The Current Of Islam

[Georgy]

THE CURRENT OF ISLAM

The ideal and morally per feet man should be of East Persian

derivation, Arabic in faith, of Iraqi education, a Hebrew in

astuteness, a disciple of Christ in conduct, as pious as a Greek

monk, a Greek in the individual sciences, an Indian in the

interpretation of all mysteries, but lastly and especially a Sufi

in bis whole spiritual life.

Ikhwan as-Safa

(Brethren of Purity)

Islam as a religion, social order and way of life blends striking implicity of faith with a subtle perspective on the cosmos, man and nature.

Arising in a harsh land amongst a people who were trading nomads, Islam ignited a cultural renewal and intellectual renaissance in Egypt,

Palestine, Tunisia, Spain, Persia and India within two hundred years of its birth. Although attacked

in a series of indecisive crusades by Christian warriors and studiously ignored by later Christian scholars, Islam significantly contributed

to the Italian Renaissance and indirectly affected the Reformation, the Elizabethan age and the rationalism of the eighteenth century'

It ended the thousand-year conflict between the Mediterranean world and Persia by destroying the Byzantine Empire and

conquering the Iranian plateau. Spreading into Africa, it supported the remarkable empire of Timbuktu and the trading centres of

Zanzibar. In India it contributed to the exaltation of Indian music and built the Taj Mahal. And throughout its history it has ceaselessly

channelled ideas from one culture to another, with the result that Europe recovered its own classical heritage from Arabic texts and

Arabic numerals from Hindu India, and the East learnt of the West through Muslim traders.

Every religious tradition is subject to a tendency towards diffusion and degradation through history, almost as if according

to a law of concretion and gravity. An initial spiritual impulse, wedded to the intuitive understanding of a group of individuals

who recognize that life is more than living, is gradually overlaid with a filigree of institutions, practices, rituals and rules that

express the evolving hopes and changing aspirations of men and women, until the original core of insight is imprisoned in the

architecture intended to express it. Each religion contains its own processes of rejuvenation which involve ways to return to the

essentials through renewed devotion, purified thought and cleansed action. Islam embodies the key to its vitality in its name: Islam

means 'surrender', surrender to the divine will, consecration to the deific presence in and beyond man and Nature. Muslims (from

muslimum, 'believer') seek to make themselves sanctified instruments through nurturing a sense of the sacred in thought,

speech and action. Finding a middle way between exclusive concern with individual salvation and excessive faith in the rituals of the

community, they believe that spiritual life involves a consistent personal effort and the collective solidarity of awakened

brotherhood. According to Ibn Hisham's Sirat-ar-Rasul, the oldest account of the life of the Prophet, Muhammad was born in the year of the

elephant, probably A.D. 571. Muhammad's mother, Aminah, lost her husband just before her child was born, and so even though he

was part of a long-established clan which lived in Mecca, he was sent to live with Halimah, a bedouin woman of the tribe of Banu

S'ad. As a nomadic shepherd, he unknowingly fulfilled the

traditional Semitic belief that every prophet is a shepherd in

youth. After several years amongst the wandering bedouin of

Ta'if, he returned to Mecca, only to find that his mother had died.

He stayed with his grandfather until the old man's death and was

then raised by Abu Talib, his uncle, who gave him the rudiments

of an education and trained him in the management of caravans.

Whilst a youth, Muhammad travelled with his uncle in a caravan to

Bostra in Syria. Along the way he met clans and tribes who

worshipped jinn, were Jewish, Christian and perhaps Zoroastrian,

and he learnt of the hanifs, the solitary wanderers who sought the

One God of Abraham. Legend suggests that Muhammad was

deeply moved by the land in which Abraham had lived, where the

Mosaic Torah had been revealed, where David had composed his

Zabtir (psalms) and where Jesus proclaimed the Injil (evangel), the

gospel or good news. In Syria, Muhammad met Bahira, a Nestorian

Christian monk who declared to the youth that he would be

endowed with prophecy; and, H.P. Blavatsky hinted, this encounter,

in part a product of Christian strife and internecine persecution,

planted the seed which flowered as Islam.



Sometime after his return to Mecca, Muhammad entered the

service of Khadijah, a rich widow considerably his senior. He

managed her caravans with such skill and loyalty that he became

her steward and eventually her husband. They had seven children,

but only the famous Fatimah survived childhood. During this

period Muhammad adopted the slave Zaid ibn Harithah as his son

and freed him. These contrasting qualities — an ability to be

profoundly affected by sacred history, an exceptional skill in

nomadic business affairs, and the compassionate love that

manifested as unwavering devotion to Khadijah until her death

and as fatherly love for Zaid — all grew as Muhammad matured. A

turning-point was reached in his fortieth year, and he began to

take up ascetic practices, including long retreats into the mountains

surrounding Mecca for meditation. Always thought of as rather

ethereal, he became an eccentric in a society of highly individual

people. For increasingly extended periods of time he sat in caves

and contemplated the spangled heavens of crystalline desert nights,

and wandered across the primordial landscape searching for the

key that could unlock the vault of tangled traditions in which the

truth must be hidden. One night, in a niche on Mount Hira, during

the month of Ramadan, he fell into a dream which was the

infusion of the uncreated Word into the relative world. The Book

entered the heart of the Prophet.

