The Social and Theoretical Dimensions of Sainthood

in Early Islam: Al-Tirmidhī’s Gnoseology and

the Foundations of Ṣūfī Social Praxis
by
Aiyub Palmer

A dissertation submitted in partial fulfillment

of the requirements for the degree of
Doctor of Philosophy
(Near Eastern Studies)
In the University of Michigan
2015

Doctoral Committee:
Professor Alexander Knysh, Chair
Professor Sara Ahbel-Rappe
Associate Professor Kathryn Babayan
Associate Professor Yaron Z. Eliav
Professor Sherman A. Jackson, University of Southern California
Associate Professor Erik S. Ohlander, Indiana University Purdue University Fort Wayne
“Whoever God has beautified with good character God loves and
whoever God loves he casts love of that person into the hearts of
his servants. God said to Moses upon whom be peace, “I have cast
upon you a tender love from me.” So no one would see him
(Moses) except that they loved him, even the Pharaoh…”
[al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī, Nawādir al-Uṣūl]
 © Aiyub Palmer
All Rights Reserved, 2015
 DEDICATION

In the name of Allāh most Merciful and Compassionate

Praise be to God and may the blessings and peace of God be upon Muḥammad
and his family and companions

For my parents ʿAbd al-ʿAlīm Palmer and Amīna Palmer

who have been my guides and inspiration all my life.

ii
 Acknowlegements

My deepest gratitude goes to my advisor Professor Alexander Knysh who provided

invaluable support at all points in the process of my research and writing of the dissertation and
who welcomed me as a graduate student after my original advisor Professor Sherman Jackson took
a position at the University of Southern California. I must also thank the various members of my
committee who were all extremely helpful in guiding this project. Professor Sherman Jackson
provided much needed guidance at the beginning of my research and directed me toward the study
of early Ḥanafī/Māturīdī theology, which proved to be pivotal in my work. Professor Erik
Ohlander provided important direction and feedback at crucial points in the research, which helped
me to focus the dissertation and give it form. Professor Kathryn Babayan encouraged me to look
at the broader social and political climate in which al-Tirmidhī was active and this was important
in giving much needed context to the work. Professor Yaron Eliav encouraged me to understand
the roots of the wisdom tradition in Rabbinic and Hellenistic thought to better situate al-Tirmidhī’s
discussion of wisdom. I want to thank Professor Sara Ahbel-Rappe for her willingness to join the
committee late in the process as a cognate reader. Also, Evyn Kropf from the University of
Michigan Library was extremely helpful in narrowing the date and origin of Kitāb al-Ḥikma. I
must also thank the Rackham Graduate School and the Department of Near Eastern Studies for
their generous support throughout my years as a graduate student.
I want to thank my parents Dr. Kent and Mrs. Robyn Palmer for their tireless work in
editing the dissertation as well as always being there to talk about various challenges that inevitably
surfaced along the way. A special thanks goes to my sister-in-law Neveen Mubarak for her
extensive efforts to edit and identify difficult phrases in the transcription of Kitāb al-Ḥikma as well
as my brother Muhammad Palmer for helping me keep on track with his constant love and concern.
Dr. Yassin Khattab was also very helpful in the transcription process and I am indebted to his
efforts. I also want to thank my in-laws Dr. and Mrs. Badrudduja for providing me an office in
which I spent most of my time writing. I want to thank my dearest wife Sulma who has been a
foundation of support for me through these many years and without whom I am sure I would not
have had the strength to push through. Her editing skills and help with the transcription of Kitāb
al-Ḥikma were also extremely helpful in bringing the draft to a final version. Finally, to my two
daughters Rabia and Noor who are the light of my life and who have brought immense happiness
during this process.

iii
 Contents

Dedication ii
Acknowledgements iii
List of Appendices vii
List of Abbreviations viii
System of Transliteration for Arabic Letters ix
Abstract x
Introduction 1

The Study of Islamic Sainthood 1

Sainthood in the Qurʾān and Ḥadīth Literature 5
The Cult of Saints 9
Sainthood and Authority in the Age of Sanctification 12
Methodology 15
Sources 20
Sainthood 24
Disciplining the Lower Self 25
Esoteric Vocabulary 25
Esoteric Interpretation 26
Polemical Works 27
Knowledge and Men of Learning 27
Moral and Ethical Teachings 28
Correspondence 28
Autobiography 29
Secondary Sources 29

Chapter 1: The Historical and Social Context of al-Tirmidhī’s Life and Times 34

Al-Tirmidhī’s Context 34
Al-Tirmidhī’s Clash with the Local ʿUlamāʾ 40
The Scholarly Class or the ʿUlamāʾ 42
The Shīʿīs and the Ṣūfī Alternative 45
Al-Tirmidhī and the Shīʿī Challenge 50
Clientage (walāʾ) as a Social Basis for Understanding Sunnī Authority 53
Conclusion 66

iv
Chapter 2: Wisdom Meditates the Terrestrial and Celestial: Pythagorean Wisdom and 68
the Non-duality of Sainthood

The Importance of Ḥikma 68

Ḥikma and the Ḥakīm in the Near East 71
Ḥikma and the Ḥakīm in Jewish and Christian Thought (7th–10th centuries 71
C.E.)
Ḥikma and the Ḥakīm in 9th- and 10th-centuries C.E. Khurāsān and 78
Transoxania
Ḥikma and the Ḥakīm among the Ṣūfīs 81
Ḥikma and the Ḥakīm among the Early Ismāʿīlī Shīʿīs 87
Ḥikma and the Ḥakīm in the Theosophy of al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī 90
Conclusion 100

Chapter 3: The Theological Significance of Walāya 102

Al-Tirmidhī’s Scholarly Background 102

Major Texts of the Ḥanafī Theological Tradition 105
The Development of Ḥanafī Theology 108
Al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī’s Ḥanafī Credentials 111
Al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī’s Ḥanafī Theology 115
Al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī and Ḥanafī Theology in the 3rd/9th-Century 120
Al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī’s Relationship to Abū Manṣūr al-Māturīdī 128
Al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī and the Later Ḥanafī Tradition 135
Mysticism in the Ḥanafī Tradition 136
The Effect of Ḥanafism on al-Tirmidhī’s Doctrine of Walāya 138
Conclusion 140

Chapter 4: A Ṣūfī by any Other Name: al-Tirmidhī’s Relationship to Islamic 142

Mysticism

Was al-Tirmidhī a “Ṣūfī”? 144

Sufism and Hellenism 147
Early Sufism 153
Al-Junayd and al-Tirmidhī Build upon the Work of al-Muḥāsibī 155
Nīshāpūr and the Development of Sufism as a Meta-Identity 160
Al-Sarrāj and al-Kalābādhī 165
Al-Sulamī and al-Qushayrī 169
Conclusion 179

Chapter 5: Al-Tirmidhī’s Gnoseology of Sainthood 181

Sainthood in the Homilies of Isaac of Nineveh 182

Sainthood in the 9th-Century C.E. 183
The Light Basis of al-Tirmidhī’s Doctrine of Walāya 189
Restricting Sainthood 191

v
 The Optimism of al-Tirmidhī’s Doctrine of Walāya 194
The Seal of Saints 197
Sainthood Creates a Third Space 209
Conclusion 212

Chapter 6: Sainthood and Wisdom in the Later Islamic Mystical Tradition: Ibn 215
ʿArabī and the Shādhiliyya

Sainthood in Ibn ʿArabī 216

Ibn ʿArabī’s Doctrine of Sainthood 228
A Continuation of al-Tirmidhī’s Non-Dual Metaphysics 231
Ḥikma and Walāya according to the early Shādhiliyya 238
The Ḥikma of the Shādhiliyya 244
Conclusion 246

Conclusion 248

Appendices 257

Bibliography 347

Primary Sources 347

Secondary Sources 351

vi
 List of Appendicies

Appendix A: Correlation in Points of Doctrine between al-Kalābādhī and al-Ḥakīm 257

al-Samarqandī in Arabic

Appendix B: Transcription of Kitāb al-Ḥikma 261

vii
 List of Abbreviations

Al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī: Sīrat al-Awliyāʾ (1992) SA

Al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī: Kitāb al-Ḥikma (ms.) KH

Al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī: Nawādir al-Uṣūl (2010) NU

Al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī:ʿIlm al-Awliyāʾ (1983) IA

Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition EI2

Encyclopædia Iranica EIr

Bernd Radtke: The Concept of Sainthood in
CS
Early Islamic Mysticism (1996)
Muḥiyuddīn b. ʿArabī: Fuṣūṣ al-Ḥikam (1966) FH

viii
 System of Transliteration for Arabic Letters

ʾ ‫ء‬ z ‫ز‬ q ‫ق‬

b ‫ب‬ s ‫س‬ k ‫ك‬
t ‫ت‬ sh ‫ش‬ l ‫ل‬
th ‫ث‬ ṣ ‫ص‬ m ‫م‬
j ‫ج‬ ḍ ‫ض‬ n ‫ن‬
ḥ ‫ح‬ ṭ ‫ط‬ h ‫ه‬
kh ‫خ‬ ẓ ‫ظ‬ w ‫و‬
d ‫د‬ ʿ ‫ع‬ y ‫ي‬
dh ‫ذ‬ gh ‫غ‬ in construct
state: t
‫ـة‬
r ‫ر‬ f ‫ف‬
The article: al- and l- (even in front of sun letters)
Short vowels Long vowels Dipthongs
u -ُ ū ‫و‬ aw ‫ﹷـو‬
a ُ- ā ‫ا‬ ay ‫ﹷـي‬
i -ُ ī ‫ي‬ iyy ‫ـي‬
ّ ‫ــ ـ‬
Nunation uww ّ‫ﹹـو‬
-
ُ
an

ُ-
in

ُ-
un

ix
 Abstract

This study explores al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of sainthood and gnoseology. This is
accomplished through a reading al-Tirmidhī’s works in addition to an analysis of his ideas using
Foucault’s episteme and discourse methodology. This dissertation offers new perspectives on al-
Tirmidhī’s contribution to the Ṣūfī doctrine of sainthood and to the development of early Islamic
mysticism. Included in this study and for the first time in print is al-Tirmidhī’s unstudied work,
Kitāb al-Ḥikma. The first chapter introduces al-Tirmidhī’s social and political context and how
this context played an important factor in shaping al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of sainthood. Al-Tirmidhī
is situated in relation to various claims to authority in Islamicate societies at the end of the 9th-
century C.E. Al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of sainthood casts the Sunnī ʿulamāʾ as the true
representatives of Islamic religious authority, as embodied in the saints who are counted as coming
from their ranks. Al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of sainthood also incorporates aspects of various
discourse streams within his learned context. The discourse streams addressed in this study are:
Hellenism, early Ḥanafī/Murjiʾī theology and Islamic mysticism. Within Hellenism we find that
al-Tirmidhī focuses on Pythagorean wisdom as one aspect of his gnoseology which serves to frame
the non-dual quality of saintly knowledge. Al-Tirmidhī’s Ḥanafī theological background leads him
to expand sainthood to all Muslims while restricting it in practice to the scholarly class of
theʿulamāʾ. Islamic mysticism is a discourse stream that also informs al-Tirmidhī’s gnoseology
and doctrine of sainthood through al-Muḥāsibī’s “asceticism of the soul”, an approach adopted by
al-Tirmidhī and applied to his process of mystical development. Al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of
sainthood played a pivotal role in providing a Khurāsānian structure to Islamic mysticism in the
later form that Sufism would take. The seal of sainthood and the idea that there will always be a
constant presence of saints in the world are aspects of al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of sainthood that
provide an optimistic alternative to the world outlook of Traditionalists. This outlook appears in
later Sufism with the adoption of al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of sainthood. Ibn ʿArabī further refines
and develops al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of sainthood in his Fuṣūṣ al-Ḥikam, which is structured by al-
Tirmidhī’s ring analogy. Other mystics such as the eponyms of the Shādhilī Ṭarīqa developed al-
Tirmidhī’s concept of wisdom as a practical tool for the education of aspirants upon the Ṣūfī path.
This dissertation presents al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of sainthood in light of new methodological
approaches and textual research that has important implications for how we understand early
Islamic mysticism as well as how we view the role of Sufism in Muslim societies up to this day.

x
 Introduction

The Study of Islamic Sainthood

In the study of Islamic sainthood (walāya)1 there are multiple possible trajectories to

embark upon. Much of the current discussion in the field has focused on anthropological,

sociological or phenomenological approaches to Islamic sainthood.2 These studies look at

sainthood in its socio-cultural and/or religious context. While these are important contributions

to the study of sainthood in Islam, they are clearly influenced by the study of saints and

sainthood in Christianity by authors such as Donald Weinstein and Rudolph M. Bell, Pierre

Delooz and Stephen Wilson. This is a trend that I am trying to counterbalance by approaching

Islamic sainthood from a more theoretical and theological perspective. The study of Islamic

sainthood prior to Abū ʿAbd Allāh Muḥammad b. ʿAlī b. Muḥammad b. ʿArabī al-Ḥātimī al-Ṭāʾī

(d. 638/1240), also known as Ibn ʿArabī, is underdeveloped as a field,3 yet this time period sets

the stage for later social and political movements within Islam whose effects have been long

lasting.

1
Hereafter, I will use the term walāya interchangeably with ‘sainthood.’
2
See Gellner (1984) Doctor and Saint, Ewing (1997) Arguing Sainthood, Cornell (1998) Realm of the Saint, Singh
(2003) Sainthood and Revelatory Discourse. For a discussion on the interconnectedness of Sufism, sainthood and
power in the Deccan and the close relationship between literary production and sainthood see Nile Green (2006)
Indian Sufism since the 17th Century: Saints, Books and Empire in the Muslim Deccan. Also, Scott Kugle (2006)
looks at the motif of the juridical saint in the life and works of Aḥmad Zarrūq (d. 898/1493).
3
Professor Vincent Cornell encouraged me to focus on sainthood in the East during the early period since this was a
crucial point in the development of Islamic sainthood and remains underdeveloped as a topic of study.

1
 Abū ʿAbd Allāh Muḥammad b. ʿAlī al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī (b. circa 205–215/820–830, d.

circa 295–300/907–912)4 is often credited as the first Muslim to provide a detailed exposition on

the topic of walāya in Islam.5 Walāya is the Arabic term al-Tirmidhī uses to communicate the

idea of a special relationship between God and certain of his elect. Both Gerald Elmore (1999)

and Vincent Cornell (1998) agree that the distribution of meanings around the Arabic word

walāya has few parallels to the term sainthood in English. Despite the seeming incongruity

between the two terms most scholars (Michel Chodkiewicz, Carl Ernst, Vincent Cornell, Gerald

Elmore, Alexander Knysh, Scott Kugle et al.) consider the use of the terms saint (walī)6 and

walāya to be acceptable and necessary if we are going to talk about a phenomenon that has both

universal and particular characteristics across a wide swathe of cultures and traditions.7 For the

purposes of this study, sainthood and walāya, as well as saint and walī, will be used

interchangeably with the caveat that Islamic sainthood differs qualitatively from other types of

sainthood such as Catholic, Eastern Orthodox, Buddhist and Confucian sainthood. Elmore,

Cornell and Kugle have considerably advanced the field of Islamic sainthood by contextualizing

the term walāya through its various meanings within the Qurʾān and Ḥadīth as well as through

the use of later dictionaries of Ṣūfī terminology. However al-Tirmidhī’s own use of the term

walāya, even based on a cursory reading of his corpus, shows that a new significance was

attached to this term by the middle to late 3rd/9th-century. Walāya came to accrue a new universe

4
Hereafter, we will use the shortened versions of his name interchangeably, either al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī, or al-
Tirmidhī.
5
Michel Chodkiewicz. Seal of the saints, prophethood and sainthood in the doctrine of Ibn ʿArabī. Translated by
Liadain Sherrard. The Islamic Texts Society. Cambridge 1993, p. 27. Abū Saʿīd al-Kharrāz in his Kitāb al-Ṣidq and
Sahl al-Tustarī in his Tafsir both discuss the topic of sainthood but do not provide a unified theory of sainthood.
That is not to say that al-Tirmidhī does provide what we would call a unified theory but that his works provide the
fullest treatment of the topic in early Islamic mysticism.
6
Hereinafter I will use the term walī for saint.
7
Scott Kugle. Rebel between spirit and law: Aḥmad Zarrūq, sainthood and authority in Islam. Indiana University
Press, Bloomington 2006, pp. 30–32.

2
of meanings within the linguistic, socio-cultural and religious climate of eastern Khurāsān and

Transoxania8. This is not to mention the new meanings and significance that al-Tirmidhī also

brought to this term as he sought to reclaim walāya from those whom he saw as having

appropriated it for their own ends.

The terminology we use to discuss and understand sainthood in Islam is still evolving.

Vincent Cornell (1998), in his valuable work on Moroccan sainthood, has sought to break with

the Neo-Weberian approach to Muslim sainthood that equates baraka with charisma and

substitutes marabout for prophet. According to Cornell, Max Weber’s paradigm of charismatic

sainthood and its institutionalization through the “routinization of charisma,” does not accord

with Michael Gilsenan’s (1982) anthropological study of Moroccan maraboutism. Cornell claims

that his study seeks to understand the underlying epistemological foundations of the Moroccan

holy man’s charisma. While Cornell does not go so far as Bryan Turner (1998) to say that we

cannot use or apply the term “sainthood” to the study of Muslim saints, he does call for a

terminological and methodological approach that is wedded more closely to the Islamic literary

corpus and self-definition.9 In this respect he employs the dual terms wilāya/walāya, through

which he seeks to separate two important meanings embedded in the Islamic concept of

sainthood, that of power, authority and protection on the one hand, and closeness, intimacy and

friendship on the other. Cornell’s justification for using the wilāya/walāya double-term in place

of sainthood is that this double meaning has been highlighted by Muslim grammarians and Ṣūfīs

over the ages. Cornell explains the ambiguity of the two terms in Arabic and the differences of

8
In Arabic this geographic area is referred to as mā warāʾ al-nahr (what is beyond the river). This refers to the Amū
Darya River, which was a common landmark that separated Iran from Central Asia. I will sometimes refer to
Khurāsān and Transoxania together as “Greater Khurāsān” since these two regions often came under the rule of the
same governor/sulṭān. These regions also share a great deal of cultural and linguistic elements.
9
Bryan S. Turner. Weber and Islam. London: Routledge. 1998, p. 61.

3
opinion regarding the actual morphological forms that each word represents. Cornell does not

claim, however, a historical basis for this approach through an analysis of the way these terms

are used in the early sources, or even during the particular period of his study in Moroccan

Sufism. Cornell’s discussion of the Qurʾānic use of the constellation of related forms to the root

w-l-y is sparse and he does not address the use of these terms in the Ḥadīth literature or other

early genres of Arabic prose and poetry. What seems clear is that Cornell is not so much

interested in tracing the historical meanings of these terms as he is in attempting to develop a

new methodological approach that stands outside of history. His choice is not arbitrary, but it is

also not exactly historical even if it does attempt to more thoroughly understand Muslim

sainthood on its own terms. While this approach has benefits, it also serves to unduly narrow our

understanding of sainthood to these two facets. For Cornell, the walī Allāh is both an

intermediary and a patron for his clients. Maria Dakake discusses the use of walāya in the

context of Shīʿism and argues that walāya is more appropriately “charisma” than “sanctity”

when communicating Shīʿī notions of authority and identity. This is because, for Shīʿīs, only the

Imams have true walāya and this authority was removed from temporal existence with the

occultation of the Twelfth Imam in the 9th-century C.E. Hence, walāya, in the Shīʿī context, is

reflected in the representation of the spiritual authority of the Imams through Shīʿī scholars

(ʿulamāʾ).10 Al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of walāya clearly departs from the Shīʿī approach by

presenting walāya as ultimately accessible to all Muslims.

10
Maria Massi Dakake. The charismatic community Shīʿite identity in early Islam. Albany: State University of New
York Press. 2007, p. 30.

4
 When we look at the historical development of walāya11 during the classical Islamic

period there are clear signs of the evolution of this concept, even if many of the basic

components of the later doctrines of sainthood still incorporate aspects of earlier forms of

walāya. In the section on methodology I will explain how, instead of Cornell’s use of

wilāya/walāya as a methodological tool, I will use a modified approach to Michel Foucault’s

notions of episteme and discourse. In my view Foucault’s episteme more appropriately addresses

the theoretical and epistemological aims of this study, which looks at al-Tirmidhī as one of

several early ideologues of what would later become Sufism.

Sainthood in the Qurʾān and Ḥadīth Literature

In the Qurʾān, the term walāya appears twice. According to Muḥammad b. Jarīr al-Ṭabarī

(d. 310/923) the term walāya first appears in Qurʾān 18:4412 and refers to God’s authority (mulk)

and power (sulṭān). The second usage in Qurʾān 8:7213 denotes the meaning of inheritance

(mīrāth).14 In this verse those who had migrated to Madīna were not allowed to inherit from

believing Muslims who had remained in Makka until those remaining Muslims had also

11
I will limit myself to just one of the two terms when denoting Islamic sainthood for the sake of simplicity. I
believe that focusing on wilāya/walāya as the basis for a methodological approach actually obscures our
understanding of Islamic sainthood during the early Abbasid period in eastern Khurāsān and Transoxania.
12
Qurʾān 18:44 reads: hunāk al-walāyatu li-llāh al-ḥaqq huwa khayru thawāban wa-khayru ʿuqbā, There,
protection is completely for Allāh, the Truth, he is best in reward and best in outcome.
13
Qurʾān 8:72 reads: Inna al-ladhīna āmanū wa-hājarū wa-jāhadū bi-amwālihim wa anfusihim fī sabīl Allāh wa-
alladhīna āwaw wa-naṣarū ulāʾika baʿḍuhum awliyāʾu baʿḍ wa alladhīna āmanū wa lam yuhājirū mā lakum min
walāyatihim min shayʾ ḥattā yuhājirū wa-in istanṣarūkum fī al-dīn fa-ʿalaykum al-naṣru illā ʿalā qawmin baynakum
wa-baynahum mīthāq wa-Allāhu bi-mā taʿmalūna baṣīr, Indeed those who have believed and emigrated and fought
with their wealth and lives in the cause of Allāh and those who gave shelter and aided, they are allies of one another.
But those who believed and did not emigrate, for you there is no guardianship/inheritance of them until they
emigrate. And if they seek help of you for the religion, then you must help, except against a people between
yourselves and whom is a treaty. And Allāh is seeing of what you do. Saḥīḥ International: http://quran.com/8.
14
The meaning of inheritance (mīrāth) here for walāya is supported by al-Suyūṭī in Tafṣīr al-Jalālayn, one of the
most widely recognized commentaries on the Qurʾān in the Sunnī world.

5
completed the migration. Subsequently, when we look at the terms wilāya and walāya in the

Ḥadīth corpus, we also find meanings that are confined to inheritance, political authority and

patronage. In addition, in Qurʾān 10:62, a verse that is most often interpreted to indicate a

concept of closeness actually means protection and patronage. This is the passage according to

Yūsuf ʿAlī: “Behold! Verily on the awliyā of Allāh, there is no fear, nor shall they grieve.”15 The

meaning of lā khawfun ʿalayhim, “there is no fear,” in the Arabic actually means “others shall

not fear for them.” But it is significant to note that this particular passage does not connote

closeness as the later definitions of wilāya/walāya indicate in most classical Arabic

dictionaries.16 The concept of God’s closeness to the human being is indeed found in the Qurʾān

as described in verse 50:16, “And we (God) are closer to him than his carotid artery,” yet, this

description of closeness (qurba) in the Qurʾān is a benefit prescribed to all of mankind. It is not

something that is conferred upon a special group of select individuals. Nevertheless, the concept

of a typology of believers who do have a special implicit closeness to God does exist throughout

the Qurʾān in other contexts. We have siddīqūn (truthful ones), ṣāliḥūn (righteous) and shuhadāʾ

(martyrs) to name a few. The idea that there can be a special protection from sin also exists in

Qurʾān and is found in Qurʾān 33:33. This is the verse that is most often used by Shīʿīs to

support their claim of the special protection from sin for the family of the Prophet Muḥammad.

So, while the meanings of the words walāya and the awliyāʾ can communicate a meaning of

closeness, these words are primarily used to indicate protection and patronage in the Qurʾān.

What we see in these early sources are motifs and themes that are picked up and reworked in the

later tradition after having undergone transformations in meaning. At certain points in the

15
ʿAbdallāh Yusuf ʿAlī. The meaning of the holy Qurʾān: text, translation and commentary (in modern English).
Petaling Jaya: Islamic Book Trust. 2009, p. 243.
16
Closeness (qurba) is only one of a cluster of meanings given in these dictionaries for wilāya/walāya.

6
developmental trajectory of Islamic sainthood, a doctrine emerged that combined and integrated

some of these various Qurʾānic and Ḥadīth themes. We see this with figures such as Sahl b. ʿAbd

Allāh al-Tustarī (d. 283/896), a contemporary of al-Tirmidhī who also spoke about Islamic

sainthood (walāya). Gerhard Böwering characterizes al-Tustarī’s thought as an encounter

between his mystical matrix of ideas and Qurʾānic keynotes. A similar statement can be made

about al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī and other mystics who produced their mystical thought through a

constant reflection and reading of the Qurʾān and Ḥadīth. This is reflected in the numerous

Qurʾānic quotes scattered throughout their works.

The Ḥadīth literature was also significant and essential for al-Tirmidhī as he formulated

his views on sainthood. In many ways the Ḥadīth literature is where we find a treatment of

walāya that accords more succinctly with later interpretations of Islamic sainthood. While the

Qurʾān focuses primarily on meanings of power and protection, the Ḥadīth emphasize closeness

and friendship. Probably the most important ḥadīth in this respect is the ḥadīth qudsī (reported as

if God is speaking) that reads:

man ʿādā lī waliyyan fa-qad ādhantuhu bi-l-ḥarb wa-mā taqarraba

ilayya ʿabdī bi-shayʾin aḥabba ilayya mimmā iftaraḍtu ʿalayhi wa-
mā yazālu ʿabdī yataqarrabu ilayya bi-l-nawāfil ḥattā uḥibbah fa-
idhā aḥbabtuhu kuntu samʿahu alladhī yasmaʿu bihi wa-baṣarahu
alladhī yubṣiru bihi wa-yadahu alladhī yabṭishu bihā wa-rijlahu
allatī yamshī bihā wa-in saʾalanī la-uʿṭiyannahu wa-la-in
istaʿādhanī la-uʿīdhannah.17

Whoever shows enmity to a saint of mine I declare war upon. My

slave does not draw nearer to me in anything more beloved to me
than what I have made obligatory upon him. My servant then
continues to draw nearer to me with supererogatory works until I
love him and when I love him I become the hearing with which he
hears and the eyesight with which he sees and the hand with which
he grasps and the foot with which he walks. If he asks of me I will

17
Muḥammad b. Ismāʿīl b. Ibrāhīm al-Bukhārī. Al-jāmiʿ al-musnad al-saḥīḥ al-mukhtasar min umūr rasūl Allāh
ṣalla Allāhu ʿalayhi wa sallam wa sunanihi wa ayyāmihi. Beirut: Dār Ṭūq al-Najāt. 2001, vol. 8, p. 105.

7
 surely give to him and if he seeks protection in me I will surely
protect him.

This ḥadīth is considered axial for almost any Islamic mystic who discusses Islamic sainthood. It

brings together the important notions of power and protection that we find in the Qurʾān with

notions of nearness and the replacement of God’s attributes for human attributes in the person of

the saint. Al-Tirmidhī, along with most of the other early Islamic mystics, quotes this particular

ḥadīth in reference to walāya.18 Before al-Tirmidhī, the discourse on walāya and the awliyāʾ

(saints)19 revolved primarily around distinguishing between the miracles of prophets (muʿjizāt)

and the miracles of saints (karāmāt). This became a point of theological doctrine for most Sunnīs

because the Muʿtazilīs20 denied the miracles of saints. This position caused theological problems

because the Qurʾān itself attests to miracles by other than prophets and messengers such as Mary,

the mother of Jesus, who is generally not considered a prophet but has several miracles ascribed

to her in the Qurʾān.

In the Qurʾān and Ḥadīth literature walāya is not connected to a special type of

knowledge (ʿilm). Nor is there any particular connection between walāya (sainthood) and khilāfa

(succession) to God or the Prophet. We will explore how al-Tirmidhī introduces new elements

like these to the understanding of walāya in Chapters 2 and 5. Thus, we can summarize by

saying that the Qurʾān and Ḥadīth literature give us an important background that will help us to

18
Al-Tirmidhī uses this ḥadīth in NU. Muḥammad b. ʿAlī al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī. Nawādir al-uṣūl fī maʿrifat aḥādīth
al-Rasūl: al-nuskha al-musnada al-kāmila. Ed. Tawfīq Muḥammad Taklah. Bayrūt: Dār al-Nawādir. 2010, vol. 6, p.
160.
19
Hereafter I will use the term awliyāʾ as the Arabic plural for ‘saints’.
20
The Muʿtazilīs were a theological movement beginning in the late Umayyad period and early Abbasid period and
remaining for a good time after. They favored rationalism in their interpretation of Qurʾānic and Ḥadīth precedents.
They fell out of favor after their participation in the Miḥna (Inquisition) (218-234/833-848/49). This group cannot be
considered to be a single madhhab (school) in the sense of the later Fiqh (jurisprudence) madhāhib (schools) but
functioned more like a straw man for later theological schools of al-Ashʿarī and al-Māturīdī who often defined
themselves in contrast to this early theological movement. “Muʿtazilīs.” EI2. Edited by: P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis,
C.E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel, W.P. Heinrichs. Brill Online, 2015. Reference. University Of Michigan-Ann Arbor.
28 March 2015 <http://referenceworks.brillonline.com.proxy.lib.umich.edu/entries/encyclopaedia-of-islam-2/mu-
tazila-COM_0822>

8
distinguish the important contributions al-Tirmidhī makes to the doctrine of walāya. This is

because the Qurʾān and Ḥadīth were constant points of reference for early mystics like al-Tustarī

and al-Tirmidhī, who meditated upon their meanings and used the vocabulary of these sources to

couch their particular claims. As we will see, the Qurʾān and Ḥadīth were central, but not

exclusive, sources used by these mystics.

The Cult of Saints

No discussion of sainthood is complete without addressing the cult of saints. What is

conspicuous about al-Tirmidhī’s discussion of sainthood is the absence of the phenomenon of the

cult of saints in his writings, or at least the absence of any trace that we can identify as indicative

of saint veneration in a sociological sense. He does not discuss dead saints, nor does he refer to

visiting the tombs or shrines of dead saints. Nevertheless, there is an indirect connection between

al-Tirmidhī and the cult of saints in that al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of sainthood appears to provide

an important theoretical basis for the perpetuation of this social phenomenon as it develops later

in the Islamic world. Up to the present, saint veneration mediates certain forms of religious

practice among Muslims from the United States to Indonesia and has become one of the main

points of cleavage between groups that reject saint veneration as opposed to those who subscribe

to its underlying ideology. This cleavage between Salafī21 groups and Ṣūfī22 groups, for example,

21
This is a term adopted by Muslim reformers beginning in the 19 th century who sought to free Muslims from the
accumulated ‘baggage’ of tradition by returning to the Qurʾān and Sunna (example of the Prophet). It is best
understood as a reaction to the threat of colonization in the Ottoman Empire and was first articulated by a group of
Sufis in Damascus who were inspired by the writings of Ibn Taymiyya and other Ṣūfīs who called for an abolition of
the legal and theological madhahib under the pretext that these schools of thought sowed partisanship and
dissension. For more on the beginnings of Salafism and its relationship to Sufism see: Itzchak Weismann. The
Naqshbandiyya: orthodoxy and activism in a worldwide Sufi tradition. London: Routledge. 2007.
22
I will be discussing my interpretation of this term in more detail in Chapter 4, however, in this context I use Ṣūfī
to refer to a particular Muslim identity that privileges a set of historically and socially defined authority structures.
When a modern Muslim identifies as a Ṣūfī he is not always identifying as a mystic but is acknowledging a set of
assumptions about the nature and structure of Islamic authority.

9
has in some places superseded the traditional Sunnī/Shīʿī cleavage that has historically divided

Muslims.23 The practices that are connected to the cult of saints24 and saint veneration have deep

popular cultural roots within the Near East and beyond. These practices also seek ideological

justification and draw inspiration from Ṣūfī theorists such as al-Tirmidhī and Ibn ʿArabī. The

famous Moroccan Ṣūfī and saint, Muḥammad al-Jazūlī (d. 869/1465), became the eponymous

founder of the Jazūliyya, a Shādhilī Ṣūfī order that played a significant role in the jihād (holy

war) against the Portuguese and led to the adoption of Sharīfian rule in Morocco. Al-Jazūlī

demonstrates the dynamic potential of the doctrine of the al-insān al-kāmil (perfected

individual), which was an outgrowth of ideas championed by Ibn ʿArabī and al-Tirmidhī.

Another important Ṣūfī leader in the 18th- and 19th-centuries C.E. was Aḥmad al-Tijānī (d.

1230/1815) who became the eponymous founder of a now global Ṣūfī brotherhood. He directly

appealed to al-Tirmidhī’s idea of the seal of sainthood (khatm al-walāya). He claimed the same

title of the sealer of saints (khātim al-awliyāʾ)25 that al-Tirmidhī describes in his book, Sīrat al-

Awliyāʾ. ʿUmar al-Fūṭī26 (d. 1280/1864) of the Tijānī Ṭarīqa in West Africa records the words of

Aḥmad al-Tijānī, Anā sayyid al-awliyāʾ kamā kāna rasūl Allāhi ṣalla Allāhu ʿalayhi wa sallama

sayyida al-anbiyāʾ, “I am the master of the saints just as the messenger of God, may God bless

him and grant him peace was master of the prophets.”27 This mirrors the wording of al-

Tirmidhī’s own writing when he describes the sealer of saints, Fa-huwa fī kulli makān awwalu

23
ʿAbdurraḥmān ʿAbd al-Khāliq in his book Al-fikr al-Ṣūfī fī ḍawʾ al-kitāb wa al-sunna, describes Sufism as the
worst calamity to have befallen Islam throughout its entire history. One of the major tenets of Sufism that he seeks
to discredit is sainthood and its ethos. ʿAbdurraḥmān ʿAbd al-Khāliq. Al-fikr al-Ṣūfī fī ḍawʾ al-kitāb wa al-sunna.
Damascus: Dār al-Fayḥāʾ. 1993, p. 2.
24
This is a contested term and does not apply well to Islamic sainthood, however I use it here simply because of its
wide usage in the field.
25
We will discuss the difference between khātam (the last) as opposed to khātim (the sealer) in our discussion of al-
Tirmidhī’s use of this term in his doctrine of walāya in Chapter 5.
26
ʿUmar al-Fūṭi was a student of Muḥammad al-Ghālī bū Ṭālib who was a student of Aḥmad al-Tijānī. ʿUmar al-
Fūṭi spread the Tijānī Ṭarīqa in West Africa.
27
ʿUmar b. Saʿīd al-Fūṭī. Rimāḥ ḥarb al-Raḥīm ʿalā naḥwu ḥarb al-rajīm. Egypt, 1901, p. 260.

10
al-awliyāʾ kamā kāna Muḥammad ṣalla Allāhu ʿalayhi wa-sallama awwalu al-anbiyāʾ, “He is, in

every way the foremost of the saints just as Muḥammad may God bless him and grant him peace

was the foremost of the prophets.”28 The clear parallels between the thought of Aḥmad al-Tijānī

and al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī beg us to consider the archeology of sainthood within Islam and its

ideological force as an instrument of authority. The cosmological significance that al-Tirmidhī

gives to the living saints carries over in the later tradition to the eponyms of the various ṭarīqas

(Ṣūfī brotherhoods) like Aḥmad al-Tijānī whose tombs became important sites of visitation and

veneration.

Al-Tirmidhī is the first Muslim mystic to describe a mystical geography that connects the

unseen realm (ghayb) with the seen world that intersects at the heart of the mystic. In this

mystical geography light from the unseen realm flows into the seen world through the heart of

the mystic and is a means of maintaining the existence of the world. When a mystic dies, that

mystical geography overlays the physical geography of the earth at the place where the saint is

buried. Hence, Ṣūfīs will visit the graves of saints because these places are considered to be

windows into the unseen realm and places where God’s theophany is strongest. I will discuss

more about the heart of the mystic as a site of divine theophany in Chapters 5 and 6.

The model of sainthood that al-Tirmidhī develops presents important questions for the

study of sainthood outside of Islam as well. When addressing the Jewish Polish Hasidic

movement of the 18th-century C.E., Gershom Scholem29 traces the motif of the tsaddik (in Arabic

ṣiddīq) from the time of Rabbi Abbahu, a 4th-century C.E. amora (rabbinic scholar), up to the

modern Polish Hasidic movement. Multiple traditions that abound within the biblical and

28
Muḥammad b. ʿAlī al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī. Thalāthat muṣannafāt li-l-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī: Kitāb Sirāt al-awlīyāʾ,
Jawāb al-masāʾil allatī saʾalahu ahl Sarakhs ʿanhā, Jawāb Kitāb min al-rayy. Ed. Radtke, B. Arabisch-Deutsche
Ausg. Bayrūt: Yuṭlabu min Dār al-Nashr Frānts Shtāynar, Shtūtgārt. 1992, p. 45.
29
Gershom Scholem. Major trends in Jewish mysticism. New York: Schocken Books. 1971.

11
talmudic literature depict pious and just men who supported the existence of the world. However,

in the late 3rd-century and early 4th-century C.E., the number seems to have become fixed at

thirty-six and the idea emerged that these hidden just men also have a special relationship to the

divine countenance. Scholem’s question, however, is whether or not the motif of the thirty-six

tsaddikim (Lamed-vav in Hebrew) is part of a continuous tradition from Late Antiquity or

whether the motif entered Islamic sources and then filtered back into Judaism. A similar ḥadīth

text describes forty ṣiddīqīn from the Syria-Levant region for whom humanity is saved. This and

other similar traditions in the Ḥadīth literature form a central component of al-Tirmidhī’s

discourse on sainthood. While the Ḥadīth literature concerning the ṣiddīqīn does not seem to

make a specific connection between the ṣiddīq and a special mystical state based on knowledge

of God, al-Tirmidhī does make this connection. Hence, sainthood is a topic that has the potential

to cross religious and inter-religious factional lines. This is why al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of

sainthood is important, not simply for its historical significance, but for its potential as a

religious and social force.

Sainthood and Authority in the Age of Sanctification

Some of the impetus for looking anew at al-Tirmidhī’s thought comes from recent

scholarship on sainthood from the period of approximately the 13th-century C.E. to the beginning

of the 19th-century C.E. Some have dubbed this the “Age of Sanctification,” in which the Muslim

saint or holy man (walī) was an important contender for power and authority in Islamicate

societies. Dina de Gall calls this period the “triumph of sainthood” and the rise of the Ṣūfī

brotherhoods.30 Tanvir Anjum discusses the important role that Ṣūfīs played in the negotiation of

30
Dina Le Gall. “Recent thinking on Sufis and saints in the lives of Muslim societies, past and
present.” International Journal of Middle East Studies. 42 (04). 2010, p. 685.

12
power between the Abbasid Caliph and the Seljukid sultans as well as their role in giving

legitimacy to the Mamluks in Egypt.31 Margaret Malamud shows how the Seljuk sultans in

Khurāsān actively supported Sufi khānaqās (Ṣūfī lodges) during the 11th-century C.E.32 Erik

Ohlander documents the close relationship between Ṣūfī shaykhs and the Abbasid Caliphs33 in

the 12th- and 13th-centuries C.E. in an important era of transition when Ṣūfī brotherhoods were

gaining global, economic, political and religious power. Blain Auer demonstrates the intriguing

relationship between the development of two prominent Ṣūfī brotherhoods in Northern India and

the Sultanate of Delhi.34 While there is still a need for further research in the relationship

between Ṣūfīs and political power in Islamicate societies, current research in this field has

demonstrated a complex and interwoven relationship between Ṣūfī shaykhs, court culture and

political elites. This inevitably leads us to question whether or not there was a prior theoretical

basis informing this type of relationship or whether it simply grew organically out of the social

and religious institutions of the 12th- and 13th-centuries C.E. It is unlikely that a figure like

Shihāb al-Dīn Abū Ḥafs ʿUmar al-Suhrawardī (d. 632/1234) would have been endowed with

such authority as was given him by the Caliph al-Nāṣir li-Dīn Allāh unless that authority was

somehow supported by some type of prior justification. A Ṣūfī identity was not enough to be a

rationale for power and authority. A rationale was needed to convince non-Ṣūfīs of the right of

Ṣūfīs to religious authority. Genealogy was certainly part of this construction of authority and al-

Suhrawardī, like other Ṣūfīs of his period, used genealogy to support their claims. However,

31
Tanvir Anjum. “Sufism in History and its Relationship with Power”. Islamic Studies. 45 (2). 2006, pp. 260-262.
32
Margaret Malamud. “Sufi Organizations and Structures of Authority in Medieval Nīshāpūr”. International
Journal of Middle East Studies. 26 (03). 1994, p. 436.
33
Erik S. Ohlander. Sufism in an age of transition ʿUmar al-Suhrawardī and the rise of the Islamic mystical
brotherhoods. Leiden: Brill. 2008, pp. 89-112.
34
Auer Blain. “Intersections between Sufism and power, narrating the shaykhs and sultans of Northern India, 1200-
1400” in Sufism and Society Arrangements of the Mystical in the Muslim World, 1200-1800. Hoboken: Taylor &
Francis. 2011, pp. 17-33.

13
genealogy is, in a sense, the last piece in the puzzle that represents the development of Ṣūfī

religious authority. While claims to Islamic religious authority are often grounded in religious

texts like the Qurʾān and Ḥadīth, the structure of these claims is also intimately tied to norms and

social conventions that return to the social and political patterns that existed at the time of the

early Arab conquests. This is also true for some of the historical and political precedents that

established Arab and Islamic rule in those regions that came under the suzerainty of the

Umayyad (41-132/661-750) and Abbasid (132-656/750-1258) dynasties. As I will attempt to

demonstrate in Chapter 1, al-Tirmidhī establishes the underlying theoretical framework for Ṣūfī

authority patterned after the social institution of clientage (walāʾ). This was an institution that

mediated social relationships of dependence between Arab rulers and non-Arab subjects up into

the early Abbasid period, especially in the province of Greater Khurāsān. While genealogy was

an important component of Arab claims to superiority over non-Arab subjects, it was not a

significant element of al-Tirmidhī’s concept of authority. Rather, for al-Tirmidhī, the slave-

freeman dichotomy, as preserved in the social institution of clientage (walāʾ), served as the basis

for rationalizing implicit assumptions about the right to power and authority. Al-Tirmidhī

transferred these structural dichotomies over to the ʿāmma/awliyāʾ (common Muslims/saints). It

was later Ṣūfī advocates within Islam such as Abū ʿAbd al-Raḥmān al-Sulamī (d. 412/1021) and

Abū al-Qāsim al-Qushayrī (d. 465/1074) who added the element of genealogy to reinforce other

notions of mystical authority first introduced by al-Tirmidhī. The articulation of Ṣūfī authority

took its complete form under al-Qushayrī and I will argue based on the work of Francesco

Chiabotti that his articulation of Sufism represents a mystical synthesis that inaugurates Sufism

as we know it today as a meta-identity with Islam. By understanding al-Sulamī’s and al-

14
Qushayrī’s use of al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of walāya we can better understand how this synthesis

takes place.

Methodology

My methodological approach draws heavily from Foucault’s concepts of episteme and

discourse. Foucault defines the episteme in Power/Knowledge:

I would define the episteme retrospectively as the strategic

apparatus which permits of separating out from among all the
statements which are possible those that will be acceptable within,
I won’t say a scientific theory, but a field of scientificity, and
which it is possible to say are true or false. The episteme is the
‘apparatus’ which makes possible the separation, not of the true
from the false, but of what may from what may not be
characterized as scientific.35

Al-Tirmidhī’s attempt to establish Islamic mysticism within the discourse of Islamic sciences

makes Foucault’s episteme useful in explaining how Islamic mysticism became a part of the

discursive formations that characterized the uses of knowledge and power in the 3rd- Islamic

century (9th-century C.E.). Despite our reliance on Foucault’s approach to the episteme, we have

found it necessary to modify his approach in order to adapt it to al-Tirmidhī’s time period and

context. Foucault provides a useful framework for understanding knowledge systems and the

development of the sciences in particular. Despite the fact that he is primarily concerned with the

development of sciences in the European context during the 17th- and 18th-centuries C.E., his

idea of the episteme can help us to understand the development of the Islamic sciences in the 9th-

century C.E. Franz Rosenthal dubs the 9th-century in the Islamic world as, “…the age of science,

the age in which systematic knowledge in a wide variety of clearly defined fields became the

35
Michel Foucault. Power/knowledge: selected interviews and other writings, 1972-1977. Edited and Translated by
Colin Gordon. New York: Pantheon Books. 1980, p. 197.

15
dominant form of expression for Muslim intellectual aspirations.”36 Rosenthal argues that the the

Ṣūfīs tried strenuously to present their knowledge (ʿilm) as a ‘science’ in order to keep up with

the views of knowledge that were current at that time.37 Al-Tirmidhī was certainly one of those

advocating that Islamic mysticism38 should be given a position of authority in relation to other

Islamic disciplines.39 Foucault’s episteme proves helpful when we think about the type of

intellectual history that we are dealing with in the thought of al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī, since we are

dealing with a profound and detailed exposition on knowledge and its place in the Islamic

tradition. Thus, we are not dealing with the type of questions that have been proposed in prior

expositions of al-Tirmidhī’s thought, such as: Was al-Tirmidhī a conduit for Greek ideas that

flowed into Sufism? This type of a question is problematic on many fronts since it essentializes

both ‘Greek’ knowledge and ‘Sufism’. Such a question further limits our process of inquiry,

since, were we to find elements of Greek knowledge in the thought of al-Tirmidhī, we might be

content to have answered our question and stopped there. Foucault’s episteme helps us to move

beyond the straight-jacket of these essentialisms and to cast a wider net that can open new

possibilities. The episteme represents a set of assumptions about the categories of knowledge that

were shared by al-Tirmidhī’s milieu. In order to understand al-Tirmidhī, we need to understand

how he engaged in the discourse of this milieu. This means we have to understand the social and

epistemological backgrounds of al-Tirmidhī’s contemporaries in order to compare with his own

thought. In this way we can better appreciate al-Tirmidhī’s contribution to concepts of walāya

36
Franz Rosenthal,. Knowledge triumphant the concept of knowledge in medieval Islam. Boston: Brill. 2007, p. 176.
37
Ibid, p. 177.
38
I don’t use the term Sufism here because Radtke and others have argued that al-Tirmidhī was not a Ṣūfī but
represented a different form of Islamic mystical doctrine. I will discuss this in more detail in Chapter 4 where, in
essence, I agree with this formulation, however, I would add that, in a similar way, we should not consider Abū al-
Qāsim al-Junayd (d. 297/910), the spokesman of Baghdād mysticism in the 9th century C.E. to have been a Ṣūfī
either if we apply the same criteria and look at his own writings rather than the way he is portrayed in the writings of
later Ṣūfīs.
39
Or we could say to supersede those disciplines.

16
and to Islamic modes of knowledge and authority. Previous studies of al-Tirmidhī have not

adequately taken into account the social and epistemological background that characterizes the

various discourses in which al-Tirmidhī participated.

In Les Mots et le Choses (The Order of Things) Foucault chooses four basic knowledge

categories in each age to demonstrate how basic assumptions about knowledge can shift when

society enters a new episteme. Foucault characterizes the Renaissance as the “Age of

Resemblance” and he divides this era into four principal forms of knowledge categories, they

are: convenience, emulation, analogy and sympathy.40 These epistemic structural categories

attempt to give a global picture of the coherence of knowledge in the Renaissance. Historians of

the Renaissance have given short shrift to Foucault’s conclusions about this period and he

accepts that critique himself.41 The benefit of Foucault’s discussion in The Order of Things is not

necessarily centered around the historical conclusions he makes, but rather in the potential

benefits of adopting an alternative global perspective based on Structuralism that isolates

knowledge categories as a basis for our understanding of the shifts in discourse that have taken

place between different historiographical periods. We are not attempting to define global shifts in

thought during the Islamic period but rather are attempting to use the episteme to highlight and

situate the relevance of al-Tirmidhī’s thought. Certainly, the four categories identified in the

Renaissance episteme seem arbitrary to a certain degree, but they alert us to the global

distinctions between categories of knowledge that are useful for navigating the streams of

discourse. If we were to ask ourselves whether such a thing as an episteme exists, I think we can

agree that at some level this is an intuitive reality. This is because all discourse aims at imparting

40
Gary Gutting,. Michel Foucault's archaeology of scientific reason. Cambridge [England]: Cambridge University
Press. 1989, p. 140.
41
Ian Maclean,. Foucault’s Renaissance Episteme Reassessed: An Aristotelian Counterblast. Journal of the history
of ideas. Vol. 59 (1), January 1998.

17
some knowledge to others within the universe of discourse. That can only be done if some of the

knowledge categories that are shared are so basic that everyone within the episteme agrees upon

them without question. We are all constrained to some degree by basic assumptions about the

nature of knowledge that we inherit from our religious, social and cultural milieus. The benefit of

Foucault’s method is to help us escape a linear historical framework that does injustice to the

complex network of ideas and concepts that emerge in the discourse between authors within a

given scholarly community and period in history. While the form and expression of a particular

concept can resemble borrowings from other cultures and traditions, when we look closely, those

same terms often take on different significations when they relate to the author’s usage within his

discourse based on the similarities and differences with other authors with whom he was in

dialog at the time. This idea is not new to Foucault. Al-Tirmidhī comments on this phenomenon

when he explains how the term Fiqh (jurisprudence), for example, meant something very

different in an earlier Islamic milieu. Al-Tirmidhī tries repeatedly to return back to the original

significations of Qurʾānic terminology. This is one aspect of how al-Tirmidhī saw himself as a

reformer, an idea I will expand upon later.

In order to establish my methodology on firmer historical grounds than Foucault, I will

also draw upon established scholarship on knowledge (ʿilm) and its various types in Islamicate

societies. Fortunately, Franz Rosenthal provides us with a thorough and well documented study

on knowledge in Islamic disciplines. Rosenthal discusses six types of knowledge that appear in

the first four centuries of Islamic civilization. These are: knowledge as revelation (waḥy),

knowledge as Ḥadīth, knowledge as theology (Kalām), knowledge as light (nūr), knowledge as

18
thought (tafakkur) and knowledge as adab (education - paideia).42 All of these approaches to

knowledge existed in Muslim societies by the middle of the 9th-century C.E. when al-Tirmidhī

was writing his works. I believe that al-Tirmidhī’s gnoseology must be understood in relation to

these main types of knowledge, since, in effect, they represent the basic contours of his episteme.

Foucault’s methodological perspective helps us to explain why it is important that al-Tirmidhī

focuses on ḥikma (wisdom), since this knowledge type was virtually ignored by the early

tradition and represented a gap that could be filled by al-Tirmidhī. Al-Tirmidhī’s discussion of

wisdom (ḥikma) and how it factors into his doctrine of walāya will be discussed in detail in

Chapter 2.

The 9th- and 10th-centuries C.E. witnessed the development of a plethora of religious

factions and schools within Islamdom, from the schools of law (madhāhib) to various theological

schools, to Shīʿī groups of various types.43 These schools and factions represent discourses that

coalesced into corporate identities as these groups developed bodies of literature to represent

their particular viewpoints and interests. I prefer to use the term ‘discourse stream’ rather than

madhhab (school) to capture the more or less fluid network of social relationships and

connections among Muslim scholars during the period just prior to and consonant with the

formation of the schools of law. For example, we can call al-Tirmidhī a ‘Ḥanafī’ in the sense that

he partakes in a discourse stream that involves a culture of law and theology intimately tied to

42
One should note how Rosenthal excludes ḥikma (wisdom) as a primary knowledge type because he effectively
states that in the Islamic tradition knowledge (ʿilm) and wisdom (ḥikma) were synonymous. Ibid. Knowledge
triumphant, p. 38.
43
Christopher Melchert,. The formation of the Sunni schools of law, 9th-10th centuries C.E. Leiden: Brill. 1997, pp.
xxvi. Melchert argues that the first school of law to develop was the Shafiʿī School in Baghdād at the end of the 9th
century. The other schools developed later in the 10th century C.E. Melchert’s thesis returns primarily to his
definition of madhhab, which he views as a corporate entity comprised of a raʾīs or chief scholar in a particular
location, the existence of commentaries on standard legal epitomes and the regular transmission of legal knowledge
in which a student is recognized to have studied under a prominent jurist of that school. Devin J. Steward. Review of
The formation of the Sunni schools of law, 9th-10th centuries by Christopher Melchert. Islamic Law and Society. Vol.
6 (2). 1999, p. 276.

19
the network of scholars in Khurāsān and Transoxania who identified with Abū Ḥanīfa Nuʿmān b.

Thābit (d. 150/772) and his legacy. On the other hand we can clearly say that al-Tirmidhī did not

belong to a corporate entity similar to what would become the Ḥanafī madhhab (school of law).

He had no problem criticizing some of the basic premises of Ḥanafī doctrine and felt free to offer

his own alternative legal and theological methodologies. Furthermore, al-Tirmidhī conceives of

the transmission of knowledge through the analogy of water flowing in a river and a stream. So,

not only does ‘discourse stream’ capture the fluid network of connections among scholars prior

to the madhhab (school), but it also captures a sense of how al-Tirmidhī conceived of this

process. We will explain al-Tirmidhī’s relationship to the Ḥanafī ‘School’ in more detail in

Chapter 3. We cannot say that there is any direct relationship between what we term a ‘discourse

stream’ and what we discussed earlier about Rosenthal’s knowledge-types during this period.

However, we do posit that every discourse stream must have an epistemological basis so, for our

purposes here, we will use Foucault’s episteme to understand the underlying structure of

knowledge production in al-Tirmidhī’s milieu through the eyes of Rosenthal’s knowledge types.

At the same time, however, we will be addressing the social and historical representations that

manifest particular approaches to knowledge within various discourse streams. This two pronged

approach will help us better understand how al-Tirmidhī uses his gnoseology to redefine

sainthood (walāya).

Sources

Al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī is considered one of the most prolific authors to hail from

Khurāsān up through the early 10th-century C.E. Fuat Sezgin numbers his extant works, both

20
published and in manuscript, at eighty.44 These works range from full length treatises of several

hundred pages to short topical pieces that number only a few pages. While al-Tirmidhī’s works

touch upon a wide range of fields from Ḥadīth and Qurʾānic commentary to jurisprudence and

mysticism, his works also display a high degree of repetition in terms of themes and topical

layout. This creates several challenges when attempting to categorize these works. The first is

that al-Tirmidhī’s use of a particular genre does not conform to the typical conventions of the

genres of his period. Al-Tirmidhī seems to bend the genre to accommodate his own purposes and

then uses it as a vehicle to expound his ideas. For example, Nawādir al-Uṣūl is al-Tirmidhī’s

commentary on close to three hundred aḥadīth (prophetic traditions, pl. of ḥadīth) where he

provides his unique explanation of each ḥadīth from an esoteric perspective, i.e., ab intra. This

commentary provides a point of departure for al-Tirmidhī to expound upon a variety of topics

that are important to his schematization of the world from sainthood to theology. Another

problem we face in this regard is that al-Tirmidhī clearly did not conceive of the conventional

genres of traditional Islamic disciplines in the same forms that we have received them today. For

example, jurisprudence (Fiqh) meant something very different to al-Tirmidhī than it came to be

understood within the classical Islamic tradition. This makes it highly problematic to use modern

schemas to categorize his works. Al-Tirmidhī lived in a period of intellectual flux in the Muslim

world, in which many conceptual categories had not yet become reified. One of the few scholars

to present a schematization of the works of al-Tirmidhī is Muḥammad Ibrāhīm al-Juyūshī who

divides al-Tirmidhī’s works into seven general groups: Qurʾānic Exegesis (tafsīr), prophetic

reports (Ḥadīth), theology (Kalām), jurisprudence (Fiqh), legal philosophy (falsafat al-tashrīʿ),

44
Fuat Sezgin,. Geschichte des arabischen Schrifttums. Leiden: E. J. Brill. 1967, vol. 1, pp. 653–659.

21
Ṣūfī history (tārīkh al-ṣūfiyya) and Ṣūfī ideology (ārāʾ al-ṣūfiyya).45 Both of the titles chosen for

these categories, as well as their division, seem to obscure rather than shed light on the contours

of al-Tirmidhī’s corpus. The use of the term “Ṣūfī” itself is somewhat of an anachronism given

that al-Tirmidhī never used the term. Prominent scholars of al-Tirmidhī such as Bernd Radtke do

not consider his thought to be characterized as Ṣūfī, but rather as the product of a separate

ascetic-mystical movement.46 One of the reasons that al-Tirmidhī’s works are so difficult to

organize around particular genres is that al-Tirmidhī was often attempting to redefine or recast

received terminology as well as challenge the boundaries of the conceptual landscape developed

by his predecessors. Al-Tirmidhī’s works cut across received genres and amalgamate topics and

themes in unique ways. This means that any one particular text will probably fit into multiple

categories. Further complicating our understanding of al-Tirmidhī’s corpus is the oral nature of

the composition of certain texts. Some of al-Tirmidhī’s works resemble notes of a student

copying the questions and answers from a teacher who is speaking extemporaneously. Sīrat al-

Awliyāʾ is a case in point in this regard and is one possible reason for the repetition of themes

within the text. We should note that the oral composition of early texts of this period under

discussion often defies modern notions of authorship. This needs to be a factor not only in our

understanding of material within the texts, but also the way the text itself plays a role in

communicating to us the social and corporate nature of authorship. I will not be specifically

addressing the orality of al-Tirmidhī’s works in this dissertation. However, I realize that as a

student of this early period of Islamic intellectual history, I must be aware that oral modes of

45
Muḥammad Ibrāhīm Juyūshī. al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī Muḥammad b. ʿAlī al-Tirmidhī: dirāsa li-āthārihi wa-afkārih.
al-Qāhira: Dār al-Nahḍa al-ʿArabiyya. 1980, p. 68.
46
Scholars of Islamic mysticism see al-Tirmidhī as belonging to an indigenous ascetic/mystical movement from
greater Khurāsān that was originally transplanted by ʿIrāqī Sufism. See Alexander Knysh’s discussion of eastern
Islamic mystical movements in Islamic Mysticism, a Short History, pp. 88-99.

22
knowledge transmission affected conceptions of knowledge that were more human-centric than

text-centric. This social underpinning to knowledge transmission is the premise upon which I

base the concept of the discourse stream, since knowledge was socially transmitted and socially

constructed within networks and discourses that include seekers of knowledge (ṭullāb al-ʿilm) as

well as bona fide scholars (ʿulamāʾ).47

Al-Tirmidhī’s more substantial works number about fifty depending on the size one

chooses as a point of demarcation. These works are in both published and manuscript form.

About half of his works are published, while the other half remain unpublished as manuscripts

scattered in libraries throughout the world. I have attempted my own classification of these

works according to the manner in which they relate to important themes in al-Tirmidhī’s thought.

The point of this classification is to provide a sense for the breadth and depth of al-Tirmidhī’s

works. My classification scheme is as follows:

1. Sainthood (walāya)

2. Disciplining the Lower Self

3. Esoteric Vocabulary

4. Esoteric Interpretation

5. Polemical Works

6. Knowledge and Men of Learning

7. Moral and Ethical Teachings

8. Correspondence

9. Autobiography

47
I will use the term ‘scholarly class’ interchangeably with the Arabic term ʿulamāʾ from here onwards.

23
Sainthood

Al-Tirmidhī is probably best known for his works on sainthood and many consider him

the first Sunnī Muslim outside of the Shīʿī tradition to address the nature of sainthood and its

function in Muslim beliefs about God and the world. For al-Tirmidhī, the saint is the nexus of al-

ẓāhir (the outward) and al-bāṭin (the inward). The bāṭin, for al-Tirmidhī includes what is termed

the unseen world (al-ghayb). Al-Tirmidhī sets the stage for Abū Ḥāmid al-Ghazālī (d. 504/1111)

in his attempt to redefine true knowledge as maʿrifa or the knowledge that comes to the saint

(walī) from the realm of the bāṭin. The true walī is not dependent upon exoteric knowledge (al-

ʿilm al-ẓāhir), but through direct inspiration becomes the personification of proof, or ḥujja, of

God on earth. This approach is reminiscent of what has commonly come to be understood as a

primarily Shīʿī epistemology, or we could say, gnoseology. The difference between al-Tirmidhī’s

understanding of sainthood (walāya) and Shīʿī walāya will be explicated in more detail in

Chapter 5. Al-Tirmidhī’s structure of walāya is a tri-partite one with the highest of the awliyāʾ

(saints) being the kubarāʾ (the great ones) or siddīqūn (the truthful ones). His hierarchy is a

nested one in which the awliyāʾ sit within the larger category of ḥukamāʾ (sages) and both of

those within the still larger category ofʿulamāʾ (scholars). Al-Tirmidhī’s works on walāya here

represent works that deal with this highest level of the awliyāʾ, i.e., the kubarāʾ (the great ones).

The two most studied works of al-Tirmidhī in this area of walāya (sainthood) are Sīrat al-

Awliyāʾ (also known as Khatm al-Awliyā’) and ʿIlm al-Awliyāʾ, however, there are other

important works such as Nawādir al-Uṣūl and Maʿrifat al-Asrār that also deal with topics related

to sainthood. These last two texts have not been studied extensively enough to be used as a major

contribution to our understanding of al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of sainthood and his gnoseology. In

this dissertation I will be focusing in particular on NU to provide clarification on several aspects

24
of al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of sainthood and gnoseology that are not apparent in his more studied

works such as SA.

Disciplining the Lower Self

Al-Tirmidhī has numerous works that touch upon the subject of disciplining and refining

the soul/lower self (nafs). These works, such as Riyāḍat al-Nafs and Adab al-Nafs, set out to

identify the various components of the spiritual body and connect them to corresponding aspects

of the physical body. By developing a spiritual topography that is mapped onto the physical

body, al-Tirmidhī provides his reader with a heuristic for personal self-purification. Al-Tirmidhī

directs the reader to the subtle, almost ineffable spiritual organs that function together to either

give free rein to carnal desire (shahawāt) or to unfetter the soul so that it can experience freedom

in beholding God.

Esoteric Vocabulary

A favorite topic of al-Tirmidhī is the sources and meanings of words and the way they are

used in a particular text (such as the Qurʾān). Al-Tirmidhī was also fascinated by mystical

vocabulary and was committed to being true to the original meanings of words. Al-Tirmidhī is

very clear about his approach to semantics and posits and adheres faithfully to the idea that every

word indicates a unique reality. Hence, if the word for soul/lower self (nafs) is used in the

Qurʾān as a particular term, then according to al-Tirmidhī, it cannot refer to the same thing as the

spirit (rūḥ). In other words, these must be distinct entities and cannot represent different aspects

of a single entity. We also see that some of al-Tirmidhī’s works are simply lists of terms that

focus on the various meanings of these terms. Some examples of this are Taḥṣīl Naẓāʾir al-

25
Qurʾān, which seeks to clarify the meanings of some eighty Qurʾānic terms, and Maʿrifat al-

Asrār, which seeks to clarify terminology related to traveling the spiritual path (sulūk). Other

works are more theoretical in this regard such as Kitāb al-Furūq wa Manʿ al-Tarāduf and Ghawr

al-Umūr,48 which primarily argue against the existence of synonyms. Still another group of

works in this category is dedicated to restoring the true meaning of words that have changed in

usage over time. One such work of this kind is Bayān al-ʿIlm.

Esoteric Interpretation

A large number of lesser works attributed to al-Tirmidhī provide esoteric interpretations

of the meanings behind various acts of worship, specifically focusing on the main pillars of Islam

(testification of faith, prayer, fasting and pilgrimage) while also including related acts of worship

that might come under these five. Some of his works that are representative of this group are ʿIlal

al-Sharīʿa, Sabab al-Takbīr li-l-Ṣalā and Sharḥ al-Ṣalā wa-Maqāṣiduhā. Here, al-Tirmidhī

demonstrates his notion of ḥikma by providing what he considers to be the esoteric meaning

behind outward acts of worship. In recognition of this status as a sage (ḥakīm) and as one of the

saints (awliyāʾ), al-Tirmidhī claimed to have had access to knowledge of the inner realities

(ḥaqāʾiq) of things that were revealed to him from God himself. However, probably the most

important work in this category is Kitāb al-Ḥikma, which discusses the knowledge of the second

level of al-Tirmidhī’s tripartite structure of walāya. This is the level of the sages (ḥukamāʾ). To

date, no one has published an edition of KH and the one extant witness to this text has gone

unstudied. KH is crucial, however, to understanding al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of sainthood and

48
Bernd Radtke does not consider this work to be original to al-Tirmidhī, however, many of the ideas in the work
bear the stamp of al-Tirmidhī. We should be willing to consider the proposition that this work may have been the
work of one of al-Tirmidhī’s students even if it was not his own work.

26
gnoseology because it is the fullest explication of al-Tirmidhī’s concept of wisdom (ḥikma)

among al-Tirmidhī’s many works. In Appendix B we provide a transcription of KH with notes

demonstrating its connection to other works in al-Tirmidhī’s corpus.

Polemical Works

As a scholar in the Ḥanafī theological tradition, al-Tirmidhī wrote works against

movements that he saw as heretical. Two works in this regard are al-Radd ʿalā al-Rāfiḍa and al-

Radd ʿalā al-Muʿaṭṭila, both of which argue against the positions of the proto-Shīʿīs and the

Muʿtazilīs. Other works relating to theology that demonstrate ideas in accord with early Ḥanafī

theology are Sharḥ Qawlihi mā al-Īmān wa-mā al-Islām wa mā al-Iḥsān and al-Kalām ʿalā

Maʿnā Lā Ilāha illā Allāh. Another work that was polemical in al-Tirmidhī’s time was Bayān al-

Kasb, which clarifies the importance and legality of earning a livelihood. This work was most

probably oriented toward refuting the Karrāmiyya who were active during al-Tirmidhī’s time,

especially in eastern Khurāsān.

Knowledge and Men of Learning

The nature and character of knowledge was of critical importance to al-Tirmidhī’s

conceptual system. Al-Tirmidhī was seeking to redefine religious knowledge as well as upset

the prevailing hierarchy of prestige assigned to different types of religious knowledge in

Khurāsān and Transoxania in his time. Changing the priority of knowledge-types, of course, had

important implications for how religious men of learning were valued. In this category of works

we have Anwāʿ al-ʿIlm, which addresses outward religious knowledge in juxtaposition to gnosis

(maʿrifa). Al-Tirmidhī also discusses the different types and levels of servanthood in his book

27
Manāzil al-ʿIbād, which details seven stopping places (manāzil) that characterize different stages

on the spiritual path (ṭarīq).

Moral and Ethical Teachings

Al-Tirmidhī was a teacher and orator as well as a writer and mystic. He was concerned

with the moral and spiritual welfare of his students as well as those who came to hear him

lecture. One book that indicates this aspect of his life and teaching is al-Munājāt, a series of

prayers and supplications that express the dire helplessness of the servant who seeks God. Also

written by al-Tirmidhī is al-Jumal al-Lāzima Maʿrifatuhā, a collection of sermons, or waʿẓ, that

seek to admonish as well as entice the listener to refrain from acts of disobedience and then, in

turn, to motivate the listener to strive toward embracing acts of obedience. In this vein we also

have al-Iḥṭiyāṭāṭ, a compilation of advice for the spiritual traveler.

Correspondence

Al-Tirmidhī was not a reclusive mystic, but was involved in both teaching and the active

scholarly debates of his time concerning matters related to spiritual development and mystical

theory. For example, he was in letter correspondence with mystics in Rayy as well as Sarakhs49

and this correspondence is recorded in two collections, Jawāb Kitāb min al-Rayy and Jawāb al-

Masāʾil allatī Saʾalahu Ahl Sarakhs ʿanhā.

49
Rayy is an important city in Khurāsān along the Silk Route. Sarakhs is also in Khurāsān but lies adjacent to the
Silk Route.

28
Autobiography

Autobiography is included as a category even though there is only one work that is purely

autobiographical in al-Tirmidhī’s corpus. Buduw Shaʾn is a short work that is the earliest

example of spiritual autobiography in the Islamic literary tradition. Al-Tirmidhī appears to have

written about his life in order to establish the credentials of his spiritual rank and to support the

authority with which he speaks. A brief description of his early years and spiritual conversion are

followed by a series of dreams that are related on behalf of his wife and several male

companions. These dreams speak for al-Tirmidhī without his having to claim sainthood himself.

Al-Tirmidhī’s autobiography provides us with a rare glimpse into the spiritual aspirations and

struggles of an early mystic.

Secondary Sources

The study of sainthood in Khurāsān and Transoxania under the Samānids (204-395/819-

1005) and Ghaznavids (366-582/977-1186) is an area that has received scant attention in the

secondary literature, especially when we compare the scholarship on this period with the

groundbreaking work of Vincent Cornell who discusses Moroccan sainthood and its typology

during the Moroccan Mārinid (642-870/1244-1465) dynasty. Clearly, the pivotal figure for the

study of sainthood in the East under the Saffārids (247-393/861-1003) and then the Samānids is

al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī. Most studies of al-Tirmidhī, however, seek to place him in relation to the

larger framework of Sufism, focusing on his unconformist approach as somewhat of an outsider.

However, by approaching al-Tirmidhī from the standpoint of his gnoseology and discourse

streams we are pushed to look beyond Sufism to better understand why he might be considered

an ‘outlier.’ Sainthood is a topos that is not restricted to Islamic mysticism or Sufism, per se, but

cuts across a diverse set of Islamic movements from Ahl al-Ḥadīth, to Khārijīs, to Shīʿīs. While

29
all of these groups exhibit various aspects of walāya, none of them presents an explicit doctrine

of walāya before al-Tirmidhī’s time. The problem in the field of Islamic mysticism is two-fold.

Firstly, the discussion of al-Tirmidhī and his thought in the current literature, even his discussion

on walāya, is often siloed within the field of Islamic mysticism. Secondly, and to our benefit,

specialists on al-Tirmidhī such as Bernd Radtke, have focused on al-Tirmidhī’s works from a

highly textual perspective, treating al-Tirmidhī’s writings almost as a system of its own. Yet, this

does not address the more intricate relationship of al-Tirmidhī’s concept of walāya to its use in

other discourse streams current in al-Tirmidhī’s time such as the Ḥanafī theological tradition.

Radtke and John O’Kane (1996) have provided us with the best work to date on al-Tirmidhī and

his ideas in The Concept of Sainthood in Early Islamic Mysticism. This work is a translation of

SA into English with an introduction and explanatory notes. Radtke’s work appears to focus

primarily on the two books most associated with al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of walāya: SA and IA.

Another very important but overlooked resource for details of al-Tirmidhī’s approach to walāya

is his NU, a commentary by al-Tirmidhī on a selection of aḥadīth of the Prophet. In CS Radtke

expresses the need for a systematic study of NU,50 a text we already mentioned earlier under

‘Sources.’ Not only is NU al-Tirmidhī’s longest work but it is also relatively unstructured, which

leads the author to ‘confess’ aspects of his thought that might otherwise go unarticulated in his

other works.

A second scholar who sought to seriously address the work of al-Tirmidhī is Yves

Marquet whose dissertation, al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī et Neplatonisme de son Temps, compares the

50Muḥammad b. ʿAlī al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī. The concept of sainthood in early Islamic mysticism: two works by al-
Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī; an annotated translation with introduction. Edited and translated by Bernd Radtke, John O'Kane
Richmond, Surrey: Curzon Press. 1996, p. 3.

30
cosmology of al-Tirmidhī with that of the Ikhwān al-Ṣafā.51 The comparison is useful in

elucidating the way in which al-Tirmidhī and the Ikhwān al-Ṣafā both draw upon a similar

corpus of material while also differing significantly in approach. For example, Marquet

compares the hierarchy of spiritual degrees, light cosmogony and select mythology, such as the

story of Adam and Eve, in both al-Tirmidhī and the Ikhwān al-Ṣafā. Marquet’s work

demonstrates that we are dealing with two very different systems of thought that seem to be

drawing upon similar sources. While this is an important contribution to the study of al-Tirmidhī,

it does not address specifically the subject of walāya. Furthermore, much of Marquet’s work is

based upon the seminal work of ʿAbd al-Fattāḥ ʿAbdallāh Baraka, although a re-examination of

Baraka’s work on al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of walāya can often suffice. However, neither Radtke,

Marquet, nor Baraka deal with al-Tirmidhī’s KH. As we will demonstrate in Chapters 2 and 5 al-

Tirmidhī’s concept of ḥikma (wisdom) frames his doctrine of walāya. For this reason, my

transcription of KH provides an important and unprecedented contribution to understanding al-

Tirmidhī’s doctrine of walāya.

Another important work addressing the thought of al-Tirmidhī is that of

Geneviève Gobillot whose dissertation situates al-Tirmidhī within the ideological milieu of 9th-

century C.E. Khurasān. Her dissertation concludes with Gobillot’s own translation into French of

a disputed work attributed to al-Tirmidhī, Ghawr al-Umūr. Gobillot’s work goes far in

attempting to connect al-Tirmidhī to the Hellenistic milieu of Near Eastern thought, which was

vibrant both before and after the advent of Islam, especially among Near Eastern elites. Other

closer, and in some ways more significant, elements of al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of walāya, such as

those contributed by Transoxanian Ḥanafī theology, are not addressed by Gobillot. In this way, I

51
The Ikhwān al-Ṣafā are a group of Ismāʿīlī Shīʿīs in Iraq during the 10th-century C.E. who integrated Islamic
mysticism with a number of other esoteric, philosophical and scientific approaches current during their time.

31
intend to build upon the work of Gobillot by identifying factors of influence that seem to have

escaped her purview as I map out al-Tirmidhī’s episteme.

Sara Sviri has written several important articles on various aspects of al-Tirmidhī’s

thought. Her article, “Hakīm al-Tirmidhī and the Malāmatī Movement in Early Sufism,”

addresses the relationship of al-Tirmidhī to current ascetic-mystical movements in Khurāsān

during the 9th century C.E. Another article, “Words of Power and the Power of Words: Mystical

Linguistics in the works of al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī,” helps us understand the similar ‘letter-

mysticism’ that is shared by both the Rabbinic sages and al-Tirmidhī.

Both Chodkiewicz (1993) in Seal of the Saints and Elmore (1999) in Islamic Sainthood in

the Fullness of Time, have written extensively on the subject of sainthood in the writings of Ibn

ʿArabī. In doing so, they both look upon al-Tirmidhī as a predecessor to Ibn ʿArabī, paving the

way for the latter’s ideas on walāya. Still, however, Ibn ʿArabī’s debt to al-Tirmidhī’s thought

deserves much more attention and scholarship than it has thus far received. Hopefully, this study

will pave the way for a closer look at the many parallels that exist between the two mystics.

These parallels should become clearer once al-Tirmidhī’s approach to walāya is better

understood.

Thus far, the most important work that I have encountered during my research of al-

Tirmidhī’s writings on the subject of walāya is a book by ʿAbd al-Fattāḥ ʿAbdallāh Baraka titled,

Al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī wa Naẓariyyātahu fī l-Wilāyā. It is the most exhaustive review of al-

Tirmidhī’s approach to walāya and contains detailed references made by later Islamic scholars of

al-Tirmidhī and his thought. One major lacuna in his study, though, is the omission of both NU

and KH from his presentation of al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of walāya. Another important area not

addressed by Baraka is the non-Islamic material that informs al-Tirmidhī’s views.

32
 One of the possible reasons for the dearth of analytical works relating to al-Tirmidhī’s

thought is that much of the work on al-Tirmidhī has focused on making his corpus available to

the scholarly community through published volumes and critical editions. Thanks to ʿUthmān

Yaḥya, Bernd Radtke, and Tawfīq Maḥmūd Tekle we have critical editions of both SA as well as

NU.

33
 Chapter 1

The Historical and Social Context of

al-Tirmidhī’s Life and Times

This chapter places al-Tirmidhī in his geographical and social

context. Al-Tirmidhī’s Arab descent and background as a member
of the Sunnī scholarly class and landed patriciate played a role in his
self-identity at a time of turmoil and change in Khurāsān and
Transoxania. A particular social institution that was important in
defining al-Tirmidhī’s status, the social institution of clientage
(walāʾ), played an important role in structuring al-Tirmidhī’s
notions of sainthood. While al-Tirmidhī criticizes the scholarly class
(ʿulamāʾ), his doctrine of sainthood, in fact, preserves the status of
this class as it functions to preserve the social privilege inherent in
the institution of clientage by protecting the privilege of the saints
and therefore ultimately the ʿulamāʾ.

Al-Tirmidhī’s Context

Al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī was born during the reign of the Abbasid Caliph al-Maʾmūn (d.

218/833) in the city of Tirmidh52 in what is today the southern tip of Uzbekistan. For its day,

52
The city of Tirmidh (Termez) is located in the southern tip of present day Uzbekistan just north of Afghanistan.
Al-Muqaddasī (d. 990 CE) describes the city of Tirmidh less than a century after the death of al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī.
It is the largest city situated on the Amū Daryā River, a river considered since ancient times to be the dividing line
between Greater Iran (Khurāsān) and Tūrān (Transoxania). According to al-Muqaddasī, Tirmidh was a port city on
the Amū Darya with accessibility to the river from both sides. The city had three gates with a central mosque inside
the gates of the city. Connected to the city were suburbs with their own set of walls as a well as a commercial port
(sarādeqāt) that formed a special quarter of the city. Homes would sometimes have outside patios that were paved
with burnt brick and open air areas were sometimes covered with canopies. Al-Muqaddasī describes Tirmidh as
‘clean’ (naẓīfa) and ‘healthy’ (ṭayyiba). We might judge from these remarks that Tirmidh, unlike many other cities
of the Iranian plateau during the 9th and 10th centuries C.E., did not experience a population explosion that led to
dense numbers of immigrants settling outside its city walls. (For more on urbanization in early Islamic Iran see
Bulliet, Richard. Islam, the View from the Edge. New York: Columbia University Press. 1993, p. 73.) Tirmidh today
is one of the hottest cities in Central Asia with temperatures as high as 122 degrees Fahrenheit during the summer
months. Being a port city, Tirmidh was an important trade link between Khurāsān and Transoxania. Along with
goods, ideas traveled these routes and al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī was no doubt exposed to a wealth of culture and

34
Tirmidh was a medium-sized city that contained a citadel (qahunduz) outside the city walls. Its

larger buildings were composed of mud brick rather than stone.53 Tirmidh was under the

administrative jurisdiction of Balkh under the Ṭāhirids (205-78/821-91) where al-Tirmidhī was

taken for prosecution when the local scholars of Tirmidh accused him of discoursing on the topic

of love (ḥubb). The Ṭāhirids were the governors of Khurāsān and Transoxania for much of al-

Tirmidhī’s life. They were briefly followed by the Saffārids54 and then the Samānids (204-

395/819-1005) after them. Al-Tirmidhī references the brief interlude of the Saffārids in his

autobiography (Buduw Shaʾn) when he states that “there arose in our land discord and

insurrection.”55 Al-Tirmidhī is referring to the event in which Dāwūd b. al-ʿAbbas al-Bānijūrī,

the Ṭāhirid governor in Balkh, was forced to flee in 870 C.E. when the Saffārid Yaʿqūb b. Layth

laid siege to that city.

thought. Muḥammad b. Aḥmad al-Muqaddasī. Kitāb aḥsan al-taqāsīm fī maʿrifat al-aqālīm. Leiden: Brill. 1906, p.
291.
53
The city of Tirmidh included several smaller cities and rural villages that fell under its jurisdiction and that
supported its urban life. These were Ṣarmanjī, Hāshim Jard, Nawdaz and al-Qawādhiyān (a city much smaller than
Tirmidh but still supporting its own farming villages). Tirmidh was still smaller than the main metropolitan center of
Samarqand whose population may have been as much as 120,000 inhabitants in the 9 th-century C.E. This estimate is
based on the archeological evidence suggesting that the city (shahrestān) of Samarqand reached close to seven and a
half square miles. G. A. Pugachenkova and E. V. Rtveladze. “Archeology vii. Islamic Central Asia,” Encyclopædia
Iranica, Vol. II, Fasc. 3, pp. 322–326; available online at: http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/archeology-vii. This
city was a little larger than Nīshāpūr close to the same time period whose city measured approximately six and a half
square miles. Richard Bulliet estimates that Nīshāpūr’s population was approximately 100,000 inhabitants taking a
safe estimate. We might guess that the population of Tirmidh might be somewhere close to 30–40,000 inhabitants.
Richard W. Bulliet. The patricians of Nishapur; a study in medieval Islamic social history. Cambridge, Mass:
Harvard University Press, 1972, p. 9.
54
While the Saffārid line continued until the beginning of the 11 th century C.E. in the region of Sistān, the Saffārids
lost Khurāsān and Transoxiana to the Samānids when Abū Ibrāhīm Ismāʿīl (I) (279–95/892–907) captured the
Saffārid ʿAmr b. al-Layth in 287/900, after which the Caliph al-Muʿtaḍid appointed him governor of both
Transoxania and Khurāsān. “Sāmānids.” EI2, Second Edition. Edited by: P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C.E. Bosworth,
E. van Donzel, W.P. Heinrichs. Brill Online, 2014. Reference. University Of Michigan-Ann Arbor. 18 November
2014 <http://referenceworks.brillonline.com.proxy.lib.umich.edu/entries/encyclopaedia-of-islam-2/sa-ma-nids-
COM_0995>
55
Muḥammad b. ʿAlī al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī. The concept of sainthood in early Islamic mysticism: two works by al-
Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī; an annotated translation with introduction. Ed. Bernd Radtke, John O'Kane. Richmond, Surrey:
Curzon Press. 1996, pp. 20–23.

