R

al-Baroud, Dalal Saleh (2022)

Reflections on Dialogue with The Divine: A Comparative Study
PhD thesis. SOAS University of London
DOI: https://doi.org/10.25501/SOAS.00036820
https://eprints.soas.ac.uk/36820/

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 。Reflections on Dialogue with The Divine

A Comparative Study

Dalal Saleh al-Baroud

Thesis Submitted for the Degree of PhD in Cultural, Literary and

Postcolonial Studies

2021

Department of the Cultural, Literary and Postcolonial Studies

School of Oriental and African Studies

University of London
 Abstract

Reflections on Dialogue with The Divine: A Comparative Study

Name: Al-Baroud, Dalal

School of Oriental and African studies

Centre for Cultural, Literary and Postcolonial Studies

This thesis tackles the controversial concept of dialogue with the Divine in Sufi literature and its

use as an indirect vehicle to transmit a mystically camouflaged social message. The in-depth study

offers a modern theoretical framework that examines hidden signs and unspoken messages masked

by the gentle and winding arabesques of Sufi literary works, in an effort to explore their relation to

power, authority and politics. The writing of certain mystical authors who have rarely been studied

is explored, in particular the oeuvre of al-Suhrawardi and al-Niffari, whose work is introduced

through a linguistic, literary and theological analysis and whose philosophical and mystical views

are examined comprehensively through their special usage of language.

The paper explores three different genres: a poem by al-Suhrawardi, two of al-Niffari’s Mawāqif

and a play by Salah ʿAbd al-Sabur. It is a comparative study and the mystical texts involved are

examined under the light of multiple Western theoretical frameworks for the first time. The

milestone of the research study is its daring probing of the direct dialogue with the Divine, its

forms, stylistics, implications and indications of how it could be viewed as a political text. The

paper concludes that beyond being a devotional path, mysticism in literature can also be a spiritual

and narrative revolution that threatens the legitimate authorities, as well as an approach to

redefining the meaning of power, disguised in emotional expressions and intentionally complicated

language.
III
 Dedication

To those who traced the glimmer of light and sacrificed their life for its sake,

I dedicate this thesis to you.

IV
 Acknowledgements

It is a great bliss and privilege to witness the completion of my project, for I faced many emotional,

physical and academic struggles that significantly slowed the process of achieving this dream.

However, with the miracles of Allah’s Kindness, I am submitting the fruit of six years of continuous

work.

Reaching this point would have been impossible without the love and support of many people

who helped me along the way.

To Afaf al-Omani and Saleh al-Baroud, my parents, who constantly drown me in an endless sea

of love and support, from the depth of my heart, Thank You! I am only too aware that words could

never suffice to express my eternal gratitude for any of the sacrifices you have made, or for the light

you illuminate my life with, however, my words are merely an attempt to express my appreciation

and gratitude for the great gift that is your existence in my life.

To my siblings, Aisha, Fatima, Lulwa, Fahad and Hessa, your eternal love and support and those

beautiful words of yours that always bring encouragement to my soul whenever I feel down, are the

reason that I am able to submit my project today, so Thank you... I consider myself one of the most

fortunate persons in the world for the good fortune and generosity that God has granted me by

allowing me to be your sister.

I would like to dedicate my sincere appreciation and gratitude to my mentor and supervisor Dr.

Stefan Sperl. Dr. Sperl taught me how to challenge my limitations and go beyond what I thought I

was able to do. He was the person through whom I found peace whenever I faced any struggles in

my life or my studies. I am only saddened by the fact that the time I spent finishing this project did

not allow me to be his student until its full completion.

V
 I would like to express my appreciation to Dr. Marlé Hammond, who took the responsibility of

supervising my work after Dr. Sperl’s retirement and to thank her for her support.

It would be a shame if I ignored the efforts of my friends, who offered me countless

demonstrations of kindness, help and support. I would like to thank my closest friends, the poet

Maysun al-Suwaydan and the poet Worud al-Musawi for years of countless help. I would like to say

thank you to Dr. ʿAbbas al-Haddad, Dr. Abdulrahman al-Farhan, Hiba al-Him, Lola Awada,

Muhammad ʿAbdulbari, Oludamini Ogunnaike, Salim Muhammad and ʿAbdullah al-ʿNizi.

And Finally, I would like to express my sincere appreciation to my country, Kuwait, for

sponsoring my educational journey and providing me with the opportunity to continue my

postgraduate studies in one of the best institutions in the field of literature.

VI
Table of Contents

Abstract III
Dedication IV
Acknowledgements V
Introduction 1

Literature review 5

Dialogical studies 7

Research rationale 14

Research questions 15

Methodology 16

Brief breakdown 17

Chapter 1 : al-Suhrawardi 19
Section 1 19

Literature review 20

Al-Suhrawardi’s biography 25

Illumination, Ishrāq 27

Section 2: An Analysis of al-Suhrawardi’s Poem 38

Conclusion 60

Chapter 2: al-Niffari 66
Section 1 66

The life of al-Niffari 68

Social and historical background 69

Testimonies and influence 69

Al-Niffari’s Eastern and Western Recognition 72

Section 2: al-Niffari’s Theology 81

Waqfa 81
Waqfa as combustion 83
Waqfa as passing 84
Waqfa as duality 85

VII
 Types of waqfa 86
Waqfa and other traditions 86
Waqfa and Wuqūf in ʿArafāt 91
Waqfa and duʿāʾ 94
Siwā and ḥarf 98
Siwā 98
Ḥarf 99
Lexical relation 100
A threshold 103
Contradiction 104
Beyond spirituality 105
ʿIlm and maʿrifa 107
ʿIlm according to al-Niffari’s philosophy 109
Types of ʿilm 111
Maʿrifa according to al-Niffari’s philosophy 112
Methods of maʿrifa 113
Between ʿilm and maʿrifa 113
Regarding siwā 114
The lexical relation 115
Regarding jahl 119
Conclusion on ʿilm and maʿrifa 121
Ruʾya 123
Conditions of ruʾya 124
Between listening and seeing 125
Ruʾya and perception 127
Opposition 128
Ruʾya and the problematic of language 129
Conclusion on al-Niffari's theology 131
Section 3: An Analysis of al-Niffari’s Texts 133
The question of voice 136
Exploring the meaning of qāla lī 136
Speaking essences 148
VIII
 When the Divine asks, al-Niffari answers 172
Mawqif al-Islam 188
Conclusion 196

Chapter 3: Salah ʿAbd al-Sabur 198

Section 1:
Maʾsat al-Hallaj (The Tragedy of al-Hallaj) by Salah ʿAbd al-Sabur 198
Literature review 200
Salah ʿAbd al-Sabur 214
Al-Hallaj 215
The play’s summary 217
Section 2: Methodology and Analysis 223
The selected methodology 223
The analysis of the play 228
Conclusion 275

Conclusion 278
Bibliography 286

IX
 Introduction

ْ‫ﺷﻤﺲ وﻻ َﻏــ ُﺮﺑﺖ‬

ٌ ْ‫وﷲ ﻣﺎ طَﻠُ َﻌﺖ‬
‫إﻻّ وﺣﺒﱡـ َﻚ ﻣﻘــــــﺮونٌ ﺑﺄﻧﻔﺎﺳــــــــــﻲ‬
‫وﻻ ﺧــﻠــﻮتُ إﻟﻰ ﻗـﻮم أﺣﺪّﺛــــــﮭــ ْﻢ‬
ّ
‫ــــــــــــﻼﺳﻲ‬ ‫إﻻ وأﻧـﺖَ ﺣـﺪﯾﺜﻲ ﺑﯿﻦَ ُﺟ‬
!!!!!!!!!!! ‫وﻻ ذﻛﺮﺗُـ َﻚ َﻣـﺤـﺰوﻧًﺎ وﻻ ﻓَ ِﺮ ًﺣــــﺎ‬
‫ﺳﻮاﺳــــــــــﻲ‬
ْ ‫إﻻ وأﻧﺖَ ﺑﻘﻠـــﺒﻲ ﺑﯿﻦَ و‬
!!!!!!!!‫وﻻ ھﻤﻤﺖ ﺑﺸﺮب اﻟﻤﺎء ﻣﻦ ﻋﻄﺶ‬

ِ ‫إﻻ َرأَ ْﯾﺖُ ﺧﯿﺎﻻً ﻣﻨﻚ ﻓﻲ اﻟﻜـــــــــــﺎ‬

‫س‬
‫وﻟﻮ ﻗﺪرتُ ﻋﻠﻰ اﻹﺗﯿﺎن ﺟﺌﺘـُــــــــﻜ ْﻢ‬
! .‫ﺳﻌﯿﺎ ً ﻋﻠﻰ اﻟﻮﺟﮫ أو ﻣﺸﯿﺎ ً ﻋﻠﻰ اﻟﺮأس‬

(al-Hallaj, as cited in Khartabil 1979, 97)

By God I'm swearing the sun never sets nor rises

Without my love for you forming part of my every breath

And whenever I go off to sit and talk with friends

You are the sole subject of my conversation

And be I happy or sad, all of my thoughts are about you

Just as you are the only dweller of my heart and mind

And I have no care for drinking water when I thirst,

Lest in that cup I see a reflection of you

And if only I could meet you I would strive to do so

Running on my face or walking on my head.1

1 Unless otherwise stated, all translations are my own.

1
At present, Islamic religious factions are in a state of conflict. Differing denominations are brutally

assassinating each other on the premise of defending their right to existence and dominance. Each

faction is convinced of divine advocacy in leading society and exclusivity in dominating the power

of speaking with God and ruling by His orders. The recurrent conflict between Sunna and Shiʿa in

Syria and the direction taken by Daesh in Iraq are clear examples of this.

In these dark depths of hatred, I believe that it is vital and essential to show that there is a way to

provide a peaceful world view of human beings and their relationship with each other, since I

strongly believe that having the temerity to murder people in the name of the Divine is a delusion.

The peaceful approach I refer to is the love dialogue with the Divine, which is clearly manifested in

this verse from Rabiʿa al-ʿAdawiyya:

‫ﻚ اﻟﻮ ّد ﻓﺎﻟﻜﻞﱡ ھﯿ ٌّﻦ‬

َ ‫إذا ﻛﺎن ﻣﻨ‬

. ُ‫وﻛ ّﻞ اﻟﺬي ﻓﻮق اﻟﺘّﺮاب ﺗﺮاب‬

(al-ʿAdawiyya, as cited in Gharib 2000, 6)

If you are kind, everything is easy

And all that is above the soil is soil.

The composer of the aforementioned line was the first poet to speak of love for the Divine in

Arabic poetry (ibid., 68). Her mystical narrative reflected on events which inspired later Sufis and

impacted the development of the mystical doctrine (Smith 1984, 45). This phenomenon of divine

love created a new perspective in terms of literature and the relationship between the Divine and the

worshipper that incited intellectual and political revolutions throughout the history of Arabia.

Specifically when al-Hallaj faced the death penalty on several accusations, one of which was on
2
account of composing love poems for the Divine that alluded to unification, which was considered a

crime of heresy (Nicholson 2002, 140).

As I proposed earlier, the practice of engaging in direct dialogue with the Divine might be a

solution and yet, this path of love has on occasions led to executions. So how could a peaceful piece

of poetry consisting of love directed towards the Divine become an issue of contention itself? In

other words, how did the cure become the disease?

I argue that speaking to the Divine in literature tackles religious hegemony and threatens

political authority due to its ability to provide freedom for the worshipper in terms of politics,

religion and achieving peace, both personal inner peace and peace with others. This could be

concluded from al-ʿAdawiyya’s line, quoted above, when she says: "If you are kind, everything is

easy, and all that is above the soil is soil." This indicates that receiving love from the Divine and

speaking to Him are an absolute source of power.

Mystical poets such as Ibn al-Farid, Rumi, al-Hallaj and others were deeply investigated by

scholars all over the world. However, on my path of searching for topics to be the main focus of my

doctoral thesis, I observed that studies about dialogue in Sufi poetry were really difficult to find,

particularly in Arabic, the language that produced uncountable poems and prose that express the

love of the Divine. I therefore decided to opt for this topic to be the spotlight of my thesis. I

furthermore aimed to examine this aspect in writers who were poorly studied academically, in order

to provide an addition to this field.

The result of my extensive research was that dialogue with the Divine in al-Suhrawardi’s poetry,

al-Niffari's prose and ʿAbd al-Sabur's drama had as yet never been explored. I confess that selecting

this topic was a risk and I faced various difficulties in terms of the rarity of studies in this field and

of finding relevant resources, which is why carrying out this project was both a struggle and a

challenge.
3
 Hence, in this paper, I examine the aspect of direct dialogue with the Divine in the works of the

three writers: al-Suhrawardi, al-Niffari and ʿAbd al-Sabur, in a bid to explore their power and

political effect, to conclude that the dialogue with the Divine in these literary works creates a

rebellious discourse that challenges the authorities. The first premise of this thesis argues that the

tender love poem of al-Suhrawardi is actually a potent instrument confronting the powers that be. I

suggest that the poet utilised certain methods to attain this purpose, such as the meter and rhyme of

the poem, which I analyse via al-Tayeb's approach; the dramatic scenes, which I examine through

Gruendler’s method of dramatic discourse; and obtaining the stance of power by addressing the

Divine in the poem, which I explore via Bakhtin’s dialogism theory. I present these elements as

being responsible for turning al-Suhrawadi’s poem into a threatening weapon. I then move on to

demonstrate that the Mawāqif of al-Niffari are texts created to tackle the dominance of the spiritual

school system by creating an individual mystical path that I believe is religiously and politically

challenging. In order to do so, I maintain that it is crucial to deconstruct al-Niffari’s theology and

explore its relation to literary tradition, since it is the key to examining his writing. I argue that the

texts are political by affirming that the Divine's voice in them is actually al-Niffari’s, by presenting

a detailed discussion of the concept of revelation and inspiration in addition to an analysis based on

Gruendler's application of speech act theory. To expand more on the powerful aspect in al-Niffari’s

Mawāqif, I also use Foucault’s analysis on the relationship between spirituality and power. My final

argument in this thesis is that the figure of al-Hallaj in ʿAbd al-Sabur’s play was created as a

rebellious hero who had a direct dialogue with the Divine, in a bid to rebel against the Egyptian

authorities in the twentieth century. I drew the argument based on the protagonist’s construction

anatomy as per Joseph Campbell's hero's journey and by comparing scenes in the play with

prophetic figures in the Qurʾan, to uphold the challenging factor in al-Hallaj’s character. I suggest

4
that ʿAbd al-Sabur intended to tackle the political authorities by means of the Sufi figure, due to the

deep connection between secularism and spirituality.

Because of the different nature of the work of each of the three authors I chose to explore, I

found it imperative to apply different genres and theoretical frameworks to carry out my analysis in

each case, depending on the individuality of each respective author’s writing. This is why my thesis

is divided into three chapters, one for each author, with a separate conclusion drawn at the end of

each chapter in support of my argument and the demonstration of my main argument – i.e. that

speaking to the Divine in literature can be an indirect form of protest against the authorities and an

incitement to rebel – coming together in the final conclusion of this thesis.

Literature review

Amidst the large number of resources my research depended on, many were specific to each author

and his work and are reviewed in the relevant chapter. However, a number of sources were also

used as general reference throughout the thread of this paper and it therefore seemed more

appropriate to present the most pertinent ones at this stage. Having said this and as mentioned

above, in addition to this literature review, there will be another one in each chapter related to the

sources reviewed in support of the points and argument each presents. In every case, I chose to

distribute the literature in the following order: general resources, including those related to

mysticism and dialogism, followed by specific resources relative to each individual writer the

chapter discusses. The reason for this division is to reduce the distance between the literature review

evaluation and the writer under investigation in order to effectuate a direct comparison between the

previous studies and the difference that this thesis attempts to prove.

I begin with al-Jamil wa-l-Muqaddas (The Beautiful and The Holy) by Annemarie Schimmel

(2008), a book subtitled Essays about non-traditional studies in the Islamic civilisation and
5
translated by ʿAqil ʿIdan, in which the author offers three different essays about non-traditional

studies in the Islamic civilisation, as the subtitle states. In this work, the researcher divides these

three poetical mystical phenomena into three chapters: The Garden, Simile in Letters in Islamic

Literature and The Bald Falcon. I consider this book as a significant study in the field of mysticism

because it not only explores the analysis of symbols from this perspective, but also goes through

mystical traditions such as Persian Sufism, which gives an expanded dimension to the symbols’

allusion. In the first chapter, the author mentions the occurrence of the rose and the garden in

Islamic mystical poetry, since Islam, as a religion, was born in a sterile rural area (ibid., 38).

Moreover, she presents several poetic examples where a poet describes the figure of a flower

mystically or illustrates his preferences for a certain type of plant, such as al-Suyuti when he speaks

of the wild viola:

.‫ ﺗﻨﻄﻮي ﻋﻠﻰ ﻗﻠﺐ ﻣﺴﺠﻮر‬،‫ واﺿﻌﺔ رأﺳﮭﺎ ﻋﻠﻰ رﻛﺒﺘﮭﺎ ﻛﻌﺎﺷﻖ ﻣﮭﺠﻮر‬،‫ ﻣﺴﻜﯿﺔ اﻷﻧﻔﺎس‬،‫ﺳﻤﺎوﯾّﺔ اﻟﻠّﺒﺎس‬

(al-Suyuti, as cited in Schimmel 2008, 45)

Of celestial dress and musky breath

Her head on her knee resting such as an abandoned lover

She arches over an overflowing heart.

The author continues to list several examples followed by a brief analysis of what the condition

of a rose alludes to; she maintains that it is symbolic of the state of Jesus because its perfume

revives the dead, as his breath did (ibid., 50). Schimmel covers specific aspects such as the ability

of the passionate bulbul (nightingale) to read the rose’s fragrance, an inherited symbolic story of

absolute yearning, or Bustān al-Wiṣal (The Garden of Reunion), where she cites Rumi’s thought,

which claims that each rose wears a perfume from heaven (ibid., 52). However, these scenes are not
6
presented from an analytical point of study. When a poet expresses the beauty of plants or uses a

flower to symbolise a beloved, Schimmel simply mentions the allusions of their description without

examining the layered relations between the poet, the garden and the flower through rising tones of

dialogue. Additionally, the author examines each symbol individually without demonstrating how

these symbols could create a particular pattern, which not only a poet might speak of, but also the

symbols themselves could create a certain dialogue between the elements of the garden that could

tell more about the poem, poet and the mystical thoughts, an analysis that I intend to provide by

examining the mystical symbols in al-Suhrawardi’s poetry through a theoretical structure.

Dialogical studies

For obvious reasons, given that my research is centred on dialogue in Sufi literature, I naturally

searched for as many studies as possible that examine the dialogical aspect in mystical poetry,

however, this turned out to be like looking for a needle in a haystack. Therefore, I widened my

quest to look for similar materials relating to the Qurʾan, since it is the primary source of inspiration

for Sufi poets and documents the Prophet's mutual dialogue with the Divine. In his study al-Hiwar

fi al-Qurʾan (Dialogue in the Qurʾan), Fadl Allah explains the reason behind the use of dialogue in

Islam by stating:

‫ اﻟـﺘﻲ ﯾـﻄﺮﺣـﮭﺎ‬،‫ﻟـﺠﺄ اﻹﺳـﻼم إﻟـﻰ اﻟﺠـﺪل اﻟـﻘﺎﺋـﻢ ﻋـﻠﻰ اﻟـﺤﻮار اﻟـﻤﺒﺎﺷـﺮ ]…[ ﻣـﻦ أﺟـﻞ إﺷـﻐﺎل اﻟـﺴﺎﺣـﺎت ﺑـﻌﻼﻣـﺎت اﻻﺳـﺘﻔﮭﺎم‬

‫[ وﻟﮭـﺬا طـﺮح اﻹﺳـﻼم ﻓـﻲ اﻟـﻘﺮآن اﻟـﻜﺮﯾـﻢ ﺟـﺪال‬...] ‫[ ﻛـﻞ ذﻟـﻚ ﻣـﻦ أﺟـﻞ أن ﺗـﺪﺧـﻞ اﻟـﻔﻜﺮة ﻓـﻲ وﻋـﻲ اﻹﻧـﺴﺎن ﺑـﻌﻤﻖ‬...]

.‫ إﻟﻰ ﺟﺎﻧﺐ ﺟﺪاﻟﮫ ﻣﻊ ﻣﺠﺘﻤﻌﮫ وﻣﻊ اﻟﻔﺌﺎت اﻟﺘﻲ ﻛﺎﻧﺖ ﺗﻤﺜﻞ اﻟﻘﻮة اﻟﻤﻌﺎرﺿﺔ آﻧﺬاك‬،‫اﻹﻧﺴﺎن وﺣﻮاره اﻟﺬاﺗﻲ ﻣﻊ ﻧﻔﺴﮫ‬

(Fadl Allah 1996, 51)

Islam has adopted a dialectic based on direct dialogue [...] in order to fill the public sphere

with question marks, which it suggests [...] so as to raise a deep awareness of human
7
 consciousness [...]. This is why, in the Qurʾan, Islam has introduced dialectic and dialogue

of the human being with himself, as well as with his society and the groups that represented

the opposition force at that time.

Fadl Allah divides the dialogue in the Qurʾan into three types: direct, indirect and dialectic

(ibid., 52–53). The first type, direct dialogue, can be clearly noted in verses that mention a

conversation between the Divine and the Prophet, for instance in the dialogue between Abraham

and the Divine in Sūrat al-Baqara (Qurʾan 2: 260). Indirect dialogue, as the author states, remains

in false claims that the Qurʾan disproves (Fadl Allah 1996, 53). As the Divine says in Sūrat Yūnus:

‫ﻗﺎﻟﻮا اﺗّﺨﺬ ﷲ وﻟﺪا ﺳﺒﺤﺎﻧﮫ ھﻮ اﻟﻐﻨﻲ ﻟﮫ ﻣﺎ ﻓﻲ اﻟﺴﻤﺎوات و ﻣﺎ ﻓﻲ اﻷرض إن ﻋﻨﺪﻛﻢ ﻣﻦ ﺳﻠﻄﺎن ﺑﮭﺬا أﺗﻘﻮﻟﻮن ﻋﻠﻰ ﷲ ﻣﺎ ﻻ‬

(Qurʾan 10: 68) .‫ﺗﻌﻠﻤﻮن‬

They say, ‘God has children!’ May He be exalted! He is the Self-Su#cient One; everything

in the heavens and the earth belongs to Him. You have no authority to say this. How dare

you say things about God without any knowledge? (Abdel Haleem 2005, 133)

The third type or dialectic dialogue, the author maintains, is to be included in the first one. This

is due to two reasons: firstly, the word jadal (dialectic) takes a new interpretation that could

insinuate the action that is practiced by two people in what is called a debate. Secondly, he

considers the word ḥiwār (dialogue) to have a meaning beyond the dialectic (ibid., 52). Although I

find this criterion in distinguishing between types of dialogue worth following, my own method will

differ concerning the application, where I suggest that indirect dialogue does not lie in arguing with

interlocutors, but is an exchange between mystical symbols, such as when tears are seen to speak.

8
 I consider this book useful in the matter of collecting the dialogical verses in the Qurʾan.

However, it tends to be more explanatory than analytical, as the author makes use of Qurʾanic

verses that include dialogue, as examples to address his thoughts to the reader in order to follow the

dialogical Qurʾanic method in arguing with others (ibid., 165). The explanations beneath each

Qurʾanic example are also informative. The author speaks of the āya (verse) content without adding

a methodological dimension to his annotations. There are some illuminating notes that are worthy

of consideration, such as the emotional impact of the divine dialogue on the speaker and the reader

(ibid., 161), the role of dialogue in the Qurʾan in detecting the addressee’s situation (ibid., 163) and

the use of tenderness in the dialogical style between Moses, Aaron and Pharaoh (ibid., 275), when

the Divine says:

(Qurʾan 20: 43–44) "‫ ﻓﻘﻮﻻ ﻟﮫ ﻗﻮﻻ ﻟﯿّﻨﺎ ﻟﻌﻠّﮫ ﯾﺘﺬ ّﻛ ُﺮ أو ﯾﺨﺸﻰ‬،‫"اذھﺒﺎ إﻟﻰ ﻓﺮﻋﻮن إﻧّﮫ طﻐﻰ‬

(Go, both of you, to Pharaoh, for he has exceeded all bounds. Speak to him gently so that he may

take heed, or show respect [Abdel Haleem 2005, 197]). These observations, though interesting, are

however only mentioned in passing and are not addressed in an in-depth analytical manner, in my

opinion.

The second book about dialogical studies I refer to in this section is a study with a similar title to

the aforementioned source, conducted by Muhammad Shadi. In his introduction, he declares that

there are four purposes of dialogue in the Qurʾan: it aims to educate people in the manners of

discussion and exchanging dialogue and teaching preachers how to endure sarcasm from the public

in order to persuade them with truth, to delineate the relations among individuals in Islamic society,

to assert the concept of worshipping the Divine without polytheism, and to reassure the Prophet’s

concerns and to deliver exhortation (Shadi 2010, 20–22). I find this segmentation informative but it

appears to be confined to the content of āyas and not subject to a specific framework.

9
 The author explores the rhetorical characteristics of dialogue in the Qurʾan by highlighting

several such tendencies like anastrophe and interrogative style. This method is significantly

beneficial in examining the dialogical stylistics in al-Suhrawardi’s poetry. I nevertheless intend to

integrate this approach with speech act theory due to my belief that it could be an addition to

rhetorical analysis, specifically by analysing the imperatives and their indications, where the author

restricts himself to traditional rhetorical allusion without relating it to the concept of the authority

hierarchy, a relevance that I aim to introduce through analysing my first case study. Moreover, this

analysis is considered to be more technical than literal since it probes dialogical Qurʾanic verses

from the angle of rhetoric without taking into account an examination of their dimensions. On the

contrary, the author allocates a chapter to discussing the importance of context and its role in

determining the used dialogical tone (ibid., 307). I find this observation to be crucial and worthy of

exploration in the poetry analysis.

Another article that tackles the theme of dialogue in the Qurʾan is a paper written by Muntasir Mir.

The scholar focuses on the dramatic aspect in the Qurʾanic dialogue, particularly the one used

between human characters (Mir 1992, 1). He maintains that despite the fact that the Qurʾan is the

word of the Divine, its delivery through the verses tends to be reported in a certain form; it

sometimes starts with a statement followed by a dialogue to illustrate it. This is credibly

emphasised, for the sake of confirming the oneness of the Absolute and to negate any type of

otherness that might relate to Him. Mir states that dialogue in the Qurʾan serves the continuance of

the discourse and does not interrupt it. Moreover, the writer considers dialogue in the Qurʾan as a

medium of understanding the character of prophets such as Joseph, Moses and Abraham. For

10
example, he mentions the incident of Abraham destroying idols2 and states that this situation gives

us the impression of satire and irony in his character (ibid., 5–6). The author presents six types of

dialogues in the Qurʾan, as follows:

1– The common, conversational type between a prophet and his people, to deliver the Divine

message to them (ibid., 9).

2– The one through which the Divine commissions his prophets with his orders and gives them the

encouragement of carrying them out throughout the nation with resolutions, such as the Divine

responding to a desire in the prophets' heart.

3– Ordinary conversations between human characters addressing certain values that are either

praised or condemned in the Qurʾan.

4– Deliberations between mortals that examine matters that have occurred and the importance of

discussing them.

5– Dialogues with futuristic connotations, as they would only occur in the hereafter.

6– “The one-sided dialogue,” in which the discourse of the Divine is addressed to a single

individual (ibid., 10).

The writer then touches upon the Qurʾanic dialogue structure. He observes that it has a marking

start and a comment in the end. The marker might take the form of a word, like idh (when) or a

verb, like wadhkur (recall) or a question, such as hal atāk ḥadīthu (has the story of.. come to you)

2 This story was mentioned in the Qurʾan, as follows:

ّ
‫ ﻗﺎﻟﻮا ﺳﻤﻌﻨﺎ ﻓﺘﻰ‬،‫ ﻗﺎﻟﻮا ﻣﻦ ﻓﻌﻞ ھﺬا ﺑﺂﻟﮭﺘﻨﺎ إﻧﮫ ﻟﻤﻦ اﻟﻈﺎﻟﻤﯿﻦ‬،‫ ﻓﺠﻌﻠﮭﻢ ﺟﺬاذا إﻻ ﻛﺒﯿﺮا ﻟﮭﻢ ﻟﻌﻠﮭﻢ إﻟﯿﮫ ﯾﺮﺟﻌﻮن‬،‫ﻷﻛﯿﺪن أﺻﻨﺎﻣﻜﻢ ﺑﻌﺪ أن ﺗﻮﻟﻮا ﻣﺪﺑﺮﯾﻦ‬ Ä‫وﺗﺎ‬

‫ ﻗﺎﻟﻮا أ أﻧﺖ ﻓﻌﻠﺖ ھﺬا ﺑﺂﻟﮭﺘﻨﺎ ﯾﺎ إﺑﺮاھﯿﻢ؟ ﻗﺎل ﺑﻞ ﻓﻌﻠﮫ ﻛﺒﯿﺮھﻢ ھﺬا ﻓﺎﺳﺄﻟﻮھﻢ إن ﻛﺎﻧﻮا‬،‫ ﻗﺎﻟﻮا ﻓﺄﺗﻮا ﺑﮫ ﻋﻠﻰ أﻋﯿﻦ اﻟﻨﺎس ﻟﻌﻠﮭﻢ ﯾﺸﮭﺪون‬،‫ﯾﺬﻛﺮھﻢ ﯾُﻘﺎل ﻟﮫ إﺑﺮاھﯿﻢ‬

(Qurʾan 21:57–63) .‫ﯾﻨﻄﻘﻮن‬

(By God I shall certainly outwit your idols as soon as you have turned your backs!’He broke them all into pieces but left

the biggest one for them to return to. They said, ‘Who has done this to our gods? How wicked he must be! Some said,

‘We heard a youth called Abraham talking about them.’ They said, ‘Bring him before the eyes of the people, so that they

may witness his trial. They asked, ‘Was it you, Abraham, who did this to our gods? He said, ‘No, it was done by the

biggest of them– this one. Ask them, if they can talk.' [Abdel Haleem 2005, 206])
11
(ibid., 11). Mir also presents an analytical examination of the dialogical scene between Moses and

Pharaoh in Sūrat al-Shuʿarāʾ (the poets), where the Divine asks Moses to deliver his message to

him. His analysis highlights crucial points regarding the speakers' characters. He notes that in this

conversation, each prolocutor attempts to pull the other one to his side. In the dialogue, Pharaoh

appears to be sarcastic and to underestimate Moses. On the other hand, Moses is calm, patient and

responds with seriousness despite his addressee’s irony (ibid., 12–14). Furthermore, the author

points out that the nature of this dialogue is quickened and exchanging. Pharaoh’s lines tend to be

questioning, whereas Moses’ are statements that are advanced relentlessly. The first appears to be in

a defensive position and desperate to obtain respect, while the second is focused on the message he

is delivering (ibid.,15). I find this analysis significant in terms of drawing the lines of the

characteristics of each speaker by examining their dialogue. However, the paper is focused on

dialogue in the Qurʾan between characters and not between the Divine and his prophets.

Anthony Johns also examines dialogue in the Qurʾan in a journal article, which I feel is worth

mentioning too. Its particularity is that it explores the dramatic dialogue in the holy book with the

aim of detecting human emotion and wisdom. The author targets dialogue in Sūrat Yūsuf，which he

describes as a play for voices. The study concentrates on other silent elements that appear through

the dialogue, such as the symbolism of Joseph’s garment (Johns 1981, 38). Johns also discusses

certain themes deduced from the dialogue between the characters of the story, for instance, the

relationship between grieving and faith. He goes on to analyse the rest of the dialogues in the story

and by means of the very dialogues, points out crucial themes layered in the conversation. An

example is the uselessness of human deception, which is clearly demonstrated in the situation

between Jacob and Joseph, when the first warns the second not to tell his brothers about his dream

and the situation between Zulaykha and him, when she attempted to seduce him and later accused

12
him of harassing her, after being exposed (ibid., 36). The author emphasises the relation between

the sura and Prophet Muhammad and maintains that mentioning his story in the Qurʾan is a way of

expressing how the Prophet's return to Mecca was a mark of reconciliation, since Muhammad said

to Quraysh the same words that Joseph told his brothers (ibid., 43):

(Qurʾan 12: 92) "‫"ﻻ ﺗﺜﺮﯾﺐ ﻋﻠﯿﻜﻢ اﻟﯿﻮم‬

(No reproach is held against you today)3. Moreover, he states that Jacob’s grief at the loss of his

son does not indicate lack of faith, as he tends to mention patience and believing in God whenever

he feels sorrow for the deprivation of his child (ibid., 41). I believe that highlighting this point is

significant to Sufi poetry, because it tends to use a tone of sadness and tenderness when expressing

the loss of the Divine’s communication. This could inculpate Sufi poetry of poverty of strength and

faith, but instead, it provides a credible evidence that weeping in poetry composition does not allude

to weak faith.

While all the above resources were useful in a number of ways, the most relevant study that I could

find on the subject of dialogism was Martin Buber's comprehensive research on dialogical

philosophy and how he related it to mysticism. His philosophy can be summarised as follows: the

relationship between the human being and the other is dialogical. While the other might be a mortal

or the Divine, he differentiates between them by using the term "you" for the first and "Thou" for

the Divine and stresses that the entire meaning of the dialogue rests in the exchange between them

and not in the One or the other or even in both of them together (Buber 2012, 101–106). Buber

states that a genuine dialogue could be either silent or spoken since its genuineness actually appears

when "each of the participants really has in mind the other or others in their present and particular

being and turns to them with the intention of establishing a living mutual relation between himself

and them” (ibid., 116–120).

3 The translation is quoted from Johns 1981, 43.

13
 I find these ideas credible and compelling in describing the features of indication that a dialogue

with the Divine in a poem could allude to, particularly in exploring the pattern of relations between

the addressee and the poet in his work. Additionally, Buber touches on the notion of love and its

integration with dialogue by confirming that love is evil if it is monological. Without dialogue, love

in man is derived from the awareness of otherness and eventually “the essence of all reality begins

to disintegrate” (Friedman 2002, 89). This idea is likewise important to my thesis since the poems

of al-Suhrawardi use love not only as a theme, but also as a language to produce what is similar to a

ghazal (love poem), rather than being purely invocational. What is problematic in this study is that

it is more philosophical than literary and, as the author of the work illustrates, Buber studied

mysticism in Christianity and Judaism but not in Islam.

As stated already, the above are sources I will be returning to several times throughout my thesis, to

substantiate many of the points I will be raising on the winding road to removing one by one the

veils that, to the untrained eye, obscure the final argument I will be bringing out into the light.

Armed with as much supporting literature as my long and challenging quest was able to dig out, I

will be exposing the various layers of understanding inherent within the texts I am using as case

studies, to demonstrate how mystical poetry can be a peaceful tool of protest and rebellion.

Research rationale

Based on the literature review above and the ones included in each chapter of this thesis, I found

that the Arabic literature lacks the examination of dialogue, particularly in Sufi poetry, which is

actually composed to address the Divine and speak of a conversation that occurred between the poet

and the Absolute. Moreover, Qurʾanic studies that analyse the dialogue of the prophets in the

Qurʾan focus on the content of that dialogue and the allusions it contains from the religious point of

view. There are only a few that analyse these dialogues dramatically, yet even when they do so, they
14
focus on the conversations between prophets and other people and not on those conversations that

engage with the Divine. I believe the role of my thesis to be the creation of a study that inspects

direct conversation between the writer and the Divine, particularly in mystical texts, in order to find

the correlation between them and their ability to challenge authorities, whether they be political or

religious. Furthermore, the philosophy of dialogue itself is poorly discussed in the Arabic resources

compared to the Western ones. If Buber and Bakhtin produced the root studies in dialogue in the

West, I could not find any equivalents in Arabic to contradict or oppose them.

My thesis aims to investigate the production of Sufi writers who have rarely been studied in

general and who were not examined through the lens of dialogue. I attempt to provide an academic

study about them that may hopefully help any scholar who might be interested in them in the future.

This research builds a specific theoretical structure for each text, in order to understand the allusions

and dimensions of the writer’s dialogue with the Divine in each specific text. Through the research,

I found that dialogue is a factor extracted from literary analysis in Arabic Studies. Nonetheless, the

Qurʾanic ones tend to classify the types of conversation without touching upon their reflection on

the prophets' character or on their implications. My thesis will suggest a different approach to look

at dialogical mystical texts in different genres.

Research questions

In this paper, I address a number of questions with the aim of finding a clear conclusion that relates

to dialogue, mysticism and power. These questions can be explicitly put as follows:

- What does the structure of the dialogue reveal about the character and disposition of the

speaker and the addressee?

- Can a dialogue between a mortal and the Divine occur and if so, in what manner, what

allusions might be implied from an emotional conversation between them and is there a relation

between submission and power?

15
 - What is the agency of an author when he is in dialogue with the Divine?

- What role does silence play, if any, in dialogue with the Divine?

- What is the difference between revelation and inspiration and is revelation a phenomenon

that is exclusive to prophets or can it also happen to poets? These questions also lead to asking

what the similarities and differences are between prophets and poets.

- What is the correlation between the mystic and the hero?

- Finally, the crux of the thesis and its fundamental argument revolve around the questions of

whether a conversation between a mortal and his Divine could threaten the authorities, what the

relationship between secularism and spirituality is and whether speaking with the Divine could

render a writer politically powerful.

Methodology

Since there are no studies on dialogue in mystical poetry, as my research demonstrates, my

methodological procedure relies mainly on the close reading of primary sources and direct analysis

of the texts. My approach is made through the prism of various theories and by engaging in many

philological aspects, as the precise meaning of words is central and crucial to my analysis, and the

historical and biographical frameworks are also of critical importance to allow the pinning down of

meaning.

The theoretical framework is built on multiple theories that might not be directly related, but

which I attempt to integrate through the analysis, in view of reaching a method that helps to unveil

the layers of each text under examination.

In the first two chapters, the theology of each mystic is delved into, as it plays a major role both

in composing the text and analysing it. Furthermore, this thesis relies on and applies the following:

the methodology of illumination by al-Suhrawardi, speech act theory by Austin and Searl, the

philosophy of dialogue by Buber, dialogism by Bakhtin, the Arabic poetry meter study of al-
16
Tayyeb, dramatic discourse by Gruendler, the mystical theology of al-Niffari, the study of the

relation between poetry and prophecy by Kugel, Heinrichs, Zwettler and Cooper, the study of the

Qurʾan and revelation by Nasr Hamid Abu Zayd, the relation between spirituality and power by

Foucault, iltifāt, grammatical shifting by Abdel Haleem, the hero’s journey by Campbell and the

relation between secularism and Sufism by al-Masrafi. Each method mentioned is extensively

explained and applied in the analysis of the related texts.

The choice of approach is made based on each text's respective structure and inferences, for

example, the approach of the hero’s journey is only relevant for application in the third chapter,

because the text under study is a play containing different characters and hence different voices.

Unlike the other chapters, the author, ʿAbd al-Sabur, did not compose a text addressing the Divine,

instead, he narrates a discourse where al-Hallaj is speaking to the Divine, which is why I opted for

Campbell’s approach in this case, due to the difference in genre.

Brief breakdown

Al-Suhrawardi is the first author I examine and dedicate the first chapter of this thesis to. I begin by

presenting a literature review of different types of research carried out about the author and explain

how this chapter contributes in providing a new dimension in the field of his poetry’s studies. I later

provide a brief biography of the poet and a discussion around his philosophy of illumination in

order to contribute in-depth insight into his poetry. This is followed by a presentation of my analysis

of his poem with the support of different scholars' perspectives, such as Bakhtin and Gruendler, to

produce a critical examination of the various stages in his poem and reach the conclusion that the

direct dialogue in the poem proffers a certain type of power.

In the second chapter, I explore the texts of al-Niffari in his book The Mawaqif and Mukhatabat,

which I selected as an example of both a direct and two-directional conversation with the Absolute.

17
Al-Niffari has rarely been studied academically on account of his complicated stylistics and the

reflection of his philosophy in his texts. This chapter has the lion’s share of the thesis due to the

necessity of examining his theology through a literary dimension. I set off with a literature review

that discusses certain studies about al-Niffari and the intended additions to provide by exploring the

aspect of dialogue. The chapter later presents a brief biography of the mystic and a detailed section

of his philosophy, as well as my subjective reflections regarding them. In the third section, I lay

down my analysis by discussing certain aspects that constitute the structure of the examination,

such as the concept of revelation and inspiration and the echo of prophecy via the methodology of

speech act theory, Iltifāt and Foucault. Moreover, this section provides a dissection of the dialectic

of voice and a comparison of al-Niffari’s texts with the concept of miʿrāj, which will be clarified in

due course. In the conclusion, I present the link between the texts of al-Niffari and claiming power.

In the third chapter, my study is focused on Maʾsat al-Hallaj, a dramatic work written by the

poet Salah ʿAbd al-Sabur. I selected this book particularly for it presents the case of writing about a

character who had a conversation with the Divine. The chapter is divided into two sections, the first

one includes a literature review about the play and an explanation of the suggested dimension of

examination, as well as the biographies of both the poet and the protagonist and finally, a summary

of the play. The second section incorporates the methodology of examination, which is based on the

hero's journey by Campbell, followed by an analysis of the play that focuses on the dialectic of life

and death and the image of prophecy. At the end of this section, I attempt to touch upon the

relationship between leftism and Sufism to conclude that, in modern literary works, dialogue with

the Divine represents the voice of rebellion against oppression.

I end the thesis with an overall conclusion that draws the similarities and comparisons between

the three works and brings the findings of all three chapters together to corroborate my main

argument.
18
 Chapter One

al-Suhrawardi

Section One

‫وأﻧﺖ ﺣﺪﯾﺜﻲ ﺑﯿﻦ أھﻞ اﻟﮭﻮى ﯾُﺮوى‬ ‫إﻟﯿـﻚ إﺷﺎراﺗﻲ وأﻧـﺖ اﻟـﺬي أھـﻮى‬

‫ﻓﻄﻮﺑﻰ ﻟﻘﻠﺐ ذاب ﻓـﯿﻚ ﻣﻦ اﻟﺒـﻠـﻮى‬ ‫وأﻧﺖ ﻣﺮاد اﻟﻌﺎﺷـﻘـﯿـﻦ ﺑﺄﺳﺮھــــﻢ‬

.‫وﻛﻞ اﻣﺮئ ﯾﺼﺒﻮ ﻟﻨﺤﻮ اﻟﺬي ﯾﮭﻮى‬ ‫ﻣﺤﺒﻮك ﺗﺎھﻮا ﻓﻲ اﻟﮭﻮى و ﺗﻮﻟّﮭﻮا‬

(al-Suhrawardi 2005, 54)

For Thou art my beacons and Thou art the one I love

And Thou art my narrated tale amongst the people of love

And Thou art the desire of all the lovers

Lucky is the heart that melted into Thou from affliction

Your lovers are lost in admiration and bewildered

And every being yearns for his beloved.

Falling in love, or according to the Sufi perspective, rising in love creates an endless desire to speak

with or accompany the beloved, for conversations of love are the life of souls. Being away from the

beloved causes yearning, suffering and the thirst to speak to the one you love. This basic human

state is not limited to the secular realm but extends to spirituality as well. Al-Suhrawardi is one of

those lovers who expresses this insisting need to converse with the Divine in his poems. Because

studies about his poetry are rare, I felt motivated to explore his poetry and examine the aspect of

dialogue with the Divine in one of his poems. In this chapter, I present a literature review of studies

19
about al-Suhrawardi to clarify the aspect that I attempt to tackle and offer a brief biography of the

life and works of the poet. I then provide a summary of his philosophy named ḥikmat al-ishrāq (the

wisdom of illumination), for I believe it to be crucial to understanding his philosophical perspective

on account of its significant correlation with his poetry. I continue by expounding an analysis of one

of al-Suhrawardi's poems to examine the element of dialogue with the Divine in it and its relation to

power. I conclude by demonstrating that seemingly vulnerable love poems that speak to the Divine

can be indirect but effective modes of challenging the political authorities.

Literature review

After conducting extensive research about al-Suhrawardi, I found that studies about his poetry were

nearly nonexistent. I did nonetheless find a number of studies that can be indirectly related to the

subject of my thesis. The first is al-Abʿad al-Sufiyya fi al-Islam by Annemarie Schimmel, in which

the poet occupies a small individual chapter in a study under the name of Zaʿīm al-Ishraq: al-

Suhrawardi al-Maqtul (Schimmel 2006, 293). In this section, the author covers the biography of the

poet, including his life and works and stresses his invention of the philosophy of Illumination,

which she offers a definition of (ibid., 295). Moreover, she states that he wrote the best narratives of

symbolic works (ibid., 294), possibly referring to al-Samʿiyyat (The Acoustics), al-ʿAql al-Ahmar

(The Red Intellect), Naghmat Ajnihat Jibril (The Chant of Gabriel's Wing) and Lughat al-Naml

(The Language of Termites), which are some of the Sufi tales al-Suhrawardi wrote in a symbolic

language. However, she does not mention any observations or studies about al-Suhrawardi as a

poet. On the contrary, the author describes Ibn al-Farid as the Shāʿir al-Ṣūfiyya (the poet of Sufism)

and expands more on his famous poem al-Tāʾiyya, with an emphasis on critics’ attention towards it

(ibid., 308–312). Schimmel’s book is one of the most comprehensive studies of the history of the

Sufism movement in Islam in the Arabic, Persian and Turkish heritage, where the author allocates

sections to the most influential Sufis, such as al-Ghazali and Ibn ʿArabi. Nonetheless, the study
20
tends to be more informative and collective than argumentative, focusing on al-Suhrawardi’s death

as echoing the tragedy of al-Hallaj, without providing a clear link or explanation for this. Most

importantly, there is no sign of academic study of his poetry or research into the concept of dialogue

in mystical literature.

The second book that I present is Adonis’s Sufism and Surrealism, a work whose approach I believe

to be highly significant. The book is mainly structured as a comparative study between two

methodologies, as the title obviously declares. However, what is actually evident is that Adonis

compares Sufism with surrealism not as a philosophy nor as a perspective, but as an art in itself. He

says: “This takes us on to what I shall call the ‘mysticism’ of art. We should not confuse the word

here with the burden of its religious-historical associations, but regard it only as an embodiment of

an artistic vision” (Adonis 2005, 172). Then, to explain his premise, he states that mysticism

separates a person from outward appearances, enabling him or her to achieve profundity and enter

into an inward dimension. Sufism judges logic and reasoning through intuition and experiences, in

contrast to philosophy, which uses reasoning and logic to judge intuition and experiences. He

continues by maintaining that the Sufism of art differs from religious Sufism; the first one rejects

life as a veil that blocks true life, while the second refuses to see life as ephemeral. This mysticism

is a constant state of flux through matter towards the core of the world, where the universe is in

endless movement and it sees creativity as a journey of infinity within the heart of this movement.

Moreover, the mysticism of art unites reality and dream, which harmonises contrasting elements,

emphasising that the deep meaning of being human remains in the continuous quest for infinity and

the role of art lies in the modality of expressing this idea. This type of Sufism concerns itself with

what is unknown, and therefore the purpose of its artistic nature is to always reveal the childhood of

the world. Adonis ends his explanation by stressing the mutability of this form of Sufi art that

21
presents the world as new and different in terms of image, through a distinguishable experience, the

openness, movement and spontaneity of which travel beyond sensibility (ibid., 172–173).

I consider this perspective towards literary works of Sufism to be crucial to presenting a new

analytical view of the work of al-Suhrawardi – since his poetry has never been studied before – and

to examining his work aesthetically, in addition to being related to his philosophy of illumination,

but by using the concept of dialogue and extending it to investigate how this could affect the

question of power. Nonetheless, I find that this approach tends to be something of a generalisation.

Adonis explains his point of view yet does not provide examples, something that I believe needs to

be presented to illustrate the dimension of challenging the aforementioned view of the Sufi text and

what that could allude to.

The writer mentions al-Suhrawardi towards the end of the first part of his book, in a chapter

entitled "The Harmonious Difference," in which he speaks of Sufi writing as being the story of

emerging from exile and attaining the higher point, since man is an exiled foreigner (ibid., 149).

Adonis touches upon a work called al-Ghurba al-Gharbiyya (Occidental Exile), which he

summarises in a brief paragraph to explain the experience of diaspora of a human being and the

various stages needed to reach a higher state, by plunging through layers of darkness to reach the

light (ibid., 151). Having said that, this is the only page where he alludes to al-Suhrawardi by

referring to one of his philosophical works, not the poetic work, despite his emphasis on

concentrating on Sufism as art, the poetics of thought and the form of creativity. Moreover, Adonis

points out in several places the reasons behind the conflict between Sufis and strict religious

associations due to the use of metaphor. He asserts, for example, that "religious parties are the most

hostile to figurative language, since they are interested in what they call the facts, which they preach

and explain in their entirety. Figurative language is imaginary, which in their view means that it is

wrong and meaningless” (ibid., 121). By noting this point, he articulates his recognition of the

relation between mystical art and its capacity to provoke political and religious authorities.
22
However, these ideas lack a practical application that shows a clear analytical link with the

figurative language that might generate such a threat.

The final book in this section is Denis E. McAuley’s study on Ibn ʿArabi’s Mystical Poetics. This

book is central to my thesis due to its focus of attention. Regardless of the fact that the study is

centred on Ibn ʿArabi, I consider it to be of importance since it is the poetic work of the author it

examines, unlike the majority of the other several studies on Ibn ʿArabi, which concentrate mostly

on him as a philosopher rather than a poet, as is indeed the case with al-Suhrawardi. MacAuley

clearly introduces his approach, in which he integrates Ibn ʿArabi’s mystical reflections with his

poetic perspective, stating, for example, that “Ibn ʿArabi connects poetry to the faculty of

imagination because poetry operates by putting images together, thereby making intelligibilia more

accessible to the human mind [...]. Poetry is connected with imagination but also with ordering of

the sublunar world” (McAuley 2012, 43). After quoting from Ibn ʿArabi, he continues: “The

implication is that because poetry entails the putting together of images in the form of structured

(metered and rhymed) speech, it is analogous with the putting together of the elements4 and thus

with movement and change” (ibid.).

This method is vital to the framework of my analysis because I examine al-Suhrawardi's

philosophy of illumination and highlight how it is reflected in his poems, so as to add an additional

theoretical dimension to the analysis. Nevertheless, I believe that my take on this approach is

different. With regard to the analytical perspective on the purpose of mystical poetry, at the end of

the fifth section of the third chapter of his book, McAuley concludes that “Ibn ʿArabi’s poem is a

comment on the Qurʾan, but also a piece that calls for interpretation in its own right” (ibid., 87).

In contrast to this interpretation, I consider the role of mystical poetry to be much more than simply

a limited summary of an author’s set of ideas. Despite the fact that illumination constitutes an

4 The yellow bile, blood, phlegm and black bile mentioned by Ibn ʿArabi as quoted in the book.
23
important method that opens new horizons in reading the poem, I argue that philosophy is an

individual element that operates together with another factor that jointly build the poem up to be

more than just a receptacle for thoughts. I suggest that the poem itself is an act of speech that

proposes a political, forceful message that could challenge the pillars of governmental authority.

McAuley also touches on the notion of dialogue at several points. For example, he analyses a

poem between a sinner and a speaker of the Qurʾan, where the second is attempting to guide the

first to the path of goodness but he refuses to follow him (ibid., 79–81). The poet uses this literary

device to emphasise the point that the sinner is actually an unexpected guide to the speaker.

However, this surprising dialogue, as he describes it, is a method used to bring the Qurʾanic paradox

to life (ibid., 82). I find this point of view problematic since it limits the dialogue to the speaker and

the sinner without taking into account the relationships that might be generated by this act of

speech. If the speaker is advising the sinner, then what is he trying to actually say about himself and

the sinner? This type of questioning is not explored in McAuley’s analysis.

Regarding primary resources that focus on al-Suhrawardi, the most prominent source is al-

Suhrawardi’s collection of poems or Diwan itself. Al-Shibli states that al-Suhrawardi’s Diwan is

composed of 145 verses (as cited in al-Suhrawardi 2005, 12). Despite the fact that al-Shibli

characterises the poems with simplicity, familiarity and clarity, I noticed that his poetry has

additional dimensions, specifically in terms of using the second person pronoun or what is called

ḍamīr al-mukhāṭab in Arabic. Al-Suhrawardi has been individually studied by several scholars such

as ʿAbd al-Rahman Badawi, Mustafa Ghalib and Muhammad Abu Rayyan. However, their studies

only concentrate on his philosophical works without any recognition of his poetry. This matter, as I

strongly believe, is what constitutes the significance of my thesis in the field of the study of

mystical poetry. From reading his Diwan, I observed several tendencies worthy of being examined

within a constructive framework. I noticed that the poet uses two types of dialogue when he speaks
24
of his yearning for the Divine, a direct and an indirect one. There is also an imagery of prophecy in

his poems and an application of the concept of love as more than a just a theme but as a sort of

language also; an expressive language whose deepest meaning is conveyed indirectly, not through

words, but through overtones that lie within words, that can be felt more than understood and that

indicate a certain emotional status. I suggest that the state of a yearning lover, which al-Suhrawardi

presents in his poems, might be more than just a mystical invocation; it might hide and symbolise a

much more profound meaning, which I believe it is possible to discover through certain

methodologies such as dialogism and speech act theory.

Al-Suhrawardi’s biography

Abu al-Futuh Yahya Ibn Habash ibn Amirak is also known as Shihab al-Din al-Suhrawardi al-

Maqtul. His birth is believed to have occurred between 545AH and 550AH (between 1150 and 1156

CE) in a small village called Suhraward, that lies on a path between Hamadhan and Zinjan in South

Sultaniyya in Iraq (Ghalib 1982, 14–15). Ghalib states that the reason behind naming him al-Maqtul

(the murdered) was to prevent the masses from considering him a shahīd (martyr). However, his

students interpreted this word as martyr and this was confirmed when Henry Corbin found a script

where one of his pupils calls him a shahīd (ibid., 15). In his formative years, al-Suhrawardi started

his scholarly path by attending lectures given by Shaykh Majd al-Din al-Jili at the school of al-

Miragha, where he met one of the most significant Sufi scholars, Fakhr al-Din al-Razi (Badawi

1964, 97–98). Later, al-Suhrawardi traveled to Isfahan and his life of endless journeys began soon

afterwards. Al-Shahrazuri divided al-Suhrawardi’s life between Bilād al-Rūm (the lands of Rome)

and Bilād al-Shām (the Levant) (ibid., 98–99). According to Ibn al-Raqiqa, al-Suhrawardi was

constantly on the move in his search for knowledge and isolated from any material concerns:

25
 ُ ‫ﻛ‬
‫ وﻋـﻠﻰ رأﺳـﮫ ﻓـﻮطـﺔ‬،‫ وھـﻮ ﻻﺑـﺲ ﺟـﺒّﺔ ﻗـﺼﯿﺮة ﻣـﻀ ّﺮﺑـﺔ زرﻗـﺎء‬،‫ـﻨﺖ أﻧـﺎ وإﯾـﺎه )أي اﻟﺴﮭـﺮوردي( ﻧﺘﻤﺸـﻰ ﻓـﻲ ﺟـﺎﻣـﻊ ﻣـﯿﺎﻓـﺎرﻗـﯿﻦ‬

ُ ‫ "ﻣـﺎ ﺟـﺌﺖ ﺗـﻤﺎﺷـﻲ إﻻ ھـﺬا اﻟﺨـﺮﺑـﻨﺪا؟" ﻓ‬:‫ ﻓـﺄﺗـﻰ إﻟـﻰ ﺟـﺎﻧـﺒﻲ وﻗـﺎل‬،‫ ورآﻧـﻲ ﺻـﺪﯾـﻖ ﻟـﻲ‬،‫ وﻓـﻲ رﺟـﻠﯿﮫ زرﺑـﻮل‬،‫ﻣـﻔﺘﻮﻟـﺔ‬
:‫ـﻘﻠﺖ ﻟـﮫ‬

(ibid., 99–100) .‫ ﻓﺘﻌﻈﻢ ﻗﻮﻟﻲ وﺗﻌﺠﺐ وﻣﻀﻰ‬،‫اﺳﻜﺖ! ھﺬا ﺳﯿﺪ اﻟﻮﻗﺖ ﺷﮭﺎب اﻟﺪﯾﻦ اﻟﺴﮭﺮوردي‬

I was walking with him - al-Suhrawardi - in Miyafarqin mosque; he wore a short, stitched

blue gown, a twisted towel on his head and shoes on his feet, when a friend of mine saw

me, came to my side and said: "Have you found no one else to walk with apart from this

fool?" So I said to him: "Shush! This is the master of time Shihab al-Din al-Suhrawardi,"

and he was astonished by what I said, marvelled at my words, then left.

When he moved to Aleppo, his knowledge shone and attracted people around him; this provided

al-Suhrawardi with the confidence to argue not only with religious scholars, but with philosophers

as well. His knowledgeable superiority in philosophy and religion provoked the elite’s hatred and

ire, which led to him being accused of heresy (Abu Rayyan 1959, 15). This reputation aroused the

curiosity of King al-Zahir, the son of Salah al-Din, who ruled Aleppo at that time. He invited him to

his palace in order to host a debate between himself and other scholars in Aleppo. Al-Suhrawardi

showed an interesting quality of wisdom and replied to other scholars’ claims with significant

theological arguments. This event led al-Zahir to become fond of the poet and to appoint him as one

of his closest scholars. Nevertheless, this close relationship did not enable the king to reverse his

father’s decision to execute al-Suhrawardi (ibid., 15–17).

Extremist religious scholars wrote to Salah al-Din to warn him of al-Suhrawardi’s negative

influence on his son’s beliefs. Mahmud Muhammad Ali Muhammad confirms that there were

several factors that constituted the motive behind the assassination of al-Suhrawardi. First and

foremost was the political aspect and on this point, Mahmud Muhammad Ali Muhammad agrees

with Horton when he states that al-Suhrawardi’s grouping involved reviving the sect of al-
26
ʾIsmaʿiliyya, which believes in the holy transfiguration of Ali’s sons. Therefore, he was considered

a political revolutionary who sought to counter the regime (Muhammad 1999, 29). Secondly, al-

Suhrawardi clashed in arguments with his opponents and thirdly, he claimed to be a prophet since

he called himself al-Muʾayyad bel Malakut (the supported by the Divine) (ibid., 30). As for his

death, the least that can be said is that there appears to be quite some ambiguity surrounding it.

Some scholars claimed that he was murdered in prison because of his hunger strike, while others

suggested that he was executed with a sword. However, Muhammad supports Corbin’s opinion on

this matter, namely that al-Suhrawardi was killed under mysterious circumstances in 587AH

(around 1193 CE) (ibid., 31–32).

The Sufi scholar left a significant literary heritage, writing more than fifty books in Arabic and

more than twenty in Persian. The most significant of them were Hikmat al-ʾIshraq (The Wisdom of

Illumination), al-Lamahat (The Glances) and Kalimat al-Tasawwuf (The Word of Sufism) (al-

Suhrawardi 2005, 20–52).

Illumination, Ishrāq

Before starting to analyse the chosen poem, it is essential to address a central point that is related to

understanding al-Suhrawardi’s perspective on how to see the world through his poetry, by briefly

reviewing his philosophy of illumination. According to al-Taftazani, illumination is:

(as cited in al-Sih 2004, 187) “‫ وﻋﻠﻰ ﺑﺎطﻨﮫ أو ﻗﻠﺒﮫ‬،‫”ﺣﺪوث اﻹﻟﮭﺎﻣﺎت ﻣﻦ ﷲ ﻟﻠﺼﻮﻓﻲ ﺑﻄﺮﯾﻖ ﻣﺒﺎﺷﺮ‬

(the occurrence of revelations from the Divine to the Sufi in a direct path to his internal being or his

heart).

Al-Sih states that al-Suhrawardi called his philosophy “illuminating” because it was a

philosophy that resulted in the truth and in absolute purity, clarity and manifestation. There is

nothing more apparent than the light; it needs no introduction. Everything can be divided into what

is, in itself, light and into what is not or, in other words, into darkness (ibid.). Moreover,
27
illumination is an internal psychological and emotional experience that is guided by spiritual

meditation and immanent sensation. The standard of this experience's credibility occurs after

seeking ascension stages that are achieved via practices that reveal clear facts, which are free of

doubt (Talib 2014, 167). The word illumination, ishrāq, which is originates from the word mashriq

(the east), itself derives from the word sharq (sunrise) and points to yet another word, which is

mashriq (orient) (Nasr 1963, 376). The lexical association indicates the connection between ishrāq

and symbolism. It alludes to the fact that the sun rises from the orient and illuminates the world.

Therefore, the land will be fraught with lights. This analogy of the land becoming the home of

lights symbolises the relation between gnosis5 and illumination. It means that as the sun rises and

shines on the universe, so gnosis rises in the soul and illuminates it. In contrast, the sun sets in the

occident, the place where darkness lies and which, according to Nasr, represents "matter, ignorance,

or discursive thought, entangled in the mesh of its own logical constructions" (ibid., 379).

One of the key philosophies that influenced the theory of illumination is the philosophy of

Hermes6 in the east, for it seeks to create a Divine wisdom that accomplishes man’s salvation

through the unification of the human with the Divine (Talib 2014, 126–127). Having said this, al-

Suhrawardi was also inspired by Muslim philosophers such as al-Kindi. He was the first to manifest

an illuminative tendency among the Islamic thinkers. It was demonstrated in his writings about nafs

(soul), where he maintains that the soul's essence is analogous with that of the Divine. Therefore,

5 Mystical knowledge (Arnaldez 2012). This notion will be discussed in detail in the first section of chapter two.

6 Harmas, Harmis or Hirmis is believed to be divided into three persons. The first is believed to be either Enoch or the

Prophet Idris, who lived before the flood in Egypt and who is thought to be the builder of the Pyramids. The first one is

supposed to be the one who documented the first scientific achievements of man on the walls of sanctuaries to prevent

their destruction by the flood. The second Hermes is assumed to be from Babylonia and to be the one who lived after

the flood and resuscitated scientific studies, however, he is thought to have later migrated to Egypt. The third one is said

to have created his philosophy of crafts and science in Egypt after the flood. According to the Sabians, Hermes is

perceived as a quasi God or a philosopher prophet. Regarding his role, Massignon claims that he is responsible for

promoting the Hellenistic and Neoplatonic tradition in Islam (Plessner, 2012).

28
the only method to reach gnosis is through the purification of sins and the avoidance of lust. If a

soul should achieve that and subsequently continues its search, it will be polished and unified with

the Divine’s luminous image to show the image of all things, since the polished mirror reflects all

images (ibid., 128–129). On the other hand, al-Farabi states that the aim of gnosis is to connect with

ʿaql faʿʿāl7 (intellect agent)8, which is obtained by means of Gabriel, through whom all images,

knowledge and gnosis are revealed. A man can only reach this stage through endurance, practices

and self-purification (ibid., 128–129).

In al-Suhrawardi's point of view, light is not that absolute brightness which appears to the naked

eye, it is rather a process that occurs through perception and awareness. Therefore, the act of seeing

is not limited to and goes far beyond the fact that the naked eye makes contact with a visible object;

it is the direction of the self to the mind that shines a light on the eye in order to see the object (Abu

Rayyan 1959, 114–115). Al-Suhrawardi launched his theory from the following verse in the Qurʾan

(Talib 2014, 187):

‫ اﻟـﺰﺟـﺎﺟـﺔ ﻛـﺄﻧـﮭﺎ ﻛـﻮﻛـﺐ دري ﯾـﻮﻗـﺪ ﻣـﻦ‬،‫ اﻟـﻤﺼﺒﺎح ﻓـﻲ زﺟـﺎﺟـﺔ‬،‫ﷲ ﻧـﻮر اﻟـﺴﻤﺎوات و اﻷرض ﻣـﺜﻞ ﻧـﻮره ﻛـﻤﺸﻜﺎة ﻓـﯿﮭﺎ ﻣـﺼﺒﺎح‬

.‫ ﻧـﻮر ﻋـﻠﻰ ﻧـﻮر ﯾﮭـﺪي ﷲ ﻟـﻨﻮره ﻣـﻦ ﯾـﺸﺎء‬،‫ﺷﺠـﺮة ﻣـﺒﺎرﻛـﺔ زﯾـﺘﻮﻧـﺔ ﻻ ﺷـﺮﻗـﯿﺔ وﻻ ﻏـﺮﺑـﯿﺔ ﯾـﻜﺎد زﯾـﺘﮭﺎ ﯾـﻀﻲء وﻟـﻮ ﻟـﻢ ﺗـﻤﺴﺴﮫ ﻧـﺎر‬

(Qurʾan 24: 35)

7 According to the neoplatonic perspective, ʿaql is the first or the second entity that was emanated via divinity as the

first cause. It is believed that the intellect is responsible for the creation of the soul and ṭabīʾa or character (translation

quoted from al-ʿAjam, 1999, 1138). Being the first creation, the intellect has several names such as "the messenger" or

"the representative of the Divine in the world." For theologians, ʿaql represents the origin of knowledge. The notion of

intellect is usually integrated with other terms such as character and fiṭra (nature), that indicate methods of

independently knowing, deprived of the revelation’s authority. Islamic philosophers were influenced by Aristotle and

his Greek commentators regarding the meaning of ʿaql. From their perspective, intellect consists of a part of the soul

that relates to its ability of thinking and knowing, since this is the opposite of recognition (Boer & Rahman, 2012).

8 Translation quoted from al-ʿAjam, 1999, 1141.

29
 God is the Light of the heavens and earth. His Light is like this: there is a niche, and in it a

lamp, the lamp inside a glass, a glass like a glittering star, fuelled from a blessed olive tree

from neither east nor west, whose oil almost gives light even when no fire touches it––

light upon light––God guides whoever He will to His Light. (Abdel Haleem 2005, 223)

Al-Suhrawardi defines the light as follows:

“‫ وھﻮ أظﮭﺮ ﻓﻲ ﻧﻔﺴﮫ ﻣﻦ ﻛﻞ ﻣﺎ ﯾﻜﻮن اﻟﻈﮭﻮر زاﺋﺪا ﻋﻠﻰ ﺣﻘﯿﻘﺘﮫ‬، ‫”اﻟﻨﻮر ھﻮ اﻟﻈﺎھﺮ ﻓﻲ ﺣﻘﯿﻘﺔ ﻧﻔﺴﮫ اﻟﻤﻈﮭﺮ ﻟﻐﯿﺮه ﺑﺬاﺗﮫ‬

(al-Suhrawardi, as cited in Talib 2014, 214), (light is that which is apparent in its actual self, which

shows the other via itself. It is much more manifest in its own self than what all other appearances

may add to its truth). Henry Corbin comments on this by saying: “Therefore, the Light cannot be

written nor drawn and cannot be acknowledged through evidence, for it is impossible to recognise

the Ẓāhir (the Manifest) over all things through something that is less apparent, since the definer is

clearer than the defined. Al-Suhrawardi refuses to provide a specific definition of the Light for two

reasons: logically, the defined should be clearer than the definer, however, this cannot be applied

here, for there is nothing clearer and more manifest than the light. It is by means of the light that

things are defined and revealed. It is impossible to define something with anything that is less clear.

Secondly, the definition must include a type and a classification or anything that might infer a sort

of limitation or a sketch and this cannot be applied to the light either, for it cannot be classified

under these faculties (Talib 2014, 214).

Al-Suhrawardi attempts to delve into demonstrating the existence of the Nūr al-anwār (Light of

lights) following what mashshāʾiyya9 (peripateticism) started earlier to prove wujūd wājib al-

9 A school that was founded by Aristotle. It was named peripatetic due to the fact that he used to teach his students

while walking. The school's doctrine was taught based on Aristotle's dogma in scientific proofs and philosophical

theories (Saliba 1982, 373)

30
wujūd10 (the existence of the necessary being). He starts from the principle of unsequenced light and

gradually ascends to infinity, due to his claim of there being an end to each level of light. He

believes that light should end at a light that has none after it, which is the Light of lights that

overflows with self-light in a an endless continuity (ibid., 182).

Al-Suhrawardi supports his idea, the existence of the Light of lights, by stating that our

reasonable souls (nufūs nāṭiqa) are self-appearing (ẓāhira li-dhātihā). Therefore, they are upright

lights (anwār qāʾima). However, since they are occurring, it is crucial for them to have a measuring

instrument or murajjiḥ, which in this case is embodied by the incorporeal light (nūr mujarrad), and

if this was a necessary being (wājib al-wujūd), then the aim is achieved, and if it were not, it will

end at wājib al-wujūd bi-dhātih (necessary being by itself), that is why al-Suhrawardi states:

"‫ و اﻟﻘﯿﻮم ھﻮ اﻟﻈﺎھﺮ وھﻮ ﻧﻮر اﻷﻧﻮار اﻟﻤﺠﺮد ﻣﻦ اﻷﺟﺴﺎم و ﻋﻼﺋﻘﮭﺎ وھﻮ ﻣﺤﺘﺠﺐ ﻟﺸﺪة ظﮭﻮره‬،‫"ﻓﺎﻟﻨﻔﺲ دﻟّﺖ ﻋﻠﻰ اﻟﺤﻲ اﻟﻘﯿﻮم‬

(ibid., 183), (the soul indicates the Everliving Eternal Sustainer who is the Manifest, the Light of

lights devoid of bodies and their attachments and He is Veiled due to the intensity of His

manifestnessyt). In his book Hikmat al-Ishraq, al-Suhrawardi mentions that he witnessed the

occurrence of these gnoses through illumination and emanation overflowing on his soul from the

unknown (ibid.).

There are thus two types of light: mental and sensory, where the first is considered the principle

and the second, the impact of that principle (Abu Rayyan 1959, 114–115). Al-Suhrawardi classifies

lights into different categories: anwār mujarrada (incorporeal lights)11 and anwār ʿaraḍiyya

(accidental lights). The first are original lights and their truth is the light, which means that they are

10 Necessary being: a being for whose existence there is no cause, who is the first reason responsible for the existence of

things and whose existence must be the very first and must be exalted and above any deficiency. This being has no

form, classification or proof, for it is the proof of all things. Its existence is eternal and it is a being that cannot be

multiplied. It is pure goodness, intelligence and reason and is the representation of pure beauty and perfection (Jahami

1998, 964).

11 Translation quoted from Nasr, in Sharif 1963, 387.

31
illuminative essences in themselves and not by themselves. They descend from the Light of lights

vertically and gradually on ten levels. Each level is more illuminative than the one before it (Talib

2014, 215). These lights are mediums for creating, influencing, existing and all the other inferior

worlds originate from their shadow. They are simple and cannot be signified with senses nor can

they dwell in a body and they have an awareness and life of their own (ibid., 216). According to al-

Suhrawardi, these lights have three names: al-anwār al-qāhira (dominant lights), which exert

qahhāriyya (domination) over inferior lights; al-anwār al-qāʾima (upright lights), which are

illuminative substances standing by themselves and finally, there are al-anwār al-mudabbira (regent

lights)12, which devise the orbits, aspects and other species and which are also known as arbāb al-

anwāʿ (lords of the species) (ibid., 218).

Accidental lights are forms that reflect from the Light of lights onto the incorporeal lights,

which increases their light, as if we were to add an external light to a lantern, which would be

adding light upon light (nūr ʿalā nūr). Those lights derive their name from being in front of the

substance or in other words, as there are ten lights that are substances, it ensues that there are lights

that derive from higher lights. These higher lights that come from above are accidental because they

are not derived from the light itself but are reflected from other lights (ibid., 216). Accidental lights

reflect from all levels of lights because they are constantly multiplying and are generated on a

massive scale along the space of existence, therefore, things are generated due to generating lights.

The more the lights descend, the more they expand and increase. Similarly to sensory light, the

more distant it is from its source, the more it scatters and increases. From this illuminative duality,

al-Suhrawardi explains the founding relationship between the Divine and His creatures, for He is

the Light of lights and the whole of existence is akin to illuminative levels that are launched by

Him. The human truth consists of the soul as the representative of the illuminative aspect while the

12 Translation quoted from Nasr, in Sharif 1963, 388.

32
body represents the dark one. The argument of their integration is an evidence that supports the

origin of this systematic complementarity that creates the whole universe. (ibid., 217–218).

The process of illumination and witnessing has two different directions, one is descendant and

the other ascendant. This process can be achieved when the veil between the illuminator and the

object that has the ability to be illuminated is absent. Al-Suhrawardi compares illumination to the

sunlight that rises on the earth, and witnessing to seeing the object. When the eye meets the object,

there is an illumination of presence in the self, and then the eye can actually see the object (Abu

Rayyan 1959, 139–140). The process of illumination and witnessing has two main doctrines which

are al-qahr (domination) and al-maḥabba (love). Abu Rayyan maintains that these principles are

movements that can be applied to the entire being (ibid., 141). The world is considered an exile for

the human, and the only way for him to achieve his perfection is by reaching a higher state where he

unites with his creator. Hence, man travels through life to reach that point (Adonis 2005, 149).

According to al-Suhrawardi, this journey from exile to the higher self is actually a trip from the

darkness that lies in the West to the light that remains in the East.13 This journey has three parts: at

first, man is captive in a place where he is engulfed in chains and layers of darkness piled on top of

one another. The second stage sees him running towards the East or in other words, the light, and

the third and final stage is that of arrival, where he reaches and meets the source of light (ibid.,

150). The Divine is the source of light and as He is the creator of the soul, it follows that the soul is

also made of light and this is where the boundary between the Divine and the soul is to be found

(Badawi 1964, 128). In tentative conclusion, illumination is a dynamic philosophy (Abu Rayyan

1959, 175), which consists of an opposing duality that creates a certain type of movement embodied

in man’s quest to meet the divine light.

13This is an indication of the story of ghurba gharbiyya, the story of the occidental exile, that will be discussed in detail

in the analysis section.

33
 Given that we are discussing the notion of duality, it is crucial to explore another two concepts.

The first is darkness, which is the counterpart of light and the second is the dilemma of duality that

is in contradiction with the monotheism doctrine that al-Suhrawardi launches from. He believes that

the idea of primordiality belongs to light, whereas the idea of "lastness" belongs to darkness. Light

is the existence and the realistic fact, while darkness is dependent and is in fact the lack of light

(Talib 2014, 181). Al-Suhrawardi sees light as a complete expression of the immanent intellectual

truth, which indicates that light has the originality whereas darkness is only generated from it and

caused by it (ibid., 187). Subsequently, the universe consists of these two elements and the human

purpose in life is to migrate from darkness towards light. The closer a soul gets to the Light of

lights, the more it becomes illuminated and gnostic.

Regarding the dilemma of duality, it is vital to discuss the notion of fayḍ (emanation), since it is

the cure for this problem.

Al-Suhrawardi’s idea of light was based on Ibn Sina’s14 idea of emanation, which itself was

built according to Plotinus’s15 ideas, with slight changes in some terms (Talib 2014, 185). This idea

was first upheld by Zoroastrianism16, which believes in two sources of the complete truth: Ahura

14 Islamic philosopher born in Afshana, a village outside of Bukhara. He died in 1037 AD. His writings revolved around

several topics, including theoretical philosophy, logic, and practical philosophy (Gutas, 2016).

15 The founder of the neoplatonic philosophy. Born in Egypt in 204 or 205 CE and died in Rome in 270 or 271. His

milestone work in philosophy was The Enneads, where he discussed crucial topics such as ethics, natural philosophy,

cosmology, psychology, epistemology et al. Plotinus created a revolution in metaphysics when he wrote the three

essential principles: the One, the intellect and the soul (Gerson 2018).