In Muhammad's dream a mysterious being whom he would

come to know as the angel Jibra'il (Gabriel) appeared holding a

scroll. "Read", the angel ordered. "I do not know how to read",

Muhammad replied. "Read", the angel said again and yet again,

whilst winding the scroll about Muhammad's neck. "What shall I

read?" the dreamer asked in wonderment.



Read, in the name of thy Lord who hath created,

Who hath created man from a clot of blood.

Read, for thy Lord is wholly beneficent.

He hath taught man to use the pen.

He hath taught man what man knew not.

When he awoke from this Night of Destiny, he rushed in confusion

from the cave, only to discover the vault of heaven filled with the

dazzling iridescence of Jibra'il's presence. In every direction he

looked — in the sky, on the ground, amongst the caverns and



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crevices of Mount Hira — Jibra'il greeted him. Once the vision

faded, Muhammad made his way towards Mecca, half convinced

that he had gone mad. When he arrived home, he confided his

experience to Khadijah, who soothed and supported him. Believing

that the sincerity of her husband's quest protected him from

demonic delusion, she insisted that he had indeed been given a

divine charge. She consulted her aged cousin, Waraqah, a converted

Christian, who agreed that Muhammad's mysterious visitor was the

angel who had spoken to Moses and the prophets.

Muhammad was thrust out of a life of success, comfort and

respect into isolation, ignominy, struggle and eventual fame as the

Prophet of Allah. He left off managing caravans and turned his

business over to others, devoting his time to wandering in hills and

byways, seeking further revelatory enlightenment. At first no light

came, and he was plunged into agonizing self-doubt. He persevered,

in great part because of Khadijah's unwavering support, and in

time Jibra'il spoke again. From then the divine messages came

with increasing regularity, and Muhammad gained an initial

confidence that became unshakeable certitude. Yet for three years,

only a few intimate friends accepted the mission of Muhammad:

Khadijah, his cousin 'Alt, his adopted son Zaid, and his friends

Abu Bakr and 'Uthman, founder of the Umayyad dynasty. He did

not dramatize the message he was receiving until he was ordered to

do so in a vision, and then he confronted the Quraishites of Mecca

with a fourfold message ~ the Oneness of Allah (from al-illah, the

God), the need for inward repentance, accompanied by the practice

of compassion, and the immanence of the last judgement.

Everything on earth is subject to decay.

Alone the face of the Lord remains in glorious majesty.

Whoever does a gram's worth of good shall see it;

Whoever does a grain's worth of evil shall also see it.

As one might have predicted, the Meccan community,

accustomed to a tolerant if unformulated polytheism, did not take

kindly to the fiery call for reform. Muhammad affronted their

vague religious sensibilities and threatened their strict economic

hierarchy and strong tribal independence. Not even his uncle, Abu

Talib, who protected him throughout his troubles, surrendered to

the new belief. The more openly Muhammad preached, the more



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hostile the chief clans in Mecca became. Many of the poor,

dispossessed and enslaved were attracted, adding to the growing

dislike from the established families. Avoidance turned to ridicule,

then to abuse. Muslims — believers — were denied entrance to

the grounds of the sacred Ka'ba, the stone cube which marked

Abraham's legendary birthplace and which had long been a sacred

centre for the Arabian peninsula. Whilst Muhammad had the

protection of the powerful Hashemite clan, his common followers

were subjected to harsh and even cruel treatment. Abu Bakr

rescued a Negro named Bilal who had been stripped, tied and left

to die in the sun. Because of his sonorous voice, Bilal became the

first muezzin, calling the faithful to prayer. 'All's brother Ja'far

led a small company across the Red Sea and into the protection of

the Christian king of Abyssinia. In the midst of persecution,

however, some intuited the depth of the message. 'Umar ibn

al-Khattab, one of Muhammad's successors, joined him at this

time.

The year A.D. 620 was one of tragedy for the Prophet. Abu

Talib and Khadijah died. A preaching mission to nearby Ta'if was

a complete failure. Yet, just as one might have thought the little

band would be dispersed or extinguished, Muhammad experienced

his greatest vision. In a trance he was taken on the Night Journey

to Jerusalem upon the winged horse Buraq. From the ruins of the

second Temple he ascended a ladder of light to the throne of

heaven, passing through the nine celestial realms into the presence

of the ineffable glory. After his return, relief came from the little

town of Yathrib, which had chosen to follow Islam. Since Mecca

had rejected the Prophet of Allah, Muhammad and his followers

emigrated to Yathrib in 622. This retreat, the bijrah, marks the first

year of the Muslim calendar. Despite religious, social and economic

difficulties, Yathrib became Medina, mad'mat an-nabi, the City of

the Prophet.