35
 Al-Tirmidhī came from a family whose ancestral roots go back to the original Arabs who

settled in the region soon after the early Arab/Islamic conquests. His family was composed of

wealthy landholders who cultivated religious learning and belonged to the local aristocracy56 of

Tirmidh. Their status was similar in nature to the patrician families of Nīshāpūr, which was a city

larger than Tirmidh but still in its same cultural orbit. Al-Tirmidhī’s father was a scholar who

was known to have visited Baghdād and related Ḥadīth there57 and, as we will discuss in Chapter

3, al-Tirmidhī continued this scholarly tradition as part of the Ḥanafī jurisprudential and

theological tradition that was widespread in the eastern provinces during his time. Nevertheless,

we find in al-Tirmidhī a desire to expand beyond the confines of previous modes of thought

when we witness the manner in which he exhibits an unflinching insistence on following his own

intuitions rather than bow to the dictates of the various factions and schools in his city.58 As part

of this process, he actually retreated from the factionalist tendencies of his city to the private

space of his home where he established what we may call a ‘salon’ (mujālasa). There he

conducted semi-private meetings of like-minded individuals who met to discuss spiritual matters

and to engage in the invocation of God (dhikr).59 Not only does al-Tirmidhī turn to close friends

56
We would consider al-Tirmidhī to belong to what Bulliet calls the Patriciate in early Islamic Iranian cities. These
were a group of families who consistently held much of the power in the cities of Khurāsān and Transoxiana,
excluding the transient governors and imperial agents who came and went. These families were usually of three
types, either landholding, trading or religious families. Ibid. Patricians, pp. 20-21.
57
Bernd Radtke. Al-Ḥakīm at-Tirmid̲ī: ein islamischer Theosoph des 3./9. [i.e. 8./9.] Jahrhunderts. Freiburg: K.
Schwarz, 1990, p. 12.
58
In his autobiography al-Tirmidhī explains how he was regaled by the local scholars of his city for his ascetic and
anti-social behavior as a result of his endeavor to grow closer to God. Al-Tirmidhī explains that he cared nothing for
what they said and continued with his spiritual exercises until he was called before the governor at Balkh to stand
trial for heresy. Ibid. Concept, p. 20.
59
While this may seem benign and rather ordinary to the modern sensibilities it clearly was not so in al-Tirmidhī’s
9th-century CE, Transoxania. Religious learning was accessible and usually conducted in public places such as the
local jāmiʿ masjid or congregational mosque. The gatherings of the early mystics in Iraq, Khurāsān and Transoxiana
were semi-private events that were often conducted in the homes of participants or wealthy patrons. These
gatherings were characterized by an informal discourse on mystical topics between like-minded individuals, a very
different scene than is found several centuries later in Nīshāpūr, where Ṣūfī culture and lore are organized by highly
formal structures that mediate teacher-student roles. The early Islamic mystics followed a pattern already in practice
in the large urban centers of Islam during the 9 th-century C.E., where the mujālasāt of adab or edifying circles of
humanistic knowledge was in vogue. For more on early salons in the Islamic world see Samer Ali’s work: Ali,

36
who share his interests in mysticism, but he also includes his wife in these discourses and relates

a number of her dreams, which signifies not only his own spiritual rank, but her exalted status as

a waliyya (female saint of God)60 as well. It must be noted that Al-Tirmidhī was not merely a

renegade who wanted to break free of the social and intellectual mores of his time. He was an

accomplished scholar in all of the major disciplines of Islamic scholarship as his many books and

short treatises attest. We can describe him as an encyclopedist of sorts who sought to unify

Islamic thought under one single approach. Like Abū Ḥāmid al-Ghazālī after him, al-Tirmidhī

was scathing in his criticism of a scholarly class whom he considered to have lost the original

prophetic vision of Islam. In this way he was also a social critic who wished to reform the social

class that he represented. His goal was an ethical one just as much as it was mystical. For

example, Al-Tirmidhī expounds on the importance of ethics when he discusses the three stages

of good character. The first is to have good character with respect to God’s commands and

prohibitions. This is at the level of law. The second stage is to have good character with all

created things (khalq, which also can mean all human beings). The third is to have good

character with God’s pre-ordainment.61 This is an example of al-Tirmidhī’s consistent attempt to

extend Islamic values beyond the boundaries of Islam as a faith. This sense of ethics led him to

defend the weaker elements of his society by, for example, calling for the good treatment of

Samer M. Arabic literary salons in the Islamic Middle Ages: poetry, public performance, and the presentation of the
past. Notre Dame, Indiana: University of Notre Dame Press. 2010. Al-Tirmidhī was not alone in his desire to
converse with like-minded mystics about the love God and mystical states. The Inquisition of Ghulām Khalīl (d.
275/888) targeted those discoursing on love (ḥubb). The problem was not that these mystics were experiencing love
of God. This theme had been in circulation for quite some time in Islamic societies at least since the 2 nd Islamic
century (8th-century C.E.) with the early love poetry of the likes of Rābiʿa al-ʿAdawiyya. I would venture to posit
that the strong reaction on the part of the Abbasid authorities was the fact that these discourses on love were
happening in new social structures outside of the purview of the recently ascendant ʿulamāʾ (scholarly class).
60
Ibid. Concept, pp. 24–36.
61
Ibid. Nawādir, vol. 5, p. 215. Al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī distinguishes between “natural” good character shared by all
human beings and the highest forms of good character brought by the Prophet. Ibid. Nawādir, vol. 4, pp. 341–356.

37
slaves.62 Yet, Al-Tirmidhī was not an egalitarian nor could he be considered a social

revolutionary. While he called for the good treatment of slaves he also recognized the slave-

owner’s right to discipline within measure. His views on women were typical if not slightly more

advanced than his time. He upheld the notion that women should not be taught to write because

writing was a type of communication that exceeded speech, which could lead to temptation

(fitna).63 According to al-Tirmidhī women are inferior to men because they come from a part of

men (from Adam’s rib).64 He also viewed women as a source of temptation for men who even

tempted the greatest of the prophets.65 Despite these views it is clear that he had a deep and

meaningful relationship with his wife that was respectful and collegial in nature. His

autobiography indicates that they used to share their spiritual dreams with one another and that

the dreams themselves sometimes expressed intimate moments such as when they were both

lying in bed and the Prophet entered the bed with them.66 For al-Tirmidhī, these dreams are

highly significant because they are a means of communication from the divine to the human

being.67

Al-Tirmidhī spoke both Arabic and Persian fluently. We often find Persian words

peppered throughout his many works for the purpose of clarifying the meaning of an Arabic

62
Ibid, p. 21.
63
Ibid, p. 271.
64
Ibid, p. 271.
65
Al-Tirmidhī highlights the stories of three prophets who were tempted by women as to indicate the station of each
of these in the way he dealt with this temptation. The first was the Prophet Dāwūd (David) who was tempted by
Bathsheba and sent her husband to death in order to marry her. His kingdom goes to ruin until he repents. The
second was Yūsuf (Joseph) who was tempted by Potiphar’s wife and according to al-Tirmidhī almost commits the
act but turns away at the last minute and is imprisoned as a result. This is an example of a higher station. Finally, he
gives the example of the Prophet Muḥammad who is tempted by Zaynab and his reaction is to go into seclusion. The
result is that she is married to him by God. Ibid, pp 248–252.
66
Al-Tirmidhī clearly saw this as an auspicious omen. Dreams are interpreted symbolically in the Arab/Islamic
tradition of dream interpretation such as with the likes of Ibn Sīrīn whose book of dream interpretation provides
meanings for stock symbols within dreams.
67
Al-Tirmidhī quotes a prophetic tradition to the effect that true dreams are a part of prophecy. Dreams that contain
the Prophet are considered to always be true dreams. Ibid. Concept, p. 9.

38
word.68 It is not clear whether al-Tirmdhī’s wife spoke Arabic or not, but she clearly spoke

Persian. In many respects we can think of al-Tirmidhī as a gentrified Persian landholder

(dihqān)69 if it were not for his vehement defense of Arabic as the greatest and most important of

languages and of the Arabs as the best of peoples.70 Al-Tirmidhī’s remarks remind us of the

Shuʿūbī and anti-Shuʿūbī movements during the 2nd- and 3rd- Islamic centuries (8th- and 9th-

centuries C.E.) in which non-Arabs (ʿajam) wrote literature that claimed superiority over Arab

culture. Arab writers (often of non-Arab origin themselves, such as Ibn Qutayba) wrote in

defense of Arab superiority and lineage.71 According to al-Tirmidhī, the Arabs were superior to

the Persians (ʿajam) not because of the superiority of Arabic as a language but because the Arabs

held more noble qualities and higher character traits than the Persians, in particular, generosity. 72

While noble Arab descent, for al-Tirmidhī, was a source of privilege in the larger Islamic

community (umma), it was only applicable if the Arab actually displayed those high character

traits.73 While al-Tirmidhī’s views of Arab superiority are tempered by his ethical standards, he

elevates the Arabic language to cosmological significance in his gnoseology. One of the highest

forms of knowledge, the highest wisdom (ḥikmat al-ʿulyā) is the knowledge of the letters (Arabic

letters).74 Al-Tirmidhī upheld and justified the social hierarchy of his society that placed him in a

68
See Radtke’s list of Persian words compiled from al-Tirmidhī’s writings. Ibid. Ein islamischer Theosoph, p. 137.
69
Francesco Chiabotti problematizes this term as it came to change over time referring in the Sasanid period to a
village chief and member of the Sasanid landed aristocracy. With the development of the iqṭāʿ land system, this
important class lost much of its status and the term came to designate later in the Abbasid period a country peasant.
Francesco Chiabotti. Entre soufisme et savoir islamique: l’oeuvre de ʿAbd al-Karīm al-Qushayrī (376-465/ 986-
1072). Diss, Universite de Provence. 2014, p. 63.
70
Ibid. Nawādir, vol. 2, p. 309.
71
Roy P. Mottahedeh. “The Shuʿūbiyah Controversy and the Social History of Early Islamic Iran,” International
Journal of Middle East Studies. Vol. 7, No. 2 (Apr., 1976), pp. 161–182.
72
Ibid. Nawādir, vol. 2, p. 310.
73
Ibid, p. 107.
74
Ibid. Concept, p. 83.

39
position of power and authority, but he considered this privilege to be predicated on virtue and

not lineage. This is one of the reasons that he strongly opposed the Shīʿī position on the imamate.

Al-Tirmidhī’s Clash with the Local ʿUlamāʾ

Al-Tirmidhī chose to begin teaching his mystical ideas from his home rather than from

the local jāmiʿ masjid (congregational mosque). However, the numbers of those who came to his

circle (majlis) grew so numerous that his house could no longer accommodate them. Eventually,

the lane near his house filled up and then his students took him to the local masjid. Finally, he

began teaching at a larger masjid, probably the central congregational masjid of Tirmidh.75 In his

autobiography, al-Tirmidhī describes how it was a group of his original detractors who attempted

to approach him in private about his ideas. When he finally agreed to speak to them, they were

mesmerized by his speech and became his students. After he had become well known and had

attracted many students, his other detractors among the scholars of the city could not sustain their

criticism of him. Al-Tirmidhī’s trials and eventual triumph over his detractors among the

scholars (ʿulamāʾ) of Tirmidh exemplifies Richard Bulliet’s thesis about the structure of the

Patriciate in Nīshāpūr during the 4th- and 5th- Islamic centuries (10th- and 11th-centuries C.E.).

According to Bulliet, the patricians were a set of landowning, merchant and religious families

often combining all three groups who controlled the city of Nīshāpūr from generation to

generation for over a hundred and fifty years. It was the delicate balance of power between these

families and their various factions that preserved harmony in Nīshāpūr. When this balance of

power was lost, the city descended into intra-urban warfare and the city was eventually

destroyed.

75
Ibid, p. 23.

40
 Al-Tirmidhī was clearly a member of such a class in his city of Tirmidh, coming from a

landholding scholarly family of Arab descent. When the faction that opposed al-Tirmidhī was

successful in bringing him before the governor’s court in Balkh on charges of heresy, it was the

Ḥanafīs who protected him and enabled him to return to his city. This is why the content and

nature of what al-Tirmidhī was teaching, as well as where he was teaching, is significant. By

teaching from his home, al-Tirmidhī was easily subject to labels of heresy because his teachings

were not being overseen by the establishment of religious notables. If he had not been from the

patrician class himself, he probably would not have been considered such a threat to the

established order. Bulliet’s (1997), in The View from the Edge, argues that Islam during the 3rd,

4th- and 5th- Islamic centuries (9th-, 10th- and 11th-centuries C.E.) looks different when viewed

from the edge rather than the center (i.e., Baghdād). When we turn our attention away from the

centers of power (specifically in Khurasān and Transoxiana) during this period, we find a pattern

in which non-Arab converts are seeking answers to their questions about Islam.76 Al-Tirmidhī’s

book, Sīrat al-Awliyāʾ (The Way of the Saints), is structured in a question and answer format as a

dialog between al-Tirmidhī and one of his students.77 At one point, al-Tirmidhī became

exasperated by a question from one of his students and he exclaims, “Yā ʿajam!” This literally

means, “You Persians!” Bernd Radtke posits that al-Tirmidhī must be using this phrase to mean

something like, “You fools!” Even if this was the intended meaning it reveals important

information about al-Tirmidhī’s sense of privilege and his critical view of those who were not

76
Bulliet follows the life of a Persian soldier Abū Ṭayba whose great grandfather converted to Islam and who settles
in Jurjān seeking and finding religious guidance. The 9th century CE witnessed some of the highest rates of
urbanization in the history of Persia. This also coincided with the fastest period of conversion to Islam. It is during
this period that the function of the faqīh develops as someone who is consulted about religious legal matters.
Richard W. Bulliet. Islam: the view from the edge. New York: Columbia University Press, 1993, p. 93.
77
This dialog is not Socratic in nature in that it does not aim at taking the student through a logical argument but is
more al-Tirmidhī answering the questions about sainthood that were common in his time such as whether or not a
saint can be greater than a prophet.

41
versed in the Arabic language.78 In other instances al-Tirmidhī shows a caring and concerned

attitude toward his students.79 In both cases he assumes a position of authority and distinction

above his questioner. His wisdom and knowledge were also sought by non-Muslims and non-

Arabs who were seeking guidance and answers to life-questions that would help them to make

sense of their world.80

The Scholarly Class or the ʿUlamāʾ

Al-Tirmidhī hailed from a family of ʿulamāʾ (scholars) and belonged to this class

himself, but was also highly critical of this group. He called them ʿulamāʾ al-ẓāhir (scholars of

the outward), or scholars who were well versed in legal and theological doctrines but whose

inward character traits belied their knowledge. He militated against the idea that Fiqh

(jurisprudence) and Kalām (theology) were the totality of what God meant when he referred to

knowledge (ʿilm) in the Qurʾān.81 In order to better situate al-Tirmidhī, we need to understand

this religious class and how it related to other social groups in the 9th century C.E. During this

time we first start to see the term faqīh (jurisprudent) being used in biographical dictionaries, but

it is not until the 10th- and 11th-centuries C.E. in Khurāsān and Transoxania that this term begins

to gain wide use.82 We have already explained how, if we take a view from the edge, the ʿulamāʾ

78
Ibid. Concept, p. 202.
79
Ibid, p. 114. Al-Tirmidhī shows concern for the student who asks a question for which he is not ready to hear the
answer.
80
This was a similar phenomenon that took place with the development of Rabbinic Judaism. According to Seth
Schwartz (2001) the Rabbis, not just as a class of legal experts but as leaders of the Jewish community, came into
their position of authority when Jews from various diaspora communities began turning to them for answers to their
questions about how to live a Jewish life.
81
Al-Tirmidhī anticipated Abū Ḥāmid al-Ghazālī’s (d. 504/1111) criticism of the ʿulamāʾ in his Iḥyāʾ ʿUlūm al-Dīn
by almost two hundred years. Al-Tirmidhī describes the true faqīh (not jurisprudent here but “man of
understanding”) as someone who “…the veil has been lifted from the eye of his heart,” and not someone who
“…associates himself with the discipline of fiqh.” Muḥammad b. ʿAlī al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī.ʿIlm al-awliyāʾ. Ed. By
Sāmī Naṣr Luṭf. [Cairo]: Maktabat al-Ḥurrīyah al-Ḥadīthah. 1983, p. 138.
82
Ibid. The View from the Edge, p. 93.

42
families constitute one of the pillars of urban social life in the early Abbasid period. However, it

is also important to go back to the center to see how the struggle for power and authority in Islam

was shaping the development of this important social class as it affected developments on the

edge. Most historians of early Islam consider the Miḥna83 to have been the decisive struggle for

religious authority in Islam between the Caliph and the ʿulamāʾ.84 Muḥammad Qāsim Zamān

shows, with some success, that such a break was not as complete as once thought and the

Abbasid caliphs continued to exercise a role in juridical and theological debates even after the

Miḥna. Despite Zaman’s evidence, it is clear that after the reign of the Abbasid Caliph al-

Mutawakkil (d. 247/861) and with the ending of the Miḥna, the Abbasid caliphs could not steer

the religious discourse in the same way as al-Maʾmūn (d. 218/833) and al-Mutawakkil had

done.85 The Abbasid Empire was fighting for its very life at the end of the 9th century C.E. The

assumption among many historians is that when the caliphs lost control of the religious discourse

(and thus religious authority), it was the ʿulamāʾ who automatically assumed this authority. John

Turner (2001), (building on the work of Josef van Ess), demonstrates that Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal (d.

241/855), the archetypal Sunnī hero, was actually quite low in profile and apolitical in his stance

toward the caliphs. The early evidence points to him as acquiescing to the Caliph’s order to

affirm the createdness of the Qurʾān rather than refusing to do so. Turner’s thesis is that a

‘showdown’ between the Caliph and Ibn Ḥanbal was the product of a later rewriting of the

narrative and was a tool used by the Ḥanabila to assert their authoritative position among the

83
The Miḥna was the inquisition instituted by the Abbasid Caliph al-Maʾmūn in a struggle between the Caliph and
the ʿulamāʾ (scholarly class) over religious authority in Islam. Al-Maʾmūn sought to impose a Muʿtazilī theological
viewpoint on scholars appointed as judges within the Abbasid Caliphate.
84
Muḥammad Qasim Zamān. Religion and politics under the early ʿAbbāsids: the emergence of the proto-Sunnī
elite. Leiden: Brill. 1997, p. 70.
85
Hugh Kennedy. The court of the Caliphs: the rise and fall of Islam's greatest dynasty. London: Weidenfeld &
Nicolson. 2004, pp. 294-295.

43
madhhabs.86 By the time of the reign of the Abbasid Caliph al-Muqtadir (295–320/908–925), the

caliph was no longer seen as the source of religious doctrine and the climate at the caliphal court

had become antagonistic to religious learning.87 The attempt by caliphs such as al-Maʾmūn and

al-Mutawakkil to engage directly in religious doctrine was bound to fail since the ʿulamāʾ gave

no place to caliphs, viziers, assemblies of notables, or even the people, to produce laws,

commandments, prohibitions or statutes of their own accord.88 Rather, without caliphal guidance

in the religious discourse after al-Mutawakkil, we find a vacuum of religious authority that

initiates a contest among the various legal madhāhib and various Islamic sects for the supremacy

of their particular viewpoint. From the late 9th-century through the 11th-century C.E. the default

method for mediating conflicting religious viewpoints was through mob rioting in the streets. 89

Even if the caliph was not a legislator, the caliph saw his role as a mediator between various

proto-Sunnī and proto-Shīʿī factions. After al-Mutawakkil, the Abbasid caliphs were no longer

able to play this role and the intense factionalism that resulted created the background out of

which Sunnism and Shīʿism developed.90 Back in the city of Tirmidh, al-Tirmidhī voices his

86
John Persons Turner. Inquisition and the definition of identity in early Abbasid history. 2001, Thesis (Ph. D.)--
University of Michigan, 2001. http://books.google.com/books?id=f7QfAQAAMAAJ, pp. 271–273.
87
Maaike van Berkel. Crisis and continuity at the Abbasid court formal and informal politics in the caliphate of al-
Muqtadir (295–320/908–32). Leiden: Brill. 2013, pp. 210–211.
http://booksandjournals.brillonline.com/content/9789004252707.
88
Jacob Lassner and Michael David Bonner. Islam in the Middle Ages: the origins and shaping of classical Islamic
civilization. Santa Barbara, Calif: Praeger. 2010, pp. 238. As early as al-Shāfiʿī (d. 204/820) and even before him we
find that the four sources of Islamic law (Qurʾān, Ḥadīth, ijmāʿ and qiyās) leave no place for caliphal intervention.
89
Popular violence began to play an important role in the way the Ḥanābila dealt with their adversaries such as al-
Ṭabarī (d. 310/923). Inquisition, p. 270. The same type of popular violence plays a role in the late 11 th-century when
Ibn al-Qushayrī comes to Baghdād to teach at the Niẓāmiyya. These riots between the Ashʿarīs and Ḥanbalīs were
symptomatic of the decentralized nature of religious authority. Eric J. Hanne. Putting the caliph in his place: power,
authority, and the late Abbasid Caliphate. Madison, NJ: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press. 2007, pp. 120–121.
Baghdād was not the only place where rioting took place between various legal and theological factions. Bulliet
documents the sectarian violence between Ḥanafīs and Shāfiʿīs in Nīshāpūr and other cities of Khurasān and
Transoxiana that led to the eventual demise of some of these cities even before the Mongol invasions. Ibid.
Patricians, p. 31.
90
I am looking at Sunnism here as an identity that resulted from a détente between the various madhhāhib (schools
of law and jurisprudence) that take their inspiration from the major collections of Ḥadīth literature (the six books of
Hadith). This approach is best summarized by al-Ghazālī in his Fayṣal al-Tafriqa in which he seeks to demonstrate
that the various schools of jurisprudence and theology differ in their interpretations only as the result of the different

44
frustration at the factionalism of his time, innamā ṣārū hāʾulāʾi firaqan li-annahum fāraqū

dīnahum fa-bi-mufāraqati al-dīn tashattatat ahwāʾuhum fa-iftaraqū, “These have only become

various sects because they have separated themselves from their religion and through their

separation from the true religion, their vain opinions have diverged and so they became

sectarian.”91

The Shīʿīs and the Ṣūfī Alternative

The development of Shīʿism and Sunnism as distinct viewpoints in Islam can be traced to

the breakdown of Abbasid religious authority that occurred in the second half of the 9th-century

C.E. It is no doubt that proto-Sunnī and proto-Shīʿī viewpoints had existed since early Islam.

However, the need for a ‘real’ khalīfa for the Shīʿīs appeared in the form of ʿUbayd Allāh al-

Mahdī Billāh, supported by the Ismāʿīlī missionary (dāʿī) Abū ʿAbdallāh al-Shīʿī, who

proclaimed ʿUbayd Allāh as Amīr al-Muʾminīn at the Aghlabid capital of Raqqāda in 910 C.E.92

The Ismāʿīlī daʿwa started spreading his message among the Kutāma Berbers from 280/893

onwards. At the same time the Twelver Shīʿīs were working out their doctrine of the lesser and

greater occultation (ghayba). The doctrine of occultation served to preserve the imām/khalīfa at

first as a hidden and then as a transcendental figure. The Ismāʿīlīs and the Twelver or Imāmī

existential planes upon which they base their thinking. Al-Ghazālī’s underlying message is that these various
schools should accept each other as equally valid. We should move away from an orthodoxy/heresy dichotomy
when discussing Sunnism and Shīʾism because we find in Islamic ‘heresiographical’ works such as al-Maqālāt al-
Islāmiyyīn by Abū al-Ḥasan al-Ashʿarī (d. 324/936–936) that the approach is more of a ‘distance from an assumed
norm’ than a clear label of heresy applied to various ‘Islamic’ groups.
91
Ibid. Nawādir, vol. 4, p. 183-184. Al-Tirmidhī uses the word iftaraqū (to become sectarian) in opposition to the
word ikhtalafū (to differ in opinion). According to him the true scholars (al-ʿulamāʾ) are those whose beliefs do not
cause them to separate themselves from the majority (al-sawād al-aʿẓam literally “the great multitude”).
92
Marius Canard. “Fāṭimids.” Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition. Edited by: P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C.E.
Bosworth, E. van Donzel, W.P. Heinrichs. Brill Online, 2014. Reference. University Of Michigan-Ann Arbor. 26
November 2014 <http://referenceworks.brillonline.com.proxy.lib.umich.edu/entries/encyclopaedia-of-islam-2/fa-t-
imids-COM_0218>

45
Shīʿīs represent attempts to find alternative modes of religious authority in a period of upheaval

when the Abbasid Caliph was no longer able to engage in the role of religious arbiter. It was not

until the end of the 9th-century and first part of the 10th-century C.E. that these groups became

explicit in the formulation of their respective doctrines.93 Thus, when we examine the various

Shīʿī responses to this period of instability and loss of religious authority, we must also look at

what the various Sunnī responses were. By the 9th-century C.E. proto-Sunnī legal scholars such

as al-Shāfiʿī (d. 204/820) had established the view that the prophetic Sunna overrode other forms

of sunna and a general consensus developed over the sources of Islamic law.94 However, the

legal scholar alone did not have enough authority to stem the tide of the factionalism, inter-

madhhab rivalry and conflict, which had gained momentum after al-Mutawakkil until the

ascendancy of the Seljuks (1037–1194 C.E.) who imposed uniformity and their own form of

orthodoxy on the fragmented religious landscape that they inherited.95 Clearly there was a

movement among the proto-Sunnīs who saw the legal scholar as an arbiter of religious authority.

The Ḥadīth text oft-cited by Sunnī scholars to this effect is the ḥadīth narrated by al-Tirmidhī96

that states, al-ʿulamāʾ warathat al-anbiyāʾ, “The scholars are the inheritors of the prophets.” In

93
Shīʿī and pro-Alid sentiments were widespread among what we would call proto-Sunnīs as well since early Islam.
The Abbasid Caliphate, for example, came to power amid a wave of pro-Alid sentiment. The Caliph al-Maʾmūn
played with the idea of naming the Shīʿī Imam ʿAlī al-Riḍā (d. 202/818) as his successor to the caliphate. The
polemical term rāfiḍī (denier) was used by many proto-Sunnīs to indicate someone who denied the caliphates of al-
shaykhayn (the two shaykhs), i.e., Abū Bakr (d. 13/634) and ʿUmar (d. 23/644). The term doesn’t refer to the Shīʿīs
as a particular sect with a set of separate theological beliefs distinctly different than Sunnīs. It is at the end of the 9 th
century CE that we see a separate Shīʿī identity with the appearance of the first Shīʿī “heresiography” by al-Ḥasan b.
Mūsa al-Nawbakhtī titled Firaq al-Shīʿa. For more on this alternative view of the development of Shīʿīsm see
Mashall Hodgson’s article, “How did the Early Shīʿa become Sectarian?” Marshall G. S. Hodgson. 1955. “How Did
the Early Shīʿa become Sectarian?” Journal of the American Oriental Society. 75 (1): 1-13.
94
Takim, Liyakatali. The heirs of the prophet charisma and religious authority in Shi'ite Islam. Albany: State
University of New York Press. 2006, p. 23.
http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&scope=site&db=nlebk&db=nlabk&AN=169518.
95
Safi, Omid. The politics of knowledge in premodern Islam negotiating ideology and religious inquiry. Chapel Hill:
University of North Carolina Press. 2006, p. 9. http://site.ebrary.com/id/10273394.
96
This is a different al-Tirmidhī than the one we have been studying so far. This is Muḥammad b. ʿĪsā al-Tirmidhī
(d. 279/892) the Ḥadīth scholar, whose collection of Ḥadīth is considered one of the six authentic collections of
Sunnī Ḥadīth.

46
some versions of this ḥadīth the term khulafāʾ (caliphs) is used as a term indicating authority.97

The legal scholar (faqīh) was not in a position that was strong enough, though, to claim religious

authority among Sunnīs because he was only an ‘interpreter’ of the Sharīʿa and could not claim

direct knowledge from God as the Shīʿī imām could do. This was because the caliph still

reserved the right to appoint judges (ḥukkām) and in this capacity controlled who it was that

would assume the role of arbiter of religious law. The faqīh could answer legal questions and

provide legal opinions but had no power to impose his particular viewpoint on others. The

struggle for religious authority between the caliph and the scholars (ʿulamāʾ) left both of these

groups compromised in terms of their ultimate religious authority. The Ḥadīth scholar

(muḥaddith) and the theologian (mutakallim) were similarly bound by their particular school and

could not impose their doctrines for the advancement of their causes, except by appealing to

others in power, such as the political rulers of the day.

It is in this climate of competing notions of authority from the late 9th to the beginning of

the 11th-century C.E. that we find a new type of identity and religious authority developing

among the proto-Sunnīʿulamāʾ in the form of the Ṣūfī shaykh. The Ṣūfī shaykh obtains his

authority through his maʿrifa (divine knowledge directly from God) and claims a position of

authority above that of the outward religious scholar (al-ʿālim al-ẓāhir). We have to remember

that Ṣūfīs in the eastern Islamic lands evolved out of the establishment of religious scholars

themselves and so, rather than contesting the authority of the ʿulamāʾ, the Ṣūfīs made religious

learning an important part of Ṣūfī identity. This structure is clearly proposed in the first Ṣūfī

manual Kitāb al-Lumaʿ by Abū Naṣr al-Sarrāj (d. 378/988). Al-Sarrāj claims that the fuqahāʾ

97
The term khalīfa, plural: khulafāʾ, is used to refer to the successor of Muhammad, the final prophet of Islam.
Patricia Crone and Martin Hinds (1986) demonstrate that both the term khalīfat al-rasūl (successor to the
Messenger) as well as khalīfat Allāh (successor of God) were both used by various groups to make claims of
religious authority in early Islam.

47
(legal scholars) are above the Ahl al-Ḥadīth (Traditionalists)98 who only understand the outward

purport of the Ḥadīth.99 He then places the Ṣūfīs above the fuqahāʾ as long as the Ṣūfīs have

gained the same outward knowledge as the Ahl al-Ḥadīth and the fuqahāʾ. Otherwise, the Ṣūfī

must follow these scholars of outward knowledge.100 According to al-Sarrāj, the Ṣūfī is on a

higher level than the lower two categories because he can ‘choose’ between the various

madhāhib (schools of law and theology) for what he considers to be most cautious in religious

matters.101 In this view the ideal Ṣūfī should hail from the ʿulamāʾ in order to represent the

highest level of attainment, which combines both outward religious knowledge and inward

spiritual knowledge from God (maʿrifa). It is this inward spiritual knowledge from God that

bestows religious authority upon the Ṣūfī, and as a result, the Ṣūfīs are able to solve legal and

theological conundrums through their maʿrifa that would stymie the scholars of outward

knowledge.102 Al-Sarrāj states that the fuqahāʾ are those who should be followed in religious

matters. They do constitute a type of religious authority in his estimation, however, he places the

Ṣūfī faqīh above the non-Ṣūfī faqīh. Thus, within the scholarly class the Ṣūfī shaykh is elevated

above the scholar of jurisprudence (faqīh).103 We are not claiming that Sufism overrode juridical

identities, but that Sufism incorporated and reconfigured juridical identities within the larger

framework of Sufism as a meta-madhhab. Eventually, as Sufism developed into a formal Muslim

identity there were attempts to submerge the juridical identity into the Sufi identity as reflected

98
‘Traditionists’ are those who specialize in narrating Ḥadīth whereas ‘Traditionalists’ represent a conservative
school of thought that eschews theological speculation and practices takyīf (not asking how) with respect to Qurʾānic
verses and Ḥadīth about God that are not clearly understandable. Some Traditionalists take these verses and
prophetic traditions literally.
99
Abū Naṣr ʿAbdallāh bin ʿAlī al-Sarrāj al-Ṭūsī. The Kitāb al-Lumaʿ fī al-Ṭaṣawwuf of Abū Naṣr ʿAbdallāh bin ʿAlī
al-Sarrāj al-Ṭūsī. Edited for the first time, with critical notes, abstract of contents, glossary, and indices by Reynold
Alleyne Nicholson, etc. E.J. Brill: Leyden; Luzac & Co.: London. 1914, p. 8.
100
Ibid, pp. 10–11.
101
Ibid, p. 11.
102
Ibid, p. 15.
103
Ibid, p. 10.

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in the work of Ibn ʿArabī and other Ṣūfīs who attempted to unify the juridical madhāhib under

one framework. Therefore we can see Sufism in its mature form as one of the Sunnī responses to

the restructuring of religious authority from the end of the 9th century C.E. to the end of the 11th-

century C.E. was to posit the ʿulamāʾ as custodians of this authority in the form of the Ṣūfī

shaykh.104 This was because a group of these ʿulamāʾ realized that the fuqahāʾ (legal scholars),

the mutakallimūn (theologians) and the more conservative elements of the Ahl al-Ḥadīth could

not rise above their factionalism. A movement that started in Baghdād at the end of the 9th

century C.E. (the Ṣūfīs of Baghdād) provided a solution to the dilemma of inter-madhhab rivalry

by proffering a Sunnī identity that could successfully rise above the factionalism among the

various Sunnī madhāhib.105 Sunnī ʿulamāʾ such as al-Sarrāj were inspired by the Baghdād Ṣūfīs

and sought to promote their vision of Islam, however, the Ṣūfīs of Baghdād themselves did not

have a strong claim to religious authority despite the attempts of those like al-Sarrāj to place

them in the highest rung of the ʿulamāʾ.106 It was al-Tirmidhī’s concept of sainthood and

religious authority that would provide the needed theoretical basis for the claim of Ṣūfī authority

as the true inheritor of prophetic charisma to supersede the waning authority of the Abbasid

Caliphs as well as the compromised authority of the ʿulamāʾ. We will demonstrate in Chapter 4

how al-Sulamī combined these two trends to create a powerful synthesis that became the basic

104
Ibid. Heirs of the Prophet, pp. 181–182.
105
Ahmed Karamustafa characterizes the early Ṣūfīs of Baghdād as an avant-garde, hip movement that sought to
challenge the interpretive authority of the more conservative element of the Ahl al-Ḥadīth community. Karamustafa,
Ahmet T. Sufism the formative period. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. 2007, p. 7. The Ṣūfī of Baghdād at
the end of the 9th-century C.E. and beginning of the 10th-century C.E. came from many different legal and
theological backgrounds. The Ṣūfīs of Baghdād demonstrated that the different strands of the larger Ahl al-Ḥadīth
community, including the various legal and theological schools could be unified under a common identity. This new
identity was harnessed by later Sunnī ʿulamāʾ who were looking for a way to unify the various Sunnī madhāhib
(schools)
106
The Ṣūfīs of Baghdād claimed special knowledge from God (maʿrifa) but did not seek to contest the political and
religious authorities of their time. Rather, al-Junayd remained apolitical and low profile on social issues and points
of religious doctrine as the events of the Miḥna demonstrated. Alexander D. Knysh. Islamic mysticism a short
history. Leiden: Brill. 2010, pp. 55–56.

49
pattern for normative Sufism. We term this normative Ṣūfī synthesis that occurred in Nīshāpūr

during the late 10th- and early 11th-centuries C.E., “the great mystical synthesis of the 5th- Islamic

century.”

Al-Tirmidhī and the Shīʿī Challenge

Al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī, like Abū al-Qāsim al-Junayd (d. 298/910) and many of the early

Ṣūfīs of Baghdād during the 9th-century C.E., belonged to the class of proto-Sunnī ʿulamāʾ.107

These ʿulamāʾ recognized the Ḥadīth traditions of the ṣaḥāba (companions) of the Prophet as

authoritative as opposed to the Shīʿīs who were developing their own corpus of Akhbār (oral

traditions) of both the Prophet and the Shīʿī imams. At the end of the 9th-century C.E. al-

Tirmidhī was writing polemical works against the rāfiḍa108 (the Shīʿīs) and the Shīʿī challenge is

palpable throughout his works. For proto-Sunnī ʿulamāʾ like al-Tirmidhī the Shīʿī challenge was

real and the political events of the following century proved how real it was. By 945 C.E. a

Zaydī Shīʿī dynasty from Dailam in Northern Iran had captured Bahgdad and had become the de

facto rulers of the Abbasid Empire maintaining the Abbasid Caliph as a figurehead. In 969 C.E.

the Fatimids, an Ismāʿīlī Shīʿī movement, set up a counter caliphate based in Cairo, Egypt.

Momentum had been growing since the latter part of the 9th-century C.E. for a solution to the

religio-political crisis in authority that was occurring under the Abbasids.109 It was not only the

107
I call these the proto-Sunnī ʿulamāʾ because while they ascribe to a similar Ḥadith corpus the various “Sunnī”
factions had not yet come to fully accept one another as valid representations of the Prophet’s sunna. Abū Jaʿfar al-
Ṭaḥāwī (d. 321/933) uses the term Ahl al-Sunna wa al-Jamāʿa (The Party of Sunna and Majority) to indicate the
beliefs of the school of Abū Ḥanīfa (d. 150/767), however, the theological school of Abū Ḥanīfa was by no means
accepted by other “Sunnī” schools. The Ashʿarī School of theology traces its core teachings back to Abū al-Ḥasan
al-Ashʿarī (d. 324/935–936).
108
This is a pejorative term Sunnīs use for Shīʿīs, referring to their refusing to acknowledge the first three Caliphs of
Islam.
109
The earliest Ismāʿīlī mission in Iraq is dated to between 875 and 878 C.E. at Salamya. It was from this small
town on the western edge of the Syrian steppe (bādiya), thirty kilometers southeast of the present day Syrian city of
Ḥamā. From this city the Ismāʿīlī daʿwa (proselytization) spread to Yemen and North Africa, eventually leading to

50
Shīʿīs who were contesting Abbasid religious authority, but there were also elements among the

Sunnī ʿulamāʾ who were doing so as well. Al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī participated in this discourse

on power and religious authority and spoke directly to the Shīʿī challenge. Al-Tirmidhī is

credited with a short treatise titled, al-Radd ʿalā al-Rāfiḍa (The Refutation of the Shīʿīs) in which

he responds to the claim of the Shīʿīs that the khilāfa (caliphate) of ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib was

obligatory upon all Muslims to follow just as prayer and zakāt were obligatory. Interestingly this

treatise does not address the idea of naṣṣ (designation) of a Shīʿī Imām or the claims of various

groups of Shīʿīs about the validity or supremacy of their Imām, which indicates the still nascent

level of Shīʿī doctrine even at the end of the 9th-century C.E.110 Al-Tirmidhī speaks directly to

Shīʿī claims throughout his works and focuses on the legitimacy and authority of ahl al-bayt, as

specifically referring to the Alid line. Al-Tirmidhī explains the Qur’anic verse cited by Shīʿīs to

support their position that the ahl al-bayt are maʿṣūm (divinely protected from sin), by saying

that the ahl al-bayt cannot be infallible because this infallibility applies only to prophets. His

position is not antagonistic to the ahl al-bayt because he goes on to clarify that those among

them who are ʿulamāʾ and fuqahāʾ (legal scholars) are to be followed.111 Al-Tirmidhī’s argument

the establishment of the Fatimid Caliphate based in Egypt. Heinz Halm. The empire of the Mahdi: the rise of the
Fatimids. Leiden: E.J. Brill. 1996, pp. 11–14. It is not clear why this movement began when it did. Over half a
century separates the death of Muḥammad b. Ismāʿīl and the leader of the Ismāʿīlī daʿwa that begins with ʿAbd
Allāh the Elder in Salamya. ʿAbdallāh the Elder sets himself up as the representative of the Imam in hiding and his
forebears spread the message of his awaited coming and the true religion (dīn al-ḥaqq) that represents their esoteric
doctrine. We find a similar pattern here with Twelver (Imāmī) Shīʿism, in which, individuals claim to represent an
awaited redeemer (al-qāʾim bi al-ḥujja) from the Alid line. We have to remember that the Abbasids also claimed
their religious authority based on their coming from the prophetic household (ahl al-bayt). There was really only one
option for those who wanted to espouse an alternative to Abbasid authority and that was to champion the Alid line.
Alid pretensions to power and authority had existed since the very beginnings of the Abbasid revolution (750 CE),
however, the Alid imāms had usually kept a low profile and had abstained from challenging the Abbasids. For some
reason, during the latter part of the 9th-century C.E. several groups in the Abbasid realm began contesting Abbasid
religious and political authority on behalf of Alid Imāms who either had disappeared or were killed by the Abbasids.
110
Muḥammad b. ʿAlī al-Tirmidhī. “Al-Radd ʿalā al-Rāfiḍa.” Ed. A.S. Furat, in Sharkiyat Mecmuasi 6, 1996, pp.
37–46.
111
Al-Tirmidhī clearly demonstrates here that he sees the ʿulamāʾ as custodians of religious authority. He says in the
same discussion about the place of ahl al-bayt in NU: wa idhā kāna hādhā al-ʿilm wa-al-fiqh mawjūdan fī ghayri
ʿunṣurihim lazimanā al-iqtidaʾ bihim, “…and if this knowledge and legal understanding had been present in other
than them (the ahl al-bayt) it would be incumbent upon us to follow them.” Ibid. Nawādir, vol. 2, p. 101.

51
appeals to reason. He argues that the Prophet’s order to follow the ahl al-bayt cannot be a

general pronouncement because some of them have been shown to be of disrepute.112 Al-

Tirmidhī even seeks to redefine the word ‘bayt’ in the phrase ahl al-bayt by using an

etymological argument. He says that ahl al-bayt really means the ṣiddīqūn (the truthful ones) and

the abdāl (substitutes).113 He argues that the word ‘bayt’ comes from the maṣdar of the tri-literal

root b-w-ʾ in Arabic, which is tabwiʾa meaning ‘to settle.’114 The argument is that the Prophet

came to this earth in order that the dhikr (remembrance of God) should ‘settle’ in the land and

that any of those who migrated to this dhikr were called ahl al-bayt (the people of this

settlement).115 Al-Tirmidhī not only criticizes the Alid line but also directs his criticism toward

the Abbasid claim to the term ahl al-bayt.116 This is further justification that there were those

among the proto-Sunnī ʿulamāʾ who felt that the Abbasids had forfeited their religious authority.

Al-Tirmidhī criticizes the Shīʿīs for fabricating Ḥadīth about the family of the Prophet,

specifically the cousin of the Prophet, ʿAlī (d. 40/661), the daughter of the Prophet, Fāṭima (d.

11/632) and their two sons, Ḥasan (d. 50/670) and Ḥusayn (d. 61/680). He claims that they

112
Ibid, p. 69.
113
These ‘substitutes’ in al-Tirmidhī’s hierarchy of saints are the forty individuals chosen by God who are each
replaced by another saint if any one of their number dies. These forty individuals protect the earth through their
special connection to God. This idea of the abdāl or ‘substitutes’ is much more basic than the later more
sophisticated hierarchy of saints that we find in ʿAlī al-Hujwīrī’s (d. 469/1077) work Kashf al-Maḥjūb in which he
describes one qutb (pole), three nuqabāʾ (leaders), four awtād (pillars), seven abrār (pious ones), forty abdāl
(substitutes) and three hundred akhyār (chosen ones). In this later more complex hierarchy there is a clear ordering
of prominence in the spiritual kingdom with multiple levels, which we find absent in al-Tirimidhī’s schema.
114
Ibid, p. 263.
115
This argument is problematic for several reasons. The first is that the root of the word bayt is considered by most
grammarians to be from the root b-y-t meaning “to spend the night”. Ibn Manẓūr (d. 711/1311) in his Lisān al-
ʿArab, one of the most comprehensive dictionaries of the Arabic language, records the root of bayt as b-y-t. Abū-
Faḍl Jamāl al-Dīn Muḥammad Ibn-Mukarram Ibn-Manẓūr. Lisān al-ʿarab al-mujallad 2. Bairūt: Dār aṣ-Ṣādir. 1994,
Vol. 2, p. 14. The second problem with this argument is that it assumes that the meaning of ‘settling’ applies to the
dhikr. This is an arbitrary relationship. Al-Tirmdhī relies here on the assumption that such relationships constitute
ḥikma, which is a divinely gifted knowledge. Since this knowledge is inaccessible to others it can only be accepted
based on al-Tirmidhī’s own claims to have access to divine knowledge.
116
The Abbasids claimed that ahl al-bayt included not only the Prophet’s immediate household but also the larger
paternal family with anyone from the clan of ʿAbd al-Muṭṭalib (the grandfather of the Prophet) and Banū Hāshim
(the descendants of the Prophet’s great grandfather) coming under this designation. Ibid. Nawādir, vol. 5, p. 140.

52
fabricated Ḥadīth in order to elevate their status and he claims that these Ḥadīth are denied by

those who have correct judgment (al-muḥiqqūn).117 Al-Tirmdhī’s attempts to refute Shīʿī claims

are numerous throughout his works and he addresses various aspects of their beliefs.118 It makes

sense that al-Tirmidhī would directly confront Shīʿī claims to authority because the Shīʿīs

represented the only viable alternative to the Abbasids and the ʿulamāʾ in terms of expressing

and exercising religious authority (wilāya dīniyya). If al-Tirmidhī was going to advance a Sunnī

doctrine of wilāya/walāya as he did, he would clearly have had to respond to the Shīʿīs. As we

will see later, sainthood was a relatively undeveloped concept in Sunnī Islam outside of Shīʿī

circles. Sainthood (walāya), supported by a gnoseology that was based on the rather

underdeveloped concept of ḥikma (wisdom) among Muslim religious scholars during the 3rd/9th-

century, resulted in creating a new field of opportunity for expressing claims to religious

authority that could compete with the Shīʿī challenge.

Clientage (walāʾ) as a Social basis for Understanding Sunnī Authority.

We have discussed how the Muslim world experienced a contest between several groups

for political and religious authority from the latter part of the 9th-century C.E. to the end of the

10th-century C.E. The Shīʿīs presented a potent challenge to the Abbasid caliphs as well as the

proto-Sunnī ʿulamāʾ who had codified legal methodologies in the form of nascent schools

(madhāhib) and had come to generally accept a canon of Ḥadīth as representative of the words

and actions of the Prophet.119 The Abbasid Caliphs were losing their grip on power even though

117
Ibid, pp. 64–65.
118
ʿAbd al-Fattāḥ A. Baraka. Al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī wa-nadhariyyatuhu fī al-wilāya. Vol. 1. Majmaʿ al-Buḥūth al-
Islāmiyya. Cairo. 1971, p. 170.
119
We are still talking about a formative period in the development of Sunnī legal schools. It is not until the middle
of the 4th/10th-century that Islamic legal schools come to contain all of the elements that give it an identifiable shape.
However, by the middle of the 9th-century the major collections of Sunnī Ḥadīth were produced and the elements of

53
they still held immense charismatic authority. At the turn of the 4th/10th-century the Ṣūfīs of

Baghdād began a movement among the ʿulamāʾ that successfully brought together adherents of

various competing schools of thought into one movement among this proto-Sunnī urban

scholarly community; however, this movement did not claim religious authority although it did

claim Ṣūfī superiority over the scholars of outward knowledge (ʿulamāʾ al-ẓāhir).120 It is on the

eastern edge of the Islamic world at this same time that al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī was contemplating

and creating a vision of Sunnī religious authority that went far beyond the claims of other Sunnī

ʿulamāʾ of his time. His vision grounded religious authority in an elect group of the ʿulamāʾ

whom he called the awliyāʾ Allāh (saints of God). In Chapter 4 we will be discussing al-

Tirmidhī’s theory of walāya in further detail in terms of its internal consistency. Here we will

look at how the social and political milieu of Khurāsān and Transoxiana clearly played a role in

forming al-Tirmidhī’s concept of sainthood and possibly his motivations for using it as a model

to advance the claims to authority of the proto-Sunnī ʿulamāʾ. The proto-Sunnī ʿulamāʾ represent

a large discourse stream in the 3rd/9th-century.121 This discourse stream is generally understood

separately from the social institutions of Arab privilege that are assumed to have lost their

efficacy after the Abbasid Revolution (132/750). While this is generally true, we will see how

this was not the case in Khurāsān.

As mentioned earlier, al-Tirmdhī lived for much of his early life under Ṭāhirid rule in

Transoxania in the city of Tirmidh. The Ṭāhirids were Abbasid mawālī, that is, they were clients

a Sunnī ‘approach’ was evident even if the various elements had not yet been worked into a full system. Hallaq,
Wael B. The origins and evolution of Islamic law. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. 2005, pp. 2–3.
120
Green, Nile. Sufism: a global history. Chichester, West Sussex: Wiley-Blackwell. 2012, p. 42.
121
Muḥammad Qāsim Zamān’s work supports the thesis that a proto-Sunnī scholarly elite existed in the 2nd and 3rd
Islamic centuries. Muḥammad Qāsim Zamān. Religion and politics under the early ʿAbbāsids: the emergence of the
proto-Sunnī elite. Leiden: Brill. 1997. Christopher Melchert counters this thesis, however, my research on al-
Tirmidhī supports Zamān’s claims and I therefore consider his findings to be generally sound.

54
of the Abbasid house.122 Clientage (walāʾ) was a contractual bond of obligation between a free

Arab Muslim and, often times, a manumitted slave. This social institution has its roots in Arab

tribal society and was a means of integrating Arabs from one tribe into another. This allowed

mawālī (pl. of mawlā) to obtain access to tribal privilege and protection. The system of walāʾ

characterized Arab and non-Arab relationships during much of the Umayyad period (41–

132/661–750). During the Abbasid period the institution no longer served to functionally

organize relationships of inequality between Arab Muslims and non-Arab converts to Islam;

however, the institution was still perpetuated by the ruling Abbasid house, especially in its army

and with the governors of its provinces.123 In particular, the province of greater Khurāsān

(including Transoxania) was the most important province to the Abbasid Caliphs and represented

its largest source of revenue. The Abbasid Caliphs preferred their mawālī as governors because

they felt that the bond of loyalty among these clients was stronger than Arab or free Muslim

subjects.124 The word for governor in Arabic is wālī and his governing function is called wilāya.

All of these words, mawlā/ mawālī, wālī and wilāya come from the same Arabic root w-l-y,

meaning ‘to be close to power, authority’ or ‘to hold power, govern, be in charge of some

office.’125 Similarly, the word for ‘saint’ (walī) and for ‘sainthood’ (walāya) derive from this

same root and share in the constellation of meanings found in this root. In Chapter 4 we will

address in more detail the use of the English word ‘saint’ for walī and its appropriateness within

the scheme of al-Tirmidhī’s concept of walāya. It is significant that throughout the Umayyad

122
Bosworth, Clifford Edmund. “Ṭāhirids.” EI2. Edited by: P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C.E. Bosworth, E. van
Donzel, W.P. Heinrichs. Brill Online, 2014. Reference. University Of Michigan-Ann Arbor. 08 December 2014
<http://referenceworks.brillonline.com.proxy.lib.umich.edu/entries/encyclopaedia-of-islam-2/t-a-hirids-
COM_1152>
123
Crone, Patricia. “Mawlā.” EI2. Edited by: P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C.E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel, W.P.
Heinrichs. Brill Online, 2014. Reference. University Of Michigan-Ann Arbor. 08 December 2014
<http://referenceworks.brillonline.com.proxy.lib.umich.edu/entries/encyclopaedia-of-islam-2/mawla-COM_0714>
124
Ibid, EI2.
125
Ibid, EI2.

55
period and into the Abbasid period, words formed from the Arabic root w-l-y are used to describe

relations of power and dependence, specifically between Arabs and non-Arabs. These particular

relations of dependence frame al-Tirmidhī’s position as one of the ʿulamāʾ who is a descendant

of the early Arab settlers/conquerors of the region. As a free Muslim of Arab descent, al-

Tirmidhī had a higher social status, technically speaking, than the Ṭāhirid rulers of greater

Khurāsān who were mawālī ruling on behalf of the Abbasids. Al-Tirmidhī must have felt the

humiliation acutely when he was summoned by the wālī of Balkh at the behest of some of the

scholars of his city to be publically admonished in front of the governor and ordered to cease his

discourse on love.126 In NU al-Tirmidhī devotes a section to the characteristics of ‘just

governors’ (wulāt al-umūr al-ʿādilīn). Al-Tirmidhī only gives these rulers sulṭān (executive

power) temporal power, which can be revoked by God if they are not just (ʿādilīn) to their

subjects. For al-Tirmidhī these temporal rulers are not khulafāʾ (successors, caliphs) of the

Prophet like the awliyāʾ (saints) and thus have no religious authority in his eyes. Al-Tirmidhī

includes not only the governors of his region in this category, but also the Abbasid ‘caliphs’ in

Baghdād, as mentioned earlier.127 This was a transformative period for al-Tirmidhī and it is

evident that he had begun to reassess the relationships of social dependence that had developed

over time as well as the impact they had on legal and spiritual matters. The choice of al-

126
Ibid. Concept, pp. 20–21. Al-Tirmidhī considered this trial at Balkh a means of God purifying his heart and he
draws a parallel between himself facing persecution at the hands of his detractors and the Prophet David facing
persecutions because of his mistakes. He describes this parallel in the passage directly following his description of
the trial at Balkh. In this ordeal, al-Tirmidhī is maligned by the scholars of outward religious knowledge (ʿulamāʾ
al-ẓāhir) whom he sees as inferior because they don’t have inward knowledge (al-ʿilm al-bāṭin). Furthermore, he is
ordered not to teach about love of God by the non-Arab governor who is a mawlā. The parallel between himself and
the Prophet David is important because in NU we find that David was humiliated by his son who sought to take his
throne from him. Ibid. Nawādir, vol. 5, pp. 45–92.
127
This is an early articulation by al-Tirmidhī of the division between political authority (sulṭān) and religious
authority (khilāfa). Abū Ḥāmid al-Ghazālī about two hundred years later articulates a similar division between
wilāya (authority of the caliph) and shawka (force). Al-Ghazālī is describing the phenomenon in which the Seljuq
mawālī came to control the Caliph and according to him wilāya follows shawka. Omid Safi. The politics of
knowledge in premodern Islam negotiating ideology and religious inquiry. Chapel Hill: University of North
Carolina Press. 2006, p. 114.

56
Tirmidhī’s language is highly significant because his concept of sainthood (walāya) may be

understood as patterned off of the social institution of clientage (walāʾ) that mediated

relationships between the khalīfa (successor to the Prophet in the form of the Abbasid Caliph)

and his mawālī upon whom he bestowed his wilāya (authority) to carry out his orders as his

governors (wulāt). Al-Tirmidhī restructures the basic elements of clientage (walāʾ) such that the

awliyāʾ (saints) are now the khulafāʾ (pl. khalīfa, successors of the Prophet) and are the truly

‘free’ ones (aḥrār).128 The term awliyāʾ was also used as a synonym for mawālī in al-Tirmidhī’s

time.129 Hence, for al-Tirmidhī, just as the Caliph frees the slave and then enters into a bond of

allegiance known as walāʾ (clientage), it is God who frees the believing servant from the

bondage of his lower self to make him his walī. In this scheme it is now God’s awliyāʾ (saints)

who govern the world in a spiritual sense. As khulafāʾ (Caliphs) they are religious authorities just

as the mawālī (also termed awliyāʾ) of the Caliph govern his subjects as wulāt (governors).

Al-Tirmidhī uses language that relates to the existing social institution of slavery to

explain the process of becoming one of the awliyāʾ. This is ultimately a language describing the

relationship of dependence between the owner and the owned. In al-Tirmidhī’s most important

book on the nature of walāya he answers a question from one of his students about what happens

in the event that thoughts occur to the heart of the walī that contradict the Qurʾān. In his answer

al-Tirmidhī draws a parallel to the Prophet himself and explains that God will protect such an

128
Ibid. Nawādir, vol. 4, p. 150, vol. 3, p. 120.
129
When the Abbasid Caliph became alarmed at al-Layth b. ʿAlī b. al-Layth’s (d. 316/928) military activities in Fars
and his threat to Khūzistān in 910 C.E., he had his vizier send 5,000 slave troops (awliyāʾ and ghilmān) under
Muʾnis al-Khādim to recapture Fars. The awliyāʾ here represent freed slaves or mawālī and the ghilmān are Turkish
slave soldiers who are still slaves and have not yet been freed. Bosworth, Clifford Edmund. The history of the
Saffarids of Sistan and the Maliks of Nimruz: (247/861 to 949/1542–1543). Costa Mesa, Calif: Mazda Publishers in
association with Bibliotheca Persica. 1994, p. 261.

57
individual from error like the Prophet was protected from the Satanic verses.130 This protection is

not given to one who has not become completely free of his lower self and who is still a slave to

his desires. The following quote from al-Tirmidhī’s SA is provided in extenso because of its

importance in explaining the master-slave dynamic that underlies al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of

sainthood:

Qāla lahu al-qāʾil: fa-in warada ʿalā qalbihi shayʾun lā yuwāfiq al-
kitāb? Qāla: inna walāyata Allāhi lahu tughīthuhu kamā aghātha
Allahu al-rasūla ṣallā Allāhu ʿalayhi wa sallam fī risālatihi ḥattā
yunsakhu ʿan qalbihi waḥyu al-shayṭān, wa-muḥālun an yakūna
qalbun mawṣufun bi-hādhā bi-an yutrak makhdhūlan, wa law jāza
hādhā an yadūm idhan la-baṭalat al-walāya, wa-innamā yajūzu
hādhā al-takhlīṭ wa-dawāmu mithla hādhihi al-ashyāʾ li mithli
hāʾulāʾ al-murīdīn al-ladhīna hum fī hādhā al-ṭarīq, wa-man
waṣala ilā al-martaba wa-nafsuhu maʿahu mashḥuna bi-tilk al-
makāmin bi-dahāʾi al-nafs fa-ulzima al-martaba ʿalā sharīṭa al-
luzūm li-uhadhdhab, fa-huwa ka-l-mukātab al-ladhī yuʿṭaq ʿalā al-
māl, fa-huwa ʿabdun mā baqiya ʿalayhi dirham, fa-ammā man
uʿṭaqa jūdan wa raḥmatan ʿalayhi qad ṣāra ḥurran lā tabiʿatun
ʿalayhi li-man kāna yamlikuhu. Fa-kadhālika hādhā uʿṭiqa ʿalā
sharīṭati luzūm al-martaba huwa ka-al-mukātab, fa huwa ʿabdun
mā baqiya ʿalayhi khuluqun min akhlāq al-nafs, wa al-majdhūb
aʿṭaqahu Allahu min riqqi al-nafs ḥīna jadhabahu fa-qad ṣāra
ḥurran, wa alzama al-martaba ḥīna hudhdhiba wa uddiba wa
ṭuhhira, fa-aʿṭaqahu Allāhu min riqqi al-nafs bi-jūdihi bi-lā tabiʿa,
lam yabqā li-l-nafs fīhi muṭālaba khuluqun min akhlāqihā, fa huwa
ayḍan majdhūb min al-martaba, wa qad bayyana Allāhu dhālika fī
tanzīlihi fa-qāla: Allāhu yajtabī ilayhi man yashāʾ wa-yahdī ilayhi
man yunīb, fa-l-mujtabā man jabāhu Allahu fa-jadhabahu, fa-
huwa min ahl jibāyatihi min al-mashīʾa, wa al-ākharu min man
hadāhu Allāhu al-wuṣūla ilayhi bi-l-ināba, fa-l-awwalu min ahl
mashīʾatihi wa-l-thānī min ahl hidāyatihi, wa-lā takhlū al-dunyā
min hādihi al-umma min qāʾim bi-ḥujja, kamā qāla ʿAlī b. Abī
Ṭālib raḍiya Allāhu ʿanhu: Allāhumma lā takhlu al-arḍ min qāʾim
bi-ḥujja kay lā tabṭula ḥujaj Allāh wa-bayyinātih, wa qāla fī
tanzīlihi: qul hādhihi sabīlī adʿū ilā Allāh ʿalā baṣīratin anā wa-
man ittabaʿanī, wa-lam yajʿalhā illā li-tābiʿīhi, fa-tābaʿahu man

130
Al-Tirmidhī does not claim that the awliyāʾ are infallible (maʿṣūm) as the Shīʿīs do of their Imāms. Rather, he
explains in NU that only prophets are infallible and that all other human beings are tested (umtuḥinū - in the passive)
except that the awliyāʾ have been lifted out of these tests (miḥan).

58
 tābaʿahu ʿalā jamīʿi mā jāʾa bihi min ʿind Allāh qalban wa qawlan
wa-fiʿlan.131

The student asked him: “But what if something arrives in his heart
which doesn’t agree with the Book?” He replied: Indeed he
possesses Friendship with God which will assist him the way God
assisted the Messenger with regard to his mission, namely God
expunged from his heart Satan’s revelations. It is impossible that a
heart endowed with these qualities be abandoned and forsaken by
God. If such a state were allowed to continue, then [the person’s]
Friendship (walāya) with God would be abolished. Indeed, such a
state of adulteration and the persistence of such things are only
possible in the case of those who are still striving on this path. The
person who has reached the rank [of divine closeness] but whose
carnal soul, in its secret corners, is still filled with the carnal soul’s
cunning wiles is unconditionally obliged to remain in his rank in
order to become refined. Thus he is like a self-ransomed slave who
is freed for money. He is a slave as long as one dirham is still
owed. On the other hand, the slave who was set free out of
generosity (jūd) and mercy (raḥma), becomes a free man (ḥurr)
without the one who formerly possessed him retaining any claim
on him. And so is the manner of the man striving to reach God is
set free on the condition that he remain in his rank, like a self-
ransomed slave. Indeed, he is a slave as long as one moral trait
from among the moral traits of the carnal soul remains with him.
Only the man drawn unto God is set free immediately by God from
slavery to the carnal soul when God draws him unto Himself. And
thus he becomes a free man. The other one adheres to his rank
while he is being refined, educated and cleansed, and then God, in
His generosity, sets him free from slavery to the carnal soul
without responsibility. The carnal soul can no longer demand from
him any one of its moral traits. Then he also becomes drawn from
his rank [unto divine closeness]. God has made this clear in His
revelation where He says [42/13]: “God chooses for it [the faith]
whom He will, and He guides to it those that repent.” The chosen
person is the one God appropriates and then draws unto Himself.
And this person belongs to the people whom God has appropriated
(ahl jibāyatihi) because He so wills. The other person is one of
those to whom God gives guidance, and they reach Him through
repentance. The first is one of the people of God’s act of willing
(ahl mashīʾatihi), and the second is one of the people of His
guidance (ahl hidāyatihi). Nor is the world of this religious
community ever devoid of someone who presents proof [against

131
Muḥammad b. ʿAlī al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī. Drei Schriften des Theosophen von Tirmid̲: Das Buch vom Leben der
Gottesfreunde; Ein Antwortschreiben nach Saraḫs; Ein Antwortschreiben nach Rayy. Ed. Bernd Radtke. Beirut:
Orient-Institut der DMG. 1992, pp. 55–57.

59
 them] (qāʾim bi-l-ḥujja), as accords with what ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib
said, “Oh Lord God, may the earth not be without someone who
presents proof [against mankind] so that God’s proofs and clear
evidence are not nullified.” And God in His revelation has declared
[to Muhammad] [12/108]: “Say: ‘This is my path. I call [you] unto
God with discernment (baṣīra), I and all my followers.’” And God
only bestows this discernment upon those who follow Muḥammad,
and his followers are those who follow him with regard to
everything he brought from God – in their hearts, in their words
and in their actions.132

This selection from al-Tirmidhī’s SA distinguishes between two types of walī (saint). The

first is the one who aspires to be a walī and is on the path of disciplining his lower self (nafs), but

has not yet succeeded completely. This person is like the slave who is paying off his debt to his

master. He has entered into an agreement with his master to pay off a set sum of money through

his labor. He is called the mukātab and even after he pays off this amount he still retains a debt

of allegiance and service to his master. Once the mukātab is freed he becomes a mawlā (pl.

mawālī) and remains connected to his master through ties of loyalty. This type of walī must

remain in his rank and is not completely free because the fact that he freed himself always

compromises the nature of his walāya (sainthood). The second type of walī in al-Tirmdhī’s

schema is the walī who is freed from the slavery to his lower self by God’s pure favor (jūd) and

mercy (raḥma). This is the walī who becomes completely free (ḥurr, pl. aḥrār) and is the true

saint. Both of these types of saints (awliyāʾ) are distinguished from the general populace who are

all slaves (ʿabīd) to their lower desires whether they are aware or not. As we will discuss later in

Chapter 5, according to al-Tirmdhī, traveling the path of walāya is a condition but not a

guarantee that one will attain the highest levels of sainthood. The parallels in this concept of

sainthood to the social bond of walāʾ (clientage) and the social institution of slavery are quite

132
Ibid. Concept, pp. 123–124.

60
striking. The true awliyāʾ can be seen as parallel to the free Arabs who were given a position of

power and authority by historical circumstance (of course, in al-Tirmidhī’s understanding it was

a divine gift). They came to rule over large numbers of non-Arabs who were also non-Muslim

and the only way to rise in the new Arab polity during the Umayyad era was through clientage

(walāʾ).133 These were free (aḥrār) Arabs who, like the true saints (awliyāʾ), did not earn their

privilege but received it as a pure gift. The clients (mawālī) in this system could never become

Arab but could rise socially by entering into a pact of clientage (walāʾ) with an Arab tribe or

influential family. Theoretically speaking, this pact would extend in perpetuity to their offspring.

The same is true for the walī who is mukātab. He never becomes a true walī such as the aḥrār,

but once he is freed from his lower self he must remain in his rank even after having freed

himself. On the other hand, al-Tirmidhī explains that the one who is freed out of God’s mercy is

freed “without the one who formerly possessed him retaining any claim on him.” This ‘claim’

(tibāʿa) is another term for walāʾ and al-Tirmidhī uses this to mean that there is no bond of

clientage, lā tabiʿata ʿalayhi, for the truly free walī.134

The social bond of clientage, which characterized the relationship of Arabs and non-

Arabs since the beginnings of Muslim rule in Khurāsān and Transoxiana, provides a framework

for articulating al-Tirmidhī’s positioning of the saint (walī) as the rightful heir to the Prophet’s

religious and charismatic authority. Al-Tirmidhī uses this language of clientage and social

dependence to describe the true saint, thereby translating the power differential inherent in this

social institution into a plane of virtual relationships between saints (awliyāʾ) and those who are

133
A non-Arab convert could enter into a client-patron relationship from manumission or through voluntary
commendation, this latter path being known by the terms tibāʿa, luzūm, inqitāʿ, khidma and more generally
muwālāt. However, the vast majority of mawālī during Umayyad times came into this relationship through
manumission as slaves. Crone, Patricia. Slaves on horses: the evolution of the Islamic polity. Cambridge [England]:
Cambridge University Press. 1980, pp. 49–50.
134
Ibid, p. 49.

61
not saints or have not attained sainthood. The question here is: Why would al-Tirmidhī do this?

Who benefits from this realignment of social dependence in the virtual sphere? To answer this

we have to come back to al-Tirmidhī’s identity as a member of the scholarly class (ʿulamāʾ) and

as a Muslim of Arab descent in a largely non-Arab, and to some degree non-Muslim, context.

Al-Tirmidhī conceives of the awliyāʾ as originating from the social class of the ʿulamāʾ.

At the same time he is very critical of the ʿulamāʾ and so it is not all ʿulamāʾ who are liable to be

saints but rather selected ones who are able to penetrate beyond the outward form of religious

knowledge to its hidden esoteric meanings. In NU al-Tirmidhī clearly places the ʿulamāʾ above

the general populace (ʿāmma) and below the anbiyāʾ (prophets). That point of distinction

between these groups is knowledge (ʿilm). According to al-Tirmdhī knowledge is like a sea

(baḥr) that flows into a river valley (wādī) and from a river valley to a river (nahr) and from a

river to a creek (jadwal) and from a creek to a rivulet (saqiya).135 If the river valley were to flow

directly into the creek it would overrun it (gharaqahu) and ruin it (afsadahu) and if the sea were

to tilt (māla) into the river valley it would ruin it (afsadahu).136 The general populace (ʿāmma)

here refers to free men who, in turn, educate their wives, children and slaves with the knowledge

they have taken from the ʿulamāʾ. Hence, al-Tirmidhī’s larger spiritual hierarchy places the

ʿulamāʾ as the authoritative representatives of the prophets above the general populace who are

ignorant of the revelation. Al-Tirmidhī then provides three levels within the ʿulamāʾ class. These

three are the ʿulamāʾ al-ẓāhir (scholars of outward learning, i.e., fuqahāʾ), the ḥukamāʾ (sages)

and the awliyāʾ (saints).137 The fuqahāʾ are scholars of outward knowledge and al-Tirmidhī

135
Ibid. Nawādir, vol. 2, p. 30-31.
136
Ibid, vol. 2, p. 30-31.
137
The ʿulamāʾ (scholars of outward knowledge) are those who answer questions about the ḥalāl (permissible) and
the ḥarām (forbidden). The ḥukamāʾ (sages) drop words of knowledge about God’s management (tadbīr) of the
world and by sitting with them one benefits from their wisdom. The kubarāʾ (great ones – synonymous with awliyāʾ
in al-Tirmidhī’s terminology) speak about the knowledge of God’s blessings (ālāʾ), and simply to behold them is a
medicine, and their speech (kalām) is a healing. Ibid, p. 128.

62
likens their knowledge to a grammatical sentence. Outward knowledge (ʿilm al-ẓāhir) of Islam is

the sentence itself and the inward knowledge (ʿilm al-bāṭin) or gnosis (maʿrifa) is the

comprehension (tamyīz) of that sentence. Outward knowledge, according to al-Tirmidhī, is also

known as the knowledge of the tongue (ʿilm al-lisān) and is God’s proof against humanity.138 Al-

Tirmidhī sees the Islamic sciences (Fiqh, Kalām, Ḥadīth, Tafsīr, Qawāʿid al-Naḥwu) as the basis

and fundament for esoteric interpretation ab intra as understood by the ḥukamāʾ (sages). The

awliyāʾ (saints) go beyond the esoteric interpretation of texts and engage in direct speech with

God (muḥādatha) and receive direct knowledge from him.139 While al-Tirmidhī is highly critical

of the ʿulamāʾ al-ẓāhir, he is critical of them only because they stop at the outward significance

of their knowledge and do not go beyond it.140 This amounts to ruining (ifsād) the knowledge

that they are supposed to represent. What al-Tirmidhī is attempting to do is to reform the social

class to which he belongs. He is not only seeking reform but at the same time affirming the

importance of this social class as the true religious authorities and successors (khulafāʾ) of the

Prophet. As mentioned before with regard to the Shīʿī imāms, religious authority that claims

direct contact with God is more powerful than a claim to mere interpretation of religious texts.

The fact that al-Tirmidhī does not designate specific markers for identifying the awliyāʾ serves to

sanctify the entire class of ʿulamāʾ. So, while we know that the awliyāʾ will originate from their

ranks, we do not have markers to indicate who they are according to al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine.141

138
Al-Tirmidhī, Muḥammad b. ʿAlī al-Ḥakīm.ʿIlm al-awliyāʾ [Cairo]: Maktabat al-Ḥurrīya al-Ḥadīthah. 1983, pp.
160–161.
139
The saints (awliyāʾ) are no longer in need of texts for their knowledge. Al-Tirmidhī implies this in NU when he
says, wa ammā al-ʿāmma fa innahum yaḥtājūn ilā al-nuṣūṣ wa al-āthār ʿalā alsinat ʿulamāʾ al-ẓāhir, “…and as for
the general populace, they need texts and traditions upon the tongues of the outward scholars.” Ibid. Nawādir, vol. 2,
p. 43.
140
Ibid, vol. 4, pp. 72–73.
141
Al-Tirmidhī does claim that there are ways to uncover who the awliyāʾ Allāh are but ultimately these are
subjective despite the fact that he claims they are ẓāhira (outward). For example, he says that one can know the
existence of sainthood (walāya) in an individual by looking into the face of such a person and if one sees the light of

63
 We have discussed how al-Tirmidhī uses the language of clientage that, in his time,

served to mediate relationships between free men and slaves, Arabs and non-Arabs, and caliph

and subject, as a template for projecting the self-imposed (internalized) notions of obligation,

loyalty, and commitment into a virtual realm. The social institution of walāʾ (clientage) was

disappearing during al-Tirmidhī’s lifetime. The Abbasid revolution (750 C.E.) uprooted and

replaced the old system of walāʾ for a more equitable relationship that used Islam as a common

denominator between both Arab and non-Arab subjects. The old system did not disappear

overnight though, and walāʾ continued on, especially in the caliph’s army and administration and

in the all-important province of greater Khurāsān. Al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of walāya freezes the

social relationships of power in his time and incorporates them into a virtual space. We say

virtual here because real power had already been transferred to the non-Arabs who were ruling

greater Khurāsān with practical autonomy in the name of the Caliph. The reality of this shift in

real power became openly clear in the Ṣaffārid rebellion, in which greater Khurāsān was ruled

for a short period of time in the second half of the 9th-century C.E. by Yaʿqūb al-Ṣaffār (d.

265/879), a Persian of humble origins who had dismissed the authority of the ‘caliphal fiction.’

This fiction operated through a façade of local rulers paying tribute to the Abbasid caliph, while

in reality they were not actually under the command of Baghdād.142 The occurrence of this

rebellion is one of the few historical events that al-Tirmidhī records in his writings. So, while the

social institution of walāʾ was disappearing in his time, al-Tirmidhī was calling for the

preservation of social dependence as it was represented in that institution through his doctrine of

God’s majesty and feels the awe of God’s greatness one knows that such a person is one of God’s awliyāʾ. Ibid, p.
140.
142
Bosworth, C.E. “Yaʿḳūb b. al-Layt̲ h̲.” EI2. Edited by: P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C.E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel,
W.P. Heinrichs. Brill Online, 2014. Reference. University Of Michigan-Ann Arbor. 13 December 2014
<http://referenceworks.brillonline.com.proxy.lib.umich.edu/entries/encyclopaedia-of-islam-2/ya-k-u-b-b-al-layt-h-
SIM_7966>

64
walāya. He envisioned the ʿulamāʾ as those who would become the guardians of religious

authority with certain individuals among them who could become the saints (awliyāʾ) who would

receive direct knowledge from God (maʿrifa). Even though local Persians had taken effective

control of their political destinies in greater Khurāsān, according to al-Tirmidhī’s framework of

walāya, they were still slaves (ʿabīd) and clients (mawālī) in a system that required them to

follow the ʿulamāʾ for their ultimate salvation. Theʿulamāʾ were not only custodians of Islamic

traditions and lore, but the elect (khāṣṣa) among them, according to al-Tirmidhī, were in direct

contact with God.143 In an important passage in al-Tirmidhī’s IA he describes the awliyāʾ as the

khulafāʾ of the Messenger who must be obeyed by the ʿāmma (general populace):

Fa-lammā rafaʿhu Allāhu taʿālā ilayhi jaʿala lahu fī ummatihi

khulafāʾ karāmatan lahu fa-fāraqahum ẓill al-hawā wa aʿtaqa
nufūsahum min khayāliha fa kamā jaʿala ṭāʿata hāʾulāʾ al-khulafāʾ
wājibatan ʿalā al-umma fadīlatan lahum ʿalā ghayrihim min al-
awliyāʾ wa hum khawāṣṣ al-awliyāʾ wa rijāl Allāh fī arḍihi
alladhīna yaghbiṭuhum al-nabiyyūn wa-al-shuhadāʾ yawm al-
qiyāma li-makānihim wa qurbihim min Allāh ʿazza wa jalla wa-
taʿālā.144

So, when Allāh most high took him (the Prophet) up to himself, he
made successors to him from among his community. He (God)
removed from them the shadow of vain desire and he (God) freed
their souls from its fantasies. And so, in the same way he made
obedience to those successors (khulafāʾ) obligatory upon the
Muslim community as a special privilege for them over and above
others of the saints (awliyā’). They are the elite of the saints
(awliyā’) and God’s men in his earth; those who the prophets and
the martyrs will envy on the Day of Judgment because of their rank
and their nearness to Allāh, glorified and majestic and most high.

The conflation of the term khulafāʾ (successors) with awliyāʾ (saints) unambiguously assigns

religious authority to the awliyāʾ (saints). While the religious scholars (ʿulamāʾ) often claimed to

143
Ethnicity was not the most important factor in identity formation in this period as has been discussed around the
topic of the Shuʿūbiyya controversy. Ibid. Al-Shuʿūbiyya, EI2.
144
Ibid. ʿIlm al-Awliyāʾ, p. 140.

65
be warathat al-anbiyāʾ (heirs of the prophet), they almost never claimed to be khulafāʾ

(caliphs).145 Similarly, the majority of Shīʿīs adopted the term Imām to indicate their religious

and spiritual authority figure. The term khalīfa (successor or caliph) was the prerogative of the

Abbasids and the Umayyads before them. Claiming khilāfa could be seen as a direct challenge to

Abbasid claims to political and religious authority over the umma (community of Muslims).146

Al-Tirmidhī’s language is brazen in both its dismissal of the Abbasids as religious authorities

and in its direct rebuttal of Shīʿī claims. Identifying al-Tirmidhī as belonging to the discourse

stream of the proto-Sunnī ʿulamāʾ is important to understanding why al-Tirmidhī proffers a

doctrine of sainthood when he does. The social and political context of this discourse stream

should then play an important role in defining the way al-Tirmidhī structures his doctrine of

walāya. We find this to be true, since it is the social institution of clientage that provides an

underlying framework by which al-Tirmidhī situates his awliyāʾ with respect to other elements in

his society.

Conclusion

The latter part of the 9th-century C.E. and much of the 10th-century C.E. saw an intense

debate within the lands of the Muslim caliphate over the nature of both political and religious

authority. The Shīʿīs emerged as a major opposition to the Abbasids and were even successful in

establishing a counter-caliphate. The Shīʿīs were not the only ones who were claiming khilāfa

145
While the term Caliph (khalīfa) has a much broader signification than simply the temporal Caliphs of the
Umayyads and Abbasids, al-Tirmidhī uses the term specifically to refer to religious authority that requires obedience
to what he terms the real khulafāʾ (Caliphs) who are the awliyāʾ in his schematization of the term. It is significant
that those groups who sought to claim religious authority did so by appropriating this specific term.
146
Patricia Crone and Martin Hinds (1986) trace the use of the word khalīfa (successor, Caliph) from the Rāshidūn
Caliphs up through the Abbasid era and conclude that this term was used by both Umayyad and Abbasid rulers to
claim not just successorship (khilāfa) to the Prophet but also to mean the successor appointed by God. The
Umayyads established a counter caliphate in Spain while the Fatimids established a caliphate in North Africa. Both
of these movements represent direct challenges to Abbasid authority.

66
(successorship, caliphate) from the Abbasids. On the eastern edge of the Abbasid Empire al-

Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī was working out another vision of khilāfa that would place the awliyāʾ

(saints) in the position of khulafāʾ (successors) to prophetic authority and charisma. These

khulafāʾ, for al-Tirmidhī, would ultimately came from the ranks of the proto-Sunnī ʿulamāʾ. Al-

Tirmidhī’s doctrine of walāya would later be incorporated into the great mystical synthesis of the

10th-century C.E. in Nīshāpūr where the Sufism of Baghdād-inspiration took its mature form. In

Chapter 4 we will show how al-Tirmidhī’s concept of walāya became a part of this synthesis and

came to signify one of the dominant modes of Sunnī religious authority up to the present.

67
 Chapter 2

Wisdom Meditates the Terrestrial and Celestial:

Pythagorean Wisdom and the Non-duality of Sainthood

Ḥikma (wisdom) is not one of Franz Rosenthal’s categories of

knowledge; however, it is a central theme in al-Tirmidhī’s
gnoseology and doctrine of sainthood. Al-Tirmidhī not only adopted
established concepts of ḥikma, but reinvented its meaning to fit his
own paradigm. This chapter will discuss conceptions of ḥikma in
both Muslim and non-Muslim sources. Using al-Tirmidhī’s Kitāb
al-Ḥikma we will show how al-Tirmidhī takes his concept of ḥikma
from the Neopythagorean Hellenistic tradition. For al-Tirmidhī,
ḥikma is different than gnosis (maʿrifa) and ḥikma, as a knowledge
of the world and its opposites, serves to frame his essentially non-
dual metaphysic. Ḥikma provides a backdrop for al-Tirmidhī’s
doctrine of sainthood.