16A religion that was named after he who is believed to be its prophet, whose name is Zoroaster. He was born in Persia

and was appointed by the God of goodness, Ahura Mazda. The name Zoroaster means the man with the golden light or

the person with the divine halo (Ismaʾil 2015, 8–9). The dogma of this religion believes in two types of life: that of the

body and that of soul. It believes in the afterlife, heaven and hell and upholds that the sky is the Divine’s abode. It

designates canonisation by fire, since it alludes to the God of illumination and light. The doctrine encourages working

and seeking blessings by way of cultivation and this is recommended in its holy book (al-Ghazali 2007, 310).
34
Mazda, the principle of goodness and Ahriman, the principle of evil. They believed that the conflict

between these two factors was continuous and permanent. However, goodness always won and,

according to them, oneness was represented through that. Nonetheless, this conflict weakens the

idea of oneness and clings to the concept of duality with the Divine. Schools such as Mānawiyya17

and Mazdakiyya18 later developed the idea of replacing them with the duality of light and darkness.

They claimed that the spiritual world was made by the Lord of light, whereas the materialistic one

was made by the Lord of darkness. Those schools recommended detachment from the materialistic

world due to its evil (ibid.,186). In order to move to the spiritual one, on account of its goodness,

the schools explained that darkness was generated from a doubt that arose in the Lord of light

himself (ibid., 187) .

The secret behind the interest of Muslims in this theory lies in the belief that existence and its

contents are remains of Divine greatness, for He is the Creator. Therefore, Muslim philosophers

were motivated to search for a method through which the world would have originated from its

Creator in a way that creates harmony between philosophy and Islam. Hence, this theory explores

how the material was produced from the non-material and how the multiple can be produced from

the One and how existence is related to itself from the head of the hierarchy, meaning from wājib

al-wujūd (the necessary being) to the lowest creatures (Talib 2014, 189). This caused a dilemma

17 Manichaeism: named after Mani, who was born in 215 AC. His doctrine was based on dividing the species into five

types: four are bodies and the fifth is a soul. The bodies are fire, wind, water and light and their soul lies in the breeze

when it moves and attaches to the light. Mani considered material to be the source of evil and urged the killing of the

body's instincts. He believed monasticism to be the highest virtue and advised his followers to avoid marriage. He

called upon fasting and glorified poverty because of his hatred of materialism (al-Ghazali 2007, 311).

18 Mazdakism: named after Mazdak who was born three hundred years after Mani. Its dogma was significantly similar

to Manichaeism, however, it differed in terms of its views regarding the willingness of the light that aims for goodness,

while darkness targets wrong. Mazdak created a social revolution because he propagated a system that had analogies

with socialism. Mazdak stated that there are three pillars of light: goodness, the prohibition of murder and hurting souls

(ibid., 312).
35
among intellectuals, who questioned how the One could possibly produce multiplicity, since this

contradicted with the concept of oneness. They therefore suggested that the only method to solve

this contradiction would be to verify the existence of the Divine’s emanation according to Plotinus

(ibid., 190). This emanation occurs through mediums and one of them is the nous or prime

intellect19. There is a first principle that emanates as an intellect and which, in its essence, is a one,

but in terms of its considerations, is a multiple. It can comprehend itself and its reason. From this

comprehension, it generates a second intellect and from its self-comprehension the first sky was

created. Afterwards, this comprehension of itself created a third mind and a second sky and

continued to create ten minds and nine skies, which in turn created mediums for creation. By way of

this method, the philosophers explained the existence of the intellectual world and the material one.

Accordingly, the multiplicity of the world was a result of the breeding, so to speak, of the intellects

and the skies and not a result of the multiplicity of the Divine. Subsequently, the multiple world

created the multiple intellects and skies. This multiple world was created among the first principles

and the world was created by the Divine indirectly and with this, they believed that they solved the

dilemma (ibid., 191). Moreover, the vision of the Mashāʾi (peripatetics) correlates between the

Divine and the world through the basis of ʿilliyya (causality), which is part of the emanation theory.

They believe the material world to be realistic and its condition related to effecting and influencing

relationships, where each occurrence is the result of another occurrence in its own existence. This

new occurrence then becomes the cause for another one, which arises from it. Consequently, this is

how things are related in the material world through a solid association, which is the causality from

which it is impossible for any creature to be detached, ergo every creature obtains its existence from

a higher principle and connects with other existing entities (ibid., 225) via the bond of causality. It

would either be effected or influenced. If it influences, then it is a cause (ʿilla) and if it is effected

then it is caused (maʿlūl). This chain of the cause and the caused reveals to us the association

19 Translation quoted from al-ʿAjam, 1999, 1141.

36
between the world and its own self, which helps to explain incidents according to their own

principles, as well as the reasons to predict their occurrence in the future if their principles exist, for

example: the water boils according to the existence of fire. This means that the fire is a direct cause

for boiling the water, whenever this principle occurs in the future, it will lead to the same result.

Accordingly, all of our epistemological reactions to the world, all of our realisations and our

behaviours according to its things are based on the principle of causality. Without this principle, we

would not understand the world, be able to deal with or benefit from it. This principle controls the

possibilities within themselves and controls the whole world. The evidence that was created by Ibn

Sina to prove the existence of the Divine, the evidence by Aristotle that proves the existence of the

first deriving force, that by Plato that proves the existence of the God of goodness and the life

provider, or indeed the one Plotinus provided to prove the existence of the nous, all these evidences

were based on the idea of the accusation of causality that states that the Divine is the cause and that

this cause creates the caused creatures. Therefore, all things that were born from the Divine

influence each other. For instance: the Divine creates a light that we call intellect and this intellect

creates another one, and so on. Then a first sky is generated and this creates a second one and so

forth until we reach the level of bodies (ibid., 226–227). Al-Suhrawardi believes that the Divine is

the cause of the world, consequently, He first creates a light, in turn this light creates a second one

and so on and so forth. Afterwards, the incorporeal lights descend and associate with each other in a

manner such that each higher light is a cause for an inferior one until we reach the level of jawāhir

ghāsiqa (dark substances), from which the isthmus and souls later branch out (ibid., 228). The idea

of causality negates duality due to the fact that the Divine is the Creator of light, namely, He is not

the opponent of darkness since he created both, light and darkness.

37
 Section Two

An Analysis of al-Suhrawardi’s Poem

ِ ‫ﺧﻠﯿﻠ ﱠﻲ إنّ اﻷﻧُﺲ ﻓﻲ ﻓِﺮﻗﺔ اﻹﻧ‬

‫ﺲ‬
ِ ‫ﻓ ُﻜﻦْ أﺑﺪا ﻣﺎ ﻋﺸﺖَ ﻓﻲ ﺣـﻀﺮة اﻟﻘُﺪ‬
‫س‬
‫ت و ﺗﺒﻘﻰ ﺑﻼ ﻓَـﻨﺎ‬
ٍ ‫ﺗﻌﯿــﺶ ﺑﻼ ﻣﻮ‬
‫اﻟﺤﺲ‬
‫ﱢ‬ ‫وﺗﻠﺤﻖ ﺑﺎﻟﻤﻌﻨﻰ وﺗﻨﺄى ﻋــــــﻦ‬
ُ‫وﺗﻐﺒﻄـ َﻚ اﻷﻓـــــــﻼك ﻓﯿﻤﺎ أﺗﯿﺘَﮫ‬
‫ﺲ‬
ِ ‫وﯾﺸﺮق ﻧﻮر ﻓﯿﻚ ﻣﻦ ﻧﺎﺋـــــﺮ اﻟﺸّﻤ‬
‫ﻓﺄﻧﺖَ ھـــﻮ اﻟﻤﻌﻨﻰ وﻓﯿﻚ وﺟﻮدُه‬
.‫وﻓﯿ َﻚ ﺟﻤﯿﻊ اﻟﺨﻠﻖ واﻟﻌﺮش و اﻟﻜﺮﺳﻲ‬

(al-Suhrawardi 2005, 69)

O friends! Affability is in parting from man

So, for as you long as you live, be forever in the presence of the Divine

You shall live without death and know immortality

You shall grasp the meaning and dissociate from the senses

And the orbs will envy what you will have become

And from the brightness of the sun a light shall rise inside you

For you are the meaning and it resides within of you

And within you also nest all of creation, the throne and the chair.

The purpose of introducing the following methodological analysis of the poem is to support the

argument of this thesis. I argue that al-Suhrawardi’s poem is an act of speech that aims to challenge

political and religious authority through dialogue with the Divine, where the poet adopts the voice

38
of a yearning lover who suffers from being separated from his beloved. I argue that this image of

fragility is actually a position of power, not weakness.

The poem consists of twenty-eight lines and is written in al-kāmil20 meter. In order to introduce

a different analytical structure for examining mystical poetry, I will divide the verses into four

scenes, adopting the methodology of dramatic discourse put forward by Gruendler. Despite the fact

that Gruendler uses the theory to examine madīḥ21 poetry, I believe that it could be applied to

mystical poetry as well, since there are several similarities between them, including directing the

speech to a certain addressee who has a superior position to the poet (Gruendler 2000, 163). I will

examine dialogue indications in each scene using the Bakhtin theory of dialogism and Buber’s

philosophy of dialogue in order to illustrate the relationship between dialogue and power. Based on

my close reading of the text, I observed that the dialogue varies according to its rhetorical style. In

some verses, the poet uses imperatives and in others, he uses assertives. Nevertheless, the most used

expressions in the poem are what Searle terms "expressives" (Searle 1979, 15). This being the case,

I opted to examine the rhetorical style employed using speech act theory to reach an outcome that

could partially be explained by Wolterstorff’s conclusion, which maintains that “to speak is not, as

such, to express one’s inner self but to take up a normative stance in the public domain”

(Wolterstorff 1995, 93).

From another observation related to my reading of the poem, I uphold that there is an indirect

dialogue being exchanged between particular signs in this very poem. In order to study the

interpretation of these signs, it will be necessary to delve into the theory of semiotics, as it will help

20 Lexically, al-kāmil means "the perfect" and is one of the fifteen meters of Arabic poetry, as classified by al-Kalil Ibn

Ahmad al-Farahidi, it consists of six foots, tafʿīla, three in each verse. The sound of the foot is mutafāʿilun (Wahba and

al-Muhandis 1984, 303).

21 Panegyric: to praise a person’s characteristics or achievements in a public discourse through poetry or prose (ibid.,

343).
39
us examine the nature of signs in much more depth22 (Qasim 2009, 12) and afford a clearer

elucidation. Pierce’s23 approach is the chosen model in the analysis since it further highlights the

productiveness of the sign .

The philosophy of illumination was the major work of al-Suhrawardi’s life, it is therefore

important to use it as a method to analyse his poem, since it is my belief that the poem is a

reflection of his doctrine. Moreover, my analysis will include an examination of the use of the al-

kāmil meter to compose the poem and the indication of the alliterative use of the letter ḥāʾ.

The poem under study is an emotional expression that aims to communicate the sorrow that the

poet suffers due to his separation from his beloved. This emotional turmoil requires a meter that

accomplishes the purpose of composing the poem, which is bawḥ (to reveal). I argue that al-kāmil is

an appropriate rhythm for the expression of feelings and fitting for communicating yearning. As

ʿAbdullah al-Ṭayyib tells us:

"‫"و ﻣﻦ ﻋﺠﯿﺐ ﺧﺼﺎﺋﺺ اﻟﻜﺎﻣﻞ أﻧﮫ أﺻﻠﺢ اﻟﺒﺤﻮر ﻹﺑﺮاز اﻟﻌﻮاطﻒ اﻟﺒﺴﯿﻄﺔ ﻏﯿﺮ اﻟﻤﻌﻘﺪة ﻛﺎﻟﻐﻀﺐ و اﻟﻔﺮح و اﻟﻔﺨﺮ‬

(al-Ṭayyib 1989, 316), (and one of the wonderful characteristics of al-kāmil is its ability to express

uncomplicated emotions such as anger, joy and pride) and to this he adds:

‫ وﻟـﻠﺸﻌﺮاء ﻓـﻲ اﻷداء‬-‫أﻋـﻨﻲ ﺑـﻐﻨﺎﺋـﯿﺔ ﺗـﺮﻧـﯿﻤﯿﺔ ﻣـﻮﺳـﯿﻘﯿﺔ ﺧـﺎﻟـﺼﺔ اﻟـﻤﻮﺳـﯿﻘﻰ‬- ‫[ ﻏـﻨﺎﺋـﯿﺔ ﻣـﺤﻀﺔ‬...] ‫و ﺣـﻘﯿﻘﺔ اﻟﺒﺤـﺮ اﻟـﻜﺎﻣـﻞ‬

(ibid., 318) .‫ واﻟﺮﻗﺔ و اﻟﻠﻄﻒ وھﺬا ﻣﺬھﺐ آﺧﺮ‬،‫ﺑﻮاﺳﻄﺘﮫ ﻣﺬھﺒﺎن اﻟﻔﺨﺎﻣﺔ واﻟﺠﺰاﻟﺔ ھﺬا ﻣﺬھﺐ‬

The truth about al-kāmil meter [...] is that it is absolutely musical. By this I mean

absolutely intonational and musical. Poets have two ways of composing with it: the first is

with eloquence and abundance and the other with tenderness and gentleness.

22 The studied signs will include symbols such as wine, colours and their connotations as well as oppositional

sentences.

40
 Moreover, al-Jrisi maintains that one of the characteristics of al-kāmil is the temporal extension

regarding the sequence of the occurrence of mutafāʿilun24. He touches on the role of metrical

variation when he comments on one of the elegy poems composed by Fatima bint al-Ahjam. He

states that the iḍmār25 in her poem reduces the rhythm of mutafāʿilun and makes it more suitable to

express grief. In addition to iḍmār, he mentions qaṭʿ26 and states that he believes this variety of

metrical variation to result from a certain psychological language that the poet uses for emotional

effect27 (al-Jrisi 2015, 46). Despite the fact that this was the analysis of another poet's work, I

suggest that the same conclusion could be applied to the poem of al-Suhrawardi, since it has similar

metrical variations, both in its verses and in the sixth mutafāʿilun on each line. As this usage

provided an appropriate expression of sadness in the first poem, I believe that this change in metre

variations provides a space not only to express longing, but also to assist in creating the

development of scenes in the poem. The letter ḥāʾ sets the rhyme for al-Suhrawardi’s poem and it is

preceded by alif ḥāʾ is a letter that can be found in ḥubb (love), rūḥ (soul), bawḥ (to reveal) and

dhabḥ (to be slaughtered), concepts that are considered to be elements of Sufi poetry. The letter ḥāʾ

has a ḍammā28 and is pronounced ḥū in the poem. I suggest that this pronunciation reflects the

notion of hū, which is a third person pronoun. In the Sufi context, this pronoun refers to the Divine

(al-ʿAjam 1999, 1012). It is recognisable by its different pronunciation, as it is normally

pronounced huwa in Arabic. The absent one here is God; the use of the sound ḥū asserts the belief

in the oneness, a topic that occupied one of al-Suhrawardi’s studies. What is also noteworthy is the

24 Mutafāʿilun is the foot that al-kāmil, which itself is a hexameter, consists of.

25 Prosodical ellipsis. To turn the second vowel in mutafāʿilun into a consonant (Wahba and al-Muhandis 1984, 48)

26 Deleting the consonant of the watad majmūʿ (gathered peg) and putting a consonant on the letter before (al-Jrisi

2015, 46).

27 Mutafāʿilun becomes mutfāʿil.

28 The vowel "u" (Zack and Schippers 2012, 328).

41
fact that ḥāʾ is the letter of tenderness, as Ibn Jinni states in his book al-Khasaʾis (as cited in ʿAbbas

1998, 39). Therefore, choosing it as the rhyme emphasises the psychological state of the yearning

lover, since it is, as ʿAbbas maintains:

‫ ﻟﯿﺘﺤﻮل‬.‫ وأﻗﺪرھﺎ ﻋﻠﻰ اﻟﺘﻌﺒﯿﺮ ﻋﻦ ﺧﻠﺠﺎت اﻟﻘﻠﺐ ورﻋﺸﺎﺗﮫ‬،‫ﺻﻮت اﻟﺤﺎء ھﻮ أﻏﻨﻰ اﻷﺻﻮات ﻋﺎطﻔﺔ وأﻛﺜﺮھﺎ ﺣﺮارة‬

‫ إﻟﻰ ذوب ﻣﻦ اﻷﺣﺎﺳﯿﺲ وﻋُﺼﺎرة ﻣﻦ ﻋﻮاطﻒ اﻟﺤﺐ واﻟﺤﻨﯿﻦ‬،‫ﻣﺜﻞ ھﺬا اﻟﺼﻮت ﻣﻊ اﻟﺒﺤّﺔ اﻟﺤﺎﺋﯿﺔ ﻓﻲ طﺒﻘﺎﺗﮫ اﻟﻌﻠﯿﺎ‬

(Ibid., 174) .‫واﻷﺷﻮاق‬

The sound of ḥāʾ is the sound richest with flaming passion and the method most able to

express the heart’s sorrows and thrills. With the higher tones of the huskiness of ḥāʾ, the

sound turns to a melting sensation and oozes with the emotions of love, yearning and

longing.

As it was mentioned earlier, the poem is made up of twenty-eight lines, a number that has a

special significance in Islamic mysticism. Schimmel states that the number twenty-eight is related

to the moon, because once the four phases of the moon have travelled through the twenty-eight

mansions, they are considered to be complete (Schimmel 1993, 238). Moreover, Sufis also relate

the number twenty-eight to the number of letters in the Arabic alphabet, in which the Qurʾan, the

divine words, are written. Al-Bairuni confirms that there is a connection between those two facts.

He believes that this relationship is evidence of the close link between the word of God and the

cosmos. She also maintains that the number twenty-eight is related to the number of prophets before

Muhammad and this is why poets compare him to the full moon (ibid., 239), since he is the zenith

of prophecy. I propose that there is a link between Schimmel’s thought and the poem of al-

Suhrawardi and assert that his poem is a reflection of his philosophy. The poet suffers from his

separation from the beloved and this state of separation is an intimation of darkness. Since love is
42
an overwhelming feeling that al-Suhrawardi could not resist, he uses words which employ twenty-

eight letters to reach the light of the Divine. He travels from darkness, as the four phases of the

moon do through the twenty-eight mansions, but in his case, in using the twenty-eight letters, he

roams to complete his poem.

In order to have an entry into reading the poem, it is important to explore it from al-

Suhrawardi’s illuminating perspective. As I observed earlier, al-Suhrawardi believed that maḥabba

(love) was the meaning of light and qahr (domination) was painted in darkness and that those two

notions were dual forces that applied to the entire being. This leads me to conclude that he saw

being as consisting of dualities, where light is the opposite of darkness and the interaction between

the two is what generates existence. Consequently, existence is the product of the movement

between light and darkness. I put forward that this philosophy built the essence of this poem

through the oppositional duality in the text, particularly when the poet uses terms such as sirr al-

maḥabba (the secret of love) and al-hawā faḍḍāḥū (love is scandalous).

Gruendler maintains that integrating dramatic discourse and speech act theory produces four

levels of analysis: characterisation of the dramatist personae, typology of scenes, supporting verbal

ornament and articulated relationships between the praise poet and the mamdūḥ (eulogised)

(Gruendler 2000, 162). In the first, she confirms that the poet is the one responsible for creating his

standpoint since he is the one who expresses himself with words. In the second, she states that

praise poetry is made of different scenes, where each scene illustrates a certain type of dialogue.

Then, she emphasises the rhetorical methods that the poet uses to demonstrate his aim in writing the

poem and finally, she examines the pattern of relationships that the poet creates to test the addressee

in his poem (ibid., 162–166). This is the model I apply to the poem, although I make some changes

regarding the order of Gruendler's layers of analysis, since al-Suhrawardi’s is a mystical poem

rather than a praise one. I then integrate it with speech act theory, which I use to analyse the verses

43
in each scene. It is therefore essential to give a brief explanation of speech act theory before delving

into the analysis of the poem.

Speech act theory is classified as a pragmatic approach to the philosophy of language. The

method concentrates on the effect of language on the hearer, as intended by the speaker via a

process of communication that occurs by uttering words that follow the system of a certain

language. Austin is the founder of this theory and Searle developed it further and added

classifications for different speech acts later in his works. It is believed that the use of language

mainly aims to describe the world or report events and that the statements produced to serve that

purpose can either be true or false (Austin 1962, 3). The theory draws the hypothesis that the role of

language in communication is not limited to the act of communicating. Searle assumes that

language being "rule-governed," intentional behaviour aims to elucidate the prospect of "linguistic

characterisation," in other words, to speak a language means to perform a speech act. By acts, he

specifies asking questions, making statements, giving commands and so forth. These acts cannot be

performed, unless they are produced via "certain rules for the use of linguistic elements." The aim

of speech act theory lies in the claim that all linguistic communication produces linguistic acts. The

linguistic communication unit is neither the sentence nor the word nor the symbol, however, it is the

issuance of the above in the performance of the speech act. Put another way, to comprehend the

token as a message is to take the production of that message’s phrase under certain conditions to

mean that this is a speech act, which constitutes the unit of the linguistic communication (Searle

2011, 16). Searle believes that a "theory of language is a part of a theory of action" and that any

meaning can be put into words (ibid., 17). Therefore, the communication that takes place in a

conversation between a speaker and a hearer can be effectively achieved without the need to say

more.

So how can we differentiate between using language to describe or to report and using it as a

speech act? Austin distinguishes between both concepts by using the terms "constative" and
44
"performative." According to him, a constative utterance is saying something that could be true or

false, such as a statement or a description, while a performative utterance occurs when saying a

sentence that involves performing an action that could neither be judged as true or false nor be

classified as a description or a mere utterance (Austin 1962, 5). As a further example, if someone

says: "I promise so many thing to so many people," this statement is considered to be constative,

whereas if the person says: "I promise not to tell this secret," we consider this to be performative.

However, Austin urges that in order for a sentence to be performative, it must be uttered in

appropriate circumstances (ibid., 8) and there must be an accepted conventional procedure for the

performative to obtain a conventional effect. Should that not be the case, it will not be judged as

true or false as much as felicitous or infelicitous (ibid, 14). For example, in a wedding ceremony,

the person who states: "I now pronounce you husband and wife" must be a priest for that statement

to be performative, otherwise, the performative utterance here is just inappropriate.

Consequently, Searle maintains that the basic unit of communication is a speech act. Building

on the fundamental of expressibility, he proposes that a chain of analytic connections happens

between the speech acts and this could be clearly demonstrated in a conversation between a speaker

and a listener through the following: the speaker’s meaning, the uttered sentence’s indication, the

intention of the speaker, the listener’s understanding and the governing rules of the linguistic

aspects (Searle 2011, 21). Speech acts are divided into three categories: locutionary, illocutionary

and perlocutionary. The first is defined as an act of utterance or simply the act of saying something

in respect of a certain reference and sense to attain a meaning in the traditional sense (Austin 1962,

94). When the act of utterance includes an action, or in other words, if the utterance leads to doing

something by saying it, then we call it illocutionary. However, perlocutionary is the effect achieved

on people as a result of performing the illocutionary act. It is vital to emphasise that the

perlocutionary is not uttered (ibid., 101). Austin explains the distinction further with the example

that follows. When someone says: “he said to me: shoot her,” it is a locutionary act because it is the
45
literal meaning of "shoot" that is referred to and the female is identified by saying "her." However,

the statement becomes illocutionary if the person says: “he urged me or ordered me to shoot her." In

this case, the perlocutionary will be the effect that the act achieved on the listener by convincing or

persuading him to shoot her (ibid.).

Searle classifies speech acts into five categories:

1- Assertives: these aim to represent how things are in the world. The direction of fit29 of this

classification is to use language for the sake of serving the world, or as Searle puts it, world to

word. The sincerity condition of assertives is to express a belief or a commitment to truth by the

speaker.

2- Directives: utterances attempted by the speaker to get the hearer to do something. These can

translate as orders, commands, requests and so on and so forth. This category’s sincerity condition

is to express state and desire.

3- Commissives: they are speech acts that commit the speaker to a future course of action and can

be demonstrated in promises, offers, refusals and the like. The sincerity condition of commissives is

to express intention.

4- Expressives: speech acts that express psychological state. This includes thanking, welcoming,

congratulating and so on. Their sincerity condition is to express desire or belief.

5- Declaratives: utterances that change reality to match the words or speech act, thereby affecting

instant change. However, the speaker has to obtain a certain stance of power in institutional affairs

to achieve these. The fit of declaratives is word to world. For example, only the president of a

country could say "I declare war,” in order for the country to enter a status of a war (Searle 1979,

12–29).

29 A term used by Searle to specify the direction of the speech. It is either "word to world" or "world to word." For
example, you see a black horse, so you utter the words "I see a black horse;" this verse's fit will be "world to words,"
because you are putting what you are seeing in the world into words (Searle 1979, 14).
46
 It is my opinion that the poem consists of four dramatic scenes. The first one runs from lines

one to thirteen, a scene of parting sorrow where the poet speaks with the voice of a yearning lover

who aches from being separated from his beloved. The dialogue in this section is directed at one

addressee: the Divine. The poet addresses Him using kum, a second person pronoun that refers to

plurality, when, for example, he says in the first line:

‫َﺤﻦ إِﻟَﯿ ُﻜ ُﻢ اﻷَروا ُح‬

‫أﺑﺪاً ﺗ ﱡ‬

‫َو ِوﺻﺎﻟُ ُﻜﻢ َرﯾﺤﺎﻧُﮭﺎ َواﻟﺮا ُح‬

‫أھﻞ ودا ِدﻛﻢ ﺗﺸﺘﺎﻗُﻜ ْﻢ‬

ِ ُ‫وﻗﻠﻮب‬

‫ﺟﻤﯿﻞ ِوﺻﺎﻟِ ُﻜﻢ ﺗﺮﺗﺎ ُح‬

ِ ‫وإﻟﻰ‬

‫واﺣﺴﺮﺗﺎ ﻟﻠﻌﺎﺷﻘﯿﻦ ﺗﺤ ﱠﻤﻠﻮا‬

.ُ‫ﺳ ّﺮ اﻟﻤﺤﺒﺔ واﻟﮭﻮى ﻓﻀّﺎح‬

(al-Suhrawardi 2005, 65)

Forevermore, souls will yearn for Thee

And your homecoming is their basil and their wine.

And the hearts of your love yearn for you

To the beauty of your reunion ...

Alas the lovers had to endure

The secret of love, and it is scandalous.

I maintain that using this pronoun is attributable to the Sufi belief that the Divine is not only the

One but also the many, as Adonis states: “He is not in the sky or on earth, but is the sky and earth

together merged into one” (Adonis 2005, 8).

47
 Al-Suhrawardi confirms that the Divine is the source of light and that his brightness is reflected

in the universe, as I mentioned earlier. Therefore, from the combination of Adonis’s statement and

al-Suhrawardi’s philosophy, it could be concluded that since multiplicity leads to the One, then

speaking to them (the souls of lovers) or in other words, using the pronoun kum is actually speaking

to Him. On the other hand, the poet also uses the plural to speak about himself. His rūḥ (soul) is

arwāḥ (souls), his qalb (heart) is qulūb (hearts), he is a ʿāshiq (lover) and yet, he is sorry for the

state of ʿāshiqīn (lovers), which could refer to him, as though he were using the plural to express the

greatness of his love for the Divine in his heart, the consequence of which is the need for multiple

hearts to house the vastness of that immeasurable love for Him. Moreover, we can see that here, the

verses could be assertives and expressives at the same time. The poet is describing what he believes

the world to be and expressing his emotions with words that constitute an illocutionary act.

However, since the receiver of this text or the reader plays the role of the hearer in the speech act

theory structure, by consequence, we could decide what the perlocutionary act would achieve from

reading these verses. Based on this, I suggest that in this case, the perlocutionary act is that the

approach of using the plural to express the singular could have two indications: it could be a method

for the poet to express his love for the One who is many, since using words that imply singularity is

not expressive enough, and it could also be the poet’s desire to equate himself with the lover, since

love gives him the right to claim that “I am the one whom I love and whom I love is I” (Adonis

2005, 86)30 (ibid., 86)31.

On the contrary, the poet shifts to speaking about himself in the singular in lines eight to ten

while he continues to address the Divine with the pronoun kum. He refers to himself as

mushtāqikum (your yearner) and nafsuhu (his soul) and says:

30 ".‫"أﻧﺎ ﻣﻦ أھﻮى و ﻣﻦ أھﻮى أﻧﺎ‬

31 Adonis states that “the essence of the beloved is the same as the essence of the lover and the essence of the lover is

the same as the essence of the beloved” (Adonis 2005, 86).

48
 ‫ﺟﻮدوا ﻋﻠﻰ ُﻣﺸﺘﺎﻗِﻜﻢ ﺑﻠــﻘﺎﺋ ُﻜ ْﻢ‬

‫ﻓـﺎﻟـﺼﺐﱡ ﻋـﻨﺪ ﻟﻘـﺎﺋﻜـﻢ ﯾـــــــــﺮﺗﺎ ُح‬

ٌ‫ﻓَﺈِﻟﻰ ﻟِﻘﺎﻛﻢ ﻧَﻔﺴﮫُ ُﻣﺮﺗﺎﺣــــــــــﺔ‬

‫َوإِﻟﻰ ﻟـــﻘﺎﻛﻢ طَﺮﻓﮫ طَـــــــــــــ ّﻤﺎ ُح‬

‫ﯿﺲ َﻋﻠَﯿـ ُﻜ ُﻢ‬

َ َ‫َﻔﺾ اﻟ َﺠﻨﺎح ﻟَـ ُﻜﻢ َوﻟ‬
َ ‫ﺧ‬

ِ ‫ﺼﺐّ ﻓﻲ ﺧ‬
.ُ‫َﻔﺾ اﻟ َﺠﻨﺎح ﺟُــــﻨﺎح‬ َ ‫ﻟِﻠ‬

(al-Suhrawardi 2005, 59)

Bless your yearner with a reunion

For when the enamoured meets you, he rests

And when he gets together with you, his soul is peaceful

And his eyes aspire to be with you

For you, he lowered his wing, for there is no harm

In lowering your wing for the beloved.

It could be suggested that the change to the singular is related to the shift in emotional stance.

From the first line to the seventh, the poet presents himself as longing but what is different in line

eight is that yearning turns to humility. This could be significant due to the Qurʾanic echo in line

ten, where the Divine orders the reader to be merciful with his parents:

ّ ‫"واﺧﻔﺾ ﻟﮭﻤﺎ ﺟﻨﺎح‬

(Qurʾan 17:24) "‫اﻟﺬل ﻣﻦ اﻟﺮﺣﻤﺔ وﻗﻞ ربّ ارﺣﻤﮭﻤﺎ ﻛﻤﺎ رﺑﯿﺎﻧﻲ ﺻﻐﯿﺮا‬

(And lower your wing in humility towards them in kindness and say, "Lord, have mercy on them,

just as they cared for me when I was little” [Abdel Haleem 2005, 176]) .

49
 In a chapter called al-Tadhallul lil-Ḥabīb min Shiyam al-Adīb (lowering oneself for the sake of

the beloved is a manner of decency), al-Asbahani confirms that to win the beloved’s heart, the lover

should show patience with the beloved’s coquetry and seek pride in humility (al-Asbahani 1985,

100). He validates his standpoint by quoting a poem from Dawud al-Zahiri, who states in one of his

verses:

ٌ
‫ﻣﻌﺘﺮف‬ ‫ﻗﺪ ذﻟّﻞ اﻟﺸﻮق ﻗﻠﺒﻲ ﻓﮭﻮ‬

. ُ‫أن اﻟﺘﺬﻟّﻞ ﻓﻲ ﺣﻜﻢ اﻟﮭﻮى ﺷﺮف‬

(ibid., 107)

Longing has overcome my heart and so it has accepted

That humility in the rule of love is an honour.

Humility is an honour in love, it is therefore logical for the poet to refer to himself in the

singular in order to obtain excellence and attain this noble position. It is worth mentioning that

when the poet uses the second person pronoun to address the Divine and speak to him directly, he is

actually addressing the divine state of absence. This reflects the stage of darkness in al-

Suhrawardi’s belief, where the worshipper suffers from being far from his beloved or the higher

state. This can be integrated with Bakhtin’s philosophy. From his perspective, dialogism starts with

existence being visualised as an event, an event that states that a person is responsible for – and to –

the specific condition that existence assumes as it creates the constantly changing and unique place

that the "I" occupies in it. Existence sends messages to man in a range of different methods such as

social codes, and man is responsible for forming a meaning out of such utterances. To further

exemplify, Bakhtin translated Dostoyevsky’s dictum that maintains that human mentality is a

theatre, in which the war between the "centripetal impulses32 of cognition and the centrifugal

32 Centripetal impulse: a nerve impulse that travels from the periphery toward the central nervous system, that is, a
sensory or afferent impulse (APA Dictionary of Psychology 2021).
50
forces33 of the world is fought out."34 So in order to understand the world, it is necessary to reduce

the number of meanings that result from that conflict (Holquist 2010, 47). This analogy is made by

discriminating among values, something which leads to the production of concepts such as

“ideology” and “social.” These are important stages to mention because they affirm that

understanding these notions is related to the concept of addressivity, which is what al-Suhrawardi

attempts in each scene. According to Bakhtin: “Addressivity means rather that I am an event, the

event of constantly responding utterance from the different world I pass through. The lack of water

means nothing without the response of thirst, [...] nothing means anything until it achieves a

response” (ibid., 48).

Moreover, we can see that the first and third verses are directives and the second is an

expressive. I argue that the perlocutionary act achieved by these speech acts is that addressing the

Divine in the poem actually means that the poet is addressing himself as an event. Yearning,

suffering and longing for the Divine is the response to missing the feeling of being close to him,

therefore, the poet is stating the existence of an emotional and mutual relationship between himself

and the Divine. This is a position that I believe denotes power and authority, an allusion that totally

differs from its apparent presentation, based on the assumption that the world that the poet's speech

act is attempting to narrate is an experience lived by him exclusively and that only through his

poem and the speech acts the poem contains are we are able to imagine that experience.

The poet is not the only speaker in this scene. He speaks about himself in the plural in line five

and also presents a new speaker:

33 Centrifugal force: a fictitious force, peculiar to a particle moving on a circular path, that has the same magnitude and
dimensions as the force that keeps the particle on its circular path (the centripetal force) but points in the opposite
direction (Britannica 2018).

34 To expand further on this notion, Holquist explains that “a helpful analogy here is the way a given natural language
selects out of all possible noises a limited number of sounds it will process as being significant” (Holquist 2010, 48).
51
 ‫َوإِذا ھُﻢ َﻛﺘَﻤﻮا ﺗَ َﺤ ّﺪث ﻋَﻨﮭُ ُﻢ‬

.ُ‫ِﻋﻨ َﺪ اﻟﻮﺷﺎ ِة اﻟ َﻤﺪﻣ ُﻊ اﻟ َﺴﻔّﺎح‬

(al-Suhrawardi 2005, 59)

And if they kept their secret, they are gossiped about

Stealthily by murderous tears.

From the perspective of semiology, tears are considered to be a sign. The object35 of this sign is

suffering and the interpretant36 is unbearable love. Since tears consist of water, the relationship

between emotions and water has a religious connotation. In Sūrat al-Baqara in the Qurʾan, the

Divine says:

‫ﺛـﻢ ﻗﺴـﺖ ﻗـﻠﻮﺑـﻜﻢ ﻣـﻦ ﺑـﻌﺪ ذﻟـﻚ ﻓﮭـﻲ ﻛـﺎﻟـﺤﺠﺎرة أو أﺷـﺪ ﻗـﺴﻮة وإن ﻣـﻦ اﻟـﺤﺠﺎرة ﻟـﻤﺎ ﯾﺘﻔﺠـﺮ ﻣـﻨﮫ اﻷﻧـﮭﺎر وإن ﻣـﻨﮭﺎ ﻟـﻤﺎ ﯾـﺸﻘﻖ‬

(Qurʾan 2:74) .‫ﻓﯿﺨﺮج ﻣﻨﮫ اﻟﻤﺎء وإن ﻣﻨﮭﺎ ﻟﻤﺎ ﯾﮭﺒﻂ ﻣﻦ ﺧﺸﯿﺔ ﷲ و ﻣﺎ ﷲ ﺑﻐﺎﻓﻞ ﻋ ّﻤﺎ ﺗﻌﻤﻠﻮن‬

Even after that, your hearts became as hard as rocks, or even harder, for there are rocks from

which streams spring out, and some from which water comes when they split open, and

others which fall down in awe of God: He is not unaware of what you do.

(Abdel Haleem 2005, 10)

To cry out of the torture of concealment is an allusion to mercy and tenderness, the opposite of

what was mentioned in the ʾāya; cruel hearts are similar to stones. That being said, water could be

35 According to Peirce, “the relation between the object of a sign and the sign that represents it is one of determination:

the object determines the sign” (Atkin 2013) To explain further, if someone gives flowers to someone else, the flowers,

in this case, would be a sign and the emotions would be the object of the sign.

36 The concluded comprehension of the sign and object correlation, or how we translate the original sign’s development

(ibid., 2013)
52
produced from stones, and water is a symbol of turning cruelty into kindness, a sign of feeling that

produces life. This is evidenced by what the Divine says in Sūrat al-Anbiyāʾ:

(Qurʾan 21:30) “‫”وﺟﻌﻠﻨﺎ ﻣﻦ اﻟﻤﺎء ﻛﻞ ﺷﻲء ﺣﻲ‬

(And We made every living thing from water [Abdel Haleem 2005, 204]). The notion of life is the

polar opposite of death and this oppositional duality from the perspective of feelings reflects the

Sufi doctrine. According to Adonis, death in Sufism is a means of reaching the higher state. In love,

death is a way to be rid of the mortal narrowness. Moreover, death qualifies the Sufi to pass from

the partial to the total in order to reach life. As al-Hallaj once said: “Kill me, my trusted followers as

in my death is my life” 37 (Adonis 2005, 90).

The second scene is the scene of connection, in which the poet witnesses the light of the

Creator. It begins in line thirteen, preceded by a supplication to be blessed with light, where al-

Suhrawardi says:

‫اﻟﻮﺻﻞ ﻓﻲ ﻏ َﺴﻖ اﻟﺠﻔﺎ‬

ِ ‫ﺑﻨﻮر‬
ِ ‫ﻋﻮدوا‬

‫ﻓﺎﻟﮭﺠ ُﺮ ﻟﯿ ٌﻞ واﻟﻮﺻﺎ ُل ﺻﺒﺎ ُح‬

...

َ َ‫ﺻﺎﻓﺎھُ ُﻢ ﻓ‬
‫ﺼﻔﺖ ﻗﻠﻮﺑﮭﻢ ﺑﮭﺎ‬

.ُ‫ﻮرھﺎ اﻟ ِﻤﺸﻜﺎةُ َواﻟ ِﻤﺼﺒﺎح‬

ِ ُ‫ﻣﻦ ﻧ‬

(al-Suhrawardi 2005, 59)

Return with the light of intimacy in the darkness of abandonment

For abandonment is night while intimacy is day

With his goodwill he reconciled with them,

and their hearts became pure

And with that, the lamp was lit.

37 “.‫”اﻗﺘﻠﻮﻧﻲ ﯾﺎ ﺛﻘﺎﺗﻲ * إن ﻓﻲ ﻗﺘﻠﻲ ﺣﯿﺎﺗﻲ‬

53
 The lines above echo the concept of duality of light and darkness that was discussed in the first

section. It furthermore refers to the verse in Sūrat al-Nūr that was the base of the wisdom of

illumination, as I clarified earlier. I believe it is through these verses that al-Suhrawardi incorporates

philosophy into his poetry. Additionally, by referring to the ʾāya, he dyes his poetry with the colour

of power, since he is quoting from the words of the Divine. In this scene, the speech acts are

directives and assertives and I suggest that the perlocutionary act is that reaching the Divine‘s light

indicates meeting Him and obtaining his share of gnosis, which itself implies distinguishing himself

as a person who owns a higher stance than the others because the call for wiṣāl (union) was

gratified.

In line fourteen, al-Suhrawardi allocates a new addressee by saying yā ṣāḥi (O! friend) to

continue what he started in the first section, to speak of his yearning but not to the beloved directly.

In this part, al-Suhrawardi uses assertives and directives in order to achieve two perlocutionary acts:

the first is that this approach is designed to use the addressee to tell more about the poet, and not

about al-muḥibbīn (the lovers), even though the poet is describing their state, since Bakhtin

maintains that in dialogism, the very capacity to have consciousness is based on otherness (Holquist

2010, 18). Moreover, he asserts that we can understand how other relationships work through

dialogue (ibid., 19). The second perlocutionary act is that when al-Suhrawardi speaks to his friend

about the lovers, he is actually presenting an image of himself as a lover who is going to receive an

invitation from the Divine, the one who is willing to give him the key to his door. As he states:

ً‫اﻟﺤﻘﺎﺋﻖ دﻋﻮة‬
ِ ‫ودﻋﺎھ ُﻢ داﻋﻲ‬

‫ﻓﻐﺪوا ﺑﮭﺎ ﻣﺴﺘﺄﻧِﺴﯿﻦ وراﺣﻮا‬

‫ ﻓﺪﻣﻮﻋﮭ ْﻢ‬،‫رﻛﺒﻮا ﻋﻠﻰ ُﺳﻔُﻦ اﻟﻮﻓﺎ‬

ّ ‫ﺑﺤ ٌﺮ وﺷ ّﺪة ﺷﻮﻗﮭﻢ‬

‫ﻣﻼ ُح‬

54
 ‫َواﻟﻠﱠ ِﮫ ﻣﺎ طَﻠَﺒﻮا اﻟﻮُﻗﻮفَ ﺑِﺒﺎﺑِ ِﮫ‬

.ُ‫َﺣﺘّﻰ دُﻋﻮا وأَﺗـﺎھُﻢ اﻟﻤﻔﺘﺎح‬

(al-Suhrawardi 2005, 60)

And the Caller of Truth called upon them with an invitation

So they happily accepted and went

To sail upon the ships of loyalty, where their tears

Became sea and their acute yearning a sailor

By Allah I swear, they did not ask to be standing by his door

Until they were called, and given the key.

To love is not enough to make the connection; what is crucial for that love to be reunited with

the Creator is to be called. This is where the engagement with the journey lies. The fact that the

Divine has called someone means that He communicates with them. The poet achieves that

perlocutionary act by using an assertive in the first and third aforementioned verses and assertives

combined with expressives in the second. This fact agrees with Bakhtin’s metaphor for unity. He

believes that unity has two aspects which are “self” and “other” and that the relation between them

is created by dialogue through the event of utterance (Holquist 2010, 36). This view is also

connected to the emphasis on the response by Bakhtin that I mentioned earlier. Regarding the

concept of journey, in the aforementioned verses, al-Suhrawardi states that longing pushed the

lovers to cross the sea in order to meet the Divine. I believe this to be another example where his

philosophy is reflected and suggest that in this case, the poet is referring to the story of ghurba

gharbiyya, the story of the occidental exile, which is a symbolic story written by al-Suhrawradi. The

tale tells of a seeker who lives in Qayrawan, today's Tunisia, which lies to the west of the Islamic

world. The story starts with a mystic and his brother who are imprisoned in a deep well in the city.

55
These two siblings have a father named shaykh Hadi Ibn al-Khayr al-Yamany, who is obviously

from Yemen. The word Yemen is derived from the word yamīn, which means "right" in Arabic and

indicates the direction of the orient. The land of Yemen is conventionally correlated with Prophet

Solomon‘s wisdom. Therefore, Qayrawan represents the west and darkness, while Yemen points to

the orient and to light (Nasr, in Sharif 1963, 381). Outside the well where the brothers are trapped is

a fort surrounded by various towers, which according to Nasr, represent the universes, elements and

heavens or faculties of the soul. The brothers are only able to escape at night, which implies that

humans attain the world of spirituality after death only, or possibly through dreams, since according

to the Islamic tradition, sleep is considered a partial or temporary death. Inside the well, the siblings

live in complete darkness and feel nostalgic whenever they hear news from Yemen, which they can

only reach through dreams or contemplation. One night, an order is issued commanding the brothers

to return to their homeland. Nasr interprets this as an indication of the status of receiving a

revelation from the world of spirituality and the start of asceticism. The order states that they are to

leave the hem of their dress, which signifies liberating the soul from attachments. The demand of

their father to come home involves various challenges, of which killing their wives, an act meant to

symbolise overcoming passion. The order also requires them to set a ship and sail to Mount Sinai

and this is where their journey in the name of God begins. During their sea journey, a wave crashes

between the mystic and his son, which alludes to the sacrifice of the animal soul and means that

morning is approaching and the union between the particular soul and the universal one is getting

nearer. A storm of rain and stones is the next disaster they face and it is symbolic of the evil in the

world. The mystic subsequently reaches a point where he needs to throw his foster-mother

overboard and let her drown in order to get through the storm. Nasr interprets this part as sacrificing

the natural soul. The calamities do not abate and the mystic reaches a point where he is faced with a

king who is forcefully collecting taxes and in this case represents death, the taste that all mortals

have to try. He then arrives at Mount Gog and Magog, an embodiment of evil, where he faces other
56
demonic creatures like jinn, which stand for love and imagination (ibid., 382). In the end, he

overcomes them all to reach his father in Yemen, but not before being involved in several fights that

are a symbolism of the light and soul, in order to reach his parent, which in turn symbolises the light

of the Divine (ibid., 383).

I believe that this story is credibly related to the scene in the poem, particularly when al-

Suhrawardi uses the image of sailing on a ship to answer the Divine's calling of light and journeying

over the sea to heed it, which culminates in being welcomed by the Divine and the door of light

opening up for them, a clear indication that he succeeded in reaching the Light of lights and

receiving the revelation from Him.

The poet then directs his speech to another addressee, the nadīm or the drinking companion. The

poet asks him to bring him a glass of wine and the scene of arrival begins. This scene is the result of

entering through the door after being called by the Divine. It is the reward for witnessing the light

of the Divine. Tasting the wine is an allusion to experiencing love. As Adonis states: “Ibn ʿArabi

maintains: It has a nectar, which he describes as a constant revelation that never ceases” (Adonis

2005, 80).

Al-Suhrawardi describes the wine of love as something that only prophets have tasted and

therefore, by using directives and expressives, the perlocutionary act performed here might be that

of claiming a similar privilege. He is telling the audience, the readers of this poem, that he has

experienced this love, with the assumption that they have not. This is clearly illustrated in these

lines:

‫ﻗ ْﻢ ﯾﺎ ﻧﺪﯾﻢ إﻟﻰ اﻟﻤﺪام ﻓﮭﺎﺗﮭﺎ‬

‫ﻓﻲ ﻛﺎﺳﮭﺎ ﻗـﺪ دارت اﻷﻗـﺪاح‬

‫اﻟﻘﺪﯾﻢ وﻣﻨﺘﮭﻰ‬
ِ ّ‫ھﻲ ﺧﻤﺮةُ اﻟﺤﺐ‬

‫ ﻓﻨﻌﻢ ذاك اﻟﺮا ُح‬،‫ﻏﺮض اﻟﻨّﺪﯾﻢ‬

َ
57
 ْ
ً‫أﺳﻜﺮت ﻓﻲ اﻟﺨﻠ ِﺪ آد َم أ ّوﻻ‬ ‫ھﻲ‬

‫وﻋﻠﯿﮫ ﻣﻨﮭﺎ ﺧﻠﻌﺔٌ ووﺷـــــــﺎ ُح‬

ْ
‫أﺳﻜﺮت‬ ‫وﻛﺬاك ﻧﻮﺣﺎ ﻓﻲ اﻟﺴﻔﯿﻨﺔ‬

.ُ‫ﻓــــﻠــــﮫُ ﻟـﺬﻟـﻚ أﻧّــــﺔ وﻧـﯿـﺎح‬

(al-Suhrawardi 2005, 62)

O! My drinking pal bring me the wine

That glasses and goblets are circling around

It is the Wine of ancient and utmost love

Of the drinking companion's desire, excellent is that wine

It first inebriated Adam in the heavens

And dressed him in a gown and a sash

Noah too did it inebriate in the ship

And for that, he groaned and bewailed.

58
The symbol of the ship appears here yet again, but in reference to Noah's ark, the building process

of which, according to the Qurʾan,38 was fraught with bullying and disbelief from his people for a

long time. Yet when the flood appeared, it became the symbol of survival due to faith in the Divine.

I suggest that al-Suhrawardi is implying an indirect analogy of the ship in his story and the one in

Prophet Noah's.

What is significant in this section is that dialogue is not represented as a conversation. I believe

that the state of al-Suhrawardi drinking the wine is actually where the indirect dialogue occurs.

Buber states that relationships between the self and the other are actually dialogical (Buber 2002,

242), in which case the act of dialogue is based on communication and the interaction between one

entity and the other, which could be an object. This is where I believe the conversation between the

poet and the Divine occurs.

In line twenty-eight, al-Suhrawardi addresses the audience directly by using directives and

advises them to follow the path of the lovers if they wish to experience the light of the Divine,

38‫ﻓـﻲ‬ ‫ ﻗـﺎل اﻟـﻤﻸ ﻣـﻦ ﻗـﻮﻣـﮫ إﻧـﺎ ﻟـﻨﺮاك‬،‫ﻟـﻘﺪ أرﺳـﻠﻨﺎ ﻧـﻮﺣـﺎ إﻟـﻰ ﻗـﻮﻣـﮫ ﻓـﻘﺎل ﯾـﺎ ﻗـﻮم اﻋـﺒﺪوا ﷲ ﻣـﺎ ﻟـﻜﻢ ﻣـﻦ إﻟـﮫ ﻏـﯿﺮه إﻧـﻲ أﺧـﺎف ﻋـﻠﯿﻜﻢ ﻋـﺬاب ﯾـﻮم ﻋـﻈﯿﻢ‬

‫ أ وﻋـﺠﺒﺘﻢ‬،‫ أﺑـﻠﻐﻜﻢ رﺳـﺎﻻت رﺑـﻲ وأﻧـﺼﺢ ﻟـﻜﻢ وأﻋـﻠﻢ ﻣـﻦ ﷲ ﻣـﺎ ﻻ ﺗـﻌﻠﻤﻮن‬،‫ ﻗـﺎل ﯾـﺎ ﻗـﻮم ﻟـﯿﺲ ﺑـﻲ ﺿـﻼﻟـﺔ وﻟـﻜﻨﻲ رﺳـﻮل ﻣـﻦ رب اﻟـﻌﺎﻟـﻤﯿﻦ‬،‫ﺿـﻼل ﻣـﺒﯿﻦ‬

‫ ﻓـﻜﺬﺑـﻮه ﻓـﺄﻧـﺠﯿﻨﺎه واﻟـﺬﯾـﻦ ﻣـﻌﮫ ﻓـﻲ اﻟـﻔﻠﻚ وأﻏـﺮﻗـﻨﺎ اﻟـﺬﯾـﻦ ﻛـﺬﺑـﻮا ﺑـﺂﯾـﺎﺗـﻨﺎ إﻧـﮭﻢ‬،‫أن ﺟـﺎءﻛـﻢ ذﻛـﺮ ﻣـﻦ رﺑـﻜﻢ ﻋـﻠﻰ رﺟـﻞ ﻣـﻨﻜﻢ ﻟـﯿﻨﺬرﻛـﻢ وﻟـﺘﺘﻘﻮا وﻟـﻌﻠﻜﻢ ﺗـﺮﺣـﻤﻮن‬

(Qurʾan 7: 59-64) .‫ﻛﺎﻧﻮ ﻗﻮﻣﺎ ﻋﻤﯿﻦ‬

We sent Noah to his people. He said, ‘My people, serve God: you have no god other than Him. I fear for you the

punishment of a momentous Day! But the prominent leaders of his people said, ‘We believe you are far astray.’ He

replied, ‘My people, there is nothing astray about me! On the contrary, I am a messenger from the Lord of all worlds: I

am delivering my Lord’s messages to you and giving you sincere advice. I know things from God that you do not. Do

you find it so strange that a message should come from your Lord––through a man in your midst––to warn you and

make you aware of God so that ‘you may be given mercy?’ But they called him a liar. We saved him, and those who

were with him, on the Ark and We drowned those who rejected Our revelations––they were wilfully blind. (Abdel

Haleem 2005, 98–99).

59
which alludes to the perlocutionary act that he assumedly tasted it himself, as the poem indicates.

He says:

‫ﻓَﺘَ َﺸﺒّﮭﻮا إِن ﻟَﻢ ﺗَ ُﻜﻮﻧﻮا ِﻣﺜﻠَﮭُﻢ‬

ِ ‫إِ ﱠن اﻟﺘﱠ َﺸﺒّﮫ ﺑِﺎﻟ ِﻜ‬

.ُ‫ﺮام ﻓَﻼح‬

(al-Suhrawardi 2005, 62)

So model after them if you are unlike them

For emulation of the kindhearted is salvation.

Conclusion

What remains to be addressed is how the outcome of the above analysis and the points it has raised

can be linked to the question of power.

Love, in the Arabic-Islamic context, is related to sorrow, separation and subordination, as the

widely known Persian poet Rumi puts it: “Love is a torture, love kills” (as cited in Adonis 2005,

90). That is why love was considered to be a sign of weakness. For instance, the lover will never get

to marry his beloved as is shown in the tragedy of Jamil and the Majnun. However, based on speech

act theory, I claim that the combination of expressives, assertives and directives in this poem aim to

establish the perlocutionary act that is the normative stance in the public domain: this state of being

"a yearning defeated lover" is actually an indication of power, based on the hadith, which is highly

used by Sufis:

73

‫ْﺼ ُﺮ ﺑِـ ِﮫ َوﯾَـ َﺪهُ اﻟﱠﺘِـﻲ‬

ِ ‫ﺼ َﺮهُ اﻟﱠ ِﺬي ﯾُـﺒ‬ ُ ‫ﻲ ﺑِـﺎﻟﻨﱠ َﻮاﻓِ ِـﻞ َﺣﺘﱠﻰ أُ ِﺣﺒﱠﮫُ ﻓَـﺈِ َذا أَﺣْ ـﺒَ ْﺒﺘُﮫُ ُﻛـ ْﻨ‬
َ ‫ﺖ َﺳـ ْﻤ َﻌﮫُ اﻟﱠ ِﺬي ﯾَـ ْﺴ َﻤ ُﻊ ﺑِـ ِﮫ َوﺑَـ‬ ‫َﻣـﺎ ﯾَـﺰَا ُل ﻋَـ ْﺒ ِﺪي ﯾَـﺘَﻘَﺮﱠبُ إِﻟَ ﱠ‬

‫ـﻲ ٍء أَﻧَـﺎ ﻓَـﺎ ِﻋـﻠُﮫُ ﺗَـ َﺮ ﱡد ِدي‬ ُ ‫ـﻄﯿَﻨﱠﮫُ َوﻟَـﺌِ ِﻦ اﺳْـﺘَ َﻌﺎ َذﻧِـﻲ َﻷُ ِﻋـﯿ َﺬﻧﱠﮫُ َو َﻣـﺎ ﺗَـ َﺮ ﱠد ْد‬
ْ ‫ت ﻋ َْـﻦ َﺷ‬ ِ ‫ﯾَـﺒ ِْﻄﺶُ ﺑِـﮭَﺎ َو ِرﺟْ ـﻠَﮫُ اﻟﱠﺘِـﻲ ﯾَ ْﻤ ِﺸـﻲ ﺑِـﮭَﺎ َوإِ ْن َﺳـﺄَﻟَـﻨِﻲ َﻷُ ْﻋ‬

(al-Nabulsi 2001) .ُ‫ﺲ ْاﻟ ُﻤ ْﺆ ِﻣ ِﻦ ﯾَ ْﻜ َﺮهُ ْاﻟ َﻤﻮْ تَ َوأَﻧَﺎ أَ ْﻛ َﺮهُ َﻣ َﺴﺎ َءﺗَﮫ‬
ِ ‫ﻋ َْﻦ ﻧَ ْﻔ‬
60
 My Servant continues to draw close to me through supererogatory acts until I love him.

And when I love him, I am his healing through which he hears, His sight through which

he sees, His hand through which he grasps and the leg with which he walks (McAuley

2012, 144) and if he asks Me, I will give him, and if he asks My protection (refuge), I will

protect him; (i.e. give him My Refuge) and I do not hesitate to do anything as I hesitate to

take the soul of the believer, for he hates death, and I hate to disappoint him.

(Sunnah 2021)39

Additionally, the concept of love is not only related to the heart of the mystic, but also shown in

the association and the intensity of lights. Al-Suhrawardi states:

(as cited in Talib 2014, 199) “‫ وﻟﻠﺴﺎﻓﻞ إﻟﻰ اﻟﻌﺎﻟﻲ ﺷﻮق وﻋﺸﻖ‬،‫ ﻓﻠﻠﻌﺎﻟﻲ ﻋﻠﻰ اﻟﺴﺎﻓﻞ ﻗﮭﺮ‬،‫”واﻷﻧﻮار إذا ﺗﻜﺜّﺮت‬

(when the lights breed, the higher light dominates the lower one and the lower light yearns and

loves the higher). Therefore, if the universe becomes illuminative and the man who is in the inferior

level desires to see the radiation of the emergent lights above him, assuming that he purifies his

heart of all the defects of materialism and opens himself as a bright white page and a polished

mirror, his self-page will reflect the descendant lights and he will know whatever he wants to know,

because those lights are gnosis (maʿārif). In other words, the whole universe is identified as

illuminative radiations and the human soul is part of these lights. If the soul purifies itself, the levels

of lights will be reflected in it and this reflection means that this soul knows the spaces of existence.

However, this mushāhada maʿrifiyya (gnosis witnessing) does not reach the Light of lights, it only

39 Two different translations were used for this text because, although McAuley's translation was of a higher quality

than that of Sunnah, unfortunately, it did not include the second part of the text, for which I had to search for an

alternative translation and the best one I could find was Sunnah's.
61
reaches the lord of species, because the nūr qayyūm (eternal sustainer light) cannot be

comprehended, just as the human sight is too weak to comprehend the light of the sun (ibid., 200)

and as is shown in the poem, al-Suhrawardi relates the moment of receiving the light of Divinity,

which I suggest supports the argument of the poet preceding himself as a powerful person, as a

result of meeting the Divine, speaking to Him, and drinking from his wine of wisdom. This can be

clearly illustrated in one of his poems, when he says:

‫أﺷﻜﺮ ﷲ اﻟﺬي ﺧﻠّﺼﻨﻲ‬

‫وﺑﻨﻰ ﻟﻲ ﻓﻲ اﻟﻤﻌﺎﻟﻲ رﻛﻨﺎ‬

ً‫ﻓﺄﻧﺎ اﻟﯿﻮم أﻧﺎﺟﻲ ﻣﻸ‬

ّ ‫وأرى اﻟﺤ‬
‫ﻖ ﺟﮭﺎرا ﻋﻠﻨﺎ‬

‫ﻋﺎﻛﻒ ﻓﻲ اﻟﻠّﻮح أﻗﺮا وأرى‬

‫ﻛ ّﻞ ﻣﺎ ﻛﺎن وﯾﺄﺗﻲ ودﻧﺎ‬

‫وطﻌﺎﻣﻲ وﺷﺮاﺑﻲ واﺣﺪ‬

.‫وھﻮ رﻣ ٌﺰ ﻓﺎﻓﮭﻤﻮهُ ﺣﺴﻨﺎ‬

(al-Suhrawardi 2005, 104)

I thank Allah for He has rescued me

And built me a corner in exaltedness

For I confined an assembly today

And see the truth openly and in forthrightness

Secluded, I delve into the reading of inscriptions and I see

All that has been, all that will be and all that is near

One is my food, and one is my drink

And it is a symbol, therefore understand it well.

62
 On the other hand, how can a person know that the Creator loves him? This question could be

answered with the explanation that Adonis provides of the scene of tasting the wine: “The vessel in

the sense of the heart signifies the external appearance, the nectar signifies what is visible in it and

the act of drinking is what the revelations reveal to the person receiving them, i.e. the drinker.. The

nectar of love can also mean the love God has for us and which makes us love him. For when we

love him we know all by experiencing his love for us, [...] that love for himself is the same as his

love for us” (Adonis 2005, 81). Moreover, there is a hadith that was only mentioned in Ṣaḥīḥ al-

Albāni that provides an even clearer correlation between vulnerability, Divine presence and being

loved by Him. The hadith states:

"‫ و أﺣﺒﱡﮭﺎ إﻟﯿﮫ أﻟﯿَﻨُﮭﺎ و أ َرﻗﱡﮭﺎ‬،‫ و آﻧﯿﺔُ رﺑﱢﻜﻢ ﻗﻠﻮبُ ﻋﺒﺎ ِده اﻟﺼﺎﻟﺤﯿﻦ‬،‫اﻷرض‬
ِ ِ ‫ِ آﻧﯿﺔً ﻣﻦ‬Ä ‫"إن‬
‫أھﻞ‬ ‫ﱠ‬

(as cited in al-Zubaydi 2016, 410), (verily, Allah has vessels among the people of the earth, and the

vessels of your Lord are the hearts of his righteous servants. The most beloved of them to Him are

the softest and most tender of them [Abu Amina 2021]).

Al-Zubaydi mentions a commentary on this hadith that maintains that by softness and

tenderness, what is referred to is that when the heart is purified and becomes as the polished mirror,

with the lights rising on it, the chest will be illuminated and inundated with light radiations. The

eyes of the heart will then be able to see the immanence of the Divine's matter in his creatures,

which will make it notice the Divine’s light. When this happens, it is indicative of a heart that has

attained perfection and has been blessed with purity and will be afforded the grace of being seen by

Allah; whenever the Divine looks at this heart, He will be pleased and His love for it will be

increased. It will be embraced by the Divine’s mercy and set aside from the crowd and He will pour

his heart with His lights of gnosis (As cited in al-Zubaydi 2016, 410).

63
 ْ
‫ﻓﺎﺳﺘﺒﯿﺤﺖ دﻣﺎؤُﻧﺎ‬ ‫ﺷﺮﺑْﻨﺎ ﻓﺒُﺤﻨﺎ‬
ِ

‫أَ ﯾُﻘﺘﻞ ﺑﻮّا ٌح ﺑﺴ ّﺮ اﻟﺬي ﯾﮭﻮى؟‬

‫وﻣﺎ اﻟﺴ ّﺮ ﻓﻲ اﻷﺣﺮار إﻻ ودﯾﻌﺔ‬

ْ ‫ق اﻟ ُﻤﺪام‬
‫ﻓﻤﻦ ﯾﻘﻮى؟‬ ّ ‫وﻟﻜﻦ إذا ر‬

(al-Suhrawardi 2005, 55)

We drank and so disclosed revelations and our blood was spilled

Is a revealer killed by the secret of whom he adores?

And what is the secret embraced in freedom but an entrusted treasure

Yet if the mind were clouded by wine, then who will keep the treasure safe?

Experiencing the taste of divine love forces the yearning lover to speak, but when he reveals his

feelings, his blood is liable to be spilt. How could an emotional expression be used to frame a

pretext to assassinate a poet as a result of accusing him of heresy, a tragedy that occurred to al-

Hallaj and was echoed in the case of al-Suhrawardi? By examining dialogue in this chapter as a

primary element in mystical poetry, I intended to answer this question and to suggest other

methodologies that have not been applied to the mystical poetry of al-Suhrawardi before.

Concerning problematic issues, the literature review includes certain suggestions that provide a

solution for current limitations and offer a new perspective from which to read mystical poetry. To

summarise, the vital points mentioned in this paper are as follows: al-Suhrawardi has mainly been

studied as a philosopher with barely any recognition of him as a poet; mystical poetry studies have

focused on significant aspects of symbolism, but dialogue has, however, not been one of them;

dialogical studies of the Qurʾan have been either rhetorical, missionary or philosophical but not

from a standpoint of literary analysis, and finally, the poetry of al-Suhrawardi, despite being

64
characterised as expressive and simple, contains several elements worthy of being explored through

the structure of theory.

In the second section, I attempted to analyse al-Suhrawardi’s poem by using a number of

methodological approaches in order to explore the dialogical aspect of his poetry. I have argued that

exploring such indications requires the application of certain structures to examine scenes, the

relationship to addressees, signs and language. I have made it clear that since al-Suhrawardi is a

Sufi philosopher, it is vital to understand his philosophy of illumination in order to have an in-depth

reading of his poem, since I put forward that the chosen poem for the analysis is built on the essence

of his philosophy.

65
 Chapter Two

al-Niffari

Section One

َ َ‫أ‬
‫ﻟﯿﺲ اﻟﻌﻠﻢ ﺟﻤﻌًﺎ ﻗﺪ أﺗﺎﻧﻲ‬

‫اﻟﺒﯿﺎن‬
ِ ‫ﯾـﺨﺎطﺒﻨﻲ ﻋـﻠﻰ ﺣـــــ ّﺪ‬

‫ اﺷﺮبْ ﻋﺮاﻗ ّﻲ ﻣـــﺸﺎ ٌر‬:‫وﻗﺎل‬

‫اﻟــﺒﯿﺎن‬
ِ ‫إﻟﻰ أﻣــــﺮ ﯾﺠــــ ّﻞ ﻋﻦ‬

‫ ﻟﺴﺖَ ﻣﻨّﻲ‬:‫وﻗـﻠﺖ ﻟـﻜـ ّﻞ ﻋﻠﻢ‬

ُ

.‫وﻻ أﻧﺎ ﻣﻨﻚ ﻓﻲ ﻗﺮب اﻟﺘــﺪاﻧﻲ‬

(al-Niffari 2007, 12)

Wasn’t knowledge given to me as a whole

Speaking to me at the limits of eloquence?

And He said: Drink, O Iraqi,

To a purpose that is greater than the spoken word

And I said to every field of knowledge: you haven’t arisen from me

Nor I from you in terms of proximity.

Seekers, those who are struck by the thunder of divine love, find their relief in expressing what they

had concealed in flame, yearned for and suffered from by revealing the sighs of longing through

literature. Furthermore, they speak to the Divine and urge Him for more of that suffering which is

caused by love, for the sake of wonder, fondness, fruitful pain and receiving their response from the

Beloved. As the poet Ibn al-Farid says:

66
 ‫زدﻧﻲ ﺑﻔﺮط اﻟﺤﺐّ ﻓﯿﻚ ﺗﺤﯿّﺮا‬

‫وارﺣـﻢ ﺣـﺸﻰ ﺑﻠـﻈﻰ ھـﻮاك ﺗـﺴﻌّـﺮا‬

‫ك ﺣﻘﯿﻘـــﺔ‬
َ ‫ﻚ أن أرا‬
َ ‫وإذا ﺳﺄﻟﺘ‬

.‫ ﻟﻦ ﺗﺮى‬:َ‫ﻓﺎﺳﻤﺢ وﻻ ﺗﺠﻌﻞ ﺟﻮاﺑﻚ‬

(Ibn al-Farid 1962, 169)

Let me be bewildered by my lavish love for you

Intensify my confusion through my lavish love for you

And have mercy on my heart

Which is ablaze in the flames of your love

And if I should ever ask you to be manifested in reality

Do allow it and never let your answer be: You will not see.

Despite the poet’s expressed entreaty in his poem, he can only meet his Beloved through

imagination and advises the reader to follow in his footsteps to pluck the fruit of divine love. He did

not, however, receive any direct or verbal response, unlike al-Suhrawardi who, in the first chapter,

claims to have obtained the privilege of an indirect dialogue with the Divine through the

consumption of wine. So what if the Divine spoke back directly and verbally? What would the

content of His divine conversation include and allude to?

Al-Niffari suggested those questions and we will explore them by examining his work, in which

he speaks to his Beloved and the Divine replies to him directly and instantaneously in a linguistic

and literary form that the poet calls Mawāqif. However, before analysing the chosen Mawāqif, it is

crucial to provide a summarised background of the poet’s life and times to understand how these

aspects later influenced his writings.

67
The life of al-Niffari

Muhammad ibn ‘Abd al-Jabbar ibn al-Hasan al-Niffari,40 the Sufi philosopher, writer and poet,

lived in the fourth century of Hijra (tenth century AD) and died in 354 H (964 AD) (al-Niffari

1987, 1). Multiple studies (al-Niffari 1987; al-Yusuf 1997; al-Marzuqi 2007; al-Niffari 2007;

Baldick 1989) agree that there is little information available about his life. Having said this, Arberry

addressed this concern by citing al-Tilimsani’s description of al-Niffari as being “a wanderer in

deserts” who “dwelt in no land, neither made himself known to any man” (al-Tilimsani, as cited in

al-Niffari 1987, 1).

There are other theories explaining this mystery about al-Niffari’s life. For one, al-Yusuf states

that al-Niffari was one of the important Sufis to cast himself in the image of a prophet in history.

Nevertheless, he believed that he was a messenger who was dispatched only to himself (al-Yusuf

1997, 5). He was therefore committed to the principle of concealment or taqiyya41 regarding his

writings and beliefs (ibid., 25). On the other hand, al-Ghanmi maintains that being controversial and

loyal to his own spiritual path made the Sufi not care about recording his writings and these

characteristics were behind the absence of documentation about his daily life (al-Niffari 2007, 8). It

is therefore not surprising that al-Niffari was anonymous to writers who were his peers and is not

mentioned in the most crucial Sufi sources42 in the East (al-Yusuf 1997, 24). Furthermore, Qudsi

believes that the poet being shocking in his statements, a wanderer, or obscure in his writings were

not the reason for this neglect. She argues that the fundamental factor in the neglect of

documentation about al-Niffari's heritage and life was his rejection of the Sufi policy system of the

40 Based on my extensive research, most of the sources confirm that this was the name of the author of the Mawāqif. It

is noteworthy that the person who collected his writings and published his book was his grandchild, Abu ʿAbd al-Allah

Muhammad ibn ʿAbd al-Allah al-Niffari. Al-Marzuqi, however, believes it was the grandchild himself who was the

author of the Mawāqif (al-Marzuqi 2007, 25).

41 The concealment of one’s true beliefs in times of adversity (Kohlberg 1975, 395).
42 Al-Taʿarruf li-Madhhab al-Tasawwuf by al-Kalababdhi, Qut al-Qulub by Abu Talib al-Makki, al-Lumaʿ by al-Tusi

Tabaqat al-Sufiyya by al-Sullami and Risalat al-Qushairi (al-Yusuf 1997, 24).

68
time, a system which afforded a privileged position to the Sufi shaykhs who granted divine

authority upon Sufi disciples. Subsequently, the mystery of al-Niffari’s life was in fact a challenge

to religious authorities, which resulted in it being met with complete neglect (Qudsi 2014, 415–

416). I concur with Qudsi’s point of view due to the indirect relationship between the Mawāqif and

the concept of power; a relationship that I intend to prove later in this chapter.

Social and historical background

Al-Niffari lived in the age of al-Farabi, al-Tawhidi and al-Mutanabbi (al-Niffari 2007, 8). To be

precise, he spent most of his life in the second Abbasid age,43 when the state was weak due to the

gradual increase of Turkish power. This period also witnessed the involvement of women in

national matters, the repeated appointment and removal of ministers and the rise of several political

movements, such as al-Zanj and al-Qaramita (al-Marzuqi 2007, 26). The era was also fraught with

skepticism regarding established religion, when atheists attacked Islam and other religions. On the

other hand, the trend of Sufism expanded and subsequently created a noticeable influence in the

cultural field (ibid., 27).

Testimonies and influence

Although al-Niffari was unknown in the East, he received attention from writers in the Maghreb and

Egypt due to the interest of al-Tilimsani and Ibn ʿArabi in his works (al-Niffari 2007, 10). Al-

Tilimsani even created a classification for al-Niffari’s Mawāqif and attempted to present a

43 An age that started in 232 H (847 AD) with the beginning of al-Mutawakkil’s leadership. This age was well-known as

a time when the Turks dominated most of the important positions in the Abbasid regime, such as politics and the

military. It was an era infamous for corruption and political instability, during which several revolutions took place,

including the Zanj and the Qarmatian revolutions. The age ended in 333H (945 AD) with al-Mustakfi as its last

successor. His rule came to an end with the invasion of the Buyids of Baghdad (Dayf 2001, 9–52).
69
deconstructed explanation of these in order to illuminate the mysterious writing method al-Niffari

uses in his book.

Moreover, in his translation of the Mawāqif, Arberry categorises later Sufi scholars who

mentioned al-Niffari in their books44 and provides translated quotations of what they said about

him. However, he points out that Ibn ʿArabi was the scholar most interested in al-Niffari due to the

fact he frequently mentions his name in the Futuhat Makkiyya (al-Niffari 1987, 2). For example, Ibn

ʿArabi says:

‫ وﻻ ﻣـﻨﺎزﻟـﺔ ﻣـﻦ اﻟـﻤﻨﺎزﻻت وﻻ ﻣـﻘﺎم ﻣـﻦ اﻟـﻤﻘﺎﻣـﺎت و ﻻ ﺣـﺎل ﻣـﻦ اﻟـﺤﺎﻻت إﻻ وﺑـﯿﻨﮭﻤﺎ‬،‫واﻋـﻠﻢ أﻧـﮫ ﻣـﺎ ﻣـﻦ ﻣـﻨﺰل ﻣـﻦ اﻟـﻤﻨﺎزل‬

‫ﺑـﺮزخ ﯾـﻮﻗـﻒ ﻓـﯿﮫ اﻟـﻌﺒﺪ وھـﻮ اﻟـﺬي ﺗـﻜﻠﻢ ﻓـﯿﮫ ﺻـﺎﺣـﺐ اﻟـﻤﻮاﻗـﻒ اﻟـﻨﻔﺮي رﺣـﻤﮫ ﷲ ﺗـﻌﺎﻟـﻰ ﻓـﻲ ﻛـﺘﺎﺑـﮫ اﻟـﻤﺴﻤﻰ ﺑـﺎﻟـﻤﻮاﻗـﻒ اﻟـﺬي ﯾـﻘﻮل‬

.‫ اﻟـﻤﻘﺎم أو اﻟـﺤﺎل أو اﻟـﻤﻨﺎزل‬،‫ ھـﻮ اﻟـﻤﻨﺰل اﻟـﺬي اﻧـﺘﻘﻞ إﻟـﯿﮫ‬،‫ ﻓـﺬﻟـﻚ اﻻﺳـﻢ اﻟـﺬي ﯾـﻀﯿﻒ إﻟـﯿﮫ‬،‫ﻓـﯿﮫ أوﻗـﻔﻨﻲ اﻟـﺤﻖ ﻓـﻲ ﻣـﻮﻗـﻒ ﻛـﺬا‬

(Ibn ʿArabi, as cited in al-Marzuqi 2007, 36)

Know then, that between every manzil, munāzala, maqām, and ḥāl, there is a buffer state

(barzakh) in which the mystic pauses (yaqif). It is this which is referred to by the author

Muhammad ibn ‘Abd al-Jabbar al-Niffari in his book called the Mawāqif. In this book he

writes, “God (al-Ḥaqq) stayed me in such- and- such a staying,” and here follows the name

of the manzil or munāzala or maqām or ḥal to which he is being transferred.

(al-Niffari 1987, 8–9)

As a result of this interest in al-Niffari, Schimmel maintained that Ibn ʿArabi was inspired by

his mystical ideas (Schimmel 2011, 80). In addition to Ibn ʿArabi, al-Ghanmi believes that al-

Niffari also mystically influenced al-Ghazali when he discussed the issue of tawḥīd al-ʿawāmm wa

44 Shaʿrani in al-Tabaqat al-Kubra (al-Niffari 1987, 11). Qashani in Lataʾif al-Aʿlam fi Isharat Ahl al-Ilham and Hajji

Khalifa in Kashf al-Zunun (ibid., 13). Dhahabi in Mushtabih (ibid., 13).