Here the first Islamic umma (community) formed, and even as

it waxed, resistance in Mecca waned. At first the Meccans made

forays against the Muslims and stirred up hostilities amongst the

bedouin tribes in the area. Muhammad's reputation as a community

leader grew, to the envy of old Medinan ruling families and the

Jewish community. Though the Meccans formed a variety of

subversive alliances, almost every confrontation within Medina and



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on the caravan routes strengthened Muhammad's position. The

struggle for survival was also a holy war (jihad) for the sacred

Ka'ba, Abraham's altar and the navel of the spiritual universe. At

once practical and political, yet also visionary and mystical,

previously untapped potentials — which had been made available

through the electric current of caravan trade, a passionate sense of

right and wrong and a tradition of compelling oral poetry — began

to blossom as a vital religion of surrender and an emerging

civilization that transcended old barriers of clan and tribe. The

spirit of this period is perhaps best summed up in a remark

Muhammad made on his return from an expedition against his

Meccan foes: "We return from the lesser holy -ww — jihad — to

wage the greater holy war — mujahada", which is the spiritual

confrontation of weakness, ignorance and imperfection within

oneself.

As sometimes happens at critical points in the history of

consciousness, which is the hidden history of humanity, the largest

attack from Mecca was foiled by a combination of human ingenuity

and seeming divine assistance. Preparing for the attack, Muhammad

took the advice of Salman the Persian, who may have been a

follower of Zarathustra, and ordered a great trench dug around the

town. The invading army was stopped by this unexpected stratagem,

and whilst the war leaders pondered their response, a capricious

tornado threw the army into total disarray. Muhammad seized the

initiative, routing the entire force and reducing it to slavery.

Though the Quraishites would hold out for a few more years, the

battle for Mecca had been won on the outskirts of Medina.

Self-doubt, joined with internal disorganization and dissension, led

to an agreement with Muhammad which allowed a Muslim

pilgrimage to the Ka'ba in 629. Prominent Meccans converted to

Islam, including General Khalid ibn al-Walid, 'Amr ibn al-'As, the

future conqueror of Egypt, and al-'Abbas, Muhammad's uncle and

ancestor of the Baghdad caliphs. In 630 Muhammad and his

followers set out for Mecca. Abu Sufyan, the leader of the

defence, allowed himself to be captured and surrendered the city

after abjuring idolatry. Without a battle, they entered the precincts

of the Ka'ba and overthrew the idols surrounding the sacred cube.

In 632 Muhammad established the practices associated with the

traditional pilgrimage to Mecca and personally delivered the sermon





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on Mount 'Arafat, where Adam and Eve had lived, concluding

with the affirmation, "Today I have made perfect your religion."

He returned to Medina, fell ill and died on June 8, 632, in the

eleventh year of the Muslim calendar.

Abu Bakr was elected the first caliph or successor to Muhammad,

an office designed to assure continuity in the social leadership of

the umma without making claim to prophetic powers. The

revelations that had come to Muhammad had continued throughout

his life, both in Mecca and in Medina, and most of them had been

written down and memorized. Abu Bakr charged Zaid ibn Thabat,

Muhammad's secretary, with the responsibility of collating them.

During the two years of his caliphate, he stabilized the peninsula

and resolved tribal conflicts. 'Umar succeeded him by appointment,

and for ten years oversaw rapid expansion and conquests. The

Byzantine armies were defeated in 636 and the Persians were

routed in 637 and 642, the year Alexandria fell to the Muslims.

When 'Uthman became caliph in 644, he produced an authorized

version of the Qur'an (recitation) and ordered all incomplete and

alternative versions burnt. In this edition, chapters are organized

by length from longest to shortest, and so the order in which they

came to Muhammad has been lost. When 'Ali was elected caliph in

656, smouldering disagreements amongst various political and

religious factions burst forth, but even as internecine warfare

disturbed the emerging empire, the momentum of expansion did

not slacken. Herat fell in 661, Kairouan in 670, Transoxiana in

711, Toledo in 712.

Even as Muhammad and his successors welded diverse tribes

into an inchoate civilization, social and ethical differences between

them — based upon unformulated intuitions of the heart — were

subtly transmuted into divergent perspectives on the emerging

spiritual community. The tribes of central and northern Arabia

had little experience of dynastic rule, and tended towards a

democracy of all adult males. Leaders were either elected by the

community or emerged naturally through consensus. In both

cases, qualities of leadership were associated with personal conduct.

An individual earned the right to lead through demonstration of

wisdom, cleverness, bravery, fortitude, and the ability to respond

to the needs of the tribe or clan fair-mindedly and even-handedly.

If a leader lost these qualities through weakness or indulgence, he



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was replaced. The southern tribes, long associated with the ancient

civilization of the Yemen, were familiar with the concept of

kingship. Whilst the qualities of the individual were important to

them, they also believed that qualities in families were critical. The

descendants of a great leader, for instance, might not display his

capacities; nevertheless, it was believed, they were occultly

transmitted through the family line. Thus, the descendants of a

leader had a right to rule despite personal imperfections. In Islam

the umma consists of 'the people of paradise', and the question of

legitimate leadership became the question of spiritual inclusion in,

or exclusion from, paradise. This difference of perspective passed

through a long and complex history into the division between the

Sunni and Shi'a forms of contemporary Islam.

Despite disagreements which troubled the umma and occasionally

broke forth in violence, the roots of Islamic faith held firm. For

the Muslim believer, intention (my a) is of fundamental importance.

