Ibn 'Arabi – Mi'rāj al-kalima, by Michel Chodkiewicz
Transcript of Ibn 'Arabi – Mi'rāj al-kalima, by Michel Chodkiewicz
Ibn 'Arabi – Mi'rāj al-kalima, by Michel Chodkiewicz
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The Muhyiddin Ibn 'Arabi Society
Mi'rāj al-kalimaFrom the Risāla Qushayriyya to the Futūhāt Makkiyya
Michel Chodkiewicz
In the section of the Rūh al-quds which Ibn 'Arabī dedicates to
one of his earliest masters, Abū Ya'qūb Yūsuf b. Yakhlaf al-
Qummī,[1] he states: "I had never at that time seen the Risāla
of al-Qushayrī, nor any similar work, and I was unaware of
what the word tasawwuf signified."[2] He then recounts that
one day Yūsuf al-Qummī, leaving on horseback in the direction
of a mountain situated not far from Seville, arranged to meet
him there with one of his companions. The latter carried with
him a copy of this Risāla, and Ibn 'Arabī again states that he
was as unaware of its contents as he was of its author. Having
met up with their shaykh at the top of the mountain, the two
young people performed the mid-day prayer behind him, in a
mosque which had been constructed in the place. Then,
turning his back to the qibla, [the shaykh] handed me
the Risāla and said to me: "Read!" The reverential
fear which I experienced left me incapable of putting
two words together, and the book fell from my hand.
He then said to my companion: "Read!" The latter
began to read and the shaykh set about giving an
uninterrupted commentary which lasted until the
moment we had carried out the 'asr (afternoon)
prayer.
One date mentioned on two occasions in the Futūhāt in
connection with Yūsuf al-Qummī suggests that Ibn 'Arabī knew
this shaykh in 586/1190. He was thus at that time aged
twenty-six (lunar years). Less than ten years later, the first
works which he writes testify that he has acquired a perfect
mastery of the technical vocabulary of tasawwuf and that he
has become familiar with the great classical texts. In the
Muhādarat al-abrār,[3] admittedly a book written much later,
Ibn 'Arabī gives a list of authors from whom he drew some of
the material in this miscellaneous collection: the Risāla occupies
a prominent place alongside the works of al-Sulamī, Abū
Nu'aym and Ibn al-Jawzī, for example. All the same, it is
seldom referred to in the writings of the Shaykh al-Akbar,[4]
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Denis Gril
Reproduced from theJournal of theMuhyiddin Ibn 'ArabiSociety, Volume 45,2009.
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and generally only when referring to a remark ascribed to one
of the rijāl of the Risāla. In spite of the relative infrequency of
explicit cross-referencing, it nevertheless remains true that Ibn
'Arabī viewed the work of al-Qushayrī as a major reference, as
is confirmed by an attentive study of the Futūhāt Makkiyya.
The structure of the Futūhāt can be considered from several
points of view, which sometimes leads to confusion as to the
exact placing of a quotation mentioned by various former
commentators who had only manuscripts at their disposal. To
begin with, there is a physical division of the work into thirty-
seven volumes (sifr/asfār) in the autograph manuscript, on
which O. Yahia based his edition of the work. Each of these
volumes in turn comprises seven parts, giving a total of 259
juz'/ajzā'. More significant to the structure of this opus magnum
is its division into six sections (fasl/fusūl), each of which has a
title that describes its content. This produces a further division
into 560 chapters (bāb/abwāb),[5] where the number of
chapters in each fasl clearly has a symbolic nature.[6]
It is on the second section – the fasl al-mu'āmalāt – that we
shall concentrate our attention here. Amounting to 115
chapters, this number is explained in a hadīth, quoted by Hakīm
al-Tirmidhī in his famous questionnaire, according to which
"Allāh has 117 characteristics".[7] In his responses to the three
questions which relate to this prophetic saying, Ibn 'Arabī states
first of all that only the prophets can experience the fullness of
‘taste’ (dhawq) of these ‘divine characteristics’, but that the
awliya' nevertheless benefit from participating in these spiritual
pleasures. Then he points out that whereas other rusul, in
varying degrees corresponding to their position within the
hierarchy of Envoys, have access in the best of cases only to
115 of the Divine akhlāq, Muhammad possesses all of them. In
the context of akbarian prophetology, the most likely
explanation of these two parts being reserved exclusively for the
Prophet of Islam is that they constitute a privilege linked to the
two aspects by which his function is distinguished from that of
all other rusul, that is to say, his priority ("I was a prophet
before Adam was between water and clay")[8] and his
conclusive finality, since the Revelation is permanently ‘sealed’
by the coming down of the Qur'an ("there is no prophet after
me").[9] The significance of the number of chapters [10] thus
becomes clear. In their quality as "heirs to earlier
prophets",[11] the Muhammadian awliyā' are entitled to hope
to taste the flavour of 115 of the Divine akhlāq, while passing
through the three stages of ta'alluq (‘adherence’ to the Divine
characteristics), takhalluq (appropriation of these
characteristics) and tahaqquq (their full realisation).[12]
The initial section of the Futūhāt is the fasl al-ma'ārif, and the
Full moon in Cordoba
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purpose of this study of fundamental doctrinal knowledge is
indicated by the very long chapter 73 which concludes it: we
find therein an extremely detailed analysis of the nature,
function, modes and degrees of sainthood.[13] The teaching
dispensed in the preceding chapters has the clear objective of
preparing the disciple to embark upon the path which will lead
him to walāya. Furthermore, he will have to put into practice
the knowledge that he has received. It is this moving into the
experiential stage that the fasl al-mu'āmalāt will be dedicated
to, the latter word having here a very different sense from that
which it normally has in works on fiqh.