70
al-khawāṣṣ (monotheism of the masses and the peculiar) in his book Mishkat al-Anwar45 (al-Niffari

2007, 12). Additionally, the book of al-Niffari laid its shade on later Sufi poets such as Abu al-

Hasan al-Shushtari, who wrote verses about how the Divine was speaking to al-Shibli and al-

Niffari, in which he says:

‫ﻟﻠﺸﺒﻠﻲ ﺑﺎﻟﻮﺣﺪة اﻟﺘﻲ‬

‫ﱢ‬ ‫ﻖ‬
َ ‫وأﻧﻄ‬

‫أﺷﺎر ﺑﮭﺎ ﻟ ّﻤﺎ ﻣﺤﺎ ﻋﻨﺪه اﻟﻜﻮﻧﺎ‬

‫ي ﻣﻮﻟّﮭﺎ‬
ّ ‫وﻛﺎن ﻟﺬات اﻟﻨﻔﱠﺮ‬

‫ ﺻﯿّﺮه ِﺧ ْﺪﻧﺎ‬،‫ﯾﺨﺎطﺐ ﺑﺎﻟﺘﻮﺣﯿﺪ‬

‫وﻛﺎن ﺧﻄﯿﺒﺎ ﺑﯿﻦ ذاﺗﯿﻦ ﻣﻦ ﯾﻜﻦ‬

.‫ﻓﻘﯿﺮا ﯾ َﺮ اﻟﺒﺤﺮ اﻟﺬي ﻓﯿﮫ ﻗﺪ ﻏﺼﻨﺎ‬

(al-Shushtari 1960, 75)

And it [was] uttered through al-Shibli

the union that he referred to when he effaced the universe.

And it enraptured the essence of al-Niffari so that he

Spoke of monotheism until it became his companion.

He was a speaker between two essences. He who is

Poor can see the ocean into which we have plunged.

(al-Shushtari 2009,133)

45 Al-Ghazali uses sentences such as: "‫ وﯾـﺎ ﻣـﻦ ﻻ ھـﻮ ﺑﻼ ھـﻮ إﻻ ھـﻮ‬،‫( ”ﯾـﺎ ﻣـﻦ ﻻ ھـﻮ إﻻ ھـﻮ‬O He! Who there is no he but Him. O He

Who is not he without he but Him) and al-Niffari uses exactly the same words in the Mawāqif, in reference to his vision

(al-Niffari 2007, 12).

71
 Al-Niffari’s influence was not exclusively limited to the mystical level, but also inspired

literature and linguistics. Al-Marzuqi pointed out that Ibn Qadib al-Ban imitated al-Niffari’s style in

his book al-Mawaqif al-Ilahiyya. To be precise, he followed al-Niffari’s preamble, the one that

starts with “he stayed me and told me” (al-Marzuqi 2007, 37). It is believed that al-Niffari was a

writer of the elite, rarely appreciated or accepted because of his symbolism and allusions.

Therefore, even in the present time, he has only inspired a few intellectual poets such as Adonis and

ʿAfifi Maṭar (ibid.). On the other hand, Elmarsafy confirmed that the eloquence of al-Niffari also

influenced modern Arabic novelists. He exemplified this point by stating that Jamal al-Din al-

Ghitani used the vocabulary of al-Niffari’s Mawāqif to write about his father in his book al-

Tajalyyat (Elmarsafy 2012, 89).

Al-Niffari’s Eastern and Western recognition

Despite al-Niffari’s uniqueness, I believe that even in modern academic studies, he has not been as

extensively explored by researchers as other Sufi writers such as Ibn al-Farid and Rumi have been.

The studies that I found about him were mostly brief summaries, which focus on two aspects: the

philosophical and the literary. I will present each study’s angle in this section to demonstrate the

new point of view that I will be suggesting regarding the examination of al-Niffari’s work.

Starting from the ancient research, the first study that considered al-Niffari’s Mawāqif and

Mukhāṭabāt was Sharh Mawaqif al-Niffari by al-Tilimsani. This study was more of a paraphrase of

the meaning of al-Niffari’s texts than an analytical examination. To cite one example, in the passage

that follows, al-Tilimsani quotes al-Niffari then adds his own comment:

(al-Tilimsani 1997, 58) "‫ أي أﻧﺎ اﻟﻔﺮداﻧﻲ‬:‫ ﻗﻠﺖ‬.‫ أﻧﺎ اﻟﻌﺰﯾﺰ‬:‫"ﻗﻮﻟﮫ‬

(He says: I am the great. I said: it means that I am the one). The book does not go beyond literal

meaning and so is limited in terms of analysis. This limitation has not prevented it from being the

milestone reference work on al-Niffari’s life, on which every modern study depends.
72
 In 1935, Arberry introduced al-Niffari to the Western world by translating the Mawāqif into

English. The first section of the chapter was dedicated to al-Niffari’s biography, writings,

testimonies and theology, where the author attempted to define al-Niffari’s terminology in order to

gain an insight into his philosophy. For instance, he defined the waqfa and maʿrifa based on al-

Niffari’s explanation in his own texts (al-Niffari 1987, 14–16). Despite the significance of Arberry’s

work, his book is considered valuable as a translation only and in my opinion, the element of

dialogue in al-Niffari’s work was not examined by Arberry.

Paul Nwyia was one of the first researchers to examine the tendency of dialogue in al-Niffari’s

works. In his paper regarding this matter, Nwyia points out new suggestions resulting from a deep

critical analysis of the Mawāqif. His central argument was based on the idea of the obliteration of

the human voice in favour of the dominance of the Divine one. He believed that the discourse in the

text was not being held between two selves, but that the self of al-Niffari was in fact occupied by

the Divine. The dialogue was hence taken over to glorify the Divine voice (Nwyia 1965, 18).

Consequently, Nwyia considers the dialogue as an indication of Divine hegemony by stating that

the absolute presence of Him signifies the absolute absence of the wāqif (ibid., 19). The Divine

allows his worshipper to write His words only. His writings are actually the speech of God that

constitutes the essence of creativity (ibid., 23). Nwyia asserts that the Divine is responsible for

inspiring al-Niffari to speak, which would suggest the Sufi’s uselessness and incapacity to compose

or even speak without the permission of the Divine. He presumes that the dialogue is a paradox, or

essentially a monologue where the Divine speaks only to manifest man’s purification as a mode of

reaching God through the language of dialogue (ibid.). The scholar states that the problem lies in

the use of language from al-Niffari’s point of view, since what is being said is actually what the

Divine is saying, which requires al-Niffari to replace his mortal language with a more elevated or

exalted form of communication (ibid., 24). This is why language continues to disappoint the Sufi;

God is not the subject since no words are sufficient to describe Him. It is worth mentioning that
73
Nwyia’s study includes important notes regarding the Mawāqif, most crucially his opinion

regarding the similarity to some Biblical texts (ibid., 26). Nwyia’s study is highly credible in terms

of examining the notion of dialogue in al-Niffari’s writings, however, I might disagree with his

conclusion that denies any significant agency on the part of the writer and limits empowerment to

the Divine, leaving the worshipper weak and useless, an image that I believe is far removed from

the result of my suggested analysis.

In her book, The Mystical Dimensions of Islam, Schimmel mentioned al-Niffari in

approximately two pages, claiming that the Mawāqif was a replica of Prophet Muhammad’s

experience, in which he became the trusted one of the Divine through dialogue (Schimmel 2011,

80). Subsequently, the author continues her presentation of al-Niffari by stressing the importance of

the letter or ḥarf, to his philosophy and emphasising how he saw it as a "veil of gnosis” that created

a barrier between the Divine and the worshipper (ibid., 81). Schimmel notes vital observations

regarding the dialogue between al-Niffari and the Divine, by suggesting that al-Niffari's experience

was based on the notion of duʿāʾ (prayer), where he enjoyed the gift of speaking with the creator

(ibid.). Having said this, she does not expand any further on this thought.

At a later date, Adonis allocated a section in his book in which he examines al-Niffari's work

closely and asserts that the Sufi's written work was a genre that combined poetry and thought. For

this reason, he called it Shiʾriyyat al-Fikr (The Poetic of Thought) on account of the fact that al-

Niffari’s texts were estranged from both the language and poetic writings of his age (Adonis 2005,

155). Adonis believed that the experience of al-Niffari shed light on the darkness and obscurity that

is generated from the use of language in daily life, which traps the true and essential meaning of

words, since poetry, like love, is an act of liberation (ibid., 160). Adonis mostly focused on al-

Niffari's work from the perspective of the linguistic revolution as set against the traditional use of

language, as well as the mysterious writing style that al-Niffari practiced in his Mawāqif, in a bid to

elucidate the fact that the truth lies in the unknown and the unsaid (ibid., 158). Eventually, he
74
concluded that al-Niffari was an inspiration due to his ability to revive the Arabic sentence from

what he termed the “dead expression” (ibid., 162). Adonis’s remarks touch upon important notions,

such as otherness and living expressions. Interestingly, he does not include the aspect of dialogue in

this equation.

The extensive research carried out for this paper came up with five complete academic studies

about al-Niffari, which examine him and his work very closely. The first is by al-Yusuf, who

attempted to create an initial overall presentation of the Sufi writer. This one hundred and seventy-

page study acts as an introduction to decoding al-Niffari’s theology for the reader and to provide

philosophical guidance in understanding al-Niffari’s symbolism. Al-Yusuf begins his study with a

brief biography and classifies the chapters of his book according to Sufi terminology, stylistics and

imagination. The outcome of al-Yusuf’s effort is based on an analysis of certain quotations from the

Mawāqif, such as the following, where he quotes al-Niffari:

"‫ وﻻ ﯾﺘﻤﺜﻞ ﻟﻠﻘﻠﺐ ﻓﯿﮫ ﻓﯿﺸﮭﺪه‬،‫"وﺗﻌﺮﻓﺖ ﻣﻦ وراء اﻟﺘﻌﺮف ﺑﻤﺎ ﻻ ﯾﻨﻘﺎل ﻟﻠﻘﻮل ﻓﯿﻌﺒﺮه‬

(al-Niffari, as cited in al-Yusuf 1997, 76),46 (I have revealed Myself from beyond gnosis by means

of that which cannot be expressed in speech, that it should thereby be interpreted, nor presented to

the heart, that it should abide in it and witness it [al-Niffari 1987, 136]) and then comments:

‫ ﻓﻀﻼ ﻋﻦ إﻧﮫ ﻻ ﯾﺮﺿﺦ ﻟﺴﻠﻄﺔ اﻟﺸﻜﻞ إذ ﻟﻮ ﺗﺸﻜﻞ ﻻﺳﺘﻄﺎع اﻟﻘﻠﺐ أن‬،‫وھﺬا ﯾﻌﻨﻲ أن ﻣﺎ ﻻ ﯾﻨﻘﺎل ھﻮ وراء ﻛﻞ ﻣﻌﺮﻓﺔ‬

(ibid.) .‫ﯾﻠﺘﻘﻄﮫ وﯾﺴﺘﺘﺐ ﻓﯿﮫ ﻋﻠﻰ ﻧﺤﻮ داﺋﻢ‬

And that means that the unsaid is behind every gnosis. It does not acquiesce to the authority

of form, because if it did, then the heart could capture it and prevail on it forever.

46 Al-Niffari in his fourth mukhāṭaba.

75
 Despite al-Yusuf's clear and well-intentioned analytical attempt, his comments revolve around

exploring the philosophical ties of al-Niffari with no recognition of the milestone feature of his

works, which is dialogue. A method that, I believe, is similar to al-Tilimsani’s approach of

explaining the hidden meanings of al-Niffari’s writings.

In terms of al-Niffari’s compositional style, the author states that there are four writing styles

used by the Sufi in his book: the direct, pure and simple style, where he reaches out directly to the

reader without any complications (ibid., 102); the abstract, dry style that lacks any aesthetic aspect

(ibid., 104); the allusive style, which tends to be metaphoric (ibid., 109) and the symbolic,

insinuating style that depends on the principle of siwā (otherness) and the Divine duality, which

separates the One from the object (ibid., 115). Despite this stylistic division, al-Yusuf does not

analyse the question and answer method that al-Niffari used in his direct dialogue with the Beloved.

Following al-Yusuf’s path, al-Marzuqi introduces his analysis of al-Niffari by documenting his

life, works and philosophy, with the difference that his study is more extensive in terms of al-

Niffari’s theology. The scholar classifies al-Niffari's vital methodologies into four chapters, where

he explores each notion in detail in order to provide a comprehensive insight into the Sufi’s

thoughts. In addition, the author divides al-Niffari’s stylistic characteristics into two different

sections: Sufi and literary (al-Marzuqi 2007, 54–64). Al-Marzuqi confirms that symbolism and

quoting from the Qurʾan are the most notable mystical methods of the Sufi category, where the first

is inspired by the bāṭin, or inner norm in the mystical language (ibid., 55) and the second is

influenced by Qurʾanic verses in order to promote a certain idea (ibid., 63). To make it perfectly

clear, al-Marzuqi maintains that al-Niffari includes Qurʾanic themes in his Mawāqif and mentions

this example as an evidence:

(ibid., 63) "‫ اﻟﺬﯾﻦ رأوﻧﻲ ﻓﻠﻤﺎ ﻏﺒﺖ ﻏﻄﻮا أﻋﯿﻨﮭﻢ ﻏﯿﺮة أن ﯾﺸﺮﻛﻮا ﺑﻲ ﻓﻲ اﻟﺮؤﯾﺔ‬،‫ وﻗﺎل ﻟﻲ اﻟﺬﯾﻦ ﺟﺎھﺪوا ﻓﯿﻨﺎ‬:‫"ﯾﻘﻮل ﻣﺜﻼ‬

(and he said to me: And those that persevere for our sake, they are those that see Me: when I was

absent, they veiled their eyes jealously, lest they should associate anything with Me in their vision
76
[al-Niffari 1987, 62]). Al-Marzuqi believes that the beginning of the above line is quoted from Sūrat

al-ʿAnkabūt, verse 69:

(Qurʾan 29: 69) "‫"واﻟﺬﯾﻦ ﺟﺎھﺪوا ﻓﯿﻨﺎ ﻟﻨﮭﺪﯾﻨّﮭﻢ ﺳﺒﻠﻨﺎ وإن ﷲ ﻟﻤﻊ اﻟﻤﺤﺴﻨﯿﻦ‬

(But We shall be sure to guide to Our ways those who strive hard for Our cause: God is with those

who do good [Abdel Haleem 2005, 256]). This idea of al-Marzuqi is in controversial contradiction

to Nwyia’s thought on al-Niffari’s compositional style. Nwyia asserts that al-Niffari does not quote

the Qurʾan in his Mawāqif and even alleges that the Mawāqif share a similarity with the stylistics

of biblical texts (Nwyia 1965, 26). This point will be explored further in the analysis section.

As for the literary category, al-Marzuqi’s observations are limited to the rhetorical point of view.

He maintains that al-Niffari’s style tends to use assonance, alliteration and antithesis (ibid., 65–66)

and in another section, he examines the notions of duʿāʾ (prayer) and ṭalab (request) in al-Niffari's

work. The author emphasises that al-Niffari’s prayer is divided into three levels:ʿilm (knowledge),

maʿrifa (gnosis) and waqfa (staying) (ibid., 113). Al-Niffari characterises how ṭalab (request) is

presented by each level. In the first one, worshippers are allowed to pray and ask the Divine to fulfil

their needs. In the second level, they are allowed to question the Divine, but are mostly preoccupied

with Him rather than with asking Him to grant their desires. In the last level, worshippers of wuqūf

are not allowed to ask for anything, as to request any wish from the Divine after having witnessed

his presence would be tantamount to a mockery (ibid.). Nonetheless, al-Marzuqi does not expand

further on the relation between prayer and dialogue, aware as he appears to be of the prayer

tradition in Islam, in which speaking to the Divine directly is never in expectation of a two-way

conversation or of an answer from Him, but mainly a recitation and recognition of His praise and

greatness.

77
 In 2007, al-Ghanmi published an edited collection of al-Niffari’s works, whichincluded writings

other than the Mawāqif and Mukhāṭabāt, such as Mawqif al-Mawaqif,47 Ajzaʿ Mutafarriqa,48 Qism

al-Hikam,, Mawaqif wa Munajayat49 and Bab al-Khawatir wa Maqala fi al-Mahabba.50 Al-

Ghanmi's book constitutes a mere Arabic translation of Arberry’s work since the introduction to the

Mawāqif in the book is completely quoted from Arberry. Having said this, in his main introduction,

al-Ghanmi stresses the problematic issue of defining the genre that al-Niffari attempts to produce:

should his texts be considered poetry, philosophy or prose? Eventually, he concludes that Adonis’s

opinion, in his work entitled al-Shiʿriyya al-ʿArabiyya, is the most credible one, inferring that al-

Niffari’s texts are simply beyond classification (al-Ghanmi, as cited in al-Niffari 2007, 30). This is

an idea that I will be arguing against later in this chapter.

In terms of providing new perspectives on al-Niffari’s work, Balqasim's study might be the most

dependable one. Divided into three sections, his book first presents an analytical review of al-

Niffari and explains how his work was perceived in the East and the West. The second section

discusses the notion of waqfa in depth and points out how this meditative tendency demands the

recipient’s inṣāt (listening in silence), since this direct communication with the Divine requires a

complete separation from siwā (otherness) in order to achieve the waqfa (Balqasim 2012, 110). In

his third chapter, Balqasim illustrates his suggested approach to al-Niffari. He believes that the path

47 Includes al-Niffari’s visions in 366 H (976–977 AD). It consists of sixty-six Mawāqif starting with Mawqif Istiwāʾ al-

Maʿrifa and ending with Mawqif al-Maqāmāt (al-Marzuqi 2007, 48).

48 Other fragments include other Mawāqif, additional to some Munājayāt. These start with Mawqif lā Yuʾlimunī al-

Kawn (The Universe does not hurt me) and end with Faʾinnaka lā Tadrī biʾanna Rubba Laḥẓatin Tafūtuk lā Tadrī ḥattā

Tastaʿīdahā (You do not know that it might be two moments; you cannot know how to have it back). Published by

Nwyia in his book Nusus Sufiyya Ghayr Manshura (Unpublished Sufi texts) (ibid.).
49 Contains visions seen by al-Niffari in 359 H (959–960 AD) (ibid.).
50 A book that includes two chapters: the first one mentions the stages of the heart’s thoughts that divide it into

excellence and illness, and the three methods of gnosis (ibid., 49). In the second one, he speaks about the characteristics

of the lover and his feelings.

78
to understanding the Sufi's theology starts with decoding his composed stylistics, where he believes

that the Shaykh built his book based on two foundations: muḥāwara (dialogue) and

taqaṭṭuʿ (separation) (ibid., 243). The credibility of this study lies in the author’s focus on the issue

of dialogue, stylistic interpretation and power. The writer believes that the dialogue constitutes the

structure of the texts that achieves an identity based on a relation between the Divine and the human

(ibid., 244). Moreover, he points out that istimāʿ (listening), plays an important role in the text

structure, since the Mawāqif were written as a mode of listening in a certain dialogue (ibid.).

Balqasim maintains that there are two different types of dialogue in al-Niffari’s book: one between a

speaker and a silent being and the other between two speakers, both of which he provides an

interpretation for (ibid., 245–250). He follows the same criteria to explain the notion of separation

by analysing Mawqif al-Qurb and the sixth mukhāṭaba (ibid., 256–286). In addition, it is crucial to

mention that Balqasim touches upon engaging the tendency within the writings of the Mawāqif to

seek power, when he states:

ّ ،‫ ﻣ ّﻤﺎ ﯾﻜﺸﻒ ﻋﻨﮫ‬،‫"واﻟﺘﻨﺒﮫ إﻟﻰ ﺗﻔﺎﺻﯿﻞ ﺧﻄﺎب اﻟﻨﻔﺮي ﯾﻜﺸﻒ‬

(ibid., 221) "‫أن ﻣﺒﺘﻐﻰ ھﺬا اﻟﺼﻮﻓﻲ ھﻮ ﻛﺘﺎﺑﺔ اﻟﻘﻮة‬

(paying attention to al-Niffari's discourse details, reveals and further divulges that this Sufi seeks

writing power). Nevertheless, the writer leaves this point with no further discussion. Despite the

analytical efforts of Balqasim, I believe that there are a number of problematic points in his account.

For one, with regards to the dialogue interpretation, he concludes that the direct dialogue between

al-Niffari and the Divine alludes to muting the mortal voice so that direct dialogue becomes

possible. However, it does not mean that it is a conversation between two parties but that one of the

voices is generated from silence (ibid., 251). Balqasim is therefore suggesting that the dialogue’s

purpose is to witness the way in which the self is elevated through equality, with the intent of

weakening one voice in order to make the other louder, a state achieved by silencing duality and

eliminating the weight of double talk to express what he calls alam al-thanawiyya (the pain of

dualism) in unification writing (ibid., 251–254). This idea agrees with Nwyia’s suggestion that the
79
Divine inspired al-Niffari to speak and that his writings are actually the Divine’s words disguised as

those of al-Niffari. The problem with this argument is that it isolates the writer’s consciousness and

deprives him from expressing his own reflection on the relation between the worshipper and the

One. This point of view will hence be argued against later in this chapter on the basis of the

methodological framework. In addition, following on from the taqaṭṭuʿ (separation) interpretation,51

there are two resulting points: al-Taqaṭṭuʿ wa-l-Khayba52 and al-Taqaṭṭuʿ wa-l-Ṣamt53 (ibid., 286).

Nonetheless, it appears that these points are generated from al-Niffari’s style in his book. Despite

the importance of these factors in explaining the structure of his texts, Balqasim’s analysis tends to

be poetic and focused on al-Niffari’s preoccupations with writing rather than with attempting to

discover further allusions to his text.

The last recent study that will be looked at is a research conducted by Arin Qudsi, which

remarks on the neglect of al-Niffari in early Sufi literature. The fourteen-page study starts with a

historical review of Sufism in al-Niffari's age and sets out possible explanations for omitting him

from contemporary studies. I believe that the crux of this paper lies in the last five pages, where the

author suggests new perspectives on the mystery of al-Niffari’s life by means of a critical analysis

of his Mawāqif that considers his writings not only philosophically but also politically, and in which

she argues that the notion of waqfa implies a fierce war against the Sufi system of that time (Qudsi

2014, 412). Nonetheless, she does not consider how this could be integrated within the concept of

dialogue or the use of language in his texts.

51 Balqasim believes that taqaṭṭuʿ as a style was generated from the failure of recording the experience of waqfa.

Therefore, writing the waqfa was actually an attempt to write its trace in his memory, something which made his texts

appear unrelated and incoherent. As a result, this animated Balqasim to suggest that the Mawāqif belong to a genre

called fragmentary writing, l'écriture fragmentaire (Balqasim 2012, 257–259).

52 The failure in being separated from siwā (ibid., 294).
53 Taqaṭṭuʿ is the silence that prevents the meaning of achieving fullness due to the Divine’s evasiveness (ibid., 299).
80
 SECTION TWO

al-Niffari’s Theology

The attempt to find the treasure of meanings inherent in The Mawaqif and Mukhatabat requires

tracing a map or outlining guidelines to al-Niffari’s theological notions, given that this book is not

only a literary production but also a summary of his philosophy. This section will seek to define the

author’s fundamental methodological terms in order to provide an overview of his literary and

philosophical structure. The roots and origins of these fundamental methodological terms will also

be examined, in order to explore the relationship between them and the theories that will be

introduced in a later section and which will be suggested as further tools to examine his work.

The in-depth and highly detailed dissection of the terms, notions and concepts that are presented

in this section, are very much at the basis of the proper grasping of the focus of this thesis, namely

al-Suhrawardi's poetry in particular and Sufi poetry as a whole, but also the concept of dialogue in

poems, prose and letters directed at the Divine. The clue to deciphering certain key elements that

will elucidate the deeper and often well-camouflaged meaning of most of the texts I am presenting

here are embedded in these terms. Decomposing them to strip away the layers wrapped around them

that veil their true meaning is a large part of what will allow me to prove the points I am making

and reach the conclusions I am seeking. The subtlety with which deeper meanings have been

weaved into the texts under study is such, that they would be next to impossible to decipher

adequately without first delving into the intricacies of Sufi terminology, so let us begin.

Waqfa

The book of Mawāqif (spiritual stayings) and Mukhāṭabāt (addresses or discourses) is divided into

seventy-seven Mawāqif and fifty-six Mukhāṭabāt. Each mawqif starts with "awqafanī fī ... wa qāla

81
lī" (he stayed me in ... and said to me), whereas each mukhāṭaba begins differently with the opening

line "yā ʿabd" (O! Worshipper). Despite this diversity in discourse, al-Niffari believes that attaining

the privilege of communicating with the Divine as a listener or a speaker necessitates achieving

what he calls waqfa, the essential basis and precursor of a mawqif. So what exactly is meant by

waqfa?

Before giving several philosophical definitions of the term, it is vital to mention the lexical

definition to show its linguistic basis. In Lisan al-ʿArab, Ibn Manzur lists various meanings related

to the verb waqafa (the root of the word waqfa in Arabic) that are, from my point of view,

associated with the meaning of waqfa. According to Ibn Manzur, waqafa is the opposite of sitting

(Ibn Manzur 2016). Waqafa al-arḍ li-l-masākīn (to endow the land for the sake of the unfortunate

ones) means to confine the land (yaḥbisuha), while awqaftu ʿan al-amri alladhī kuntu fīh (I stopped

doing something) indicates quitting (ibid.). Furthermore, he mentions the following verse from the

Qurʾan, where the Divine says:

(Qurʾan 6: 27) "‫"وﻟﻮ ﺗﺮى إذ ُوﻗِﻔﻮا ﻋﻠﻰ اﻟﻨّﺎر‬

(If you could only see, when they are made to stand before the Fire” [Abdelhaleem 2005, 81]) and

states that there could be three interpretations for it. The first would indicate that they might have

seen the fire. The second, that they could have been on top of the fire and it was beneath them, and

the third, as Ibn Sida confirms, that they were placed in the fire and knew the magnitude of its

torment (Ibn Manzur 2016). Additionally, the author highlights the association of the verb waqafa

with four other concepts: matter, speech, guilt and silence, which I believe is a pivotal element to al-

Niffari’s waqfa. For example, al-tawaqqufu fī al-shayʾ (stopping at a matter)54 refers to lingering

and hesitation; waqqafa al-ḥadīth means to make clear and waqqaftuʿalā means to acquaint

somebody with something, as in the phrase waqqaftuhu ʿalā dhanbih (I informed him of his guilt),

which indicates informing (ibid.). Moreover, waqafa ʿalā shayʾ means to pause and pay attention to

54 This translation is quoted from The Arabic English Dictionary (Wortabet 1984, 773).
82
something and waqafa ʿalayh signifies understanding and comprehension (Lane 1968, 3058). On

the other hand, awqaftu implicates silence.55 Ibn Manzur also raises the included idea of duality in

the term tawqīf, when he writes:

(Ibn Manzur 2016) "‫ اﻟﺒﯿﺎض ﻣﻊ اﻟﺴﻮاد‬:‫"اﻟﺘﻮﻗﯿﻒ‬

(tawqīf is whiteness with blackness). These notions of duality, comprehension, awaiting, silence and

informing will all be clearly addressed within our forthcoming examination of the philosophical

definitions of waqfa.

Al-Niffari’s waqfa is the annihilation of the seeker’s self within the sought-after self. It was

named thus due to the cessation of demands (al-Marzuqi 2007, 173), because thoughts are effaced

by the light of waqfa and it is an elevated state aware of all values (al-Niffari 1987, 15). The power

of intelligence and consciousness is absent in this stage, one where the meeting of contradictions is

achieved in the closest position to God (Qudsi 2014, 413). It is a total separation from siwā (ibid.,

412). Indeed waqfa is the highest stage in al-Niffari’s philosophy and it follows two other stages:

ʿilm (knowledge) and maʿrifa (gnosis)56 (al-Marzuqi 2007, 175). In fact, it is the spirit of maʿrifa

and the source of ʿilm (al-Niffari 1987, 14). It involves a complete cessation of requesting, of ḥarf

(letter)57 and of other faces of otherness (Balqasim 2012, 153). In waqfa, there is no attachment to

any object and no object can be attached to this state. It is the negation of objectivity and is

therefore beyond mental recognition, since the mind is attached to objects (al-Marzuqi 2007, 173).

Waqfa as combustion

55 In addition, Ibn Manzur states: "Kullu shayʾin tumsiku ʿanhu taqūlu awqaftu" (everything you held from can be

expressed with awqaftu (I stopped), [Ibn Manzur 2017]).

56 These notions will be discussed further a little later in this section.
57 This notion will be explored profoundly later in this section.
83
The theory of waqfa is involved with various significant terms that illustrate the characteristics of

this state. Fire is a recurring theme in several definitions, such as when Arberry tells us: “it is the

fire of otherness” (al-Niffari 1987, 15), or when Balqasim (2012, 154) believes that:

"‫"ﺗﻘﻮم اﻟﻮﻗﻔﺔ ﻋﻠﻰ اﺣﺘﺮاق اﻟﺮﺳﻢ وزواﻟﮫ‬

(waqfa is based on the burning of the image and its demolition). Al-Marzuqi (2007, 179) appears to

agree with the above and adds that:

"‫"اﻟﻄﺮﯾﻖ إﻟﻰ ﷲ ﺗﻌﺎﻟﻰ ھﻮ اﻟﻤﺤﻮ ﻻ اﻹﺛﺒﺎت‬

(the path to the Divine is through effacing not affirming). It is hence fairly evident that waqfa is

where the absolute presence of the Divine occurs and the complete absence of the self is actualised

(Qudsi 2014, 413). This is where we see the reason for which waqfa was the highest point of al-

Niffari’s hierarchy of stages, because it requires transcending ʿilm and maʿrifa (al-Marzuqi 2007,

197) and that is what Balqasim denominates as ʿubūr (passing) (Balqasim 2012, 152).

Waqfa as passing

Balqasim maintains that wuqūf (halting)58 is not related to waqfa but that it alludes to limiting

waqfa’s way, yet its way associates with what is fortified from exclusivity and limitation and that, is

the Absolute. Waqfa has no termination, consequently, it tends to denote ʿubūr as opposed to wuqūf

(ibid.). This concept provides an additional perspective of waqfa as not only being a stage to reach,

but also a state of transition towards the farthermost (ibid.). I believe this engagement with ʿubūr is

credibly crystallised in Arberry’s statement: “waqfah is the gate of vision” (al-Niffari 1987, 14).

Nevertheless, waqfa is not the end of ʿubūr since there is no pausing in it. Passing only leads to

passing, just as limitation means the limitless (Balqasim 2012, 152). Passing over everything is

what al-Niffari terms as “passing cosmic.” This ʿubūr leads to a time before the creation of objects

and their laws, which was just a ferry in this transition. This is why the Absolute mode maintains a

58 Translation by Lane 1968, 3059.

84
significant relationship between the pre and the post; the time before the passed object and after it

(ibid., 153).

Waqfa and duality

Waqfa is the conjunction of contradictions, which means that it involves various dualities and

oppositions to create it. Balqasim believes that waqfa requires a direct connection with the Absolute

but that this connection is always threatened by severance (ibid., 155). For her part, Qudsi (2014,

413) maintains that waqfa is a complete separation from otherness. Moreover, in terms of realising

waqfa, the same author states that it correlates with vision (ibid.). On the other hand, Balqasim

asserts that al-Niffari presents his texts as a state of hearing the Divine words, due to the leading

sentences in his texts that take the form of a direct call and address from the Divine to him, which

then achieves vision59 (Balqasim 2012, 168). Moreover, this direct call in his Mukhāṭabāt weaves

another pattern of dualities. When the Divine addresses al-Niffari by saying “yā ʿabd,” it gives the

impression that the addressee is a mortal or a slave. In apparent contrast, al-Niffari himself states in

one of his mawāqif that “al-wāqif ḥurr” (the wāqif (worshipper) is free) and Qudsi is of the opinion

that this expression is an indication of the Divine’s power and majesty, which graced al-Niffari,

transforming him into a quasi-divine being (Qudsi 2014, 413). Balqasim introduces waqfa as a state

of farāgh (emptiness) and maintains that in order to be a wāqif, a person must be empty of

otherness. In contrast, this blankness is actually the path to be filled with the Divine light, since the

empty heart of a worshipper is capable of embrace (Balqasim 2012, 164).60 Referring to the dualism

inherent in waqfa is crucial to the argument of this research and the upcoming discussion, which

59 Balqasim specifies three aspect of the relation between samāʿ (hearing) and ruʾya (vision); the aspect of reason,

preference and identification (Balqasim 2012, 171–172). I will expand more on this relation later in this section.
60 Examples of opposition are innumerable in al-Niffari's text such as: uktub, lā taktub, ʾiqraʾ, lā taqraʾ. However, the

mentioned examples were chosen based on their relativity to constituting the notion of waqfa.
85
will include examining other Islamic and literary traditions to whose characterisation standing and

speaking are vital elements.

Types of waqfa

Balqasim notes that al-Niffari’s waqfa has three classifications, based on its association with certain

genitives and the position of siwā. Each type intimates a certain meaning. Al-Waqfa ʿan means

suspending the laws and rising above them. This type of waqfa affirms siwā, despite the separation

that itself occurs in waqfa (ibid., 156). Al-Waqfa bi, on the other hand, denotes upholding the

Absolute, where He totally occupies the wāqif’s senses (ibid.). Finally, al-waqfa li is to stand for

the Absolute. It is the purification from all requests, including speaking to the Divine and listening

to Him. It is a complete voidness of objects and what al-Niffari calls Maqām Allāh (ibid.).

Waqfa and other traditions

As the discussion above shows, al-Niffari's waqfa consists of three vital elements: standing,

speaking and receiving – concepts that I believe are firmly related to the tradition of al-wuqūf ʿalā

al-aṭlāl (standing or crying over the ruins). Balqasim states that writing is a method of

distinguishing between waqfa’s epochs, due to the fact that he considered writing to be an attempt to

recapture what happened in ruʾya (vision). Al-ʾistiʿāda (recalling) works using a different scale of

comprehension than the one achieved during the vision and is occupied by what was burnt in waqfa.

Thus, what the writer recalls is not the experience of waqfa but another phenomenon arising from

iltifāt.61 He maintains that al-Niffari’s writing is meant to keep what remains and to bear witness to

absence due to its preoccupation with an evanescent truth (Balqasim 2012, 234). This suggestion

61 Lexically, it means turn the face towards a thing (Lane 1968, 2265). However, figuratively, it denotes apostrophe

(Wahbah and al-Muhandis 1984, 58). Having said this, I tend to believe that what he really means in this context is

turning back to capture the lost moment, which Balqasim calls infilāt, a thing that goes forth or escapes suddenly (Lane

1968, 2435).
86
engages with nostalgia,62 a notion that creates the foundation of shiʿr al-aṭlāl (aṭlāl poetry).

According to Hasan (1986, 6):

"‫"اﻟﺤﻨﯿﻦ ھﻮ اﻷﺳﺎس اﻟﺬي ﯾﻘﻮم ﻋﻠﯿﮫ ﺷﻌﺮ اﻟﻮﻗﻮف ﻋﻠﻰ اﻷطﻼل ﻓﻲ اﻟﺤﻘﯿﻘﺔ‬

(Nostalgia is a sentimental yearning for a period of the past or regretful or wistful memory of an

earlier time” [Oxford English Dictionary, 2016]).

Aṭlāl poetry is an expression of sadness or, as Braune states, crying over ruins is actually crying

over human existence, since remains are symbols of mortal life (Braune, as cited in Kahlush 2007,

67). In terms of sadness, Balqasim stresses a crucial question asked by al-Tilimsani: “How can

waqfa agitate sorrow when it is supposed to negate it?” He believes that two matters must be

considered in order to answer this question. The first one is that grief comes from a conscious

sustainment of waqfa that alludes to an eternity of siwā, a situation that ultimately creates sadness.

The second is that waqfa is an experience of annihilation where nothing remains, including the

waqfa and wāqif (Balqasim 2012, 154), meaning that this cannot be a continuous state. I believe the

similarity here is clear. The jāhilī (pre-Islamic) poet stands in front of a place that represents the

dissipation of his life and memories, which leads him to taste the bitterness of absence, a feeling

similar to what the wāqif experiences when he senses the absence of the Divine caused by the

existence of siwā in his mind. Moreover, writing about ṭalal (remains) in the poem is akin to writing

about memories or the attempt to grasp a moment that happened in the past in order to comfort the

self. Similarly, writing the waqfa, as I mentioned earlier, is actually documenting the events of

waqfa or in other words, recalling what happened during its occurrence.

Qasim states that the jāhilī poet attempts to freeze the time that contains temporary joy by

composing poems (Qasim 2014, 7). Al-Yusuf endorses this suggestion by noting that standing in

front of the ṭalal encompasses two periods: the pleasant past and the miserable present (al-Yusuf, as

62 In fact, aṭlāl poetry is based on nostalgia.

87
cited in Kahlush 2007, 68). This idea was explored further by Kahlush in her analysis of the first

verse of the following poem by Imruʾ al-Qays:63

‫ﻗﻔﺎ ﻧﺒﻚ ﻣﻦ ذﻛﺮى ﺣﺒﯿﺐ وﻣﻨﺰل‬

.‫ﺑﺴﻘﻂ اﻟﻠﻮى ﺑﯿﻦ اﻟ ّﺪﺧﻮل ﻓﺤﻮﻣﻞ‬

(as cited in Kahlush 2007, 70)

Stop! let us cry at the remembrance of a beloved and her lodgings

At the extremity of winding sand between al-Dakhūl and Ḥawmal.

(Jusoh 1990, 3)

Kahlush maintains that the verb qifā (to stand up) is the key to stopping time and that it

abolishes the tangible place in order to recall the house of the past, the home of the beloved (ibid.,

70). This method results in going beyond the current structure of home through the memory.

Eventually, the poet realises the absence of his beloved and this moves him to tears (ibid., 71). This

feeling ends the opening line of his poem.

The writer believes that this situation is fundamentally generated by recapturing the beloved’s

memory due to her absence (ibid.). Balqasim confirms that the book of Mawāqif is, in fact, a

63 A prince of the tribe of Kinda and one of the most significant pre-Islamic poets. He was famous for his wandering

reckless life. Known as the “most erring prince,” he died of poisoning in Ancyra (Clouston 1986, xxxvii).
88
response to the Divine’s permission to write them64 and an outcome of returning65 (Balqasim 2012,

234). In accordance with these concepts, I suggest that the verb awqafanī plays a similar role to the

verb qifā in the aṭlāl. The poet stands in front of the now-demolished home, a home devoid of the

beloved. In a similar stance, al-Niffari stands in front of the Divine when he is devoid of siwā. Aṭlāl

agglomerates past and present and writing the waqfa includes both "now" and "then." Through

recollection, the poet travels beyond the place to what it used to be and through waqfa, al-Niffari

transcends from the cosmos to the Absolute.

In addition to the duality of present and past and absence and presence, the duality of

connection and separation also links the two. In his study on the philosophy of space in Arabic

poetry, Munsi presents a brief analysis of the modern approaches to aṭlāl in a poem entitled ṭalal by

ʿUmar Abu Risha.66 The poet starts his poem with this verse:

64 In his book, Balqasim explains what he means by permission in a section entitled min ḥudūd al-ʾidhn ʾilā ḥudūd al-

lugha (from the limitation of permission to the limitation of language). In this section, Balqasim states that the

permission to write does not depend only on the topic of writing but on the methodology of the presupposed recipient of

the book as well. However, this recipient is one of the elites that the Divine allows al-Niffari to write to or tell about

Him. Having said that, the recipient acquires only what the permission allows. He clarifies his point through an example

from Mawqif Maḥḍar al-Quds al-Nāṭiq (Mawqif of The Presence-Chamber Of Eloquent Sanctity [Balqasim 2012,

228]), in which the Divine says to al-Niffari: "I have given thee permission concerning thy companions as to the “He

stayed me,” and I have given thee permission concerning thy companions as to the “O my servant.” I have not given

thee permission to reveal Me, nor to make mention of how thou seest Me” (al-Niffari 1987, 105). The Author believes

that permission refers to al-Niffari’s ability to write about the vision he was granted, however, he postpones doing so

(Balqasim 2012, 230) due to the fact that vision is not a linguistic matter (ibid., 231). This discussion by Balqasim was

an attempt to analyse the controversial stance of al-Niffari regarding writing the waqfa.
65 The Author expands more on this by stating that al-Niffari could not speak until he returned from his experience,

because what he acquired from waqfa was achieved beyond the realm of language and words. Moreover ruʾya’s essence

is infilāt (vanishing) (ibid., 234), therefore, when al-Niffari attempts to write about his experience, he multiplies this

tendency to end up writing a trace, an absence that witnesses infilāt (ibid., 235).
66 A Syrian poet born in 1910 near Aleppo. He comes from a highly educated family and studied at the American

University in Beirut. He published various poetic collections and is considered to be one of the representatives of Arab

romanticism in modern Arabic literature (Badawi 1975, 172).

89
 ‫ﻗﻔﻲ ﻗﺪﻣﻲ إن ھﺬا اﻟﻤﻜﺎن‬

.‫ﯾﻐﯿﺐ ﺑﮫ اﻟﻤﺮء ﻋﻦ ﺣﺴّﮫ‬

(Abu Risha 1998, 125)

Oh! Stand my foot, for this place is

where man absents himself from his senses.

Munsi maintains that through the first section of Abu Risha’s text, the poet separates himself

from the observed object, which is the description of the ruins. This seclusion enables the poet to

describe the scene sensuously. On the other hand, when the self connects with the object, it enables

the poet to obtain a deeper perspective on the place; instead of describing the stones, the poet turns

to explore the pain of builders who lost their life for the sake of others’ pride (Munsi 2001, 36).

‫ﱢ‬
‫اﻟﻤﺸﺖ‬ ‫ﺣﻮاﻓﺮ ﺧﯿﻞ اﻟﺰﻣﺎن‬

.‫ﺗﻜﺎد ﺗﺤ ّﺪث ﻋﻦ ﺑﺆﺳﮫ‬

(Abu Risha 1998, 126)

The separating hooves of the horses of time

almost speak of this place’s misery.

It appears that here, the poet stands in an in-between state,67 a situation that equals al-Niffari’s

case when he says:

(al-Niffari 2007, 102) “‫ وﻻ ﯾﺴﺘﻄﯿﻊ ﻣﻔﺎرﻗﺘﮫ‬،‫ ﻻ ﯾﺴﺘﻄﯿﻊ ﻣﺪاوﻣﺘﻲ‬،‫ اﻟﺒﻼء ﺑﻼء ﻣﻦ رآﻧﻲ‬:‫”و ﻗﺎل ﻟﻲ‬

67 Between being separated and connected.

90
(and he said to me: the tribulation is the tribulation of him who sees Me: he cannot endure my

persistence, and cannot endure its discontinuance [al-Niffari 1987, 61]). Balqasim comments on this

phrase by stating that it is both an inability to persist as well as an inability to free himself from

dreaming of waqfa because it became his destiny (Balqasim 2012, 158).

Furthermore, the aforementioned examples from Imruʾ al-Qays and Abu Risha contain a

dialogical discourse. However, the addressees of their dialogue do not respond, while in contrast, al-

Niffari stands, speaks to the Divine and obtains a response, all of which will be illustrated by

selected examples later.

Waqfa and Wuqūf in ʿArafāt

Hajj (pilgrimage) is one of the five bases of Islam.68 Al-Ghazali states that hajj cannot be achieved

without these five elements: iḥrām (a state of ritual consecration), ṭawāf (circumambulation), saʿy

(hastening), wuqūf biʿArafa (staying atʿArafa) and ḥalq (shaving) (al-Ghazali 1977, 52).

Nevertheless, standing in ʿArafa is considered to be the vital aspect of hajj. The Prophet

Muhammad himself said:

(al-Karmani 2003, 319) “‫”اﻟﺤﺞ ﻋﺮﻓﺔ ﻓﻤﻦ ﺟﺎء ﻟﯿﻠﺔ ﺟﻤﻊ ﻗﺒﻞ طﻠﻮع اﻟﻔﺠﺮ ﻓﻘﺪ أدرك اﻟﺤﺞ‬

(Hajj isʿArafa, and he who came during the night of jamʿ before dawn, has performed hajj).

The ritual starts with the pilgrim reaching Namira to wash in preparation for the wuqūf. As the

sun begins to set, the imam gives a brief speech and is followed by a muezzin who calls for ḍuhr

(noon) and ʿaṣr (evening) prayers (al-Ghazali 1977, 90). After praying, pilgrims are allowed to

stand at ʿArafa but not at the valley of ʿArafa. On this day, pilgrims are not allowed to fast. They

68 According to the hadith that states:

International) “‫ وﺻـﻮم رﻣـﻀﺎن‬، ‫ وﺣـﺞ اﻟـﺒﯿﺖ‬، ‫ وإﯾـﺘﺎء اﻟـﺰﻛـﺎة‬، ‫ وإﻗـﺎم اﻟـﺼﻼة‬، ‫ وأن ﻣﺤـﻤﺪا رﺳـﻮل ﷲ‬، ‫ ﺷـﮭﺎدة أن ﻻ إﻟـﮫ إﻻ ﷲ‬: ‫”ﺑـﻨﻲ اﻹﺳـﻼم ﻋـﻠﻰ ﺧـﻤﺲ‬

(Institute of Islamic Thought 1991, 200

(Islam is built on five pillars: bearing witness that there is no god but Allah, establishing regular worship, paying zakā,

pilgrimage and fasting in Ramadan [Hussain 2012, 125]).

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have to stand in front of the qibla to praise the Divine, glorify His name and ask for his forgiveness.

It is also desirable to maintain talbiyya (compliance) and to immerse oneself in supplication (ibid.,

91) and anyone who misses wuqūf before the immolation day dawns misses hajj entirely (ibid.). The

prayers recited by worshippers contain direct speech with the Divine.

According to Abi ʿAbdullah for instance: “If you leave early morning towards ʿArafa, then say:

O! Allah, only you I unify, only you I depend on and only your face I desire. I ask you to bless my

journey to you, and to fulfil my need” (Abi ʿAbdullah, as cited in al-ʿAmili 1993, 29).69

I believe that this tradition has several similarities with al-Niffari's waqfa. Wuqūf ʿArafa requires

a complete ablution70 as a gesture of purifying the body and the soul in order to stand at the

mountain with a heart empty of sin and a mouth that only speaks of the Divine remembrance to

obtain His blessings and acceptance. In addition, complete ablution incorporates wuḍūʾ,71 a ritual

that Muslims perform and repeat before praying. In Mawqif al-Waqfa, al-Niffari states:

(al-Niffari 2007, 67) "‫ ﺗﻄﮭّﺮ ﻟﻠﻮﻗﻔﺔ وإﻻ ﻧﻔﻀﺘﻚ‬:‫"وﻗﺎل ﻟﻲ‬

([and he said to me:] purify thyself for staying, else it will shake thee off [Arberry 1987, 33]).

Balqasim (2012, 114) notes that the concept of purifying the soul to reach waqfa requires

abandoning everything. He affirms that purification is one of the ethics which predates and

accompanies waqfa and yet, purification does not necessarily lead to waqfa, a matter that makes the

road to waqfa fraught with risk. Thus, the wāqif needs to renew his purification, since waqfa is in

fact renewable (ibid., 115). To have been purified before waqfa means to be prepared for contiguity

69
‫ ﻓﺄﺳﺄﻟﻚ أن ﺗﺒﺎرك ﻟﻲ ﻓﻲ‬،‫ و وﺟﮭﻚ أردت‬،‫” اﻟﻠﮭﻢ إﯾﺎك ﺻﻤﺪت وإﯾﺎك اﻋﺘﻤﺪت‬:‫ إذا ﻏﺪوت إﻟﻰ ﻋﺮﻓﺔ ﻓﻘﻞ وأﻧﺖ ﻣﺘﻮﺟﮫ إﻟﯿﮭﺎ‬:‫”ﻋﻦ أﺑﻲ ﻋﺒﺪﷲ ﻋﻠﯿﮫ اﻟﺴﻼم ﻗﺎل‬

.(al-ʿAmili 1993, 29) “‫ وأن ﺗﻘﻀﻲ ﻟﻲ ﺣﺎﺟﺘﻲ‬،‫رﺣﻠﺘﻲ‬

70 Ghusl: involves passing water over the skin and hair of the entire body (Katz 2013, 22).
71 A minor ablution: one of the conditions for the validity of prayer, which involves washing the hands, face and feet

and wiping the head with water (ibid.).

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and direct meeting with the Divine. By contiguity, Balqasim means obtaining traits and by direct

meeting, he means vision without a mediator. Eventually, these notions, in addition to purification,

all engage with the concept of siwā, in order to emphasise waqfa as a total separation from

otherness (ibid., 116). The pilgrim purifies his heart of sin and the wāqif purifies himself of siwā.

The wāqif prepares himself to meet the Divine and the pilgrim prepares himself to stand and pray.

The pilgrim wears his garment as a sign of total seclusion from objects and the wāqif continues to

purify his heart to achieve total separation from siwā.

Wuqūf at ʿArafa is a destination that pilgrims head towards once they have performed the

previously mentioned stages.72 Standing at ʿArafa constitutes the peak of the hajj journey.

Nevertheless, hajj does not finish here. The ritual continues and ends with tawāf al-wadāʿ (farewell

circumambulation). Staying at ʿArafa comes after the journey of hajj and standing at the mountain

enables the pilgrim to initiate the direct speech that addresses the Divine in order to obey his

demand and call. On the other hand, al-Niffari's waqfa comes after the journey of knowledge and

gnosis. It is the destination that the wāqif dreams of attaining, but while it allows the wāqif to pass

towards the Absolute, it is not a final destination. Reaching waqfa enables the wāqif to have a direct

conversation with God, which indicates that he obeys the Divine command and subsequently, the

Divine responds. Standing in the presence of the Divine generates discourse in both situations and

both positions are considered to be the milestones of each meeting. In order to complete wuqūf bi

ʿArafa, the pilgrim has to speak and to achieve the Divine vision, whereas the wāqif has to speak in

order to be rewarded with a vision of the Divine.

72 The basis of hajj as I previously mentioned.

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Waqfa and duʿāʾ

The act of calling out is what duʿāʾ simply refers to (Katz 2013, 29). Lexically, Ibn Manzur alleges

that the word duʿāʾ contains several meanings. One of them is the concept of asking for rescue (Ibn

Manzur 2016) based on this verse from the Qurʾan:

(Qurʾan 2:23) "‫"إن ﻛﻨﺘﻢ ﻓﻲ رﯾﺐ ﻣ ّﻤﺎ ﻧ ّﺰﻟﻨﺎ ﻋﻠﻰ ﻋﺒﺪﻧﺎ ﻓﺄﺗﻮا ﺑﺴﻮرة ﻣﻦ ﻣﺜﻠﮫ وادﻋﻮا ﺷﮭﺪاءﻛﻢ إن ﻛﻨﺘﻢ ﺻﺎدﻗﯿﻦ‬

(If you have doubts about the revelation We have sent down to Our servant, then produce a single

sura like it – enlist whatever supporters you have other than God – if you truly [think you can].

[Abdel Haleem 2005, 6]). Ibn Manzur interprets this verse by mentioning Abu Ishaq’s explanation:

“Call for one whose obedience you believed and whose aid you hope for” (Ibn Manzur 2016).

Secondly, he maintains that duʿāʾ is worship based on these words from the Divine:

(Qurʾan 7: 194) “‫”إن اﻟﺬﯾﻦ ﺗﺪﻋﻮن ﻣﻦ دون ﷲ ﻋﺒﺎد أﻣﺜﺎﻟﻜﻢ ﻓﺎدﻋﻮھﻢ ﻓﻠﯿﺴﺘﺠﯿﺒﻮا ﻟﻜﻢ إن ﻛﻨﺘﻢ ﺻﺎدﻗﯿﻦ‬

(Those [idolaters] you call upon instead of God are created beings like you. Call upon them, then,

and let them respond to you if what you say is true [Abdel Haleem 2005, 108]).

Ibn Manzur further classifies duʿāʾ li-l Allāh (praying for the Divine) into three different types

of prayers: affirmation and praising of His oneness, asking for His mercy and forgiveness and

requesting worldly desires (Ibn Manzur 2016). However, this could be applied to any sort of

invocation. Katz argues that studies which examine ṣalāt (praying) may consider every utterance

directed to the Divine as duʿāʾ (Katz 2013, 29). It hence becomes crucial to clarify the difference

between these concepts. Katz mentions several definitions for duʿāʾ from classical sources that

concur with the lexical ones. Most definitions appear to be grounded on principles of supplication:

seeking good things from the Divine, imploring Him earnestly and appealing for His rescue.

Addressing the Divine is the essence of duʿāʾ, motivated by human distress and need. In contrast,

ṣalāt is a verbal phenomenon that includes significant physical postures (ibid.). It remains

noteworthy that this difference between rituals does not make them entirely separate from each

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other. Duʿāʾ constitutes most of ṣalāt’s rites (Katz 2013, 31). The Fātiḥa73 contains verses

glorifying the Divine and praising Him, while in rukūʿ the worshipper proclaims:

( al-Tabarani 1987, 1046) “‫ ﺳﺒﺤﺎن رﺑﻲ اﻷﻋﻠﻰ‬،‫”ﺳﺒﺤﺎن رﺑﻲ اﻟﻌﻈﯿﻢ‬

(Glory to my Lord the Greatest, glory to my Lord the Highest).

In sujūd (prostration), the worshipper will be in the closest position to the Creator and should

therefore implore with duʿāʾ as much as possible (ibid., 1074). It is also significant to note that the

importance of duʿāʾ lies in being the “the marrow of prayer”74 (Katz 2013, 30). Whether it is used

for lamenting or requesting, duʿāʾ creates a constant dialogical conversation and connection

between man and the Divine. It also happens to integrate with al-Niffari’s waqfa in certain aspects.

In duʿāʾ, the petitioner prepares by performing wuḍūʾ and standing in front of the qibla75 (Katz

2013, 22). In waqfa, al-Niffari prepares himself by purification.76 Duʿāʾ is the essence of

worshipping and waqfa is the basis of ruʾya. The Prophet urges the suppliant to start his duʿāʾ by

praising the Divine before daring to ask for anything (al-Tabarani 1987, 822),77 which confirms that

supplication is a method of communicating with the Divine, not only a ritual of requesting. On the

other hand, the wāqif must empty his heart of any wish and approach the Divine with the purpose of

73 The first sura, or chapter, in the Qurʾan that must be recited in each rakʿa (bowing) during prayer (Katz 2013, 24).
74 Katz’s translation for ”al-duʿāʾ mukhkh al-ʿibādah” (ibid., 30).
75 The direction that Muslims face while performing their prayer and which indicates the direction of the Kaʿba in

Mecca (Katz 2013, 22)

76 As mentioned in the previous comparison between waqfa and wuqūf biʿArafa.
77 According to the incident narrated by Fudala ibn ʿUbayd: “While the Prophet – peace be upon him – was sitting, a

man came and started praying saying: "O! lord have mercy on me and forgive me.” Then, the Prophet – peace be upon

him – said: "O! Petitioner you have accelerated! If you prayed and sat, then, praise the Divine as He deserves to be

praised for. Then, recite prayers for me. Later, another worshipper prayed, praised the One and recited prayers for the

Prophet. Then the Prophet – peace be upon him – said to him: "Ask, and you shall get what you asked for" (ibn ʿUbayd,

as cited in al-Tabarani 1987, 822).

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witnessing his oneness.78 Nevertheless, both waqfa and duʿāʾ share the crucial element of glorifying

Him. I find this similarity is further brought to light in al-Marzuqi’s description of al-Niffari's

Mawāqif as “singing in monotheism”79 (al-Marzuqi 2007, 45). He maintains that al-Niffari’s waqfa

means that the mystic is separated from siwā and free from the cosmic since he is filled with the

truth and therefore only witnesses the Divine presence. In this state, all forms vanish and the

dualism between the universe and the One are unveiled, so the mystic is absorbed in monotheism

(ibid.). This state illustrates the wāqif as a person who emphasises the Divine’s oneness, which I

believe is the core of ḥamd (praise). According to Lane, in Arabic, ḥamd "signifies a praiseworthy

quality or a quality for which one is praised” (Lane 1968, 638). When the petitioner praises the

Lord, he mentions his attributes, the names that refer to and represent the One who created the

cosmos. The following idea was first revealed to Muhammad, the prophet of Islam, in the first

released verse of the Qurʾan:

(Qurʾan 96:1) "‫"اﻗﺮأ ﺑﺎﺳﻢ رﺑﻚ اﻟﺬي ﺧﻠﻖ‬

(Read! In the name of your Lord who created [Abdel Haleem 2005, 428]). To believe that He is the

One who creates, means to confess that He is One.

‫ إِﻧﱠ َﻤﺎ أَ ْﻣ ُﺮهُ إِ َذا أَ َرا َد َﺷ ْﯿﺌًﺎ أَن ﯾَﻘُﻮ َل‬،‫ق ْاﻟ َﻌﻠِﯿ ُﻢ‬
ُ ‫ﻖ ِﻣ ْﺜﻠَﮭُﻢ ۚ ﺑَﻠَ ٰﻰ َوھُ َﻮ ْاﻟﺨ ﱠَﻼ‬
َ ُ‫ض ﺑِﻘَﺎ ِد ٍر َﻋﻠَ ٰﻰ أَن ﯾَ ْﺨﻠ‬
َ ْ‫ت َو ْاﻷَر‬ َ ‫أَ َوﻟَﯿ‬
َ َ‫ْﺲ اﻟﱠ ِﺬي َﺧﻠ‬
ِ ‫ﻖ اﻟ ﱠﺴ َﻤﺎ َوا‬

ُ ‫ ﻓَ ُﺴ ْﺒ َﺤﺎنَ اﻟﱠ ِﺬي ﺑِﯿَ ِﺪ ِه َﻣﻠَ ُﻜ‬، ُ‫ﻟَﮫُ ُﻛﻦ ﻓَﯿَ ُﻜﻮن‬
(Quran 36:81–83) .‫ﻮت ُﻛﻞﱢ َﺷ ْﻲ ٍء َوإِﻟَ ْﯿ ِﮫ ﺗُﺮْ َﺟﻌُﻮن‬

78 Al-Niffari classifies duʿāʾ according to three levels: the level of ʿilm, maʿrifa and waqfa. In the first level, the mystic

asks the Divine to fulfil his desires. In the second one, where he is not fully separated from siwā, the mystic obtains the

privilege of asking the Divine. In the third, the mystic reaches the blessed stage of not having to ask, since requesting at

this stage would be considered derision (al-Marzuqi 2007, 113).

79 “.‫”اﻟﻐﻨﺎء ﻓﻲ اﻟﺘﻮﺣﯿﺪ‬
96
 Is He who created the heavens and earth not able to create the likes of these people?

Of course He is! He is the All Knowing Creator: when He wills something to be,

His way is to say, “Be”––and it is! So glory be to Him in whose Hand lies control

over all things. It is to Him that you will all be brought back.

(Abdel Haleem 2005, 284).

This is precisely the praiseworthy quality that the waqfa glorifies. As a further example, in the

Mawaqif, al-Niffari speaks these words in reference to Oneness: “Listen to the tongues of the

worlds of abiding in the spiritual manifests. And lo, they were saying: Allah, Allah” (al-Niffari

1987, 85). In light of all the above, I suggest that waqfa praises the Divine as duʾāʿ does, albeit in

an indirect way.

Whereas duʿāʾ is an element of ritual, a rite that seeks acceptance and a method that the

petitioner attempts in order to obtain a sign from God, waqfa is a privilege resulting from suffering

brought on by the barrier that knowledge and gnosis create. Here, waqfa can be interpreted as the

Divine acceptance of al-Niffari’s continuous effort to free his soul from siwā. After duʿāʾ, the

suppliant obtains relief (Katz 2013, 36) while paradoxically, after waqfa, al-Niffari suffers from the

sorrow of separation. Furthermore, the closest that the suppliant can get to the Divine is in sujūd. In

contrast, wuqūf is the position that allows al-Niffari to be near the Divine and makes it possible for

him to be rewarded by his vision.

To conclude briefly, I believe that al-Niffari’s waqfa is the outcome of the fusion of lexical,

religious and literary traditions. However, he was successful in going beyond the stagnant accepted

meaning of phrases in order to create a language of his own.

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Siwā and ḥarf

Otherness80 is the gateway to waqfa. Each study about al-Nriffari tends to categorise these two

concepts separately. However, I believe that the discussion should include both notions, siwā and

ḥarf, due to their being interlaced, on the condition that siwā, as a concept, leans towards being

more comprehensive. In the following deliberation, I intend to explore siwā and ḥarf individually

and to expand more on my approach by bringing to prominence the intertwining aspects between

these two notions by dividing them into three characteristics, namely the lexical relation, the

transcendental aspect and the element of contradiction. I will then present an examination of how

siwā and ḥarf are understood, in order to conclude that these terminologies are not only mystical,

but also a method for al-Niffari to claim an authoritative role for himself in his interaction with the

Divine.

Siwā

Siwā constitutes the foundation of al-Niffari's doctrine (al-Marzuqi 2007, 72). Al-Yusuf believes

that al-Niffari was the first mystic to use the term siwā defined by the article “al”81 in Arabic. This

article converts siwā from a preposition used to denote exception, to a noun (al-Yusuf 1997, 45).

While waqfa is the path to reach the Divine by being totally separated from anything but the One,

siwā contains various paths that lead to any destination except that of the Divine. Everything other

than the One is siwā. Subsequently, all except the One is considered a material or an embodied

80 "Otherness" is Arberry’s translation for the word siwā in Arabic (al-Niffari 1987, 20). His translation for ghayr was

also "other" (ibid., 21).

It is worth mentioning that the notion of siwā, in al-Niffari's discourse, intersects with other concepts such as ghayr

(otherness), wahm (illusion), ḥijab (veil) and ḥadd (limit) (Balqasim 2012, 117). In addition, I believe that the concept

of kawn (cosmos) can also be added to the aforementioned notions.

81 An article used to render the noun into a definite one, which is then called “defined by an article” (Wahbah and al-

Muhandis 1984, 373).

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object (ibid.). The entire kawn (cosmos) is otherness; otherness is a letter and the letter itself is also

otherness. The true servant of the Divine is the person who liberates himself from siwā; the Divine’s

confidante is the one who restores everything other than the Divine to the Divine, and the man who

declines all invitations but the Divine’s, the One inscribes him as his jalīs (companion) (al-Niffari

1987, 20). Siwā is the cosmos, the enemy and the prison, a pathway, not a destination, wherein the

true purpose is the Divine. He who is attached to the One cannot love another, whereas he who

loves another cannot adjoin the One (al-Marzuqi 2007, 139).

Ḥarf

On the other hand, ḥarf is the Divine’s treasury and whoever passes into it conveys the trust of the

One. It is the Divine’s fire, His order, destiny and His secret’s treasury (al-Niffari 1987, 21). Ḥarf is

a veil. ʿIlm is ḥarf and maʿrifa is ḥarf and the Sufi will not succeed until he passes ḥarf,

acknowledging the fact that doubt dwells in letter and so does “howness.”82 According to al-

Niffari’s dogma, one cannot “tell”83 of the Divine (ibid., 22). Ḥarf conveys nothing and even when

it does, it is only concrete things or siwā. In fact, siwā and ḥarf are two nouns indicating one

concept (al-Yusuf 1997, 59). Al-Tilimsani maintains that al-Niffari considers every formal object a

ḥarf, whether it is spiritual, embodied or even incorporeal images which are tangible. Therefore, all

that which is other than the Divine is ḥarf (al-Tilimsani, as cited in Balqasim 2012, 141). This

definition echoes that of siwā mentioned earlier, which emphasises the integration of otherness and

letter. It shines brightly in this significant quote by Balqasim (2010, 144):

"‫"اﻟﻠﻐﺔ ﻣﺴﻜﻮﻧﺔ ﺑﺎﻟﻐﯿﺮ‬

(language is haunted by otherness).

82 Arberry’s translation for the word kayfiyya in Arabic (al-Niffari 1987, 22). He offers no further explanation for his

choice of word, which seems sensical to me personally, given its Arabic meaning, which has no direct translation.

However, for further details, you may refer to his translation of al-Niffari's book directly.
83 Arberry’s translation for the word yukhbir in Arabic (al-Niffari 1987, 22).
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 As previously acknowledged,84 the notion of siwā in al-Niffari’s discourse also merges with

other concepts. Similar expressions are used by al-Niffari when he describes ḥarf, setting forth that

al-ḥarf ḥijāb wa-l-ḥijab ḥarf (a letter is a veil and a veil is a letter [al-Niffari 1987, 111]). Balqasim

comments on this quote by stating that here, language is revealed as a component of the general

meaning of ḥarf and as another feature of siwā (Balqasim 2012, 141). However, this raises another

crucial question: how can the Sufi discover how siwā and ḥarf disguise themselves? Balqasim

confirms that siwā’s mechanism lies in its permanent change and return (Balqasim 2012, 117). He

therefore agrees with Nwyia on the fact that ḥarf is the foundation of siwā. Just as language, habit,

distance, cosmos and the self are forms of siwā, ʿilm and maʿrifa are also modes of ḥarf (ibid., 120),

which ultimately alludes to siwā. These different aspects of otherness create a continuous presence

of siwā that tempts the mystic to affiliate himself with it, which only leads to more siwā and nothing

further (ibid., 119)

Lexical Relation

In order to demonstrate the integration of ḥarf and siwā, I believe it is pivotal to explore the lexical

relations between siwā and its other synonyms. In his book Lisan al-ʿArab, Ibn Manzur (2017)

asserts:

“‫ ﻓﮭﻮ ﻣﻦ اﻟﺒﺎب؛ ﻷﻧﱠﮫ إذا ﻛﺎن ِﺳﻮاه ﻓﮭﻤﺎ ﻛﻞﱡ واﺣ ٍﺪ ﻣﻨﮭﻤﺎ ﻓﻲ َﺣﯿ ِﱢﺰه ﻋﻠﻰ ﺳﻮاء‬،ُ‫ أي ﻏﯿ ُﺮه‬،‫“ھﺬا ِﺳ َﻮى ذﻟﻚ‬

(This is other than that which means another and accordingly, if it is something other, then both are

in His realm equally). The lexical definition uses ghayr (other) as an explanation for siwā.

Accordingly, if we search for ghayr in Lisan al-ʿArab, we will first find this definition:

(ibid. 2017) ”‫ وﻟﮫ ﺑﺎب ﻋﻞ ِﺣﺪَة‬،‫ ﺗﻜﻮن ﻧﻌﺘﺎ ً وﺗﻜﻮن ﺑﻤﻌﻨﻰ ﻻ‬،‫“ َﻏ ْﯿ ٌﺮ ﻣﻦ ﺣﺮوف اﻟﻤﻌﺎﻧﻲ‬

84 See footnote no. 52 on page 80.

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(ghayr is one of the letters of meaning; it is an adjective and it means “no,” and it has a different

section, separate meaning). As shown by the previous quotation, ghayr85 is actually ḥarf expressing

negation, which ultimately theologically affirms the solid correlation between siwā and ḥarf, based

on the lexical integration that constitutes the texture of a language.

Furthermore, I believe that in the doctrine of al-Niffari, ḥarf, being a veil, took its inferior value

from the negative lexical indications. The word ḥarf and its derivatives in Lisan al-ʿArab identify

with concepts of language that have a one-sided view and deficiency, fluctuation, doubt and other

abstractions that lead to negativity. There is, however, a single instance in which ḥarf lexically

carries a positive meaning that happens to relate to wealth: aḥrafa al-rajulu iḥrafan (Ibn Manzur

2017), (a man whose property increases, and becomes in a good state [Lane 1968, 550]).

Introducing these meanings will demonstrate the relation between philosophy and language, which I

believe al-Niffari derives his notion of ḥarf from.

Ḥarf is a letter, an entity produced by the alphabet. It is a tool called rābiṭa (link), because it

relates the noun to another noun, the verb to another verb and the preposition to another preposition.

Each word in the Qurʾan that is read according to a certain dialect86 is called ḥarf. Ibn Manzur

maintains that ḥarf originally means side, margin and edge.87 The word ḥarf even expands to further

objects and meanings,88 such as ḥarfā89 al-raʾs, which refers to the two lateral halves of the head.90

85 Lane states that ghayr signifies siwā, other than; exclusively of; or not. Moreover, it used to qualify a substitute (Lane

1968, 2315).
86 Lane’s translation for Prophet Muhammad’s hadith – peace be upon him – “nazala al-Qurʾān ʿalā sabʿati aḥruf” is

"the Qurʾan has revealed according to seven dialects, of the dialects of the Arabs” (Lane 1968, 550).
87 Lane’s translation for ṭaraf and jānib (ibid.).
88 Such as ship, mountain and a she-camel. For the first two, it indicates sides and with the female camel it alludes to

weakness and poor health (Ibn Manzur 2017).

89 The dual of ḥarf.
90 Lane’s translation for shiqqā (Lane 1986, 550).
101
 I suggest that when al-Niffari says that “ḥarf is a veil” (al-Niffari 1987, 111), he might be

referring to the risk of looking at the meaning of the word from a single side, which hides the

complete truth, thereby increasing ignorance and eventually leading further away from waqfa and

the Divine. Furthermore, ḥarf is the foundation of language and language itself is limited, since it is

incapable of expressing ruʾya.91 In consequence, as a single-sided tool and an instrument of

language, ḥarf lexically serves the theological thought of al-Niffari of ḥarf regarding leading to

veils. I believe that the idea of creating a veil also merges with the expression ḥarafa92 ʿan al-

shayʾ,93 which means to turn away,94 and which affirms the relation between ḥarf and illusion.

Therefore, the concept of ḥarf is highly related to the concept of changing, which the word ḥarf

itself conveys lexically. As a further example, taḥrīf al-kalim ʿan mawāḍiʿih95 means to alter words

from their proper meanings (Lane 1986, 549), and yuḥarrīf al-qulūb indicates turning the hearts

away from confidence and rendering them inclined to removal and flight (ibid.,). When Arberry

writes: “For the mystic does not stay in the vision of God, until he emerges from ḥarf and maḥrūf

(1987, 21–22), it means that he who cannot transcend from ḥarf loses the Divine vision. The

concept of loss is also lexically related to ḥarf. According to Ibn Manzur (2017), the muḥarraf is he

who has lost his money and muḥārif is he who has suffered the loss of part of his property (Lane

1986, 549). What is more, being kept away from seeing the Divine portends to the fact that man is

still captivated by ḥarf and cannot be liberated from it, which correlates with two meanings in the

dictionary. The first is contained in mālī ʿan hāthā al-ʾamri maḥraf (Ibn Manzur 2017), (I have no

place to which to turn away, or back, from this thing [Lane 1986, 550]) and the impossibility of

91 According to al-Niffari's quote: “The more the vision increases, the more the expression decreases” (al-Niffari 1987,

64).
92 The verb for ḥarf.
93 He turned aside (Lane 1986, 550).
94 Lane’s translation for ʿadala (ibid., 1972).
95 According to the following verse in the Qurʾan: "‫( ”ﻣـﻦ اﻟـﺬﯾـﻦ ھـﺎدوا ﯾﺤـﺮﻓـﻮن اﻟـﻜﻠﻢ ﻋـﻦ ﻣـﻮاﺿـﻌﮫ‬Qurʾan 4: 46), (there are some

among the Jews who pervert words from their proper places [Maulawi Sher 2004, 90]).
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escape or the feeling of being somehow trapped. The second is rajulun muḥāraf and refers to he

who is limited and deprived, which is the opposite of being blessed (ibid.). By the same token,

when Ibn Manzur describes ḥarf as a link between words, it obviously correlates with the following

statement by al-Niffari (2007, 52):

“‫ ﻓﺘﻜﻮﻧﺖ اﻷﻛﻮان ﺑﺘﺄﻟﯿﻒ اﻟﺼﻔﺎت ﻟﮭﺎ‬،‫"ﷲ أﻟﻒ ﺑﯿﻦ ﻛﻞ ﺣﺮﻓﯿﻦ ﺑﺼﻔﺔ ﻣﻦ ﺻﻔﺎﺗﮫ‬

(God joined every pair of letters with one of His qualities, and so brought into existence the

existences through the qualities joining them together [al-Niffari 1987, 21]).

Of similar relevance, the word ḥarf in Arabic expresses the emotional state of a person. When,

for example, Ibn Sida states: fulānun ʿalā ḥarfin min amrih (such a one is standing aloof with

respect to his affair in suspense [ibid.]), it means that a person waits in expectation when looking

forward to something they like. If they did not do so however, they would be turning away from it.

According to al-Zajjaj, ʿalā ḥarf also indicates doubt regarding a verse in the Qurʾan (al-Zajjaj, as

cited in Ibn Manzur 2017) where the Divine declares: "‫( "وﻣـﻦ اﻟـﻨﺎس ﻣـﻦ ﯾـﻌﺒﺪ ﷲ ﻋـﻠﻰ ﺣـﺮف‬Qurʾan 22: 11),

(And among men there is he who worships Allah, standing as it were on the verge [Maulawi Sher

2004, 379]), indicating the state of a worshipper who only serves the Divine when in a state of

prosperity and abjures when in distress (Ibn Manzur 2017). Moreover, Ibn ʿArafa believes that ʿalā

ḥarf means without peace, or fluctuating (ibid.). The link shines brightly here with the afore-

mentioned definition of ḥarf by al-Niffari when he states: “Doubt dwells in letter” (al-Niffari 1987,

22).96

A threshold

Siwā and ḥarf share the quality of being the threshold to reach waqfa and in this respect, they have

similar characteristics. Arberry is of the opinion that the Sufi must eliminate the ecstasy of siwā

from his soul by mujāhada (mortification) (al-Niffari 1987, 20). This method is called mujāhada

because of its arduousness, as the process of deserting otherness in one go is unmanageable and

96 See footnote 83 on page 99.

103
requires gradual progression (al-Marzuqi 2007, 139). Consequently, banishing siwā transfers the

mystic from one stage to another just like those who emerge from letters; the letters that create

names, which articulate attributes and depart from names and themselves in order to rescue

themselves from magic to attain the Divine’s friendship (al-Niffari 1987, 22). To make this even

clearer, siwā and ḥarf require the mystic to fight their temptations in order to achieve adjacency

with the Divine (al-Marzuqi 2007, 143), which demands alienation, an aspect that sustains the

kinship between ḥarf and siwā.

Contradiction

What further supports my assumption that ḥarf and siwā are two sides of one coin is the element of

contradiction. Al-Niffari has a dual stance regarding ḥarf, as al-Yusuf attests. The first is positive

and as he describes it, al-Niffari considers ḥarf a sacred treasury of the One’s mysteries and only

that which is sanctified can treasure these secrets. Yet at the same time, ḥarf has negative

connotations, such as when al-Niffari states:

(ibid.,59) "‫"اﻟﺤﺮف ﻓﺞ إﺑﻠﯿﺲ‬

(letter is the pass to Iblīs [al-Niffari 1987, 22]).

Ḥarf does not acknowledge God and is incapable of explaining itself, how then can it tell of the

Divine? (al-Niffari 1987, 22). It seems that the letter is a contrastive concept in al-Niffari’s

philosophy. It is God’s fire and the devil’s path at the same time. It is a mode of otherness, but also a

guide to knowledge (ibid.). This characteristic of opposition also applies to siwā. Notwithstanding

the fact that siwā is the chronic disease that hunts the wāqif and prevents him from ruʾya (vision).