The Importance of Ḥikma

In this chapter we intend to show how al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī’s use of ḥikma is critical to

understanding his doctrine of sainthood (walāya). As was previously discussed in the

Introduction, al-Tirmidhī’s mysticism can be considered a gnoseology or a mystical doctrine

based on a special kind of knowledge and a special access to that knowledge. It is for this reason

that a discussion of al-Tirmidhī’s epistemology is critical to understanding his concept of walāya

(sainthood). In other words, if the saint (walī) is one who is distinguished by a special kind of

knowledge, then the definition and character of that knowledge will affect who we understand

the saint to be. Franz Rosenthal appears to misinterpret al-Tirmidhī’s concept of wisdom and

incorrectly conflates ḥikma (wisdom) and ʿilm (knowledge), which is something al-Tirmidhī

68
would never have accepted given his rejection of the existence of synonyms. The fullest

treatment of ḥikma in the Islamic tradition is provided by Dimitri Gutas who has furthered our

understanding of ḥikma as a literary genre in both Arabic and non-Arabic sources. He does not,

however, discuss ḥikma as a knowledge-type. Part of the difficulty in establishing a basis for an

understanding of ḥikma (wisdom) during the 8th- and 9th-centuries C.E. in Iraq and Khurāsān is

that no current study adequately addresses ḥikma as a knowledge-type. Most discussions

concerning the topic tend to define ḥikma as it is represented in Greek philosophy in Aristotelian

and Neoplatonic forms. This projects an Aristotelian and Neoplatonic view of ḥikma, as it was

conceived in the 10th century C.E., anachronistically onto the 8th- and 9th-centuries C.E. when al-

Tirmidhī was active. There were also many indigenous forms of ḥikma that took on their own

significances within particular communities in the Near East since the Hellenistic period. Using

Rosenthal’s categories of knowledge we have a picture of al-Tirmidhī’s basic episteme. Ḥikma is

not one of Rosenthal’s categories of Islamic knowledge-types. However, ḥikma certainly was an

important category among eastern Christians and Jewish Rabbanites. Furthermore, ḥikma

(wisdom) is mentioned in the Qurʾān and Ḥadīth literature despite its secondary importance in

relation to ʿilm (knowledge) in later Islamic scholarship. All of these factors provided an

opportunity for al-Tirmidhī to focus on ḥikma (wisdom) as an alternative to ʿilm (knowledge).

It is in the 10th-century C.E. that we begin to see a shift in categories that eventually

equates ḥikma (wisdom) with philosophy in its Neoplatonic and Aristotelian forms. It will be

stressed that a discussion about ḥikma must necessarily include a discussion of the ḥukamāʾ (the

sages or the purveyors of ḥikma) to the extent that we can identify the ḥukamāʾ as particular

individuals, as in the case of al-Tirmidhī, or as those who represented an ideal-type who

possessed a special vouchsafed knowledge from God such as al-Junayd. The extent to which

69
ḥikma (wisdom) is embodied as ḥukamā’ (sages) will help us to understand the manner in which

this type of knowledge was conceived and valued during this period. The question that concerns

us here is the extent to which the concept of ḥikma during this period differs from how it was

understood in the context of Hellenistic philosophy in its more mature form in the mid to latter

part of the 10th-century C.E. Ḥikma came to signify a particular set of meanings for particular

segments of the learned class during the 8th- and 9th-centuries C.E. before it subsequently took on

a more specific technical usage with the full bloom of Falsafa. Hence, our project here is to

survey the uses of ḥikma amongst these groups beginning with the Christian ascetic Isaac of

Nineveh (d. 700 C.E.) and ending with al-Tirmidhī himself. What we propose here is that a

variety of concepts of ḥikma existed side-by-side during this period until, eventually, a

particularly ‘philosophical’ or Neoplatonic meaning of ḥikma became dominant by the middle of

the 10th-century C.E. While al-Tirmidhī’s concept of ḥikma was definitely Hellenistic, it was not

the philosophical form that became widespread in the 10th-century C.E.147 Al-Tirmidhī not only

borrowed a particular form of Hellenistic ḥikma, but he modified it to suit an Islamic context. We

will demonstrate this new position with respect to al-Tirmidhī by introducing my findings from

al-Tirmidhī’s KH, which exists only in manuscript form in a single library in Bursa, Turkey. In

the chapter that follows we will demonstrate how al-Tirmidhī uses this particular type of ḥikma

to propose something quite novel in his approach to walāya (sainthood).

147
In this respect we are countering Bernd Radtke’s thesis that al-Tirmidhī’s thought is only tangentially and
superficially Hellenistic. That is, it was not learned but unconsciously appropriated. We do not go as far as Yves
Marquet though in saying that it was purely Neoplatonic. A. M. Goichon concludes that the scientific aspect of
hikma remains unbroken from the Greeks to the Arabs. We find this to be true with al-Tirmidhi in which a
mystical/scientific view of hikma is used rather than a philosophical/scientific usage. Goichon, A.M. “Ḥikma” EI2.
Edited by: P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C.E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel, W.P. Heinrichs. Brill Online, 2015. Reference.
University Of Michigan-Ann Arbor. 07 April 2015
<http://referenceworks.brillonline.com.proxy.lib.umich.edu/entries/encyclopaedia-of-islam-2/hikma-SIM_2861>

70
Ḥikma and the Ḥakīm in the Near East

The sage (ḥakīm, pl. ḥukamā’) is a motif that has persisted for millennia throughout the

Near East whether it is in extra-biblical texts such as The Words of Aḥiqār or from the sages of

the Biblical tradition (Esther and the Song of Songs) or even the New Testament.148

the sage motif takes on new and varied forms during Late Antiquity amongst the Rabbis

(hakhamīm or wise ones) as well as Nestorian Christians who discussed the sage (ḥkemā) and his

wisdom (ḥkemūtā). Geographically, the sage motif in the pre-Islamic period spans from Egypt to

Persia149 (Ancient Iran), India and China in the East, as well as from Greece (Sophia, i.e., the

writings of the pre-Socratics, Plato and Aristotle) to Yemen150 in the South.151 Thus, when we

find ḥikma and the motif of the ḥakīm prominent in the works of a 9th-century C.E. Muslim

mystic from Transoxania, al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī, we should not be surprised. This diffuse use of

the term over such large temporal and geographical areas makes it difficult to make

generalizations about the meaning of ḥikma (wisdom) without looking at particular contexts.

Ḥikma and the Ḥakīm in Jewish and Christian Thought (7th- and 10th-centuries C.E.)

We will now look at how various Christian and Jewish writers living in Muslim lands

used ḥikma and the sage motif to indicate a special type of knowledge as well as the

knowledgeable individual. A Nestorian mystic and ascetic by the name of Isaac of Nineveh

wrote a series of ascetical homilies that have become classics in both the Catholic and Eastern

148
J. G. Gammie et al. The Sage in Israel and the ancient Near East. Winona Lake, IN.: Eisenbrauns. 1990, p. xi
149
Ibid, pp. 144–146
150
Dimitri Gutas. “Classical Arabic Wisdom Literature: Nature and Scope.” Journal of the American Oriental
Society, Vol. 101, No. 1, Oriental Wisdom (Jan. - Mar., 1981), p. 78. There is no consensus on the origin of Luqman
whose name is associated with maxims (ḥikma) in pre-Islamic Arabia. The Islamic tradition and most early Arabic
sources associate Luqmān with South Arabia and the tribe of ʿĀd in particular.
151
Ḥikma can be distinguished from Greek paideia. Paideia transfers over in Arabic to the word adab (arts) and
taʾdīb (education in the arts). Ibid. Knowledge Triumphant, p. 284.

71
Orthodox traditions. Isaac was consecrated bishop of the Nestorian Church by the Patriarch

George (660–680 C.E.) after having been a monk at the monastery of Bethabe in Kurdistān.

However, after only five months in the bishopric he abdicated and moved to the monastery of

Bar Shapur where he died in the mountains of Kuzistan in western Iran.152 Isaac of Nineveh is

significant to our discussion of al-Tirmidhī because his writings demonstrate how developed the

motif of the ḥakīm had become in the Syriac Christian literature of the early Islamic period. Isaac

of Ninevah lived during the Muslim/Arab conquests of the 1st Islamic century (7th-century C.E.).

During this period Muslims were mostly segregated in garrison towns in Kufa and Basra in Iraq

so it is almost certain that they had no impact on Isaac’s thought. We can therefore assume that

Isaac is providing us with an insight into ḥikma as it was understood just prior to the

Muslim/Arab conquests.

Isaac of Nineveh refers to the ḥukamāʾ both as those who had attained religious authority

as well as a motif or prototype of the ideal ascetic. In a fascinating set of passages in the

Homilies Isaac refers to the pagan philosophers (‫ )ܦܝܠܣܘܦ‬as “external” sages (‫)ܚܥܝܡܐ‬. He

provides a story of one philosopher who attempts to control his will at all cost lest his ‘wisdom’

be sullied, even if it should mean death at the hands of the ‘Greek king’ Alexander.153 Isaac’s

argument is that if these pagan philosophers are able to control their lower passions without the

reward of Paradise, then the Christian ascetic who has God’s help and the incentive of Paradise

should have an increased sense of incentive and the ability to achieve such control.154 The

reference here is clearly to some type of Stoic philosophy, however, it should be noted that these

152
J. Arendzen. “Isaac of Nineveh,” in The Catholic Encyclopedia. New York: Robert Appleton Company.
1910. Retrieved May 6, 2013 from New Advent:http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/08176a.htm
153
Isaac.. Mystic treatises by Isaac of Nineveh. Edited and Translated by A.J. Wensinck, and Paul Bedjan.
Amsterdam: Koninklijke Akademie van Wetenschappen. 1923, pp. 272–273.
154
Ibid, p. 274.

72
‘philosophers’ are presented as indigenous sages who confront Alexander the Great, the

Macedonian king who is credited with the introduction of Hellenism into the East.155 Isaac also

uses the term ‫( ܚܥܝܡܐ‬ḥkemā) to refer to a biblical sage who says, “Haughtiness comes before

ruin.” Arent Jan Wensinck indicates that Isaac may be paraphrasing Proverbs 16:19 in this quote;

however, we should note that Isaac’s quote does not convey the same meaning as the biblical

statement. Another important passage concerning the sage in Isaac’s work juxtaposes the humble

servant of God to the philosopher and sage. The sages are forced to remain silent before the one

who is truly humble. They listen to his words with awe and the words of the humble seem like

words from God himself.156 We can see that Isaac of Nineveh who lived approximately 150–200

years before al-Tirmidhī in western Khurāsān saw the sages as pagan philosophers and

indigenous wise men who can be said to have practiced what came to be known as a form of

Stoicism. These sages seem to have held authority in the eyes of Isaac’s audience since he uses

the sages as a backdrop to elevate the Christian ascetic who is supposedly greater than the sage,

not only in his ascetic discipline, but also in his words of wisdom. It is important to note that the

sages mentioned by Isaac are noted for their asceticism and not for their theoretical knowledge.

For Isaac, the ḥkemā (sage) is quite distinct from the Christian ascetic. His knowledge is worldly

in juxtaposition to the Christian ascetic whose knowledge is otherworldly.

We also have a rich tradition of wisdom literature by the Jewish sages who have been

credited by Rabbinic tradition as the saviors of Judaism after the destruction of the Second

Temple. The Rabbinic sages (ḥākāmīm) became a class of learned specialists in the Torah and

halakhā (Jewish religious law) during the period of Late Antiquity. It was the ḥākamīm from the

155
The beginning of Stoicism follows after the great conquests of Alexander the Great. It is possible that the cultural
and intellectual exchange brought upon by these conquests facilitated the borrowing of what became Stoicism by
Zeno of Citium from Persia rather than the other way around.
156
Ibid, p. 388.

73
Levant and Babylon who eventually became the spokesmen for the majority of Jews. This

process took almost five centuries beginning after 70 C.E. and culminated in the collection and

redaction of the Mishnah and Talmud.157 The Rabbinic sage came to be associated with the

development of a particular brand of Jewish law (generally reffered to as Halakha) and biblical

exegesis. They were devoted to the study of the Torah, which consists of the Pentateuch, or the

first five ancient books of the Bible. This intellectual and spiritual ‘study of the Torah,’ in

addition to prayer, came to replace the centrality of sacrifice as a means of communicating with

God.158 By the 8th-century C.E. we find that a split developed in the Jewish community between

the Rabbanites and the Karaites. The latter group arose in conscious opposition to the Rabbinic

sages. The Kairites accepted only the Tanakh as a source for Jewish law and rejected Rabbinic

scholarship and exegesis, which the Rabbis and growing circles in Jewish society had gradually

come to refer to as the Oral Torah.159 Both the Rabbanites and the Karaites used the term sage

(ḥākām) to refer to legal authorities within their respective communities, however, the

Rabbanites preferred to use the term as a collective when they referred to their scholarly

ancestors who were, in their mind, an important link between the Rabbanites of the Amoraic

period and Moses. Over time the Karaites came to use the term ḥākām as a title to refer to their

157
There are two main approaches in modern Jewish scholarship over the origin of the Rabbinic sages. One view
holds that a class of Torah specialists arose in the 3rd-century B.C. to oppose the worldly priesthood that came to
control the Temple. This class of Torah specialists was the precursor to the Pharisees which were considered the
precursors to the Rabbinic sages. This view does not stand up well against the current literary and archaeological
record. The second view holds that the Rabbinic sages were independent learned scholars of Torah who gradually
developed a legal and exegetical tradition over the four to five hundred years from the fall of the Second Temple to
the completion of the Babylonian Talmud. Steven D. Fraade. “The Early Rabbinic Sage,” in The Sage in Israel and
the Ancient Near East. Gammie, John D. and Perdue, Leo G. Winona Lake, IN.: Eisenbrauns. 1990.
158
Ibid, p. 436.
159
Daniel J. Lasker; Joel Beinin. “Karaism.” Encyclopedia of Jews in the Islamic World. Executive Editor Norman
A. Stillman. Brill Online, 2013. Reference. University of Michigan-Ann Arbor. 06 May 2013
<http://referenceworks.brillonline.com.proxy.lib.umich.edu/entries/encyclopedia-of-jews-in-the-islamic-
world/karaism-COM_0012630>

74
scholars. We will look at two important Jewish scholars from the 10th-century C.E., one a

Rabbanite, Saʿādia Gaon (d. 942 C.E.), and the other a Karaite, Yaʿqūb al-Qirqisānī (d. second

half of 10th-century C.E.).

In his work al-Amānāt wa-l-Iʿtiqādāt (Book of Beliefs and Opinions), Saʿādia Gaon seeks

to defend the Rabbinate against its Karaite detractors. An important theme that has generally

been overlooked in the study of Saʿādia’s work is his discussion around the nature of the ḥakīm

(in Arabic) or ḥākām (in Hebrew). Saʿādia includes a chapter on ḥikma (wisdom) in his book al-

Amānāt and distinguishes between what he considers to be the true ḥakīm modeled after

Solomon as opposed to the ḥukamā’ of his time whom he accuses of extremism and perversion

of religion. Saʿādia writes concerning the ḥukamāʾ:

min talāmidh al-ḥukamāʾ man zaʿama annahu laysa yanbaghī an

yashtaghil aḥadun fī dār al-dunyā bi-shayʾin siwā ṭalab al-ḥikma
wa qālū li-anna bihā yūṣalu ilā maʿrifati kulli mā fi al-arḍi min al-
ṭabāʾiʿ wa-l-amzija wa-ilā ʿilmin kathīrin mimmā fī l-samāʾ min
al-kawākibi wa-l-aflāk.160

Of the followers of the sages are those who claim that it is

unnecessary for anyone to busy himself in this world with anything
other than seeking wisdom and they say that this is because
through it (wisdom) is attained the knowledge of everything in the
earth of natures and temperaments and immense knowledge of that
which is in the heavens of both planets and heavenly orbs.

After Saʿādia mentions the claims of those whom he says follow the sages, he explains how their

approach runs counter to religion:

wa-law aṭbaqa al-nās ʿalā ma qāla hāʾulāʾi la-baṭalat al-ḥikma bi-

inqiṭāʿ al-nasl bi-tark al-tazwīj wa-law tashāghalu bi-ḥikmat al-
bunyati (al-dunyati) waḥdahā tarakū ḥikmat al-dīn wa-l-sharīʿa

160
Saʿādia b. Joseph. Kitāb al-Amānāt wa al-iʿtiqādāt. Ed. S. Landauer. Leiden: E.J. Brill. 1880, p. 309.

75
 allatī innamā ḥubbibat ilayhim hādhihi li-tuʿaḍid tilka fa-taḥsan
jumlatuhuma.161

Had the people applied what those people have said wisdom would
cease to be operative as a result of the cutting off of progeny
through the leaving of marriage and had they busied one another
with the wisdom of this world exclusively they would have
neglected the wisdom of religion and the law for which this
(worldly wisdom) was simply made beloved to them in order for
them to support that (other wisdom) such that the both of them
could be achieved”

For Saʿādia, the sages who are his interlocutors are not the ideal sages of the Bible. King

Solomon is rather conspicuously given the title al-ḥakīm as if to lay to rest any doubt about who

the true ḥakīm really is.162 Saʿādia is not against wisdom, per se, but rather is against the idea that

temporal wisdom should become an end in itself. His use of the term talāmidha (students)

indicates that there may have been a real movement in his time to return to the ideals of the

earlier sages, however, these sages are clearly those who are engaged in Hellenistic wisdom. As

with Isaac of Nineveh we see a tension in the work of Saʿādia between two types of sages, one

representing a ‘pagan’ ideal and the other representing a Biblical ideal. For Saʿādia, the sages are

not only engaged in worldly knowledge, but they are also ascetics. One of his main criticisms of

these ascetic sages, from a Jewish perspective, is that they are celibate. It is also significant to

note that for both Saʿādia and Isaac, the sages go unnamed. This is also true for al-Tirmidhī’s use

of the term. Saʿādia lived the first part of his life in Egypt, which was a traditional center of

Greek philosophy during the Hellenistic and Roman periods. Both Saʿādia and Isaac use the

motif of the sage as a platform from which to communicate their ideas giving the impression that

we are possibly dealing with a Hellenistic movement that was still active well into the Islamic

161
Ibid, pp. 310–311.
162
Ibid, p. 284.

76
period. The other possibility is that the reactions of these two figures represent something of a

resurgence of interest in Hellenistic thought in their times. Saʿādia and Isaac both attempt to use

a pagan sage motif in order to position the ideal Christian and Jewish religious virtuoso. The

sage is a conduit of divine speech in the case of Isaac, but a scholar of the Torah and religious

law in the case of Saʿādia.

Another Jewish scholar who lived at the same time as Saʿādia was the Karaite Yaʿqūb al-

Qirqisānī. His work Kitāb al-Anwār wa al-Marāqib is a voluminous work on theology and

heresiography. For al-Qirqisānī, the philosophers are clearly Aristotelian and Neoplatonic. He

specifically mentions Alexander of Aphrodisias163, John of Caesarea164 and Porphyry165 as

philosophers who wrote commentaries on Aristotle. Al-Qirqisānī mentions these three

philosophers in order to argue that the prophets who brought revelation from God are more

worthy to have their revelations be the subject of commentary than Aristotle.166 The title ḥakīm,

according to al-Qirqisānī, is a more general term used to refer to these philosophers and indicates

their pagan origin. Al-Qirqisānī mentions that the ḥakīm is one who would reject circumcision on

logical grounds.167 For al-Qirqisānī, ḥikma relates to what can be seen and he refers to it as

mushāhad (that which can be witnessed and thus that which is created). For example, he argues

that God can be described as having a heart because he is called ḥakīm since, according to al-

163
A peripatetic philosopher of the 2st and 3rd-centuries C.E. known for his commentaries on Aristotle. Dorothea
Frede. “Alexander of Aphrodisias”, The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Summer 2013 Edition), Edward N.
Zalta (ed.), URL = <http://plato.stanford.edu/archives/sum2013/entries/alexander-aphrodisias/>.
164
John of Caesarea was also known as John the Grammarian. He was a priest and theologian who lived during the
late 6th-century C.E. before the rise of Islam. He was one of the first Neo-Chalcedonians. Kazhdan, Alexander P.
The Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium, ed. Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2005.
165
Porphyry (d. circa 305 C.E.) was a Neoplatonist philosopher from Tyre in Phoenicia and studied with Plotinus in
Rome. He was a promulgator of Plotinus’ version of Platonism and sought to harmonize Neoplatonic thought with
Aristotle’s metaphysics. Emilsson, Eyjólfur, “Porphyry”, The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Summer 2011
Edition), Edward N. Zalta (ed.), URL = <http://plato.stanford.edu/archives/sum2011/entries/porphyry/>.
166
A. Yūsuf Ya-qūb al-Qirqisānī. Kitāb al-Anwār wal-Marāqib: code of Karaite law. Ed. Nemoy, L. New York:
The Alexander Kohut memorial foundation, vol. III. 1939, p. 223.
167
Ibid, vol. III p. 214.

77
Qirqisānī, ḥikma resides in the heart and is mushāhad, i.e., created.168 In one sense ḥikma is a

type of knowledge that resides in the heart but, on the other hand, ḥikma is a term that al-

Qirqisānī uses to indicate a meaning that approximates ‘reason’ such as when he describes the

views of a heretical group of Jews whom he says deny that God can punish individuals because it

does not accord with ḥikma (wisdom) and ṣalāḥ (reason and benefit). The double meaning of

ḥikma in al-Qirqisānī’s writings indicates the ambivalence that often accompanies the use of this

term. On one hand, ḥikma is knowledge bequeathed by God, but on the other, it can also refer to

the wisdom of pagan philosophers and sages.

Ḥikma and the Ḥakīm in 9th and 10th-Century C.E. Khurāsān and Transoxania

We will turn now to a discussion of the ḥakīm and ḥikma among Muslim authors

generally contemporaneous with al-Tirmidhī, and we will focus on ḥikma and the ḥukamāʾ

according to the Ṣūfīs, Shīʿīs and Falāsifa. I will begin with a general survey of the current

discussion in the literature around the ḥukamāʾ and their origins according to the early Ṣūfīs.

This discussion is rather limited given that Ṣūfī studies can sometimes suffer from a silo effect in

which themes and motifs tend to be restricted to those dealing with Ṣūfīs. This is problematic

when dealing with a widely diffuse motif such as the ḥukamāʾ and their ḥikma.

Annemarie Schimmel and Suzanne Diwald present a hypothesis that the ḥukamāʾ of

Balkh (of which al-Tirmidhī was associated) represent a Neoplatonic mystical ‘school’ whose

origin returns to the ‘master,’ Shaqīq al-Balkhī (d. 194/810) and his student Ḥātim al-Aṣamm

(d.237/852).169 This hypothesis was rejected by Bernd Radtke who claims that al-Tirmidhī’s

168
Ibid, vol. II p. 172.
169
Geneviève Gobillot and Muḥammad b. ʿAlī al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī. Le livre de la profondeur des choses.
Villeneuve d'Ascq: Presses universitaires du Septentrion. 1996, p. 79.

78
education did not include non-Islamic sciences such as Greek natural science and philosophy.170

In Radtke’s view the possible Hellenistic influence on al-Tirmidhī is due to diffuse elements that

had permeated Near Eastern culture and society. For Radtke, the hukamāʾ were a group of

learned Muslim mystics based in Khurāsān and Transoxania. Furthermore, for Radtke, the ḥakīm

was not a Ṣūfī and he quotes ʿAbd Allāh al-Anṣārī (d. 481/1089) in this regard by relating a

comment made by a student of al-Tirmidhī, Abū Bakr al-Warrāq (d.280/893), “Er hat die thora,

die evangelien, die psalmen, und die himmlischen bücher gelesen und einen diwan verfasst… Er

war ein gotterkennender hākīm (ḥakīmī ʿārif), kein ṣūfī, der ṣūfī ist etwas anderes.”171 Radtke

considers the title ḥakīm to have been given to al-Tirmidhī by others and not a title that he

ascribed to himself since the ḥakīm represents a lower rung on the spiritual hierarchy beneath

that of walī (saint).172 For Jacqueline Chabbi the ḥakīm simply has didactic value during this

period, representing a teacher who has knowledge of the human soul.173 These various

viewpoints about the social and didactic role of the ḥakīm in the world of al-Tirmidhī provide an

outline to better understand why al-Tirmidhī would be given such a title. These definitions tend

to privilege a ‘mystical’ aspect to the role of the ḥakīm, however, we should note that the title

ḥakīm in Khurāsān and Transoxania during the 9th- and 10th-centuries C.E. may not necessarily

indicate a mystic per se. We find this title given to the likes of al-Ḥakīm al-Samarqandī (d.

342/953), whose early life overlapped that of al-Tirmidhī174 and who was known for his work on

170
Ibid. Concept, p. 15.
171
Ibid. Al-Ḥakīm Ein Islamischer, p. 95.
172
Ibid. Theosoph, p. 95.
173
Ibid. Profondeur, p. 80.
174
Al-Ḥakīm al-Samarqandī wrote al-Sawād al-Aʿẓam at the behest of the Samānid ruler of Khurāsān, Aḥmad
Ismāʿīl, in 902. The fact that al-Samarqandī was chosen to pen such an important work in Ḥanafī theology indicates
that he could have at least been in his late thirties or early forties when given this task. If he died in 953 C.E. then he
must have lived to a very old age and his life should have overlapped with that of al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī by at least
forty or fifty years. Bosworth et al. assumes that the title ḥakīm must have indicated his mystical propensities. This
claim is not clearly substantiated.

79
Ḥanafī theology, such as his famous creed al-Sawād al-Aʿẓam. While al-Samarqandī was also

known to have an interest in mysticism, it is not clear that this was a reason for his being titled

ḥakīm. A traditionist in Khurāsān from the generation following that of al-Samarqandī, who also

bore the title of ḥakīm, is al-Ḥakīm al-Naysābūrī (d. 405/1014). Al-Ḥakīm al-Naysābūrī was

known as a traditionist with Shīʿī sympathies. However, as James Robson notes, he was given

the title of ḥakīm after being appointed qāḍī (judge) for a time, presumably in Nīshāpūr. Thus,

we find that the title seems to possibly indicate a position of legal authority in the context of

Khurāsān and Transoxania by the 10th-century C.E. Also in the 10th-century we have another

Ḥanafī scholar, al-Ḥakīm al-Zandāwistī (d. 382/992), who wrote al-Ḥikma al-Ilāhiyya, a work in

the eastern Ḥanafī ḥikma tradition. He represents a similar time period to that of al-Ḥakīm al-

Naysābūrī and also holds the title of ḥakīm although his works do not seem to have mystical

propensities.175 Based on the previous discussion, it remains difficult to tie the title of ḥakīm

during the 9th- and 10th-centuries C.E. in Khurāsān and Transoxania to mysticism per se. Rather,

the ḥakīm seems to be a title referring to a learned individual who has attained a position of legal

or pedagogical authority. Such an individual was assumed to be well-versed not only in Islamic

religious texts, but also in biblical and New Testament traditions, with the ability to draw causal

relationships between various aspects of these traditions.

The social use of the title ḥakīm in the 9th- and 10th-centuries C.E. only gives us partial

insight into how al-Tirmidhī may have understood this term since al-Tirmidhī’s discussion is

175
Zandawistī’s work, al-Ḥikma al-Ilāhiyya, represents a series of questions and answers concerning the ḥikma of
various mundane, religious and theological issues. For example, a question is posed as to the ḥikma of Abū Bakr (d.
13/634) being the first Caliph in Islam. The ḥikma according to Zandāwistī is that Abū Bakr never faltered when
given the choice to follow the Prophet. ʿAlī, on the other hand, is said to have sought permission from his father,
however, after having taken four steps he repented and took allegiance with the Prophet. These four steps indicate
his being four degrees away from the Prophet and thus the fourth Caliph. This type of ḥikma literature cannot in any
way be understood in a philosophical sense. It represents the ability of the ḥakīm to call upon a vast array of biblical
and Islamic literature and to make seemingly arbitrary connections between various details in these traditions.

80
more ideological and gnoseological than social and practical. Nevertheless, it seems clear that

this title was still applied to knowledgeable individuals as a term of respect up through the end of

the 10th-century. These individuals tend to be Ḥanafī scholars from Khurāsān and Transoxania. It

may be that the title, while at one time having been applied to a pagan philosopher or learned

individual, had changed its semantic use with the adoption of Arabic as the language of learning

and the replacement of local elites by Arabs with the arrival of Islam. It should be noted that

Aramaic was the language of communication in the Sassanid Empire prior to Arabic and as we

have seen in Syriac, a dialect of Aramaic, the Arabic root for ḥakīm, ḥ-k-m, transfers quite easily

across Semitic languages.

Ḥikma and the Ḥakīm among the Ṣūfīs

In Ṭabaqāt al-Ṣūfiyya by al-Sulamī we find that ḥikma is closely coupled with gnosis

(maʿrifa). The term maʿrifa is often presented as divinely gifted knowledge, while ḥikma may

represent the words that articulate that knowledge. Ibrāhīm b. Adham (d. 165/782) is credited to

have quoted Jesus as saying, “Do not give wisdom (ḥikma) to those who do not deserve it for

they will squander it, and do not keep it from those who do deserve it for you will oppress

them.”176 Here, ḥikma is a special kind of knowledge that should only be given to those who it

belongs to, i.e., ahlahā (its people). The esoteric nature of this ‘special knowledge’ is

reminiscent of gnostic ideas for whom gnosis is privy only to those initiated as ‘knowers.’

Nevertheless, ḥikma is not purely esoteric here since it is also coupled with maʿrifa which, while

often being translated as gnosis, refers to God-given knowledge and not a lore or mode of

exegetical interpretation. Manṣur b. ʿAmmār (d. 225/839) states this connection between ḥikma

176
Muḥammad b. al-Ḥusayn al-Sulamī. Ṭabaqāt al-Ṣūfiyya wa-yalīhi, dhikr al-niswah al-mutaʿabbidāt al-Ṣūfiyya.
Ed. Muṣṭafā ʿAbd al-Qādir ʿAṭā. Bayrūt: Dār al-Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya. 1998, p. 38.

81
and maʿrifa when he says, “Wisdom (al-ḥikma) is articulated in the hearts of the knowers of God

(al-ʿārifīn) with the tongue of true belief…”177 Al-Sulamī also indicates a connection between

maʿrifa and ḥikma when he describes Abū ʿAlī Al-Jūzajānī (d. 4th Islamic century, 10th-century

C.E.) as someone who, “perhaps also spoke something concerning the disciplines of gnosis

(maʿārif) and wisdom (ḥikam).”178 These two ‘disciplines’ are, in fact, never explicitly

distinguished. Abū Saʿīd al-Kharrāz (d. 286/899) seems to conflate the two terms when he says,

“God made knowledge (ʿilm) a guide to himself so that he could be known and made wisdom

(ḥikma) a mercy from him to them so that he could show compassion. So, knowledge is a guide

to God and maʿrifa (gnosis) is an indication of God…”179 Shāh al-Kirmānī (d. 299/911) also

reiterates this connection between ḥikma and maʿrifa when he says, “the sign of wisdom (ḥikma)

is knowledge (maʿrifa) of the relative values of people.”180 In the Ṭabaqāt we find either a

conflation of wisdom (ḥikma) with gnosis (maʿrifa) or a sense in which ḥikma is the outward

spoken form of an inward gifted knowledge. We do find several other meanings of ḥikma,

however, they do not follow this general trend. For example, Ruwaym b. Aḥmad (d. 303/915)

states, “Of the wisdom (ḥikam) of the sage (ḥakīm) is that he shows latitude for his brothers in

outward rulings.”181 Here ḥikma demonstrates an approach to the application of legal rulings to

others. The basic idea here is that the individual should be restrictive with himself or herself but

show latitude to others. Another approach is represented in the words of Yūsuf b. al-Ḥusayn of

Rayy (d. 304/916) who links ḥikma to action or the implementation of knowledge. He says,

“Through proper dealing (adab) you will understand knowledge, and through knowledge actions

177
Ibid, p. 117.
178
Ibid, p. 196.
179
Ibid, p. 184.
180
Ibid, p. 158.
181
Ibid, p. 148.

82
will become correct, and through action you will arrive at wisdom (ḥikma), and through wisdom

(ḥikma) you will understand renunciation of the world (al-zuhd)…”182

Al-Ḥārith al-Muḥāsibī (d. 243/857) is an important figure in the development of proto-

Sufism. Alexander Knysh along with Josef van Ess asserts that al-Muḥāsibī may not have been a

Ṣūfī but more of a ‘moralizing theologian’ who took early Islamic theology and developed it into

a sophisticated psychology and cardiology.183 Unlike later mystics such as al-Junayd and al-

Tirmidhī, al-Muḥāsibī does not develop a gnoseology that would clarify the ambiguous space

between prophecy and human knowledge based on experience. For example, al-Muḥāsibī does

not discuss the nature of ḥikma even though he makes frequent mention of the purveyors of that

ḥikma, i.e., the ḥukamāʾ. Al-Muḥāsibī certainly sees the ḥukamāʾ as a source of authority since

several of his works begin with quotations from as yet unknown ‘sages.’184 However, al-

Muḥāsibī does not leave us completely in the dark. In one of the quotes that he ascribes to the

ḥukamāʾ, we find an accurate and complete, if not slightly modified, rendition of the “Parable of

the Sower” from the New Testament. Al-Muḥāsibī’s rendition does not closely follow any one

particular version in either Matthew, Mark or Luke. Nor does al-Muḥāsibī’s rendition follow

particularly close to the Syriac New Testament nor the Arabic translation of the Diatessaron.

Nevertheless, all of the main elements of the parable are there. What makes al-Muḥāsibī’s use of

the parable significant is how he uses it to explain the function of the ḥakīm. For al-Muḥāsibī the

“sower” is like the “ḥakīm” and the seed is like the words that this ḥakīm speaks, i.e., ḥikma.185

So, the Parable of the Sower from the New Testament changes from being a parable used by

182
Ibid, p. 154.
183
Knysh, Alexander. Islamic mysticism, a short history. Brill, 2010. p. 45. Ess, Josef van. Theologie und
Gesellschaft im 2. und 3. Jahrhundert Hidschra: eine Geschichte des religiösen Denkens im frühen Islam. Berlin:
W. de Gruyter. 1991, vol. 4, p. 195 and 197.
184
We find specific mention of the ḥukamāʾ in al-Muḥāsibī’s Al-Riʿāya fī Ḥuqūq Allāh and Adab al-Nufūs which in
fact begins with a quote from the ḥukamāʾ who advises others to fear God.
185
Al-Muḥāsibī doesn’t use the term ḥikma here but rather ṣawāb al-kalām or correct speech.

83
Jesus to elucidate the types of individuals who have an ability to hear God’s Word to a focus on

the ḥakīm as a conduit for this divine knowledge. The degree to which al-Muḥāsibī was aware of

the source of this parable is not clear. The fact that such a parable was put into the mouths of the

ḥukamāʾ is significant in that it connects, even if only tenuously, the ḥukamāʾ to scriptural

knowledge. This does have some parallel to al-Tirmidhī’s use of the term ḥukamāʾ, since he

claims that the ḥukamāʾ who are mentioned in the Injīl (Gospels) are, actually, the Muslims.186

This quote is not found in the New Testament and is one of the traditions attributed to Jesus in

the Ḥadīth literature.

Al-Junayd is considered one of the most celebrated orthodox exponents of the ‘sober’

school of Sufism and is often credited with a reconciliation of mystical experience to the legal

and theological norms of his time.187 Knysh explains how Junayd’s dichotomy between fanāʾ

(annihilation) and baqāʾ (subsistence) provided a possible rationale for the superiority of

legalism over mysticism, a concession to the powers that be. This may have been a direct result

of the Inquisition of Ghulām Khalīl (d. 275/888–889), which spared al-Junayd, as he was able to

count himself among the doctors of the law.188 Al-Junayd clearly provides a framework for

mystics that successfully incorporated the legal and mystical spheres into a comprehensive

mystical methodology. It is not clear whether this was the result of political and religious

circumstances or whether he was actually attempting a rapprochement between two diverging

tendencies within Islam. While al-Junayd’s fanāʾ/baqāʾ dichotomy is intriguing and

186
Ibid. Nawādir, vol. 2, p. 288.
187
Arberry, AJ. “al-Djunayd.” EI2. Edited by: P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C.E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel, W.P.
Heinrichs. Brill Online, 2013. Reference. University of Michigan-Ann Arbor. 17 September 2013.
<http://referenceworks.brillonline.com.proxy.lib.umich.edu/entries/encyclopaedia-of-islam-2/al-djunayd-
SIM_2117>
188
Ibid. Islamic mysticism, p. 55

84
groundbreaking, it is not the only focus of his mystical pedagogy.189 In his Rasāʾil we

consistently find a gnoseology more similar to the mysticism of al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī whose

approach we will address later. Al-Junayd places ḥikma in direct contrast to outward knowledge

(ʿilm) and elevates the ḥakīm above the doctor of law (ʿālim). The Letters of Junayd begin with a

letter from al-Junayd to ʿAmr ibn ʿUthmān al-Makkī (d. 291/903 or 297/909) whom he praises as

one who was given, “of knowledge and wisdom (ḥikma) the highest of its levels.” The letter

proceeds to warn against the deluding nature of outward knowledge and the inability of those

who are specialists in the normative Islamic disciplines to speak cogently about ‘inner

realities.’190 What follows is a dialog between a scholar of the outward (ʿālim) and a sage

(ḥakīm) who brings the ʿālim to tears and facilitates the “dawning of the sun of ḥikma and the

attainment of the limpidity of its light.”191 The ḥakīm is stylized as a ‘physician of the heart’ who

can cure the ‘disorders’ of the scholar. The scholar pleads with the ḥakīm, “please give me more

of this medicine of yours for my wound has become severe.”192 At this point the scholar is

broken and concedes that the ḥakīm is “more knowledgeable about what is hidden in my

innermost secret.”193 Al-Junayd invokes an analogy that likens the physician of the outward body

to the sincere, refined ḥakīm who, like the physician, treats the often subtle and hidden diseases

within the body. Likewise, the ḥakīm is knowledgeable of the inner maladies of the soul.194 For

al-Junayd, the ḥakīm is someone sanctioned by God to speak wisdom (ḥikma), which is a type of

personal revelatory knowledge. He says, “With that, know that the speakers of ḥikma don’t speak

except after they are permitted to do so, but when they do, great benefit descends upon those

189
Abū al-Qāsim b. Muḥammad al-Junayd. Rasāʾil al-Junayd. Ed. ʿAbd al-Qādir, Ḥasan. Al-Qāhira: Buraʿī
Wijdawī. 1988.
190
Ibid, pp. 8–9.
191
Ibid, p. 9.
192
Ibid, p. 9.
193
Ibid, p. 9.
194
Ibid, p. 11.

85
who are given to hear it.”195 Ḥikma in al-Junayd’s mystical thought is something that runs or

streams (jāriya) and is associated closely with light (nūr).196 A consistent motif in his Rasāʾil is

that of the ordinary believer immersed in heedlessness (ghafla) who comes into contact with

someone whose words are characteristic of ḥikma, wisdom from God. This wisdom pours over

the soul of the listener who becomes perplexed and disoriented. This state is the first stage of

awakening and occurs at the hands of the ḥakīm and not the Ṣūfī as we might have expected. In

fact, the word Ṣūfī is not used anywhere in al-Junayd’s letters.

Another Ṣūfī and one of al-Junayd’s associates in Baghdād was Abū Saʿīd al-Kharrāz (d.

286/899) a contemporary of al-Junayd in Baghdād and a student of Sarī al-Saqatī (d. 253/867).

We also find that the ḥukamāʾ are a significant motif in his Kitāb al-Ṣidq. Kharrāz does not

contrast between the ḥukamāʾ and the ʿulamāʾ as does al-Junayd. For Kharrāz, the ḥukamāʾ seem

to be a distinct and well known group since he mentions in Kitāb al-Ṣidq that “the insightful of

the ḥukamāʾ have agreed that this world is the self and what it desires,” and “the ḥukamāʾ have

come to consensus that it (love) results from the constant mention of blessings.” For Kharrāz to

mention that the ḥukamāʾ have “agreed” or “found consensus” on a particular subject suggests

that the literature of this group was accessible or that their general views were known to his

audience. A student of Kharrāz asks for him to explain the saying of “the ḥakīm” about the

nature of contentment as being a state of happiness and joyfulness in the face of calamities.197

Kharrāz goes on to explain that the presence of God fills the heart of the servant such that it

becomes greater than the calamities that beset that individual.198 The familiar theme of balance

195
Ibid, p. 9.
196
Ibid, pp. 3, 5, 36.
197
This definition of contentment fits Stoic values of restraint in the face of external difficulties.
198
Abū Saʿīd al-Kharrāz. Kitāb al-ṣidq, aw, al-ṭarīq al-sālima. Ed. Ibrāhīm al-Munʿim Khalīl. Bayrūt: Manshūrāt
Muḥammad ʿAlī Bayḍūn. 2001. p.88

86
through opposing states is also attributed to the ḥukamāʾ. Kharrāz states, man ūtiya min al-

maḥabbati shayʾan fa lam yuʾtā mithlahu min al khashya fa-huwa makhḍūʿ, “whoever is given

some love but is not given its equivalent amount in terms of fear then he is deceived.”199 Most of

the other references to the ḥukamāʾ in Kitāb al-Ṣidq involve general statements about abstinence

from the world and closeness to God that fit a general ascetic/mystical model.

None of the Ṣūfīs and proto-Ṣūfīs mentioned above clearly state who the ḥukamāʾ are or

what ḥikma is in well-defined terms. The closest we get is with al-Junayd who likens the ḥakīm

to a ṭabīb (physician), which fits a Hellenistic model since medicine (ṭibb) and philosophy

(ḥikma) are often mentioned together as a genre well into the Islamic period.200 Al-Junayd sees

the ḥakīm as a recipient of divine knowledge, a kind of knowledge that can cure the soul just as

the physician is able to cure bodies. We might suggest that the dichotomy between physician and

philosopher, a dichotomy that was prominent in the Hellenistic culture of Late Antiquity, may

have been transposed into an Islamic milieu as the doctor of the law (ʿālim) and the sage (ḥakīm)

such as we find in the writing of al-Junayd.

Ḥikma and the Ḥakīm among the Early Ismāʿīlī Shīʿīs

We find the closest connection to al-Tirmidhī’s concept of the ḥakīm and the nature of

the ḥakīm’s wisdom (ḥikma) in the writings of early Ismāʿīlīs of the early 10th-century C.E.

According to Yves Marquet, the Ikhwān al-Ṣafā often apply the sobriquet ḥakīm to the Imām of

199
Ibid, p.84
200
We have the work Ṭabaqāt al-aṭibbāʾ wa-l-ḥukamāʾ by Abū Dāwūd Sulaymān b. Ḥassān al-Andalūsī written in
377/987. This work, however seems to have only relied on western sources as opposed to the eastern Greek sources
that informed works of the same genre mentioned by Ibn al-Nadīm (d. 385-8/995-8). Ibn al-Nadīm in his Fihrist also
mentions several other books of the same genre from the 3 rd Islamic century (9th-century C.E.) by Iṣḥāq b. Ḥunayn
(d. 298/911) titled Tārīkh al-aṭibbāʾ wa-l-ḥukamāʾ. Al-Yaʿqūbī (d. 284/897) includes stories of aṭibbāʾ and ḥukamāʾ
in his writings as does Ḥunayn b. Iṣḥāq (d. 260/873) in his book Nawādir al-Falāsifa. It is clear that Ḥunayn b.
Iṣḥāq relied heavily on the work of John of Caesarea mentioned earlier.

87
the age, or a great prophet or to a successor of that prophet.201 However, the term ḥakīm can also

designate the Imām in contradistinction to the Prophet of the time.202 While the term generally

applies to prophets, Imāms and their successors, such as the forty abdāl (substitutes) it can also

apply to ancient philosophers such as Socrates, Plato, Aristotle and Pythagoras.203 Even

astrologers, alchemists and magicians receive the title of ḥukamā’ (sages) in the Siwān al-

Ḥikma.204 Here we can see a general application of the term ḥakīm to the Imam of the time who

takes his knowledge from a great prophet. This is balanced by the fact that the term is offered

loosely to include other types of learned individuals who, in the mind of the Ikhwān, also

received their knowledge originally from a prophet of some sort. Here the Ikhwān follow the

Ismāʿīlī approach mentioned by Paul Walker,205 which creates a narrative for the origins of

philosophical and hermetic sciences in the persons of prophets. For the Ikhwān, the ḥukamāʾ

represent any knowledge or wisdom that has a divine origin of some kind. Marquet shows how

the ḥukamāʾ, as purveyors of “good philosophy”, are contrasted to what the Ikhwān call the

“anti-prophets” who are characterized as materialists and atheists.206 They are referred to as

frères des dèmons who practice illicit magic and lead people astray. Here we find that the

ḥukamāʾ offer a convenient catch-all to set up the main dichotomy between knowledge that is

inspired and therefore has a divine source relating to the soul, as opposed to human-knowledge,

which is materialistic and the purview of the anti-philosophers.

201
Yves Marquet. La philosophie des Ikhwān al-Ṣafāʾ. Nouvelle éd. augmentée. Milan: Archè. 1991. p. 461.
202
Ibid, p. 462
203
Ibid, p. 462
204
ʿAlī b. Zayd al-Bayhaqī. Tatimma ṣiwān al-ḥikma: texts and studies. Ed. Fuat Sezgin, Carl Ehrig-Eggert, and E.
Neubauer. Frankfurt am Main: Institute for the History of Arabic-Islamic Science at the Johann Wolfgang Goethe
University. 2005.
205
Walker, Paul Ernest. Early philosophical Shīʿism: the Ismāʿīlī Neoplatonism of Abū Yaʿqūb al-Sijistānī.
Cambridge [England]: Cambridge University Press. 1993.
206
Ibid, p. 462

88
 The Ikhwān are very close to other early Ismaʿīlis of the 10th-century C.E. such as Abū

Ḥātim al-Rāzī (d. 322/933-34) who is known to have engaged in a famous polemical debate with

the renowned physician and philosopher Abū Bakr al-Rāzī (d. 313/925 or d. 323/935) as

summarized in the triumphalist work of al-Rāzī Aʿlām al-Nubuwwa. It is Abū Ḥātim al-Rāzī who

comes closest to identifying ḥikma and the ḥakīm in terms that mimic al-Tirmidhī’s concept of

these terms. In his Kitāb al-Zīna al-Rāzī describes God as the Ḥakīm because he separates

between opposites by placing medial properties between them, for example, the separation of hot

and cold through the mediation of wet and dry. This separation and maintenance of the opposites

is exemplary of God’s wisdom and the balance he maintains in the world. This is close to a

Pythagorean concept of opposites, however, the opposites (hot, cold, wet and dry) mentioned by

Abū Ḥātim are not represented in the ten primary opposites that govern the world according to

later Pythagoreans.207 It may be that the allusion here is to Greek Galenic medicine that uses hot,

cold, wet and dry as a heuristic for understanding balance and imbalance in the body.

It is clear that the ḥukamāʾ represent a motif of learned individuals that dates prior to the

Islamic conquests and continues up through the 10th-century C.E. In Christian, Jewish, Ṣūfī and

Shīʿī sources the ḥukamāʾ function as a backdrop to accentuate the various ideals of these

disparate religious viewpoints. The ḥukamāʾ are useful as a motif during this period particularly

because they are not well defined as a category of learned specialists, yet they still seem to

convey a sense of authority. All of the groups surveyed here tend to be outliers with respect to

the dominant episteme of the Sunnī ʿulamāʾ. So, while ḥikma is not a major knowledge-type in

207
Aristotle describes Pythagorean doctrine as having tern primary opposites in his Metaphysics (986a). It seems
that this doctrine was not the original Pythagorean doctrine which was only composed of two original sets of
opposites. See J. A. Philip. “Aristotle’s Sources for Pythagorean Doctrine.” Pheonix, vol. 17, no. 4 (Winter 1963) p.
252. Aristotle makes the distinction between ‘definite opposites’ (ἐναντιότητας) such as the limited and the
unlimited and “chance opposites” such as white and black, large and small.

89
Rosenthal’s schematization of knowledge in Islam, it clearly was important for more marginal

groups. In a sense, al-Tirmidhī’s development of ḥikma and stylization of the ḥukamāʾ brings

this marginal discourse stream into the circle of more mainstream Sunnī thought. The consistent

reference in both Muslim and non-Muslim sources to a Hellenistic precedent for the ḥukamāʾ

indicates that it is a Greek model that most likely serves for this motif. Also, the important

connections to biblical and New Testament literature for the ḥukamāʾ indicates that this

Hellenistic motif filtered down to the Muslims from eastern Christians who were steeped in this

lore for centuries before the Arab/Muslim conquests of the 7th-century C.E.

Ḥikma and the Ḥakīm in the Theosophy of al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī

Al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī’s contribution to the development of what became normative

Sufism sometime in the late 10th- and early 11th-centuries C.E. has not been sufficiently

acknowledged, nor has his contribution to later Ṣūfī metaphysics been understood in its entirety.

One factor that has led to this lack of development in the study of al-Tirmidhī and his mystical

theosophy is that current theories differ widely on the core elements of his doctrine as well as the

sources of his inspiration. Yves Marquet considers al-Tirmidhī to have been the first mystic to

introduce Neoplatonic doctrines into Islamic mysticism as a prelude to Ibn ʿArabī.208 Bernd

Radtke, on the other hand, acknowledges that al-Tirmidhī was influenced by Neoplatonic and

Hermetic elements, yet counters by proposing that these were merely diffuse and amorphous

elements within al-Tirmidhī’s educational milieu. According to Radtke, these diffuse elements

were picked up by al-Tirmidhī and merged by him into a synthesis that combined theology,

jurisprudence, Ḥadīth speculation and various aspects of Gnosticism.209 Radtke has gone the

208
Ibid. “Al-Tirmidhī,” EI2.
209
Ibid. “Ḥakīm Termedī,” EIr.

90
farthest in situating al-Tirmidhī’s thought by contrasting and differentiating his ḥikma (wisdom)

from what later was known as illuminationist wisdom (ḥikmat al-ishrāq), propounded by the

famous Suhrawardī al-Maqṭūl (d. 587/1191) who was executed for heresy.210 Radtke’s argument

that al-Tirmidhī’s ḥikma (wisdom) is fundamentally different than Suhrawardī’s ḥikmat al-ishrāq

(wisdom of illumination) is convincing. However, Radtke’s discussion of ḥikma in “Theologie

und Philosophie” does not facilitate our understanding of al-Tirmdhī’s concept of ḥikma,

primarily because he does not provide a methodology for interpreting ḥikma within al-Tirmidhī’s

own context. We depart from Radtke in that we do not support the idea that al-Tirmidhī’s use of

Hellenistic thought is simply acquired through diffuse elements. Our study of al-Tirmidhī’s

Kitāb al-Ḥikma indicates that al-Tirmidhī’s use of Hellenistic elements is both intentional and

selective.

In addition to Marquet and Radtke, Franz Rosenthal discusses the place of knowledge

(ʿilm) and wisdom (ḥikma) as it relates to al-Tirmidhī. Rosenthal’s discussion tends to favor an

overly philological approach to the word ʿilm and attempts to draw a distinction between Islam, a

tradition he says focuses on ʿilm, and Christianity, a tradition that he claims favors ḥikma. This

approach ignores the nuances in meaning that are characteristic of the way knowledge was

categorized by al-Tirmidhī and others during the period under discussion. As mentioned earlier,

Rosenthal mistakenly assumes that Al-Tirmidhī considers ʿilm and ḥikma to be synonymous.211

According to my reading of al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī, he does not use the term ḥikma haphazardly.

He clearly delineates ḥikma as a special type of knowledge (ʿilm) and is consistent in his use of

the term.

210
Radtke, Bernd. “Theosophie (Ḥikma) und Philosophie (Falsafa). Ein Beitrag zur Frage der ḥikmat al-mašriq\al-
i¸šrāq.” In: Asiatische Studien 42 (1988), pp. 157–158.
211
Franz Rosenthal. Knowledge Triumphant, the Concept of Knowledge in Medieval Islam. Leiden, Brill. 1970. p.
38.

91
 It is not possible, though, to gain a complete view of al-Tirmidhī’s understanding of

ḥikma without a wide reading of his works, which are varied and complex. Al-Tirmidhī’s Kitāb

al-Ḥikma provides us with probably the most concise and elaborate explanation of ḥikma and its

place in his mystical theosophy. Nevertheless, references to ḥikma abound in his other works

such as Nawādir al-Uṣūl, ʿIlm al-Awliyā’ and Sīrat al-Awliyā’ among others. Al-Tirmidhī’s

concept of ḥikma has largely been unexplored partly due to the limited accessibility of KH, of

which only one manuscript is extant and whose script is difficult to decipher due to the absence

of dotting on the majority of the letters. KH is mentioned by Sezgin in Geschichte des

arabischen Schriftums among the eighty works he attributes to al-Tirmidhī ranging from large

books to small essays of only a few pages.212 KH closely follows al-Tirmidhī’s style and use of

terminology suggesting that it can be authentically attributed to al-Tirmidhī. Furthermore, our

transcription of KH in Appendix B provides notes that indicate the many parallels between KH

and other works that belong to al-Tirmidhī. Bernd Radtke, considered the foremost expert on al-

Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī, also lists KH amongst al-Tirmidhī’s works but does not discuss the contents

of the work in detail or its implications for al-Tirmidhī’s thought. Hence, the combination of the

complexity of al-Tirmidhī’s style coupled with his voluminous literary output and the relative

inaccessibility of KH have conspired to leave al-Tirmidhī’s concept of ḥikma largely unexplored.

The implications of this for al-Tirmidhī’s rather widely discussed doctrine of sainthood (walāya)

are highly significant because al-Tirmidhī uses ḥikma to frame his doctrine of walāya.

One of the key passages on the relationship between ʿilm and ḥikma by al-Tirmidhī is

found in NU. In his commentary on a ḥadīth concerning the nature of the awliyāʾ (saints) al-

Tirmidhī proceeds to divide the people of knowledge into three categories. The first category is

212
Sezgin, Fuat. Geschichte des arabischen schriftums. Leiden: E. J. Brill. 1967, vol. 1, pp. 653–659.

92
ʿulamāʾ bi-umūr Allāh taʿālā min al-ḥalāl wa-l-ḥarām (scholars of the commandments of God

most high concerning the permissible and impermissible). These are the scholars of sacred law

who specialize in jurisprudence. Al-Tirmidhī describes them as being known by the signs of

knowledge. The second category is the scholars of God’s management (tadbīr) of the world, and

they have upon them the sign of ḥikma and are known by their wisdom. Finally, the third

category of “men of knowledge” discusses those knowledgeable through God (ʿulamāʾ bi-Allāh),

and they have upon them the sign of God’s light and his awe-inspiring presence (hayba) and are

known through God himself. This final category, according to al-Tirmidhī, represents the

awliyāʾ.213 This tri-partite division is reinforced in another place in the NU where al-Tirmidhī

describes the three groups who bear God’s knowledge as the doctors of the law (ʿulamāʾ), the

sages (ḥukamāʾ), and the great ones (kubarāʾ) who are synonymous in al-Tirmidhī’s writing with

the awliyāʾ.214 Here we can see a clear distinction between three groups that all bear a different

kind of knowledge. The ḥukamāʾ are clearly a level distinct from the awliyāʾ and inferior to

them. This distinction between ḥukamāʾ and awliyāʾ is further supported in Kitāb al-Ḥikma

where the functions of the ḥukamāʾ and the awliyāʾ are delineated in juxtaposition to one

another.215 Prior scholarship has seemed to conflate the ḥukamāʾ and awliyāʾ, assuming that the

ḥukamāʾ are simply a synonymous term for the awliyāʾ. As we will see, such a hypothesis does

not stand up to scrutiny through a close reading of al-Tirmidhī’s works.

In the opening of Kitāb al-Ḥikma, al-Tirmidhī defines ḥikma as “the judgment of things,

according to their various harmful properties, in the way they function and proceed from the

Lord to his servant, and from the servant to his Lord in terms of their causes and effects.”216 This

213
Ibid. Nawādir, vol. 3, pp. 152–153.
214
Ibid, vol. 3, p. 23.
215
Muḥammad b. ʿAlī al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī. Kitāb al-ḥikma. Ms. Yazma Haraççıoğlu 806. Bursa, Inebey Library.
216
Ibid, fol. 1v.

93
definition falls directly in line with Neopythagorean definitions of wisdom (sophia) as

knowledge of things both divine and human.217 In his definition of ḥikma al-Tirmidhī joins two

opposites,218 the inward (bāṭin) and outward (ẓāhir). The ḥikma of the ḥakīm is knowledge that

encompasses inward (bāṭin) causes and effects, i.e., those that proceed from the Lord to his

servant and outward (ẓāhir) causes and effects, i.e., those that proceed from the servant to his

Lord. This passage is critical to our understanding of al-Tirmidhī’s concept of ḥikma because al-

Tirmidhī is the first to provide a full and coherent definition of ḥikma across all of the figures we

have discussed so far. This definition is neither purely metaphysical nor wholly cosmological. It

treats ḥikma as something cosmological in the sense that ḥikma is concerned with causes and

effects, but then characterizes it as metaphysical when described as a light knowledge that

proceeds from God. In this way al-Tirmidhī’s definition somewhat resembles al-Fārābī’s

statement that wisdom is knowledge of remote causes.219

The knowledge of opposites is the function par excellence of the ḥakīm in al-Tirmidhī’s

concept of ḥikma. Al-Tirmidhī goes on to state in KH that the ḥakīm is indispensable to the

knowledge of good and evil. For example, he states, “There is nothing closer to good than evil

nor anything farther. Ignorance joins them together in one place [i.e., conflates them] and

wisdom separates between them so that they are farther apart than the heaven and the earth

because wisdom makes evil the lowest of the low and good the highest of the high.” We can see

that according to al-Tirmidhī the knowledge of the ḥakīm is that which distinguishes between

opposites and keeps them separate in an ethical sense. We can see here that al-Tirmidhī is closest

217
Ibid. Knowledge triumphant, p. 36.
218
I use the word opposite here for the Arabic word ḍid – plural aḍiddad. I use the term opposite in contrast to
‘contrary’ as used by W. D. Ross in his translation of Aristotle’s Metaphysics. Henry Corbin uses the Latin term
coincidentia oppisotorum in a different sense than contrary. For Corbin coincidentia oppisotorum is a term that
refers to contrary terms that are joined in a single phrase such as ‘spiritual body’.
219
Ibid, p. 36.

94
to Abū Ḥātim al-Rāzī’s discussion on ḥikma, and he provides a similar yet much simpler

definition of ḥikma in terms of hot, cold, wet and dry. What is significant in al-Tirmdhī’s

discussion is the types of opposites that he uses. As mentioned previously, Aristotle describes the

later Pythagoreans as proposing ten opposites that are the bases of the universe. These are

limited-unlimited, odd-even, one-many, right-left, male-female, immobile-mobile, straight-

curved, light-dark, good-evil and square-rectangle. We don’t find this exact list of opposites in

Kitāb al-Ḥikma, but we find some of these among the many opposites al-Tirmidhī uses

throughout the book. The three most prominent are khayr and sharr (good and evil),220

mutaḥarrik and sākin (mobile and immobile),221 ḍawʾ and ẓulma (light and darkness).222 We find

possible indirect references to some of the other Pythagorean opposites such as lā maḥdūd

(unlimited),223 however, its contrary maḥdūd (limited) is not mentioned specifically. Al-Tirmidhī

mentions male and female pairs such as ikhwānika wa akhawātika (your brothers and sisters)224

but doesn’t mention male and female as a specific set of opposites. He also mentions right and

left, but in the Qurʾānic context of the people of the right hand (aṣḥāb al-yamīn) and the people

of the left hand (aṣḥāb al-shimāl).225 The point here is not to prove that al-Tirmidhī was a

Pythagorean, but rather to demonstrate that his concept of ḥikma incorporates more elements of

Pythagoreanism than other figures we have studied so far. Al-Tirmidhī’s gnoseology is neither

Neoplatonic nor gnostic in its structure. Rather than proposing a series of emanations from an

abstract One such as the Neoplatonists do, al-Tirmidhī sees the world as an interplay of opposites

that indicate the existence of a hidden metaphysical realm, or ghayb. Thus, we see that the ḥakīm

220
Ibid. Kitāb al-Ḥikma, fol. 6r.
221
Ibid, fol. 3v.
222
Ibid, fol. 4v.
223
Ibid, fol. 5v.
224
Ibid, fol. 3v.
225
Ibid, fol. 2v.

95
is the one who is knowledgeable of these opposites and functions as a means of maintaining the

harmony of opposites in nature.

Like al-Junayd, al-Tirmidhī draws on the analogy of the physician (ṭabīb) to explain who

the ḥakīm is and how he functions in the world. Just as the ṭabīb is the physician of the physical

body, the ḥakīm is the physician of the metaphysical body, or the soul. Al-Tirmidhī accurately

details the four humours and their corresponding qualities and seasons in KH.226 This clearly

demonstrates that al-Tirmidhī must have studied Greek medicine and possibly some type of

Hellenistic philosophy such as Pythagoreanism and Stoicism sometime in his career. Just as the

world is full of harmful animals and insects that can make us ill, so too the person traveling on

the path (ṭarīq) to God will find pitfalls every step of the way. The ḥakīm can see these pitfalls

and avoid them through his knowledge of the opposites that God establishes in the world.227 For

al-Tirmidhī, ḥikma has an ethical value in that it helps one to make decisions about what is right

and wrong in the particular moment. This has within it a veiled criticism of the ʿulamāʾ (the

scholarly class) who, according to al-Tirmidhī, do not have the sufficient tools for making ethical

judgments from their textual knowledge alone.

Al-Tirmidhī’s concept of ḥikma does not only function to explain ethics, but actually

helps to define his notion of walāya (sainthood). In NU al-Tirmidhī differentiates the walī from

the ḥakīm by juxtaposing the first Rightly Guided Caliph Abū Bakr (d. 13/634) to ʿUmar (d.

23/644), the second Rightly Guided Caliph.228 Al-Tirmidhī relates a story about a time when

Bakr comes from Yemen with three swords. When his son sees him upon his return, his son asks

for one of the swords and Abū Bakr gives it to him. The sword was decorated with gilding.

226
Ibid, fol. 5v.
227
Ibid, fol. 6v.
228
Ibid. Nawādir, vol. 3, p. 127-132.

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ʿUmar saw what happened and approached Abū Bakr stating that he, ʿUmar, had a stronger

claim to the sword. Abū Bakr agreed and ʿUmar proceeded to take the sword from Abū Bakr’s

son. Then, ʿUmar went home and separated the gilding from the blade. He then gave the blade

back to Abū Bakr’s son and returned the gilding to Abū Bakr, the Caliph at the time. Al-Tirmidhī

explains that Abū Bakr represents the walī and is more like the Prophet Muḥammad, while

ʿUmar represents the ḥakīm. Abū Bakr gives freely without any concern for the value of the

sword. He sees the need in the moment and addresses it as inspiration from God. ʿUmar, on the

other hand, wants to do what is right. He is the ḥakīm who differentiates right from wrong. He

takes the blade and gives it to the son of Abū Bakr who had asked for the sword, so Abū Bakr’s

son still received the sword in the end. However, ʿUmar proceeds to give the gilding to Abū Bakr

whom he believes to have a greater need for it as the leader of the fledgling Muslim community.

Abū Bakr follows ʿUmar’s suggestion when ʿUmar presents this argument for what is ‘right’ but,

according to al-Tirmidhī, Abū Bakr’s first action was the inspired action, whereas ʿUmar’s was

filtered through an abstract process or evaluation. One significant aspect of this story related by

al-Tirmidhī is that both the motifs of walī and ḥakīm are embodied as Muslim historical figures.

The ideal walī is Abū Bakr and the ideal ḥakīm is ʿUmar. Abū Bakr is higher in rank than ʿUmar,

but both are ‘correct’ according to al-Tirmidhī within their own levels of ḥikma (wisdom) and

maʿrifa (gnosis). This and other stories told by al-Tirmidhī explain how the ḥakīm and the walī

represent separate levels of spiritual attainment and gnosis, although it is significant to note that

the walī encompasses the ḥakīm, but the ḥakīm does not encompass the walī. The level of the

ḥakīm frames the level of the walī since it is the walī who transcends the dualism of right and

wrong. Al-Tirmidhī is clearly recasting an ancient motif in Islamic terms. Furthermore, in KH

the only authority mentioned in the book with respect to ḥikma is someone he titles, al-ḥakīm or

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‘The Sage’. This person is the early traditionist Wahb b. Munabbih (d. 110/728 or 114/732), who

is credited with introducing many Jewish and Christian traditions into the Ḥadīth corpus knows

as Isrāʾīliyyāt.

The ḥakīm and his ḥikma exist at the level of opposites. This is a level of knowledge

above the rules of permissibility and impermissibility represented by jurisprudence or Fiqh.

Ḥikma is an ethical, situational type of knowledge that requires judgments of right and wrong.

Essentially, what al-Tirmidhī is saying is that knowledge of the law is not enough to make

ethical judgments. If we understand al-Tirmidhī’s Ḥanafī background, the role of the ḥakīm as

someone who makes ethical judgments is more clearly understood. In the next chapter we will be

explaining in more detail al-Tirmidhī’s Ḥanafī credentials. The Ḥanafī School of law is unique

among the schools of Islamic jurisprudence in that it includes a legal procedure called istiḥsān

(juristic preference). That is, if the judge deems that the rule of law does not serve the aims of the

law, the judge can use his juristic preference to rule outside of the legal requirements. While

Ḥanafī uṣūl (legal methodology) was systematized in the 4th- Islamic century (10th-century C.E.),

it is obvious from al-Tirmidhī’s own works that the main points of Ḥanafī legal methodology

were under discussion in the 3rd- Islamic century (9th-century C.E.). Hence, the motif of the

ḥakīm is a complex one in al-Tirmidhī’s thought and it is not clear whether current ideas in his

time were informing his concept of the sage more or less than ancient ones were. Both of these

influences seem to have played an important role and that the product was al-Tirmidhī’s own

unique concept of wisdom.

If al-Tirmidhi developed a distinct concept of wisdom for the sage based on Hellenistic

and Islamic precedents, then the question is how this relates to the knowledge of the saint. The

walī, in al-Tirmidhī’s gnoseology rises even above the ḥikma of the ḥakīm. He or she (since al-

98
Tirmidhī demonstrates that women can also be awliyāʾ) are not bound by opposites, but just like

Abū Bakr in his giving of the sword to his son, they take no heed of what is particularly right or

wrong in a given situation but act according to what God wants in the moment and are thus

inspired. The walī in al-Tirmidhī’s epistemology characterizes the maqām (station) of fardāniyya

(singularity, non-duality) precisely because the walī goes beyond the dualities that are

characteristic of the world of the ḥakīm. The walī, according to al-Tirmidhī, looks at the world in

terms of one source and becomes a conduit for the effusion of benefit from that source into a

world of dualities. In a fascinating passage from KH al-Tirmidhī portrays the ḥakīm and the walī

as if they are upon a path walking through the wilderness. The ḥakīm has knowledge of the

various beasts of prey that can harm him on this path. The beasts are likened to the desires that

waylay a traveler to God that may take him unawares. While the ḥakīm has knowledge of these

capricious desires that can cause harm, he is not completely protected from them. He must use

his knowledge of them to protect himself from their danger. The walī, on the other hand, walks

through this scape completely unscathed. The beasts of prey do not touch him just as caprice

does not affect him. According to al-Tirmidhī, the ḥakīm reaps the benefit of protection through

his companionship with the walī. In KH the ḥakīm himself has a contrary, which is often the

safīh (or the imbecile) while the walī has no opposite in al-Tirmidhī’s writing since the walī is

the inheritor of the prophets and receives divine knowledge directly from God. The walī is also a

muḥaddath or one ‘spoken to directly by God’ and is thus the conduit for God’s mercy into the

world. Al-Tirmidhī’s tri-partite division of knowledge into ʿilm, ḥikma and maʿrifa provides a

strong basis for understanding ḥikma in relation to both ʿilm and maʿrifa. Not only does this help

in understanding how al-Tirmidhī formed his concept of walāya, but emphasizes its unique

structure in its own right among early Islamic mystics. We can see from this discussion that

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knowledge of the episteme helps to highlight how al-Tirmidhī is offering a new and unique

contribution to Islamic mystical thought. Not only does the motif of the ḥakīm draw upon

hellenistic and biblical precedents, but it reflects legal and theological norms current in al-

Tirmidhī’s time. This type of synthesis is rare and highly significant. It speaks to why al-

Tirmidhī’s legacy may have been preserved in such entirety. His ideas were seen as valuable by

his contemporaries among the scholarly establishment. We will see in Chapter 3 how al-

Tirmidhī’s impact was felt beyond the boundaries of Islamic mysticism as his thought played an

important role in the development of the Ḥanafī/Mātūrīdī theological tradition.

Conclusion

In this chapter we discussed the contours of ḥikma (wisdom) among a diverse set of

historical figures before and after al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmdhī. Understanding his episteme has helped

us to identify his important contribution to the concept of ḥikma and how it serves to frame our

knowledge of walāya, a topic we will address in Chapter 5. His relatively untapped and

misunderstood work, KH has provided us with a new basis for evaluating his gnoseology as it is

colored by Hellenistic antecedents. It is clear that al-Tirmidhī was not merely borrowing vague

elements of this Hellenistic culture but must have studied Greek medicine and some form of

Pythagoreanism, possibly through pythagorean literature available in his time. This was not

simply a blind imitation of Greek heritage, but a means of using that heritage to support his

doctrine of walāya (sainthood). The implications of this finding pose new questions about the

possible relationship between al-Tirmidhī’s ideas and later concepts of sainthood and

sanctification found in the writings of other Muslim mystics such as Ibn ʿArabī, who relied

heavily on Al-Tirmidhī as an inspiration for his work. Even more thought provoking is the

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possibility of a non-dual framework for sainthood based on a particular conceptualization of

ḥikma in terms of opposites and the understanding that the walī is someone who passes beyond

these dualities in his direct contemplation and intimate conversation with God. Al-Tirmidhī’s

non-dual framework leads us to see the possibility of a Buddhist influence, which is not

unrealistic given that al-Tirmidhī’s birthplace and residence was once a center of Buddhism in

Transoxania on the eve of the Islamic conquests. Indian Buddhism specifically seeks to move

beyond a dualistic concept of the world and perceives the ultimate non-duality of consciousness

as distinct from the natural world. Also significant in al-Tirmidhī’s synthesis is the way he

combined and juxtaposed textual knowledge with both knowledge of the natural world and

knowledge bequeathed directly from God. Al-Tirmidhī takes an important position in this regard

about the place of ‘science’ with respect to religious learning and inspiration.

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 Chapter 3

The Theological Significance of Walāya

Previous scholarship on al-Tirmidhī has not appreciated the extent

of al-Tirmidhī’s debt to the Ḥanafī theological tradition. This
chapter seeks to establish al-Tirmidhī’s connection to this discourse
stream and explain how some of its basic assumptions inform his
doctrine of sainthood. Not only was al-Tirmidhī influenced by
Ḥanafī theology, but he played an important role in the development
of the later Ḥanafī School. Al-Tirmidhī’s more egalitarian approach
to sainthood clearly stems from his Ḥanafī theological background
with its tradition of inclusiveness and its expansive definition of
belief.

Al-Tirmidhī’s Scholarly Background

The current research on al-Tirmidhī (Bernd Radtke, Yves Marquet, Sara Sviri, Geneviève

Gobillot, ʿAbdallāh Barakat, et al.) has not adequately dealt with his audience. As was stated in

the previous chapter, al-Tirmidhī is often portrayed as an outlier, someone whose ideas were

unique, ahead of his time, and who may have spawned a movement, the Hakīmiyya.229 This

perception of al-Tirmidhī depicts him primarily as a mystic. Since Islamic mysticism found its

systematization under scholars such as al-Sulamī and al-Qushayrī in the 5th- Islamic century

(11th-century C.E.), historians have frequently used the biographical dictionary of al-Sulamī as a

229
Abū al-Ḥasan ʿAlī al-Hujwīrī (d. 465–469/1072–1077) mentions the Ḥakīmiyya in his treatise on Sufism Kashf
al-Maḥjūb along with eleven other Ṣūfī sects. Only the Malāmatiyya (The People of Blame) are found in other
supporting texts giving the impression that Hujwīrī’s discussion around these ‘sects’ may be more of an attempt to
classify various trends in Sufism during his time according to what he sees as ideological viewpoints rather than the
presence of actual ‘schools.’ This may also be an example of a later trend that projects schools (madhāhib) back
onto the major figures of early Islam who are styled as eponyms. For more on al-Hujwīrī see Hosain’s article
“Hujwīrī” in EI2.

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point of departure in order to understand the early figures of many proto-Ṣūfī mystical

movements such as the Baghdād School, the Basran School and the Khurāsānian School.230

Mystical movements of the 3rd- Islamic century (9th-century C.E.) had not yet developed an

identity that was socially accepted, hence both al-Junayd and al-Tirmidhī escape persecution

primarily because they can claim juristic credentials.231 If such mystical movements were indeed

too nascent to expect a larger audience of mystics whom their writings were targeting, it may be

that we need to look elsewhere to situate them historically. The issue of audience is critical for us

to situate al-Tirmidhī and to interpret his ideas. In Chapter 2 we showed that ḥikma represented a

broadly accepted approach to knowledge and a discourse that al-Tirmidhī was a part of. We also

saw how the term ḥikma represented a widely accepted gnoseology from the 8th- to the early

10th-century C.E., after which time the same term became associated with Greek knowledge in

its Aristotelian and Neoplatonic forms. While ḥikma was not represented in the basic episteme

outlined by Rosenthal, theology (Kalām) certainly is one of his categories. It makes sense then to

look at the discourse stream that supports this knowledge-type in al-Tirmidhī’s context. In

Khurāsān and Transoxania Ḥanafism had become widespread by the middle of the 3rd- Islamic

230
See Chapter Six of Knysh’s (2010) Islamic Mysticism: A Short History titled, “The Systematization of the Ṣūfī
Tradition” for further discussion of the period of systematization of Sufism in Khurāsān during the 4th- and 5th-
Islamic centuries.
231
According to Gramlich and van Ess, al-Junayd escaped the Miḥna of Ghulām Khalīl (d. 275/888) by claiming to
be a jurisprudent (faqīh). For more on al-Junayd and the effect of the Miḥna on the Ṣūfīs of Baghdād in the 9th-
century C.E. see Knysh’s (2010) Islamic Mysticism: A Short History, p. 62. During the same general time period al-
Tirmidhī faced persecution from certain local scholars in his town of Tirmidh for discoursing on the topic of love,
nearly the same accusation leveled at the Ṣūfī mystics of Baghdād during the Miḥna of Ghulām Khalīl. Tāj al-Dīn
al-Subkī (d. 771/1370) relates from al-Sulamī that when al-Tirmidhī was summoned to Balkh on account of these
accusations of heresy he escaped persecution on account of his conformance to the madhhab of the scholars of that
city. Al-Subkī’s words are fa-jāʾa ilā Balkh fa-qabilūhu bi-sabab muwāfaqatihi iyyāhum ʿalā al-madhhab, “He went
to Balkh and they accepted him because of his conformance to them with regards to their school.” We know that al-
Tirmidhī was a Ḥanafī (See Radtke and O’Kane, The Concept of Sainthood in Early Islamic Mysticism, p. 15) and it
is likely that the Hanafīs of Balkh supported him against his detractors. Thus we can see that like al-Junayd, al-
Tirmidhī escapes persecution through his ability to claim a relation to a particular school of law. For al-Junayd it
was the school of Abū Thawr and for al-Tirmidhī it was the school of Abū Ḥanīfa.

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century (9th-century C.E.) in both legal and theological discourses among the scholarly elite.232

Muʿtazilī theology was more widely represented than Traditionalism among Ḥanafīs in Khurāsān

at this time. Thus, it is important to emphasize that when we refer to Ḥanafī theology we mean

the discourse stream that was connected to works such as al-Fiqh al-Akbar I and other texts that

we will address later in this chapter.

When reading entries on al-Tirmidhī in EIr and in Brill’s EI2 one may question whether

we are even dealing with the same individual. Marquet classifies al-Tirmidhī as a traditionalist

who is against philosophy and Kalām233 while Radtke, on the other hand, classifies him rather

ambiguously as a theosophist, borrowing ideas from both Shiʿī and gnostic speculation.234

Neither of these views clearly situates al-Tirmidhī within his scholarly milieu nor addresses the

audience for whom al-Tirmidhī was writing. In his dissertation on al-Tirmidhī, Radtke provides

more detail on al-Tirmidhī’s background. He acknowledges that al-Tirmidhī’s early background

was Ḥanafī, however, he denies that Ḥanafī jurisprudence or theology had any serious effect on

his thought.235 For Radtke, al-Tirmidhī’s Ḥanafī background is only one of many sources that al-

Tirmidhī used to develop a unique synthesis that became his own. While there is some credence

to this approach it does not explore the extent to which al-Tirmidhī is indebted to the Ḥanafī

theological tradition. Radtke’s approach to Ḥanafī theology perceives tradition in rather static

terms, similar to the way he portrays other theological movements such as the Muʿtazilīs and

Ashʿarīs.236 Part of the challenge in dealing with Ḥanafī theology is that it has generally been

232
For more on Ḥanafism in eastern Khurāsān see Madelung, Wilferd. “The early Murjiʾa in Khurāsān and
Transoxania and the spread of Ḥanafism.” Der Islam. 59 (1): 32–39. 1982.
233
Ibid. “Ḥakīm Termedī,” EIr.
234
Ibid. “al-Tirmidhī,” EI2.
235
Ibid. Al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmiḏī: Ein Islamischer Theosoph, p. 80.
236
Citing Madelung and Gardet, Radtke makes the relation of works (aʿmāl) to belief (imān) an important point of
distinction between the Ḥanafīs and the Muʿtazilīs. However, when we look at Ḥanafī theological works of the
3rd/9th-centuries C.E. we find that this distinction breaks down, with Ḥanafīs adopting the view that belief itself is a
type of “work”. Abū Muṭīʿ al-Nasafī (d. 318/930), the main spokesman of Hanafī theology prior to al-Māturīdī,

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overshadowed by Ashʿarism in the study of Islamic theology.237 The study of Ḥanafī theology

has mostly focused on the early texts of the school such as al-Fiqh al-Akbar I, al-Fiqh al-Absaṭ

and al-ʿᾹlim wa-l-Mutaʿallim.238 Abū Manṣūr al-Māturīdī (d. 332–336/943–947), after whom the

Ḥanafī school was later named, has only recently been studied closely by Mustafa Ceriç.239

Nevertheless, a more nuanced discussion of al-Māturīdī and his relationship to the later Ḥanafī

theological school that bears his name has yet to be elucidated.

Major Texts of the Ḥanafī Theological Tradition

Most studies of Ḥanafī theology begin with Arent Jan Wensinck’s Muslim Creed.

Wensinck evaluated three foundational texts in Ḥanafī theology, Al-Fiqh al-Akbar I, Waṣiyyat

Abī Ḥanīfa and Al-Fiqh al-Akbar II. The first of these texts is attributed to Abū Ḥanīfa240 while

the second is narrated as if it is from Abū Ḥanīfa but, according to Wensinck, probably

claims that belief itself is a “work” in his Kitāb al-Radd ʿalā al-Bidaʿ. See Bernand, Marie. Le Kitāb al-Radd ʿAlā
al-Bidaʿ d'Abū Muṭīʿ Makḥūl al-Nasafī. 1980, p. 118. It is understandable that Radtke would generalize about the
general positions of particular schools, however to say that al-Tirmidhī was following the Muʿtazilīs in particular on
this point of doctrine is not accurate.
237
Jackson, Sherman A. Islam and Problem of Black Suffering. Oxford University Press, New York. 2009, p. 102.
238
Wensinck provides an important analysis of the early texts of the Ḥanafī theological school in the The Muslim
Creed. His discussion revolves around creedal texts that were ascribed to Abū Ḥanīfa such as al-Fiqh al-Akbar I,
Waṣiyyat Abī Ḥanīfa and what Wensinck calls al-Fiqh al-Akbar II, a more advanced creedal text that is sometimes
attributed to Abū Manṣūr al-Māturīdī but which is most probably the work of Abū al-Layth al-Samarqandī (d.
373/983). Schacht discusses an early Murjiʿī text al-ʿᾹlim wa l-Mutaʿallim attributed to Abū Ḥanīfa through the
riwāya of Abū Muqātil al-Samarqandī (d. 208/823) although Schacht argues that Abū Muqātil was the original
author of the text. According to Schacht this text reflects the theological milieu of the 2nd Islamic century (8th-
century C.E.). Schacht’s discussion of early Murjiʾī and Ḥanafī Kalām does not go beyond al-Māturīdī. In Religious
Trends in Early Islamic Iran Wilferd Madelung discusses the historical importance of the early Ḥanafī theological
school up to Abū Manṣūr al-Māturīdī in as it appears in the eastern Islamic lands, however, his discussion is more
historical and does not touch upon the positions of the later school. Gardet (1956) discusses faith amongst the
various early sects of Islam distinguishing between early Murjīʿism and the Ḥanafī-Maturidī school, however he
doesn’t discuss Abū Muʿīn al-Nasafī (d. 508/1114) or the later Ḥanafī-Māturīdī scholars after him such as Maḥmūd
b. Zayd al-Lāmishī (d. 539/1144). Claude Gilliot goes the furthest in outlining some of the positions of the later
Māturīdī School but is still very general, giving preference to authors of the Ashʿarī School after al-Ghazālī (d.
505/1111) a contemporary of Abū Muʿīn al-Nasafī.
239
Ceriç, Mustafa. Roots of Synthetic Theology in Islam: A Study of the Theology of Abū Manṣūr al-Māturīdī (d.
333/944). Kuala Lumpur. International Institute of Islamic Thought and Civilization. 1995.
240
Both Wensinck and Schacht demonstrate that al-Fiqh al-Akbar I represents most closely what we can assume to
be some of the original creedal teachings of Abū Ḥanīfa. See Wensinck. The Muslim Creed, p. 187.

