
said:
Had my blâmer
tasted my ardent love,
he would have
loved with me.
But he didn’t
taste it!
“This is the situation. God bestows his blessing or withholds
it to whomever He wills according to His justice. May God bless our master
Muhammad, his family and companions, and give them peace. This was written by
Zakariyâ ibn Muhammad al-Ansârï al-Shâficï.”
The wording of the personal secretary’s question
and his praise of the poet left no doubt about Qâ’it Bay’s position on the
subject of Ibn al- Farid-66 Choosing Zakariyâ al-Ansârï (826-925 or
926/1423-1519) may have further assured that the final opinion on the matter
would be favorable to Ibn al-Farid and his supporters. Well educated in
jurisprudence and Sufism, Zakariyâ was noted for his piety and fairness. But,
while he sometimes criticized Qâ’it Bay and exhorted him to be a good and just
ruler, he was considerate of the sultan’s interests, for which he was duly
rewarded. Finally, two of Zakariyâ’s contemporaries, Muhammad al-Sakhâwï and
Ibn lyâs, regarded him as a staunch supporter of Ibn al-Farid-67
Ibn lyâs did not say why Zakariyâ al-An$ârï at
first refused to answer the private secretary’s request for a legal opinion on
the Ibn al-Fârid controversy, though this hesitation might be construed as
resulting from circumspection and a sense of equity in the matter. In fact, one
of Zakariyâ’s students, Ibn al-Shamma* (c. 880-936/1475-1529), related that his
teacher did not believe the poet to be either an infidel or a saint until one
Friday when Zakariyâ was miraculously enlightened with knowledge of the poet’s
sainthood.68 The Sufi biographer al-Shacrânï (897-973/
1491-1565) also noted Zakariyâ’s hesitation in giving an opinion and his
eventual decision to support the poet:69
When the
ordeal of Burhân al-Dîn al-Biqâcî took place because of his censure
of the master cUmar Ibn al-Farid—may God be satisfied with him—the
sultan sent to the ^ulama*. They wrote to him regarding how they saw it,
but the shaykh Zakariyâ . . . refused. Then he met the shaykh Muhammad
al-Istambülï, who said, “Write and defend [the Sufis]!”
Zakariyâ’s brief answer did not declare Ibn
al-Farid to be a saint, but it did refer to him as a gnostic who possessed
spiritual power (barakah} and whose creed was free from the heresies of
incarnationism and unification- ism. Like other defenders of Ibn al-Fârid,
Zakariyâ permitted the use of metaphors and technical terminology by the poet.
Questionable expressions in the al-Tâ'tyah al-kubrâ were not the result
of heresy or infidelity but, rather, were due to the limitations of speech to
communicate the ineffable. The inability to articulate a profound mystical
state did not belie the gnostic’s experience of it, and those not suited for
enlightenment should keep quiet.
Interestingly, Zakariyâ did not call anyone an
infidel. This moderation together with his hesitation to answer the question
suggest that Zakariyâ may have realized that his opinion would be used by the
sultan to put an end to the controversy. While Zakariyâ exonerated Ibn al-Fârid
and his supporters—who included Barqüq—from charges of heresy and infidelity,
he did not severely chastise the poet’s critics, perhaps hoping to temper Qâ’it
Bây’s response, which was sure to follow.
Zakariyâ may have delivered his opinion near the
end of 874/1469, during a royal session held to censure al-BiqacI.
The historian al-Jawhari also noted that, at the beginning of 875/1470, the
chief judges and the shaykh al-Islam greeted the sultan as usual and that they
said nothing about the Ibn al-Fârid controversy. But Ibn al-Fârid’s opponents
must have sensed their vulnerability, for al-Jawhari said that al-Biqâcï
was the first person to go up to the Citadel on that day. He sat in the mosque
and refused to take back what he had said regarding the al-Tâ^ïyah al-kubrâ
or the charge of infidelity against Ibn al-Fârid. Further, it had been rumored
that, prior to his going to the Citadel, al-Biqâcï had written his
will to say that, if he were killed, he would die a martyr.70
Other statements defended al-Biqâcï
for starting the controversy. Al- Sha'rani related that a student of al-Biqâcï
had said to him:71
[We] only
criticized the [Sufis] for fear that the common people would ruin their beliefs
because they have not followed [the Sufis’] way, and because it is impossible
for everyone to be familiar with the technical terminology of their
expressions.
So I thought that creating an aversion to their speech was
best for the common people and most fitting and, if not that, then discouraging
belief in the master Muhyï al-Dïn Ibn al-'Arabï and the master Ibn
al-Fari<i. But praise be to God that I believe in them! I only criticized
expressions attributed to them that were probably not their words. The heretics
have inserted many things into the speech of the religious leaders without the
latter knowing it!
Further, al-Biqâcï
seems to have tried to place blame for the controversy on the judges Ibn
al-Shihnah and cIzz al-Dïn al-Kinânï by saying: “I was inclined
toward Ibn al-Fâriçl, but al-cIzz al-Hanbalï and Ibn al-Shihnah
censured me. But it is useless to ascribe lying, bad luck, or falsehood to Ibn
al-Shihnah, for he is the greatest leader of the Sunnis!”72
Qâ’it Bay apparently took
no immediate action against Ibn al-Fârid’s opponents, but a strange thing
happened in the first month of 875/1470. Al-Jawhari heard from Zakariyâ
al-Ansârï that cAlï ibn Khâsç Bây, Qâ’it Bây’s father-in-law, was
riding in the Qarâfah one day, when he saw a fine looking man before him. As CA1T
reined his horse, a second man of awesome appearance approached the first man,
spoke to him, and then left. cAlï ibn Khâss Bay asked the remaining
man about the other. The stranger was amazed that cAli did not
recognize Ibn al-Farid, and he said, “Everyday he rises up from this place
seeking God’s protection from those who speak ill of him!”73
This miraculous
occurrence attested to Ibn al-Fârid’s sainthood and may have legitimized the
position of his supporters on a more popular level than did Zakariyâ’s legal
opinion. Further, the incident involved a close relative of Qâ’it Bây, and the
sultan, in turn, may have used the event to sanction his replacement of some
senior religious officials participating in the controversy.
The first to go was Ibn
Imâm al-Kâmilïyah, who had held a number of positions and administered a
substantial amount of religious endowments. In poor health, Ibn Imâm
al-Kâmilïyah had left on pilgrimage in 874/ 1469, prior to the controversy’s
resolution, but he died six days after leaving Cairo.74 Most of the
endowments that he had administered were then entrusted to Taqï al-Dïn al-Hisnï
(815-81/1412-76), one of Ibn al- Fârid’s supporters.75 Another
opponent, the Hanbalï judge cIzz al-Dïn al- Kinânï, seems to have
been respected by everyone including the sultan. Although Qâ’it Bây did not act
against al-Kinânï, who died the next year, in 876/1471, the sultan did depose
another judge, the very powerful and influential Ibn al-Shihnah.76
In Sha'bân in 875/1470
Ibn al-Shihnah was dismissed from the office of chief Hanafi judge on charges
of falsifying documents involving religious endowments. Ibn al-Shihnah’s entire
staff of deputies, including his son cAbd al-Barr, was also fired.
By this time Ibn al-Shihnah had fallen from the sultan’s grace, for, aside from
the Ibn al-Fârid controversy, the judge had been involved in illegal real
estate transactions at the beginning of the year. Three months later, perhaps
to regain Qâ’it Bay’s favor, Ibn al- Shifinah had delivered a Friday sermon to
the amirs and the army, in which he profusely praised the sultan’s justice and
superiority. But the judge appears to have treated the sermon lightly, and he
read it instead of delivering it more spontaneously. This angered the sultan
further, and, when the opportunity arose, he dismissed Ibn al-Shihnah.”
Qâ’it Bay wanted to
appoint al-Kâfiyâjï—a defender of Ibn al-Fárid— as Ibn al-Shihnah’s
replacement, but some scholars objected on the grounds that al-Kâfiyâjï lacked
the requisite expertise.78 Ibn al-Shihnah was reinstated, but two
years later, in 877/1472, he again angered Qâ’it Bây and was dismissed from the
judgeship for the last time.79
The Ibn al-Fârid
controversy may have also contributed to Ibrâhîm al- Matbulï’s expulsion from
Egypt and his subsequent death. Qâ’it Bây probably suspected this Sufi’s
motives for freely feeding the masses and patronizing his amirs, with whom
al-Matbulî had some influence. Further, al-Matbulï often openly opposed the
sultan, as he did concerning Ibn al-Fârid, and so, in 877/1472, Qâ’it Bây is
reported to have said to him, “Egypt isn’t big enough for the both of us!”
Outraged, al-Matbulï left for Jerusalem, only to die en route.80
As for al-Biqâcï,
his fate was directly linked to his role in the controversy. His positions and
writings on the affair had so infuriated a group of Ibn al-Fârid’s supporters
that they publicly insulted al-Biqa'T at one of his sessions during Ramadân in
875/1470. Al-Biqâcî filed a complaint but then instructed some of
his followers to seize and beat his adversaries. Qâ’it Bay’s private secretary,
Ibn Muzhir, learned of al-Biqâcï’s plan and put a stop to it. But
the next day al-Biqâcï brought the matter before the grand
chamberlain {hâjib al-hujjâbY the amir Timur (d. 880/1475).81
Al- Biqâ'ï attempted to approach Timur to plead his case, but he was stopped by
a group of religious scholars, including three defenders of Ibn al-Fârid: Ibn
al-Oattan, Ibn Sharaf al-Jawjarï, and al-Khatîb al-Wazïrï. They declared their
support of Ibn al-Fârid and accused those who opposed him of infidelity. Al-Biqâcî
left in disgrace.82 Sometime later al-Biqâcï migrated
with his student Nür al-Dïn al-Mahallï to Damascus, where he stayed until his
death in 885/1480.83
The misfortunes that befell Ibn al-Fâriçl’s
opponents certainly stemmed from more than their parts in the controversy.
Nevertheless, the sultan Qá’it Bay may have perceived their efforts to brand
Ibn al-Fârid an infidel as an attempt to entrench their own religious and
political authority vis-à-vis their younger rivals and him, the new sultan.
Rather than yielding to the demands of a conservative clique of the religious
elite, Qâ’it Bay used the controversy to create a fresh balance of power more
favorable to himself. As for Ibn al-Fárid and his tomb, Qâ’it Bay named the
shrine’s administrator, Barqûq, viceroy of Damascus in 875/1470 and appointed a
substitute for him at the shrine. When Barqûq died in 877/ 1472 Qâ’it Bay
appointed a son of the amir as the overseer of the religious endowments, which
continued to attract the poor and mendicants, as before.84
Further, the controversy enhanced the poet’s
popularity and sealed his claim to sainthood. Religious scholars and
litterateurs had gone to the shrine in 874/1469 to display their support of the
poet, indicating that the educated, too, congregated at the tomb. The
controversy’s resolution also convinced many that Ibn al-Fârid was
unquestionably one of God’s saints—that the adversities suffered by his
opponents were the direct result of his spiritual power. After the controversy
of 874/1469 organized opposition to Ibn al-Fârid evaporated, and he continued
to be honored and his shrine visited and patronized long after Egypt came under
Ottoman rule.85
Chapter 4
Disjunction
When the Ottoman
conqueror of Egypt, Selim I (d. 926/1520), left on campaign in 924/1518, his
governor in Cairo ordered the Qur’an to be read at eight holy stations in the
city to insure the sultan’s success. Ibn al-Farid’s tomb was among the eight,
indicating that the complex was still religiously and politically important in
Egypt. Further, this honor also reflected an Ottoman predilection for
speculative mysticism, especially that of Ibn al-cArabl, with which
Ibn al-Fârid had long been connected.1
The prevalent Ottoman view of Ibn al-Fâri(j was
well represented in the work of the famous encyclopedist and biographer
lashkôprüzâde (901-68/1495-1561), who praised the poet’s verse, good
disposition, and piety. But, in addition to standard biographical data,
Tashkôprüzâde also related that Ibn al-Farid had personally learned hadith
from Ibn al-cArabï, and this supposed historical relationship no
doubt reinforced popular notions of the al-Tdtyah al-kubrâ as a poetic
rendition of Ibn al-cArabï’s work.2
Belief in Ibn al-Fârid as the unsurpassed monistic
poet was also promoted by the comprehensive account of him by the Sufi
hagiographer al-Munâwï (952-1031/1545-1622). Al-Munâwï appears to have had
access to nearly all earlier sources on the poet, and he judiciously edited and
arranged this material to produce an inspirational narrative of Ibn al-
Fâriçl’s mystical training, states, and miracles, which he believed served as
the wellspring for the poet’s verse. A slightly abridged version of this
hagiography, made by the famous Hanball historian Ibn al-Tmad (10321089/1623-79),
furthered the mystical reputation of Ibn al-Fârid and suggests the great extent
to which this saintly image had come to be accepted.3
Yet, as in the past, Ibn al-Fâriçl’s supposed
association with doctrines of unification and Ibn al-cArabi also led
to the poet’s censure. One of those who railed against the unificationists and
Ibn al-Fârid was the Zaydl
ShFT scholar Sâlih
al-Maqbalï (1040-1108/1631-96), who quoted with approval Ibn Khaldun’s opinion
that monistic works, including those by Ibn aPArabl, and most of Ibn al-Fârid’s
poetry, should be destroyed.4
The greatest threat to Ibn al-Farid’s poetry and
shrine during this period, however, seems to have stemmed from the Ottoman
chief judge in Egypt, Muhammad ibn Ilyas (d. 954/1547). During his term of
office (938-45/1531-38) he discouraged the visitation of Ibn al-Fârid’s tomb
and harassed those who recited the poet’s verse there every Friday. According
to al-Munâwï, the judge later renounced his actions after being afflicted with
an incurable illness believed to have been sent on Ibn al- Fârid’s behalf.
Another explanation for the judge’s change of heart was the pressure put on him
by higher Ottoman authorities to mend his ways; a few years later Ibn Ilyas was
relieved from another post, having earned Sultan Sulaymân’s (r. 926-74/1520-66)
displeasure for criticizing Ibn al- cArabï.5
Although Ibn al-Fârid’s detractors in the Ottoman
period were few, questions of his piety and doctrinal purity persisted, as is
evidenced in legal opinions, biographies, and interpretations of his verse
offered by his supporters. Prominent in many of these works are tales of his antagonists’
censure or their recantations after they had experienced a terrifying dream or
illness attributed to Ibn al-Fârid’s saintly power.
It was told that Ibn Hajar al-cAsqalânï
once wrote a commentary on verses from the al-T(Ptyah al-kubra and then sent
it to his Sufi master, Shaykh Madyan (d. 862/1458), for approval. But Madyan
returned the work to Ibn Hajar with a verse written on its cover:
She set out
east; you went west—
What a
distance between
where the sun
rises
and where it
sets!
Upon reading the verse,
Ibn Hajar repented for his arrogance and became a follower of the shaykh.6
In another story an opponent of the poet reversed his position and believed in
him after a nightmare in which Ibn al-Fârid cut out the tongues of those who
denied his sainthood. Still other stories involved more recent Ottoman critics
such as Ibn Ilyâs and Ibn Iskandar al-Rümï (d. ca. 1000/1591), who some
believed had been struck ill and died for criticizing Ibn aPArabT and Ibn
al-Fârid-7
Inducing an opponent’s recantation was Ibn
al-Fârid’s most frequent miracle, and this suggests that many of his devotees
were well educated and familiar with theological disputes. By contrast, saints
popular primar-
ily among the poor were
often credited with miracles that met some immediate physical need of the
destitute, such as feeding the masses.8
Despite such miraculous
vindications of Ibn al-Farid’s sainthood, the vast majority of writings on the
poet and his verse were rarely defensive or polemical. More often, an author’s
tone was of deep appreciation and reverential gratitude for Ibn al-Farid’s
lifetime of literary and religious accomplishment. Ibn al-Farid’s poetic style
and use of mystical imagery were consciously imitated by many poets, and more
than a dozen commentaries were written on his verse during the sixteenth
through eighteenth centuries.9
Of particular importance
was the commentary by cAbd al-Ghânï al- Nâbulusï
(1050-1143/1641-1731), which encompassed the entire Dïwân. In his work Kashf
al-sirr al-ghâmid al-Nabulus! revealed the inner spiritual meanings that
many had come to believe lay hidden beneath every verse of Ibn al-Fâriçl’s
poetry. Al-Nabulus! read and interpreted the poems in light of a monistic
theosophy derived largely from Ibn al-c Arabi’s writings, and his commentary
is a splendid source for mapping the major mystical and theological beliefs
current among many of the educated elite at that time. Further, al-Nâbulusï’s
popular commentary and numerous others are indicative of the celebrity that Ibn
al-Farid and his poetry had achieved.10 But that was obvious to
anyone who visited his shrine on Friday.
The talented Ottoman
author and traveler Evliyâ Celeb! (1020-ca. 1095/ 1611- ca. 1684) left an
account of the Friday session (hadrah) at Ibn al- Fârid’s shrine, which
he attended around 1080/1670.”
Every Friday there are such crowds at his mosque that a
newcomer thinks he won’t find room; but then, by God’s command, he squeezes in,
as though [entering] the ocean of nobles, and finds a place. All the people sit
on one another’s knees. Elite and commoners do not find each other disagreeable
but all participate together with common purpose. It is a marvel! This kind of
spiritual unity is not to be found at other shrines. The reason is, according
to the ^uloma1 of Egypt, that the noble spirit of the Prophet
himself as well as the spirits of other prophets are present in this mosque
every Friday. All of the shaykhs of Egypt are agreed on this point.
Evliyâ Celeb! noted that
five to six thousand people gathered at the shrine every Friday to recite from
the Qur’an, pray, and participate in Sufi dhikr ceremonies. This was
followed by the chanting of Qur’ânic passages by individual professional
readers, who then recited, in unison, the first portion of Ibn al-Fâri<f s al-Tâ?ïyah
al-kubrâ. Upon hearing these verses, spiritually sensitive individuals
would attain an ecstasy granted them by the Prophet Muhammad and the great
saints present at this shrine, which had become a meeting place for all social
classes;12
Each Friday
the Prophet is present in person, and for this reason there is such a crowd of
people that they sit on each other’s shoulders, yet no one is offended with
anyone, rather everyone is happy. It is a marvel! Also, there is no distinction
between rich and poor in this shrine. Everyone sits on one another’s knees,
packed like fish!
Evliyâ Celebi was amazed by the harmony among the
shrine’s visitors, with their diverse social and economic backgrounds. Yet such
feelings of concord were probably nurtured by sharing free food distributed at
the site. Individuals in search of other earthly or more heavenly blessings
would also have conducted themselves with decorum and requisite humility.
Further, many visitors mutually appreciated the aesthetic and religious
dimensions of the recitations, particularly on Ibn al-Fârid’s mawlid, or
“saint’s day,” when the Prophet Muhammad’s spirit was believed to visit the
shrine;13
Once a year there is a mawlid, and 200,000 people
gather there [at the shrine]. The ^ulama* of Egypt are agreed that the
spirit of the Prophet is there on that day, since, at the time of that mawlid,
light illuminates the interior of the mosque. This is peculiar to the mosque of
cUmar Ibn al-Fârid and does not occur at other mosques. No proud or
haughty person may participate in the mawlid, but only those who are
destitute, the mystics \budalcP\, and wandering dervishes \malâmïyüri\.
Also on this day quite a few people demonstrate their mystical blessings \kashf,
kardmah\.
No doubt, Evliyâ Celebï intended his gross
attendance figures to underscore the popular veneration of Ibn al-Fârid by
Cairo’s Muslim population. But, more important, his descriptions highlight the
vitality of the shrine’s rituals and religious services, which, he claimed,
were wholeheartedly supported by Egypt’s ruling and religious elite. Much of
his account would be corroborated twenty-five years later by a great admirer of
the poet, al-Nâbulusï.
Shortly after entering Cairo in 1105/1693,
al-Nâbulusï paid his first visit to Ibn al-Fârid and his shrine on a Friday; he
prayed the noon prayer there and stayed for the afternoon session:14
We sat down
until many more people gathered. Then they read the Qur’an and said many
prayers, the dhikr, and praises of God. Then the people drew together,
and the singers [munshidün] began, one after another, to sing the words
of the shaykh 'Umar—May God sanctify his spirit—repeating a single hemistich
over and over at the request of some in the audience; the singers would lower
their eyes, weep, cry out, and show ecstasy. Everyone there was suddenly seized
by spiritual states to the extent that one of the singers—or perhaps he was
from the audience—screamed, tore his cloak, and ran out stepping on the people
and bereft of his senses. It is said that this session is like this every
Friday and that the spirit of the Prophet—God’s blessing and peace be upon
him—is in attendance.
Five weeks later al-Nâbulusï attended another
Friday session, which he vividly detailed:15
The [Sufis]
and all of those attending had read Sürat al-Kahf'h and they
began to pray for the Messenger—God’s blessings and peace be upon him—and for
his majesty [the sultan]. Then they sealed the meeting and read the ai-FâtihahV
Then all of the Qur’an readers read something from the Qur’an. Next a singer
arose and sang from the words of the shaykh 'Umar—May God be satisfied with
him. Everyone sat silently. A singer would rise and another would sit down,
and, whenever one of them sang a hemistich of a verse, those present would
show ecstasy and be seized by a spiritual state. So the singer would repeat
that hemistich, while the people sat jammed together.
That congregational
mosque was so full that, if someone was seized by a spiritual state, he would
get up and throw himself upon the others, and they would all call out together
as the inner meaning of that verse of the shaykh 'Umar’s speech pervaded them.
A man came in from outside, then two more, then three, and they entered with
great spiritual fervor and deep humility, stepping on the people while the
latter found a place for them to sit. Had a thousand people come, a place would
have been found for them all!
That session expanded for
all, while their space diminished. Everyone was humble, weeping and sighing
from the intensity of a spiritual state, great ecstasy, humility, and
submission. So someone would shout, “Repeat!” And so the singer would repeat
what he had said. Then another would shout it, and he would repeat it, and so
on until I and . . . those with us from the group were seized by an intense
spiritual state and by weeping, sighing, humility, and submission, and the
secrets of the divine audition pervaded us to the point where we nearly melted
away.
No human being could ever
restrain himself from the intensity of that spiritual state, which descends
upon one unawares. At times some of the critics from among the Turks [anvam]
are there, but they are unable to constrain themselves from the spiritual
state, which descends upon them unawares, or from the humility, which
overwhelms them.
Once I met one of them on
another Friday after I had previously attended his audition alone with some of
my group. He said to me, “Oh sir, this thing that they do here [at the shrine],
is it permissible or forbidden?” But I would not talk to him, and I calmly
endured him until the audition began. Then he was seized by a spiritual state,
and I have not seen him since.
I have seen the people at
the time of the audition, and at other times, circling the grave of the shaykh cUmar—May
God be pleased with him—calling to him for blessings and good fortune, seeking
help from his attending spirit and his dazzling divine secrets. And God most
high aids them and decrees their needs according to His saying—He is most
high—“Oh you who believe, fear God and seek the means to Him!”18
And there is no greater
means unto God most high than the pure and noble spirits of His saints and the
dazzling manifest lights of their graves, for they are more noble unto Him most
high than works, words, spiritual states, pious deeds, or acts of worship. But
how much more if to good works were added the perfect fortunate spirits! One
who denies this will be driven from the gates of the noble ones, being
conceited with what he has done in the forms of works and pious deeds, which
are empty of humility and reverence. Those like him are like one who brings a
present to a great king while degrading and scorning [the king’s]
boon-companions, casting every kind of insult upon them, and, in spite of that,
he still hopes for [the king’s] welcome, acceptance, reward, and abundant
favor. If that man is not possessed, then surely he will be forever banished
and cursed!
We did not stumble during that audition, though the attentive
hearts and ears were intoxicated by the wine of divine love, such that a
man—who was said to have been the shaykh Shacbân—arose from among
the singers and sang from the al- Jmïyah:Vi
In the
battlefield
of hearts and glances,
I am slain
without sin or guilt.
So the audience cried out in ecstasy, and some people bumped
into others, while he repeated that [verse] to them at their request. He became
enraptured along with them until he came to [Ibn al-Farid’s] saying:20
Blessed be
God,
how sweet his
qualities!
Then he threw off his turban and his wool robe, tore his
cape, and left in his underwear, bereft of his senses! Then another singer, who
was inspired, stood up after him and sang until the session came to an end.
Then we arose, having been impressed by the calls of spiritual states and the
firm intentions of men’s sincerity.