For his part, Balqasim believes that confronting otherness can only be practicable through

consciousness, which determines the human truth in waqfa (Balqasim 2012, 117). In addition, he

asserts that an awareness of siwā is a noble knowledge that is not available to the masses (ibid.,

104
118). As a result, siwā appears to be the enemy of the mystic and a quality of superiority at the same

time.

Beyond spirituality

Permanent conflict and tension dominate the relation between the seeker and otherness in al-

Niffari’s discourse. The more the otherness varies and differs, the more the seeker endeavours to

disengage himself from it. This issue makes seclusion an existential emotional state that allows the

mystic to emerge from generality to particularity, as waqfa exceeds the grasp of the masses (ibid.,

117). This emergence cannot be obtained without acknowledging siwā, which is an arcane sort of

knowledge that is inaccessible to the masses. Therefore, without it, the ecstasy of siwā would

become an alternative to separating from it (ibid., 118). Longing for otherness is the masses’

ultimate goal and purpose. In contrast, the elite aim for total seclusion from siwā. Balqasim (2012,

118) specifies:

”‫"ﻣﻦ ﺳﻮى إﻟﻰ ﺳﻮى ھﻲ رﺣﻠﺔ اﻟﻌﺎﻣﺔ‬

(from otherness to otherness is the masses’ journey). He further concurs with Ibn ʿAtaʾ al-

Sikandari’s thought that this journey leads them only to illusion (ibid.). He urges that only the elite

acknowledge siwā as otherness, even if they have different relations with it. With this

acknowledgment, they consider siwā a consolidation of forgetfulness or heedlessness. He believes

that this tendency made dhikr (remembrance) their method for resisting forgetfulness. However, al-

Niffari considers dhikr a veil and believes that wird (supplication) holds a lesser status than they

who have gone beyond dhikr (ibid.). It seems that in this context, al-Niffari is creating a social

hierarchy to distinguish elites from the masses, using spiritual theology. Awareness of siwā is a

standard that al-Niffari attempts to establish in order to provide his dogma with a higher stance than

other Sufis’ doctrines, by revolting against language and spiritual knowledge. Dhikr holds an

exalted significance in the mystical philosophy. Nasr goes as far as to assert that “dhikr is the
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central method of spiritual realisation” (Nasr 1986, 197). However, al-Niffari negates that by

according dhikr97 less importance, considering it to be a veil. I believe that siwā is not only a

theological term but also a position of power that provides al-Niffari with an underlying position of

authority.

This phenomenon applies to the concept of ḥarf, which can be further clarified by making a

comparison between al-Niffari’s perspective and the traditional mystical one. Al-Niffari continues

to tackle mystical tradition by deconstructing the inviolability of ḥarf. Nwyia delineates two

moments of the letter experience that the mystic witnessed. In the first moment, the letter is

assigned to what is other than the Divine, no matter what its form is. He realises in this case that

otherness commences from the One Himself, since the altruism of attributes is only manifested

through the names they hold and the Divine's names cannot exist without the letters that constitute

them (Balqasim 2012, 140). The second moment is when the altruism of letters is addressed as

being unable to reach the Absolute (ibid., 141). Nwyia maintains that this approach to ḥarf was not

associated exclusively with al-Niffari, nonetheless, he provides a different dimension (ibid., 140). In

97 The importance of mentioning dhikr here lies in its relation with language, which eventually leads to ḥarf, which will

be clear from Lane’s lexical definition. According to Lane: “Dhikr signifies memory; a certain quality of the mind by

which a man is able to remember what he cares to know, like ḥifẓ. Moreover, it indicates mentioning and saying. Dhikr

Allāh is the praise and glorification of God, the celebration or declaration of his remoteness, or freedom from every

impurity or imperfection, or from everything derogatory from his glory. To magnify Him and assert His unity, by

saying: subḥān Allāh, glory be to Allah, al-ḥamdu li-Llāh, thanks to Allah, and lā ilāha illā Allāh, there is no God but

Allah, and uttering all the forms of his praise: a reading or reciting of the Qurʾan; thanking God, obedience to God,

supplication” (Lane 1968, 969). In addition, he includes praising, good speech and eulogy to forms of dhikr (ibid.). On

the other hand, al-Marzuqi maintains that al-Niffari has a negative perspective towards dhikr. He believes that a Sufi

should be occupied by the madhkūr (the mentioned one), not by dhikr (remembrance or mentioning), otherwise, it

would lead the seeker to be attached to siwā (al-Marzuqi 2007, 111). He believes that in ruʾya, the seeker could not

practice dhikr, because if he did, he would be affirming that there will be a dhākir, a reciter of dhikr and madhkūr,

which then creates a veil between the seeker and the Divine (ibid., 113). In conclusion, dhikr is performed by words and

a language which are constituted of ḥarf. Despite the fact that dhikr uses ḥarf to praise the Divine, in the end, it leads

only to ḥarf and siwā. Therefore, using ḥarf to speak of the Divine actually veils the Divine.
106
Sufism and Surrealism, Adonis discusses the importance accorded to ḥarf in the Sufi tradition. He

states that the alphabet is a designation that refers to the unknowable and not to the reality. It

therefore creates an area where the One’s abstraction meets the expressional abstraction of words,

and the linguistic sign is analogous to a divine sign due to the fact that Allah is not an image, but a

word. The One cannot be acknowledged with images, however, He can be acknowledged with

words which are abstract, whether they be of “heart or of mind”98 (Adonis 2005, 164). Bayān

(rhetoric), does not create an alternative for the image, in spite of being a more declarative method

of truth. Here, the meaning of beauty and aesthetic in Islam is being revealed and the beauty in

Islam is what cannot be visualised (ibid., 165). In order to reveal the infinity of meanings,

calligraphy exterminates image in all forms (ibid., 170). Regardless of this vital significance of the

letter, as Adonis illustrates, Balqasim asserts that al-Niffari's perspective is different and cannot be

found among any other mystics. Since ḥarf, from the point of view of al-Niffari, arises as

hypostasis, it symbolises the entire human discourse. Based on this opinion, Nwyia tends to believe

that letters make up the fabric of existence, since speech is what actually provides objects with

names that reveal their meanings, and this clarifies what Nwyia believes that al-Niffari means by:

(Balqasim 2012, 140) “‫”ﻛﻞ ﺷﻲء ﺣﺮف‬

(everything is a letter). Delving into al-Niffari’s approach and Adonis’ thoughts on the letter makes

it clearer to see how al-Niffari creates his theological hierarchy, which converts what is sacred in the

mystical inheritance to a veil that exiles the worshipper from the Divine and increases the distance

between them. This is in order for al-Niffari to assign himself a certain stance of exclusive

knowledge that challenges the spiritual circle and provides him with significant authority due to the

fact that he is the one who goes beyond ḥarf, maḥrūf and siwā, and reaches waqfa.

ʿIlm and maʿrifa

98 According to Adonis’s translation for “qalbiyya and ʿaqliyya” (Adonis 2005, 164).
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ʿIlm (knowledge) and maʿrifa (gnosis) are deeply discussed concepts in the Islamic mystical

tradition. According to Murad, ʿilm is one of the aims that Islam urges people to reach. He

emphasises his point by mentioning several exegeses for this quotation from the Qurʾan (Murad,

2007, 63):

‫ ﻗﺎﻟﻮا ﺳﺒﺤﺎﻧﻚ ﻻﻋﻠﻢ ﻟﻨﺎ إﻻ‬،‫وﻋﻠّﻢ آدم اﻷﺳﻤﺎء ﻛﻠﮭﺎ ﺛﻢ ﻋﺮﺿﮭﻢ ﻋﻠﻰ اﻟﻤﻼﺋﻜﺔ ﻓﻘﺎل أﻧﺒﺌﻮﻧﻲ ﺑﺄﺳﻤﺎء ھﺆﻻء إن ﻛﻨﺘﻢ ﺻﺎدﻗﯿﻦ‬

(Qurʾan 2:31–32) .‫ﻣﺎ ﻋﻠﻤﺘﻨﺎ إﻧﻚ أﻧﺖ اﻟﻌﻠﯿﻢ اﻟﺤﻜﯿﻢ‬

And He taught Adam all the names, then he put the objects of these names before the angels

and said: "Tell Me the names of these, if you are right." They said: "Holy art thou! No

knowledge have we except what Thou hast taught us; surely, Thou art the all-Knowing, the

Wise." (Maulawi Sher 2004, 6)

He maintains that ʿilm draws its virtue from being a synonym of wisdom, which implies

understanding, sermons and prophecy99 (ibid., 65). In the Sufi tradition, ʿilm consists of two factors:

sharīʿa (legislation) and ḥaqīqa (truth). These elements include knowledge of the Qurʾan and

knowledge of sunan100 and ḥaqāʾiq al-ʾīmān (truths of faith). On the other hand, Sufis believe that

their truths are based on four aspects: gnosis of the Divine, His names, attributes and deeds, gnosis

of the evilness and motivations of the soul, gnosis of the enemy’s insinuations and stratagem and

gnosis of life, its temptations and seductions (ibid., 68). Moreover, maʿrifa is related to the concept

of ʿurfān, the knowledge that predates ignorance and denies doubt due to the fact that its objective

is the core of the Divine and His attributes. Maʿrifa has two classifications: the first is the one that

is based on signs and revealed to those who are exposed to the Unseen. The second is known as

99 These meanings are based on several verses in the Qurʾan; 2: 231, 19: 12 and 4: 54.
100 Prophet Muhammad’s practices, sayings and manners.
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shuhūdiyya (Arnaldez, 2017) and is a maʿrifa that depends on evidence through direct testimony,

which provides the seeker with the acknowledgement of the signs through Him. ʿĀrif, according to

Ibn Muʿadh, “is he who is there without being there” and Junayd adds “he who is distinct without

separation” (Ibn Muʿadh and Junayd, as cited in Arnaldez 2017). Moreover, Abu Hafs maintains

that maʿrifa makes self-consciousness vanish in the “empirical self” and initiates self and heart

absence. By this, he means that receiving maʿrifa from the Divine demands ghayba, where the ʿārif

will see nothing but Him and will turn to no one and to nothing other than Him so he can see with

His Lord, not with his heart (Arnaldez, 2017). On the contrary, al-Niffari builds his philosophy on

this rich tradition. He nonetheless seeks to go against tradition by including another dimension to

both terms and revolting against language. In this section, I start by examining ʿilm and maʿrifa in

al-Niffari’s theology and continue by exploring the significant correlation that exists between both

concepts. This is achieved by explaining their relation to siwā, language and ignorance, in order to

conclude that al-Niffari’s glorification of ignorance echoes the concept of prophecy by tackling the

significance of being an ummī as a prophet.

ʿIlm according to al-Niffari’s philosophy

Dualism appears to be the phenomenon of al-Niffari’s writing style. By exploring his thoughts on

ʿilm and looking at the various and contradictory definitions of ʿilm in his work, it will become as

clear as daylight that he maintains two different and opposing views on the subject: a positive and a

negative one.

Following his thoughts on siwā and ḥarf, he suggests that ʿilm is the first step into the path of

ruʾya and purports thatʿilm “is the spirit of life,”101 which elevates its owner above the level of

animality and bestiality. In the absence of ʿilm, life becomes bestial but its presence makes life

human again. On the other hand, ʿilm is a feature of siwā, a limited tool that could only be deceitful

101 Arberry’s translation for "al-ʿilmu rūḥū al-ḥayāh" (al-Niffari 1987, 35).
109
and incomplete (al-Marzuqi 2007, 151) and hence veils the Divine because it prevents ruʾya. ʿIlm is

the One’s evidence for every mind, where the intellect becomes steady. However, if ʿilm becomes

circumscribed, then it is no longer ʿilm. It is considered to be the door towards the Divine but at the

same time, it causes separation from Him when He calls his servant during prayers (al-Niffari 1987,

17). It could only acknowledge partial movements and laws that recognise quantities, relations and

measurements. Ignorant and veiled scholars whose will ceases at realising things and their relations

aim to reach ʿilm. Yet those who have diligence consider it a method to reach maʿrifa (al-Marzuqi

2007, 151). It is more harmful to he who sees the Divine than jahl (ignorance) is because it contains

nothing but absence and no ruʾya. The light of ʿilm illuminates the Sufi for his own sake but not for

that of the One. The risk of ʿilm lies in its coherence due to its attachment to ḥarf, because ḥarf

constitutes the essence of ʿilm. It is just a medium that should be put aside along with maʿrifa, that

one may reach the Divine. For if the seeker were driven by them, he would be slipping into ʿilm and

would be converted into nakira (nobody)102 by the maʿrifa. ʿIlm ruins he who attains ruʾya as

vinegar ruins honey. When the mystic sees the Divine in ʿilm, then he has found the path unto Him,

but if he does not, it indicates that ʿilm has taken the form of a deceitful veil that precludes him

from reaching the Divine. When the mystic meets the One, he will see ʿilm and maʿrifa as repelling

from His presence, in which case he cannot see God and cannot benefit from his ʿilm (al-Niffari

1987, 18).

The limitations of ʿilm can be demonstrated by its incapability to acquire the truth of the

Divine’s existence because it relies on visuals, which restrict it to two limited attributes: sensible

and intellectual, whereas the Divine cannot be confined to any of them (al-Marzuqi, 156).

Subsequently, al-Niffari (2017, 121) declares:

“‫ وأﻧﺎ اﻟﺒﻌﯿﺪ اﻟﺬي ﻻ ﯾﺪرﻛﮫ اﻟﻌﻠﻢ‬،‫”وﻗﺎل ﻟﻲ أﻧﺎ اﻟﻘﺮﯾﺐ اﻟﺬي ﻻ ﯾﺤﺴﮫ اﻟﻌﻠﻢ‬

102 “Nobody. A person who has no importance or authority”. Translation quoted from Masʿud 2018.
110
(and he said to me: I am the Near, Whom knowledge does not touch: I am the Far, Whom

Knowledge does not attain [al-Niffari 1987, 76]).

Types of ʿilm

Balqasim distinguishes between two types of ʿilm: al-ʿilm al-ghayrī (knowledge of the otherness)

and al-ʿilm al-mutaḥaṣṣil min tilqāʾ al-nafs (knowledge obtained from the soul). The first type

depends on ghayr thoughts, not on the live contact between essence and maʿlūm (concept).103 As a

result, it creates a veil between the ʿālim (savant)104 and maʿlūm, since it draws a distance between

them. This classification is cold and deprived of life because it is obtained from ghayr as opposed to

experience and is based on a veiled criterion, which measures the absence according to the witness.

Measuring can only weave a veil between ʿilm and maʿlūm, which leads to the alienation of the

ʿālim. Knowledge that is based on tradition emphasises the oblivion of existence, accumulates

mediums and empowers siwā, since siwā works within measuring. If the concept is the possibility

and the horizon of knowledge, then it only experiences its limitation because the Absolute that the

wāqif seeks is lā maʿlūm (non-conceptual) (Balqasim 2012, 122). Moreover, it is not only tradition

that makes al-ʿilm al-ghayrī a siwā, but also its dependence on naẓr (to view). ʿIlm al-naẓar is siwā

because it comprises an element which prevents nearness from maʿlūm. Thus the ʿālim comes under

the control of his ʿilm, which veils him and lets him see only what ʿilm allows him to see. Al-Niffari

believes that the ʿālim is a slave who is chained by the cuffs of thought. He also maintains that al-

ʿilm al-ghayrī is divisional from existence and separated from it at the same time, which only

produces more veils (ibid., 123). On the other hand, the second type of ʿilm is obtained from

reaching the unknown of waqfa and witnessing its enormity. Having said this, it will still be below

the level of waqfa’s truth (ibid., 122).

103 This translation is quoted from Mawsūʿat Mustalahat al-Tasawwuf al-Islami (al-ʿAjam 1999, 1151)
104 Ibid.,1141.
111
Maʿrifa according to al-Niffari’s philosophy

According to al-Niffari and other Sufis, maʿrifa is recognising something as it is. It is the

knowledge that cannot be doubted if the Divine’s essence and attributes are known. The will of the

ʿārif should be in accordance with the Divine, so he asks nothing but Him. The ʿārif’s will is the

power that motivates him to march in the Sufi path until the end (al-Marzuqi 2007, 138). It is

believed to be a voice, while ruʾya is an image (al-Yusuf 1997, 73) and because it traces the truth

with the Divine’s light, it is also seen as an intuition. Maʿrifa was first in reaching out to the One in

advance and therefore, the Divine released not only the secrets of all creatures to maʿrifa but also

led it to the secret that lies behind all creatures, to the extent that this secret goes beyond all

creatures and rises above them (ibid.,74). Arberry maintains that the vital purpose of maʿrifa is to

preserve the ḥāl (spiritual state)105 of the Sufi. Where ʿilm is the door to the Divine, maʿrifa is the

doorkeeper. It is the “tongue of singleness,” which erases all except itself once it speaks, and which

causes to vanish what makes itself known once it is silent. Maʿrifa is a fire that consumes love yet

is nevertheless consumed by the fire of waqfa, which acknowledges maʿrifa as siwā (al-Niffari

1987, 16). In contrast, the ʿārif is he who annihilates some of his remains while the rest is still

pending. He is considered to be one of the khawwaṣ (elite – in the spiritual domain) for what he

annihilated from, and one of the ʿawāmm (public savants)106 for what it is that still remains.

Therefore, he is in a middle stage where he is attached to ḥaqq107 and to khalq (creatures)108 (al-

Marzuqi 2007, 163). Consequently, he is not worthy to be in the Divine’s presence, since the path to

Him is abolishment not affirmation (ibid., 166).

105 Translation by Arberry (al-Niffari 1987, 16).

106 Translation quoted from al-ʿAjam 1999, 1140.
107 “The Divine.” Translation quoted from Mawsūʿal-Mustalahat al-Tasawwuf al-Islami (al-ʿAjam 1999, 1129).
108 Ibid., 1130.
112
Methods of maʿrifa

The criteria that al-maʿrifa al-ʾilāhiyya (gnosis of the Divine) depends on is kashf (unveiling),109

which is a direct sentimental recognition that differs from the sensual or the intellectual direct one.

According to al-Niffari, there are three methods to obtain maʿrifa. The lowest two are nafs (soul)

and character, because of their relation with acknowledging sensed objects. The third is the mind.

The wisdom of building things is the utmost that the mind can reach, therefore if theʿārif

outdistanced his mind in search of the light of ḥaḍra (divine presence),110 his mind would not be

capable of processing it because it is beyond his domain. Consequently, the heart has a superior

capability to comprehend maʿrifa (al-Marzuqi 2007, 149). Additionally, there are two more types of

maʿrifa: maʿrifat al-thabāt111 and maʿrifat al-jawāz112 (Balqasim 2012, 128).

Between ʿilm and maʿrifa

Most of the sources that examine al-Niffari tend to constantly make a comparison between ʿilm and

maʿrifa, based on the belief that they are philosophically related. There are, however, some points

that I significantly believe sustain their relationship, which will be discussed later in this section. An

example of this comes from al-Marzuqi, who states that ʿilm searches into the cosmos and things

but that maʿrifa seeks the Creator. ʿIlm explores multiplicity, whereas maʿrifa examines the One.

ʿIlm studies materialism, yet maʿrifa seeks the Unseen. In his Mawāqif, al-Niffari emphasises the

superior status that maʿrifa obtains thanks to its capacity of acknowledging the ultimate truths,

while ʿilm recognises only partial matters (al-Marzuqi 2007, 146). If the seeker follows their paths,

109 Ibid., 1146.

110 Ibid., 1128.
111 Gnosis of stability: the gnosis that cannot reach the Divine (Balqasim 2012, 128).
112 Gnosis of passing: a type of gnosis that allows al-Niffari to be in the presence of the Divine. The definition is

mentioned in a mawqif called Mawqif Ghurbatī, which is one of al-Niffari’s unpublished mystical texts (ibid.).
113
he will be trapped in them. Nonetheless, the superiority of maʿrifa denies the fact that it is deficient.

Indeed although maʿrifa is superior to ʿilm, mushāhada (contemplation)113 is an even higher level

than maʿrifa is. Therefore, maʿrifa remains as long as khāṭir (thought)114 does. Mushāhada first

exiles thought and eventually deports maʿrifa (al-Niffari 1987, 16). Moreover, al-Marzuqi suggests

that there is a stage between ʿilm and maʿrifa that is called maʿrifat al-ʿārif (gnosis of he who

knows). He maintains that it is a stage higher than ʿilm and below maʿrifa, for maʿrifa is the stage

of acknowledging the Divine Himself and his attributes gradually. On the other hand, maʿrifat al-

ʿārif is actually recognising this maʿrifa, which means that it is related to types of the Divine’s

maʿrifa and not to the Divine Himself. Consequently, it is an isthmus between the veiled knowledge

and gnosis of the Divine. The isthmus is a limit between what is manifested, ʿilm, and what is

interior, maʿrifa (al-Marzuqi 2007, 159). Maʿrifat al-nafs (soul gnosis), as al-Niffari believes, is the

door to Divine gnosis, since he who has no path to his soul has no path to acknowledge the Divine.

The seeker cannot recognise the One or any of the cosmic secrets if he cannot find them all in his

own soul, because it is precisely in his knowledge of his soul that the acknowledgement of the

Divine lies and by acknowledging the Divine, he knows his own self since the Divine is closer to

everything than a thing acknowledging itself (ibid., 167). Al-maʿrifa al-ʾilāhiyya (Divine gnosis) is

gifted, not gained, for the maqām al-Ḥaqq (the station of the Divine)115 cannot be obtained for a

reason, due to the fact that taʿarruf 116 is endowment (ibid., 168).

Regarding siwā

Both ʿilm and maʿrifa are inferior to waqfa because of the remains of siwā contained in them. The

correlation between ʿilm and siwā was previously discussed through the examination of the

113 Translation by Arberry (al-Niffari 1987, 16).

114 Translation quoted from al-Ghanmi 2007, 49.
115 Translation quoted from al-ʿAjam 1999, 1151.
116 “It was or became known” (Lane 1986, 2014).
114
different types of ʿilm that exist. While siwā is limited in maʿrifa and because of the remains of

vestige in it, waqfa holds a superior position (Balqasim 2012, 126). For that reason, according to al-

Niffari, transcending from ʿilm to maʿrifa and from maʿrifa to waqfa depends on the degree of hijab

(veil). Maʿrifa is highly regarded in the Sufi tradition as it has never been criticised. In

consequence, Nwyia states that al-Niffari was the first in daring to question maʿrifa with the urge to

demonstrate its limitation. Without encroaching upon and transcending its boundaries, waqfa could

not be accomplished. Al-maʿrifa bi-l-Allāh (gnosis of the Divine) is not the Divine, regardless of

how complete it might be. It is other than the Divine, it is siwā. ʿIlm is slavery and maʿrifa is the

contract, so since waqfa constitutes freedom, it would ensue that maʿrifa is a middle level between

slavery and freedom. Consequently, the ʿārif is prepared for waqfa and this is precisely where

maʿrifa obtained its superiority to ʿilm and inferiority to waqfa. That is how al-Niffari considers

maʿrifa as prospecting a hopeful freedom that does not occur, since al-Tilimsani states that "maʿrifa

abolishes some vestige and keeps some" (as cited in Balqasim 2010, 127). Being attached to maʿrifa

does not imply attachment to the Absolute. It is but a mediator which arises only in waqfa. Al-

Niffari’s comparison between waqfa and maʿrifa glosses on their relation with language. He

believes that maʿrifa is the end of language and that regardless of how we get involved with it, it

will still be under the law of saying and all its potential can be realised by language. On the other

hand, he emphasises that language is fortified from waqfa, since waqfa is beyond the capacity of

language. It is therefore compulsory to pass maʿrifa because it contains remains of siwā (ibid., 128).

The lexical relation

Despite the humble status that it is given in al-Niffari’s philosophical hierarchy, ʿilm acquires a

positive lexical meaning. By examining both notions through language, we will moreover discover

that dictionaries use the word ʿarafa to explain ʿalima and vice versa (two words that translate as

"acknowledge" and "know"). According to Ibn Manzur, ʿilm is simply the opposite of jahl (Ibn
115
Manzur 2017). ʿIlm or ʿalimahu means he knew it or, he was or became acquainted with it, ʿarafahu

(Lane 1986, 2138). In addition, ʿalīm is one of the Divine's attributes that was mentioned several

times in the Qurʾan (Ibn Manzur 2017), such as in the following example:

(Qurʾan 36:81) “‫"وھﻮ اﻟﺨﻼق اﻟﻌﻠﯿﻢ‬

(He is the All Knowing Creator) [Abdelhaleem 2005, ]). It is also allowed to call a person who was

taught by the Divine a ʿalīm (Ibn Manzur 2017), as the Prophet Joseph describes himself to the king

in the Qurʾan (12: 55):

"‫"إﻧﻲ ﺣﻔﯿﻆ ﻋﻠﯿﻢ‬

(I shall manage them prudently and carefully [Abdel Haleem 2005, 149]). In addition, ʿilm alludes

to experience, such as in ʿalima al-rajjula, which means khabarahu (Ibn Manzur 2017) and

translates as “to know the man with respect to his internal, or real state” (Lane 1986, 695). In

contrast, there are lexical indications that affirm al-Niffari’s thoughts on the inferior level of ʿilm

because of its relation with veils.117 Further examples of this are ʿalima bi-l-shayʾ, which means

shaʿara and which Lane translates as “he knew something signifies that he perceived it by means of

any senses” (Lane 1986, 2139); al-maʿlam, which signifies al-ʾathar or "the indication or indicator

of the road or away" (ibid., 2141) and ʿalamahu, which means wasamahu (Ibn Manzur 2017) and

translates as “to mark, to sign, or the token by which a person or a thing is known" (Lane 1986,

2140). I would offer my suggestion that ʿilm obtains its inferior stance from these lexical meanings.

As I mentioned previously, ʿilm is related to tangible and sensible recognition. Since trace, marks

and emotions are the foundation of siwā, from the lexical perspective, ʿilm holds a subordinate

position in al-Niffari’s path.

117 Since acknowledging with senses leads to the incapability of the Divine’s acknowledgement, as was previously

mentioned.
116
 On the other hand, maʿrifa comes from the root ʿarafa which means to know.118 To give an even

broader range of examples, ʿirfān signifies ʿilm and ʿarrafahu al-ʾamr (he made him to know the

affair)119 means ʾaʿlamahu ʾiyyāh (he acquainted him with it)120 (Ibn Manzur 2017). Moreover,

maʿrifa’s engagement is the basis of ʿilm due to the similar connotations that they both hold. To

clarify more, ʾarrafahu bihi (he made him to know it)121 means wasamahu (making known)122 and

al-taʿrīf signifies al-ʾiʿlām (notification, notice, announcement and advertising)123 (ibid.). Just like

ʿilm, maʿrifa has positive lexical indications as well. For example, maʿrūf (goodness, gentleness or

lenity)124 is a comprehensive word that includes all methods of devoting oneself to and worshiping

the Divine (ibid.). However, there are some lexical definitions that agree with al-Niffari’s theology

regarding the integration of maʿrifa with siwā. ʿArrafa al-ḍālla means nashadahā (to ask or to

request),ʾiʿtarafa al-qawma means saʾalahum, which Lane explains as “to ask the people,"

respecting a subject of information in order that he might know it” (Lane 1986, 2014) and taʿarraftu

mā ʿindā fulān125 means I requested until I knew (Ibn Manzur 2017), since a wāqif is he who is

purified of requests and questions because they are features of siwā. In this particular case, maʿrifa

appears to be related to those concepts, which bestow an inferior position to it. Moreover, maʿrifa is

an in-between stage that separates ʿilm from waqfa and which constitutes the hope of freedom but

not the freedom that I talked about earlier. Ibn Manzur lexically mentions this implication when he

explains the notion of ʾaṣḥāb al-ʾaʿrāf (the occupants of the ʾaʿrāf).126 According to him, they are

118 Translation for ʿalima (Lane 1986, 2013).

119 Ibid.
120 Ibid.
121 Ibid.
122 Ibid.
123 Ibid., 2139.
124 Ibid., 2014.
125 “I sought leisurely or repeatedly after the knowledge of what such a one possessed until I knew it” (ibid.).
126 Ibid., 2015.
117
people whose evil and good deeds are even, which leaves them in a limbo where they can neither

attain paradise with their good actions nor do they deserve to be in hell. They will hence be in a

suspended state between heaven and hell (ibid.). Another interesting example that addresses the

lexical and philosophical meaning of maʿrifa is the reason behind naming the mountain of ʿArafa,

or Mount Arafat, which is mentioned in Lisan al-ʿArab. Ibn Manzur claims that when the Prophet

Adam landed from heaven and suffered from Eve’s separation, he met her at this point where they

knew (taʿārafā) each other (ibid.).127 I believe that this story is indirectly related to the inferior

position of maʿrifa. This place symbolises an inferior meeting point after having lived in paradise,

which of course, exemplifies happiness. Maʿrifa is a stage where the ʿārif is guided by the Divine’s

light and yet is separated from Him because he is not totally purified of siwā. Moreover, Adam

acknowledges Eve on Mount Arafat regarding the Divine’s punishment for their mistake and

therefore in this instance, maʿrifa alludes to a penalty which indicates negativity. I suggest that it is

related to the lexical indication where Ibn Manzur states that when someone says laʾuʿarrifannaka,

it means laʾujaziyyannaka (used in threatening)128 (ibid.).

Nonetheless, it is worthy of mention that ʿilm is lexically related to the Divine’s attributes but

maʿrifa is not. Therefore, it can be said that the One is ʿālim but not ʿārif (Arnaldez 2017) as in this

Qurʾanic verse:

(Qurʾan 6: 73) "‫"ﻋﺎﻟﻢ اﻟﻐﯿﺐ واﻟﺸﮭﺎدة‬

(He knows the unseen and the seen [Abdel Haleem 2005, 85]).

127 This explanation is based on the story mentioned in the Qurʾan in Sūrat Ṭāhā, when Adam and Eve disobeyed the

Divine and ate from the immortality tree, as Satan suggested they do. Afterwards, they both regretted their action and

the Divine forgave them. However, He ordained them to land on Earth and live on Earth until the Divine assigns the

Day of Judgment (Qurʾan 20: 116–123).

128 Translation is quoted from Lane 1986, 2013.
118
Regarding jahl

Before exploring the meaning of jahl and its relation to ʿilm and maʿrifa, I believe that it is crucial

to illustrate its lexical meaning to demonstrate how al-Niffari is revolting against language.

Jahl is the opposite of ʿilm and jahāla is to do something without knowledge (Ibn Manzur

2017). There are three types of jahl: the first is simply the “nonexistence of knowledge of what

should be known,” the second is "believing a thing to be different from what it is" and the third is

"doing a thing in a manner that is different from that in which it ought to be done” (Lane 1986,

477). Moreover, majhala129 is what pushes you towards ignorance (Ibn Manzur 2017). Jahl,

however, is not only related to knowledge, as can be seen in the examples that follow, such as this

verse from the Qurʾan, in which the Divine says:

(Qurʾan 2: 273) “‫”ﯾﺤﺴﺒﮭﻢ اﻟﺠﺎھﻞ أﻏﻨﯿﺎء‬

(the unknowing might think them rich [Abdel Haleem 2005, 31]), in which instance jahl indicates a

lack of experience (Ibn Manzur, 2017). Likewise, when the Prophet Muhammad states:

(al-Suyuti 2016, 236) “‫”إﻧﻚ اﻣﺮؤ ﻓﯿﻚ ﺟﺎھﻠﯿﺔ‬

(you are a person who still has [in him the remnants] of the days of Ignorance [Sunnah 2017]), the

word jāhilyya refers to the state of the Arab people before Islam, when they were ignorant of the

Divine and His laws and obsessed with arrogance and oppression (ibid.). The word also has further

connotations that include other objects such as she-camels and lands. For instance, arḍun majhūla is

a land devoid of signs or mountains (ibid.) and nāqatun majhūla is a she-camel that has never been

milked or branded (Lane 1986, 478).

129 “A cause of, or an incitement to, ignorant, silly, foolish or wrong conduct” (Lane 1986, 478).
119
 The engagement between ʿilm and maʿrifa could be emphasised by exploring their correlation

with ignorance. However, in an unpublished work130, al-Niffari states:

(Balqasim 2012, 124) “‫ إﻧﻤﺎ ھﻲ طﺮﯾﻖ ﻣﻦ طﺮﻗﺎﺗﻚ ﻓﻼ ﺗﻘﻒ ﻓﯿﮫ‬،‫” وإن دﺧﻠﺖ اﻟﻌﻠﻮم ﻓﺎدﺧﻠﮭﺎ ﻋﺎﺑﺮا‬

(If you should enter ʿulūm, then enter as a wayfarer; it is but a single path of your many paths, so do

not stop at it). This quotation helps us to realise why al-Niffari glorifies jahl since by the word jahl,

he does not mean the deprivation of ʿilm131 but only its concealment. Concealment as in hiding and

covering what was existent before, which corresponds to the ephemeral entrance experience of ʿilm,

which means practicing abandonment. Therefore, the jahl we are referring to here is the one

resulting from ʿilm. Hence the jahl that comes prior to ʿilm cannot be acted presumptuously

towards, what we depend on is the jahl that comes afterwards. Jahl is an experience in ʿilm, a stage

that lies after it. He who has not followed the path of ʿilm cannot experience jahl. It is he who is

loaded with ʿilm that can reach the stage of jahl. Therefore, reviving jahl results from and goes hand

in hand with reviving ʿilm. Whoever does not renew his ʿilm cannot expand his jahl. If the

connection to ʿilm is based onʿubūr (passing) and transcending is based on purifying and emptying,

then the wayfarer’s extensiveness comes from the capacity of his ʿilm. ʿIlm’s permanent and

expanding change amplifies jahl, which in turn leads to an even further expansion of ʿilm. ʿIlm does

not exclusively affect jahl, the second can also affect the first because jahl is in itself ʿilm

(ibid.,125). Be that as it may, al-Niffari urges us not to enter ʿilm. His prohibition is however not

general and he essentially warns against entering with yaqīn (certainty), because entering ʿilm is

crucial to reach waqfa, but only under the condition of crossing through it temporarily. This is

mainly due to the fact that being aware of illusion, which stems from siwā, is not intellectual and

130 The unpublished work referred to by Balqasim in his own book is the following:

Nusus Sufiyya Ghayr Manshura (Shaqiq al-Bulkhi – Ibn ʿAttar al-Adami – al-Niffari) Tahqiq Bulus Nuri al-Yasuʿi.

Beirut: Dar al-Mashriq (208).

.‫ ﺑﯿﺮوت‬،‫ دار اﻟﻤﺸﺮق‬.‫ ﺗﺤﻘﯿﻖ ﺑﻮﻟﺲ ﻧﻮﯾﺎ اﻟﯿﺴﻮﻋﻲ‬- (‫ اﻟﻨﻔﺮّي‬- ‫ اﺑﻦ ﻋﻄﺎر اﻷدﻣﻲ‬- ‫ﻧﺼﻮص ﺻﻮﻓﯿﺔ ﻏﯿﺮ ﻣﻨﺸﻮرة )ﺷﻘﯿﻖ اﻟﺒﻠﺨﻲ‬
131 Or the afore-mentioned lexical meaning.
120
yet is the result of experience. Therefore, the more the relation with ʿilm is built on certainty and

assent, the more ʿilm turns into a veil of illusion. On this note, Balqasim (2012, 122) reminds us

that al-Niffari insisted that:

(al-Niffari 2007, 162) “‫ ھﻮ اﻟﺠﮭﻞ اﻟﻤﺴﺘﻘﺮ‬،‫”اﻟﻌﻠﻢ اﻟﻤﺴﺘﻘﺮ‬

(reposting knowledge is reposting ignorance [al-Niffari 1987, 112]). On the other hand, al-Yusuf

maintains that al-Niffari believes that maʿrifa is the balāʾ (curse) of all and that ignorance is the

only path of salvation for creatures. The ʿārif has a responsibility towards the Divine for his

maʿrifa, whereas the jāhil is free of responsibilities (al-Yusuf 1997, 74). Maʿrifa is an affliction to

all creatures and jahl is the path to survival. Maʿrifa harms all except those who stand by their

maʿrifa in the Divine and ignorance is vital to maʿrifa because it cannot be established without it

(al-Niffari 1987, 17).

Conclusion on ʿilm and maʿrifa

ʿIlm and maʿrifa are vital integrated notions of the Sufi tradition. Nonetheless, al-Niffari succeeded

in reviving these two concepts by revolting against both the language and spiritual tradition.

Furthermore, al-Niffari provided these concepts with different dimensions and depreciated the

position held by maʿrifa in order to glorify the value of waqfa and ruʾya.

I believe that al-Niffari’s concentration on ʿilm and maʿrifa stems from the need to be purified

and empty of them. According to al-Yusuf, there is no maʿrifa without quietism (al-Yusuf 1997, 75).

By leaving what the mind acknowledges and what the heart desires, the seeker marches upon the

path of purification.

According to Kafuri, there are three stages to reaching purification: “to purge, to enlighten and

to unify” (Kafuri 2014, 20). When the seeker reaches the third stage, he will be able to obtain

permanent unification between his will and that of the Divine. Where his thoughts, words and

sayings are united with the One, the seeker will be maintaining a pure heart in the presence of the
121
Divine (ibid. 21). I suggest that this idea132 merges feasibly with al-Niffari’s glorification of jahl.

However, I believe that both ideas: purification and jahl, intersect with the concept of being

ʾummī,133 one of the prevalent attributes of the Prophet Muhammad due to the fact that the Arabs

were a people who could neither read nor write and the Divine sent him when he could neither read

nor write either. This attribute was therefore considered as sacred as it was deemed a miracle that he

was able to recite the Divine's words without being able to read them (Ibn Manzur 2017). This verse

from the Qurʾan (29: 48) affirms this idea:

“ َ‫َﺎب ْاﻟ ُﻤﺒ ِْﻄﻠُﻮن‬

َ ‫ﻚ إِ ًذا ﱠﻻرْ ﺗ‬ ‫ب َو َﻻ ﺗَ ُﺨ ﱡ‬
َ ِ‫ﻄﮫُ ﺑِﯿَ ِﻤﯿﻨ‬ ٍ ‫” َو َﻣﺎ ُﻛﻨﺖَ ﺗَ ْﺘﻠُﻮ ِﻣﻦ ﻗَ ْﺒﻠِ ِﮫ ِﻣﻦ ِﻛﺘَﺎ‬

(you never recited any Scripture before We revealed this one to you; you never wrote one down

with your hand. If you had done so, those who follow falsehood might have had cause to doubt

[Abdel Haleem 2005, 255]).

Being ʾummī does not mean being ignorant because this would contradict the first verse that

Muhammad receives from the Divine, Sūrat al-ʿAlaq, where he commands him to read:

(Qurʾan 96:1) “‫”اﻗﺮأ ﺑﺎﺳﻢ رﺑﻚ اﻟﺬي ﺧﻠﻖ‬

(Read! In the name of your Lord who created (Abdel Haleem 2005, 428). This verse emphasises the

importance of obtaining knowledge, but on condition that it should only be from the Divine, the

source of creation. My suggestion is hence that what al-Niffari attempts to achieve by jahl is

significantly related to the concept of ummī, in light of the fact that both are results of acquiring

knowledge and leaving it behind and not the other way around. In other words, being aware of one’s

own ignorance and limitations in order to be prepared to receive the Divine’s light and vision. As

Günther explains, in Christianity, Christ was a method through which the Divine revealed Himself,

“the word made flesh.” Consequently, his mother’s virginity was a requirement in order to create

132 It is worth mentioning that Kafuri’s idea is based on the Christian tradition. He states that the first step is derived

from the apostolic literature, precisely St John of the Cross and St. Augustine (Kafuri 2014, 20).
133 “The quality of being in the natural condition of the nation to which one belongs or as brought forth by one’s mother

in respect of not having learned the art of writing nor the reading thereof” (Lane 1986, 92).
122
“an immaculate vessel” that would contain the word of the Divine and help spread it. Similarly, in

Islam, the One revealed His existence to the world via the Qurʾan, whence Muhammad became “a

vessel that was unpolluted by intellectual knowledge of word and script,” in order to be trusted to

obtain the Divine’s revelation through his “perfect purity” (Günther 2002, 16).

Ruʾya

The highest stage atop al-Niffari’s hierarchy is ruʾya. It is the destination that the seeker would offer

his life to reach and yet, it is not the final one, for al-Niffari emphasises through his Mawāqif that

reaching ruʾya is not eternal. It is a purpose that the seeker has to continue achieving. Ruʾya is a

stage that extinguishes language, as it cannot fully express its essence. In this section, I explore the

concept of ruʾya in al-Niffari’s philosophy by exposing its definitions and conditions, explaining its

relation to the notion of hearing and seeing, as well as bringing to light the hidden lines between

perception and ruʾya, tackling the concept of opposition to clarify the superiority of ruʾya and also

examining the oppositional relation between ruʾya and language. Finally, by drawing on the ideas of

Balqasim, I demonstrate that the ultimate meaning and purpose of ruʾya is to liberate the senses and

allow them to perform further and beyond themselves to the point of letting go of all control and

allowing themselves to be entirely powered by the Absolute. Once this happens, it will be an

indication that the Divine has granted the seer a certain authority.

When the worshipper transcends from siwā, he becomes a cheerful companion to whom the

Divine reveals the light of His delightful face. At this point, the structure becomes love and the

spoken language turns into a language of wijdān (conscience) (al-Marzuqi 2007, 182). Al-Yusuf

maintains that ruʾya is one of the soul’s desires, without which man cannot be liberated from his

misery (al-Yusuf 1997, 35). Seeing the Divine helps to efface existence and establish the heart.

Ruʾya is the door to ḥaḍra (presence)134 since names are established in ruʾya and effaced in ḥaḍra

134 Translation by Arberry (al-Niffari 1987, 19).

123
by the Divine. When a man sees the Divine, he will be blessed with a fortune that has no opposite.

In ruʾya, there is neither silence nor speaking, neither light nor shadow. Ruʾya is to see Him in

everything, whereas ghayba (absence)135 is to not see Him in anything at all. It is a matter for the

elite while ghayba is the interest of the masses. Indeed ghayba is the mortal life and afterlife but

ruʾya is neither this nor that (al-Niffari 1987, 19). According to al-Niffari, mushāhada

(contemplation)136 is the righteous stage for the Sufi, where he sees the Divine in everything and

where opposites disappear and reach the level of waqfa. He who stands at ruʾya is an immortal who

can control the cosmos. Mushāhada is the presence of the One, with neither accusation nor

suspicion. The witness is effaced by his gnosis. Moreover, He who sees the Divine with his heart

empties it of everything else and only the One remains in it (al-Marzuqi 2007, 182).

Conditions of ruʾya

It is said that the wāqif will be consumed if he emerges from ruʾya and that remembrance (dhikr)

during ruʾya is an outrage (al-Niffari 1987, 18). The Sufi cannot see the Divine unless he emerges

from ḥarf and maḥrūf. Ruʾya demolishes the bond between the seeker and all things but absence

renews it (ibid., 19). According to al-Niffari, transcending from siwā is the precondition for

achieving ruʾya and yet, he does not state that the wāqif entirely outstrips the cosmos. Hence ruʾya

is considered to be an internal undertaking that one should spend his life and effort accomplishing

without any guarantee that this will ultimately happen, since ruʾya will only be attained once one

has risen above one's sensual existence and mental entity as one transcends from otherness, that is

to say, once one has surpassed siwā completely, with all of its materialism and incorporeality (al-

Marzuqi 2007, 184).

135 ibid.
136 Al-ʿAjam 1999, 1150.
124
Between listening and seeing

Al-Niffari’s discourse determines three aspects of the relation between vision and hearing. The first

element is cause, a phenomenon in which hearing from the Absolute leads to seeing Him and where

conversation with Him that occurs from listening to Him is causative of ruʾya (Balqasim 2012,

170). Speaking is the cause of ruʾya and the first leads to the second. Despite the fact that this

relationship maintains its questions, ruʾya is not accomplished through conversation and if it is

attained, speaking will revoke it and cause it to cease. This means that the reader becomes aware of

the fact that the senses that al-Niffari is writing about are liberated from the masses and are not

sensual. This is quite clearly expressed in this passage from Mawqif Before Him137 (ibid.), when he

says:

(al-Niffari 2007, 139) “‫ ﺗﻮطﺌﺔ ﻟﺘﻌﺮﻓﻲ إﻟﯿﻚ ﺑﻼ ﻋﺒﺎرة‬،‫”ﺗﻌﺮﻓﻲ إﻟﯿﻚ ﺑﻌﺒﺎرة‬

(My making Myself Known unto thee by means of an expression, is a preparation for my making

Myself known unto thee without an expression [al-Niffari 1987, 93]).

The second aspect is that of superiority in excellence, in which ruʾya uncovers the veil of

hearing, where it identifies with mujālasa (sitting with someone and interacting with him or her),138

which is considered to be a central concept in al-Niffari’s discourse. To have a mujālasa with the

Absolute, according to al-Niffari, cannot be achieved by speaking but can be reached through ruʾya.

Mujālasa is the uppermost stage in the wāqif’s transcendence. Jalīsu L-lāh (the Divine's

companion) is the one who obtains al-ruʾya al-kubrā (the "Greater" ryʾya).139 This concept is

related to the classification of ruʾā (plural of ru'ya, visions). Al-Niffari believes that there are levels

of ruʾya such as ruʾya qawlāniyya (related to saying), which is considered to be below al-ruʾya al-

kubrā (ibid., 171). Despite the fact that conversation is the cause of ruʾya, as noted in the first

137 Arberry’s translation for Mawqif Bayna Yadayh.

138 Translation quoted from Lane 1986, 443.
139 Translation quoted from Lane 1986, 2587.
125
aspect, in this case ruʾya appears to be above the possibility of conversation. That is to say, ruʾya is

superior to speaking. An example of this can be seen in Mawqif of Stay140 when the mystic says

(ibid., 172):

َ ‫ـﻠﺖ ﻟَـ‬
ْ ‫ﻚﻗ‬
،‫وﻻ ﻟـﻤﺎ ﺗـﻌﺮف ﻣـﻨﻲ‬،‫ وﻻ ﻟـﺘﺴﻤﻊ ﻣـﻨﻲ‬،‫ وﻻ ﻵﻣـﺮك‬،‫ وﻻ ﻷﺧـﺎطـﺒﻚ‬،‫ ﻓـﻘﻒ ﻟـﻲ ﻻ ﻟـﻚ‬،‫ـﻒ‬ ُ ‫ إذا ﻗ‬:‫أوﻗـﻔﻨﻲ ﻓـﻲ ﻗـﻒ وﻗـﺎل ﻟـﻲ‬

.‫ ﺑﻞ أﻧﻈﺮ إﻟﯿﻚ وﺗﻨﻈﺮ إﻟﻲ‬،‫ ﻗﻒ ﻻ ﻷﺧﺎطﺒﻚ وﻻ ﻟﺘﺨﺎطﺒﻨﻲ‬،‫ وﻻ ﻟﯿﺎ ﻋﺒﺪ‬،‫ وﻻ ﻷوﻗﻔﻨﻲ‬،‫وﻻ ﻟﻤﺎ ﻻﺗﻌﺮف‬

(al-Niffari 2007, 159)

He stayed me in ‘Stay’, and said to me: when I say to thee, ‘stay’, stay for Me, not for

thyself, nor that I may address thee, nor that I may command thee, nor that thou mayest

listen to Me, nor for what thou knowest of Me, nor for what thou dost not know of Me, nor

for ‘He stayed me’, nor for ‘O my servant’. Stay for Me, not that I may address thee: and do

not thou dare Me. Nay, but I shall regard thee, and thou wilt regard Me.

(al-Niffari 1987, 109)

Ruʾya is the emptiness of everything after which nothing comes. It inactivates speaking and

transcends it at the same time (Balqasim 2012, 172).

Last but not least, the third aspect of ruʾya is identification. The first feature of this element

appears in the integration between hearing and seeing in the beginning of each mawqif. Most of the

Mawāqif start with awqafanī wa qāla lī (He stayed me and said to me)141 but there are a few

Mawāqif in which this phrase, which implies hearing, was changed to raʾaytu (I saw) which leads to

the interpretation that both hearing and seeing are types of perception (ibid., 173). The mystic who

140 Arberry’s translation for Mawqif Qif (al-Niffari 1987, 109).

141 Translation quoted from Arberry (ibid., 27).
126
attains the greater vision is the only one who can unveil the cover.142 The veil does not exist in this

state because it transcends discourse and speaking, which demonstrates that ruʾya is above and

beyond waqfa (ibid., 174). Waqfa appears to be plausibly related to hearing, as the phrase qāla lī

indicates, while ruʾya is significantly correlated with annihilating hearing (ibid., 175). Nonetheless,

ruʾya can only be achieved by waqfa (ibid., 177). According to al-Niffari:

"‫"اﻟﻮاﻗﻒ ﯾﺮاﻧﻲ وﻻ ﯾﺮى ﺳﻮاي‬

(al-Niffari 2007, 71), (the stayer sees Me, and does not see other than Me [al-Niffari 1987, 36]). A

statement further supported by another quotation from al-Niffari (Balqasim 2012, 177), in which he

declares:

(Niffari 2007, 71-al) “‫”ﻻ ﯾﺮى ﺣﻘﯿﻘﺔ إﻻ اﻟﻮاﻗﻒ‬

(none sees the reality save the stayer [al-Niffari 1987, 36]).

Ruʾya and perception

Asking about the Visible is, in fact, the same thing as asking about the Absolute. To wonder about

the Visible (The Absolute) means to limit Him. The question should therefore not be about

visualising but about the immanence of the method of perceiving that the experience provides, by

looking closely at al-Niffari’s sayings and attempting to use them as an approach to decipher what

he did not say, or at least to assume it, since obstructing requires being occupied with the approach

of perception, not with what is being seen. Some of al-Niffari’s texts affirm the possibility of seeing

the Absolute and others contradict it. However, al-Niffari believes that the Absolute does not

manifest or exemplify, for He cannot be visible to the naked eye or acknowledged by hearts

(Balqasim 2012, 178).

Ruʾya is beyond authority and command and is, as al-Niffari emphasises, the possibility of

defeating opposition. Before ruʾya became a departure from the consecrated approaches of

142 Al-Sitr (al-ʿAjam 1999, 1134).

127
perception in absence, it was basically an experience that was established from wajd (ecstasy). The

seer should transcend from opposition as an experience in order to see Him who has no opposite, or

to see beyond the two opposites with one vision. This leads us to the discussion of two inseparable

aspects of perception: the achievement of abolishing opposition and liberating ruʾya to reach what

lies beyond it (ibid., 181).

Opposition

The stillness of opposites halts judgement and prepares the senses. The importance of this cessation

lies in leaving what is added to the thing and veiling it, in other words departing from its name,

description and understanding and considering that which has been added to it as a mere set of

verdicts and otherworldliness. This issue is significantly related to refraining from judging any

thing, including the opposite of that thing, in order to arrive at a perfect state of equanimity. Ruʾya

is in itself stability, a frame of mind in which the seer perceives the illusion of difference that is

consecrated by the judgement of opposition through an experience that is based on muṣābara (to vie

with something in patience)143 (ibid., 182). Aside from opposition being a veil, it is also at best a

slavery of the mind and freedom lies in departing from it to reach a pure and analogous space (al-

Yusuf 1997, 35).

Conversation does not measure ruʾya by the opposition of positivity and negativity, for ruʾya is

beyond the potential of ʿilm. Al-ruʾya al-wāḥida (the one vision) is not to see the Absolute

manifested from one angle and immanent from another but to see Him manifested and immanent

with one eye: both visible in absence and immanent in appearance. This can only be achieved by

seeing the Absolute in everything, without negligence, with wholeness and with all that awakening

can represent (Balqasim 2012, 183). The eternity of ruʾya is impossible because absence is the

nature of he who seeks it. Any perception that includes opposition is not ruʾya for ruʾya is

143 Translation quoted from Lane 1986, 1644.

128
monotheism144. It is the moment in which the Divine is seen as non-analogous and unopposable,

which provides the wāqif with the possibility of equalising oppositions, since the Absolute is

beyond opposition. This is a matter that is impossible for language to achieve, unless it dons the

garment of metaphor, only according to al-Niffari, metaphor does not exist in ruʾya (ibid., 184).

Ruʾya and the problematic of language

Being aware of siwā is the first step on the path towards ruʾya. For this is what prepares the seeker

to endure the struggle in order to transcend from siwā. The wāqif will discover that he is heading

towards truth, not metaphor, assuming that the cosmos is siwā. Therefore, any judgement that is

based on this will also be considered siwā and will hinder and prevent the accession to ruʾya.

Consequently, the metaphor that al-Niffari discusses is not rhetorical but existential. He is hence not

referring to metaphor in language but in the cosmos, with its judgements and its methods of

perception, because according to him, language is a veil. Acquiring perception is therefore achieved

outside the potential of language, not by expanding it through metaphors in linguistic terms,

because what is being seen by the wāqif cannot be expressed by language, for narrowness includes

ḥarf whether or not it uses the help of metaphors. Al-Niffari believes that language does not reveal

the mystical truth but exposes the rhetorical one (ibid., 185).

Metaphor in al-Niffari’s discourse does not expand the horizon of language or outstrip its

boundaries, it is but the trace of the failure of language to speak the truth that ruʾya seeks. Ruʾya

does not amplify language, it can only witness its narrowness. It is an experience that obtains the

truth through mujāhada (to fight in the way of God or for the cause of religion),145 whereas the

metaphor is the method of he who did not live the experience; it is an external judgement. The

144 The original Arabic sentence is "‫ "اﻟـﺮؤﯾـﺔ ﺗـﻮﺣـﯿﺪ‬and although the word "‫ "ﺗـﻮﺣـﯿﺪ‬is very often translated as "unification" or

"consolidation," in this context, it seems obvious that it is "monotheism" that is referred to.
145 Translation quoted from Lane 1986, 473.
129
descriptive discourse of al-Niffari’s experience emphasises a reading that depends on metaphor.

However, it is a discourse that somehow forgot that he who lived the experience obtained a truth

beyond thought, language and judgement and when attempting to express it, language shrouded it

with a veil. During this veiling, the wāqif explored the relationship between language and the

Absolute after completing the experience of ruʾya on transcending from ḥarf and its judgements.

Al-Niffari himself states that the Mawāqif and Mukhāṭabāt are the possibility of keeping secrets

without infiltration (ibid., 186). What man lives on a daily basis is a metaphor, not a truth. As a

result of that, when he goes beyond siwā and reaches the truth, he attempts to write about it but

finds himself falling into metaphor again. Balqasim maintains that al-Niffari did not intend to write

his experience by means of metaphor so much as metaphor leaked into his language, which

corroborates the failure of language in terms of speaking of ruʾya or, as al-Niffari says: “to say what

is unsaid” (ibid., 188). He confirms that metaphor is absence (ghayba), for it is related to siwā,

whereas ruʾya is a meeting without a mediator. This encourages the wāqif to uncover the veil that

hides the truth. The wāqif does not seek to see the cosmos symbolically but rather to clear himself

of it entirely to see the truth. In order to achieve this, he must be aware that the cosmos is siwā, a

veil that covers the truth. If the wāqif succeeds in losing the vision of siwā, ruʾya would be

furthermost from turning things into symbols. It enables the seer to release things from their names,

descriptions and judgements and to disconnect and disentangle himself from them, for things are

barren (ibid., 187). Draining them of all meaning allows the seer to separate from them. Moreover,

each attachment to these things means falling into ghayba again and receding back into siwā. That

is why al-Niffari presents ruʾya and waqfa as a fire that burns siwā (ibid.).

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Conclusion on al-Niffari's theology

Ruʾya is not conditional upon the eye as an organ, in fact, it liberates the organ from its physical

constraints, which turns the eye into something that prevents us from seeing, instead of being an

instrument of ruʾya (ibid.).

Ruʾya causes the perception of eyesight to disintegrate and enables us to advance beyond it,

since the Absolute is limitless and untraceable. Therefore, metaphor lies in transferring the

experience, not in what was acquired from it. Al-Niffari maintains that ʿiyān (to view with an eye or

to face or to confront)146 is related to the heart; by this attribution, the concept of the eye expands.

According to Sufis, the heart is the space of expansion that correlates with emptiness, for there is no

breadth without emptiness. Consequently, through the context of this experience, mujāhada

liberates the senses and purifies them of obstacles, most importantly habit (ibid., 189). By

deactivating the habit, the senses are freed from their encumbrances, a liberation that seeks

emptiness of everything. Provided that ruʾya renders thought to transcend from it, all that remains

in the waqfa as a result of this transcendence are senses, which al-Niffari refers to as samāʿ and

ruʾya. Perception can only be accomplished by liberating the senses, unless the wāqif can hear

through the Absolute and from Him and see by Him. This is what al-Niffari names perception

through power because, according to his expression, emptiness is power (ibid., 192).

In al-Niffari’s experience, detachment and separation from things are based on defeating them.

A mystic cannot rid himself of otherness unless he is able to defeat it and liberate himself from its

trap and traces, because thinking about something is basically derived from this very thing.

Therefore, this derivation is the extent of the obtainer’s knowledge, which becomes an alternative

for the Absolute (ibid.).

Perception through nothingness is hearing from and by the Absolute. It is an empty organ that

establishes its superiority, which means departing from veils and manacles in order to achieve

146 Translation quoted from Lane 1986, 2214.

131
perception through the Absolute, not by siwā. This superiority is considered to be liberating and

powerful. For this reason, Balqasim tends to interpret waqfa as ruʾya and samāʿ: it is an immersion

through the senses and a cession of thought. Those senses are derived from the Absolute, since

Baṣīr (The All-seeing; He who sees all things, both what are apparent thereof and what are occult,

without any organ of vision)147 and Samīʿ (He whose hearing comprehends everything; who hears

everything)148 are the Divine’s attributes (ibid.). This is what Balqasim meant by mujāwarat al-

Muṭlaq (the Absolute's adjacency), that is to say, muqāsamat ṣifātih (sharing the attributes of the

Absolute) (ibid., 192).

Ruʾya is an ascription to the Absolute or a search for it. It is, in light of this, tackling the

furthermost with the requirement of emptiness, purification and superiority. Ruʾya is an experience

that reaches the impossible where the wāqif confronts his extreme possibility (ibid., 194). If waqfa

is ruʾya, then each ruʾya is based on a relationship with the veil. Balqasim maintains that this

struggling relationship with the veil does not aim to abolish it, since abolition is a veil in itself, but

rather to renew its transcendence and its continuous confrontation (ibid., 195). Ruʾya is not an

isolated experience, it is a relationship that the self experiences with an other that dwells inside it.

Thus, ruʾya is the establishment of a correlation between an inner power and an internal light. The

self cannot reach this authority and this light unless it empties its senses of thought, habit and ʿāmm

(mass). Because self-veiling is what prevents ruʾya, al-Niffari calls it ḥijāb al-ḥujub (the veil of

veils) (ibid., 198). The purpose is not what a wāqif can see but what he sees through, since what he

sees is conditioned by what he sees through, which means to see through the Absolute. When he

does, he will see the Absolute in everything he lays his sight upon and will therefore see only Him

(ibid., 199).

147 Translation quoted from Lane 1986, 211.

148 Ibid., 1429.
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 Chapter Two

Section Three

An Analysis of al-Niffari’s Texts

As already mentioned in the previous chapter, al-Niffari's book entitled The Mawaqif and

Mukhatabat consists of seventy-seven texts, each beginning with the sentence awqafanī wa qāla lī

149
(he stayed me and said to me). Most of these texts, or Mawāqif, include unusual dialogues, which

might best be described as monologues framed as dialogues, in which al-Niffari maintains that the

Divine addresses words to him. Only four texts in the Mawāqif150 mention direct dynamic

dialogues, where the Divine speaks and al-Niffari actually responds and vice-versa. In this section, I

will be looking in close detail at two of said texts, namely Mawqif al-Maḥḍar wa-l-Ḥarf and

Mawqif al-ʿIslām. The reason for selecting the first text is the inclusion of several passages that

relate a vivid conversation between the Sufi and the Divine, where the Absolute asks him questions

that explore vital notions in the Islamic-mystical belief system. Moreover, this text demonstrates the

One’s articulation of ḥarf (letter; language), a vital aspect of al-Niffari’s theology. In this mawqif,

the Divine poses a question to al-Niffari and the latter replies. The conversation generates various

questions and the Sufi ascends from one answer to another until he responds to the last question

with anta (you) and claims that the reply was dictated to him by the One, an occurrence that

happens twice in this specific text. In Mawqif al-ʿIslām, the roles are reversed and it is the Sufi who

directs questions to the Divine and the Absolute who replies.

I will therefore examine these texts closely through my previous findings on al-Niffari’s

theology, Western and Eastern philosophical theories and by raising questions regarding power and

149 Translation by Arberry (al-Niffari 1987, 29).

150 These four texts are: al-Mahdar wa-l-Ḥarf, al-ʿIslām, al-Kanaf and Huwa Dhā Tanṣarif.
133
the use of voice and tones as tools to acquire a stance of power, the echo of prophecy and dogmatic

heritage. I will engage speech act theory and grammatical shifts and will argue my points by

applying Foucault’s perspective on self-mastery and its relation to power in order to answer the

questions raised and to arrive at a plausible conclusion.

As previously established, there is a difference between experiencing the waqfa and writing the

waqfa. The first is an experience of ecstasy, where the mystic connects with the Divine, dissociating

himself from everything but Him. In this state, language fades and the Sufi transcends to a superior

dimension. Nevertheless, writing the waqfa implies the existence of ḥarf and siwā. It becomes an

attempt to trace the untraceable using the veil of language to unveil the evanescent. In order to

achieve an adequate analysis of both texts, there are vital questions that need to be answered.

First and foremost is the question of identifying who is really speaking in the text. Is it truly the

voice of the Divine and if that is the case, who recorded it? Could it rather be a dialogue between

two entities, one Divine and the other human, or is it a purely Divine or purely human voice

speaking, which would make it a monologue after all?

Assuming it was a dialogue between two different entities, why would most of the Mawāqif be

dominated by what appears to be a soliloquy, where one of the supposed interlocutors only ever

speaks as a witness or an observer, uttering sentences such as awqafanī, qāla lī, anta qawwaltanī (it

is Thou that didst make me to speak)?151

Another question that needs to be raised regards the assumption that the Absolute spoke to al-

Niffari and this latter documented it, a notion that seems strange, given the fact that the Divine is

The Self-Sufficient and one that makes it pertinent to wonder why He would need al-Niffari to act

as his medium.

151 Translation by Arberry (al-Niffari 1987, 114).

134
 Of equal relevance is an attempt to understand why, if language is ḥarf, siwā or veil, would the

mystic use it to document a dialogue between himself and the Divine, when it appears like just

another manner of veiling? According to the Qurʾan (42:51):

"‫"وﻣﺎ ﻛﺎن ﻟﺒﺸﺮ أن ﯾﻜﻠﻤﮫ ﷲ إﻻ وﺣﯿﺎ أو ﻣﻦ وراء ﺣﺠﺎب أو ﯾﺮﺳﻞ رﺳﻮﻻ ﻓﯿﻮﺣﻲ ﺑﺈذﻧﮫ ﻣﺎ ﯾﺸﺎء إﻧﮫ ﻋﻠﻲ ﺣﻜﯿﻢ‬

(It is not granted to any mortal that God should speak to him except through revelation or from

behind a veil, or by sending a messenger to reveal by His command what He will: He is exalted and

authoritative [Adbel Haleem 2005, 314]).

With the above statement in mind, it becomes essential to query how al-Niffari managed to

communicate directly with the Divine when he was not a prophet and to inquire whether it was

direct or veiled communication. If veil there was, we must also ponder upon the form this veil may

have taken. If, on the other hand, what he experienced was a revelation or an inspiration, would it

mean that he was exclusively chosen to be spoken to? If that is so, the research must then pry into

the reasons why he, al-Niffari, of all possible people, was selected and whether this entitled him to

significant privileges and prerogatives?

Once we have tackled the above, we will explore how our findings could be relevant to the

afore-mentioned outcomes regarding al-Niffari 's theology and what he and al-Suhrawardi have in

common. Answering these numerous but essential questions will help frame the analysis of these

texts. Each question will be considered and answered separately in order to reach a compelling

conclusion.

135
The question of voice

‫ واﻟﺤﺠﺎب ﺣﺮف‬،‫ اﻟﺤﺮف ﺣﺠﺎب‬:‫أوﻗﻔﻨﻲ ﻓﻲ اﻟﻤﺤﻀﺮ وﻗﺎل ﻟﻲ‬

ُ
ُ ‫ﻓﺮأﯾﺖ اﻟﺤﺮم ﻻ ﯾﺴﻠﻜﮫ اﻟﻨﻄ‬
.‫ﻖ وﻻ ﺗﺪﺧﻠﮫ اﻟﮭﻤﻮم‬ ْ :‫وﻗﺎل ﻟﻲ‬
،‫ﻗﻒ ﻓﻲ اﻟﻌﺮش‬

(al-Niffari, as cited in al-Ghanmi 2007, 160)

He stayed me in the Presence-chamber, and said to me: The letter is a veil, and the veil is a

letter. Stay in the Throne and I saw the sanctuary untrodden by the speech, and unentered

by the attentions. (al-Niffari 1987, 111)

The first text under study, Mawqif al-Maḥḍar wa-l-Ḥarf, starts with the sentence above. As already

explained, the verb awqafanī relates to several other concepts such as silence, cessation of speech

and prevention.152 In addition, al-Niffari does not limit himself to lexical allusions and goes beyond

language, which leaves a lot of room for interpretation. I therefore suggest that in this case,

awqafanī alludes to the cessation of speech, or in other words, the death of ḥarf due to the status of

being in the presence of the Divine, which prevents any face of siwā. Moreover, writing the waqfa

is not equivalent to experiencing the waqfa, since the first includes siwā and the second does not, as

previously stressed.

Exploring the meaning of qāla lī

After the statement awqafanī, al-Niffari mentions the name of the mawqif, which is al-Maḥḍar wa-

l-Ḥarf. He continues by declaring: qāla lī, an utterance that defines and is at the core of al-Niffari’s

152 See chapter two, section two (under "Waqfa and other traditions"), page 86.
136
work, since it is the phrase that sparks the most controversial questions. Who speaks to whom? In

order to answer this question I believe it is necessary to start by scrutinising the expression itself.

It is clear by now how inferior ḥarf and language are in al-Niffari’s perspective and yet he states

that the Divine said these words to him. It is surprising that al-Niffari chose this particular word to

refer to the Divine when it lexically indicates deficiency.

According to Ibn Manzur, qāla is from the root qawl (a saying, something said, speech or

diction),153 which means kalām (something spoken, language, discourse)154 that follows a certain

system, or every word uttered by the lips wether it was whole or not.155 Qawl cannot be meaningful

unless it is attached to another qawl. For example, if we say qāma (to stand) without continuing the

phrase, the verb cannot fulfil its meaning without a subject attached to it. Moreover, a qawl is used

to indicate opinions and dogmas, since they are hidden concepts that cannot be made clear without

some form of verbalisation. Interestingly, Ibn Manzur points out a significant meaning for qawl

when he states that qālat lahū alʿainān samʿan wa ṭāʿatan ("I hear and obey," the eyes said to him)

can be achieved without a sound or a speech, since in this context, it alludes to the concept of

permission, meaning that if the eyes could speak, they would say: "I hear and obey."

What is more, he maintains that qawl is not whole unto itself (Ibn Manzur 2019). By contrast,

al-Niffari did not use the word kalām, which means an integral saying or "the sentence."156

According to him, this is the reason for which the Qurʾan was called kalāmu l-Lāh as opposed to

153 Lane 1986, 2995.

154 The full translation is: “Speech; something spoken; diction; language; parlance; talk; discourse. A saying: a say:

something said: in grammar or a sentence” (Lane 2019). This translation is quoted from a digital copy on Perseus

Digital Library Project, which belongs to Tufts University. I used the digital copy of Lane’s dictionary due to the non-

existence of the page that contains the root ‫ ﻛﻠﻢ‬in the copy used throughout this chapter.
155 “ً ‫ ﺗﺎ ّﻣﺎ ً ﻛﺎن أَو ﻧﺎﻗﺼﺎ‬،‫ وھﻮ ﻋﻨﺪ اﻟﻤﺤﻘﱢﻖ ﻛﻞ ﻟﻔﻆ ﻗﺎل ﺑﮫ اﻟﻠﺴﺎن‬،‫ اﻟﻜﻼم ﻋﻠﻰ اﻟﺘﺮﺗﯿﺐ‬:‫( ”اﻟﻘَﻮْ ل‬Ibn Manzur 2019).
156 “‫( ”اﻟﻜﻼم ﻣﺎ ﻛﺎن ﻣﻜﺘﻔﯿﺎ ﺑﻨﻔﺴﮫ وھﻮ اﻟﺠﻤﻠﺔ‬Ibn Manzur 2019).
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qawlu l-Lāh, since the second name would indicate deficiency and incompleteness of meaning157

(ibid).

My research has already established that writing the waqfa is different from experiencing it,

since ḥarf dies in waqfa and silence settles over the situation. Writing the waqfa would therefore be

an attempt to recall its events. Although recapturing those moments would be as attempting to catch

the wind, al-Niffari defies this impossibility by writing down what he remembers. I therefore

believe that al-Niffari’s use of the word qāla (he said) could explain the inconsistency of the

structure of the Mawāqif due to the deficiency and the flaw that the word qāla indicates.

Qāla and qultu are the same verb conjugated in two different forms, indicating two subjects:

"He" or the third person singular, which refers to the Divine and "I" or the first person singular, in

reference to al-Niffari. The existence of two subjects may suggest the assumption of the duality of

voice. As simple as it may seem, two subjects means two voices. Nevertheless, if there are indeed

two voices, would that not be in contradiction to what al-Niffari attempts to emphasise through his

book, namely rejecting duality and achieving unity? In order to answer this question, we need to

begin by identifying these voices, to know who is speaking to whom.

ُ ،‫ ﻗﻠﺖَ اﻟﺤﻖ‬:‫ ﻗﺎل‬،‫ﻗﻠﺖ أﻧﺖَ ﷲ‬

.‫ ﻟﺘﺮى ﻧﻌﻤﺘﻲ‬:‫ ﻗﺎل‬،‫ أﻧﺖ ﻗﻮﻟﺘﻨﻲ‬:‫ﻗﻠﺖ‬ ُ ‫ ﻣﺎ اﻟﺬات؟‬:‫ﻗﺎل‬

(al-Niffari 2007, 166)

He said: What is essence? I answered: Thyself, O God. He said: Thou hast spoken the truth.

I answered: It is Thou that didst make me to speak. He said: That thou mayest see my

kindness. (al-Niffari 1987, 115)

157 Since the Qurʾan is the speech of the Divine, according to Islamic doctrine, qawl would therefore be an inferior

word to relate it with.

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 In al-Maḥḍar wa-l-Ḥarf, al-Niffari clearly claims that the dialogues in his books occurred

between the Divine and himself, as the previous quotation confirms. Furthermore, Nwyia appears to

agree with this claim. In his paper about al-Niffari, he mentions al-Shushtari’s description of the

Mawāqif, which states that this book was written in the form of revelations made by God through

al-Niffari, who interwove visions and dialogues that al-Shushtari calls "Dialogues between their

essence, those of God and al-Niffari’s" (as cited in Nwyia 1965, 16). In addition, al-Shushtari

maintains that the revelation of the Mawāqif was composed as if it had been written under dictation

in a state of rapture of the waqfa (ibid, 18). Balqasim agrees with this claim by affirming that

dialogue is not only an aspect of structuring the Mawāqif but also a mystical experience through

which al-Niffari creates an identity based on the relationship between the Divine and the human. As

a result, this identity changes due to separation from siwā. In addition to being a method of verbal

seclusion, the dialogue in the Mawāqif is the result of an experience and a sign that proves the

sufferance of writing it. Al-Niffari’s dialogue has two ascriptions: the first is engaged with the

mystical horizon and the second relates to the mode of communicating or speaking about it, which

turns the dialogue into a writing experience. In order to do so, it is necessary to listen to the

dialogue’s tendencies to unveil its allusions (Balqasim 2012, 224). According to Nwyia, the

dialogue in the Mawāqif represents the transcendence of the mystical consciousness from speaking

to the self to speaking to the Divine. As much as this conversation reveals the relation between the

Absolute and the constrained, it also includes the limitations and the pain of writing (ibid.).

Furthermore, Nwyia believes that al-Niffari wrote what God communicated to him and the manner

in which it was communicated without seeking another expression than that of God, thus setting

down the flash of the initial agitation that shook up his consciousness (Nwyia 1965, 18). It therefore

appears that both Nwyia and Balqasim confirm that the conversation in the Mawāqif took place
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between two entities. However, Balqasim presents a detailed analysis of the Mawāqif’s dialogue by

dividing it into two types: one that occurs between a speaker and a silent listener and one that

happens between two speakers (ibid.).

Dialogue clearly dominates the Mawāqif, yet some of them are designated to describe the

Absolute while others highlight the gap between the speaker and the speechless addressee. On the

other hand, some of them appear to emphasise several facts or to address authorisation and

forbiddance to the addressee. In Mawqif Maʿrifat al-Maʿārif, al-Niffari declares:

(al-Niffari 2007, 78) “‫ﻚ ﺑِﻚ‬ ّ

ُ ‫ﻛﯿﻒ أﺗﻤ ﱠﺴ‬ ‫ َﺳﻠﻨﻲ و ﻗﻞ ﯾﺎ ربﱢ‬:‫”و ﻗﺎل ﻟﻲ‬

(and He said to me: Entreat Me, and say: O Lord, how shall I lay hold on Thee [al-Niffari 1987,

42]). In this instance, the verb qul was pronounced by the speechless addressee, despite the fact it

appears to be said by the speaker. This tendency illustrates the ambiguous identity of the speaker

and source of the words' origin. The speaker here is but one, yet he speaks with two voices. The

silent addressee does not speak with his own words but through those of another. In the beginning

of the mawqif, he speaks in the first person singular, which results in a conversation that attributes

the phrase awqafanī wa qāla lī to the third person. The speaker does not speak unless he is made to

speak by the writer, who is always hidden behind the opening sentence (ibid, 245). The writer

anticipates the speech and is the producer of the discourse based on the previous sentence, where

his presence is indicated by initially speaking in the first person before turning into a speechless

receptacle of words. Therefore, the strategic use of the first and third person singular designates al-

Niffari’s writing as samāʿ (hearing). This is one of the key issues that aligns with the problematic of

the written form in the Mawāqif and Mukhāṭabāt. A form that is based on dialogue as a twofold

voice, which is embodied through the multiplicity of pronouns in the Mukhāṭabāt (ibid, 246).

Regarding the concept of hearing, Nwyia confirms this suggestion. He believes that al-Niffari’s

dialogue leads a man to an authentic existence which commits him to "listen," in silence, to the

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creative word of God (Nwyia 1965, 18). In the first type of dialogue, the one between a speaker and

a voiceless addressee, the latter participates in the conversation by using the speaker’s voice itself.