Where intention is conscious, consistent and sincere, observing the

five Pillars of the Faith admits and keeps one in the community of

believers. The chief Pillar is the repetition of the Shahada, 'the

word of witness': La'ilaha 'ilia 'Llah, Muhammadzm rasulu 'Llah,

"There is no god but Allah (one God), and Muhammad is the

messenger of Allah." The remaining four Pillars are disciplines for

individual growth within the solidarity of the community: salat,

prayer, ritually performed at five appointed times each day; zakat,

the prescribed alms, enjoined by the Qur'an, to be given to the

poor; sawm, the fast which lasts throughout Ramadan, ninth

month of the lunar year, involving total abstinence from food and

drink during daylight and only light refreshment after dark; and

hajj, the pilgrimage to Mecca, undertaken at least once in a

Muslim's life if at all possible, and preferably during Dhu'l-Hijja,

the twelfth lunar month. There are, of course, many other lesser

ritual obligations, such as voluntary alms-giving and abstinence

from alcoholic drinks and tobacco, but these five Pillars form the

basis of the umma. Their simplicity and devotional power hold the

community together in the face of internal disharmony and external

adversity.

The tensions arising from incompatible perspectives manifested

in a complicated and troubled history for Islam, but they opened

the door to a remarkable dimension of creative expression and





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self-transcendence. As Muslim expansion added more peoples and

territories to the umma, from Spain to India and eventually as far

distant as Indonesia and the Philippines, the need to adjudicate

questions of conduct, codify practices and unify teachings became

paramount. Within three centuries the Shari'a, highway, was fully

developed. Based on the Qur'an, which contains the whole of it in

seed form, the Shari'a is the theory of community law, which is

restricted to clarification and interpretation of divine revelation.

Sbari'a forms the basis of what might be called Islamic orthodoxy,

the support and justification of simple faith, political interaction,

social structure and even blind belief. At the same time, a mighty

power of mystical insight, nourished by the well-springs of ascetic

mysticism and expressed in ancient pre-Muslim Arabic poetry,

arose in the form of small groups of disciples who sat at the feet of

teachers of meditation and self-mastery. Whilst drawing apart in

individual contemplation and collective aspiration, these groups

continued to participate in the life of the orthodox umma, not

denying anything whilst affirming, for those who cared to listen, a

profounder interpretation of the Qur'an and a deeper level of

spiritual experience. These voluntary associations of individuals

who had tapped something of the hidden potentials in the human

being came to be known as Sufis, at once the glorious flower of

Islam and a spirit which transcended all tribes, nations, races and

religions. Not so much rejecting as seeing through categories and

barriers of sex, doctrine, practice and history, these 'Folk' entered

the timeless company of true mystics, who press through the

limitations of earthly consciousness and step across the boundaries

of space and time.

The Sufi tradition can be traced to Muhammad himself. Once

when he was lecturing on the Qur'anic verse "God created the

seven heavens", he received a revelation in respect to its meaning.

Ibn 'Abbas was amongst those present, and when he was later

asked about the content of the revelation, he replied, "If I were to

tell you, you would stone me to death." This remark, almost

identical to the words of Thomas when asked a similar question in

the Gospel According to Thomas, intimates the presence of an

esoteric tradition amongst Muhammad's disciples. Within two

centuries those who sought for the inner meaning of the teachings

in light of mystical meditation were called sufi. Whilst some have



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derived the term from the Greek sopbos, wise, and scholars believe

the word is derived from the Arabic suf, wool — a reference to the

rough woollen garments adopted by many ascetics — and yet

others have connected the term with the word for 'purity', Sufis

themselves hint that the word has a strictly occult origin. Whilst

the nature and details of Sufi life and practice vary with the

teacher, all have emphasized meditation, some degree of ascetic

life, and an allegorical understanding of sacred discourse. The

Batinis, as followers of esoteric interpretation were called (from

batin — inner, occult, secret), took the Qur'an literally as a rule for

the umma and allegorically as a spiritual guide. They easily saw

beyond the parameters of doctrine into the heart of every tradition,

finding sustenance in the teachings of Plato and Plotinus, the

Hermetic writings, early Christian mysticism and the teachings of

Vedanta and the Buddha.

The earliest characterization of the Sufi philosophy was proffered

by Ma'ruf al-Karkhi, who said it consists in "the apprehension of

divine realities". The gnostic and neo-Platonic spirit of Ahl al-Haqq,

the Followers of the Real, suffuses their philosophical discourse.

In the words of a Rifa'i dervish:

Seventy Thousand Veils separate Allah, the One Reality

(al-haqq), from the world of matter and of sense. And every

soul passes before his birth through these seventy thousand.

The inner half of these are veils of light; the outer half, veils

of darkness. For every one of the veils of light passed

through, in this journey towards birth, the soul puts off a

divine quality; and for every one of the dark veils, it puts

on an earthly quality. Thus, the child is born weeping, for

the soul knows its separation from Allah, the One Reality.

And when the child cries in its sleep, it is because the soul

remembers something of what it has lost. Otherwise, the

passage through the veils has brought with it nisyan,

forgetfulness: and for this reason, man is called insan. He is

now, as it were, in prison in his body, separated by these

thick curtains from Allah.

But the whole purpose of Sufism, the way of the dervish,

is to give him an escape from this prison, an apocalypse of

the Seventy Thousand Veils, a recovery of the original

unity with the One, whilst still in this body. The body is

not to be put off; it is to be refined and made spiritual — a



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help and not a hindrance to the spirit. It is like metal that

has to be refined by fire and transmuted. And the shaikh

tells the aspirant that he has the secret of this transmutation.