At first glance, starting with an examination of the table of
contents, one might conclude that the section on the mu'āmalāt
(from chapters 74 to 188 inclusive) deals with the exercise of
virtues. Even if the ‘heroic’ practice of these is not a strict
criterion of sainthood in akbarian teaching, as it is in the
canonisation procedure of the Roman church,[14] it goes
without saying that it is a necessary condition. However, as we
shall see, such an evaluation of the chapters’ contents, without
being wrong as such, remains wholly inadequate. A deeper
inspection is required as soon as we consider the order of the
contents, that is to say, the actual structure of the fasl: it very
quickly becomes clear that this structure is rigorously based on
the Risāla Qushayriyya.[15] After an introduction, which is
basically a brief memorial to the mashāyikh al-tarīq, and a
series of explanations on the meaning of some forty technical
terms used in Sufism,[16] the Risāla is essentially composed of
chapters which are dedicated, as the author says, to an
exposition (sharh) of the ‘stations’ and then the ‘states’ of the
Way.
Let us return now to the list of themes dealt with successively in
the first thirteen chapters of this central part of the Risāla as
summarised in the titles of these chapters: (1) tawba, (2)
mujāhada, (3), khalwa, (4) 'uzla, (5) taqwā, (6) wara', (7)
zuhd, (8) samt, (9) khawf, (10) rajā', (11) huzn, (12) jū', (13)
mukhālafat al-nafs. It is obvious from the titles chosen by Ibn
'Arabī that the order of the subjects at the beginning of the
second section of the Futūhāt is exactly the same. However,
while al-Qushayrī deals with this material in thirteen chapters,
in the corresponding part of Ibn 'Arabī’s fasl al-mu'āmalāt there
are no less than thirty-nine, due to a reduction in the treatment
of each of the subjects handled. Thus, for example, on the
subject of khalwa (retreat), which al-Qushayrī makes the
subject of a single chapter along with the related theme of 'uzla
(seclusion), Ibn 'Arabī devotes six separate chapters: two on
khalwa, two on 'uzla and two on firār, the ‘flight’ towards God,
corollary of the ‘retreat’ from the world. We note a similar
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enrichment of description on the theme of taqwā, which is
considered from various different aspects in four separate
chapters, which are completed by a series of three further
chapters devoted to the principles (usūl) from which the legal
statutes derive, the farā'id (obligatory acts), and lastly the
nawāfil (supererogatory acts). Ibn 'Arabī points out[17] that it
would have been more logical to speak of the usūl al-shar'
before the series of chapters in the first fasl relating to 'ibādāt,
but that in his work the order of the material does not result
from a personal choice. He compares this apparent incoherence
to the disconcerting sequence of verses in the Qur'an, which
would appear to have no connection with each other.[18] This
explanation is not an isolated case: time and time again, Ibn
'Arabī states that his writings have been composed whilst in the
grip of an inspiration that dictates to him not only the contents
but also the ordering.[19] However, one may observe that the
transition from the idea of taqwā to that of sacred Law can be
explained quite well, given that the sharī'a defines the rules of
this ‘reverential piety’, which is one of the meanings of the
word taqwā. As al-Qushayrī puts it, it consists "of protecting
oneself from God’s punishment through obedience to Him [i.e.
His Law]."[20]
The parallel between the structure of the Risāla and the section
on the mu'āmalāt continues without the slightest divergence
from beginning to end. This can be illustrated by means of a
second example, concerning this time the final themes
discussed in this part of the Risāla. The last eight chapters
cover the following subjects: (1) al-khurūj min al-dunyā, (2) al-
ma'rifa, (3) al-mahabba, (4) al-shawq, (5) hifz qulūb al-
mashāyikh, (6) al-samā', (7) al-karāmāt, (8) al-ru'yā. These
themes are taken up again in the same order in the Futūhāt,
but spread over thirteen chapters. In total, the number of
chapters is more than doubled in the work of Ibn 'Arabī, since
the fifty-one chapters of the Risāla correspond to 115 chapters
in the Futūhāt.
However, this is not just a matter of a simple quantitative
development – of an extensive gloss on a concise text – which
in itself would be hardly distinguishable from the usual practice
of commentators. Although the Risāla is cited briefly only once
and in a critical manner in the fasl al-mu'āmalāt,[21] it is quite
likely that it was from al-Qushayrī that Ibn 'Arabī borrowed a
certain number of the verba seniorum that he uses.[22] In
certain cases there is no room for doubt: for example, in the
chapter on ‘certainty’ (al-yaqīn), he mentions, declaring it to be
erroneous, the interpretation of a hadīth by Abū 'Alī al-Daqqāq,
al-Qushayrī’s shaykh and father-in-law. This interpretation
appears in exactly the same form in the bāb al-yaqīn in the
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Risāla.[23] The Risāla, or more specifically, the sayings of the
shaykhs which it gathers together on each theme, are a point
of departure for Ibn 'Arabī. But the fasl al-mu'āmalāt is totally
different to a commentary on al-Qushayrī’s work.