In some of the texts, there is an interlacing of voices which is clearly exemplified in Mawqif Qulūb

al-ʿĀrifīn (The Hearts of the Gnostics)158 (Balqasim 2012, 246), below:

.‫ ﻓﺈﻧّﮫ ﯾﺘﻌﺮﱠف إﻟﯿﻜﻢ ﻛﯿﻒ ﺗُﻘﯿﻤﻮن ﻋﻨﺪه‬،‫ و اﺻﻤﺘﻮا ﻟﮫ ﻻ ﻟﺘﻌﺮﻓﻮا‬،‫َﻌﺮﻓﻮا‬

ِ ‫ ﻗﻞ ﻟِﻘﻠﻮب اﻟﻌﺎرﻓﯿﻦ أﻧﺼﺘﻮا ﻟﮫ ﻻ ﻟِﺘ‬:‫و ﻗﺎل ﻟﻲ‬

(al-Niffari 2007, 146)

And he said to me: Say to the hearts of the gnostics: Give ear to Him, not that ye may

know; and be silent for Him, not that ye may know. For He makes Himself known unto

you: how should ye abide with Him? (al-Niffari 1987, 98)

The words that follow qul liqulūb al-ʿārifīn are shared between the speaker and the speechless

receptacle. The addressee later narrates what the Master commands him to say through the word qul

(say) by using the third latent pronoun. The shift from speaker to spoken to hence occurs through

the use of the third person singular. On the other hand, in the second, fourth and sixth phrases, the

shared speech shifts back to the Master by reverting to the use of the first person singular. There is a

clear intersecting in the pronoun use and position which appears in the second phrase. It seems that

after the word qul the Master makes the addressee articulate his own (the Master, the Divine) words

as if they were the addressee's. However, the word ʿibādī (servants) in the sentence does not seem to

be attributed to the speaker, even if the conjunction in the section claims the opposite. The

imperative and prohibitive statements after qul liqulūb al-ʿārifīn are enunciated by the speechless

158 Translation by Arberry (al-Niffari 1987, 97).

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listener, who heeds the command given to him through the imperative form to speak in the general

discourse. To avoid ambiguity, the speaker should address his supposed listeners, who are the ones

the command is really directed towards, by using the third person plural form instead of the first

one, since in this particular case, the first person pronoun only alludes to the one who is addressed

by the Divine (Balqasim 2012, 247).

In the second type of dialogue, which takes place between two speakers, we see a real exchange

between two conversing entities. In this exchange, the conversation unfolds, from a written

perspective, by repeating the structure of qultu, qālā, which was also found in Mawqif al-Maḥḍar

wa-l-Ḥarf and Mawqif al-ʾIslām, with a difference between the texts in each speaker’s role. The

first mawqif includes two conversations, one about heaven and the other about hell. The dialogue

adopts an interrogatory style followed by an answer, based on one rhythm and dependent on the

condensation of questions and answers and on generating a question out of an answer. It is worth

mentioning that both dialogues end with a similar conclusion, which creates an engagement

between the structure’s rhythm and form. In addition, the integration evolves to imagine the relation

between the two speakers. The questioner ends both conversations by declaring that the addressee’s

answer was correct (ibid.):

(al-Niffari 2007, 165) “‫ ﻗﻠﺖَ اﻟﺤﻖ‬:‫”ﻗﺎل‬

(He said: "Thou hast spoken the truth" [al-Niffari 1987, 114]). The answerer replies that his answers

are actually produced by the One who is asking the questions, despite the fact they were postulated

by the responder. For example, he says:

((al-Niffari 2007, 165 “‫”أﻧﺖ ﻗﻮّﻟﺘﻨﻲ‬

(It is Thou that didst make me to speak [al-Niffari 1987,114]). In Mawqif al-ʾIslām, the roles

change. The questioner becomes the responder and vice-versa (Balqasim 2012, 248). In this text,

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the speech and its attribution become the topic of the conversation. This issue emphasises the

problematic of the attribution of speech without any suggested answer (ibid, 249).

(al-Niffari 2007, 182–183) “‫ﻚ إﻟ ّﻲ‬

َ ‫ﻚ ﺑﺸﻲ ٍء ﻣﻨ‬
َ ‫”إﻧﻲ اﺑﺘﻠﯿﺘﻚ ﻓﻲ ﻛﻞ ﺷﻲء ﻣﻨﻲ إﻟﯿ‬

(I have made trials of thee in everything that proceeds from Me to thee, by means of something that

proceeds from thee to Me [al-Niffari 1987, 128]).

The previous phrase highlights the distance between the two speakers in the field of ʾibtilāʾ

(trying, proving or testing).159 Moreover, this distance is an inherent and crucial part of the sentence.

The word kull (all) alludes to a limitless comprehension. Balqasim believes that the experience of

al-Niffari suffers from what Blanchot calls “the plural speech”160 (as cited in Balqasim 2012, 249).

Staying at the ʾibtilāʾ is the essence of waqfa’s experience. For that reason, Ibn ʿArabi describes the

wāqif as matʿūb161 (ibid.). The wāqif lives the experience as though walking a path on which to find

a middle ground or balance for the speech, which is the opposite of the warning in the previous

example. Yet, what is the motivation for writing the Mawāqif on behalf of the Absolute which is, at

the same time for al-Niffari, writing for the Absolute? Dialogue is a form that produces discourse.

Blanchot believes that dialogue depends on the exchange of speech and the equality between the

two speakers (ibid.). However, equality does not harmonise with al-Niffari’s experience (ibid.)

unless the first source of the dialogue is a direct divine speech162. This is what Mawqif ʾIqbālih hints

at (ibid., 250) when al-Niffari (2007, 173) states:

ُ ،‫ إن ﻗﻠﺖَ ﻣﺎ أﻗﻮل‬:‫”وﻗﺎل ﻟﻲ‬

“‫ﻗﻠﺖ ﻣﺎ ﺗﻘﻮل‬

159 The full translation is: “Signifies the trying, proving or testing, wether by an oath or otherwise” (Lane 1986, 265).
160 “It is the speech that can never be reduced to unmeaning, neither in the ideal sense of signification, nor with respect

to the position of a single indemnified subject (Blanchot, as cited in Haase and Large 2005, 117).
161 It is originally derivative from the root taʿiba (became tired). However, it is worth mentioning that Ibn Manzur does

not include the word in his dictionary and considers it to be a wrong form (Ibn Manzur 2019). I believe inventing a

word that is not lexically proven indicates manipulating the language, which is intentionally practiced by Sufis.
162 For further explanation on this, see Balqasim 2012, chapter two section 1.1.
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(and he said to me: If thou sayest what I say, I shall say what thou sayest [al-Niffari 1987, 120)].

Here lies the main reason for which al-Niffari presents his discourse as hearing and "speaks" as a

listener, thus producing the speech by hearing it from a private conversation that can only

emphasise its unique character and illustrate its quality by recalling the experience of the waqfa.

Through this recalling, the last quotation becomes more understandable and indicates fairly clearly

that we should not assume that two separate parties are partaking in the dialogue. Indeed the

dialogue in this instance is an exchange lived by a self that is distributed across two speeches. This

confirms what was concluded about ruʾya, namely that it is a rising above the limits of the self. In

the same manner, hearing is like ruʾya, it cannot occur because of an external aspect (Balqasim

2012, 250).

In both types of dialogues, we are facing two voices that do not belong to two separate entities.

However, they are related to two positions lived by one self, or to two parts of a single self. By

moving from one position to another, it could be possible to present this self through multiple

pronouns. The Mawāqif were written in a form that presents the writer through multiple pronouns,

thus suggesting multiplicity and giving the impression that the conversation takes place between

two or more separate parties. The experience is based on monotheism. Nonetheless, the discourse

cannot happen unless it takes place or at least appears to take place between two entities. This

tendency demonstrates writing as a paradox. A same self takes part through the first person, second

person and a latent pronoun (ibid.). The use of several pronouns does not relate to two different

beings. This suggestion disagrees with that of Nwyia and Balqasim, who both claim, as seen earlier,

that there is only one entity changing positions. It is impossible to be Him in siwā and in ruʾya at

the same time. It is indeed Him in siwā but other than Him in ruʾya. Shifting from a pronoun to

another is basically shifting from one field to another. When al-Niffari achieves a waqfa, he arrives

at the status of speaking of the pronoun. This situation requires another pronoun to withdraw, which
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means reaching another realm. There must be a speechless, silent listener in order for another

speech to happen; the silence of the mortal and the resounding of the Absolute’s voice. Since there

are two voices, it is essential that one must fade away and withdraw for the other to rise and make

itself heard. This characteristic could be pulled away if we take it off from the horizon of the

Absolute that al-Niffari and other Sufis enclose around the act of writing itself. Writing experiences

are excellent illustrations of the manner in which several writers have found themselves through

another voice. Moreover, many are the writers who claim to have found, heard or felt more than just

once voice and who have been inspired by multiple other voices. When the human voice withdraws,

the conversation becomes possible. Conversation here does not mean an exchange of words

between two parties but a voice that is born from a pregnant silence. Dialogue, according to al-

Niffari, does not require “plural speech” to preserve difference and host it through the other.

However, it witnesses an impossible unity.

The result of writing the dialogue guarantees that plural speech is active in the discourse.

However, the writing self accepts this activity as pain and separation. The equality that the dialogue

aims for does not target difference, because it is not its intention to expand the difference but instead

to weaken it by silencing one voice for the sake of the other. This is made perfectly clear in the

twenty-eighth mukhāṭaba (ibid, 251) in which al-Niffari makes the following declaration:

(al-Niffari 2007, 225) “‫ﻖ و ﺻﺎﻣﺖ‬ ِ ‫ ﻻ ﺗﺼﺢﱡ اﻟﻤﺤﺎدﺛﺔ إﻻ ﺑﯿﻦ‬:ُ‫”ﯾﺎ ﻋﺒﺪ‬

ٍ ‫ﻧﺎط‬

([O Worshipper!] Conversation is rightly conducted only between one who speaks and one who is

silent [al-Niffari 1987, 159]).

Even though we appear to witness two orators, one of them actually articulates what the other is

telling him to say. Balqasim concludes that there is no difference between the first and the second

type of dialogue even if the second one is structured differently.163 After all, the boundaries between

163 “Qāla, qultu” (He said, I said).

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the two voices in the second dialogue vanish to become one: the voice of the Absolute narrated

through the responder’s lips, who clearly admits and concedes that he is being spoken to by the

Divine, or as al-Niffari puts it: qawwalanī. In order for the questioner to make the replier speak, the

voice of the last-mentioned needs to recede in order for him to pronounce other words. One voice

must be silenced so the wāqif can hear another one or can tell of a voice that he listens to. This is

exemplified in Mawqif al-ʾIslām, where the replier becomes a questioner to clarify how he can let

go of a speech to experience an ambivalent one. As was previously shown, the path to waqfa is

based on this abandonment.

Overall, the dialogue aims to produce one speech in which each essence echoes what the other

is saying, on the condition that the Absolute remains the source of the first speech. The dialogue

aims to silence dualism and discard the burden of the plural speech instead of preserving it or

ensuring its ambiguity (Balqasim 2012, 252). Balqasim believes that there is only One voice in the

Mawāqif: the voice of the Absolute. The dualism that appears in the texts is solely the result of the

discourse's structure and not that of the speaking essence and the only reason that duality is

attributed to the words is the constant shifting in the use of pronouns. Balqasim asserts this is due to

his belief that if al-Niffari had given the impression of duplexity in any way whatsoever, he might

have given rise to a suspicion of dualism, which would totally contradict his efforts of reaching

monotheism, since unity requires the purification of siwā and having two voices confirms it.

Therefore, Balqasim maintains that the idea of the plural speech might justify how one voice could

be divided into multiple pronouns.

The burden of the plural speech that is included in the verbal act makes the speech tiring, for it

exhausts the speaker and feels like a divine punishment. Therefore, according to Blanchot, dialogue

helps to divide this dualism, since through dialogue we become two to endure the plural speech,

which becomes more bearable by division, especially in its sequence through a rotation that

expands in time. However, Blanchot maintains that there is still a deficiency because he purports it
146
is impossible to have equality in a dialogue (as cited in Balqasim 2012, 252) where each speaker

affirms his speech authority over the other. According to him, none of the speakers can see in the

other anything but another self. He insists that this dialogue is impossible because "all speech is

violence" (ibid.) and all speech is only the silencing of another speech, so even if we were to

assume the occurrence of this perfect dialogue, there would still be something missing: the

difference that stenography cannot achieve. It is difference that makes the two speakers speak and

keeps them separated, for this separation is what assembles them. Therefore, when difference

becomes the target of the dialogue, it enables the conversation to host the other as being an other

and according to Blanchot, forbids the One to be the truth of all comprehension (ibid.). However,

Balqasim disagrees with Blanchot on this point. He maintains that difference was not the base of al-

Niffari’s discourse, since he was directed by his dream of unity. This is why he did not attempt to

make the two speakers speak. For the experience is based on silencing one of them and it only aims

to silence from a position related to the deeper meaning of emptiness. Balqasim suggests that

dualism in the dialogue is not a contradiction but is rather an unescapable ʾibtilāʾ. If the sought after

unity cannot be achieved in waqfa, it means that unification is impossible, for dualism is a condition

of interlocution. A dialogue presumes conversation and conversation requires two interlocutors, so

how could monotheism be achieved through such a process? A dialogue's requirement of two

entities, regardless of whether or not it is the experience of a single and unique self, means that this

attraction between two realms is an inescapable affliction. There is a plural speech that cannot be

raised, in which writing is achieved as an experience of paradoxes. Juxtapositions can only be for

those who are prepared to take the risk of attaining either fate or salvation, according to al-Niffari’s

expression, since he contends that plural speech is a risk, a test and an affliction (ibid, 253). At the

end of the dialogue interpretation section, Balqasim ends his discussion by asking a vital question:

who, he wonders, makes the other speak? He believes that the one who appears to be silent and

listening is the one who makes the Absolute produce the discourse. Balqasim maintains that this is
147
one of the paradox features that al-Niffari practices through his writing (ibid, 256), and yet he does

not develop this point any further. In the text analysis, I will therefore present a different suggestion

as my answer to the previous question.

Speaking essences

As I previously clarified, both Balqasim and Nwyia agree on the idea of the existence of two

essences in the dialogue of the Mawāqif. However, each scholar identifies this issue differently.

Balqasim maintains that there is one self that is divided into two voices. For his part, Nwyia claims

that it is a revelation while al-Niffari states that the Divine dictated those words to him.

Before designating the speaking essences, I would like to voice my belief that the dialogue in

the Mawāqif has a significant tendency and suggest that the conversation between the Divine and

al-Niffari implies a prophetic echo. The structure of exchanging questions and answers and

demanding orders echoes the conversation of the Prophet Moses with the Divine in the Qurʾan.164 In

Sūrat Ṭāhā, the Divine asks:

،‫ ﻗـﺎل أﻟـﻘﮭﺎ ﯾـﺎ ﻣـﻮﺳـﻰ‬،‫وﻣـﺎ ﺗـﻠﻚ ﺑـﯿﻤﯿﻨﻚ ﯾـﺎ ﻣـﻮﺳـﻰ؟ ﻗـﺎل ھـﻲ ﻋـﺼﺎي أﺗـﻮ ّﻛـﺄ ﻋـﻠﯿﮭﺎ وأھـﺶ ﺑـﮭﺎ ﻋـﻠﻰ ﻏـﻨﻤﻲ وﻟـﻲ ﻓـﯿﮭﺎ ﻣـﺂرب أﺧـﺮى‬

‫ واﺿـﻤﻢ ﯾـﺪك إﻟـﻰ ﺟـﻨﺎﺣـﻚ ﺗﺨـﺮج ﺑـﯿﻀﺎء ﻣـﻦ ﻏـﯿﺮ‬،‫ ﻗـﺎل ﺧـﺬھـﺎ وﻻ ﺗـﺨﻒ ﺳـﻨﻌﯿﺪھـﺎ ﺳـﯿﺮﺗـﮭﺎ اﻷوﻟـﻰ‬،‫ﻓـﺄﻟـﻘﺎھـﺎ ﻓـﺈذا ھـﻲ ﺣـﯿﺔ ﺗـﺴﻌﻰ‬

‫ ﯾـﻔﻘﮭﻮا‬،‫ واﺣـﻠﻞ ﻋـﻘﺪة ﻣـﻦ ﻟـﺴﺎﻧـﻲ‬،‫ وﯾ ّﺴـﺮ ﻟـﻲ أﻣـﺮي‬،‫ ﻗـﺎل ربّ اﺷـﺮح ﻟـﻲ ﺻـﺪري‬،‫ اذھـﺐ إﻟـﻰ ﻓـﺮﻋـﻮن إﻧـﮫ طـﻐﻰ‬،‫ﺳـﻮء آﯾـﺔ أﺧـﺮى‬

(Qurʾan 20:18–28) .‫ﻗﻮﻟﻲ‬

What is that in your right hand, Moses? He said, "It is my staff, on which I lean and with

which I beat down leaves for my sheep, and for which I have other uses." HE said, "Cast it

164 Based on my in-depth research, the only author who mentions the dialogical factor in al-Niffari’s texts is Balqasim.

However, he does not mention any relationship between prophecy or its dialogues with the Divine in the Qurʾan. I

believe that examining al-Niffari via the prophetic echo adds new dimensions to the texts, especially with regards to the

text analysis and tackling the notion of power. This is demonstrated in details in the analysis section.
148
 down, Moses." So he cast it down, and, lo, it [turned into] a serpent moving over the

ground. He said, "Grasp it and fear not. We shall restore it to its former state. And put your

hand into your arm-pit, and it will come forth white, without harm – another sign. That We

may show you some of our greatest signs. Go to Pharaoh. He has been insolent." He said,

"My Lord, open my breast for me. And ease my task for me. Loose a knot from my tongue

And they will understand what I say.” (Jones 2007, 506)

Based on al-Niffari’s Islamic tradition, it could be thought that the Prophet Muhammad – peace

be upon him – would be the predictable example for al-Niffari to imitate. Nonetheless, the Qurʾan

does not mention any directly exchanged dialogue between Muhammad and the Divine, since he

received the revelations of the Qurʾanic verses through the medium of the angel Gabriel. This story

was mentioned in detail in Sūrat al-Qalam. On the contrary, the Prophet Moses was known as

kalīmū l-Llāh (or Kalīm Allāh).165 Several Qurʾanic verses mentioned situations where Moses

speaks to the Divine directly and vice-versa. The Qurʾan mentions another conversation that

occurred between the Prophet Abraham and the Divine in Sūrat al-Baqara, when Abraham asked

the Divine to show him His ability of creation. Nonetheless, the Prophet Moses had the lion’s share

of direct conversations with the Divine in the Qurʾan. Therefore, exchanging dialogue directly with

the Divine appears to be a concession exclusive to prophets. So if al-Niffari is not a prophet, how

could he receive revelations? And were there people receiving revelations mentioned in the Qurʾan?

Heinrichs states that there is a difference between waḥy (revelation) and ilhām (inspiration); he

believes that the first, waḥy, is supposed to be addressed to a whole community, whereas the second

165 "Kalīm Allāh has become the special honorific title of Mūsā, 'He who spoke to Allāh', or, following the Tahd̲ h̲ īb, 'He

to whom Allāh spoke', because of several passages in the Ḳurʾān describing direct speech between Allāh and

Mūsā." (Mcdonald 2020)

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was rejected by intellectuals, who do not approve of mysticism (Heinrichs, as cited in Kugel 1990,

120). Nevertheless, this is in significant contradiction with this next example from the Qurʾan.

In the Qurʾanic verse that I previously mentioned, the Divine states that He only speaks to

humans through revelations from behind a veil. However, there are several verses in the Qurʾan

where the Divine says the word awḥaynā (we revealed) to people who are not prophets. For

example, He mentions this word in the story of Prophet Moses’ mother:

‫أن اﻗـﺬﻓـﯿﮫ ﻓـﻲ اﻟـﺘﺎﺑـﻮت ﻓـﺎﻗـﺬﻓـﯿﮫ ﻓـﻲ اﻟـﯿ ّﻢ ﻓـﻠﯿﻠﻘﮫ اﻟـﯿ ّﻢ ﺑـﺎﻟـﺴﺎﺣـﻞ‬
ِ ،‫ﻚ ﻣـﺎ ﯾـﻮﺣـﻰ‬ َ ‫وﻟـﻘﺪ ﻣـﻨّﻨﺎ ﻋـﻠﯿ‬
َ ‫ إذ أوﺣـﯿﻨﺎ إﻟـﻰ أ ّﻣـ‬،‫ﻚ ﻣـﺮة أﺧـﺮى‬

(Qurʾan 20: 37–39) .‫ﻚ ﻣﺤﺒﺔ ﻣﻨّﻲ وﻟﺘﺼﻨﻊ ﻋﻠﻰ ﻋﯿﻨﻲ‬ ُ

َ ‫وأﻟﻘﯿﺖ ﻋﻠﯿ‬ ‫ﯾﺄﺧﺬه ﻋﺪو ﻟﻲ وﻋﺪو ﻟﮫ‬

We showed you favour on another occasion. When We revealed what was revealed to your

mother, Saying: “Cast him into the casket and cast it into the sea, and the sea will throw it

up on the shore. An enemy of Mine and of his will take him.” And I bestowed on you love

from Me, and [it was] so that you might be formed under My eye. (Jones 2007, 507).

Moreover, the Divine mentions that He sent a messenger166 to Mary, Prophet Isa’s mother as

well.

‫ ﻓﺎﺗﺨﺬت ﻣﻦ دوﻧﮭﻢ ﺣﺠﺎﺑﺎ ﻓﺄرﺳﻠﻨﺎ إﻟﯿﮭﺎ روﺣﻨﺎ ﻓﺘﻤﺜﻞ ﻟﮭﺎ‬،‫واذﻛﺮ ﻓﻲ اﻟﻜﺘﺎب ﻣﺮﯾﻢ إذ اﻧﺘﺒﺬت ﻣﻦ أھﻠﮭﺎ ﻣﻜﺎﻧﺎ ﺷﺮﻗﯿﺎ‬

.‫ ﻗﺎل إﻧﻤﺎ أﻧﺎ رﺳﻮل رﺑﻚ ﻷھﺐ ﻟﻚ ﻏﻼﻣﺎ زﻛﯿّﺎ‬،‫ ﻗﺎﻟﺖ إﻧﻲ أﻋﻮذ ﺑﺎﻟﺮﺣﻤﻦ ﻣﻨﻚ إن ﻛﻨﺖ ﺗﻘﯿﺎ‬،‫ﺑﺸﺮا ﺳﻮﯾﺎ‬

(Qurʾan 19: 16–19)

166 The concept of receiving a messenger echoes Prophet Muhammad’s situation. He did not have any instant

conversation with the Divine. He only received revelation via a revealing agent, as the following verse confirms:

"‫ ذو ِﻣﺮّة ﻓﺎﺳﺘﻮى‬،‫ ﻋﻠﻤﮫ ﺷﺪﯾﺪ اﻟﻘﻮى‬،‫( ”إن ھﻮ إﻻ وﺣﻲ ﯾﻮﺣﻰ‬Qurʾan 53: 4–6).

(This is naught but a revelation revealed to prophet Muhammad. Taught him by one (terrible) in power (Jibreel). Very

strong; he stood poised” [Arberry 2003, 695]). I would like to express my disagreement with the selection of the word

"terrible," I suggest "firmness" or "hardiness."

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 Mention Mary in the Scripture, when she withdrew from her folk to a place in the

East. And she put between them and herself a barrier. And We sent to her Our Spirit

[who] appeared to her as a perfect man. She said, "I seek refuge from you with the

Merciful, if you are God-fearing." He said, "I am only the messenger of your Lord,

that I may give you a pure son." (Jones 2007, 494)

Since revelation has happened to non-prophets, could al-Niffari claim that he received

revelations from the Divine? Since it must also be noted that such texts ended up being mainly

literary works, productions generated by inspiration as opposed to revelation, are they still similar

and what exactly would al-Niffari attempt to achieve by those claims?

The word waḥy (revelation) is derived from the root waḥaya, which means signal, writing,

message, inspiration, hidden speech and all that you tell or communicate to someone167 (Ibn Manzur

2019). In the Islamic terminology, waḥy indicates the Divine’s words to his prophets (Daghthi 2002,

295). Revelation does not summon fear, that is why it is feasibly related to prophecy that is derived

from the word nabaʾa in Arabic, which means khabar (singular of “news”). On the other hand,

revelation differentiates between the person who thinks by himself intellectually and the one who

conveys on behalf of the Divine (ibid., 296–297).

On the contrary, ʾilhām (inspiration) derives from the verb alhama, which means to put

something in someone’s mind. Therefore, alhamahu l-lāh (to be inspired by the Divine)168 indicates

the Divine directing a person through inspiration to what is good or to prosperity (Lane 1986,

3014). Philosophically, ʾilhām is what is planted in a person’s heart or mind by virtue of emanation

from the Divine (Daghthi 2002, 344), as this Qurʾanic verse asserts:

(Qurʾan 91: 7–8) “‫ ﻓﺄﻟﮭﻤﮭﺎ ﻓﺠﻮرھﺎ وﺗﻘﻮاھﺎ‬،‫”وﻧﻔﺲ وﻣﺎ ﺳﻮّاھﺎ‬

167 “‫واﻹ ْﻟﮭﺎم واﻟﻜﻼم اﻟ َﺨﻔِ ﱡﻲ وﻛﻞﱡ ﻣﺎ أَﻟﻘﯿﺘﮫ إِﻟﻰ ﻏﯿﺮك‬

ِ ‫”اﻹﺷﺎرة واﻟﻜﺘﺎﺑﺔ واﻟﺮﱢﺳﺎﻟﺔ‬
ِ (Ibn Manzur 2019).
168 Translation by Lane 1986, 3014.
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(by the soul, and that which shaped it and inspired it to lewdness and God fearing [Arberry 2003,

802]). Conversely, Stefan Wild states that ʾilhām is a divine act aimed at an individual, by which the

Divine transmits a message to that particular individual, whereas waḥy is akin to inspiration

regarding being an individual, yet its message is sent to all human beings as a whole or to a wider

number of receivers. Nonetheless, Wild contributes other notions to the previous two; those of tanzīl

and ʾinzāl which, according to him, translate as "sending down." Yet, he observes that although

waḥy might indicate inter-human communication, tanzīl and ʾinzāl were never used in such a

context. They were exclusively used to express the communication of the Divine with humans. He

further asserts that these notions do not only designate the action, but also the ramification of the

process (Wild 1996, 138).

Nasr Hamid Abu Zayd has a different take on the notion of waḥy and ʾilhām. According to him,

waḥy does not only concern the Qurʾan or sacred books but encompasses all Islamic and non

Islamic texts. The notion represents all forms of discourse that the Divine addresses human beings

with, for in the Arabic language before Islam, revelation indicates each communication process that

includes any type of informing. Based on that, Abu Zayd believes that informing is the central

purpose of revelation but that it occurs in a hidden and a secretive method (Abu Zayd 2017, 31).

This agrees with Ibn Manzur’s definition of waḥy and ʾilhām and his assertion on their secrecy and

mystery.

Moreover, Abu Zayd states that revelation waḥy is a communicative relation between two

parties that includes delivering a secretive private message. This cannot be accomplished without a

particular code. Therefore, it is vital that the notion of code is included in the notion of waḥy and

that the code used in the communication and informing process should be mutual to the sender and

the receiver, meaning, to the dual parties of the waḥy process of communication. Abu Zayd supports

his argument via the analogy between the usage of the word wahy in the Qurʾan and in Arabic

poetry. As an example, he refers to a verse of poetry by ʿAlqama al-Fahl describing a male ostrich
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returning to its female companion and feeling anxious about her and their chicks because of a

horrible storm. The male arrives and finds them safe (Abu Zayd 2017, 32), the poet says:

‫ﯾﻮﺣﻲ إﻟﯿﮭﺎ ﺑﺈﻧﻘﺎض وﻧﻘﻨﻘﺔ‬

.‫ﻛﻤﺎ ﺗﺮاطﻦ ﻓﻲ أﻓﺪاﻧﮭﺎ اﻟﺮوم‬

(ʿAlqama al-Fahl 1969, 62)

He communicated to her, with clacking sounds,

Like the incomprehensible talking of the Byzantines in their castle.

(Loynes 2021, 68)

Abu Zayd comments on this verse by stating that when the poet uses the verb yūḥī (reveals to),

he signifies a communicative relation between the male ostrich and its partner, a sender and a

receiver, via a special code (the clacking sounds of the ostrich that the poet cannot understand), that

is why he compares those sounds to the foreign language of the Byzantines. It is crucial to point out

here that the third party, or the external observer of the communication process, waḥy, does not

understand the communicative code. Consequently, he cannot acknowledge the content of the

message nor the informing aspect of it. However, he recognises that there is a type of

communication being transmitted, which includes a message and a process of informing. In this

frame, we can understand the analogy ʿAlqama al-Fahl makes between the communication of the

male ostrich with its female and the revealing of the foreign language of the Byzantines, where the

Arab onlooker is aware that they are speaking in a particular language that he has no knowledge of

and therefore cannot understand and know the content of the conversation going on (Abu Zayd

2017, 32). A similar usage of this analogy can be found in the Qurʾan, in particular in the story of

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Zachary and Mary, when the first begs the Divine to bless him with a child and the Divine blesses

him with an answer for his wish. The prophet asks for a sign (ibid, 33):

(Quran 3: 41) “‫”ﻗﺎل رب اﺟﻌﻞ ﻟﻲ آﯾﺔ ﻗﺎل آﯾﺘﻚ أﻻ ﺗﻜﻠﻢ اﻟﻨﺎس ﺛﻼﺛﺔ أﯾﺎم إﻻ رﻣﺰا واذﻛﺮ رﺑﻚ ﻛﺜﯿﺮا وﺳﺒﺢ ﺑﺎﻟﻌﺸﻲ واﻹﺑﻜﺎر‬

(“He said, ‘My Lord, give me a sign.’ ‘Your sign,’ [the angel] said, ‘is that you will not

communicate with anyone for three days, except by gestures. Remember your Lord often; celebrate

His glory in the evening and at dawn” [Abdel Haleem 2005, 37]).

By ramz (gesture or symbol), the Qurʾan points out the hidden or secretive type of speech,

which only the addressee can figure. This symbolic communication, waḥy, was the same type of

communication that happened between Mary and her people when she delivered Jesus and was

afraid to confront them, hence she vowed to refrain from speaking, as she was required to (Abu

Zayd 2017, 33):

،‫ ﯾـﺎ أﺧـﺖ ھـﺎرون ﻣـﺎ ﻛـﺎن أﺑـﻮك اﻣـﺮأ ﺳـﻮء وﻣـﺎ ﻛـﺎﻧـﺖ أﻣـﻚ ﺑـﻐﯿﺎ‬،‫ﻓـﺄﺗـﺖ ﺑـﮫ ﻗـﻮﻣـﮭﺎ ﺗﺤـﻤﻠﮫ ﻗـﺎﻟـﻮا ﯾـﺎ ﻣـﺮﯾـﻢ ﻟـﻘﺪ ﺟـﺌﺖ ﺷـﯿﺌﺎ ﻓـﺮﯾـﺎ‬

(Qurʾan 19:27–29) .‫ﻓﺄﺷﺎرت إﻟﯿﮫ ﻗﺎﻟﻮا ﻛﯿﻒ ﻧﻜﻠﻢ ﻣﻦ ﻛﺎن ﻓﻲ اﻟﻤﮭﺪ ﺻﺒﯿﺎ‬

She went back to her people carrying the child, and they said, ‘Mary! You have done

something terrible! Sister of Aaron! Your father was not a bad man; your mother was not

unchaste!’ She pointed at him. They said, ‘How can we converse with an infant?

(Abdel Haleem 2005, 192)

Abu Zayd emphasises that here, Mary pointing at Jesus is a message that was acknowledged by

the people and implies a content that states: "ask him and do not ask me." It is a message that the

addressees understood and therefore replied to by asking in turn "how can we speak to an infant?"

The message enclosed in Mary’s sign to her people makes her gesture a revelation, waḥy, similar to

Zachary’s when he asked his people to praise the Divine without speaking (Abu Zayd 2005, 32).
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From the three former examples, Abu Zayd concludes that the communication process, waḥy,

consists of a sender, a receiver who belongs to the same existential level, i.e (the male ostrich and

its female, Zachary and his people and Mary with her people) and a code used in the

communication process that is understood by both parties: sounds and signs in the case of the

ostriches and gestures only in the case of humans (ibid., 33). According to the Qurʾan, the basic

parties of the prophetic revelation are the Divine and the Prophet. The Qurʾan refers to it as ʾilqāʾ

and uses qawl to indicate kalām (ibid., 40), as the Divine says in the sura of Al-Muzzammil:

(Qurʾan 73:5) “‫”إﻧﺎ ﺳﻨﻠﻘﻲ ﻋﻠﯿﻚ ﻗﻮﻻ ﺛﻘﯿﻼ‬

(We shall send a momentous message down to you [Abdel Haleem 2005, 395]).

Abu Zayd divides waḥy into three types: the first is inspiration, ʾilhām and this is where he

differs from Heinrichs and Wild, for he believes that inspiration is not different from revelation

since it is one of its methods. Abu Zayd argues that inspiration can be found in the case of Moses's

mother169 and in the verse of the bees170 and that it applied to each and every private secretive waḥy.

The second type of waḥy is when the Divine speaks to man from behind the veil, for example when

he speaks to Moses from behind the tree, mountain and fire (Abu Zayd 2017, 40), i.e:

“‫ وأﻧﺎ اﺧﺘﺮﺗﻚ ﻓﺎﺳﺘﻤﻊ ﻟﻤﺎ ﯾﻮﺣﻰ‬،‫ إﻧﻲ أﻧﺎ رﺑﻚ ﻓﺎﺧﻠﻊ ﻧﻌﻠﯿﻚ إﻧﻚ ﺑﺎﻟﻮاد اﻟﻤﻘﺪس طﻮى‬،‫”ﻓﻠﻤﺎ أﺗﺎھﺎ ﻧﻮدي ﯾﺎ ﻣﻮﺳﻰ‬

(Qurʾan 20:11-13), (When he came to the fire, he was called: ‘Moses! I am your Lord. Take off your

shoes: you are in the sacred valley of Tuwa. I have chosen you, so listen to what is being revealed

[Arberry 2005, 196]).

(Qurʾan 19: 52) “‫”وﻧﺎدﯾﻨﺎه ﻣﻦ ﺟﺎﻧﺐ اﻟﻄﻮر اﻷﯾﻤﻦ وﻗﺮﺑﻨﺎه ﻧﺠﯿّﺎ‬

169 The verse from the Qurʾan previously mentioned in this section.
170

ِ َ‫ﻚ إِﻟَﻰ اﻟﻨﱠﺤْ ِﻞ أَ ِن اﺗﱠ ِﺨ ِﺬي ِﻣﻦَ ْاﻟ ِﺠﺒ‬

ِ ‫ﺎل ﺑُﯿُﻮﺗًﺎ َو ِﻣﻦَ اﻟ ﱠﺸ َﺠ ِﺮ َو ِﻣ ﱠﻤﺎ ﯾَﻌ‬
(Qurʾan 16:68) “ َ‫ْﺮ ُﺷﻮن‬ َ ‫” َوأَوْ َﺣ ٰﻰ َرﺑﱡ‬

(And your Lord inspired the bee, saying, ‘Build yourselves houses in the mountains and trees and what people

construct' [Abdel Haleem 2005, 170]).

155
(We called to him from the right-hand side of the mountain and brought him close to Us in secret

communion [Abdel Haleem 2005, 193]). Abu Zayd maintains that the first method of waḥy consists

of two parties who both understand its content, whereas in the second, the speech occurs without

utterance or happens by way of a nonvocal code. On the other hand, in the case of Moses, the

discourse of waḥy, that the Qurʾan refers to as "calling" or nidāʾ, occurrs via a language that Moses

could comprehend as a linguistic one, as can be confirmed by the dialogue in the vision scene (Abu

Zayd 2017, 41).

َ‫ﻚ ﻗَﺎ َل ﻟَ ْﻦ ﺗَ َﺮاﻧِﻲ َوﻟَ ِﻜ ِﻦ ا ْﻧﻈُﺮْ إِﻟَﻰ ْاﻟ َﺠﺒَ ِﻞ ﻓَﺈِ ِن ا ْﺳﺘَﻘَ ﱠﺮ َﻣ َﻜﺎﻧَﮫُ ﻓَ َﺴﻮْ ف‬
َ ‫َوﻟَ ﱠﻤﺎ َﺟﺎ َء ُﻣﻮ َﺳﻰ ﻟِ ِﻤﯿﻘَﺎﺗِﻨَﺎ َو َﻛﻠﱠ َﻤﮫُ َرﺑﱡﮫُ ﻗَﺎ َل َربﱢ أَ ِرﻧِﻲ أَ ْﻧﻈُﺮْ إِﻟَ ْﯿ‬

َ ‫ﺗَ َﺮاﻧِﻲ ﻓَﻠَ ﱠﻤﺎ ﺗَ َﺠﻠﱠﻰ َرﺑﱡﮫُ ﻟِ ْﻠ َﺠﺒَ ِﻞ َﺟ َﻌﻠَﮫُ َد ًّﻛﺎ َو َﺧ ﱠﺮ ُﻣﻮ َﺳﻰ‬
(Qurʾan 7:143) .‫ﺻ ِﻌﻘًﺎ‬

When Moses came for Our appointment, and his Lord spoke to him, he said, ‘My Lord,

show Yourself to me: let me see You!’ He said, ‘You will never see Me, but look at that

mountain: if it remains standing firm, you will see Me,’ and when his Lord revealed Himself

to the mountain, He made it crumble: Moses fell down unconscious.

(Abdel Haleem 2005, 103)

Using the verb qāla (said) in this instance confirms the difference between the first case of waḥy

and the second one. In addition, it confirms the nature of the used language in the second case. At

this point, it is vital to mention that the context of the Qurʾanic verses that mention verbs such as

yūḥī (reveals to) or ʾawḥā (revealed to) indicate a nonlinguistic communication, confirming that the

content of revelation did not include a mutual communicative situation between the sender and the

receiver as opposed to the situation of "speaking behind the veil" with Moses. On the contrary, in

the case of Moses’s mother and the bees, the revelation was nonlinguistic. In fact, the content only

implied demanding an action or a deed and the receiver's reaction to the revelation was limited to
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accomplishing that order. This is a crucial difference between the verbal communicative situation

and the nonverbal one.

The third method of Divine speech to man is indirect revelation through a messenger, an angel,

who reveals to the receiver, by the Divine’s will, whatever He wishes. This is the method by which

the Qurʾan was revealed and is the method that reflects communication through a medium, who is

the angelic messenger that the Qurʾanic verse call rawḥ (angel)171 (Abu Zayd 2017, 41). In addition,

in the Qurʾan, the word waḥy was not used exclusively to refer to communication between the

Divine and man, but also to that between human beings in reference to communication between

demons and unbelievers (ibid., 38), as the Qurʾan states:

(Qurʾan 6:121) “‫”وإن اﻟﺸﯿﺎطﯿﻦ ﻟﯿﻮﺣﻮن إﻟﻰ أوﻟﯿﺎﺋﮭﻢ ﻟﯿﺠﺎدﻟﻮﻛﻢ‬

(The evil ones incite their followers to argue with you [Abdel Haleem 2005, 89]). Another Qurʾanic

verse says:

(Qurʾan 6:112) “‫ﻀﮭُ ْﻢ إﻟﻰ ﺑَﻌْﺾ ُز ْﺧﺮُفَ ْاﻟﻘَﻮْ ِل ُﻏﺮورا‬

ُ ‫”ﯾﻮﺣﻲ ﺑَ ْﻌ‬

(They suggest alluring words to one another in order to deceive [Abdel Haleem 2005, 88]). If in

these previous verses waḥy means waswasa (speaking in a low, gentle, faint, or soft manner with

confusedness),172 then its vocal tempo indicates a mysterious secretive communication that cannot

be acknowledged by a third party (Abu Zayd 2017, 38).

If the Divine is the source of both revelation and inspiration, would that mean that these are

exclusive to prophets only, for it is documented and stated by the Absolute in the Qurʾan?

Qāla lī and ʾanta qawwaltanī intersect with the idea of prophecy in several traditions. Kugel

mentions the example of Balaam from the Hebrew tradition, who was inspired by the Divine,

despite the fact of being engaged in cursing Israel and who uttered "the words that God puts in my

mouth, that must I speak." He thereupon reverted to blessing instead of cursing. Another example is

171 Translation by Lane 1968, 1180.

172 Ibid., 2939.
157
that of Isaiah, when he stated that "the Lord has given me the tongue of those who are taught

(better, the language of learning) that I may know how to sustain with a word him that is weary”

(Kugel 1990, 6). This idea also happens to be in line with Plato’s philosophy. Indeed in one of his

dialogues, Socrates discusses the topic of poetry and poets with Ion, affirming his belief that good

poets produce beautiful art for they are possessed and inspired. He looks at poets through the eye of

sacredness, since poets are unable to write unless they release control over their senses or minds.

Socrates further states that the Divine uses poets in the same way He uses prophets, to manifest His

words, and this could be discerned by the listeners who know that the Divine is speaking to them

through the possessed poets. This idea agrees with the view that the Jewish people have regarding

their own prophets. Philo maintains that when God possesses a prophet, he will manifest his

prophetic oracles. The prophet will be barren of the power to apprehend his speech due to being

under the control of the Divine’s inspiration. His role in this instance will be that of a medium who

promotes the Divine’s teaching. Prophets interpret God's words who utilises their instruments of

speech to set forth His will. Kugel also mentions another striking example for the correlation

between poetry and prophecy through a statement by Tynnichus the Chalcidian. He maintains that

the Prophet Moses composed one of the significant poems in history. In the poem, Moses attributes

his ability of creativity to the Divine and negates any human craft in it since it is He who possesses

and controls the Prophet’s mind (ibid, 16).

In addition, the idea of being possessed correlates with a myth in the pre-Islamic heritage that

insists on the tendency of poets and kuhhān (soothsayers) to exude supernatural powers. When they

performed, the audience presumed that they were reciting their words since they were seen as being

controlled by a mysterious entity who was directly and privately communicating with them and

dictating to them words that they would not have been able to produce on their own. These words

followed a difficult structure and style. They were cadenced periods and sajʿ (rhyming prose) for

the kāhin (soothsayer) and isometric and rhymed for the poet (Zwettler 1990, 77). At that time,
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people believed that these invisible creatures who inspired the poets and soothsayers could be jinn

or shayaṭīn (demons) (ibid, 79).173

Subsequently, Arabs assumed the possibility of communication with the jinn due to their belief

that both worlds, the jinn’s and the human’s, were adjacent. However, those who were capable of

communicating with the jinn were meant to possess special characteristics that allowed them to

connect with the different existential level the jinn belonged to. Since jinn were different from

human beings, they were seen as creatures who were able to breach the boundaries that separated

sky and earth and who were able to tell of the unknown and be acquainted with the hidden and the

veiled. The jinn were said to have acquired this special knowledge by stealthily hearing from the

sky and it was believed that humans who could achieve communication with the jinn could also

acquire these abilities (Abu Zayd 2017, 33–34).

A common concept in Arabic culture is that the cosmos cannot consist of separate universes,

however, communication and movement, as well as ascending and descending among the universes

is an affective field, which enables man to communicate with some of these worlds, where

soothsayers and prophets are equal. The only difference between the prophets' communication with

the Divine and the second example is that the first is based on the type of fiṭra (nature) that depends

on the choice and selection of the Divine, whereas the soothsayer needs tools to help him let go and

transcend from the attachments and obstacles of the material world to connect with the

metaphysical one. On the other hand, soothsayers depend on their mortal attempts and use tools to

overcome the mortal human body, which is considered to be a materialistic obstacle. Due to the

simplicity of their medium, which consists of animal bones and rhymed prose, their communication

173 This idea is originated from the valley of ʿAbqar, which some maintain is located in Yemen and people attributed

this place to the jinn. Poets claimed that there were jinn dwelling in this valley. The word ʿabqariyya (genius) is derived

from it. Moreover, ʿabqariyy is an adjective used to express excellence in creativity (al-Tunji 1999, 616).
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is not always effective and the information they obtain is as likely to be true as it is to be false, in

fact, it might be a mixture of both (ibid., 37).

If what the soothsayer is receiving from a demon is waḥy, it means that the communication

includes a message, but in this case, the communication process would be achieved through a

special code because both parties, sender and receiver, do not belong to the same existential level.

Nonetheless, the special code that is implied by Ibn Khaldun is the soothsayer’s rhymed prose,

which remains a special method of linguistic phrasing and performance or a secondary code in the

general linguistic system. Therefore, the difference between a prophet and a soothsayer is that the

first conveys the message to the people after receiving it while the second foretells the message

received. In all of this, the phenomenon of waḥy becomes non-accidental (ibid., 38).

In contradiction, being possessed or inspirited by the Divine to utter words is emphasised in the

Islamic tradition. In the early stages of Islamic missions in Mecca and due to the crucial role of

poetry at that time, Meccan poets started a war of words against Prophet Muhammad. Several poets

composed satirical poems against Muslims. The Prophet therefore encouraged his own poet, Hassan

Ibn Thabit to respond to them confirming that he was supported by Gabriel, the Divine’s messenger

to Prophet Muhammad (Mahanna, as cited in Hassan bin Thabit 2011, 12–15), as the following

quote shows:

"‫ وﺟﺒﺮﯾﻞ ﻣﻌﻚ‬-‫ أو ھﺎﺟﮭﻢ‬-‫ اھﺠﮭﻢ‬:‫"ﻗﺎل ﺻﻠﻰ ﷲ ﻋﻠﯿﮫ وﺳﻠﻢ ﻟﺤﺴّﺎن‬

(al-Bukhari, as cited in al-ʿIni 2016, 575), (The Prophet said to Hassan: "[satirise and]174 lampoon

them (the pagans) in your poems, and Gabriel is with you (i.e. Supports you)" (al-Bukhari 2019)].

Of noteworthiness is also the fact that the Qurʾan allocates a sura to discuss the issue of the

poets, Sūrat al-Shuʿarāʾ (sura of the Poets), where the Divine states that they are mukadhibīn

(crying-liars) towards His signs. However, before mentioning the poets, the sura remarks on several

174 I added the words "satirise and" to make the translation more accurate to the Arabic quotation, however please note

that it was not part of the original translation.

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events in some prophets’ lives: Noah, Moses, Shuʿayb and Hud (Zwettler 1990, 94). Despite the

fact that poets are illustrated negatively in the verse, apart from those who believed, we see that

prophets and poets are paradoxically juxtaposed in the same sura, even though the sura aims to

declare the honesty of the prophets and the takdhīb (denial) of the poets. Nonetheless, before the

poets’ description, the Qurʾan presents the figure of revelation (Zwettler 1990, 118):

(Qurʾan 26: 192–194) “‫ ﻋﻠﻰ ﻗﻠﺒﻚ ﻟﺘﻜﻮن ﻣﻦ اﻟﻤﻨﺬرﯾﻦ‬،‫ ﻧﺰل ﺑﮫ اﻟﺮوح اﻷﻣﯿﻦ‬،‫”وإﻧﮫ ﻟﺘﻨﺰﯾﻞ رب اﻟﻌﺎﻟﻤﯿﻦ‬

(Truly it is the revelation of the Lord of all being, brought down by the Faithful Spirit, upon thy

heart that thou mayest be one of the warners [Arberry 1998, 379]). Al-rūḥ al-Amīn is a direct

reference to Gabriel, the messenger sent by the Divine to Muhammad. This noble figure is

introduced in the Islamic tradition as a superior opponent to jinn and shayṭān, who are viewed as the

poets’ source of inspiration (Zwettler 1990, 118). Additionally, the Divine negates the poetic

attributes of the Qurʾan and equally negates the accusations against Prophet Muḥammad that he was

a poet for reasons related to the particular purpose and source usually attributed to it by Arab

people. The poet’s role in his society is different from the role the Divine attributed to Muhammad.

The poet represents and speaks on behalf of the tribe while Muhammad is a messenger of the

Divine’s message. Poetry is a text that speaks in the tribe's best interest, by satirising its enemies,

supporting its allies or praising its men. The Qurʾan, on the other hand, is a text that deals with the

reconstruction of reality and how to change it into a better one. For this reason, the Qurʾan urged

that Muhammad was neither a poet nor a wizard or a soothsayer and that the Qurʾan itself was not a

work of poetry. This negation does not condemn poetry but denounces the poets of the Prophet’s

age, who attempted to classify the Qurʾan under a poetic style that would turn the phenomenon of

revelation into one that served the agenda of the dominant cultural system of the time, which

expressed the interests of the minority at the expense of the majority. Therefore, the Qurʾan leans

towards supporting the type of poetry that helps to spread the Divine’s message and opposes the

type that creates obstacles in its path. It could be said that Islam has an ideological stance towards
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poetry that has to be understood aside from the notions of ḥalāl (allowable)175 and ḥaram

(forbidden). The Qurʾan clearly explained the difference between the poetry that unifies with it,

which contains similar revelations and religious sources, and that which comes from other sources.

Therefore, the poetry of Hassan ibn Thabit and ʿAbdullah ibn Rawaha is supported by the rūḥ al-

qudus (the Holy Spirit), as previously mentioned, the same source that revealed the Qurʾan, whereas

the contradictory poems were disclosed through Satan. That is why this type of poetry is considered

to be worse than qayḥ (pus) in a believer’s heart (Abu Zayd 2017, 140):

"‫ ﺧﯿﺮ ﻟﮫ ﻣﻦ أن ﯾﻤﺘﻠﺊ ﺷﻌﺮا‬،‫ ﻟﺌﻦ ﯾﻤﺘﻠﺊ ﺟﻮف أﺣﺪﻛﻢ ﻗﯿﺤﺎ ﺣﺘﻰ ﯾَ ِﺮﯾَﮫ‬:‫"ﻗﺎل رﺳﻮل ﷲ ﺻﻠﻰ ﷲ ﻋﻠﯿﮫ وﺳﻠﻢ‬

(al-ʿAsqalani 2011, 551), (It is better for the belly of any one of you to be stuffed with pus rather

than to stuff (one's mind) with poetry [Sunnah 2021]). Consequently, there is no contradiction in

Islam’s perspective towards poetry. Yet it is an ideology that accepts what agrees with its principles

and rejects what opposes them; the case was more dangerous than taḥlīl (allowing) or taḥrīm

(forbidding), it was the Qurʾan's attempt to force its domination on reality and culture. Therefore, it

is logical that it rejected the poems that opposed or attacked it. For that reason, in each

contemporaneous text, there are significances that confirm, accept and support certain texts (Abu

Zyad 2017, 140) and significances that reject and condemn others. This is what the relation between

the Qurʾan and poetry was based on: selection, acceptance and rejection. The war on the Qurʾan

started due to way the text's function was understood by the common culture. The jāhilī Arabs

attacked the Qurʾan partly because they were against the new reality that it was creating in terms of

linguistic structure and partly because of the reality that was being created around it by people.

When the Arabs accused Muhammad of poetry, magic and soothsaying, they were trying to turn the

text of the Qurʾan into a familiar form of narrative on one hand, and attempting to contain the

message within the structured social occupations of poetry, soothsaying and magic in reality on

another. This makes it clear that the Arabs' rejection of the revelation was not a rejection of the

175 Translation by Lane 1968, 621.

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process of communication between a man and an angel itself, it was a refusal of that revelation’s

content or of the person receiving it. Early Muslims recognised that the text of the Qurʾan was not

isolated from reality and they attempted to understand the Qurʾan through other texts of poetry

(ibid., 141). The principle was:

"‫ ﻓﺈن اﻟﺸﻌﺮ دﯾﻮان اﻟﻌﺮب‬،‫"إذا ﺗﻌﺎﺟﻢ ﻋﻠﯿﻜﻢ ﺷﻲء ﻣﻦ اﻟﻘﺮآن ﻓﻌﻠﯿﻜﻢ ﺑﺎﻟﺸﻌﺮ‬

(ʿAbdullah Ibn ʿAbbas as cited in Abu Zayd 2017, 141), (Should something in the Qurʾan be

difficult to grasp, use poetry instead, for poetry is the diwan of Arabs). This is how Arabic poetry

became a reference for Qurʾanic exegesis (ibid.). The relationship between the Qurʾan and poetry

should be understood by way of the correlation between texts within the culture. To understand a

text through previous texts signifies tamāthul (homogeneity) between texts and acknowledging the

mukhālafa (difference) between them as well. Turning poetry into a tool to understand the Qurʾan

indicates a shift from being owned by poetry to being owned by the Qurʾan, which implies that the

direction of Arabic culture also shifts power to the Qurʾan. This might explain the weakness of

poetry in the first age of Islam, when several poets stopped writing poetry (ibid., 142).

After the death of the Prophet Muhammad, the idea of being exclusively chosen to receive

Divine revelation died as well.176 However, many centuries later, the Abbasid age brought forth a

176 According to Islamic dogma, Muhammad is believed to be the seal of the prophets and the Qurʾan to be the last book

sent down by the Divine to human beings, as the Qurʾan states:

ْ ‫ﷲُ ﺑِ ُﻜﻞﱢ ﺷ‬
(Qurʾan 33: 40) "‫َﻲ ٍء َﻋﻠِﯿ ًﻤﺎ‬ ‫" ﱠﻣﺎ َﻛﺎنَ ُﻣ َﺤ ﱠﻤ ٌﺪ أَﺑَﺎ أَ َﺣ ٍﺪ ﱢﻣﻦ رﱢ َﺟﺎﻟِ ُﻜ ْﻢ َوﻟَ ِﻜﻦ ﱠرﺳُﻮ َل ﱠ‬
‫ﷲِ َوﺧَﺎﺗَ َﻢ اﻟﻨﱠﺒِﯿﱢﯿﻦَ َو َﻛﺎنَ ﱠ‬

(Muhammad is not the father of any one of you men; he is God’s Messenger and the seal of the prophets: God knows

everything [Abdel Haleem 2005, 269]).

ِ ‫ﯿﺖ ﻟَ ُﻜ ُﻢ‬
(Quran 5: 3) "‫اﻹﺳْﻼ َم ِدﯾﻨًﺎ‬ ُ ‫ﺿ‬ ُ ‫ﺖ ﻟَ ُﻜ ْﻢ ِدﯾﻨَ ُﻜ ْﻢ َوأَ ْﺗ َﻤ ْﻤ‬
ِ ‫ﺖ َﻋﻠَ ْﯿ ُﻜ ْﻢ ﻧِ ْﻌ َﻤﺘِﻲ َو َر‬ ُ ‫"اﻟﯿَﻮْ َم أَ ْﻛ َﻤ ْﻠ‬
ْ

(Today I have perfected your religion for you, completed My blessing upon you, and chosen as your religion Islam

[Abdel Haleem 2005, 68]).

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poet who became known by the term al-Mutanabbī177 (a person claiming to be a prophet), a

denomination which eventually became interchangeable with his real name. In a chapter entitled

"The meaning of Mutanabbi," Wolfhart Heinrichs explores the reason behind calling Abu al-Tayyib

such a name. He closely examines the first reason – claiming prophecy – by evaluating stories from

different resources. The second reason is provided by Ibn Jinni, who wrote the commentary on al-

Mutanabbi’s poetry. Ibn Jinni believes that the title came about as a consequence of the following

verse from the poet (Heinrichs 1990, 126–127):

‫أﻧﺎ ﻓﻲ أﻣﺔ ﺗﺪارﻛﮭﺎ ﷲ‬

.‫ﻏﺮﯾﺐ ﻛﺼﺎﻟﺢ ﻓﻲ ﺛﻤﻮد‬

(al-Mutanabbi 1997, 299)

I am in a community–which God may set aright!

– a stranger like Salih among the Thamud.

(Heinrichs 1990, 126)

What Abu al-Tayyib is saying here is that similarly to Salih, an Arabian prophet who came

before Muhammad and who was rejected by his people and the community he was assigned to, the

177 Abu al-Tayyib Ahmad ibn al-Husayn, born in Kinda, a village in al-Kufa in Iraq in 915 AC, was a famous poet. Al-

Mutanabbi is a nickname that he gained for claiming prophecy when he was in al-Samawa desert. He met the prince of

Aleppo, Sayf al-Dawla al-Hamadani for the first time in 337H (949 AD) and composed various elegies about him,

which led to several personal and financial rewards. However, this friendship did not last long due to the prince's silence

in one of the fights that involved the poet and an opponent in one of Sayf al-Dawla’s gatherings and in his presence. He

spent the rest of his life between kings’ palaces to win their rewards in return for his panegyrics. He was murdered in

965 AC for composing a satirical poem (al-Mutanabbi 1983, 5–6).

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Thamud, the poet has feelings of loneliness and annoyance amidst a society that has gone

completely awry (Heinrichs 1990, 127).

As can be seen, it appears that there is a halo of holiness surrounding the created word, a kinship

that relates writers and poets to prophets who are preaching the Absolute’s message to the world.

This inevitably begs questioning the motive behind relating sanctity and the inspired word, whether

it was dictated by the Divine or provided by invisible entities. Northrop Frye states that they who

enjoy power of ecstasy are faced with reverence, caution and fright due to being geniuses.

Possessing such excellency provides authority, which is difficult for certain societies to absorb. This

authority is obtained by an ability to perceive more and differently from their fellows, which

bestows upon them “a comprehensive view of the human situation” as Fryer puts it (as cited in

Cooper 1990, 27).

It is crucial to assert the origin of a prophet's revelation to justify its ramifications. I suggest that

the result of those origins is credibly related to the concept of power. Cooper confirms that true

prophecy could be verified by its signs of miracles. Prophets are therefore given the capability to

either conquer or change the elements of nature (Cooper 1990, 35). On the other hand, In Sūrat al-

Takwīr, the Divine describes Gabriel as follows:

(Qurʾan 81: 19–21) “‫ ﻣﻄﺎع ﺛﻢ أﻣﯿﻦ‬،‫ ذي ﻗﻮة ﻋﻨﺪ ذي اﻟﻌﺮش ﻣﻜﯿﻦ‬،‫”إﻧﮫ ﻟﻘﻮل رﺳﻮل ﻛﺮﯾﻢ‬

(Truly this is the word of a noble Messenger having power, with the Lord of the Throne secure,

obeyed, moreover trusty [Arberry 1996, 632]). The terms used in the Qurʾanic verses above are

charged with political and social importance. They are imbued with a sense of authority, prestige,

reliability and respect (Zwettler 1990, 83). Moreover, since the Prophet is the receiver of this

revelation and his responsibility requires him to warn his folk of an imminent catastrophe, he needs

to be considered as a convenient leader of his people. According to Willem Bijlefeld, the Prophet is

the representative of the Divine in his community, he therefore has a significant responsibility

combined with immense authority. Bijlefeld defends this view by stating that since the Prophet
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speaks on behalf of the Divine and is connected to Him, who is Almighty and Obeyed, it follows

that His messenger should be revered with obedience as well (ibid., 86). This agrees with Zwettler’s

conclusion regarding Sūrat al-Shuʿarāʾ, which declares that the concept of granting obedience to

the Prophet on account of his particular mantic engagements with the Divine and the communicated

revelation he bears, achieve an ideological base in the significant elements that are included in the

sura, which define the realised rule of Muhammad in Madina (ibid., 119).

I believe that the echo of prophecy in al-Niffari’s text expands to comprehend his philosophy.

Maimonides suggests that the case of the prophet demands a physical preparation that starts at the

beginning of his existence. Moreover, he argues that a prophet should enjoy certain characteristics,

such as wealth, strength and wisdom. He maintains that inspiration is exclusive to the pious upright

man who attains the highest degree of morality and intellectuality. Therefore, it is impossible for

less fortunate people to be prophets. On the other hand, Albo asserts that prophets who are inspired

by God might achieve human perfection (Cooper 1990, 35). Thus, despite the claim of

communicating with invisible powers, poets and kuhhān were not considered to be compatible with

leadership, regardless of their incorporation with tribal leaders (Zwettler 1990, 83). My opinion is

that Abu Zayd’s discussion on the transformation of Prophet Muhammad to receive the revelation

can be classified under the concept of preparation as well. Due to the fact that Gabriel and Prophet

Muhammad belong to two different existential levels, he presumes that a certain transformation

must have occurred to the Prophet to allow him to communicate with the angel. His assumption is

based on al-Zarkashi’s opinion that suggests the Prophet was stripped of his mortal image to acquire

that of an angel in order to receive the revelation from Gabriel, or vice-versa. However, the first

possibility is more difficult than the second. Abu Zayd mentions that Ibn Khaldun differentiates

between the previous transformations and engages each status with a code used in the

communication. Abu Zayd confirms, based on the aforementioned statements by al-Zarkashi and

Ibn Khaldun, that in the case of prophets, the status of revelation requires a special preparation,
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which occurs naturally by and based on the Divine’s selection of those people. Through this

preparation, prophets are able to shed their nature and transform into higher archangels to obtain

what the angel wishes to reveal to them (Abu Zayd 2017, 46).

I suggest that the idea of preparation credibly correlates with the concept of purification that al-

Niffari imposes as a condition to reach waqfa, since purification requires the wāqif to separate

himself from siwā in order to meet the Divine. On this path, the seeker gains a certain type of

knowledge, which I suggest has a form of analogy with the idea of preparation. Additionally, I argue

that the idea of al-Niffari’s preparation through purification intersects with Abu Zayd’s

interpretation of Sūrat al-Muddathir. The content of this sura includes certain commands to

Muhammad, such as alerting people, praising the Divine, purifying his garments and avoiding sins.

What matters here are the last two commands, where the purity of the physical appearance is linked

to the incorporeal one. It is furthermore vital to mention that the command fahjur (avoid) means to

leave the traditions and the conventions of his society. Moreover, it indicates the beginning of the

separation between the new and the old. (ibid.,72). I believe this correlates with al-Niffari's

purification of himself of siwā, which supports my claim of the mystic echo of prophecy.

Besides, al-Niffari presents himself as a wanderer-seeker of the Divine, whose only aim is to

meet Him. This brings to mind the image of a wise, brave and ascetic mystic shaykh; an image that

bears considerable resemblance to that of a prophet. The echo of prophecy does not cease here and

extends to the structure of the examined Mawāqif, a point that will be discussed later in this section.

Having now inspected the relationship between inspiration and revelation, prophets and poets,

the next step is to investigate the role of the writer who is inspired by the Divine. Is this role limited

to being a medium that allows the writer to preach His message to the world or does it carry more

entitlements?

Kugel raises the same question when quoting the following by Amos: “When a lion roars, who

is not fearful? When God speaks, who does not prophesy?” He argues that if God puts words into a
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prophet’s mouth and the prophet delivers His message by turning it into a proclaimed balanced

utterance, then the prophet appears to be more than just a messenger; he seems to be a maker

himself. Kugel is also of the opinion that being a prophet apparently has something mechanical in it

(Kugel 1990, 6). This invites us to explore the concept of ḥadīth qudsī (divine sayings) in the

Islamic tradition. Hādīth qudsī is a direct discourse statement attributed to the Divine, which is not

a part of the Qurʾan, but is nonetheless reported in the format of a hadith authorised by Prophet

Muhammad. This type of hadith is different from the Qurʾanic revelations and other traditions of

Muhammad (Graham 2020). Al-Siddiqi defines ḥadīth qudsī as the hadith which Prophet

Muhammad added as a saying from the Divine. This hadith is narrated by the Prophet but is

designated as the Divine’s speech. Muhammad is therefore only the bearer of that message, despite

it being composed with his very own words (al-Siddiqi 2005, 50). Therefore, despite the fact that

the source of the hadith qudsī is the Divine, it appears that the Prophet plays a role in formulating it,

which means that there is a human factor in its composition. What could support this claim is Abu

Zayd’s comment on the aforementioned concept of the transformation of the Prophet to receive the

revelation. He maintains that the transformation that occurred to Prophet Muhammad to

communicate with Gabriel is not a physical one, despite the physical changes that were observed in

him when he received waḥy.178 Abu Zayd proposes that this might be the spark that inspired

philosophers and mystics to explore the notion of prophethood through the theory of khayāl

(imagination). Explaining prophethood through the lens of khayāl means that transcending from the

mortal world to the archangels' occurs through the efficiency of the imaginative human power that

exists in prophets thanks to the Divine’s nature and selection, which is more powerful in them than

178 According to the Hadith, “al-Harith bin Hisham asked the Prophet, 'How does the divine inspiration come to you?'

He replied, 'In all these ways: The Angel sometimes comes to me with a voice which resembles the sound of a ringing

bell, and when this state abandons me, I remember what the Angel has said, and this type of Divine Inspiration is the

hardest on me; and sometimes the Angel comes to me in the shape of a man and talks to me, and I understand and

remember what he says'” (al-Bukhari in Sunnah 2021).

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in other human beings. If the efficiency of the imaginative power in regular people appears only in

the sleeping state, when the senses are mostly deactivated from moving impressions from the

external world to the eternal one, it follows that prophets, poets and mystics with gnosis are more

able than anyone else to use their effective imaginative power in both states, vigilance and sleep.

This does not imply that the imaginative power of the prophet, poet and mystic are equal by any

means, for without any doubt, the prophet’s is the most powerful, followed by the mystic and finally

the poet. According to most scholars’ general concept of existence, the human soul is part of the

spiritual world. Based on this, all human beings are able to have a glimpse of that world through the

experience of vision. However, when under the control of the sensual world, they cannot get close

to this rich realm. Dreams represent the field of efficient imaginative power in all human beings,

however, the significance of what a sleeper sees might be clear or obscure but in all cases, it

indicates some aspects of the spiritual world that the human soul always belongs to (Abu Zayd

2017, 49). If receiving revelation from the higher archangels depends on the human soul's

spirituality and purity, there is no doubt that prophets reach the most highly-placed ones. However,

they do not become pure intellectual entities that turn into angels. It could be said that the first level

of waḥy, the level of intensity, immersion and transformation of the Prophet, was a state similar to a

vision received by him from an angel with a coded message, which the Prophet turns into a

linguistic or verbal one. Being familiar with the repeated occurrence of communication made the

revelation possible in vigilance through ordinary verbal speech (ibid.,50). In other words, ruʾyā

(dream) is one of the methods of revelation, which is expressed through symbolic images laden with

meanings that require expression and interpretation. To receive waḥy in vigilance, a prophet has to

be prepared and the Divine is the one responsible for that preparation. Therefore, if an ordinary

person attempts to reach this state, he or she will fail due to the weakness caused by their visible

senses. The only way for their veil to be lifted is through sleep, without which, according to Ibn

Khaldun, they cannot attain the vision. Understanding the phenomenon of vision as a state of
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connection between the soul and the spiritual world was part of creating the theoretical basis of the

tendency of prophethood, which depends on common facts between all human beings (ibid., 51–

52). I believe that Abu Zayd’s point of view regarding dreams as an approach of communication

with the Divine179 could support al-Niffari’s echo of prophecy, particularly in terms of his concept

of ruʾya, as discussed in the first section of this chapter.

On the contrary, al-Niffari does not appear as a deputised speaker of God, he illustrates himself

as commissioned to speak by the Divine, something that intersects with the prophetic image and the

special gift of being a creature180 inspired by the Divine, while he has no hand in it, as Nwyia and

Balqasim suggest. Nonetheless, if the Prophet was more than just a messenger who delivered

Divine revelation, why should al-Niffari be any different? It is my opinion that al-Niffari is the

speaking essence in the Mawāqif and that the voice of the Divine was one of his dialogic characters.

And yet, he attempted to convince the reader with the opposite idea by using certain techniques that

I will be analysing in the following section.

I concluded my previous proposition by comparing the dialogue in the Mawāqif with the

analysis of Plato’s dialogues181 by Nikulin. The latter states that Plato used contemporary names

179 Examples of waḥy to prophets through dreams can be found in the story of Abraham and Samuel and in the story of

Joseph. In the first, Abraham tells his son that he saw himself slaughtering him in his dream and when Samuel

surrenders to his father’s vision, the Divine ransoms Samuel's life with a sacrifice. In the second, Joseph tells his father

of a vision he had of eleven planets prostrating to him along with the sun and the moon. His dream came true at the

end of his story in the Qurʾan (Abu Zayd 2017, 51).

180 I refer here to the story of the she-camel of Prophet Muhammad. When the Prophet first migrated to Madina, the

people there competed to offer him hospitality to achieve the honour of being Prophet Muhammad’s host. With

appreciation and gratitude, the Prophet replied, however, he said: "I will entrust Qaswa (the Prophet’s she-camel) with

the decision as to who is going to be my host… Qaswa is under Allah’s command; wherever she stops, I will

stay" (Moon 2013, 211–212).

181 Plato’s dialogues are a collection of conversations between historical characters that discuss philosophical topics and

were written in the fourth century BCE. The book represents the literary fashion of that time that is know as Sokratikoi

logoi (Press 2007, 55–56).

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and historical characters as his dialogical voices and that some were the fruit of his imagination

(Nikulin 2010, 11). He proposes that the dialogical figures and actors are similar but that they both

wear masks, despite the fact that Plato’s masked figures belong to the persons who ask and answer.

Nevertheless, Socrates’ character was exceptional. Socrates was described as someone who knew

the truth of things and yet had an elusive personality. This created a mask of irony and satire that

concealed his goodness (ibid., 12). Nikulin urges that it is beyond the bound of possibility to

determine how much of that oral speech was said by Socrates and how much was changed, added

onto and corrected by Plato. Therefore, in Plato's dialogue, Socrates is a figure reminiscent of

another Socrates who is still unreachable in his true otherness. Moreover, Socrates presents the

aspect of dialect and dialogue in Plato’s text because of his ability to construct a valid argument and

abolish a false one (ibid., 13–14). According to Nikulin, Plato’s dialogues are dramatic because

questioning is not represented through an abstract of justification and proposition, rather they are

dramatic because they represent questions via vivid characters (ibid., 17). Confirming this proposal

from another perspective, in his first volume of a collection entitled The Masks of God, Campbell

presents Thomas Mann’s conception of the eye of the artist in primitive mythology during their

religious festivals. Wearing a mask in the carnival initiates an opportunity of pretending, or as he

calls it, “a game of as if,” where the celebration erases the rules of time; the dead can return to life

and the present becomes what has supposedly happened in the past. In this type of atmosphere, a

God can be summoned in multiple places like music, or through the tradition of the mask, when it is

perceived as a realistic phantom of the myth, despite the fact that the audience is aware that a man is

wearing the mask. However, he who is wearing it identifies himself with God in the time of the

ceremony not as a person merely representing God, but as being God Himself. Campbell

anatomises this image into three layers: (a) the mask, (b) the mythical being reference of it and (c) a

person who is disassociated from cognisance (Campbell 1960, 21). It is similar to a play where the

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viewers accept the actors’ for their experiences following the law of making them believe or “as if”

(ibid., 22).

I find these analyses analogous with the case of al-Niffari and argue against Nwyia's idea that

the Mawāqif were dictated to the mystic by Divine revelation. Why could he not be, like Plato,

portraying the Divine as a dominating character in order to voice his philosophy? In opposition to

Balqasim, who argued that it is the Absolute self divided into two essences, why could al-Niffari not

be the one behind the mask, borrowing the Divine discourse to express his philosophy and set

himself as a helpless character who only witnesses and observes the Divine's presence?

To support my suggestion, I examine the characteristics of the structure of al-Niffari's texts and

the purpose of veiling himself behind the Divine image.

When the Divine asks, al-Niffari answers

The first case study under examination is Mawqif al-Maḥḍar wa-l-Ḥarf, (Mawqif of the Presence-

Chamber and the Letter).182 The text has three direct dialogues between al-Niffari and the Divine,

where the Absolute asks and the Sufi answers. The first explores the entity of hell, the second

questions the essence of heaven and the last inquires about the characteristics of the inhabitants in

the inferno. However, before studying them closely, it is vital to review the context of the mawqif,

as it is my belief that it is considerably relevant to the analysis.

From the title of the text, it can be sensed that the relation between its words is conditional, due

to the fact that the presence of the One is conditioned by the absence of ḥarf. Moreover, the title

alludes to transcendence; in order to reach the presence of the Divine the seeker must leave and let

182 Translation by Arberry (al-Niffari 1987, 111).

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go of siwā. I argue that this tendency of passing echoes the notion of miʿrāj183 in the Islamic

tradition, in other words, this text is a representation of ascension from the bottom of ḥarf to the

space of the Divine. To explain this idea in detail, it is essential to mention the main source of the

tradition, so as to illustrate the analogies between the principle in Islam and the mawqif under

analysis. The detailed story was mentioned by the Prophet Muhammad – peace be upon him – in

one of his aḥadīth, which was narrated by al-Bukhari. The hadith states:

Malik bin Sasaa said that Allah's Messenger described to them his Night Journey saying,

"While I was lying in Al-Hatim or Al-Hijr, suddenly someone came to me and cut my body

open from here to here." I asked Al-Jarud who was by my side, "What does he mean?" He

said, "It means from his throat to his pubic area," or said, "From the top of the chest." The

183 Miʿrāj is a word that initially assigns a ladder, and later, an ascension of Prophet Muhammad to heaven. The

phenomena are believed to have occurred separately and at different times. Isrāʾ happened on the 17th of Rabīʿ the first

(third month of the Islamic calendar) and miʿrāj took place on the 17th of Ramadan (ninth month of the Islamic

calendar). The first event designates the night journey of the Prophet from Mecca to Jerusalem. Gabriel awakened

Muhammad in the night and asked him to ride the Burāq: the winged animal that would carry him to Jerusalem, where

he met Abraham, Moses and Jesus. Muhammad, being the imam, prayed with them, which implied his seniority over

the other prophets. However, there are different rituals surrounding miʿrāj. According to the hadith, while the Prophet

was resting, he was visited by Gabriel and Michael. They made him lay on his back and cut his body from his throat to

below his abdomen. Then, in a vessel made of gold, they brought water from the well of Zamzam and bathed him with

it so as to wash away the doubt, error, idolatry and paganism founded in his body and fill it with belief and wisdom

instead – a metaphor that indicates heart purification. Thereupon, he was ascended to the first heaven. The hadith states

that Muhammad went to seven heavens, in each one he met a prophet: John, Jesus, Joseph, Idris, Aaron, Moses and

Abraham. Each greeted him and lifted him to the next heaven. He was then ascended to sidrat al-muntahā, a tree in the

seventh heaven. Finally, Muhammad reached the Divine's throne and had the conversation of the prayer of obligation.

At first, the Divine imposed fifty prayers a day for Muslims. The Prophet Moses advised Muhammad to ask the Divine

to alleviate the number of prayers. Muhammad did so accordingly several times and each time, he was granted his

request. However, when Moses asked him once again to decrease the number of prayers to less than five, Muhammad

objected, for he was embarrassed to ask for more (Schrieke et al. 2020).
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Prophet further said, "He then took out my heart. Then a gold tray of Belief was brought to

me and my heart was washed and was filled (with Belief) and then returned to its original

place. Then a white animal which was smaller than a mule and bigger than a donkey was

brought to me." (On this Al-Jarud asked, "Was it the Buraq, O Abu Hamza?" I (i.e. Anas)

replied in the affirmative). The Prophet said, "The animal's step (was so wide that it)

reached the farthest point within the reach of the animal's sight. I was carried on it, and

Gabriel set out with me till we reached the nearest heaven. When he asked for the gate to be

opened, it was asked, 'Who is it?' Gabriel answered, 'Gabriel.' It was asked, 'Who is

accompanying you?' Gabriel replied, 'Muhammad.' It was asked, 'Has Muhammad been

called?' Gabriel replied in the affirmative. Then it was said, 'He is welcome. What an

excellent visit his is!' The gate was opened, and when I went over the first heaven, I saw

Adam there. Gabriel said (to me). 'This is your father, Adam; pay him your greetings.' So I

greeted him and he returned the greeting to me and said, 'You are welcomed, O pious son

and pious Prophet.' Then Gabriel ascended with me till we reached the second heaven.