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originated sometime between the time of Abū Ḥanīfa and Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal.241 The third is often

attributed to Abū Manṣūr al-Māturīdī though Joseph Schacht prefers Abū al-Layth al-

Samarqandī (d. 373/983). According to Wensinck, the first two texts that represent an earlier

stage within the school are polemical and primarily attempt to refute the positions of other

movements. Both al-Fiqh al-Akbar I and the Waṣiyyat Abī Ḥanīfa are thought to have originated

around the latter half of the 8th-century C.E. Al-Fiqh al-Akbar II discusses more advanced

aspects of Kalām and follows a format that resembles an organized creed, with two sections

devoted to the two parts of the Muslim testification of faith (shahāda). Wensinck is not so

interested in following the development of the Ḥanafī/Māturīdī School in its fullest extent since

he does not show how the creed continued to develop in the Ḥanafī school, after the 3rd- Islamic

century (9th-century C.E.), but moves on to discuss al-Ashʿarī, al-Juwaynī242 and al-Ghazālī in

their development of Muslim Kalām.243 While there is some overlap between the Ashʿarī and al-

Māturīdī schools of theology, this overlap primarily occurs much later in the 14th-century C.E.

with Saʿd al-Dīn al-Taftāzānī (d. 791/1390). The Māturīdī School is often portrayed as a pale

shadow of the Ashʿarī School. This is unfortunate because the premises and points of doctrine of

the Māturīdī School represent a middle ground between Muʿtazilī Kalām and Ashʿarī Kalām.

One of the main authors of the later Māturīdī School, Abū Muʿīn al-Nasafī (d. 508/1115) in his

Tabṣirat al-Adilla, shows a high level of sophistication in his argumentation, but does not follow

al-Ghazālī and the Ashʿarī model in adopting an Aristotelian framework.244 While Wensinck’s

model for the early development of the creed is accurate for the early Murjiʾī-Ḥanafī School, it is

241
Wensinck, A. The Muslim creed: its genesis and historical development. London: F. Cass. 1965.
242
(d. 478/1085)
243
The general trend in studies of early Islamic theology is to focus on eastern theologians after al-Ashʿarī leaving
the later Ḥanafī-Māturīdī school almost completely neglected.
244
Claude Gilliot only briefly mentions Abū Muʿīn al-Nasafī in his treatment of the Ḥanafī theological tradition.

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not precise enough to help us situate al-Tirmidhī within this tradition. We propose filling out

Wensinck’s model by adding an additional stage between the Waṣiyyat Abī Ḥanīfa and al-Fiqh

al-Akbar II.

Abū Manṣūr al-Māturīdī is considered the eponym of the Māturīdī School but his thought

clearly builds upon earlier texts in the eastern Ḥanafī tradition.245 By the early 5th- Islamic

century (11th-century C.E.) the Māturīdī School had produced texts of depth and sophistication

far exceeding that of al-Fiqh al-Akbar II. Abū Muʿīn al-Nasafī’s Tabṣirat al-Adilla was a

monumental work establishing the position of the Ḥanafī School within the larger context of

philosophy and theology.246 His student Maḥmūd b. Zayd al-Lāmishī (d. 539/1144) wrote a mid-

sized work, al-Tamhīd, which demonstrated the extent of that sophistication. One possible reason

that al-Tirmidhī’s connection to the Ḥanafī School has not been thoroughly explored is because

most studies in Hanafī theology deal with either early texts attributed to Abū Ḥanīfa or to later

texts by al-Māturīdī and post-Māturīdī scholars. Two Ḥanafī theological works that date just

prior to al-Māturīdī that are coterminous with the life of al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī are al-Sawād al-

Aʿẓam247 by al-Ḥakīm al-Samarqandī248 and Kitab al-Radd ʿalā al-Bidaʿ by Abū Mutīʿ al-Nasafī

(d. 318/930), both texts dating approximately toward the end of the 9th-century C.E. and possibly

the very early part of the 10th-century C.E.249

245
Gilliot, Claude. “La théologie musulmane en Asie centrale et au Khorasan.” Arabica, T. 49, Fasc. 2 (Apr., 2002),
p. 154.
246
Abū Muʿīn an-Nasafī is also responding to Ashʿarism in his Tabṣirat al-Adilla. Ibid. La théologie musulmane, p.
161.
247
Al-Ḥakīm al-Samarqandī’s al-Sawād al-Aʿẓam is also found under the title Al-Radd ʿalā Aṣḥāb al-Ahwā’ and
was translated early on into Persian. The copies that have reached us contain a high degree of variation in wording.
The manuscript of al-Sawād al-Aʿẓam that I obtained from the British Museum Or. 12781 differs significantly in
wording from the printed 1837 Bulaq edition.
248
Despite the current death date of al-Ḥakīm al-Samarqandī (d. 342/953), we have an approximate date for the
authoring of his work al-Sawād al-Aʿẓam since we know that it was commissioned by the Samānid ruler Ismāʿīl b.
Aḥmad (279–295/892–907) at the end of the 9th-century C.E. Ibid. The Muslim Creed, p. 30.
249
Ibid. La théologie musulmane, p. 154. Keith Lewinstein provides the date of 290/902 for the authorship of al-
Sawād al-Aʿẓam. Lewinstein, Keith. “Notes on Eastern Ḥanafite Heresiography.” Journal of the American Oriental
Society, Vol. 114, No. 4 (Oct. – Dec., 1994), p. 588. Both Sezgin and Schacht assume that al-Sawād al-Aʿẓam was

107
 While Māturīdī’s Kitāb al-Tawḥīd250 appears about the same time or just after the works

of al-Samarqandī and al-Nasafī, Kitāb al-Tawḥīd represents a new departure for Ḥanafī theology

as described in the words of Claude Gilliot, “avec lui (al-Māturīdī) commence la théologie

dialectique en Transoxiane.” The works of both al-Samarqandī and al-Nasafī summarize and

codify ideas that had developed over the previous century within the school and thus are

representative of ideas that were formed prior to the 9th-century C.E. Not only was al-Tirmidhī

heir to these ideas but, as we will show, was an important figure in the transition from the creedal

stage of Ḥanafī theology to the dialectical stage that has become associated with al-Māturīdī.

The Development of Ḥanafī Theology

As was stated previously, the first Ḥanafī theological texts such as al-Fiqh al-Akbar I and

Waṣiyyat Abī Ḥanīfa deal mainly with interfaith polemics. Hence, the beginning words of

Waṣiyyat Abī Ḥanīfa are, al-īmān iqrārun bi-l-lisān wa-taṣdīqun bi-l-janān, that is, “Belief is

confessing with the tongue and attesting with the heart.”251 This creedal statement addresses

Khārijī notions that equate actions with belief.252 The definition of belief just mentioned

authored after al-Māturīdī’s Kitāb al-Tawḥīd and that it was the first work in that tradition, however al-Sawād al-
Aʿẓam shows no signs of al-Māturīdī’s influence there being no mention of ḥikma as an overarching principle, nor
does al-Sawād al-Aʿẓam align to the new creedal structure that al-Māturīdī inaugurates that distinguished between
ilāhiyyāt, points of doctrine on Godhood, and nubuwwāt, doctrines relating to prophecy. If al-Sawād al-Aʿẓam was
indeed part of al-Māturīdī’s school it would surely have incorporated at least some of these elements. Finally, the
date of authorship of al-Sawād al-Aʿẓam suggested by Lewinstein makes it more probably that al-Sawād al-Aʿẓam
was authored either before or at nearly the same time as al-Māturīdī’s Kitāb al-Tawḥīd. It seems that the motivation
to place al-Sawād al-Aʿẓam after Kitāb al-Tawḥīd may derive from the death date of al-Ḥakīm al-Samarqandī falling
after that of al-Māturīdī, however death dates are notoriously difficult to prove accurately especially when dealing
with contemporaries or near contemporaries in this time period.
250
Despite there being some discussion over the authenticity of the sole surviving manuscript of Kitāb al-Tawḥīd as
belonging to al-Māturīdī by Michel Allard (1967) and J. Meric Passagno (1984), both Gimaret (1980) and Özervarlı
(1997) consider Kitāb al-Tawḥīd to be authentic after a comparison of the book with various passages quoted from it
in Abū Muʿīn al-Nasafī’s Tabṣirat al-Adilla.
251
Ibid. The Muslim Creed, p. 125
252
Also see Madelung’s discussion of early Ḥanafī theological polemics and their relation to politics in Religious
Trends in Early Islamic Iran, p. 15.

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eventually becomes foundational to the Ḥanafī School, but, as we will see, is not left

uncontested. Most of the creedal statements in Waṣiyyat Abī Ḥanīfa attempt to take a medial

position with respect to some point of theological controversy in the first part of the 2nd- Islamic

century (8th-century C.E.). For example, one article in Waṣiyyat Abī Ḥanīfa states that belief

neither increases nor decreases. This again becomes a basic element of the Ḥanafī creed. This

follows from the Murjiʾī doctrine of faith that sought to close the door on accusations of unbelief

(takfīr) that were associated with various movements such as the Khārijīs and the extremist

(ghulāt) Shīʿīs. The various statements of these early creeds do not have any logical ordering, but

rather stake out positions in relation to Khārijī, Murjiʾī, Qadarī, Jabrī, Jahmī, Shīʿī and Muʿtazilī

sympathies.253 If we compare the contents of Waṣiyyat Abī Ḥanīfa and al-Fiqh al-Akbar I,

representing the early stage up to the end of the 2nd- Islamic century (8th-century C.E.), to those

of al-Fiqh al-Akbar II, representing the creed at the end of the 4th-Islamic century (10th-century

C.E.), we find many of the same creedal elements with some important new additions. Al-Fiqh

al-Akbar II discusses four new elements above and beyond what we find in al-Fiqh al-Akbar I,

which are: saints and their relation to prophets, the controversy of love and its relation to

antinomianism, the division between attributes and essence with respect to the Godhead and

finally the Aristotelian concept of body, essence and accident.254 When we look at the two texts

that we claim represent a medial stage in the development of early Ḥanafī theology, al-Sawād al-

Aʿẓam and Kitāb al-Radd ʿalā al-Bidaʿ, as it was expressed in the 9th-century C.E. in Khurāsān

and Transoxania, we only find mention of the first three of the four elements that distinguish al-

Fiqh al-Akbar II from the earlier Ḥanafī texts. The Aristotelian body-essence-accident concept

253
Ibid, p. 131. These are examples of early religious and political movements in Islam that were eventually
considered heretical by the majority Sunnī heresiographical tradition.
254
Ibid, pp. 188–197.

109
appears to enter Ḥanafī theology with the arrival of al-Māturīdī’s Kitāb al-Tawḥīd. When

looking at al-Tirmidhī’s works we also find discussions on the role of love, the position of saints

vis-à-vis prophets and the role of attributes in describing the Godhead. We do not, however, find

the Aristotelian notion of body-essence-accident that appears in al-Māturīdī’s work. Al-

Tirmidhī’s non-dual approach to walāya actually runs directly counter to Aristotle’s fundamental

notion of the excluded middle. The Greek Hellenic elements found in al-Tirmidhī’s works

emanate from the remnants of the Hellenistic mystical and philosophical heritage that permeated

the scholarly culture in Khurāsān and Transoxania at that time.255 Within a scholarly and cultural

milieu such as this, it is unlikely that al-Tirmidhī was not aware of Aristotle as Radtke assumes.

It is probable that al-Tirmidhi consciously chose to avoid some aspects of Aristotelianism while

giving preference for Pythagoreanism and Lettrism.256 Even throughout the translation

movement in Baghdād during the first part of the 9th-century C.E. Arab Muslims consciously

chose to translate scientific and philosophical works, but eschewed Greek literature such as the

plays of Aristophanes and the Iliad and Odyssey of Homer. This may have been because Abbasid

culture already prided itself in its own literary tradition. Nevertheless, we can assume that al-

Tirmidhī was making a conscious choice with respect to the various elements he wanted to

255
For more on the relationship between Al-Tirmidhī and Greek philosophy see Chapter 2. Radtke posits that al-
Tirmidhī’s thought represents an old Islamic theosophy very different than the new Islamic theosophy of Suhrawardī
and Ibn ʿArabī (d. 638/1240). According to Radtke, it was not until al-Farābī (d. 339/950) and Ibn Sīna (d.
428/1037) that Aristotelian philosophy and Neoplatonism made its mark on Islamic mystical thought. See Radtke’s
The Concept of Sainthood in Early Islamic Mysticism, p. 7. If we look, however, at contemporaries of al-Tirmidhī
such as Abū Ḥātim al-Rāzī (d. 322/933–934) and Abū Bakr al-Rāzī (d. 313/923 or 323/935) we find individuals for
whom Aristotelian thought and Neoplatonic ideas were not unknown. Kitāb al-Ḥikma also demonstrates that al-
Tirmidhī was closely aware of Galenic humorism. In Chapter 2 we showed how al-Tirmidhī’s thought corresponds
closely to various aspects of Pythagorean cosmology. We also showed how the juxtaposition of the ḥakīm to the
ṭabīb (physician) in al-Tirmidhī’s Kitāb al-Ḥikma relates to the Pythagorean notion of macrocosm versus
microcosm. The ḥakīm understands the macrocosm through his understanding of the opposites in the world just as
the physician understands the human body or the microcosm through the four opposites of hot, cold, wet and dry.
256
Lettrism is a cosmological movement in Islam and Jewish Kabala that views the world as originally composed of
letters spoken by God in the creation of the universe. For al-Tirmidhī the Arabic letters represent the key to
understanding the roots of words and thus the sources of created things as they were uttered by God in the
primordial language of Arabic.

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include in his many works. For al-Tirmidhī this was often dictated by inspiration. For example,

he records in his autobiography that he ceased his study of Zodiac because he received

inspiration from God that this was beneath his spiritual level.

Al-Tirmidhī’s Ḥanafī Credentials

Al-Tirmidhī’s episteme leads us to look more closely at the Hanafi theological tradition

and the study of this discourse stream has uncovered several texts that correspond closely to al-

Tirmidhī’s time period and the topics of his thought. Now we will more closely examine how al-

Tirmidhī’s theological views correspond to ideas within al-Sawād al-Aʿẓam and Kitāb al-Radd

ʿalā al-Bidaʿ. Before that, however, we will review al-Tirmidhī’s educational background and

what others have said about his relationship to the Ḥanafī tradition.

Al-Ḥujwīrī relates in Kashf al-Maḥjūb that al-Tirmidhī had studied Fiqh with one of the

close companions of Abū Ḥanīfa.257 While this is improbable given the distance in time between

the death of Abū Ḥanīfa and the birth of al-Tirmidhī, it is not impossible that he could have

studied Fiqh (ʿilm al-raʾy) with one of the students of the students of Abū Ḥanīfa. Radtke

mentions that al-Tirmidhī was born to a “theological” family258 sometime between 220 and 230

A.H. (835 and 845 C.E.) in the city of Tirmidh. He studied ʿilm al-raʾy and ʿilm al-āthār from a

young age.259 According to Radtke, the reference to ʿilm al-raʾy in his autobiography clearly

indicates his relationship to Ḥanafī Fiqh, which was prevalent in the eastern Islamic lands at the

time.260 In a passage from al-Rasāʾil al-Maknūna, al-Tirmidhī harshly criticizes the students of

257
ʿAlī b. ʿUthmān, al-Hujwīrī. The Kashf al-Mahjúb: the oldest Persian treatise on Sufism. New ed., London.
Luzac. 1970, p. 141
258
Ibid. Concept, p. 1. Also, Ibid. Thalāthat muṣannafāt, p. 1.
259
Ibid, p. 1
260
Ibid, p. 15.

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Abū Ḥanīfa while remaining respectfully silent about Abū Ḥanīfa himself.261 Despite his

scathing criticism, the passage belies al-Tirmidhī’s intimate knowledge of early Ḥanafī

jurisprudence and its major proponents:

Fanẓur ilā ʿilmihim al-ladhi qayyaduhu fi kutubihim min ʿulūm al-

aḥkām aḥsabuhu yaqaʿ fī akthar min alfi jildin li-Abī Ḥanīfa
raḥimahullāh wa-amma li-Abī Yūsuf wa-kutub Zufar wa Asad wa-
l-Luʾluʾī wa Muḥammad b. al-Ḥasan fa-hal tarā fī shayʾin minhā
dhakara al-mīʿād wa-ṣifāt al-janna wa-l-nār … fa ahl al-raʾy fi
khuluwwin min hādha al-ʿilmi kullihi innama istimāʿuhum bi-l-
ādhān wa fikrihim bi-l-qulūb fī khuṣūmāt al-nufūs wa-sharruhum
wa-makruhum wa khidaʿuhum wa-khiyānatuhum mā yūjib al-
ḥukmu ʿalayhim fi dhālik wa-ma yaḥillu lahum wa-mā yaḥrumu
ʿalayhim.262

Look at their knowledge, the rulings of which they have written

down in their books. I would estimate it to be found in over a
thousand volumes attributed to Abū Ḥanīfa, God have mercy on
him. As for Abū Yūsuf and the books of Zufar, Asad, Lu’lu’ī and
Muḥammad b. al-Ḥasan, do you see in any of them, [have they]
mentioned the Next Life or the description of Paradise and Hell?
.... So, Ahl al-Raʾy (the Ḥanafīs) are devoid of all of this. Their
hearing is only with their ears, their thinking with their hearts is
only the bickering of souls, and their evil, devising, deceit and
treachery require a judgment against them in all of those things as
well as what is permissible for them and what is forbidden for
them.

It is evident that al-Tirmidhī’s early education was Ḥanafī and that later in his career he would

respond to what he saw as deficiencies in the approach of Ḥanafī jurisprudence. Al-Tirmidhī not

only criticized scholars of Ḥanafī law but also Hanafī/Murjiʾī theology as well. In the beginning

261
Elsewhere al-Tirmidhī considers Abū Ḥanīfa to be a scholar of the outward (ʿulamā’ al-ẓāhir) and not a scholar
of the inward (ʿulamā’ al-bāṭin). Ibid. Al-Ḥakīm Al-Tirmidhī wa-naẓarīyatih, p. 90.
262
Al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī, M. b. ʿAlī. Al-Masā’il al-Maknūna. Ms. Leipzig. Folio 3B-4A in Al-Ḥakīm Al-Tirmidhī
wa-naẓarīyatih Fī Al-wilāyah, p. 95.

112
of al-Tirmidhī’s Sīrat al-Awliyāʾ (Khatm al-Awliyāʾ) he addresses his audience directly.

Speaking as if to a student asking a question, al-Tirmidhī responds:

Wa dhakarta anna nāsan yaqūlūna inna al-wilāyata majhulatun

ʿinda ahlihā wa man ḥasiba nafsahu waliyyan fahuwa baʿīdun
minhā. Faʿlam anna hāʾulaʾī al-ladhīna yakhuḍūna fī hādha al-
kalām laysū min hādha l-amr fī shayʾ. Innamā hum qawmun
yaʿtabirūna shaʾn al-wilāyati min ṭarīq al-ʿilm wa-yatakallamūna
bi-l-maqāyīs wa-l-ẓunūn wa-bi-l-tawahhumi min anfusihim.

You mentioned there are some people who say that sainthood is
unknown to its people and whoever considers himself to be a saint
is far from being so. Know that those who delve into this discourse
are not a party to this affair. They are a people who consider
sainthood to be from a type of outward knowledge and they
discuss it through methods and guesswork and through delusion
from themselves.263

Sainthood was a topic consistently addressed by the Ḥanafī theologians as we will see in more

detail later. Al-Tirmidhī’s use of the word “Kalām” here and “yatakallamūna” indicates an

address towards theologians. This is based on al-Tirmidhī’s use of the same wording to warn the

traveler on the path of maʿrifa about the “mutakallim” in his KH. There, al-Tirmidhī uses an

analogy to describe the true reality of the human being’s dependence upon God at all times,

inwardly and outwardly. Al-Tirmidhī likens the reliance of the human being on God to someone

held dangling in the air by a hand. Were the hand to let go for an instant, the one being held

would perish.264 In this way, the world, like the air, does not support the person. In truth, only

God is the real support. He uses this analogy in order to emphasize a disposition he sees lacking

in the theologian. For al-Tirmidhī, the theologian suffers from arrogance because he thinks he

263
Ibid. Drei Schriften, vol. 1, p. 1.
264
Ibid. Kitāb al-ḥikma, fol. 7r.

113
can describe God in his own terms. After this parable al-Tirmidhī uses the following words to

warn his reader about the pitfalls of Kalām:

Thumma an yakhluṣa min āfāti al-kalām fa inna al-mutakallima

muqaddirun li-mā yuftī bi-hā al-malik wa-muqtadir li-taqdīr
umūrihi wa tadbīr aʿmālihi fa-kayfa yajtarī an yuqaddira aw
yahtadiya aw yudabbira min aʿmālihi ʿalā miqdār ʿazamatihi wa-
mulkihi wa-kayfa yarā nafsahu yuṣliḥ lidhālik.265

Then he must desist from the pitfalls of Kalām, for the mutakallim
(theologian) estimates what the king himself decrees and estimates
in order to assess his affairs and consider his actions – so how is it
that he should presume to estimate or be correct, or think about any
of his (the king’s) actions to the extent of what is due to him (he
king) in terms of his (the king’s) greatness and his dominion and
how should he (the theologian) see himself capable of that?

Despite al-Tirmidhī’s harsh criticism of the theologian (mutakallim), his works demonstrate that

he is not completely opposed to Kalām. On the following page of his KH he counsels the

“mutakallim” (theologian) to take his “Kalām” from God and to consider what God manifests on

his tongue before he begins to speak about matters related to God.266 For al-Tirmidhī, Kalām

spoils ḥikma because it circumvents the process of ‘knowing God through spirituality’ through

its emphasis of ‘knowing God through the intellect’. As we shall see later in this chapter, not all

Kalām is problematic for al-Tirmidhī, but mainly the aspect of it that speculates abstractly about

the nature of God. Other aspects of Kalām are upheld by al-Tirmidhī such as the idea of God

having a particular number of attributes, discussion about the nature of belief and its relationship

to acts, as well as the discipline of heresiography. Also, when we look at al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine

of walāya, it is deeply colored by his theological background. This can only be the case for

265
Ibid, fol. 7r.
266
Ibid, fol. 7r.

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someone who at a very young age studied traditional Ḥanafī Fiqh and Kalām by rote

memorization as al-Tirmidhī has indicated in his autobiography.

Al-Tirmidhī’s criticism of the practitioners of Fiqh and Kalām in his time points to his

sense of independence and to the still fluid nature of the discourse stream around legal and

theological doctrines in his milieu. It would be incorrect, however, to state that al-Tirmidhī was a

Traditionalist, as Marquet claims, or that he adopted Muʿtazilī views, as does Radtke, since he

condemns both of these groups in line with the standard Ḥanafī theological position of his

time.267 Rather, al-Tirmidhī is better cast as a reformer who is reacting to the way knowledge

was understood and conveyed in the religious context in which he was articulating his views, a

context that was predominately Ḥanafī. He clearly lived before the formalization of the schools

(madhāhib) of law and theology that coalesced in the 4th Islamic century (10-century C.E.).

Hence, identifying him as Ḥanafī is a somewhat retrospective act. If we are going to designate

him as someone who belonged to the Ḥanafī theological milieu, then his ideas should conform

generally to the texts of that school both before him and after him and he should be in

conversation with its basic precepts. Furthermore, the later Ḥanafī tradition should claim him in

some way. We will now demonstrate how both of these hypotheses can be verified with respect

to al-Tirmidhī.

Al-Tirmidhī’s Ḥanafī Theology

Radtke states that al-Tirmidhī follows the Muʿtazilī position with respect to particular

aspects of belief (īmān) since al-Tirmidhī constantly stresses the point throughout his various

works that belief (īmān) must include actions (aʿmāl). Radtke states, “Glaube ist daher für

267
Ibid. Naẓarīyatih fī al-wilāyah, pp. 79–80.

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Tirmidhī nicht nur, wie nach hanafitischer lehre, reiner bekenntnisakt, sondern, als im menshcen

zure wirkung kommend, immer gleichzeitig auch äusseres tun: īmān ist zugleich auch werk

(ʿamal). Hierin folgt Tirmidhī den muʿtaziliten.”268 There are three problems with this analysis

of al-Tirmidhī’s theological views on belief. The first is that it doesn’t take into account al-

Tirmidhī’s views on language, that is, his insistence on the non-existence of true synonyms

(mutarādifāt). It also does not account for his audience, nor does it reflect the nuanced approach

of al-Tirmidhī toward mystical discourse and teaching. On first impression, one would wonder

how al-Tirmidhī could be called a Ḥanafī while contravening one of the primary precepts of the

school. We have to remember again that al-Tirmidhī preceded the period of formalization of the

schools of law and theology and that is why we prefer to use the term ‘discourse stream’ to

identify a less formal and more fluid period. The Ḥanafī School of theology did not become a

formal school of thought until sometime in the mid to late 4th- Islamic century (10th-century

C.E.) with the advent of al-Māturīdī’s Kitab al-Tawḥīd. Before al-Māturīdī we have a great deal

of diversity among Ḥanafīs in terms of their theological viewpoints. One of the reasons that al-

Tirmidhī insists that belief must include works (aʿmāl) is because he seeks to differentiate the

word belief (īmān) from submission (islām). Since there are no true synonyms according to al-

Tirmidhī, belief (īmān) and submission (islām) cannot be the same thing.269 In a sense, al-

Tirmidhī is trying to elevate the use of the word belief (īmān) to conform to what he sees as the

true use of this word as it is articulated in the Qurʾān and Ḥadīth.

Furthermore, al-Tirmidhī has a specific audience in mind for certain of his works. In his

Kitab Sīrat al-Awliyāʾ al-Tirmidhī engages in a conversation with one of his students and the

268
Ibid. Al-H̲akīm at-Tirmiḏī: ein islamischer theosoph, p. 81.
269
Al-Tirmidhī’s work Al-Furūq wa-Manʿ al-Tarāduf sets out to demonstrate how various terms that are thought to
be synonymous are actually different in meaning. The idea of the non-existence of true synonyms is an idea that
later becomes a part of Ḥanafī Uṣūl (Methodology).

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book is organized in terms of a dialog. For example, an unnamed speaker asks the question,

“What is the firmest handhold?” Al-Tirmidhī responds, “It is fitter for me to speak about it when

I find the right situation because it is ḥikmat al-ḥikma!” The student replies, “Give us a chance,

consider [the matter] out of concern [for us]!” Al-Tirmidhī answers, “Yes, ask out of your

poverty to your Lord!” The student then asks again, “What is the firmest handhold?” At this

point, al-Tirmidhī relents and proceeds to answer the question.270 Since al-Tirmidhī’s works

often have a pedagogical value for those whom he considered his students, he emphasizes a more

rigorous definition of belief than that accorded by the theologians who are defining belief for a

wider audience. In other words, to be a really ‘true believer’ (as an aspirant to the path of maʿrifa

or gnosis) one must demonstrate one’s beliefs through action. Al-Tirmidhī does not give ordinary

Muslims the title muʾminūn (believers), rather, he uses a term used in Ḥanafī theological texts to

refer to ordinary believers, which is, muwaḥḥidūn (those who have testified to God’s unity).271

Hence, al-Tirmidhī does consider such persons to be Muslims and in that respect does not

contravene the Ḥanafī theological position, which states that a Muslim is anyone who simply

confesses to the faith on the tongue (iqrārun bi-l-lisān) and testifies in the heart (taṣdīqun bi-l-

qalb). Al-Tirmidhī does, however, depart from the Ḥanafīs of his time when he describes belief

(īmān) to be a higher stage than islām (submission and entrance into the faith). This Ḥanafī

tradition still equates belief (īmān) with submission (islām). Al-Tirmidhī demonstrates this point

in his NU as follows:

Hāʾulāʾi qawmun muwaḥḥidūn waḥḥadū Allāha bi-alsinatihim wa-

qulūbihim wa-ḍayyaʿū al-ʿubūdata … fa-inna min ḥaqqi Allāh ʿalā
al-ʿibādi an yaʿbuduh … fa-l-ʿubūdatu al-ẓahiratu taḥqīqun li-mā fī
al-bāṭin.

270
Ibid. Drei Schriften, p. 72.
271
This is to be distinguished from the use of muwaḥḥidūn in the central lands of Islamdom during the 3 rd- Islamic
century (9th-century C.E.), which used the term to refer to a high rank of believer.

117
 Those are a people who confess the unity of God. They have
testified to God’s unity with their tongues and with their hearts but
have lost the essence of worship… for it is the right of God over
his servants that they worship him…and outward worship is the
realization of what is found inwardly.

The muwaḥḥidūn are those who profess outwardly with their tongues and believe inwardly in

their hearts but do not necessarily do anything else that would distinguish them as Muslims.272

According to al-Tirmidhī, these muwaḥḥidūn are the ones who will enter Hell and then

eventually leave it to enter Paradise, in contradistinction to the muʾminūn (believers). This

position necessitates a response by al-Tirmidhī to the prophetic tradition (ḥadīth) that states that

the shahāda (statement of confession) is itself weighty enough to enter someone into Paradise.

Al-Tirmidhī interprets this ḥadīth by saying that the statement of confession referred to in this

ḥadīth is the confession that happens just before death, since at death a person’s heart is not

connected to worldly matters and is thus able to make a sincere and pure confession.273 It is

evident here that al-Tirmidhī’s positions with respect to belief (īmān) are in conversation with

the theological tradition of his time. Although some of his positions on theological and creedal

matters differ from the main positions of what came to be the Māturīdī school, this can be

credited to his having preceded al-Māturīdī at a time when the Ḥanafī School of theology was

still quite diverse and in a state of flux.

Al-Tirmidhī directly discusses another major creedal point in the Ḥanafī School, which is

the controversy over whether or not belief increases or decreases. As stated earlier, all of the

272
The term muwaḥḥid, in this sense, is used by the Ḥanafī/Māturīdī theologians of Khurāsān and Transoxania
during from the 3rd- to 5th- Islamic centuries (9th- to 11th-centuries C.E.). See Abū Manṣūr al-Māturīdī’s use of this
term in Kitāb al-Tawḥīd, p. 102. Also see Abū Muʿīn al-Nasafī’s (d. 508/1114) use of this term in Tabṣirat al-
Adilla, pp. 24. The Ḥanafī/Māturīdī theologians used the term muwaḥḥidūn to denote a believer who merely
professed the statement of confession but who was generally ignorant of the legal and theological particulars of
Islam.
273
Ibid. Nawādir, vol. 1, pp. 62–63.

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early Ḥanafī creeds that can be attributed to Abū Ḥanīfa and his direct students negate the idea

that belief increases or decreases. This point of doctrine appears to conflict directly with a verse

in Chapter Eight (Al-Anfāl) of the Qurʾān, which reads, “They only are the believers whose

hearts feel fear when Allah is mentioned, and when His revelations are recited unto them they

increase in their faith, and who trust in their Lord,” Qurʾān [8:2].274 Al-Tirmidhī cites this same

verse in his discussion on this creedal point and then proceeds to explain his own position in

relation to the increase or the decrease of belief. Al-Tirmidhī’s words are quite precise and

indicate his knowledge of the Ḥanafī position and his need to reconcile it with the Qurʾānic text.

He states:

Wa min hāhuna istajāza man qāla al-īmān yāzīdu wa-kamā yāzīdu

fa-innahu yanquṣu summiya al-zāʾid min al-nūr fī ṣadrihi īmānan
wa-mā naqaṣa fa-minhu yanquṣu wa-l-aṣl alladhī minhu badaʾa
al-tawḥīd qāʾimun fa-bi-aqalli al-nūr yaṣīru muwaḥḥidan fa-
iṭmaʾanna bihi.275

And from this, it is permissible for one to say that belief increases
and just as it increases it also decreases. The light which increases
in his chest is called belief, and what decreases, decreases from it
(that light) but the original bit with which he started his belief in
the oneness of God remains. Thus, it is with this smallest bit of
light that he becomes a muwaḥḥid, (one who confesses to God’s
unity) and his heart finds repose in it.

Here, al-Tirmidhī attempts to reconcile two positions that seem contradictory.276 From what we

have seen so far the outlines of al-Tirmidhī’s concept of belief are beginning to become clear.

The muwaḥḥid is the one who confesses belief with his tongue and believes in tawḥīd (God’s

unity) with his heart. That original ‘belief’ is a light that God casts into the heart of the

274
Pickthall, Marmaduke William. The Meaning of the Glorious Koran. New York: Dorset Press, 1988.
275
Ibid. Nawādir, vol. 2, p. 124.
276
Ibid. Nadhariyyatuhu, p. 119.

119
muwaḥḥid. As that point of light expands, belief also expands until one becomes, as al-Tirmidhī

states, al-muʾmin al-bāligh (a mature believer).277 Any actual decrease in belief is a decrease

from the amount of belief that exceeded that original point of light. However, that point of light

itself cannot increase or decrease; it is either present or disappears completely, in which case one

is no longer a Muslim. Al-Tirmidhī’s use of the word “istajāza” (to be permissible) to refer to

those who consider belief to increase and decrease indicates that he gave preference to the

Ḥanafī position that belief does not increase or decrease. Hence, we find that al-Tirmidhī’s

definition of belief upholds the Ḥanafī position but modifies it in a unique and creative way. Al-

Tirmidhī’s attempt to reconcile two contradictory theological positions betrays his own active

involvement in developing a theological doctrine of belief that rationalizes various points of

doctrine in Islam. On the one hand, he criticizes speculative theology for what he considers to be

its excesses, yet he also takes very specific theological positions in relation to the theological

tradition in which he was schooled. Reconciling seemingly contradictory statements in the

Qurʾān and Ḥadīth literature is, in fact, one of the functions of the ḥukamāʾ according to al-

Tirmidhī’s approach to ḥikma. What disturbs al-Tirmidhī is the discourse that surrounds God’s

attributes and actions and how they connect or do not connect with God’s essence. For al-

Tirmidhī this is the blameworthy aspect of theology.

Al-Tirmidhī and Ḥanafī Theology in the 3rd- Islamic Century (9th-Century C.E.)

One of the reasons that it has been difficult to reconcile al-Tirmidhī’s approach to

theology is because Kalām has come to mean Islamic theology in a more general sense. When al-

Tirmidhī refers to Kalām and the rational theologians (mutakallimūn) he does not have theology

277
Ibid. Nawādir, vol. 2, p. 126.

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(in the general sense) in mind. Rather, he is addressing particular groups that he sees as heretical

(ahl al-bidʿa) who were associated with Kalām, namely the Muʿtazilīs or their early forebears. In

Nawādir al-Ūṣūl al-Tirmidhī lists the groups who he considers ahl al-bidʿa (heretical groups)

and these accord exactly with the main groups anathematized by the Ḥanafī School, namely the

Mushabbaha, Qadariyya, Jabriyya and Jahmiyya. For al-Tirmidhī, dīn (religion) is something

that the soul must submit to. Always taking opportunities to make linguistic connections, he

relates dīn to the verb dāna, which has the meaning of abasement. In this way al-Tirmidhī

connects the idea that dīn (religion) presumes that the nafs (soul) abases itself. Al-Tirmidhī then

explains that God sent down a clear revelation that would leave no room for other than

submission. He uses the word “kalām” for revelation possibly hinting that the true “kalām” is

God’s speech and not the theological speculations of the particular groups he mentions. He says,

fa anzala kalāman furqānan yufarriqu bayna al-haqqi wa l-bāṭil, meaning, “So he (God) sent

down a clarifying speech which divides between truth and falsehood.”278 Al-Tirmidhī does not

consider the Ḥanafī theologians to come under the rubric of Kalām at all. The Ḥanafī theological

school is what he considers to be the ‘alternative’ to the Kalām of heretical groups that he

considers to have delved into matters they do not understand and who accused others of unbelief

thereby. For al-Tirmidhī, the mutakallimūn refer primarily to the Muʿtazilī theologians.279 In the

same passage al-Tirmidhī all but identifies the Muʿtazilīs by name. He says:

“fa-l-zāʾighūna … tarakū al-khuḍūʿ lillāh taʿāla wa-taslīm al-nafs

ilā Allāh … sudda ʿalayhim bāb al-qadar fashtaddū wa-
taʿammaqū fī ṭalabihi ḥattā halakū wa-addāhum dhalika ilā an

278
Muḥammad b. ʿAlī al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī. Nawādir al-uṣūl fī maʿrifat aḥādīth al-Rasūl. Ed. Muṣṭafā b. Ismāʿīl
Dimashqī. Bayrūt: Dār Ṣādir, 1972, p. 210. We used the 1972 edition of Nawādir al-Uṣūl here because the reference
in the 2010 edition could not be located.
279
From the middle of the 8th-century C.E. to the middle of the 9th-century C.E. the appellation mutakallim was
applied almost exclusively to Muʿtazilī theologians. Henrik Lagerlund. Encyclopedia of medieval philosophy.
Dordrecht: Springer. 2010, p. 666. Also see, Adang et. al. A Common Rationality: Muʿtazilism in Islam and
Judaism. Würzburg: Ergon Verlag in Kommission. 2007.

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 barraʾū Allāh min qudratihi wa-sharakūhu fī mashīʾatihi ifkan wa-
iftirāʾan …”280

Hence, those who are astray … have left abasement to God most
high and submitting the soul to God … the door of ability (qadar)
was closed to them so they became extreme, and they delved
deeply in searching for it until they perished. And this lead them to
divest God of His true ability, and they co-shared with Him in His
will as a lie and a conceit…”

The word “qadar” here, in the sense of Ahl al-Qadar (the people of qadar) is a term often

applied to the Muʿtazilīs because it refers to their delving into the topic of the ability of humans

to freely create their own actions. Al-Tirmidhī is almost being sarcastic here by saying that the

door of qadar was closed upon them because they sought to be people of qadar. In other words,

they were left spiritually impotent because they insisted on their own ability to freely create their

own actions. Al-Tirmidhī is against Muʿtazilī theology because it attempts to understand and

describe God in ways that, according to al-Tirmidhī, God does not describe himself. Ḥanafī

theology in this period was creedal in nature and sought above all to find a middle position in

relation to various early sects within Islam. This is how al-Tirmidhī approached theology in

contrast to the speculative approach of the Muʿtazilīs of his time, although it should be noted that

his incorporation of Ḥanafī theology is very subtle and easy to miss. This is because he was not

primarily concerned with theology or heresiography. He was more concerned with presenting

what he saw as the viable alternatives to speculative theology, which are ḥikma (wisdom) and

maʿrifa (gnosis). As we discussed in the previous chapter, ḥikma entails ‘reading’ (or seeing and

intuiting) the world through its opposites.281 In this respect al-Tirmidhī is actually saying that the

280
Ibid. Nawādir, vol. 4, p. 180.
281
Umberto Eco describes the Hermetic approach to reading the world as ‘text’ in The Limits of Interpretation. Eco
argues that Renaissance attempts to interpret the world were based on seeing order in the world as a product of
resemblances between the microcosm and the macrocosm. This approach is similar to al-Tirmidhi’s concept of
hikma and further points to an underlying source in Greek Hermetic thought that informed both traditions. Eco,
Umberto. The limits of interpretation. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. 1994, pp. 23–26.

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mystic is one who must strive to understand God through the world as another type of

‘revelation.’ We should not forget that much of western science and the impetus to understand

the natural world grew out of a belief among Deists of the 18th-century C.E. that Nature was a

manifestation of God’s true revelation.

In another place in the same passage Al-Tirmidhī distinguishes between ikhtilāf and

iftirāq. He uses the term ikhtilāf to indicate differing in a respectful manner based on ijtihād al-

raʾy (independent reasoning). According to al-Tirmidhī, this type of scholarly differing is a

mercy.282 True scholars, al-Tirmidhī says are, ahlu mawaddatin wa-ʿaṭf or, “people of love and

affection.” In contrast to this, he describes the groups who instigate separation (iftirāq) as those

who cause disharmony, which results in accusations of unbelief (kufr).283 The groups that al-

Tirmidhī accuses of iftirāq are exactly the same groups that Abū Muṭīʿ al-Nasafī accuses of

heresy in his Ḥanafī heresiographical work mentioned earlier, Al-Radd ʿalā Ahl al-Bidaʿ wa l-

Ahwāʾ. In this book, Abū Muṭīʿ al-Nasafī targets six major heresies, each of which he then

breaks down into twelve sub-heresies, to make a total of seventy-two heresies, a symbolic

number, which is mentioned in a report attributed to the Prophet about the number of heretical

sects in Islam. These six major heretical groups are: al-Ḥarūriyya, al-Rawāfiḍa, al-Qadariyya, al-

Jabriyya, al-Jahmiyya and al-Murjiʾa.284 Al-Tirmidhī mentions all of these groups in the same

282
Ibid. Nawādir, vol. 4, p. 183.
283
Ibid, vol. 4, p. 186.
284
Marie Bernand. “Le Kitāb al-Radd ʿalā Ahl al-Bidaʿ wa-l-Ahwāʾ.” Annales Islamologiques (16). 1980, p. 60.
The Ḥanafīs are often accused themselves of being Murjiʿa. See Joseph Schacht’s New Sources for Muḥammadan
Theology and Wilferd Madelung’s Religious Trends in Early Islamic Iran. It seems that the Hanafīs are trying to
reclaim the meaning of Murjiʿa here. The Ḥarūriyya were a sect of the Khawārij during the Umayyad period. The
Rawāfiḍa is a derogatory term for the Shīʿīs. The Qadariyya refer to an early theological trend that favored human
agency with respect to human actions and were a precursor to the Muʿtazilīs. The Jabriyya opposed the Qadariyya
and favored divine predestination over human agency for human actions. This group was the precursor to the
Traditionalists. The Jahmiyya was a sect that followed the teachings of Jahm b. Safwān and negated the existence of
attributes for God. The Murjiʾa is the name of a sect that was known for denying the punishment in the Hellfire of
anyone who professed the testification of faith. It was also used as a label for the early Ḥanafiyya who, as Wilferd
Madelung states, accepted as Muslim anyone who made the testification of faith. This had political and economic

123
passage mentioned above except for the last group, al-Murjiʾa.285 One group, al-Ḥarūriyya, does

not appear in the passage just mentioned from NU, nevertheless, this group does appear as a

heretical sect in another passage in NU.286 The groups al-Tirmidhī lists in NU are al-Mushabbiha,

al-Qadariyya, al-Jabriyya, al-Jahmiyya and al-Rāfiḍa. It is clear that al-Tirmidhī is pulling from

the same heresiographical tradition as Abū Muṭīʿ al-Nasafī. Al-Tirmidhī even uses the same

descriptors to identify these heretical groups using phrases such as, those who speak min al-

ahwāʾ, or “from their caprice”, a term used in the title of al-Nasafī’s heresiography. We can see

from the previous discussion that Kalām for al-Tirmidhī is not what the Ḥanafī theologians were

engaged in. Al-Tirmidhī describes Kalām as masaʾil al-fitna, or “topics of discord”. The

following are some of the issues that he claims are the focus of heretical groups: jabr (being

compelled), qadr (agency), istiṭāʿa qabl al-fiʿl wa-maʿahu (ability before the act and with the

act), ṭalab kayfiyyat ṣifāt Allāh (seeking to understand the nature of God’s attributes), al-īmān

hal huwa makhlūqun am lā (whether or not belief is created), al-qurʾān wa-mā huwa (the Qurʾān

and its nature), al-imāma wa man istaḥaqqahā baʿd al-rasūl (leadership and who deserves it

after the Prophet).287 These are all topics that are central to the polemics of Ḥanafī creedal and

heresiographical treatises of the 3rd- Islamic century (9th-century C.E.). One such work is Kitāb

al-Sawād al-Aʿẓam by al-Ḥakīm al-Samarqandī. The Kitāb al-Sawād not only presents creedal

topics but also provides arguments to support these topics of creed. Hence, the existence of

theological arguments attached to various topics that do not follow a particular organization

indicates, again, a medial stage between the early creedal texts of the 2nd- and early 3rd- Islamic

significance because the Umayyad governors in the eastern provinces sought to discourage conversion to Islam on
account of loss of revenue from the poll tax (jizya) on non-Muslims.
285
If al-Tirmidhī had wanted to attack the Ḥanafī theologians he could have easily included the Murjiʾa among the
sects he labeled as heretical since non-Hanafīs often used the term Murjiʾa as a derogatory term for the Ḥanafīs.
286
Ibid. Nawādir, vol. 1, p. 390. The Ḥarūriyya are a type of Khawārij. Al-Tirmidhī mentions another subgrouping
of the Khawārij, the Azāriqa, which are also mentioned by Abū Muṭīʾ al-Nasafī.
287
Ibid, vol. 4, p. 187.

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centuries (8th- and early 9th-centuries C.E.) and the highly structured theological texts

inaugurated by al-Māturīdī.

There are many points of similarity between the theological positions in al-Sawād al-

Aʿẓam and the various positions al-Tirmidhī takes in his works. We will focus here, however, on

one particular topic that demonstrates the connection between al-Tirmidhī and Ḥanafī theology

of the late 3rd- Islamic century (9th-century C.E.). The issue of kasb (acquiring a livelihood) is a

point discussed by both al-Tirmidhī and al-Samarqandī. Kasb was an especially important topic

for Ṣūfīs because it dealt with the question of how to balance spiritual pursuits with the need to

procure a mundane livelihood.288 Al-Samarqandī is very precise about the Ḥanafī position on

kasb. He states:

Yanbaghi an yaʿlama anna al-kasba yuftaraḍu fī baʿḍ al-awqāt

liʾanna Allāh taʿālā [qāla] wa-huzzī ilayki bi-jidhʿi al-nakhla (al-
āya) wa qāla ʿazza wa jalla wa-jaʿala al-nahāra maʿāshā. Wa-
idhā lam yakun al-kasbu wājiban lā yāḥtāju al-insānu ilā al-kasbi
fa-ḥīnaʾidhin yakūnu al-kasbu sunnatan waʿlam anna tarka l-kasbi
rukhṣatun wa inkāru al-kasbi bidʿatun wa ruʾyata al-rizqi min al-
kasb kufrun waʿlam anna man lam yarā al-kasba wājiban wa raʾāhu
bidʿatan fa-huwa karrāmiyyun mubtadiʿun wa-man raʾā al-rizq min
al-kasb fa-huwa kāfirun wa-yanbaghī an yakūna al-kasbu taḥt al-
yaqīn wa-l-tawakkul ʿalā al-yaqīn fa-matā lam yakun al-kasbu taḥt
al-yaqīn wa-l-tawakkul fī al-yaqīn kāna dhālika kufran.289

He must know that earning a livelihood (kasb) is mandatory in

some instances because Allah most high says, “Shake towards you
the trunk of the tree (the verse) and he, mighty and majestic, says
“and we made the day a time for livelihood.” However, when
earning a livelihood is not mandatory then the human being does
not have to earn a living and in that instance earning a living
becomes a sunna (supererogatory work). Know that leaving

288
Ibid. Islamic Mysticism: A Short History, pp. 33, 46, 95. Al-Shaqīq al-Balkhī looked down on earning a
livelihood while al-Muḥāsibī wrote a treatise defending its importance. The Malāmatiyya were proponents of
earning a living while the Karrāmiyya eschewed ordinary livelihood and practiced begging.
289
Al-Ḥakīm al-Samarqandī. Kitāb al-Sawād al-Aʿẓam. Ms. British Museum. Or. 12781 fol. 58–59.

125
 earning a living is an exception (permitted in certain
circumstances), and denying earning a living is an innovation
(bidʿa) and seeing one’s apportioned sustenance from God as
coming from one’s earning is unbelief. Know that whoever does
not consider kasb to be mandatory but sees it as an innovation is a
heretical Karrāmī, and whoever sees one’s apportioned sustenance
from God as coming from one’s own earning – he is an unbeliever.
Earning a livelihood must be seen as under [the power of] certainty
and reliance upon God. So when earning a livelihood is not under
[the power of] certainty and reliance upon God then that is
unbelief.

Al-Ḥakīm al-Samarqandī treads a fine line between several positions on kasb. Al-Samarqandī

addresses the Karrāmiyya in particular who were accused of begging rather than earning a

livelihood and were prevalent in Khurāsān and Transoxania at the end of the 3rd- Islamic century

(9th-century C.E.).290 One significant point, though, in al-Samarqandī’s discussion of kasb is that

he provides the possibility that there are special circumstances in which kasb is not required.

This is exactly al-Tirmidhī’s position, however, al-Tirmidhī is more specific since he devotes a

whole treatise to this issue in Kitāb Bayān al-Kasb. For al-Tirmidhī, earning a livelihood is

required of most individuals because their lower souls are attached to the things of this world. He

includes the zuhhād (renunciants) in this category because, while they have renounced the world,

they still harbor within themselves a secret longing for it.291 Renunciation (zuhd) is understood in

a dialectical relationship to the world and thus, while it claims separation from the world, it is

secretly wedded to it. Again, al-Tirmidhī could be obliquely referring to the Karrāmiyya who

were known for their renunciation of the world as well as their negative attitude toward earning a

290
Ibid. Islamic Mysticism, p. 95. Al-Tirmidhī doesn’t mention the Karrāmiyya by name but possibly alludes to
them when he includes the ‘Mushabbaha’ (The Anthropomorphists) in his list of heretical groups. The Karrāmiyya
were accused of being anthropomorphists. Al-Samarqandī uses mushabbih (anthropomorphist) as a virtual synonym
for Karrāmī. This, along with al-Tirmidhī’s notion of kasb makes it impossible that al-Tirmidhī could have been a
Karrāmī as Goldziher claims.
291
Ibid. Nadhariyyatuhu, p. 244.

126
livelihood. For al-Tirmidhī, kasb is not required of the people of maʿrifa and the ṣiddīqūn

because their lower souls have died (mātat) and they no longer desire the things of this world.

Rather, they seek livelihood because it was a practice of the prophets, however, if they did not

seek a livelihood, their sustenance would come to them from God without any hardship.292 Both

al-Tirmidhī and al-Samarqandī use the example of Mary to illustrate the nature of rizq. Al-

Tirmidhī describes how Mary would be given food in her prayer niche directly from God but

would also spin wool to clothe herself and her son.293 Al-Samarqandī uses a different story of

Mary to illustrate the same principle, citing that at certain times taking means is required, but at

other times it may not be required for certain elect individuals. Al-Samarqandī uses the example

of Mary when she leans up next to a palm tree in the pangs of her childbirth. In the Qurʾān Mary

is told to shake the palm trunk so that dates will fall for her to eat. For al-Samarqandī, this story

explains both the need to take advantage of the means that are available for provision, while also

realizing that one’s reliance and true sustenance must be with God. The idea here is that it would

be impossible for Mary to shake the palm trunk, but her being ordered to do so demonstrates the

sunna (supererogatory nature) of taking means even for someone of her stature. Hence, the dates

fell from the palm and she ate from them as a miracle. Mary proactively did her part whether or

not it would have any effect.

Both al-Tirmidhī and al-Samarqandī place kasb under the larger umbrella of tawakkul. In

structural terms it is unlikely that this could be accidental. As is mentioned above in the quote

from al-Sawād al-Aʿẓam, al-Samarqandī explicitly states that kasb must come under (taḥt) both

yaqīn (certainty) and tawakkul (reliance upon God). Al-Tirmidhī, in al-Furūq wa-Manʿ al-

Tarāduf, explains kasb in terms of the difference between tawakkul and ittikāl. For al-Tirmidhī,

292
Ibid, pp. 244–245.
293
Ibid, p. 245.

127
tawakkul means seeking the provision that God has already destined for one while knowing that

it will come according to his planning. On the other hand, ittikāl can also mean to sit idly and

wait for one’s provision to come to one out of laziness. His response to such a person who

refuses to expend effort for his sustenance is that such a person does not know whether God had

ordained that particular sustenance to come through his effort or not. If so, that sustenance would

be withheld until the requisite effort is spent.294 For al-Tirmidhī only the ʿārifūn (gnostics) can

have true reliance upon God, which requires knowing when God wants one to seek one’s

livelihood by taking means (asbāb). Such individuals know when God wants them to desist from

taking means (asbāb) and to rely completely upon Him. We can see here that al-Tirmidhī’s

notion of kasb fits neatly into al-Samarqandī’s rubric.

Al-Tirmidhī’s Relationship to Abū Manṣūr al-Māturīdī

In the previous discussion we demonstrated that al-Tirmidhī was working within the

framework of the Ḥanafī theological tradition, both in terms of the earliest creedal texts of the

tradition, as well as two Ḥanafī texts that date to al-Tirmidhī’s general time period. This means

that we can safely say that Hanafī theology represents one of al-Tirmidhī’s discourse streams.

We have every reason to believe that al-Tirmidhī saw himself as a reformer and defender of what

he considered to be an orthodox understanding of Islam. That is why he wrote two specific

heresiographical works that reflect positions in the Ḥanafī tradition, namely al-Radd ʿalā al-

Rāfiḍa (Refutation of the Shīʿīs) and al-Radd ʿalā al-Muʿaṭṭila (Refutation of Those who Deny

Attributes, i.e., the Muʿtazilīs). Both of these texts are considered authentic by Sezgin and

Radtke. Al-Tirmidhī’s reformist approach was not limited to theology but focused also on Ḥanafī

294
Ibid, pp. 249–250.

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Uṣūl (Legal Methodology). Even before the work of al-Jaṣṣāṣ (d. 370/980), 295 which Marie

Bernand considers to be the earliest extant attempt to codify Ḥanafī Uṣūl, al-Tirmidhī had

written several lengthy works that revised basic tenets of Ḥanafī Uṣūl almost a hundred years

earlier.296 Despite this, most scholars of al-Tirmidhī do not see him as having had much of an

impact within the Ḥanafī School. This misreading of al-Tirmidhī has been exacerbated by limited

access to his full corpus of writings both published and in manuscript. It is my contention that al-

Māturīdī, who is credited as the systematizer of Ḥanafī theology, received much of the

inspiration for his monumental work Kitāb al-Tawḥīd from al-Tirmidhī. Al-Māturīdī lived in the

same general area as al-Tirmidhī and was in the next generation of Ḥanafī theologians after al-

Tirmidhī. Al-Māturīdī’s ideas, while consistent with Ḥanafī teachings before and after him,

include some elements that would seem to come out of a vacuum had we not had access to al-

Tirmidhī’s works.297 The idea that al-Māturīdī is a Ḥanafī reaction to al-Ashʿarī does not

adequately explain the existence of these elements given the context of al-Māturīdī in the larger

Ḥanafī theological tradition. Furthermore, neither Ulrich Rudolph nor Claude Gilliot support

such a thesis. Not only is al-Māturīdī’s thought in many ways more advanced than al-Ashʿarī,

but al-Māturīdī’s contribution to Ḥanafī theology is not in any way in conversation with al-

Ashʿarī’s teachings.

295
Al-Jaṣṣāṣ was the chief representative of aṣḥāb al-raʾy in Baghdād during his time. He studied Ḥanafī law under
ʿAlī b. al-Ḥasan al-Karkhī. His work al-Fuṣūl fī al-Uṣūl is one of the earliest formulations of Ḥanafī legal theory. O
Spies. “al-D̲j̲aṣṣāṣ”. Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition. Edited by: P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C.E. Bosworth,
E. van Donzel, W.P. Heinrichs. Brill Online, 2014. Reference. University Of Michigan-Ann Arbor. 16 July 2014
<http://referenceworks.brillonline.com.proxy.lib.umich.edu/entries/encyclopaedia-of-islam-2/al-djassas-SIM_2017>
First appeared online: 2012
296
Al-Tirmidhī attacks the Ḥanafī notion of qiyās that is handed down from Abū Ḥanīfa. In al-Furūq wa-Manʿ al-
Tarāduf al-Tirmidhī calls Ḥanafī qiyās “mushākila” (resemblancing) rather than true qiyās. For al-Tirmidhī true
qiyās can only be achieved by returning to a legal cause (ʿilla) that is based, not on the particular new item at hand
and its relationship to something in the Sharīʿa that it resembles, but rather an ʿilla that is based on principles
derived directly from the Qurʾān and Sunna.
297
Ulrich, Rudolph. Al-Māturīdī und die sunnitische theologie in Samarkand. Leiden, New York: E.J. Brill. 1997, p.
344.

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 In the last chapter we discussed al-Tirmidhī’s concept of ḥikma, its Pythagorean roots,

and the way in which ḥikma functions to maintain the viability of opposites and, in turn, confers

order onto the universe. We also discussed the way al-Tirmidhī uses ḥikma to set up his

discussion of walāya and indicate its non-dual nature. This use of ḥikma is signature to al-

Tirmidhī and only appears in detail in his KH. Al-Tirmidhī’s particular use of ḥikma is not found

anywhere in the pre-Maturidī Ḥanafī texts, yet appears distinctly in al-Māturīdī’s Kitāb al-

Tawḥīd. It is highly probable that al-Māturīdī read al-Tirmidhī’s works since they both belonged

to the same theological tradition and both lived in the same general locale only one generation

apart. Ulrich Rudolph considers al-Māturīdī’s use of ḥikma to be due to Muʿtazilī influence. The

assumption throughout al-Māturīdī’s work is that God is always wise (ḥakīm) and just (ʿadl) and

according to Rudolph this means that al-Māturīdī is applying rational standards to God.298 While

this is plausible given that al-Māturīdī spends a great deal of effort attempting to refute the

Muʿtazilīs, this does not actually fit with al-Māturīdī’s use of ḥikma. Al-Māturīdī states:

Wa-law amʿana hāʾulāʾi al-firaq al-naẓara fī-mā taqaddama min

dhikri al-adillati la-ʿalimū qusūra ʿuqūlihim ʿan al-wuqūf ʿalā al-
ḥikmati al-bashariyyati faḍlan ʿan an yuḥīṭu bi-ḥikmati al-
rubūbiyya … wa-lazima al-qawlu bi-kulli mā lā tablughuhu
ʿuqūlunā bi-darki al-ḥikma baʿda an thabata annahu manshaʾuhu
wa-muḥdithuhu an naʿlam anna fīhi ḥikmatun bālighatun lam
tablughuhā.299

Had those (heretical) factions looked closely at the arguments

previously presented they would have known the limited nature of
their intellects in understanding human ḥikma let alone that they
could encompass divine ḥikma … and it is necessary to follow
anything our intellects do not understand of ḥikma after it has been
confirmed that He (God) initiated it and brought it into existence

298
Ibid, p. 330.
299
Al-Māturīdī, Abū Manṣūr. Kitāb al-Tawḥīd. Dar Ṣādir: Beirut. 2001, pp. 180–181.

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 and that we should know there is a prescient ḥikma that has not
reached (our intellects).

Al-Māturīdī’s concept of ḥikma is clearly not Muʿtazilī since the Muʿtazilīs would never have

conceived of a believer following a ḥikma that his intellect could not comprehend. The

Muʿtazilīs considered God’s rationality to be similar to human rationality. However, as we can

see from Māturidī, he considers ḥikma to be of two types, divine ḥikma and human ḥikma. Al-

Tirmidhī makes a similar distinction in his definition of ḥikma in KH:

Al-ḥikmatu iḥkāmu al-umūr ʿalā jihatihā min āfatihā fī subulihā

subul al-umūr min al-rabbi ilā al-ʿabdi wa-min al-ʿabdi ilā al-
rabbi murūruha ʿalā turuqin min wujūhi al-asbābi wa-l-ālāti fa-l-
asbābu al-khārijatu min al-nafsi al-ālātu al-jawāriḥu al-
mukhtalifatu fa-bi-l-ḥikmati yaḥkumuhā al-ʿabd.300

Ḥikma is the judgment of things according to their various harmful

qualities in the way they function and proceed from the Lord to his
servant and from the servant to his Lord in terms of their causes
and means, causes being outside of the soul, means being the
various limbs, so with ḥikma the servant comes to gain control
over them.

For al-Tirmidhī, there is human ḥikma, that is, knowledge of what proceeds from the servant to

God and then there is divine ḥikma, which is knowledge that proceeds from God to the servant.

Later, in KH, al-Tirmidhī further clarifies this by explaining that the ḥakīm is like someone

walking through the wilderness who knows the pathways and is aware of the various wild beasts

that lurk there and so can pass safely through.301 Hence, ḥikma is the ‘worldly’ knowledge of

things outside of the soul that relates to vices and temptations, likened to wild beasts that can

attack the soul on its path towards God. At the same time, for al-Tirmidhī, ḥikma can also be a

300
Ibid. Kitāb al-ḥikma, fol. 1v.
301
Ibid, fol. 6v.

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knowledge from God and an inspiration about the way God interacts with the world. Al-Māturīdī

uses the same vocabulary as al-Tirmidhī in terms of āfāt (harmful qualities) and ālāt (means) in

describing how ḥikma functions. Al-Māturīdī argues that human senses are limited in the same

way that ʿuqūl (intellects) are limited. For al-Māturīdī, intellects understand the world in terms of

opposites (aḍdād), but due to the created and limited nature of intellects, sometimes they

consider good things to be bad and bad things to be good. Hence, he says that it is possible that

something could befall a person that would prevent him from being able to distinguish between

wisdom (ḥikma) and foolishness (safah).302 The inability to make true distinctions for al-

Māturīdī is a result of custom (ʿāda) and habit (ulf). The only way for a person to truly

understand things as they are and make correct distinctions is through divine ḥikma (al-ḥikma al-

rubūbiyya) and through this ḥikma such a person is protected from āfāt (harmful qualities) since

his usual state is that he is overcome by his limbs (jawāriḥ) even though he makes use of means

(ālāt). Al-Māturīdī explains that a person guided by divine ḥikma realizes that he acts through a

strength (quwwa) created by God and a more useful knowledge. This is what is called taḥakkum

(gaining control) over weakness and ignorance through God who is able and knowing.303 It is

almost as if al-Māturīdī is quoting al-Tirmidhī’s definition of ḥikma. The vocabulary is

practically identical and the structure of the various parts of the concept of ḥikma for both of

them is very close.

It is clear that both al-Māturīdī and al-Tirmidhī are operating under the same definition of

ḥikma, however, this could be because they happen to have had access to similar sources. The

next question then, is whether or not they actually ‘use’ ḥikma in similar ways. Al-Tirmidhī uses

ḥikma to support his concept of walāya and to indicate the nature of the station of fardāniyya

302
Ibid. Al-Tawḥīd, pp. 180–181.
303
Ibid, p. 181.

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(non-duality) that is characteristic of the kubarāʾ and the awliyāʾ. As we demonstrated in

Chapter 2, ḥikma serves to frame the non-dual nature of al-Tirmidhī’s mystical theosophy. For

al-Tirmidhī, the awliyāʾ exemplify God’s non-dual nature and in that sense are a site of the

manifestation (tajallī) of his attributes. Al-Māturīdī is not concerned with walāya, instead, he

focuses on theological arguments concerning the nature of God and His existence. Nevertheless,

al-Māturīdī uses ḥikma to indicate a non-dual concept of God. For al-Māturīdī, opposites

(aḍiḍḍād) lead to foolishness and meaninglessness when they are not kept from collapsing in on

each other.304 Just like al-Tirmidhī, al-Māturīdī sees ḥikma as the maintenance of order and

harmony through the sustaining of the distinctness of opposites. While both are operating under

the same basic definition of ḥikma, one key difference is that al-Tirmidhī indicates that this order

is preserved through the knowledge of the ḥakīm as an instrument of God, while al-Māturīdī

simply describes God as being the one who maintains this order directly. Ḥikma is defined in

multiple places in Kitāb al-Tawḥīd as “putting things in their proper place”. When al-Māturīdī

refers to “things in their proper place” he means the placing of opposites in their proper places in

relation to other opposites. For opposites to have a particular place and order it is necessary that

something must exist to define that order and bring it about, i.e., God. In a section on theodicy in

Kitāb al-Tawḥīd al-Māturīdī indicates how the ḥikma of opposites and their interaction in the

world indicates the non-dual nature of God. The argument begins with al-Māturīdī’s premise,

argued earlier, that ḥikma (wisdom) must connect to all things created by God. He does not

simply argue that good is known through evil and vice versa, but rather that God creates good

and evil so that he can be known through the interaction of these opposites. The example he

gives, interestingly, is the conflict between the enemies of God and his awliyāʾ. Through this

304
Ibid, p. 179.

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conflict, God’s warning (ḥadhar), support (taʾahhub), aid (maʿūna) and victory (naṣr) are

known.305 Al-Māturīdī then goes on to explain how the opposites in the world indicate God’s

non-dual oneness. Al-Māturīdī succinctly explains this below:

Wa ayḍan inna al-khalqa ʿalā ikhtilāf jawharihim fī al-maḍār wa-

al-manāfiʿ jaʿalahum Allāh fī al-dalālati ʿalā mudabbirin lahum
ḥakīm ʿalīm wa-ʿalā waḥdāniyyatihi ka-jawharin wāḥid fī al-ittifāq
min jihat al-dalāla wa-l-shahāda. Wa-lā quwwata illā billāh. Fa-
yakūnu fī dhālik bayān ʿajīb ḥikmatihi an jamaʿa bayn al-ḍārr wa-
al-nāfiʿ wa al-khayr wa-l-sharr ʿalā tanāqudihimā fī al-dalālati
ʿalā waḥdāniyyatihi wa-l-shahādati bi-rububiyyatihi wāḥīdan.306

And furthermore, all created things depending on their various

essences are either in harm or benefit. God made them to indicate
his being one who plans for them, one wise and knowledgeable
and also to indicate his oneness as one single essence as is agreed
upon from the standpoint of proof and testament. There is no
strength or power except by God. So, from that the amazing nature
of his wisdom is demonstrated such that he joins between harm
and benefit, good and evil despite their being opposed to each
other as a proof of his oneness and as a witness to his being one
through his lordship.

It is clear that al-Māturīdī, like al-Tirmidhī, uses ḥikma to frame tawḥīd (God’s unity) such that it

is understood in a non-dual sense. Both use ḥikma in similar ways but to make different types of

arguments. Al-Māturīdī is attempting to explain the non-dual nature of God’s essence in terms of

the interaction of opposites and he uses the term waḥdāniyya for non-duality. Al-Tirmidhī, on the

other hand, argues for the non-dual nature of sainthood (fardāniyya) because it is a manifestation

of God’s non-duality in the world. Both al-Māturīdī and al-Tirmidhī conceive of God in non-dual

terms but are applying the framework of ḥikma in different contexts.

305
Ibid, p. 175.
306
Ibid, p. 176.

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Al-Tirmidhī and the Later Ḥanafī Tradition

So far we have demonstrated a strong connection between al-Tirmidhī and the early

Ḥanafī creedal texts, the Ḥanafī theological tradition of al-Tirmidhī’s own era, and finally al-

Māturīdī, who was a major figure in the transition of Ḥanafī theology into the phase of formal

methods and dialectical reasoning. Up to this point, none of the Ḥanafī theological texts have

mentioned al-Tirmidhī by name. The connections have been demonstrated through structural

similarities and the use of terminology. Among the later Ḥanafī theologians, however, al-

Tirmidhī is actually mentioned by name and clearly counted as one of their own. Abū Muʿīn al-

Nasafī in his Tabṣirat al-Adilla, which is by far the most comprehensive work in the Māturīdī

theological school, quotes al-Tirmidhī by name on the topic of the beholding God with an eye in

the next life. Al-Nasafī writes:

Wa-dhakara al-shaykh Abū Abdillah Muḥammad b. ʿAlī al-

Tirmidhī al-Ḥakīm fī taṣnīfin lahu sammāhu: Masʾalatun fī Sulūki
Ahli al-ʿAdli bayna al-Mushabbihati wa-l-Muʿaṭṭila, fa-qāla:
ittafaqat ʿalā ḥadīth al-ruʾyati ʿiddatun min aṣḥābi rasūl Allāhi
ʿalayhi al-salām kulluhum aʾimma.307

Shaykh Abū Abdullāh Muḥammad b. ʿAlī al-Tirmidhī al-Ḥakīm

said in a work by him which he called Treatise on the Way of the
People of Balance between the Anthropomorphists and those who
Negate Attributes, “A large number of the companions of the
Messenger, upon whom be peace, agreed upon the ḥadīth of the
vision of God in the next life; all of them were eminent.

Al-Lāmishī, the student of al-Nasafī, also mentions al-Tirmidhī on the same topic as his teacher,

but adds the title of zāhid (mystic). He states, wa dhakar al-shaykh al-zāhid Muḥammad b. ʿAlī

307
Nasafī, Maymūn b. Muḥammad. Tabṣirat al-adillah: fī uṣūl al-dīn ʿalā ṭarīqat al-Imām Abī Manṣūr al-Māturīdī.
Ed. Klūd Salāmah. Dimashq: al-Maʿhad al-ʿIlmī al-Faransī li-l-Dirāsāt al-ʿArabīyah bi-Dimashq. 1990, p. 400.

135
al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī raḥimahullāh fī taṣnīfin lahu… or, “The Shaykh, the mystic, Muḥammad

b. ʿAli al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī in a work of his…”308 Here, al-Lāmishī includes the title of zāhid

but does not mean ‘renunciant’. As we will see later, the term zāhid and its plural zuhhād among

Ḥanafīs in Khurāsān and Transoxania came to indicate a mystic or what we would call a Ṣūfī.

Mysticism in the Ḥanafī Tradition

If al-Tirmidhī was thoroughly integrated into the Ḥanafī/Māturīdī theological tradition as

we have sought to demonstrate, then the question remains as to why this should have been

overlooked by scholarship for such a long time. Annemarie Schimmel considered al-Tirmidhī to

be a Shafiʿī, Yves Marquet considered him a Traditionalist, while Bernd Radtke correctly

understood him to be a Ḥanafī, yet considered his Ḥanafī leanings superficial. The evidence we

have brought to bear demonstrates the contrary. He was, in fact, an important figure to the

Ḥanafī theological school and played an important role in its development. Part of the reason for

the inability to place al-Tirmidhī accurately in the historical context arises from the clearly

mystical nature of his thought. Al-Tirmidhī purposefully attempts to produce works that are

holistic in nature and that reflect what he sees as the important devotional and inspirational

function of religious texts. Often times, as ʿAbd Allāh Baraka mentions, these texts have

underlying Fiqhī (jurisprudential) and Kalāmī (theological) motives.309 Another possibility is that

Ḥanafī theology has been misunderstood and understudied in relation to Ashaʿarī Kalām and so

Ḥanafī theology sometimes goes unrecognized for what it is. Even more so, there is a tendency

in the study of Islamic mysticism in general to disassociate theology from mysticism, possibly as

308
Al-Lāmishī, Maḥmūd b. Zayd. Kitāb al-tamhīd li-qawāʿid al-tawḥīd. Ed. ʿAbd al-Majīd Turkī. Bayrūt: Dār al-
Gharb al-Islāmī. 1995, p. 80.
309
Ibid. Nadhariyyatuhu, p. 95.

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a result of this trend in European concepts of mysticism. What we find in general among Ḥanafī

theologians in Khurāsān and Transoxania is a strong mystical current in their works. At this point

we will only demonstrate the mystical tendencies in some of the works that we have already

discussed to show that al-Tirmidhī’s mysticism is not out of place in his intellectual milieu.

In al-Ḥakīm al-Samarqandī’s al-Sawād al-Aʿẓam, we find a list of individuals appended

to the end of the treatise who are credited with upholding certain doctrines championed by the

text, a foundational work in the Ḥanafī/Māturīdī theological tradition. The fact that these lists

occur at the end of the work and include the very name of the supposed author himself means

that these sections were in no doubt added by later generations of Ḥanafī/Māturīdī scholars. A

procedure used in this creedal text, especially in sections in which these lists occur, is to present

a point of jurisprudence that differentiates Ḥanafīs from Shāfīʿīs or even Shīʿīs and then list to

the eminent individuals from particular generations who upheld that point of jurisprudence. The

companions of the Prophet are listed and then the scholars of hadith and jurisprudence after them

and then the zuhhād (mystics) and ʿubbād (pious ones). Based on the names in these lists it is

probable that they were added to the text sometime around the early 10th-century C.E., at a time

when Sufism was taking root, as is attested by the works of al-Kalābādhī, al-Sulamī and al-

Qushayrī. The list of zuhhād (mystics) begins with Ṣāliḥ al-Marrī (d. 172/788 or 176/792) and

Dhū al-Nūn al-Miṣrī (d. 245/859) but conspicuously leaves out the Baghdād mystics such as al-

Junayd. Almost all of the mystics listed were of eastern Hanafī tendencies. This could possibly

be a result of the fierce competition between Hanafīs, who were using the term zuhhād, and

Shāfiʿīs who were identifying themselves as Ṣūfīs.310 Another equally valid and more probable

310
The research concluding that most early Ṣūfīs were Shāfīʿī needs to be revisited based on a closer reading of
Tarīkh Nīshāpūr by al-Ḥakīm al-Naysābūrī. My own reading of this text has demonstrated that the connection
between Shāfiʿīs and Ḥanafīs in Nīshāpūr during the 4th- and 5th- Islamic centuries (10th- and 11th-centuries C.E.) is
not conclusive.

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interpretation is that these were still separate mystical traditions in their own right that were only

merged by al-Sulamī and al-Qushayrī in the generations following Abū al-Layth al-Samarqandī.

Al-Tirmidhī provides a useful reference point in this respect for understanding the relationship

between Ḥanafī theology and mysticism. The mystics who al-Tirmidhī mentions in his various

works are similar to the mystics appended to al-Sawād al-Aʿẓam. Al-Ḥakīm al-Samarqandī, the

author of al-Sawād al-Aʿẓam, is often referred to as a mystic in later biographical accounts. He is

also listed as a mystic in the section of al-Sawād al-Aʿẓam that was later added to the text after

his death. Rudolph mentions that al-Māturīdī had mystical propensities and later Ḥanafī

theologians such as Abū al-Layth al-Samarqandī frequently mention the same local mystics of

Khurāsān and Transoxania, which represents a distinct layer in al-Sulamī’s Ṭabaqāt. As we will

show in a forthcoming chapter, the relationship between mysticism and Ḥanafī theology is a very

close one and existed since the 3rd- Islamic century (9th-century C.E.). Therefore, Islamic

theology should not be seen as opposed to Islamic mysticism or in conflict with it since many

early theologians were also mystics, especially in the eastern Ḥanafī milieu.

The Effect of Ḥanafism on al-Tirmidhī’s Doctrine of Walāya

If we can agree that al-Tirmidhī was actively engaged in the discourse stream of Ḥanafī

jurisprudential and theological thought, then it is clear why he developed his doctrine of

sainthood in particular ways. In Chapter 5 we will continue to discuss the nature of al-Tirmidhī’s

doctrine of sainthood, however, here we will discuss an important effect of Ḥanafī theology upon

al-Tirmidhī, which concerns the way he opened up the possibility of sainthood to all Muslims.

As we mentioned in the discussion about the Ḥanafī doctrine of belief (īmān), the Ḥanafīs are

noted for having a very expansive definition of belief. This definition only required believers to

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state the formula of the testification of faith (shahada) and to believe it in their hearts. Wilferd

Madelung demonstrates how this ran counter to an early Umayyad political establishment that

preferred an Arab identity to Islam and sought to discourage conversion.311 We have been using

al-Samarqandī’s al-Sawād al-Aʿẓam as a Ḥanafī text representative of al-Tirmidhī’s general

approach to Ḥanafī theology since it corresponds closely to many elements of his thought. In al-

Samarqandī’s treatise the awliyāʾ are described as synonymous with the muʾminūn (believers).

He writes, yanbaghī an yaʿlam annahu lā yakūnu ʿaql al-awliyāʾ wa-al-muʾminūn wa-ʿaql al-

kuffār mustawiyān, “One must know that the intellect of the saints and the believers is not the

same as the intellect of the unbelievers.”312 Al-Samarqandī continues to clarify this by presenting

five types of ʿaql with the awliyāʾ and muʾminūn both sharing the ʿaql ʿaṭāʾī (the bequeathed

intellect), the third of the five intellects. The first two are shared by the unbelievers and the last

two are shared by the prophets and messengers. Al-Samarqandī clearly indicates that any Muslim

believer can possibly be one of the awliyāʾ. We will demonstrate in Chapter 5 how al-Tirmidhī

states the exact same formula, conceding that all of the muwaḥḥidūn (those who make the

testification of Islamic faith) are a type of awliyāʾ. This is often not well understood by those

who read al-Tirmidhī’s works because of his often vaulted mysticism and the unique

terminology, such as his distinction between the awliyāʾ ḥaqq Allāh (the saints who observe the

right(s) God)313 and the awliyāʾ Allāh (the bona fide saints). For al-Tirmidhī, walāya has many

311
Madelung, Wilferd. Religious trends in early Islamic Iran. Albany, N.Y.: Persian Heritage Foundation. 1988, p.
13.
312
Ibid. Al-Sawād al-Aʿẓam, fol. 44.
313
This is similar to how al-Muḥāsibī treats the word ḥaqq (truth, reality, right) in the title of his work al-riʿāya li-
ḥuqūq Allāh, meaning, “Watchfulness over the rights of God.” Radtke translates this type of saint as “the friends of
what is due unto God,” which has a similar meaning. Translating this term is particular difficult because it is specific
to al-Tirmidhi and is not used in his other works. Ibid. Concept, pp. 41–42. The closest al-Tirmidhi comes to
explaining this term is when he distinguishes in NU between ahl lā ilāhā illā Allāh (the people of ‘there is no god
but God’) and ahl qawl lā ilāhā illā Allāh (the people of the words ‘there is no god but God’). The first group
corresponds to awliyāʾ Allāh and the second to awliyāʾ ḥaqq Allāh in SA. The second group mentioned in NU are
those who say it on their tongues but whose actions still follow their lower desires (hawāhā). The first group in NU

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forms and types and at its most basic level it covers all Muslims who make the testification of

faith. For those believers who are sincerely seeking God on the path of maʿrifa, they are the

awliyāʾ ḥaqq Allāh and they are those who have been chosen by God for his special favor, these

are the bona fide saints (awliyāʾ Allāh). Even among these bona fide saints there are various

types of saints such as the ḥukamāʾ (sages), the muqarrabūn (those brought near), and the

munfaridūn (the solitairs) as well as the ṣiddīqūn (the truthful ones).

Conclusion

Foucault’s episteme has helped us to better situate al-Tirmidhī within the social, mystical

and theological currents of his time. By thinking in terms of discourse streams and a ‘knowledge-

type’ of theology, we are guided by Rosenthal and Foucault to identify the systems of meaning

that connect al-Tirmidhī to the intellectual currents of his day. The Ḥanafī/Murjiʾī/Māturīdī

theological tradition played a major role in the eastern lands of the Abbasid empire and when we

begin to read al-Tirmidhī through this lens we begin to see that his thought builds upon ideas

working within this milieu just as it is in conversation with it. That al-Tirmidhī was an

independent and unique thinker for his time is no doubt the case, however, he was not someone

who operated outside of a pre-existing framework as some scholars of Islamic mysticism have

posited. One can see here how al-Tirmidhī’s identity as a reformer comes to the fore. Like al-

Ghazālī after him, al-Tirmidhī saw real problems with the way religious knowledge was

becoming formalized and institutionalized. He wanted to reclaim what he saw as the original

have realized the true meaning of the testification of faith both inwardly and outwardly because they no longer
follow their lower desires since God has chosen them and made those desires inoperative. Hence, one way to view
the awliyāʾ ḥaqq Allāh is that these are the saints who are ‘trying’ to observe the rights (ḥuqūq) of God but are
falling short and inevitably following their lowere desires despite their efforts. At some point in the spiritual path
(ṭarīq) God may choose the awliyāʾ ḥaqq Allāh to become bona fide saints (awliyāʾ Allāh) through his mercy. Ibid.
Nawādir, vol. 5, p. 499.

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vigor of the revelatory message after its apparent fossilization through disciplines such as

jurisprudence and theology. Al-Tirmidhī believed that these should not and cannot be separated

from the hidden spiritual realities from which they emerge. With such a complex and nuanced

figure such as al-Tirmidhī, we have to look at his ideas holistically in relation to his larger body

of works and within his social and learned context. By identifying Ḥanafī theology as one of the

several discourse streams within which al-Tirmidhī operated we can begin to see that, while

scholars of Islamic mysticism often see him as a mystic, this was only one of his multiple

identities. For al-Tirmidhī, theology functions best when it maintains the parameters by which a

free religious discourse can take place. Thus, in his NU, al-Tirmidhī stresses that points of belief

in Islam are few and simple and that theology is meant to serve as a support for walāya.

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 Chapter 4

A Ṣūfī by any Other Name:

al-Tirmidhī’s Relationship to Islamic Mysticism

The question as to whether al-Tirmidhī was a Ṣūfī or not depends

heavily on how we define Sufism vis-à-vis Islamic mysticism. If we
look at Islamic mysticism as a discourse stream that came to
conceptualize knowledge as light, we find that al-Tirmidhī was an
active participant in this discourse stream. The current field of
Islamic mysticism sees al-Tirmidhī as an outlier. I would like to
correct this view by situating him more centrally within the
discourse stream of Islamic mysticism. I will show that a close
reading of al-Tirmidhī’s thought will help us to better understand
Sufism as a particular movement within Islamic mysticism.