In this detailed
description of the Friday session at Ibn al-Fârid’s shrine, al-Nâbulusï noted
the same basic sequence of rituals recounted earlier by Evliyâ Celebï: the
Qur’ânic invocation and prayers, the Qur’an chanting and repeated singing of
Ibn al-Fàrid’s verses. But, above all, al-Nâbulusï stressed the emotional
impact of the service. As the congregation became immersed in the chants and
song, faith was nearly palpable; Ibn al-Fârid’s verse was moving, his saintly
presence real. Absorbed in the audition, al- Nâbulusï and others shared in a
collective experience of transcendence, affirming their religious and cultural
unity. On Friday afternoons at Ibn al-Fârid’s shrine self-will vanished in a
moment of true submission.
This audition and other acts of worship involving
the saints were the quickest path to God’s grace and forgiveness. Invoking an
ancient metaphor, al-Nâbulusî pictured God as a king surrounded by his
favorite courtiers, His saints, who had the power to intercede with Him on
behalf of the humble masses, lb insult or reject the saints was evidence of
impudence and spiritual pride, which could only lead to perdition. But belief
in the saints and their veneration produced humility and the proper intentions
for mystical states and pious deeds.21
Al-Nabulusi’s experiences at Ibn al-Fârid’s
shrine must have reinforced his belief in the efficacy of the saints, for even
those few who opposed the audition were spiritually overwhelmed.22
Still, he knew that religious states and practices could result in questionable
behavior. But this was not the case in Ibn al-Fâriçf’s sessions, during which
mystical intoxication yielded divine truths. Al-Nâbulusî was certain of Ibn
al-Fârid’s sainthood, and his report of events at the shrine is an intimate and
compelling account of Muslim devotional worship.23
When Evliyâ Celebi and
al-Nâbulusî visited Ibn al-Fârid’s shrine late in the seventeenth century,
Egypt was slipping from Ottoman control. Warring factions of the Ottoman
military units in Egypt stirred up political turmoil and internal strife and,
later, went so far as to cause a civil war in 1123/1711. The Qâzdughlï faction
of Mamluks finally fought their way to the top and secured their position of
leadership in Egypt around 1161/ 1748. By 1173/1760 the Ottoman sultan had lost
the province to the Qâzdughlïs, who ruled Egypt de facto and sought to
reestablish Mamluk domination over Syria as well, lb further their dynastic
aspirations the Qâzdughlï rulers savagely eliminated all challengers, and they
relied on illegal and burdensome taxes to finance their campaigns. Although
these amirs were cruel and avaricious, they contributed substantially to many
religious establishments, perhaps seeking public support or atonement for past
and future atrocities.24
In 1173/1760 cAlï Bây al-Ghazzâwî, the
amir al-Hajj, renovated Ibn al- Fâri^’s mosque and repaired the dome over the
shrine.25 Such patronage by one of the most powerful Qâzdughlïs of
the time suggests that Ibn al- Fârid’s funerary complex remained important as a
place for collective worship. But it may also indicate that the complex had
lost a part or all of its ample religious endowments, which originally had been
assigned to cover such repairs. Perhaps one or another of the Mamluk factions
previously appropriated revenues set aside for the tomb and impoverished it,
forcing the shrine to rely on less dependable individual patrons.26
Further evidence of financial instability and
possible declining impor- tance of the site is that the shrine and Ibn al-Farid
were rarely mentioned in sources written during the eighteenth and nineteenth
centuries. Of course, educated Egyptians continued to read and imitate Ibn
al-Fâriçl’s poetry, and some read the commentaries.27 In fact,
Rushayyid ibn Ghalib al-Dahdah (d. 1306/1889) published his popular edition of
the Diwan in 1269/1853, which also included cAlï’s Dtbàjah,
al-Bûrînî’s grammatical gloss, and an abridgment of al-Nâbulusï’s mystical
commentary. Although this edition was frequently reissued, only one new
commentary was written; four minor biographies of the poet were also compiled
during this period.28
Yet Ibn al-Fâriçl’s saintly popularity among the
Egyptian elite was in eclipse in the nineteenth century, as Egypt’s new
sovereign, Muhammad CA1T (r. 1220-62/1805—48), firmly resolved to
transform his domain into a modern Western-style state. He dramatically
curtailed the power of religious authorities by replacing the endowments of
various religious establishments with paltry stipends, and Ibn al-Fârid’s
shrine was a victim of this financially ruinous policy.29
Muhammad cAll also encouraged the
importation of Western ideas and values, which further eroded the influence of
the religious institutions among the upper classes. By sending students abroad
for education and by establishing state-run secular schools, Muhammad cAlî
hoped to create a well-trained, highly organized army and bureaucracy to secure
his rule. Therefore, for anyone seeking government employment, a secular education
and knowledge of Western languages promised professional success, and many
educated Egyptians began to accept liberal values and to adopt Western
political, legal, and social institutions, with little modification. To many
of this newly Westernized elite institutional Islam and the Sufi orders, in
particular, were the moribund collective bearers of the old traditional values
and, as such, the propagators of superstition, fatalism, and apathy. Very few
of them would ever visit Ibn al-Fâriçl’s tomb.30
At the same time many religious scholars under
the influence of the eighteenth-century Islamic reform movements hoped to
return to the pristine Islam of the pious forefathers by purging the Muslim
community of heretical innovations. Following Ibn Taymîyah, their inspirational
ancestor, they believed that monistic doctrines and such practices as the
veneration of the saints and the visitation of tombs had led Muslims to neglect
their duties in this world and to become prisoners of passivity and fatalism.
This reform-minded "ulamtf had little sympathy for Ibn al-Fâriçl or
his shrine. Together with declining financial resources and the Western
acculturation of many educated Egyptians, this may explain why Ibn al- Fàrid’s
funerary complex was in ruins by 1292/1875.31
Yet all was not lost.
Western ideas and values and the Islamic reform movements made only a slight
impact at this time on the majority of the population. Most Muslims, and the
humbler classes in particular, continued to adhere to the beliefs of their
ancestors and to follow their religious traditions, lb them Ibn al-Fârid’s tomb
remained a repository of sacred power, a place for prayer and spiritual solace.
Perhaps some of the elite, too, when faced with life’s inscrutable crises, made
an occasional pilgrimage to the saint, as their parents had done.32
The presence of Ibn
al-Fârid’s grave continued to sanctify the surrounding earth, and burial in
its vicinity was believed to ease one’s passage into the next world. Thus, in
1305/1887 Jamïlah Hânum buried her son Ibrâhîm next to Ibn al-Fârid’s shrine.
Jamïlah Hânum was the daughter of the Westernizing ruler of Egypt, Khedive
Ismâ'ïl (r. 1280-90/ 1863-73). Although her father was preoccupied with the
grandeur of nineteenth-century Europe, to the extent of financing Cairo’s first
opera house, Jamïlah held fast to Islamic tradition. The young woman admired
Ibn al-Fârid, and, two years after her son’s premature death, Jamïlah built Ibn
al-Fârid’s present mosque and, next to it, a large domed crypt to enclose her
son’s grave.33
This rebuilding of the
mosque in 1307/1889 surely delighted Ibn al- Fârid’s supporters, and it must
have been a gratifying sign of the saint’s persistent power. But there is no
evidence that Jamïlah Hânum or any other person further patronized the shrine.
Ironically, Jamïlah’s large crypt dwarfed Ibn al-Fârid’s shrine, and her dome,
not Ibn al-Fârid’s, became the architectural focus of the area.
Although Jamïlah Hânum
did not rebuild the Sufi hostel or soup kitchen that had been prominent parts
of Ibn al-Fârid’s tomb complex, she had renovated the mosque and its shrine
where the poet’s mawlid continued to be held into the twentieth century.34
Yet such celebrations increasingly became the targets of leading Muslim
reformers. Hoping to resurrect a vigorous Islam to defend against the
colonialism of an evil secular West, these men vehemently condemned doctrines
and practices they believed had corrupted Islam and its society. The modernist
reformer Rashïd Ridâ (d. 1935) was explicit about Sufism:35
the aims of
true Sufism were transformed and nothing remained . . . save noises and
movements which they call dhikr, which every (genuine) Sufi keeps
himself from; there is (in addition) the religious glorification of the tombs
of the shaykhs with the belief that they possess hidden power. . . and this is
contrary to the Book of God and the Sunna of His Prophet.
To Rida and like-minded reformers the mawlids
and other festivals of this degenerate Sufism were frequent occasions for
drunkenness and other immoralities, which made sport of true, rational Islam
and thereby contributed to the backwardness of the Muslim world. Believing
corruption to be rife in the community and faced with new secular and
political ideologies, these conservative scholars opposed age-old religious
beliefs and traditions in a spirit of uncompromising reform.36
This dramatic transformation in attitude and belief
among many Muslims over the last two centuries is concisely illustrated by
contrasting al- Nâbulusï’s reaction to Ibn al-Fârid’s sessions with that of
Rida at a similar event at Cairo’s Mawlawï monastery:37
They said to
me, “Won’t you come and attend the meeting of the Mawlawis in their
monastery—it is like the heavenly paradise, lying on the bank of the river Abu cAli.”
I agreed, and went with those who were going after the Friday prayers. It was
the opening of the season for these meetings in the spring. I sat in the
spectators’ space . . . until the time of the session came, when Mawlawi
dervishes appeared in their meeting-place in front of us, with their shaykh in
the seat of honor. There were handsome beardless youths among them, dressed in
snow-white gowns like brides’ dresses, dancing to the moving sound of the
reed-pipe, turning swiftly and skilfully so that their robes flew out and
formed circles, at harmonious distances and not encroaching on one another.
They stretched out their arms and inclined their necks, and passed in turn
before their shaykh and bowed to him. I asked, “What’s this?” and they told me,
“This is the ritual prayer of the order founded by our Lord Jalal al-Din
al-Rumi, author of the Mathnawi."
I could not control
myself, and stood up in the centre of the hall and shouted something like this:
“O people, or can I call you Muslims! These are forbidden acts, which one has
no right either to look at or pass over in silence, for to do so is to accept
them. To those who commit them God’s word applies, ‘They have made their
religion a joke and a plaything.’ I have done what I was obliged to do; now
take your leave, and may God pardon you.” Then I left the place and retraced my
footsteps quickly to the city; as I was going I looked back, and found behind
me a small number who had returned, while the greater number stayed on.
Rida’s shock and outrage
with Sufi ritual differ sharply from the feelings of awe and harmony which
al-Nâbulusï felt while he observed the ceremonies at Ibn al-Fârid’s mosque.
Al-Nâbulusî had noted that the sessions at Ibn al-Fârid’s shrine had been
questioned by a few religious scholars, but such critics were vigorously
opposed when they later attempted to curtail the veneration of recognized
saints. Yet in the twentieth century the changing intellectual and political
climate was more critical of the Sufi orders and their practices, which were
dismissed by many as rustic folk beliefs, if not heretical innovations.38
Still, Ibn
al-Fârid and Sufism had able defenders, including the very popular Algerian
shaykh Ahmad al-cAlawi of Mostaganem (d. 1934). This Sufi openly
opposed Rida’s religious conservatism because he believed it obscured Islam’s
deeper spiritual dimensions. Ahmad al-cAlawi’s views on life and the
mystical quest were akin to those of Ibn al-cArabi, and he
frequently cited verse by Ibn al-Fârid to sum up and accentuate his own beliefs
and doctrine. Occasionally, the shaykh’s gatherings focused on the recitation
and discussion of Ibn al-Fârid’s verse, but elsewhere in North Africa such
events became increasingly rare.39 ,
In Cairo, too, Ibn
al-Fârid’s saintly fortunes suffered. Although his grave remained a pilgrimage
site, its shrine and saint’s day were in jeopardy. Celebrated since the
fifteenth century, Ibn al-Fâriçi’s mawlid had lost much of its fame and
support by 1940; by the early 1960s the public event was no longer held. The
dilapidated hostel had been removed, though the shrine continued to have a
caretaker.40 On Fridays a visiting imam led the noon prayers,
which were followed by a session with readings from Ibn al-Fârid’s verse.41
The absence of the mawlid
and the hostel indicate the loss of government support for Ibn al-Fârid’s
shrine. Twentieth-century Egyptian governments, before and after the 1952
revolution, have dealt cautiously with popular forms of Islam; because of the
Sufis continued influence among the populace, their orders have been
particularly suspect. Recent Egyptian governments have attempted to limit the
orders and their festivals and, whenever possible, to co-opt them for political
purposes. On the most popular mawlids, which may attract over a million
people annually, governments have provided pictures of the president, military
displays, and fireworks.42 As for Ibn al-Fârid’s modest saint’s day,
not only did the state refuse to finance it, but, until recently, the shrine
was denied even the right to hold the festival.43
Yet, while Egyptian governments and a number of
educated citizens have condemned Sufi orders and practices, few in this century
have criticized Ibn al-Fârid’s poetry or denied its inspirational nature. On
the contrary, many of Egypt’s religious and secular elites continue to appreciate
Sufism as a personal, interior dimension of Islam, and mystical writings,
especially poetry, are treasured.44 In this respect Ibn al-Fâriçl
has come to symbolize the rapt mystic in love with absolute beauty.
Concomitantly, his verse is read not as a theosophical treatise but, instead,
as an intimate, account of a profound -religious experience, a personal
confession of faith in God. This romantic reading of Ibn al-Fâriçl became the
prevailing one among the íuk¡m¿r> and Egyptian
intellectuals around 1940, but its origins lie in earlier European scholarship
on the poet and his verse.
Beginning in the first half of the nineteenth
century, European scholars took an interest in Ibn al-Fârid as a mystical poet,
and they edited and translated selections from his Dtwdn, including the
entire al-Tâ^tyah al- kubrâ.^ Several translators, following medieval
Muslim commentators, interpreted Ibn al-Farid’s poetry as a rhymed version of
Ibn al-cArabï’s monistic doctrines.46 Yet the most
thorough and influential scholars, C. A. Nallino and R. A. Nicholson, argued
that, while Ibn al-Fârid may have been influenced by Ibn al-cArabî,
his verse was not a doctrinal statement.47 Placing Ibn al-Fârid’s
life and work in the context of the psychology of religion instead of
theology, Nicholson wrote:48
I have no quarrel with those who call Ibnu’l-Fârid a
pantheist, but his pantheism (unlike that of his commentators) is essentially
a state of feeling, not a system of thought. . . . But although mysticism is
not an allegory, still less is it a theology or philosophy. Hence the sayings
of “God-intoxicated” men will not serve as a sure criterion of their attitudes
toward theology.
By emphasizing personal and devotional qualities
of Ibn al-Farid’s poetry, Nallino and Nicholson cleared the poet of the charges
of pantheism and heresy. In their opinion Ibn al-Fârid was not an adherent of
Ibn al-cArabï’s wahdat al-wujüd but, rather, a believer in
experiential union [ittihad] with God. It was the ineffability of this
profound state and the limitations of language that had led to the confusion of
Ibn al-Fârid’s intense psychological experience with a monistic dogma.49
Was Ibnu’l-Fâriçl consciously a pantheist? I do not think so.
But in the permanent unitive state which he describes himself as having
attained, he cannot speak otherwise than pantheis- tically: he is so merged in
the Oneness that he identifies himself now with Mohammad (the Islamic Logos),
now with God, whose attributes he assumes and makes his own.
Arab authors began to
reevaluate Ibn al-Fâriçl in light of these studies, and they eagerly embraced
the interpretation of him as a “God-intoxicated” poet. Nicholson’s writings,
in particular, were frequently cited by Arab scholars, who praised Ibn
al-Fâriçl’s verse for both its artistic merit and religious passion. His poetry
was no longer automatically interpreted with reference to Ibn al-cArabï’s
thought, and a new emphasis was placed on accounts of Ibn al-Fâriçl’s ecstatic
states and his supposed struggle to convey a burning desire for God.50
More than anyone else,
Muhammad Muççafa Hilmï developed and popularized this view of Ibn al-Fâriçl.
Hilmï had a firm grasp of both Arabic source materials and European studies on
the poet, and his doctoral dissertation, “Ibn al-Fâriçl wa-al-hubb al-ilâhï”
(Ibn al-Fâriçl and Divine Love, [al-Azhar, 1938]), remains the most
comprehensive study of Ibn al-Fârid’s life and faith. While admiring Ibn
al-Fârid’s literary talents, H>lmi was primarily interested in the personal
experiences that lay beneath the verse. Following Nicholson and Nallino, Hilmï
asserted that Ibn al-Fâriçl was without doubt the unrivaled Arabic mystical
poet of Islam. But, as Hilmï saw it, love of absolute beauty, not theological
dogma, inspired the poet; his use of technical terminology—whether from Ibn al-cArabï
or someone else—does not reflect Ibn al-Fâriçl’s theological positions but,
rather, the inability of language to capture his mystical experiences.51
Hilmï’s dissertation was
published in 1945 and reissued in 1971 and 1985. He wrote a second book on the
poet, Ibn al-Fârid: sulfân al-’-âshiqtn (Ibn al-Fâriçl: Sultan of the
Lovers), which was a more popular treatment of his earlier work, and he again
summarized his opinions on Ibn al-Fâriçl in a general study of Sufism.52
All three books have been widely read in Egypt, and Hilmï’s influence on later
studies of Ibn al-Fâriçl has been considerable. Though recent scholars have
taken more literary approaches to Ibn al-Fârid and his verse, the romantic
image of him as a poet consumed by divine love and absolute beauty has rarely
been challenged. Freed for the most part from the taint of Ibn al-cArabï
and shorn of fabulous tales, Ibn al-Fârid; the mystical poet, has earned a
place among Egypt’s literary and spiritual forefathers.53
But Ibn al-Fârid’s
reputation as a saint, though faded, has weathered the twentieth century, as
Sufism, its orders, and its saints have endured to administer to the religious
needs of many Muslims. Sufism’s ascetic and otherworldly values may rationalize
a trying life and assure individuals of their ultimate worth, while rituals and
ceremonies performed in mosques and shrines still function as essential social
and emotional outlets. The saints and their blessings offer people hope amid
difficult circumstances and make a desperate situation tolerable with the
prospect of spiritual aid in this world and compensation in the next. The
saints’ days and other festivals are great public and social occasions, but,
more, they remain as opportunities to gain heavenly intercession in earthly
affairs.54
Within this world faith in Ibn al-Fârid’s
miracles has persisted,55 and for nearly two decades the Rifa'i Sufi
order petitioned the Egyptian government for the right to hold a mawlid.
Finally, in 1981 they were granted permission to hold the event. The new mawlid
may have been part of a government plan to celebrate the eight hundred and
twenty-fifth anniversary of the poet’s birth; a postage stamp was issued to
commemorate Ibn al-Fârid, and the Ministry of Culture announced a special
evening of cultural events, including readings from Ibn al-Fârid’s poetry, to
be held at the shrine.56 But the publicized event did not take
place, perhaps lost in the confusion following President Anwar Sadat’s assassination
a few months after the announcement. The new Mubarak administration may have
felt that a more neutral stance on religious activities was needed in the wake
of the Muslim reactionaries’ attack on Sadat.
But, whatever the reason, the mawlid had
been approved, and it was held. This celebration and three subsequent ones were
under the jurisdiction of the Rifâ'ï khalifah (deputy), Shaykh Gâd
Salïm Gâd. The shaykh had been the caretaker of the shrine since the early
1960s, and in May 1981 he was officially recognized as the khalifah of
Ibn al-Fârid’s tomb by the Supreme Sufi Council (al-Majlis al-Süfi al-A'lâ), a
government organization in charge of regulating Sufi affairs. Shaykh Gâd also
served as imam of the mosque. Shortly before noon on Fridays he would
give the call to prayer, lead the prayer, and give a short sermon to the
congregation of about thirty-five people. Then, typically, a session was held
in which some of Ibn al-Fârid’s verse would be recited. On occasion the shaykh
and his Rifa'T companions were invited to other mosques to perform their rituals,
but the event everyone anticipated was the mawlid.
Similar to past mawlids at the shrine,
recent celebrations of Ibn al- Fârid’s saint’s day include modest communal
meals, prayers, and the recitation of sections of the Qur’an. In addition,
Rifa'l Sufis perform their dhikr, and some members dramatically reveal
the depth of their trance by piercing their cheeks with large needles (dabbüs)
without showing pain.58 But the climax of the event is the singing
of selections from Ibn al-Fâriçl’s poetry, especially the al-TiPïyah
al-kubrâ, which, on occasion, has been performed by the popular Sufi singer
Yâ Sin al-Tùhâmai. His gripping performance, and those like it by other
singers, allows even the illiterate to experience the beauty of Ibn al-Fàrid’s
verse as others had in centuries past. Many devotees record the performance,
and the audience fills the mosque and overflows into the courtyard and beyond,
where festivities continue.59
In contrast to this lively affair, a normal day
at the mosque is quite tranquil. A few pilgrims visit the shrine,
circumambulate the grave, pray there, and recite something from the Qur’an.
They ask God to bless his saint and then ask Ibn al-Fârid’s blessing. Sometimes
a pilgrim may have a specific request of the saint, while others come to thank
him for a received blessing. One middle-aged woman visited the shrine to thank
Ibn al-Fârid for helping her to conceive and successfully deliver her only
child.
Sometimes entire families come on pilgrimage.
Most pilgrims are from the lower-middle and lower economic classes. A few of
the men wear Western-style clothes, but the majority wear the traditional jallâbîyah.
The women invariably wear very conservative traditional dress, which covers
their arms and heads, though they are rarely veiled. Women are welcome at the
shrine, where they may participate in prayers and other ceremonies within their
own curtained area in the mosque and next to the grave.
Shaykh Gad, who labored so hard on the saint’s
behalf, lived with his wife, Umm 'Umar, and their children in a humble dwelling
within the courtyard of Jamîlah Hânum’s crypt, adjacent to Ibn al-Fâriçl’s
mosque. Their life-style was extremely frugal, if not impoverished. Then, in
1984, the elderly shaykh died unexpectedly, and a new imam was appointed
to the mosque. Since this imam is not a resident of the area, he usually
comes to the mosque only on Thursdays and Fridays to lead the prayers. Alms and
gifts to the shrine have decreased, and the sessions and recitations of Ibn
al-Fârid’s poetry are held only during the mawlid.
Shaykh Gad left Umm 'Umar with six children, the
youngest being about three months old at that time. Umm 'Umar was able to
retain the family’s apartment next to the shrine, and she continues to earn
some income by selling soft drinks and a few toys from a roadside stand.
Although the family is no longer in official control of the shrine, the two
oldest sons are members of the Rifa'i order there and actively participate in
the mawlid. Now, nearly ten years after Shaykh Gad’s passing, Umm cUmar
still mourns the loss of her husband, and she worries about the uncertain
future of her family. But Umm cUmar puts her trust in God, holding
fast to her faith in Ibn al-Farid, who she believes will in time bring her and
her family ease after hardship.
‘Umar Ibn al-Farid lived
over eight centuries ago, and, though he is remembered as a pious man, it is
his mystical verse that has insured him lasting fame. Students preserved his
poems, which were later collected by his grandson ‘Ali, and upon this poetic
foundation ‘Ali and others built Ibn al-Fârid’s saintly image. Historical
realities were covered by the miraculous, and ‘Umar the poet was enveloped by
Shaykh ‘Umar, the blessed saint of God.
Credited with miracles, as are all Muslim saints,
Ibn al-Fârid soon took his place among Cairo’s spiritual elect. Yet, in
contrast to the vast majority of other Muslim saints who have been invoked by
many in times of worldly need, Ibn al-Fâriçl became the patron saint of a
religious and cultural elite in search of mystical union with God. While few
such seekers were believed to have ever attained their goal, fewer still
returned to tell. But Shaykh ‘Umar Ibn al-Fâriçl had returned, and many of his
devotees discovered in his verse intimations of ecstasy and a guide for their
mystic way.
Yet Ibn al-Fârid’s special status among many of
this elite was opposed by others, who saw him as emblematic of spiritual pride
and hubris. These religious scholars endeavored to maintain the primacy of
communal law over individual inspiration and saintly intercession, and they
vociferously denounced Ibn al-Fârid’s verse and his cult while asserting their
own religious and social authority. But such opposition was thwarted by the saint’s
popular appeal, his loyal supporters, and their political backing. Patronized
by Mamluk and Ottoman rulers, Shaykh ‘Umar’s shrine became a gathering place
for all of Cairo's classes and, by the seventeenth century, a mosque for weekly
worship unsurpassed in all of Egypt.