Gabriel asked for the gate to be opened. It was asked, 'Who is it?' Gabriel answered,

'Gabriel.' It was asked, 'Who is accompanying you?' Gabriel replied, 'Muhammad.' It was

asked, 'Has he been called?' Gabriel answered in the affirmative. Then it was said, 'He is

welcomed. What an excellent visit his is!' The gate was opened. When I went over the

second heaven, there I saw Yahya (i.e. John) and `Isa (i.e. Jesus) who were cousins of each

other. Gabriel said (to me), 'These are John and Jesus; pay them your greetings.' So I

greeted them and both of them returned my greetings to me and said, 'You are welcomed, O

pious brother and pious Prophet.' Then Gabriel ascended with me to the third heaven and

asked for its gate to be opened. It was asked, 'Who is it?' Gabriel replied, 'Gabriel.' It was

asked, 'Who is accompanying you?' Gabriel replied, 'Muhammad.' It was asked, 'Has he

been called?' Gabriel replied in the affirmative. Then it was said, 'He is welcomed, what an
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excellent visit his is!' The gate was opened, and when I went over the third heaven there I

saw Joseph. Gabriel said (to me), 'This is Joseph; pay him your greetings.' So I greeted him

and he returned the greeting to me and said, 'You are welcomed, O pious brother and pious

Prophet.' Then Gabriel ascended with me to the fourth heaven and asked for its gate to be

opened. It was asked, 'Who is it?' Gabriel replied, 'Gabriel' It was asked, 'Who is

accompanying you?' Gabriel replied, 'Muhammad.' It was asked, 'Has he been called?'

Gabriel replied in the affirmative. Then it was said, 'He is welcomed, what an excellent visit

his is!' The gate was opened, and when I went over the fourth heaven, there I saw Idris.

Gabriel said (to me), 'This is Idris; pay him your greetings.' So I greeted him and he

returned the greeting to me and said, 'You are welcomed, O pious brother and pious

Prophet.' Then Gabriel ascended with me to the fifth heaven and asked for its gate to be

opened. It was asked, 'Who is it?' Gabriel replied, 'Gabriel.' It was asked. 'Who is

accompanying you?' Gabriel replied, 'Muhammad.' It was asked, 'Has he been called?'

Gabriel replied in the affirmative. Then it was said He is welcomed, what an excellent visit

his is! So when I went over the fifth heaven, there I saw Harun (i.e. Aaron), Gabriel said,

(to me). This is Aaron; pay him your greetings.' I greeted him and he returned the greeting

to me and said, 'You are welcomed, O pious brother and pious Prophet.' Then Gabriel

ascended with me to the sixth heaven and asked for its gate to be opened. It was asked.

'Who is it?' Gabriel replied, 'Gabriel.' It was asked, 'Who is accompanying you?' Gabriel

replied, 'Muhammad.' It was asked, 'Has he been called?' Gabriel replied in the affirmative.

It was said, 'He is welcomed. What an excellent visit his is!' When I went (over the sixth

heaven), there I saw Moses. Gabriel said (to me),' This is Moses; pay him your greeting. So

I greeted him and he returned the greetings to me and said, 'You are welcomed, O pious

brother and pious Prophet.' When I left him (i.e. Moses) he wept. Someone asked him,

'What makes you weep?' Moses said, 'I weep because after me there has been sent (as
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Prophet) a young man whose followers will enter Paradise in greater numbers than my

followers.' Then Gabriel ascended with me to the seventh heaven and asked for its gate to

be opened. It was asked, 'Who is it?' Gabriel replied, 'Gabriel.' It was asked,' Who is

accompanying you?' Gabriel replied, 'Muhammad.' It was asked, 'Has he been called?'

Gabriel replied in the affirmative. Then it was said, 'He is welcomed. What an excellent

visit his is!' So when I went (over the seventh heaven), there I saw Abraham. Gabriel said

(to me), 'This is your father; pay your greetings to him.' So I greeted him and he returned

the greetings to me and said, 'You are welcomed, O pious son and pious Prophet.' Then I

was made to ascend to Sidrat-ul-Muntaha (i.e. the Lote Tree of the utmost boundary)

Behold! Its fruits were like the jars of Hajr (i.e. a place near Medina) and its leaves were as

big as the ears of elephants. Gabriel said, 'This is the Lote Tree of the utmost boundary).

Behold! There ran four rivers, two were hidden and two were visible, I asked, 'What are

these two kinds of rivers, O Gabriel?' He replied,' As for the hidden rivers, they are two

rivers in Paradise and the visible rivers are the Nile and the Euphrates.' Then Al-Bait-ul-

Ma'mur (i.e. the Sacred House) was shown to me and a container full of wine and another

full of milk and a third full of honey were brought to me. I took the milk. Gabriel remarked,

'This is the Islamic religion which you and your followers are following.' Then the prayers

were enjoined on me: They were fifty prayers a day. When I returned, I passed by Moses

who asked (me), 'What have you been ordered to do?' I replied, 'I have been ordered to offer

fifty prayers a day.' Moses said, 'Your followers cannot bear fifty prayers a day, and by

Allah, I have tested people before you, and I have tried my level best with Bani Israel (in

vain). Go back to your Lord and ask for reduction to lessen your followers' burden.' So I

went back, and Allah reduced ten prayers for me. Then again I came to Moses, but he

repeated the same as he had said before. Then again I went back to Allah and He reduced

ten more prayers. When I came back to Moses he said the same, I went back to Allah and
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 He ordered me to observe ten prayers a day. When I came back to Moses, he repeated the

same advice, so I went back to Allah and was ordered to observe five prayers a day. When I

came back to Moses, he said, 'What have you been ordered?' I replied, 'I have been ordered

to observe five prayers a day.' He said, 'Your followers cannot bear five prayers a day, and

no doubt, I have got an experience of the people before you, and I have tried my level best

with Bani Israel, so go back to your Lord and ask for reduction to lessen your followers'

burden.' I said, 'I have requested so much of my Lord that I feel ashamed, but I am satisfied

now and surrender to Allah's Order.' When I left, I heard a voice saying, 'I have passed My

Order and have lessened the burden of My Worshipers'."

(al-Bukhari, as cited in Azad 1983, 65–69)

The story narrated by the Prophet includes several themes: transcending from one sky to the one

above it, from an older prophet – chronologically – to a modern messenger and most crucially, from

his own mortal heart to the gold of belief. The second theme is differentiation: the event of Moses

crying due to the fact that Muhammad was sent after him and more members of his nation will be in

heaven than Moses’. The third theme is witnessing the signs of the Divine: the description of sidrat

al-muntahā (a tree in the seventh heaven) and the rivers. Finally, the proclamation of the obligation

of prayer and mediating between Muslims and the Divine to reduce the number of prayers from

fifty to five.

I maintain that these themes intersect with several concepts in al-Niffari’s text. For instance, the

theme of transcending is clearly demonstrated in this verse of his:

"‫ اﻟﺨﺎرﺟﻮن ﻋﻦ أﻧﻔﺴﮭﻢ ھﻢ اﻟﺨﺎرﺟﻮن ﻋﻦ اﻟﺤﺮف‬:‫"وﻗﺎل ﻟﻲ‬

(al-Niffari, as cited in al-Ghanmi 2007, 165), (and he said to me: those that depart from themselves

are those that depart from letter [al-Niffari 1987, 114]).

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 The ascension happened to Prophet Muhammad because he was purified from the mortal state

and transcended to the higher state to be prepared and able to receive the Divine revelation.

Similarly, al-Niffari is required to elevate from the stage of ḥarf and to achieve this, he has to

surpass his own self, for he who is capable of going beyond himself, his own ḥarf and own siwā, is

the one who will be able to obtain the Divine light and this can only happen via ruʾya. The

similarity here is not only limited to the nature of transition but also to other Muslim scholars

regarding Prophet Muhammad’s miʿrāj. Azad confirms that the majority of Muslim scholars believe

that the ascension of the Prophet was a bodily one. Whereas others argue that it was a dream or a

vision while Muhammad was awake. Their evidence was based on the Qurʾanic verse that states:

(Qurʾan 17: 60) “‫”وﻣﺎ ﺟﻌﻠﻨﺎ اﻟﺮؤﯾﺎ اﻟﺘﻲ أرﯾﻨﺎك إﻻ ﻓﺘﻨﺔ ﻟﻠﻨﺎس‬

(and we made the vision that We showed thee… to be only a trial for men [Arbery 1996, 309]).

Since the meaning of ruʾyā in Arabic is a dream that contains a vision, it follows that the miʾrāj of

the Prophet would not be a bodily one (Azad 1983, 63). Therefore, this mawqif could be considered

as ascension assuming the dialogue occurred in ruʾya. As the Prophet rises from one sky to a higher

one, from one prophet to another, al-Niffari experiences a similar elevation, however, it transfers

him from one stage to another, for example:

‫ واﺧـﺮج ﻣـﻦ اﻹﺧـﻼص ﺗﺨـﺮج ﻣـﻦ‬،‫ واﺧـﺮج ﻣـﻦ اﻟـﻌﻤﻞ ﺗﺨـﺮج ﻣـﻦ اﻟـﻤﺤﺎﺳـﺒﺔ‬،‫ اﺧـﺮج ﻣـﻦ اﻟـﻌﻠﻢ ﺗﺨـﺮج ﻣـﻦ اﻟﺠﮭـﻞ‬:‫وﻗـﺎل ﻟـﻲ‬

،‫ و اﺧـﺮج ﻣـﻦ اﻟـﺬﻛـﺮ ﺗﺨـﺮج ﻣـﻦ اﻟـﻐﻔﻠﺔ‬،‫ واﺧـﺮج ﻣـﻦ اﻟـﻮﺣـﺪة ﺗﺨـﺮج ﻣـﻦ اﻟـﻮﺣـﺸﺔ‬،‫ و اﺧـﺮج ﻣـﻦ اﻻﺗـﺤﺎد إﻟـﻰ اﻟـﻮاﺣـﺪ‬،‫اﻟﺸـﺮك‬

.‫واﺧﺮج ﻣﻦ اﻟﺸﻜﺮ ﺗﺨﺮج ﻣﻦ اﻟﻜﻔﺮ‬

(al-Niffari, as cited in al-Ghanmi 2007, 165)

And he said to me: Depart from theory, and thou wilt depart from ignorance. Depart from

practice, and thou wilt depart from reckoning. Depart from sincerity, and thou wilt depart

from polytheism. Depart from unity, unto the one. Depart from oneness, and thou wilt
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 depart from estrangement. Depart from recollection, and thou wilt depart from

forgetfulness. Depart from gratitude, and thou wilt depart from ingratitude.

(al-Niffari 1987, 114)

Moving on with the themes’ intersection, the differentiation expressed by Moses in the original

story is significantly reflected in the mawqif under discussion. The Divine says to al-Niffari:

(al-Niffari, as cited in al-Ghanmi 2007, 164) “‫ اﻟﻤﺤﻀﺮ ﺧﺎص وﻟﻜﻞ ﺧﺎص ﻋﺎم‬:‫”وﻗﺎل ﻟﻲ‬

(and he said to me: presence is elect: and every elect thing has a general aspect [al-Niffari 1987,

113]). In his commentary on this mawqif, al-Tilimsani states that al-Niffari was distinctively

selected to witness the presence of the Divine. Therefore others are lacking compared to him (al-

Tilimsani 1997, 485). However, the previous phrase holds an indication of generalisation.

Therefore, a few lines later, this prestige is clearly and particularly bestowed upon al-Niffari by

addressing the discourse directly to him using the second person pronoun:

َ ‫ وﻋﻈّﻤﺘ‬،‫ أﺟﻠﻠﺘﻚ ﻓﺎﺳﺘﺨﻠﻔﺘﻚ‬:‫"وﻗﺎل ﻟﻲ‬

"‫ وأﺣﺒﺒﺘﻚ ﻓﺎﺑﺘﻠﯿﺘﻚ‬،‫ و ﻛﺮّﻣﺘﻚ ﻓﻌﺎﯾﻨﺘﻚ‬،‫ﻚ ﻓﺎﺳﺘﻌﺒﺪﺗﻚ‬

(al-Niffari, as cited in al-Ghanmi 2007, 167), (and he said to me: I have magnified thee and made

thee lieutenant, exalted thee and made thee servant, favoured thee and seen thee face to face, loved

thee end afflicted thee [al-Niffari 1987, 11]).

Al-Tilimsani explains this verse by stating that khilāfa (succession or governorship) was the

prerogative of humans to practice on earth. Moreover, in this instance, ʿaẓama (exaltedness)

happened due to servitude and muʿāyana (seeing) refers to the event of ruʾya. On the other hand,

affliction in this case is a milestone sign of differentiation, for the commenter confirms that it is an

indication of maḥabba, or love. He states that the Beloved examines the lover because He cares for

him and caring implies loving (al-Tilimsani 1997, 493). In regard to the third theme, during his

ascension, Prophet Muhammad witnessed the signs of the Divine: the rivers and the holy tree. In the

mawqif under study, al-Niffari experiences witnessing the Absolute’s signs but in this case, the signs
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are not visible things the eyes can see, they are topics and meanings that the Divine questions al-

Niffari about and explains the hierarchy of the classes of the inhabitants to him. The signs in this

text are akin to heaven and hell. And so, reading this mawqif as a journey of ascension provides us

with a new approach of examination and corroborates my suggestion that al-Niffari's text is echoing

prophecy.

To analyse the dialogues closely, I prefer to examine them integrally because they have a similar

structure and compact differences that I will point out later. I opted for speech act theory as a

method of analysis, based on the model used by Beatrice Gruendler in her book Medieval Arabic

Praise Poetry, where she combines speech act theory with dramatic discourse, an approach which I

feel is the most convenient to explore these dialogues. I am however not following the exact method

used by Gruendler due to the difference in genres between praise poetry and the mawāqif and the

focus of the analysis; her examination concentrates on the persona of the patron and the speaker,

whereas this analysis concentrates on the implicature of expression engaging other theory;

Spirituality and power by Foucault.

What follows are the three dialogues in Mawqif al-Maḥḍar wa-l-Ḥarf :

:‫ ﻣـﺎ اﻟـﻌﺰة؟ ﻗـﻠﺖ‬:‫ ﻗـﺎل‬،‫ وﺻـﻒ ﻣـﻦ أوﺻـﺎف اﻟـﻌﺰة‬:‫ ﻣـﺎ اﻟﺴـﻄﻮة؟ ﻗـﻠﺖ‬:‫ ﻗـﺎل‬،‫ ﻣـﺎ اﻟـﻨﺎر؟ ﻗـﻠﺖ ﻧـﻮر ﻣـﻦ أﻧـﻮار اﻟﺴـﻄﻮة‬:‫وﻗـﺎل ﻟـﻲ‬

‫ وﺻـﻒ ﻣـﻦ‬:‫ ﻣـﺎ اﻟـﻜﺒﺮﯾـﺎء؟ ﻗـﻠﺖ‬:‫ ﻗـﺎل‬،‫ ﻣـﺎ اﻟـﺠﺒﺮوت؟ ﻗـﻠﺖ وﺻـﻒ ﻣـﻦ أوﺻـﺎف اﻟـﻜﺒﺮﯾـﺎء‬:‫ ﻗـﺎل‬،‫وﺻـﻒ ﻣـﻦ أوﺻـﺎف اﻟـﺠﺒﺮوت‬

،‫ ﻣـﺎ اﻟـﻌﻈﻤﺔ؟ ﻗـﻠﺖ وﺻـﻒ ﻣـﻦ أوﺻـﺎف اﻟـﺬات‬:‫ ﻗـﺎل‬،‫ وﺻـﻒ ﻣـﻦ أوﺻـﺎف اﻟـﻌﻈﻤﺔ‬:‫ ﻗـﻠﺖ‬،‫ ﻣـﺎ اﻟﺴـﻠﻄﺎن‬:‫ ﻗـﺎل‬،‫أوﺻـﺎف اﻟﺴـﻠﻄﺎن‬

.‫ ﻟﺘﺮى ﺑﯿﻨﺘﻲ‬:‫ ﻗﺎل‬،‫ أﻧﺖ ﻗﻮّﻟﺘﻨﻲ‬:‫ ﻗﻠﺖ‬،‫ ﻗﻠﺖ اﻟﺤﻖ‬:‫ ﻗﺎل‬،‫ أﻧﺖ ﷲ ﻻ إﻟﮫ إﻻ أﻧﺖ‬:‫ﻗﺎل ﻣﺎ اﻟﺬات؟ ﻗﻠﺖ‬

(al-Niffari, as cited in al-Ghanmi 2007, 165)

And he said to me: What is the Fire? I answered: One of the lights of onslaught. He said:

What is onslaught? I answered: One of the qualities of might. He said: What is might? I

answered: One of the qualities of majesty. He said: What is majesty? I answered: One of the
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qualities of greatness. He said: What is greatness? I answered: One of the qualities of

authority. He said: What is authority? I answered: One of the qualities of power. He said:

What is power? I answered: One of the qualities of essence. He said: What is essence? I

answered: Thyself, O God; there is no God beside thee. He said: Thou hast spoken the truth.

I answered: It is Thou that didst make me to speak. He said: That thou mayest see my clear

evidence. (al-Niffari 1987, 114)

‫ ﻣـﺎ اﻟـﻠﻄﻒ؟‬:‫ ﻗـﺎل‬،‫ ﻣـﺎ اﻟـﺘﻨﻌﯿﻢ؟ ﻗـﻠﺖ وﺻـﻒ ﻣـﻦ أوﺻـﺎف اﻟـﻠﻄﻒ‬:‫ ﻗـﺎل‬،‫ وﺻـﻒ ﻣـﻦ أوﺻـﺎف اﻟـﺘﻨﻌﯿﻢ‬:‫ ﻣـﺎ اﻟـﺠﻨﺔ؟ ﻗـﻠﺖ‬:‫وﻗـﺎل ﻟـﻲ‬

‫ وﺻـﻒ ﻣـﻦ‬:‫ ﻣـﺎ اﻟـﻜﺮم؟ ﻗـﻠﺖ‬:‫ ﻗـﺎل‬،‫ وﺻـﻒ ﻣـﻦ أوﺻـﺎف اﻟـﻜﺮم‬:‫ ﻣـﺎ اﻟـﺮﺣـﻤﺔ؟ ﻗـﻠﺖ‬:‫ ﻗـﺎل‬،‫ وﺻـﻒ ﻣـﻦ أوﺻـﺎف اﻟـﺮﺣـﻤﺔ‬:‫ﻗـﻠﺖ‬

‫ ﻣـﺎ‬:‫ ﻗـﺎل‬،‫ ﻗـﺎل ﻣـﺎ اﻟـﻮد؟ ﻗـﻠﺖ وﺻـﻒ ﻣـﻦ أوﺻـﺎف اﻟـﺤﺐ‬،‫ وﺻـﻒ ﻣـﻦ أوﺻـﺎف اﻟـﻮد‬:‫ ﻣـﺎ اﻟـﻌﻄﻒ؟ ﻗـﻠﺖ‬:‫ ﻗـﺎل‬،‫أوﺻـﺎف اﻟـﻌﻄﻒ‬

‫؟‬،‫ ﻣـﺎ اﻻﺻـﻄﻔﺎء‬:‫ ﻗـﺎل‬،‫ وﺻـﻒ ﻣـﻦ أوﺻـﺎف اﻻﺻـﻄﻔﺎء‬:‫ ﻣـﺎ اﻟـﺮﺿـﺎ؟ ﻗـﻠﺖ‬:‫ ﻗـﺎل‬،‫ وﺻـﻒ ﻣـﻦ أوﺻـﺎف اﻟـﺮﺿـﺎ‬:‫اﻟـﺤﺐ؟ ﻗـﻠﺖ‬

َ‫ ﻗـﻠﺖ‬:‫ ﻗـﺎل‬،‫ ﻣـﺎ اﻟـﺬات؟ ﻗـﻠﺖ أﻧـﺖ ﷲ‬:‫ ﻗـﺎل‬،‫ وﺻـﻒ ﻣـﻦ أوﺻـﺎف اﻟـﺬات‬:‫ ﻣـﺎ اﻟـﻨﻈﺮ؟ ﻗـﻠﺖ‬:‫ ﻗـﺎل‬،‫ وﺻـﻒ ﻣـﻦ أوﺻـﺎف اﻟـﻨﻈﺮ‬:‫ﻗـﻠﺖ‬

.‫ ﻟﺘﺮى ﻧﻌﻤﺘﻲ‬:‫ ﻗﺎل‬،‫ أﻧﺖ ﻗﻮّﻟﺘﻨﻲ‬:‫ ﻗﻠﺖ‬،‫اﻟﺤﻖ‬

(al-Niffari, as cited in al-Ghanmi 2007, 166)

And he said to me: What is Paradise? I answered: One of the qualities of blessing. He said:

What is blessing? I answered: One of the qualities of kindliness. He said: What is

kindliness? I answered: One of the qualities of mercy. He said: What is mercy? I answered:

One of the qualities of generosity. He said: What is generosity? I answered: One of the

qualities of sympathy. He said: What is sympathy? I answered: One of the qualities of love.

He said: What is love? I answered: One of the qualities of friendship. He said: What is

friendship? I answered: One of the qualities of approval. He said: What is approval? I

answered: One of the qualities of election. He said: What is election? I answered: One of

the qualities of regard. He said: What is regard? I answered: One of the qualities of essence.

181
 He said: What is essence? I answered: Thyself, o God. He said: Thou hast spoken the truth.

I answered: It is Thou that didst make me to speak. He said: That thou mayest see my

kindness. (al-Niffari 1987, 115)

‫ ﻣـﺎ اﻟﺤـﺮف‬:‫ ﻗـﺎل‬،‫ أھـﻞ اﻟﺤـﺮف اﻟـﺒﺎطـﻦ‬:‫ ﻗـﺎل ﻣـﻦ أھـﻞ اﻟـﺠﻨﺔ؟ ﻗـﻠﺖ‬،‫ أھـﻞ اﻟﺤـﺮف اﻟـﻈﺎھـﺮ‬:‫ ﻣـﻦ أھـﻞ اﻟـﻨﺎر؟ ﻗـﻠﺖ‬:‫وﻗـﺎل ﻟـﻲ‬

:‫ ﻣـﺎ اﻟـﻌﻤﻞ؟ ﻗـﻠﺖ‬:‫ ﻗـﺎل‬،‫ ﻋـﻠﻢ ﯾﮭـﺪي إﻟـﻰ اﻟـﺤﻘﯿﻘﺔ‬:‫ ﻣـﺎ اﻟﺤـﺮف اﻟـﺒﺎطـﻦ؟ ﻗـﻠﺖ‬:‫ ﻗـﺎل‬،‫ ﻋـﻠﻢ ﻻ ﯾﮭـﺪي إﻟـﻰ ﻋـﻤﻞ‬:‫اﻟـﻈﺎھـﺮ؟ ﻗـﻠﺖ‬

ُ ‫ ﻣـﺎ اﻹﺧـﻼص؟ ﻗ‬:‫ ﻗـﺎل ﻟـﻲ‬،‫ ﻣـﺎ ﺗـﻌ ّﺮﻓـﺖَ ﺑـﮫ‬:‫ ﻣـﺎ اﻟـﺤﻘﯿﻘﺔ؟ ﻗـﻠﺖ‬:‫ ﻗـﺎل ﻟـﻲ‬،‫اﻹﺧـﻼص‬
‫ ﻣـﺎ ﺗـﻠﻘﯿﮫ‬:‫ ﻣـﺎ اﻟـﺘﻌﺮف؟ ﻗـﻠﺖ‬:‫ ﻗـﺎل‬،‫ ﻟـﻮﺟـﮭﻚ‬:‫ـﻠﺖ‬

(al-Niffari, as cited in al-Ghanmi 2007, 167) .‫ﻓﻲ ﻗﻠﻮب أوﻟﯿﺎﺋﻚ‬

And he said to me: Who are the people of the Fire? I answered: The people of the letter

manifest. He said: Who are the people of Paradise? I answered: The letter concealed. He

said to me: What is the letter manifest? I answered: Theory that guides not unto practice. He

said: What is the letter concealed? I answered: Theory that guides to reality. He said to me:

What is practice? I answered: Sincerity. He said to me: What is reality? I answered: That

whereby Thou makest Thyself known. He said to me: What is sincerity? I answered: To thy

face. He said: What is self-revelation? I answered: What thou castest into the hearts of thy

saints. (al-Niffari 1987, 115–116)

My opinion and suggestion is that these scenes are dramatic on account of the dramaturgical

aspects contained in them (the personas, dialogues and actions). Building on this, I have borrowed

Gruendler’s method of schematising the dialogues (figure 1) because I find her method to be the

simplest for readers to follow, as it clearly lays out the different aspects of the dialogue, making it

easier to see and understand the links between the structure, uttered sentences and illocutionary act

each performs. Having said this, I have used my own schematising criteria because, as already

mentioned, the mawāqif are significantly divergent from praise poetry.

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Figure 1

A: The Divine B: al-Niffari

steps Structure Phrase Illocutionary act
1 B introduces A in third Qāla (he said) Assertive (statement)
person pronoun
2 A questions B by addressing Ma al-nār (what is the fire) Interrogative
a direct question to B (question)

3 B introduces B in first Qultu (I said) Assertive (statement)

person pronoun
4 B answers the question Nūrun min (One of the Assertive (statement)
lights)
Steps 1 to 4 keep repeating themselves until the Divine asks: mā al-dhāt? (what is essence)
5 B answers the question in Qultu (I said) Assertive (statement)
first person
6 B addresses A in second Anta Allāh (Thyself, O God) Assertive (statement)
person pronoun
7 B negates all Gods but A by Lā ʾilāha ʾillā Ant (there is Assertive (statement)
addressing A in second person no God beside thee)
8 B introduces A in third Qāla (he said) Assertive (statement)
person pronoun
9 A addresses B in second Qulta al-ḥaqq (thou hast Assertive (statement)
person pronoun spoken the truth)
10 B introduces B in first Qultu (I said) Assertive (statement)
person pronoun
11 B addresses A in second Anta qawwaltanī (It is Thou Assertive (statement)
person pronoun that didst make me to speak)
12 A addresses B in second Litarā (That thou mayest Declarative (reason)
person pronoun see)
13 A addresses A in first person Bayyinatī (evidence) Assertive (statement)
pronoun Niʿmatī (blessings)
14 B addresses A in second Awliyāʾik (thy saints) Assertive (statement)
person pronoun.
15 B addresses B in third Fī qulūbi awliyāʾik (into the Assertive (statement)
person pronoun hearts of thy saints)

183
 I argue that the action in the scenes occurs through speech, the conversation itself being dyadic

and dynamic. This creates an effect that stimulates vividness and constitutes the scene. The structure

of the dialogue provides three types of speech acts: assertive, declarative and interrogative. Despite

the fact that these acts are locutionary, their influence is perlocutionary because the repetition of

questions and answers generates more questions and thereby more answers until concluding that the

Divine is the source of all speech, questions and answers. In the three dialogues, al-Niffari appears

as a witness who narrates the words of the Divine to the reader.

When he speaks of Him, it provides the impression that the Absolute is absent, which is what

ʾiltifāt (grammatical shift) is dedicated to in the texts. Thus, the witness controls most of the

narratives in the dialogue, since we are reading it from his standpoint. To expand on this further, it

is vital to explore the usage of iltifāt in the texts. Iltifāt literally means "to turn one’s face to" or "to

turn" (Abdel Haleem 1992, 409). This indication is clearly exemplified in this poetic verse:

ْ
‫ﺧﻔﯿﺖ‬ ‫َﺖ ﻋﯿﻨﻲ ﻓ ُﻤ ْﺬ‬
ْ ‫وﺗﻠﻔّﺘ‬

. ُ‫ ﺗﻠﻔّﺖَ اﻟﻘﻠﺐ‬،ُ‫ﻋﻨّﻲ اﻟﻄﻠﻮل‬

(al-Sharif al-Radi, as cited in Ibrahim 2002, 70)

My eye turned to the remains of (my beloved's) encampment; when they passed out of

sight, my heart turned to them.

(Abdel Haleem 1992, 409)

The notion then developed as a rhetorical expression that elucidated the speaker’s departure

from addressing to narrating or vice versa (ibid.). There are several reasons for using iltifāt in

writing: to avoid frustrating the reader, to keep the listener fresh and captivated and to change the
184
speech from one mode to another (al-Zarkashi, as cited in Abdel Haleem 1992, 410). There are

likewise various types of iltifāt, which can be used for the reasons detailed below:

1- Converting pronouns between the first, second and third person

2- Shifting from plural to singular and vice versa

3- Changing addressee

4- Changing case markers

5- Converting the verb’s tense

6- Writing a noun instead of a pronoun

(Abdel Haleem 1992, 411).

For his part, al-Niffari uses three types: the first, third and sixth ones. At this stage, it is

important to mention some examples of iltifāt that are used in the Qurʾan, which Abdel Haleem

mentions in the article in order to compare their uses with the ones in the mawāqif. One of the

examples is the verse that states:

‫ أ إﻟـﮫ ﻣـﻊ‬،‫أم ﻣـﻦ ﺧـﻠﻖ اﻟـﺴﻤﺎوات واﻷرض وأﻧـﺰل ﻟـﻜﻢ ﻣـﻦ اﻟـﺴﻤﺎء ﻣـﺎء ﻓـﺄﻧـﺒﺘﻨﺎ ﺣـﺪاﺋـﻖ ذات ﺑـﮭﺠﺔ ﻣـﺎ ﻛـﺎن ﻟـﻜﻢ أن ﺗـﻨﺒﺘﻮا ﺷﺠـﺮھـﺎ‬

(Qurʾan 27: 20) .‫ﷲ‬

Is He not the one Who has created the heavens and the Earth and sent down for you water

from the sky, through which we have caused to grow gardens full of beauty whose trees you

could not grow? Is there a God in addition to God? (Jones 2007, 617)184

184 I would like to add the following additional translation by Abdel Haleem, which I believe is also worth mentioning:

"Who created the heavens and earth? Who sent down water from the sky for you - with which We cause gardens of

delight to grow: you have no power to make the trees grow in them - is it another God beside God?" (Abdel Haleem

2005, 242)
185
 Abdel Haleem asserts that the shift in pronouns occurred here by virtue of the concept

emphasised in the phrase, which is the exalted power of creation that is aesthetic and exclusive to

the almighty Divine. Changing from the third person singular pronoun to the first person plural

pronoun indicates reserving the power of the growth foundation to Himself. Hence, providing a

heavier weight to the grammatical forms than they usually convey (Abdel Haleem 1992, 413). He

points out that this tendency appears in the Qurʾan in sentences that speak of the presence of God,

mentioning water and the Divine’s majesty and punishment (ibid., 413). In contrast, the

grammatical shift in the previous dialogues does not occur in plural form when the Divine addresses

Himself but appears in singular form only. The only position where the plural form is adhered to is

when al-Niffari addresses himself passively in the third conversation. This was not to demonstrate

himself as powerful, rather to illustrate himself passively to show humility, which I suggest opposes

the meaning that the statement could indicate.

Moreover, the majority of the speech is controlled by the narration of al-Niffari speaking of the

Divine as the witness of an absent entity. This is approved by the repetition of qāla (he said), which

refers exclusively to the Absolute. Whereas when al-Niffari speaks of himself, he uses the first

person pronoun qultu (I said), to indicate his presence. The only places where the writer uses the

first person pronoun are at the end of the first and second dialogues, when the Divine declares the

wisdom behind teaching al-Niffari the answers to His questions. The Divine justifies enriching him

with knowledge so that he may see His evidence and blessings. I suggest that these statements are

attempts to delude the reader that al-Niffari is helpless and only with the privilege of the Absolute

inducing the knowledge to him, was he able to know the answers.

On the other hand, the technique changes in the third conversation, when for the first time al-

Niffari speaks of himself passively by using the plural noun awliyāʾik (your saints), to appear with

more modesty by incarnating a group of many whom the Divine selected to cherish His secret.

Moreover, Benveniste highlights the difference between "I" and "he" by stating that the first and
186
second person pronouns represent "true" persons, whereas the third pronoun denotes a "non-

person," something which is considered to be an exclusion from the language’s intersubjectivity. He

maintains that when a person says "I swear," the utterance of the phrase indicates the engagement

between me and the act, which binds the ego and does not describe the accomplished deed. Thereby,

the ramification of the promise does not appear in the verb’s meaning, but emphasises the

subjectivity of the speech that will make it possible. The "I" implies commitment, however, using

"he" instead would only be a description that excludes what "I" represents (Benveniste, as cited in

Gruendler 2002, 74).

From the usage of pronouns and the exclusivity of attributing the first and second pronouns to

al-Niffari, I suggest that here is where what Gruendler calls "the co-operative principle"185 adheres.

I believe that the indirect meaning in this case is the "agent-self revelation," a concept that indicates

revealing some factors of knowledge from the Divine. Wolterstoff explains this by using the

example of someone who is forced to reveal a treasure’s location under torture. The person could

not be the one who hid the treasure, which would negate the fact the he was an agent. However,

when a person knows the location, it means that the site belongs to an item of his knowledge and

this connects him to the agent who revealed this information to him (Wolterstoff 1995, 27). If we

were to compare, we would observe that the dialogue reveals to us that al-Niffari does not only

know the answer to all questions, but he also obtains the sufficient knowledge to respond with the

right answer. We know that his answer is the right one because of the Divine’s confirmation to him

through the utterance “qulta al-ḥaqq” (thou hast spoken the truth). Moreover, we are informed of

his special position when he says: “ʾanta qawaltanī” (it is Thou that didst make me to speak). My

suggestion here is that the implicature of the dialogue expresses al-Niffari’s claim of obtaining the

excellence of communicating with the Divine, which enables him to speak to and answer Him, for

185 “Make your conversational contribution such as is required, at the stage at which it occurs, by the accepted purpose

or direction of the talk exchange in which you are engaged" (Grice, as cited in Gruendler 2002, 29).
187
‫‪he has a significant type of knowledge which he gained esoterically and which empowers him. This‬‬

‫‪could be confirmed through the third part of the dialogue, when he answers the Divine’s question‬‬

‫‪about the inhabitants of heaven by referring to them as "the people of the letter concealed,” one of‬‬

‫‪whom we implicitly perceive al-Niffari to be. The final statement comes to confirm this premise, as‬‬

‫‪I suggest, and to explain the nature of receiving the following revelation: ”What thou castest into‬‬

‫”‪the hearts of thy saints.‬‬

‫‪Mawqif al-Islam‬‬

‫‪The Second Mawqif under study is Mawqif of Resignation.186 In this mawqif, the roles are‬‬

‫‪exchanged. Al-Niffari becomes the interlocutor who asks and the Divine is the answerer. The‬‬

‫‪mawqif is as follows:‬‬

‫ﻗـﺎل‪ :‬ﻻ ﺗـﻌﺎرﺿـﻨﻲ ﺑـﺮأﯾـﻚ وﻻ ﺗـﻄﻠﺐ ﻋـﻠﻰ ﺣـﻘﻲ ﻋـﻠﯿﻚ دﻟـﯿﻼ ﻣـﻦ ﻗـﺒﻞ ﻧـﻔﺴﻚ ﻓـﺈن ﻧـﻔﺴﻚ ﻻ ﺗـﺪﻟـﻚ ﻋـﻠﻰ ﺣـﻘﻲ أﺑـﺪاً وﻻ ﺗـﻠﺘﺰم ﺣـﻘﻲ‬

‫طـﻮﻋـﺎً‪ ،‬ﻗـﻠﺖ‪ :‬ﻛـﯿﻒ ﻻ أﻋـﺎرض‪ ،‬ﻗـﺎل ﺗـﺘﺒﻊ وﻻ ﺗـﺒﺘﺪع‪ ،‬ﻗـﻠﺖ ﻛـﯿﻒ ﻻ أطـﻠﺐ ﻋـﻠﻰ ﺣـﻘﻚ دﻟـﯿﻼً ﻣـﻦ ﻗـﺒﻞ ﻧﻔﺴـﻲ‪ ،‬ﻗـﺎل‪ :‬إذ ا ﻗـﻠﺖ ﻟـﻚ إن‬

‫ھـﺬا ﻟـﻚ ﺗـﻘﻮل ھـﺬا ﻟـﻲ وإذا ﻗـﻠﺖ ﻟـﻚ ھـﺬا ﻟـﻲ ﺗـﻘﻮل إن ھـﺬا ﻟـﻚ ﻓـﯿﻜﻮن أﻣـﺮي ﻟـﻚ ھـﻮ ﻣـﺨﺎطـﺒﻚ وھـﻮ اﻟﻤﺴـﺘﺤﻖ ﻋـﻠﯿﻚ وھـﻮ دﻟـﯿﻠﻚ‬

‫ﻓﺘﺴـﺘﺪل ﺑـﮫ ﻋـﻠﯿﮫ وﺗـﺼﻞ ﺑـﮫ إﻟـﯿﮫ‪ ،‬ﻗـﻠﺖ‪ :‬ﻓـﻜﯿﻒ أﺗـﺒﻊ‪ ،‬ﻗـﺎل‪ :‬ﺗـﺴﻤﻊ ﻗـﻮﻟـﻲ وﺗﺴـﻠﻚ طـﺮﯾـﻘﻲ‪ ،‬ﻗـﻠﺖ‪ :‬ﻛـﯿﻒ ﻻ أﺑـﺘﺪع‪ ،‬ﻗـﺎل‪ :‬ﻻ ﺗـﺴﻤﻊ ﻗـﻮﻟـﻚ‬

‫وﻻ ﺗﺴـﻠﻚ طـﺮﯾـﻘﻚ‪ ،‬ﻗـﻠﺖ‪ :‬ﻣـﺎ ﻗـﻮﻟـﻚ‪ ،‬ﻗـﺎل‪ :‬ﻛـﻼﻣـﻲ‪ ،‬ﻗـﻠﺖ‪ :‬أﯾـﻦ طـﺮﯾـﻘﻚ‪ ،‬ﻗـﺎل أﺣـﻜﺎﻣـﻲ‪ ،‬ﻗـﻠﺖ‪ :‬ﻣـﺎ ﻗـﻮﻟـﻲ‪ ،‬ﻗـﺎل‪ :‬ﺗـﺤﯿﺮك‪ ،‬ﻗـﻠﺖ ﻣـﺎ‬

‫طـﺮﯾـﻘﻲ‪ ،‬ﻗـﺎل‪ :‬ﺗـﺤﻜﻤﻚ‪ ،‬ﻗـﻠﺖ‪ :‬ﻣـﺎ ﺗـﺤﻜﻤﻲ‪ ،‬ﻗـﺎل‪ :‬ﻗـﯿﺎﺳـﻚ‪ ،‬ﻗـﻠﺖ‪ :‬ﻣـﺎ ﻗـﯿﺎﺳـﻲ‪ ،‬ﻗـﺎل ﻋﺠـﺰك ﻓـﻲ ﻋـﻠﻤﻚ‪ ،‬ﻗـﻠﺖ ﻛـﯿﻒ أﻋﺠـﺰ ﻓـﻲ ﻋـﻠﻤﻲ‪،‬‬

‫ﻗـﺎل إﻧـﻲ اﺑـﺘﻠﯿﺘﻚ ﻓـﻲ ﻛـﻞ ﺷـﻲء ﻣـﻨﻲ إﻟـﯿﻚ ﺑﺸـﻲء ﻣـﻨﻚ إﻟـﻲ ﻓـﺎﺑـﺘﻠﯿﺘﻚ ﻓـﻲ ﻋـﻠﻤﻲ ﺑـﻌﻠﻤﻚ ﻷﻧـﻈﺮ أَ ﺗـﺘﺒﻊ ﻋـﻠﻤﻚ أو ﻋـﻠﻤﻲ واﺑـﺘﻠﯿﺘﻚ ﻓـﻲ‬

‫ﺣـﻜﻤﻲ ﺑـﺤﻜﻤﻚ ﻷﻧـﻈﺮ أﺗـﺤﻜﻢ ﺑـﺤﻜﻤﻚ أو ﺑـﺤﻜﻤﻲ‪ ،‬ﻗـﻠﺖ‪ :‬ﻛـﯿﻒ أﺗـﺒﻊ ﻋـﻠﻤﻲ وﻛـﯿﻒ أﻋـﻤﻞ ﺑـﺤﻜﻤﻲ‪ ،‬ﻗـﺎل‪ :‬ﺗـﻨﺼﺮف ﻋـﻦ اﻟـﺤﻜﻢ‬

‫ﺑـﻌﻠﻤﻲ إﻟـﻰ اﻟـﺤﻜﻢ ﺑـﻌﻠﻤﻚ‪ ،‬ﻗـﻠﺖ‪ :‬ﻛـﯿﻒ أﻧـﺼﺮف ﻋـﻦ اﻟـﺤﻜﻢ ﺑـﻌﻠﻤﻚ إﻟـﻰ اﻟـﺤﻜﻢ ﺑـﻌﻠﻤﻲ‪ ،‬ﻗـﺎل‪ :‬ﺗﺤـﻞ ﺑـﻜﻼﻣـﻚ ﻣـﺎ ﺣـﺮﻣـﺘﮫ ﺑـﻜﻼﻣـﻲ‬

‫وﺗﺤـﺮم ﺑـﻜﻼﻣـﻚ ﻣـﺎ ﺣـﻠﻠﺘﮫ ﺑـﻜﻼﻣـﻲ وﺗـﺪﻋـﻲ ﻋـﻠﻲ أن ذﻟـﻚ ﺑـﺈذﻧـﻲ وﺗـﺪﻋـﻲ ﻋـﻠﻲ أن ذﻟـﻚ ﻋـﻦ أﻣـﺮي‪ ،‬ﻗـﻠﺖ‪ :‬ﻛـﯿﻒ أدﻋـﻲ ﻋـﻠﯿﻚ‪ ،‬ﻗـﺎل‪:‬‬

‫ﺗـﺄﺗـﻲ ﺑـﻔﻌﻞ ﻟـﻢ آﻣـﺮك ﺑـﮫ ﻓـﺘﺤﻜﻢ ﻟـﮫ ﺑـﺤﻜﻤﻲ ﻓـﻲ ﻓـﻌﻞ أﻣـﺮﺗـﻚ ﺑـﮫ وﺗـﺄﺗـﻲ ﺑـﻘﻮل ﻟـﻢ آﻣـﺮك ﺑـﮫ ﻓـﺘﺤﻜﻢ ﻟـﮫ ﺑـﺤﻜﻤﻲ ﻓـﻲ ﻗـﻮل أﻣـﺮﺗـﻚ ﺑـﮫ‪،‬‬

‫ﻗـﻠﺖ‪ :‬ﻻ آﺗـﻲ ﺑـﻔﻌﻞ ﻟـﻢ ﺗـﺄﻣـﺮﻧـﻲ ﺑـﮫ وﻻ آﺗـﻲ ﺑـﻘﻮل ﻟـﻢ ﺗـﺄﻣـﺮﻧـﻲ ﺑـﮫ‪ ،‬ﻗـﺎل‪ :‬إن أﺗـﯿﺖ ﺑـﮫ ﻛـﻤﺎ أﻣـﺮﺗـﻚ ﻓـﻘﻮﻟـﻲ وﻓـﻌﻠﻲ وﺑـﻘﻮﻟـﻲ وﻓـﻌﻠﻲ ﯾـﻘﻊ‬

‫‪186‬‬ ‫‪Translated by Arberry 1987, 127.‬‬

‫‪188‬‬
‫ إن‬:‫ وﻗـﺎل ﻟـﻲ‬.‫ﺣـﻜﻤﻲ وإن أﺗـﯿﺖ ﺑـﮫ ﻛـﻤﺎ ﻟـﻢ آﻣـﺮك ﺑـﮫ ﻓـﻘﻮﻟـﻚ وﻓـﻌﻠﻚ وﺑـﻘﻮﻟـﻚ وﻓـﻌﻠﻚ ﻻ ﯾـﻘﻊ ﺣـﻜﻤﻲ وﻻ ﯾـﻜﻮن دﯾـﻨﻲ وﺣـﺪودي‬

‫ ﻓﻘﮭـﺖ؟‬:‫ ﻗـﺎل‬،‫ ﻻ ﺣـﻜﻢ إﻻ ﻟـﻘﻮﻟـﻚ وﻓـﻌﻠﻚ‬:‫ ﻗـﻠﺖ‬،‫ﺳـﻮﯾـﺖ ﺑـﯿﻦ ﻗـﻮﻟـﻲ وﻗـﻮﻟـﻚ أو ﺳـﻮﯾـﺖ ﺑـﯿﻦ ﺣـﻜﻤﻲ وﺣـﻜﻤﻚ ﻓـﻘﺪ ﻋـﺪﻟـﺖ ﻓـﻲ ﻧـﻔﺴﻚ‬

.‫ ﻣﻦ ﻓﻘﮫ أﻣﺮي ﻓﻘﺪ ﻓﻘﮫ وﻣﻦ ﻓﻘﮫ رأي ﻧﻔﺴﮫ ﻓﻤﺎ ﻓﻘﮫ‬:‫ ﻗﺎل‬،‫ ﻻ أﻣﯿﻞ‬:‫ ﻗﻠﺖ‬،‫ ﻻ ﺗ ِﻤﻞ‬:‫ ﻗﺎل‬،‫ ﻓﻘﮭﺖ‬:‫ﻗﻠﺖ‬

(al-Niffari 2007, 182–183)

It is this, that thou shouldst resign to Me that which I decree for thee, and that which I

decree against thee. I said: How shall I resign to Thee? He answered: Do not oppose Me

with thy opinion, and do not seek any guide for my right over thee of thyself; for thyself

will never guide thee to my right, nor will it embrace my right in obedience. I said: How

shall I not oppose thee? He answered: Thou wilt follow, and not invent. I said: How shall I

not seek any guide for thy right of myself? He answered: When I say to thee, “This is

thine," thou wilt say "This is mine;” and when I say to thee, “This is mine,” thou wilt say,

“ This is thine.” Then will my command be thy addresser, and will have a right over thee: it

will guide thee, and thou wilt seek guidance of it unto it, and by means of it attain to it. I

said: How shall I follow? He answered: Thou wilt hear my word and tread my way. I said:

How shall I not invent? He answered: Thou wilt not hear thy word nor tread thy way. I said:

What is thy word? He answered: My doctrine. I said: Where is thy way? He answered: My

ordinances. I said: What is my word? He answered: Thy bewilderment. I said: What is my

way? He answered: Following thy own judgement. I said: What is following my own

judgement? He answered: Thy analogy. I said: What is my analogy? He answered: Thy

incapacity in thy theology. I said: How should I lack capacity in my theology? He

answered: I have made trial of thee in everything that proceeds from Me to thee, by means

of something that proceeds from thee to Me. I have tried thee in my theology by means of

thy theology, that I might see whether thou followest thy theology or mine: and I have tried

thee in my ordinance by means of thy ordinance, that I might see whether thou judgest by
189
my ordinance or thine. I said: How should I follow my theology, and how should I act

according to my ordinance? He answered: Thou departest from the ordinance concerning

my theology, to the ordinance concerning thine. I said: How do I depart from the ordinance

concerning my theology, to the ordinance concerning thine? He answered: Thou makest

lawful by thy doctrine what I have made unlawful by mine, and thou makest unlawful by

thy doctrine what I have made lawful by mine: and thou claimest that that is by my leave,

and that that proceeds from my command. I said: How do I make claim of thee? He

answered: Thou comest with an act which I have never commanded thee, and makest

judgement for it by my ordinance concerning an act which I did command thee: and thou

comest with a word which I have never commanded thee, and makest judgement for it by

my ordinance concerning a word which I did command thee. I said: I will not come with an

act which Thou hast not commanded me, and I will not come with a word which Thou hast

not commanded me. He said: If thou comest with it as I have commanded thee, it is my

word and my act: and by my word and my act falls my ordinance. But if thou comest with it

as I did not command thee, then it is thy word and thy act: and by thy word and thy act falls

not my ordinance, nor do my religion and my commandments thereby live. If thou equatest

my word and thy word, or if thou equatest my ordinance and thy ordinance, thou hast made

thyself equal with Me. I said: There is no ordinance, save as belonging to thy word and thy

act. He said: Thou hast understood. I said: I have understood. He said: Incline not. I said: I

will not incline. He said: Whoso has understood my command, he has truly understood: but

whoso understands the opinion of himself, he has not understood.

(al-Niffari 1987 127–129)

190
 This text discusses Islam in the meaning of surrender, when the self hands over itself to The

Higher Self. This summarises the true meaning of Islam, which is acquiring the true meaning of the

self, based on the principle that states:

(Ibn ʿArabi 2015, 3) "‫ ﻋﺮف رﺑﮫ‬،‫"ﻣﻦ ﻋﺮف ﻧﻔﺴﮫ‬

(He who knows himself, knows his Master). The key to understanding this mawqif is to start from

its end; a self cannot obtain a judgment, if it cannot obtain the Creator’s matter that only He can

offer. In other words, man (meaning a human being) cannot reach a complete knowledge of any

thing if he cannot acquire complete knowledge from the Divine. This intersects with the Sufi

principle that Abu al-Hasan once stated to Abu al-ʿAbbas:

”‫"ﻣﺎ ﺻﺤﺒﺘﻚ إﻻ ﻟﺘﻜﻮن أﻧﺖ أﻧﺎ وأﻧﺎ أﻧﺖ‬

(al-Sikandari 2017, 184), (I did not accompany you, unless you became me and I became you).

In this sequence, al-Niffari appears as a student learning from his master to loyally demonstrate

his obedience to the Almighty. In this text, I shall engage neither speech act theory nor Iltifāt, since

in this instance al-Niffari is illustrated as a man who does not know and asks the Divine about the

path to obey Him. However, I argue that despite the tone of submission, the knowledge of the

Divine matter that the mystic here seeks and receives from the source of all power, is not weak but

is in actual fact powerful. Spirituality and searching for the truth to reach the knowledge of the

Divine indicates "caring of the self," a term which indicates spirituality to Foucault and which he

believes was one of the counter methods used to revolt against the Christian pastoral power in the

Middle Ages (Foucault 2007, 208). According to him, it is a form of spirituality which aims to gain

access to the truth through the experience, search and practices that cause the vital transformation

for the mystic to do so. These practices include certain processes, such as purification, not in order

to obtain knowledge but to pay the price for meeting the Divine. He maintains that spirituality has

three characteristics. Firstly, that the spiritual path does not provide the mystic with truth, nor does

it believe in the capability of the seeker to handle the truth, therefore, he or she needs to pass
191
through a road of transformation and change in order to have the right of accessing the truth and

only in this way could they reach enlightenment. Secondly, it is vital to emphasise that these

practices are performed by the self on the self; all these transformations are accomplished by a self

in control of its own changes. Thirdly, when the "rebound" occurs between the mystic and the truth,

the seeker becomes enlightened as a reward for accomplishing the act of knowledge (Foucault

2005, 15–16).

From Foucault's point of view, ascesis187 is a type of "close combat" that an individual has with

his own self that banishes any presence of someone else. It progressively grows in difficulty,

starting with the easiest and escalating to the more difficult until it reaches ultimate suffering. This

is inflicted by the subject on his own self in order to motivate himself to overcome it (Foucault

2007, 205). This image of internal challenge enables the mystic to reach a stage of mastery over his

own sufferings, himself and his body, which defuses the ability of anything to disturb him (ibid.,

206). Comparing it to Christianity, Foucault believes that spirituality directs the self towards

humility, whereas religion emphasises obedience. He states that asceticism can be used via certain

theologies as a tool against the structures of power (ibid., 207). Consequently, the self-mastery

aspect is one of the reasons why Foucault sees spirituality as a rebellious counter against the system

of authority. The second would be the tendency of individualism. Groups who oppose the Church

and do not believe in the Christ see Rome, the centre of the church, as having a pastor who lives in

a situation of sin, meaning that they question whether the pastor’s power is distinguished from his

ethical personality, one that reflects his internal behaviour in life. Foucault believes that this is an

issue that affects the system of merits and faults (ibid., 208). There is a system of truth that is

developed by the pastoral power through teaching individuals and examining them, whereby truth is

187 "(From Greek askeō: 'to exercise,' or 'to train'), the practice of the denial of physical or psychological desires in order

to attain a spiritual ideal or goal. Hardly any religion has been without at least traces or some features of

asceticism" (Britannica 2013).

192
being passed as a dogma to all believers. This truth is like a secret that lies deep in their souls and

which is extracted from all of them. On the contrary, mysticism has a different approach to

visibility. The soul has the ability to see itself without the need to offer itself to be examined by

others through a confession system. In the mystical path "the soul sees itself in God and sees God in

itself" and this is the reason why Foucault believes that mysticism avoids examination. In addition,

the Divine’s immediate revelation to the soul indicates that the teaching structure of passing on truth

from one person to another does not apply to mysticism and therefore, the process of circulating the

teaching of the truth is abbreviated. Despite the fact that mysticism is based on teaching, its

progress differs; teaching usually follows a path from ignorance to knowledge through certain

stages, however, mysticism is transferred via a "play of alternations" that indicates dualism, such as

presence and absence, darkness and light and so on that is in continuous reversal. What is more,

mysticism contains a sort of equivocation, since illumination occurs in secret and could blind, and

ignorance might actually be knowing and vice versa (ibid., 212). In contradiction, in the pastoral

system, the pastor’s guidance of the individual's soul is vital and communication between the

Divine and the soul is impossible without the control of the pastor, since he is the channel between

the soul and the Divine, whereas mysticism enables the individual to instantly communicate with

the Divine through a form of dialogue between mortals and the Absolute. The soul witnesses the

Divine's presence through immediate inspiration and the communication between them might occur

in complete silence, accompanied by the physical feeling experienced by the mystic, which makes

him realise the presence of Christ in his body, this is what distances the mystical path from the

pastoral, as emphasised by Foucault. Another aspect of mystical empowerment Foucault highlights

is the dominance over the scriptures. He maintains that the pastoral system treats the scriptures as

an exclusive book that can only be taught by pastors because ordinary readers are not capable

enough to read it for themselves. In stark contrast, mysticism considers reading to be a spiritual act

that assigns the soul to witness the presence of the Divine’s word, which will lead to inner
193
illumination. When the faithful are exposed to the Divine’s word, they will be able to understand

and receive what God wishes to reveal to his worshippers (ibid., 213). Foucault mentions that his

examination of the pastoral power and mysticism was an attempt to touch on the background and

the inner depths of governmentality188 (ibid., 215).

Despite the fact the French philosopher’s examination focused on the power conflict between

the Christian church and mysticism, I argue that his points are significantly relevant to al-Niffari’s

text. As I mentioned earlier, al-Niffari stresses the importance of liberating the soul from siwā, a

term he uses to indicate otherness including himself and which, once purified from, could allow him

to attain ruʾya. I suggest that pastoral power could be the equivalent of siwā and what Foucault calls

spirituality can be applied to al-Niffari’s theology. Moreover, what he calls a "close combat" with

the self by itself can be integrated with al-Niffari’s acsension from ʿilm to maʿrifa, then to ruʾya and

waqfa. Therefore, based on Foucault’s explanation that the point when the mystic overcomes his

own challenges indicates that he has reached a level where nothing can disturb him, which I believe

can be referred to as a stance of power, al-Niffari challenges the spiritual hierarchy189 by

deconstructing the ladder of the spiritual structure and relegating the value of ʿilm and maʿrifa to

stages that require purification from before the Divine's vision can be attained. I hence maintain that

al-Niffari applied the tendency of individualism to challenge the spiritual authorities, which I argue

indicates pastoral power. With this, al-Niffari avoids examination by the authorities and escapes the

spiritual structure of passing teachings, since his method does not follow the traditional spiritual one

and does not need a medium to obtain revelation from the Divine, as he clearly expresses by writing

his stations and addresses. What makes al-Niffari’s writings challenge the authorities is what

188 A term created by Foucault that indicates an “approach to the study of power that emphasizes the governing of

people’s conduct through positive means rather than the sovereign power to formulate the law. In contrast to a

disciplinarian form of power, governmentality is generally associated with the willing participation of the governed”

(Huff, 2020).
189 As mentioned in the section on al-Niffari's life on page 69, above and in Qudsi 2014.
194
Foucault calls the equivocation tone. The Sufi master writes in an ambiguous language that only he

can comprehend, as an indication of the mysterious condition of the Divine’s revelation to him,

which challenges the reader and makes it difficult to prove otherwise. Finally, I find the point about

the scriptures that Foucault highlights to be relevant to al-Niffari regarding writing the waqfa. I

assert that al-Niffari was not attempting to have his own explanation of the Islamic scriptures, i.e,

the Qurʾan, but rather that he was writing his own waḥy experience. As previously mentioned, Abu

Zayd states that the Qurʾan is the book of waḥy (revelations) from the Divine to his prophet, which

needs to be delivered to the people. However, this mawqif is precisely where al-Niffari documents a

revelation from the Divine to him whose aim is not to be preached to the people. I believe it is

precisely here that al-Niffari’s writings and the Qurʾan intersect, along with the argument about the

genre of the mawāqif. As previously mentioned in the beginning of this chapter, the genre of the

mawāqif has not yet been established. Adonis calls it shiʿriyyat al-nathr (poetic prose), whereas al-

Ghanmi prefers not to specify any genre. However, I argue that al-Niffari was attempting to write

his own Qurʾan or in other words, attempting to create a genre similar to that of the Qurʾan.

Abu Zayd concludes from al-Baqillani’s opinion that the Qurʾan is uniquely distinguished from

any other text because of its structure and genre. He confirms that the Qurʾan is obviously not

poetry and cannot be classified under prose either, for it has its very own style, which cannot be

compared to any other type of text. Therefore, Abu Zayd maintains that the Qurʾanic ʾiʿjāz, comes

from its dissimilarity with other texts (Abu Zayd 2017, 148–149).

The above leads me to suggest that by attempting to write his own scriptures without

designating the genre in which they were written, al-Niffari’s texts are a clear challenge aimed at

the legitimate tradition and the spiritual authorities. However, in this text particularly, because of his

complete resignation, he is rewarded with meeting with the truth, as Foucault calls it, and rewarded

with enlightenment through acquiring the truth of the Divine’s essence, which can be called a

powerful situation.
195
Conclusion

What is left to explain here is how al-Niffari’s first and second texts could be crystallised as

examined through Foucault’s thought. I believe this to be possible through the lens of power, which

can be derived from Wild’s analysis of the concept of tanzīl. As previously established, al-Niffari

echoes the image of prophecy by having a dialogue with the Divine, something which, according to

the Qurʾan, can only occur to prophets, and which happens through waḥy contributed with the

notion of sending down. Wild states that this term can only "make sense in a space in which there is

an above and below." A verse or a sura were sent down to the prophet, for the prophet and the

people are on earth and the Divine is in the heavens. Moreover, this image can be exemplified

further through stances when the Divine addresses His prophets with speech and they attempt to get

closer to Him by climbing a mountain.190 In the case of Prophet Muḥammad, his first revelation was

received in a cave in the region of Hiraʾ (Wild 1996, 141). I believe that the division of above and

below does not only apply to the relationship between the Divine and the inspired person but that it

can also apply between al-Niffari, as a person who speaks to the Divine, and other persons who

could not obtain such beatitude.

This chapter explored the work and theology of the Sufi master al-Niffari, as presented in his

book The Mawaqif and Mukhatabat, with the intention of attempting to examine the aspect of direct

dialogue between the mystic and the Divine. I began by introducing a literature review of the works

that also attempted to study al-Niffari. I later presented the hierarchy of his theology, along with my

suggested interpretations and reflections on his ideas. Two of al-Niffari’s texts were studied in detail

in this chapter, these were al-Maḥḍar wa-l-Ḥarf and al-ʾIslām. At first I explored the issue of voice

in the texts, defending the belief that the Divine's voice in them is merely a mask that al-Niffari

190 Another example can be fire, as Moses once said to his people:

(Qurʾan 20:10) “‫”إذ رأى ﻧﺎرا ﻓﻘﺎل ﻷھﻠﮫ اﻣﻜﺜﻮا إﻧﻲ آﻧﺴﺖ ﻧﺎرا ﻟﻌﻠّﻲ آﺗﯿﻜﻢ ﻣﻨﮭﺎ ﺑﻘﺒﺲ أو أﺟﺪ ﻋﻠﻰ اﻟﻨﺎر ھﺪى‬

(He saw a fire and said to his people, ‘Stay here, I can see a fire. Maybe I can bring you a flaming brand from it or find

some guidance there’ [ Abdel Haleem 2005, 196]).

196
hides behind to legitimise his philosophy. I supported my argument by engaging speech act theory

and grammatical shifts. Having proven that, I suggested that borrowing the Divine's voice led al-

Niffari to gain a certain stance of power, intentionally or otherwise. Authority adheres, from my

point of view, by analysing the first text that explores the echo of prophecy, and which reflects

several prophets in the Islamic heritage. Moreover, I suggested that reflecting prophecy was

achieved in the first text through the echo of the Islamic miʿrāj by investigating the concept of

inspiration and revelation that al-Niffari based the composition of his book on and which

religiously, was exclusive to prophets selected by the Divine. Just like al-Suhrawardi, in the second

text, al-Niffari uses the tone of blind obedience and surrender to achieve the understanding of the

self, which can only be achieved by understanding the Divine. I argued that despite the fact this

type of language might provide the impression of weakness, my belief is that it aims to achieve the

opposite. Through the perspective of Foucault regarding self-mastery and its relation to power, I

attempted to explain how this text, with its insistence on complete surrender, can be extremely

powerful. The power that al-Niffari obtained might not be politically effective or threatening, as in

the case of al-Suhrawardi. It might be limited to challenging the Sufi knowledge of systemisation of

that time, in order to break the preoccupation of spiritual knowledge and draw a new mystical path

for he who refuses the dogmas of spiritual schools, as I mentioned in the literature review. However,

the potential of this power might be threatening on account of the many allusions I explained in

detail throughout the analysis.

197
 Chapter Three

Salah ʿAbd al-Sabur

Section One

Maʾsat al-Hallaj (The Tragedy of al-Hallaj) by Salah ʿAbd al-Sabur

ِ ‫ﻟﻲ ﺣﺒﯿﺐٌ أزو ُر ﻓﻲ اﻟﺨﻠﻮا‬

‫ت‬

ِ ‫ﺣﺎﺿ ٌﺮ ﻏﺎﺋﺐٌ ﻋﻦ اﻟﻠﺤﻈﺎ‬

‫ت‬

‫ﻣﺎ ﺗﺮاﻧﻲ أﺻﻐﻲ إﻟﯿﮫ ﺑﺴﺮّي‬

ِ ‫ﻛﻲ أﻋﻲ ﻣﺎ ﯾﻘﻮ ُل ِﻣ ْﻦ ﻛﻠﻤﺎ‬

‫ت؟‬

‫ﺷﻜﻞ وﻻ ﻧﻘـ‬
ٍ ‫ت ﻣﻦ ﻏﯿﺮ‬
ٍ ‫ﻛﻠﻤﺎ‬

‫ت‬
ِ ‫ـﻂ وﻻ ﻣﺜﻞ ﻧﻐﻤﺔ اﻷﺻﻮا‬
ٍ

ُ
‫ﻛﻨﺖ إﯾّـﺎ‬ ٌ‫ﻓﻜﺄﻧّﻲ ﻣﺨﺎطﺐ‬

‫هُ ﻋﻠﻰ ﺧﺎطﺮي ﺑﺬاﺗﻲ ﻟﺬاﺗﻲ‬

‫ﺣﺎﺿ ٌﺮ ﻏﺎﺋﺐٌ ﻗﺮﯾﺐٌ ﺑﻌﯿ ٌﺪ‬

‫ت‬ ِ ‫و ْھ َﻮ ﻟﻢ‬
ِ ‫ﺗﺤﻮ ِه رﺳﻮ ُم اﻟﺼّﻔﺎ‬

‫اﻟﻀﻤﯿﺮ إﻟﻰ اﻟﻮھـ‬

ِ ‫ھ َﻮ أدﻧﻰ ﻣﻦ‬

ِ ‫ﻻﺋﺢ اﻟﺨﻄَﺮا‬
.‫ت‬ ِ ‫ِـﻢ وأﺧﻔﻰ ﻣﻦ‬

(al-Hallaj 2007, 215)

I have a friend who visits when no one’s around

He’s present, but he's gone when I am looking.

You won't see me listening to him closely,

So I can be aware of words he is saying,

Words without letters or punctuation,

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 unlike the pronunciation of sounds.

It's as though I’m speaking to him

of my thoughts, by myself, to myself.

Present, absent, near, or far, he’s

someone customary qualities don't contain.

He is nearer than my conscience to my thoughts,

and more hidden than the glimpse of inspiration.

(al-Hallaj 2018, 74)

This is the last chapter of the thesis, where I explore the concept of dialogue with the Divine in a

play written by the Egyptian poet Salah ʿAbd al-Sabur about a well-known Sufi poet and theologian

of Islamic mystical history: al-Hallaj. I opted to study this play because it offers a different form of

dialogue with the Divine. As we have seen, the first chapter examined the case of a one-directional

dialogue between al-Suhrawardi and the Absolute. The second explored a two-directional dialogue

through the case of al-Niffari, who spoke to the Divine and obtained a response from Him. In this

chapter, the poet does not speak to the Divine, what he does is write about a figure who had a

dialogue with the Divine. Moreover, I believe that on the comparative scale, ʿAbd al-Sabur was

thoroughly explored by being evaluated against other modern Arabic poets as well as other Western

poets by whom he is believed to have been influenced, such as T.S Eliot. However, my in-depth

research failed to uncover any studies that compared him with any of the other writers I explored in

my thesis, or any that examined the aspect of dialogue with the Divine in his play. Therefore, in this

chapter I attempt to introduce a new dimension in reading ʿAbd al-Sabur's play and to initiate a

comparison that relates al-Suhrawardi, al-Niffari and the al-Hallaj of ʿAbd al-Sabur.

The chapter will be divided into subsections: a literature review of the works that examined the

play, a brief biography of the author, another of the play's protagonist, the methodology used to
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analyse the play and an analysis of several poetic verses from this dramatic oeuvre. Furthermore,

the analysis will pose several questions and endeavour to answer them as best as possible in order to

reach a plausible conclusion. The questions will be presented in detail in the analysis section.

Literature review

My research focused on a range of literature, including books and journals, that examined the

tragedy of al-Hallaj particularly and the exploration of the concept of dialogue, be it between the

characters in the play or between al-Hallaj and the Divine. The first aspect was discussed in only

one of the resources I found and surprisingly, I could not find a single resource that touched upon

the second one. In any case, I will provide a brief a summary for each reference used and will

mention the relevant points, which I believe to be of relative significance to the study.

The journals listed in this section were presented in a conference entitled Salah ʿAbd al-Sabur:

Mashruʿ ʾIbdaʿiy Mutajaddid (Salah ʿAbd al-Sabur: a renewable creative projective), which was

held in Cairo in 2001 and the papers were published in a two-volume book a couple of years later.

The first paper was authored by ʿAbd al-Rahman Abu ʿUf under the title of Salah ʿAbd al-Sabur

Katiban Siyasiyyan wa ʾIjtimaʿiyyan (Salah ʿAbd al-Sabur: a social and political writer). The author

maintains that in all his dramatic works, ʿAbd al-Sabur represents the state of maturity regarding

dramatic structure, which was a result of the poet’s wide exposure to Western and Eastern resources

and his progress from being a reader to becoming a reformer of Arabic Drama, excluding the loss of

his identity in the face of cultural overflowing. Abu ʿUf suggests that the dramatic works of ʿAbd

al-Sabur were an expression of the poet’s idealistic yearning to improve the world. His writings

were a space to unify the lyrical and the mask of modern heritage in order to exert the marginalised

in drama via philosophy (Abu ʿUf 2003, 278). He states that his drama was not a form of escapism

but a sort of imaginative entertainment that introduces methods of examining the fragility of social

relations through ʿAbd al-Sabur’s symbolic system. The author highlights the issue of Western
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influence on his study, maintaining that the poet did not kneel completely to international affect,

since his purpose was to present a theatre that intersects with Western philosophy, drama and poetry,

but without eradicating the Arabic peculiarity. On the other hand, Abu ʿUf does not deny the impact

of certain Western poets on the movement of modern Arabic poetry, such as T.S Eliot, Lorca, Ezra

Pound, Baudelaire and others. He in fact asserts that, particularly with regards to The Tragedy of al-

Hallaj, ʿAbd al-Sabur was clearly affected by T.S. Eliot's play A Murder in the Cathedral. ʿAbd al-

Sabur’s dramatic works were not an imitation of the West, for the poet was deeply preoccupied with

his daily Egyptian reality, which was fraught with suffering and changes. He therefore dedicated

himself to creating a form of drama with an Arab vision that genuinely belonged to and reflected the

reality of the Arab home. This somehow transformed his works into a sort of documentary about the

events neglected by history. Abu ʿUf concludes by complimenting ʿAbd al-Sabur’s drama for being

a true reflection of the Arab dramatic visionary age and for his ability to poeticise it (ibid, 279).

The second research paper was written by Dr. Ḥasan ʿAtiyya and is entitled Salah ʿAbd al-Sabur

Katiban Masraḥiyyan: Tafkik al-Naṣ Tarkib al-Waqiʿ (Salah ʿAbd al-Sabur as a Playwright:

Deconstructing the Text, Assembling the Reality). ʿAtiyya suggests that the tragedy of al-Hallaj was

written as the fruit of ʾAbd al-Sabur's inspiration by several Western works, which were based on

the idea of the martyr hero. It would originally have been based on Greek poetic tragedies that

relied on intense characters and one specific individual whose life would be turned upside down by

his own hands, going from an extreme of happiness to one of absolute misery on account of his

pride and ego, which would eventually lead him to commit a tragic mistake and end his own life

(ʿAtiyya 2003, 325–326). The author focuses on the political allusions layered in the pages of the

play. He confirms that despite the ancient historical era during which the play is set, it is clearly

highly related to the age lived by ʿAbd al-Sabur and his peers. He stresses that the use of a

controversial figure like al-Hallaj was only a mask to hide behind in order to avoid political
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hunting. Indeed the generation of the playwright experienced severe police oppression and

harassment due to their revolutionary speech that opposed the authorities, some facing a destiny of

life imprisonment. Using the famous mystic was a means of shedding some light on the poet’s

deconstructed reality, shattered history and failed vision. In ʿAbd al-Sabur's drama, al-Hallaj was a

representative for the rebellion-aware word that resisted its present situation, conscious that it could

destroy he who utters it, wether he be captured or executed by the courts.

ʿAtiyya touches upon the elephant in the room from ʿAbd al-Sabur’s perspective, at a time

fraught with a blatant absence of social justice and tackles the questions of fairness, law and

privileged segments of society (ibid., 326). The scholar supports the proposal of al-Hallaj as a

symbol of the modern intellect who combats the oppressing authority but fails to convince people

and thereby faces death (ibid., 328). The paper does not expand more on character analysis and the

author contents with the foreign political dimension of the Sufi figure in the play.

Dr. Muhammad Badawi agrees with ʿAtiyya; in his research Salah ʿAbd al-Sabur wa-l-Masrah al-

Shiʿri (Salah ʿAbd al-Sabur and the poetic theatre), he confirms that the tragedy of al-Hallaj was not

written for the sake of mysticism, for it does not explore the nature of Sufism and its relation with

religion. Rather the play aims to urge to take up action and engage in social political activity. In

times of crisis, would the mystic or the intellectual facing a struggle against social and political

injustice choose to arm himself with words or with a sword (Badawi 2003, 348)?

The scholar maintains that ʿAbd al-Sabur does not attribute al-Hallaj’s execution to heresy but

mainly to his involvement in politics, despite the authorities' accusations of blasphemy to justify his

crucification. It would therefore appear that this play correlates with the renaissance of the Egyptian

dramatic movement of the sixties, one of the common characteristics of which was social and

political commitment. In the appendix, ʿAbd al-Sabur mentions that he was interested in Louis

Massignon’s study of al-Hallaj, in which he emphasises the social role of the poet in an attempt to
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improve the reality of his age. Since ʿAbd al-Sabur desired to primarily point out this aspect of al-

Hallaj's life, he rejected the miracles that were associated with him, which does not mean however,

that the protagonist of the play is only a political rebel because he refused to escape and did not

allow his followers to save him from death. As a matter of fact, he welcomed and rejoiced in the

thought of martyrdom, which demonstrates his yearning for a death that will achieve his mystical

destiny and accomplish the Divine’s will (ibid., 349).

As previously mentioned, ʿAbd al-Sabur was one of several Arab poets who were influenced by

Western literature. In his paper Tajallyat al-Mawruth fi ʾIbdaʿ Salah ʿAbd al-Sabur (The

Manifestations of Heritage in Salah ʿAbd al-Ṣabur’s Creativity), ʿAbdullah al-Tatawi focuses on the

impact of Eliot on the poet in terms of poetic traditions and methods of reforming them. The author

maintains that the artist is born within art, lives in it and breathes through it and that any artist who

does not belong to the international heritage nor fights passionately to stand on its hills is a strayed

one. He further upholds that any creative who is not familiar with his artistic ancestors could not be

part of the human heritage and could not achieve his role as a responsible human being in this

universe either.

Al-Tatawi understands this based on what ʿAbd al-Sabur wrote in his book Hayati fi al-Shiʿr

(My Life within Poetry), where he documented most of his reflections on poetry, which was his

method of glorifying the values he believed in: honesty and justice against falsehood, oppression

and injustice. ʿAbd al-Sabur believed that there was no particular dictionary for poetry, hence he

was brave enough to risk challenging the stereo-poetic structures by writing in the common daily

language of people, a feat that bears resemblance to Eliot’s principle. His wording was equally rich,

practical, flexible, modern and in line with the language, notions and knowledge of his age. Al-

Tatawi states that ʿAbd al-Sabur respected the multiple resources of culture and the reformation of

the language, which was persistent with recognition, epistemic accumulation and obtaining the tools
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to comprehend and deliver. According to ʿAbd al-Sabur, rich intellectuality requires a rich language

to be recognised and in order to accomplish this, one needs to master the language by re-exploring

the whole of the Arabic literary heritage, not by copying it but by appreciating the profound

richness of our language and subsequently inventing new words to domesticate them and help them

emerge in their poetic contexts (al-Tatawi 2003, 359).

I believe this is an important point to mention, since it will become apparent in the examples

selected for the analysis section later, where the verses are clear cases of the modern Arabic poetic

style, taking into account the fact that the poet used the free verse style to write the dialogue in the

play, despite the fact it is set in ancient times and the audience might assume that the poet would

follow the traditional qaṣīda (poem) structure, which is constituted of ṣadr and ʿajz (first and

second hemistiches).

Speaking of T.S Eliot's influence on ʿAbd al-Sabur, Mohammed A. al-Khozai wrote a complete

chapter in A Miscellany of Middle Eastern Articles discussing this phenomenon. Al-Khozai suggests

that the first feature of this influence could be glanced in ʿAbd al-Sabur’s selection of composition

for The Tragedy of al-Hallaj, by choosing al-shiʿr al-ḥurr (free verse), purportedly due to Eliot

being the reformer of the revival of the combination of drama and poetry in English, after it had

mostly been written in prose (al-Khozai 1989, 72). The author then examines the relationship

between the play’s title and its content. He believes that the name of the drama was not selected

randomly, since the poet himself was a diligent student of Greek drama. He maintains that he opted

for the word maʾsāt (tragedy) precisely to simplify the play’s content and form for the sake of the

audience. The researcher confirms that the play was not only a depiction of a historical figure’s life,

but was presented because of ʿAbd al-Sabur's deep conviction that al-Hallaj’s life journey and its

suffering deserve to be meditated upon because his end was unjust and tragic.

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 Al-Khozai continues discussing the Western influence on ʿAbd al-Sabur, stating that

Shakespeare was another major inspiration for him, based on a statement made by the the poet that

the author mentions in his paper (ibid., 73). However, according to Al-Khozai, despite ʿAbd al-

Sabur's vehement attempt not to fall into the Shakespearean trap, he ended up falling into Eliot’s.