Before addressing al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of walāya in more detail in Chapter 5,

we will examine the theoretical backdrop that informs al-Tirmidhī’s thought by exploring his

relationship to other mystical movements in early Islam. In Chapter 1 we discussed how al-

Tirmidhī uses the language of clientage (walāʾ) to propose a new type of religious authority,

which ultimately would invest the ʿulamāʾ as custodians of that authority. In Chapter 2 we

showed how al-Tirmidhī uses aspects of Hellenistic thought and Pythagorean notions of wisdom

(hikma) to frame his discussion of the awliyāʾ. In Chapter 3 we explored al-Tirmidhī’s debt to

Ḥanafī/Māturīdī theology and how his use of categories helped to situate and justify his concept

of walāya within his theological discourse. There are multiple discourse streams at work here

that blend and interact within al-Tirmidhī’s thought and we are interested in how he developed

and integrated these discursive formations as his concept of walāya emerged and took form. The

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social institution of clientage (walāʾ) provided a strong social basis for the preservation of Arab

privilege and lent itself to the transformation of this social privilege into sainthood (walāya),

thereby sanctifying the scholarly class (ʿulamāʾ). This transformation was possible because the

category of walāya had already existed in the Ḥanafī theological tradition, although it was not

linked to social or political power before al-Tirmidhī’s time. Al-Tirmidhī then uses elements of

Pythagoreanism to posit a gnoseology that elevates wisdom (ḥikma) to the level of a type of

revelatory knowledge that speaks to the human being through Nature. This is different than the

gnosis (maʿrifa) of the proto-Ṣūfīs who styled their knowledge as light (nūr). Thus, the Islamic

mystical tradition had already devised a language and a path (ṭarīq) to a realization of this type

of theophanic knowledge that was not mediated through either texts or Nature. Light (nūr) is one

of the knowledge-types Rosenthal uses to frame the Islamic mystical tradition. Al-Tirmidhī is the

first one to bring all of the three knowledge types we have just discussed together in one system.

For al-Tirmidhī, it is the saints (awliyāʾ) and not the ḥukamāʾ (sages) who pass beyond both

textual knowledge (al-ʿilm al-ẓāhir) and the knowledge of Nature (ʿilm al-asbāb). In this way al-

Tirmidhī situates gnosis (maʿrifa) in relation to the two important modes of knowledge in his

time: textual religious knowledge within the Islamic orbit and philosophical or wisdom-based

knowledge whose roots were in the Hellenistic tradition. Al-Tirmidhī not only borrows heavily

from what he calls the ṭarīq al-maʿrifa (the path of gnosis) associated with the proto-Ṣūfīs, but

his concept of walāya plays an important role in the development of what later becomes Sufism.

I will discuss later how I view Sufism in its mature form as a product of the great mystical

synthesis of the 5th/11th-century.314 Thus, while so many have sought to understand the

314
Francesco Chiabotti (2014) discusses how al-Qushayrī represents the climax of the development of Ṣūfī
aesthetics and practice between the early masters and the later great shaykhs such as ʿAbd al-Qādir al-Jīlānī (d.
561/1166). He also argues that al-Qushayrī represents the best example of a harmonization of the various different
social groups and knowledge-types of his time. Chiabotti’s study of al-Qushayrī supports the idea that al-Qushayrī

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continuities that link al-Tirmidhī to his context, this study is also interested in understanding the

ruptures and discontinuities that al-Tirmidhī initiated with his new approach to walāya.

Was al-Tirmidhī a ‘Ṣūfī’?

Most scholars in the field of Islamic mysticism (Alexander Knysh, Nile Green, Ahmet

Karamustafa, Laury Silvers et al.) agree upon a narrative that situates early Sufism in Baghdād

during the latter half of the 9th-century C.E. as a somewhat avant-garde movement of mystics

who self-identified as Ṣūfīs and who were somehow connected to the circle of al-Junayd.315 The

term Sufism itself is much older, reaching back to pre-Islamic times and was used to designate

certain Christian ascetics in the same general geographical region of Iraq.316 This Baghdād

tradition then moved eastward to Khurāsān where it blended with older Khurāsānian and

Transoxanian ascetic and mystical traditions until it superseded and replaced them.317 From

Khurāsān, Sufism spread to all corners of the Islamic world and continues to be a vibrant

mystical tradition in Islam to this day. This narrative assumes a somewhat continuous trajectory

from the circle of al-Junayd up to the 5th- and 6th- Islamic centuries (11th- and 12th-centuries

C.E.) Ṣūfīs of Khurāsān in Nīshāpūr. While some elements of this narrative are undeniable, the

narrative also leaves unanswered questions concerning the role that other indigenous mystical

(we include al-Sulamī who was the basis for much of al-Qushayrī’s thought) developed a broad synthesis of Islamic
knowledge and practice that significantly informed Sufism as a mystical movement. For this reason we dub the
combined contribution of al-Sulamī and al-Qushayrī to Islamic mysticism as, ‘The Great Mystical Synthesis of the
5th/11th-Century’. In this sense, the introduction of Khurāsānian mysticism into Sufism by al-Sulamī and al-Qushayrī
was as important to what would become mature Sufism, if not more, than the contribution of al-Junayd’s circle of
Baghdād Ṣūfīs. Chiabotti, Francesco. Entre soufisme et savoir islamique: l’oeuvre de ʿAbd al-Karīm al-Qushayrī
(376-465/ 986-1072). Diss, Universite de Provence. 2014, pp. 632–635.
315
Ibid. Sufism, the formative period, p. 7.
316
Ibid. Sufism: a global history, p. 18. Green argues that this does not necessarily point to a Christian ‘origin’ for
Sufism because early Muslim ascetics can be seen just as much as rivals to Christian ascetics as they were imitators
of their conventions. Hence, Green sees this process as one of ‘mirroring’ rather than ‘borrowing’.
317
Ibid. Islamic mysticism, pp. 99–100.

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trends played in the great mystical synthesis of the 5th- Islamic century (11th-century C.E.).

Furthermore, the reduction of Sufism to its Baghdād variety presupposes a Baghdād-centric view

of Islamic mysticism, which is a view of Islamic mysticism that we must concede most Muslim

mystics share to this day. However, we must stress, based on our reading of Foucault, that the

discontinuities are just as important as the continuities when we are talking about Islamic

mysticism or any discourse stream structured by an episteme. What we seek to demonstrate here

is that Sufism in its mature form represents a new development in Islamic mysticism and is an

emergent event brought about by the confluence of a number of factors. This understanding of

Sufism makes better sense of al-Tirmidhī’s place in Islamic mysticism, since he is often

characterized as an outlier and somewhat of an anomaly.318

Bernd Radtke is emphatic that al-Tirmidhī was not a Ṣūfī. He quotes several early Ṣūfīs

who deny that al-Tirmidhī was a Ṣūfī. Among these was the early Ṣūfī historian Jaʿfar al-Khuldī

(d. 348/959) and ʿAbdallāh al-Anṣārī (d. 481/1088), a Ḥanbalī Ṣūfī who is understood to have

been markedly against any type of theological speculation. Despite the positions of these two

mystics, there were many other early Ṣūfīs who did consider al-Tirmidhī to be part of the Ṣūfī

tradition.319 In this way we can see that al-Tirmidhī problematizes our notions of what it means

to be a Ṣūfī since Ṣūfīs themselves were split on whether he should be counted among their

number. Al-Tirmidhī never used the term ‘ṣūfī’ and in several places in NU he speaks in

derogatory terms about “those who wear wool”, which we can assume is most likely a statement

criticizing asceticism rather than any particular mystical group associated with the nascent Ṣūfīs

of Baghdād. It is also important to remember that al-Tirmidhī precedes the seeding of Baghdād

Sufism in Khurāsān and Transoxania by about a hundred years if we do not take into account a

318
Ibid, p. 105.
319
Al-Sulamī, al-Qushayrī and al-Kalābādhī all considered al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī to be a forerunner of Sufism.

145
few early teachers such as Abū Bakr al-Wāsiṭī (d. 320/932) who may have fled Baghdād in the

wake of the inquisition of Ghulām Khalīl (d. 275/888).320 Nevertheless, al-Tirmidhī’s writings

exhibit many of the characteristics that we would associate with Sufism in the 5th- and 6th-

Islamic centuries in Khurāsān.321 In some cases al-Tirmidhī’s mysticism is ‘closer’ to what we

might call the product of the great mystical synthesis of the 5th- and 6th- Islamic centuries (i.e.,

Sufism) with his emphasis on a type of mysticism that is squarely anti-ascetical. Yet, many of the

Ṣūfīs of Baghdād were ascetics to a large degree and al-Junayd, in his writings, clearly defended

asceticism and its important role in his mystical training.322 If we contrast al-Junayd’s views on

asceticism with those of al-Qushayrī and al-Sulamī, we find in the latter two an approach that is

more in line with al-Tirmidhī’s views.323 Al-Junayd’s unique articulation of Ṣūfī aesthetics was

seminal in defining a way of mystical practice; however, it was not a way that was accessible to

other than a small elite who could internalize his often highly complicated terminology. On the

other hand, if we understand Sufism in a broader sense to be the product of an encompassing

mystical synthesis of the 5th- Islamic century (11th-century C.E.), we see that this type of Sufism

320
Biographical dictionaries indicate that not until the 11th-century do we find the beginnings of a significant
number of scholars identified as Ṣūfīs. Before this time those who are identified as Ṣūfīs are few and usually are
those who at some point passed through Baghdād. Up through the 12th-century indigenous forms of Islamic
mysticism were dominant in Khurāsān and Transoxania. Ibid. Sufism a global history, p. 45. For some of the reasons
pertaining to al-Wāsiṭī’s emigration to Khurāsān see Silvers, A Soaring Minaret, p. 33.
321
Al-Tirmidhī uses the term “qawm” (folk) in the phrase “manāzil al-qawm” to talk about the stations of the path.
The use of the word qawm (folk) in this way is used in later Sufism as another way of identifying the Ṣūfīs. Ibid.
Nawādir, vol. 4, p. 153. Al-Tirmidhī uses the term ṭarīq (way) similar to the manner of the later Ṣūfīs as well. In SA
he writes about those who pretend to know the path (ṭarīq) of the awliyāʾ: wa lā huwa ʿālim bi al-ṭarīq wa lā bi al-
makāmin fī al-ṭarīq wa lā bi muntahā al-qawm wa manāzilihim, “…and he is not knowledgeable of the path nor the
ambushes of the path nor does he know the goal of this folk (qawm) and their halting stations.” Ibid. Thalāthat
muṣannafāt, p. 30. More similarities to later Sufism abound in al-Tirmdihī’s writings such as his attendance at
gatherings of dhikr and his discussion of some aspects of samāʾ (audition). Ibid. Nawādir, vol. 1, p. 243; vol. 2, pp.
23–24; vol. 5, pp. 6–7. We will discuss further structural similarities between al-Tirmidhī’s mystical terminology
and the terminology of later Sufism at a later point in this chapter. We intend to show that al-Tirmidhī’s terminology
includes elements that Baghdād Sufism did not include but that were adopted in what later became mature Sufism.
322
Ibid. Rasāʾil al-Junayd, pp. 66–67.
323
Al-Qushayrī mentions several different viewpoints on zuhd (renunciation) and then quotes his teacher al-Sulamī
to the effect that zuhd does not mean “eating course food or wearing a woolen cloak.” ʿAbd al-Karīm b. Hawāzin al-
Qushayrī. Al-Qushayrī’s epistle on Sufism al-risala al-qushayriyya fī ʿilm al-taṣawwuf. Translated by Alexander D.
Knysh; reviewed by Muḥammad Eissa. Reading, U.K.: 2007, pp. 134–135.

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was accessible to aspirants of a variety of different backgrounds and adherents who were

associated with many different schools (madhāhib) of thought in Sunnī Islam. If we contemplate

the diverse, institutionalized and theoretically grounded mysticism of Khurāsān and Transoxania

before the arrival of Baghdād Sufism, we find that Baghdād Sufism entered a highly developed

matrix of mystical thought and activity. To posit that Baghdād Sufism replaced these movements

completely ignores the composite nature of Sufism as we find it in its mature form. The field of

Islamic mysticism must not underestimate the heritage Sufism owes to Khurāsānian mysticism.

Sufism and Hellenism

In Chapter 2 we discussed the extent to which al-Tirmidhī makes use of Hellenistic

thought. The Pythagorean elements we find in al-Tirmidhī’s works, especially KH, do not

represent, by any means, the entirety of al-Tirmidhī’s mystical outlook. Rather, al-Tirmidhī uses

wisdom (ḥikma) to frame and situate his doctrine of sainthood (walāya). By looking at Christian

mysticism and its structural foundations during the same general historical period as al-Tirmidhī,

we see how al-Tirmidhī belongs within a broadly defined tradition of mystical thought

indigenous to the Near East. We will look briefly at the work of two Christian writers, the first

being Isaac of Nineveh from the 7th-century C.E. and the second, Yaḥyā b. ʿᾹdī, from the 10th-

century C.E., one preceding al-Tirmidhī by several hundred years and the other following closely

after him. This will help to demonstrate how Islamic mysticism contrasts more clearly when

compared to a similar and competing mystical tradition in the same general area and time frame.

As we mentioned earlier, Isaac of Nineveh is particularly helpful to our understanding of early

Islamic mysticism because he is credited with writing a number of ascetical homilies during the

period just after the great Arab conquests of the 7th-century C.E. His writings demonstrate in

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lucid detail the ascetical and mystical quest of someone who we can easily say was not

influenced by Islamic thought.324 Yaḥyā b. ʿᾹdī, on the other hand, was a participant in the

active intellectual milieu of Baghdād during the 10th-century C.E. but had clearly inherited the

legacy of Christian mystical thought of which Isaac was a part.

Patrik Hagman demonstrates that Isaac was in conversation with a Christian theological

tradition that drew heavily from Neoplatonism. The problematique that Isaac, Theodore of

Mopsuestia, Evagrios, and John of Apamea were attempting to solve returned back to the

Neoplatonic notion of the soul (nous) as an uncreated substance. These early Christian ascetics

and theologians were trying to reconcile the existence of passions with a Hellenistic concept of

the soul as incorruptible and uncreated.325 This notion of an uncreated soul whose source in the

Godhead is modeled after the Platonic Good or Aristotle’s Unmoved Mover is an emanationist

cosmology and was readily accepted by many early Christian theologians as part of their basic

weltanschauung. This cosmological doctrine is also clearly found among Neoplatonic and

Aristotelian Muslim philosophers such as al-Fārābī326, Ibn Sīna327, al-Rāzī328 and al-Rushd329

among others.330 The question before us, however, is whether or not the early Islamic mystics

participated in this discourse stream that was active from the 7th-century C.E. onwards in Iraq

and greater Khurāsān. Louis Massignon’s work on Ṣūfī terminology indicates that Sufism in its

mature form derives its terminology as well as its basic premises primarily from the Qurʾān.331

324
For the first hundred or so years after the Arab/Islamic invasions of the 7 th-century, the Arab Muslims
concentrated their efforts on expansion and Arab Muslims lived in garrison towns separate from the people they
ruled.
325
Hagman, Patrik. The asceticism of Isaac of Nineveh. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 2010, pp. 75–76.
326
Abū Naṣr Muḥammad al-Fārābī (d. 339/950)
327
Abū ʿAlī al-Ḥusayn b. Sīna (d. 428/1037)
328
Abū Bakr Muḥammad al-Rāzī (d. 313/925 or 323/935)
329
Abū al-Walīd b. Rushd (d. 595/1198)
330
Al-Ghazālī seeks to refute the doctrine of the Falāsifa (philosophers) concerning the uncreated soul in his Tahāfut
al-Falāsifa. Ibn Rushd responds to his refutation with a refutation of his own, al-Radd ʿalā al-Radd.
331
Ibid. Sufism a global history, pp. 26–27.

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While this might be true in general, one can see many similarities that also connect Ṣūfī thought

and practice to pre-Islamic precedents.332 Some scholars of Sufism have referred to these

similarities as ‘floating motifs’ or a shared koine that is difficult to link to any particular

‘borrowing.’333 It is no doubt that the early Ṣūfīs participated in this koine as did all of the major

Islamic movements of the first three Islamic centuries. However, while there are clearly outward

semblances, the deep structure of Ṣūfī thought appears to be molded by a consistent return to

Islamic sources in the form of Qurʾān and Ḥadīth for justification of its doctrines. This can be

apparent by looking closely at those Muslim mystics whose thought closely resembles aspects of

Hellenism. One case in point are the ideas of a Basran mystic by the name of Sahl al-Tustarī (d.

283/896) who was contemporaneous with al-Tirmidhī and who also discussed walāya

(sainthood). Gerhard Böwering in his masterful work on the mystical vision of Sahl al-Tustarī

interprets al-Tustarī’s treatment of the soul in terms of Neoplatonic emanation.334 Indeed, on the

surface, al-Tustarī’s cosmogony looks emanationist. God creates Muḥammad from his light after

which Adam and his progeny, as well as the entire universe, is then created from the

Muḥammadan light.335 This is a cosmogony that is also shared by al-Tirmidhī. Bernd Radtke

refers to it as the ‘Old Islamic Cosmology.’ Al-Tustari’s cosmogony seems to mirror

Neoplatonic emanation in which Intellect (Nous) proceeds from the One and the individual

human souls subsequently proceed from Intellect. These individual souls are immersed in Matter

and are a less perfect image of the intellection of Nous.336 They are directly connected to the

332
The term Ṣūfī, for example, has been traced back to early Christian ascetics in Iraq who were labeled “lābis al-
ṣūf” or “wool wearer.” It is highly probable that Muslim ascetics developed similar ascetic practices in competition
with these Christian ascetics. Ibid, pp. 19–20.
333
Ibid, p. 21.
334
Böwering, Gerhard. The mystical vision of existence in classical Islam the Qurʾānic hermeneutics of the ṣūfī Sahl
al-Tustarī (d. 283/896). Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. 1979, p. 153.
335
Ibid, p. 153.
336
The European Graduate School. Online resource: http://www.egs.edu/library/plotinus/biography/

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‘One’ through the intermediary of the Intellect.337 The Neoplatonic soul is noetic, that is, it

emanates directly from the Intellect, which itself is a form that comprises all possible forms.338

The return of the soul to its source in Nous is often characterized as a mystical ascent and

became an important element of Gnostic speculation, which borrowed heavily from Neoplatonic

cosmology.339 For al-Tustarī, the ʿaql of each human being does not emanate from the

Muḥammadan light but is ‘created’ by God from that light.340 The soul (nafs), on the other hand,

in al-Tustarī’s framework is actually created from the temporal world.341 For al-Tustarī, the

sublimation of the lower self and the plunging of the self into the ‘earth’ as if to bury it (note

here the theme of death) results in the ascension of the rūḥ (spirit) or rūḥ al-nafs (spirit of the

soul) to the Throne of God. However, as we will see with al-Tirmidhī, this same separation of the

soul as earthly and the rūh (spirit) as heavenly is what creates a ‘space’ in the heart for the divine

light to manifest. The point for both al-Tustarī and al-Tirmidhī is not a ‘return’ to union with

God as we see stylized by Christian ascetics like Isaac of Nineveh, but rather the formation of a

break in the fabric of the temporal world out of which the divine theophany manifests.342 We

also see that in al-Tustarī’s view the ʿuqūl (intellects) that are specks of light also do not

emanate, but they are each created separately by the Creator/God directly from the greater

337
Magic Medicine and Science Course Homepage. Online resource:
http://ls.poly.edu/~jbain/mms/handouts/mmsplotinus.htm
338
Plotinus uses a light metaphor to explain how the soul is like a window for the Intellect to shine into the physical
world. Plotinus, Enneads: http://classics.mit.edu/Plotinus/enneads.mb.txt
339
This should not mislead us into assuming that Gnostics were merely Christian Neoplatonists. This was far from
the case and Neoplatonic philosophers such as Plotinus and Porphyry took pains to distinguish themselves from the
Gnostics, particularly because the Gnostics held to a radically dualistic cosmology that was foreign to Neoplatonism.
340
Al-Tustarī’s cosmogony seeks to answer the central question of qadar (free will) in Islamic theology, a problem
that became central to Islamic theology based on Qurʾānic claims about the nature of God and his all-powerful and
all-knowing attributes.
341
Al-Tustarī, Sahl b. ʿAbd Allāh. Tafsīr al-Tustarī translated by Annabel Keeler and ʿAlī Keeler. Fons Vitae,
Louisville. 2011, p. 314. Ṣurāh 110:2. The self (nafs) desires this world because it is from this world. The spirit
(rūh) desires the next world because it is from the next world.
342
Tustarī, Sahl b. ʿAbd Allāh. Tafsīr al-Tustarī. Ed. and Muḥammad Bāsil ʿUyūn al-Sūd. Bayrūt: Dār al-Kutub al-
ʿIlmiyya. 2002, p. 159.

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Muḥammadan soul. In the Neoplatonic view individual souls are not only immaterial but also

uncreated, which further separates al-Tustarī’s concept of the soul from a Neoplatonic one. In

fact, al-Tustarī’s cosmogony is more of an attempt to systematize various disparate statements in

the Qurʾān and Ḥadīth literature that talk about the intellect, soul and the Muḥammadan light.343

The entire thrust of al-Tustarī’s discussion on the soul addresses a problematique that arises out

of various positions espoused by early Islamic theological doctrines.344 As Douglas Crow has

aptly shown, the mythic ʿaql narratives of the Ḥadīth literature that focus on the Mīthāq (divine

covenant) grow out of early Islamic theological debates over freewill (qadar) and predestination

(jabr).345 Crow demonstrates, contrary to Ignaz Goldziher, that the ʿaql of the Iraqi Qadarīs was

not a Neoplatonic ‘First Emanation.’ The Ḥadīth corpus represents a measure of both continuity

and rupture with Hellenistic, Patristic and Biblicist precedents.346 Scholars like al-Tustarī and al-

Tirmidhī in the 3rd- Islamic century (9th-century C.E.), who sought to systematize both Qurʾān

and Ḥadīth statements into a coherent cosmology, created systems of thought founded on a very

different episteme than the episteme that governed early Patristic thought. While the terminology

and structure of some early Islamic mystical motifs resemble pre-Islamic precedents and were no

doubt influenced by them, the episteme inaugurated by Qurʿān and Ḥadīth culture realigned

343
In the Qurʾān the Prophet Muhammad is understood by most exegetes to be referred to as a light. In Qurʾān 5:15
we have the words … qad jāʾakum min Allāhi nūrun wa-kitābun mubīn, “…there has come to you from Allāh a light
and a clear book.” The word nūr (light) is interpreted in al-Jalālayn to be a reference to Muḥammad. In Qurʾān
7:172 we have a verse that refers to extracting of the progeny of Adam from his loins to testify to Allāh’s lordship.
There is a linguistic relationship between the Qurʾānic term dhurriyyāt (offspring) and the term al-Tustarī uses
dharrāt (specks). Both attain from the same Arabic root. Also, the idea that the Muḥammadan light was created
from God’s light originates in a ḥadīth attributed to Jābir b. ʿAbd Allāh (d. 78/698). This ḥadīth is considered
fabricated (mawḍūʿ) by Ḥadīth specialists, however, it is clear that al-Tustarī is developing his cosmogony, not from
a Neoplatonic philosophical approach, but rather from Qurʾān and prophetic traditions that he is piecing together
into a single narrative. Whether or not these Ḥadīth have their origin in Neoplatonic speculation is another question
that cannot be answered here.
344
The context of al-Tustarī’s discussion on the primordial covenant is an explanation of shaqāwa (damnation) and
saʿāda (felicity). Ibid. Tafsīr al-Tustarī (2), p. 68.
345
Crow, Douglas S. The role of ʿaql in early Islamic wisdom, with reference to Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq. Diss. McGill
University, Montreal, P.Q. 1996, p. xxv.
346
Ibid, p. xvii.

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these motifs to produce very different significations. This orientation towards intellectual history

is one of the benefits of Foucault’s episteme. The discourse stream of Islamic mysticism is

apparent in the many similarities that we find between al-Tustarī and al-Tirmidhī. Al-Tirmidhī

describes the soul as being tripartite with the ʿaql situated in the head, the hawā (caprice)

situated in the bowels and the heart situated between both of these, and it is in the heart where

the light of God’s gnosis is placed.347 This tripartite structure mirrors the tripartite structure of

the soul in Plato’s Timaeus and was upheld by later Neoplatonists such as Apuleius of Madauros

(mid-120s-after 170 C.E.).348 In the Timaeus Plato describes the soul as having three parts, the

rational portion in the head, the spirited portion near the heart and the appetitive in the lower

bowels.349 While it would seem that al-Tirmidhī is following a Neoplatonic vision of the soul,

when we look closer at the underlying structure of al-Tirmidhī’s notion of the soul, we find that

it runs contrary to the very foundations of Neoplatonism. Al-Tirmidhī conceives of the soul as

created from clay and was placed in the bowels by the Devil.350 Furthermore, the heart is not the

locus for the spiritual soul but rather a site for the manifestation of God’s light or gnosis. Al-

Tirmidhī’s spiritual anatomy presents a way of setting up his non-dual epistemology and

ontology so that it is framed by the dualities that constitute this world (dunyā) and make it

understandable to the intellect. We will revisit al-Tirmidhī’s non-dual gnoseology and

interpretation of sainthood in chapters 5 and 6. Yves Marquet provides a lengthy comparison of

al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of light to that of the Ikhwān al-Ṣafā and concludes that it is essentially

347
Radtke, Bernd. “A Forerunner of Ibn ʿArabī: Ḥakīm Tirmidhī on Sainthood.” Journal of the Muḥyiddin Ibn
ʿArabī Society, Vol. VIII, 1989. Online resource: http://www.ibnarabisociety.org/articles/hakimtirmidhi.html.
Accessed: 20 December 2014.
348
Finamore, John F. “The Tripartite Soul in Middle Platonism” in Conversations Platonic and Neoplatonic.
Academia Verlag. 2010, p. 105.
349
Ibid, p.105.
350
Ibid. A Forerunner. A conception of the soul as originating in a material substance could not be farther from the
Neoplatonic idea of soul.

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non-Hellenistic in its complete disregard for any attempt to systematize an original source of

“light” to other than God himself.351 The conclusion of Radtke that al-Tirmidhī’s gnoseology is

not Neoplatonic is supported by Marquet’s findings as well as my own. The light mysticism that

al-Tirmidhī uses derives from a discourse stream of Islamic mystical thought that developed

during the 2nd- Islamic century (8th-century C.E.) and the first half of the 3rd- Islamic century (9th-

century C.E.). We can see this in the way al-Tirmidhī draws upon the same light cosmology as

al-Tustarī. The fact that they both are working from similar material indicates that this light

cosmology predates them both.

Early Sufism

Our discussion of the various sources of Hellenism and Sufism has helped us to

understand why it can be difficult to identify the foundational elements that are structuring the

thought of early Islamic mystics. This does not deny the variety of non-Islamic influences that

were omnipresent in the context of these mystics, however, it helps to situate them in relation to

a new center within the discursive topography of Near Eastern movements. When the center of

the episteme shifts, we have a rupture in the intellectual landscape, a break that reconfigures the

relationships between the various discourse streams. If we look at asceticism/mysticism in the

Near East as an element of Near Eastern thought and practice that predates Islam, then the arrival

of the Islamic revelation and the prophetic Ḥadīth definitely represents a rupture in that episteme

and a recentering. Early Islamic mystics were almost without exception Traditionist352 in their

approach, that is, they were Muslims from the scholarly class who saw the Ḥadīth as a primary

351
Ibid. Al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī et Neoplatonisme, p. 43.
352
As opposed to Traditionalist, which represents an anti-theological trend in Islam.

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source for their views.353 The Ṣūfīs of Baghdād as well as other ascetic/mystical movements

were seeking to legitimize as well as articulate their experiences through the Qurʾānic and Ḥadīth

corpus. Hence, Muslim mystics in both Baghdād and Khurāsān were writing for the scholarly

class, both mystic and non-mystic alike. Al-Sarrāj, in his Kitāb al-Lumaʿ, uses the central

Gabriel ḥadīth354 to situate Sufism as the epitome of the Islamic sciences (ʿulūm), characterizing

Sufism as the science of iḥsān (beauty, excellence), the third and final stage of spiritual

attainment mentioned in this ḥadīth. While al-Tirmidhī was not defending ‘Sufism’ in the same

way as al-Sarrāj, he was arguing for the primacy of the path of gnosis (ṭarīq al-maʿrifa) by

appealing to Qurʾān and Ḥadīth sources almost a hundred years before al-Sarrāj. The ascension

of the Ḥadīth dominance is unmistakably obvious in both of their approaches.

Also during the 9th-century C.E. and simultaneous with the ascension of the Ḥadīth folk,

al-Muḥāsibī develops a sophisticated psychology of introspection.355 Al-Muḥāsibī’s concept of

the soul breaks from a more ancient Arabian notion of the soul as synonymous with ʿaql.356 This

notion of the soul (nafs) combines Neoplatonic and Patristic notions of the soul within an

Arab/Islamic framework. The episteme shift represented by Ḥadīth dominance reconfigured

these notions based on a new reference point. While the soul is the vehicle by which to reach

God, this soul does not seek ‘union’ with God, but rather seeks the manifestation of God’s

presence and attributes in the world.357 For Aristotle, the soul is primarily a passive element,

353
Silvers, Laury. A Soaring Minaret. State University of New York Press. Albany, NY. 2010, p. 2. Silvers argues
that Sufism developed in a milieu that can best be characterized as an Ahl al-Ḥadīth (party of Ḥadīth) culture.
354
Ibid. Kitāb al-Lumaʾ, p. 6. This ḥadīth is considered by Muslim legal scholars to be one of the central aḥadīth to
Islamic lore and doctrine.
355
Ibid. Islamic mysticism, pp. 44–45.
356
Ibn ʿAbbās considers nafs (soul) and ʿaql (intellect) to be synonymous. Picken, Gavin N. Spiritual purification in
Islam: the life and works of al-Muḥāsibī. Abingdon, Oxon: Routledge. 2011, p. 173.
357
The discussion on ‘union’ (jamʿ) is an example of what I believe is a misreading of early Ṣūfī mystical
terminology. The discussion in al-Junayd’s mystical treatises on jamʿ (I prefer gatheredness rather than ‘union’) and
tafriqa (separation) must be understood within the paradigm of ḥikma as discussed in Chapter 2. This was a
vocabulary that described the interaction of opposites in the world. Al-Tirmidhī engages in a similar discussion of

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while for the Neoplatonists the soul has both an active and passive nature.358 Even so, the active

nature of the soul for the Neoplatonists was active in a subconscious manner, that is, the

intellection of the soul is always and constantly happening through the soul’s actualization of the

forms of matter in the ‘mind’ of the soul.359 Early Arab/Islamic notions of the ʿaql (mind/soul),

on the other hand, were preoccupied with qadar (freewill) and jabr (predestination). While

Neoplatonism was concerned with epistemology, or how we know what we know, al-Muḥāsibī

focuses on intentionality (irāda) as a focal point for the development of the soul/self (tazkiyat al-

nafs). Hence, again, the context of al-Muḥāsibī’s thought must be situated within the frame of the

intentionality of actions that will lead one either to salvation (saʿāda) or damnation (shaqāwa).

For al-Muḥāsibī the path of tazkiya is a path of purification that leads ultimately to sincerity of

intention while opposing its opposite, i.e., riyāʾ (showing off or intending one’s worship for

other than God), which is the primary sin in al-Muḥāsibī’s spiritual regime.360

Al-Junayd and al-Tirmidhī Build on the Work of al-Muḥāsibī

We will now be looking at how al-Muḥāsibī’s concept of the soul, as configured and

modified by the discourse stream of Ḥadīth dominance, informed the thought of both al-Junayd

and al-Tirmidhī. This is important because it highlights the complicated and non-linear

development of Ṣūfī thought. We can view al-Muḥāsibī’s discussion of the soul as a departure

from previous modes of thinking about the soul in Islamic mystical discourse. Particular

individuals who followed after him and internalized his teachings (specifically al-Junayd and al-

opposites being gathered and separated. This vocabulary provided the framework for understanding how God’s
theophany manifests in the world.
358
Remes, Paulina. Neoplatonism. Berkeley: University of California Press. 2008, p. 138.
359
Ibid, p. 137.
360
Ibid. Spiritual purification, p. 205.

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Tirmidhī here) became the theoretical progenitors of what was to become Sufism in its mature

form.361 Al-Junayd lived in Baghdād and was the only one of the early Baghdād Ṣūfīs to admit a

debt to al-Muḥāsibī.362 While al-Tirmidhī did not meet al-Muḥāsibī, he records in his

autobiography that it was one of the books of al-Anṭākī, the rāwī (narrator) of al-Muḥāsibī, that

opened his spiritual insight.363 We can see clearly from al-Junayd’s writings that he borrowed

from al-Muḥāsibī, whose influence extended his thought in important ways. Al-Junayd shared al-

Muḥāsibī’s basic methodology for refining the self, although he made it a lesser stage in the

process of spiritual realization. Al-Junayd compares two terms in his Rasāʾil (Letters of al-

Junayd); they are: ṣidq (truthfulness) and ikhlāṣ (sincerity). For al-Junayd, ikhlāṣ is higher than

ṣidq, and ṣidq entails, al-qiyām ʿalā al-nafs bi-l-ḥarāsati wa-l-riʿāyati lahā, “…gaining control

over the nafs through constant observation and watchfulness of it.” Here, al-Junayd uses the

exact same terms to refer to the very same methodology presented by al-Muḥāsibī. For al-

Junayd, however, we should note that he refers to ṣidq (truthfulness) as a lower station and then

continues to explain how ikhlāṣ is yet a higher station of spiritual attainment. Al-Junayd

described ikhlās (sincerity) as a characteristic of walāya (sainthood) that is granted unto the

believer by God. In al-Junayd’s mystical system, the one characterized by sincerity goes beyond

ʿaql (intellect), a movement that is not particularly clear in the works of al-Muḥāsibī. Al-Junayd

says, fa ʿinda wuṣūl al-ʿabdi ilā hādhā kharaja ʿan ṣifati wujūdi mā yūṣafu bi-l-ʿaql fa-ṣārat

ʿawāriḍ al-ʿaql ʿinda wujūd haqīqati al-tawḥīd wasāwis taḥtāju ilā an yaruddahā…, “When the

servant reaches this [point], he leaves the attribute of the existence of that which can be

361
Alexander Knysh (2011) discusses al-Muḥāsibī’s Ṣūfī credentials and notes that some have interpreted him as a
‘moralizing theologian’ rather than as a Ṣūfī. Nevertheless, the importance of his approach to spiritual purification
on later Sufism is undisputed. Ibid. Islamic mysticism, p. 47.
362
Ibid, p. 53.
363
Ibid. Concept, p. 17.

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described by the intellect and [for him] the effulgences of the intellect [standing] before the

existence of the reality of oneness are but disturbances that need to be repelled.”364 Here we can

see a more developed presentation of the ʿaql, not simply as that which represents a capacity to

understand God, but rather a faculty that reflects the world and gives rise to ‘thoughts’. For al-

Junayd it is not enough for the servant (ʿabd) to orient himself toward God with his intellect, but

rather, true realization is to go beyond the ʿaql itself and thus beyond form (rasm). This does not

happen as a result of the ability of the servant, but through the servant’s khuṣūṣiyya (being

chosen) by God. The servant is taken beyond his intellect by the overpowering nature of God’s

presence. Not only does al-Junayd build upon the methodological foundation established by al-

Muḥāsibī, but he introduces some important transformations. While al-Muḥāsibī calls for the

servant to turn away from and thus ignore the nafs, al-Junayd calls for its fanā’ (annihilation).

Al-Junayd says, fa-lammā faqadat al-arwāḥ al-naʿīm al-ghaybī alladhī lā tuḥāssuhu an-nufūs

wa-lā tuqāribuhu al-ḥusūs alifat fanāhā ʿanhā wa wujidat baqāhā yamnaʿuhu fanāhā, “and

when the spirits lose the hidden pleasure which souls do not sense nor do feelings come near,

their annihilation from them (their nufūs) becomes habitual and their state of subsistence, which

annihilation had blocked, arises.”365 For al-Junayd, the concept of sobriety (saḥw), a

characteristic coterminous with baqāʾ (subsistence), is built on the idea that spiritual practice is

primarily an inward discipline that results from the annihilation (fanāʾ) of the soul as it is

directed towards the contemplation of God. In other words, it is al-Muḥāsibī’s radical

interiorization of the ascetic path that al-Junayd is refining.366 We call al-Muḥāsibī’s mystical

364
Ibid. Rasāʾil, p. 53.
365
Ibid, p. 34.
366
I agree with Nile Green who states that Islamic mysticism was as much a reaction against asceticism as it was
influenced by early Christian and Muslim asceticism. Islamic mysticism grows out of a dialog among the Ḥadīth
folk about the place of asceticism in Islam. Al-Muḥāsibī’s approach can be characterized as an inward asceticism or
an asceticism of the soul (nafs) from its attachments to the world and its desires and a turning (tawba) towards God.
Al-Junayd adopts al-Muḥāsibī’s ‘asceticism of the soul’ but does not completely disown asceticism of the body.

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approach ‘radical interorization’ because he appears to call for an ‘asceticism of the soul’ as

opposed to an ‘asceticism of the body’. For al-Muḥāsibī, strictures of the body don’t cure the evil

inclinations of the soul and in this we can see an important departure from early Christian

asceticism. For example, this differs markedly from the approach of Isaac of Nineveh, whose

asceticism directly links the mortification of the body with the spiritual ascent of the soul.367 Al-

Muḥāsibī’s logic goes as follows: When the ʿaql continuously watches over (muḥāsaba) the soul

for occurrences of ostentation (riyāʾ), the soul gradually leaves ostentation and begins beholding

God himself. Al-Muḥāsibī’s spiritual regimen leads the mystic to the point of witnessing God.

For al-Muḥāsibī, the highest level of spiritual attainment is tawakkul (complete reliance upon

God).368 At this level of spiritual attainment the seeker of God does not see anything but God,

and is even oblivious to his own self. At the end of Ādāb al-Nufūs Al-Muḥāsibī states, wa-l-

mutawakkil ʿalā Allāh lā yaltafitu ilā al-dunyā li-annahu lā yarāhā li-nafsihi khaṭaran, wa-lā

yarāha wa-nafsahu wa-jamīʿa mā fīhā illā Allāh…,369 “The reliant one does not turn his attention

to this world, because he does not see his very soul even as a single thought, and he does not see

it nor his soul, nor all that is in it, save God...” We can see from this quote from Ādāb al-Nufūs

that full realization requires the mystic to lose sight of his self (nafs) in the vision of God. This

‘forgetting’ of the self/soul is clearly a precursor to al-Junayd’s annihilation (fanāʾ) of the

self/soul. Al-Junayd takes this process of refinement even further to the point where all

oppositions and points of reference are lost and the mystic is annihilated in the divine presence

(fanāʾ). According to al-Junayd, the path (ṭarīq) does not stop there, but the mystic then recovers

from this spiritual death to subsist (baqāʾ) in God, which he considers a higher station than

367
Ibid. Mystic treatises, p. 5.
368
Ibid. Ādāb al-Nufūs, p. 180.
369
Ibid, p. 179.

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annihilation. For al-Junayd, the mystic journey is not simply a process of refinement and

accounting for one’s actions (muḥāsaba) and witnessing (mushāhada), but it is a process of the

mystic himself becoming the site of God’s manifesting presence. While the approaches of al-

Muḥāsibī and al-Junayd express a new way of discoursing about the path (ṭarīq) to God by

focusing on the vehicle of the soul, neither of these two theoreticians of Islamic mysticism invest

the mystic with religious authority as a result of his sainthood (walāya). For both of them the

saint (walī) is someone who is a source of guidance (hidāya) for others and is protected by God,

but is not a khalīfa (successor to the Prophet or to God).370

Al-Muḥāsibī’s inward spiritual psychology gave him the theoretical basis to criticize

bodily asceticism as a viable path to reach God. Al-Junayd was not the only mystic who

inherited and built upon the ideas of al-Muḥāsibī. Al-Muḥāsibī’s views on the soul were also

inherited by al-Tirmidhī who voices a very similar condemnation of ascetical practice and

motives along the same lines. Al-Tirmidhī’s process of tazkiya as he expounds it in SA follows

al-Muḥāsibī’s lead. Al-Tirmidhī’s inward asceticism of the soul ends in walāya. We can see that

al-Muḥāsibī begs the question “To what end?” in his intricate moral psychology and we find that

both al-Junayd and al-Tirmidhī proffer two very different answers to this question. The two

divergent approaches of both al-Junayd and al-Tirmidhī were then eventually incorporated into

the great mystical synthesis of the 5th/11th-century by al-Sulamī and his student al-Qushayrī. We

would like to put forward the proposition that Sufism in its mature form is a product greater than

the sum of its parts and constitutes a synthesis of various mystical approaches, such as elements

370
Ibid. Rasāʾil, p. 20. The saints (awliyāʾ) do not figure prominently in al-Muḥāsibī’s spiritual hierarchy. Rather, it
is the ḥukamāʾ (sages) who play an important role as knowers of God (ʿārifīn). Al-Junayd mentions the awliyāʾ
more frequently but even for him the term awliyāʾ is one of many descriptors of the knowers of God.

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of al-Muḥāsibī’s spiritual psychology, filtered through the thought of mystics like al-Junayd and

al-Tirmidhī, who built upon his radical interiorization of the spiritual path.

Nīshāpūr and the Development of Sufism as a Meta-Identity

In order to understand Sufism in the 5th/11th-century we need to move from Baghdād,

where al-Muḥāsibī and al-Junayd were operative, to Khurāsān and, in particular, the city of

Nīshāpūr. Khurāsān was a crucible for the continued sustainability of what different factions

within Islam were calling Ahl al-Sunna wa-l-Jamāʿa (the people of sunna and community). As

we will see with the case study of Nīshāpūr during this period, Sunnīsm as an orthodoxy was not

a forgone conclusion at the beginning of the 11th-century C.E. A crumbling Abbasid state, a

schism between East and West, invasions of Turkic tribes from Central Asia and social and

economic divisions that threatened to tear apart the fabric of urban life all militated against a

collective spirit that would bind Muslims together.

Nīshāpūr was the cultural and intellectual capital of Khurāsān in the 10th- and 11th-

centuries C.E. As we have seen with the Ṣūfī authors already discussed, the majority of these

authors hailed from Nīshāpūr, either travelled through it, or at some point studied there. Richard

Bulliet’s study of the patrician class of this important city helps us to better understand the

internal workings of this medieval Muslim city in Khurāsān.371 More importantly for us, the

political and social dynamics of Nīshāpūr during this period will also help us to better understand

what was taking place in the development of Sufism at the same time. Rather than looking at

371
Bulliet correctly warns us from extrapolating our understanding of Nīshāpūr to other urban centers in Khurāsān.
Ḥanafīs in Nīshāpūr meant something quite different than Ḥanafīs in Samarqand. Despite the rivalries and factional
conflicts between Ḥanafīs and Shāfīʿīs we see that the educational system remained unified and did not break up
into two separate schooling systems.

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Sufism as a factor in the factional strife in Nīshāpūr372 during the 5th/11th-century, we can view

the development of Sufism in Nīshāpūr during this historical period as a possible reaction to this

factionalism and strife and as a vote of no-confidence in a system that was broken and eventually

led to the destruction of the city.

The origins of the struggle between Ḥanafīs and Shāfīʿīs in Nīshāpūr predate our period

of inquiry, starting as early as the 3rd/9th-century. It is at the end the 4th- Islamic century (10th-

century C.E.) that factional violence begins with the adoption of Ashʿarī theology, adopted solely

by Shāfīʿīs. We can think of Ḥanafīs and Shāfīʿīs as much as political parties as they are legal

schools during this period.373 Shāfīʿī ideology was more ‘progressive’ in the sense that it

supported new trends in society such as mysticism and semi-determinism. Ḥanafī ideology, at

least in Nīshāpūr, was more aristocratic and conservative and was connected with Muʿtazilī

theology.374 In Transoxania, where al-Tirmidhī lived, the situation was much different with

Ḥanafīs primarily adhering to a Murjiʾī/Ḥanafī theology. The divide between Ḥanafīs and

Shāfīʿīs in Nīshāpūr appears to have been the outward manifestation of deeper social divisions

amongst the leading aristocratic families.375 A series of factors led to an upset in the balance of

372
Margaret Malamud casts the Ṣūfīs of Nīshāpūr as primarily Shāfiʿīs. The Shāfiʿīs were considered to be less
aristocratic and more open to new trends leading them to try out Sufism. There are several problems, however, with
Malamud’s interpretation of the usage of the term al-ṣūfī in al-Ḥākim al-Naysābūrī’s Tārīkh Naysābūr. The first
consideration is the assumption that the term ṣūfī is used to specifically mean someone who associates with Baghdād
Sufism. Rather, al-Naysābūrī seems to use the term to refer to mystics in general such as when he refers to al-Ḥākim
al-Samarqandī, mentioned in Chapter 3 as a Ṣūfī. Al-Samarqandī had no known affiliation with the Baghdād Ṣūfīs
and was a Ḥanafī theologian and mystic. Ibrāhīm b. Muḥammad al-Ṣarīfīnī. Al-Muntakhab Min Al-siyāq Li-tārīkh
Naysābūr. Ed. ʿAbd al-Ghāfir b. Ismāʿīl Fārisī al-Ṭabʿa. Bayrūt: Dār al-Kutub al-ʿIlmīya. 1989, p. 73.
373
This speaks to the importance of conceiving of these categories as constructed identities. One finds in the ṭabaqāt
literature, for example, a Ḥanafī Shāfīʿī. This would seem to be an oxymoron of sorts but what we find is that Shāfīʿī
becomes identified with Ṣūfī and what is really meant here is a Ḥanafī Ṣūfī and not someone who is following two
different legal schools at the same time. Ibid. Patricians, p. 41.
374
Ibid, p. 36.
375
We find that before Ḥanafī and Shāfīʿī identifications come into play by the middle of the 10 th century a similar
split along the lines of Kūfan and Madīnan madhāhib exists. In this period local dialect, history and customs
constituted the core of an individual’s identity which was overlain by a veneer of cosmopolitan religious practices
and imperial administrative procedures. Ibid, p. 31.

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power between patrician families who controlled the city. When the Ghaznavids replaced the

Samānids as rulers of Nīshāpūr in 999 C.E. they sought to increase their control in the city by

supporting various factions of the city against others. At the beginning of his reign, Maḥmūd of

Ghazna officially endorsed Muʿtazilī theology as propounded by the Ḥanafī leadership of the

city. Later he appointed a Karrāmī, Abū Bakr, as the raʾīs (mayor) of Nīshāpūr despite the fact

that Karrāmīs were fanatically anti-Muʿtazilī. The result was a reign of terror in Nīshāpūr in

which Ashʿarīs, Muʿtazilīs and Ismāʿīlīs were denounced from the pulpits of the mosques and

attacked with impunity.376 The Karrāmiyya derived the base of their support from the despised

lower classes such as weavers and the urban and rural poor. They were highly organized and

stressed moral and social reform. Needless to say, the appointment of a Karrāmī to a position of

such importance in the city upended the balance of power that had existed amongst the patriciate.

When the Seljuqs replaced the Ghaznavids in 1037 C.E. they continued the same policy of divide

and conquer.377 The Seljuq vizier ʿAmīd al-Mulk Kundūrī (d. 455/1063) instituted an inquisition

of Shāfīʿī Ashʿarīs in which the Ashʿarī Ṣūfī al-Qushayrī was forced to flee Nīshāpūr.378 The

factional strife in Nīshāpūr kept spiraling downwards during the 11th-century C.E., climaxing in

the devastation of the city by the Ghuzz and its eventual abandonment. A recurring question in

Bulliet’s work on Nīshāpūr is why the patriciate allowed such factional strife to escalate to the

376
Margaret Malamud. “The Politics of Heresy in Medieval Khurāsān: The Karrāmiyya in Nīshāpūr”. Iranian
Studies. 27 (1/4): 1994, p. 46.
377
In Medieval Muslim cities in greater Khurāsān during the 4th/10th- and 5th/11th-centuries the rulers needed the city
more than the city needed the ruler. The traditional balance of power in the city between the various patrician
families unwound as new rulers sought to increase their influence and power in the city. The social unrest that was
the result of this policy had to do with a struggle for power and authority between a foreign ruler and a landed
aristocratic class.
378
It is not clear why al-Kundūrī instituted this inquisition of Ashʿarīs, whether it was for personal reasons or
whether it was a Machiavellian attempt to reassert the balance of power between Shāfīʿīs and Ḥanafīs after Shāfīʿīs
gained an inordinate share of control of the city in the aftermath of a regime change. Ibid. A View from the edge, p.
126.

162
point of self-destruction. The opposition between legal or even theological schools does not fully

explain why Nīshāpūr could not solve its internal factionalism.

While Bulliet’s work shows that Ḥanafī and Shāfīʿī were identifications that could mean

more than simple affiliation to a legal school, Jacqueline Chabbi’s work on the historical

development of mystical movements in Khurāsān demonstrates the possibility that the

identification ‘Ṣūfī’ used by al-Hakīm al-Naysābūrī (d. 405/1014) in his Tārīkh Nīshāpūr, in

effect, referred to Malāmatīs who had consolidated under the banner of Sufism in a coalition

against the Karrāmiyya.379 The problem we face in trying to understand who the Ṣūfīs really

were in Nīshāpūr during the 10th- and early 11th-centuries C.E. is that Ṣūfī histories and

biographical dictionaries do not clearly coincide with the accounts of travelers and geographers.

The geographer Shams al-Dīn al-Muqaddasī (d. 380/990), who visited Nīshāpūr in 374/984 near

the end of his life, does not mention Ṣūfīs or Malāmatīs in his works but rather refers to pietists

(ʿubbād) and renunciants (zuhhād).380 The Karrāmiyya, on the other hand, do figure prominently

in his descriptions of the various factional groups in the city. Similarly, the historian Abū Manṣūr

al-Baghdādī (d. 429/1037) is more concerned with anathematizing the Karrāmiyya than he is

aware of Sufism.381 The first ‘Ṣūfī’ to be mentioned in the biographical dictionaries of the

scholars of Khurāsān is Abū Bakr al-Wāsiṭī (d. 320/932)382 who was one of the only students of

al-Junayd that we know of to have ventured eastward in the early part of the 10th-century C.E.383

From his time onward we increasingly see the use of the term Ṣūfī to describe local shaykhs but

379
Jacqueline Chabbi. “Remarques sur le développement historique des mouvements ascétiques et mystiques au
Khurasan: IIIe/IXe siècle - IVe/Xe siècle”. Studia Islamica. (46): 1977, p. 67.
380
Sara Sviri. “Ḥakīm Tirmidhī and the Malāmatī Movement in Early Sufism.” L.\ Lewisohn (ed.), Classical
Persian Sufism. 1993, p. 590.
381
Ibid. “The Politics of heresy,” p. 50.
382
Ibid. A Soaring Minaret, p. 35.
383
Ibid. “Ḥakīm Tirmidhī and the malāmatī movement,” p. 589.

163
never the term Malāmatī.384 If Chabbi’s assertion holds true, it means that the term Ṣūfī, like the

legal affiliations mentioned previously, was a flexible identity that could be manipulated for

various purposes even in Nīshāpūr during the 5th/11th-century. Before al-Qushayrī, we can see

that Sufism may have served the purpose of uniting a local mystical movement relying for its

support on the tradesmen fraternities of the bazaar. According to Chabbi, this may have occurred

in the face of the rising threat of an ascetical/mystical movement (the Karrāmiyya) basing its

strength on the urban poor and connections with the rural areas surrounding the city. In this

process the value of futuwwa (often translated as ‘chivalry’) and the culture of the fityān

(chivalrous youth) combine with a prestige and authority that was associated with Iraqi, and

more specifically Baghdādī, credentials. We can think of Sufism in its Khurāsānian-inspired

form as possibly Malāmatism with a Baghdādī veneer. While I do agree with the general thrust

of Chabbi’s hypothesis, I disagree that Sufism was a response to the Ḥanafī Karrāmiyya,

primarily because the Shāfīʿī connection to Sufism is weak. Furthermore, Sufism in Nīshāpūr

functioned as an identity that was inclusive of legal and theological allegiances within Sunnism.

The spokesmen for this new form of mysticism were al-Sulamī and his student al-Qushayrī, both

of whom stood at a crossroads in the history of Islamic mysticism. Before discussing the

contributions of al-Sulamī and al-Qushayrī, we will address two earlier defenders of Sufism, al-

Sarrāj and al-Kalābādhī. Both of these individuals positioned Sufism as a meta-madhhab, or an

approach that would encompass the various factionalisms that had developed among proto-

Sunnīs. This idea of Sufism as a meta-madhhab carried over into the work of al-Sulamī and al-

Qushayrī who offered Sufism as a solution to the rampant factionalism that gripped their city of

Nīshāpūr. Unfortunately, Sufism was not able to save Nīshāpūr, but it quickly spread to all

384
Ibid, p. 589.

164
corners of the Muslim world within only a few centuries of its formulation by al-Sulamī and, in

particular, al-Qushayrī.

Al-Sarrāj and al-Kalābādhī

Both Abū Naṣr al-Sarrāj (d. 378/988) and Abū Bakr al-Kalābādhī (d. 390/990) , wrote

manuals on Sufism in the latter part of the 4th-Islamic century (10th-century C.E.) that are often

viewed as apologetic, that is, they sought to attenuate Sufism to the palate of the ʿulamāʾ

(scholarly class).385 Green provides a different view arguing that since Ṣūfīs were from the

scholarly class (both scholars of Ḥadīth and Fiqh), they did not really need an apologia, rather,

their manuals were “manifestos” seeking to advertise a newcomer to the mystical scene of

Khurāsān.386 Both of these views see Sufism through a diffusion model in which Sufism was

developed in Baghdād as a new kind of mystical piety that spread from this point outward. Yet, a

diffusion model may not be the best model to explain such a complex and multi-dimensional

phenomenon as Sufism. We prefer here to use Foucault’s concept of episteme and discourse,

which we feel is more appropriate when discussing social and intellectual history. The question

we would like to answer is: At what time did Sufism actually become a discourse stream? Or

rather: When was it that Ṣūfīs were writing about themselves as a distinct identity as opposed to

other identities within Islam? When we analyze al-Junayd’s Rasāʾil we find no mention of the

‘ṣufiyya’ or taṣawwuf (Sufism). Rather, what we find are descriptions of awliyāʾ (saints),

ḥukamāʾ (wise men) and ʿārifīn (gnostics). These are all categories that are familiar to us in the

works of al-Tirmidhī and other mystics of his generation such as al-Tustarī. We only find

mention of Sufism by al-Junayd in statements attributed to him through individual reports and in

385
Ibid. Islamic mysticism, pp. 120–123.
386
Ibid. Sufism a global history, p. 52.

165
sections of later books that seek to bolster Sufism itself.387 Nor do we see the term Sufism used

by other authors of the eclectic group who were called Ṣūfīs in Baghdād except through the lens

of later Ṣūfīs of the latter part of the 10th-century C.E.388 It seems that Sufism was possibly a

term others may have used to refer to the mystics of Baghdād during the 3rd- Islamic century (9th-

century C.E.), first as a slightly pejorative term and then reclaimed as a catch-all term for Islamic

mysticism in general. Furthermore, neither al-Sarrāj nor al-Kalābādhī saw Sufism as a purely

Baghdād phenomenon.389 Al-Sarrāj and al-Kalābādhī were not necessarily defending a particular

‘school’ of mysticism, but rather, were negotiating the place of Islamic mysticism within the

larger Traditionist discourse stream of the Ḥadīth folk.390 If we look at three individual mystics:

al-Junayd, al-Tustarī and al-Tirmidhī, all of them were writing about topics related to Islamic

mysticism somewhat independently around the same time, at the end of the 3rd/9th-century. Each

of them was using his own unique terminology, however, we find that they were all concerned

with the nature of knowledge and positioning the possessor of inward (bāṭin) knowledge above

the one who possesses only outward (ẓāhir) knowledge. All of these individuals came from the

scholarly religious class (ʿulamāʾ) and their reference to Qurʾān and Ḥadīth texts indicates that

they were in discussion with the larger Traditionist discourse stream. Al-Sarrāj and al-Kalābādhī

from the 4th- Islamic century (10th-century C.E.) were heir to this larger mystical discourse and it

387
Abū ʿAbd al-Raḥmān al-Sulamī in his short treatise Masʾala fī Qawāʿid al-Taṣwwuf wa-Mabānīhā attributes a
number of traditions about the nature of taṣawwuf to al-Junayd but without any chain of transmitters (asānīd). Abū
ʿAbd al-Raḥmān, Ismāʿīl b. Nujayd al-Naysābūrī al-Sulamī. Masāʾil wa-taʾwīlāt al-ṣūfīya li-Abī ʿAbd al-Raḥmān al-
Sulamī: wa-yalīhī juzʾ min aḥādīṯ Ismāʿīl b. Nujayd al-Naysābūrī. Ed. Ǧirhar̄ d Böwering and Bilāl al-Orfālī. Bairūt:
Dār al-Mašriq. 2010, pp. 1–2.
388
Ibid. Islamic mysticism, p. 117.
389
Ibid. Kitāb al-lumaʿ, p. 42. Al-Kalābādhī sees al-Tirmidhī as also an important figure in Sufism as well as other
Khurāsānian ascetics and mystics.
390
Lory, P. “al-Sarrāj.” EI2. Edited by: P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C.E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel, W.P. Heinrichs.
Brill Online, 2014. Reference. University Of Michigan-Ann Arbor. 20 August 2014
<http://referenceworks.brillonline.com.proxy.lib.umich.edu/entries/encyclopaedia-of-islam-2/al-sarra-d-j-
SIM_6653>

166
is in this spirit that we can make better sense of their works, which pull from a number of

disparate mystical trends. Al-Kalābādhī’s al-Taʿarruf li-Madhhab Ahl al-Taṣawwuf is a case in

point and we would like to show how his work weaves together Baghdād style mysticism with

important mystical elements from greater Khurāsān, thereby developing a synthesis that laid the

foundation for later Ṣūfīs to build upon.

Paul Nwiya divides al-Kalābādhī’s main work on Sufism into three sections: a historical

overview, apologetics seeking to promote Ḥanafī points of creed as being one and the same with

the creed of the Ṣūfīs, and finally a description of the Ṣūfī mystical path.391 Nwiya’s discussion

on the Taʿrruf is cursory at best and partly inaccurate. When reading the Taʿrruf carefully we can

see that his creedal section does not simply echo tenets of al-Fiqh al Akbar II as Nwiya claims,

but seeks to demonstrate the accord between the doctrine of the Ṣūfīs and both Māturīdī theology

and some aspects of Ashʿarī theology.392 Al-Kalābādhī’s work most likely borrows its inspiration

not from al-Fiqh al-Akbar II,393 but from al-Ḥakīm al-Samarqandī’s creedal work al-Sawād al-

Aʿẓam. Al-Ḥakīm al-Samarqandī is mentioned by name in the Taʿarruf, and the creedal points

mentioned by al-Kalābādhī match with al-Samarqandī’s creed very closely.394 Al-Kalābādhī

asserts that all of the major Ṣūfīs he mentions in the beginning of the Taʿarruf adhere to sixty-

five points of Ḥanafī creed, a difficult argument to make given the diversity of figures

391
P. Nwiya. “al-Kalābād̲h̲ī.” Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition. Edited by: P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C.E.
Bosworth, E. van Donzel, W.P. Heinrichs. Brill Online, 2014. Reference. University Of Michigan-Ann Arbor. 20
August 2014 <http://referenceworks.brillonline.com.proxy.lib.umich.edu/entries/encyclopaedia-of-islam-2/al-kala-
ba-d-h-i-SIM_3803> First appeared online: 2012.
392
Al-Fiqh al-Akbar II is a Ḥanafī/Māturīdī text and has no relation to Ashʿarism.
393
Al-Fiqh al-Akbar II was most likely written some time at the end of the 4 th- Islamic century (10th-century C.E.)
around the time of al-Kalābādhī’s death.
394
Out of approximately fifty points of doctrine mentioned in al-Kalābādhī’s Taʿarruf forty of those match directly
to points of doctrine in al-Samarqandī’s al-Sawād al-Aʿẓam. Of the ten that differ, the majority of these are points of
doctrine that represent a more advanced stage in Ḥanafī/Māturīdī theology since al-Kalābādhī most probably wrote
his Taʿarruf as much as half a century after al-Samarqandī wrote al-Sawād al-Aʿẓam. See Appendix A for a
comparison chart in Arabic.

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mentioned, many of whom were non-Ḥanafīs. If we understand the milieu that al-Kalābādhī was

writing in, we can assume that he was probably seeking to distinguish the ‘ṣūfiyya’ from the

ascetic ‘wearers of wool’ among the Karrāmiyya who were despised by the more learned

scholarly class of Ḥanafīs. This context is significant because it also connects al-Kalābādhī in

important ways to al-Tirmidhī who, as we demonstrated in Chapter 3, was an important figure in

Ḥanafī theology. Al-Kalābādhī also includes two sections in his Taʿarruf that indicate a debt to

al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmdhī’s works. The first of the three sections of al-Kalābādhī’s work discusses the

nature of sainthood (walāya) and here al-Kalābādhī reproduces al-Tirmidhī’s distinction between

the “saints of God by right” (awliyāʾ ḥaqq Allāh) and the higher “saints of God” (awliyāʾ Allāh),

a distinction unique to al-Tirmidhī. Al-Kalābādhī uses almost the exact same terminology as al-

Tirmdhī.395 Furthermore, al-Kalābādhī takes al-Tirmidhī’s tripartite structure of knowledge and

reproduces it in the Taʿarruf.396 In addition to this, al-Tirmidhī is mentioned by al-Kalābādhī as

one of those who wrote on Ṣūfī practice (muʿāmalāt).397 If we are correct in understanding that

395
Al-Kalābādhī writes, al-wilāya wilāyatān wilāya takhruju min al-ʿadāwa wa-hiya li-ʿāmmati al-muʾminīn fa-
hādhihi lā tūjibu maʿrifatihā wa-l-taḥaqquq bi-hā li-l-aʿyān lākin min jihat al-ʿumūm fa-yuqāl al-muʾmin walī Allāh
wilāya ikhtiṣāṣ wa-iṣṭifāʾ wa-iṣṭināʿ wa-hādhihi tūjibu maʿrifatahā wa-l-taḥaqquqa bihā wa-yakūnu ṣāḥibuhā
maḥfūẓun ʿan al-naẓar ilā nafsihi, “Sainthood is of two types, a sainthood that arises out of enmity (al-ʿadāwa) and
it is for the generality of believers, this kind does not necessitate knowledge of it (sainthood) and realization of it
(sainthood) for those chosen, however for the most part it is said that the believer is a saint (walī) of Allāh with a
specialized, chosen and prepared sainthood. [Then there is] this [other] type which requires knowledge of it
(sainthood) and realization of it (sainthood) and the one who has it is protected from beholding his self.”
Muḥammad b. Ibrāhīm al-Kalābādhī. Al-Taʿarruf li-madhhab ahl al-taṣawwuf: lawlā al-taʿarruf lamā ʿurifa al-
taṣawwuf. Bayrūt, Lubnān: Dār al-Kutub al-ʿIlmīyya. 1980, pp. 82–83. This is precisely the distinction that al-
Tirmidhī makes between walī ḥaqq Allāh and walī Allāh. Ibid. Concept, p. 43. Compare this to al-Tirmidhī’s
terminology in which he says, al-wilāyatu ʿalā wajhayn, wilāyatun yakhruju bihā al-ʿabdu min al-ʿadāwa wa-huwa
wilāyat al-tawḥīd wa-wilāyatun yakhruju bihā min al-khiyāna fa-yakūna amīnan min umanāʾ Allāh ʿazza wa-jall,
qad jāhada nafsuhu fī dhāt Allāh ḥattā kaffa nafsahu wa-jawāriḥuhu al-sabʿa ʿan maḥārim Allāh taʿālā wa addā
farāʾidahu fa-lazima ismu al-waraʿ. “Sainthood is of two types, a sainthood by which the servant escapes from
enmity (al-ʿadāwa) and it is the sainthood of affirming unity (tawḥīd) and [then there is] a sainthood by which he
exits from treachery and he thus becomes a trustworthy one from among those who are trustworthy by God may he
be exalted and glorified, he is one who has fought his lower self in the very self of Allah until he has pulled his
lower self and its seven limbs away from those things prohibited by Allah most high and he has performed its duties
and thus comes to deserve the name conscientious obedient.” Ibid. Thalāthat muṣannafāt, p. 141.
396
Al-Tirmidhī’s tripartite structure of knowledge: ʿilm al-ẓāhir, ḥikma and maʿrifa is reproduced by al-Kalābādhī in
the Taʿarruf. Ibid. Al-Taʿarruf, pp. 100–101.
397
Ibid, p. 30.

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someone as central to the Ṣūfī canonical tradition as al-Kalābādhī uses al-Tirmidhī’s construct of

sainthood (walāya), as well as the structure of his gnoseology, it would follow that al-Tirmidhī

was, indeed, integrated into the mainstream Ṣūfī tradition. What we hope to demonstrate in the

next section is that it is not only al-Tirmidhī’s notion of sainthood (walāya) that is integrated into

Sufism in its mature form, but also his vision of religious authority as well. The great mystical

synthesis of the 5th/11th-century led by al-Sulamī and al-Qushayrī fused Baghdād inspired Sufism

with Malāmatī mysticism along with a gnoseology and saintology developed by al-Tirmidhī.

This synthesis resulted in a product that imbued the ʿulamāʾ with a special kind of religious

authority that demanded obedience to them even by the temporal rulers of their time. This was

the vehicle that helped spread Sufism all over the Muslim world, particularly wherever the Sunnī

ʿulamāʾ had gone.

Al-Sulamī and al-Qushayrī

Al-Sulamī and al-Qushayrī stood at the crossroads of Islamic civilization. Both of these

scholars came from the city of Nīshāpūr and lived during the second half of the 10th-century C.E.

and first part of the 11th-century C.E. Like al-Tirmidhī, they belonged to the patrician class of

their city, their families were of noble Arab ancestry, and they owned land and engaged in

scholarly pursuits. Both men traveled in search of knowledge, specifically to study Ḥadīth, and

both belonged to the Shāfiʿī School of law (madhhab).398 These men were connected by a similar

culture of Arab identity within a Persian speaking milieu and Arabic textual tradition. They

could both claim descent to the Arab tribe of Banī Sulaym, thus reinforcing their spiritual

398
Gerhard Böwering. “Al-Sulamī.” Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition. Edited by: P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis,
C.E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel, W.P. Heinrichs. Brill Online, 2014. Reference. University Of Michigan-Ann Arbor.
26 December 2014 <http://referenceworks.brillonline.com.proxy.lib.umich.edu/entries/encyclopaedia-of-islam-2/al-
sulami-SIM_7147>

169
fraternity with ties of kinship. After al-Qushayrī’s spiritual master passed away he took al-

Sulamī as his master.399 Both men were well situated to synthesize the various mystical trends

that had developed in Iraq and greater Khurāsān. The city of Nīshāpūr where they both lived for

most of their lives was on the Silk Road that passed through northern Iran and Central Asia,

connecting Iraq to China in the Far East. Al-Sulamī received a khirqa (Ṣūfī cloak) from the

Shāfiʿī Ṣūfī master, Abū al-Qāsim al-Naṣrābādhī (d. 367/977-8), however, his education was

entrusted to his maternal grandfather, Abū ʿAmr Ismāʿīl b. Nujayd (d. 366/976-7), who was a

disciple of Abū ʿUthmān al-Ḥīrī (d. 298/910), one of the important figures in the Malāmatī

School.400 Al-Sulamī consciously integrates Malāmatī figures into his Ṭabaqāt al-Ṣūfiyya and he

even wrote a treatise in which he describes the Malāmatiyya as of a higher spiritual rank than the

Ṣūfīs.401 In his al-Risāla al-Malāmatiyya al-Sulamī uses the term ‘ṣūfī’ to describe the particular

movement that originated in al-Junayd’s circle in Baghdād, while in other contexts such as his

Ṭabaqāt al-Ṣūfiyya, he uses the same term to refer more generally to a mystic of high spiritual

rank, regardless of school.402 This is significant because it means that al-Sulamī, like al-

Kalābādhi and al-Sarrāj, is using the term ‘ṣūfī’ as a general term for an Islamic mystic and is not

representing a particular school of mystical thought. Our discussion of Sufism as a meta-

madhhab brings up the question of its relationship to the other indigenous mystical schools

operative in Nīshāpūr at the time, primarily the Malāmatiyya and the Karrāmiyya. Both Chabbi

399
Ibid. Entre soufisme et savoir islamique, p. 61.
400
De Jong, F. “Malāmatiyya”. EI2. Edited by: P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C.E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel, W.P.
Heinrichs. Brill Online, 2014. Reference. University Of Michigan-Ann Arbor. 27 December 2014
<http://referenceworks.brillonline.com.proxy.lib.umich.edu/entries/encyclopaedia-of-islam-2/mala-matiyya-
COM_0643>
401
Ibid. Islamic mysticism, pp. 126–127.
402
In his work Ṭabaqāt al-Ṣūfiyya al-Sulamī uses the term ‘ṣūfiyya’ to refer to both Baghdādī and Khurāsānī
mystics, however in his al-Risāla al-Malāmatiyya he refers to the ‘ṣūfiyya’ specifically as the Baghdādiyyūn. See al-
Sulamī’s introduction to his Ṭabaqāt al-Ṣūfiyya: Muhammad b. al-Ḥusayn al-Sulamī. Kitāb ṭabaqāt al-Ṣūfiyya. Ed.
Johannes Pedersen. Leiden: E. J. Brill. 1960, p. 5. See also Abū al-ʿAlā ʿAfīfī’s work on the Malāmatiyya: Abū al-
ʿAlā ʿAfīfī. Al-Malāmatīyah wa-al-sūfīyah wa-ahl al-futuwwah. [Cairo]: ʿĪsā al-Bābī al-Ḥalabī. 1975, p. 112.

170
and Knysh argue that Sufism replaced these indigenous mystical schools. If we view Sufism as

the result of a mystical synthesis that took place in Nishapur during the 5th-Islamic century (11th-

century C.E.), then we can say that, rather than replacing the Malāmatiyya and the Karrāmiyya,

Nīshāpūrī Sufism was able to adapt to new contexts while these other schools were not. Rather

than the Ṣūfīs replacing these groups, we find that the demise of the Karrāmiyya, for example,

seems to coincide with general holocaust of the Mongol invasions of the 13th- and 14th-centuries

C.E.403 The Malāmatiyya have been more resilient than the Karramiyya, with offshoots of the

movement surviving into the Ottoman period, however, traditional Malāmatism in its

Khurāsānian form is also no longer detectable after the Mongol invasions.404

The introduction to al-Sulamī’s Ṭabaqāt al-Ṣūfiyya uses a style of language and

terminology that is very close to that used by al-Tirmidhī. Al-Tirmidhī’s ideas are quite unique

as well as the terms he uses, and given that al-Sulamī was highly acquainted with his writings, it

is fair to say that he could have taken inspiration for some aspects of his work Ṭabaqāt al-

Ṣūfiyya from al-Tirmidhī. The first biographical dictionary of Muslim ‘mystics’405 is not, in fact,

al-Sulamī’s Ṭabaqāt, but rather the History of the Shaykhs (Kitāb al-Mashāyikh), no longer

extant, that is attributed to al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī and mentioned by al-Hujwīrī in his Kashf al-

403
C.E. Bosworth. “Karrāmiyya.” Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition. Edited by: P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis,
C.E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel, W.P. Heinrichs. Brill Online, 2015. Reference. University Of Michigan-Ann Arbor.
15 April 2015 <http://referenceworks.brillonline.com.proxy.lib.umich.edu/entries/encyclopaedia-of-islam-
2/karramiyya-COM_0452>
404
Ibid. “Malāmatiyya,” EI2.
405
It is not clear that mystics are meant by the title mashāyikh, a term that al-Tirmidhī only uses to refer to scholars
(ʿulamāʾ) and the one reference we find is negative referring to the scholars of outward knowledge who persecuted
al-Tirmidhī in his city of Tirmidh. It is not clear though that this is the original title that al-Tirmidhī used and among
Ḥanafīs of al-Hujwīrī’s time period the term mashāyikh referred to ‘authorities’ but not necessarily mystics.
However, given that almost all of al-Tirmidhī’s works are of a mystical nature and since Hujwīrī mentions that al-
Tirmidhī describes Abū Ḥanīfa as having been one who wore wool in his early days, we might assume that al-
Tirmidhī is using the fact that Abū Ḥanīfa left wearing wool as a sign of his leaving asceticism. Al-Tirmidhī was a
mystic who consistently attacks asceticism. Also, the context for Hujwīrī’s discussion is a mystical treatise. Even if
the mashāyikh mentioned here were not strictly mystics, the book would still be a first of its kind in the genre of
biographical dictionaries.

171
Maḥjūb.406 In al-Sulamī’s introduction we find a statement whose only precedent is in the

writings of al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmdhī. Al-Sulamī writes, wa-atbaʿa al-anbiyāʾ ʿalayhim al-salām bi-l-

awliyāʾ yukhallifūnahum fī sunanihim wa-yaḥmilūna ummatahum ʿalā ṭarīqatihim wa-simatihim,

“He made the saints follow the prophets, upon whom be peace, and he made them (the saints)

successors in their ways. They (the saints) guide the community upon their [straight] path and

their [high] character.”407 In Chapter 1 we discussed how al-Tirmidhī made an important claim

about religious authority when he said that the saints (awliyāʾ) were the successors (khulafāʾ) of

the prophets (anbiyāʾ). The awliyāʾ in al-Sulamī’s introduction are those who, yataʾaddab bi-him

al-murīdūn wa-yaʾtasī bi-him al-muwaḥḥidūn, “…those with whom seekers of God have good

manners and from whom the ordinary Muslims seek healing.”408 In the same introduction he

specifically states that the awliyāʾ are the successors (khulafāʾ) of the prophets and messengers,

fa-hum fī al-umamī khulafāʾ al-anbiyāʾ ʿalayhim al-salām wa-l-rusul ṣalawāt Allāhi ʿalayhim,

“Among the various nations they are the successors of the prophets and the messenger may the

blessings of Allāh be upon them.”409 Al-Sulamī goes on to use a specific term that we rarely see

outside of al-Tirmidhī’s mystical writings. He says, wa-hum arbāb ḥaqāʾiq al-tawḥīd, wa-l-

muḥaddathūn, “They are the masters of the realities of unification and those spoken to by

God.”410 None of the Ṣūfīs quoted in al-Sulamī’s Ṭabaqāt al-Ṣūfiyya use the term muḥaddath

(one spoken to by God). Only one use of the term is found in al-Sulamī’s Qurʾān commentary

Ḥaqāʾiq al-Tafsīr in a quote by Ibn ʿAṭāʾ (d. 309/922), one of the Ṣūfīs of Baghdād in the circle

406
ʿAlī b. ʿUthmān al-Jullābī al-Hujwīrī. The Kashf al-maḥjūb, the oldest Persian treatise on ṣufism by ʿAlī B.
ʿUthmān al-Jullābī al-Hujwīrī. Ed. Reynold Alleyne Nicholson. Leyden [u.a.]: Brill [u.a.]. 1911, p. 46. Al-Sulamī
uses the term shaykh to describe the Ṣūfī master in the introduction to his Ṭabaqāt al-Ṣūfiyya. Ibid. Ṭabaqāt al-
Ṣūfiyya, p. 5.
407
Ibid. Ṭabaqāt al-Ṣūfiyya, p. 4.
408
Ibid, p. 4.
409
Ibid, p. 5.
410
Ibid, p. 5.

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of al-Junayd. However, in this quote he does not specifically connect the muḥaddath to the saint

(walī). On the other hand, throughout al-Tirmidhī’s works the awliyāʾ are described as

muḥaddathūn, just as al-Sulamī describes them in his introduction.411 According to al-Sulamī

these awliyāʾ are aṣḥāb al-firāsāt al-ṣādiqa, “those who possess true insight”, that is, they have

special knowledge from God.412 They are an elect group that will be present in the Muslim

community until the end of time. This is how al-Tirmidhī also describes them in SA, kullamā

māta minhum rajulun khallafahu ākhirun maqāmahu hattā … atā waqt zawāl al-dunyā,

“Whenever one of them dies another succeeds him until…the time for the end of the world

arrives.”413 Al-Sulamī is explicit about the purpose of his Ṭabaqāt al-Ṣūfiyya. He writes in his

introduction, fa-aḥbabtu an ajmaʿ fī siyar mutaʾakhkhirī al-awliyāʾ kitāban usammīhī ṭabaqāt al-

ṣūfiyya, “I wanted to make into a book the biographies of the later saints, I call it the generations

of the Ṣūfīs.”414 Al-Sulamī’s Ṭabaqāt can be seen as an extension of al-Tirmidhī’s basic premise

that the saints are the true inheritors and successors of the prophets and that they will be present

in the Muslim community till the end of time. Another assumption in al-Sulamī’s Ṭabaqāt is a

theological one that al-Tirmidhī clearly makes, which is that the awliyāʾ can, in fact, be known.

When al-Sulamī lists his generations of Ṣūfīs he is specifying particular individuals as saints.

Even during al-Sulamī’s time the general agreement among Ḥanafī/Māturīdī and Ashʿarī

theologians was that a saint (walī) is hidden and that he cannot claim that he is a saint (walī).415

411
For al-Tirmidhī’s description of the types of muḥaddath see NU, p. 118. For al-Tirmidhī’s connecting the awliyāʾ
with the muḥaddathūn see NU, p. 248. For the same connection also see SA. Ibid. Thalāthat muṣannafāt, p. 86.
412
Ibid. Ṭabaqāt al-Ṣūfiyya, p. 5.
413
Ibid. Thalāthat muṣannafāt, p. 44.
414
Ibid. Ṭabaqāt al-Ṣūfiyya, p. 5.
415
According to Abū Muʿīn al-Nasafī (d. 508/1114), one of the foremost Māturīdī theologians, the person who
claims sainthood (walāya) loses that stature immediately and the saint (walī) who sees a miracle (karāma) proceed
from himself must assume that it could be a means of God leading him astray and he must try to conceal the miracle.
Ibid. Tabṣira al-adilla, pp. 536–538. Al-Bāqillānī (d. 403–405/1013) in his book on the miracles of prophets and the
miracles of saints and their difference from other supernatural phenomena does not bring up the issue of whether a
walī can openly claim to be a walī or that a walī can know he is a walī. Muḥammad b. al-Ṭayyib al-Bāqillānī. Kitāb

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 Al-Tirmidhī addresses the question of hiddenness versus visibility of the saint (walī) in

his SA, fa man saʾala rabbahu al-imāma li-l-muttaqīn hal yakūnu ghāmiḍan,416 “But is that

person hidden from view who asks his Lord to make him an imām for those who fear God?”417

Al-Tirmidhī gives the example of the Caliphs Abū Bakr and ʿUmar. He argues that both of these

Caliphs are considered saints (awliyāʾ) of God and they were clearly not hidden.418 Al-Tirmidhī

even claims that a saint (walī) can, in fact, know that he is saint (walī).419 Al-Sulamī’s

introduction to his Ṭabaqāt brings several important ideas together. He appears to use al-

Tirmidhī’s idea that the saints are the real successors (khulafāʾ) to the prophets.420 Then he

connects the idea of sainthood with the term ṣūfiyya, giving this term wider connotations than

merely being a reference to a particular mystical school. Finally, he brings under the title of the

ṣūfiyya a whole range of different mystical movements ranging from the Baghdād Ṣūfīs to the

Malāmatiyya to the Ḥakīms. Al-Sulamī then uses the literary genre of the biographical dictionary

as a compelling tool to communicate this synthesis. The content of the biographical sketches that

al-Sulamī employs are pithy statements that demonstrate the divinely inspired knowledge of

these exemplars. This also follows al-Tirmidhī’s position that sainthood (walāya) is primarily

knowledge-based. A saint (walī) is a saint (walī) primarily because he is given special

knowledge by God. This understanding of sainthood (walāya) differs from previous concepts of

al-bayān ʿan al-farq bayna al-muʿjizāt wa-l-karāmāt wa-l-ḥiyal wa-l-kahāna wa-l-ṣiḥr wa-l-nāranjāt. Ed. Richard
Joseph McCarthy. Bayrūt: al-Maktaba al-Sharqiyya. 1958. Al-Qushayrī mentions in his Risāla that Abū Bakr b.
Furāk (d. 406/1015), an Ashʿarī theologian in Nīshāpūr was of the opinion that a walī cannot know or claim that he
is a walī. Ibid. Risāla, p. 270.
416
Ibid. Thalāthat muṣannafāt, p. 60.
417
Ibid. Concept, p. 129.
418
Ibid, p. 128.
419
Ibid, p. 41.
420
Both al-Tirmidhī and al-Sulamī call the awliyāʾ the khulafāʾ of the anbiyāʾ (prophets), and of the the Prophet
Muḥammad in particular by al-Tirmidhī. If they had called the awliya khulafāʾ Allāh they would have indicated a
more general khilāfa (vicegerancy) of the human race as God’s vicegearants on earth.