I am indebted to my friend and colleague Su'ād al-Hakīm,
whose work is a remarkable analysis of the vocabulary of Ibn
'Arabī, for the expression mi'rāj al-kalima (‘the ascension of the
word’) which I have used in the title for this article.[24] This
powerful image seems to me to be most appropriate for
describing the way the Shaykh al-Akbar proceeds in the second
section of the Futūhāt, and more generally, for clarifying in all
his works the nature of the relationship which he has with the
technical vocabulary of tasawwuf. Heir to an already well-
established tradition, Ibn 'Arabī was not unaware of his debt
towards it. He speaks not only of his own masters with
reverence and gratitude (in the Rūh al-quds and the Durra
fākhira, in particular) but also of illustrious deceased Sufis,
whose hagiographer he himself sometimes is, as in the case of
Dhū’l-Nūn al-Misrī.[25] On some occasions he pays favourable
and just tributes to such men as al-Tustarī, al-Tirmidhī, al-
Niffarī and Ibn Barrajān. That he should sometimes voice
reservations over someone’s behaviour or words is not
surprising: in the third century Hegira the great shuyūkh of
Baghdad or Khurasān used to make critical remarks about each
other, which expressed legitimate differences in points of view
and were not simply to be taken literally. We know that Ibn
'Arabī voices some criticisms regarding al-Hallāj on various
occasions (in the Futūhāt, in the Tajalliyāt and in the Risālat al-
intisār) – something that Massignon never forgave him for. But
the severity of these judgements does not stop him from
frequently quoting his verses,[26] nor from stressing that we
are indebted to him for two technical terms (tūl and 'ard) which
belong to the "science of letters", i.e. to the "christic science"
(al-'ilm al-'īsawī), the role of which is fundamental in his
eyes.[27]
From this rich language of spiritual experience handed down to
him by earlier generations, Ibn 'Arabī validates the accepted
meanings that are a matter of Sufi discourse, clarifying them on
a good many points. He does not leave it there, however. As
one can see, especially in the fasl al-mu'āmalāt, his constant
concern is, as it were, to add to the "words of the tribe" and,
through this mi'rāj al-kalima, to elicit ever higher meanings
from them. From the domain of virtuous practices and ascetic–
mystical disciplines, to which he applied himself from the very
beginning, the traditional vocabulary is thus driven by degrees
so as to bring out the metaphysical truths of which he is
implicitly the bearer, and which establishes his work in the
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practice of Sufism. This ‘semantic ascension’ often takes on a
very paradoxical form and helps to explain the many warnings
in the literature of the brotherhood against the unwise
circulation of Ibn 'Arabī’s works – not to mention the sweeping
condemnations emanating from certain fuqahā'.[28] A rapid
analysis of certain chapters from the second fasl of the Futūhāt,
which as we have seen bears a strict structural relationship to
the Risāla Qushayriyya, allows us to see the akbarian method in
operation and to evaluate its effects on the understanding of
the technical language of the men of the Way.
The contents page of the fasl provides evidence of an important
aspect of this method: in thirty-four cases, the chapter dealing
with one of the ‘stations’ (maqāmāt) in al-Qushayrī’s work is
followed by another chapter dealing with the ‘abandonment’
(tark) of this station.[29] Far from representing a blameworthy
attitude, we shall see that this abandonment must be
interpreted each time as a moving beyond the preceding
maqām, a purification aimed at liberating the sālik from what
remains of duality in the station which he has attained. It is
thus that the wahdat al-wujūd, which constitutes the keystone
of this complex architecture, is envisaged in itself or in its
doctrinal consequences.
With regard to khalwa, Ibn 'Arabī briefly mentions the common
meaning of this term, ‘solitary retreat in a cell’;[30] it is its
foundation in divinis which he wishes to teach to his disciple.
Quoting the hadīth "God was and there was no thing with Him",
he sees the principle of khalwa in this primordial emptiness (al-
khalā'): whether he be physically secluded in a cell or not, the
person ‘in retreat’ is truly only someone whose heart is empty
of everything which is other than God. But this maqām remains
imperfect since it still assumes the illusion of separation
(God/other than God). It must therefore be ‘abandoned’: "When
man sees only God in everything, khalwa is impossible." The
two chapters on ‘flight’ (al-firār),[31] which as we have said
are without equivalent in the Risāla, are completely consistent
with what went before. In the first place Ibn 'Arabī makes a
scripturally justified distinction between al-firār min – flight
defined by that from which one flees, as in the case of Moses
(Q. 26:21), and al-firār ilā – flight defined by that towards
which one flees, as in the case of Muhammad (Q. 51:50). If the
former has the intention of self-preservation, the latter has the
goal of losing oneself in God. But "where to flee, when there is
nothing but God? ... All that you see is God!" The Shaykh al-
Akbar concludes that if God ordains all believers to flee to Him
(in verse 51:50 – fa firrū ilā Llāh), it is only because they have
not yet reached this contemplation of His universal presence.
For the one who achieves it, flight – whether ‘from’ or ‘towards’
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– is in fact a station that is gone beyond.
Most of the remarks cited by al-Qushayrī[32] on ‘humility’ (al-
khushū'), as is generally the case in his work, have a
descriptive or prescriptive character in keeping with the
practical purpose of the Risāla: Abū Yazīd says a man is humble
"when he sees neither a state nor a station for himself, and
when he cannot find among mankind anyone who is worse than
himself." Also quoted by al-Qushayrī, for Junayd humility is "the
abasement of your heart before the One who knows the
mysteries". As for Ibn 'Arabī, he shows that real humility always
comes about through a theophany (tajallī). However, "when the
servant is veiled from himself by his Lord" (mahjūb 'an dhātihi
bi-rabbihi), he necessarily ‘abandons’ the maqām al-khushū',
for he is absent from himself and the tajallī only meets with a
mirror which reflects it back to its source. So, "for one who is
revealed to Himself, how could he experience humility?" Since
he is not unaware that what has just been explained only
concerns exceptional beings, the author of the Futūhāt quickly
adds, "To abandon humility is blameworthy for the one who
does not possess this spiritual state; and if he abandons it, he
will be expelled (matrūd)."