The author maintains that the poet could not resist the magic of Eliot, as his star shone at a critical

time between the two world wars. By contrast, the intellectuals of the Middle East were damaged

and profoundly affected by the events occurring in their region at that time, which resulted in a

generation of defeat due to the post-1948 ramifications. Those intellectuals therefore sought out

glimmers of hope and inspiration in different cultures.

Having said this, being influenced by Eliot was not a disadvantage but rather evidence of the

poet’s education, which confirms that he belonged to the elite who not only had access to English

literature, but in ʿAbd al-Sabur's case, also translated several of Eliot's books: The Elder Statesman,

Murder in the Cathedral and The Cocktail Party. The affection was therefore clearly due to his

admiration of Eliot’s writings.

Al-Khozai defends his opinion about Eliot’s influence on ʿAbd al-Sabur by comparing The

Tragedy of al-Hallaj and Murder in the Cathedral. The scholar maintains that both dramas end with

the martyrdom of their central character and that both protagonists represent religious personas who

selected the route of God instead of enjoying mortal life. Furthermore, both plays contain the same

number of chapters and scenes. Nevertheless, the author also brings to the fore the differences

between the two masterpieces. Becket, Eliot’s character, faced an issue with different partners:

Henry Miles and the Archbishop of Canterbury, whereas al-Hallaj's conflict derived from his pride

and questions about the concept of freedom. The dispute of the mystic also involved other aspects,

namely his trial, which resulted in his end by execution.

It is worth mentioning that al-Khozai highlights two factors that were not mentioned in the

previous resources. Firstly, the significance of the debate style, which was clearly manifested in the
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trial scene, the dialectic with al-Shibli and the conversation in the prison. Secondly, the comedy

between the two prisoners in the cell. From a researcher’s perspective, the comedy scene creates a

respite from the other scenes, a sort of breathing space, since the play is fraught with serious and

profound dialogues.

Another point al-Khozai remarks on regards the questions introduced in the trial. Indeed the

questions revolved around vital issues such as the right to religious belief, the independence of the

court and the role of rebellious speech (ibid., 80). At the end of the article, the author expresses his

thoughts about ʿAbd al-Sabur’s poetic language. He states that the poet was successful in using free

verse as his medium in the drama because using a traditional structure would have tainted the

dialogue with a mechanical, unnatural feel. Instead, ʿAbd al-Sabur’s language flows effortlessly in

the play, precisely due to its simplicity and its use of everyday language, which was appropriate for

a modern drama (ibid., 82).

In terms of exploring the mystical backgrounds and references in ʿAbd al-Sabur’s work, the

following studies are, in my opinion, highly valid. The first one is ʿAnasir al-Thaqafa al-Hiliniyya fi

Shiʿr Salah ʿAbd al-Sabur (The Hellenistic elements in Salah ʿAbd al-Sabur’s Poetry) by ʿAbd al-

ʿAziz Muwafi. In it, he states that ʿAbd al-Sabur's poetry is imbued with several cultural aspects

such as heritage, folklore and Hellenism, and that it is based on two vital factors: Sufism that tends

to illumination and Hellenism that tends to logic. This tendency involves in turn two crucial factors:

maʿrifa in taṣawwurāt, knowledge in imagination and “legendising” reality. According to Hegel,

philosophy is knowledge via imagination, whereas art is knowledge through images and the

difference between the two is imagination, which is an intellectual attribution that tends to abstract

words and their relations to turn them into ideas, while images are the opposite in that they are

sensible and embody thoughts by visualising with the senses and returning their vision to the world

to create words and relations (Hegel, as cited in Muwafi 2003, 276). One of this tendency’s
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characteristics is an abstraction that concentrates on causative relations that are not poetic and on

accurate results, according to ʿAbd al-Sabur:

‫ ﻟـﻢ‬،‫أﻧـﺎ ﻣـﺮﯾـﺾ ﺑـﺎﻟـﺴﺆال ﻋـﻦ اﻟـﻌﻠﺔ ﻓـﻲ ﻛـﻞ ﺷـﻲء وھـﻮ ﻣـﺮض أورﺛـﺘﻨﻲ إﯾـﺎه ﻗـﺮاءات ﻓـﻠﺴﻔﯿﺔ ﻋـﺎﺑـﺮة وإﺻـﺎﺑـﺔ ﻋـﺎرﺿـﺔ ﺑـﺎﻟـﺘﺄﻣـﻞ‬

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 1980, 174) .‫أﺳﺘﻄﻊ أن أﻋﺎﻟﺠﮭﺎ ﻓﻲ ﺻﺒﺎي وﺷﺒﺎﺑﻲ‬

I am afflicted with an illness that causes me to question the reason behind

everything, which I inherited from ephemeral readings and an affliction for

meditation that occurred by chance and which I could not heal in my youth.

A lust to improve the world as Shelley calls it, which is precisely the power that motivates the

philosopher, prophet and poet, for each of them sees a flaw and yet, our poet does not deceive

himself but instead confesses his passion for those relations to the point of illness. He further

declares:

“‫”اﻟﻜﻮن ﻻ ﯾﻌﺠﺒﻨﻲ‬

(I do not like the Universe) (ʿAbd al-Sabur, as cited in Muwafi 2003, 277). Therefore, he strives to

improve it. The author asserts that expression through images is deeply effective when composing

with abstract language. This was recognised by poets, prophets and philosophers alike and they

consequently created the path of the poets, since behind every prophet and philosopher shines a

flame of poetry. ʿAbd al-Sabur unifies the three in a bid to improve the world, he then finds the

unity between their different approaches in terms of metaphor but also agreement of intentions and

methods. Any difference between them will only be coincidental. Thereby, just as we can find a

philosopher or a poet in each prophet, so can we also glimpse a prophet or a philosopher in each

poet. Muwafi goes on expanding on the type of knowledge that belongs to each profession (ibid.,

277) and comes to point out a crucial fact in his analysis regarding the Sufi figure in ʿAbd al-
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Sabur’s play. He suggests that in the work of the poet, mystics occupy the position of prophets, and

so ʿAbd al-Sabur’s poems become an interwoven textile of emotional and intellectual logic

synonymous with waḥdat al-wujūd (esoteric monism) on the theological level and ḥulūl

(incarnation) on the khirqa (cloak) level, in addition to illumination. All these aspects of his poetry

are an echo of the Hellenistic culture, which creates a common ground between philosophy and any

other sector. For this reason ʿAbd al-Sabur attempted to demonstrate that al-Hallaj strove to

reconcile the idea with the ability, and wisdom with action to achieve a successful marriage between

words and actions. If the tragedy of al-Hallaj lies on a middle ground between poetry and Sufism, it

is also a space where mysticism and philosophy go hand in hand (ibid, 278). I believe this study to

be credible to the purpose of this thesis, not least because the author highlights the relation between

the poet, prophet and philosopher based on Hellenistic philosophy, which has several similarities

with Sufism. Moreover, the relation between the three was discussed in detail to conclude that

mystic writers and poets, by means of their dialogue with the Divine, reflect an echo of prophecy.

The second study that explores the mystical background is al-Rumuz al-Sufiyya fi Masrahiyyat

Maʾsat al-Hallaj (Mystical symbols in the Tragedy of al-Hallaj’s Drama), by Dr. Mahmud Subh.

His paper focuses on the symbol of the shajara, the tree with which ʿAbd al-Sabur begins his play

and which is mentioned repeatedly throughout the oeuvre. The author presents a calculation for the

number of times the poet mentions the word in different forms. He explores the allusion of the tree

in detail, but I would rather include his explanation in the analysis section in order to avoid

repetition. On the other hand, Subh disagrees with Muwafi in as far as the dialectic of life and death

introduced in the drama is concerned, as he neither believes it to be Hellenistic nor Marxist. Instead,

he suggests that it is purely Islamic; since there is no material before the image nor the opposite,

this means that there is a dialectic relationship that has continuance, which requires the existence of

both at the same time. For the created is an image of the Creator and the Creator is the reflection of
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the created and the lover and the beloved are melted into a single self in a dynamic motion that runs

from eternity to infinity, just like the human who lives and dies, but endures forever in the love of

the Divine (Subh 2003, 45–46).

At one point in his paper, the scholar touches upon the crucial point of the similarity between al-

Hallaj and the Christ. The tree of existence and immortality is in a dialectic relation that ʿAbd al-

Sabur follows by using mystical political symbols in his play, which depict al-Hallaj as a fusion of

the Christ and Muhammad – peace be upon him – as opposed to an integration. This was also

Jubran’s method in The Prophet, when he made his lead character, al-Mustafa, the Chosen or al-

mahhdī al-montaẓar. Subh continues by conducting an analysis about the usage of the word as the

title of one of the play’s chapters and the role it plays within the Drama. He provides a precise

calculation of the number of times the word “word” was mentioned in the play, its forms, synonyms

and origins in the bible (ibid, 46). Moreover, the author compares the crucification of the Christ

with that of the mystic, making reference to several historical resources that prove al-Hallaj was

hoping for martyrdom. One of them is the following statement made by al-Hallaj to Ibrahim ibn

Fatik:

“‫ وذﻟﻚ أﺳﻌﺪ ﯾﻮم ﻣﻦ أﯾﺎم ﻋﻤﺮي ﺟﻤﯿﻌﮫ؟‬، ‫ ﺣﯿﻦ ﺗﺮاﻧﻲ وﻗﺪ ﺻﻠﺒﺖ وﻗﺘﻠﺖ وأﺣﺮﻗﺖ‬،‫”ﻛﯿﻒ أﻧﺖ ﯾﺎ إﺑﺮاھﯿﻢ‬

(How do you feel Ibrahim, when you see me crucified, murdered and burnt and this day is the

happiest day of my entire life?) According to Subh, this was comprehended by ʿAbd al-Sabur,

which was why he made the crucification on the tree his end (ibid., 47). Nonetheless, the poet

negates the facts of the crucification of al-Hallaj based on historical references that state he was

wiped six-hundred times prior to his hands being amputated, followed by his legs before he was

finally hanged. Crucification was not known in Islam and the idea of crucification is quoted from

Christianity.

Subh goes on to discuss the factual reasons behind the execution of al-Hallaj, maintaining that

they were due to his actions and not his words, for he was involved in scandaling several corrupt
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issues and officials in the regime, which caused the trial of his that lasted for seven months and

ended with his death (ibid., 50).

The third paper that explores the mystical origins in the play is Tajalliyat al-Hallaj, Maʾsat Salah

ʿAbd al-Sabur (The Manifestations of al-Hallaj, The Tragedy of Salah ʿAbd al-Sabur) by Dr. Yusuf

Zaydan. The scholar sets off his research by listing several historical references that confirm al-

Hallaj’s premonition of his execution. He mentions quotations narrated by the mystic's coevals,

including al-Junayd and ʿAli ibn ʿIsa. The author then asks what type of knowledge could have led

to all this, in other words, what was the absurdity of the knowledge that made al-Hallaj decide to

suffer and yearn for salvation? Zaydan decides that his desperate longing to reach the truth was the

reason he did not stand with his people on the true ʿirfān (gnosis) ground (Zaydan 2003, 59).

Consequently, he resolved that communication was impossible and that the emanation of Divine

gnosis in the mirrors of the self was alarming with discrepancy in recognition.

Al-Hallaj traveled throughout all the vicissitudes of Sufism, however, he showed perplexity in

various of his sayings and aḥwāl (spiritual states) until he became exhausted and desired death.

When awareness of his end dawned upon him, he recited the following prayer:

‫ ﻟﻤﺎ ﻓﻌﻠﻮا ﻣﺎ‬، ‫ ﻓﺈﻧﻚ ﻟﻮ ﻛﺸﻔﺖ ﻟﮭﻢ ﻣﺎ ﻛﺸﻔﺖ ﻟﻲ‬، ‫ ﻓﺎﻏﻔﺮ ﻟﮭﻢ‬، ‫ھﺆﻻء ﻋﺒﺎدك ﻗﺪ اﺟﺘﻤﻌﻮا ﻟﻘﺘﻠﻲ ﺗﻌﺼﺒﺎ ﻟﺪﯾﻨﻚ وﺗﻘﺮﺑﺎ إﻟﯿﻚ‬

(ibid., 60) .‫ﻓﻌﻠﻮا ؛ وﻟﻮ ﺳﺘﺮت ﻋﻨﻲ ﻣﺎ ﺳﺘﺮت ﻋﻨﮭﻢ‬

Those are Your slaves gathered to murder me out of extremism to Your

religion and to Your closeness, so forgive them, for had you revealed to

them what you revealed to me, they would not do what they did, and if

Thou veiled thyself from me, Thou did not veil thyself from them.

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 Zaydan carries on by examining the poetic image of al-Hallaj in the work of ʿAbd al-Sabur and

his inclination is that the poet revived al-Hallaj in modern literature. The Sufi in the play is

introduced through a private image that does not refer to him more than it does to ʿAbd al-Sabur

himself, for he lived during a significant Egyptian age that was wrought with glory and oppression

simultaneously and though it was rich in colours, the clearest was that of suppression. At that time,

writers sought to hide behind symbolism, metaphors and speaking through others, which is exactly

what ʿAbd al-Sabur did when he wrote his tragedy. Zaydan believes that the drama was in fact an

expression of ʿAbd al-Sabur’s own tragedy more than that of al-Hallaj (ibid., 63).ʿAbd al-Sabur was

not on the same page with the authorities, which would have driven him to illustrate al-Hallaj as a

social reformer aiming to improve the reality of his age. Zaydan further upholds that ʿAbd al-Sabur

made al-Hallaj wear a Socratic mask, which implied social correctness and expressed philosophical

views (ibid., 64–65).

The final source I present in this section is the one I consider as the most detailed study of the

tragedy of al-Hallaj and is entitled al-Masrah al-Shiʿri ʿInda Salah ʿAbd al-Sabur (The Poetic

Theatre of Salah Abd al-Sabur) by Dr. Thurayya al-ʿAsili. Her book is a comprehensive study of the

poet’s dramatic works and is divided into several chapters that cover his life, his vision and his

background and resources, while other parts of the book discuss each of his dramatic works in detail

and provide an analysis for their allusions.

Al-ʿAsili designates an entire chapter to the exploration of the hidden meanings in the tragedy

of al-Hallaj, which she titled Maʾsat al-Hallaj: al-Qahr wa-l-Muqawama (The Tragedy of al-Hallaj:

The Oppression and The Resistance). In the beginning of her chapter, the author clarifies that the

play is based on a crucial foundation: the concept of oppression, for human beings can either be

oppressors or oppressed and in this play, the poet belongs to the second category. The scholar shares

the belief of the aforementioned researchers that in his play, ʿAbd al-Sabur expresses himself
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through al-Hallaj in order to voice his own feelings of bewilderment, loneliness and fear suppressed

under the oppression. This justifies the repeated mention of the poor, the hungry and the subjugated

in the play (al-ʿAsili 1995, 59). She states, besides, that al-Hallaj is not the only character

representing oppression, but that al-Shibli, the group of Sufis, commoners, the two prisoners and

the judge Ibn Surayj are all embodiments of the authoritarian suppression as well.

Al-ʿAsili examines the features of oppression in the play, which she believes to be death and

crucification. On the other hand, she also sustains that the play alludes to resistance, which is

expressed through words, since they are the weapon of the poor and the oppressed (ibid., 60). She

goes on to tackle several other questions, such as the reason for which ʿAbd al-Sabur used the Sufi

experience in his work, and what he did with al-Hallaj. She answers the first question by attributing

it to the poet being influenced by the Sufis in his childhood, drawing her evidence from his personal

experience as expressed in his biography, where he states that he read extensively about al-Hallaj

and once attempted to reach the level of ecstasy that Sufis beautify.

Based on his statements as well, al-ʿAsili confirms that the poet believed in the similarity

between the poetic and the mystical experience, since they share a similar purpose, that of returning

the universe back to its purity and harmony after diving at the heart of the experience. Moreover, he

assumes there to be analogues between the poetic creation and the spiritual one, for he describes the

stages of composing a poem with mystical notions such as wārid (inspiration), lawāʾiḥ (Divine

gleams), talwīn, (variations) and so on and so forth. However, according to Dr. Louis ʿAwad, the

sole similarity between him and the mystics is his strive to find salvation (ibid., 60–61).

Regarding the second question, al-ʿAsili states that ʿAbd al-Sabur focuses on the political role

of al-Hallaj, as demonstrated in the trial scene. The act illustrates the type of accusations he faced,

corresponding with Madharraʾi and others and advising them to apply justice should they be

appointed to leadership. He teaches them the vital characteristics of rulers. ʿAbd al-Sabur put

emphasis on the integration of al-Hallaj with people, his involvement in their life, his adoption of
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the case of justice, his longing for death, his arrest, trial and verdict. He also carefully selected some

events from the the mystic’s life in order to demonstrate that he was an advocate against the

authorities' oppression. The poet also touches with tenderness upon the subject of Divine love, by

portraying al-Hallaj as a loving worshipper of the Divine who detests injustice and plays a

significant social role in his society (ibid., 63).

Al-ʿAsili points out that al-Hallaj was a popular figure among the poets and writers of ʿAbd al-

Sabur’s age and she mentions several names who wrote poems about him or for him (ibid., 65). The

author pursues her detailed dissection of the realistic and mystical dimensions of the character of al-

Hallaj in the play. She maintains that the first is demonstrated through the factor of rebellion, where

he is the voice of the people and the one who provokes the authorities. As for the second, she feels

that it emanates from the scenes where he expresses his love for the Divine (ibid., 71). As her

research progresses, al-ʿAsili expands on the conflict in the play by analysing other characters in the

drama. A vital element she presents in her chapter and which was not touched upon in any of the

other resources I found is the dialogue in the play. She affirms that the poet succeeded in making the

dialogue reflect the character’s ideas and their stance towards the authorities. As an example, she

cites the fact that the second prisoner was in love with words in his youth, but that due to the

oppression he and his mother faced, he turned into a rebel who only believes in force and weapons

as a means to resist subjugation. She further asserts that the dialogue embodies the vision of al-

Hallaj and ʿAbd al-Sabur’s regarding the benefit of words, whereas the second prisoner does not

share their belief (ibid., 88). The dialogue's efficacy is due to its simple and direct linguistic style as

well as to the Sufi symbolic language, which is expressed in the scenes where al-Hallaj speaks of

his thoughts and discusses mystical issues with his Sufi fellows (ibid., 90). By contrast, she believes

that the Sufi monologues were used to paint al-Hallaj as a man of God who sought equality and

justice and despised oppression and unfairness (ibid., 91). Eventually, the author offers her point of

view on ʿAbd al-Sabur’s stylistics, his use of the Qurʾanic language effect, meters and technique,
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such as al-takwīnāt al-dāʾirriyya (ring composition) (ibid., 93). The author’s comments on dialogue

ceases at this point and does not expand any further. 191

Salah ʿAbd al-Sabur

Born on the third of May 1931 in al-Zaqaziq, a city belonging to the al-Sharqiyya governorate,

Salah ʿAbd al-Sabur received his cognitive education in governmental schools before graduating in

Arabic Language from the Faculty of Arts at the University of Fuʾad the First, known today as the

University of Cairo (Sameh, Hassan & Frig 2020). During his college years, he joined the group

“al-ʾUmanāʾ,” which was established by his mentor Amin al-Khuli and which had a significant

influence on the poetic and critical political movements of Egypt at the time (Lukhdur 2014, 20).

Pursuing his career, the poet entered the path of education as a teacher (Husni 1999, 19), spending

five years teaching at secondary level. However, according to his biography, he was not regarded as

a successful tutor, for he was not on the same page with the inspectors of the Ministry of Education.

One of them is said to have reported that he was not suitable for the job, on account of the different

perspectives held by both parties. He therefore submitted his resignation without any regrets in

1957 (ʿAbd al-Sabur, as cited in al-ʿAsili 1995, 29) and became a journalist for the Ruz al-Yusuf

magazine, before joining the al-Ahram newspaper as a literary editor (Goldschmidt 2000, 9). In

1961, the poet was hired by the management council of al-Dar al-Misriyya as a writer, translator

and publisher. After this, he had many roles in different sectors, including one with the cultural

department of the Embassy of Egypt in India and the head office of the Writers’ Association in

Egypt (Sameh, Hassan & Frig 2020).

191 It is vital to mention that, through the research I conducted, I have not found further Western sources that examine

Salah ʿAbd al-Sabur's play, The Tragedy of al-Hallaj. Nonetheless, for further Western resources about Salah ʿAbd al-

Sabur, the following sources may be referred to: New Writing from the Middle East by Hamalian and Yohannan, Arabic

Literature: Postmodern Perspectives by Neuwirth and et al. and Writer, Culture, Text: Studies in Modern Arabic

Literature by Elad.
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 ʿAbd al-Sabur drew his poetics from an array of writers, of whom, to name but a few, Jubran, al-

Manfaluti, Eliot and Lorca. Al-ʿAsili believes that certain factors helped shape the poet’s vision,

probably the most important of which were the political and social conditions that existed during his

childhood, but also the political circumstances that reigned at the time when the poet produced his

poetry. Other factors were ʿAbd al-Sabur’s own psychological preparation and intellectual

tendencies (al-ʿAsili 1995, 23). In addition, Cragg maintains that there are certain historical events

that clearly impacted the poet's mental state, not least of which were the Algerian revolution and the

defeat of Palestine in 1948 (Cragg 2009, 168). Where poetic drama is concerned, ʿAbd al-Sabur is

considered as a pioneer, for his works were obscure, short and characterised by being experimental

and concentrated. His first dramatic oeuvre was The Tragedy of al-Hallaj. The poet life’s ended in

1981, but he gifted the world with a rich legacy and in several genres, comprising of poetry, short

stories, plays and non-fictional books such as his theory on poetry and his biography (Sameh,

Hassan & Frig 2020). His works included but are not limited to Aqulu Lakum (I say to you), Shajar

al-Layl (The Trees of the Night), al-Nisaʾ Hina Yatahattamn (When Women Break), al-Amira

Tantazir (The Princess Awaits) and Baʿda An Yamut al-Malik (After the King’s Death).

Al-Hallaj

Al-Hallaj, Abu Mughith ibn Mansur is one of the most significant and controversial names in the

history of Islam. The mystic’s doctrine, approaches and tragic end resulted in him classifying people

into two categories: intense opponents and extreme admirers. Be that as it may, both parties might

agree that the method of his execution was hideous. The Sufi was born in 244H (958 AD) in al-Tur

(Massignon 2004, 61), his origins revert to Persia, yet he was brought up in Wasit in Iraq (al-

Sullami 1998, 102). His education journey ceased at the age of sixteen, after which he dedicated

himself to the service of his Sufi shaykh, Sahl, in the city of Tistir. Afterwards, al-Hallaj traveled to

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Basra to build his path to Sufism and to obtain the khirqa192 (cloak) (Massignon 2004, 62). His

destination was fraught with political instability; the revolution of the Zanj, which was presided

over by the Natrun mine’s labourers. However, it was ended in 270H (883 AD) by al-Wasiyy

Muwaffaq, who brought the cruel taxation system back (ibid., 63). Consequently, the Sufi decided

to move to Mecca to perform ʿumra193 and practice his rituals: praying and fasting next to the Kaʿba

(Ansari 2000, 293). He later headed for Iraq, and there his problematic battle sprouted when ʿAmr

al-Makki filed his heresy accusation against him. This event led al-Hallaj to take off his cloak as a

symbolic gesture of separation from the Sufi system (Massignon 2004, 64). In addition to the

accusations of heresy, he was arrested in Jabal for an accusation of supporting the Qarmatians,

although there were no further consequences to this incident. After performing his third hajj, he

started spreading his missionary statement to the public, thereby attracting followers from all walks

of life. With this, his ambition grew to the point of demanding government reformations (Ansari

2000, 295), which escalated and developed into the start of a revolt led by al-Moʿtazz against al-

Muqtadir's regime. It was, however, a very short-lived rebellion, which was rapidly extinguished

(Massignon 2004, 67–68). Al-Muqtadir was able to retake control of the throne speedily because of

the lack of financial support from the Jews, who were acting in collusion with the minister of

taxation, who happened to be a Shiʿi and the Shiʿi sector was against the revolution (Badawi 1964,

71). Al-Hallaj was able to escape for three years but Ibn al-Furat eventually succeeded in tracing

him and bringing him back to Baghdad, where he was imprisoned for nine years. The followers of

the mystic were able to convince al-Muqtadir to transfer his residency to the location of al-Qushuri,

where he announced his approach for reformation again. This worked like a magnet that attracted a

larger crowd of people and created more rumours and enemies against him (Ghaleb 1982, 46).

192 Wearing the khirqa is a mystical tradition that indicates the significant relationship between the mentor and his

murīd (seeker), so this latter may drink from the fountain of his shaykh's illumination. Wearing the cloak implies

surrendering to one's master and being included in his fellowship (al-Ajam 1999, 320).
193 “Lesser pilgrimage to Makkah that may be performed at any time of the year” (Bakkour 2012, 399).
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Obtaining the support of both audience and politicians only led to inflaming the tension for

establishing another revolution. As a result, the only solution to put an end to his rebellious

movement seemed to be constructing several accusations to sentence him with the death penalty

(Badawi 1964, 76). In 309H (921AD), the trial of al-Hallaj was held and he was prosecuted on four

counts: the practice of conjuring craft, fabricating a spiritual hajj, corresponding with the

Qarmatians in secret and claiming to be a deity for declaring “anā al-ḥaqq” (I am the Real) (Sharaf

1970, 80–83). The court found al-Hallaj guilty of all charges, whence he was convicted and

sentenced to death by execution. His death was, to say the least, very far from merciful; his hands

were amputated, his feet crucified and his body burnt, before his head was amputated and hanged

for two days on the bridge of Baghdad (al-Baghdadi, as cited in al-Sih 1998, 112).

The play’s summary

Maʾsāt al-Hallaj was published in 1965 in Egypt (Badawi 1987, 220). It consists of two parts: the

first is entitled al-Kalima (the word) and the second al-Mawt (death). In the first scene, the body of

al-Hallaj is shown crucified on a tree and a dialogue is taking place between three different

characters: the merchant, the farmer and the preacher, who are expressing their amazement at what

they are witnessing. A group of people then enter and the preacher asks them about the identity of

the murdered man and who is responsible for his death. The group confirm that they are the

murderers. The members of that group consist of people suffering from certain disabilities such as

blindness, as well as others from various professions including but not limited to blacksmiths and

carpenters. The trader asks them if there is any executioner among them, to which they answer in

the negative, so he goes on questioning them: “then how did you kill him, with you bare hands?”

Their response is shocking, for they reply that they killed him with words. The merchant laughs at

their explanation, for he cannot accept their reply logically, but they remain adamant about their

claim and pursue with even stranger retorts, alleging that they murdered him because they were
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more in love with his words than with him, so they let him die in order that his words might become

immortal. The group persevere in describing their devotion and admiration for the murdered mystic

whose knowledge they used to seek, until an old man enters the stage. The dialogue clarifies his

name as al-Shibli and upon entering the scene, he addresses the hanged Sufi, blaming him for

associating with the mass and proclaiming that he should have stayed away from the crowd and

isolated himself to practice his Divine love in secret. He then throws a red rose next to his body. Al-

Shibli feels guilty for his companion’s death and ends his monologue by stating that he was the one

who murdered him. The farmer, merchant and preacher, who were witnessing all of these events,

find themselves engulfed in wonder at not knowing the truth behind the whole situation. The scene

ends with them following al-Shibli in a desperate attempt to ask him about what really happened

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 2000, 6–17).

The second scene is a flashback from when al-Hallaj was alive in his house and having an

argumentative and philosophical debate with al-Shibli about the role of the man who was fortunate

enough to meet the Divine and venerable enough to deserve the revelation of the veiled secret. The

dialogue between the two mystics unburdens the different respective perspectives of each. Al-Shibli

initiates the conversation by urging al-Hallaj not to involve himself in the affairs of the masses nor

in life itself, affirming that a person who witnessed the light of the Divine’s love should be above

mortality, since it would veil him from ʿirfān (gnosis). Yet al-Hallaj disagrees with him entirely, for

his belief is that he who had the merit of witnessing the Divine light should spread his radiance

among people in order to cure the ill universe. Both mystics expand on their points of view and

discuss further concepts such as the meaning and essence of evil, the questioning of the Divine’s

existence in the midst of the wave of injustice, hunger and poverty and the crucial role of words.

The conversation is interrupted by the appearance of Ibrahim ibn Fatik, the loyal student of al-

Hallaj, to warn him of the authorities' intention to arrest and punish him, whereby he advises his

mentor to escape. Al-Hallaj vehemently refuses, proclaiming that injustice is in every place in the
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universe and that he will stay because he believes in the certainty of the Divine's will and his

support through the letters of the Qurʾan. For his part, al-Shibli attempts in vain to convince him to

heed Ibrahim's suggestion. Al-Hallaj later declares out loud his intention to back the people and to

not give up on the importance of revolting against the injustice suffered by the people. Al-Shibli

urges him to think wisely, reminding him that he is a Sufi with a cloak that comes with certain

responsibilities. The scene ends with al-Hallaj tearing up his cloak to express his rejection to wear

anything that might symbolise weakness and humiliation (ibid, 18–36).

The third scene starts with a conversation between the three characters from the opening of the

first scene, who are discussing the issue of paying money to the authorities. Their conversation is

interrupted by that of another group consisting of a cripple, a leper and a hunchback. The third

instigates the dialogue by expressing his admiration for al-Hallaj but also his belief that the mystic's

words are ineffective, for he cannot cure him. By contrast, the cripple disagrees, stating that his

words can make him walk and run. The leper makes a further statement to explain al-Hallaj's

influence on him, before an argument commences with a group of Sufis entering the stage, who

express their indignation at al-Hallaj for ripping up his cloak. The tone of the conversation rises to

debate the vitality of mystical symbols, the cloak and whether the Divine exists in it or in the heart

of he who wears it. The three Sufis touch upon even more sensitive topics around mysticism, of

which the selfishness of the mystic who enjoys his hermitage and neglects the sorrow of others and

the fear of losing one’s vision if the mystic gets involved in people’s lives. Al-Hallaj calls for the

group who decided to ask him their confusing questions. He calls for unfortunate people to preach.

The first group appears and wonders about the mystic, whom they see as a mere man of ecstasy.

Among the group following al-Hallaj are police officers who start arguing with him while he is

speaking of the Divine's love and His signs in the universe, an emotion which, the mystic upholds,

if abandoned, would spread hunger, poverty and injustice throughout the world. The two officers

start provoking the mystic with questions about the attributes of the Divine in order to make his
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tongue slip and arrest him for heresy. The police then take him into custody, causing the audience to

protest against the false accusations made against him, on account of the officers tricking him into

revealing the secret. The scene ends with the first group wondering about the nature of the

revelation that got him arrested (ibid., 37–53).

The first scene of the second part starts with al-Hallaj being shoved into the prison cell. Two

nameless prisoners are already in the cell and are referred to as prisoner one and prisoner two. Upon

hearing his prayer, the two inmates start their dialogue assuming that al-Hallaj has lost his mind.

The two keep up their comical exchange and then ask the mystic about his identity and the crime

that landed him here. Soon after, a prison guard angrily enters the cell to investigate the noise

coming from there. Both prisoners deny any guilt so the guard concludes that it must be al-Hallaj’s

fault and starts to whip him, but soon wonders why he is not begging him to stop or screaming in

pain for him to cease the beating. Al-Hallaj answers him with prayers requesting from the Divine to

forgive his pain, which only makes the guard angrier and causes him to start shouting at al-Hallaj to

beg God for mercy or look at him in fear or anything to make him stop. The guard eventually

collapses and asks al-Hallaj his forgiveness. He then leaves the cell and the prisoners gather around

al-Hallaj and begin to discuss several issues: al-Hallaj’s abilities, the role of the mystic in society,

the consequence of words, the difference between words and actions from the second prisoner’s

perspective and choosing between the word and the sword and the validity of each. The light dims

and brightens up again, indicating the passing of days in the cell. Only the first prisoner and al-

Hallaj appear in the scene, to illustrate the escape of the second one, for the first grew attached to

al-Hallaj and his words, preferring to stay with him rather than to escape. We then see a police

officer entering the cell to take the Sufi to his trial (ibid., 56–82).

The second scene unfolds in the setting of a court where the trial of al-Hallaj takes place. The

judges present are three: Abu ʿUmar al-Hammadi, Ibn Sulayman and Ibn Surayj. The dialogue

commences with the first judge praying to the Divine, asking to be guided by his justice. He then
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enquires about the delay of al-Hallaj's appearance in court. The court attendant replies that the delay

is due to a protest led by another prisoner who shared the cell with the mystic and to the ensuing

fight with police to disperse them. A conversation then starts between Ibn Surayj and Abu ʿUmar,

due to the objection of the first at calling al-Hallaj “mufsid” (corruptive) before examining the

evidence and hearing the defence of the accused. The two keep on arguing with Ibn Surayj,

claiming that al-Hallaj is a rebel who turned against the ruler and spread blasphemy among the

people, until the conversation is interrupted by the entrance of al-Hallaj. His interrogation then

begins and revolves around several aspects, including his doctrine, the spread of agitation and his

intentions. Al-Hallaj replies with a long monologue about his origins, the journey of his search for

knowledge, reaching the destination of Divine love and the conclusion of it. Abu ʿUmar responds

with anger and rejection for he considers al-Hallaj's answer to be a statement of pure heresy. Ibn

Surayj disagrees with his colleague and refuses to convict him in view of the sacred relationship

between a worshiper and his beloved Divine. Afterwards, Ibn Surayj investigates the truth behind

al-Hallaj corrupting the masses and decides that the reason for the corruption is the Sultan himself.

The trial continues by questioning al-Hallaj about his correspondence with other leaders from

abroad and the content of his letters. The mystic replies that he was discontented by the suffering of

people and by the injustice and poverty used to humiliate the less fortunate. The trial is interrupted

by a messenger from the Sultan's palace, come to announce that the minister grants the Sufi

amnesty. However, Abu ʿUmar continues reading the letter and it turns out to be deceptive. Whilst it

begins by showing mercy, it leaves the worse for last. The letter states that forgiving al-Hallaj on

behalf of the Sultan does not infer laxity towards the Divine’s rights. Thus, he should be punished

for his crime against God. Ibn Surayj expresses his utmost disagreement and decides to leave the

courtroom in protest against such injustice. Abu ʿUmar continues the trial and recites the footnote of

the letter that requires the court to let the people decide the penalty of al-Hallaj. Al-Shibli is one of

the witnesses who was forced to speak at the stand and provide testimony. He tries very hard to
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avoid answering the questions and begs to be allowed to leave. The judge then calls the group of

paupers and asks them about their opinion of al-Hallaj, to which they all yell in unison that he is a

kāfir (infidel) and should be executed. In the end, the judge orders the crowd to walk around the

streets and markets, chanting that by order of the people, and not that of the authorities or the judges

whose decision it was not, the court finds al-Hallaj guilty and sentences him to be hanged in the

gallows. The group marches away to execute the order, and the play ends.

Summarising the play in detail was intentional, to not fall into the trap of mentioning each scene

along with the analysis of verses in the following section.

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 Chapter Three

Section Two

Methodology and Analysis

Various were the scholars who felt inclined to explore the deeper meanings, symbols and allusions

in The Tragedy of al-Hallaj. Many a research highlighted and confirmed the undeniable political

significance of the play and its barely hidden rebellious voice, as was shown by the literature review

in the last section. There were furthermore studies that brought up the influence of Greek drama on

the poet, and which illustrated al-Hallaj as the sacrificing hero who dies for the sake of others.

However, in this section, I intend to examine the play through a new perspective that, to the best of

my knowledge, has never before been applied to it before. My analysis does not only aim to

conclude the truth of the mystical challenge to the authorities, which has already been declared and

established by several studies before, but I will also be exploring the method through which ʿAbd

al-Sabur structured his play and built his main character in order to achieve that conclusion. In other

words, instead of asking what the play aims to achieve, I will be attempting to explain how the poet

developed his protagonist to allow him to express his political rebellion. In addition, to this, the

above method will be applied to the study of the selected verses in the analysis, via the perspective

and ideas mentioned earlier in this paper, with the purpose of emphasising the similarities between

the points made in the different chapters of the thesis.

The selected methodology

As a general theoretical frame, I opted for the approach that Joseph Campbell introduced in his

book The Hero With a Thousand Faces. The reason for choosing this precise approach is because of

the nature of the genre’s case study. In this work, ʿAbd al-Sabur does not write a direct dialogue

with the Divine, instead, he writes about a mystic who had a conversation with the Divine.
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Therefore, I believe that the chosen method has to focus on the character, in order to analyse his

narrative. For the sake of clarity, I will present a broad outline of his method, as I will elaborate

more throughout the analysis. The book provides a detailed anatomy map for the hero’s journey

from the beginning to the end, based on mythical stories and epic tales from different cultures and

backgrounds. Campbell introduces his heroic guideline by designating two milestone parts in the

protagonist’s journey, which include several stages the main character will have to experience. It is

not necessary that the hero delve into them all, however, he must plunge into at least several of

them. At the very beginning, he provides us with a prologue about the monomyth and its allusions.

He maintains that the hero is he or she who is capable of defeating historical and local limitations

“to the generally valid, normally human forms” (Campbell 2012, 14). Moreover, the protagonist

leaves the world of daily life and seeks the path of supernatural miracles. Afterwards, should he

obtain victory, he would return from his mystery-laden journey having acquired the capability of

providing his fellow men with blessings (ibid., 23).

The two parts Campbell divides the heroic journey into are “The Adventure of the Hero” and

“The Cosmogonic Cycle.” Each part is divided into four chapters and each has different steps or

stages. In the first chapter entitled “Departure,” the author classifies the stages of launching the

adventure. Campbell calls the first step on the champion’s path “The Call to Adventure” and

suggests that it is instigated by a coincidence or a mistake that the hero or heroin commits, which

leads to an unknown world or engages him or her with mysterious forces. This stage could be

exemplified as awakening the self, the spiritual illumination, the great tree or the dark forest (ibid.,

42–43). The next step is the “Refusal of the Call,” when the hero refuses to leave the place where he

believes his best interests to lie, his safe space (ibid., 49). However, when the conflict peeks, the

heroin or hero will pray for a miracle to happen in order to change their negative reality (ibid., 56),

which leads to the next stage: “Supernatural Aid.” The ones who follow the call will be surrounded

by a protective force such as, for instance, an old wiseman (ibid., 57). The preparation of the guide
224
will provide the hero with vital powers that will allow him or her to continue the journey, whereby

he or she will face the ensuing step, which is “The Crossing of the First Threshold,” and is guarded

by gatekeepers who stand between the hero and the unknown danger (ibid., 64). Managing to cross

that magical threshold will instil the hero with the illusion of a rebirth into a new powerful identity.

Instead, he will be defeated, drowned and swallowed into “The Belly of the Whale,” which

announces the following stage, one that alludes to the image of the womb (ibid., 74) and hints to

what Campbell calls "self-annihilation," where the hero dives into his own inner depths in order to

be reborn (ibid., 77).

The second chapter is called “Initiation” and consists of six steps experienced by the main

character of the monomyth. The first one is “The Road of Trials,” which follows the threshold and

is considered to be the preferred route in the literature of miraculous adventures. In this stage, the

hero explores a dreamland where he has to get through certain ordeals. He will be able to do so

thanks to the advice and guidance bestowed upon him by the mentor he met earlier (ibid., 81). The

author further believes that this level is analogous with the second step of the mystical path, “The

Purification of the Self” (ibid., 84). In the step that follows, the main character transcends to the

next level, that of “The Meeting with the Goddess” (ibid., 91). Campbell states that the symbol of

the goddess represents the image of the mother. It is an image that colours the cosmos with

femininity, protection and nourishment (ibid., 94) and only he who has brilliance will have the

means to acquire the uppermost comprehension that would bring about the revelation of the high

goddess (ibid., 97). In the next step, the hero has to endure yet another examination through a stage

named “Woman as the Temptress,” which represents the mystical union between the hero, the

goddess and the hero's victory, for the hero will have successfully mastered the deity's knowledge

and she is seen as a symbol of life (ibid., 101). The fourth stage of the first part, or "Atonement with

the Father," epitomises the father figure as a representation of adulthood, after having matured and

separated from the figure of motherhood. Here, should he be worthy of it, the protagonist will
225
inherit the power of his father, a power which will prepare him for the real world (ibid., 115). This

in turn leads the hero to the fifth stage: "Apotheosis." At this point, just like the Buddha, the main

character emerges as a godlike figure, a state attained after transcending from the last stage of

ignorance; the hero liberates himself from fear after his self-awareness is annihilated, in that space

where "all beings become without a self" (ibid., 127). Finally, the last stage in this part is "The

Ultimate Boon." It represents the eternal reward following the completion of the adventure (ibid.,

148) and the attainment of the ultimate growth of the spirit.

The third chapter is baptised as "Return" and sets off with the stage of "The Refusal of the

Return." Having completed his mission, the hero will be faced with the option of two choices: he

could either stay in his new dominion or choose to return to his former society (ibid., 167). Should

the protagonist be commissioned to spread the elixir of enlightenment around society, he will be

supported by supernatural power. On the other hand, if the hero obtains the trophy against the wish

of its guardian, or if the demons and the gods should resist his return to the world, his journey will

be fraught with obstacles (ibid., 170). The stage that follows the "Return" is "Rescue from Without,"

and here is where the world might call for the hero in order to gain him back (ibid., 178). To be able

to return, the hero will need to get through an obstacle, which is "The Crossing of the Return

Threshold," a stage of confusion, where the champion experiences the divine world before clashing

with the human one, which he has to return to. The problem with this level lies in the difficulty of

transferring the language of darkness into the world of light (ibid., 181), and so the task that the

hero is compelled to achieve is that of finding a method to bind his two worlds together. If he

manages to do so, he will be elevated to the stage of "Master of the Two Worlds." To reach that

level would indicate that the hero has mastered the art of passing across the two worlds, hence

becoming the "cosmic dancer", as Nietzsche calls him (ibid., 196). In the end, Campbell states that

the aim of the myth is to attain the point of dispelling the ignorance in life by reconciling the will of

226
the Universe with that of individual consciousness, which will help the hero achieve the last step:

"Freedom to Live" (ibid., 206).

In the second part, Campbell represents another side of the hero’s journey entitled "The

Cosmogonic Cycle." In its first chapter, "Emanations," the author mentions six points. He begins

with "From Psychology to Metaphysics," where he states that tales of imagination, which address

the life of a hero, the hidden power of sacred nature, are in fact fears and desires that are layered in

the human behaviour pattern. Therefore, myths are psychological texts that adhere to cosmology,

history or biography (ibid., 219). Their messages are meant to be delivered in a form of

communicative language of conventional wisdom (ibid., 220). The next point is "The universal

round," which explains that in each mythology, there are illustrations of a cosmogonic cycle, which

tends to start with an experience of awakening, followed by the experience of the dream and finally,

the deep sleep (ibid., 227). I will omit the following steps and chapter, as they are irrelevant to my

suggested analysis and will skip straight to the third chapter, called "Transformations of the hero,"

which I believe correlates particularly well with ʿAbd al-Sabur’s play. Its first point is "The

primordial Hero and the Human," a stage in which the hero obtains enlightenment from the divine

power in physical mortal shape (ibid., 271). It is followed by the "Childhood of the Human Hero,"

in which Campbell states that the cognitive years of the hero tend to illustrate the marvellous

abilities he or she was gifted by the Divine (ibid., 274). When the hero obtains his power, he has to

be tested by means of certain obstacles with the help of a companion or a mentor. Consequently, the

hero steps into youth and the cycle of his childhood dies. The protagonist is then launched onto the

unknown path (ibid., 280). When the stage of "The Hero as a Warrior" is reached, the hero will face

obstacles and challenges from the unknown and because of that, he will become even more

powerful to fight the enemy, which could materialise in any shape, such as a dragon or a monster.

This enemy is in possession of the authority on account of his ego and oppression (ibid., 289). In

the section that ensues, we have "The Hero as Lover," or the stage where the hero is rewarded with
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love after accomplishing several courageous deeds. By "love," Campbell refers to a woman, who

could be something akin to a princess rescued from a dragon or a maid kidnapped from a jealous

parent and who represents the prize of his conquest (ibid., 293). The author then explores "The Hero

as Emperor and as Tyrant." The writer believes that the hero is he who can make the presence of the

One seen again by continuing the cosmogonic circle and reopening the eyes to see him regardless of

delight or agony. Achieving this requires a deeper level of wisdom than the one before (ibid., 296).

When the hero falls into the trap of worldly desires, he turns into a tyrant, as in the case of Nimrod

(ibid., 299). A hero who experienced the One’s illumination and returns with the belief of

unification becomes "The Hero as World Redeemer," as the next stage is called (ibid., 299).

However, in order not to turn into a tyrant, the author states that he ought to be crucified (ibid.,

303). I believe that Jesus could be an illustration of this stage.

The final stage of examining the allusion is "The Hero as Saint." Here, a hero is he who is able

to burn his ego and step away from the material world (ibid., 304). In the end, the hero

manifestation reaches to the conclusion that there must be a "Departure of the Hero," which

indicates his death in order to complete the purpose of his life. A hero is not a hero if he cannot

reconcile with the doom (ibid., 306). However, that should not mean the end, for it is believed that

he can be revived (ibid., 307).

The analysis of the play

As has previously been mentioned, the play starts with the view of al-Hallaj crucified on the tree. It

starts from the end; from death as the beginning of the story. According to Campbell’s premise,

death is the conditional departure for each hero in order to achieve the purpose of his life. Yet it

does not represent the end, since the hero can be revived. Although this may appear like a

contradictory image, it is actually compatible. The scene of his dead body is after all what

motivated the people to start asking about him, his name, the crime that brought him to the gallows
228
and the identity of his killer. His death is what triggered his story to be brought back to life by

inhabiting the memory of people and prompting questions that caused his remembrance to flourish:

‫ أﺣﺒﺒﻨﺎ ﻛﻠﻤﺎﺗﮫ‬:‫اﻟﻤﺠﻤﻮﻋﺔ‬

‫أﻛﺜﺮ ﻣﻤﺎ أﺣﺒﺒﻨﺎه‬

.‫ﻓﺘﺮﻛﻨﺎه ﯾﻤﻮت ﻟﻜﻲ ﺗﺒﻘﻰ اﻟﻜﻠﻤﺎت‬

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 2000, 11)

We loved his words

More than we loved him

So we let him die so that his words might live.

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 1972, 6)

The uttered words are the method of infusing the soul into his name. His memory will be

revived through the words, which were at the same time the reason for his death. He therefore lives

and dies because of them and makes the others live because of them:

‫ﻛﻨﺎ ﻧﻠﻘﺎه ﺑﻈﮭﺮ اﻟﺴﻮق ﻋﻄﺎﺷﺎ ﻓﯿﺮوﯾﻨﺎ‬

‫ﻣﻦ ﻣﺎء اﻟﻜﻠﻤﺎت‬

‫ ﻓﯿﻄﺎﻋﻤﻨﺎ ﻣﻦ أﺛﻤﺎر اﻟﺤﻜﻤﺔ‬،‫ﺟﻮﻋﻰ‬

.‫وﯾﻨﺎدﻣﻨﺎ ﺑﻜﺆوس اﻟﺸﻮق إﻟﻰ اﻟﻌﺮس اﻟﻨﻮراﻧﻲ‬

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 2000, 12)

We met him behind the market place:

Thirsty,
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 He quenched our thirst with the waters of his words;

Hungry,

He fed us with cups of longing for heavenly illumination.

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 1972, 6)

The dialectic of life and death does not only show through the word in this scene, but through

the tree that al-Hallaj is crucified on as well, since the tree is a symbol of life. The poet uses it in

the play as if to say that man lives in death and dies in life and as long as he is alive, he dies. When

this dialectic ends, he will find existence within the incarnation of the modern self, not only in the

Creator who takes the image of the created, but also in the tree, which is nature taking on the image

of the Creator, according to Ibn ʿArabi’s theory of waḥdat al-wujūd (the unicity of being)194 (Subh

2003, 45). Subh believes that the concept of the Divine’s existence everywhere is illustrated by the

tree: the creature that witnesses existence and immortality at the same time (ibid., 46).

Moreover, the first act in the play is entitled "al-Kalima," the word, and the second act is "al-

Mawt," or death. I suggest that the titles of the acts are correlative with the dialectic between life

and death, words being the representatives of life that causes death. However, it does not end but

continues to circulate. When the preacher in the scene required to understand the situation, the head

of the group replied:

‫ اﺷﻌﺮ و أﺣﺲ‬..‫ﻻﺗﺒﻎ اﻟﻔﮭﻢ‬

‫ ﺗﻌﺮّف‬..‫ﻻ ﺗﺒﻎ اﻟﻌﻠﻢ‬

.‫ ﺗﺒﺼّﺮ‬.. ‫ﻻ ﺗﺒﻎ اﻟﻨﻈﺮ‬

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 2000, 12)

194 Translation by al-ʿAjam 1999, 1155.

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 Do not seek to understand. Feel and sense.

Do not seek to know. Comprehend.

Do not seek to see. Perceive.

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 1972, 6)

There is an intersection here between the idea of the group’s head and al-Niffari’s doctrine. Both

agree on the fact that fihm (understanding), is the lowest level of comprehension, for the knowledge

of the heart, or to feel, is more transcending. The agreement shines as well in the concept of naẓar

(seeing), which agrees with al-Niffari’s ruʾya (vision). Since vision is not the purpose, it is what you

are seeing with that matters. Therefore, the preacher is depending on his eyes, an organ that is

limited. Whereas the Sufi is asking him to look at what lies beyond in order to realise why what

happened to al-Hallaj occurred. The head of the group then explains the tragedy and illustrates the

significance of its occurrence, which elaborates more on the dialectic of life and death and confirms

Campbell's suggestion regarding the death of the hero:

:‫ﻛﺎن ﯾﻘﻮل‬

‫إذا ﻏﺴﻠﺖ ﺑﺎﻟﺪﻣﺎء ھﺎﻣﺘﻲ وأﻏﺼﻨﻲ‬

‫ﻓﻘﻂ ﺗﻮﺿﺄت وﺿﻮء اﻷﻧﺒﯿﺎء‬

‫ ﻛﻲ ﯾﻌﻮد ﻟﻠﺴﻤﺎء‬،‫ﻛﺎن ﯾﺮﯾﺪ أن ﯾﻤﻮت‬

‫ﻛﺄﻧﮫ طﻔﻞ ﺳﻤﺎوي ﺷﺮﯾﺪ‬

‫ﻗﺪ ﺿﻞ ﻋﻦ أﺑﯿﮫ ﻓﻲ ﻣﺘﺎھﺔ اﻟﻤﺴﺎء‬

:‫ﻛﺎن ﯾﻘﻮل‬

‫ﻛﺄن ﻣﻦ ﯾﻘﺘﻠﻨﻲ ﻣﺤﻘﻖ ﻣﺸﯿﺌﺘﻲ‬

‫وﻣﻨﻔﺬ إرادة اﻟﺮﺣﻤﻦ‬

‫ﻷﻧﮫ ﯾﺼﻮغ ﻣﻦ ﺗﺮاب رﺟﻞ ﻓﺎن‬

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 ‫أﺳﻄﻮرة وﺣﻜﻤﺔ وﻓﻜﺮة‬

:‫ﻛﺎن ﯾﻘﻮل‬

‫إن ﻣﻦ ﯾﻘﺘﻠﻨﻲ ﺳﯿﺪﺧﻞ اﻟﺠﻨﺎن‬

‫ﻷﻧﮫ ﺑﺴﯿﻔﮫ أﺗﻢ اﻟﺪور ْة‬

‫ﻻﻧﮫ أﻏﺎث ﺑﺎﻟﺪﻣﺎ إذ ﻧﺨﺲ اﻟﻮرﯾﺪ‬

.‫ﺷﺠﯿﺮة ﺟﺪﯾﺒﺔ زرﻋﺘﮭﺎ ﺑﻠﻔﻈﻲ اﻟﻌﻘﯿﻢ‬

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 2000, 13)

He used to say:

‘If my head and limbs were washed with blood,

Then I would be cleansed as were the prophets’

He wished for death, he longed to return to heaven,

As though he were a heavenly child who was lost,

A child who had strayed from his father in the dark of night.

He used to say:

‘He who kills me fulfills my wish

And that of God.

For he who kills me would fashion from the dust of a dead man

A story with a moral, and an ideal’

He used to say:

‘He who kills me shall enter Paradise,

For with his blade he would complete the cycle;

With the blood he draws from the veins

He would succour

The wilting tree I planted with my empty words.

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 (ʿAbd al-Sabur 1972, 7)

Campbell insists that the hero must die to achieve his life’s message and purpose. The head of

the mystics here understands that by reciting the words of al-Hallaj about the necessity of his death,

he is reviving his memory through the wisdom of martyrdom. He furthermore literally confirms

Campbell's idea by saying that the killer completed the circle. This verse also happens to confirm

another idea of Campbell’s, which is that death is not the end and might signify a rebirth. The real

al-Hallaj, putting aside the protagonist of the play for a moment, was a person who suffered from

internal diaspora. His language, poetry and political interests were methods of exiling him instead

of bringing him closer to people. He therefore felt an urgent need for salvation, which was only

exacerbated by his profound mysticism. Consequently, death was the vessel through which to reach

his home and fulfil his yearning to belong. As he himself says:

‫اﻗﺘﻠﻮﻧﻲ ﯾﺎ ﺛﻘﺎﺗﻲ‬

‫إن ﻓﻲ ﻗﺘﻠﻲ ﺣﯿﺎﺗﻲ‬

‫وﻣﻤﺎﺗﻲ ﻓﻲ ﺣﯿﺎﺗﻲ‬

.‫وﺣﯿﺎﺗﻲ ﻓﻲ ﻣﻤﺎﺗﻲ‬

(al-Hallaj 2007, 204)

Kill me, O my faithful friends

For to kill me is to make me live

My Life is in my death

And my death is in my life.

(al-Hallaj, as cited in Massignon 1982, 600)

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 Whether he referred to death in a metaphorical or literal sense, the mystic had a deep faith that

death would be the salvation through which he would meet his beloved and be reborn. In the play,

ʿAbd al-Sabur portrays al-Hallaj as an intellectual hero come to liberate the minds and souls from

humiliation and instil the belief that each individual has the right to challenge the authorities if they

did not guarantee him or her a life of dignity. However, I suggest that the representation of al-Hallaj

in the play transcends to echo the persona of the prophets, something that can be seen in several

scenes. In the previous example for instance, the mystic narrates the words of al-Hallaj, indicating

that he who sacrifices his life for others is truly a prophet, since his poured blood reflects the

sacrifices of the prophets for their people. I will elaborate more on this point in a designated section

later on in the analysis, where I suggest that, in the play, al-Hallaj echoes the image of the prophets

Jesus and Joseph.

The following scene is that of al-Shibli’s grief for his companion's death, which I believe

represents the voices that believe in the uselessness of sacrifices, given that the people will only

reward this with abandonment:

‫ﯾﺎ ﺻﺎﺣﺒﻲ وﺣﺒﯿﺒﻲ‬

(‫)أو ﻟﻢ ﻧﻨﮭﻚ ﻋﻦ اﻟﻌﺎﻟﻤﯿﻦ؟‬

!‫ﻓﻤﺎ اﻧﺘﮭﯿﺖ‬

‫ﻗﺪ ﻛﻨﺖ ﻋﻄﺮا ﻧﺎﺋﻤﺎ ﻓﻲ وردﺗﮫ‬

‫ﻟ َﻢ اﻧﺴﻜﺒﺖ؟‬

‫وردة ﻣﻜﻨﻮﻧﺔ ﻓﻲ ﺑﺤﺮھﺎ‬

‫ﻟ َﻢ اﻧﻜﺸﻔﺖ؟‬

‫وھﻞ ﯾﺴﺎوي اﻟﻌﺎﻟﻢ اﻟﺬي وھﺒﺘﮫ دﻣﻚ‬

‫ھﺬا اﻟﺬي وھﺒﺖ؟‬

‫ﺳﺮﻧﺎ ﻣﻌﺎ ﻋﻠﻰ اﻟﻄﺮﯾﻖ ﺻﺎﺣﺒﯿﻦ‬

‫أﻧﺖ ﺳﺒﻘﺖ‬
234
 ‫أﺣﺒﺒﺖ ﺣﺘﻰ ﺟﺪت ﺑﺎﻟﻌﻄﺎء‬

‫ﻟﻜﻨﻨﻲ ﺿﻨﻨﺖ‬

‫ﺣﯿﻦ رأﯾﺖَ اﻟﻨﻮر ﺗﻘﺖَ ﻟﻠﺮﺟﻮع‬

‫ھﺎ أﻧﺖ ﻗﺪ رﺟﻌﺖ‬

‫أﻋﻄﯿﻚ ﺑﻌﺾ ﻣﺎ وھﺒﺖَ ﻟﻠﺤﯿﺎة‬

‫ﺑﻌﺾ ﻣﺎ أﻋﻄﯿﺖ‬

.(‫)ﯾﻠﻘﻲ ﻋﻠﯿﮫ وردة‬

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 2000, 16)

My companion, my beloved:

Have we not forbidden you the world?

You did not heed;

You were a fragrance latent in a rose;

Why were you poured forth?

You were a pearl hidden deep in the sea;

Why did you reveal yourself?

Is the world worthy of your sacrifice?

Your blood that you shed for it?

We followed the way together, two companions;

But you left me behind.

You loved to give magnanimously;

But I withheld my gift;

When you saw the light, you longed to return to it.

Now you have returned.

I give you some of that which you gave the world,

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 Some of what you gave.

He lays the red rose on the corpse.

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 1972, 8–9)

Throughout the play, al-Shibli tends to denominate himself as a "negative" character, as al-ʿAsili

puts it. She states that historically, al-Shibli used to compose poems expressing his love for the

Divine, but that he was in support of concealment (al-ʿAsili 1995, 76). I tend to disagree with al-

ʿAsili’s description of al-Shibli as being negative, for I believe that he happens to represent another

point of view of Sufism. As I previously mentioned in the last chapter, al-Niffari selected his

complicated language to avoid falling into al-Hallaj’s trap. Al-Shibli furthermore believed in saving

the secret of mystical stations and not revealing it in front of the masses, since not every individual

has the capacity of cherishing the Divine’s light, given that it takes a certain spiritual preparation

and the Divine's selection for a person to be worthy of it. I do however agree with al-ʿAsili’s

opinion that maintains that al-Shibli’s dialogue with his companion in the play was to shed light on

al-Hallaj’s heroic role and to highlight each mystical ideology (ibid.).

Al-Shibli blames al-Hallaj by quoting a verse from Sūrat al-Ḥujur in the Qurʾan, when the

Divine says:

.‫أ ﻟ ْﻢ ﻧَﻨﮭَﻚ ﻋﻦ اﻟﻌﺎﻟﻤﯿﻦ‬

(Qurʾan 15:70)

Have we not forbidden thee all beings.

(Qurʾan 1996, 285)

The verse was quoted from a dialogue that occurred between the Prophet Lot and his people

when the Divine sent him angels in human form to recite His message to him, ordering him to leave
236
his town. When his people curiously enquired about his guests, Loṭ asked them kindly not to

embarrass him in front of them, then they replied with the quoted verse meaning to say: "aren’t you

supposed not to host anyone?" (Ibn Kathir 2020). In the scene, al-Shibli quotes the verse in a form

different from the Qurʾanic one. He uses it lexically as if meaning to say: "didn’t I warn you to stay

away from people?" For he believed that al-Hallaj’s involvement in the matters of the mass is what

led to his tragic death. I believe that the use of the Qurʾanic verse in this instance echoes the image

of prophecy, especially since the original ʾayā was addressed to a prophet. Although it might appear

that the Qurʾanic use is different than that of ʿAbd al-Sabur’s, I suggest that they meet at the idea of

hospitality. Al-Hallaj hosted the Divine light in his heart and therefore could not fight against not

sharing it with people. The love of the Divine light flooded his heart with generosity, and so he

could not refrain from saving others. I believe that what could support my suggestion are the verses

in which al-Shibli says to his friend that he loved to the extent of giving.

The dialectic of life and death emerges again in this verse by way of the symbol of the warda,

the rose. Al-Shibli describes his friend as being a perfume in a hidden flower and later throws a rose

in front of his body as a symbol of al-Hallaj’s life dedication. Prima facie, the confrontation

between life and death appears to be indicated by the hanging body representing death and the

flower alluding to life. However, there is a deeper mystical meaning layered in this scene, where the

rose happens to be a Sufi symbol denoting prophecy as well.

According to Schimmel, poets considered flowers to represent prophets – as in the case of Jesus

– for their delightful fragrance could revive the dead, as indeed was the case with the miracle

performed by Jesus. Moreover, flowers are also the book of the Divine’s wisdom, that can only be

comprehended by the passionate nightingale (Schimmel 2008, 50). Having said this, flowers could

also imply mortality, on account of their short lives and their rapid withering. In addition, Schimmel

mentions that the Persian mystical perspective considers the love story between the flower and the

nightingale to be a sad one, since the bird fell in love with the rose but could not be with her. The
237
sadness in this story, as they state, lies in the tale’s symbolism of the human soul’s love and

yearning for absolute divine beauty, since flowers indicate the Divine’s presence, according to old

Sufi precepts. Moreover, it is believed that every flower has a perfume from paradise, which

indicates the link between the earth and the heavens (ibid., 51–52). Thus, the dialectic of life and

death is limited to the body and the flower, but could be dual in the flower itself.

Al-Shibli’s monologue continues:

‫رﺑﺎه ﻻ أﺳﺘﻄﯿﻊ أن أﻣﺪ ﻧﺎظﺮي‬

‫ﯾﺠﻮل ﻓﻲ روﺣﻲ وﻓﻲ ﺧﻮاطﺮي‬

‫ﻟﻮ ﻛﺎن ﻟﻲ ﺑﻌﺾ ﯾﻘﯿﻨﻚ‬

‫ﻟﻜﻨﺖ ﻣﺼﻠﻮﺑﺎ إﻟﻰ ﯾﻤﯿﻨﻚ‬

‫ﻟﻜﻨﻨﻲ اﺳﺘﺒﻘﯿﺖ ﺣﯿﻨﻤﺎ اﻣﺘﺤﻨﺖ ﻋﻤﺮي‬

‫وﻗﻠﺖ ﻟﻔﻈﺎ ﻏﺎﻣﻀﺎ ﻣﻌﻨﺎه‬

‫ﺣﯿﻦ رﻣﻮك ﻓﻲ أﯾﺪي اﻟﻘﻀﺎ ْة‬

!‫أﻧﺎ اﻟﺬي ﻗﺘﻠﺘﻚ‬

!‫أﻧﺎ اﻟﺬي ﻗﺘﻠﺘﻚ‬

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 2000, 17)

God, I cannot look!

His memory fills my soul and my thoughts.

If I had only had such faith as you,

I would now be crucified next to you.

But when I faced the inquisition, I wanted to stay

Alive,

And I uttered vague words

238
 When they brought you before the judges.

I am the one who killed you,

I am the one who killed you.

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 1972, 9)

The flower dialectic that bespeaks the Divine presence and the impossibility of reaching it

which, as mentioned earlier, in this case embodies al-Shibli’s eye and soul. He witnesses the

presence of his friend’s body and the absence of his soul, while simultaneously feeling al-Hallaj’s

presence in his heart, which is the opposite of what is physically in front of him. He states that a

little of al-Hallaj’s faith would be the reason for his crucification as well, however he seeks refuge

in the mysterious words to save his life, that same weapon that killed his friend. He therefore claims

that he metaphorically murdered his friend because of his fear.

In the second scene, the poet takes us to the moment when al-Hallaj is arguing with his friend

al-Shibli about the role of the mystic and the ramifications of the dialogue between al-Hallaj and the

Divine, that appears in several parts of the play. Replying to his friend's advice not to speak of his

dialogues with the Divine, al-Hallaj states:

‫ﻟﻜﻦ ﯾﺎ أﺻﺪق أﺻﺤﺎﺑﻲ ﻧﺒﺌﻨﻲ‬

‫ﻛﯿﻒ أﻣﯿﺖ اﻟﻨﻮر ﺑﻌﯿﻨﻲ‬

‫ھﺬي اﻟﺸﻤﺲ اﻟﻤﺤﺒﻮﺳﺔ ﻓﻲ ﺛﻨﯿﺎت اﻷﯾﺎم؟‬

‫ ﺛﻢ ﺗﻨﻔﺾ ﻋﻦ ﻋﯿﻨﯿﮭﺎ اﻟﻨﻮم‬،‫ﺗﺜّﺎﻗﻞ ﻛﻞ ﺻﺒﺎح‬

‫ اﻟﺸﻔﻘﺔ‬،‫وﻣﻊ اﻟﻨﻮم‬

‫وﺗﻮاﺻﻞ رﺣﻠﺘﮭﺎ اﻟﻮﺣﺸﯿﺔ ﻓﻮق اﻟﻄﺮﻗﺎت‬

‫ اﻟﻤﺎرﺳﺘﺎﻧﺎت‬،‫ اﻟﺨﺎﻧﺎت‬،‫ﻓﻮق اﻟﺴﺎﺣﺎت‬،

‫اﻟﺤﻤﺎﻣﺎت‬

239
 ‫وﺗﺠﻤﻊ دﻧﯿﺎ ﻣﺤﺘﺮﻗﺔ‬

‫ﺑﺄﺻﺎﺑﻌﮭﺎ اﻟﺤﻤﺮاء اﻟﻨﺎرﯾﺔ‬

‫ ﺗﻨﺴﺞ ﻣﻨﮭﺎ ﻗﻤﺼﺎﻧﺎ‬،‫ أﺷﺒﺎﺣﺎ‬،‫ﺻﻮرا‬،

‫ﯾﺠﺮي ﻓﻲ ﻟﺤﻤﺘﮭﺎ وﺳﺪاھﺎ اﻟﺪم‬

‫ﻓﻲ ﻛﻞ ﻣﺴﺎء ﺗﻤﺴﺢ ﻋﯿﻨﻲ ﺑﮭﺎ‬

‫ﺗﻮﻗﻈﻨﻲ ﻣﻦ ﺳﺒﺤﺎت اﻟﻮﺟﺪ‬

‫وﺗﻌﻮد إﻟﻰ اﻟﺤﺒﺲ اﻟﻤﻈﻠﻢ‬

‫ﻗﻞ ﻟﻲ ﯾﺎ ﺷﺒﻠﻲ‬

‫أ أﻧﺎ أرﻣﺪ؟‬

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 2000, 19)

But, tell me, O best of friends,

How do I extinguish the light my eyes see?

The sun, wrapped in the folds of time,

Rises slowly every morning, and rubs the sleep

Out of her eyes

And with that, mercy.

Then she continues her cruel journey along the

roads,

Across the squares, over the caravanserais, the

hospitals, the bathhouses.

And, with the red fiery fingers, from the burned

earth she gathers

Images in shadows, weaving from them robes

where blood flows

240
 Through the wrap and woof.

With these, every evening, she rubs my eyes,

Wakes me from the splendour of ecstasy,

Then returns to her dark prison.

Tell me, O Shibli,

is my sight afflicted?

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 1972, 10–11)

The difference between the two mystics is pointed out through this conversation, where the light

that al-Hallaj sees is the Divine light that expands in his body to encompass whatever his eyes rest

upon. The brightness of this light is so blinding that it only allows him to see the Divine. By

contrast, al-Shibli believes in keeping the light within the heart to be able to focus on beauty.

However, al-Hallaj is unable to ignore the evil in the world or the sorrow of others that spreads on

the streets. While al-Shibli carries on emphasising his point, al-Hallaj continues:

‫ﻻ إﻧﻲ أﺷﺮح ﻟﻚ‬

‫ﻟﻢ ﯾﺨﺘﺎر اﻟﺮﺣﻤﻦ ﺷﺨﻮﺻﺎ ﻣﻦ ﺧﻠﻘﮫ؟‬

‫ﻟﯿﻔﺮق ﻓﯿﮭﻢ أﻗﺒﺎﺳﺎ ﻣﻦ ﻧﻮره‬

‫ ﻟﯿﻜﻮﻧﻮا ﻣﯿﺰان اﻟﻜﻮن اﻟﻤﻌﺘﻞ‬،‫ھﺬا‬

‫وﯾﻔﯿﻀﻮا ﻣﻦ ﻧﻮر ﷲ ﻋﻠﻰ ﻓﻘﺮاء اﻟﻘﻠﺐ‬

‫وﻛﻤﺎ ﻻ ﯾﻨﻘﺺ ﻧﻮر ﷲ إذا ﻓﺎض ﻋﻠﻰ‬

‫أھﻞ اﻟﻨﻌﻤﺔ‬

‫ﻻ ﯾﻨﻘﺺ ﻧﻮر اﻟﻤﻮھﻮﺑﯿﻦ إذا ﻣﺎ ﻓﺎض‬

.‫ﻋﻠﻰ اﻟﻔﻘﺮاء‬

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 2000, 21)

241
 Certainly not. I am explaining to you

why the Merciful Lord chooses particular people,

Singles them and distributes among them glimmers of His light

They are chosen so that they can give balance to

This sick world,

Shedding God’s light on the poor in heart.

And, just as God’s light does not diminish when

It shines upon the rich,

Just so the radiance of the enlightened few is not

reduced by

Shining upon the poor.

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 1972, 11–12)

I sustain that this verse expresses Campbell’s ideas regarding the return of the hero in

possession of the elixir after meeting with the goddess. To explain further, al-Hallaj is attempting to

convince al-Shibli about the importance of the mystic’s role, for he strongly believes that it is

incumbent upon he who has met the Divine, and was hence selected by him, to take the

responsibility of saving his people from darkness and following the light of divinity. This is what

Campbell referred to about the hero’s duty towards his people, as mentioned earlier in the

methodology section. In addition, al-Hallaj confirms that there are few among the people to have

been chosen particularly by the Divine to achieve His will. The verses are clearly reflecting the

image of prophecy and the role of prophets towards their society. Being selected by the source of all

power clearly proffers a certain powerful stance that could challenge the authorities. Al-Hallaj does

not believe in mystics’ isolation. He urges those chosen by the Divine to get involved in people’s
242
matters in order to fight evil, while his friend could hardly disagree more. Al-Hallaj continues

expanding on his point in response to his friend's question about the nature of evil:

‫ﻓﻘﺮ اﻟﻔﻘﺮاء‬

‫ ﻓﻲ أﻋﯿﻨﮭﻢ ﺗﺘﻮھﺞ أﻟﻔﺎظ‬،‫ﺟﻮع اﻟﺠﻮﻋﻰ‬

‫ﻻ أوﻗﻦ ﻣﻌﻨﺎھﺎ‬

‫ ﻗﺪ أﺗﺄﻟﻢ‬،‫ﻗﺪ ﺗﺪﻣﻊ ﻋﯿﻨﻲ ﻋﻨﺪﺋﺬ‬

‫ ﯾﻀﻨﻲ روﺣﻲ ﻓﺰﻋﺎ‬،‫أﻣﺎ ﻣﺎ ﯾﻤﻸ ﻗﻠﺒﻲ ﺧﻮﻓﺎ‬

‫وﻧﺪاﻣ ْﺔ‬

‫ﻓﮭﻲ اﻟﻌﯿﻦ اﻟﻤﺮﺧﺎة اﻟﮭﺪب‬

‫ﻓﻮق اﺳﺘﻔﮭﺎم ﺟﺎرح‬

(‫)أﯾﻦ ﷲ؟‬

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 2000, 22)

The poverty of the poor

The hunger of the hungry

In such eyes as theirs, I see a glow

which means something, something but I don't

know what.

Then, tears may come to my eyes; or I may suffer.

But what fills my heart with fear,

What rends my soul with fear and sorrow,

Is the sight of eyes lowered in agony,

243
 Asking in silence, inquiring:

'Where is God?'

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 1972, 12–13)

My suggestion is that here, al-Hallaj is representing the perspective of socialism. He stresses

that human crisis and injustice is at the very heart of what creates doubts about Divine existence,

since the spread of evil will cause people to question the Divine's interference to end injustice.

Therefore, from his point of view, having a dialogue with the Divine infuses the mystic with a

certain responsibility towards his society, as he needs to keep their faith alive by achieving justice

and ending poverty. Evil is neither the devil nor lust, it is the absence of fairness. The conversation

escalates between the two mystics until al-Hallaj recites the following verse, which clearly confirms

that he has power:

‫أﺻﺤﺎﺑﻲ أﻛﺜﺮ ﻣﻦ أن ﺗﺤﺼﯿﮭﻢ ﯾﺎ اﺑﺮاھﯿﻢ‬

‫أﺻﺤﺎﺑﻲ آﯾﺎت اﻟﻘﺮآن وأﺣﺮﻓﮫ‬

‫ﻛﻠﻤﺎت اﻟﻤﺤﺰون اﻟﻤﮭﺠﻮر ﻋﻠﻰ ﺟﺒﻞ اﻟﺰﯾﺘﻮن‬

‫ اﻟﺸﮭﺪاء اﻟﻤﻮﻋﻮدون‬،‫أﺣﯿﺎء اﻷﻣﻮات‬

‫ﻓﺮﺳﺎن اﻟﺨﯿﻞ اﻟﺒﻠﻖ ذوو اﻷﺛﻮاب اﻟﺨﻀﺮاء‬

.‫آﻻف اﻟﻤﻈﻠﻮﻣﯿﻦ اﻟﻤﻨﻜﺴﺮﯾﻦ‬

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 2000, 32)

My friends are countless, Ibrahim.

My friends are the verses of the Koran and its

letters,

The words of him who was sad and forsaken on

244
 The Mount of olives,

Those who are alive of the dead, the martyrs who

Are promised

Life everlasting;

the green-robed knight, riding dappled horses;

The thousands of men, wronged, broken.

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 1972, 19)

It is striking how al-Niffari and al-Hallaj are different in their concept and understanding of

words and letters. The first considered them as a veil that separated the worshiper from his Beloved,

while the second feels imbued with power thanks to the support of words and letters. We might

argue that what is meant by letters and words from the perspective of al-Hallaj is different from that

of al-Niffari’s. Al-Hallaj is clear in his designation of the type of letters he refers to: the words of

the Holy Qurʾan; the author of those words and letters is none other than Allah, hence they are not a

method of veiling, they are a method of support. Besides, he does not refer to them as objects but

humanises them by calling them "my friends" due to his conviction that they are alive and present. I

propose that the echo of prophecy also permeates this verse, but this time I believe that it reflects

the image of the Prophet Muhammad, for he was the one upon whom the miracle of the Qurʾan was

bestowed. What I believe supports my argument are the following lines, where he describes the

martyrs riding horses, which hints at images of the Prophet's companions who fought alongside him

in his ghazawāt (battles).