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walāya that saw the saints (awliyāʾ) as distinguished primarily by their ability to perform

miracles (karāmāt).421

Al-Qushayrī is the first Ṣūfī writer to include a chapter on walāya in his epistle on

taṣawwuf (Sufism). Al-Qushayrī builds upon al-Sulamī’s basic framework, incorporating a more

concise version of al-Sulamīs Ṭabaqāt at the beginning of his handbook on Sufism. Al-Sulamī

clearly set a pattern that was then adopted by later Ṣūfīs such as ʿAbd Allāh al-Anṣārī in his own

Ṭabaqāt al-Ṣūfiyya, Abū Nuʿaym al-Iṣfahānī (d. 430/1038) in his Ḥilyat al-Awliyāʾ, Farīd al-Dīn

al-ʿAṭṭār (d. 627/1230) in his Tadhkirat al-Awliyāʾ and al-Jāmī (d. 898/1492) in his Nafaḥāt al-

Uns. Like al-Tirmidhī and al-Sulamī, al-Qushayrī accedes to the possibility that a saint (walī) can

know he is a saint (walī) without this detracting from his reverence for God.422 Yet, what

distinguishes al-Qushayrī’s contribution most is that he formalized the relationship between

master (shaykh) and disciple (murīd). We can see this formalization as a logical progression of

the concept of the successorship (khilāfa) of the Prophet initiated by al-Tirmidhī and normalized

by al-Sulamī. In al-Qushayrī’s advice (waṣiyya) to aspirants to the path (murīdūn) he writes:

Wa-lam yakun ʿaṣrun min al-aʿṣār fī muddat al-islām illā wa-fīhi

shaykhun min shuyūkh hādhihi al-ṭāʾifa mimman lahu ʿulūm al-
tawḥīd wa-imāmat al-qawm illā wa-aʾimmatu dhālika al-waqt min
al-ʿulamāʾ istaslamū lidhālika al-shaykh wa-tawāḍaʿū lahu wa-
tabarrakū bihi wa-lawlā maziyyatun wa-khuṣūṣiyyatun lahum wa-
illā kāna al-amru bi-l-ʿaks.423

There has never been an age in the history of Islam without a

master of this community who was proficient in the science of the
oneness [of God]. There has never been a leader of the Ṣūfīs to
whom the greatest scholars of his epoch would not subordinate
themselves and pay obeisance and seek blessings of. Had

421
The primary discussion of walāya in books of creed and theological treatises up to al-Tirmidhī, was concerned
with distinguishing between the miracles (karāmāt) of saints and the miracles (muʿjizāt) of prophets.
422
Ibid. Risāla, p. 270.
423
Al-Qushayrī, ʿAbd al-Karīm b. Hawāzin. Al-Risāla al-Qushayriyya. Dār al-Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya, Lebanon. 2001, p.
425.

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 distinction and special qualities not belonged to them, this would
not have been so.424

We can see from this quote that the term ‘ṣūfiyya’ here cannot be a reference to the particular

school of mysticism that originated in Baghdād around the circle of al-Junayd, but rather is used

as a synonym for awliyāʾ (saints). The conflation of ‘ṣūfiyya’ with ‘awliyāʾ’ is an idea that al-

Qushayrī appears to have taken from al-Sulamī. According to al-Qushayrī, the ‘ṣūfiyya’ had been

present in the Muslim community since its inception. They came from the scholarly class of

ʿulamāʾ. Taṣawwuf was considered a ‘science’ (ʿilm) from among the sciences (ʿulūm) of Islamic

learning and for al-Qushayrī, it represented the highest science.

Both al-Qushayrī and al-Sulamī use the same freedom/bondage dichotomy to talk about

the Ṣūfiyya/awliyāʾ that we have found in al-Tirmidhī’s terminology in Chapter 1. Al-Sulamī

calls the Malāmatiyya aḥrār (the free ones) and they are equivalent to the highest degree of

awliyāʾ in his mystical hierarchy.425 Al-Qushayrī devotes a section in his Risāla to the aḥrār (the

free ones), indicating that freedom (hurriyya) is a quality of the highest of the awliyāʾ.426 This

structure is consistent with al-Tirmidhī framework, in which we see that slavehood (riqq) applies

to all Muslims except the slave (mukātab) who has paid off the last dinār that he owes to his

master.427 Those who have attained their freedom from their master, i.e., God, become the true

rulers of the world and the temporal rulers (salāṭīn) have no power over them. Al-Qushayrī

writes, al-ḥurriyya an lā yakūn al-ʿabd taḥt riqq al-makhlūqāt wa lā yajrī ʿalayhi sulṭān al-

mukawwanāt,428 “Freedom means that the servant of God does not allow himself to become

enslaved by [other] creatures, nor is he subject to the power (sulṭān) of originated things

424
Ibid. Risāla, p. 404.
425
Ibid. Al-Malāmatiyya, p. 115.
426
Ibid. Risāla, p. 229.
427
Ibid, p. 231.
428
Ibid. Al-Risāla al-Qushayriyya, p. 253.

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(mukawwanāt).”429 While it was al-Tirmidhī who first used the structure of walāʾ (clientage) to

describe the awliyāʾ, he did not include the concept of lineage (sanad) that was also a central

aspect to Arab claims of superiority over non-Arab Persians. With al-Sulamī and al-Qushayrī,

not only do we find the motif of clientage but we also find the ideal of lineage (sanad) as a

further buttress to the claims of authority by the Ṣūfīs who, in their eyes, represented the saints

(awliyāʾ).

Al-Qushayrī extends this paradigm first inaugurated by al-Tirmidhī and later developed

by al-Sulamī.430 His Risāla functions to generate a transformation of authority in which the

awliyāʾ are the true rulers of the world. This authority then transfers to a new social milieu in

which the shaykh and his disciples (murīdūn) represent a microcosm of the Islamic community

ruled by the awliyāʾ. The shaykh is the walī and his disciples are the mukātabūn (freed slaves

who owe allegiance to their free master). With al-Qushayrī, the Ṣūfī shaykh is to be treated as the

successor to the Prophet (khalīfa) and one of the free ones (aḥrār) who are among the highest of

the awliyāʾ. A central aspect of this microcosm is the pact (bayʿa) between the disciple (murīd)

and his master (shaykh).431 This pact (bayʿa) resembles the pact that Muslims traditionally made

with the Caliph of the Prophet establishing his authority over them. The pact between master

(shaykh) and disciple (murīd) demands complete obedience to the will of the master (shaykh). To

contravene this pact is akin to apostasy (ridda) in a virtual sense.432 Al-Qushayrī defends the Ṣūfī

429
Ibid. Risāla, p. 230.
430
Al-Sulamī wrote a treatise on the manners (adab) of a disciple (murīd) with his master (shaykh) and he links this
adab with the adab an ordinary Muslim should have with the saints (awliyāʾ). Chiabotti claims that al-Sulamī
introduces the idea that the disciple (murīd) should not question his master and al-Qushayrī builds upon this thesis.
Ibid. Entre soufisme et savoir islamique, pp. 621–622.
431
Ibid. Risāla, p. 407. Also see a discussion of the importance of the pact (bayʿa) in al-Qushayrī’s vision of Sufism
in Chiabotti’s dissertation. Chiabotti also claims that respect for the shaykh is at the center of al-Qushayrī’s
narrative. Ibid. Entre soufisme et savoir islamique, p. 622.
432
Ibid. Risāla, p. 415.

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practice of samāʿ (audition) and the use of musical instruments.433 The Ṣūfī gathering (majlis) in

al-Qushayrī’s Risāla is akin to a caliphal court with the Caliph presiding over the entertainment

of his guests. This differed markedly from the gathering (majlis) of the Baghdād Ṣūfīs, which

resembled the salon more than a kingly court. The virtual power of the awliyāʾ that al-Tirmidhī

assigns to an ambiguous and amorphous group of elite (khawāṣṣ) exemplars is narrowed by al-

Sulamī to a select group of representative individuals in his Ṭabaqāt and then narrowed further

by al-Qushayrī to idealize the position of the spiritual master (shaykh). The basic structure in this

progression from al-Tirmidhī to al-Sulamī to al-Qushayrī remains the same, in which the

master/slave and Caliph/subject dichotomy is transferred to a new social space that mediates and

negotiates ties of allegiance between master (shaykh) and disciple (murīd). Francesco Chiabotti

claims that al-Qushayrī is speaking to masters (shuyūkh) just as much as he is speaking to

disciples (murīdūn) and some of his texts can be construed as a template by which these masters

can consecrate their authority. Since knowledge and application of the sacred law (Sharīʿa) was

the first rung in this spiritual hierarchy for all of these figures, it meant that the Sunnī ʿulamāʾ,

wherever they were in the Muslim world, could potentially aspire to this new status of Ṣūfī and

saint (walī). This can go far in explaining why Sufism spread so far and so quickly from a

limited geographical space to the far reaches of the Muslim world in only a couple of hundred

years. It is significant to note that Sufism did not spread to the entire Muslim world from

Baghdād, but from Nīshāpūr, because it was in Nīshāpūr that Sufism reached its maturity. Al-

Sulamī and al-Qushayrī used al-Tirmidhī’s basic framework to present the ʿulamāʾ as the new

Caliphs of the umma through the new institution of Sufism. Muslim scholars from around the

Muslim world adopted this new framework almost en masse.

433
Ibid, pp. 342–357.

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Conclusion

Al-Tirmidhī was not a Ṣūfī in the restricted sense of the word since he was not acquainted

with the Baghdād Ṣūfīs of whom al-Junayd was their leader. However, if we look at Sufism in

the broader sense and as a product of the great mystical synthesis of the 5th/11th-century in

Nīshāpūr, we can quite easily consider him to be one of the leading theorists of that synthesis.

When we look at al-Tirmidhī’s contemporaries and Muslim mystics prior to al-Sulamī and al-

Qushayrī we find that sainthood (walāya) was a concept that was used, but did not occupy the

place of central importance that it played in al-Tirmidhī’s writings or in the writings of al-Sulamī

and al-Qushayrī. When al-Tirmidhī connected sainthood (walāya) to religious authority he

created an alternative paradigm of authority that rivaled not only the Shīʿī imams and the

temporal Abbasid Caliph and his sultans, but also the Sunnī scholarly class (ʿulamāʾ) of his time.

However, since the awliyāʾ ultimately came from the ranks of the ʿulamāʾ, his concept of walāya

had the effect of sanctifying the entire class of Sunnī scholars. The Ṣūfīs of Baghdād tended to be

more collegial in their relationships with one another. Their gatherings were more akin to salons

in which a small group of elite mystics would gather to discourse on mystical topics. It is al-

Sulamī who combines the prestige of Baghdād Sufism with the authority structures of eastern

mysticism, particularly the Malāmatīs. Al-Tirmidhī’s concept of walāya was instrumental in

allowing a new form of mysticism to emerge, a form of mysticism that we call Sufism today.

This was the great mystical synthesis of the 5th/11th-century in Khurāsān. The elite and inward

looking phenomenon of Baghdād Sufism came to represent the outward face of a mystical

system that was wholly Khurāsānian. Al-Qushayrī took the basic template provided by al-Sulamī

and formalized it in his master/student paradigm. If al-Hujwīrī of Ghazna was correct in stating

179
that walāya is the basis upon which Sufism is built, it is clear that this basis was a Khurāsānian

basis.

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 Chapter 5

Al-Tirmidhī’s Gnoseology of Sainthood

This chapter focuses on how various aspects of al-Tirmidhī’s

doctrine of sainthood address problematic elements within Islamic
social and religious spheres. After providing some historical and
theoretical context we will discuss the light-basis of al-Tirmidhī’s
gnoseology and how it sets the basis for a more egalitarian approach
to sainthood. The social consequences of an unrestricted access to
sainthood must have been apparent to al-Tirmidhī who then restricts
sainthood by providing the requirement of outward religious
knowledge. Another very important aspect of al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine
is the sealer of saints. After addressing some ambiguities concerning
this concept, I will show how the sealer of saints has important
implications for creating a more optimistic outlook toward the
trajectory of human destiny. This is an optimism preserved in
Sufism as a counterweight to more Traditionalist views. Finally, we
will discuss how al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine works to create a ‘third
space’ that fragments religious authority in Islam to create a
religious ‘civic space’.

Thus far we have shown how al-Tirmidhī’s concept of sainthood did not appear out of a

vacuum, nor was it on the fringe of the Islamic mystical tradition. Important social and political

factors were at play in motivating al-Tirmidhī to propose a new approach to Islamic sainthood.

The category of sainthood had already existed in al-Tirmidhī’s Ḥanafī theological milieu and al-

Tirmidhī readily appropriated Hellenistic mystical/philosophical speculation to create a

theoretical frame for his focus on sainthood (walāya), which was inspired by Qurʾān and Ḥadīth

literature. The complex synthesis of these disparate elements is what immediately comes to the

fore. Al-Tirmidhī’s milieu in Transoxania was clearly one of vibrant intellectual exchange.

181
While we have looked at the various discourses that informed al-Tirmidhī’s thought, we have not

yet looked deeply into the internal structure of his thought. This will be important in tracing al-

Tirmidhī’s legacy as he was internalized and interpreted by the later Islamic mystical tradition.

We will be focusing on the legacy of al-Tirmidhī’s thought in Chapter 6 by addressing the deep

debt Ibn ʿArabī owes to al-Tirmidhī as well as the ḥikma tradition adopted by the masters of the

Shādhilī Ṣūfī Ṭarīqa that has survived through today.

Sainthood in the Homilies of Isaac of Nineveh

In Chapter 2 we discussed the use of wisdom (ḥikma) in the work of Isaac of Nineveh. As

we stated earlier, Isaac of Nineveh provides a useful point of reference for our study of early

Islamic mysticism. Even more so than wisdom, the saints play a major role in Isaac’s teaching.

We have talked about how the use of the term saint (walī) indicates a particular set of

associations and meanings as a result of its derivation from the Arabic root w-l-y. Isaac wrote in

Syriac and the word he used for ‘saint’ ‫( ܩܕܝܫ‬qadīsh) is derived from the Semitic root q-d-s. This

word in Syriac does not leverage the connotations of protection and power that we find with the

root w-l-y in Arabic. The word ‫( ܩܕܝܫ‬qadīsh) means “holy one” and connotes that which is sacred

and pure, also indicating virginity and celibacy.434 This is consistent with the way Isaac used this

term in his Homilies. For Isaac, the saint is idealized as the celibate monk who becomes pure

through his ascetic piety.435 The saint is someone who suffers in this life but overcomes his

suffering through contemplation and prayer.436 He is someone close to God who wanders in the

wilderness and the desert by treading the path of asceticism to make the way easier for those who

434
Payne Smith, R., and Jessie Payne Smith Margoliouth. A compendious Syriac dictionary, founded upon the
thesaurus syriacus of R. Payne Smith. Oxford: Clarendon Press. 1957, pp. 489–490.
435
Ibid. Mystic Treatises, p. 369.
436
Ibid, pp. 279, 284.

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come after.437 Saints, according to Isaac, gaze upon God without a veil and have miracles.438

People in positions of authority seek them out for their blessing.439 For Isaac, the saint is holy

and reaches his sainthood through his ascetic practice and not primarily through knowledge. The

saint is juxtaposed with the theologian and the judge.440 Isaac of Nineveh’s description of the

saints closely follows Peter Brown’s formulation of the saint as a ‘friend of God’ and as an

intercessor.441 However, the saint of late antique Christianity is primarily a saint who is

immortalized in death and whose body and grave become loci where heaven and earth meet.442

The veneration of the saints shifted the center of devotion from the pagan temple at the center of

the late-antique city to the cemeteries that lay on the edge of the city where great mausoleums

and monuments marked the redefined landscape.443 The Desert Fathers inspired a new vision of

sainthood tied closely to asceticism and this ideal gave rise to important monastic institutions

that sought to capture this vision. The ideal Christian saint in the Near East just before the rise of

Islam was someone who lived the life of an ascetic and hermit, but in death was celebrated as a

powerful connection between Heaven and Earth.

Sainthood in the 9th-Century C.E.

Goldziher was the first orientalist to provide a critical evaluation of sainthood in Islam.

His essay, “Veneration of Saints in Islam,” attempts to show how the ‘pure’ theology of Islam

was forced to negotiate and therefore accede space to the cult of saints that was socially and

437
Ibid, pp. 220, 281, 372.
438
Ibid, pp. 282, 286.
439
Ibid, p. 206.
440
Ibid, p. 206.
441
Peter Brown. The cult of the saints: its rise and function in Latin Christianity. Chicago: University of Chicago
Press. 1981, p. 6.
442
Ibid, pp. 4–7.
443
Ibid, p. 8.

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culturally embedded in the regions that the Arabs had conquered. Goldziher sees the early

Qurʾānic message as portraying a God that is so different and distant from humanity that

Muslims needed mediators to bridge the “insurmountable barrier that divides an infinite and

unapproachable Godhead from weak and finite humanity.” For Goldziher, grave visitation,

relics, the healing powers of places visited by a saint and saintly miracles are all examples of pre-

Islamic cultural practices that Muslim theologians found impossible to reject. What we have

demonstrated thus far, however, is that early Islamic sainthood (walāya) was almost exclusively

concerned with living saints and not dead saints. The cult of Muslim saints is a later development

and is not directly associated with the writings of the early Ṣūfīs.444 As we showed in Chapter 1,

some early Islamic notions of walāya reflect the structure of social institutions that grew out of

the Arab/Islamic conquests and the negotiation of power and authority between Arabs and non-

Arabs. Goldziher’s observations are important but do not relate directly to this study, which is

concerned primarily with the theoretical and cosmological aspects of sainthood, that is, walāya

as a concept and doctrine.

Yet, still important to our discussion of walāya is the level to which the walī Allāh is

indebted to the ‘holy man’ of Late Antiquity. This will give us a point of departure to then

discuss the different types of saint (walī) in 9th-century C.E. Iraq and Khurāsān. Despite the

many continuities between Islam and its Christian and Jewish context in Late Antiquity, those

who study prophetology in Islam and Judaism view Islam as a movement that was to some extent

sui generis with respect to Jewish prophetic antecedents.445 Islam set the stage for a new

444
Christopher Taylor identifies the first reference to a Muslim grave visitation (ziyāra) guide as referencing the
visitation guide of al-Ḥasan b. ʿAlī al-Faḍḍal al-Taymī al-Kūfī who died in 838/839 C.E. However, the first guides
that we possess more than a passing reference to, date to somewhere around the end of the 10 th-century C.E.
Christopher Schurman Taylor. In the vicinity of the righteous: ziyāra and the veneration of Muslim saints in late
medieval Egypt. Leiden: Brill. 1998, p. 5.
445
Chase Robinson. “Prophecy and Holy Men in Early Islam,” in The cult of saints in late antiquity and the Middle
Ages: essays on the contribution of Peter Brown. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 1999, p. 242.

184
paradigm of activist piety in which the holy man was not only the one who healed the sick,

exorcized demons and made barren women fertile, but one who came with an army to conquer

cities.446 The source material for this early period aside from the Qurʾānic text does not provide

more than a glimpse into the dynamic of prophecy and, by extension, sainthood. According to

Jaakko Hämeen-Antila there were two types of prophecy in early 7th-century C.E. Arabia. There

were Arabian prophets modeled after their Biblical counterparts and kuhhān or soothsayers who

played an intermediary role between human beings and the divine through fortune-telling,

clairvoyance and haruspicy. The continuum between prophet and kāhin seems to have been fluid

in the pre-Islamic period in Arabia.447 Nevertheless, by the 9th-century C.E., both prophecy and

soothsaying were no longer viable options within mainstream Muslim society. The idea of

continuous prophetic revelation after the death of the Prophet was no longer accepted by either

Sunnīs or Twelver Shīʿīs by the end of the 9th-century C.E.448 If Islam represents a break with the

past with respect to prophetic types and if a distinctly Arabian prophecy was no longer operative

by the 9th-century C.E., we can assume that Muslim sainthood was the product of

transformations that occurred within Islam as well as through negotiated interactions with other

religious traditions living under Muslim rule.

Early concepts of walāya were wedded to political meanings.449 It was the Shīʿīs who

first developed this term and made it the cornerstone of their doctrine of the Imamate. Early Shīʿī

446
Ibid, p. 243.
447
Jaakko Hämeen-Anttila Nissinen. “Arabian Prophecy,” in Prophecy in its ancient Near Eastern context:
Mesopotamian, biblical, and Arabian perspectives. Martti Nissinen, editor. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature.
2000.
448
Among proto-Sunnī theologians the Prophet Muhammad was seen as the last prophet and among Imāmī Twelver
Shīʿīs the minor occultation had taken place later to be replaced by the greater occultation sealing prophecy until the
return of the awaited Mahdī. The idea of continual prophecy did not completely die out though, but continued with
the Ismāʿīlī Shīʿīs and other groups such as the Aḥmadiyya. For more on the Aḥmadiyya and the continuation of
prophecy in Islam see Prophecy Continuous by Yohanan Friedmann.
449
Abū ʿAlā ʿAfīfī. Al-Taṣawwuf, al-thawra al-rūhīyya fī al-Islām. Al-Iskandarīyah: Dār al-Maʿārif. 1963, p. 291.

185
ascetics450 were some of the first to discuss the relative importance of saints (awliyāʾ) and

prophets (anbiyāʾ), giving preference to the awliyāʾ over the anbiyāʾ.451 Following them in this

were two ascetics from Syria, Abū Sulaymān al-Dārānī (d. 215/830) and Aḥmad b. Abī al-

Ḥawārī (d. 230/845 or 246/860), who also both considered the awliyāʾ to rank above the anbiyāʾ.

The Muʿtazilīs of this same period formed an opposing position denying the existence of walāya

altogether.452 The political nature of the divide is clearly apparent with those disenfranchised

groups such as the Shīʿīs and early ascetics developing a competing regime of authority in

opposition to the dominant power structure. Muʿtazilī theology was the first orthodoxy in Islam

to extend beyond a single locale and came to be associated with an entrenched religious

aristocratic class.453 While Shīʿīs were opposing the political structure of the Caliphate, early

ascetics opposed the ‘corruption’ of true religious practice among Traditionists.454 It is apparent

that the concept of walāya in both of these early groups became a doctrine that voiced opposition

to a reification of authority both politically and religiously.

The veneration of holy individuals was common amongst several other major movements

during this period. Traditionists, for example, were known for demonstrations of their dedication

to the Prophet through relics, as when Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal is said to have requested that he be

buried with three hairs of the Prophet, one upon each eye and one on his mouth. Demonstrations

450
For example, Kulayb and Riyā from Kūfa were among the early Shīʿī ascetics.
451
Ibid, p. 304.
452
Ibid, p. 305.
453
The Miḥna was a process by which the Abbasid state sought to create uniformity in its judicial system. The
miḥna (the test scholars were given before allowing them to become judges or provide testimony in court) was a
method for examining scholars who sought appointments to judgeships. By making Muʿtazilī doctrine a key to
acquiring a position in the judicial system, the Abbasid Caliphate was creating an entrenched group of religious
notables (aʿyān) which was only supplanted with the arrival of the Seljuqs in the 11th century. Ibid. “Miḥna,” EI2.
454
Fudayl b. ʿIyāḍ (d. 188/803) represents a trend of would-be ḥadīth scholars who became disillusioned with the
profession of Ḥadīth science and withdraw from the ranks of the professional men of religion. Here we can see the
early development of an identity that contrasts to the identity of the ʿulamāʾ as an identity that is nonconformist and
anti-establishment. Ibid. Islamic mysticism a short history, p. 24.

186
of devotion at his grave were described as so ardent that the cemetery had to be protected by civil

authorities. Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal’s grave was one of the most visited gravesites in Baghdād after his

death.455 A similar type of devotion is recorded among certain Khārijīs who would not go to war

against the Umayyad troops until they had cut their hair at the tomb of Ṣāliḥ b. Musarriḥ (d.

78/697) who was a Khārijī who had rebelled in Northern Mesopotamia around 695 C.E.456 These

examples of veneration at the tombs of holy men are but one facet of the social and cultural

practices that were later integrated into Islamic forms of saint veneration. Ibn Abī al-Dunyā (d.

281/894), a Traditionist and zāhid (renunciant), provides us with a useful point of reference on

the topic of sainthood (walāya) at the end of the 3rd/9th-century. Ibn Abī al-Dunyā was a

contemporary of al-Junayd and al-Tirmidhī and was a tutor to several Abbasid Caliphs.457 His

book al-Awliyāʾ or The Saints is a collection of Ḥadīth, quotes from important ascetics/mystics

and stories about the saints (awliyāʾ). In Ibn Abī al-Dunyā’s book the ideal saint (walī) is the

ascetic worshiper (zāhid ʿābid). They are worshippers (ʿubbād) who are clothed in awe

(khushūʿ), lowliness (dhull), fear (khawf) and God-consciousness (taqwā).458 Ibn Abī al-Dunyā’s

work seems to consciously disassociate the awliyāʾ from having any worldly or temporal power.

In a quote ascribed anonymously to a “man from Banī Hāshim” he writes:

Lā yanbaghī li-awliyāʾ Allāh min ahli dār al-khulūd al-ladhīna

lahā saʿyuhum wa-fīhā raghbatuhum an yakūna awliyāʾ al-sulṭān
min ahli dār al-ghurūr al-ladhīna lahā saʿyuhum wa-fīhā
raghbatuhum hum ashaddu tabāruzan wa ashaddu taʿāṭufan li-

455
Henri Laoust. “Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal.” Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition. Edited by: P. Bearman, Th.
Bianquis, C.E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel, W.P. Heinrichs. Brill Online, 2015. Reference. University Of Michigan-
Ann Arbor. 30 January 2015 <http://referenceworks.brillonline.com.proxy.lib.umich.edu/entries/encyclopaedia-of-
islam-2/ah-mad-b-h-anbal-COM_0027>
456
Ibid. “Prophecy and holy men,” p. 255.
457
A. Dietrich. “Ibn Abī al-Dunyā.” Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition. Edited by: P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis,
C.E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel, W.P. Heinrichs. Brill Online, 2015. Reference. University Of Michigan-Ann Arbor.
03 February 2015 <http://referenceworks.brillonline.com.proxy.lib.umich.edu/entries/encyclopaedia-of-islam-2/ibn-
abi-l-dunya-SIM_3046>
458
ʿAbd Allāh b. Muḥammad Ibn Abī al-Dunyā. Al-Awliyāʾ. Ed. Abū Hājir Muḥammad al-Saʿīd b. Basyūnī Zaghlūl.
Bayrūt: Muʾassasat al-Kutub al-Thaqāfīyya. 1993, p. 48.

187
 ansābihim wa-akhlāqihim wa-umūrihim min awliyāʾ Allāh fī
rabbihim wa-fī dīnihim.459

The saints (awliyāʾ) of Allāh from the people of the Everlasting

Abode, whose striving is for that and whose desire is wholly for
that, should not let the supporters (awliyāʾ) of the Caliph from the
people of the Deceitful Abode, whose striving is for that and
whose desire is for that, be more competitive and more covetous
for their ancestry and their manners and their affairs than the saints
(awliyāʾ) of God are for their Lord and their religion.

This quote clearly restricts the saints to an otherworldly status and juxtaposes them to the

supporters (awliyāʾ) of the Caliph who are engaged in worldly endeavors. In other words, there

are only two options for the awliyāʾ, either to be God’s saints, in which case they should be

otherworldly, or to be outward supporters (awliyāʾ) of the Caliph. We can contrast this to al-

Tirmidhī’s strident claims that the awliyāʾ were, in fact, the true Caliphs themselves and that the

Abbasids had lost any right they may have had to the title. It is clear that by the end of the 3rd/9th-

century the awliyāʾ were a topic of discussion and it was not only the Ṣūfīs who were talking

about the awliyāʾ. Ascetics and people of the court like Ibn Abī al-Dunyā were intent on defining

who the awliyāʾ were. The fact that the Ṭāhirids and Samānids were relatively autonomous from

the control and supervision of Baghdād may have given al-Tirmidhī the space to write freely on

this topic without fear of retribution from the Abbasid authorities. Al-Tirmidhī’s major

contribution to the concept of walāya was to combine the awliyāʾ and all of this word’s

associations with power and authority to a gnoseology that imbued these saints (awliyāʾ) with

knowledge directly from God. We know from Foucault that power and knowledge are

inextricably linked, and when al-Tirmidhī weds these two concepts, he unleashes new

possibilities to envision and recreate Islamic authority. We will now look at the structure of al-

459
Ibid, p. 20.

188
Tirmidhī’s concept of walāya and what its implications are for the trajectory of Islamic thought

and religious culture.

The Light-basis of al-Tirmidhī’s Doctrine of Walāya

As we have seen up to this point in the work of Isaac of Nineveh, as well as saintly and

holy figures in various early Islamic communities from the Traditionists (Ahl al-Ḥadīth) to the

Khārijīs, it is clear that sainthood was an element of a shared koine (or we can say ‘floating

motif’) in the Near East during the first three centuries of Islam. The topic of saints was

discussed in early Ḥanafī theological texts primarily to differentiate between prophets and saints

with respect to miracles and their relative superiority. The episteme that characterizes this period

is one that includes not only the knowledge categories of theology (Kalām) and tradition

(Ḥadīth), but beginning in the 8th-century C.E. we also find the knowledge category of light (nūr)

come into formal use among Muslim intellectuals. The idea of knowledge as light was developed

by the early Shīʿīs in their formulation of the doctrine of the Imamate but became widespread

among both Sunnī and Shīʿī circles in the 9th- and 10th-centuries C.E. and was developed in detail

by al-Tirmidhī.460 Knowledge as Kalām was formalized by the Muʿtazilī theologians. This

knowledge type was rejected by al-Tirmidhī as we mentioned earlier in Chapter 2. The idea of

belief (īmān) construed as light (nūr) was something already developed within Ḥanafī

theological circles before al-Tirmidhī. Al-Ḥakīm al-Samarqandī in his al-Sawād al-Aʿẓam

describes belief (īmān) as light (nūr) contrasting it to disbelief (kufr), which he calls darkness

(ẓulm).461 According to al-Samarqandī and general Ḥanafī creed, belief (īmān) is also a

460
Ibid. Knowledge triumphant, p. 151. Early ‘proto-Sunnī’ scholars like Mālik b. Anas (d. 179/795) are also quoted
as considering knowledge to be light. We can view the ‘knowledge as light’ motif as a possible reaction to the
‘knowledge as tradition’ motif of the Ḥadīth scholars.
461
Ibid. al-Sawād al-aʿẓam, fol. 77.

189
knowledge (maʿrifa) in the heart and affirmation (iqrār) by the tongue.462 In al-Samarqandī’s

definition the Ḥanafī creed, belief is explained as the combination of four created ‘actions’

(afʿāl) from the believer and four uncreated ‘attributes’ (ṣifāt) from God. When these eight

elements combine in the heart, the result is true belief.463 Belief is seen as a confluence of

uncreated attributes (ṣifāt) from God and created actions (afʿāl) from the believer (muʾmin) that

meet but never exactly touch in a motif reminiscent of the Qurʾānic analogy of the meeting of the

two seas between which there is an interstice (barzakh).464 We can compare this to al-Tirmidhī’s

approach to belief as a knowledge and created light that mingles and meets God’s attribute of

light as it appears in the heart of the believer (muʾmin).465 This formulation for the mechanism of

belief in the Ḥanafī theological tradition made it very easy for al-Tirmidhī to introduce an

alternative definition of ‘light-knowledge’ and to make it central to his discussion on sainthood

(walāya). For al-Tirmidhī, the saint (walī) is the mature believer (al-muʾmin al-bāligh).466 The

saint (walī) knows God and has certainty (yaqīn) of him through the shining of God’s light in the

saint’s heart. This light is able to shine upon the nafs (lower self) where it is tamed and settles in

462
Ibid, fol. 22.
463
Ibid, fol. 20. The four uncreated ‘attributes’ (ṣifāt) from God are guidance (hidāya), giving the guidance (iʿṭāʾ),
holding firm (al-tamassuk) to the guidance, and acceptance (qabūl) of the guidance. The four elements from the
believer are seeing (ruʾyā) the guidance, accepting (qabūl) the gift of guidance, ignoring or forgetting the hold upon
guidance (jahl al-tamassuk ʿalā al-hudā), and beseeching God (al-taḍarruʿ) to accept the guidance.
464
The Qurʾānic verses indicating this motif are found in Chapter 55 (al-Raḥmān), verses 19–20: maraj al-baḥrayni
yaltaqiyān baynahumā barzakhun lā yabghiyān, He released the two seas meeting; between which is an interstice
that is not crossed.
465
Al-Tirmidhī describes this effect using the function of sight and its ability to distinguish color. He describes sight
as a merging or confluence of light (ḍawʾ) from outside (khārij) the human being as meeting the light (nūr) of vision
within the eye, however these two lights meet but do not mix (lā yajtamiʿān). Ibid. Nawādir, vol. 5, p. 240. Al-
Tirmidhī also writes that aid (ʿawn) from Allāh is a light (nūr) that is cast up on the heart and gives light to belief
(īmān). Ibid, vol. 5, p. 174. Also, al-Tirmidhī describes tawḥīd as belief, which is nūr Allāh fī qalbihi, the light of
God in his heart. Ibid. vol. 5, p. 119. Al-Tirmidhī talks about two levels of light in the heart. He says that when God
chooses belief for a person God puts a light (nūr) in his heart and through this light guides the servant to God’s light.
The true light of God (al-nūr al-aʿẓam) is the light of the inward (bāṭin) and the light of the outward (ẓāhir) is the
light of protection (wiqāya) that covers this light. When someone sins a major sin then the protective outward light
leaves the inward light unprotected, but this outward light returns when one returns to obedience. Ibid, vol. 4, pp.
90–91.
466
Ibid, vol. 4, p. 159.

190
the ‘earth’ of the bowels; then the spirit (rūh) ascends to the “heavens” of the brain. When the

nafs (lower self) and the rūḥ (spirit) return to their origins, God’s light is able to shine forth in an

unaltered and unobscured fashion467 and when this happens the believer is perfected and

becomes a walī. According to al-Tirmidhī, this can only happen by God’s grace, although God’s

grace usually reaches only those who strive vigorously to master their lower selves. The

important point here, however, is that this light (nūr) cannot be quantified or objectively

measured against an external criterion. If true knowledge/belief is, in fact, light (nūr) then

theoretically anybody could claim to possess sainthood (walāya). The social consequences of

such a proposition must have been obvious to al-Tirmidhī who, as we mentioned in Chapter 1,

was a landed patrician. Al-Tirmidhī’s gnoseology had to be limited in some way to protect

against its anarchic possibilities.

Restricting Sainthood

Al-Tirmidhī was not a revolutionary and he built into his concept of sainthood (walāya)

several mechanisms to balance the claims he was making about the light-knowledge of the saints

(awliyāʾ). One mechanism al-Tirmidhī used to limit the chaotic potential of light-knowledge was

to set a standard by which this knowledge could be gauged. Al-Tirmidhī accomplishes this to

some degree in his SA by posing a series of questions that a would-be saint should answer were

he to claim sainthood (walāya). These questions were meant to be extremely challenging and

even their number, one hundred and fifty, was daunting. There are questions such as, “What are

the decrees of divine predestination?” and “What has every messenger received as his allotment

from his Lord?”468 These questions come under the rubric of what al-Tirmidhī calls ḥikmat al-

467
It is not obscured by the smoke generated from the fire of the desires of the lower self (nafs).
468
Ibid. Concept, pp. 72–86.

191
ḥikma or al-ḥikmat al-ʿulyā (the wisdom of wisdom, or the highest wisdom). This type of

wisdom includes knowledge of the letters (ḥurūf), of the primordial covenant (mīthāq), of God’s

divine gifts (ālāʾ) and of God’s preordainments (maqādīr).469 The second constraint al-Tirmidhī

places on access to sainthood (walāya) is to restrict them to the scholarly class. It would seem

counter-intuitive that al-Tirmidhī would make such a restriction given his fierce criticism of the

scholars (ʿulamāʾ) of his time. However, we have to remember that al-Tirmidhī himself came

from this class of religious scholars and saw himself as a reformer of that class. He was not

trying to replace the scholarly class (ʿulamāʾ), but was seeking to reform it. In al-Tirmidhī’s

Kitāb Bayān al-ʿIlm he expounds upon his tripartite division of scholars who are the ʿulamāʾ,

ḥukamāʾ and kubarāʾ. As mentioned previously the term kubarāʾ is another term al-Tirmidhī

uses for awliyāʾ.470 For al-Tirmidhī, however, these are not separate categories, but are nested

one within the other. The largest category is al-ʿulamāʾ bi-aḥkām Allāh (the scholars of God’s

rulings) and these are the scholars of outward (ẓāhir) knowledge. Within this category there is a

smaller group of scholars of outward knowledge that al-Tirmidhī calls the ḥukamāʾ (sages).

These he terms al-ʿulamāʾ bi-amr Allāh (the scholars of God’s command) and they are

knowledgeable about God’s orchestration of affairs in the world or his tadbīr (planning) of

affairs. Note that these are also called ʿulamāʾ (scholars). The final group, which is a smaller

group among the ḥukamāʾ (sages) are the kubarāʾ (great ones) and these are called al-ʿulamāʾ bi-

Allāh (the scholars through/by God) and this group contains the knowledge of the previous two

groups but are also purified inwardly and are God’s true saints. Al-Tirmidhī writes in Kitāb

Bayān al-ʿIlm:

469
Ibid. Thalāthat muṣannafāt, p. 48.
470
Al-Tirmidhī, Muḥammad b. ʿAlī. Kitāb bayān al-ʿilm. in the Ankara Ms. Ismail Saib, I, 1571, fol. 20b. Al-
Tirmidhī writes, fa-ulāʾika (al-kubarāʾ) khulafāʾ Allāh ʿalā ʿibādihi wa-awliyāʾihi fī arḍihi, And those (the kubarāʾ)
are the Caliphs of God over his servants and his saints in his earth.

192
 …al-kubarāʾ hum al-ladhīna jamaʿū hādhihi al-ʿulūm kullahā fa-
ʿalimū al-ḥalāl wa-l-ḥarām wa-fahimū tadbīrahu ʿanhu fī taḥlīlihi
al-ḥalāl wa-taḥrīmihi al-ḥarām wa-iṭṭalaʿū fī ʿilm al-malakūt wa-
istashʿarat qulūbuhum min ʿaẓamat Allāh fa-hābūhu wa-ajallūhu
wa-lahat qulūbuhum ilayhi wa-ḥannat ilā liqāʾihi fa-bi-ʿilm al-
yaqīn ʿabadūhu.471

The great ones (al-kubarāʾ) are the ones who have encompassed
all of these knowledges, hence they know the licit and the illicit,
and they have understood his (God’s) planning concerning his
making licit what is licit and his making illicit what is illicit, and
they have experienced the knowledge of the angelic world and
their hearts have felt the immensity of God; and so they are in awe
of him and exalt him, and their hearts desire him and yearn to meet
him. Through the knowledge of certainty they worship him.

This nesting of scholar-types results in outward knowledge (al-ʿilm al-ẓāhir) being the first door

one must enter in order to reach the walāya of the kubarāʾ. As we mentioned before this has the

effect of sanctifying the entire scholarly class since all of the signs of walāya are subjective

rather than objective criteria in al-Tirmidhī’s schema. If outward knowledge is a gatekeeper for

walāya, it set up formidable obstacles to attaining this rank since the outward knowledge al-

Tirmidhī was talking about, the ḥalāl (licit) and the ḥarām (illicit), was taught and understood in

Arabic and the means for formal study were not available to the majority of Muslims.472 Hence,

we can view al-Tirmidhī’s approach to walāya as an attempt to reform the scholarly class rather

than replace it and empower lower strata in society. Al-Tirmidhī tries to reorient the scholars of

outward knowledge toward a higher type of light-knowledge that he sees as the true and real

knowledge. For al-Tirmidhī, the reform of the ʿulamāʾ eventually reforms other elements of

society as their knowledge filters down to the common Muslim.

471
Ibid, fol. 16b.
472
See Bulliet’s discussion of the obstacles to acquiring knowledge in Nīshāpūr in The Patricians of Nishapur, pp.
55–56.

193
The Optimism of al-Tirmidhī’s Sainthood

Al-Tirmidhī’s concept of sainthood is not simply an idea about the role of particular elite

individuals who are privy to a special knowledge they derive directly from their colloquy

(ḥadīth) with God. Rather, al-Tirmidhī initiates a very different approach and world-outlook that

runs counter to the prevailing ‘degeneration’ framework that sees the first generation of the

Islamic community (even the first three generations) as the height of perfection, only to see each

successive generation as a degeneration from this pristine origin. The idea that the Islamic

community is hurtling inevitably toward its eventual demise is one that permeates much of the

culture of Ahl al-Hadith discourse around the corruption of modern times. The oft-cited

prophetic ḥadīth that is used to demonstrate this viewpoint is, khayru al-nās qarnī thumma al-

ladhīna yalūnahum thumma al-ladhīna yalūnahu…, “the best of people is my generation and

then those that follow and then those that follow...”473 The conclusion taken from Ḥadīth of this

kind, that each successive generation is worse than the previous one, is an approach that has

sometimes justified a certain resignation and attitude of inevitability to the difficulties and

challenges that have beset Muslim communities throughout history. Al-Tirmidhī challenges this

notion by disconnecting sainthood from time and stating that “sainthood from God and strict

truthfulness in no way depend on time.”474 Al-Tirmidhī, through his concept of sainthood

(walāya), offers an optimistic alternative to this sometimes pessimistic narrative. According to

al-Tirmidhī there will always be true saints who offer guidance to human beings as successors to

the Prophet until the end of the world comes about. These are individuals who receive the light

473
Al-Saḥīḥ al-Bukhārī in the chapter on witnesses (al-shahādāt), ḥadīth 2509.
474
Diego R. Sarrio. “Spiritual anti-elitism: Ibn Taymiyya’s doctrine of sainthood (walāya).” Islam and Christian–
Muslim Relations. 22 (3): 2011, p. 282.

194
of guidance directly from God and are in colloquy with him. Al-Tirmidhī also offers evidence

from the Ḥadīth corpus to support his view that later generations of the Muslim umma

(community) may be, in fact, greater than earlier generations. He quotes the ḥadīth, mathalu

ummatī ka-l-maṭar lā yadrī awwaluhu khayrun am ākhiruhu, “My community is like the rain; one

doesn’t know if the first is better or the last.”475 It would seem that what al-Tirmidhī means is

that both the first generation and the last generation will be the best rather than the more

orthodox view that the first generation is always the best. However, rather than looking at just

the Muslim umma (community) throughout time, al-Tirmidhī is looking at the entire world

community and its guidance and blessedness. Both prophets (anbiyāʾ) and saints (awliyāʾ) are

sent to this world community commensurate to its state in order to establish an equilibrium. The

darkness of ignorance is balanced with the light of gnosis (maʿrifa) that comes through these

individuals. Hence, when one of al-Tirmidhī’s students asks him about this point he responds

with the following argument:

Qāla inna al-walāya wa-l-ṣiddīqiyya laysatā min al-zamān fī shayʾ

wa-inna al-walī wa-l-ṣiddīq ḥujjat Allāh ʿalā khalqihi wa-ghiyāth
al-khalq wa-amānihim li-annahum duʾātun ilā Allāh ʿalā baṣīra fa-
hum fī waqt al-ḥāja aḥrā an yakūnū wa-qad baʿatha Allāh al-rusul
fī al-fatrati wa-l-ʿamā wa-dawlat al-bāṭil ḥattā naʿasha al-ḥaqq
wa-zahaq al-bāṭil fa-limādhā yakbur fī al-ṣudūr an yakūna fī ākhir
al-zamān man yuwāzī awwalahum li-ḥājjat al-khalq ilayhim?476

He replied: Sainthood with God and strict truthfulness in no way

depend on time. Indeed, the saint of God and the strictly truthful
person are God’s proof against mankind, and they are assistance
and protection for mankind because they call [people] to God with
discernment (baṣīra). Thus, it is more appropriate for them to exist
during a time of need, and indeed God has sent the messengers
when there was a period of no prophecy (fatra), blindness and the
dominion of falsehood so that that which is due would be
invigorated and falsehood would perish. So why does it seem too
great in [men’s] hearts that at the end of time someone would exist

475
Ibid. Nawādir, vol. 3, p. 298.
476
Ibid. Concept, pp. 196–197.

195
 who corresponds to the persons who existed at the beginning
because of mankind’s need for them?

This understanding of light (nūr) and darkness (ẓulma) is consonant with al-Tirmidhī’s approach

to ḥikma, which is a knowledge of God’s use of opposites in the world. This is not a Zoroastrian

model of a cosmic battle between the forces of light and the forces of darkness. Rather, as al-

Tirmidhī states in his Kitāb al-Ḥikma, both light and darkness are needed in order to know God

since these are opposites created by him and they define each other.477 Thus, it makes sense that

al-Tirmidhī would see an even greater need for exemplars of truth to appear when the darkness

of ignorance was greater. While this approach is ‘optimistic’ it is not one that promises

‘progress’ or the idea that society or humanity is moving towards perfection or that perfection is

even an ideal. Perfection is possible on a personal level but not on a societal level. The idea is

not to erase or destroy ignorance because that would be impossible in this model. Rather, the

point is to ‘separate’ knowledge from ignorance so that there is no turbidity (kadar) or admixture

(ikhtilāṭ) in the opposites and that truth and falsehood can accurately define each other as

opposites. That is the function of the ḥakīm (sage).478 Such a cosmography that describes the

universe in terms of opposites serves to frame God’s traces (āthār) in the world. As we have

mentioned previously, al-Tirmidhī numbers these traces as four. Since they are representative of

God on earth, and because God, by definition, has no opposite, those traces also have the quality

of non-duality. Thus, the dualisms that al-Tirmidhī sets up are a way of pointing to and

identifying these traces, or these non-duals, which derive their non-duality from God’s

singularity and uniqueness. In this way al-Tirmidhī’s cosmology indicates an optimism about the

possibilities of human spiritual achievement. Not only do we know from al-Tirmidhī that there

477
Ibid. Kitāb al-ḥikma, fol. 16v.
478
Ibid, fol. 3r.

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are at least forty of God’s saints (awliyāʾ) alive at any time and that they can be a means of

guidance for humanity, but we are also aware of God’s immanence and that the manifestation of

his traces in the world are palpable and capable of being experienced.

The Seal of Saints

Probably the most controversial element of al-Tirmidhī’s concept of sainthood is his

doctrine of the seal of sainthood (khatm al-walāya). One of the difficulties in approaching al-

Tirmidhī’s doctrine of the seal of sainthood is the challenge of sorting through his contradictory

statements regarding various aspects of the sealer of saints (khātim walāya) and his relationship

to the sealer of prophets (khātim al-nabiyyīn), i.e., the Prophet Muḥammad. The doctrine of the

seal of sainthood (khatm al-awliyāʾ) states that just as the Prophet Muḥammad was the sealer of

prophets, similarly there exists a sealer of saints who will complete sainthood (walāya), just as

Muḥammad completed prophecy (nubuwwa). Al-Tirmidhī did not view the sealer (khātim) as

simply the last saint (al-ākhir mabʿathan), but also as the one who completes prophecy and

sainthood respectively.479 Critics of al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of the seal of sainthood point to his

passage in Sīrat al-Awliyāʾ in which he rejects the idea put forward by many in his time that the

meaning of sealer (khātim) is final or last (khātam) with a fatḥa vowel on the letter tāʾ rather than

a kasra as in khātim. This passage is often singled out to indicate that al-Tirmidhī leaves open the

possibility of continuous prophecy after Muḥammad, a position unacceptable to Muslim

orthodoxy. Al-Tirmidhī states, fa-inna al-ladhī ʿamiya ʿan khabar hādhā yadhunnu anna khātim

al-nabiyyīn innamā taʾwīluhu annahu ākhiruhum mabʿathan fa-ayyatu manqabatun fī hādhā?

Wa-ayyu ʿalam fī hādhā? Hādhā taʾwīl al-bulah al-jahla,480 “Now whoever is unaware of this

479
Ibid. Drei Schriften, p. 42.
480
Ibid, p. 42.

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Tradition and thinks the interpretation of ‘seal[er] of the prophets, only means that he is the last

of them [the prophets] to be sent – would this be a feat or a mark of distinction? This is an

interpretation of stupid people and fools.”481 Al-Tirmidhī actually accedes to both interpretations

based on a correct reading of this passage as well as statements he has made in others of his

works.482 So, according to al-Tirmidhī, the Prophet is both the last (khātam) as well as sealer

(khātim) of the prophets while the sealer of saints (khātim al-awliyāʾ), or the qāʾim bi-l-ḥujja (the

one who stands as a proof),483 is also both the final (khātam) saint as well as sealer (khātim) of

the saints. Ibn Taymiyya (d. 728/1328) rejects this particular doctrine of al-Tirmidhī as

unorthodox citing it as having been unknown to the earlier generations and contradictory to

revealed scripture, reason and the true saints themselves.484 It is true that the doctrine of the

khātim/khātam has no precedent in the Qurʾān or Ḥadīth corpus. The question then is how al-

Tirmidhī came up with this doctrine and why he put such emphasis on it. At one level al-

Tirmidhī sees himself as one of the ḥukamāʾ and awliyāʾ and in that capacity sees himself as

having the authority to introduce new doctrines that are based on knowledge vouchsafed to him

by God. In this sense al-Tirmidhī believes that the awliyāʾ have a portion (juzʾ) of prophethood

(nubuwwa) but not complete or unrestricted prophecy as in the case with the Prophet

Muḥammad.485

481
Ibid. Concept, p. 107. I have modified Radtke’s translation here because he mistranslates the passage due to not
translating the particle ‘innamā’ which is a restrictive particle translated often as ‘only’. This passage cannot be
understood correctly without understanding how al-Tirmidhī is using this particle to indicate that in fact al-Tirmidhī
disagrees with those who say that Muḥammad is ‘only’ the last prophet when interpreting his title khātam/khātim al-
nabiyyīn (the sealer of prophets).
482
Ibid. Nadhariyyat al-Walāya, vol. 2, pp. 377–378. Al-Tirmidhī considers the interpretation as khātam (final) to be
a weak but valid interpretation, while the interpretation as khātim (sealer) as in perfecting sainthood is a deeper and
grander interpretation as well as an older use of the word being closer to the usage of Prophet and his companions.
483
This is another name al-Tirmidhī uses for the khātim al-awliyāʾ (sealer of the saints) who comes at the end of
time and is both the last saint as well as the completion of sainthood.
484
Ibid. Spiritual anti-elitism, p. 282.
485
Ibid. Nawādir, vol. 2, p. 444.

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 Al-Tirmidhī’s approach to knowledge production is based on a gnoseology of light-

knowledge that is gifted to select individuals (al-khawāṣṣ) by God. The main vehicle for

transmitting this light-knowledge is the Qurʾānic mathal (analogy).486 Ṣūfīs, such as al-Ghazālī,

saw the mathal as representing a separate level of existence (al-wujūd al-khayālī) and even

described the mathal as representing a world separate from the world of the mind (ʿaql) and the

world of the senses (ḥiss).487 Henry Corbin calls this the mundus imaginalis (the imaginal realm)

as opposed to the ‘imaginary realm’ that does not have objective reality.488 This is, in the Arabic,

al-ʿālam al-mithāl (world of analogies), extensively used by Ibn ʿArabī and other Islamic

mystics. This use of analogy in early Islamic mystical thought should be distinguished from what

Umberto Eco calls ‘universal analogy’ as a characteristic of Renaissance Hermeticism.

Renaissance Hermeticism shares many features with early Islamic ḥikma but also differs in

important ways. According to Eco, universal analogy means that every element of the furniture

of this world is connected to every other element of this sublunar world as well as to every

element of the superior world. These elements are all connected to each other through analogies

and resemblances.489 There is a similar structure taking place in al-Tirmidhī’s cosmology,

however, the scope of analogy and resemblance are restricted through particular analogical types

established through Qurʾān and Ḥadīth literature. Renaissance Hermeticism is also what Eco

486
I use the term ‘analogy’ here in the sense of a complex interwoven pattern of metaphors that create an image that
can take on interpretive possibilities. The analogy is somewhere between both idea and archetype. It is not a
complete abstraction because it is based on ‘real’ images but neither is it ultra-particularized such as the archetype
can be when it is produced out of and includes all of the particulars of a certain type. The archetype of the father, in
a Jungian sense, contains all of the particular idiosyncrasies of the category of ‘father.’ But the mathal (analogy), as
used by al-Tirmidhī, is a set of metaphors that together create a pattern through a network of interrelations that are
supported by human experience.
487
Abū Ḥāmid Muḥammad b. Muḥammad al-Ghazālī. Fayṣal al-tafriqa bayna al-Islām wa-l-zandaqa maʿa al-
risāla al-waʿẓīya wa-kitāb mishkāt al-anwār wa-risālat al-ʿaqāʾid wa-l-waʿẓ ilā Malik Shāh wa-risālat al-tawḥīd.
Wa-yalīhum kitāb al-tajrīd fī kalimat al-tawḥīd li-Aḥmad b. Muḥammad al-Ghazālī. Ed. Muḥammad badr al-Dīn al-
Naʿisānī. Al-Astānah: Jamālī wa-Khānjī. 1907, p. 6.
488
Henry Corbin. “Mundus imaginalis, the imaginary and the imaginal.” Spring, 1972: 1–19. New York: Analytical
Psychology Club of New York, Inc. 1972, p. 1.
489
Eco, Umberto. The limits of interpretation. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. 1994, p. 24.

199
calls a ‘strong Neoplatonism’ or an emasculated Neoplatonism, strengthened by Christian ideas

of divine transcendence.490 This strong Neoplatonic view holds that all elements of the world are

essentially non-dual because they emanate from the divine one. This, in fact, is different than al-

Tirmidhī’s Pythagorean approach, which views the world in terms of dualities that point to

God’s non-duality. This approach does not negate dualism as does Hermeticism. Furthermore,

the analogies (amthāl) that al-Tirmidhī uses combine dualities; however, these dualities exist as

coincidentia oppositorum in the imaginal space and not in the world of matter. As we mentioned

in Chapter 4, early Islamic mystics like al-Tustarī and al-Tirmidhī saw duality in the world as a

means of indicating God’s non-dual attributes as they manifest in the world.

For al-Tirmidhī, the mathal (analogy) is that which connects the ghayb (unseen) to the

seen world (al-ʿālam al-mudrak), hence we can see how important it is to his gnoseology. If we

think of the different knowledge categories in Islamic thought we can see that they each produce

particular religious and cultural artifacts in Islamic civilization. Knowledge as Ḥadīth, for

example, produces Ḥadīth literatures of all kinds. Even Ṣūfī literature did not escape the all-

encompassing reach of isnād (genealogy) and Ḥadīth conventions as a basis for establishing

authoritative knowledge. The mathal (analogy) is a vehicle for the expression of the knowledge

producing agent of light (nūr) in al-Tirmidhī’s approach. Al-Tirmidhī characterizes the heart as

the place where the light of certainty resides. This light allows the knower of God (ʿārif) to ‘see’

aspects of the unseen (al-ghayb) through firāsa (insight).491 The mathal (analogy) for al-

Tirmdihī captures unseen meanings in a way that enables them to be understood by those who do

not have access to the unseen realm. Al-Tirmidhī writes, fa-l-amthāl namūdhajāt al-ḥikma li-mā

ghāba ʿan al-asmāʿ wa-l-abṣār li-tahtadī al-nufūs bi-mā adrakat ʿiyānan, “Analogies are the

490
Ibid, p. 18.
491
Ibid. Nawādir, vol. 5, p. 241.

200
forms of wisdom for that which is unseen to the ears and eyes in order that people may be guided

by what they perceive directly.”492

Al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of the seal of sainthood (khatm al-walāya) becomes clearer if we

understand that the seal (khatm) and the sealer (khātim/khātam) derive from a mathal (analogy)

that al-Tirmidhī pulls from both Islamic and Persian lore. Al-Tirmidhī uses the mathal (analogy)

as a philosophical tool to produce the various aspects of his gnoseology. In other words, he is

seeking topoi and motifs that lend themselves to the mathal (analogy) through his survey of both

Islamic and non-Islamic lore and then he uses these amthāl (analogies) to structure the landscape

of his thought. Al-Tirmidhī has a book called al-Amthāl min al-Qurʾān wa-l-Sunna listing over

two hundred and thirty amthāl (analogies) from Islamic lore. One of the amthāl (analogies) listed

in this book is the khawātīm (plural for khātam – ring). Later we will explain the connection

between the doctrine of the khātim/khātam (sealer/final) of the awliyāʾ (the saints) and the

khātam (seal ring). However, the first point we want to make here is that the khātam (seal ring) is

conceived by al-Tirmidhī to be a mathal (analogy) that helps configure the light-knowledge of

the unseen (ghayb). I have included here in extenso al-Tirmidhī’s discussion of the khātam (ring

– plural, khawātīm) in order to demonstrate the relationship between al-Tirmidhī’s gnoseology

and his notion of the mathal (analogy). A portion of this excerpt is also found in al-Tirmidhī’s IA

as well as indirect references to it in his NU:

Wa-hādhā al-kalām innamā yakhruju min hādhihi al-afwāh ḥurūfan

muʾallafatan wa-l-anwār kiswatuhā maʿahā nazalat li-l-ʿibād min
al-samāʿ wa-l-ʿibād mutafāwatunā fī al-nuṭqi bi-hādhihi al-kalima
ka-l-shaʾni fī al-anwār.

Wa-mathalu dhālika mathalu al-khawātīm fa-laysa bayna

khawātīm al-nās kathīru tafāwutin fa-inna aktharuhā fīmā bayna
mithqāl wa-mithqālayn fa-ʿāmmatu awzānihā bi-hādhā al-qadri

492
Muḥammad b. ʿAlī al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī. Al-Amthāl min al-kitāb wa-l-sunna. Ed. ʿAlī Muḥammad al-Bajāwī.
Al-Fajāllah al-Qāhirah: Dār Nahḍat Miṣr. 1975, p. 17.

201
 min al-fiḍḍa aw min al-dhahab innamā al-shaʾnu fī al-fuṣūṣ allatī
tabāyanat jawāhiruha fa-rubba jawhari faṣṣin li-khatamin lā
usāwī dirhaman wa-rubba faṣṣin tablughu qīmatuhu ālāfan min al-
darāhim wa-l-danānīr. Fa-kadhā al-nuṭqu bi-hādhihi al-kalimati
mutafāwatun fī ibrāzihā lafẓan wa-qirāʾatan wa duʿāʾan wa-lākin
al-tafāwutu fī al-maʿādin allatī fīhā hādhihi al-anwār wa-ʿilmu
hādhā al-kalām.

Wa-tafāwutu hādhā akthar min tafāwutu al-fuṣūṣ aḍʿāfan fa-

kalimatun takhruju min qalbin maʿdinu dhālika al-qalb al-dunyā fa-
dhāka yubghī bihi al-thawāb wa-kalimatun takhruju min qalbin
maʿdinu dhālika al-qalb al-ʿuqbā wa-kalimatun takhruju min qalbin
maʿdinu dhālika al-qalb al-malakūt wa-kalimatun takhruju min
qalbin maʿdinu dhālika al-qalb mālik al-mulk bayna yadayhi. Fa-
innamā istanāra qalbuhu bi-dhālik al-nūr wa-kullu kalāmin
yakhruju minhu min dhālika al-nūr.493

These words [there is no god but God, glory be to God, God is

great, there is no power or ability save through God] only exits
from these mouths as conjoined letters while lights clothe them and
were sent down with those words from Heaven for [God’s]
servants. [His] servants differ in the pronunciation of these words
just as they differ in the lights [that clothe them].

The analogy (mathal) of this is the analogy of rings (khawātīm).

There is not much difference between the rings of people. Most of
them are between one and two ounces [in weight]. Most of the
weight of these rings is the amount of silver or gold in them. The
only real consideration though is with the bezels whose gems
differ. It could be that the gem of a particular bezel for a ring does
not equal even a silver piece in value. However, it could also be
that the value of the bezel could reach thousands of gold and silver
pieces. Likewise, the pronunciation of these words differs in the
way they are pronounced aloud in reading and supplication.
However, the true difference is in the mines in which these lights
are found and the cognizance of these words.

This difference is many times greater than the actual differences

between bezels. A word may exit the heart of someone while the
mine of that heart is in fact this world; such a one desires reward
by it. Another word may exit the heart of someone while the mine
of that heart is recompense. Another word exits the heart of
another person while the mine of that heart is the angelic realm.
Another word exits the heart of yet another person while the mine
of that heart stands before the Possessor of all creation. The heart
493
Ibid, pp. 249–250.

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 of that person is enlightened by that light and all speech that exits
from him is from that light.

The khātam (ring) is an ancient motif found throughout the Near East and is important in biblical

literature. It is not strange then that we would find the ring motif in early stories of the Prophet.

According to the Sīra (early biographical) literature, the Prophet Muḥammad had a seal ring

made for him out of silver with the words “Muḥammad Rasūl Allāh” engraved on the ring with

the name of God, Allāh, on top. This ring was passed on to each successive Caliph from Abū

Bakr to ʿUmar and then to ʿUthmān. Then, according to tradition, the Caliph ʿUthmān lost the

ring when it fell into a well. In addition to the ring motif in the early Sīra literature, al-Tirmidhī

also references a ḥadīth in which God creates Adam from dust and kneads this dust with the

water of Paradise, then crowns Adam and then places on his finger the ring of a king.494

For al-Tirmidhī, the ring is a mathal (analogy) that gathers together a multitude of

metaphors that communicate a particular ‘truth’ he is trying to express. The ring (khātam) by

itself is not the mathal (analogy). The actual ring mathal (analogy) in its entirety includes a ring

that contains a bezel with a seal engraving that can be used for particular purposes within a

network of social and semantic relationships. In this sense the ring has a significant interpretive

potential. It can signify the king as well as khilāfa (successorship) to the Prophet. Al-Tirmidhī

presents the ring mathal as communicating a hidden truth through a prophetic analogy that

transmits knowledge as light. In this sense, the meaning of this mathal and its subsequent

interpretation becomes less subjective, since the analogy makes use of a material object that has

real functions in the social and semantic domains, and with regard to the realm of religious

function, it can even be connected to customs attributed to the Prophet. In the imaginal realm the

mathal of the ring takes on its own reality; it is the image of a real material object with all of its

494
Ibid. Nawādir, vol. 6, p. 219.

203
real world relationships bound up within it so that it becomes a means for creating an analogy.

Thus, the ring connects ‘truths’ about God to ‘truths’ in the world in a way that is accessible to

human perception. Not all material objects carry this kind of significance and for al-Tirmidhī it is

the amthāl (pl. mathal) of the Qurʾān and the Prophetic Sunna that provide a template for him to

create his own amthāl. For example, the mathal of the ring is not mentioned as a specific mathal

in the Qurʾān or the Ḥadīth, but it is chosen by al-Tirmidhī to illustrate the way God organizes

the world, which is what al-Tirmidhī calls al-tadbīr.495 Knowledge of God’s tadbīr

(organization, planning) of the universe is one of the hallmarks of the ḥukamāʾ (sages) who were

discussed in more detail in Chapter 2.496 Hence, the ability to use analogies to interpret the world

is one of the functions of the ḥukamāʾ in al-Tirmidhī’s gnoseology.

Al-Tirmidhī draws a connection for us between the ring (khātam) and the sealer/final

saint (khātim/khātam al-awliyāʾ) in his autobiography Buduw Shaʾn. At first glance the ring

mathal seems to be separate from al-Tirmidhī’s discussion of the sealer of saints. The ring

mathal is used by al-Tirmidhī in ʿIlm al-Awliyāʾ and al-Amthāl min al-Qurʾān wa-l-Sunna

primarily to explain the difference between the ʿāmma (the common believers) and the khāṣṣa

(elite) or, as al-Tirmidhī also calls them, the awliyāʾ ḥaqq Allāh497 and the awliyāʾ Allāh.498 As

we saw in the above quote from al-Tirmidhī’s al-Amthāl, all believers are similar to the ring in

that the weight of the silver in each ring is approximately the same. What determines the real

value is the price of the bezel (ring stone) and it is the rare bezels that are mined deep within the

495
Ibid. Al-Amthāl, p. 17.
496
Ibid. Kitāb Bayān al-ʿIlm, fol. 16a.
497
These are the saints who benefit from God’s grace by the mere fact of making the testimony of faith (shahāda)
and so God gives them his protection and grace because of a right (ḥaqq) that they have with God by virtue of this
statement.
498
These are the true saints who have been given protection and amnesty in this life and the next and receive divine
inspiration from God. They are the ones who have been given victory over their carnal souls by God and are a
means of protection and blessing for humanity.

204
earth that are considered the most expensive. Metaphorically speaking, when the awliyāʾ Allāh

(the true saints) say the adhkār (formulas for remembering God), these words, while seeming to

be similar on the surface actually originate from different “mines” (maʿādin), which represent

the hearts of different believers and the relative attachment of these hearts to God. While this

discussion of the ring mathal seeks to elaborate the distinction between different types of

believers, al-Tirmidhī also uses the ring as a symbol to indicate the sealer of saints. At the end of

his autobiography al-Tirmidhī relates a dream in which his wife hears a voice telling her in

Persian, nigīnē man torā dādham, “I have given you a seal ring.”499 When taken in the context of

the other dreams of al-Tirmidhī’s wife, we can interpret this to mean that al-Tirmidhī is either the

sealer of saints, or one of the forty saints of his time, completing their number, as symbolized by

the seal ring that was given to his wife. The ring mathal not only speaks about the difference

between the types of believers, but also functions as a symbol for the sealer of saints. The seals

on rings in eastern Iran would often be cut directly into the bezel as can be seen in some

examples from 11th- and 12th-century C.E. Khurāsān. (See figure 1 below) These seal rings have

words carved into them as opposed to human or animal figures that we find in Byzantine and

Sassanid seal rings, possibly due to Islamic mores. Here we can see many of the aspects of al-

Tirmidhī’s notion of sainthood and the sealer of saints represented in a single material object.

The silver ring, the bezel, the seal carving on the bezel and the lexical nature of these seal

carvings all touch upon important aspects of al-Tirmidhī’s structure of sainthood and the sealer

of saints.

499
Ibid. Kitāb khatm al-awliyāʾ, p. 31.

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 4

Figure 1: 1. One bezel set with a banded agate, engraved kufic inscription
Musa Ibn Ahmad. 2cm high. 2. The other similar ring is bezel set with
engraved carnelian, also 2cm high. 3. One cast gold ring 2.5cm high. 4.
Finally a silver ring with inscribed carnelian, also 2.5cm
high.https://awalimofstormhold.wordpress.com/tag/jewelry/page/3/

We can possibly say that the ring mathal itself is structuring the various relationships between

these different aspects of sainthood in al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of sainthood and was partly his

inspiration for his book SA, which discusses in detail his doctrine of the sealer of saints

(khātim/khātam al-awliyāʾ). Evidence in this regard is that al-Tirmidhī mentions a date in his

autobiography with respect to the dream of his wife in which she is gifted a seal-ring (nigīnē)

representing al-Tirmidhī himself. This was in June of 883 C.E. or Dhū al-Qāʿda of 269 A.H.500 It

is not clear exactly when al-Tirmidhī wrote his SA, but we know that he did so sometime after

the death of the Khurāsānian mystic and his contemporary Yaḥyā b. Muʿādh al-Rāzī (d.

258/872). Also in his autobiography, al-Tirmidhī indicates that he did not start teaching formally

until after the period of insurrection that occurred around 256/870 during the Ṣaffārid

rebellion.501 In his autobiography Al-Tirmidhī mentions that after this event he moved from

500
Ibid. Concept, pp. 34–35.
501
Ibid, p. 20.

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teaching sessions in his house to the masjid where he began teaching openly to many students.

The confident approach of al-Tirmidhī in SA as well as its polished form, polemical tone, and

back and forth question and answer format between himself and a student indicate that SA was

likely the result of many years of teaching. This suggests that al-Tirmidhī’s SA probably came to

its finished form sometime around the writing of his autobiography and the narrating of his

wife’s dream some ten years after he began teaching formally. The important point here is not to

establish that the dream of the ring mathal came first, but that both ideas were functioning at

approximately the same time in al-Tirmidhī’s career. The ring mathal still has a function even in

al-Tirmidhī’s SA where al-Tirmidhī describes the sealing of prophethood as being like a royal

decree that is written and then stamped with a seal.502 The ring mathal is found throughout al-

Tirmidhī’s works and is used to explain the nature of the sealer (khātim/khātam) and the seal

(khatm). Not only is the ring mathal used to discuss sainthood, but al-Tirmidhī uses it as a

framework to discuss other topics such as the word āmīn (Amen), which al-Tirmidhī says is a

khatm (seal) for supplication (duʿāʾ). The word āmīn (Amen), when used at the end of a

supplication to God, seals it and protects the supplication from being intercepted or modified in

any way by the devil.503 Here, we can see that the ring mathal structures multiple topics in al-

Tirmidhī’s works.

The ring mathal is an appropriate analogy for the paradigm of ‘knowledge as light’ found

throughout al-Tirmidhī’s works. The ring mathal makes use of the light metaphor since the bezel

of a ring refracts light in special ways depending on the type and quality of the stone. Thus, with

this analogy we can think of the heart of the saint as refracting spiritual light-knowledge

depending on the mine/source (maʿdin) of his heart. Hence, the mathal (analogy) is a way of

502
Ibid. Thalāthat muṣannafāt, pp. 109–110.
503
Ibid. Nawādir, vol. 5, pp. 483–484.

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thinking about God and the world and is a way of capturing and presenting knowledge as light.

Plato employs analogical reasoning in the analogy of the cave in his dialog The Republic. The

cave, the prisoners, as well as the play of light and darkness are all elements of Plato’s analogy

and serve to explain a ‘reality’ that would otherwise be imperceptible to the senses. The ‘light’ of

the sun in Plato’s analogy can be interpreted as the “true knowledge of the forms” that is too

bright for normal human beings to see.504 Plato provides us with two other analogies in The

Republic, which are the Divided Line and the Analogy of the Sun. For Plato, though, analogy is

not the main vehicle for dispensing knowledge, rather, dialectic is at the center of Plato’s

epistemology.505 Plato’s three analogies pale in comparison to al-Tirmidhī’s over two hundred

analogies in his book al-Amthāl min al-Qurʾān wa-l-Sunna. For al-Tirmidhī, the mathal

(analogy) is the means par excellence for communicating knowledge bequeathed by God and

thinking about the world. We will see in the next chapter how the mathal can be interpreted and

reinterpreted as well as extended to ‘explore’ its field of possibilities. As we will see in Chapter 6

Ibn ʿArabī takes al-Tirmidhī’s ring mathal and reinvents it to develop an even more elaborate

doctrine of sainthood building on al-Tirmidhī’s approach.

For al-Tirmidhī, the sealer of the saints (khātim/khātam al-awliya) completes sainthood

(walāya) by encompassing all of the names of God just as the Prophet completes (khatama)

prophethood (nubuwwa) by encompassing all of the names of God. In this way the sealer of the

saints mirrors the Prophet’s states and stations at the level of sainthood (walāya) just below

prophethood.506 This type of mirroring between sainthood and prophethood was no doubt

troubling to many Muslim scholars, particularly Ibn Taymiyya. If this mirroring is, in fact, true,

504
Robert J. Fogelin. “Three Platonic Dialogs,” The Philosophical Review. Vol. 80, (No. 3, Jul.) 1971, p. 372.
505
N. Notomi. “Socratic Dialogue and Platonic Dialectic. How the soul knows in the Republic.” Plato-The Internet
Journal of the International Plato Society. (Plato 4). 2004.
506
Ibid. Nadhariyyat al-Walāya, pp. 374–375.

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then what is the real difference between the sealer of the saints and the sealer of the prophets?

The ring mathal is essential to explaining this difference in al-Tirmidhī’s gnoseology and

epistemology. The seal/sealer (khatam/khātim) belongs ultimately to God and is a function of his

tadbīr (organization and planning) of the world. Prophethood is likened to a document that

contains certain kinds of knowledge that, when completed, is folded and stamped with a seal.

Similarly, sainthood and the particular knowledge it contains is like another document that, when

completed, is folded and sealed with its own seal. Each seal has the same mark of God’s

kingship but the stone in each is different because they come from different mines (maʿādin) and

it is the quality of the stones that causes them to reflect God’s light differently.

Sainthood Creates a Third Space

We discussed in Chapter 2 how al-Tirmidhī uses a Pythagorean sense of ḥikma (wisdom)

to view the world as arranged by opposites (aḍdād) that, in turn, point to an underlying unitary

principle. For al-Tirmidhī, this principle was Allāh, who created the world as opposites.

Adopting aspects of a Pythagorean cosmology was not difficult for al-Tirmidhī because this

basic structure is clearly explicated in the Qurʾān, specifically in verses 49 and 50 of Chapter 51,

al-Dhāriyāt, and supported by many other verses throughout the Qurʾān,507 wa-min kulli shayʾin

khalaqnā zawjayni laʿallakum tadhakkarūn fa-firrū ilā Allāh innī lakum minhu nadhīrun mubīn,

“And of everything we have created pairs so that perhaps you will remember, so flee to God, I

am only a clear warner for you.” The Qurʾān clearly views the world as a place of dualities, not

in a strictly antagonistic sense as in Zoroastrian cosmology, but as a means to understand God.

The Qurʾānic discussion of marriage is a case in point in which the zawj (spouse-pair-opposite)

507
For other verses in the Qurʾān that discuss creation in pairs see 13:3, 20:53, 20:131, 26:7, 30:21, 35:11, 36:36,
42:11 and 43:12.

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is created in order for God’s attributes to manifest, for example, mawadda (love) and raḥma

(mercy) occur between (bayn) the two spouses (al-zawjayn) and is a sign (āya) of God. These

attributes are characterized in a non-dual sense because they are traces of God who is described

in the Qurʾān as al-wadūd (the loving) and al-raḥmān (the all-merciful).508 Al-Tirmidhī’s

cosmology can be considered Pythagorean in the sense that Pythagorean notions fit well into his

Qurʾānic worldview.

For al-Tirmidhī, God and his attributes are not the only non-dual’. God’s “traces” in the

world also take on an aspect of God’s non-duality and are thus representative of God on earth.509

These four traces (āthār) of God are: the Qurʾan, the sulṭān (temporal ruler in an abstract sense

of representing God’s power), the Kaʿba (God’s house) and the saints (awliyāʾ). In NU al-

Tirmidhī writes about these four traces:

fa-bi-hāʾulāʾ al-arbaʿ taqūm al-arḍ fa-idhā danā qiyām al-sāʿa

rafaʿa al-qurʾān wa-hudimat al-kaʿba wa-dhahaba al-sulṭān wa-
qubiḍa al-awliyāʾ ʿan ākhirihim fa-lam yabqa fī al-arḍ dhū ḥurma
fa-l-mutanabbihūna innamā maʾkhudhuhum min al-qurʾān
laṭāʾifuhu wa-ṭalāwatuhu wa-labaquhu wa-min al-sulṭān haybat
ẓillihi wa-lā yalḥaẓūna ilā afʿālihim wa-sīratihim wa-min al-bayti
ilā waqārihi lā ilā tilk al-aḥjāri wa-l-bunyāni wa-min al-walī ilā
nūri jalālihi al-ladhī qad ashraqa fī ṣadrihi.510

Thus, through these four the earth persists. So if the Hour comes
close, the Qurʾān will be lifted and the Kaʿba will be destroyed and
the temporal ruler will disappear, and the souls of the saints, up to
the last of them, will be taken and there will not remain on Earth
any sacred person. Those who are aware simply take from the
Qurʾān its subtleties and its beauty and its refinement; and from the
temporal ruler the awesomeness of his shadow but not [his] actions
or [his] example; and from the House of God they perceive God’s
dignity but not the stones and structure; and from the saint they

508
Qurʾān 30:21
509
Al-Tirmidhī specifically says that God has no opposite, lā ḍidda lahu, “He has no opposite.” Ibid. Nawādir, vol.
1, p. 21. The four traces of God each have a non-dual character. There is only one Kaʿba, the Qurʾān represents the
attribute of God’s speech (kalām) which borrows from God’s non-duality, the sulṭān (temporal ruler of all the
Muslims) is God’s shadow on earth (ẓillihi) and the saints (awliyāʾ) attain the station (manzil) of fardāniyya which
has the character of non-duality.
510
Ibid, vol. 3, p. 424.

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 perceive the light of God’s majesty which dawns in the saint’s
heart.

These four traces are sources of protection for humanity because, for al-Tirmidhī, it is through

them that the world is protected by God from destruction. The Kaʿba in Makka is described as a

ḥaram (sacred precinct) in which fighting or killing is not allowed.511 The role of the sulṭān (the

temporal ruler) is to maintain order and justice such that people’s rights are not transgressed and

the ideal ruler is someone who is a protection for people.512 The Qurʾān, or God’s speech

(kalām), has a sanctity (ḥurma) that makes it inviolable to touch unless one is ritually purified

through ablution.513 The saint (walī) is a protection for the land he lives in and because of him

the crops are watered and the animals fed.514 Al-Tirmidhī mentions that when a believer beholds

any of these four things, his heart finds ease and calmness (istarwaḥa).515 The saints, as

representatives of God’s trace on earth, become not only a means of witnessing God’s light, but

are also loci for God’s mercy and protection. It appears that al-Tirmidhī is saying that if a person

can find one of these saints, then he can find protection and security can be found through the

saint’s blessing since the heart of the saint occupies a station at which God’s light enters the

world.

For al-Tirmidhī, the dualisms in the world provide a framework to identify the non-dual

traces of God in the world. At the end of Chapter 2 we discussed the non-dual station of the saint

(walī), which is called fardāniyya (non-duality, solitariness). This station is unique and is

reserved for the highest saints. In KH al-Tirmidhī provides us with a mathal to explain the non-

dual position of the saint (walī) and how this creates a safe space for those who are connected to

511
Ibid, pp. 132–133.
512
Ibid, p. 401.
513
Ibid, pp. 332–334.
514
Ibid, pp. 263–264.
515
Ibid, p. 172.

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the saint (walī). Al-Tirmidhī compares the saint (walī) to a shepherd who has a flock of sheep.

When predators attack the sheep the shepherd’s dogs fight these predators and kill them. The

shepherd and his flock remain safe while the dogs and predators fight each other.516 Al-Tirmidhī

mentions how the sheep dog was, at one time, a predator itself, but that through the influence of

the shepherd becomes the opposite of its original nature and fights off the other predators. Here,

the non-dual position of the shepherd actually gives rise to the duality that, in turn, defines the

non-duality. Here, the saint (walī), as a conduit for God’s light and a trace of God in the world, is

a means for establishing safe spaces that are impervious to the interaction of opposites that can

sometimes, but not always, be antagonistic.

Conclusion

Al-Tirmidhī’s vision of sainthood clearly demonstrates a great deal of versatility. By

combining and amalgamating various trends in early Islamic thought and mysticism, al-Tirmidhī

was able to put forward ideas that were socially and politically relevant to his time. And not only

were they relevant, but they had powerful transformative potential. Al-Tirmidhī takes the light

motif and places it at the center of his gnoseology similar to the way the proto-Shīʿīs had

construed the ʿilm (knowledge) of their imams and the proto-Sunnīs of Madīna construed the

charisma of the prophetic legacy. Al-Tirmidhī clearly belonged to the discourse stream of proto-

Sunnism, however, it wasn’t until the arrival of al-Tirmidhī that the light-motif takes center stage

amongst the Sunnī ʿulamāʾ. When al-Tirmidhī combines this light motif with sainthood, which

was a category that was already established in Ḥanafī theological discourse, the result is a new

spiritual geography. Knowledge, as light, resides in the hearts of living saints who are

516
Ibid. Kitāb al-ḥikma, fol. 6v.

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undesignated except by spiritual markers within the Muslim community. They exist as the

conduits through whom God continues to provide guidance to humanity as successors to the

Prophet. Hence, God’s light flows into the world through the hearts of these men and women if

they can only be found. This doctrine provides a counterweight to the sometimes fatalistic and

pessimistic orthodox view that the Muslim community is in a continual state of decline moving

headlong toward the final destruction of both mankind and the world at the end of time. Al-

Tirmidhī’s eschatology also admits to an end of the world, but explains that before that time

God’s guidance for humanity is always commensurate with the level of ignorance and darkness

that is simultaneously occurring in the world. Hence, sainthood here can address very important

theological views about God’s involvement in the world and the continuation of prophecy and

sainthood.

One of the most important aspects of al-Tirmidhī’s gnoseology of sainthood deals with

the figure of the sealer of saints (khātim/khātam al-awliyāʾ). With this doctrine we may gain an

insight into how al-Tirmidhī’s thought develops through the use of amthāl (analogies). By

understanding al-Tirmidhī’s use of the mathal we can better understand how he conceived the

function of the sealer of saints and either reconciled this doctrine with more orthodox theological

views about the nature of revelation and prophethood. The doctrine of the sealer of saints is

derived from al-Tirmidhī’s episteme of light-knowledge and al-Tirmidhī articulates it in terms of

its embodiment in the form of the mathal (analogy). By understanding this ‘thought process’ of

analogizing we can better understand how Ibn ʿArabī extends the mathal of the ring to explicate

an even more elaborate doctrine of sainthood.