"We shall throw you into the fire of Spiritual Passion", he

says, "and you will emerge refined."

The Sufis, who arose in Persia and who migrated into Sind and

Kashmir, linked the idea of spiritual alchemy with that of moksha

or nirvana. Fana, the passing away of the individual self into

universal Being, was joined with baqa, immortality in Deity.

Though a goal, fana is also a moral state in the present — the

renunciation of all passions and desires. Bayazid of Bistam declared:

Thirty years the high God was my mirror, now I am my

own mirror. That which I was I am no more, for 'I' and

'God' are a denial of the unity of the Divine. Since I am no

more, the high God is His own mirror.

I went from God to God until they cried from me in me,

"0 Thou I!"

Like a mighty river that flows with water from a thousand

tributaries, Sufic Islam gathered the deepest mystical insights,

profoundest disciplines and most ecstatic meditations into one

open-textured current that surged back and forth across continents,

saving, storing and sharing the best it encountered in living traditions

and resurrecting the lucid fragments of a hundred broken systems.

Muslim expansion into Spain opened up new vistas of inward

experience. The area, containing the artistic expression of human

aspirations from the mines of the Aurignacian period (25,000 B.C.)

worked for Phoenician traders, Roman frontier garrisons and the

heterodox Christianity of invading Germanic tribesmen, had

impressed Apollonius of Tyana with its rustic spirituality. Out of

this motley collection of elements left over from the limits of dead

civilizations, the Muslims forged a brilliant culture which advanced

science, rejuvenated the Hellenic heritage, nurtured Jewish

mysticism and built Granada and the Alhambra. Throughout Spain

and North Africa, Sufi thought and practice flowered, and in

Andalusia, where John of the Cross would later have his deepest

experiences of the Divine Darkness, the greatest Sufi thinker was

born. From the moment of his conception, Ibn al-'Arabi's life was

surrounded by mysteries.



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Ibn al-'Arabi's father had grown quite old without fulfilling his

fondest wish: fathering a son to replace him at death. In desperation,

he journeyed to Baghdad to consult the great shaikh Muhyiddin

'Abdul-Qadir Jilani and to urge him to pray for a son. Jilani retired

into seclusion and entered a deep meditation. After a long time, he

returned and announced: "I have looked into the world of secrets,

and it has been revealed to me that you will have no descendants,

so do not tire yourself out trying." The crestfallen old man

beseeched the shaikh to intervene with God on his behalf. Rather

than engaging in a lengthy theological discourse on the nature of

destiny, Jilani once again entered into a contemplative trance.

When he emerged from his reflections, he affirmed that the old

man would have no descendants. But, he added, he had discovered

that he himself, Jilani, was to have a son, and he offered to let his

petitioner have it for him. His offer was accepted, and he ordered

Ibn al-'Arabi's father to stand back to back with him, arms

interlocked. Later, the old man reported:

When I was back to back with the saint 'Abdul-Qadir

Jilani, I felt something warm running down from my neck

to the small of my back. After awhile a son was born to me,

and I named him Muhyiddin, as 'Abdul-Qadir Jilani had

ordered.

Muhyiddin ibn al-'Arabi was born Abu-Bakr Muhammad ibn

'AH ibn Muhammad al-Hatimi al-Ta'i al-Andalusi on July 28,1165, in

Murcia, Spain. Whilst Ibn al-'Arabi occasionally spoke of particular

events, his early life is not known in detail. From a very young age

he exhibited a keen interest in learning and a remarkable spiritual

precocity. Whilst still a child he was instructed in the Sufi Way by

two elderly women who were revered for their stainless lives and

mystical attainments. As a young man he travelled to Seville to

study with scholars of the Qur'an, the Shari'a and the hadith

(traditional sayings of Muhammad outside the Qur'an). His writings

show that he also studied in depth neo-Platonic philosophy, the

Hermetic tradition, alchemy and astrology. Ibn Rushd, who was

known in Europe as Averroes, sought to meet Ibn al-'Arabi when

the youth was nineteen years old. Ibn Rushd, famous as a rationalist

philosopher, asked the young man a critical question for all

aspirants to wisdom: "Do the fruits of mystic illumination agree



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with philosophical speculation? " Ibn al-'Arabi paused for a moment,

then responded: "Yes and no. Between the Yea and Nay the

spirits take their flight beyond matter." Ibn Rushd went pale in

the presence of a subtle wisdom that at once reinforced his own

innermost thoughts and challenged his life's work. Later, Ibn

Rushd confided to friends:

Glory to Allah that I have lived at a time when there

exists a master of this experience, one of those who opens

the locks of His doors. Glory to Allah that 1 was granted

the gift of seeing one of them myself.

In addition to his studies, Ibn al-'Arabi cultivated the art of

meditation. Thrice in his life he encountered Khidr, the companion

of Moses and the invisible guide and prototypical teacher of all

Sufis. Mystically, Khidr lives in all times and places, assisting

sincere devotees to stay squarely on the Path. The highest Sufic

privilege is to be made the disciple of this spiritual master. The

first meeting occurred in a dream. Ibn al-'Arabi had disagreed with

his teacher, Shaikh 'Abdul Hassan, over some points of doctrine.