After al-Shibli’s suggestion to his friend to go to hajj, his friend responds by speaking of his

experience there, then al-Hallaj clarifies his purpose in preaching to the mass:

245
 ‫ﻓﻲ أرض ﻣﺪﯾﻨﺘﮫ اﻟﺨﻀﺮاء‬

‫وﻟﺪت ﻛﻠﻤﺎت ﷲ ھﻨﺎك ﺑﻘﻠﺒﻲ اﻟﻤﺜﻘﻞ‬

‫ﻓﺄﺗﯿﺖ ﺑﮭﺎ‪ ،‬طﻮّﻓﺖ ﺑﺄرض اﻟﻨﺎس‬

‫ﻋﻦ ﻓﺘﻨﺔ طﻠﻌﺘﮭﺎ أﻧﻀﻮ أطﺮاف ﺛﯿﺎﺑﻲ ﺷﯿﺌﺎ ﺷﯿﺌﺎ‬

‫ﺳﺄﺧﻮض ﻓﻲ طﺮق ﷲ‬

‫رﺑﺎﻧﯿﺎ‬

‫ﺣﺘﻰ أﻓﻨﻰ ﻓﯿﮫ‬

‫ﻓﯿﻤﺪ ﯾﺪﯾﮫ‪ ،‬ﯾﺄﺧﺬﻧﻲ ﻣﻦ ﻧﻔﺴﻲ‬

‫ھﻞ ﺗﺴﺄﻟﻨﻲ ﻣﺎذا أﻧﻮي‬

‫أﻧﻮي أن أﻧﺰل ﻟﻠﻨﺎس‬

‫و أﺣﺪﺛﮭﻢ رﻏﺒﺔ رﺑﻲ‬

‫ﷲ ﻗﻮي‪ ،‬ﯾﺎ أﺑﻨﺎء ﷲ‬

‫ﻛﻮﻧﻮا ﻣﺜﻠﮫ‬

‫ﷲ ﻓﻌﻮل ﯾﺎ أﺑﻨﺎء ﷲ‬

‫ﻛﻮﻧﻮا ﻣﺜﻠﮫ‬

‫ﷲ ﻋﺰﯾﺰ ﯾﺎ أﺑﻨﺎء ﷲ‪.‬‬

‫)‪(ʿAbd al-Sabur 2000, 35‬‬

‫‪In the prophet’s green city, itself,‬‬

‫‪God’s words laden with love were born in my‬‬

‫;‪heart‬‬

‫‪I carried them and I wandered in man's world,‬‬

‫‪Unveiling them little by little,‬‬

‫‪I shall walk in God’s path‬‬

‫‪In a godly manner, until I perish.‬‬

‫‪246‬‬
 He will then extend his hand and take me away

from myself.

You ask me, what do I intend to do?

I intend to go to the people

And tell them about God’s will.

I shall tell them ‘God is mighty, O children of God.

Be like Him.'

I shall tell them, ‘God is creative O children of God.

Be like him.'

I shall tell them: ‘God is Omnipotent, O children of God.'

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 1972, 20–22)195

I believe this verse expresses what Campbell calls “the belly of the whale.” Being in Mecca, the

city of the Kaʿba, where the worshipper is under the hospitality of the Divine, experiencing the

mystic's annihilation, which I suggest symbolises hitting rock bottom. Since this stage is considered

to represent the rebirth of the hero by dint of his receiving “supernatural aid”, the help from the

Divine arrives to rescue him and launches him again towards his destiny. His message defines the

reason of his being a threat that annoys the authorities: to have the Divine as a higher example and

imitate his attributes, which include strength, efficiency and glory. Had the people followed his

advice, a revolution would have ensued to tackle the stability of the state. Al-Shibli therefore

demands from his friend to honour the commitment of the cloak, for it is the symbol of asceticism.

However this only enflames the rage of al-Hallaj into saying:

195 There is a difference from the original Arabic version in the translation's arrangement. It seems that the translation

was based on an older version of the play that has similar arrangements.
247
 ‫إن ﻛﺎﻧﺖ ﺷﺎرة ذل وﻣﮭﺎﻧ ْﺔ‬

‫رﻣﺰا ﯾﻔﻀﺢ أﻧﺎ ﺟﻤﻌﻨﺎ ﻓﻘﺮ اﻟﺮوح إﻟﻰ ﻓﻘﺮ اﻟﻤﺎل‬

‫ﻓﺄﻧﺎ أﺟﻔﻮھﺎ أﺧﻠﻌﮭﺎ ﯾﺎ ﺷﯿﺦ‬

‫إن ﻛﺎﻧﺖ ﺳﺘﺮا ﻣﻨﺴﻮﺟﺎ ﻣﻦ أﻧﯿﺘﻨﺎ‬

‫ ﻓﻨﺤﺠﺐ‬،‫ﻛﻲ ﯾﺤﺠﺒﻨﺎ ﻋﻦ ﻋﯿﻦ اﻟﻨﺎس‬

‫ﻋﯿﻦ ﷲ‬

‫ﻓﺄﻧﺎ أﺟﻔﻮھﺎ أﺧﻠﻌﮭﺎ ﯾﺎ ﺷﯿﺦ‬

‫ﯾﺎ رب اﺷﮭﺪ‬

‫ھﺬا ﺛﻮﺑﻚ‬

‫وﺷﻌﺎر ﻋﺒﻮدﯾﺘﻨﺎ ﻟﻚ‬

‫ أﺧﻠﻌﮫ ﻓﻲ ﻣﺮﺿﺎﺗﻚ‬،‫وأﻧﺎ أﺟﻔﻮه‬

‫ﯾﺎ رب اﺷﮭﺪ‬

.‫ﯾﺎ رب اﺷﮭﺪ‬

.(‫)ﯾﺨﻠﻊ اﻟﺨﺮﻗﺔ‬

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 2000, 36)

If it is a mark of degradation and disgrace,

A sign indicating that to material poverty we have added

Poverty of the spirit,

I will abandon it! I will cast it off!

Oh Shaykh! If it is a veil woven from our ‘we are

this and we are that’

In order to hide us from the people and thus be

hidden from God,

I will abandon it! I will cast it off!

248
 Witness my oath O God:

this is Your Vestment,

the mark of our servitude to You,

I abandon it! I cast it off, so that You may be

pleased with me!

Witness, God!

Witness, God!

He removes the cloak.

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 1972, 22)

This verse lays the question of symbolism in mysticism. It is my belief that in this instance, the

cloak stands for what al-Niffari views as the veil: letters and words, since he maintains that all that

veils you from the light of the Divine is a ḥarf. Al-Hallaj sees the symbol of worship as a veil that

hides the light of the One, because it increases the distance between him and the people. This

confirms al-Hallaj’s belief that a man cannot be a man of God if he cannot contribute in the

assistance of others. For he who isolates himself in a hermitage is no less than an ignorant. Those

who are isolated represent Campbell’s idea of the hero who refuses the call, on account of wanting

to remain in his comfort zone and the lack of desire to discover his own inner world. By contrast,

al-Hallaj represents the hero who answers the call to adventure and returns to spread awareness.

Afterwards, the Sufi roams the streets and markets to preach his message to the masses, which

seems religious in appearance but is in fact purely political. His monologue in this scene is quite

long, I will therefore omit quoting the verses that do not support my analysis.

Al-Hallaj's idea of human power is inspired by the Qurʾanic belief that the human soul is partly

divine, thereby, any human should treat his own self with dignity and never approve of any

injustice:
249
 ‫وإذ ﻗـﺎل رﺑـﻚ ﻟـﻠﻤﻼﺋـﻜﺔ إﻧـﻲ ﺧـﺎﻟـﻖ ﺑﺸـﺮا ﻣـﻦ ﺻـﻠﺼﺎل ﻣـﻦ ﺣـﻤﺈ ﻣـﺴﻨﻮن‪ ،‬ﻓـﺈذا ﺳـﻮﯾـﺘﮫ وﻧـﻔﺨﺖ ﻓـﯿﮫ ﻣـﻦ روﺣـﻲ ﻓـﻘﻌﻮا ﻟـﮫ ﺳـﺎﺟـﺪﯾـﻦ‪.‬‬

‫)‪(Qurʾan 15: 28–29‬‬

‫‪And when thy Lord said to the angels, ‘See, I am creating a mortal of a clay of mud‬‬

‫‪moulded. When I have shaped him, breathed my spirit in him, fall you down, bowing before‬‬

‫‪him! (Arberry 1996, 282).‬‬

‫‪Therefore in the play, al-Hallaj states:‬‬

‫أراد ﷲ أن ﺗﺠﻠﯽ ﻣﺤﺎﺳﻨﮫ ‪ ،‬وﺗﺴﺘﻌﻠﻦ أﻧﻮاره‬

‫ﻓﺄﺑﺪع ﻣﻦ أﺛﯿﺮ اﻟﻘﺪرة اﻟﻌﻠﯿﺎ ﻣﺜﺎﻻ ‪ ،‬ﺻﺎﻏﮫ طﯿﻨﺎ‬

‫وأﻟﻘﻰ ﺑﯿﻦ ﺟﻨﺒﯿﮫ ﺑﺒﻌﺾ اﻟﻔﯿﺾ ﻣﻦ ذاﺗﮫ‬

‫وﺟﻼه ‪ ،‬وزﯾﻨﮫ ‪ ،‬ﻓﻜﺎن ﺻﻨﯿﻌﮫ اﻹﻧﺴﺎن‬

‫ﻓﻨﺤﻦ ﻟﮫ ﮐﻤﺮآة ‪ ،‬ﯾﻄﺎﻟﻊ ﻓﻮق ﺻﻔﺤﺘﮭﺎ‬

‫ﺟﻤﺎل اﻟﺬات ﻣﺠﻠﻮا ‪ ،‬وﯾﺸﮭﺪ ﺣﺴﻨﮫ ﻓﯿﻨﺎ‬

‫ﻓﺈن ﺗﺼﻒ ﻗﻠﻮب اﻟﻨﺎس ‪ ،‬ﺗﺄﻧﺲ ﻧﻈﺮة اﻟﺮﺣﻤﻦ‬

‫إﻟﻰ ﻣﺮآﺗﻨﺎ‪ ،‬وﯾﺪﯾﻢ ﻧﻈﺮﺗﮫ‪ ،‬ﻓﺘﺤﯿﯿﻨﺎ‬

‫وإن ﺗﻜﺪر ﻗﻠﻮب اﻟﻨﺎس ﯾﺼﺮف وﺟﮭﮫ ﻋﻨﺎ‪.‬‬

‫)‪(ʿAbd al-Sabur 2000, 44‬‬

‫‪God wished His goodness to be evident, and His‬‬

‫‪light to shine.‬‬

‫‪So from the breath of omnipotence,‬‬

‫‪He fashioned a form from clay,‬‬

‫‪250‬‬
 And breathed into it some of His emanation;

He clothed it, and He ornamented it. His creation

was Man.

Thus, to Him we are a mirror in which he contemplates

His beauty unveiled; He sees His radiance in us.

So, if man's heart is pure, the Merciful is pleased,

His eye remains upon us and we live.

But if man's heart is corrupt, he turns his face

from us.

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 1972, 27)

In this case, al-Hallaj turns to the religious belief that states that the Divine is happy when the

worshiper follows his doctrine. In fact, what al-Hallaj is saying here is that when man is contented,

the Divine is satisfied. Later he states:

‫وﻣﺎذا ﯾﻔﻌﻞ اﻻﻧﺴﺎن إن ﺟﺎﻓﺎه ﻣﻮﻻه ؟‬

‫ ﯾﻔﻘﺪ أﻟﻔﺔ اﻷﺷﯿﺎء‬، ‫ﯾﻀﯿﻖ اﻟﻜﻮن ﻓﻲ ﻋﯿﻨﯿﮫ‬

‫ﺗﺼﯿﺮ اﻟﺸﻤﺲ ﻓﻲ ﻋﯿﻨﯿﮫ أذرﻋﺔ ﻣﻦ اﻟﻨﯿﺮان‬

‫ﯾﻠﻘﻲ ﺛﻘﻠﮭﺎ اﻟﻤﺸﺎء‬

…..

‫ ﯾﺠﺒﻲ ﺟﺰﯾﺔ‬، ‫وﯾﻤﺸﻲ اﻟﻘﺤﻂ ﻓﻲ اﻷﺳﻮاق‬

‫اﻷﻧﻔﺎس‬

‫ﻣﻦ اﻷطﻔﺎل واﻟﻤﺮﺿﻰ‬

‫ ﻓﻼ ﺗﻤﻼ إذ ﺗﻌﻄﯽ‬، ‫ﺣﻘﯿﺒﺘﮫ ﺑﻼ ﻗﺎع‬

‫ ﻓﻼ ﺗﺴﻜﺖ أن ﺗﺴﺄل‬،‫ورﻏﺒﺘﮫ ﺑﻼ ري‬

251
 ‫وﺧﻠﻒ اﻟﻘﺤﻂ ﯾﻤﺸﻲ ﺗﺤﺖ ظﻞ اﻟﺒﯿﺮق اﻟﻤﺮﺳﻞ‬

.‫ ﺟﯿﺶ اﻟﺸﺮ واﻟﻨﻘﻤﺔ‬، ‫ﺟﻨﻮد اﻟﻘﺤﻂ‬

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 2000, 45)

And what befalls a man whose master is angry with him?

The universe becomes too small for him,

Things become too confused for him,

The rays of the sun become tongues of fire

Moving like multicoloured claims upon the faces

….

Then poverty stalks of the world and collects its tributes

From infants and invalids.

The man whose Master is angry with him

Is like one who carries a bottomless sack which

can never be filled

No matter how much is put into it:

His desire is never satisfied, it nags him constantly.

Now, behind poverty, under its unfurled banner

March poverty’s soldiers, the legions of evil vengeance.

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 1972, 28)

The mystic simply puts it that the lack of Divine presence in the human heart is the reason for

its misery, as it is responsible for hunger, poverty and injustice. Al-Hallaj politicises the spiritual

because he believes the two are related and should not be separated. If the authorities claim to be

ruling according to religious directives, then why are the people suffering? Is not religion supposed

252
to treat every human soul with dignity, since every human soul contains the breath of the Divine?

This discourse could not be approved by the authorities since it touches upon their dominance and

control of the people, and so in the middle of al-Hallaj's speech, two police officers appear and start

arguing with him, in order to let him fall into the slip of his own tongue and have an excuse to arrest

him for supposedly spreading blasphemy. In his discussion with them, al-Hallaj declares:

‫ ﻟﻤﺎذا ﺗﺴﺘﺜﯿﺮ ﺷﺠﺎي‬، ‫رﻋﺎك ﷲ ﯾﺎ وﻟﺪي‬

‫وﺗﺠﻌﻠﻨﻲ أﺑﻮح ﺑﺴﺮ ﻣﺎ أﻋﻄﻰ‬

‫أﻻ ﺗﻌﻠﻢ أن اﻟﻌﺸﻖ ﺳﺮ ﺑﯿﻦ ﻣﺤﺒﻮﺑﯿﻦ‬

‫ھﻮ اﻟﻨﺠﻮى اﻟﺘﻲ إن أﻋﻠﻨﺖ ﺳﻘﻄﺖ ﻣﺮوءﺗﻨﺎ‬

‫ﻷﻧّﺎ ﺣﯿﻨﻤﺎ ﺟﺎد ﻟﻨﺎ اﻟﻤﺤﺒﻮب ﺑﺎﻟﻮﺻﻞ ﺗﻨﻌﻤﻨﺎ‬

‫ أطﻌﻤﻨﺎ وأﺷﺮﺑﻨﺎ‬، ‫دﺧﻠﻨﺎ اﻟﺴﺘﺮ‬

‫ وﻏﻨﯿﻨﺎ و ُﻏﻨﯿﻨﺎ‬، ‫وراﻗﺼﻨﺎ وأرﻗﺼﻨﺎ‬

‫ وﻋﻮھﺪﻧﺎ وﻋﺎھﺪﻧﺎ‬،‫ وﮐﺎﺷﻔﻨﺎ‬،‫وﻛﻮﺷﻔﻨﺎ‬

‫ﻓﻠﻤﺎ أﻗﺒﻞ اﻟﺼﺒﺢ ﺗﻔﺮﻗﻨﺎ‬

.‫ ﺑﺄن أﻛﺘﻢ ﺣﺘﻰ أﻧﻄﻮي ﻓﻲ اﻟﻘﺒﺮ‬، ‫ﺗﻌﺎھﺪﻧﺎ‬

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 2000, 48)

May God protect you, my son! Why do you stir me up

And make me reveal my secret?

Do you not know that love is a secret between two lovers?

Is it a relationship which, if made public, defiles

Our honor,

For when the Beloved gratified us with union, we had delight:

We entered the secret place,

253
 We were given food and drink,

We danced and we were danced with,

We sang and we were sung to,

We revealed our inner thoughts and inner thoughts were revealed to us,

we promised and were promised,

And when morning came, we separated.

But we had made a covenant that I should keep the secret.

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 1972, 30–31)

This is the moment where I believe al-Hallaj and al-Suhrawardi intersect. This verse explains

the indirect dialogue that took place between al-Hallaj and his Beloved. The communication with

the Divine being the analogue for receiving the hospitality of the One, drinking from his rivers of

wisdom, entering the hidden zone. It echoes the image of al-Suhrawardi’s spiritual journey, when he

had the privilege of drinking from the same cup. I also believe this scene to converge with the stage

Campbell calls “Answering the Call to Adventure.” Entering the zone behind the veil could

represent entering the dark forest or the cave that hides the treasure and thereby leads to meeting the

goddess.

Campbell’s stages can be found in different arrangements along the play; the first stages might

be found in the middle and some of the last ones will be at the start. Nonetheless, they are clearly

presented in the exact same arrangement they appear in Campbell's book during the monologue al-

Hallaj gives in the trial scene, despite the fact that the scene of al-Hallaj in prison precedes that of

his trial. However, I am in support of presenting it as a full example of Campbell’s hero map, and I

will be exploring the jail scene individually, as I believe it represents the prophetic reflection.

254
 ‫‪In his own defence in the trial accusing him of heresy, instigating the mass against the king and‬‬

‫‪corresponding with foreign leaders, al-Hallaj responds with a long monologue that I will be‬‬

‫‪dividing according to each stage it matches in the hero cycle.‬‬

‫أﻧﺎ رﺟﻞ ﻣﻦ ﻏﻤﺎر اﻟﻤﻮاﻟﻲ‪ ،‬ﻓﻘﯿﺮ اﻷروﻣﺔ واﻟﻤﻨﺒﺖ‬

‫ﻓﻼ ﺣﺴﺒﻲ ﯾﻨﺘﻤﻲ ﻟﻠﺴﻤﺎء‪ ،‬وﻻ رﻓﻌﺘﻨﻲ ﻟﮭﺎ‬

‫ﺛﺮوﺗﻲ‬

‫وﻟﺪت ﻛﺂﻻف ﻣﻦ ﯾﻮﻟﺪون‪ ،‬ﺑﺂﻻف أﯾﺎم ھﺬا‬

‫اﻟﻮﺟﻮد‬

‫ﻷن ﻓﻘﯿﺮا ‪-‬ﺑﺬات ﻣﺴﺎء‪ -‬ﺳﻌﻰ ﻧﺤﻮ‬

‫ﺣﻀﻦ ﻓﻘﯿﺮة‪..‬‬

‫وأطﻔﺄ ﻓﯿﮫ ﻣﺮارة أﯾﺎﻣﮫ اﻟﻘﺎﺳﯿﺔ‬

‫ﻧﻤﻮت ﻛﺂﻻف ﻣﻦ ﯾﻜﺒﺮون‪ ،‬ﺣﯿﻦ ﯾﻘﺎﺗﻮن‬

‫ﺧﺒﺰ اﻟﺸﻤﻮس‬

‫وﯾﺴﻘﻮن ﻣﺎء اﻟﻤﻄﺮ‬

‫وﺗﻠﻘﺎھﻢ ﺻﺒﯿﺔ ﯾﺎﻓﻌﯿﻦ ﺣﺰاﻧﻰ ﻋﻠﻰ اﻟﻄﺮﻗﺎت‬

‫اﻟﺤﺰﯾﻨﺔ‬

‫ﻓﺘﻌﺠﺐ ﮐﯿﻒ ﻧﻤﻮا واﺳﺘﻄﺎﻟﻮا‪ ،‬وﺷﺒﺖ‬

‫ﺧﻄﺎھﻢ‬

‫وھﺬي اﻟﺤﯿﺎة ﺿﻨﯿﻨﺔ‪.‬‬

‫)‪(ʿAbd al-Sabur 2000, 102–103‬‬

‫;‪I am a man of the people‬‬

‫‪Poor by birth and descent.‬‬

‫‪255‬‬
 My genealogy does not reach the sky,

And my fortune has not elevated me up high.

I was born like the thousands who are born in the thousands of days,

Because a poor man, one night, went into the embrace of a poor woman

Where he sweetened the bitterness of his cruel existence

I grew up like the thousands who grow up feeding on the bread of the Sun

And drinking the waters of the rain,

Like the thousands whom you meet on sorrowful roads,

Sad young people;

And you wonder how they survived and how they became strong

Despite the deprivation of their lives.

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 1972, 63–64)

This is the stage that that corresponds to “The Call to Adventure,” when the hero is just a

regular person among the crowd with an urge to break out of the shell of his oppressed conditions of

poverty, hunger and injustice, which create the motive to find the call to adventure. The first stage

to reach the call was tracking knowledge:

‫ دﺧﻠﺖ ﺳﺮادﯾﺒﮭﺎ‬، ‫ﺗﺴﮑﻌﺖ ﻓﻲ طﺮﻗﺎت اﻟﺤﯿﺎة‬

‫اﻟﻤﻮﺣﺸﺎت‬

‫ﺣﺠﺒﺖ ﺑﻜﻔﻲ ﻟﮭﯿﺐ اﻟﻈﮭﯿﺮة ﻓﻲ اﻟﻔﻠﻮات‬

‫ أﻧﯿﺴﻲ ﻓﻲ اﻟﻈﻠﻤﺎت‬،‫ دﻟﯿﻠﻲ‬،‫وأﺷﻌﻠﺖ ﻋﯿﻨﻲ‬

‫ ﺷﻤﺲ‬،‫ وزﯾﺖ اﻟﻤﺼﺎﺑﯿﺢ‬،‫وذوﺑﺖ ﻋﻘﻠﻲ‬

‫اﻟﻨﮭﺎر ﻋﻠﻰ ﺻﻔﺤﺎت اﻟﻜﺘﺐ‬

‫ ﮐﮑﻠﺐ ﯾﺸﻢ‬،‫ﻟﮭﺜﺖ وراء اﻟﻌﻠﻮم ﺳﻨﯿﻦ‬

256
 ‫رواﺋﺢ ﺻﯿﺪ‬

‫ﻓﯿﺘﺒﻌﮭﺎ ‪ ،‬ﺛﻢ ﯾﺤﺘﺎل ﺣﺘﻰ ﯾﻨﺎل ﺳﺒﯿﻼ إﻟﯿﮭﺎ ‪،‬‬

‫ﻓﯿﺮﻛﺾ‪،‬‬

‫ﯾﻨﻘﺾ‬

‫ﻓﻠﻢ ﯾﺴﻌﺪ اﻟﻌﻠﻢ ﻗﻠﺒﻲ‪ ،‬ﺑﻞ زادﻧﻲ ﺣﯿﺮة راﺟﻔﺔ‬

‫ﺑﻜﯿﺖ ﻟﮭﺎ وارﺗﺠﻔﺖ‬

‫وأﺣﺴﺴﺖ أﻧﻲ ﺿﺌﯿﻞ ﻛﻘﻄﺮة طﻞ‬

‫ﻛﺤﺒﺔ رﻣﻞ‬

‫وﻣﻨﮑﺴﺮ ﺗﻌﺲ‪ ،‬ﺧﺎﺋﻒ ﻣﺮﺗﻌﺪ‬

‫ﻓﻌﻠﻤﻲ ﻣﺎ ﻗﺎدﻧﻲ ﻗﻂ ﻟﻠﻤﻌﺮﻓﺔ‬

‫وھﺒﻨﻲ ﻋﺮﻓﺖ ﺗﻀﺎرﯾﺲ ھﺬا اﻟﻮﺟﻮد‬

‫ﻣﺪاﺋﻨﮫ وﻗﺮاه‬

‫وودﯾﺎﻧﮫ وذراه‬

‫وﺗﺎرﯾﺦ أﻣﻼﻛﮫ اﻷﻗﺪﻣﯿﻦ‬

‫وآﺛﺎر أﻣﻼﻛﮫ اﻟﻤﺤﺪﺛﯿﻦ‬

‫ﻓﻜﯿﻒ ﺑﻌﺮﻓﺎن ﺳﺮ اﻟﻮﺟﻮد‪ ،‬وﻣﻘﺼﺪي‬

‫ﻣﺒﺘﺪا أﻣﺮه‪ ،‬ﻣﻨﺘﮭﺎه‬

‫ﻟﻜﻲ ﯾﺮﻓﻊ اﻟﺨﻮف ﻋﻨﻲ‪ ،‬ﺧﻮف اﻟﻤﻨﻮن‬

‫وﺧﻮف اﻟﺤﯿﺎة ‪ ،‬وﺧﻮف اﻟﻘﺪر‪.‬‬

‫)‪(ʿAbd al-Sabur 2000, 103–104‬‬

‫‪I wandered the roads of life and entered its dark alleys.‬‬

‫;‪With the palm of my hand, I shaded myself from the noon-day heat of the desert‬‬

‫‪And a night I lit my eyes, a torch for my way in the darkness.‬‬

‫‪The rays of the sun, lamp oil, and my mind, I burned in libraries‬‬
‫‪257‬‬
 Four years, I searched for knowledge, the way a dog hunts on his prey,

And follows it, schemes to seize it, then runs and leaps upon it.

Yet learning did not content me;

It's only increased my fearful perplexity;

I cried and I trembled,

I felt alone and insignificant, like the dewdrop,

like a grain of sand.

I felt broken, miserable, frightened, and shaken.

My learning did not lead me to knowledge.

Suppose I knew the topography of this word –

its cities, towns, and villages,

Its valleys, and its heights,

Knew even the history of its ancient kings,

The achievements of its present Emperors–

How would that help me know the secret of being,

Its purpose, its beginning, and its end.

So that fear would leave me, fear of death, fear of life, fear of the unknown.

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 1972, 64)

In order to escape his miserable reality, the mystic searches for knowledge, as it might satisfy

his most urgent needs, but once he starts to do so, he falls into the trap of dissatisfaction. I suggest

that the disappointment stems from the call to adventure itself, which the hero answers and follows.

It is followed by the next stage:

258
 ‫ﻟﻜﻲ أطﻤﺌﻦ‬

‫ﺳﺄﻟﺖ اﻟﺸﯿﻮخ‪ ،‬ﻓﻘﯿﻞ‬

‫ﺗﻘﺮب إﻟﻰ ﷲ‪ ،‬ﺻﻞ ﻟﯿﺮﻓﻊ ﻋﻨﻚ اﻟﻀﻼل‬

‫ﺻﻞ ﻟﺘﺴﻌﺪ‬

‫وﻛﻨﺖ ﻧﺴﯿﺖ اﻟﺼﻼة‪ ،‬ﻓﺼﻠﯿﺖ ‪ Ä‬رب اﻟﻤﻨﻮن‬

‫ورب اﻟﺤﯿﺎة ورب اﻟﻘﺪر‬

‫وﻛﺎن ھﻮاء اﻟﻤﺨﺎﻓﺔ ﯾﺼﻔﺮ ﻓﻲ أﻋﻈﻤﻲ وﯾﺌﺰ‬

‫ﮐﺮﯾﺢ اﻟﻔﻼ وأﻧﺎ ﺳﺎﺟﺪ راﻛﻊ أﺗﻌﺒﺪ‬

‫ﻓﺄدرﻛﺖ أﻧﻲ أﻋﺒﺪ ﺧﻮﻓﻲ‪ ،‬ﻻ ﷲ‬

‫ﮐﻨﺖ ﺑﮫ ﻣﺸﺮﻛﺎ ﻻ ﻣﻮﺣﺪا‬

‫وﻛﺎن إﻟﮭﻲ ﺧﻮﻓﻲ‬

‫وﺻﻠﯿﺖ أطﻤﻊ ﻓﻲ ﺟﻨﺘﮫ‬

‫ﻟﯿﺨﺘﺎل ﻓﻲ ﻣﻘﻠﺘ ّﻲ ﺧﯿﺎل اﻟﻘﺼﻮر ذوات اﻟﻘﺒﺎب‬

‫وأﺳﻤﻊ وﺳﻮﺳﺔ اﻟﺤﻠﻲ‪ ،‬ھﻤﺲ ﺣﺮﯾﺮ اﻟﺜﯿﺎب‬

‫أﻧﻲ أﺑﯿﻊ ﺻﻼﺗﻲ إﻟﻰ ﷲ‬

‫ﻓﻠﻮ أﺗﻘﻨﺖ ﺻﻨﻌﺔ اﻟﺼﻠﻮات ﻟﺰاد اﻟﺜﻤﻦ‬

‫وﻛﻨﺖ ﺑﮫ ﻣﺸﺮﻛﺎ‪ ،‬ﻻ ﻣﻮﺣﺪا‬

‫وﻛﺎن إﻟﮭﻲ اﻟﻄﻤﻊ‬

‫وﺣﯿﺮ ﻗﻠﺒﻲ ﺳﺆال‪:‬‬

‫ﺗﺮى ﻗُ ّﺪر اﻟﺸﺮك ﻟﻠﻜﺎﺋﻨﺎت‬

‫وإﻻ‪ ،‬ﻓﻜﯿﻒ أﺻﻠﻲ ﻟﮫ وﺣﺪه‬

‫وأﺧﻠﻲ ﻓﺆادي ﻣﻤﺎ ﻋﺪاه‬

‫ﻟﻜﻲ أﻧﺰع اﻟﺨﻮف ﻋﻦ ﺧﺎطﺮي‬

‫ﻟﻜﻲ أطﻤﺌﻦ‪.‬‬

‫)‪(ʿAbd al-Sabur 2000, 105–106‬‬

‫‪259‬‬
 So that I might feel safe.

I asked the learned. They told me,

‘Cling to God, pray that He may enlighten you, pray for peace of mind

I had forgotten prayer. So I prayed to God,

Lord of death, Lord of life, and Lord of fate,

But the wind of fear whistled through my bones

Like the desert wind

Even while I prostrated myself, while I knelt in prayer.

Then I realised that what I was worshipping was my fear, not God-

I was worshipping more than one God:

My God was also my fear

I prayed greedily, I prayed to earn His paradise,

To see in my mind’s eye the images of domed palaces in heaven

To hear the tinkling of jewels, the whispering of the houri's silken garments.

I felt that I was selling my prayers to God,

And that if the performing of prayers had been more elaborate,

The price would have been higher.

Thus, I was worshipping more than one God:

Greed was also my God

The question perplexed me:

Is associating other beings with God preordained?

Otherwise, how would I worship Him alone?

And concentrate my thoughts upon Him alone?

In order that I be free from fear, and feel secure.

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 (ʿAbd al-Sabur 1972, 64–65)

This verse represents the stage where the hero meets the helper who will provide him with the

necessary knowledge to cross the threshold. But just when the hero believes that he finally has all

that it takes to indulge in his journey, he falls into the whale’s belly, which is depicted by the

dissatisfaction of al-Hallaj with the result of his prayers. Indeed he is once more disappointed, since

he thought that following the “helper,” the shaykh, was supposed to suffice to cross the threshold.

This intersects with al-Niffari’s doctrine as well. As already mentioned in chapter two, al-Niffari

considers that performing religious rituals such as dhikr does not necessarily mean that the

worshipper is a monotheist, for the ritual could be a method of separating the seeker from his

beloved because it creates dualism in his heart, meaning that he is worshipping the Divine for a

purpose other than love, such as greed or some specific reward. This causes the path of unification

to vanish, because it implies that the worshiper acknowledges himself as an individual identity

separate from the One. I believe this to be “The Belly of the Whale” that al-Hallaj fell into. The

solution, however, soon follows:

‫ﻛﻤﺎ ﯾﻠﺘﻘﻲ اﻟﺸﻮق ﺷﻮق اﻟﺼﺤﺎري اﻟﻌﻄﺎش‬

‫ﺑﺸﻮق اﻟﺴﺤﺎب اﻟﺴﺨﻲ‬

‫ﻛﺬﻟﻚ ﻛﺎن ﻟﻘﺎﺋﻲ ﺑﺸﯿﺨﻲ‬

‫ ﻗﺪس ﺗﺮﺑﺘﮫ رﺑﮫ‬،‫أﺑﻲ اﻟﻌﺎص ﻋﻤﺮو ﺑﻦ أﺣﻤﺪ‬

‫ وﻛﺎن‬، ‫ ﻛﻨﺖ أﺣﺐ اﻟﺴﺆال‬،‫وﺟﻤﻌﻨﺎ اﻟﺤﺐ‬

‫ﯾﺤﺐ اﻟﻨﻮال‬

‫ ﻓﯿﺒﺘﻞ ﺻﺨﺮ اﻟﻔﺆاد‬،‫وﯾﻌﻄﻲ‬

‫ ﻓﺘﻨﺪي اﻟﻌﺮوق وﯾﻠﻤﻊ ﻓﯿﮭﺎ اﻟﯿﻘﯿﻦ‬،‫وﯾﻌﻄﻲ‬

‫ ﻓﯿﺨﻀﺮ ﻏﺼﻨﻲ‬،‫وﯾﻌﻄﻲ‬
261
 ‫ ﻓﯿﺰھﺮ ﻧﻄﻘﻲ وظﻨﻲ‬،‫وﯾﻌﻄﻲ‬

.‫ وﯾﻠﺒﺴﻨﻲ ﺧﺮﻗﺔ اﻟﻌﺎرﻓﯿﻦ‬، ‫وﯾﺨﻠﻊ ﻋﻨﻲ ﺛﯿﺎﺑﻲ‬

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 2000, 106–107)

Just as the longing, thirsty desert meets abundant rain

So did I meet my teacher

Abūlʿāṣ, Omar, son of Ahmad, may his soul rest in peace

And love United us; I loved to ask, and he loved to reply,

And he gave, and my soul became tender,

And he gave, and my veins swelled and faith shone through them;

He gave, and my being became younger;

He gave, and my speech, and my knowledge bloomed

He took off my clothing and dressed me in the the garment of the learned.

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 1972, 65–66)

The verse above is the one I suggest as the embodiment of what Campbell calls “The

Supernatural Aid.” It might come from a higher level or from a human being, which I believe to be

Abi al-ʿAs ʿAmr ibn Ahmad, the mentor who provided al-Hallaj with the superpower and the

instructions and guidance to win the elixir, which is none other than the Divine’s love. He

continues:

‫ ﺗﻌﺸﻖ ﺗﻔﺰ‬،‫ ﺳﺮ اﻟﻨﺠﺎة‬،‫ﯾﻘﻮل ھﻮ اﻟﺤﺐ‬

،‫ ﺗﺼﺒﺢ أﻧﺖ اﻟﻤﺼﻠﻲ‬،‫وﺗﻔﻨﻰ ﺑﺬات ﺣﺒﯿﺒﻚ‬

‫وأﻧﺖ اﻟﺼﻼة‬

‫وأﻧﺖ اﻟﺪﯾﺎﻧﺔ واﻟﺮب واﻟﻤﺴﺠﺪ‬

262
 ‫ ﺗﺨﯿﻠﺖ ﺣﺘﻰ رأﯾﺖ‬،‫ﺗﻌﺸﻘﺖ ﺣﺘﻰ ﻋﺸﻘﺖ‬

‫ وأﺗﺤﻔﻨﻲ ﺑﻜﻤﺎل اﻟﺠﻤﺎل‬،‫رأﯾﺖ ﺣﺒﯿﺒﻲ‬

‫ﺟﻤﺎل اﻟﻜﻤﺎل‬

‫ﻓﺄﺗﺤﻔﺘﮫ ﺑﻜﻤﺎل اﻟﻤﺤﺒﺔ‬

.‫وأﻓﻨﯿﺖ ﻧﻔﺴﻲ ﻓﯿﮫ‬

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 2000, 107)

He used to say that love is the secret of salvation

Love and you will be saved

You will be rich in your beloved;

You will become the praying and a prayer

You will become the faith, the Lord and the mosque

So I loved until I fell in love

I imagined until I saw

I saw my Beloved,

And He favoured me with the perfection of beauty and the beauty of perfection

And I favoured Him with the perfection of love

And I lost myself in Him.

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 1972, 66)

The elixir of the Divine's love provided al-Hallaj with ultimate power, a strength poured onto

him from the Absolute, that unleashes al-Hallaj as a prophet capable of performing miracles and

spreading the light that he met, those words addressed to him by the Divine, among the people.

Thus, he is able to follow the next step that Campbell calls “The Return,” in order to achieve the

hero’s purpose, which in his case is saving the people who were less fortunate than him because
263
they were not selected by the One. Despite the fact that returning to society is, from al-Hallaj's point

of view, executing the Divine’s order, which appears to be a religious thing to do, the judge Abu

ʿUmar replies with:

!‫ ھﺬا ﻛﻔﺮ ﺑﯿﻦ‬:‫ﺻﻤﺘﺎ‬

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 2000, 107)

Silence! Clearly, this is heresy!

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 1972, 66)

But the other judge, Ibn Suryj, who holds a fairer view, says:

‫ﺑﻞ ھﺬا ﺣﺎل ﻣﻦ أﺣﻮال اﻟﺼﻮﻓﯿﺔ‬

‫ﻻ ﯾﺪﺧﻞ ﻓﻲ ﺗﻘﺪﯾﺮ ﻣﺤﺎﻛﻤﻨﺎ‬

‫أﻣﺮ ﺑﯿﻦ اﻟﻌﺒﺪ ورﺑﮫ‬

.‫ﻻ ﯾﻘﻀﻰ ﻓﯿﮫ إﻻ ﷲ‬

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 2000, 107).

Not heresy, but the description of a mystical vision

That's outside of the jurisdiction of our courts

this is a matter between a man and his Creator

only God can judge it.

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 1972, 66)

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 The dialectic we see here is between the faith that the authorities wish to force on the

worshipper and the private relationship between the Divine and his seeker. Al-Hallaj establishes his

revolution based on religion, the very same one used by the authorities to subjugate the mass. Al-

Hallaj believes himself to be a prophetic hero who came to liberate the people from worshipping the

king in order to glorify the God of the king instead. This, from Abu ʿUmar's perspective is total

heresy. It is clear that both al-Hallaj and Abu ʿUmar consider religion to be a political tool; the first

to revolt and the second, to oppress. And the question that arises here is: why would religion create

a threat to the authorities? Why would a few words jeopardise the throne of the ruler? It is due to

the ramifications of it? Al-Hallaj believed that shedding the light of the Divine should be the

approach to achieve justice, he therefore corresponded with rulers from other countries to invite

them to join his movement for they might become the next rulers of his. If they did, they must

follow the doctrine of the Divine, which is justice. Abu ʿUmar describes al-Hallaj’s messages as

“poisoned” and asks him about the reason for sending them, to which he replies:

‫ﻣﺎذا أﺻﻨﻊ؟‬

‫ﻻ أﻣﻠﻚ إﻻ أن أﺗﺤﺪث‬

‫وﻟﺘﻨﻘﻞ ﻛﻠﻤﺎﺗﻲ اﻟﺮﯾﺢ اﻟﺴﻮاﺣﺔ‬

‫وأﺛﺒﺘﮭﺎ ﻓﻲ اﻷوراق ﺷﮭﺎدة إﻧﺴﺎن ﻣﻦ أھﻞ‬

‫اﻟﺮؤﯾﺔ‬

‫ﻓﻠﻌﻞ ﻓﺆادا ظﻤﺂﻧﺎ ﻣﻦ أﻓﺌﺪة وﺟﻮه اﻷﻣﺔ‬

‫ﭘﺴﺘﻌﺬب ھﺬي اﻟﻜﻠﻤﺎت‬

‫ﻓﯿﺨﻮض ﺑﮭﺎ ﻓﻲ اﻟﻄﺮﻗﺎت‬

‫ﯾﺮﻋﺎھﺎ إن وﻟﻲ اﻷﻣﺮ‬

‫وﯾﻮﻓﻖ ﺑﯿﻦ اﻟﻘﺪرة واﻟﻔﻜﺮة‬

.‫وﯾﺰاوج ﺑﯿﻦ اﻟﺤﻜﻤﺔ واﻟﻔﻌﻞ‬

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 (ʿAbd al-Sabur 2000, 111–112)

What should I do?

I possess nothing but words

So let the wandering wind carry my words

And let me impress them upon paper, a testimony of a visionary man

In the hope that the thirsty heart of a great man

Will find these words refreshing

And spread them among the people;

And when he comes to power,

Strike a balance between power and thought

And join wisdom with action.

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 1972, 69)

Fully aware of his limitations, al-Hallaj knows that he cannot end poverty nor fight against the

persons who caused it, he can only preach, advice and illuminate others to lift the oppression. Abu

ʿUmar continues by interrogating him about his intentions towards poverty and if he wishes to

eliminate it. His reply is:

‫اﻟﻔﻘﺮ ھﻮ اﻟﻘﮭﺮ‬

‫اﻟﻔﻘﺮھﻮ اﺳﺘﺨﺪام اﻟﻔﻘﺮ ﻹذﻻل اﻟﺮوح‬

‫اﻟﻔﻘﺮ ھﻮ اﺳﺘﺨﺪام اﻟﻔﻘﺮ ﻟﻘﺘﻞ اﻟﺤﺐ وزرع‬

‫اﻟﺒﻐﻀﺎء‬

‫اﻟﻔﻘﺮ ﯾﻘﻮل ﻷھﻞ اﻟﺜﺮوة‬

‫‘اﻛﺮه ﺟﻤﻊ اﻟﻔﻘﺮاء‬

266
 ’‫ﻓﮭﻤﻮ ﯾﺘﻤﻨﻮن زوال اﻟﻨﻌﻤﺔ ﻋﻨﻚ‬

‫وﯾﻘﻮل ﻷھﻞ اﻟﻔﻘﺮ‬

'.‫'إن ﺟﻌﺖ ﻓﻜﻞ ﻟﺤﻢ أﺧﯿﻚ‬

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 2000,112)

Poverty is the soul oppressed.

Poverty is the use of deprivation to humiliate men,

to kill love and plant hatred.

Poverty speaks to the privileged and says:

‘I hate the poor

Because they wish to take your wealth.’

And speaks to the poor, saying:

‘If you are hungry, eat your brother's flesh.’

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 1972, 69)

The mystic believes that poverty is a political instrument that the authorities use to humiliate the

mass. He sees the current political situation as being against religious requirements. Whereas for

their part, the authorities consider what he calls religious to be a complete heresy, simply because it

does not achieve their own political agenda. Since the authorities have the exclusivity of defining

what is rightly religious and what is not, they decide the validity of his faith. Abu ʿUmar says to his

colleague:

‫ﯾﺎ اﺑﻦ ﺳﺮﯾﺞ‬

‫إﻧﻲ ﻻ أﺑﺤﺚ ﻓﻲ إﯾﻤﺎﻧﮫ‬

.‫ﺑﻞ ﻓﻲ ﻛﯿﻔﯿﺔ إﯾﻤﺎﻧﮫ‬

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 2000,116)

267
 Ibn Surayj,

I am not investigating his belief in God,

But the manner of his belief.

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 1972, 72)

However, Ibn Surayj objects to this approach by retorting:

‫ھﻞ ﺗﺒﻐﻲ أن ﺗﻨﺒﺶ ﻓﻲ ﻗﻠﺒﮫ‬

‫ھﻞ ھﺬا ﻣﻦ ﺣﻖ اﻟﻮاﻟﻲ‬

‫أم ﻣﻦ ﺣﻖ ﷲ ؟‬

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 2000,116–117)

Do you mean to probe his soul?

Is this one of the ruler’s rights?

Or is it God’s right?

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 1972, 72)

He then leaves the courtroom to express his rejection of the trial's approaches. It is clear by this

point that we have two versions of religion here: the religion of al-Hallaj and that of the authorities.

The second clearly believes in upholding religion as a method of oppression. Later, when the death

penalty verdict is pronounced against al-Hallaj, the judge claims that the verdict was pronounced by

the masses, for they voiced their belief that the mystic was guilty of blasphemy. Through this action,

the judge eludes his responsibility for the death of the mystic and washes his blood from the

Sultan’s hands. The crucification of al-Hallaj represents the last stage in the hero’s journey, which is
268
the death of the protagonist, which must happen in order for the hero to achieve the purpose of his

life. As already made clear however, this does not represent the end, since the cycle is repetitive.

While the echo of prophecy was clearly reflected along the play, I believe that there are two

specific scenes that should be examined closely. The first one is when al-Hallaj is in his prison cell

with two prisoners, which I suggest is a scene that reflects the prison scene form the the story of the

Prophet Joseph in the Qurʾan. The Islamic version of it is narrated in Sūrat Yusuf, as follows:

‫ وﻗـﺎل اﻵﺧـﺮ إﻧـﻲ أراﻧـﻲ أﺣـﻤﻞ ﻓـﻮق رأﺳـﻲ ﺧـﺒﺰا ﺗـﺄﻛـﻞ اﻟـﻄﯿﺮ‬،‫ودﺧـﻞ ﻣـﻌﮫ اﻟـﺴﺠﻦ ﻓـﺘﯿﺎن ﻗـﺎل أﺣـﺪھـﻤﺎ إﻧـﻲ أراﻧـﻲ أﻋـﺼﺮ ﺧـﻤﺮا‬

‫ ﻗـﺎل ﻻ ﯾـﺄﺗـﯿﻜﻤﺎ طـﻌﺎم ﺗـﺮزﻗـﺎﻧـﮫ إﻻ ﻧـﺒّﺄﺗـﻜﻤﺎ ﺑـﺘﺄوﯾـﻠﮫ ﻗـﺒﻞ أن ﯾـﺄﺗـﯿﻜﻤﺎ ذﻟـﻜﻤﺎ ﻣـﻤﺎ ﻋـﻠﻤﻨﻲ‬،‫ ﻧـﺒّﺌﻨﺎ ﺑـﺘﺄوﯾـﻠﮫ إﻧـﺎ ﻧـﺮاك ﻣـﻦ اﻟـﻤﺤﺴﻨﯿﻦ‬،‫ﻣـﻨﮫ‬

‫ واﺗـﺒﻌﺖ ﻣـﻠﺔ آﺑـﺎﺋـﻲ إﺑـﺮاھـﯿﻢ وإﺳـﺤﺎق وﯾـﻌﻘﻮب ﻣـﺎﻛـﺎن ﻟـﻨﺎ‬،‫ وھـﻢ ﺑـﺎﻵﺧـﺮة ھـﻢ ﻛـﺎﻓـﺮون‬Ä‫ إﻧـﻲ ﺗـﺮﻛـﺖ ﻣـﻠﺔ ﻗـﻮم ﻻ ﯾـﺆﻣـﻨﻮن ﺑـﺎ‬،‫رﺑـﻲ‬

‫ ﯾـﺎ ﺻـﺎﺣـﺒ ّﻲ اﻟـﺴﺠﻦ أرﺑـﺎب‬،‫ ﻣـﻦ ﺷـﻲء ذﻟـﻚ ﻣـﻦ ﻓـﻀﻞ ﷲ ﻋـﻠﯿﻨﺎ وﻋـﻠﻰ اﻟـﻨﺎس وﻟـﻜﻦ أﻛـﺜﺮ اﻟـﻨﺎس ﻻ ﯾـﺸﻜﺮون‬Ä‫أن ﻧﺸـﺮك ﺑـﺎ‬

‫ إن‬،‫ ﻣـﺎ ﺗـﻌﺒﺪون ﻣـﻦ دوﻧـﮫ إﻻ أﺳـﻤﺎء ﺳـﻤﯿﺘﻤﻮھـﺎ أﻧـﺘﻢ وآﺑـﺎؤﻛـﻢ ﻣـﺎ أﻧـﺰل ﷲ ﺑـﮭﺎ ﻣـﻦ ﺳـﻠﻄﺎن‬،‫ﻣـﺘﻔﺮﻗـﻮن ﺧـﯿﺮ أم ﷲ اﻟـﻮاﺣـﺪ اﻟـﻘﮭﺎر‬

‫ ﯾـﺎ ﺻـﺎﺣـﺒ ّﻲ اﻟـﺴﺠﻦ أﻣـﺎ أﺣـﺪﻛـﻤﺎ ﻓـﯿﺴﻘﻲ رﺑـﮫ‬،‫ أﻣـﺮ أﻻ ﺗـﻌﺒﺪوا إﻻ إﯾـﺎه ذﻟـﻚ اﻟـﺪﯾـﻦ اﻟـﻘﯿّﻢ وﻟـﻜﻦ أﻛـﺜﺮ اﻟـﻨﺎس ﻻ ﯾـﻌﻠﻤﻮن‬Ä ‫اﻟـﺤﻜﻢ إﻻ‬

(Qurʾan 12: 36–41) .‫ﺧﻤﺮا وأﻣﺎ اﻵﺧﺮ ﻓﯿﺼﻠﺐ ﻓﺘﺄﻛﻞ اﻟﻄﯿﺮ ﻣﻦ رأﺳﮫ ﻗﻀﻲ اﻷﻣﺮ اﻟﺬي ﻓﯿﮫ ﺗﺴﺘﻔﺘﯿﺎن‬

And there entered the prison with him two youths. Said one of them ‘I dreamt that I was

pressing grapes.’ Said to the other, ‘I dream that I was carrying on my head bread, that birds

were eating of. Tell us its interpretation, we see that thou art of the good-doers.' He said, 'No

food shall come to you for your sustenance, but ere it comes to you I shall tell you its

interpretation. That I shall tell you is of what God has taught me. I have forsaken the creed

of a people who believe not in God and who moreover are unbelievers in the world to come

And I have followed the creed of my fathers, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Not ours is it to

associate aught with God. That is of God's bounty to us, and to men; but most men are not

thankful. Say, which is better, my fellow-prisoners -- many gods at variance, or God the

One, the Omnipotent?

269
 That which you serve, apart from Him, is nothing but names yourselves have named, you

and your fathers; God has sent down no authority touching them. Judgment belongs only to

God; He has commanded that you shall not serve any but Him. That is the right religion; but

most men know not. Fellow-prisoners, as for one of you, he shall pour wine for his lord; as

for the other, he shall be crucified, and birds will eat of his head. The matter is decided

whereon you enquire. (Arberry 1996, 257–258).

Quoting the complete scene from the Qurʾan was intentional in order to clarify the comparison

duly. Just like the Prophet Joseph, al-Hallaj had two inmates in his cell. Although they did not take

him seriously at first, the incident with the guard changed their opinion of him and made them

appreciate him dearly, as if they were reciting the verse that follows, from the Qurʾan:

.‫إﻧﺎ ﻧﺮاك ﻣﻦ اﻟﻤﺤﺴﻨﯿﻦ‬

(Qurʾan 12: 36)

We see that thou art of the good-doers.

(Arberry 1996, 257)

The first prisoner says:

‫ھﺬا رﺟﻞ طﯿﺐ‬

‫ﯾﻠﻘﻲ ﻟﻔﻈﺎ ﻻ أﻓﮭﻢ ﻣﻌﻨﺎه‬

.‫ﻟﻜﻨﻲ أﺷﻌﺮ ﺑﮫ‬

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 2000, 63)

270
 This is a good man

He says things I don't understand,

But I feel them.

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 1972,41)

In the Qurʾan, the two prisoners felt the goodness in the Prophet by intuition, but in the play, the

prisoners began by underestimating him, since he was praying and they assumed that he was

imagining the cell to be a palace. They soon changed their minds thanks to the impact of his words,

which indicates the effective influence of al-Hallaj despite the prisoners' inability to understand his

meaning. This falls in line with what the Abbasid poet Abu Tammam196 once said in front a foreign

singer:

ْ
‫وﻟﻜﻦ‬ ‫وﻟ ْﻢ أﻓﮭ ْﻢ ﻣﻌﺎﻧﯿﮭﺎ‬

‫ورت ﻛﺒﺪي ﻓﻠﻢ أﺟﮭﻞ ﺷﺠﺎھﺎ‬

ّ
‫ﻓﺒﺖ ﻛﺄﻧﻨﻲ أﻋﻤﻰ ﻣﻌﻨّﻰ‬

.‫ﺑﺤﺐ اﻟﻐﺎﻧﯿﺎت وﻻ ﯾﺮاھﺎ‬

(Abu Tammam, as cited in al-Mubarrad 2003, 104)

I did not understand what she meant,

but it set my heart on fire,

for I understood her sorrow

All night long I was like a blind man, brokenhearted,

196 Abu Tammam Habib ibn Aws, born in 805H (1402–1403AD) in Syria. One of the poets who lived in the Abbasid

period. Famous for being self-educated. He painstakingly collected the oral poetry of the pre-Islamic era to include it in

a book entitled Hamasa (enthusiasm). His collection is one of the most vital compilations after the Mufaḍḍalyāt and

Muʿallaqat. He died in 845H (1441–1442AD) (Bushrui and Malarkey 2013, 423).

271
 in love with beauties he cannot see.

(Abu Tammam 2015, 241)

In contrast to what the Prophet Joseph did, al-Hallaj did not preach to the prisoners about

worshipping the Divine, however, the strength he demonstrated in front of the guards is what

caused the prisoners to have this feeling towards him. Moreover, while in the Qurʾan the Prophet’s

companions ask his opinion about dreams they saw in their sleep, al-Hallaj speaks of dreams in a

different way when he says:

.‫ودﻋﻮا أﺣﻼﻣﻜﻢ ﺗﻨﺴﺞ دﻧﯿﺎ أﺧﺮى‬

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 2000, 73)

And let your dreams weave the garment of the hereafter.

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 1972, 46)

When one of the prisoners asks him how can a man build a world of dreams, the mystic replies:

‫اﻟﺤﻠﻢ ﺟﻨﯿﻦ اﻟﻮاﻗﻊ‬

‫أﻣﺎ اﻟﺘﯿﺠﺎن‬

‫ﻓﺄﻧﺎ ﻻ أﻋﺮف ﺻﺎﺣﺐ ﺗﺎج إﻻ ﷲ‬

‫واﻟﻨﺎس ﺳﻮاﺳﯿﺔ ﻋﻨﺪي‬

‫ﻣﻦ ﺑﯿﻨﮭﻢ ﯾﺨﺘﺎرون رؤوﺳﺎ ﻟﯿﺴﻮﺳﻮا اﻷﻣﺮ‬

‫ﻓﺎﻟﻮاﻟﻲ اﻟﻌﺎدل‬

‫ﻗﺒﺲ ﻣﻦ ﻧﻮر ﷲ ﯾﻨﻮر ﺑﻌﻀﺎ ﻣﻦ أرﺿﮫ‬

‫أﻣﺎ اﻟﻮاﻟﻲ اﻟﻈﺎﻟﻢ‬

‫ﻓﺴﺘﺎر ﯾﺤﺠﺐ ﻧﻮر ﷲ ﻋﻦ اﻟﻨﺎس‬

272
 ‫ﮐﯽ ﯾﻔﺮخ ﺗﺤﺖ ﻋﺒﺎءﺗﮫ اﻟﺸﺮ‬

.‫ﯾﺎ وﻟﺪي‬

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 2000, 73)

Dreams are the embryos of reality.

But crowns! I recognise none except God’s.

To me, all men are equal.

They choose from among themselves those who are to rule.

The just ruler

Is a ray of God’s light which illuminates the Earth,

But the unjust ruler

Is a curtain which conceals God’s light from man

In order to create evil in the darkness.

This is what I say, my son.

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 1972, 46)

From the Sufi point of view, a dream is not a mysterious vision that needs interpretation, a

dream is born from a reality, which only obeys the Divine and refuses to be under the sword of the

unjust ruler. This is despite the disagreement of the second prisoner, who believes these to be only

words and words to be useless. The only solution to this dilemma seems to be armed rebellion to

execute the oppressors. However, the Qurʿanic narration and that of al-Hallaj do meet with regards

to the death of one of the prisoners. Indeed Joseph predicted the death of the second inmate and in

the case of the second prisoner who escaped from al-Hallaj's cell and revolted to support him, he

was executed on the same day as the Sufi.

273
 This same scene contains another prophetic reflection, through which shines the image of Jesus.

When one of the prisoners asks the mystic about the accusation that led to his arrest, he replies that

he wishes to revive the dead, to which the second prisoner replies sarcastically: Are you a second

Jesus? So al-Hallaj explains thus:

‫ﻟﻢ ﺗﻔﮭﻢ ﻋﻨﻲ ﯾﺎ وﻟﺪي‬

‫ ﺣﺰ رﺗﺒﺔ ﻋﯿﺴﻰ‬، ‫ﻓﻠﮑﯽ ﺗﺤﯿﯽ ﺟﺴﺪا‬

‫أو ﻣﻌﺠﺰﺗﮫ‬

‫ ﻓﯿﻜﻔﻲ أن ﺗﻤﻠﻚ‬،‫أﻣﺎ ﻛﻲ ﺗﺤﯿﻲ اﻟﺮوح‬

‫ﻛﻠﻤﺎﺗﮫ‬

‫ﮐﻢ أﺣﯿﺎ ﻋﯿﺴﻰ أرواﺣﺎ ﻗﺒﻞ‬.. ‫ﻧﺒﺌﻨﻲ‬

.‫اﻟﻤﻌﺠﺰة اﻟﻤﺸﮭﻮدة‬

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 2000, 71)

You have not understood me, my son,

In order to revive a body, you must have Jesus’ status and his miraculous gift,

But to revive a soul, you need only Jesus’ words.

Tell me how many souls had Jesus revived

before he performed his greatest miracle?

(ʿAbd al-Sabur 1972, 45)

Al-Hallaj negates being Jesus, for he believes that he holds a higher stance and could therefore

not compare himself to him. When the prisoners ask him about his method of reviving souls, his

answer is that he can do so by way of words, which is something that might trigger the question

about the relationship between miracles and words. The Qurʾan describes Jesus as follows:
274
 (Qurʾan 4: 171) .‫إﻧﻤﺎ اﻟﻤﺴﯿﺢ ﻋﯿﺴﻰ اﺑﻦ ﻣﺮﯾﻢ رﺳﻮل ﷲ وﻛﻠﻤﺘﮫ أﻟﻘﺎھﺎ إﻟﻰ ﻣﺮﯾﻢ و روح ﻣﻨﮫ‬

The Messiah, Jesus son of Mary, was only the Messenger of God, and His Word that He

committed to Mary, and a Spirit from Him. (Arberry 1996, 125)

While I do not suggest that al-Hallaj impersonates Jesus, I do believe that the power of his

words does. Just as Jesus was able to revive the dead, so was al-Hallaj, by means of words, able to

revive the souls. The Jesus parallel is also reflected in the flower that al-Shibli throws on al-Hallaj,

since the Sufis believed that the perfume of the rose of Jesus could bring people back to life. In his

monologue, al-Shibli describes his friend as a hidden flower, the one that represents Jesus. There is

a further representation of Jesus in the scene of the crucified mystic on the tree, which mirrors the

crucifixion of the Christ, who sacrificed his life for others. However, as Campbell states: this is not

the end, and the Qurʾan confirms that the Prophet, the hero, did not actually die:

(Qurʾan 4: 157) .‫وﻣﺎ ﻗﺘﻠﻮه وﻣﺎ ﺻﻠﺒﻮه وﻟﻜﻦ ُﺷﺒّﮫ ﻟﮭﻢ‬

Yet they did not slay him, neither crucified him, only a likeness of that was shown to them.

(Arberry 1996, 123)

Conclusion

This chapter intended to examine the work of the Egyptian poet Salah ʿAbd al-Sabur, Maʾsāt al-

Hallaj, in a bid to explore the aspect of dialogue with the Divine in it as well as the allusion of the

prophetic echo permeated in the play. I suggested the approach that Joseph Campbell presented,

which traces the journey of the hero, as a method to examine the character of al-Hallaj in the
275
tragedy. I attempted to demonstrate the steps and stages that al-Hallaj voyages through in order to

be crowned as hero in the oeuvre. Unlike al-Niffari, in the play, al-Hallaj obtains the weapon of

words and letters in order to spread the light of the Divine. The light which, he confirms along the

play, he gained thanks to his conversation with the Absolute.

Nonetheless, there still remain more questions to answer: why would a leftist poet such ʿAbd al-

Sabur, write about a religious mystical figure like al-Hallaj? Could secularism have any type of

correlation with Sufism? I believe that Ziyad el-Marsafy's study on Sufism in the contemporary

novel contains some valid answers to that last question. He states that adopting the mystical tone,

particularly after the 1980s, is attributed to reallocating and producing a new definition of self-

individualism due to the invasion of religious institutions with restrictions imposed on them by

politics (el-Marsafy 2012, 5). He further maintains that this historical period witnessed significant

political upheavals, which led the authorities to create policies based on injustice, exploitation and

the abuse of human rights. In addition, the author mentions the study of Michel de Certeau, which

concludes that there is vital relationship between the appearance of mysticism as a way of salvation

from social agony. The author exemplifies this by mentioning Massignon’s study of al-Hallaj.

Therefore, it would appear that the role of the saint becomes crucially more significant during social

distress, that he may adopt human suffering and attempt to end it (ibid., 6). The author quotes one of

Wittgenstein's phrases, which states that Sufism is the solution when a man feels that he is behind

the advance of technology and science (ibid., 7). On the other hand, I believe that what summarises

the relationship between the two is the quotation the author includes by the novelist Najib Mahfuz,

when he differentiates between Sufism and the love of Sufism, which from my point of view

reflects the difference between al-Shilbi and al-Hallaj in the play. The novelist confirms that he is in

support of adoring the type of mysticism that decreases the distance between him and the concerns

of his society. He disagrees with the mystical idea of erasing the qualities of the individual and the

276
Sufi direction admired by him is the one that has the concerns of his society and fellow humans at

heart (Mahfuz, as cited in el-Marsafy 2012, 27).

We can simply put it that ʿAbd al-Sabur found in the figure of al-Hallaj the spiritual

revolutionism and heroism that the modern intellectual identifies himself with, in order to challenge

the oppressing authorities of his age. The last question I would like to ask is: who was speaking in

that play? Was it the Sufi or ʿAbd al-Sabur? I tend to agree with the references mentioned in the

literature review that state that it was ʿAbd al-Sabur’s voice disguised as that of al-Hallaj. However,

I suggest that the verses composed by the poet merged well with the poetry of al-Hallaj to a certain

extent. I believe that ʿAbd al-Sabur succeeded in hiding behind al-Hallaj’s name to avoid political

persecution and that he also succeeded in modernising the poems of al-Hallaj.

277
 Conclusion

There remains one question left to answer and that is, of course, what are the common aspects

between the three selected writers?

The first element, which I believe unites those writers from totally different eras, is the concept

of the journey. In the first chapter, al-Suhrawardi experiences an indirect dialogue with the Divine

that was symbolised through the drinking of wine. Feeling drunk with the Divine's love was a

bridge to cross to start the journey through the sky of His love. By contrast, as illustrated in the

analysis, al-Niffari lived through a spiritual ascension that transcended him from the spot of

mortality to the ruʾya that annihilates all types of ḥarf, so as to be under the hospitality of the

Divine. As for al-Hallaj, as demonstrated in the third and last chapter, he was the hero of a dramatic

work, in which he endured several stages that constituted the cycles he had to go through along his

journey in order to achieve the purpose of his selection and then, to start over. These three journeys

contain a number of steps. The first is that the writer or the mystic has to be called and chosen by

the Divine. The writer then starts a conversation with the Absolute that occurs in union and that we,

readers, can only know about through the production of the author. After that, the writer or mystic

will be in deep sorrow on account of being separated from the Divine and will yearn to be called

and chosen by Him again.

The second common factor between the three writers is the dialectic of the role of the word. Al-

Suhrawardi and the al-Hallaj of ʿAbd al-Sabur glorify the word, for it is the expression of the lover's

suffering for his beloved and the method of spreading the Divine's illumination among people to

save them from their own ignorance. In comparison, al-Niffari negates any value or virtue of letters

and words, as he views them as otherness that occupies the heart and prevents it from

communicating with the Absolute. However, one might argue that what he calls "veil" and

"otherness" is his method of transferring his doctrine to the readers, so how could the veil be the
278
method to speak of the Absolute? Despite the fact this may appear to be contradictory, I believe it

can be understood. From al-Niffari’s perspective, words are veils and obstacles that deform our

union with the Divine, since they are the reason for spreading ignorance about Him.

Simultaneously, those same words are our method to communicate with him and tell people of Him.

When Gabriel first met Prophet Muhammad, he commanded him to read, "ʾiqraʾ," he said to him

and the Prophet replied that he could not. According to Abu Zayd, this word was misinterpreted, for

"read" here means "recite." What supports this premise is Abu Zayd’s argument that since the

Divine is the All-knowing, surely He must have known that Muhammad was illiterate.

Consequently, the Divine knew that his prophet could not read and it would therefore have been

infelicitous to ask him to do so (Abu Zayd 2017, 66). However, the Divine commanded his prophet

to recite His words and hence, words became a double-edged sword; a step to communicate with

the Divine on one hand and a method to deepen ignorance of Him on the other. Nonetheless, the

word maintained a leading position in the revolution against oppressive cultures. As the Qurʾan was

the Divine’s word that challenged the pre-Islamic cultural context, words were the method the three

writers adopted to challenge the authorities, be they religious, spiritual or political. This was clearly

demonstrated in a scene from a play197 written by Abd al-Rahman al-Sharqawi, when al-Walid, Ibn

Marwan and Ibn al-Hakam were convincing al-Husayn to renounce his right to rule for the sake of

peace, since it was a simple thing they were asking for: a word. He replies:

‫ ﻛﺒُﺮت ﻛﻠﻤﺔ‬:‫اﻟﺤﺴﯿﻦ‬

‫وھﻞ اﻟﺒﯿﻌﺔ إﻻ ﻛﻠﻤﺔ؟‬

‫ﻣﺎ دﯾﻦ اﻟﻤﺮء ﺳﻮى ﻛﻠﻤﺔ؟‬

‫ﻣﺎ ﺷﺮف اﻟﺮﺟﻞ ﺳﻮى ﻛﻠﻤﺔ؟‬

197 A versed drama written by Abd al-Rahman al-Sharqawi in 1969, inspired by the historical Battle of Karbala that

ends with the death of its protagonist (al-Saadi 2017, 1–3).

279
 ‫اﺑﻦ ﻣﺮوان‪) :‬ﺑﻐﻠﻈﺔ(‪ :‬ﻓﻘﻞ اﻟﻜﻠﻤﺔ واذھﺐ ﻋﻨّﺎ!‬

‫اﻟﺤﺴﯿﻦ‪ :‬ﻣﻔﺘﺎح اﻟﺠﻨّﺔ ﻓﻲ ﻛﻠﻤﺔ‬

‫ودﺧﻮل اﻟﻨّﺎر ﻋﻠﻰ ﻛﻠﻤﺔ‬

‫وﻗﻀﺎء ﷲ ھﻮ اﻟﻜﻠﻤﺔ‬

‫اﻟﻜﻠﻤﺔ ﻟﻮ ﺗﻌﺮف ﺣﺮﻣﺔ‬

‫زادا ﻣﺬﺧﻮر‬

‫اﻟﻜﻠﻤﺔ ﻧﻮر‬

‫وﺑﻌﺾ اﻟﻜﻠﻤﺎت ﻗﺒﻮر‬

‫ﺑﻌﺾ اﻟﻜﻠﻤﺎت ﻗﻼع ﺷﺎﻣﺨﺔ ﯾﻌﺘﺼﻢ ﺑﮭﺎ اﻟﻨﺒﻞ اﻟﺒﺸﺮي‬

‫اﻟﻜﻠﻤﺔ ﻓﺮﻗﺎن ﻣﺎ ﺑﯿﻦ ﻧﺒﻲ وﺑﻐ ّﻲ‬

‫ﺑﺎﻟﻜﻠﻤﺔ ﺗﻨﻜﺸﻒ اﻟﻐ ّﻤ ْﺔ‬

‫اﻟﻜﻠﻤﺔ ﻧﻮر‬

‫ودﻟﯿﻞ ﺗﺘﺒﻌﮫ اﻷﻣﺔ‬

‫ﻋﯿﺴﻰ ﻣﺎ ﻛﺎن ﺳﻮى ﻛﻠﻤﺔ‬

‫أﺿﺎء اﻟﺪﻧﯿﺎ ﺑﺎﻟﻜﻠﻤﺎت وﻋﻠّﻤﮭﺎ ﻟﻠﺼﯿﺎدﯾﻦ‬

‫ﻓﺴﺎروا ﯾﮭﺪون اﻟﻌﺎﻟﻢ‬

‫اﻟﻜﻠﻤﺔ زﻟﺰﻟﺖ اﻟﻈﺎﻟﻢ‬

‫اﻟﻜﻠﻤﺔ ﺣﺼﻦ اﻟﺤﺮﯾﺔ‬

‫إن اﻟﻜﻠﻤﺔ ﻣﺴﺆوﻟﯿﺔ‬

‫إن اﻟﺮﺟﻞ ھﻮ اﻟﻜﻠﻤﺔ‬

‫ﺷﺮف اﻟﺮّﺟﻞ ھﻮ اﻟﻜﻠﻤﺔ‬

‫ﺷﺮف ﷲ ھﻮ اﻟﻜﻠﻤﺔ‬

‫اﺑﻦ اﻟﺤﻜﻢ‪ :‬وإذن؟‬

‫اﻟﺤﺴﯿﻦ‪ :‬ﻻ رد ﻟﺪ ّ‬
‫ي ﻟﻤﻦ ﻻ ﯾﻌﺮف ﻣﺎ ﻣﻌﻨﻰ‬

‫ﺷﺮف اﻟﻜﻠﻤﺔ‪.‬‬
‫‪280‬‬
 (al-Sharqawi 2019, 30–31)

al-Husayn: How grandiose is a word

What is a pledge, if not a word?

What is a man’s religion, if not a word

What is a man’s honour, if not a word?

Ibn Marwan (with gruffness): Then say the word and go away!

al-Husayn: The key to heaven is in a word

And stepping into hell is for a word

And Allah’s fate is the word

If the word should know sanctity

Treasured livelihood

The word becomes light

And some words are graves

Some words are castles

Where human nobility seeks refuge

The word is the distinction between

A tyrant and a prophet

With one word, gloom could withdraw

Word is light

And a flag that a nation could follow

What is Jesus, if not a word?

He illuminated the world with words

And taught them to hunters

Then, they went to illuminate the globe

281
 The word quivered the oppressor

The freedom’s fortress is the word

Responsibility is a word

A man’s honour is word

Allah’s honour is word

Ibn al-Hakam: then?

al-Husayn: I don’t have a word

For he who doesn’t know the meaning of

The honour of the word.

I believe those verses summarise the relation between rebellion and words very well, aware of

the fact that al-Husayn himself faced his tragic death on account of his rebellious rejection of the

Umayyad leadership in the famous Battle of Karbala198 that finds significant echo in the story of al-

Suhrawardi and al-Hallaj, which leads us to the third linking factor between the three authors: the

image of prophecy.

In the analysed poem in chapter one, al-Suhrawardi does not only mention his union with the

Divine, but also tells us about the wine he tasted; the love response from the Divine. He then

informs us that the wine he is drinking is not just any wine, for it is the same wine that Adam and

Noah tasted. It's as if the perlocutionary act of his assertives were to convince us, readers, that he is

on a similar level. Likewise, the conclusion that the book of Mawāqif was an attempt to record al-

198 A Battle that took place in the desert, miles from the city of Kufa in Iraq, on the tenth of Muharram 61 AH (10

October 680 AD). The battle took place after al-Husayn Ibn ʾAli, Prophet Muhammad's grandson, rejected Yazid's

claim to become the next caliph after the death of his father, Muʿawiya and decided to rebel against him. Joined by

seventy-three members of his family and supportrs, al-Husayn was unexpectedly attacked by an army sent by the caliph

of Kufa and murdered in a brutal massacre, along with his sons, a dramatic event considered to be a tragedy in Islamic

history (Curta, 2016, 373).

282
Niffari’s revelation or in other words, the writing of his own Qurʾan is where I believe that he

borrows the image of the prophet. In the case of the al-Hallaj of ʿAbd al-Sabur, the image of

prophecy lies in the exigency of delivering the message of the Divine to the people, as the only

emancipator, in order to rescue them from ignorance.

The final common link between the three authors is the aspect of dialogue with the Divine and

the rarity with which it has been explored in the works of the three writers. The three mystics had a

special relationship with the Divine that was illustrated through their texts and the analysis of those.

Two of them were historically known to have been killed while the third is said to have lived the

life of a wanderer. Why would such sacred relationships lead to such chaos? It is my belief, based

on what my research has uncovered, that the ramifications of their relationship with the Divine is

what led to the tragic end of two of them. As I attempted to illustrate along the thesis, whether

intentionally or not, the conversation between man and the Divine achieves salvation. When one

finds his own salvation, he is liberated from several restraints, but most importantly, from fear.

Being fearless, by default, creates rebellious characters who seek to improve the world by rejecting

the unsatisfying reality and uniting people by spreading awareness and emancipation from

ignorance. This does not draw the best scenario for oppressing authorities who use the relationship

with the Divine as a weapon to eliminate those who oppose them.

This thesis attempted to tackle the reflections on dialogue with the Divine in the works of three

different writers: al-Suhrawradi, al-Niffari and Salah ʿAbd al-Sabur. In the first chapter, I introduced

a literature review of different sources that explored the poetry of al-Suhrawardi. The literature

review illustrated that the aspect of dialogue in his poetry had not been studied. It was furthermore

crucial to include a section discussing the poet's biography and philosophy, in order to understand

his doctrine of illumination, since it is heavily reflected in his poetry. I later presented an analysis of

one of al-Suhrawardi’s poems, by using several methodologies to examine the factor of dialogue in

it. My argument suggested that analysing such allusions required the application of certain
283
structures in order to examine scenes, their relation to addressees, language and signs. I concluded

that the link between the suggested analysis and the concept of power was valid through evidence

from Islamic resources.

The second chapter examined two texts of The Mawaqif and Mukhatabat of al-Niffari. The first

section also began with a literature review that investigated the academic studies that examined the

work of the Sufi. This was followed by a section exploring al-Niffari’s theology, including the

concepts of siwā, ḥarf, ʿilm, maʿrifa and ruʾya. Al-Niffari’s meanings were analysed through each

of these aspects and my own reflections on each were also presented in this section, along with

ideas on how they could be related to literary concepts. In the third section, I provided a dissection

of two of the mystic's texts, at the beginning of which, I discussed the dialectic of voice in his texts.

I argued that al-Niffari was behind the voice of the Divine in his text, due to the desire of colouring

his doctrine with glory, which is an indication of power. To support my argument, I started by

conducting a discussion around the concepts of inspiration and revelation before presenting proof

that the claim of power was achieved in the texts through the echo of prophecy, speech act theory

application and Iltifāt. The second analysis also focused on the aspect of power, which is clearly

manifest despite the initial appearance of submissiveness and obedience, as shown through

Foucault's concepts of spirituality and power, to conclude that spirituality is a type of self-

constitution that enables he who masters himself to be prepared for significant political roles.

In the third chapter, I studied the play of Maʾsat al-Hallaj by Salah ʿAbd al-Sabur which is

based on one of the best-known figures in Islamic spiritual history. The literature review I began by

presenting in this chapter explored a number of studies about the play. A biography of the author

and another of the main character were then offered, followed by a summary of the play. The

second section contained the methodology I suggested for the examination of the play, which was

based on Josef Campbell's approach, and which traces the cycle of the hero in various tales and

epics to designate the stages that every hero, regardless of the difference in culture, has to go
284
through in order to become one. This was followed by my analysis of the play, accomplished via the

exploration of certain themes in it, including the dialectic of life and death and the reflection of

prophecy. I concluded by suggesting that Sufism plays a significant role in terms of challenging the

authorities, and that it is a valid approach to use despite the fact it appears to be historically ancient

or that it might be different to one’s ideology, for it contains the seeds of rebellion against

oppression and injustice in any given time or age.

As the first to examine the aspect of dialogue and its ramifications in the works of the

aforementioned writers, despite the fact that unearthing the information I was looking for was

challenging, to say the least, I hope that what my research has succeeded in accomplishing by

bringing such subjects to the fore and raising the questions that it did, will have achieved the feat of

sowing the seeds of curiosity in its field and matter of concern in some of its readers, and that some

of those seeds might bloom into actual opportunities of expanding on the present research, for such

studies are indeed rare and in dire need of amplification.

285
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