Then Ibn al-Fârid’s saintly powers began to wane,
along with Egypt’s political and economic condition, and his stately shrine
became a ruined tomb. Precisely because of Ibn al-Fâri^’s intimate associations
with the
cultured and ruling
elite, his reputation as a saint has in recent years declined rapidly, as
secularization and Western acculturation among the upper classes demand new
models and patrons. While some in Egypt continue to venerate Ibn al-Farid at
his humble mosque in Cairo, he has yielded his saintly rank to others, such as
al-Sayyid al-Badawï and al- Sayyidah Nafisah, who have long been associated
with the wretched of the earth.
Passion before
Me, Fate Behind
Still, as a holy saint,
ecstatic mystic, and master poet, Ibn al-Fâriçl is a vital part of Egypt’s life
and society, and his poetry—that first proof of his sainthood—remains
meaningful in an increasingly secular age. As Shakespeare’s work has permeated
English thought and language, so too has Ibn al-Farid’s verse become embedded
in Egyptian culture. The current energy of his poetry can be heard in the
popular songs of Sufi singers and seen in the work of the Egyptian Nobel
laureate, Naguib Mahfouz (b. 1911).
In his short story “Za'balâwï” Mahfouz recounts
one man’s quest to find a saint who can cure an unnamed illness. While
searching for the elusive Za'balâwî, the narrator meets a famous singer and
composer, Shaykh Gad. He has been a companion of the saint, and when Za'balâwï
is near songs come easily. But the saint has not visited him for some time;
Shaykh Gad knows the narrator’s suffering. Inspired by the mere thought of
Za'balâwî, Shaykh Gad picks up his lute and sings a verse by Ibn al- Farid:1
Pass round remembrance of
one I love,
though that be to blame
me, for tales of the beloved are my wine.
His spirits raised, the
narrator leaves the shaykh to continue his quest for an eventual encounter with
the saint.2
Mahfouz probably modeled his Shaykh Gad on
popular Sufi singers such as Yâ Sïn luhâmai, whose songs draw extensively from
Ibn al-Fâriçl’s poetry. But Mahfouz may have had the caretaker of Ibn
al-Farid’s shrine in mind when naming his singer, and another of his
characters, an elderly shaykh, leads a Sufi dhikr ceremony with
recitation of Ibn al-Fârid’s verse, in the celebrated novel The Thief and
the Dogs (al-Li$$ wa-al-kilâb).
The antihero of this existential piece is a
thief, Sa'ïd Mahrân, who is released from prison when a general amnesty is
declared to mark an anniversary of the 1952 Egyptian revolution. Sa'Id tries to
adjust to society and lead an honest life, but his efforts are to no avail, as
he learns that his wife has divorced him and married his best friend, another
thief. Enraged, Sacîd rushes to avenge himself against his betrayers,
but he hopelessly fails and, in the process, mistakenly murders two other
persons instead. He is relentlessly stalked by the police, who, in the end,
bring him down and kill him.
The Thief and the Dogs can be read
as a critique of the 1952 revolution, an expression of Mahfouz’s frustration
and disillusionment with the failure of Egypt’s leaders and people to live up
to their espoused ideals. Sacîd, the rebel who wants to change
history and society, becomes a victim of both. But the story goes deeper than
social criticism to pose questions about the human condition and the search for
meaning in life. Sacîd struggles with himself and others to live an
authentic life, but those he loves most betray him one by one, until, finally,
he too gives up the quest, betrays himself, and dies.3
The Thief and the Dogs bears formal
and thematic similarities to Albert Camus’s L'Etranger, and Mahfouz
appears to have been heavily influenced by Camus’s philosophical reflections
as well. Yet, when Mahfouz seals Sa'îd’s fate and draws his conclusions about
personal existence and the human tragedy, he turns to Sufism and Ibn al-Fârid.
Sa'îd has been hiding in the home of an elderly shaykh, and, when he awakes
there on the last evening of his life, he hears the sounds of a dhikr
ceremony:4
Outside, he
heard hands clapping. Then they were quiet, as were the men’s voices, and the
splendor of silence prevailed. The shaykh eAlT al-Junaydi repeated
“Allah” three times, and the others repeated the call in a chant that brought
to his mind the dancing movement of the dhikr. “Allah . . . Allah . . .
Allah.” The chant grew faster and louder then dropped off with increased speed
like the sound of a rushing train. It continued without interruption for
sometime. Gradually, it began to weaken; the rhythm softened and slowed.
Finally, it was carried away and plunged into silence. Then a melodious voice
rang out, chanting:5
Oh, time has
perished,
and I failed,
my beloveds,
to find you.
But when is
there hope of a respite
for one whose
life is but two days:
a day of rejection and
one of separation?
Sighs arose everywhere. Then another voice sang
out:6
And sufficient
torment it is
that I pass the night
enslaved by love, my passion before me, fate behind.
Betrayed, and haunted by treachery, Sa'id Mahrân
applies Ibn al- Fârid’s verse to his own desperate situation:7
And when is there hope of
a respite, and time has perished, and I failed, and fate is behind me? But this
hot pistol in my pocket has a job. It must triumph over treachery and corruption;
for the first time the thief will stalk the dogs!
Mahfouz’s use of Ibn al-Fâriçl’s poetry to build
to the climax of The Thief and the Dogs is a logical choice. The opening
section (nasib) of the Arabic ode from which Mahfouz drew the first two
verses has a pronounced elegiac tone and mood. The sense of loss and despair
predominate, as the poet, in a state of reverie, longs for his departed lover,
whether she be a woman of flesh and blood, a symbol for God, or a paradise
lost. Similarly, the last verse quoted by Mahfouz was taken from the end of
this ode, in which the elegiac qualities return in a final expression of the
poet’s deepest feelings, lb succinctly and aesthetically convey the existential
tragedy, Naguib Mahfouz reached back to the Arabic ode and its classic
statements on the human condition.
Mahfouz elaborates on the existential situation
by contrasting Ibn al- Fâriçl’s verses and their recitation by the Sufis to Sacïd
Mahrân’s interpretation of them. Like Sa'Td, the Sufis face the dilemma of
life, which leads only to death; they too have sought an escape. But,
confronted with the harsh reality of the final separation, they accept their
fate and concede that life is a mystery to be lived and not, as Sa'Td seems to
assert, a problem to be solved. The poet and the Sufis bear their burden, but
Sa'Td Mahrân refuses and is destroyed.
From his twentieth-century perspective Mahfouz
clearly does not view Ibn al-Fârid’s poems as the inspired oracles of an
ecstatic saint but, rather, as profound descriptions of humanity’s existential
state. And, so, we have come full circle—from Ibn al-Farid the poet to the
saint and back again. Like earlier admirers of the poet, whether his students,
commentators, grandson, or later opponents and devotees, Mahfouz has read Ibn
al-Fâriçl’s verse in light of his own personal concerns. These varied
contextual readings of Ibn al-Fâriçl—as a poet, Sufi, and saint— have led his
many interpreters to find new meanings that the original poet and his verse
could have contained only in potentia. Such rereadings and
reinterpretations of poetry, its constant application to changing needs and
circumstance, determine its lasting quality and continued relevance. Thus, late
in the twentieth century this thirteenth-century Muslim persists both through
the power of his poetry and the belief in his sanctity.
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1. Al-Khatïb al-Jawharî, InbcP al-ha$r, edited by Hasan
Habashî (Cairo: Dâr al-Fikr al-cArabï, 1970), 190.
2. Concerning this hadïth, see William A. Graham, Divine
Word and Prophetic Word in Early Islam (The Hague: Mouton, 1977), 173-74.
For more on the term wall, see Ibn Manzür, Lisân aUArab (Beirut:
Dàr Sâdir, n.d.), 15:406-15; Ignaz Goldziher, Muslim Studies, edited and
translated by S. M. Stern and C. R. Barber (London: George Allen and Unwin,
1967-71), 2:263; Encyclopaedia of Islam, 1st ed. ( = E11)
(Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1913-34), 4:1109; Frederick M. Denny, “God’s Friends: The
Sanctity of Persons in Islam,” in Sainthood, edited by Richard
Kieckhefer and George D. Bond (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988),
7071; and Michel Chodkiewicz, Le Sceau des saints (France: Editions
Gallimard, 1986), 29-39.
3. cAbd al-Ghânî al-Nâbulusï, al-Haqtqah wa-al-majáz,
edited by Ahmad cAbd al-Majîd Harîdï (Cairo: al-Hay’ah al-Mi$rïyah
aPÀmmah lil- Kitâb, 1.982), 280.
4. For a survey of Sufism, see Annemarie Schimmel, Mystical Dimensions
of Islam (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1975).
5. See Muhammad al-Kalâbâdhï, al-ldarruf li-madhhab
ahial-ta^aw-wuf (Beirut: Dâr al-Kutub al-cIlmiyah, 1980), 71-79
(translated by A. J. Arberry as The Doctrine of the Sufis [1935;
reprint, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1978], 57-66); Muhammad
al-Ghazzâlî, IhycP zulûm al- dtn, 4 vols. (Cairo: cïsâ
al-Bâbï al-Halabï, 1957), esp. v. 4; and cAli ibn ‘Uthmân
al-Hujwïrï, Kashf al-Mahjùb, translated by R. A. Nicholson (London:
Luzac, 1911), 210-41. Also see Schimmel, Mystical Dimensions, 199-213;
Goldziher, Muslim Studies, 2:254-341; EH, 4:1009-11; Jane I.
Smith and Yvonne Y. Haddad, The Islamic Understanding of Death and
Resurrection (Albany: State University of New York, 1981), 183-91, 241— 43;
Denny, “God’s Friends,” 69-97; John Alden Williams, Themes of
Islamic Civilization (Berkeley:
University of California Press, 1971), 30770; and esp. see Chodkiewicz, Le
Sceau, 18-64, for an analytical survey of the terms wait and wilâyahlwalâyah
and their uses among the Sufis beginning with al-Tirmidhi (d. 285/898).
6. For more on Ibn al-Fâriçl’s Dtwân and verse, see my
forthcoming study of his poetry, Passion before Me, Fate Behind: Ibn
al-FâriçTs Mystical Verse; R. A. Nicholson, Studies in Islamic Mysticism
(1921; reprint, Cambridge: University of Cambridge Press, 1978), 162-266; A.
J. Arberry, The Mystical Poems of Ibn al-Fârid, 2 vols. (London: Emery
Walker, 1952-56); Arberry, The Poem of the Way (London: Emery Walker,
1952); and also see chap. 4 of the present study.
7. For more on the classical Arabic ode, see Michael A. Sells, Desert
Tracings (Middletown, Conn.: Wesleyan University Press, 1989).
8. Ibn al-Fârid, Dtwân, edited by cAbd al-Khâliq
Mahmud (cAbd al- Khâliq) (Cairo: Dâr al-Ma'ârif, 1984) 179-80; my
translation and analysis differ substantially from Arberry’s {MysticalPoems,
2:95-97).
9. In this light v. 13 may also allude to contact with the divine,
since, according to Islamic tradition, dreams are the remnants of prophecy
after Muhammad’s death. See Graham, Divine Word, 37. Concerning the
significance and evolution of the dream phantom, see Hasan cIzz
al-Dïn, al-Tayf wa-1-khiyâl ft al-shfr als Arabî al-qadïm
(Cairo: Dâr al-Nadîm, 1988).
10. For more on this important saying, see Graham, Divine Word,
173— 74; and Schimmel, Mystical Dimensions, 43, 133, 144, 277.
11. Ibn al-Fâriçl, Dtwân, 205, v. 1.
12. See Annemarie Schimmel, And Muhammad Is His Messenger
(Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1985), regarding Muhammad’s
place in Islamic religious life.
13. Concerning traditions of meditation and their impact on verse, see
Louis L. Martz’s ground-breaking study of Elizabethan religious literature, The
Poetry of Meditation (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 2d ed.,
1962). I wish to thank Frederick Denny for bringing my attention to this work.
14. Ibn al-Fârid, Dîwân, 189. Concerning dhikr and the
covenant, see, for example, al-Kalâbâdhî, Doctrine, 166-67. For more on dhikr
within the Sufi tradition, see Jean During, Musique et extase (Paris:
Editions Albin Michel, 1988), 31-35, 156-73; and Schimmel, Mystical
Dimensions, 16778.
15. For a close reading and analysis of the al-Khamríyah and
interpretations of it, see Homerin, Passion before Me.
17. Ibid., 134-35. Formore onwwf, see al-Hujwîrî, Kashf,
393-420; and the comprehensive work by During, Musique. Also see Earle
H. Waugh, The Munshidtn of Egypt (Columbia: University of South Carolina
Press, 1989), 23-31; and Schimmel, Mystical Dimensions, 178-86.
1. Al-Mundhirî, al-Takmilah li-Wafayat al-naqalah, edited by
Bashshâr cAwwâd Macruf (Cairo: cïsâ al-Bâbî
al-Halabî, 1968), 6:135. Surprisingly, al-Mundhirï’s accounts of the poet have
not been cited previously in twentieth-century scholarship on Ibn al-Fârid,
including Muhammad Mustafa Hilmi’s pioneering study of the poet’s life and
work, Ibn al-Fârid wa-al-hubb al-ilahl (2d ed. [Cairo: Dâr al-Macârif,
1971]). For al-Mundhirî, see cUmar Kahhâlah, Mufam al-mu'allifin
(Damascus: al-Maktabah al- “Arabîyah, 1957), 5:264-65.
2. For al-Qâsim Ibn “Asâkir, see the Encyclopaedia of Islam,
2d ed. ( = £/2) (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1954-), 3:714.
3. Cited in cAll ibn Muhammad al-Fayyümï, Nathr
al-jumân fl tardjim al-a^yàn, microfilm 287 (Ta’rîkh), Cairo: Arab League
Manuscript Institute, of MS 1746, Istanbul: Maktabat Ahmad al-Thâlith, 70b.
The title Mu fam is clearly written in this unique manuscript, but the
author’s name is difficult to decipher. The author was definitely a student of
Ibn al-Fârid, however, and al-Mundhiri did write a work entitled Mufam al- shuyükh
in which he mentioned Ibn al-Fârid; see Kâtib Celebî, Kashf al- zunün
(Istanbul: Maarif Matbassi, 1941), 2:1735; and al-Dhahabï, who quoted from
al-Mundhiri’s account of Ibn al-Fâriçl in the Mufam, in his Ta^rlkh
al-Islâm wa-fabaqât al-mashàhîr wa-al-a^lam, microfilm 1033 (Ta’r- Ikh),
Cairo: Arab League Manuscript Institute, of MS 2917, Istanbul: Maktabat Ahmad
al-Thâlith, 17:59b. Further, the author’s name in Fayyümî’s manuscript appears
to be either Ibn Sacd or Ibn SaTd, and both could be used to refer
to al-Mundhirî, whose full name was cAbd al-cAzîm ibn cAbd
al-Qûwî ibn cAbd Allah ibn Salâmah ibn Saïd ibn Sa^ïd al-
Mundhirî. Whatever the case, this account is by some student of Ibn al- Fârid,
which is the crucial point.
4. Quoted by Jalâl al-Dïn al-Suyütî, Ifusn al-Muhâdarah
(Cairo: cIsa al- Bâbî al-Halabî, 1967), 1:518. Like al-Mundhirï’s
similar work, Yahyâ al- cAftâr entitled his collection Mufam
al-shuyükh.
5. Ahmad ibn Muhammad Ibn Khallikân, Wafayât al-afán wa-anbà'
anbâ? al-zamân, edited by Ihsân c Abbâs (Beirut: Dâr
al-Thaqâfah, 1968), 3:454-56. Ibn Khallikân completed his biography of the poet
by 655/ 1257; see I. J. Boullata, “Toward a Biography of Ibn al-Fârid,” Arabica
38 (1981): 38. My translation of Ibn Khallikân’s biography differs in several
places from that of MacGuckin de Slane in his work Ibn Khallikans
Biographical Dictionary (Paris: Oriental Translation Fund of Great Britain
and Ireland, 1842-71), 2:338-40.
6. This is Ibn al-Fàrid’s al-Td'îyah al-kubrd.
7. Vv. 43-44 of the poet’s al-Jimiyah.
8. Vv. 8-9 of the poet’s al-Faliyah.
9. V. 43 of the poet’s al-Fâ'îyah.
10. The satirical al-Maqàmât of al-Harïrï (d. 516/1122) was
read by every respectable Arab litterateur; see EI2, 3:221-22.
11. Issa J. Boullata has noted:
In many Arab countries, butchers still actually [inflate] a
slaughtered animal by mouth from a hole made in the skin of the lower part of
the leg in order to make the flaying easier by separating the skin from the
flesh by the air blown in. (“Toward a Biography,” 40 n. 5)
12. Ibn al-Fârid, Diwan, 223. cAll cited this
couplet on the authority of al-Mundhiri.
13. That is, the settlements in matters of inheritance, divorce, and
related issues.
14. For a later mystical interpretation of these verses, see chap. 3
of the present study.
T5. Ibn
Khallikân was quite fond of the poetry by Ibn 'Unayn, whom he considered the
last of the great poets. Ibn Khallikân also spoke appreciatively of the verse
by his two friends, Bahâ’ al-Dïn Zuhayr and Ibn Matrüh; Wafaydt,
5:14-19, 2:332-38, 6:258-66. For a biography by Ibn Khallikân of a Sufi, see
his account of cUmar al-SuhrawardT, 3:44648.
16. Salâh al-Dïn Khalil al-Safadï, al-Wâfi bi-al-Wafaydt,
edited by Sven Dedering et al. (Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner, 1981), 4:263.
17. Sibt Ibn al-Fârid, Dibdjah, in Ibn al-Farid, Diwan,
19-44. For an evaluation of the Dïbâjah and an analysis of these and
other stories, see chap. 2 of the present study.
18. The biographer Ja'far al-Udfuwï numbered Ibn al-Najjâr among Ibn
al-Farid’s hadith students; see al-Udfuwî, al-Badr al-sâfir fi uns almusdfir,
microfilm 81 (Ta’rikh), Cairo: Arab League Manuscript Institute, of MS 4201,
Istanbul: Maktabat Fathi, 42b-43a. For Ibn al-Najjar, see EI2, 3:896-97.
19. Muhammad Kâmil Husayn, Dirâsât ft al-sh'fr ft casr
al-Ayyûbiyyin (Cairo: Dâr al-Fikr al-cArabi, 1957), 86-98. Also
see Jawdat Rikâbî, La Poésie profane sous Les Ayyûbides et ses principaux
représentants (Paris: G.-P. Masionneuve, 1949). For Ibn Sana’ al-Mulk, see EI2,
3:929.
20. For example, Ibn Sana3 al-Mulk became a judge, while
Ibn cUnayn, Bahâ3 al-Dïn Zuhayr, and Ibn Matrüh all
became viziers. Such poets of the Ayyubid court were part of the Diwan al-Insha3,
or “Ministry of Composition,” a kind of information agency, which assured their
rulers that eloquent and favorable opinions of the regime would be available at
a moment’s notice; see Rikâbï, Poésie, 61-63. For earlier examples of
political panegyric, see Stefan Sperl, “Islamic Kingship and Arabic Panegyric
Poetry in the Early 9th Century,” Journal of Arabic Literature 8 (1977):
20-35; and Suzanne P. Stetkevych, “The Abbasid Poet Interprets History: Three Qa$idahs
by Abu Tammâm,” Journal of Arabic Literature 10 (1983): 49-64.
21. Concerning al-Malik al-Kamil, see Ell 3:204-5; and Ibn
Khalli- kân, Wafayât, 5:89-92.
22. The importance of poetry to medieval Arabic culture can hardly be
overestimated; see Vincente Cantarino, Arabic Poetics in the Golden Age (Leiden:
E. J. Brill, 1975), 20-26; and EI2, 1:175-76. On learning poetry, see
Ibn Shuhayd al-Andalusi, Risdlat At-TawdbF Wa Z-ZawabF, translated by
James T. Monroe (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1971), esp. 45-46 n.
123; and Ibn Khaldun, The Muqaddimah, edited and translated by Franz
Rosenthal (New York: Pantheon Books, 1958), 3:300304, 307-8, 382-87, 392-95.
23. Sibp Ibn al-Fârid, Dïbâjah, 20. For Ibn al-Acma,
see Ibn Habib, Tadhkirat al-nabih ft ayàm al-Man$ür wa banih, edited by
Muhammad Muhammad Amin, revised by Sacid Ashür (Cairo: Dâr al-Kutub,
1976), 1:165-66. For more on the râwi and oral dimensions of Arabic
poetry, see Michael Zwettler, The Oral Tradition of Classical Arabic Poetry
(Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1978).
24. Al-Rashidi, Ijdzah, translated by Mohammed Ben Cheneb, Actes
XlVe Congrès International des Orientalistes, Algiers, 1905, 3:3 sec.
2:208. Al- Suyùtî also traced one of his ijâzahs for Ibn al-Fârid’s al-YSTyah
to al- Mundhiri; see al-Suyûtï’s al-Barq al-wâmiq fï shark YdTyat Ibn
al-Fârid, MS 224 (Adab), Cairo: Dâr al-Kutub al-Mi$riyah, 4b. Concerning
the institution of ijdzah, see EI2, 2:1021; and Ignaz Goldziher, Muslim
Studies, 2:176-80.
25. See EI2, 3:811-12, which incorrectly names Yahya
al-Suhrwawardi as one of Ibn Israel's Sufi mentors in place of cUmar
al-Suhrawardi, with whom Ibn Isra’il spent some time.
26. Al-$afadi, al-Wdfi, 4:50-61.
27. For the most detailed account of the dispute, see ibid., 4:50-56.
29. Al-$afadi (ibid., 4:54) further related that, when Ibn Isrâ’îl was
asked later about the dispute, he conceded that “Ibn al-Khiyami is an
outstanding poet. He took a novel theme [mancd\ and improved
upon it without going to excess.” Leaving aside the question of authorship,
this verse may have been a conscious variation on the theme in a verse by Ibn
al-Fâriçl, whom both poets admired and imitated (Diwan, 190, v. 28):
And I pity the
lightning, flashing at night,
claiming
descent from his mouth,
while being
put to shame
by his bright
white teeth.
30. Ibn al-Furât, Ta'rikh Ibn al-Furdt, edited by Qusçanfïn
Zurayq (Beirut: al-Matbacah al-Amrïkânïyah, 1936), 8:43.
31. Sibt Ibn al-Fâriçl, Dtbdjah, 37. The Mamluk historian Ibn
lyâs claimed that Ibn al-Fâriçl and Ibn al-Khiyami would converse together
using mystical poetry; BadePF al-zuhür fî waqâ^F al-duhür (Bûlâq: al-
Matba'ah al-kubrâ al-Amïrïyah, 1894), 1:81-82.
32. Al-Safadï (al-Wàfî, 3:143) quoted one scholar as saying
that Ibn Israeli composed excellent verse until he began to imitate Ibn
al-Fárid’s mystical poetry. Also see Ibn al-Furât, Ta'nkh, 8:131; Ibn
Hajar al- ‘Asqalânï, Lisân al-Mîzân (Haydarabad: Matba'at Majlis Dâ’irat
al-Macârif al-Nizâmïyah, 1911), 5:195; and Ibn Kathîr, al-Bidâyah
wa-al-nihàyah fî al-ta^rikh (Cairo: Matba'at al-Sacádah, 1932),
13:283.
33. Abü al-Fidâ, al-Mukhta$arfî akhbâr al-bashar (Egypt:
al-Matbacah al-Hasanïyah al-Miçrîyah, 1907), 3:157. Concerning this
work and its author, see EI2, 1:118-19. For a similar evaluation of Ibn
al-Fârid, see Ibn al-Sâbünï (d. 680/1282), Takhmilah Ikmal al-ikmdl,
edited by Mustafa Jawâd (Baghdad: Matba'at al-Majmac al-cIlmî
al-cIrâqï, 1957), 270.
34. Al-Qüsï, Kitáb aFWahïdfîsulük ahlal-tawhïd, MS 2448
(Tasawwuf), Cairo: Dâr al-Kutub al-Misrïyah, 2:73b-74a. For al-Qûsï, see
Kahhâlah, Mufîam, 5:267; and Denis Gril, “Une Source inédite pour
l’histoire du tasawwuf en Egypte au VII/XIIIes,” Livre du centenaire de
l'IFAO (Cairo: Institut Français d’Archeologie Orientale, 1980), 441-508.
For more on samâ\ see n. 17 of the introduction to the present study.
35. For these and other Sufi technical terms, see al-Qushayri, al-Risdlah
al-Qushaynyah, edited by cAbd al-Halïm Mahmûd and Mahmûd Ibn al-
Sharîf (Cairo: Dâr al-Kutub al-Hadithah, 1972-74), 1:201-3, 209-12.