If tawakkul, the "confident handing over to God" or "trust in
God", is unanimously recognised as one of the fundamental
rules of the Way, debates on this frequently focus on a practical
problem: should the Sufi earn his living by practising a trade or
profession, thus remaining prisoner to secondary causes (al-
wuqūf ma'a al-asbāb), or should he abstain from this, waiting
for God alone to provide his subsistence?[33] There are
numerous examples in hagiographical literature of saintly
people who set out across deserts without supplying themselves
with provisions. But tawakkul can also serve as a pious pretext
for abusive begging. The most commonly accepted position is
the one expressed by Sahl al-Tustarī, as quoted by al-
Qushayrī: "Tawakkul was the state (hāl) of the Prophet, but
kasb (acquisition by recourse to secondary causes) was his
sunna." Ibn 'Arabī is not unaware of these debates, and the
point of view which he expresses on various occasions in his
writings, corresponds to that of al-Tustarī.[34] The tawakkul as
prescribed by Revelation consists of not seeking support other
than in God in all circumstances without being affected by any
turmoil if one notices the absence of the secondary causes on
which the soul has a habit of relying. This is a matter of interior
disposition, not of an impossible "departure from secondary
causes", for God acts in them (and not by them: fī’l-asbāb lā
bi’l-asbāb): they are the veils behind which He is
concealed.[35] But the lawful tawakkul (mashrū') is not the
tawakkul haqīqī, which only really belongs to one who is devoid
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of being (al-ma'dūm fī hāl 'adamihi). The "confident handing
over to God" by the 'abd means that he entrusts God with
looking after his affairs. It is therefore once again the
expression of one’s own will. Since God has arranged
everything according to His Wisdom, there is nothing further
that the creature should need to seek as support, given that he
has received from God everything that comes to him.[36]
On the subject of ‘gratitude’ (al-shukr), al-Qushayrī relates a
remark by al-Shīblī that it consists of "seeing the Benefactor,
not His beneficence".[37] This definition coincides with that
given by Ibn 'Arabī on shukr 'ilmī, ‘knowing gratitude’, which he
distinguishes from that which is manifested in words or deeds
(the French word ‘reconnaissance’ [i.e. gratefulness by
recognition] would undoubtedly be the most appropriate
translation of the Arabic expression). Clearly, this has nothing
to do with a theoretical knowledge, but is a knowledge based on
evidence: whatever might be the apparent agent, the benefit
must be seen as coming from God. Here again, however, a
duality remains which betrays the imperfection of this maqām,
however elevated it might be. It must, then, be given up in
order to attain to tark al-shukr, which consists in seeing God as
being at the same time both al-shākir and al-mashkūr, the
‘grateful’ and the one to whom all gratitude is addressed.
"Nothing is repeated within existence because of the Divine
infinity", Ibn 'Arabī states at the beginning of the chapter on the
"Abandonment of Certainty" (tark al-yaqīn).[38] This is why
what the theologians say on the subject of accidents, that they
only last for one instant at a time, is also true of substances. If
that is the case, then in the absence of stable objects to which
it can be applied, on what can certainty be based? As a
consequence, the men of God renounce all efforts to acquire it,
and only accept it when it is bestowed on them. Total
submission to the Divine will excludes rest and stability.
Seeking certainty is a presumptuous attempt to limit the
inexhaustible new creation of God. The word hayra – the
‘stupefaction’ or wonderment, the dizziness which is produced
by the dazzling procession of theophanies, where no two are the
same, is not mentioned here. But certainty is best epitomised
by one who has gone beyond it. As the author writes several
pages further on, "the perfect one (al-kāmil) is he in whom
hayra is the greatest".[39]
Many Quranic verses advise believers to have patience (al-
sabr) and give as models the examples of Abraham and his
son, of Jacob, of Job, or of the Prophet of Islam. Al-Qushayrī
records one definition among others, given by Ruwaym:
"Patience is giving up complaint".[40] Ibn 'Arabī does not quote
this remark, but without saying so, it is obviously this that he is
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correcting and completing when he declares: "Patience does not
consist of abstaining from complaining to God so that He may
ease the affliction or distance; it consists of abstaining from
complaining to other than God." Complaining to God is not a
transgression of the obligation of patience, for if God afflicts His
servants it is precisely so that they may address their
complaints to Him. The Quranic example mentioned in support
of this view is that of Job who, in his unhappiness, calls to God
(Q. 21:83), and of whom God nonetheless says: Innā
wajadnāhu sābiran ("Indeed We found him patient", Q. 38:44).
This theme is developed more fully in chapter 19 of the Fusūs
al-hikam. In complete contrast to the tone of most classical
texts on sabr, having made this point, the Shaykh al-Akbar
celebrates with jubilation the Divine rahma:
Rejoice, oh servants of God, in the universality and the
immensity of the Mercy which extends over all creatures, albeit
after a delay! For when this low world disappears, the affliction
of whoever is afflicted will disappear with it, and through that
even patience itself will disappear.