Al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of sainthood also has implications for the social and political

sphere. By separating temporal authority from religious authority, al-Tirmidhī opens up religious

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authority to new claimants. However, at the same time, he attempts to restrict this authority by

making outward religious knowledge a prerequisite for it. The saints, however, as traces of God

on earth, create safe spaces that are a protection for humanity. This idea inspired early Ṣūfīs like

al-Sulamī and al-Qushayrī to integrate this structure into Sufism. In time, the Ṣūfī shaykh would

come to function as a buffer between ordinary Muslims and the unmitigated power of the state,

which serves to affirm al-Tirmidhī’s vision of walāya.

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 Chapter 6

Sainthood and Wisdom in the Later Islamic Mystical Tradition:

Ibn ʿArabī and the Shādhiliyya

Despite the plethora of research on Ibn ʿArabī, few Ibn ʿArabī

scholars have read al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī closely. Ibn ʿArabī not
only cites al-Tirmidhī by name, but his works are tightly connected
to motifs and approaches inaugurated by al-Tirmidhī. Based on our
preceding discussion of al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of walāya, we will
examine in this chapter how this doctrine provides important
interpretative potential for understanding Ibn ʿArabī’s doctrine of
walāya. The ring mathal, in particular, is used by Ibn ʿArabī to
structure his Fuṣūṣ al-Ḥikam (The Ring Stones of Wisdom). Another
less well known continuation of al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of walāya is
in the ḥikma tradition of the early Shādhilī masters of the Shādhilī
Ṭarīqa.

In Chapters 3 and 4 we discussed how al-Tirmidhī’s influence on the Islamic mystical

tradition was not limited to his influence on Ibn ʿArabī. Al-Tirmidhī played an important role in

the development of Sufism in the great mystical synthesis of the 5th/11th-century in Nīshāpūr and

this had a decisive impact on the form Sufism would take thereafter. Al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of

sainthood (walāya) played a crucial role in establishing the religious authority of the Ṣūfī shaykh.

Even Ibn ʿArabī’s debt to al-Tirmidhī is not completely appreciated despite important

contributions to this study by Chodkiewicz. This has partly been due to an incomplete

appreciation of some of al-Tirmidhī’s foundational concepts. As a result of our further

examination of al-Tirmidhī’s ring mathal, we can see that Ibn ʿArabī takes the main structure of

215
his Fuṣūṣ al-Ḥikam from al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of sainthood, although he has clearly made

important additions and changes. Similarly, the founders of the Shādhilī Ṭarīqa (Ṣūfī

brotherhood) in North Africa relied heavily on al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of walāya and expanded

his approach to ḥikma.

The Ring Mathal in Ibn ʿArabī’s Fuṣūṣ al-Ḥikam

The influence of al-Tirmidhī on the thought of Ibn ʿArabī has been discussed widely in

the field of Islamic mysticism.517 Ibn ʿArabī engages al-Tirmidhī directly and quotes him in a

number of his works, primarily his al-Futuḥāt al-Makkiyya (The Meccan Revelations) and Fuṣūṣ

al-Ḥikam (The Ring Stones of Wisdom). Probably most fascinating is the series of one hundred

and fifty-seven questions that al-Tirmidhī poses to anyone who would claim sainthood. These

questions are quite elusive and arcane and no one seems to have attempted to answer them until

Ibn ʿArabī devoted a treatise to this task under the title al-Jawāb al-Mustaqīm ʿammā saʾala

ʿanhu al-Tirmidhī al-Ḥakīm (The Direct Reply to the Questions of al-Tirmidhī the Ḥakīm). These

answers were then included in chapter seventy-three of al-Futuḥāt including more detail than the

original work.518 According to Radtke, Ibn ʿArabī merely uses al-Tirmidhī’s questions as a

platform to express his own ideas.519 This view oversimplifies a fascinating example of

intertextuality between authors who lived some three hundred years apart. Ibn ʿArabī’s answers

are often quite specific about details that cannot be corroborated in any way, such as the number

of stations (manāzil) of the saints (awliyāʾ). For example, Ibn ʿArabī says there are two hundred

517
Osman Yahya, Michel Chodkiewicz, Bernd Ratke, Richard McGregor, Alexander Knysh, Binyamin Abrahamov
et al.
518
Michel Chodkiewicz. Seal of the saints: prophethood and sainthood in the doctrine of Ibn ʿArabī. Cambridge:
Islamic Texts Society. 1993, p. 32.
519
Bernd Radtke. “The Concepts of Walāya in Early Sufism,” in L. Lewinsohn (ed.), The Heritage of Sufism. vol. I.
1999, p. 487.

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and forty-eight thousand spiritual (maʿnawiyya) stations.520 In effect, Ibn ʿArabī is displaying his

qualifications to speak about sainthood by answering al-Tirmidhī’s challenge and the answers are

both confident and often exact in nature. As Chodkiewicz remarks, it is a spiritual tournament

between two solitaires and Ibn ʿArabī takes up the challenge triumphantly.521 Ibn ʿArabī,

himself, identified al-Tirmidhī’s questions as a test (imtiḥān).

Like al-Tirmidhī, sainthood (walāya) for Ibn ʿArabī forms one of the most central and

important aspects of his thought.522 The FH is a summary of Ibn ʿArabī’s doctrine of walāya and

a central theme in this work is the ring (khātam). We will attempt to demonstrate how the ring

mathal, which Ibn ʿArabī clearly adopts from al-Tirmidhī, can only be completely understood in

light of al-Tirmidhī’s discussion of the ring (khātam) and the ring stone (faṣṣ). In his introduction

to Ibn ʿArabī’s Fuṣūṣ, Abū ʿAlā ʿAfīfī laments Ibn ʿArabī’s indirect figurative approach and

vague allusions, which seem to complicate the efforts of the reader to understand exactly what

Ibn ʿArabī is often talking about.523 For ʿAfīfī, Ibn ʿArabī makes “the power of thought a great

deal subservient to the power of his imagination.”524 Part of the challenge in understanding Ibn

ʿArabī is understanding the amthāl (analogies) that form the connection between the unseen

world and the seen world just as we have shown with al-Tirmidhī.525 As Corbin tells us, these

520
Ibid. Seal of the saints, p. 53.
521
Ibid, p. 32.
522
Ibid, p. 47.
523
Ibn ʿArabī, Muhyī al-Dīn. Fuṣūṣ al-ḥikam, li-Muḥyī al-Dīn b. ʿArabī wa-l-taʿlīqāt ʿalayh bi-qalam Abū al-ʿIlā
ʿAfīfī. Ed. A. E. ʿAfīfī. Bayrūt: Dār al-Kitāb al-ʻArabī. 1966, p. 19.
524
Ibid, p. 19.
525
Sleep is the realm of imagination for Ibn ʿArabī and sleep is the intermediate realm between life and death, it is a
type of living death and in that sense is an intermediate realm between the opposites of life and death. It is in this
realm that we find the imaginal and amthāl (analogies) are the substance of dreams. In this realm the dreamer can
access disembodied intelligible entities in the form of corporeal sensory objects. According to Ibn ʿArabī, dreams
must always be interpreted and their interpretation requires special knowledge from God. Felek, Özgen, and
Alexander D. Knysh. Dreams and visions in Islamic societies. Albany: State University of New York Press. 2012,
pp. 1–3.

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amthāl (analogies) are as real for Ibn ʿArabī as the physical world.526 Given the strong

connection between Ibn ʿArabī and al-Tirmidhī it is strange that, as of yet, no one has drawn a

comparison between the structure of Ibn ʿArabī’s Fuṣūṣ al-Ḥikam and the ring mathal of al-

Tirmidhī. This comparison is highly significant because it indicates the extent of al-Tirmidhī’s

influence on the Islamic doctrine of sainthood in its later form and helps to clarify important

aspects of Ibn ʿArabī’s doctrine that are often difficult to interpret.

Michel Chodkiewicz is probably the foremost expert on Ibn ʿArabī’s doctrine of

sainthood. Nevertheless, it is unclear why he does not give more importance to the ring mathal.

One possible reason for this is that I believe he misinterprets some aspects of the ring mathal

itself. Chodkiewicz writes:

The setting (faṣṣ, plural fuṣūṣ) of a ring is the part which encloses
the precious stone. The word recurs in the title of each chapter
where it is followed by two determinants: a ‘wisdom’ (ḥikma),
which is itself qualified by an adjective; and a ‘word’ (kalima)
connected with one of the twenty-seven prophets. Thus, for
example, we have ‘the setting of divine wisdom in the Word of
Adam’, ‘the setting of the wisdom of the heart in the Word of
Shuʿayb’, and so on. In this way a series of spiritual types is built
up, of whom each is in some sense defined as the intersection of an
aspect of divine Wisdom with the human vessel that encloses it
and thereby imposes its own limits on it. As we shall see, this
structure is in no way a mere rhetorical device, but corresponds
symbolically with the actual structure of walāya.527

While Chodkiewicz indicates the importance of the ring to Ibn ʿArabī’s structure of walāya and

mentions that this will be demonstrated later in the book, we do not find the topic addressed in

much detail later in his work. In fact, Chodkiewicz mistakenly interprets the word faṣṣ (pl. fuṣūṣ)

to mean the “part which encloses the precious stone”, rather than the stone itself. This may be

526
Ibid. Mundus Imaginalis, p. 5. We can distinguish these analogies from the Platonic Forms in that they are not
the abstract sources of physical objects in the world, but rather a vehicle for apprehending divine knowledge.
527
Ibid. Seal of the saints, pp. 48–49.

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one reason that he does not fully explicate the implications of the ring mathal for interpreting Ibn

ʿArabī’s doctrine of walāya. The word faṣṣ (pl. fuṣūṣ) in Arabic means the stone that is enclosed

by the ring and not the casing itself that encloses the stone as Chodkiewicz indicates.528 This

interpretation of the word faṣṣ, as meaning the setting or the precious stone that is set in a ring, is

how al-Tirmidhī presents the ring mathal. The close correspondence between al-Tirmidhī’s ring

mathal and Ibn ʿArabī’s ring imagery in the Fuṣūṣ further reinforces this interpretation.

In his Fuṣūṣ al-Ḥikam Ibn ʿArabī describes the knowledge-types of twenty-seven

prophets, each with a different wisdom (ḥikma), word (kalima) and stone (faṣṣ). As Chodkiewicz

mentions, the first section in the Fuṣūṣ al-Ḥikam is the chapter titled: “The Ring Stone of Divine

Wisdom in the Adamic Word.”529 The title of each chapter of the Fuṣūṣ follows the same pattern

but in each case for a different prophet or messenger. For example, the last chapter is titled: “The

Ring Stone of Singularity (Non-duality) in the Muḥammadan Word.” If we recall from our

discussion in Chapter 5, al-Tirmidhī uses the ring mathal to explain the difference between the

saints (awliyāʾ) or elite (khawāṣṣ) and the common (ʿāmma) among the Muslims. While both of

these groups outwardly say the same words to remember God (dhikr), for al-Tirmidhī, these

words come from different sources (maʿādin, literally ‘mines’) just as the ring stones of various

rings differ in quality and come from different mines within the earth. In terms of al-Tirmidhī’s

metaphorical approach, the elite (khāṣṣa) and the common (ʿāmma) are the same ‘outwardly’ (fī

al-ẓāhir) and are represented by the silver part of the ring, which is of almost equal weight

among rings and is almost negligible when accounting for the actual value of the ring. Yet,

‘inwardly’ (fī al-bāṭin) there is a tremendous difference between the actual value of the rings

528
The meaning of faṣṣ (pl. fuṣūṣ) as precious stone and not the encasing of the stone is supported by Lane’s Lexicon
(see p. 2458 under faṣṣ), Lisān al-ʿArab, Muʿjam al-Wasīṭ, and Hans Wehr.
529
Note that my translation here differs from that of Chodkiewicz above in order to better bring out the significance
of the ring mathal.

219
based in the value of their individual stones. Al-Tirmidhī uses this mathal to address a

theological issue relating to the actual and perceived difference between believers. As we will

see, Ibn ʿArabī uses the same basic structure in order to address a different but related issue,

namely, the difference between the prophets/messengers and the Muḥammadan reality (ḥaqīqa

Muḥammadiyya). In FH, we have ring stones (fuṣūṣ) that are different for each prophet and are

indicated in each chapter with a specific title, such as “the ring stone of divine wisdom” etc…

Then there is the word (kalima) that represents the silver ring that encases the stone. In the

example of the Prophet Adam the ring stone is from the ‘mine’ (maʿdan) of divine wisdom,

which is set in the “ring of Adam”, with the ring representing “his word”. In this sense, we can

read the title of the first chapter as: Faṣṣ Ḥikma Ilāhiyya [murakkab] fī Kalimatin Ᾱdamiyya,

“The Ring Stone of Divine Wisdom [set] in the Adamic Word”. The major commentaries on the

Fuṣūṣ al-Ḥikam do not bring out this correspondence between the word (kalima) and the silver

ring.530 Part of the ambiguity rests in Ibn ʿArabī’s oblique style, but also, one would not

necessarily understand this point without fully understanding that Ibn ʿArabī is basing his mathal

on the ring mathal of al-Tirmidhī, and al-Tirmidhī is very explicit about what each part of the

mathal represents, with the fuṣūṣ (ring stones) representing the qualitative nature of the saint’s

530
Nūr al-Dīn ʿAbd al-Raḥmān Jāmī (d. 998/1492) identifies the faṣṣ (pl. fuṣūṣ) as that which beautifies the ring and
upon which the name of the owner of the ring is carved, and which he uses to stamp his seal. Jāmī identifies the faṣṣ
and the ring band as a powerful mathal but does not interpret it in the same way that al-Tirmidhī does. For Jāmī the
faṣṣ represents the non-dual (aḥadiyyati jamʿihimā) point of singularity that joins the two bands together just as the
heart of the believer joins the opposites of necessity and possibility in the created world. ʿAbd al-Ghanī al-Nābulsī
(d. 1143/1730) likens the faṣṣ to the Adamic body, which contains all of the possibilities of perfection. ʿAbd al-
Ghanī sees the faṣṣ as the point of the ring and the naqsh (writing on the stone) to be the point of the faṣṣ. Hence, for
ʿAbd al-Ghanī the words (kalimāt) are represented by the writing on the stone that is the seal. ʿAbd al-Ghanī b.
Ismāʿīl al-Nābulsī, Ibn ʿArabī, and Jāmī. Sharḥ jawāhir al-nuṣūṣ fī ḥall kalimāt al-Fuṣūṣ. Miṣr: Maṭbaʿat al-Zamān.
1887, pp. 13–16. Ibn ʿArabī’s Kitāb Naqsh al-Fuṣūṣ, which is a summary of his Fuṣūṣ al-Ḥikam does not shed light
on his use of the ring mathal. Jāmī’s commentary or the Naqsh states many of the same points he makes in his
commentary on the Fuṣūṣ.

220
(walī) remembrance (dhikr), while the word (kalima) represents the vehicle that holds this

remembrance, which corresponds to the silver part of the ring.

Understanding the legally valid attributes of the Sharīʿa compliant ring (khātam sharʿī)

for men and women is important to understanding the significance of this mathal used by al-

Tirmidhī and Ibn ʿArabī. According to Islamic law men are permitted to wear a silver ring,

sometimes of a specified weight while women can wear both silver and gold. Al-Tirmidhī

indicates the importance of the legal ring in NU where he describes the legal specifications for

the use of rings by men and women. The significance of the khātam sharʿī is that the stone that is

set in the ring has no value according to the Sharīʿa because zakāt (alms tax) is only calculated

for the value of the silver or gold part of the ring and not the value of the stone. To this effect al-

Tirmidhī cites a ḥadīth in which Ḥafṣa, one of the wives of the Prophet, had a necklace made of

precious stones worth up to thirty-thousand dirhams that she gave to the womenfolk of the

Caliph ʿUmar, but she did not pay zakāt on it.531 Hence, from the point of view of the Sharīʾa the

only real value to the ring is the value of the metal and the stone has no particular value. On the

other hand, from the point of view of the real economic value of the ring, the stone is what

actually determines the value and the metal band is not the significant factor. Here we can see

how the ring mathal functions to resolve the apparent contradiction between the equivalence of

all believers as opposed to the variance in spiritual rank between those same believers. The ring

thus exhibits the dual aspects of Sharīʿa (Law) and Ḥaqīqa (divine reality) that are so important

in Ibn ʿArabī’s thought. As we discussed in Chapter 3 the topic of belief (imān) and what

constitutes a believer (muʾmin) was particularly important during the 9th-century C.E. when al-

Tirmidhī was writing. For Ibn ʿArabī the more important topic was the relationship between the

531
Ibid. Nawādir, pp. 129–130.

221
Prophet Muḥammad and the rest of the prophets. This is a topic in Ibn ʿArabī’s thought that

addresses the universality of Islam as well as the relationship between Islam and other religions.

The flexibility of the ring mathal allows Ibn ʿArabī to use it as a means of commenting on issues

that were more cogent in his time.532

Commentators on Ibn ʿArabī’s FH have not brought out the connection between the

silver/gold ring band and the word (kalima). Rather, ʿAbd al-Ghanī al-Nābulsī (d. 1143/1730),

for example, interprets the word (kalima) as a divine meaning or reality (ḥaqīqa), while Nūr al-

Dīn ʿAbd al-Raḥmān Jāmī (d. 998/1492) interprets the word (kalima) as the actual person of the

Prophet and his community (umma).533 If we use al-Tirmidhī’s structure of the ring mathal we

will understand that the metal band of the ring represents the word (kalima). This connotation

helps us to understand various aspects of Ibn ʿArabī’s argument in the FH. For example, in the

chapter titled, Faṣṣ Ḥikma Aḥadiyya fī Kalima Hūdiyya, (The Ringstone of the Wisdom of Unicity

[set] in the Word of Hūd), Ibn ʿArabī explains a vision he had at Cordoba in 586/1190 in which

he saw all of the prophets and messengers at a gathering and was spoken to personally by the

Prophet Hūd.534 In this meeting the Prophet Hūd recites the words of the Qurʾān (11:56), mā min

dābba illā huwa ākhidhun bi-nāṣiyatihā inna rabbī ʿalā ṣirāṭin mustaqīm, “There is no creature

except that he takes it by its forelock, indeed my Lord is upon a straight path.” Here, Ibn ʿArabī

illustrates the relationship between the Prophet Hūd and the Prophet Muḥammad. The words

used by Hūd are the same as the words used by the Prophet Muḥammad because these are words

found in the Qurʾān. Thus, at one level these prophets are of the same station just as the weight

532
Fakhr al-Dīn al-Rāzī (d. 605/1209) was a contemporary of Ibn ʿArabī and went into great detail expositing the
virtues of Muḥammad as the greatest of the prophets providing nineteen proofs for his preeminence. Al-Rāzī, Fakhr
al-Dīn Muḥammad b. ʿUmar. Tafsīr al-Fakhr al-Rāzī: al-mushahhar bi-l-Tafsīr al-kabīr wa-Mafātīḥ al-ghayb.
Bayrūt: Dār al-Fikr. 1981, vol. 6, pp. 209–214.
533
Ibid. Sharḥ jawāhir al-nuṣūṣ, pp. 14–16.
534
Ibid. Fuṣūṣ al-ḥikam, p. 110.

222
of the silver in the ring is the same for each ring. The meaning implied by Hūd through the

recitation of this verse, however, is unique to the mine (maʿdan) of his heart, which is

represented by his ring stone (faṣṣ). While the mine (maʿdan) of Hūd is limited to a particular

area of the spiritual geography laid out by al-Tirmidhī and Ibn ʿArabī, the Prophet Muḥammad,

as a mercy to all of the worlds (raḥmatan li-l-ʿālamīn), represents the entire spiritual earth and,

hence, the mine of Hūd is just one of the mines of Muḥammad. As Ibn ʿArabī then continues to

say, it is the Prophet Muḥammad that completes the implication of Hūd’s meaning as he recites

this verse. The completion of this meaning is the Prophet’s saying in a hadīth qudsī (God’s

speech revealed in the Prophet’s own words) that God becomes the hearing, seeing, hand, foot

and tongue of the true chosen servant (ʿabd). What Ibn ʿArabī indicates through this discourse

between prophets is a picture of the unity of existence (waḥdat al-wujūd) that is pieced together

through his references to the continuous line of the prophets only to be completed by

Muḥammad as the seal of the prophets. Through Hūd we know that the path (ṣirāṭ) is not just the

path of the Lord, but that his Lord (rabb) is the path (ṣirāṭ) upon which the servant walks.535 It is

through Muḥammad, though, that we also know that his Lord (rabb) is the true servant, himself,

who is walking.536 If from one point of the view the Lord (rabb) is the path and from another

point of view the Lord (rabb) is the one walking upon the path, then, as Ibn ʿArabī might say:

Where is the servant (ʿabd)? As understood through a close reading of the FH, for Ibn ʿArabī,

the term Lord (rabb) is a facet of God’s (Allāh’s) person (dhāt) and both rubūbiyya (lordship)

and ʿubūdiyya (servanthood) are opposites that define each other. Hence, the manifestation of

lordship occurs when the servant realizes his pure servanthood. This is similar to al-Tirmidhī’s

535
Ibid, p. 109.
536
Ibid, p. 110.

223
concept of the awliyāʾ as the site of God’s theophany. Ibn ʿArabī’s discourse leads the reader to

ask: How do you expect to find God if you are not even on the path (ṭarīq)?

Like al-Tirmidhī, Ibn ʿArabī uses the ring mathal to discuss both the sealer of saints

(khātim al-awliyāʾ) and the sealer of prophets (khātim al-nabiyyīn). Ibn ʿArabī introduces

another mathal (analogy) to support the ring mathal in this regard. He uses the mathal of the wall

that is mentioned in a prophetic ḥadīth in which the Prophet Muḥammad describes himself as the

last brick in the wall of prophecy that completes God’s religion. Ibn ʿArabī adds that, in fact,

there are two bricks missing in that wall. One of them is a golden brick representing the Prophet

Muḥammad and the second is a silver brick representing the sealer of saints (awliyāʾ). These

bricks come from the same mine (maʿdan), as represented by the entire earth rather than a

particular mine as in the case of particular prophets.537 This concept of walāya and its

relationship to governance in particular areas of the earth was first articulated by al-Tirmidhī in

his NU. The prophet or saint receives his spiritual knowledge in relation to the mine (maʿdan)

that relates to the particular area of that prophet or saint’s jurisdiction. This structure is mirrored

closely in Ibn ʿArabī’s doctrine of prophethood and sainthood both in the ring and the wall

analogies (amthāl). Al-Tirmidhī writes:

Wa-kullu amīrin muʾnatuhu ʿalā qadri raʿiyyatihi fa-l-amīru al-

mabʿūthu ilā kawratin muḥtājun ʿalā qadri wilāyatihi ilā ālati al-
wilāya min al-khadam wa-l-dawābbi wa-l-marākib wa-l-kanz li-
yunfiq fī imāratihi fa-man ummira ʿalā ṭakhāristān fa-huwa aqallu
haẓẓan min hādhihi al-ashyāʾ allati waṣafnā wa-man ummira ʿalā
khurāsān kānat iḥtāja ilā kanzin ʿaẓīm wa-man malaka al-mashriq
wa-l-maghrib wa-l-arḍa kullahā iḥtāja ilā khazāʾin al-amwāl ḥattā
yaḍbiṭ bihā dhālika al-mulk fa-kadhālika kullu rasūlin buʿitha ilā
qawmin uʿṭiya min kanzi al-tawḥid wa-jawāhir al-maʿrifa ʿalā
qadri mā ḥamala min al-risāla fa-l-mursalu ilā qawmihi fī
nāḥiyatin min al-arḍ innamā yuʿṭā min al-nubuwwa min hādhihi al-
kunūz ʿalā qadri mā yaqūmu bihi fī shaʾni nubuwwatihi wa-
riʿayati qawmihi wa-l-mursalu ilā jamīʿi al-arḍi kāffatan insihā wa-
537
Ibid, p. 63.

224
 jinnihā [ṣallā Allāhu ʿalayhi wa-sallam] uʿṭiya min al-maʿrifa bi-
qadri mā yaqūmu bihā fī shaʾn al-nubuwwa ilā jamīʿi ahl al-arḍ
kāffatan fa-haẓẓuhu min qawlihi [ṣallā Allahu ʿalayhi wa-sallam]
buʿithtu ilā al-aḥmar wa-l-aswad wa-min qawl Allāhi lahu wa-mā
arsalnāka illā kāffatan li-l-nās ka-ḥaẓẓi min wilāyati malik yamliku
al-dunyā sharqihā wa-gharbihā wa-mā baynahumā wa-man
malaka al-arḍ kullahā wa-jawāhir al-arḍ kulliha wa-maʿadinahā
lahu wa-al-malik alladhi yamliku nāḥiyatan min al-arḍ laysa lahu
illā maʿdin nāḥiyatihi wa-jawhar dhālika al-maʿdan faqaṭ fa-
lidhālika qāla rasūl Allāh ṣallā Allāhu ʿalayhi wa-sallam ukhtuṣira
lī al-ḥadīth wa-ūtītu jawāmiʿa al-kalim.538

Every commander’s supplies are commensurate with his following.

The commander who is sent to a particular district needs,
according to the level of his authority, the instruments of that
authority, be they servants or beasts of burden or ships or treasure
in order to in order to spend on his government. Whoever is given
command over Ṭakhāristān, has less of a portion of these things
that we have described. The one who is given command over
Khurāsān [on the other hand], his need for what we have
mentioned is even more. Whoever is the commander of the faithful
needs a huge treasure trove and whoever is the king of the East and
the West and the entire world needs the storehouses of all wealth
so that he can use that dominion appropriately. Likewise every
messenger who is sent to a particular people is given a portion of
the treasure of tawḥīd (the unity of God) and the gems of gnosis
commensurate with the degree of the message he carries. So, the
messenger who is sent to his people in a particular place on earth is
only given the degree of prophethood and treasure that is
commensurate with what he must execute of the affair of his
prophethood and the responsibility he has for his people. Similarly,
the messenger sent to all of the people of the earth in totality, both
its humans and its spirits, may God bless him and grant him peace,
is given a gnosis commensurate with what he must execute
concerning the affair of his prophethood as it applies to all the
people of the earth. So, his portion of his saying, may God bless
him and grant him peace, ‘I was sent to the red and the black’ and
God’s saying, most high, ‘We did not send you except to all
mankind,’ is like his portion of the governance and authority of a
king who owns the entire world its East and West and what is
between them. Whoever owns all of the world, its gems and its
mines (maʿādin) and likewise whoever owns a portion of the
world, he only has the mine of his portion and the gem of that
mine. That is why he said, may God bless him and grant him

538
Ibid. Nawādir, vol. 5, p. 286.

225
 peace, ‘Speech was abbreviated for me and I was given
comprehensive and all encompassing words.’

In this excerpt al-Tirmidhī draws a connection between spiritual governance and physical

geography. This is picked up by Ibn ʿArabī and becomes the foundation for his doctrine of

sainthood and prophethood. For both al-Tirmidhī and Ibn ʿArabī the physical world is a heuristic

tool for understanding the spiritual or celestial realms. This is a type of ‘reading the world’

through analogies (amthāl). For al-Tirmidhī and Ibn ʿArabī, the physical world is not just a map

of the celestial world, but a site of God’s theophany (tajallī) and a key to accessing that

theophany. This is not the microcosm/macrocosm dichotomy we mentioned before in Chapter 2,

although this dichotomy is certainly important in the work of both al-Tirmidhī and Ibn ʿArabī.

Rather, the point here is that analogies (amthāl) are a bridge, not between the human being and

the cosmos, but between the inward (bāṭin) and the outward (ẓāhir). For al-Tirmidhī, the ring

stone of one person’s heart may have its source (mine) at the level of the physical universe, for

others it is at the level of the malakūt (angelic realm), and for still others it is at the level of the

sovereign king (malik al-mulk), i.e., God himself, in his very presence (bayna yadayhi).539

Hence, the heart of different individuals may be connected to different realms of the universe.

The ring stones from these different mines will refract the divine light of God differently

depending on their source.

Ibn ʿArabī does not simply recapitulate al-Tirmidhī’s use of the ring mathal. Rather, he

reformulates it and extends it. For al-Tirmidhī, the faṣṣ (ring stone) represents the heart of the

saint and, as we mentioned before, al-Tirmidhī uses the ring mathal to talk about the difference

between the ordinary believer and the saint. For Ibn ʿArabī, the ring stones become archetypes

for specific modes of prophethood. These modes of prophethood are encompassed by and have

539
Ibid. ʿIlm al-awliyāʾ, p. 173.

226
their source in the prophethood of Muḥammad, while at the same time being equally valid

expressions of the divine theophany. For Ibn ʿArabī, the saints inherit (yarithūna) their sainthood

from the mine (maʿdan) of a particular prophet. Ibn ʿArabī and his close students considered

himself to be the sealer of Muḥammadan sainthood (khātim al-walāya al-muḥammadīyya) and in

that sense he inherits meanings whose mine is the entire created universe, just like the Prophet

Muḥammad. While the ring stones (fuṣūṣ) represent the archetypes of the various prophets, Ibn

ʿArabī sees the saints (awliyāʾ) as representing the casings that enclose the stones in the different

rings. These casings have different forms depending on the number of facets in the stone and its

particular shape. Ibn ʿArabī explains the place of the saints in the overall scheme of the ring

mathal in the chapter titled, The Ring Stone of the Heart [set] in the Word of Shuʿaib:

Fa inna al-qalb min al-ʿārif aw al-insān al-kāmil bi-manzilati

maḥall faṣṣ al-khātam min al-khātam lā yafḍulu bal yakūnu ʿalā
qadrihi wa shaklihi min al-istidāra in kāna al-faṣṣ mustadīran aw
min al-tarbīʿ wa-l-tasdīs wa-l-tathmīn wa-ghayri dhālika min al-
ashkāl in kāna al-faṣṣ murabbaʿan aw musaddasan aw
muthamanan aw mā kāna min al-ashkāl fa-inna maḥallahu min al-
khātam yakūnu mithlahu lā ghayr.540

Indeed the heart of the gnostic or the perfected human being is

analogous to the casing of the ring stone of the ring in relation to
the ring itself. It is not wider, rather it is exactly equal to its size
and shape, whether it is round if the ring stone is round, or whether
it is square or hexagonal or octagonal or other than that in shape if
the ring stone happens to be square-shaped or hexagonal-shaped or
octagonal-shaped or whatever shape it happens to have. The casing
of the ring stone in relation to the ring will always fit exactly.

We can see here how the ring mathal structures Ibn ʿArabī’s doctrine of prophethood and

sainthood; however, the mathal itself is flexible enough to be interpreted differently by both al-

Tirmidhī and Ibn ʿArabī. Nevertheless, we can clearly say that this type of ‘thinking through

540
Ibid. Fuṣūṣ al-ḥikam, p. 120.

227
analogies’ is inspired by al-Tirmidhī and wholeheartedly adopted by Ibn ʿArabī as an alternative

to speculative theology (Kalām) and philosophy (Falsafa).

Ibn ʿArabī’s Doctrine of Sainthood

Chodkiewicz summarizes Ibn ʿArabī’s hagiology, or doctrine of walāya, as revolving

around three fundamental notions: wirātha (inheritance),541 niyāba (the substitution of the walī

in a role that ultimately belongs to the Muḥammadan reality) and qurba (proximity).542 Our

discussion, thus far, about the relationship between al-Tirmidhī and Ibn ʿArabī and their use of

the ring mathal to structure their doctrines of walāya, forces us to look anew at Chodkiewicz’

summary of Ibn ʿArabī’s doctrine of walāya. The ring mathal is an analogy that describes how

God’s theophany (tajallī) appears in the world. The silver or gold band represents the words of

the divine remembrance (dhikr) and these words hold the ring stone that is set in the ring. The

ring stone comes from different sources (mines), the stones of which carry different values. The

ring stone represents the heart of the walī according to al-Tirmidhī and the heart of the

prophet/messenger, according to Ibn ʿArabī. Thus, when the walī or prophet/messenger speaks,

the divine meaning, which corresponds to the mine (maʿdan) that his heart is connected to in the

unseen world (ghayb), then becomes manifest in the seen world (al-ʿālam al-ẓāhir). Thus, it is

the heart of the walī/prophet/messenger that represents the conduit by which God’s divine light

(nūr) shines into the world. If we understand that this structure is shared by both al-Tirmidhī and

Ibn ʿArabī we should venture to say that theophany (tajallī) is probably the most important

aspect of Ibn ʿArabī’s hagiology. While wirātha (spiritual heritage) and niyāba (substitution)

definitely play defining roles in that hagiology, we would dispute the extent to which qurba

(nearness) plays an important role. For Ibn ʿArabī nearness (qurba) and distance (buʿd) are

541
Chodkiewicz translates this term as “the heritage of a spiritual knowledge.”
542
Ibid. Seal of the saints, p. 147.

228
relative qualities with respect to the saint (walī). For example, one of the reasons given by Ibn

ʿArabī for the gathering of prophets at Cordoba mentioned earlier, was to intercede with the

Prophet Muḥammad on behalf of al-Ḥusayn b. Manṣūr al-Ḥallāj who had been insolent about

him.543 For Ibn ʿArabī qurb (nearness) itself can be a veil to the manifestation of God.544 As we

discussed generally about Islamic sainthood, nearness (qurba) is one aspect of sainthood in the

Islamic tradition but not its defining point.

Instead of qurb (nearness), a more defining element of walāya for Ibn ʿArabī is

knowledge (ʿilm). For example, Ibn ʿArabī states in his Futūḥāt al-Makiyya (Meccan

Revelations) that God never takes an ignorant person to be his saint (walī).545 For Ibn ʿArabī,

though, a walī has knowledge of tawḥīd (God’s oneness). Tawḥīd is different from shahada (the

witnessing of faith in Islam). Ibn ʿArabī sees tawḥīd as more general than the shahada because

tawḥīd is understood “from any perspective” (bi-ayyi wajhin kān). Ibn ʿArabī is ambivilant about

whether or not this is restricted to Islam.546 This is very different than al-Tirmidhī’s

understanding of the muwaḥḥid, who is strictly someone who testifies to God’s oneness through

the testification of faith.547 While al-Tirmidhī extends the possibility of walāya to all Muslims,

Ibn ʿArabī extends the possibility of walāya to all of humanity.548

543
Ibid, p. 132.
544
Ibid. Khatm al-awliyāʾ, p. 269.
545
Ibid, p. 166.
546
Ibid, pp. 166–167. Ibn ʿArabī first says that the muwaḥḥid is one who expresses tawḥīd through any means,
however, he then begins a discussion about how the testification of faith as mentioned in the Qurʾān is protected by
God’s testifying to his own oneness before and after the testification lest any damned person (shaqī) have access to
it. This could be interpreted to mean that no muwaḥḥid will be damned to Hell. On the other hand it could mean that
tawḥīd is simply the belief in the heart and not the outward testification of faith. This would make sense with Ibn
ʿArabī’s approach to the status of Pharaoh, who he counts among those who will not ultimately be among the
damned (ashqiyāʾ) because of his act of faith uttered in extremis. Ibid. Seal of the saints, p. 161. Pharaoh’s
testification of faith is not considered a willful act because it was made at the point of death as if under duress.
Furthermore, Pharaoh testifies to belief in the God of the Israelites and does not mention the formal testification
which mentions God’s name.
547
Ibid. Nawādir, vol. 6, p. 141.
548
Ibid. Thalāthat muṣannafāt, p. 141.

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 Al-Tirmidhī made an important claim when he stated that the awliyāʾ were the true

khulafāʾ (successors of the Prophet). For al-Tirmidhī, this khilāfa (vicegerency) is not the khilāfa

extended to Adam upon his descent to earth and through which human beings are distinguished

from other creatures in God’s creation. As we mentioned in Chapters 1 and 4, al-Tirmidhī sees

the awliyāʾ as the real and rightful religious authorities of the Muslim community (umma). Ibn

ʿArabī also discusses khilāfa but uses it in the other sense to mean the special status of human

beings in the world.549 From this point of view Ibn ʿArabī’s doctrine of walāya seems less

powerful than al-Tirmidhī’s, because its social and political implications are less. As we

mentioned earlier in Chapter 4, al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of walāya served to sanctify the scholarly

class (ʿulamāʾ) even while it was a strong critique of this class. This was because al-Tirmidhī did

not establish any clear external criteria for identifying the awliyāʾ. Rather, al-Tirmidhī

considered knowledge of the Sharīʿa [defined by al-Tirmidhī as the knowledge of the halāl

(permissible) and the ḥarām (impermissible)] to be the entry point for the higher levels of

walāya. Ibn ʿArabī’s doctrine of walāya, on the other hand, appears to undermine the power and

authority of the scholarly class (ʿulamāʾ) to the benefit of the Ṣūfī shaykh by establishing the

latter as an independent authority without needing the qualification of Sharīʿa knowledge.550 Al-

Tirmidhī seeks to reform and empower the scholarly class, while Ibn ʿArabī disempowers the

scholarly class and empowers the Ṣūfī shaykh as an independent actor. However, for both al-

549
Ibn ʿArabī sees vicegerency in a more abstract sense of being the reason that God preserves his creation. The
khalīfa (successor) can only be a perfected human being (al-insān al-kāmil). Sometimes this individual may
coincide with outward authority or may not, however, the principal of khilāfa (successorship or vicegerency) does
not necessarily imply outward authority for Ibn ʿArabī. Ibid. Seal of the saints, p. 70.
550
A testament to this are the awliyā (saints) highlighted in his work Sufis of Andalusia, who clearly are not from the
ʿulamāʾ class. It seems that sainthood in the western lands of Islamdom more often generate this type of saint and
Ibn ʿArabī was from Islamic Spain. This is idea is supported by the work of Vincent Cornell in his book Realm of
the Saint.

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Tirmidhī and Ibn ʿArabī the discussion around walāya is a discussion about authority and

prophecy.

A Continuation of al-Tirmidhī’s Non-dual Metaphysics

We discussed in Chapter 2 how al-Tirmidhī posits a cosmos composed of duals as a

way of framing God’s non-duality. If by God’s oneness we mean that God is the only true

singularity, then God is not just ‘one’ like other objects but a unique type of oneness that has no

opposite. The term al-Tirmidhī uses for this is fardāniyya (singularity or non-duality). This term

denotes the idea of being alone and without opposite.551 For al-Tirmidhī, certain traces of God’s

theophany (tajallī) must exist in the world in order for the world to continue its existence. The

highest group of the awliyāʾ are seen as traces (āthār) of God in the world and they attain the

station (manzil) of fardānīyya, that is, they take on certain qualities that are non-dual in nature. It

is in this way that al-Tirmidhī considers the awliyāʾ to be a ḥujja (standard) for the people who

live in their time because the awliyāʾ are the point of reference by which the actions of those

people will be judged. This is similar to how the Qurʾān presents the Prophet Muḥammad as a

witness or ḥujja (standard) for all of mankind. This dualistic cosmology and non-dual theology

forms the backdrop to the thought of al-Tirmidhī and Ibn ʿArabī. We have already provided

some examples of al-Tirmidhī’s non-dual theology in Chapter 2 and Chapter 5. However, in

order to demonstrate the interconnected nature of the thought of both al-Tirmidhī and Ibn ʿArabī,

we will show how Ibn ʿArabī builds upon a foundation provided by al-Tirmidhī. In NU al-

Tirmidhī explains how the highest of the awliyāʾ not only pass beyond the world of opposites but

551
The word fard is implicitly tied to the concept of duality. According to Ibn Manẓūr in his Lisān al-ʿArab the
word fard indicates one of a pair. However, since God has no pair he is one without a pair while all other created
things have pairs in the Qurʾānic cosmology. Ibid. Lisān al-ʿArab, vol. 2, p. 292. Al-Tirmidhī takes this word and
creates a nisba adjective fardānī from which the abstract noun is derived fardānīyya.

231
beyond God’s attributes that are connected to dualities in the world such as his beauty and

majesty:

Fa idhā kāna qalbuhu ʿindahu fī mulk al-jamāl fa-l-ghālib ʿalayhi

al-uns wa-jazāʾ al-uns wa-idhā kāna qalbuhu ʿindahu mulk al-jalāl
fa-l-ghālib ʿalayhi al-hayba wa-jazāʾ al-hayba minhu al-yawm al-
amn ghadan wa jazāʾ al-uns bihi al-yawm al-aml ghadan. Wa ṣinfun
min al-awliyāʾ aʿlā min hādhayn al-ṣinfayn wa-hum al-
muḥaddathūna qad qarabū min maḥall al-anbiyāʾ fa-qulūbuhum
ʿindahu fī mulk mulkihi qad jāwazat mulk al-jalāl wa-l-jamāl ilā
fardāniyyatihi fa-infardū bihi fī waḥdaniyyatihi .552

So if his heart is with him (God) in the dominion of beauty (jamāl)

then the preponderance of his state is intimacy with him (God) and
the recompense for intimacy is hope [for what his fate will be]
after that. [On the other hand] whoever’s heart is with him (God)
in the dominion of majesty (jalāl) the preponderance of his state is
awe and the recompense for awe of him (God) is security after that
and the recompense for intimacy with him on that Day is hope
after that. A group of the saints is higher than these two groups and
they are the ones spoken to by God. They have come nigh to the
station of the prophets because their hearts are with him in the
dominion of his dominion. [Their hearts] have surpassed the
dominion of beauty and the majesty to reach absolute aloneness
and so they have become solitaries through him in his oneness.

In this passage we can see how many of the elements of al-Tirmidhī’s non-dual theology come

together. There is the basic idea that human hearts are connected to different realms represented

by mines (maʿādin) within the earth. Although al-Tirmidhī doesn’t mention mines (maʿādin) in

this passage, we discussed earlier how, for al-Tirmidhī, mines in the earth connect to realms in

the ghayb (unseen). The human soul was created from the top layer of the earth’s “dust” (turāb)

that was tread upon by Satan while the human heart was created from a particular clay (ṭīna)

deep within the earth and thus, the heart is the faculty by which the human being perceives

God.553 When God kneaded the primordial clay with his hands he mixed it with water and then

552
Ibid. Nawādir, vol. 3, p. 410.
553
Ibid. Al-Ḥakīm at-Tirmidī et le néoplatonisme de son temps, p. 28.

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let it rise. From that primordial “dough” he first created Adam and then from Adam generated all

of the human race.554 Thus, human beings have a portion of that dust (turāb) representing the

lower soul, but have a heart made from different types of clay (ṭīn) within the earth. Since each

heart is molded from a different part of the primordial clay, each heart has a different ability to

perceive God’s light. Some will perceive God’s creation, others, his attributes, while still others

will go beyond the attributes to be in the presence or dominion of his dominion (mulk mulkihi).

Since the world, according to al-Tirmidhī, is a place composed of opposites (aḍdād), some of the

attributes of God will reflect that duality, while other saints will be closer to God’s non-duality

such as the first Caliph Abū Bakr who is characterized by God’s mercy (raḥma).555 From this we

can see that the heart that draws nearer to God draws closer to his non-duality and is

characterized by that non-duality, becoming a trace of God in the world. For al-Tirmidhī, the

Prophet Muḥammad epitomizes this non-dual station (fardāniyya) and he explains it in a story

related about the Prophet in the Ḥadīth literature. This ḥadīth was narrated by ʿAbdallāh b.

Burayda through his father: The Prophet Muḥammad left Madīna to go on a military expedition,

but instead, returned without going. He was then visited by a black slave girl who told him that

she had sworn an oath that she would play a drum for him if he returned safely from his

expedition. The Prophet replied that if she had really sworn an oath she could go ahead and play

the drum, but if not, that she should not. While she was playing the drum Abū Bakr entered and

she continued playing, but when ʿUmar came in she stopped and sat on the drum out of fear of

him. The Prophet turned to ʿUmar and said that the devil himself was afraid of ʿUmar.556 Al-

554
Ibid. Nawādir, vol. 6, p. 218.
555
Ibid, vol. 2, p. 24. Abū Bakr, the first of the Rightly Guided Caliphs and father-in-law of the Prophet Muḥammad
is considered by al-Tirmidhī to be one of the foremost of the saints and is characterized by raḥma (mercy). God’s
mercy attaches to every created thing and is thus more indicative of God’s non-duality than his beauty (jamāl) or
majesty (jalāl). Al-Tirmidhī contrasts this to the second Caliph ʿUmar who he characterizes as being at the level of
rightness (ḥaqq), which is a level below that of Abū Bakr, who is closer to God’s non-duality. Ibid, vol. 2, p. 24.
556
Ibid, pp. 58–59.

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Tirmdhī tells us that we should not think that ʿUmar is better than the Prophet or Abū Bakr;

rather, as we stated in Chapter 2, ʿUmar is an example of one of the ḥukamāʾ (sages) who are

able to distinguish between truth and falsehood. However, the Prophet and Abū Bakr (who

among Sunnī believers is most like the Prophet Muḥammad) are at a yet higher level, which is

the station of fardāniyya. That is, they are at the level of witnessing God’s divine theophany in

the moment. They are not veiled by the opposites of truth and falsehood. Rather, they are the

standard by which truth and falsehood are judged. For ʿUmar, a woman playing an instrument in

front of men is reprehensible because it can lead to immorality. However, this applies an abstract

moral judgment and assumes that a woman playing an instrument in front of men necessarily

leads to immorality. The Prophet accedes to the fact that there is a possibility for immorality to

occur because he mentions that the devil was present, but he does not judge abstractly where the

limit between morality and immorality occurs. Rather, the Prophet, himself, is the conduit for

God’s own judgment. Since the Prophet did not receive a revelation from God telling him

otherwise, he allowed the girl to play the drum. The fact that al-Tirmidhī believes that there are

saints like Abū Bakr in the station of fardāniyya (non-duality) who will exist after the Prophet

and who will continue to exist in the world until the Final Judgment, brings up the controversial

issue of antinomianism. This is the charge that critics of Sufism, like Ibn Taymiyya, have used to

attack the Ṣūfī doctrine of saints. On the flip side, however, al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine gives Muslim

saints the authority to adapt and tailor the Sharīʿa to new people, places and situations.

Historically this has lent Sufism a dynamism that has only slowed in the modern period with the

advent of Salafism and Wahhabism. For al-Tirmidhī, prophecy does not completely stop with the

death of the Prophet but continues in a limited sense through the saints. As we will see, this is a

doctrine that is also supported by Ibn ʿArabī.

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 Ibn ʿArabī takes al-Tirmidhī’s non-dual theology a step further. For Ibn ʿArabī, the

world is not composed of opposites because the entire world is the site of God’s theophany

(tajallī). Rather, it is in the imaginal realm (ʿālam al-khayāl) that opposites actually exist. The

following quote summarizes Ibn ʿArabī’s approach:

Fa anta ʿabdun wa-anta rabbun

li-man lahu fīhi anta ʿabdun
Wa anta rabbun wa anta ʿabdun
li-man lahu fī al-khiṭāb ʿahdun
Fa-kullu ʿaqdin ʿalayhi shakhṣun
yaḥilluhu man siwāhu ʿaqdun

Fa-radiya Allāhu ʿan ʿabīdihi fa-hum marḍiyyūn wa raḍū ʿanhu

fa-huwa marḍiyyun fa-taqābalat al-haḍratān taqābul al-amthāl wa-
al-amthāl aḍdād li-anna al-mathalayn lā yajtamiʿān idh lā
yatamayyizān wa-mā thamma illā mutamayyiz fa-mā thamma
mathalun fa-mā fī al-wujūdi mathal fa-mā fī al-wujūdi ḍiddun fa-
inna al-wujūd ḥaqīqa wāḥida wa-l-shayʾ lā yuḍād nafsahu.

Fa lam yabqā illā al-ḥaqq lam yabqā kāʾin

fa-mā thamma mawṣūlun wa-mā thamma bāʾin
Bi-dhā jāʾa burhānu al-ʿiyān fa-mā arā
bi-ʿaynī illā ʿaynahu idh uʿāyan557

You are servant and you are Lord

For One for Whom and in Whom you are servant
You are Lord and you are servant
For One who has knowledge of the divine address
Every relationship one is upon
Any other relationship will unbind

God is pleased with His servants and so they are well pleasing,
and they are pleased with Him and so He is pleasing. Thus the
two planes (servant and Lord) are contrasted like analogies
(amthāl) and analogies are [composed of] opposites, since two
analogies will never join, otherwise there would be no distinction.
There is [in fact] only One who is distinct and there is no analogy.
In [true] existence there is no analogy and there is no opposite, for
existence is but One Reality, and a thing is not the opposite of
itself.

Nothing remains other than the Reality, no being

557
Ibid. Fuṣūṣ al-ḥikam, pp. 92–93.

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 There is no arriving and no being afar
Spiritual vision confirms this, for I
Have not seen aught but Him, when I was shown.558

For Ibn ʿArabī only God has existence (wujūd) and all other things in the world are merely

reflections of aspects of his reality. When taken as a whole, all of the created world reflects

God’s dhāt (essence) in his entirety, although it is only accessible to him and not to any created

thing. In a sense, Ibn ʿArabī flips al-Tirmidhī’s paradigm. God has no opposite just as al-

Tirmidhī says, but instead of the opposites in creation framing God’s non-duality, it is God’s

non-duality and its reflection in all created things that gives meaning to the dualities (amthāl) in

the imaginal realm. In other words, analogies (amthāl) are not intrinsic to the world, but are a

means for human beings to understand and make sense of their original reality since they are

only reflections of aspects of God’s single reality. This is how the amthāl (analogies) provide a

way of ‘thinking’ about God and the world. This is why, for Ibn ʿArabī, every outward act of

religious devotion in any religion, monotheistic or polytheistic can be seen as an object of God’s

worship and an expression of God’s lordship.559

The relationship between the thought of Ibn ʿArabī and the thought of al-Tirmidhī is

extensive and subtle. We discussed earlier how al-Tirmidhī uses the term mulk mulkihi (the

dominion of his dominion) to indicate the non-dual station of walāya reserved for the highest of

the awliyāʾ. In his FH Ibn ʿArabī cites al-Tirmidhī by name as mentioning this station/name

since the vowel markings on these two words can be switched to read either mulk al-malik (the

dominion of the king) or malik al-mulk (the king of the dominion).560 However, since the vowel

558
In the translation of these lines we made use of R. W. J. Austin’s translation of the Fuṣūṣ al-Ḥikam, however, we
modified this translation because of what we consider to be some inaccuracies based on a misunderstanding of the
significance of the word mathal (analogy). Muḥyī al-Dīn b. ʿArabī. The bezels of wisdom. Ed. R. W. J. Austin New
York: Paulist Press. 1980, p. 108.
559
Ibid. Seal of the saints, p. 40.
560
Ibid. Fuṣūṣ al-ḥikam, p. 71. ʿAfīfī writes mālik al-mulk in the text, however he indicates in the footnotes that one
of the manuscripts actually witnesses the correct version which is mulk al-malik. We know that the reading must be

236
markings are not written in the texts that we are dealing with, there is an ambiguity as to which

of these two readings is meant. The only way to distinguish is through context. Al-Tirmidhī

clearly meant the first of the two readings, mulk mulkihi (the dominion of the king, which

corresponds to mulk al-malik in Ibn ʿArabī) since he was contrasting the dominion (mulk) of the

king himself to the dominion (mulk) of the attributes of the king. For Ibn ʿArabī, this type of

ambiguity speaks directly to his thesis that only God really has existence (wujūd). In this scheme

our human consciousness is only a factor of our distance from God, but seen from another

perspective, that consciousness is also an aspect of God’s self-consciousness, which for Ibn

ʿArabī, is the only consciousness that truly exists. In the Futūḥāt al-Makiyya Ibn ʿArabī plays

with the vowel markings of the two phrases mulk al-malik (dominion of the king) and malik al-

mulk (king of the dominion) to demonstrate his point that, depending on the perspective, one can

say that both the king (malik) and the dominion (mulk) are in one sense the same, while in

another sense, not the same.561 He then uses a participial form for king/owner (malīk) from the

root m-l-k also found in the Qurʾān to bolster his argument. The form is the faʿīl pattern that can

have the meaning of both the doer (fāʿil) of an action as well as the object (mafʿūl) of that action.

Hence, the word malīk can mean both ‘owner’ or ‘thing owned.’ For Ibn ʿArabī, if God himself

is non-dual, then the entirety of creation that is a reflection of him as his trace (athar) must also

be non-dual. Again, we can see here how Ibn ʿArabī takes motifs, concepts and words from al-

Tirmidhī and builds upon them to construct a unique and sophisticated theosophy. In general, the

problem that we are faced with in studies of Ibn ʿArabī’s works is that Ibn ʿArabī’s debt to al-

Tirmidhī is not sufficiently appreciated. This has led to a misunderstanding of some of Ibn

mulk al-malik (the dominion of the king) or malik al-mulk (the king of the dominion) because Ibn ʿArabī cites al-
Tirmidhī’s use of this term by name and al-Tirmidhī consistently uses the term mulk al-malik.
561
Ibid. Khatm al-awliyāʾ, p. 164.

237
ʿArabī’s major ideas that can only be fully understood through an analysis of his discourse

stream involving al-Tirmidhī.

Ḥikma and Walāya according to the Early Shādhiliyya

The Shādhiliyya is one of the important and influential ṭuruq (Ṣūfī brotherhoods) still

in operation today in much of the Muslim world. It takes its inspiration from Abū al-Ḥasan al-

Shādhilī (d. 656/1258), a Moroccan saint of the 13th-century C.E. who traveled throughout North

Africa but had his greatest success in Egypt.562 Abū al-Ḥasan al-Shādhilī may not have intended

to pioneer a successful and far-reaching brotherhood, however, the enthusiasm of his followers

as well as the emergence of a number of highly gifted successors catapulted the ṭarīqa to

prominence. The commonly held belief among the followers of Abū al-Ḥasan al-Shādhilī was

that he was the quṭb (the spiritual pole) of his time and this gave them a sense of distinction and

importance, not only for Islam, but for the world. A saying attributed to Abū al-Ḥasan al-

Shādhilī indicates that he was granted a request by God that the quṭb (spiritual pole) would be

maintained in the spiritual lineage (shajara) of the Shādhilī Ṭarīqa (brotherhood) until the end of

time. This ṭarīqa, as well as others like it, became a living embodiment of the spiritual hierarchy

and government Ibn ʿArabī and al-Tirmidhī both espoused in their doctrines of walāya. Above

and beyond this, it is the Shādhilī ṭarīqa that developed al-Tirmidhī’s concept of ḥikma (wisdom)

as discussed in detail in Chapter 2.

562
P. Lory. “al-S̲h̲ād̲h̲ilī.” Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition. Edited by: P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C.E.
Bosworth, E. van Donzel, W.P. Heinrichs. Brill Online, 2015. Reference. University Of Michigan-Ann Arbor. 07
March 2015 <http://referenceworks.brillonline.com.proxy.lib.umich.edu/entries/encyclopaedia-of-islam-2/al-s-h-a-
d-h-ili-SIM_6735>

238
 The connection between al-Tirmidhī’s thought and the works of the main progenitors

of the Shādhilī ṭarīqa has already been established by Richard McGregor.563 It is clear that both

al-Shādhilī and his close students read SA (also known as Khatm al-Awliyāʾ) by al-Tirmidhī.

However, MacGregor does not highlight the degree to which al-Tirmidhī’s concepts of walāya

(sainthood) and ḥikma (wisdom) became integral to the thought of the early Shādhiliyya. While

Ibn ʿArabī was fascinated by al-Tirmidhī’s discussion of non-duality and khatm al-walāya (the

seal of sainthood), the Shādhilīyya were more concerned with the practical aspects of ḥikma

(wisdom) and walāya (sainthood).564 It is not until Ibn ʿAṭāʾ Allāh (d. 709/1309)565 that al-

Tirmidhī’s doctrine is clearly synthesized with the main tenets of the ṭarīqa (spiritual path)

established by Abū al-Ḥasan al-Shādhilī. However, even with al-Shādhilī himself, we can see

elements of al-Tirmidhī’s influence. In his Ḥizb al-Kabīr (also known as Ḥizb al-Barr) or The

Great Litany, al-Shādhilī asks God to give him the ḥikmat al-ḥikma (the wisdom of wisdom).566

This is most probably a reference to al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī’s ḥikmat al-ḥikma (the wisdom of

wisdom), which represents the ḥikma (wisdom) of the awliyāʾ and is a wisdom higher than the

wisdom of the ḥukamāʾ (sages).

The foremost spokesman for the teachings of Abū al-Ḥasan al-Shādhilī was

undoubtedly Ibn ʿAṭāʾ Allāh.567 In his work Laṭāʾif al-Minan fī Manāqib al-Shaykh Abī al-

563
Richard J. A. McGregor. Sanctity and mysticism in medieval Egypt the Wafāʾ Sufi order and the legacy of Ibn
ʿArabī. Albany: State University of New York Press. 2004, p. 30.
564
This is not to discount the claims, for example, of Muḥammad Wafāʾ that he was the seal of saints. Ibid. Sanctity
and mysticism, p. 57. The general trend, however, among Shādhilīs was a more practical ḥikma (wisdom) oriented
approach to Ṣūfī discourse.
565
Ibn ʿAṭāʾ Allāh was a student of Abū al-ʿAbbās al-Mursī (d. 686/1287) who was a student of Abū al-Ḥasan al-
Shādhilī.
566
ʿAbd al-Raḥmān b. Muḥammad Qaṣrī, Muḥammad ʿAṭīya Khamīs, ʿAbd al-Ḥalīm Maḥmūd, Abī al-Ḥasan ʿAlī b.
ʿAbd Allāh al-Shādhilī, and Aḥmad b. Muḥammad b. ʿAṭāʾ Allāh. Sharḥ ḥizb al-barr. Cairo: al-Maktaba al-
Azhariyya li-l-Turāth. 2002, p. 116.
567
George Makdisi. “Ibn ʿAṭāʾ Allāh”. Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition. Edited by: P. Bearman, Th.
Bianquis, C.E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel, W.P. Heinrichs. Brill Online, 2015. Reference. University Of Michigan-
Ann Arbor. 08 March 2015 <http://referenceworks.brillonline.com.proxy.lib.umich.edu/entries/encyclopaedia-of-
islam-2/ibn-at-a-alla-h-SIM_3092>

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ʿAbbās al-Mursī wa-Shaykhihi Abī al-Ḥasan al-Shādhilī (The Precious Gifts concerning the

Virtues of Shaykh Abū al-ʿAbbās al-Mursī and his Shaykh Abū al-Ḥasan al-Shādhilī) Ibn ʿAṭāʾ

Allāh begins with a discussion on walāya (sainthood) that draws heavily from al-Tirmidhī’s

works. His introduction on walāya serves to identify Abū al-ʿAbbās al-Mursī (d. 686/1287) and

Abū al-Ḥasan al-Shādhilī as exemplars of walāya (sainthood). In a sense, he is casting these two

Ṣūfī masters as living proof of al-Tirmidhī’s claims about walāya.

Ibn ʿAṭāʾ Allāh quotes five aḥādīth (pl. of ḥadīth) from al-Tirmidhī and provides two

direct quotes from him about walāya and maʿrifa (gnosis). In the introduction of Ibn ʿAṭāʾ

Allāh’s work on walāya, only al-Tirmidhī is quoted directly by name as an authority among the

citations of the narrators of Ḥadīth and the mashāyikh (Ṣūfī masters) of the Shādhilī silsila

(initiatic chain).568 Also, Ibn ʿAṭāʾ Allāh’s own commentary on walāya closely resembles the

structure of al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine. Ibn ʿAṭāʾ Allāh describes the awliyāʾ as ḥummāl asrārihi wa-

maʿādin anwārihi, “the bearers of his (God’s) secrets and the mines (maʿādin) of his (God’s)

lights.”569 We already discussed how the mine (maʿdan) is a central image in al-Tirmidhī’s

doctrine of walāya. Ibn ʿAṭāʾ Allāh also communicates a central tenet of al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine,

which is that prophethood (nubuwwa) continues through the awliyāʾ. Ibn ʿAṭāʾ Allāh

distinguishes clearly between awliyāʾ (saints) and anbiyāʾ (prophets), but indicates that the

knowledge through God (al-ʿilm bi-llāh) of the awliyāʾ is what maintains the light of prophecy in

the world.570 In fact, Ibn ʿAṭāʾ Allāh calls the awliyāʾ “āyāt Allāh” (the verses/signs of God) and

interprets the word āya (pl. āyāt) in several Qurʾānic verses (āyāt) as referring to the awliyāʾ.571

568
Aḥmad b. Muḥammad b. ʿAṭāʾ Allāh,. Laṭāʾif al-minan fī manāqib al-shaykh Abī al-ʿAbbās al-Mursī wa-
shaykhihi al-shaykh Abī al-Hạsan al-Shādhilī. Cairo: Maktaba al-Qāhira. 2004, pp. 17–18.
569
Ibid, p. 19.
570
Ibid, p. 16.
571
Ibid, p. 16.

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This is significant because the word āya also means a verse of the Qurʾān, which is considered to

be God’s speech and an attribute (ṣifa) of God. For al-Tirmidhī, the awliyāʾ are considered to be

one of four of God’s traces (āthār) on earth including God’s speech in the form of the Qurʾān.

We discussed how al-Tirmidhī sees the highest of the awliyāʾ as those who are al-dalāl ʿalā

Allāh, that is, they indicate God through their very selves. This is the same point that Ibn ʿAṭāʾ

Allāh is making when he says the awliyāʾ are āyāt Allāh (the signs/verses of God).

Another important point of convergence between Ibn ʿAṭāʾ Allāh and al-Tirmidhī is in

the concept that walāya is not connected to time. We discussed this point of al-Tirmidhī’s

doctrine in detail in Chapter 5. Ibn ʿAṭāʾ Allāh writes:

waʿlam jaʿalaka Allāhu min khāṣṣati ʿibādihi wa-ʿarrafaka laṭāʾifa

widādihi annahu sawāʾā minhum al-ẓāhir wa-l-khafī wa al-ṣiddīq
wa-l-walī fasād al-waqt lā yakdiru anwārahum wa-lā yaḥuṭṭu
miqdārahum li-annahum maʿa al-muʾaqqit lā maʿa al-awqāt fa-
man kāna maʿa al-muʾaqqit lā yataghayyiru bi-taghyīr al-waqt
shayʾan wa man maʿa al-waqt taghayyara bi-taghyīrihi wa-
takaddara bi-takaddurihi.572

Know, may God make you among his elite servants and acquaint
you with the subtleties of his tender love, that for all of these: the
manifest saint and the hidden saint and the most truthful saint and
any saint in general, the corruption of the time he lives in will not
sully his lights nor will it lower his degree because these (saints)
are with the Timekeeper not with times. So, whoever is with the
Timekeeper does not change at all with the changing of times, but
whoever is with the time he lives in, changes with its changing and
becomes sullied with its muddiness.

This approach shares in the optimism expressed by al-Tirmidhī that there will always be

guidance in the world in the form of human beings who carry on the prophetic legacy of the

Prophet Muḥammad until the end of the world. Ibn ʿAṭāʾ Allāh quotes several prophetic aḥādīth

(pl. of ḥadīth) also narrated by al-Tirmidhī to this effect, such as, ummatī ka-l-maṭari lā yudrā

572
Ibid, pp. 17–18.

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awwaluhu khayrun am ākhiruhu, “My community is like the rain in that one does not know if its

first part is best or its last.”573 Not only will there always be awliyāʾ in the community of the

Prophet Muḥammad till the end of time, but when darkness and ignorance prevails, the lights of

their guidance will shine even stronger.574 This is exactly what al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine expressed:

that opposites must always be in balance in the world, meaning that guidance must always be

present wherever there is ignorance and confusion.

In Chapter 3 we discussed al-Tirmidhī’s distinction between awliyāʾ Allāh ḥaqqan (the

true saints of God) and awliyāʾ ḥaqq Allāh (the saints who observe the right(s) of God). Ibn ʿAṭāʾ

Allāh provides the same division under a variety of names indicating that he is not so much

concerned with the naming convention as he is with the underlying distinction. He calls it al-

walāya al-ṣughrā (the lesser sainthood) and al-walāya al-kubrā (the greater sainthood).575 He

provides a list of six different names that could be applied to this basic division. For example, he

says we could also call it walāyat al-īmān (the sainthood of belief) and walāyat al-īqān (the

sainthood of certainty).576 This is exactly the distinction that al-Tirmidhī makes between those

who are awliyāʾ by virtue of their belief in God and their deeds, as opposed to those who have

attained walāya based on God’s choosing them to be his intimate interlocutors (muḥaddathūn).

These awliyāʾ have achieved certainty (yaqīn) through their direct experiencing of God. This is

the basic distinction that al-Tirmidhī lays out in his book SA, a book Ibn ʿAṭāʾ Allāh claims he

read.

Finally, we talked about how al-Tirmidhī criticizes asceticism for its dependence on

acts of worship and mortification of the flesh to produce spiritual states. This is part of al-

573
Ibid, p. 17.
574
Ibid, p. 18.
575
Ibid, p. 25.
576
Ibid, p. 25.

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Tirmidhī’s radical interiorization of the ascetic/mystical path. As we mentioned in Chapter 4, al-

Tirmidhī feels that the novice (murīd) should only perform ordinary acts of worship outwardly,

but focus on disciplining the soul inwardly in order to progress toward a purer spiritual state by

examining its attachments to things in the world. Ibn ʿAṭāʾ Allāh also follows al-Tirmidhī on this

point by criticizing the ʿubbād (worshippers) and the zuhhād (ascetics) for being overly obsessed

with practicing and incorporating the means to reaching God without actually reaching him. In

this passage Ibn ʿAṭāʾ Allāh also demonstrates his debt to Ibn ʿArabī as well as al-Tirmidhī:

Fa-l-nāẓir li-l-kāʾināt ghayr shāhid li-l-ḥaqqi fīha ghāfil wa-l-fānī

ʿanhā ʿabdun bi-sawṭāt al-shuhūd dhāhil wa-l-shahīd li-l-ḥaqqi fīhā
ʿabdun mukhaṣṣaṣ kāmil wa-innamā tarfaʿu al-himma ʿan al-kawni
min ḥaythu kawniyyatihi lā min ḥaythu ẓuhūr al-ḥaqqi fīhi fa-aʿḍāʾ
al-zuhhād wa-l-ʿubbād wa-ahl al-irāda ʿan al-kawn liannahum
lam yasbiq ẓuhūr al-ḥaqqi fīhi wa-dhālika li-ʿadami nufūdhihim
ilayhi fī kulli shayʾ lā li-ʿadami ẓuhūrihi fī kulli shayʾ fa-innahu
ẓāhirun fī kull shayʾ ḥattā annahu ẓāhirun fī-mā bihi iḥtajaba fa-lā
ḥijāb.577

The one who gazes (with his heart) at existent things cannot
witness the Real through those things and in them he is heedless.
The one who is annihilated from them (existent things) is a slave
absorbed by the lashings of direct witnessing. The one who
witnesses the Real through existent things is a chosen and
perfected slave. Aspirations only rise above the created world
because of the true reality of the world, not because of God’s (al-
ḥaqq) manifesting in it. Hence, [we have] groups of the ascetics
(zuhhād) and the worshippers (ʿubbād) and those who want to go
beyond this world because for them the manifestation of the Real
has not yet occurred and that is because they do not find him in
every single thing, not because he (God) is not manifest in
everything for he (God) is in fact manifest in every single thing to
the extent that he (God) is manifest in that through which he is
veiled, so in truth, there isn’t even a veil.

Ibn ʿAṭāʾ Allāh blends motifs from al-Tirmidhī and Ibn ʿArabī seamlessly. The criticism of

zuhhād (ascetics) and ʿubbād (worshippers) is something mirrored directly in al-Tirmidhī’s

577
Ibid, p. 28.

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works.578 However, the argument is cast in a way that reflects elements of Ibn ʿArabī’s waḥdat

al-wujūd (unity of existence). Al-Tirmidhī talks about the veil (ḥijāb) and the lifting of the veil,

but does not address the idea that God’s outward manifestation is so great that there isn’t actually

a veil to begin with. Ibn ʿArabī, on the other hand, does not focus his criticism on ascetics

(zuhhād) and worshippers (ʿubbād).

The Ḥikma of the Shādhilīyya

We have shown how the early progenitors of the Shādhilī brotherhood incorporated

important elements of al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of walāya, although it is significant to note that

they were more interested in defining ḥikma as a means of articulating a method for navigating

the spiritual path. We find this approach masterfully described in Ibn ʿAṭāʾ Allāh’s al-Ḥikam

(The Aphorisms). It is a collection of two hundred and sixty-four pithy maxims that summarize

the Ṣūfī ṭarīq (path) to God. Numerous commentaries have been written on al-Ḥikam by Ibn

ʿAṭāʾ Allāh and it is considered a pivotal work not only by Shādhilīs, but by many other Ṣūfī

ṭuruq (brotherhoods).579 While there are no direct references in al-Ḥikam to al-Tirmidhī or his

works, the structure of al-Ḥikam appears to take its inspiration from al-Tirmidhī’s approach to

ḥikma (wisdom).

As we discussed in Chapter 2, ḥikma deals with understanding the world of opposites

(aḍdād) as a way of coming to know God. This is different than the gifted knowledge (maʿrifa)

of the awliyāʾ that comes directly from God to the servant. Ḥikma is useful because it is based on

experience and reflects the cumulative knowledge of mystics who have tread the path (ṭarīq) to

God. This is why al-Tirmidhī states in NU, lā ḥakīm illā dhū tajriba, “A sage is only someone

578
Ibid. Concept, p. 152.
579
Ibid. Islamic mysticism, p. 213.

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who possesses experience, i.e., of treading the path to God.” Therefore, his experience is useful

and it reflects the challenges and difficulties that lie upon that path. This is again why in KH al-

Tirmidhī likens the ḥakīm (sage) to one who knows the dangerous parts of the wilderness and

avoids these dangers as a he passes through. The walī, on the other hand, gives no heed to these

dangers because the wild beasts pay homage to him.580

Ibn ʿAṭāʾ Allāh’s al-Ḥikam follows in the tradition of books of Ṣūfī aphorisms. Abū

Madyan (d. 594/1197), the spiritual ancestor of Abū al-Ḥasan al-Shādhilī, has a book of

aphorisms. Abū al-Ḥasan al-Shādhilī himself is credited with a waṣiyya (literally a last

testament) of aphorisms. Neither of these previous works found the wide appeal and acceptance

that was given to al-Ḥikam.581 Ibn ʿAṭāʾ Allāh not only drew inspiration from these two

examples of the ḥikma genre in Sufism, but also incorporated much of the received knowledge of

Ṣūfī literature prior to him in his book of maxims. Most of the maxims revolve around a set of

opposites (aḍdād) that are juxtaposed in such a way as to help the traveler (sālik) navigate his

way upon the path (ṭarīq). These maxims aim to address issues that relate to both novices and

advanced Ṣūfīs who have “arrived” at their destination (al-wuṣūl ilā Allāh). Most of the maxims

are structured around a ẓāhir (outward) and bāṭin (inward) dichotomy. This is one of the basic

dichotomies that al-Tirmidhī uses and it is widespread in both Sufism and Shīʿism. For example,

the first maxim reads, min ʿalāmāt al-iʿtimād ʿalā al-ʿamali nuqṣān al-rajāʾ ʿinda wujūd al-

zalal, “Among the signs of relying upon works (outward acts of worship) is the diminishing of

hope when missteps occur.” We can see here that the basic dichotomy that Ibn ʿAṭāʾ Allāh is

using is a ẓāhir/bāṭin dichotomy. Novices on the Ṣūfī path (ṭarīq) become discouraged when

they make mistakes. That is a more or less universal feeling for a beginner in any discipline.

580
Ibid. Kitāb al-ḥikma, fol. 6v.
581
Aḥmad b. Muḥammad b. ʿAṭāʾ Allāh. Ṣūfī aphorisms. (Kitāb al-Ḥikam). Leiden: Brill. 1973, p. 19.

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What Ibn ʿAṭāʾ Allāh is trying to do is to refocus the ‘Ṣūfī adept’ from giving unnecessary

attention to his mistakes. These are outward acts created by God (note that Ibn ʿAṭāʾ Allāh is

coming from an Ashʿarī theological point of view) and the challenge for the Ṣūfī is to reorient

inwardly toward God in spite of these mistakes. We can see here that al-Ḥikam (The Aphorisms)

captures succinctly al-Tirmidhī’s vision of ḥikma. Al-Ḥikam functions as a kind of manual that

explains the pitfalls of the Ṣūfī path to God through a juxtaposition of opposites that frame an

underlying meaning. The basic meaning of this ḥikma (wisdom) is that one should maintain

consistent progress toward the goal and not worry about failures along the way.

Conclusion

While previous scholarship has discussed the influence of al-Tirmidhī on later concepts

of walāya, it has not clearly identified the extent of that influence. Chodkiewicz broke new

ground when he devoted a considerable portion of his Seal of the Saints to the ideas of al-

Tirmidhī. However, in this work the influence of al-Tirmidhī is not fully appreciated. Part of the

reason for this is that al-Tirmidhī has not been well enough understood and, as a result, the

structure of his ideas that surface in the works of later Ṣūfī authors has been overlooked. We can

also say that understanding al-Tirmidhī’s thought will better aid in understanding the mystical

thought of those who built upon his ideas. We attempted to demonstrate this in the discussion of

the ring mathal and its importance to Ibn Arabī’s doctrine of walāya. Al-Tirmidhī’s approach to

ḥikma also helps us to better understand the early Shādhilī masters and their use of ḥikma as a

pedagogical tool for training disciples in the Ṣūfī path. Even more important, however, is the

idea that al-Tirmidhī establishes a mode of ‘thinking’ about God and the world through amthāl

(analogies) and ḥikma (wisdom), which was adopted by the later Ṣūfī tradition as an alternative

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to speculative theology (Kalām) and philosophy (Falsafa). Ibn ʿArabī is the most celebrated

example of this kind of thought in the Ṣūfī traditions; however, the ways that other important

Ṣūfīs adopted these approaches and used them to expand the boundaries of mystical inquiry still

needs to be more closely studied.

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 Conclusion

Islamic sainthood was not articulated as a vehicle of power and authority by Muslim

theologians or mystics until al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī chose to use the language of walāya to

communicate his vision for those who should inherit the charismatic legacy of the Prophet. Al-

Tirmidhī was someone who blended various discourse streams within Islamic thought to produce

a powerful doctrine of walāya that has inspired Islamic mystics ever since. We have used

Foucault’s episteme and concept of discourse to separate the layers of al-Tirmidhī’s thought in

order to understand how al-Tirmidhī produced such a synthesis and how it was appropriated and

reinvented after him. Particularly useful in this approach was the work of Franz Rosenthal whose

delineation of the various knowledge-types in Islam became the basis by which al-Tirmidhī’s

episteme was assessed. The results of this methodological process were quite fruitful. Many

aspects of al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of sainthood and gnoseology came to the fore that have not yet

been adequately discussed or well understood. For example, we found that al-Tirmidhī’s

influence has reached beyond Islamic mysticism. We discovered that al-Tirmidhī was an

important bridge between early Ḥanafī theology and the theology of Abū Manṣūr al-Māturīdī,

and this is highly significant for understanding the development of the Māturīdī School.

In Chapter 1 we discussed the way in which al-Tirmidhī’s social and political context

played an important role in structuring his doctrine of walāya. This represents an example of a

social construction of knowledge in which patterns within the social sphere are internalized and

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transformed to produce a new knowledge product. Al-Tirmidhī used the social institution of

clientage (walāʾ) to configure his doctrine of walāya. This shows how al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of

sainthood was not simply a mystical and religious doctrine, but was a doctrine that was

responding to the social and political forces of his time. This lent al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of

walāya a transformative force that can be seen in its later application in Nīsābūrī Sufism of the

5th- Islamic century (11th-century C.E.).

In Chapter 2 we used al-Tirmidhī’s episteme to better understand his concept of ḥikma

and its Hellenistic roots. There has been much speculation about the Hellenistic influence on al-

Tirmidhī but nothing decisive has been proposed by current scholarship. Understanding how al-

Tirmidhī used a Pythagorean cosmology helps us better understand what he means by ‘wisdom’

and how he reconfigures Pythagorean wisdom to function within an Islamic milieu. If we did not

understand the tripartite structure of al-Tirmidhī’s gnoseology, we would not understand how he

used Pythagoreanism to support his claims about walāya. Al-Tirmidhī’s main concern was to

understand the intrinsic meaning of walāya by incorporating ḥikma as a way of articulating its

non-dual nature. While al-Tirmidhī’s concept of ḥikma is clearly inspired by Hellenistic

precedents, he reworks and redefines the concept of ḥikma as well as the purveyors of ḥikma

(ḥukamāʾ or sages) and then uses them to represent ideals within Islam. Instead of Pythagoras

being the ideal ‘Sage’, it is Wahb b. Munabbih. An early exemplar of wisdom for al-Tirmidhī is

the second Caliph ʿUmar and not Plotinus or Aristotle. This type of transformation of wisdom

from a Hellenistic to an Islamic context is easy for al-Tirmidhī because ḥikma is already a topic

found in Qurʾānic vocabulary and its unexploited nature lends it to being reconstituted. The

subject matter of ḥikma, however, clearly demonstrates its Hellenistic legacy in matters that are

both human and divine including such worldly topics as medicine or more spiritual topics such

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as the ‘diseases’ of the soul. Ḥikma is primarily a worldly (dunyawī) knowledge that

encompasses knowledge of the opposites (aḍdād) and how they function in the world. In this

way, al-Tirmidhi’s use of ḥikma, within his larger gnoseology, can be construed as a comment on

the importance of ‘science’ and its place vis-à-vis religious knowledge.

Chapter 3 focused on al-Tirmidhī’s discourse stream of Kalām and his particular

involvement in the Ḥanafī/Murjīʾī theological tradition. The relationship between al-Ḥakīm al-

Tirmidhī and Ḥanafī theology has been posited but not well understood. Part of the difficulty in

situating al-Tirmidhī within this discourse stream has been a lack of scholarly work in filling out

the various stages in Ḥanafī theological development, particularly the period between the early

creedal texts and the work of Abū Manṣūr al-Māturīdī. It is these texts, however, that best

highlight al-Tirmidhī’s involvement in Ḥanafī theology. The connections range from his

approach to heresiography to subtle arguments concerning belief and the reconciling of free will

with predestination. We can see in this milieu that the light-basis for knowledge was not simply

an assumption found within mystical circles but was basic to early Ḥanafī theology in the 9th-

century C.E. Early Ḥanafī theologians such as al-Ḥakīm al-Samarqandī were also mystics in

their own right. The integration of theology and mysticism in this milieu should challenge the

assumption that mysticism somehow developed in opposition to theology (Kalām) or even

jurisprudence (Fiqh), given that Ḥanafī scholars of theology were almost always scholars of

jurisprudence as well. This conclusion also counters the often held belief that Ḥanafīs were

generally opposed to mysticism in contrast to Shāfīʿīs who are credited as supporting Baghdād

Sufism. Our reading of al-Ḥakīm al-Naysābūrī indicates that there was, in fact, no exclusive

connection between Shāfīʿīs and Ṣūfīs in Nīshāpūr from the 4th- to 6th- Islamic centuries (10th- to

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12th- centuries C.E.). This provides an alternative reading to that of Malamud who argues that

there was such a connection.

In Chapter 4 we looked at al-Tirmidhī’s involvement in the discourse stream of early

Islamic mysticism along with other important early figures such as al-Junayd and al-Tustarī. Al-

Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī’s concept of the soul in addition to his mystical vocabulary represent

consistent themes when we compare these ideas to other mystics of his time period. One of the

reasons that al-Tirmidhī has been cast as an outlier in Islamic mysticism can be attributed to what

I consider to be a Baghdād-centric view of Islamic mysticism that has privileged al-Junayd’s

Baghdād School as the progenitor of Sufism. However, when we read the writings of mystics in

the 4th- Islamic century (10th- century C.E.) such as al-Sarrāj and al-Kalabādhī, it is clear that

they do not use the term Sufism (taṣawwuf) to only represent a particular mystical school of

thought, rather, they are refering to Islamic mysticism in general as a meta-madhhab. Al-

Kalabādhī, as a systematizer of Sufism who also sought to introduce Sufism to a number of the

ʿulamāʾ of Khurāsān and Transoxania, made use of several mystical and theological constructs

that bear al-Tirmidhī’s stamp. The fact that this connection between al-Kalabādhī and al-

Tirmidhī has been missed in previous scholarship on Islamic mysticism is a testament to the need

for further study of the works of al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī. It is al-Sulamī and al-Qushayrī, however

that integrate al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of walāya most effectively into what became Sufism in its

more mature form. This synthesis and formulation of Sufism as a meta-madhhab developed amid

the backdrop of inter-factional conflict that eventually destroyed the city of Nīshāpūr. Nīshāpūrī

Sufism was inclusive of the various madhhabs and transcended the divisive allegiances of

Nīshāpūrī society. In this way, Sufism did not ‘replace’ local mystical movements like the

Malāmatiyya and the Karrāmiyya, but was better able to adapt than these movements, which

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continued to be active in Khurāsān until the Mongol invasions of the 13th- and 14th- centuries

C.E.