36. Al-Qüsï, al-\\ahïd, 2:73b. For a biography of al-Munüfï,
see Ibn Hajar al-cAsqalànï, al-Durar al-kâminah (Haydarabad:
n.p., 1929), 2:373— 75. Ibn Hajar noted that al-Munüfï had studied with the
great Sufi Ibn al-cArabï.
37. That is, the mosque of ‘Amr ibn al-cA$.
38. Ai-Bahnasâ is in Middle Egypt about two hundred kilometers south
of Cairo; sccEI2, 1:926.
39. Al-Qü$ï, al-VJahïd, 2:73b-74a.
40. See During, Musique, esp. 15—18, 88-91, for more on the
reciprocal relationship between aesthetic and ecstatic states.
41. Al-Farghânï, Muntahâ al-mudàrik, microfilm 519 (Taçawwuf),
Cairo: Arab League Manuscript Institute, of MS 1499 Istanbul: Maktabat Ahmad
al-Thâlith, lb-2a. Also see Kahhâlah, Mufam, 8:307.
42. For example, al-Farghânï, Muntahâ, 32b ff.
43. Mahmud al-Kâshânï, Kashf wujüh al-gfiurr
li-mcfâni Nazm al-durr, microfilm of MS 4106 (3879), Princeton: Yahuda
Section, Garrett Collection, Princeton University, 4b. Mahmud al-Kâshânï, or
ai-Kashi, has frequently been confused with cAbd al-Razzâq
al-Kâshânï, a commentator on the works of Ibn ai-c Arabi, who died
the same year as Mahmüd; see Kâtib Celebi, Kashf, 1:266; R. A.
Nicholson, Studies, 162, 193-94; and
I. J. Boullata, “Verbal Arabesque and Mystical Union: A Study of Ibn
ai- Fârid’s ‘Ai-Ta’iyya al-Kubra,’ ” Arab Studies Quarterly 3 (1981):
152-53. For a fine study of Mahmüd Kashani’s life and beliefs, see Jalal ai-Din
Humâ’i’s introduction to his edition of Mahmud’s Kitâb-i Miybâh al- hidâyah
(Tehran: Kitâbkhânah-i $anâci, 1946), 13-47.
44. Dâ’üd al-Qaysari, Shark al-Qayîdah al-Khamriyah, MS 7761
(Adab), Cairo: Dâr ai-Kutub ai-Miçrïyah, 320-21. Most authorities give ai-Qay-
sari’s probable date of death as 751/1350 (see, e.g., Kahhâlah, Mufam, 3:142).
However, MS 4802 (Adab TaFat), Cairo: Dâr ai-Kutub al-Miçrï- yah, lb, 100a, is
dated 747/1346, and the scribe speaks of al-Qayçarï as if the latter were
already deceased.
45. Al-Kâshânï, Kashf wujüh, 4b. Also see the Qur’an 2:23 and
9:13.
46. Al-Qaysari, Shark Tâ'tyat al-sulûk, MS 4802 (Adab TaPat),
Cairo: Dâr al-Kutub al-Misriyah, 3a-b.
47. S. H. Nasr, “Rumi and the Sufi Tradition,” in The Scholar and
die Saint, edited by Pbter Chelkowski (New York: New ïbrk University Press,
1975), 175.
48. For more on Ibn al-cArabi, see EI2, 3:707-11;
and William Chittick, The Sufi Path of Knowledge (Albany: State
University of New York Press, 1989).
49. Sibt Ibn ai-Fârid, Dtbâjah, 27-28 (with the MS variant: ladunryan
for ladaynâY The seventeenth-century bibliographer Kâtib Celebi
added that al-Qflnawi’s commentaries were, in fact, readings from Ibn ai-cArabi’s
commentary on the poem, which was supposed to have filled five notebooks then
in ai-Qûnawï’s possession; Kashf, 1:265-66. For similar apocryphal
tales regarding Ibn ai-Farid and Ibn ai-cArabi, see chap. 4 of the
present study.
50. See what may be al-Qünawï’s introduction to al-Farghânî’s Persian
commentary, Mashâriq al-darari, edited by Sacïd Jalâl al-Dïn
Àshtiyânï (Mashhad: Dânishghâh-i Firduwsî, 1980), 5-6; al-Kâshânï, Kashf
wujûh, 6a-24b; and al-Qay?arï, Sharh al-Qafidah al-Khamñyah, 320-30.
Also see Kahhâlah, Mufam, 9:43; and William Chittick, “The Five
Presences: From al-Qünawï to al-Qaysarï,” Muslim World 72 (1982):
107-28.
51. The exact meaning of these and related theological and mystical
terms depends on their specific definition and use in any given work. For a
discussion of hulüland ittihâd, see EI2, 3:570-71;
4:282-83. Concerning opposition to these doctrines, also see Th. Emil Homerin,
“Ibn Taymiya’s al-Süflyah wa-al-fuqara?," Arabica 32 (1985):
219-44; and my review of Chittick’s The Sufi Path of Knowledge, Journal of
the American Academy of Religion 60, no. 1 (1992): 147-50.
52. Al-Tilimsânï, Sharh TâJyat Ibn al-Fârid al-kubrâ, MS 1328
(Tas- awwuf Tal'at), Cairo: Dâr al-Kutub al-Misfiyah, lb-5a. For this dispute,
see chap. 2 of the present study.
53. See Louis Massignon, The Passion ofal-Hallaj, translated by
Herbert Mason (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1982), 2:309-13.
54. Al-Tilimsânï, Sharh TaJyat, 5a.
55. See Ibrâhîm al-Biqâcî, al-Radd al-kâshif li-murâd
ahi al-ittihâd, microfilm of MS 2040, Leiden: Bibliotheek der
Rijksuniversiteit, 150b, 158b, 168b; and al-Biqâcï’s Kitâb
al-Nâfiq bi-al-yawâb al-fârid lil-tafkïr Ibn al-Fârid, microfilm of MS
Arabici, 1:68-69 (Marsh. 642), Oxford: Bodleian Library, 123b-125a, 151b. For
more on Ibn Hamdân, see Kahhâlah, Mu"jam, 1:211.
56. Abu Hayyân’s censure of the poet came in the former’s work al-
Bahr al-muhit; see Ibn Abï Hajalah, al-Ghayth al-" arid fi migara
fat Ibn al- Fârid, microfilm 319 (Tasawwuf), Cairo: Arab League Manuscript
Institute of MS 31 (Adab), Sûhâj, Egypt: Maktabat Sûhâj, 111-12; al-Biqâcï,
al-Radd, 63b; and his work al-Nâfiq, 278b; also see Massignon, Passion,
2:312-15. For more on Abu Hayyân, see Th. Emil Homerin, “A Bird Ascends the
Night: Elegy and Immortality in Islam,” Journal for the American Academy of
Religion 59 (1991): 247-79.
57. Ibn Taymïyah, al-Furqán bayna awliyâ3 al-Rahmân
wa-awliya3 al- Shayfán (Damascus: al-Maktab al-Islâmï, 1962), 106-7.
The verses of which he disapproved were 152-54, 216, 263, 460. On Ibn Taymïyah,
see EI2, 3:951-54; and Homerin, “Ibn Taymïya.”
58. Ibn Taymïyah, “Fî ibfàl wahdat al-wujüd,” Majmù"at al-rasa3il
wa- al-masà3il, edited by Muhammad Rashïd Ridâ (1922; reprint,
Cairo: Lajnat al-Tùrâth al-cArabï, 1976), 1:66-68.
59. See Ibn al-Ahdal, Kashf al-ghità3 "an haqâ3iq
al-tawhid (Tunis: Ahmad Bakir, 1964), 201; and al-Biqa‘l, al-Nátiq,
278a. For Ibn ‘Abd al- Salâm, see Kahhâlah, Mu''jam, 5:249.
1. We know very little about ‘AH, whose mother was a daughter of the
poet. ‘All’s intercession on behalf of the judge Ibn Bint al-A‘azz in 693/ 1294
suggests that ‘All was a man of some consequence at that time. Further, ‘All
mentioned the date 735/1334 in his Dïbâjah. Recently, I discovered that
the Mamluk historian and biographer ‘AH ibn Muhammad al-Fayyüml (d. 770/1369)
was an occasional companion of‘AH, whom he named as Abü al-Hasan Nür al-Dln ‘AH
al-Misrl, known as Ibn al-Fâriçl. Al-Fayyüml also noted that ‘AH was a shaykh
of a mosque in the al-Mu‘izz li-Dln Allah section of Cairo. Since al-Fayyüml
added the customary formula for the deceased after ‘All’s name, we can deduce
that ‘All died prior to 770/1369, the year of al-Fayyümï’s death; see
al-Fayyümï’s Nathr al-jumân, 2:70a. For al-Fayyüml, see Kahhalah, Mujam,
7:223.
2. Sibt Ibn al-Fârid, Dïbâjah, 42.
3. Among recent scholars of the poet A. J. Arberry has observed that
much of the Dïbâjah is “made up of more or less miraculous anecdotes
calculated to provoke wonder rather than to inform”; see his book Mystical
Poems, 2:8. More recently, in a useful study of Ibn al-Fârid’s biography,
Issa J. Boullata (“Biography,” 43-44) asserts that defensiveness taints the
entire Dïbâjah:
[‘All’s] attitude of defensiveness and exonerative
justification has lent his biographical materials a certain bias that must be
guarded against. Worse still in my view is that it permitted him to interpret
certain events in Ibn al-Fârid’s life which, if at all historical, are
calculated to endow his grandfather with supposedly supernatural or even
miraculous powers that are intended to endear him to Süfïs and at least justify
him to other believers.
Boullata’s statement is a
pertinent note of caution to those who would read ‘All’s work as a primary
source for Ibn al-Fârid’s biography; yet this is to misread the Dïbâjah,
which ‘All intended as hagiography, not biography.
4. Sibt Ibn al-Fârid, Dïbâjah, 21-22.
6. See Reuben Levy, The Social Structure of Islam (1957;
reprint, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1971) 339-40.
7. Sibt Ibn al-Fâri<J, Dïbâjah, 22-23. The Suyüfïyah was
the first Hanafi law school in Egypt; it was established by $alâh al-Dïn. See
al- Maqrïzî, al-Mawâ^iz wa-al-Ftibâr bi-dhikr al-fhifal wa-al-âthâr
(Baghdad: Maktabat al-Muthannâ, 1970), 2:365-66.
8. For similar Islamic examples of mystical conversion, see Farid al-
Din 'Affar (d.c. 617/1220), Tadhkirat al-awliyâ', partially translated
by A. J. Arberry as Muslim Saints and Mystics (London: Routledge and
Kegan Paul, 1979), 22-23, 81-83, 88-90; Goldziher, Studies, 2:269; and
al- Qüçï’s story in chap. 1 of the present study.
9. Sibf Ibn al-Fâri<J, Dïbâjah, 23. These are vv. 30 and 32
from Ibn al- Fârid’s al-Dâlïyah; “Abraham’s Station” is a holy site
located adjacent to the Ka'bah. For an analysis of both verses in context of
the larger poem, see my forthcoming study of Ibn al-Fârid’s verse, Passion
before Me.
10. Tame or friendly lions are often found in accounts of Muslim
saints; see Goldziher, Studies, 2:269; and al-Damlrï, Hayât
al-hayawân al-kubrâ (Cairo: Musfafa al-Bâb al-IJalabi, 1978), 1:545—49.
11. Sibt Ibn al-Fârid, Dïbâjah, 23-24. Concerning soul birds in
Muslim folk beliefs and legends, see Ignaz Goldziher, “L’Oiseau representant
l’âme dans les croyances populaires des Musulmans,” in Etudes islamolo-
giques d’Ignaz Goldziher, edited and translated by G.-H. Bousquet (Leiden:
E. J. Brill, 1962), 77-80.
12. Sibt Ibn al-Fârid, Dïbâjah, 24-25. Al-Kalâbâdhï daims that
the true saint does not become proud when miracles occur to him; rather, his
humility and obedience to God’s will increase {al-Ta'-arruf, 73 [Arberry
trans., Doctrines, 57]).
13. Boullata, “Biography,” 45-46. For more on the site, see Th. Emil
Homerin, “The Domed Shrine of Ibn al-Fârid,” Annales Islamologiques 25
(1990): 133-38.
14. Sibt Ibn al-Fârid, Dïbâjah, 25-26. Kamâl al-Dïn also noted
that, when his father stood erect with his arms at his side, his long hands
would reach to his knees, claiming this to be another sign of a direct
descendent of the Prophet Muhammad.
15. Ibid., 26-27. Boullata (“Biography,” 49) notes that Ibn al-Fârid’s
dream may have represented the poet’s secret desire to be related to the
Prophet Muhammad. Following this pertinent observation, Boullata claims that
'All’s dream involving another man’s lineage to Muhammad proves 'All’s
“embellishment” of Ibn al-Fârid’s dream, but the basis for this claim is not
clear.
16. Sibf Ibn al-Fâri<J, Dïbâjah, 27-28. 'All adds that he
had also heard of, but not seen, a multivolumed commentary of the al-Tâ'ïyah
al-kubrâ written by the renowned scholar of law and Arabic, Jalâl al-Dïn
Muhammad al-Qazwïnï (666-739/1267—1338); 'Alï says that al-Qazwïnï’s son 'Abd
Allah had told him about the commentary. For al-Qazwînî, see Kahhâlah, Mu
jam, 10:145-46.
17. Sibt Ibn al-Fârid, Dïbâjah, 29.
18. The “youths of the cave” refers to the story of “the Seven
Sleepers” found in 18:10-27 of the Qur’an.
19. Concerning the kâhin, or pre-Islamic Arab “diviner,” see EI2,
4:420-22. For Muhammad and his revelatory experiences, see the Qur’an 73:1,
74:1; Ibn Ishaq, Sïrat al-nabi, edited by Muhammad Muhyî al-Dïn ‘Abd
al-Hamid (Cairo: Muhammad ‘AIT SabTh and Sons, 1971), 1:155, translated by A.
Guiallaume as The Life of Muhammad (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
1980), 106; and Fazlur Rahman, Major Themes of the Qur'ân (Chicago:
Bibliotheca Islámica, 1980), 92-100.
20. Sibt Ibn al-Fârid, Dïbâjah, 30; and see Boullata
(“Biography,” 49), who believes that the two accounts of the dream are meant to
defend the poem against its critics. This is definitely a factor in
al-Tilimsânï’s use of the dream (see chap. 1), though I am not convinced that
this is its main goal in the Dïbâjah or the anonymous anthology of Ibn
al-Farid’s verse from which ‘Ali quotes his second version. Like ‘All, the
unnamed editor was concerned with the subject of inspiration, since he followed
his recounting of the dream with a word on Ibn al-Farid’s ecstatic method of
composition:
A trusted group of [Ibn al-Farid’s] companions and confidants
related that he did not compose [the al-Tâ'ïyah al-kubrâ\ in the way
poets compose their poems. Rather, spiritual raptures \jadhabât\ would
occur to him, he becoming senseless during them for about a week or ten days.
Then he would recover and dictate what God had enlightened him with of [the
poem], about thirty, forty, or fifty verses. Then he would stop until the state
returned to him.
21. For Ibn Bint al-A‘azz’s biography, see Ibn Kathïr, al-Bidâyah, 13:346;
al-Kutubï, Fawât al-Wafayât, edited by Ihsân ‘Abbâs (Beirut: Dâr
al-Thaqâfah, 1974), 2:279-82; al-Subkï, Tabaqât al-Shàfftyah al-kubrâ, edited
by Mahmüd Muhammad al-Tanâhï and ‘Abd al-Fattâh Muhammad al-Hilw (Cairo: ‘ïsâ
al-Bâbï al-Halabî, 1964), 8:172-75; Ibn Habib, al- Nabïh, 1:228; Ibn
Taghrl BirdI, al-Nujüm al-zâhirah (Cairo: al-Mu’assasah al-Misrîyah
al-‘Àmmah, 1963), 8:82-83; al-Suyütï, IJusn, 1:415; and Ibn al-‘Imâd, Shadharât
al-dhahab (Cairo: Maktabat al-Qudsï, 1931), 5:431. For al-Aykï, who was of
Persian descent and competent in jurisprudence, logic, Sufism and hadith,
see al-Yâfi‘ï, Mir’ât al-jinân (Haydarabad: Mat-
ba'at Dâ’irat al-Ma'ârif
al-Nizâmïyah, 1918), 4:229; Ibn Habib, al-Nabih, 1:209, al-Suyütï, Husn,
1:543; and Ibn al-cImâd, Shadharât, 5:39.
22. Sibt Ibn al-Fârid, Dtbàjah, 30.
25. The verses cited by 'All from the al-TdTyah al-kubrâ were
279-85. Also see Boullata’s reference to the dispute (“Biography,” 42-43).
26. Ibn al-Furât, Ta'ñkh, 8:65, 71, 96, 100, 102, 106-9, 119,
122-29, 132, 153-57, 166, 170-78, 189, 205, 218; and also see al-Maqrlzl, Kitab
al-Sulük li-mefrifat duwal al-mulük, edited by Muhammad Mustafâ Ziyâ- dah
(Cairo: Lajnat al-Ta’llf wa-al-Tarjamah wa-al-Nashr, 1934), 1:732, 734, 741-42,
757, 771-73, 781, 785, 798, 813, 817, 821. Much of al- Maqrïzï’s account was
borrowed directly from al-Nuwayrï (d. 732/1332), Niháyat al-arab, MS 549
(Ma'arif ‘Ammah), Cairo: Dâr al-Kutub al- Misnyah, 29:52-53, 62, 77-78, 86, and
299a ff. In addition to these accounts, also see Ibn KathTr, al-Biddyah,
13:317-22; and Abu Al-Fida, al-Mukhtasar, 4:24, 31.
27. Ibn al-Furât, Ta'ñkh, 8:124; al-Maqrîzï, al-Sulûk,
1:730, 851; Ibn KathTr, al-Bidâyah, 13:308, 311. The Salâhïyah khânqâh,
also known as the Sa'ïd al-Su'adâ’, was established by Çalah al-DTn as the
first state- sponsored Sufi institution in Egypt. The head of this prestigious
establishment held the title of shaykh al-shuyükh, or “shaykh of
shaykhs,” though this did not grant its holder jurisdiction over other shaykhs
and their centers; see al-Maqrïzï, al-Khitat, 2:415-16; J. Spenser
Trimingham, The Sufi Orders in Islam (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
1971), 18; and Carl F. Petry, The Civilian Elite of Cairo in the Later
Middle Ages (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1981), 327-28.
28. Ibn al-Furât, Ta^rikh, 8:124; and also see al-Maqrïzï, al-Sulük,
1:741-42.
29. Ibn al-Furât, Ta'rtkh, 8:124.
30. Ibid., 8:127; and Ibn KathTr, al-Bidâyah, 13:322.
32. Al-Maqrïzï, al-Sulük, 1:773. For more on the issue of
holding multiple positions, see Annemarie Schimmel, “Kalif und Kâçlï,” Die
Welt des Islams 24 (1942): 1-128, esp. 50-53; also see Petry, Civilian
Elite, 200-274, for a detailed examination of occupational patterns among
the religious and other civilian elite of the Mamluk empire.
33. Ibn al-Furât, Ta^rikh, 8:123. As a prince, al-Ashraf
appears to have been disliked by his father. This enmity may help to account
for al- Ashraf’s feelings toward those who had been loyal to his father; see EI2,
4:964-65; and al-Maqrïzï, al-Sulük, 1:771.
34. Ibn al-Furât, Ta^rïkh, 8:106-7. Originally, Ibn al-Sal'üs
had been a modest merchant in Damascus. Though not wealthy, he had established
a good reputation as a diligent and straightforward man. He was appointed royal
accountant of Damascus in 687/1288 and, subsequently, overseer of al-Malik
al-Ashraf’s treasury there. He substantially increased al-Ashraf’s wealth
through commerce and so gained his master’s favor. In 689/1290 al-Ashraf
awarded Ibn al-Salcûs a splendid robe of honor resembling that worn
by a vizier. But Qalâ’ûn was deeply disturbed when he saw it, for, if his son
had appointed a vizier for himself, that would symbolize his equality with his
father in the office of sultan. Qalâ’ûn summoned Ibn al- Sal'ûs and rebuked him
for having served al-Ashraf without sultanic decree. Qalâ’ûn ordered the robe
stripped off, and then he turned Ibn al-Salcûs over to his Mamluks
to be disgraced and beaten. Al-Ashraf intimidated those who sought to carry out
the orders, however, and later he successfully interceded with his father on
behalf of Ibn al-Salcûs. Ibn al-Salcûs was released, but
he was dismissed from service and confined to his home until the pilgrimage
month, when he was allowed to leave for the Hijaz. When Qalâ’ûn died al-Ashraf,
now sultan, immediately recalled Ibn al-Salcûs from his pilgrimage
and invested him with the office of vizier in 690/1291.
35. Al-Subkï, Tabaqât, 8:173; al-Maqrïzï, al-Sulük,
1:772-73; and Ibn al-Furât, Ta^rtkh, 8:126.
36. Ibn al-Furât, Td>ñkh, 8:126; and al-Subkï, Tabaqât,
8:173.
37. Ibn al-Furât, Ta'ñkh, 8:126-27; al-Maqrïzï, al-Sulûk,
1:772-73; and Ibn Kathïr, al-Bidâyah, 13:322. Ibn Bint al-Acazz
was reportedly fined in excess of thirty-eight thousand dinars.
38. Al-Maqrïzï, al-Sulük, 1:781, 785.
39. Ibn al-Furât, Ta'ñkh, 8:165-71, 174-75; al-Maqrïzï, al-Sulük,
1:789; and also see Ibn Taghrï Birdï, al-Nujüm, T.V1-Z1. A key
figure in these events was Qalâ’ûn’s Mamluk, Baydarâ, who was vizier when
Qalâ’ûn died. Baydarâ had been a protégé of Ibn Bint al-Acazz and
attempted to intercede on his behalf with the new sultan, al-Ashraf. Baydarâ,
too, was disgraced, however, and he personally assassinated al- Ashraf. He was
then proclaimed sultan, only to be killed by al-Ashraf’s Mamluks (see Ibn
al-Dawâdârï, Kanz al-durar wa-jamf al-ghurar, edited by Ulrich Haarman
[Cairo/Wiesbaden: O. Harrassowitz, 1971], 8:345-46; al-Maqrïzï, al-Sulük,
1:741-42, 773, 798, 821; Ibn al-Furât, Ta'rtkh, 8:127, 170-71; E12,
4:964-65, and P. M. Holt, The Age of the Crusades [New York: Longman
Group Limited, 1986], 103-6).
40. cAlï (Dtbâjah, 32) adds that he twice dreamed of the
judge after their conversation:
I saw him
after his death in a dream, and his face was like the moon. A light shone upon
him, but he wore a filthy garment.
So I asked him about that, and he said, “This is the light of
religious knowledge [cilm] and this is the garment of administering
justice [huhm].”
The dream’s
interpretation draws the familiar distinction between knowledge of the
religious law in its abstract purity and its subsequent contamination when
applied, contamination caused by compromise and intentional or accidental
misapplication.
41.
Sibf Ibn al-Fârid, Dïbâjah,
32-34. In all five stories Ibn al-Fârid experiences ecstasy by intuiting hidden
mystical meanings in words or verse. Two of the tales revolve around verses
previously cited in Ibn Khallikân’s biography of the poet, which ‘All knew;
Boullata (“Biography,” 50) has pointed out the exaggerated elements of one of
these stories in the Dïbâjah.
42. Throwing off one’s robe or outer garment in appreciation of verse
was an ancient Arab tradition with its own set of rules among the Sufi orders;
see Abu al-Najïb al-Suhrawardî, Kitâb Adâb al-murïdïn, edited and
partially translated by Menahem Milson as A Sufi Rule for Novices (Cambridge:
Harvard University Press, 1975), 64-65. Also see Goldziher, Studies,
2:322; and Boullata, “Biography,” 50.
43.
Sibt Ibn al-Fârid, Dïbâjah,
34-35. This is v. 1 of the al-YcPïyah, which is 151 verses long.
44. If these stories involving the sultan contain any historical
truth, then they must have been related to Ibn al-Fâriçi’s son by someone at
court, since he did not claim to have witnessed the events. Boullata
(“Biography,” 48) believes that the sultan’s offers should be considered as
“exaggeration and a craving for official recognition,” presumably on the part
of cAll or his uncle. However, these stories deal more explicitly
with the very controversial issue of relations between pious Muslims and their
worldly rulers who sought religious legitimacy and intercession.