Whilst he was sleeping late that night, Khidr appeared to the

dreamer, saying, "The things that your teacher told you were

right — accept them." Ibn al-'Arabi awoke with a start and rushed

in the middle of the night to his teacher. Whilst he was breathlessly

explaining his dream, the shaikh showed no surprise. He explained

that he had appealed to Khidr in meditation to correct his brilliant

but stubborn student. "On hearing that," Ibn al-'Arabi later wrote,

"I once and for all decided never to disagree again."

The second encounter took place during a visit to Tunisia. Ibn

al-'Arabi was staying aboard ship but found one evening that he

could not sleep. As he paced the deck, he noticed a figure walking

across the water towards him. Khidr walked up to the edge of the

boat and talked briefly with the stunned disciple. When Khidr left,

he disappeared over the horizon of the sea in three steps. Ibn

al-'Arabi never revealed the contents of that conversation, but he

recorded that whilst he was walking through the streets of Tunis the

next morning, an old shaikh came up to him and asked how his

meeting with Khidr had gone. The third meeting occurred in an

Andalusian mosque where Ibn al-'Arabi was lecturing on the

function of creative imagination in so-called miracles. Several of



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those listening rejected the idea that the purified human mind

could work wonders. Khidr entered unrecognized by all save Ibn

al-'Arabi and rolled out his prayer mat. Suddenly he rose sixteen

feet into the air and said his prayers from that altitude. The salat

finished, he drifted slowly to the floor and left. Thus ended the

debate on the creative powers of the human mind.

Ibn al-'Arabi attended the funeral of Ibn Rushd and wrote the

haunting lines: "This is the imam (leader) and these his works;

would that I knew whether his hopes were realized." About 1200

he journeyed to Marrakesh and there received the call to go to the

East. Around this time his urge to communicate to others what he

had learnt in the sacred sanctuary of the soul matched his will to

plumb the depths of meditation. Books, essays, commentaries

poured forth in amazing profusion. He himself recorded two

hundred and fifty-one works, from short essays to the massive

Al-Futuhat al-Makkiyyah (Meccan Revelations), the printed edition

of which consists of twenty-five hundred pages. In Marrakesh he

was told in a vision to go to Fez, where he would meet a certain

Muhammad al-Hasar, who would accompany him east. The meeting

occurred as promised, and the two companions went to Bijayah

and Tunis, and quickly passed on to Alexandria and Cairo, where

al-Hasar died. Alone, Ibn al-'Arabi continued on to Mecca, where

he had the culminating experience of his life. He met the wise Abu

Shaja Zahir ibn Rustam, who warmly welcomed him into a small

company of learned men and women. Ibn al-'Arabi wrote:

This shaikh had a virgin daughter, a slender child who

captivated all who looked on her, whose presence gave

lustre to gatherings, and who amazed all she was with and

ravished the senses of all who beheld her. . . . She was a sage

amongst the sages of the Holy Places.

Inspired by her radiant presence and tranquil wisdom, Ibn al-'Arabi

found in her Plato's Diotima and anticipated Dante's Beatrice,

who may have been partly modelled on this Meccan Hypatia. In

about 1215 he completed his Tarjnman al-Ashwaq (Interpreter of

Desires), a collection of mystical odes in the form of love poems

reminiscent of the Song of Songs and some Krishna bhajans. Their

eros, creative power and sensuous texture scandalized the orthodox

scholars, and he felt compelled to compose a commentary upon



21

them.

Whilst in Mecca, Ibn al-'Arabi received two initiations, the

contents of which he never revealed in detail. The first was a vision

of the Eternal Youth, who fuses in himself all pairs of opposites.

The second confirmed him as the Seal of the Saints. In 1204 he

travelled to Baghdad and then Mosul, where he received a third

initiation and wrote his Mosul Revelations. He returned to Cairo in

1206, only to find orthodox scholars openly hostile to him, and

he was saved from arrest and probable execution by the timely

intervention of a Tunisian friend who had the ear of the Ayyubid

ruler of Egypt. He sought refuge in the appreciative society of

Mecca, and then travelled to Aleppo and Konya. Here he was

formally honoured by the king Kay Kaus, who gave him an elegant

villa as a present. Ibn al-'Arabi gave the house as alms to a beggar,

and soon all Konya fell in love with Ibn al-'Arabi. His chief local

disciple, Sadr al-Din al-Qunawi, wrote commentaries on his works,

and years later sat at the feet of Jalaluddin Rumi, bringing

together the ideation of the greatest Arabic and Persian Sufis.

After a sojourn that took him to the borders of Armenia, back to

Mecca, and to Aleppo, he accepted an invitation to reside in

Damascus. From 1223 until his death in November 1240, he

stayed there as a teacher and writer. During this period of

semi-retirement he composed his poetic Diwan and the Fusus

al-Hikam, The Seals of Wisdom, a mature summation of his

mystical philosophy.

For Ibn al-'Arabi the touchstone of vision, philosophy and daily

life is wahdat al-wujud, the Oneness of Being. This sublime unity

must be experienced to be understood — and it is the heart of all

knowledge -- but the illusions which can deceive the novice are

immense. In his Meccan Revelations he declared:

Knowledge of mystical states can only be had by actual

experience, nor can the reason of man define it, nor arrive

at any cognizance of it by deduction, as is also the case

with knowledge of the taste of honey, the bitterness of

patience, the bliss of sexual union, love, passion or desire,

all of which cannot possibly be known unless one is properly

qualified or experiences them directly.