This Mercy, which he affirms here just as he affirms it
throughout his work, will be extended even to those who are
condemned to dwell in Gehenna. However guilty people may be,
the Divine patience is without limit, for God is al-sabūr, the
Supremely Patient.[41] The ‘abandonment’ of patience – which
should be understood as the most perfect degree of patience –
is thus in opposition to the common notion of sabr. To be
stoical in the face of ordeal is to pretend to stand up to the
power of God (al-qahr al-ilāhī). On the contrary, perfection for
the servant is to acknowledge his utter impotence and poverty
('ajzuhu wa-faqruhu).
Two of the most significant chapters in the section on
mu'āmalāt are those which correspond to the one that al-
Qushayrī dedicates to 'ubūdiyya.[42] The titles which Ibn 'Arabī
gives to these chapters deserve attention: the first is "On the
maqām of 'ubūda", and the second "On the maqām of the
Abandonment of 'ubūdiyya". Although the Shaykh al-Akbar
sometimes uses these words interchangeably,[43] in his
doctrine – and especially here – they have very distinct
meanings, and it is this which allows us to understand the
unusual modification of vocabulary in these successive titles. In
fact, in order to shed light on this problem three terms from the
same root should be considered: 'ibāda, 'ubūdiyya, and 'ubūda.
Citing al-Daqqāq, al-Qushayrī mentions them at the beginning
of his explanation, but confines himself to putting them
respectively in connection with, on the one hand, the ternary of
"the common believers" ('āmma), "the elite", and "the elite of
the elite"; and on the other, with the degrees of certainty ('ilm,
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'ayn, haqq). In order to render these three terms equally by
words of the same family, I have suggested translating them as
‘service’, ‘servanthood’ and ‘servitude’.[44] According to Ibn
'Arabī, servitude ('ubūda) is the ontological status of the
creature. The servant, 'abd, possesses nothing, not even
himself. He has no being which can be his own. Even the name
'abd does not belong to him.[45] This status is thus
irrevocable, which is why it cannot be ‘abandoned’. Ibn 'Arabī
says that servanthood, 'ubūdiyya, is the "relationship to
'ubūda", it derives from it: it is actually the condition to which
the 'abd is dedicated because of his status; and service, 'ibāda,
represents the totality of duties which are implied in this servile
condition. "The station of 'ubūdiyya is the station of abasement
and indigence", a definition which stems from that given in a
famous dialogue during which Abū Yazīd al-Bistāmī asks of God:
"With what can I approach You?", "With that which does not
belong to Me"; "But, Lord, what does not belong to You?",
"Abasement and indigence."[46] No one but the Prophet has
realised more perfectly this condition of servanthood, and it is
this to which the creature must submit so as to be in
conformity with his original status in this world. And that is why
the Prophet is not designated by any other word than 'abd in
the verse (Q. 17:1) that relates to the glorious episode of the
"night journey".[47]
The end of chapter 130 announces the principal idea of the
following chapter; the maqām of 'ubūda, servitude, in contrast
to the maqām of 'ubūdiyya, excludes all relationship with God
or with anything else: it is absolute poverty, complete
nakedness. By virtue of his dependence, the creature cannot
subsist in the absence of all relationship, and so disappears, so
that there is nothing other than God manifesting in the 'abd.
"Fa huwa 'abdun lā 'abdun." The one in whom individuality is
completely extinguished in 'ubūda ‘abandons’ 'ubūdiyya, for he
realises that the possibilities (al-mumkināt) have never left
their nothingness, that they have "never smelt the perfume of
existence",[48] that they are nothing but the places of
manifestation of the only Manifest One, for "God alone
possesses Being". In other words, 'ubūdiyya vanishes for the
one who ‘returns’ (for his leaving was only illusory) to the state
which he was in in the thubūt: present to God but unknowing of
himself.[49] The 'ubūda is re-absorption into the principial
Unity: 'ubūdiyya loses all raison d’être when this re-absorption
takes place or, rather, when the 'abd discovers that he has
never left the Unity. The theme of wahdat al-wujūd is mainly
developed in the next part of this chapter, where Ibn 'Arabī
resorts to a symbolism which is dear to him, the procession of
numbers starting from one,[50] and relies on scriptural
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references (Q. 15:85; 8:17) which he frequently uses when he
treats this subject. As with everything which we have
mentioned during the course of this brief study, these pages
merit a detailed analysis. But it is not our intention here to
understand the depth and breadth of the doctrinal teaching that
the Shaykh al-Akbar set down in this section of the Futūhāt: he
himself restricted himself to indicating how this change of
register operates, giving these classical terms significations
which can sometimes appear as a paradoxical reversal of
traditional meanings.
From this point of view, the systematic coupling of
maqām/abandonment of maqām is especially worthy of
attention. Let us cite one final example: that of ‘uprightness’
(istiqāma). According to the masters’ explanations as
transmitted by al-Qushayrī,[51] this consists of training the
passionate soul, of pruning the heart, of giving up attachment
to habits, of acting as if each moment was that of the
Resurrection. In short, this involves applying oneself to
straightening out all that is twisted. For Ibn 'Arabī each thing
possesses the rectitude that is appropriate to its nature: "the
uprightness of a bow consists of its curvature". Consequently,
he is not afraid to say that Adam’s disobedience to the Divine
order was part of his uprightness, that is, he was in conformity
with the purpose of his creation: felix culpa since without the
fall to which this led, he would not have been able to exercise
here on earth the khilāfa, for the sake of which he came into
existence. To abandon all effort which strives to establish
rectitude is, for the 'ārif, the very sign of uprightness, and is
evidence that he is "with God in every state".[52] For him,
there is no deviation (i'wijāj) in the universe: everything is
straight.