45. For opinions on Sufi-ruler relations, see Abu al-Najlb
al-Suhrawardl, Sufi Rule, 36; Farid al-Dln ‘Attar, Muslim Saints,
91-92, 136-37, 141-42, 156-57, 223-25, 238, 263; Jalal al-Dln Rûmï, Fïhi mâ
fïhï, translated by A. J. Arberry as Discourses of Rumi (New York:
Samuel Weiser, 1972), 1314, 48-53; Michael Winter, Society and Religion in
Early Ottoman Egypt (New Brunswick, N.J.: Transaction Books, 1982), 262-73;
and Carl Petry, “A Paradox of Patronage during the Later Mamluk Period,” Muslim
World 73 (1983): 182-207.
46. Sibt Ibn al-Fârid, Dïbâjah, 36. It is noteworthy that Ibn
al-Fârid craved hansah, since this dish was believed to increase sexual
potency, arousing the “animal soul”; see J. C. Bürgel, “Love, Lust, and
Longing: Eroticism in Early Islam as Reflected in Literary Sources,” in Society
and the Sexes, edited by Afaf Lutfi al-Sayyid-Marsot (Malibu: University of
California Press, 1979), 90. It should be noted that, had Ibn al-Fârid eaten
the sweet, he would not have committed a sin, since this was a supererogatory
fast.
47. Sibt Ibn al-Fârid, Dtbâjah, 36-37. For cUmar
al-Suhrawardï’s extensive biography, see EIl, 4:506; and Kahhâlah, Mujam,
7:313.
48. See Boullata’s analysis of the story (“Biography,” 51-52). He
believes that Ibn al-Fârid had his own order. The khirqah’s use as a sign of
favor parallels a similar use of the ijâzah, or “certification”; see
Trimingham, Orders, 36-37, 192.
49. Al-Fayyümï (Nathr, 2:69a-b), who relates his story from the
noted scholar Ibn Sayyid al-Nâs (d. 734/1334); see EI2, 3:932-33; and
Kahhâlah, Mtfjatn, 11:269-70.
50. The name in the manuscript is “Sayf al-Dïn Abû al-Fath al-Wâsip,” which
does not correspond exactly to any person whom I have found living in Ibn
al-Fârid’s time.
51. Sibt Ibn al-Fâriçl, Dtbâjah, 37-38. Traditionally, the
“Night of Power” is said to commemorate the occasion of revelation of the
entire Qur’an to the Prophet Muhammad; see Rahman, Major Themes, 102-3;
and the Qur’an 44:4.
52. Sibç Ibn al-Fâriçl, Dtbâjah, 38-39.
53. Ibid., 39-41. Al-Jacbarï was a noted religious scholar,
preacher, Sufi, and poet; he is reported to have performed miracles. See,
al-SubkT, Tabaqât, 8:123-24; Ibn Habib, al-Nalñh, 1:116;
al-Suyûp, Husn, 1:523; al-Shacrânï, al-Tabaqât al-kubrâ
(Cairo: Maktabat Muhammad cAli §abih, 1965), 1:177; and Ibn al-cImâd,
Shadharât, 5:500.
54. This is v. 99 of the al-TaTyah al-kubrâ.
55. This quatrain accounts for two of six verses ascribed to the poet
rhyming in “mim,” which Ibn al-Fârid’s grandson cAli incorporated
into a poem of his own (Ibn al-Fârid, Dtwân, 239-40). Al-Jacbarï
and cAlï clearly regarded these verses as indicative of Ibn
al-Fâriçl’s saintly status, as his attempt to live righteously in this
confusing world led at death to a vision of the promised paradise. Such a
reading of this quatrain is in marked contrast to Ibn Taymiyah’s polemical
interpretation, in which the “desire” and “jumbled dream” refer to the false
beliefs of the poet (see chap. 1 of the present study). It should be noted that
the phrase adghâth ahlâm (jumbled dreams, confused dreams, nightmares)
also appears twice in the Qur’ân. In 21:5 the unbelievers denounce the
Prophet’s words as “confused dreams,” and, perhaps, Ibn làymïyah had this
passage in mind when criticizing the poet for unbelief. Yet in 22:44 Pharaoh’s
advisors label as “confused dreams” his dream of seven lean cows devouring
seven fat ones. Significantly, in both passages the confusion is dispelled to
reveal God’s true message.
56. For more on Râbi'ah al-cAdaw!yah (d. 185/801), the most
famous female Sufi, see Margaret Smith, Ràbi'ah the Mystic (1928;
reprint, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984).
57. This is v. 50 of the al-TaUyah al-$ughrà.
58. Sibt Ibn al-Fâriçi, Dïbàjah, 41.
59. Boullata, “Biography,” 47.
60. Sibt Ibn al-Fârid, Dïbàjah, 41-42. Also see Homerin,
“Shrine,” 133-34; and Boullata, “Biography,” 52.
61. Sibt Ibn al-Fârid, Dïbàjah, 42.
1. Al-Safadï, al-\Nàfï bi-al-Wafayàt, photocopy of MS 1219
(là’rïkh), Cairo: Dâr al-Kutub al-Mi§rïyah, 5:3:240; and Fadd al-khitàm 'an
al- tawñyah wa-al-istikhdàm, edited by Muhammad! cAbd al-cAzTz,
al-Hanaw! (Cairo: Dâr al-Tibâcah al-Muhammadïyah, 1979), 197-98.
Also see S. A. Bonebakker, Some Early Definitions of the Tawñya and Safadi s
Fadd al- Xitàm 'an at-Tawríya wad-Istixdàm (The Hague: Mouton, 1966),
88-89. For al-$afadî, see EIl, 3:52-54.
2. Al-Fayyümï, Nathr, 2:68b-70b. Also see al-NuwayrT’s short
biography of the poet, in his work Nihàyat al-arab, 27:50; and Ibn
al-WardT’s (d. 750/1349) notice to the poet, in Ta^rïkh Zayn al-Dïn 'UmarIbn
al-Wardï (Egypt: al-Matbacah al-Wahhâbïyah, 1868), 2:161.
3. Al-Udfuwï, al-Badr, 42b-43a. Concerning al-Udfuwï, see
Kahhâlah, Mu'jam, 3:136.
4. Al-YâficT, MiUàt, 4:75-79. A portion of this
account was quoted by al-Damïrï (d. 808/1405) in his work Hayàt al-hayawàn
al-kubrà, 1:657. For more on al-Yâficï, see EIl,
4:144-45. Also see Boullata, “Biography,” 53.
5. Ibn al-Mulaqqin, Tabaqàt al-awliyâ\ edited by Nür al-Dïn
Shuray- bah (Cairo: Matba'at Dâr al-la’lïf, 1973), 464-65. Concerning Ibn al-
Mulaqqin, see Kahhâlah, Mu'jam, 7:297-98.
6. Ibn Duqmâq, Nuzhat al-anàm fï ta'rïkh al-asnàm, photocopy
of MS 1740 (la’rTkh), Cairo: Dar al-Kutub al-Misnyah, 1 la—17b. For more on
this historian, see EI2, 3:756.
7. See Ibn al-Faq!h ‘Uthmân (fl. 779/1378), Murshid al-zuwwàr,
MS 5129 (Ta’rTkh), Cairo: Dâr al-Kutub al-Misr!yah, 204b-205a; and Ibn al-
Nâsikh, Misbah al-dayàjï, MS 1461 (la’rïkh), Cairo: Dâr al-Kutub al-
Misrïyah, 135b.
8. Ibn al-Zayyât, al-Kawàkib al-sayyàrah, edited by Qâsim
Muhammad al-Rajab (Baghdad: Maktabat al-Muthannâ, 1967), 296-300. In his account
of Ibn al-Fárid, Ibn al-Zayyât quoted extensively from the Dibajah (see
Homerin, “Shrine,” 134). Concerning Ibn al-Zayyât, see Kabbalah, Mtfjam,
11:238. For more on Ibn Zayyât and pilgrimage guides to the Qaráfah, see the
descriptive study by Christopher S. Taylor, “The Cult of the Saints in Late
Medieval Egypt” (Ph.D. diss., Princeton University, 1989).
9. Al-Dhahabi, Siyar (flam al-nubal¿P, microfilm 962
(la’rikh), Cairo: Arab League Manuscript Institute, of MS 2910, Istanbul:
Maktabat Afimad al-Thâlith, 13:422. Also see al-Dhahabí’s almíbar fi khabar
man ghabar, edited by $alâb al-Dïn al-Munjid (Kuwait: Maçba^at Hukümat al-
Kuwayt, 1966), 5:129. For more on al-Dhahabi, see EI2, 2:214-16. As
noted earlier, the term waqt (moment, time) may also refer to a moment
of mystical experience or intuition.
10. Al-Dhahabi, Mïzân al-f tidal fi naqd al-rijal (Cairo: ‘Isa
al-Babi al- Halabi, 1963), 3:214-15. For more Islamic opinions on poetry, see
Th. Emil Homerin, “Preaching Poetry: The Forgotten Verse of Ibn al-Sahra-
zürî,” Arabica 38 (1991): 87-101.
11. Al-Dhahabi, Ta'rikh al-lslâm, 17:59b-60a. Al-Dhahabi also
quoted thirty-two verses from the al-TcPïyah al-kubrà, which he believed
contained undeniable references to monistic doctrines. The verses include
151-53, 213, 275-76, 538, 674—76, 732—42. Also see al-Dhahabi’s student Ibn
Kathïr (al-Bidâyah, 13:143), for another censure of the poet.
12. Ibn Abi Hajalah, al-Ghayth, 1.
13. Ibid. Ibn Abi Hajalah concluded his al-Ghayth with nearly a
hundred pages in refutation of Ibn al-Farid and the monists. Also see Ibn
Hajar, Lisân, 4:319; al-Durar, 1:329-31; and EI2, 3:386.
For more on al- Sirâj al-Hindi, who also wrote a commentary favorable to the al-TiPiyah
al-kubrâ, see Ell, 4:361. Another scholar, Ibn Khatib (d. 776/1375),
also refuted Ibn Abi Hajalah; see Massignon, Passion, 3:314-15.
14. Quoted by al-BiqâT in his work Tanbth al-ghabi^ala takfir Ibn1
Arabi, microfilm of MS 2040, Leiden: Bibliotheek der Rijksuniversiteit,
35b- 35a; and later by al-Maqbali, in al-lAlam al-shâmikh
(Cairo: n.p., 1910), 500. Also see Hilnti, al-Hubb, 120-21. For Ibn
Khaldun’s other critiques of Ibn al-Fârid, see his work al-Muqaddimah
(Beirut: al-Matbacah al- Adabiyah, 1900), 471, 473 (Rosenthal
trans., The Muqaddimah, 1:87, 92); and ShifcP al-scPil, edited by
Ignace-Abdo Khalife (Beirut: Imprimerie Catholique, 1959), 51. For more on Ibn
Khaldun, see ET2, 3:825-31.
15. Ibn al-Ahdal, Kashf al-ghita*, 199-201. Ibn al-Ahdal cited
a number of verses from the al-T(Piyah al-kubrâ to prove Ibn al-Farid’s
infidelity. They were: 263, 460, 152-53, 740-41, 264, 528, 333, 313, 760-61, in
that order. Ibn al-Ahdal was a theologian, hadith scholar, and
historian; see Kahhâlah, Mtfjam, 4:15-16.
17. Ibn Hajar, Lisân, 4:317-19. Ibn Hajar began each biography
in this work by quoting, in full, al-Dhahabi’s account of the individual in al-
Mïzân. Thus, Boullata (“Biography,” 53-54) has mistakenly ascribed some of
al-Dhahabi’s remarks on Ibn al-Farid to Ibn Hajar- Nevertheless, the positions
of both men regarding the poet are essentially the same, and Ibn Hajar quoted
roughly half of the verses cited by al-Dhahabi from the al-Tâ?tyah al-kubrâ
as proof of Ibn al-Farid’s monistic heresy. In addition, Ibn Hajar also related
the story of Ibn al-Farid and the dancers of al-Bahnasa in order to question
the poet’s character. In his version of the story, taken out of context from
al-Qûçï, Ibn Hajar did not mention that the dancers were the poet’s slaves,
which made legal his interactions with them (see chap. 1 of the present study).
For more on Ibn Hajar, see EI2, 3:776-79; for more on al-Bulqïnî, see EI2,
3:1308-9; and Petry, Civilian Elite, 232-40, who profiles several
generations of this renowned scholarly family.
18. See al-Biqâcï, $awâb al-jawâb, microfilm of MS
2040, Leiden: Bibliotheek der Rijksuniversiteit, 62a; Kâtib Celebï, Kashf,
1:267; and Muhammad al-Sakhâwï, al-I)aw'‘ al-lâm? li-akl al-qam al-tasi'
(Cairo: Maktabat ‘Amman, 1986), 7:7, 56. Also see al-Biqà'ï, al-Radd,
150a, 164a-68b. Al-Bisâçï’s reference to an epileptic woman parodies w. 219— 25
of the al-TiPtyah al-kubrâ. For more on al-Bisâtï, who was a student of
Ibn Khaldûn, see Kahhâlah, Mu'jam, 8:291-92.
19. M. al-Sakhâwï, al-Daw\ 9:291-92; and al-Biqâcï, $awâb,
49a. For more on Muhammad al-Bukhârï, see Kahhâlah, Mu'jam, 11:294-95.
20. M. al-Sakhâwï, al-Daw\ 8:129; and al-Suyûtï, Qanf
al-mu'âridfi nufrat Ibn al-Farid, edited by cAbd al-Khâliq
Mahmüd cAbd al-Khàliq (Cairo: n.p., 1987), 84. Muhammad Ibn al-Humâm
had previously studied with al-Bisâtï; see M. al-Sakhâwï, al-ÿaw'1,
8:127-32; and Kahhâlah, Mu'-jam, 10:264-66.
21. M. al-Sakhâwï, al-Daw’, 9:292.
22. For an insightful analysis of the waqf or “endowment”
institution, vis-à-vis the Mamluk elite, see Petry, “Patronage,” 189-95. For an
overview of religious belief and practice during Mamluk times, see Annemarie
Schimmel, “Some Glimpses of Religious Life during the Later Mamluk Period,” Islamic
Studies 4 (1965): 353-92; and “Sufismus und Heiligenverehrung im
spatmittelalterlichen Agypten,” in Festschrift fur IE Caskel,
edited by Erich Graf (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1968), 274-89; and Donald P. Little,
“Religion under the Mamluks,” Muslim World 73 (1983): 165-81. Concerning
the multiple and often contradictory relations between the religious
elite—including Sufis—and their Mamluk rulers, see Petry, Civilian Elite,
esp. 267-72, 312-25; and Ira M. Lapidus, Muslim Cities in the Later Middle
Ages (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1967), esp. chaps. 3 and 6. For
Sufi-ruler relations in an Indian context, see the detailed and insightful
study by Carl Ernst, Eternal Garden (Albany: State University of New
York Press, 1992), esp. 38—61, 191-247.
23. See Homerin, “Shrine,” 134-35, for details of the endowment.
24. Ibn laghrï Birdï, al-Nujüm, translated by W. Popper as History
of Egypt, 1382-1469 A.D. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1954),
23:5, 46, 54-55, 60, 146, 153-55; and Hawâdith al-duhür, edited by W.
Popper (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1942), 77, 453, 456, 671,
681, 683. Also see E12, 4:462-63.
25. Ibn laghrï Birdï, al-Nujüm (trans. Popper as History of
Egypt, 23:153-55); and Ibn lyâs, Badá’i1, 3:80, who noted
that Barqüq was like a brother to Qâ’ït Bay. Concerning khushdash, see
D. Ayalon, “L’Esclavage due Mamelouk,” The Mamluk Military System
(London: Variorum Reprints, 1979), 1:29—31, 34-37; and “Studies on the
Structure of the Mamluk Army—I,” Studies on the Mamluks of Egypt
(London: Variorum Reprints, 1977), 1:206-13.
26. Ibn laghrï Birdï, Hawâdith, 710—13; al-Khatïb al-Jawharï, lnbâ\
71-76; and Ibn lyâs, BadâT, 3:32-36. For more on Qâlt Bay’s periodic
confiscations (musâdarahf see EI2, 4:463. Barqüq was named kâshif
al- turâb, or “Inspector of the Dikes,” which allowed him to inspect a district
and to collect money and men to repair the dikes; he was also appointed kâshif
al-dam, or “Inspector of Blood,” and so investigated cases of manslaughter and
homicide.
27. Al-Khatïb al-Jawharï, Inbâ\ 129, 136-37, 141-43. Such
confiscations and pay cuts became common during Qâ’ït Bay’s reign; see EI2,
4:463.
28. Al-Khatïb al-Jawharï, lnbâ\ 118, 125; and Ibn lyâs, BadâWj
3:36, 80. That Barqüq oversaw awqâf of certain properties in the eastern
delta province of al-Sharqïyah may have strengthened his resolve to restore
order there. See Barqüq’s waqf deed cited in Homerin, “Shrine,” 135.
Concerning the declining economic situation at this time, see Petry, Civilian
Elite, 25-34.
29. Al-Khatïb al-Jawharï, lnbâ\ 151-53; Ibn lyâs, Bada'?,
3:44; Kâtib Celebï, Kashf, 1:266-67; and al-Biqâcï, al-Radd,
100b-101a.
30. M. al-Sakhâwï, al-Daw\ 9:95, 1:108. Also see Ibn lyâs, Badâ’C,
3:44-45; and Kâtib Celebï, Kashf, 1:266-67. The full title of
al-Biqâcï’s polemic was $awâb al-jawâb Itl-sâdl al-murtâb
al-mu^ârid al-mujâdil fl kufr Ibn al-Fârid (The Proper Answer to the
Skeptical Questioner, the Disputing Opponent, Concerning the Infidelity of Ibn
al-Fârid).
31. Al-Biqâcï, Sawâb, 39b-43b. Many of the thirty
verses cited by al- Biqâ'ï had been quoted earlier by al-Dhahabï and Ibn Hajar
in their refutations of the poet.
32. Ibid., 43a-50a. In this discussion and elsewhere al-Biqâcï
cited al- Ghazzâlï’s lhyá\ especially the latter’s remarks on shath,
or “theophantic locutions.”
33. Al-Biqâcï, Sawâb, 43b-51a. Al-BiqâcT
was probably referring to the Ismâcïlï Qarmatï community in Yemen.
See EI2, 4:660-65.
34. Al-Biqâcï, Sawâb, 50b-51a.
35. Ibid., 51b-64a. Al-Biqâcï quoted from the al-l'â^ïyah
al-kubrâ and commentaries on it by al-Farghânï, al-Bisâtï, and others, to
prove the poet’s infidelity. In addition, he asserted that most of the
commentaries were nonsense meant to beguile the naive and to conceal the fact
that the heretical, literal meanings were what the poet had believed and
intended.
36. Al-Biqâcï, Kitâb al-Nàtiq bi-al-sawâb al-fârid
li-takfïr Ibn al-Fârid (The Book of the One Declaring the Incumbent
Propriety for Declaring Ibn al-Fârid an Infidel). In this work al-Biqâcï
cited over four hundred verses from the al-Tà^tyah al-kubrâ along with
portions of the major commentaries on them. Al-Biqâcï added his comments
in the margins, but his remarks usually consisted of a word or two, such as ittihâd
(unification/monism) or hulul (incarnation). Also included in this
polemic was a copy of the Sawâb al-jawâb.
37. M. al-Sakhâwï emphatically stated that al-Biqâcï had
been reckless and extreme in his legal opinions against Ibn al-Fârid and those
who read the al-Tâ*îyah al-kubrâ. Al-Sakhâwï also noted that opponents
of al-Biqâcï took two basic positions; either they verbally
ridiculed him, or they wrote statements to the effect that it would have been
better for him had he busied himself with opinions on ablutions or prayers,
since his declaration of infidelity against certain Muslims might itself
constitute infidelity. Among those rebuking al-Biqâcï was the very
important senior religious official, the shaykh al-Islâm Amïn al-Dïn
al-Àqsarâ’ï (797-880/13951475), who, at one of his study sessions, severely
criticized al-Biqâcï and drove him away after al-Biqâcï
issued his refutation of Ibn al-Fârid. See M. al-Sakhâwï, Wajtz al-kalâm ft
dhayl ialâ Duwal al-lslâm, microfilm of MS 1189, Istanbul:
Kôprülü Library, Chicago: Uncataloged Microfilm Collection, University of
Chicago, 41b-42a. For al-Àqsarâ’ï, see M. al- Sakhâwï, al-Daw’’,
10:240-43.
38. See Ibn lyâs, Badâ'F, 3:44-45; and Kâtib Celebï, Kashf,
1:267.
39. The text of Ibn al-Ghars’s refutation is contained in the Leiden
MS 2040 of al-Biqâcï’s Sawâb, 64a-124b. Ibn Ghars went so far
as to teach his refutation to students; see M. al-Sakhâwï, al-Daw\
9:220-21; and Kahhâlah, Mdjam, 11:277.
40. Al-Suyûçï, Qanf, 47-102. For more on al-Suyütï, see E. M.
Sartain, Jalâl al-Dtn al-Suyütï (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1975), esp. 1:33-37, 54-55; and EIl, 3:573-75.
41. Al-Biqâcï, al-Radd al-kâshif li-murâd ahi al-ittihâd
(The Refutation Exposing the Folk of Unification), also contained in Leiden MS
2040, 64a-124b; see esp. 64b-65a, 113b, 136b. Al-Biqâ'ï also denounced Ibn
al-Fârid several times in a refutation of Ibn al-cArabï. There
al-Biqâcï conjectured that Ibn al-Fârid’s dream of the Prophet
Muhammad and the latter’s naming of the al-1'ájyah al-kubrâ may have
been the result of the poet’s use of hashish. See al-Biqâcï, Tanbth
al-ghabi, 35b; and Hilmî, al- Hubb, 123.
42. M. al-Sakhâwï, al-Daw?, 1:85-86. Also see al-Shacrânï,
al-Kubrà, 2:77-80; and Winter, Society and Religion, 95-96. For
more on the popular AhmadTyah Sufi order, see EI2, 1:280-81.
43. Al-Shacrânï, al-Kubrd, 2:79.
44. Ibn lyâs, BadâJf 3:45; and M. al-Sakhâwï, Wajtz,
41b, who felt that these invectives went too far. For more on al-Mansuri, see
M. al- Sakhâwï, al-Daw^, 2:150-51; al-Suyûtï, Nazm al-’-iqyan ft afân
al-afân, edited by Philip K. Hitti (New York: Matba'at al-Sürïyah
al-Amrïkïyah, 1927), 77—90; and Ibn al-cImâd, Shadharât,
7:346.
46. Ibid., 3:46. Ibn al-Qânsüh min Sâdiq was primarily a court poet of
the late fifteenth-early sixteenth centuries; see Kahhâlah, Mufam, 11:148-49.
48. Hence, al-Biqâcï’s telling assertion (Saveab,
47b): “If the ^ulama? are not God’s saints, then God has no saint!”
49. See Schimmel’s brief analysis of these events in “Sufismus,” 287—
89; and “Glimpses,” 380-81; and that of Winter, Society, 162-65. It
should be noted that all of the poet’s major antagonists were affiliated with
Sufism. Al-Matbuli and al-Kinânï were known Sufis, while Ibn Imâm al-Kâmilïyah
had instructed al-Suyütï in the Sufi exercise of dhikr (Sartain, al-Suyütï,
1:35). Ibn al-Shihnah held a post as a Sufi, in which his son cAbd
al-Barr acted as a substitute. Al-Biqâ'î, too, appreciated certain Sufis and
their teachings and al-Qushayri (d. 465/1073), in particular, whom he cited in
the Sawab, 51b-52a. Although these and like-minded Muslims rejected more
speculative types of mysticism associated with monistic doctrines, this hardly
made them “anti-Sufi.” For more on this persistent misperception, see Homerin,
“Ibn laymïya.” By contrast, most of Ibn al- Fârid’s supporters were fond of Ibn
al-cArabï and his theosophy.
50. Ibn al-Shihnah was sixty-eight, al-Kinânï seventy-one, Ibn Imâm
al-Kâmilïyah sixty-three, and al-Biqâcï sixty. I could not find
al-Matbulï’s birthdate. Most of their students may have been even younger than
their early twenties and so not mentioned by name. Ibn lyâs referred to them
collectively as “a large group of students of jurisprudence [cz7w]”
(Ibn Ivas, Bad/Er, 3:44).