The Oneness of Being is the 'seamless garment' behind all

differentiation and manifestation. Oneness of Being implies a



22

correlative Oneness of Perception, gained through a contemplative

withdrawal from the senses and concentration upon the core of

one's being, which is consubstantial with Being. Oneness of

Perception is the direct experience of al-haqq, the Real. Hence,

Sufis are Ahl al-Haqq, Followers of the Real, a term with much

the same meaning that 'philosopher' had for Pythagoras.

Al-haqq is of such transcendent reality that It cannot even be

called Allah, since to speak of the Divine implies that which is not

divine, and even this subtle dualism does not exist in the Real as

the Absolute. Yet in the sense of Its necessary omnipresence,

within It is found the dance of polarity, the drama of

self-consciousness which bifurcates reality into subject and object.

At the highest level of the Real, where Being and Perception are

one, in the condition known as satchidananda amongst the Hindus,

self-consciousness is awareness of all as the Self, or of nothing save

the Self, which is the Real, the state called svasamvedana. With

polarization in consciousness, subject and object arise, obscuring

the primordial unity of Being and Perception. The whole cycle of

existence is the progressive realization of the illusory relations

between the myriad mirrorings of the Real within Itself. The

immediate practical conclusion, which constitutes the ethical basis

of life, is that until one can see Allah manifest in everything, one

will not experience the Real.

The chief power which makes possible polarization in the Real

and also dissolves it is al-kbayal, creative imagination. Al-khayal is

the link between the Real as Perceiver and the Real as object of

perception. It is also illusion insofar as it can be distinguished, for

all is the Real. Al-khayal is reminiscent of the creative power

of may a ascribed to Krishna in the Bhagavad Gita. Creative

imagination, the source of all creation, is archetypal self-alienation,

which might be likened to the passionate act of physical love. The

union of two people in physical ecstasy is at once a kind of

transcendence which also reaffirms their separateness from one

another on the level of their union. Lasting union must be found

on a higher level, a vertical rather than horizontal creativity.

Creative imagination in action is rahmah, compassion, a term

which, according to Ibn al-'Arabi, derives from rabima, womb.

Nothing exists save for this compassion, a kind of giving birth that

contains in the act of manifestation the seed of longed-for complete



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reunion, rahim. Whilst divine Self-consciousness is self-subststent,

the upward and downward movement of al-khayal results in an

ordinary human identity that is other-related. Thus, the human

being is both the microcosm of the macrocosm and an enigmatic

illusion.

Once al-haqq, the Real, is polarized — an act of consciousness

and not an event in time - it is Allah. Polarization is the

architectonic mode of the cosmos, and Allah is the Supreme Name

that contains all other names and attributes. Allah is Deity as

contrasted with creation, but Rabb, Lord, is Deity in respect to

Man. Allah is the divine pen that inscribes the tablet of universal

nature, Rabb the pulse of the human heart. If one forgets that

man as the microcosm is ultimately one with the Real, one will fall

into a deterministic view of cosmic activity. To counter this

tendency, Ibn al-'Arabi distinguished between al-mashi'ah and

al-iradah, the will and the wish. The will establishes the parameters

of compassion, that is, creates the universe, without regard for

faith or ethics, since this is the actuality of the cosmos, the divine

geography from which ethical longitudes and latitudes are derived.

The wish, on the other hand, requires that universal truths be

recognized and embodied. From the human standpoint, the will

concerns what is, the wish aims for reintegration with the Divine.

Thus, the will is the existential pole of reality and the wish is the

sapiential pole. In the Iranian theosophy of light, the Sufi journeys

towards the Real by turning towards the North Pole (the wish),

corresponding to the head, which is also a turning towards the

East, corresponding to the dawning of light in the heart.

Ibn al-'Arabi generated analogous concepts to explicate the

nature of human action. There is qada' and qadar, decree and

destiny. Decree encompasses what shall irrevocably be, and destiny

embraces the timing. The Divine Names, of which Allah is the

highest, are the supreme archetypes, unmanifest in themselves, but

manifesting in embodiments or actualizations as things and beings.

Nothing is just what it is; everything is at its core the seed of an

archetype or Name. Decree gives the archetype, whilst destiny is its

timely unfoldment in embodied existence. Since the human being is

a microcosm involved in the temporal process of unfoldment, each

individual shares in divine free will. Free will in the cosmos is a

philosophic problem only because it cannot be understood outside





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of direct experience of Deity. Thus, in man one sees both divine

occultation - the Mystery of the Real hidden in the seventy

thousand veils of illusion - and divine Self-manifestation — tajalli,

theophany. The human being embodies the two poles of the Real

and is the bridge between the purely divine and spiritual on the

one hand, and the animal nature on the other. Man is both spirit

and matter, the fulcrum of divine manifestation and reintegration.