However, nothing would be more contrary to the teaching of
Ibn 'Arabī than to think that, on the basis of these provocative
assertions, he judges the via purgativa, which is so much
emphasised by the Sufis quoted in the Risāla, to be somehow
superfluous. As he writes in the Futūhāt and elsewhere, the
rigorous disciplines that he insists on from the murīd are exactly
the same as those prescribed by the saints to whom al-
Qushayrī refers as authorities. But the Shaykh al-Akbar detects
an implicit Pelagianism which threatens to generate an
awareness of efforts being accomplished. Asceticism, which is
intended to get rid of the ego, can end up strengthening it. All
stations are a trap, and risk becoming a prison.
A station is nothing other than the habitus of a virtue. But, as
all traditional definitions – including those of Ibn 'Arabī – state,
it is an acquired (muktasab) habitus.[53] To abandon a maqām
is not to abandon the exercise of the virtue with which it is
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associated. The ‘abandonment’ refers to that which is produced
when the Divine Grace substitutes for the acquired habitus an
innate habitus, which escorts the being home to its primordial
'ubūda. Thus "God is the hearing with which he hears, the sight
with which he sees, the hand with which he takes, the foot with
which he walks."[54] "Indeed Truth has come and falsehood
has passed away" (Wa-qad jā'a ’l-haqqu wa-zahaqa ’l-bātil, Q.
17:81): the tark al-maqām is therefore, when all is said and
done, nothing other than the abandonment of an illusion.[55]
Translated by Judy Kearns
Notes
* This paper was first published in French in Reason and
Inspiration in Islam, ed. Todd Lawson (London and New York,
I.B. Taurus/Ismaili Institute, 2005), pp. 248–261.
Notes
1 Rūh al-quds fī muhāsabat al-nafs (Damascus, 1964), pp. 49–
50. Regarding this shaykh, who is mentioned several times in
other parts of the Rūh al-quds (pp. 55, 61, 75, 78, 84), see
also Futūhāt (Būlāq, 1329/1911), I. 616 and II. 683.
2 On the first stages of the spiritual life of Ibn 'Arabī, see the
article by G. Elmore, "New Evidence on the Conversion of Ibn
'Arabī to Sufism", Arabica 45 (1988), pp. 50–72, and the
clarification by C. Addas, "La conversion d’Ibn 'Arabī: certitudes
et conjectures", 'Ayn al-hayat 4 (1998), pp. 33–64.
3 Muhādarat al-abrār wa-musāmarāt al-akhyār (Beirut, 1968),
p. 11. According to information that we received in 1987, an
autograph manuscript of this work, from Malatya and dated AH
612, was currently in the possession of a Tunisian university.
We would also point out that in spite of interpolations into the
text by later copyists, there is absolutely no doubt, contrary to
Brockelmann’s thesis, about the attribution of this book to Ibn
'Arabī.
4 See, for example, Fut. I. 221, 527, 605; II. 117, 245; Kitāb
nasab al-khirqa, ms. Esad Ef. 1507, fol. 98a.
5 To these 560 chapters must be added the long initial khutba,
the fihris (in which the chapter titles do not always coincide with
those which appear at the head of the abwāb) and the
muqaddima, all together representing 47 pages of the AH 1329
edition (corresponding to pp. 41–214 of O. Yahia’s edition).
6 This symbolic nature is evident in the case of the 4th fasl, that
of the manāzil, where the number (114) is that of the suras of
the Qur'an, the first manzil corresponding to Sura 114, the
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second to Sura 113, and so on until the manzil of the Fātiha
(for further details, see our An Ocean without shore, Albany,
1993, chap. 3). It is also evident in the 5th fasl (al-munāzalāt),
where the number of chapters (78) is the same as that of the
occurrences of the hurūf nūrāniyya in the Qur'an, taking into
account the repetitions, as well as in the 6th (al-maqāmāt)
which adds up to 99 chapters, being the number of the
traditional list of the Divine Names. Chapters 2 to 73 of the first
fasl (al-ma'ārif) correspond to the 72 darajāt al-basmala
according to the jazm saghīr, while chapter 1, in which is
described the visionary meeting which engenders the whole of
the work, should really be considered as a prologue, and not
part of the fasl. We will return to the significance of the 115
chapters of the 2nd fasl (al-mu'āmalāt). As for the 3rd (al-
ahwāl), which is made up of 81 chapters, it appears to be
related to the 78 shu'ab al-īmān, although we cannot explain
for certain the addition of three supplementary chapters. As
regards the number of fusūl, we may recall that the number six
(like the letter wāw whose numerical value it represents) is a
symbol of the insān kāmil (see for example, Fut. III. 142).
Furthermore, a correspondence seems likely between these six
sections and six of the asmā' al-dhāt, the seventh of these
Names corresponding to the first chapter, which constitutes in a
way the matrix of the Futūhāt. The mention of the Ka'ba in this
first chapter (I.50), of the seven ritual circumambulations and
the seven sifāt, would merit from this point of view a long
commentary which would then allow us to better understand
why the Futūhāt are ‘Makkiyya’. See Ocean without shore, pp.
28–29 and 96–99. Finally, we may point out that 560 – the
year of Ibn 'Arabī’s birth – is also the number of words in the
Sura al-fath, whose relationship with the notion of Futūhāt
seems to us self-evident.