51. Al-Bakn was sixty-five, Ibn Qutlübughâ seventy, al-Kâfiyâjï
eighty- three, al-Mansürî eighty-two. As an accomplished poet, al-Mansürî could
be expected to side with Ibn al-Farid, while Ibn Qutlübughâ had other reasons.
52. The age differences suggest that generational conflict was a
factor in this dispute, as members of successive generations confronted one
another over positions of power and, just as important, on issues of
interpreting their religious heritage and worldview. See Karl Mannheim, “The
Problem of Generations,” in Essays on the Sociology of Knowledge, edited
by Paul Kecskemeti (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1952), 276-320.
Mannheim’s work was brought to my attention by Dale Eickel- man, who applied
several of Mannheim’s observations in his own work on Morocco; see Dale E
Eickelman, Moroccan Islam (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1976),
215-18.
53. Sartain, al-Suyüfí, 1:37, 44-45, 72, 81, 84.
54. M. al-Sakhâwî, al-Daw\ 6:259-61; 5:110-11; 9:221, 248-52.
Al- Sakhâwî noted that the Mâlikï scholar and Sufi al-Wazïrî ingratiated
himself with Ibn Muzhir, Qâ’ît Bay’s personal secretary, and that Ibn al-
Qattân was also a favorite of Ibn Muzhir, before whom he read an invective on
al-BiqâT. Al-Sakhâwî added that Ibn al-Qattân, a trained Shafi'T jurisprudent
and hadith scholar, became a vociferous defender of Ibn al-cArabï
only after the Ibn al-Fârid controversy—that is, only after the sultan’s
favorable opinion on the matter was known. As for al-Jawjarî, al-Sakhâwî
exclaimed that for such a profligate to refute al-Biqâcï was almost
unthinkable.
55. Ibid., 6:184-90; and Kahhâlah, Mufam. 8:111-12.
56. M. al-Sakhâwî, al-Daw\ 4:33-34, 9:295-305; and al-Khatîb
al- Jawharï, InbcP, 189-90, 267-68. Among the positions filled by cAbd
al- Barr was that of a Sufi and teacher at the Shaykhünîyah madrasah.
For more on Ibn al-Shihnah, see al-Suyütï, Nazm, 171-72; EI2,
3:938; and Schimmel, “Kalif,” 93-101. For more on his son, also see Ibn al-cImad,
Shadharat, 7:321-22.
57. M. al-Sakhâwî, al-Daw\ 9:251, 1:101-11; and Wajiz,
41b-42a. Also, for more on al-BiqáT, see al-Suyütî, Nazm, 24-25; Ibn
al-Tmad, Shadhardt, 7:339-40; and Kahhâlah, Mufarn, 1:71. For
more on Muhammad al-Sakhâwî (830-902/1427-97), see Petry, Civilian Elite,
7-13, 318— 19.
58. See Kâtib Celebî, Kashf, 2:1174-75; and al-Khatîb
al-Jawharî, InbcP, 508-9, who noted that Ibn Hajar had greatly praised
al-BiqâT and had worked for his advancement. Concerning al-Khafïb al-Jawharï,
also known as cAll al-Çayrafï, see Kahhâlah, Mu'-jam,
7:89-90.
59. M. al-Sakhâwï certainly thought this to be the case (M^'zz, 41b-
42a). Al-Sakhâwï assumed a middle ground in the dispute; he did not appreciate
allusions to monism in the poet’s verse, though he could not accept al-Biqâcï’s
charge of infidelity against Ibn al-Fârid, who had died a Muslim. On the other
hand, al-Sakhâwï would not approve accounts of Ibn al-Fârid by the poet’s
grandson cAlï, since they lacked a reliable corroborator. See Wajtz,
41b.
60. Failure to support one’s khushdash was considered a gross
offense among the Mamluks; see Ayalon, “L’Esclavage,” 30. Qâ’ït Bay also had
been infuriated a year earlier by the suggestion from a senior religious
official that money for the empire should be raised by taking it from the
sultan’s amirs, women, and troops, and not from religious endowments, scholars,
or other civilians; see Ibn lyâs, Badèfï', 3:14-15.
61. Ibn lyâs, BadaT, 3:46-47. Concerning this important
historian, see EI2, 3:812-13.
63. V. 284 of the a l-T(Bïyah al-kubrâ. Earlier cAlï
Sibt Ibn al-Fârid had quoted this verse to Ibn Bint al-Acazz in Ibn
al-Fâriçl’s defense (JMbâjah, 31).
64. Perhaps Zakariyâ was referring here to al-Ghazzâlï or al-Qushayrï,
on whose al-Risalah he wrote his commentary NatcPij al-afkdr
(Bûlâq: n.p., 1873).
65. These verses refer to the search for the new crescent moon that
marks the beginning and end of the holy fasting month of Ramadan.
66. Ibn Muzhir had also been a student of the pro-Ibn al-Fâriçl
scholar al-Kâfiyâjï; see M. al-Sakhâwï, al-Çlaw?, 11:88-89; and al-Suyüfi,
Nazm, 97.
67. Al-Shacrânï, al-Tabaqât al-sughrâ, edited by cAbd
al-Qâdir cAtâ (Cairo: Maktabat al-Qâhirah, 1970), 37-42; and Ibn
lyás, Bada*?, 3:44. Zakariyâ later became Qâ’ït Bay’s chief Shâficï
judge in 886/1481; see M. al-Sakhâwï, al-Daw?, 3:234-38, who noted that
he had personally criticized Zakariyâ a number of times regarding the latter’s
position in favor of Ibn aPArabï and Ibn al-Fârid but that Zakariyâ had stood
firm. For more on Zakariyâ, see al-Khatïb al-Jawharï, Inbff", 407,
448; al-Suyüfï, Nazm, 113; al-Shacrânï, al-Kubrâ,
2:111-13, who considered Zakariyâ to have been a saint; al-Ghazzï, al-Kawâkib
al-sâ?irah bi a'ydn al-mfah al- 'àshirah, edited by Jibrâ’ïl Sulaymân
Jabbùr (Beirut: al-Matbacah al- Amrïkânïyah, 1945), 1:196-207; and
Ibn al-Tmâd, Shadharât, 8:134-36.
68. Al-Ghazzï, al-MBah al-'dshirah, 1:203. Ibn al-Shammâc
was primarily a hadith scholar. Al-Ghazzï also noted that Zakariyâ was
heard to say that Ibn al-Fari<J was a greater saint than Ibn al-'Arabi (al-Mifah
al- 'âshirah, 1:204-5, 252; 2:224-26).
69. Al-Shacrânï, al-Sughrà, 38. Concerning al-Shacrânï,
see Winter, Society.
70. Al-Khatïb al-Jawharï, lnbâ\ 186; also see al-Sakhâwï Wajtz,
41b; and al-Shacrânï, al-Sughrâ, 38.
71. Al-Shacrânï, al-Sughrâ, 64. Also see M. Sakhâwï,
al-ÿaw\ 1:108, who gave a statement by al-Biqâcï to the same
effect.
72. M. al-Sakhâwï, al-I)aw'‘, 1:108.
73. Al-Khafïb al-Jawharï, Inbâ\ 190. cAlï ibn Khâ$$
Bay was the father of Fâçimah, the only wife of Qâlt Bay to live with him at
the Citadel; see Ibn lyâs, Badawi1, 3:12; and Ibn Taghrï
Birdï, Hawâdith, 630. Also see al-Khatïb al-Jawharï, Inbâ\ 66,
124, 128, 238, 360, 459.
74. M. al-Sakhâwï, al-I)aw\ 9:93-95; Ibn lyâs, Badâ'F,
3:48; and al- Suyütï, Nazm, 163. Ibn Imâm al-Kâmilïyah had written an
epistle against Ibn al-cArabï.
75. For Taqï al-Dïn al-Hisnï, a noted Shâficï jurisprudent,
see al- Sakhâwï, al-Daw\ 11:76-77; al-Suyüfï, Nazm, 97; and Ibn
al-cImâd, Shadharât, 7:331. One of al-Hisnï’s students,
Muhammad ibn Jumcah al- Haskafï al-Shaybânï (b. 842/1438), wrote a refutation
of al-Biqâcï, the Diryâq al-afdï; see M. al-Sakhâwï, al-Daw\
7:213-14; and Ibn lyâs, Badâ'i1, 3:45.
76. Al-Kinânï, who was a Sufi as well as a legal scholar, also
composed poetry, including verse inspired by one of Ibn al-Farid’s verses. In
addition to his broad learning, al-Kinânï was known for his pious acts, such as
financing the construction of mosques, fountains, and other structures for the
public’s benefit; see M. al-Sakhâwï, al-I)aw\ 1:205-7; and Ibn al-cImâd,
Shadharât, 2:321-22.
77. Al-Khatïb al-Jawharï, lnbâ\ 189-90, 220, 251. cAbd
al-Barr had been accused of being a Shïcï earlier that year, but he
was cleared of the charge (194).
78. Ibid., 251. Al-Kâfiyâjï was later rewarded by Qá*ít Bay for his
services (318, 352-57, 407, 441). For more on al-Kâfiyâjï, see M. Al- Sakhâwï, al-DanN,
2:259-61; al-Suyütï, Husn, 1:549—50; Ibn al-cImâd, Shadharât,
7:326-27; and Kahhâlah, Mu’-jam, 10:51-52.
79. Al-Khapb al-Jawharï, Inbâ\ 267-68; M. al-Sakhâwï, al-I)aw\
9:300-301; and Ibn lyâs, Badâ'ï’, 3:47-48. Also see Schimmel,
“Kalif,” 98-100. Although Ibn al-Shihnah’s critical faculties and memory had
been impaired due to illness, he was allowed to retain some of his posts until
his death in 890/1485.
80. Literally: “Either I’m in Egypt or you are!” (Al-Shacrânï,
al-Kubrâ, 2:80). Al-Shacrânï further noted that al-Matbulï’s
deportment during this last meeting with the sultan was not befitting a Sufi.
Also see Ibn lyâs, Badâ'C, 3:88; and Schimmel, “Sufimus,” 288-89.
81. Al-Biqâcï probably lodged his complaint with the hâjib
al-hujjâb because some amirs were involved in the controversy; the hâjib
al-hujjâb administered justice among the Mamluks. Yet, as a manumitted slave of
Jaqmaq, Timur min Mahmud Shah no doubt was considerate of the interests of his khushdash,
Qâ’ît Bây and Barqüq. See M. al-Sakhâwî, al- Daw\ 3:42; D. Ayalon,
“Studies in the Structure of the Mamluk Army— III,” Studies, 1:60; and
Petry, Civilian Elite, 407-8.
82. Al-Khatïb al-Jawharï, lnba\ 257. Ibn lyâs mentioned that in
878/ 1473 al-Biqâcï was charged with infidelity and sentenced to
death by a Mâlikî judge. Some amirs—perhaps remembering the Ibn al-Farid controversy—were
prepared to execute the order, but al-Biqâcî took refuge with Ibn
Muzhir, who protected him. Al-Biqâcî then left Cairo for good {Badâ’F,
3:80).
83. Al-Sakhâwî, al-I)aw\ 6:18, 1:106-7. Concerning Nûr al-Dïn
al- Mahallï (b. 850/1446), see 6:18-19; and al-Shacrânî, al-Sughrd,
63-64. Al- Mahallï also composed a refutation of the al-TcPîyah al-kubra
and Ibn al- Ghars’s attack on al-Biqâcî. Al-Biqâcî added this
refutation to his own, along with a copy of his Sawdb, and entitled the
entire collection, al- Jawâb al-hâdd ilâ tahqiq al-murâd min tablis ahi
al-ittihàd (The Devastating Response to the Realization of the Deceitful
Purpose of the Folk of Unification), perhaps completed in 879/1474. Al-Biqâcî’s
al-Nâtiq may have been composed around this time too, suggesting that
al-Biqâ'ï maintained his opposition to Ibn al-Fârid, perhaps to save face after
being reprimanded by the sultan and disgraced by his colleagues. See Leiden MS
2040, 39a-190b, dated 879/1474; and the Bodleian MS Arabici, 1:68— 69 (Marsh.
642), 48b-292b, dated 876/1471.
84. Al-Khatïb al-Jawharï, lnbà\ 2S&-T, M. al-Sakhâwî, al-Daw\
3:12; and his Wajïz, 56a; Ibn lyâs, Bada3?, 3:80; and cAlî
al-Sakhâwî, Tuhfat al- ahbâb, edited by Mahmud Rabïc and
Hasan Qâsim (Cairo: Matba'at al- cUlüm wa-al-Àdâb, 1937), 383.
Although none of these sources mentioned the son’s name, M. al-Sakhâwî gave
the biography of one of Barqüq’s sons, cAll Bay, whom he described
as intelligent and charitable. cAlï Bây and a brother died of the
plague in 897/1491 (al-DanC, 5:150).
85. Al-Khatîb al-Jawharî, Inbâ3, 257; and Ibn lyâs, Bada3?,
3:47-48, 85, 97, 169. Also see Ibn laghrï Birdî, al-Nujüm, 6:288-90;
al-Suyûtï, Husn, 1:518; and A. al-Sakhâwî, Tuhfat, 380-83. Also
see the accounts of Ibn al-Fârid’s life included in Persian collections of
Muslim saints, such as Husayn Tabasî Gâzurgâhî’s (d. pre-930/1524) Majlis
al-^ushshâq, MS 2 (Tasawwuf Fârisï TalCat), Cairo:
Dâr al-Kutub al-Misrïyah, 85-86, incorrectly ascribed to Ibn Bayqarâ, a common
mistake (pers. com. from John E. Woods); and see Jami’s (d. 898/1492) very
popular Nafahât al-uns, edited by Mahdî Tawhïdïpür (Tehran: Kitâbfurüshï
Sa'di, 1958), 539—45, who quoted extensively from the Dtbâjah and
al-Yafi'l.
1. Ibn lyâs, Bad/??-, 5:258-59. After Selim I conquered
Damascus he had a mosque built around Ibn al-'Arabl’s grave; see Ell,
4:214-17; and al-Ghazzl, al-MBah al-'-âshirah, 2:28.
2. Tashkôprüzâde, Miftâh al-stfâdah (Cairo: Dâr al-Kutub
al-Hadïthah, 1968), 1:232, 247-48. For Tashkôprüzâde, see EIl, 4:689-90.
A later author, the noted Andalusian historian al-Maqqarl (d. 1041/1632),
stated:
The
shaykh Muhyl al-Dln Ibn al-'Arabl sent to the master 'Umar, asking his
permission to comment on the al-Tffiyah. But [Ibn al-Fâriçl] said, “Yrur
book entitled al-Futûhât al- Makkïyah is a commentary of it.” (Nafh
al-ttb, edited by Ihsân 'Abbas [Beirut: Dâr Sâdir, 1968], 2:166)
The later Ottoman writer
Evliyâ Celeb! also gave a version of this story in his Seyâhetnâmesï
(Istanbul: Devlet Matbassi, 1938), 10:573.
3. Al-Munâwï, al-Kawâkib al-durnyah, MS 1885 (Ta’rlkh TaFat),
Cairo: Dâr al-Kutub al-Misrlyah, 559, 561-67. Al-Munâwï based the bulk of this
hagiography on 'All’s Dtbâjah, but he also quoted from al-Udfuwl, Ibn
Abl Hajalah, Ibn Taymlyah, al-Dhahabl, and others. For al-Munawl, see Kahhâlah,
Mu jam, 5:220-21. For Ibn al-Tmâd’s abridged version, see Shadharât,
5:149-53; also see EI2, 3:807. A famous contemporary of Ibn al-'Imad,
the Mughal prince and Sufi Dará Shuküh (d. 1068/1659), also included a short
biography of Ibn al-Fàrid in his work Safînat al-awliya*, Chicago:
University of Chicago microfilm 1296 of the Persian MS 886, London: India
Office Library, 113b.
4. Al-Maqbalï, aFAlam al-shâmikh, 467-68, 499-500; also see
Kah- hâlah, Mujam, 5:14.
5. Al-Munâwï, al-Kawâkib al-durftyah, 577; also see al-Ghazzl,
al-MFah al-'Mshirah, 2:28-29; Ibn al-'Imâd, Shadharât, 8:303-4;
al-Bakrï al-Sid- dïqï, al-Kawâkib al-sâ^irah fi akhbâr Mi$r wa-al-Qâhirah,
Chicago: University of Chicago Microfilm Collection microfilm of MS 1852
(Taymür), Cairo: Dâr al-Kutub al-Misrïyah, 21b.
6. Al-Sha'rânï, al-Yawâqtt, 1:11. Al-Munâwï also gave a
version of this story, which he claimed involved a literalist’s grammatical
commentary written during the time of Ibn Hajar al-'Asqalânï (al-Kawâkib
al-durrtyah, 564). Perhaps this story refers back to al-Bisâtï’s
commentary. For Shaykh Madyan, see M. al-Sakhâwï, al-Daw’, 10:150-52;
al-Sha‘rânï, al-Kubrâ, 2:92-94; and Winter, Society, 94-95.
7. Al-Munâwï, al-Kawákib al-durfiyah, 566; and al-Ghazzi, al-MPah
al- ''âshirah, 1:177-78; also see 1:70, 2:57, and other stories cited by
al- Munàwï.
8. On this important issue of miracles and their relation to class
see J.-C. Garcin, “Historic et hagiographie de l’Egypte musulmane à la fin de
l’époque mamelouke et au début de l’époque ottomane,” Hommages à la mémoire
de Serge Sauneron, 1927-1976 (Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie
Orientale du Caire, 1979), 2:287-316; also see D. Weinstein and R. M. Bell, Saints
and Society (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982), 205-9. For
examples of the many recantations involving Ibn al- Fâriçl and his verse, see
Ibn Hajar al-Haythamï (d. 974/1566), al-Fatâwâ al-hadithiyah (Cairo:
Mustafa al-Bâbï al-Halabi, 1970), 296-97; al-Sha‘- rânï, al-Sughrd, 70; al-Kubrâ,
1:11; and al-Yawâqit wa-al-jawdhir (Egypt: al-Matba‘ah al-Maymanïyah,
1889), 1:10-11. Also see al-Munawi’s hagiography of the poet, Ibn al-'Imad’s
abridgment; al-Maqqari, Nafh, 5:26061, 271; and Sayyid Nür Allah
Shushtarl (d. 1019/1610), Majalis al- mu'minin (Tehran: Lithograph ed.,
1881), 278-79.
9. In addition to Ibn al-Farid’s immense literary influence on later
Arabic poetry, traces of his verse can also be found among the work of several
great Persian poets, such as al-‘Irâqï’s (d. 688/1289) Lama1 at, translated
by W Chittick and Peter Lamborn Wilson as Divine Flashes (New York:
Paulist Press, 1982), 70, 100, 103; Rüml’s (d. 672/1273) Mathnavi(see
the index to R. A. Nicholson’s ed.); and Sa'dï’sg^ztfZr; see Husayn ‘All
Mafifüz, Mutanablñ va Saldi (Tehran: Chapkhânah-i HaydarT,
1957), 216.
10. Al-Nâbulusï, Kashf al-sirr al-ghâmid fi sharh Diwan Ibn
al-Fârid, microfilm of MS 4114 (534), Princeton: Yahuda Section, Garrett
Collection, Princeton University. A very useful grammatical commentary on much
of the Diwan was composed by al-Bürïnï (d. 1024/1619); see al- Dahdah’s
edition of Ibn al-Fârid’s Diwan. For other commentaries, including
those in Persian and Turkish, see Kâtib Celebï, Kashf, 1:265-67, 767;
2:1338, 1349; and my forthcoming study of Ibn al-Fârid’s verse, Passion
before Me.
11. Evliyâ Celebï, Seyâhetnâmesi, 10:573; this and other
citations from Evliyâ Celebï were kindly translated for me by Robert Dankoff.
For more on Evliyâ Celebï, see E12, 2:717-20.
12. Evliyâ Celebï, Seyâhetnâmesi, 10:238.
13. Ibid., 10:469-70, 238, 573. Also see Peter Brown, The Cult of
the Saints (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1981), 43, 82-83, 98-100,
regarding similar crossings of social boundaries in the presence of the saints
at Christian shrines.
14. Al-Nâbulusï, al-Haqiqah wa-al-majdz, 195-98. For more on
this polymath, seeEI2, 1:60.
15. Al-Nâbulusî, al-Haqtqah wa-al-majàz, 279-80.
16. Al-Kahfis the eighteenth chapter of the Qur’an. Recitation
of all or a part of it is believed by Muslims to aid the reader on the Judgment
Day and to provide spiritual illumination. See cAbd al-Halïm Mahmud,
Fa-dhkurûnîadhkurkum (Cairo: Shacb, 1970), 81-83.
17. The opening chapter of the Qur’an, which is recited in all five
required daily prayers.
19. This is v. 1, which al-Nâbulusï understood as referring to the
death of self-will and selfishness, which had been overcome by divine love (Kashf
al-sirr al-ghâmid, 348b-49a).
20. This is the second hemistich of v. 26. Some in the audience
probably understood “his fine qualities” as referring to the Prophet Muhammad,
but al-Nâbulusï believed this phrase to refer to God’s divine attributes (Kashf
al-sirr al-ghâmid, 358a).
21. Brown’s insightful comments regarding the replication of social relations
in the cult of Christian saints are also pertinent to Islam:
The role of replication in late antiquity . . . enabled the
Christian communities, by projecting a structure of clearly defined
relationships onto the unseen world, to ask questions about the quality of
relationships in their own society. ... [It enabled] late-antique men to
articulate and render manageable urgent, muffled debates on the nature and
power of their own world, and to examine in the searching light of ideal
relationships with ideal figures, the relation between power, mercy, and
justice as practiced around them. (Cult, 63)
As we saw in the Mamluk
controversies, an attack on the saints could imply opposition to the
traditional power hierarchies (also see n. 22). For a study of the contemporary
Muslim cult of the saints in northern Egypt and its possible legitimation of
patron-client relations, see Edward B. Reeves, The Hidden Government
(Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1990), esp. 155-95.
22. Al-Nâbulusï, an Arab, specifically mentioned that those critical
of the service at Ibn al-Fárid’s shrine were Turkish. In 1711, about twenty
years after al-Nâbulusï’s visit to Cairo, a group of disgruntled lùrkish
students there attempted, unsuccessfully, to radically restrict beliefs and
practices regarding the saints and so to realign social and political forces in
a pattern more beneficial to themselves. Naturally, the major religious
authorities opposed them and publicly declared their continued belief in the
saints. See the insightful analysis of this event by Rudolph Peters, “The
Battered Dervishes of Bab Zuwayla: A Religious Riot in Eighteenth-Century
Cairo,” in Eighteenth-Century Renewal and Reform in Islam, edited by
Nehemia Levtzion and John O. Voll (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 1987),
93-115.
23. Clearly, for Mamluk and Ottoman Egypt, and, I suspect, for other
pre-modern Islamic societies as well, Brown is mistaken when he claims that,
“the holy tomb . . . existed always a little to one side of Muslim orthodoxy
[i/k]” (Cult, 9-10). In his book Cult of the Saints Brown has
argued persuasively that the two-tiered model of religion, which features a
correct, refined elite faith in opposition to the masses’ vulgar superstitions,
is a recent misreading of premodern religious history. Unfortunately, as
Brown’s own work illustrates, this two-tiered model continues to be invoked
when dealing with Islam, which, in contrast to many forms of Christianity, has
never had an articulated, institutionally enforced “orthodoxy.”
24. Concerning Egypt under Ottoman rule, see P. M. Holt, Egypt and
the Fertile Crescent: 1516-1922 (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press,
1966), 23-101, 167-230; and “The Pattern of Egyptian Political History from
1517 to 1798,” in Political and Social Change in Modem Egypt, edited by
P. M. Holt (London: Oxford University Press, 1968), 79-90; Daniel Crecelius, The
Roots of Modem Egypt (Chicago: Bibliotheca Islámica, 1981); and
“Non-ideological Responses of the Egyptian Ulama to Modernization,” in Scholars,
Saints, and Sufis, edited by Nikki Keddie (Berkeley: University of
California Press, 1972), 167-209; and Peter Gran, The Islamic Roots of
Capitalism: Egypt, 1760-1840 (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1979).