One sees this most clearly in the Perfect Man. The Perfect Man

is barzakh, the Isthmus or Bridge, but a bridge is significant only

in that it links two things. Man is, therefore, nothing in himself, a

naught. God is all. Nevertheless, within the transcendental context

of God, man is the microcosmic experience of the Real. Since the

Perfect Man combines in himself heaven and earth, Being and

Perception, he is the eye by which the Divine sees Himself. Man is

the polished mirror that reflects the Divine Light. Each human

being, therefore, participates in al-khayal, creative imagination, at

two levels. Involved in the cosmic processes of life and death, this

participation is mostly instinctual, but human beings also exhibit

at some rudimental level al-himmah, the conscious power of

impressing images and ideas on the cosmos. When this power is

raised through concentration and knowledge to the highest level, it

becomes the pure channel of the divine creative imagination. For

vast multitudes of human beings, al-himmah does not go beyond

fantasy and daydream, but for men and women of meditation,

subjective ideas can be transformed into objective reality.

Al-himmah intensified and focussed to this degree is the cause of

so-called miracles, such as that performed by Khidr in Andalusia.

Ibn al-'Arabi warned that such power is also the source of malevolent

magic for those who tread this Path without purging themselves of

residues of egotism or travel too far without the guidance of a real

teacher. The Perfect Man is that rare being who has realized the

full potential of the human estate, which is the complete

embodiment of the archetype.

A human being who has attained this exalted goal is called a

wall, saint, for he has become a friend of God, one of whose

names is al-wali, the Friend. For Ibn al-'Arabi true universal Islam

is nothing other than the experience of the wall. All religions are

particular yet partial manifestations of universal Islam. The wall's

friendship is annihilation of otherness, total absorption in Oneness,



25

the perfectly polished mirror, a zero in itself, though reflecting

without loss an-nur, the Light. Such a friend may acquire the

special functions of nabi, the prophet who has knowledge of the

Unseen, or rasul, the messenger with a specific mission to a

particular community. From an absolute standpoint — that of the

Real — the idea that one must go to Mecca or even that one must

tread the spiritual Path is an illusion, because the idea that one is

somehow separate from the Real is an illusion. For those caught

up in this root ignorance, the complex doctrine of states and

stages, phases and degrees, of prophets and messengers and saints,

is quite necessary. Those who do not directly experience the Real

as yet can nevertheless do so indirectly through Its reflections.

Thus, the Qur'an says, "Wherever you turn, there is the face of

Allah." If the Real is in any sense perfect, it must contain all

possibilities, including possibilities of imperfection. For Ibn

al-'Arabi the glorious and awesome complex of the cosmos with all

its suffering and fascination is a fleeting opportunity to seize upon

the possibility in which God and Man are One.

Each prophet and messenger has witnessed this sacred possibility.

Each spoke in the language available and addressed the

understanding of the people, and so timeless Truth appears in

history as progressively unfolding revelation. Each prophet, with

his own potentials and limitations, has been a setting, a seal, for

the gem of wisdom which shines forth the Divine Light. The gem

is contained in and set off by the setting. When summarizing his

mystical teachings, Ibn al-'Arabi chose this metaphor as the title of

his work, Fusus al-Hikam, The Seals of Wisdom, to show the

bright thread of spiritual continuity that weaves its way through

the ancient prophets, the thread which is true Islam, the inner

wisdom of all traditions and philosophies. In one of his love poems

he caught the essence of his teaching when he wrote:

My heart has become capable of every form;

It is a pasture for gazelles and a convent for Christian monks,

And a temple for idols and the pilgrim's Ka'ba

And the tables of the Torah and the book of the Qur'an.

I follow the religion of Love; whatever way

Love's camels take, that is my religion and my faith.

The powerful current of Ibn al-'Arabi's thought struck the hearts



26

of those who heard him. Many loved him and some became true

disciples. Others were terrified and some violently hostile. After

his death in 1240 at Damascus, the latter held the field for a time.

Ibn al-'Arabi's tomb was destroyed after his death. As if in

anticipation of this sacrilege, he had once said, "When the Arabic

letter sin enters the Arabic letter shin, the tomb of Muhyiddin will

be found." When in 1516 the Ottoman sultan Selim II conquered

Damascus, the scholar Zembilli Alt Efendi approached him and

pointed out that Selim's name began with sin whilst Sham (the

Arabic name of Damascus) began with shin. Selim asked the

theologians what statement uttered by Ibn al-'Arabi had caused

the violent reaction. When he was told that it was "The god you

worship is under my feet", Selim asked to be shown the place

whence Ibn al-'Arabi had spoken it. He had the spot excavated and

uncovered a hoard of gold coins, thus showing Ibn al-'Arabi's

ironic meaning. Nearby, he located the desecrated tomb, and with

the treasure built a shrine and mosque on the site. It stands today

in Damascus on Mount Qasiyun. Those who appreciated the

message of Ibn al-'Arabi lost the tomb but gained the day, and he

is honoured amongst Sufis and other Muslims as al-shaikh al-akbar,

the greatest shaikh, as qutb al-arifin, the axis of true knowledge,

and as rah bar ul-'alam, guide of the world. Humble as a disciple of

Khidr, confident in his instruction of others and always willing to

learn, this God-intoxicated mystic taught that all doctrine and

practice could be found distilled in one phrase from the Qur'an:

Whoso knoweth himself, knoweth his Lord.


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