7 Khatm al-awliyā', ed. O. Yahia (Beirut, 1960), p. 210; B.
Radtke, Drei Schriften des Theosophen von Tirmīd (Beirut,
1992), pp. 22–23. This hadīth is quoted again by al-Tirmidhī, p.
411 (O. Yahia edn), p. 99 (Radtke edn). For Ibn 'Arabī’s
responses, see Fut. II. 72–74 (questions 48, 49 and 50).
8 This hadīth, of highly disputed authenticity, especially by Ibn
Taymiyya, is frequently quoted by Ibn 'Arabī: see, inter alia,
Fut. I. 134, 143, 243; III. 22, 141, 456.
9 Bukhārī, Fadā'il ashāb al-nabī, p. 9; Ibn Māja, Muqaddima, p.
11, etc. For an exhaustive analysis of the scriptural gifts related
to this final character, see Y. Friedmann, Prophecy Continuous
(Berkeley, CA, 1989), chap. 2.
10 The autograph manuscript of the second redaction of the
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Futūhāt allows us to verify that this second section only
contains 115 chapters and not 116 as indicated in the table of
contents at the beginning of the work (I. 17), and also
confirmed by O. Yahia in his edition (vol. 1, p. 30; vol. 13, p.
53).
11 On the notion of wirātha and its importance in the hagiology
of Ibn 'Arabī, see our Seal of Saints (Paris, 1986), chap. 5.
12 On these three aspects, to which Ibn 'Arabī often refers, see
especially Fut. I. 363, 373; II. 39; III. 126.
13 On chapter 73 of the Futūhāt see our remarks in Ocean
without shore (p. 46 ff.) and our article "Les Malāmiyya dans la
doctrine d’Ibn 'Arabī", in N. Clayer, A. Popovic and Th. Zarcone
(eds.), Melāmis-Bayrāmis (Istanbul, 1998).
14 Since Pope Urban VIII (1642), it is indeed this "heroism of
the [theological and cardinal] virtues" (and not mystical graces)
which are taken into account in the process of canonisation, the
1983 code of canonical right restricting the introduction of
certain new methodologies in the super vita et virtutibus
positions (with recourse to human sciences).
15 We refer here to the edition of the Risāla published in Cairo
in 1957. Up until now there are no other translations into French
of this fundamental work. The German translation by R.
Gramlich, Das Sendschreiben al-Qusayrīs über das Sufitum was
published in Wiesbaden in 1989. In English there is a partial
translation by B.R. von Schlegell entitled Principles of Sufism
(Berkeley, CA, 1992), and a full translation by A.D. Knysh
entitled al-Qushayri’s Epistle on Sufism (Reading, 2007).
16 The Risāla concludes with a chapter of ‘advice’ intended for
the murīd. The outline of this chapter is clearly the inspiration
on which a short treatise by Ibn 'Arabī is constructed, entitled
the Kitāb al-amr al-muhkam al-marbūt, written in Konya in
602/1205–1206.
17 Fut. II. 163.
18 The example given in this passage is that of verses Q.
2:235–241 where the injunction to perform the prayer
conflicts/intercedes with the instructions related to marriage,
divorce, and the reading of provisions within a will.
19 See Fut. I. 59, 152; III. 101, 334, 456; IV. 62, 74.
20 Risāla, p. 52; see also Knysh, p. 125.
21 In chapter 150, on ghayra (II. 245).
22 This is likely since these sayings of the shaykhs are also
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found in other works that Ibn 'Arabī is said to have read, such
as the Hilya of Abū Nu'aym, on which he wrote a summary, as
he indicates in the Fihris and the Ijāza.
23 Risāla, p. 84 (Knysh, p. 195); Fut. II. 204.
24 In a brief but evocative essay published in Beirut in 1991
under the title Ibn 'Arabī wa-mawlid lugha jadīda, S. al-Hakīm
describes concisely the parallel between the structure of the
Fasl al-mu'āmalāt and that of the Risāla (see p. 53), but
without making a detailed comparison between the two texts.
As the title of her book suggests, her primary intention was to
examine the considerable developments given by Ibn 'Arabī to
the traditional vocabulary of Sufism by creating terms or
expressions, a list of which is given at the end (numbering
some one hundred pages). Dr 'Abd al-Wahhāb Amīn Ahmad’s
work, al-Mughāmarat al-lughawiyya fi’l-Futūhāt al-Makkiyya
(Cairo, 1995) – seemingly unaware of the most recent works,
especially those of S. al-Hakīm – is quite disappointing.
25 We are indebted to Roger Deladrière for an elegant and
erudite translation of this work (al-Kawākib al-durriyya), for
which there is no critical edition as yet: La Vie merveilleuse de
Dhū’l-Nūn l’Egyptien (Paris, 1988). But Ibn 'Arabī is equally the
author of a work on Abū Yazīd and another on Hallāj (nos. 461
and 651 respectively in O. Yahia’s classification), manuscript
copies of which have not yet been found.
26 See for example, Fut. I. 364; II. 337, 361; III. 104, 117;
IV. 194.
27 Fut. I. 169, 176; IV. 332, etc. See also Diwan (Beirut,
1996), p. 299 where Ibn 'Arabī speaks of Hallāj as his ‘brother’
in the knowledge of the secrets of the letters.
28 For the real meaning of these condemnations, see our "Le
Procès posthume d’al-'Arabī", in Islamic Mysticism Contested
(Leiden, 1999), based on a paper given at a symposium on
Sufism and Its Opponents, held in Utrecht in 1995.