25. CA1T Mubârak, al-Khitatal-Tawfïqïyah al-jadïdah (Bûlâq:
al-Matbacah al-Kubrâ al-Amïrïyah, 1887), 5:59; and Hilmï, al-Hubb,
55. Concerning this cAlî Bây al-Ghazzâwï, see Crecelius, Roots,
37-38; and John Livingstone, “The Rise of the Shaykh al-Balad cAlï
Bey al-Kabïr: A Study in the Accuracy of the Chronicle of al-Jabarti,” Bulletin
for the School of Oriental and African Studies 33 (1970): 283-94. There
were two important CA1T Bays at this time; the patron of Ibn
al-Farid’s shrine was the elder of the two, since he was amir al-Hajj in
1173/1760.
26. See Gran, Islamic Roots, 13; and Homerin, “Shrine,” 136.
27. For example, the imitations (takhmis) by Mustafa al-Khalïlï
(fl. 1243/1830), cAbd al-Bâqï EffendT (d. 1278/1861), and Muhammad
Farghâll (d. 1316/1897); also see al-Jabartï, '■AjcPib al-athâr (Bûlâq:
n.p., 1800), 2:25-27; al-Mufiibbï, Khulâ$at al-athar fl afán al-qam al-hâdi lashar
(Beirut: Maktab Khayyât, 1966), 2:129-30, 464-65; and Shushtarî, Majá lis,
278-80. For more on the intellectual life in this period, see Gran, Islamic
Roots; and Gamal El-Din El-Shayyal, “Some Aspects of Intellectual and
Social Life in Eighteenth-Century Egypt,” in Holt, Political and Social
Change, 117-32.
28. Dahdâh’s edition of the Diwan, which does not include the al-
TcPiyah al-kubrd, was first published in Marseilles, but it was reprinted
several times in Egypt between 1289-1310/1871-92. The new commentary was a
modest grammatical one published by Amin Khürï (d. 1334/ 1916), Jala3
al-ghamid (Beirut: al-Mafbacah al-Adabïyah, 1894). The four
short biographies are by (1) CA1T Mubarak (d. 1311/1893), al-Khifaf
al- Tawfiqiyah, 5:59-60; (2) Khayr al-Dîn Ibn al-Alüsî (d. 1317/1899), Jala3
al-^aynayn (Cairo: Matbacat al-Madani, 1980), 95-98; and
in Persian (3) Macçüm cAli Shah (d. 1268/1853), TarcPiq
al-haqcPiq (Tehran: Kitâb- khânah-i $anâcî, 1960), 2:646-47; and
(4) al-Khuwânsârï (d. 1313/1895), Rawdat al-jannât (Tehran: Maktabat-i
Ismâ'ïlïyân, 1970), 5:332-35.
29. cAlï Mubârak, Khifaf al-Tawfiqtyah, 5:59; Gran, Islamic
Roots, 31; Homerin, “Shrine,” 136-37; Crecelius, “Responses,” 180-83; and
A. Lutfi al-Sayyid Marsot, Egypt in the Reign of Muhammad AH (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1984), 66-70, 143.
30. See Marsot, Egypt; Albert Hourani, Arabic Thought in the
Liberal Age: 1789-1939, rev. ed. (London: Oxford University Press, 1970),
67-102; P. J. Vatikiotis, The History of Egypt, 2d ed. (Baltimore: Johns
Hopkins University Press, 1980), 49-123; and C. Ernest Dawn, “Arab Islam in the
Modern Age,” Middle East Journal (1965): 435-36.
31. Hourani, Arabic Thought, 103-60, esp. 149-50; Fazlur
Rahman, Islam (Garden City, N.Y.: Anchor Books, 1968), 237-60; and cAli
Mubarak, al-Khifaf al-Tawfiqtyah, 5:59.
32. See the reverential account of Ibn al-Fàrid and his shrine by the
Westernizing reformer, statesman, educator, and typographer CA11 Mubarak
(1239-1311/1823-93). While Mubarak praised the poet’s verse and piety, he
carefully avoided the miraculous, particularly in stories involving Ibn al-F
arid and the greengrocer (al-Khifaf al-Tawfiqtyah, 5:59-60). For more on
cAlî Mubarak, see EI2, 1:396. Also see E. W. Lane’s An
Account of the Manners and Customs of the Modem Egyptians (1836), 5th ed.
(London: John Murray, 1871), 1:79-138, 281-347; F. De Jong, Juruq and Juruq
Linked Institutions in Nineteenth Century Egypt (Leiden: E. J. Brill,
1978); and Levtzion and Voll, Eighteenth-Century Renewal.
33. See Homerin, “Shrine,” 137.
34. Rolland Michell, An Egyptian Calendar for the Coptic Year 1617 (1900-1901)
(London: Luzac, 1900), 63. The hostel, though in disrepair, still functioned;
see n. 40.
35. Al-Manarl, no. 15 (July 1904): 331-32, quoted and
translated by Michael Gilsenan in Saint and Sufi in Modern Egypt
(Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1973), 201. For more on Ricja, see Hourani, Arabic
Thought, 22244; and Malcolm Kerr, Islamic Reform: The Political and
Legal Theories of Muhammad ^Abduh and Rashid Rida (Berkeley: University of
California Press, 1966).
36. Hourani, Arabic Thought, 232, 161-90. Also see Rahman, Islam,
237-89; and Islam and Modernity (Chicago: University of Chicago Press,
1982), 1-83.
37. Rashid Ri<Jâ, al-Manâr wa-al-Azhar (Cairo, 1934),
171-72, quoted and translated by Hourani in Arabic Thought, 225.
38. These opinions are clearly reflected in the critiques of saints
and Sufis in literary works of the period, such as Tâhâ Husayn’s al-Ayyam (1901),
M. Husayn Haykal’s Zaynab and the poems of Muhammad Ibrâhîm Hâfi? (d.
1932); see H. A. R. Gibb, Modem Trends in Islam (Chicago: University of
Chicago Press, 1947), 36-37, 49; Gilsenan, Saint and Sufi, 3; and C. C.
Adams, Islam and Modernism in Egypt (London: Oxford University Press,
1962), 215-16.
39. See Martin Lings, A Sufi Saint of the Twentieth Century,
rev. ed. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1971), esp. 80, 89, 115,
141, 163—64, 181, 187-88. The French scholar Emile Dermenghem cited a letter
from a Morrocan friend in Fez who wistfully recalled a dhikr ceremony in
which a recitation of Ibn al-Fârid’s wine-ode was the high point. But the
friend went on to complain that these ceremonies were no longer held due to a
lack of interest on the part of the younger, more Westernized generation (Emile
Dermenghem, L'Eloge du vin [Paris: Les Editions Véga, 1931], 64-67; also
see Le Culte des saints dans LIslam maghrébin, 6th ed. [Paris: Editions
Gallimard, 1954]).
40. See J. W. McPherson, The Moulids of Egypt (Cairo: Ptd. N.
M. Press, 1941), 274-75; H. Massignon, “La Cité des morts du Caire,” Opera
Minora, 3:271; Ernest Bannerth, Islamische W'allfahrtsstátten Kairos (Wiesbaden:
O. Harrassowitz, 1973), 59; and F. De Jong’s insightful critique of Bannerth in
the Journal of Semitic Studies 21 (1976): 231-37.
41. F. Dejong, personal communication.
42. See F. De Jong, “Aspects of Political Involvement of the Sufi Orders
in Twentieth Century Egypt (1907—1970)—An Exploratory StockTaking,” in Islam,
Nationalism, and Radicalism in Egypt and the Sudan, edited by G. R.
Warburg, and U. M. Kupferschmidt (New York: Praeger Special Studies, 1983),
183-212; Michael Gilsenan, Recognizing Islam (New York: Pantheon Books,
1982), 231-32, 240-43, 246-49; and Saint and Sufi, 45-46, 299; Morroe
Berger, Islam in Egypt Today (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University
Press, 1970), 68-72; Denny, “God’s Friends,” 79-82; and Reeves, Hidden
Government, 113-54.
43. The Egyptian Ministry of Awqâf for years refused to authorize the mawlid,
claiming that the caretaker of the shrine was interested only in his own
personal aggrandizement (F. De Jong, review of Bannerth, 235).
44. See Berger, Islam in Egypt, 76-78; Gilsenan, Saint and
Sufi, 144; Recognizing Islam, 229-30, 243-49; Th. Emil Homerin, “Ibn
‘Arabi in the People’s Assembly: Religion, Press, and Politics in Sadat’s
Egypt,” Middle East Journal 40 (1986): 462-77.
45. M. Silvestre de Sacy, Chrestomathie arabe (Paris:
Imprimerie Royale, 1826), 3:122—66; Arabic text, 3:52—62; J. Grangeret de Lagrange,
Anthologie arabe (Paris: Imprimerie Royale, 1828), 117-21; Arabic text
44-91; and Joseph Von Hammer-Purgstall, Das arabische Hohe Lied der Liebe (Vienna:
Kaiserl. Konigl. Hofund Staatsdrukerei, 1854). Of course, Ibn al-Fârid and his
poetry were known in the West prior to the nineteenth century. Fabricius (Specimen
arabicum [Rostock, 1638], 151) cited four verses by the poet, whom he named
Ibn Farid. These verses were reprinted with a Latin translation and notes in a
1666 manuscript by Pierre Dippy of Aleppo. The great orientalist and translator
William Jones also published a Latin translation of an ode by Ibn al-Fâriçl in
his Poeseos asiaticae commentarii (Leipzig: Weidmanni et Reichum, 1777),
79ff. See Silvestre de Sacy, Chrestomathie, 3:131-32; and Dermenghem, L'Éloge,
98-103.
46. Von Hammer-Purgstall, Das arabische, vii-xxiv; and Ignazio
Di Matteo, TlPiyyatu '‘l-kubrâ (Rome, 1917); and “Sulla mia
interpretazione del poema místico d’Ibn al-Fârid,” Rivista degli Studi
Orientali 8 (1919— 20): 479-500.
47. See Carlo A. Nallino, “Il poema místico arabo d’ Ibn al-Fârid in
una recente traduzione italiana,” Rivista degli Studi Orientali 8
(1919-20): 1-106; and “Ancora su Ibn al-Fârid e sulla mistica muslmana,” ibid.,
501-62; and R. A. Nicholson, A Literary History of the Arabs (1907;
reprint, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1969), 394—99; Studies,
199266; “The Lives of ’Umar Ibnu’l-Farid and Muhiyyu ’DDin Ibnu’l- ’Arabi,” Journal
of the Royal Asiatic Society (1906): 797-842; his article on Ibn al-Fârid,
in Ell, 3:763-64; and The Idea of Personality in Sufism (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1923), 28-32, 36-37.
48. Nicholson, Studies, viii; and Personality, 29-32.
49. Nicholson, Studies, 194; and Personality, 27-29.
50. For example, Amin al-Hasan, “Ibn al-Fârid,” a l-^ Irfân
(1925): 36971, 497-504, 718-22, 835-42; Zakl Mubârak, al-Tayawwuf al-Islâmt
fi aladab wa-al-akhldq (Cairo: Majba'at al-Risâlah, 1938), 1:288-311; and
Ahmad Fu’âd al-Ahwânï, “Tâ’ïyat cAmr ibn ‘Amr al-Basrï,” al-Kitâb
(1949): 102—5, who quoted Massignon’s similar opinions on the poet. Several
of Nicholson’s studies on Sufism, including The Idea of Personalily in
Süfism, were translated into Arabic by his student, Abu aPAlâ cAfïfï,
and published in an anthology entitled Ft al-tayawwuf al-Islámt (Cairo:
Matbacat Lajnat al-la’lif wa-al-Tarjamah wa-al-Nashr, 1969).
52. Muhammad Mustafa Hilmi, Ibn al-Fánd: sultán al-^âshiqtn
(Cairo: Matbacat Misr, 1963); and al-Hayâh al-rühtyahfial-Islâm
(Cairo: al-Hay’ah al-Misriyah aPAmmah lil-la’lïf wa-al-Nashr, 1970), 151-54.
53. For this dominant interpretation in recent Western scholarship,
see Arberry, Mystical Poems (1956), 10-11; Schimmel, Mystical
Dimensions, 274-79; As Through a Veil: Mystical Poetry in Islam (New
York: Columbia University Press, 1982), 41-45; and Martin Lings, “Mystical
Poetry,” in '-Abbasid Belles-Lettres, edited by Julia Ashtiany et al.
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), 235-64, esp. 253-60. For
Hilmi’s influence on Arab studies, see Mishal Ghurayyib, ’■Umarlbn
al-Fàridmin khilâl shfrihi (Beirut: Dâr Maktabat al-Hayâh, 1965); cÀtif
Jawdah Na$r, Shfr c Umar Ibn al-Fàrid: dirâsah fifann al-shtir
al-Sûfî (Beirut: Dâr al-Andalus, 1982); cAbd al-Khaliq Mahmud (cAbd
al-Khâliq), ShiT Ibn al-Fârid(Cairo: Dâr al-Macârif, 1984);
and his articles in the popular magazine al-Thaqâfah 31, April 1976,
80-85; 36, September 1976, 33-37; Shawqi Dayf, Fufiil fi al-shtir wa-naqdih,
3d ed. (Cairo: Dâr al-Macârif, 1988), 197—228; Abu al-Wafa
al-Taftâzânï, Madkhal i là al-tayawwuf al-Islâmt (Cairo: Dâr al-
Thaqâfah, 1974), 260-72; and his article in the magazine al-Hilâl 81,
no. 18 (July 1973): 130-39; A. S. Husayn, al-Adab al-SûfîfiMiyrfial-qam al-
sab? al-Hijri(Caiw: Dâr al-Macârif, 1971); Muhammad JaTar, al-Ta$awwuf
(Alexandria: Dâr al-Kutub al-Jâmi'ïyah, 1970), 224; Mahmud al-Munüfi, al-Ta$awwuf
al-Islâmï al-khâlL (Cairo: Dâr Nahdat Misr, 1969), 187-90; Mustafâ Mahmud, al-Sirr
al-^azam (Cairo: Dâr al-Macârif, 1970), 90-92. Also see cAbd
al-Halim Mahmud, al-Falsafah al-Süfiyah fi al-Islám (Cairo: Dâr al-Fikr
al-c Arabi, 1967), 521-33. Although this Shaykh al-Azhar placed Ibn
al-Fârid in the theosophical school of wahdat al-wujüd, Mah- mùd
generally followed Hilmi’s analysis of the poet. The only recent negative
treatment of Ibn al-Fârid which I have encountered is an account by the very
conservative cAbd al-Rahmân al-Wakïl, Hâdhihihiya al-Sûfîyah, 3d
ed. (Cairo: n.p., 1955), 24-33, whose gross misunderstanding and overly literal
reading of Ibn al-Fârid’s verse are truly remarkable.
54. See the insightful and finely illustrated study of contemporary mawlids
in Egypt by Nicolaas H. Biegman, Egypt: Moulids, Saints, Sufis (The
Hague: Gary Swartz I SDU Publications, 1990). Also see Gilsenan, Saint
and Sufi; Recognizing Islam, 75—94, 215-50; Berger, Islam in Egypt, 62-63,
86; F. De Jong, “Cairene Ziyâra Days: A Contribution to the Study of
Saint Veneration in Islam, Die Welt des Islams 17 (1976-77): 2643;
Denny, “Friends,” 79-82; and Reeves, Hidden Government, esp. 6576,
113-95.
55. See Yüsuf al-Nabhânï’s (d. 1932) Jam1 karâmât
al-awliylP (Cairo: Mustafa al-Bàbï al-Halabï, 1962), a collection of
saint’s and their miracles, still popular today; and Mahmüd al-Munüfï’s Jamharat
al-awliyiP (Cairo: Mu’assasat al-Halabï, 1967), 2:245-48. While al-Nabhânï
took many of his miracle stories directly from the Dïbâjah and
al-Munâwï, al-Munüfï, writing in the 1960s, appears to have been concerned more
with historical credibility, since he omits the incredible elements from his
account of Ibn al-Fàrid: no birds appear at the funerals, and the talking lion
is conspicuously absent. Nevertheless, al-Munüfï states that all those praying
near the saint’s resplendent tomb will be answered by God.
56. M-Whram, 21 June 1981, 14. Until this government
recognition the al-Rifa‘ïyah al-‘Amarïyah’s hold on the shrine was tenuous.
Another order, the al-Khalwatïyah al-Muhammadïyah, headed by Muhammad ‘Id
al-Shâfi‘ï, held monthly meetings at the mosque in the late 1960s, and by the
early 1970s their study groups had become weekly Thursday events. When this
latter group expressed an interest in raising money to renovate the mosque and
shrine, the Rifa'i’s viewed this as an attempt to undermine their authority
over the site (F. De Jong, pers. com.).
57. While the shaykh was alive, his certificate hung on the wall of
the shrine near the head of the gravestone. I collected most of the information
in this section from interviews made at the site in 1983-84, 1988-89, and, most
recently, in 1993. I am especially indebted to Shaykh Gâd, his wife Na'Tmah
(Umm ‘Umar), their oldest son, ‘Umar, and to the kind pilgrims. I am grateful
also to Ursula Beyer, who introduced me to the shaykh and his family in 1983.
58. For the use of needles, swords, and other instruments in contemporary
Egyptian mawlids, see Biegman, Egypt, 160-62.
59. Usually, the festivities begin several days before the most
important saint’s day. For comparable shrines and mawlids, see Biegman, Egypt;
and Reeves, Hidden Government, 77-96, 135-54. For more on the Sufi
singers and their performances of Ibn al-Fârid, see the fascinating account by
Earle H. Waugh, The Munshidtn of Egypt: Their World and Their Song: (Columbia,
S.C.: University of South Carolina Press, 1989). Tapes of several performances
of Ibn al-Farid by Yà Sïn Tuhâmai are available in Cairo, from Tasjïlât ‘Aidah
Ramadan Rahif, 41 Shari' Tal'at Harb.
1. This is v.l of a poem rhyming in “mïm” {Diwan, 205).
2.
Naguib Mahfouz,
“Za'balâwï,” Dunyâ Mlâh (1962) (Cairo: Dâr Misr lil-Tibâcah,
n.d.), 135-50, quotation from 143-44; my translation. Later Shaykh Gâd sings
again and again the beginning of v. 2 of the same ode. For a complete English
translation of the story, see “Zaabalawi,” translated by Denys Johnson-Davies,
in Modem Islamic Literature, edited by James K. Kritzeck (New York: New
American Library, 1970), 243-54. For an insightful analysis of this story, see
Sasson Somekh, ^Za'-balâwî— Author, Theme, Technique,” Journal of
Arabic Literature 1 (1970): 24-35.
3. Naguib Mahfouz, al-Li$$ wa-al-kilâb (1961) (Cairo: Dâr Mi$r
lil- Tiba'ah, n.d.); translated by Trevor Le Gassick et al. (Cairo: American
University Press, 1984). For further analysis of this and other works by
Mahfouz, see Sasson Somekh, The Changing Rhythm (Leiden: E. J. Brill,
1973); and Mattityahu Peled, Religion My Own: The Literary Works of Nagtb
Mahfûz (New Brunswick, N.J.: Transaction Books, 1983), esp. 209-17, who
refers to the presence of Ibn al-Fâriçl’s verses in the story. Also see Menahem
Milson, “Najib Mahfûz and the Quest for Meaning,” Arabica 17 (1970):
177-86; and Mohamed Mahmoud, “The Unchanging Hero in a Changing World: Najib
Mahfûz’s al-Liss wa U-Kilab," Journal of Arabic Literature 15
(1984): 58-75.
4. Mahfouz, al-Li^, 175-76; my translation.
5. Vv. 15-16 of the al-Hamziyah: Diwan, 174.
7. Mahfouz, al-Li$$, 176; my translation.
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Ayyubids. The ruling dynasty of Egypt from 1171-1250,
founded by Çalâh al-Dïn ibn Ayyüb, a Kurd known to the West as Saladin. $alah
al-Dïn conquered Egypt in 1169, which enabled him to gain control over Yemen,
the holy lands, and Syria. Following his death in 1193, the Ayyubid empire was
divided among his brothers and sons, though Egypt was the prized possession.
Among the most notable later Ayyubids was $alah al-Din’s nephew, al-Malik
al-Kamil (r. 1218—38), who thwarted the Crusaders’ attempt to take Egypt in
1221, and al-Malik al-$alih (r. 1240-50), who defeated and captured the French
king Louis IX, driving the last Crusaders from Egypt. After al-$alih’s death a
number of his mamluks seized power
in their own name, thus ending the Ayyubid dynasty.
Al-Azhar. The premier institution of higher religious
learning in Sunni Islam today,
Cairo’s al-Azhar was founded in the tenth century as a center for Shi'i propaganda. After the Aytubid conquest of Egypt in the late
twelfth century, the Azhar was converted to a Sunni establishment, and, under
the Mamluks, it became a major educational
institution for the larger Islamic world. The Azhar remained a bastion of Arab
culture after the Ottoman conquest
of Egypt in the sixteenth century, and it struggled to recover the purity of
Islam during the following centuries, which witnessed the rise of colonialism
and world hegemony by non-Muslim nations. In the twentieth century the Azhar
has continued to inculcate conservative Islamic values while resisting secular
encroachments in government and society.
BARAKAH. A God-given
blessing, sanctity, or spiritual power that may be manifest in karámát, or “miracles.”
Citadel. The fortress, palaces, and other structures
located at the edge of the Muqaftam hills overlooking Cairo, which served as
the official residence for Egyptian regimes beginning with the Aytubids and including the Mamluks, Ottomans, and Muhammad 'Ali.
dhikr. “Remembering” God; a major Sufi
ritual for inner purification and divine blessings. This ritual has a variety
of forms and specific procedures, but most of them involve the repetition by an
individual or a group, of divine names (e.g., Allah; He) or religious formulas
(e.g., “There is no god but God!”).
dïwàn. A collection
of poetry by a single author.
FÁRip. A women’s
advocate who draws up the legal shares on their behalf in matters such as
inheritance, abandonment, and divorce.
Fustát. The original garrison “camp” founded by the conquering
Muslim armies in 640 c.e., the
city became a suburb of Cairo after the latter’s creation in 969 c.e.
hadIth. A report of the Prophet Muhammad’s sayings or actions—his sunnah, or “custom.” The collected,
traditionally reliable reports have been second only to the Qur’an as a source
of law. In addition to the thousands of “prophetic” hadtth there are
about a hundred “holy” hadtth (al-hadtth al-qudst), which claim to
relate God’s words as told to Muhammad but are not included in the Qur’an.
Among these latter hadtth is the saying quoted earlier regarding God’s
declaration of war on the enemy of His walI,
or “saint.” Though a source for religious inspiration, these “holy” traditions
may not be used in the five daily ritual prayers, and their authenticity has
been questioned by many Muslims over the centuries.
HADRAH. A Sufi gathering or session for performing
dhikr and other rituals in the
hopes of gaining the proximity and favor of God’s “presence” or that of His
prophet Muhammad.
hanafI. A member of the first of four major Sunni law schools, and the one named after Abû Hanïfah (d.
150/767).
HANBALi. A member of
the fourth and final major Sunni
law school, founded by the hadIth
collector and conservative reformer Ahmad ibn Hanbal (d. 241/855).
al-huàz. The region of western Arabia along the Red Sea
coast containing the two most holy cities in Islam, Mecca and Medina.
hulCjl/hulCjlIyah. The “indwelling,” or “incarnation,” of God or
divinity in a creature. Understandably associated with Christianity,
incarnationist beliefs and doctrines have been considered a form of polytheism
by most Muslims, both mystics and nonmystics alike.
UÀZAH. An
“authorization,” or “license,” certifying the right to teach and transmit a
specific work (e.g., a dïwàn of
poetry) or ritual technique (e.g., dhikr,
or religious singing; í^munshid).
imàm. Originally a “leader” of the daily ritual prayers, in Sunni Islam the term is also applied to
men of great religious expertise, such as the founders of the four major law
schools. In ShFl Islam imàm designates
any of a handful of direct male descendants of Muhammad’s cousin and son-in-law,
'All, who are often believed to have been infallibly guided by God and sinless.
ittihàd/ittihàdîyah. A frequent Sufi
term for mystical union suggesting a “uniting” or “unification” of two or more
things, whether substantially identical (e.g., water mixing with water) or
different but indistinguishable (water in wine). Some Muslims have regarded
belief in union between the divine and human as incarnationism (hulül/hulüliyah) and, hence,
polytheism. On the other hand, many Sufis have maintained that union is
metaphorical; since only God truly exists, there is, in fact, no “uniting” (ittihàd), only “unity,” or “oneness” (wahdah/tawhid).
karàmah/karàmàt. A “grace” from God, often of a miraculous nature,
demonstrating its recipient’s special blessings (barakah)
and divine favor. Traditionally, such gifts are among the surest proofs of a walI, or “saint.”
KASHF. An
“unveiling,” or “revelation,” of hidden truths indicating rare spiritual
insight; gnosis.
khànqàh. A Sufi
hostel or monastery. Often quite large and administering to the needs of
itinerant mystics, a khànqàh was frequently under the control of a
specific Sufi order (tarIqah) for
the teaching and transmission of its mystical doctrines, exercises, and
rituals.
KHUSHDASH.
Companions, in slavery and manumission whose common experiences as mamluks forged strong bonds of loyalty
among themselves.
Maliki. A member of the second of four major Sunni law schools and the one founded by Malik ibn Anas (d.
179/795).
Mamluks. A ruling dynasty of Egypt composed largely of
mamluks, royal “slave” soldiers who succeeded their Ayyubid masters in 1250.
Frequently of Kipchak Turkish and, later, Circassian origin, the dominant
mamluks purchased their own slave soldiers and so perpetuated the mamluk
system for centuries. While the Mamluk sultan usually had been a slave soldier,
there were notable exceptions such as al-Nâçir Muhammad (r. 1293-94,
1298-1340), son of the sultan Qalâ’ûn. Other sons of the Mamluks became
scholars and members of the 'ulamà’,
while daughters married among the upper social strata. The Mamluks were
important to Egyptian and Islamic history both as great patrons of the arts and
as defenders of the faith; the Mamluks time and again defeated the Mongol
hordes, which had devastated other portions of the Muslim world. The Mamluk
dynasty finally succumbed to the disciplined Ottoman
armies in 1517, but Mamluk slave soldiers remained in positions of power and
authority until their final slaughter in 1811, by the Westernizing ruler Muhammad
'Ali (r. 1805-48).
mawlid. A “saint’s day” to commemorate the birth and/or death of a wali, or “saint.” Not surprisingly, the
most celebrated mawlidis the mawlidal-Nabi, the “birthday” of the
prophet Muhammad.
monism. A belief or doctrine that posits oneness, or unity, as the
defining characteristic of reality. To account for the apparent multiplicity
of existence, some monistic views conceive of all things as manifestations or
reflections of a single, necessary God—like the sun and its rays or its
reflection in the moon. Similarly, other monistic systems perceive things as
various forms of a single substance—like different objects with different
purposes but all made of gold. (See ITTIHAD and WAHDAT AL-WUJÜd).
Muhammad. According to Islamic tradition, the final
prophet sent by God to guide humanity to the straight path and to warn humans
of the impending judgment day. Muhammad’s revelations began around 610 c.e. and continued until his death in
11/632. These revelations were collected into the Qur’an while Muhammad’s personal
sayings and actions, his “custom” (sunnah),
were collected and codified in hadith.
munshid. A “singer” of religious songs and poetry and
often the featured event of dhikr
and samAc sessions. To
become recognized singers, individuals must undergo a rigorous training to earn
certification (ijâzah) in various
Sufi doctrines, genres of poetry,
and ritual and performative techniques.
NAFS. The
“concupiscence,” or “animal soul,” which each individual must tame in order to
lead a God-fearing and pure life free of selfishness.
Ottomans. The Turkish dynasty named for a frontier
warrior, Osman ( = Ottoman), who carved out an amirate in Anatolia at the end
of the fourteenth century. The Ottomans steadily expanded their empire into the
Middle East and Eastern Europe, taking Constantinople in 1453. Ruling from this
capital, renamed Istanbul, the Ottoman sultans led their superior armies on
annual campaigns, and in 1517 Selim I (r. 1512-20) defeated the Mamluks and relegated Egypt to an
Ottoman province. While the Ottomans continued to enjoy success, especially
during the reign of Sulaymân the Magnificent (r. 1520-66), their Egyptian
province was ruled by a succession of governors who organized the remaining
Mamluks into a kind of feudal order. As the Ottoman expansionist economy slowed
with dwindling opportunities for new and substantial conquests, local power
groups, such as the Qâzdughlî Mamluks in Egypt, asserted their autonomy from
Istanbul, and the Ottoman dynasty fell into a long spiral of administrative and
economic decline. In the nineteenth century the Ottomans continued to lose
ground to European colonial powers and to Muhammad ‘All (r. 1805-48), the ruler
of Egypt. The Ottoman sultanate was officially abolished by Atatürk in 1921.
QÀDi. A
“judge” and legal arbiter in personal disputes, appointed by the state and, in
the Ayyubid, Mamluk, and Ottoman empires, a member of one of the
four major Sunni law schools.
QÀpi AL-QUDÁT. The “judge of
Judges,” or chief justice.
QASiDAH. The formal
“ode” and major poetic form of classical Arabic literature.
al-Qur’án. The “recitation,” or revelations, brought by
Muhammad to humanity between 610-32 c.e.,
and the Muslim holy scripture. The Qur’an claims to be the inimitable word of
God, revealed in a clear Arabic language; it consists of 114 chapters of
varying lengths from 3 to 286 verses.
ráwí. A “transmitter” of verse by one or more poets. An individual
became a certified râwt by memorizing and accurately reciting the verse
by designated master poets.
samàc. The “audition” of scripture, verse, or song for
the purpose of attaining ecstasy or proximity to the divine. A controversial
practice, the Sufi orders (taríqah)
developed specific rules and rituals for their samac
sessions, which frequently revolved around a performance by professional
singers (munshid).
Sháfi'í. A member of the third of four major Sunni law schools and the one founded by
the legal systematizer Idris al-Shâficï (d. 204/819).
SHAYKH. A general
title of respect for a tribal chief or an elderly religious man; in a Sufi
order (tarIqah), a shaykh is a
spiritual guide and, often, head of the order. In Mamluk sources the title may also refer to a holder of
certain paid positions in religious and academic institutions.
shaykh al-Islàm. A title held by the chief justice, the qád¡ al-qudàt, in the Mamluk empire.
shaykh AL-SHUYÜKH. The “shaykh of shaykhs”
was originally a title of respect for the head of the prestigious first khànqàh in Cairo, the Sa'ïd al-Sucada’,
or al-$alâhïyah; later the title was given to the rectors of other Sufi establishments as well.
ShI'ah. Originally the “party” supporting the political claims of Muhammad’s
cousin and son-in-law, ‘All ibn Abî Tâlib, to be caliph (r. 35-40/656-61).
Following cAlï’s death in 40/661, allegiance was transferred to his
sons and, subsequently, to various of their direct male descendants who the Shi'ah recognized as the only legitimate
leaders (imàms) of the Muslim
community. 'All and the other imams also came to be venerated by most Shi'ah as infallible and sinless
religious figures believed to possess a secret spiritual wisdom entrusted to
them by the prophet Muhammad shortly before his death.
Shi1!. An adherent
of a ShI'ah interpretation of
Islam.
Süfï. Meaning “one who wears wool,” this term was originally
applied in the eighth century to Muslim ascetics. Subsequently, Sufi came to
designate a Muslim mystic, an individual seeking a personal and experiential
proximity to God. As in other religions, mystics in Islam often have been
members of the religious elite (‘ulamâ’),
and Sufis have developed their own doctrines, orders (tarIqahs), and rituals, such as dhikr and samâ‘,
to help them in their spiritual quests. In addition, by the fifteenth century
the term Sufi appears in Mamluk endowment deeds as an occupational
category for paid positions involving instruction in Sufism and the performance
of Sufi rituals, whose blessings were to be conferred on the benefactor.
sunnah. The “custom” of the prophet Muhammad, preserved and
transmitted in collected traditions, or hadíth.
Sunni. A follower of the teachings and “custom” of the prophet
Muhammad; Sunnis have constituted the vast majority of Muslims over the
centuries. By contrast, a Shî‘1
follows, in addition to Muhammad’s custom, the teachings, sayings, and customs
of the recognized IMAMS.
ta’wil. The
metaphorical “interpretation” of scripture or verse.
tarIqah (pl. turuq). A Sufi “path,” or “way,” usually
designating an organized mystical order with its own specific teachings,
discipline, and rituals, especially dhikr.
There are over twenty major orders with hundreds of branches.
theosophy. A philosophy or religious system claimed to be
based largely on direct spiritual contact with a divine reality.
‘ulamâ’. A collective term for Islamic religious experts,
“those who know” the Qur’an, hadtth, and divine law. Originally a group
of pious Muslims knowledgeable in these sources, the zulam¿P
soon became professionals specializing in a wide variety of areas including
Qur- ’ânic exegesis, hadith, theology, and mysticism, though their core
curriculum has remained law and jurisprudence. While members of the '■ulamcP
have opposed tyrannical or secularizing regimes, the religious establishment
has been heavily dependent on state support and patronage.
WAHDAT
AL-WUJÜD. “Unity of being,” the name given to Muhyi al-Din Ibn al-‘Arabï’s
(d. 637/1240) abstruse teachings on reality and the mystical quest for gnosis.
His nondualistic theosophy posits that all existence is the outward appearance
of one true and necessary being and, thus, things have only relative, not
absolute, existence. Once this truth is grasped one will find real oneness (tawhid/wahdah/ ITTIHAD).
WALi (pl. awliyà’). A “protector” or “protected friend,” the term
most frequently used in Islam to designate God’s elect, or “saints,” whom He
has graced with blessings (barakah)
manifest in miracles (kar- àmât)
and to whom He has granted the right of intercession with Him on the behalf of
others.
waqt (pl. awqât). A
“moment” of mystical ecstasy or religious inspiration; the “eternal now.”
Wujüdï. An adherent of the theosophical,
often monistic, doctrines of
WAHDAT AL-WUJÚD.
zàwiyah. A hostel or meeting place for Sufis, normally of modest size and
endowment and frequently associated with a specific Sufi order. Or TAR1QAH.
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‘Abd al-Rahmân ibn ‘Umar
Ibn al-Fâri<J, 20, 48
Abü al-Fidâ, Ismâ'îl, 24
Abü Hayyân, Muhammad, 31
al-‘Alawï, Ahmad of
Mostaganem, 87
‘Alï, Sibt Ibn al-Fâriçl:
as a hagiographer, 33-34, 41, 44, 49, 53; Dîbàjah of, 20-21, 24, 32-54,
56, 84, 93, 107n.3; life of, 33, 40, 56, 107n.l
‘All Bay al-Ghazzâwï, 83,
127n.25
‘AIT ibn Abï Tâlib, 4,
139-40
‘Alï ibn Khâ$$ Bay, 1,
73, 122n.73
al-Ançârî, Zakariyâ,
69-73, 121 n.67
al-Ashraf ibn Qalâ’ün
(Mamluk Sultan of Egypt), 42-43, llOn.33
al-‘Attâr, Yahyâ, 16, 22
al-Aykî, Shams al-Dîn:
and the al-Tâ'tyah al-kubrâ, 29; argument with Ibn Bint al-A‘azz, 30,
40-42, 44, 60
Ayyubids, 20-22, 135
al-Badawî, al-Sayyid, 94
Barakah (spiritual
power; charisma): 2, 135; of Ibn al- Fârid, 34, 46, 57, 70, 135
Barqüq al-Nâ?irï, 60-62,
67, 69, 75, 117n.26, 117n.28
Bars Bây (Mamluk Sultan
of Egypt), 59-60
Baydarâ al-Mançüri, 1
lin.39
al-Biqâ‘l, Ibrâhîm,
62-75, 118n.37, 123n.82
al-Bisâçî, Muhammad,
59-60
al-Bukhârî, Muhammad ibn
Muhammad, 59-60
al-Bulqînî, Sirâj al-Dîn,
59
al-Bürînï, al-Hasan, 84
Camus, Albert, 95
DahÜâh. Rushayyid, 84
al-Dhahabï, Muhammad,
57-58, 65
Dhikr (remembrance): in
classical poetry, 10; in Ibn al- Farid’s verse, 10-14; mentioned in the Qur’an,
9; Sufi practice of, 9-11, 79-80, 85, 91, 94-95, lOOn. 14, 129 n.39, 136; see
also samac
Evliyâ Celebi, 78-79,
82-83
al-Farghânï, Sa‘ïd
al-Dïn, 27-31, 58, 59, 63
Fâtimah (daughter of the
prophet Muhammad), 4 al-Fayyumi, ‘All, 49, 55-56, 107 n.l
Gad, Shaykh Gad Salim,
90-92, 94 al-Ghazzâll, Abu Hamid, 3, 63
Hadith, 3, 8, 10, 136
Hilml, Muhammad Mustafa,
89 al-Hindï, Sirâj al-Dln, 58 al-Hi$nl, làqï al-Dln, 73
Hulûl
(incarnation), 30-31, 40-41, 63, 70, 72, 106n.51, 136; see also wahdat
al-wujûd
al-Husayn ibn ‘AH, 4
Ibn ‘Abd al-Salam, ‘Abd
al-‘Azlz, 31
Ibn Abl Hajalah, Ahmad,
58
Ibn al-Ahdal, al-Husayn,
58
Ibn al-A‘ma, 22
Ibn al-‘Arabi, Muhyl al-Dln, 28-31, 59, 63-64, 73, 75, 77-78,
87-89, 124n.2
Ibn al-Fâriçl, ‘Umar: as a hadith scholar, 15-16, 22,
76; as a poet, 4-19, 21-24, 36, 38-39, 45-46, 48-49, 5152, 55-58, 60, 65, 78,
88-89, 93-97, 125 n.9; as a saint, 4, 33, 45-46, 51-53, 56-57, 63, 65, 75-83,
9094, 97, 132 n.55; as a Sufi, 16, 24-30, 34-38, 45, 4748, 56-57, 88-89;
commentary on, 11, 27-30, 55-56, 58-60, 62-65, 75, 78, 84, 87, 96, 108n. 16,
113n.55, 118n.35, 118n.36, 123n.83, 124n.2, 125n.l0; death and burial of,
50-53; Dtwân of, 4-5, 17, 19, 58, 78, 84, 88; education of, 15-16, 20; al-Jtmiyah
of, 82; al- Khamrfyah (Wine-ode) of, 5, 11, 14, 129n.39; life of, 15-22;
opponents of, 30-32, 57-60, 62-75, 84, 93, 119n.41; shrine/grave of, 4, 15-16,
38, 52-53, 56-57, 60-62, 65, 75-85, 87, 90-93; al-Tâ'tyah al-kubrâ (Greater
Poem in “T”) of, 5, 11-14, 17, 19, 24, 2731, 38-40, 44, 58-60, 62-67, 70, 72,
76-77, 79, 88, 91, 109n.20, 115n.ll, 115n.l5, 124n.2; see also bar- akah,
dhikr, karamah, pilgrimage, samâ\ al-Suhrawardi
Ibn al-Furât, Muhammad,
41-44
Ibn al-Ghars, Badral-Dïn,
64-65J 68, 118n.39
Ibn al-Humám, Muhammad,
60
Ibn al-‘Imád, ‘Abd
al-Hayy, 76
Ibn al-Khiyamï, Muhammad,
23-24, 104n.31
Ibn al-Mulaqqin, ‘Umar,
56
Ibn al-Najjâr, Muhammad,
20, 22
Ibn al-Qasçallânï,
al-Qutb, 30
Ibn al-Qattân, Muhammad,
68, 74, 120n.54
Ibn al-Sal‘üs, Muhammad,
40-44, 110n.34
Ibn al-Shamma‘, Zayn
al-Dín, 71
Ibn al-Shihnah, ‘Abd
al-Barr ibn Muhammad, 62, 68, 74
Ibn al-Shihnah, Muhammad,
62, 66, 68, 73-74
Ibn al-Zayyât, Muhammad
Abü ‘Abd Allah, 56-57
Ibn ‘Asâkir, al-Qásim,
15-16
Ibn Bine
al-A‘azz, ‘Abd al-Rahmán: argument with al- Aykí 30, 40-42, 44, 60; opinion on
Ibn al-Fâri<J’s verse, 30, 40; persecution of by Ibn al-Sal‘üs, 40, 4344
Ibn Duqmâq, Ibrâhîm, 56
Ibn Hajar al-‘Asqalânï,
Ahmad, 58-59, 68, 77, 116n. 17
Ibn Hamdan, Ahmad, 31
Ibn Ilyas, Muhammad, 77
Ibn Imam al-Kâmilïyah,
Muhammad, 62, 73
Ibn Iskandar al-Rümï, 77
Ibn Isrâ’îl, Muhammad, 22-24,
103n.29, 104n.32
Ibn lyâs, Muhammad, 69-71
Ibn Khaldün, ‘Abd
al-Rahman, 58, 77
Ibn Khallikân, Ahmad,
16-19
Ibn Matrüh, Jamâl al-Din,
102 n. 15, 103n.20
Ibn Muzhir, Abu Bakr,
69-71, 74
Ibn Qânsûh min Sadiq,
Muhammad, 66
Ibn Qutlübughâ, Qâsim, 68
Ibn Sana’ al-Mulk, Abü
al-Qâsim, 21, 103n.20
Ibn Sharaf al-Jawjarî,
‘Abd al-Wahhâb, 69, 74, 120n.54
Ibn Taymîyah, Ahmad,
31-32, 57, 84, 113n.55
Ibn‘Unayn, Muhammad, 102
n. 15, 103 n.20
Ijâzah
(certification), 22, 53-54, 136
Ismâ'ïl (Khedive of
Egypt), 85
al-Ja‘barï, Ibrâhîm,
51-54
Jâd, Shaykh Jâd Salîm. See
Gâd, Shaykh Gâd Salïm
Jamîlah Hânum, 85
al-Jawjarî. See
Ibn Sharaf al-Jawjarî
al-Kâfiyâjî, Muhammad, 74
al-Kalâbâdhî, Muhammad, 3
Kamâl al-Din Muhammad ibn
‘Umar Ibn al-Fâriçl, 20, 22, 29, 33, 37-38, 48-51, 53
Karâmah (miracle): 2,
77-78, 137; and Ibn al-Fârid, 33, 47, 53-54, 56, 77-79, 91
al-Kâshânï, ‘Izz al-Dïn,
28-29, 105 n.43
al-Khatïb al-Jawhari, ‘All ibn Dâ’üd al-$ayrafi,
68, 72-73 Khushdash (fellow slaves), 61, 69, 121 n.6O, 137
al-Kinànï, ‘Izz al-Dïn,
62, 73-74, 122n.76
Madyan ibn Ahmad, Shaykh,
77
al-Mahallï, Nûr al-Dïn
‘Alï, 74, 123n.83
Mahfouz, Naguib, 94-97
Mahfüz, Najib. See
Mahfouz, Naguib
al-Malik al-Kâmil,
Muhammad (Ayyubid Sultan of Egypt), 20-22, 34-35, 45-47, 135
Mamluks, 40-44, 54, 60-62,
68-69, 83, 137-38
al-Mansürï, Ahmad, 66
al-Maqbalï, Sâlih, 77
al-Matbulï, Ibrâhîm,
65-66, 74, 122 n.80
Mawlid (Saint’s
day): 85-88, 90, 131 n.54, 138; of Ibn al- Fârid, 60, 79, 85, 87-88, 90-91
Mecca: 9, 33;
Ibn al-Fârid’s stay in, 16, 20, 25-26, 36, 49
Medina, 7
Miracles. See karâmah
Mîthâq (primordial
covenant), 8-9, 11
Monism (Arabic: ittihâd).
See wahdat al-wujüd
Muhammad, the prophet, 4,
8, 10, 18, 30-31, 38-39, 41, 52, 63, 79-80, 89, 138
Muhammad ‘Alï (Khedive of
Egypt), 84-85, 139
Muhammad ibn ‘Umar Ibn
al-Fârid. See Kamâl al-Dïn
Muhammad
al-Munâwï, Muhammad,
76-77
al-Mundhirï, Zakï al-Dïn,
15-16, 22
al-Munüfï, ‘Abd al-‘Azïz,
25-26
Nafïsah, al-Sayyidah, 94
al-Nâbulusï, ‘Abd
al-Ghânï, 78, 80-84, 86-87
Nallino, C. A., 88-89
Nicholson, R. A., 88-89
Ottomans, 61, 76-77, 83,
138-39
Pilgrimage:
in Ibn al-Fârid’s verse, 9-11; of Ibn al-Fâriçl to Mecca, 9, 20, 24, 47-49; to
Ibn al-Fârid’s shrine, 53, 56-57, 62, 65-66, 75, 78-80, 84-85, 91
Poetry: as political panegyric, 21, 103 n. 20; inducing
trance, 25, 45, 48, 50-51; mystical interpretation (ta'wil) of, 31,
59-60, 62-65, 70, 72; reciter (ràwï) of 22, 139; teaching of, 22
Qâ’it Bay (Mamluk Sultan
of Egypt), 1, 61-62, 67-69, 71-75, 121 n.60
Qalâ’ün, al-Mansür
(Mamluk Sultan of Egypt), 40, 4243, llln.34
Qarâfah, 1, 15, 56-57, 73
Qasîdah (ode), 5, 96,
100n.7
al-Qaysarl, Dâ’ûd, 28-29,
105n.44
Qâzdughlï Mamluks, 83-84,
138-39
al-Qunawl, Sadr al-Dln,
29-31
Qur’an, 2-3, 5, 7-10, 14,
28, 39, 41-42, 63-64, 76, 7882, 90-91, 126n.l6, 139
al-Qüçï, 'Abd al-Ghaffar,
24-26
Râbi'ah al-Adawlyah, 52
Rida, Muhammad Rashid,
85-87
al-Rûml, Jalal al-Dln, 86
Sadat, Anwar, 90
al-$afadï, $alah al-Din
Khalil, 20, 55
Sainthood (Arabic: wilâyah),
1-4, 33, 36, 53, 67, 126n.21, 126n.22, 127n.23; see also wait
al-Sakhawl, Muhammad, 62,
67-68, 71
Salah al-Dln ibn Ayyüb
(Saladin), 21, 135
Sama (audition):
and Ibn al-Earid’s verse, 12-14, 2527, 34, 82-83; Sufi practice of, 12, 24,
27, 91, 100n.l7, 139
al-Sayrafl. See
al-Khatlb al-Jawharl
Selim I (Ottoman Sultan),
76, 138
al-Sha'rânî, 'Abd
al-Wahhâb, 71-73
Sibt Ibn al-Earid, 'All. See
'All, Sibt Ibn al-Eârid
Sufism: early development of, 2-4, 140; opinions on dealing
with rulers, 47, 112n.45, 116n.22; orders of (Arabic: tariqah), 3, 49,
90-92, 132n.56, 140; reformist criticisms of, 84-88; see also dhtkr:
sama", wahdat al-wujüd
al-Suhrawardl, 'Umar, 20,
47-49, 65
Sulaymân (Ottoman
Sultan), 77, 138
Sunnah (custom), 8,
140
al-Suyütl, Jalâl al-Dln,
65, 67
làshkôprüzâde, Ahmad ibn
Mustafa, 76
al-Tilimsânî, 'Afif
al-Dln, 30-31
Timur al-Ibrâhïmï, 60-61
Timur min Mahmud Shah,
74, 123n.81
al-Tuhâmai, Yâ Sin, 91,
94
al-Udfuwï, Ja'far, 56, 58
Umm ‘Umar, 91-92
Wahdai al-wujûd (unity of
being), 28-31, 57-60, 62-67, 70, 72, 76-77, 84, 88, 106n.51, 137-38, 140-41; see
also hulül
Wall (saint; pl. awliya’Y
2, 41, 53, 60, 63, 67, 81-87, 89, 99n.2, 99n.5, 141
al-Wazïrï, al-Khatïb,
67-68, 74, 120n.54
al-Yâfi‘ï, ‘Abd Allah, 56
Zuhayr, Bahâ’ al-Din,
102n.l5, 103n.20
[I] And halt at Salc
and say to the valley:
[III] have written it according to
their usage, though they do not observe the final vowels or voweling. Rather,
they allow grammatical error; indeed, most of it is ungrammatical. So, let him
who comes upon it not censure it.
[V] found an old man there, a
greengrocer at the door of the law school doing ablutions out of order; he
washed his hands, then his legs, then he wiped his head and washed his face.
So I
said to him, “Oh shaykh, you are this old, in the land of Islam, at the door of
the law school, among the scholars of Muslim jurisprudence, yet you are doing
the ablutions out of the order prescribed by religion?”
He
looked at me and said, “Oh 'Umar! You will not be enlightened in Egypt. You
will be enlightened only in the
[VI] said to a butcher: “I love you,
but oh how you cut and kill me!”
He said: “That’s my business,
so you scold me?”
He bent to kiss my foot to win me, but he wanted
my slaughter, so he breathed on me to skin me.
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