29 Here we only consider the cases where the term
‘abandonment’ is used in the title. But the same procedure is
obvious in the cases where this word does not appear: the
station of ‘silence’ (al-samt) is thus followed by that of ‘speech’,
that of ‘poverty’ (faqr) is followed by that of ‘wealth’, that of
wakefulness (sahar) by that of ‘sleep’, etc.
30 Fut., chaps. 78–79; al Qushayrī, Risāla, pp. 50–52 (Knysh,
pp. 122–125).
31 Fut., chaps. 82–83. On the theme of firār see also Fut. IV.
156, 183.
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32 Fut., chaps. 110–111; Risāla, pp. 68–71 (Knysh, pp. 161–
167).
33 See for example the 'Awārif al-ma'ārif d’al-Suhrawardī,
chaps. 19–20.
34 Tustarī is cited several times in the long chapter of the
Risāla dedicated to tawakkul (pp. 75–80; Knysh, pp. 178–188).
For Ibn 'Arabī’s position, see Fut. IV. 153–4, as well as chaps.
118–119 of the Fasl al-mu'āmalāt.
35 On the impossibility of khurūj 'an al-asbāb, Fut. III. 72,
249.
36 Undoubtedly it is in this way that a phrase cited by
Kalābādhī from Hallāj must be interpreted – but attributed in
vague terms to "one of the great masters" – according to which
haqīqat al-tawakkul tark al-tawakkul (Kitāb al-ta'arruf, Cairo,
1960, p. 101).
37 Risāla, pp. 80–82 (Knysh, p. 190); Fut., chaps. 120–121.
38 Risāla, pp. 82–84 (Knysh, pp. 193–196); Fut., chaps. 122–
123. The affirmation of the unrepeatable nature of things,
linked to the notion of ‘perpetual creation’ and therefore always
new (khalq jadīd) is frequent in Ibn 'Arabī’s work. See for
example Fut. I. 735; III. 127, 159; Fusūs al-hikam (Beirut,
1946), p. 202.
39 Fut. II. 212. On hayra, also a recurrent theme, see for
example chap. 50 (I. 270 ff.); Fusūs, pp. 72–73. The notion of
"epectasy" in Christian mystical theology corresponds quite well
to that of hayra, where it is very controversial. See the article
s.v. in Dictionnaire de Spiritualité, vol. 4, col. 785–88.
40 Risāla, pp. 84–88 (Knysh, pp. 196–202); Fut., chaps. 124–
125. In chap. 124, Ibn 'Arabī quotes on the subject of Shīblī, an
anecdote recorded by al-Qushayrī, p. 85 (Knysh, p. 200).
41 On the name al-sabūr see Fut. IV. 317. Various
explanations, which we cannot go into here, would be necessary
to account for the final inclusion of ahl al-nār in rahma. See on
this subject Fut. III. 164, 207, 550; Fut. I. 93–94, among other
passages where Ibn 'Arabī deals with the universality of Mercy.
42 Risāla, pp. 90–92 (Knysh, 210–213); Fut., chaps. 130–131.
43 The distinction between 'ubūda and 'ubūdiyya, although
perceptible, is rarely taken into account in a rigorous way with
Arabic authors (see Lisān al-arāb, vol. 3, p. 271). We may note
that in the ms. of the first redaction of the Futūhāt (subsequent
to Ibn 'Arabī, the first one having been lost) we find 'ubūdiyya
rather than 'ubūda in the title of chap. 130.
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44 Ocean without shore, p. 122 ff.
45 Fut. II. 350.
46 With reference to this dialogue Ibn 'Arabī explains that there
is a secret which he cannot disclose. We assume that this is an
allusion to the fact that, speaking metaphysically, there is
nothing which does not belong to God, including therein
whatever the Divine Perfection appears to exclude – an idea
expressed particularly in the introductory poem of chap. 127
which relies on scriptural facts (e.g. Q. 73:23) or on the hadīth
qudsī, parallel to Matt. 25, 41–45, where God says: "I was sick
and you did not visit Me" (on this hadīth, see Fut. II. 407; III.
304; IV. 451).
47 This reference to the verse of the Sura al-isrā is also made
by Abū 'Alī al-Daqqāq in a remark quoted by al-Qushayrī.
48 This image is not used here but it is frequently found in the
writings of the Shaykh al-Akbar and his disciples. See for
example Fusūs, p. 76 (where wujūd should be read for mawjūd,
unlike Afīfī’s reading).
49 On this ‘return’, see Fut. II. 672 ("The nobility of man is to
return in his existence to his state of non-existence") and III.
539.
50 Fut. III. 494; Kitāb al-alif (Hyderabad, 1948); Fusūs, pp.
77–78.
51. Risāla, pp. 94–95 (Knysh, pp. 217–220); Fut.
52 The same ideas are developed in Chap. 10 of the Fusūs,
with the same Quranic references (especially Q. 11:56).
53 Fut. II. 385.
54 These words are borrowed from a hadīth qudsī which Ibn
'Arabī has included in his Mishkāt al-anwār and which he
mentions on many occasions in most of his works. In
consistency with the akbarian doctrine, we are very conscious
of giving the innate habitus a much stronger meaning here than
that which is usually employed in the language of Christian
mystical theology.
55 The interpretation by Ibn 'Arabī of the aforementioned
hadīth emphasises that when "God is the hearing, the sight, the
hand, the foot" of the servant, nothing has happened in fact
except for an unveiling (kashf) to this latter of what always was
and always will be (Fut. I. 406).
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