The product of the great mystical synthesis of the 5th- Islamic century represents a form

of mysticism that not only includes the vaulted mystical motifs of Baghdād Sufism, but also

incorporates a model of religious authority that positions the Ṣūfī shaykh as a walī of Allāh for

his disciples (murīdūn). This form of Islamic mysticism gave special privilege to the class of

ʿulamāʾ and provided the theoretical basis for Sufism to compete with Shīʿism as a type of

Islamic religious authority that would channel divine communication to those who not only

spoke about the Prophet, but spoke for the Prophet and like the Prophet. The result of the

incorporation of this new type of religious authority in its Nīshāpūr variety was striking and

transformative for Sufism, which eventually led to its normalization in Muslim societies within

two centuries of its origin in Nīshāpūr and its adoption all over the Muslim world. Based on this

understanding of Sufism, we can no longer say that Baghdād Sufism replaced earlier varieties of

indigenous Islamic mysticism, especially when the social structure of Nīshāpūrī Sufism was

fundamentally different than that of early Baghdād Sufism.

In Chapter 5, rather than treating al-Tirmidhī’s ideas as a tight system by attempting to

resolve the diversity of his thought to uncover their underlying structure, we sought to present

the significance of his most basic theoretical distinctions as they apply to Islamic thought and

mysticism. If we assert, as Radtke does, that al-Tirmidhī was not a philosopher because his ideas

are not systematic, then we would have to also eliminate Nietzsche and the later Heidegger from

this category because neither of them follow a Cartesian and strictly system-oriented approach to

philosophy. Al-Tirmidhī was not only a mystic, he was also a theologian and a jurisprudent and a

philosopher. He focused his work on attempting to revamp the entire approach to Islamic

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theology and jurisprudence in its Ḥanafī inspired form that he had received through the various

discourse streams to which he was connected. His was a project of reform that addressed the

very roots of Islamic legal methodology and it is apparent that this was not just an abstract

proposal for him because it is evident that he wrote many of his works in such a way that they

reflected this task of reform in their very structure and in the subject matter they put forward.

One of the signature aspects of al-Tirmidhi’s doctrine of walāya is the ‘seal of

sainthood’ and the idea that a ‘sealer of saints’ will come at the end of time to complete walāya

just as the Prophet Muḥammad came to complete prophethood. While this aspect of al-

Tirmidhī’s doctrine is often cited and discussed, it is not well understood exactly how he arrived

at such a doctrine. In Chapter 5 we discussed how al-Tirmidhī’s preference for analogies

(amthāl) led him to use motifs from the Qurʾān and Ḥadīth literature as a way of thinking about

issues that were of social and religious importance in his time. The ‘seal of sainthood’ appears to

have developed out of an important analogy that al-Tirmidhī uses throughout his works, which is

the ring analogy. The ring analogy brings together all of the basic aspects of al-Tirmidhī’s

concept of the ‘seal of sainthood’ and the corresponding ‘sealer of saints’. The concept of a

‘sealer of saints’ who is yet to come has important implications for Islamic mysticism and for an

Islamic outlook on life. The generally accepted idea among Traditionalists and Ḥadīth culture is

that the Islamic community has been in a perpetual state of decline from the time of the first

three generations of Muslims. Al-Tirmidhī counters this idea with his own set of Ḥadīth, which

he narrates, as well as a doctrine of sainthood that leaves open the possibility for exalted levels of

spiritual attainment in the future that come close to the prophets themselves and surpass even the

companions of the Prophet. The seal of sainthood was also connected to the idea promoted by al-

Tirmidhī that at any point in time there will always be forty of the awliyāʾ alive on earth, for the

253
sake of whom the world continues to exist and prosper. Both of these ideas are integrated into

Sufism’s later cosmology such that we find Ṣūfīs today who will still go in search of the awliyāʾ

of their time to benefit from them and to access their spiritual blessings.

Many of the major proponents of Islamic mysticism after the 3rd Islamic century (9th-

century C.E.) read and contemplated the ideas of al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī. We can see this from al-

Kalabādhī to al-Hujwīrī to al-Sulamī and al-Qushayrī. This was also true of Ṣūfīs and Muslim

mystics of later generations such as Ibn ʿArabī and the eponyms of the Shādhilī Ṭarīqa. Ibn

ʿArabī is foremost among these and while it is clear that he read al-Tirmidhī’s works and was in

conversation with his ideas, the extent to which Ibn ʿArabī patterned many of his fundamental

concepts on ideas first proposed by al-Tirmidhī is less well known. The connection between al-

Tirmidhī and Ibn ʿArabī is so important that it would not be possible to fully appreciate Ibn

ʿArabī and his mystical ideas without an informed understanding of al-Tirmidhī’s basic premises

and doctrines. In Chapter 6 we demonstrated this with a discussion of how Ibn ʿArabī structures

his own doctrine of sainthood on the ring mathal of al-Tirmidhī. Reflecting upon Ibn ʿArabī in

this light uncovers important aspects of his non-dual mysticism and shows how his approach

differs from al-Tirmidhī. Ibn ʿArabī builds on al-Tirmidhī’s ring mathal by incorporating other

analogies to explicate his doctrine of sainthood such as the analogy of the gold and silver bricks

that are missing from the ‘wall of prophethood’. While Ibn ʿArabī is generally considered to be

more influential than al-Tirmidhī on Islamic mysticism, our comparison between their two

doctrines of walāya indicates that al-Tirmidhi’s doctrine carried more social and political

influence, especially when we see how al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of sainthood was the foundation

for the development of Sufism.

254
 Finally, in Chapter 6 we discussed the way that the Shādhilīs adopted and built upon al-

Tirmidhī’s notion of ḥikma as a way of developing a ‘Ṣūfī science’. Ḥikma reflects the more

practical side of al-Tirmidhī’s gnoseology and proved to be a useful framework within which the

early Shādhilī masters communicated the precepts of their spiritual path to their followers. The

book al-Ḥikam (The Aphorisms) became so well known that its influence spread far beyond the

confines of the Shādhilī brotherhood. The early Shādhilīs definitely read al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī

closely as is attested by the works of the foremost spokesman of this brotherhood, Ibn ʿAṭāʾ

Allāh. In addition to the use of al-Tirmidhī’s concept of ḥikma, we also find that the early

Shādhilīs incorporated al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of sainthood with its indications of the optimism

that al-Tirmidhī’s particular approach engenders.

Our study of sainthood and its early development in Islamic mysticism demonstrates

that there is still much that we do not know about this early period and that there is a patent need

for more research in this area. We were not able to encompass the wide variety of topics within

al-Tirmidhī’s multitude of works, but the hope is that through this study we can begin to better

appreciate the complexity of al-Tirmidhī’s contribution to sainthood and Islamic mysticism’s

multi-faceted nature. It is also hoped that these findings will shed more light on the development

of Sufism and its indebtedness to al-Tirmidhī’s gnoseology and his doctrine of sainthood. The

questions that this study opens are many. An area that needs further exploration is al-Tirmidhī’s

approach to Fiqh (jurisprudence) and the potential influence he had on the development of

Ḥanafī legal methodology. In the topic of theology there is much more that can be done to trace

the contributions of al-Tirmidhī to Māturīdī theology and their eventual incorporation into

Ashʿarī theology by al-Taftāzānī. In the area of Islamic mysticism, al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of

sainthood highlights the contrasting approaches to sainthood that differentiate eastern Islamic

255
mysticism from western Islamic mysticism. Both of these trends converge in the person of Ibn

ʿArabī and a study of his doctrine of sainthood in this light could further our knowledge of how

the Islamic doctrine of sainthood became a more developed form in later Sufism.

Of particular interest to us is how sainthood has come to represent a form of religious

authority in Islam that has been successful in adapting and adjusting Islam to new contexts and

cultures. Ṣūfī shaykhs would not have been able to do this without inwardly recognizing their

custodial authority to interpret the Qurʾān and Ḥadīth to serve these ends. The advent of Salafism

and Wahhābism represents a potent challenge to this authority, one that prefers a ‘strict

constructionist’ and textual approach to Islam rather than a human-centered approach. Our

discussion of al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of sainthood brings up important questions about the ability

of Sufism to perpetuate its model of religious authority in a modern context. It remains to be seen

how Ṣūfī groups in the modern era will respond to Salafī and Wahhābī criticisms of their

fundamental authority structures. Yet, if we take al-Tirmidhī to heart, we can only be optimistic

about the future of this discourse, which will be a struggle for the very heart of Islam.

256
 ‫‪Appendix A‬‬

‫‪Correlation in Points of Doctrine between al-Kalābādhī‬‬

‫‪and al-Ḥakīm al-Samarqandī in Arabic‬‬
‫الكالابذي‬ ‫احلكيمّالسمرقندي‬
‫أدىنّشكّفيهّكفر‬ ‫(‪)1‬الّيشكّيفّإميانه‬
‫صفةّالتكوين‬ ‫‪Ø‬‬
‫أمساءّهللاّليستّهيّهللا‬ ‫‪Ø‬‬
‫القرآنّكالمّهللا‪ :‬متلوّأبلسنتناّمكتوبّيفّمصاحفناّ‬ ‫(‪ّ)40‬أنّيعلمّأنّماّيفّاملصاحفّمكتوابّهوّقرآنّ‬
‫حمفوظّيفّصدورانّغريّحالّفيهاّكماّأنّهللاّتعاىلّ‬ ‫ابحلقيقةّالّابجملاز‬
‫معلومّبقلوبناّمذكورّأبلسنتناّمعبودّيفّمساجدانّغريّ‬
‫حالّفيها‬
‫ليسّلهّجسمّّوهوّليسّعرضا‬
‫كالمّهللاّصفةّمنّصفاته‬ ‫(‪ّ)12‬وهذهّالكتبّكلهاّكالمّهللاّوصفتهّوهيّغريّ‬
‫خملوقة‬
‫الكالمّالنفسيّ‬ ‫(‪ّ)50‬فقلّلهّإنّهللاّتعاىلّقالّبالّهجاءّبعدّهجاءّ‬
‫وبالّحرفّبعدّحرفّوبالّنغمةّبعدّنغمةّوبالّصوتّ‬
‫بعدّصوتّوبالّوقتّبعدّوقت‬
‫القرآنّكالمّهللا‬ ‫(‪)12‬أنّيقولّالقرآنّكالمّهللاّتعاىلّغريّخملوق‬
‫القرآنّغريّخملوق‬ ‫(‪)12‬أنّيقولّالقرآنّكالمّهللاّتعاىلّغريّخملوق‬
‫اتفقواّأنّهللاّسبحانهّوتعاىلّملّيروهّأحدّإالّيفّاآلخرة‬ ‫(‪)31‬أنّيرىّرؤيةّهللاّتعاىلّمنّاجلنةّحقا‬
‫خلقّهللاّسبحانهّوتعاىلّكلّأعمالّبينّآدم‬ ‫(‪ّ)11‬أنّيرىّكلّأفعالّالعبادّخملوقة‬
‫خلقّهللاّسبحانهّوتعاىلّالشر‬ ‫(‪)6‬تقديرّاخلريّوالشرّمنّهللاّتعاىل‬

‫‪257‬‬
 ‫خلقّهللاّسبحانهّ ّوتعاىلّاالستطاعةّفيهم‬ ‫(‪ّ)53‬االستطاعةّمعّالفعل‬
‫القوةّأتيتّيفّنفسّوقتّالفعلّليسّقبلهّوليسّبعده‬ ‫(‪ّ)53‬االستطاعةّمعّالفعل‬
‫الكسب‪ّ:‬قوةّالفعلّخملوقةّلإلنسان‬ ‫‪Ø‬‬
‫ميكنّاإلنسانّأنّيفعلّعكسّماّنوىّابلقوة‬ ‫‪Ø‬‬
‫الّينبغيّهللّأنّيفعلّاألصلح‬ ‫‪Ø‬‬
‫(‪ّ)39‬أنّيعلمّأنّهللاّتعاىلّفعلّماّشاءّويفعلّماّيشاءّ الثوابّّوالعقابّليسّمنّجهةّاالستحقاقّلكنّمنّ‬
‫جهةّاملشيئةّوالفضلّوالعدل‬ ‫إنّفهمّاخللقّأوّملّتفهمّخرياّأوّشرا‬

‫لوّعذبّاخللقّكلهمّملّيكنّذلكّظلماّمنهّولوّأدخلّ‬ ‫(‪)34‬أنّيعلمّأنّهللاّتعاىلّيصريرّالسعيدّشقيّاّبعدلهّ‬
‫اخللقّكلهمّيفّاجلنةّملّيكنّذلكّمستحيالّله‬ ‫ويصريّالشقيّسعيداّبفضله‬
‫الّيفعلّبعلة ّ‬ ‫‪Ø‬‬
‫الظلمّوضعّالشيءّيفّغريّموضعهّوليسّيفّأفعالّهللاّ‬ ‫‪Ø‬‬
‫أيّظلم‬
‫الوعدّوالوعيد‬ ‫‪Ø‬‬
‫أقرواّابلصراطّ–ّجسر‬ ‫(‪)21‬أنّيرىّالصراطّحقا‬
‫أقرواّابمليزان‬ ‫(‪)20‬أنّيرىّامليزانّحقا‬
‫(‪ّ)38‬وقالّإنّللنارّسبعةّأبوابّفبابّمنهاّألمتكّمنّ هللاّسبحانهّوتعاىلّخيرجّمنّالنارّمنّّكانّيفّقلبهّمثقالّ‬
‫ذرةّمنّاإلميان‬ ‫أصحابّالكبائرّالذينّخرجواّمنّالدنياّبغريّتوبةّ‬
‫فيعذهبمّهللاّتعاىلّفيهاّعلىّقدرّذنوهبمّمثّخيرجونّمنهاّ‬
‫ابإلميان‬
‫أقرواّبتأييدّاجلنةّوالنارّوأهنماّخملوقتانّوأهنماّابقتانّأبدّ‬ ‫(‪)22‬أنّيعلمّأنّاجلنةّوالنارّخملوقتانّالّيفنيانّوالّ‬
‫اآلبد‬ ‫تبيدانّويرىّذلكّحقا‬
‫أهلّالكبائرّمنّعندّاملؤمننيّمسلمون‬ ‫(‪)4‬أنّالّيكفرّأحداّمنّأهلّهذهّالقبلةّابلذنب‬
‫رأواّالصالةّخلفّكلّبرّوفاجر‬ ‫(‪)3‬أنّيصليّخلفّكلّبرّوفاجرّويراهّحقا‬
‫(‪)5‬أنّيصليّعلىّجنازةّكلّصغريّوكبريّمنّأهلّهذهّ رأواّالصالةّعلىّكلّمنّماتّمنّأهلّالقبلة‬
‫القبلةّويراهّحقا‬

‫‪258‬‬
 ‫رأواّاجلمعةّواجلماعاتّواألعيانّواجبةّعلىّمنّملّيكمّ‬ ‫(‪)8‬أنّيصليّخلفّكلّأمريّصالةّالعيدينّواجلمعةّ‬
‫لهّعذرّمنّاملسلمنيّمعّكلّإمامّبرّأوّفاجر‬ ‫ويراهّحقا‬
‫أمجعواّعلىّتقدميّأيبّبكرّوعمرّوعثمانّوعليّرضيّ‬ ‫(‪)28()27()26()25‬‬
‫هللاّعنهم‬
‫رأواّأنّمنّشهدّلهّرسولّهللاّصلىّهللاّعليهّوسلمّ‬ ‫(‪)24‬أنّتشهدّللمبشرةّمنّأصحابّرسولّهللاّصلىّ‬
‫ابجلنةّفهوّيفّاجلنة‬ ‫هللاّعليهّوسلمّابجلنةّويرىّذلكّحقا‬
‫الّيرونّاخلروجّعلىّالوالةّابلسيفّوإنّكانواّطلمة‬ ‫(‪)7‬أنّالّخيرجّعلىّأحدّمنّاملسلمنيّابلسيفّبغريّ‬
‫حق‬
‫يرونّاألمرّابملعروفّوالنهيّعنّاملنكرّواجباّملنّأمكنهّ‬ ‫‪Ø‬‬
‫مباّأمكنه‬
‫يؤمنونّبعذابّالقربّوسؤالّمنكرّونكري‬ ‫(‪)13‬أنّيرىّعذابّالقربّحقا‪)14(ّ،‬أنّيرىّسؤالّ‬
‫منكرّونكريّحقا‬
‫أقرواّمبعراجّالنيبّببدنه‬ ‫(‪)17‬أّيرىّليلةّاملعراجّعروجّالنيبّعيلهّالسالمّإىلّ‬
‫السماءّحقا‬
‫يصدقونّابلرؤاي‬ ‫(‪)31‬أنّيرىّرؤيةّهللاّتعاىلّمنّاجلنةّحقا‬
‫أطفالّاملؤمنونّمعّآابئهمّيفّاجلنةّواختلفواّيفّأطفالّ‬ ‫(‪ّ)34‬منّماتّمنّأوالدّالكفار‬
‫الكفار ّ‬
‫أمجعواّعلىّأنّاملسحّعلىّاخلفنيّحق ّ‬ ‫(‪)9‬أنّيرىّاملسحّعلىّاخلفنيّيفّالسفرّواحلضرّحقا‬
‫(‪ّ)58‬وإنّهللاّتعاىلّالّينقصّمنّرزقّاملسيءّإبساءتهّ جوزواّأنّيرزقّهللاّاحلرام ّ‬
‫والّيرزقّاحملسنّإبحسانه‬
‫أمجعواّأنّنعيمّاجلنةّملنّسبقّلهّمنّهللاّالسعادةّمنّغريّ‬ ‫(‪)10‬أنّيرىّاإلميانّعطاءّهللاّعزّوجلّ‬
‫علة ّ‬
‫األفعالّعالماتّوأماراتّعلىّماّسبقّهلمّمنّهللا ّ‬ ‫(‪)11‬أنّيرىّأفعالّالعبادّخملوقةّهللّتعاىل‬
‫أمجعواّأنّالدليلّعلىّهللاّهوّهللاّوحده ّ‬
‫أمجعواّأنهّالّيعرفهّإالّذوّعقل ّ‬ ‫(‪)35‬أنّيعلمّأنّعقولّالكفارّالّيستويّمعّعقولّ‬
‫األنبياءّواملؤمنني‬

‫‪259‬‬
 ‫ارّجبملةّماّذكرّهللاّتَـ َع َاىل يّيفّكيتَابهّ‬
‫َ‬ ‫أَمجعُواّعلىّأَنّاالقر‬ ‫(‪)16‬أنّيرىّشفاعةّالرسولّصلىّهللاّعليهّوسلمّ‬
‫ّصلىّهللاّعلَيّ يهّو ي‬
‫سلمّيفّ‬ ‫َو َجاءتّبييه ي‬
‫ّالرَو َاايتّ َعنّالنيَّيب‬ ‫ألصحابّالكبائرّمنّأمتهّحقا‬
‫َ َ‬ ‫َ‬
‫ةّو ياجب ّ‬ ‫اع َ‬
‫الش َف َ‬
‫َّ‬
‫س يّيفّالّبشرّ‬ ‫ي‬ ‫(‪)32‬أنّيعلمّأنّمراتبّاألنبياءّعليهمّالسالمّومنازهلمّ وأَمجعو َي‬
‫بشرّولَي َ‬
‫اّمج ًيعاّأَنّاألَنبيَاءّأفضلّال َ‬ ‫َ ُ‬
‫ّصديقّوَالّّويل َّوَالّ‬ ‫فضلّال‬
‫َ‬ ‫منّيوازيّاألَنبييَ ي‬
‫اءّيفّال‬ ‫أعلىّوأفضلّمنّمراتبّاألولياء ّ‬
‫َ‬
‫َغريهم ّ‬
‫الّاجلمه ي‬
‫ورّمنـ ُهمّ‬ ‫ي‬ ‫(‪ّ)36‬أنّيرىّأنّهللاّتعاىلّملّيزلّخالقاّملّيتغريّعليهّ واختل ُفو ي‬
‫َنهّملّيزلّخال ًقاّفَـ َق َ ُ ُ‬
‫َ‬ ‫اّيفّأ‬ ‫َ‬
‫َّهّالّجيوزّأَنّ‬ ‫ي‬
‫ّمنّالقدماءّمنـ ُهمّوالكبارّإين َ‬ ‫َواألَكثَـ ُرو َن‬ ‫حال ّ‬
‫يماّملّيزل ّ‬ ‫حيدثّهللّتَـع َاىلّصفةّملّيسّت يح ي‬
‫قهاّف َ‬
‫َ َ َ‬ ‫َ‬
‫ردّصمدّ‬ ‫ي‬
‫َنّهللاّواحدّأحدّفَ َ‬‫َ‬ ‫تمعتّالصوفييَّةّعلىّأ‬
‫ُّ‬ ‫(‪ّ)37‬أنّيرىّأنّّهللاّتعاىلّلهّعلمّوقدرةّفإنهّعاملّقادر ّ اج‬
‫َنّهللّص َفاتّعلىّاحلَيّقي َقةّ‬
‫ي‬ ‫قدميّعاملّقَادر‪ُ/‬أَمجعُواّعلىّأ‬‫َ‬
‫علمّوال ُقد َرة ّ‬
‫صوفّمنّال َ‬ ‫اّمو ُ‬
‫ُه َوّهبَ َ‬
‫اّأصلّاإلميَانّإيقـَرارّاللي َسانّبيتَص يديقّالقلبّوفروعهّ‬
‫ي‬ ‫قَالُو‬ ‫(‪ّ )45()44‬‬
‫ال َع َملّابلفرائض ّ‬
‫امتناعاّبذلكّمنّاخللقّأَنّيشبهوه ّ‬ ‫(‪ّ)46‬أنّالّيشبهّهللاّتعاىلّبشيء ّ‬
‫(‪)48‬أنّتعلمّأنّالكسبّيفرتضّيفّبعضّاألوقات ّ أَمجعُواّعلىّإي َاب َحةّاملكاسبّمنّاحليَرفّوالتجاراتّ‬
‫ةّعلىّتيقظّوتثبتّ‬ ‫َّاّأابحتهّالش ير َيع‬
‫َّ‬ ‫ّواحلرثّوغريّ َذلي ي‬
‫كِّم‬
‫َ‬ ‫َ‬
‫وحترزّمنّالشبُـ َهاتّواهناّتعملّللتعاونّوحسمّاألطماعّ‬
‫ُّ‬
‫ونييَّةّالعودّعلىّاألغيارّوالعطفّعلىّاجلارّويه ي‬
‫يّعندهمّ‬ ‫َ َ‬ ‫َ‬
‫و ياجبةّملنّربطّبييهّ َغ ي‬
‫ريهِّمَّنّيلزمهّفَـرضه ّ‬ ‫َ َ‬

‫‪260‬‬
 Appendix B
Kitāb al-Ḥikma
by al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī

261
 Introduction to Kitāb al-Ḥikma

by al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī

This is the first time that a transcription of al-Tirmidhī’s Kitāb al-Ḥikma min ʿIlm al-

Bāṭin has appeared in print. This text is a unicum, it is the only extant witness to the archetype

and is in a manuscript at the Inebey Library in Bursa, Turkey titled Haraççi Oġlu 806. There are

four works by al-Tirmidhī in this manuscript. The three other texts besides Kitāb al-Ḥikma are:

Sabab al-Takbīr fī al-Ṣalā, ʿIlm al-Awliyāʾ and ʿIlal al-ʿIbādāt. Bernd Radtke has noted that

Kitāb al-Ḥikma (folios 1-19) is “undotted, of volatile script and undated”.582 Furthermore, he

commented that he was only able to conduct a cursory study of ʿIlm al-Awliyāʾ, which is the

third of the four texts that make up the full manuscript. This suggests that he was not able to

study Kitāb al-Ḥikma closely.583 The text of Kitāb al-Ḥikma begins on verso of folio 1 and is

completed along with a colophon on verso of folio 18. The final page of the text includes extra-

textual notices such as the lineage of the semi-mythical Ṣūfī figure Khiḍr, who some Muslims

believe is the wise man who conveyed special knowledge to Moses from God. Recto of folio 19

includes an alphabetical list of the ahl al-ṣuffa (the people of the bench). These were the poor

companions of the Prophet who lived in the mosque of Madīna and received charity given to the

Prophet by others. This may have been of interest to those who owned this manuscript because

582
Ibid. Ein Islamischer Theosoph, p. 57.
583
Ibid, p. 58.

262
the ahl al-ṣuffa have been credited by some to have been the forebears of the Ṣūfīs.584 This

indicates that Kitāb al-Ḥikma was most likely circulated among Ṣūfī circles. Recto of folio 1

includes a list of the four books included in the manuscript as well as several references to the

great fire of Istanbul in 1660 C.E. that consumed the city and irrevocably altered its demographic

layout when Muslims became the majority of the population in the aftermath and reconstruction

of the city.585

In addition to Radtke, Fuat Sezgin mentions Kitāb al-Ḥikma in GAS, number 42, in a list

of al-Tirmidhī’s works. The only additional information Sezgin provides is that the title of the

work is difficult to discern from the title page.586 The title actually appears to read al-Khidma

min ʿIlm al-Bāṭin rather than al-Ḥikma min ʿIlm al-Bāṭin as would seem more logical. Al-

Juyūshī mentions the manuscript in his review of al-Tirmidhī’s published and unpublished works

but does not go into detail about the contents of Kitāb al-Ḥikma other than to give it a short one-

paragraph gloss. ʿAbd al-Fattāḥ Baraka does not mention Kitāb al-Ḥikma in his detailed study of

al-Tirmidhī’s doctrine of sainthood. The absence of significant references to Kitāb al-Ḥikma and

a lack of a detailed representation of its contents where references do exist may be due to the

lack of witnesses to the text, as well as the obscurity of the handwriting and its undotted nature.

Dating and Transmission of the Text

The single witness that we have to Kitāb al-Ḥikma does not supply a date in the

colophon. The three other works of al-Tirmidhī that are in the same manuscript do have dates

and they seem to be written by the same hand. The date of the other three texts is the 25th of

584
This is mentioned by al-Sarrāj in Kitāb al-Lumaʿ.
585
Marc David Baer. “The great fire of 1660 and the Islamization of Christian and Jewish space in
Istanbul”. International journal of Middle East studies. 36 (2): 2004, pp. 159–160.
586
Ibid. GAS, p. 658.

263
Rabīʿ al-Ākhar, 714 A.H. This translates to the 8th of August 1314 C.E. Despite the fact that

Kitāb al-Ḥikma does not provide a date, there are several aspects of the text that help us to

generally place this witness. The colophon at the end of Kitāb al-Ḥikma is organized in the shape

of an inverted triangle.587 This stylistic feature became commonplace in the central Arab lands

around the 10th/16th-century although it is known to have been used prior to this time period as is

attested by the inverted triangle colophon in ʿIlm al-Awliyāʾ, which dates from the 14th-century

C.E. A second feature that helps us narrow the date for Kitāb al-Ḥikma is the semi-dotted script.

This was a feature of Arab scribal culture during the Middle Islamic period when the inclusion of

dots or diacritic marks was sometimes seen as a defect (ʿayb) or as an insult to the reader.588 This

indicates that this witness to Kitāb al-Ḥikma was probably penned during the Mamluk period or

early Ottoman period in Greater Syria (or possibly though unlikely Egypt) during the 14th- or

15th-centuries C.E. Adam Gacek presents a semi-dotted handwriting specimen from the 14th-

century C.E. that is similar to the style of Kitāb al-Ḥikma found here.589 For Kitāb al-Ḥikma, the

hand is barely pointed, rather casually with elongated, angled with a somewhat spread or

flattened character (though curvilinear), especially with descenders such as the final Nūn, final

Lām, final Kāf, final Sīn, final Shīn, etc. This, together with the form used for the initial Hāʾ, the

sweeping shaqq on even the final Kāf, the free assimilation of some letters and pointing

(especially final Hāʾ with preceding Rāʾ), and the lack of pointing for Yāʾ and Alif Maqṣūra

suggest Greater Syria as an origin.590 The paper seems to indicate a later date than the 14th-

century C.E. with sometime in the 15th- or 16th-century C.E. as more likely. This is with the

587
Gacek, Adam. The Arabic manuscript tradition a glossary of technical terms and bibliography. 2001, p. 74.
588
Ibid, p. 145.
589
Ibid, p. 256.
590
This analysis was provided by Evyn Kropf, an expert codicologist at the University of Michigan whom I
consulted about the date and origin of Kitāb al-Ḥikma.

264
caveat that this assessment was done from a color scan of the manuscript and not through an

examination of the actual manuscript. The note on the opening flyleaf does provide a rough

terminus ante quem of 17 Dhū al-Qaʿda 1071 A.H. [ca. 14 July 1661]. Unfortunately, we do not

have any substantial information concerning the transmission of the text other than the name of

the patron, Khājuman Maḥmūd b. Muḥammad al-Shaykhānī. This is not likely the Jamāl al-Dīn

Maḥmūd b. Muḥammad al-Shaykhānī al-Qādirī (d. 1119/1707) mentioned by Carl Brockelmann,

since this would put the manuscript date later than our terminus ad quem, dating sometime from

the late 17th- or early 18th-centuries C.E.

The Relevance of Kitāb al-Ḥikma

In the Introduction to the dissertation we provided an overview of al-Tirmidhī’s major

works. Kitāb al-Ḥikma comes under the rubric of works that discuss esoteric interpretation.

Ḥikma is connected to the knowledge of metaphysical causes and how they connect to

phenomena in the world. In this way ḥikma functions as a type of esotericism in which the ḥakīm

interprets the esoteric meanings behind various acts of worship. As Kitāb al-Ḥikma shows us,

ḥikma is much more than simple esotericism. It also relates to understanding human vices and

the nuances of the soul’s passions. In this capacity the ḥakīm can guide spiritual novices through

the various stages of spiritual attainment. Al-Tirmidhī likens the ḥakīm to a guide who helps

others travel safely through the wilderness because this guide understands its many dangers and

knows how to avoid them. Kitāb al-Ḥikma is the only book by al-Tirmidhī that solely addresses

the knowledge-type of ḥikma (wisdom). In Kitāb Bayān al-ʿIlm, al-Tirmidhī clearly distinguishes

between three types of knowledge, with ḥikma being the intermediate stage of knowledge

between religious textual knowledge and maʿrifa (gnosis), which is a higher stage of knowledge

265
that is bestowed directly from God. The other books in the category of ‘esoteric interpretation’

deal with the application of ḥikma, while Kitāb al-Ḥikma deals with the nature of ḥikma itself.

This is significant because it further supports the notion that the ḥukamāʾ belong to a category

that is separate from the awliyāʾ (saints). This is a hypothesis argued in the dissertation that we

find supported by Kitāb al-Ḥikma.

The Ḥikma Genre

Most early Islamic texts that bear the name ḥikma are associated with both Shīʿism and

its attendant fascination with Greek Neoplatonism. The Druze Kitāb al-Ḥikma, using the same

name, immediately comes to mind as does the Rasāʾil al-Ḥikma of the Ikhwān al-Ṣafā. The first

of these two Ismāʿīlī texts was produced during the 11th-century C.E. in Fatimid Egypt. The

second text is closer to al-Tirmidhī both temporally and geographically and reflects the

developments of the vibrant cultural and intellectual milieu of 10th-century C.E. Iraq. Al-

Tirmidhī’s Kitāb al-Ḥikma does not exhibit the clear emanationist structure that we find in the

previous two books. Al-Tirmidhī’s theology in Kitāb al-Ḥikma does not present God as an

abstract principle, but rather as a personal and intentional God who plans the affairs in the world

and intervenes in them directly through his creative fiat. Thus, while it would seem natural to

connect al-Tirmidhī’s work to this later genre, we must realize that it is the product of a very

different intellectual milieu. Al-Tirmidhī’s Kitāb al-Ḥikma draws its inspiration from the Ḥanafī

theological movement that was active in eastern Khurāsān and Transoxania where al-Tirmidhī

lived and wrote. It is in this Ḥanafī/Māturīdī discourse stream that we find another ḥikma

tradition based primarily in Pythagorean notions of wisdom and influenced possibly by the

Buddhist concept of non-duality. As we demonstrated in Chapter 2 of the dissertation, al-

266
Tirmidhī’s understanding of the interplay between duality and non-duality is reflected in al-

Māturīdī’s Kitāb al-Tawḥīd.

One of the central themes in Kitāb al-Ḥikma is walāya and the connection between the

ḥakīm (sage) and the walī (saint). Kitāb al-Ḥikma sets out to identify the knowledge of the ḥakīm

within the larger context of walāya. The ḥakīm is one type of walī, but not the highest type. In

both the Rasāʾil of al-Junayd as well as in Kitāb al-Ḥikma, the ḥakīm is styled as a ‘doctor of the

soul’. Just as the medical doctor has knowledge of the various elements and how they connect to

the body, so does the ḥakīm have knowledge of the states of the soul and its various maladies.

The ḥakīm is someone who guides a novice through the treacherous path towards God. This is

because the ḥakīm knows the ‘pathways’ to and from God. This discussion of the ḥakīm is the

precursor to the idea of the Ṣūfī shaykh who is a doctor of the soul for his novices. Al-Junayd

juxtaposes the ḥakīm to the scholar of outward knowledge (ʿālim) but does not contrast him to

the walī. Al-Tirmidhī brings both the scholar of outward knowledge and the walī (saint) into his

more developed gnoseology and thereby defines the ḥakīm. So, while ḥikma and the ḥakīm serve

to frame walāya and the walī, the whole structure of al-Tirmidhī’s gnoseology also defines the

role of the ḥakīm vis-à-vis both scholars of outward knowledge (ʿulamāʾ) and bona fide saints

(awliyāʾ). Scholars who study al-Tirmidhī have interpreted him as being averse to the notion of

discipleship. This is primarily based upon a letter he wrote to a correspondent from Rayy who

asked him about keeping the company of a “man who you hope for increase from”. Al-Tirmidhī

was responding to someone who asked him for spiritual advice concerning the keeping of

company of someone who would help to increase his spiritual state. Al-Tirmidhī was negative

about the proposition, advising the questioner to travel the path of maʿrifa (gnosis), not by

seeking the creator (khāliq) through a creation (makhlūq), but rather to seek the creator (khāliq)

267
through the creator himself.591 Kitāb al-Ḥikma helps us to contextualize this answer to the

questioner from Rayy because it is clear from Kitāb al-Ḥikma that al-Tirmidhī considered

recourse to the ḥakīm as essential for the would-be aspirant who is requesting guidance while on

the path that leads to God (al-ṭarīq ilā Allāh). We can better understand the ḥakīm if we

contextualize him in terms of the Malāmtiyya, an important mystical movement in Khurāsān

during al-Tirmidhī’s lifetime. We know that al-Tirmidhī was in conversation with the major

proponents of this mystical approach. Al-Tirmidhī’s concept of the ḥakīm is very similar to the

Malāmatī ‘master’ whose knowledge of the soul enabled him to train and guide aspirants in the

Malāmtī doctrine that centered on ‘constant blame of the soul’. When al-Tirmidhī positions the

bona fide saints (the highest form of awliyāʾ) above these ḥukamā, he is saying that there is a

degree higher than the Malāmatī sage and that ‘the path of blame’ is one stage on the mystical

path within his larger doctrine of walāya. Al-Tirmidhī’s notion of the ḥakīm (as juxtaposed to the

walī) accords closely with the subsequent notion of the Ṣūfī shaykh. As Sufism progressed, a

distinction between the Ṣūfī shaykh and the walī developed. While the novice to the Ṣūfī path

should ideally see his shaykh as a walī, the Ṣūfī shaykh generally does not and cannot claim this

rank. Of course, many Ṣūfī shuyūkh (pl. shaykh) have claimed the highest degrees of walāya, but

theoretically speaking, this should be the exception rather than the rule. As we saw with the

Shādhiliyya, the Ṣūfīs were more comfortable talking about ḥikma, which relates to the guidance

of novices on a practical level, but doesn’t entail the claim of walāya. However, it is significant

to note that in al-Qushayrī’s characterization of the master-disciple relationship, the Ṣūfī shaykh

effectively becomes the walī for his immediate students with the caveat that the shaykh cannot be

591
Ibid. Drei Schriften, pp. 171–172.

268
completely certain about his walāya, which means that others are not required to follow his

authority.

269
First page of Kitāb al-Ḥikma from Haracci Oglu 806

270
Final page of Kitāb al-Ḥikma from Haracci Oglu 806

271
 ‫‪Folio 1v‬‬

‫بسمّهللاّالرمحنّالرحيم ّ‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫قالّالشيخّأبوّعبدّهللاّحممدّبنّعليّالرتمذيّرمحهّهللاّعليه ّ‬

‫احلكمةّإحكامّاألمور‪ّ592‬علىّجهاهتاّمنّآفاهتاّيفّسبلهاّسبلّاألمور ّ‬

‫منّالربّإىلّالعبدّومنّالعبدّإىلّالربّمرورهاّعلىّطرق ّ‬

‫منّوجوهّاألسباب‪ّ593‬واآلالتّفاألسبابّاخلارجةّمنّالنفس ّ‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫اآلالت‪ّ594‬اجلوارحّاملختلفةّفباحلكمةّحيكمهاّالعبدّميرّمعّأمرّواحد ّ‬

‫علىّألفّطريقّأسرعّمنّاجلوادّحىتّتسلمهّإىلّربهّحمكماّمربائ ّ‬

‫العبدّيؤتىّاحلكمةّوحيكمّاألمرّوتتعاصىّاجلوارحّحىتّيستحكمّلهّاألمر ّ‬

‫وتستمرّاحلكمةّوتؤاتىّاجلوارحّمثّتؤتيهّاحلكمةّوحيكمهّاألمرّوتتعاصاه ّ‬

‫اجلوارحّليسّشيءّأقربّمنّاخلريّإىلّالشرّوالّأبعد‪ّ595‬اجلهلّجيمعهما ّ‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫يفّمكانّواحدّواحلكمةّتفرقّبينهماّأبعدِّماّبنيّالسماءّواألرضّألهنا ّ‬

‫جتعلّالشرّيفّأسفلّالسافلنيّواخلريّيفّأعلىّعلينيّتتجاوز ّ‬

‫عنّاجلاهلّفيماّالّتتجاوزّعنّاحلكيمّوتتجاوزّعنّالعامّفيماّالّتتجاوز ّ‬

‫‪592‬‬
‫‪This definition of ḥikma accords with wording that al-Tirmidhī uses in Nawādir al-Uṣūl when al-Tirmidhī says‬‬
‫‪that al-ḥikma nūrun yakshif ʿan maknūn al-umūr, wisdom is a light that uncovers the hidden realities of affairs. He‬‬
‫‪also says that the sage, yarā ʿawāqib al-umūr zayniha wa-shayniha, he sees the outcomes of affairs both their‬‬
‫‪excellent and shameful (outcomes). Ibid. Nawādir, vol. 4, p. 298.‬‬
‫‪593‬‬
‫‪Observing cause and effect (asbāb) according to al-Tirmidhī does not negate the implications of tawḥīd‬‬
‫‪(affirming God’s unity). Ibid, vol. 7, p. 122.‬‬
‫‪594‬‬
‫‪In Nawādir al-Uṣūl al-Tirmidhī uses ālāt to mean the limbs one uses for worship. Ibid, vol. 6, p. 337.‬‬
‫‪595‬‬
‫‪The separation of opposites like good (khayr) and evil (sharr) is something repeated in Nawādir al-Uṣūl. Ibid,‬‬
‫‪vol. 2, p. 236.‬‬

‫‪272‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 1v‬‬

‫عنّاخلاصّألنهّيعطىّاحلكيمّماّالّيعطىّغريهّويعطىّاخلاصِّماّالّيعطىّالعام ّ‬
‫ّ‬ ‫‪14‬‬

‫تظهرّمنهمّالشفقةّعلىّالنفسّوالعنايةّيفّاكتسابّاخلريّواجتناب ّ‬

‫الشرّفيتضرعونّإىلّرهبمّيفّتسهيلّالربّهلمّودفعّالشرّعنهمّو ّ‬

‫يضمرونّاهتمامّذلكّوالعنايةّبهّفهذهّمنزلةّرفيعةّمنّالعامة ّ‬

‫مستحسنةّشريفةّأنّيتضرعّالعبدّإىلّربهّكماّيتضرعّاجلاينّإىلّاألمري‪ّ 596‬‬

‫رغبةّيفّعفوهّوجتاوزهّوكماّيتضرعّاململوكّإىلّسيدهّيفّعنفهّوعفوه ّ‬

‫ويقيمّملاّأداهّوعصاهّفهذهّدرجةّحممودةّمنّالعامةّوللحكيمّفيها ّ‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫منزلةّلطيفةّإذاّملّينزهلاّصارتّهذهّاملنزلةّمذمومةّوهو ّ‬

‫أنّالّيرىّلنفسهّشفقةّعلىّنفسهّوالّعنايةّيفّمرضاةّسيدهّيف ّ‬

‫مجيعّأحوالهّويرىّالشفقةّلربهّعليهّوالعنايةّمنّقبلهّفإذاّتضرع ّ‬

‫إليهّأوّرأىّيفّقلبهّعنايةّملّتفارقّنفسهّأخافّأنّملّأجتهدّو ّ‬

‫أتضرعّإنّخيذلينّريبّكأنهّأشفقّعلىّنفسهّمنّربهّوأعتين ّ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫بصالحّنفسهّمنّربهّوهذاّشبيهّمبنزلةّشفقةّاللصّعلىّنفسه ّ‬

‫أكثرّمنّشفقةّاألمريّعلىّنفسهّفهوّيقولّإنّملّأتضرعّيهلكينّوكذلك ّ‬

‫اململوكّوليسّكذلكّالربّمعّالعبدّولكنّيعلمّاحلكيمّأنّربهّمن ّ‬

‫‪596‬‬
‫‪For a similar use of the ruler (amīr) analogy (mathal) see Nawādir al-Uṣūl: vol. 5, 284. The Prophet is portrayed‬‬
‫‪as an amīr (ruler) and a rāʿī (shepherd).‬‬

‫‪273‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 1v‬‬

‫شفقتهّولطفهّبهّهيجّشفقةّمنّنفسهّعلىّنفسهّوهيجّمنه‬ ‫‪29‬‬

‫‪274‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 2r‬‬

‫عنايةّواهتماماّلكيّيفوزّعبدهّوالّيرىّلنفسهّمثقالّحبةّخردل ّ‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫والّعنايةّللربّوإمناّمثل‪ّ597‬تضرعهّكمثلّوالدّشفيقّعلىّولدّلهّفظهرت ّ‬

‫منّابنهّجنايةّكانتّسبباّهلالكهّفغضبّأبوهّلشفقتهّعليهّوملّيكنّ ّ‬

‫يصلّمنّاهلالكّإىلّاألبّشيءّوكانّيصلّإىلّاالبنّمثّمعّهذاّ ّ‬

‫الغضبّملّجيدّأنّيعاقبهّأيضاّلشفقتهّورمحتهّوحكمتهّدسّإىلّ ّ‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫االبنّرجالّكرمياّعليهّفقالّاستشفعّلهّإيلّّحىتّأخوفهّأانّوأهتددهّ ّ‬

‫ابلعقوبةّفإينّإنّتركتهّأهلكّنفسهّيفّجناايتهّوإنّعاقبتهّأهلكتهّ ّ‬

‫عقوبيتّأيضاّفكذلكّالربّتعاىلّولهّاألمثلّاألعلىّوجهّإىلّ ّ‬

‫عبدهّمنّعندهّخصلة‪ّّ598‬كانتّهلاّمنزلةّمنهّحىتّأنزهلاّقلبّالعبدّ ّ‬

‫فرتددتّيفّجوارحهّويفّالشفقةّوالتضرعّوالعنايةّوالعنايةّواالهتمامّ ّ‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫فهذهّشفعاّهللاّمنّعندّهللاّدسهنّإىلّالعبدّمثّاعلمّأنّهلذهّ ّ‬

‫الشفعاءّعندهّمنزلةّوخوفّالعبدّوأنذرهّوحذرهّابمسهّعندّ ّ‬

‫شفيعةّيفّهالكهّمثّحرك‪ّ599‬الشفعاءّعندّختويفهّفتحركتّالشفقة‬
‫ّ‬
‫ّ‬
‫‪597‬‬
‫‪This is an example of al-Tirmidhī’s extensive use of analogies (amthāl) to illustrate his ideas. For more examples‬‬
‫‪of al-Tirmidhī’s analogies and his approach to analogical thinking see his book al-Amthāl min al-Qurʾān wa-l-‬‬
‫‪Sunna. Al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī, Muḥammad b. ʿAlī. al-Amthāl min al-Kitāb wa-l-sunnah. al-Fajjāla-al-Qāhira: Dār‬‬
‫‪Nahḍat Miṣr. 1975.‬‬
‫‪598‬‬
‫‪For a similar use of this term see al-Tirmidhī’s discussion on the importance of maintaining kinship ties in‬‬
‫‪Nawādir al-Uṣūl: Ibid. Nawādir 1972, p. 328.‬‬
‫‪599‬‬
‫‪Al-Tirmidhī uses this same mode of expression of “activation” in Nawādir al-Uṣūl in his discussion concerning‬‬
‫‪the relationship between the heart and the limbs. The heart as the leader of the limbs is the one that commands the‬‬
‫‪limbs and activates them. Ibid. Nawādir, vol. 6, p. 323.‬‬

‫‪275‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 2r‬‬

‫والعنايةّواهلمّواحلزنّواخلوفّبتحريكّالربّجلّوعزّمثّمنّ ّ‬ ‫‪14‬‬

‫العبدّعفوهّوجياوزهّهلمّوقالّلوالّمنزلتهمّومكاهنمّمينّلفعلتّ ّ‬

‫بكّوفعلتّحىتّأنقذّعبدهّهبذاّاللطفّمنّهالكهّمثّملّيعرفّ ّ‬

‫العبدّهذاّمنهّحىتّكأنهّاهتمّربهّوأضافّالشفقةّإىلّنفسهّحىتّ ّ‬

‫قالّإنّملّأجتهدّأهلكينّريبّكأنهّالّيبايلّيبّإنّملّأتضرعّو ّ‬

‫إمناّالتضرعّدسّسّالربّإليهّمثّالربّجلّامسهّوتقدسّمعّجهلّالعبدّ ّ‬

‫بذلكّملّمينعهّمنّإنقاذهّ ّوإجيابهّإذّكانّمرادّالربّمنّالعبدّذلكّ ّ‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫ومثلهّأيضاّكملكّمشفقّعلىّعبدّلهّجاهلّصارّيفّأودية‪ّ600‬السباعّ ّ‬

‫جبهلهّوعلمّموالهّأنّفيهّهالكهّودعاهّإىلّنفسهّوحذرهّتلكّاألوديةّ ّ‬

‫فلماّملّيكرتثّالعبدّدسّإىلّرجلّوأعطاهّسوطا‪ّ601‬فلقيهّفأقبلّعليهّ ّ‬

‫ضرابّضرابّدكتّرأسهّفراراّوصاحبّالسوطّيتبعهّضرابّحيثّماّ ّ‬

‫توجهّحىتّأخرجهّمنّتلكّاألوديةّوأداهّإىلّموالهّفقالّلهّ ّ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫ايّمواليّقدّقبلتّنصيحتكّواتبعتّأمركّواملوىلّيضحكّ ّ‬

‫منّجهلهّألنهّعرفّأنهّملّيفعلّذلكّوإمنّاّموالهّأخرجهّابلسوطّ ّ‬

‫مثّجيزيهّاخلريّموالهّويكرمهّبكرمهّويقولّلهّنعمّماّصنعتّكأنهّتباركّ ّ‬

‫‪600‬‬
‫‪Al-Tirmidhī uses a similar analogy (mathal) to describe the source of knowledge and the way that it flows like a‬‬
‫‪river through river valleys (awdiya). Ibid, vol. 2, p. 30–31.‬‬
‫‪601‬‬
‫‪For al-Tirmidhī’s use of the whip (sawṭ) as part of an analogy (mathal) to discuss disciplining the soul see NU,‬‬
‫‪vol. 2 p. 311.‬‬

‫‪276‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 2r‬‬

‫يعولّ(أيّاعتمد)ّعلىّقولهّملاّيعرفّمنّجهلهّوهذاّالسوطّهوّاخلوفّمنّالرب ّ‬ ‫‪29‬‬

‫ّ‬

‫‪277‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 2v‬‬

‫وتعاىلّالّيزالّيضربّقلبّالعبدّليخرجهّمنّمهالكهّحىتّ ّ‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫امةّالربّلذلكّوالربّميدحهّعلىّذلكّوهوّ ّ‬
‫يفضيّبهّإىلّكر ّ‬

‫الفاعلّومثلهّأيضاّكمثلّسيدّرأىّبعبدهّيفّواديّاهلالكّ ّ‬

‫فوجهّإليهّدابةًّوأقواماّوأمرهّأنّيركبّالدابةّوأمرّاؤالئكّ ّ‬

‫أنّيشدوهّعليهاّألنهّقدّعلمّأنهّالّيثبتّعليهاّفإذاّأرادّأنّ ّ‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫ينزلّملّيقدرّملكانّشدهّفإذاّصارّإليهّقالّ ّ‬

‫قدّاتبعتّأمركّايّمواليّوقدّعلمّأنهّهوّالذيّفعلّبهّذلكّ ّ‬

‫وهوّيطريهّمنّعبدهّعلىّفعلهّبهّالّفعلّعبدهّوّيريهّأنهّفعلهّ ّ‬

‫يعينّفعلّالعبدّكرماّوجوداّفهوّغايةّالكرمّتباركّالكرميّاجمليدّ ّ‬

‫اخللقّثالثةّأصنافّيتقلبونّكلهمّيفّالرمحةّصنفّأعلىّ ّ‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫اخللقّوصنفّأسفلّاخللقّوصنفّأ ّوسطّاخللقّفاألسفلّ ّ‬

‫لهّالرمحةّالعامةّاليتّوسعتّكلّشيءّاليتّسبقتّمنّالرمحنّ ّ‬

‫اّأنفسهمّوهمّأصحابّالشمالّ ّ‬
‫ُّ‬ ‫وهمّالذينّاتبعواّأهواءهمّوظلمو‬
‫ُّ‬

‫األوسطّيفّالرمحةّاخلاصّمنّالعامّوهمّالناظرونّإىلّاألسبابّ ّ‬
‫ُّ‬ ‫و‬

‫الذينّاقتصدوا‪ُّ ّ602‬‬
‫وهمّأصحابّاليمنيّواألعلىّيفّرمحةّخاصّاخلاصّ‬ ‫‪15‬‬

‫‪602‬‬
‫‪Al-Tirmidhī represents the same three basic levels in his Nawādir al-Uṣūl and the second of the three levels are‬‬
‫‪characterized as muqtaṣidūn (those who chart a middle path, it also connotes those who are average). This is the‬‬
‫‪same characterization for those at the second level in Nawādir al-Uṣūl. Ibid, vol. 1 p. 184.‬‬

‫‪278‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 2v‬‬

‫وهمّالناظرونّإىلّاملسببّالقائلونّعنهّالذينّسبقواّالناسّ ّ‬
‫ُّ‬ ‫‪16‬‬

‫همّوهمّاملقربونّاملاءّنزلّمنّالسماءّصافياّعذابّزالالّ ّ‬
‫كل ُّ‬

‫وحياةّوعيشاّومصلحةّللخلقّفهبطّعلىّالسطوحّوّاحلضيضّ ّ‬

‫والربازّفصنفّوضعواّآنيتهمّحتتّسطوحهمّوكانتّعلىّالسطوحّ ّ‬

‫أجناسّوأقذارّفشبثّاملاءّابألقذارّودخلّآنيتهمّقذراّفاسداّ ّ‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫فاستعملواّمنهّوشربواّفمرضواّوماتواّوأجنسواّأطعمتهمّوأنفسهمّ ّ‬

‫وهمّالناظرونّإىلّأهوائهمّاملتمسكونّهباّالنازلونّحتتهاّ ّ‬
‫ُّ‬

‫اّوالّحيواّمثّإهنمّ ّ‬
‫ولوالّأنّالرمحةّامتزجتّأبهوائهمّماّعاشو َ‬
‫أفسدواّالرمحةّابألهواءّفمرضتّقلوهبمّوجنستّوماتتّوصنفّ ّ‬

‫وضعواّاآلنيةّحتتّسطوحهمّفطهروا‪ّ603‬السطوحّمنّاألقذارّفدخلّ ّ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫املاءّآنيتهمّطاهراّإالّأنهّمشوبّابلرتابّوالقذرّوالرملّوالغثاءّ ّ‬

‫فرمباّأصابتهمّآفةّمنّقبلّذلكّوكدرّيفّماءهمّوتغريّلونهّإالّأنّ ّ‬

‫حيتالواّحىتّيصفواّوإنّاحتالواّفالّيكونّصفاؤهّكصفائهّحيثّ ّ‬

‫السطحّوهمّالناظرونّإىلّاألسبابّاملقتصدون ّ‬
‫ُّ‬ ‫ملّينظف‪ّ604‬‬

‫‪603‬‬
‫‪Al-Tirmidhī is referring here to ritual purification. This second group purified their roofs from anjās (ritual‬‬
‫‪impurities) but not from regular impurities. This represents the level of implementation of the Sharīʿa through the‬‬
‫‪implementation of rules of ritual purification.‬‬
‫‪604‬‬
‫‪Here al-Tirmidhī is talking about purification in a general sense and not just ritual purification. Since ritual‬‬
‫‪purification is more basic and essential it represents a form of purification above and beyond ritual purification and‬‬
‫‪can be characterized as the level of Ḥaqīqa (reality).‬‬

‫‪279‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 3r‬‬

‫وصنفّوضعواّآنيتهمّحتتّالسماءّفأخذواّماءّصافياّماّشابه ّ‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫قذرّوالّكدرّوالّقذىّفكانّدواءّللقلوبّوالنفوسّواألجسادّ ّ‬

‫لهّعذوبتهّوطيبهّوصفائهّومنهمّالناظرونّإىلّاملسبب‪ّ605‬القائلونّ ّ‬

‫عنهّمثّإنهّيكونّمنّاملاءّوحلّوروائحّتصيبّاملستقيّفرمباّسقطّ ّ‬

‫ورمباّزلّولكنّالساقطّالزالّالّيغضبّعلىّأحدّلذلكّوالّجيدّ ّ‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫والّحيقدّألنهّيرىّأمراّمساوايّ‪ّ606‬والذينّأيخذونّمنّالسطوحّرمباّ ّ‬

‫صارواّإىلّمالمةّالطيانّواخلادمّوغريهمّإذاّراؤاّالقذىّوالقذرّ ّ‬

‫والرتابّفصارواّيفّاختالطّوصخبّوشرّواملرأّيصحبهّمخسةّ ّ‬

‫أشياءّالّيفارقهمّوالّيفارقونهّومنّهؤالءّاخلمسةّيكونّجناتهّإذاّعرفّ ّ‬

‫صحبتهمّويكونّهالكهّإذاّملّيعرفّأولّذلكّالربّتعاىلّمثّالنفسّ ّ‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫مثّالدنياّمثّالناسّمثّالشيطانّفاصحبّالربّابحلرمةّوالنفسّ ّ‬

‫ابلرايضةّوالدنياّابحلذرّوالناسّابلرمحةّوالشيطانّابحملاربةّ ّ‬

‫فإنّصحبتهمّعلىّذلكّجنوتّوفزتّيفّالدارينّوإالّهلكتّيفّ ّ‬

‫إحسانهّالكثريّإليكّوشفقتهّالعطوفّعليكّوعظمتهّالقاهرةّلكّ ّ‬

‫‪605‬‬
‫‪Al-Tirmidhī uses this terminology in Nawādir al-Uṣūl. For the individual who is at the level of certainty (yaqīn),‬‬
‫‪he focuses on the creator of causes and effects (musabbib al-asbāb) rather than only seeing causes and effects‬‬
‫‪themselves. Ibid. Nawādir 1972, p. 17.‬‬
‫‪606‬‬
‫‪The term celestial (samāwiyy) and terrestrial (arḍiyy) are used in multiple instances in Nawādir al-Uṣūl,‬‬
‫‪primarily to describe the different natures of the soul (nafs) and the spirit (rūḥ). The important point here is that the‬‬
‫‪term celestial, while rare for his time period, is used by al-Tirmidhī to describe a particular type of opposition. Ibid,‬‬
‫‪vol. 2, p. 397.‬‬

‫‪280‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 3r‬‬

‫وقدسهّالطاهرّمنّاألقذارّفمعرفةّحرمةّاالحسانّالنظرّفيهّوالتذكرّ ّ‬ ‫‪15‬‬

‫لهّوالتفكرّفيهّوالشكرّعليهّوخوفّزوالهّومعرفةّحرمةّالشفقةّ ّ‬

‫حسنّالظنّبهّيفّإختبارهّلكّوالرضىّبقضائهّيفّاحملبوبّواملكروهّ ّ‬

‫والتفويضّإليهّوالتوكلّأشدّمنّتوكلكّعلىّالوالدّالشفيقّومعرفةّ ّ‬

‫اتهّومكّرهّواالحتقارّ ّ‬
‫حرمةّالعظمةّالتواضعّلهّوالفزعّمنّسطو َّ‬

‫للنفسّوعملهاّالظاهرّوالباطنّوالصغريّوالكبريّوالتعظيمّللصغريّوالكبريّ ّ‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫منّأمرهّومعرفةّحرمةّالقدسّتطهريّالنفسّعنّالعملّلغريهّو ّ‬
‫ّ‬

‫تطهريّالعملّابالخالصّعنّأقذارّماّيشوبهّمنّغريهّإذّالطاهرّالّخيتارّ ّ‬

‫القذرّوالّجياورهّوتطهريّالقلبّعنّالتعلقّبغريهّوتطهريّاللسانّ ّ‬

‫عنّالتقلب‪ّ607‬يفّذكرّغريهّفإذاّفعلتّذلكّفقدّعرفتهّابلقدسّإذّوصفّ ّ‬

‫نفسهّبهّفقالّامللكّالقدوسّوعرفتهّابلعظمةّإذّوصفّنفسهّ ّ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫هباّفقالّوهوّالعليّالعظيمّوعرفتهّابلرمحةّوالشفقةّفقالّإنهّ ّ‬

‫رؤوفّرحيمّوعرفتهّابإلحسانّإذّوصفّنفسهّبهّفقالّتعاىلّإنّ ّ‬

‫هللاّلذوّفضلّعلىّالناسّوأماّرايضةّالنفسّفعندّأربعةّأشياءّ ّ‬

‫عندّالشهوةّوالغضبّوالرغبةّوالرهبةّإذاّاشتهتّالّتنيلهاّشهوهتا ّ‬

‫‪607‬‬
‫‪Al-Tirmidhī uses this term in the same way in Nawādir al-Uṣūl in the section on suḥba (companionship). The‬‬
‫‪word taqallub generally has the meaning of “turning”, however in this instance and the way it is used in Nawādir al-‬‬
‫‪Uṣūl, it has the meaning of “remaining” or “being at home in” in a particular state. Ibid. Nawādir 1972, p. 45.‬‬

‫‪281‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 3v‬‬

‫وإذاّغضبتّالّترضهاّوتكفهاّعنّالرغبةّوحتملهاّعلىّالرهبةّوال ّ‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫تقدرّعلىّذلكّدونّأنّجتعلّربكّبينكّوبنيّنفسكّفتنظرّمنّربكّإىلّ ّ‬

‫نفسكّوالّجتعلّنفسكّبينكّوبنيّربكّفتنظرّمنّنفسكّإىلّربك ّفبعدّ ّ‬

‫بكّشيئاّفرتىّ ّ‬
‫ّ‬ ‫نفسكّوقربّربكّوالّجتعلّبينكّوبنيّر‬

‫ربكّهوّاحملركّواملسكنّدونّأنّترىّساكناّأوّمتحركاّفرتغبّ ّ‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫إليهّيفّتسكنيّاملتحركّوحتريكّالساكنّمؤمناّبذلكّغريّمراتبّمثّ ّ‬

‫حتسنّالظنّبهّيفّذلكّمطمئناّغريّمضطربّبتأييدهّونصرهّوبفضلهّ ّ‬

‫وكرمهّواعلمّأنكّإذاّوقفتّذلكّاملوقفّاستقبلكّالبلوىّوهوّ ّ‬

‫االطماعّملاّترجوّواالشرافّعلىّماّتطلبّفإذاّأشرفتّعلىّالطلبةّ ّ‬

‫ـتّفوهتاّوإنّحتركتّعنّأصلكّاألضلّعندّذلكّوّفزعتّإىلّ ّ‬
‫ختوف َّ‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫ماّدونهّمنّاألسبابّخوفّالفوتّحتركتّعنّدرجتكّووكلتّإىلّالسببّ ّ‬

‫والنظرّإليهّوّاالعتمادّعليهّوإنّصربتّوثبتّعندّخوفّالفوتّوملّ ّ‬

‫التأييدّوالنصرةّوالصنعّإنّشاءّهللاّتعاىلّ ّ‬
‫ّ‬ ‫تنزلّعنّمقامكّأريتّ‬

‫وأماّحماربةّالشيطانّفعندّأربعةّأشياءّعندّاألمرّبرويةّالثوابّ ّ‬

‫ومعاينتهّابلقلبّواستيقانكّبهّ(النهيّبرويةّالعقابّوضده)ّوعندّالعجلةّخبوفّالعثرةّوالزلةّ ّ‬ ‫‪15‬‬

‫واستيقانكّهباّوعندّالكسلّخبوفّفوتّالنجاةّوالفوزّواستيقانكّ ّ‬

‫ّ‬
‫‪282‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 3v‬‬

‫بهّالّنم ىّنفسكّغريّذلكّألنّالشيطانّيطمعكّيفّهذهّاملواضعّابلرمحةّ ّ‬ ‫‪17‬‬

‫والعفوّليستدرجكّبذلكّوأماّصحبةّالناسّفمنّقبلّأربعةّأشياءّ ّ‬

‫منّقبلّضعفهمّوموهتمّوحساهبمّوقرابتهمّبينك ّأماّالضعفّفإهنمّ ّ‬

‫الّميلكونّألنفسهمّضراّوالّنفعاّكماّالّنملكّأنتّفإنّسلبّإحسانّاحملسنّمنهّ ّ‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫ملّيقدرّعلىّإمساكهّلضعفهّوإنّابتلىّاملسيءّالّميلكّنفسهّفتحّرجهاّمنهّ ّ‬

‫وهوّيتم ىّذلكّفهوّمرحومّلضعفه ّواملوتّخيرجهمّعماّهمّفيهّمنّالشهواتّ ّ‬

‫واللذاتّواحلسابّيشغلهمّّبعدّطولّترددهمّيفّالغفلة ّوأماّ ّ‬

‫القرابةّفإهنمّإخوانكّوّأخواتكّفمنّأقلّرمحةّوأقسىّقلباِّمنّ ّ‬

‫الّيرحمّأخاهّوأخته ّوأماّحذرّالدنياّفعندّأربعةّأشياءّعندّ ّ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫لذهتاّومرارهتاّوغفلتهاّوغرورها ّأماّلذهتاّفاذكرّعندّسرعةّانقطاعهاّ ّ‬

‫وطولّمرّارةّالعاقبة‪ّ608‬أماّيفّالدنياّفمنّقبلّالعاقبةّوالندامةّ ّ‬

‫وامل ّؤنةّواآلفاتّويفّاآلخرةّالعقوبة ّوأماّمرارهتاّفاذكرّسرعةّ ّ‬

‫زواهلاّوطولّحلوةّالعاقبة ّوأماّغفلتهاّفأفقّمنهاّابلصاحب‬

‫ّ‬

‫‪608‬‬
‫‪Al-Tirmidhī uses the same terms ʿāqiba (recompense) and ʿuqūba (punishment) in Nawādir al-Uṣūl to mean,‬‬
‫‪respectively, recompense for one’s actions in the present life and punishment for one’s actions in the next life. Ibid.‬‬
‫‪Nawādir 1972, pp. 125, 140.‬‬

‫‪283‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 4r‬‬

‫الناصحّوالـتذكرّوالفراغّمنّاالشتغالّ ّوإالّّدامتّبكّفالّتصحوّ ّ‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫إالّوأنتّيفّاهلالكّالداينّوأماّغرورهاّفإهناّتغركّابليسريّحىتّ ّ‬

‫حترككّإىلّالكثريّوابلصغريّحىتّحتركّإىلّالكبريّوابحلاللّحىتّحتركّ ّ‬

‫إىلّالشبهةّوابلشبهةّحىتّحتركّإىلّاحلرامّووحوّذلكّ ّ‬

‫فاستعنّيفّذلكّبتقصريّاألملّواستعمالّالعقلّ ّوإذكاءّاللبّواستعنّببعضّ ّ‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫هذهّاخلصالّعلىّبعضّواجعلّمجلةّاستعانكّيفّذلكّكلهّابهللّالواحدّ ّ‬

‫القهارّإذاّاختلفتّإىلّاحلكماء‪ّ609‬فالّختتلفّعلىّارتيابّواضطرابّ ّ‬

‫ووسوسةّومشاورةّملنّاهتمتهمّوملّتشرعّيفّأوديتهمّإنّماءّ‬

‫البحرّالّيكالّمبكيالّالكيالّوالّتستخرجّجواهرهّابل يـمغرفةّوالّتتعلمّ ّ‬

‫الفروسية‪ّ610‬يفّبيتّالّزجاجّوالّتعرفّطعمّالعسلّابلسمّوالّتنظرّإىلّعنيّ ّ‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫الشمسّابلسراجّأنّلكلّحبرّجوهراّولكلّجوهرّغائصاّولكلّغائصّ ّ‬

‫بنداراًّولكلّبندارّاختياراّولكلّاختيارّبصراّإنّلكلّلونّعيناًّولكلّ ّ‬

‫عنيّبصراّولكلّبصرّجوهراّلونّالنهارّيؤديّالضوءّإىلّعيونّالناسّ ّ‬

‫ولونّالليلّيؤديّالظلمةّإىلّعيوهنم ّلونّالنهارّيؤديّالظلمةّإىلّعيونّ ّ‬

‫‪609‬‬
‫‪The sages (ḥukamāʾ) represent an important category of people of knowledge. They are the middle category in‬‬
‫‪al-Tirmidhī’s basic tripartite division of people of knowledge. These are the scholars of outward knowledge‬‬
‫‪(ʿulamāʾ), the sages (ḥukamāʾ) and the great ones or saints (kubarāʾ or awliyāʾ). This basic division is reflected in‬‬
‫‪Nawādir al-Uṣūl and Kitāb al-ʿIlm as well as other works by al-Tirmidhī. For al-Tirmidhī the function of the sages‬‬
‫‪is to resolve contradictions and uphold the essential quality of the opposites by distinguishing between opposites‬‬
‫‪(aḍdād). For an example of this usage of the sages (ḥukamāʾ) see NU, vol. 6, p. 350.‬‬
‫‪610‬‬
‫‪For al-Tirmidhī’s use of this term and the connection between horsemanship, training the soul and insight see‬‬
‫‪NU, vol. 5, p. 189.‬‬

‫‪284‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 4r‬‬

‫اخلفافيشّولونّالليلّيؤديّالضوءّإىلّعيوهنا ّإنّلكلّذوقّطعماًّ‪ّ 611‬‬ ‫‪15‬‬

‫ولكلّطعمّذوقاّولكلّذوقّجوهراّطعمّالعسلّيؤديّإىلّذوقّاإلنسانّ ّ‬

‫احلالوةّوإىلّذوقّالكالبّالبشاعةّطعمّاجليفةّيؤديّإىلّذوقهيّاللذةّ ّ‬

‫وإىلّذوقّاإلنسانّالفسادّكذلكّاحلكمةّبنيّاحلكماءّواجلهالّالطبيب‪ّ ّ612‬‬

‫يستفيدّالبصرّمنّعالجّاملريضّواملريضّيستفيدّالشفاّمنّعالجّالطبيبّ ّ‬

‫ويلّللطبيبّمنّهتمةّاملريضّوويلّلهّمنّاستقرّارهّقاذوراتّأسقامهمّ ّ‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫يضّمنّوجعّاألسقامّوويلّلهّمنّكيّّالطبيبّالّاملريضّيدعّ ّ‬
‫ّ‬ ‫وويلّللمر‬

‫الطبيبّويرحيهّمنّويلّالتهمةّوالّالطبيبّيقدرّأنّيهربّويرحيهّ ّ‬

‫منّويلّالكيّاملريضّاملتهمّللطبيبّاملريدّللصحةّبنيّغمنيّبنيّغمّ ّ‬

‫ووسوسةّالتهمةّوغمّادراكّالصحةّمنّعندهّوالطبيبّالرفيقّميوتّبنيّ ّ‬

‫غمنيّبنيّكسادّدواءهّالنافعّالشايفّاجملربّوبنيّغمّالتعجبّمنّفرارّ ّ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫املريضّمنهّواستسقائهمّابلسمومّالقاتلة كمّزرعّعلىّالسبخةّفلمّينبتّ ّ‬

‫يضّعسالّفلمّيستحلّوكمّاستصحّاألعمىّفلمّيبصرّاملنقذّ ّ‬
‫َّ‬ ‫وكمّأطعمّاملر‬

‫متهمّعندّمنّملّجيربهّوملّيعرفهّغريّمتهمّعندّمنّجربهّوعرفهّاحلكمةّ ّ‬

‫‪611‬‬
‫‪This is the first time that we see in any of al-Tirmidhī’s works the use of the term jawhar meaning other than‬‬
‫‪“gem” in its original Arabic meaning. The meaning of jawhar here seems to conform here more closely to the‬‬
‫‪meaning of “essential substance” as it is understood in Greek or Hellenistic philosophy. It should be noted that‬‬
‫‪Radtke claims that al-Tirmidhī did not use any such vocabulary. This would counter one of his main claims.‬‬
‫‪612‬‬
‫‪In Nawādir al-Uṣūl al-Tirmidhī describes the walī (saint) as a doctor (ṭabīb) of God’s servants. Ibid, vol. 2, p.‬‬
‫‪346.‬‬

‫‪285‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 4r‬‬

‫منّعندّحكمّاحلكماءّمبتدأهاّوإليهّمنتهاهاّفإنّملّختتلسهاّعوارضّاألعداء ّ‬ ‫‪29‬‬

‫ّ‬

‫‪286‬‬
 Folio 4v

ّ ّ‫ينجوّمنّأعدائهاّبقوةّالصربّوجناحّاإلخالصّوالّقوةّإىلّابهللّالعليّالعظيم‬ 1

ّ ّ‫احلكيمّحيملّأثقالّمنّدونهّبسعةّوطيبةّوالّحيملّأثقالّاحلكيمّمن‬

ّ ّ‫ّالّحتتملّماءّالنهر‬613‫ليسّيفّدرجتهّفالّينبغيّانّيظلمّمنّدونهّاجلداول‬

ّ ّ‫وتضيقّعنهّوالبحرّإمناّجعلّحبراّلتحملّماّيدخلهّمنّاجلداولّاحلكيم‬

ّ ّ‫ّأتليفّاملشتبهّمنّاألمورّ ّوإحكامّالفاسدّمنهاّإمناّجعلتّعالة‬614‫معدن‬ 5

ّ ّ‫احلدادينّمنّاحلديدّلتحكمّعليهاّآالتّاحملرتقنيّفإنّأردتّاحكامهاّعلى‬

ّ ّ‫ّإالّعندّاحلكيمّفإنّطلبته‬615‫املدرّواخلزفّملّتقدرّعليهّالّتقتبسّنورّاحلكمة‬

ّ ّ‫عندّغريهّملّيقدرّعليهّالّتغرتفّالعسلّمنّخابئةّاخللّوالّجتتين‬

ّ ّ‫التمرّمنّشجرّالشوكّاخلاصّغريّانقضّللعامّوالفرعّغريّانقضّلألصل‬

ّ ًّ‫ العرضّغريّانقضّللحلقّوإنّكانّداخالّبعضّذلكّهلاّبعضّمتصالّوّاثبتا‬10

ّ ّ‫منهّالنهارّمنسوبّإىلّالضوءّوإنّكانّلهّاجلحرّواألسرابّظلمةّفهذاّاخلاص‬

ّ ّ‫لهّالعامّوالليلّمنسوبّإىلّالظلمةّوإنّحطتّفيهّخواطرّالربقّفهذا‬

ّ ّ‫العرضّلهّاحللقّالّيوجدّدخانّإالّمنّانرّوقدّيوجدّالنارّبغريّدخان‬

613
Al-Tirmidhī uses the same analogy (mathal) in Nawādir al-Uṣūl of streams (jadāwil) leading to rivers (anhur)
leading to seas (buḥūr) to explain the relative capacity of different types of individuals to carry the water (māʾ) of
knowledge. Ibid, vol. 2, pp. 30–31.
614
We have seen the use of the image of a mine (maʿdan) used throughout al-Tirmidhī’s works, especially in
relation to the ring analogy (mathal). The image of the mine is used to refer to the heart of the individual that can
produce various types of gems and precious metals representing the meanings that occur to the heart from the
unseen realm.
615
Al-Tirmidhī represents wisdom (ḥikma) as light in Nawādir al-Uṣūl. Ibid, vol. 4, p. 298. This is contrasted to the
ʿilm (knowledge) of the saints (awliyāʾ) which is related a direct experiencing of God through intimate colloquy
(muḥādatha) and is characterized by certainty.

287
 ‫‪Folio 4v‬‬

‫االحتمالّوهيّاحلكمةّوطبعهّ ّ‬
‫ّ‬ ‫فهذاّالفرعّيفّاألصلّتركيبّاحلكيمّآداتّ‬ ‫‪14‬‬

‫أداتّالتسخريّوهوّاحللقّفهمهاّحازّعنّاالحتمالّاألضلّومسّعّعنّالتسخريّ ّ‬

‫عّوأهلكّابلعطبّتركيبّاجلهلّأداةّاالحتمالّمنّقوائمهّ ّ‬
‫ذلكّابلقوار ّ‬

‫داتّالتسخريّيفّلينهّوانقيادهّفمىتّ ّ‬
‫ّ‬ ‫وظهرهّومجيعّأعضائهّوطبعهّأ‬

‫ماّهربّعنّاالحتمالّأوّنمردّعنّالتسخريّأجرضّابلضربّأوّأتلفّابلذبحّ ّ‬

‫ليسّيفّدرجةّاحلكيمّمنّدونهّإمناّتركيبّالذائب‪ّ616‬التمزيقّوالتفريسّ ّ‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫وطبعهّالتمردّيفّخمالبتهّوسفاهتهّوخبثهّوشهوتهّللجيفّفإنّحاولتّ ّ‬

‫منهّتسخريّاحلمارّملّجتدّمنهّتركيبّالظباءّعلىّالضعفّواجلنبّوطبعهاّعلىّاللنيّ ّ‬

‫الشابّيصحبّالكالبّدهرهّوالّيقتديّهباّيفّطباعهاّيفّاالنتقامّوالطيشّ ّ‬

‫والنباحّوال َعفنةّالنهّملّيرهّمنّجنسهّوملّيطمعّيفّاالنتفاعّابالقتداءّبهّ ّ‬

‫فكذلكّاحلكيمّيعاشرّالسفهاء‪ّ617‬دهرهّفالّيعجلّإذاّعجلواّوالّيطيشّإذاّطاشواّ ّ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫والّيصيحّإذاّصاحواّوالّيثبّإذاّوثبواّوالّحيقدّإذاّحقدواّوالّ ّ‬

‫يقتديّهبمّيفّشيءّمنّفعلهمّألنهّالّيراهمّمنّجنسهّوالّيرىّاالنتفاعّلنفسهّ ّ‬

‫بذلكّفمىتّحاولّاحلكيمّاالقتداءّابلسفيهّيوشكّأنّميسحّطبعهّفيجعلّ ّ‬

‫‪616‬‬
‫‪Wolves (dhiʾāb) are used as a metaphor in al-Tirmidhī’s works for the lower traits of the soul. Ibid, vol. 5, p. 285.‬‬
‫‪617‬‬
‫‪Al-Tirmidhī uses a very similar wording in Nawādir al-Uṣūl when he says: al-ʿāqil yuʿāshir ahla dunyāhu ʿalā‬‬
‫‪mā dabbar Allāh, The intelligent person lives among the people of his world according to the way Allāh plans‬‬
‫‪things. Ibid, vol. 4, p. 498.‬‬

‫‪288‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 4v‬‬

‫علىّطبائعهمّوإنّهللّخفياتّمنّمكرهّورمباّمسخّالبدنّورمباّمسخّ ّ‬ ‫‪28‬‬

‫الطبعّويوشكّأنّيصريّمنّطبعّالشابّيفّلينهّوسكونهّوكفّأذاهّإىل ّ‬

‫ّ‬

‫‪289‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 5r‬‬

‫طبعّالكالبّقالّهللاّتعاىلّواتلّعليهمّنبأّالذيّآتيناهّأايتناّ ّ‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫فانسلخّمنهاّإىلّقولهّلعلهمّيتفكرون‪ّ618‬اللحمّالّأيخذّطعماّوالّلذةّوالّمنفعةّ ّ‬

‫ماّملّيطبخّابلنارّويغلىّوينضجّفكذلكّمنفعةّالقلبّالّأيخذّطعمّاحلكمةّ ّ‬

‫والّلذهتاّوالّمنفعتهاّمنّاألخالقّاحلسنةّماّملّيطبخّبنارّاملكروهّويغلىّ ّ‬

‫وينضجّفمتيهاّوصلتّاحلرقةّإىلّمضغةّاحلكيمّوتفشتّفيهاّفينبغيّأنّ ّ‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫يستنعمّذلكّويتوقعّالنضجّبعدهّوليسّلهّأنّيّردّهاّابحليلةّوالدفعّ ّ‬

‫واالابءّواجلزعّفتبقىّمضغةّنيةّفرتجعّخائباّمنّمنفعةّاحلكمةّفإنّ ّ‬

‫اللحمّمتيماّصببتّاملاءّالباردّيفّالقدرّعليهّإذاّوصلّإليهّاحلرانّالّينضجّ ّ‬

‫ويبقىّنياّفالّجتدّلهّلذةّوالّمنفعةّوالّتستمرّبهّبلّتتآذىّبهّويورثكّ ّ‬

‫التخمهّواألسقامّويوشكّأنّيقتلكّإذاّداومتّعلىّأكلهّالصحبةّ ّ‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫انرّوأنتّكائنّفيهاّأحدّالرجلنيّإماّذهباّوإماّحطباّفإنّكنتّ ّ‬

‫ذهباّنفعتكّالصحبةّوعزلتّعنكّابطلكّإبذنّهللاّكماّنفعتّالنارّالذهبّ ّ‬

‫وعزلتّابطلهّوأخلصتهّوإنّكنتّحطباّفاحذرّالصحبةّفإهناّحترقكّ ّ‬

‫كماّحترقّالنارّاحلطبّفأماّالذهبّفهوّالعدلّفإنّكنتّذاّعدلّفأنتّالذهبّ ّ‬

‫‪ 15‬واحلطبّهوّاجلورّفإنّكنتّذاّجورّفأنتّاحلطبّفاحذرّالنريانّ ّ‬

‫تعاهدّربكّيفّبقياتّاألمورّمنّتسليطّخلقّمنّخلقهّعليكّأوّتسليطكّ ّ‬

‫‪618‬‬
‫‪This is a reference to two verses in the Qurʾān from al-Aʿrāf, 7:175–176.‬‬

‫‪290‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 5r‬‬

‫علىّغريكّأوّوقوعّاملكروهّأوّاجملبورّبكّملعاّكلمعانّالربوقّفهناكّ ّ‬ ‫‪17‬‬

‫تضلّاملعرفةّعنّابنّآدمّوابشرهّهولّاخلط ّوبّوشغلّاألسبابّفإليهّفليكنّ ّ‬

‫مفزعكّحينئذّدونّكلّشيءّفهوّموضعّ ّالرحالّواملعنيّعليهّهوّهللاّ ّ‬

‫إنّاحلكيمّجلّجاللهّركبّيفّاالنسانّأربعّطبائعّهنّهالكّاالنسانّوقوامهّ ّ‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫إبذنهّوهيّاملرةّالصفراءّواملرةّالسوداءّوالدمّوالبلغم‪ّ619‬فيقالّإنّاملرةّ ّ‬

‫الصفراءّخلقتّمنّالنارّوطبعهاّاحلرارةّوالتربيدّواحلدةّواحلرقةّواالشتعالّ ّ‬

‫وعملّالنارّوالبلغمّخلقّمنّاملاءّطبعهّاللنيّوالقربّوالتوسلّوالكرمّ ّ‬

‫واملعروفّوالسهولةّوأعمالّاملاءّوالبلغمّضد‪ّ620‬املرةّالصفراءّكماّأنّ ّ‬

‫املاءّضدّالنارّويقالّالدمّخلقّمنّاهلواءّوهوّحارّرطبّوطبيعتهّ ّ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫اجلمالّوهوّمشاكلّ ّ‬
‫ٌ‬ ‫األانةّوالفسحةّوالنجابةّوالرزانةّواحلسنّوالبهاءّو‬

‫للروحّعلىّطبعّاهلوىّواملرةّالسوداءّيقالّهيّريحّخلقتّمنّالرتابّوطبعهاّ ّ‬

‫اليبوسةّوالربودةّواحلفةّوالعجلةّوالقلقّوالضيقّوّاللطافةّوالرقةّ ّ‬

‫علىّطبعّالريحّوهوّضدّالدمّوهللاّأعلمّخيلقّيفّابنّآدمّهذهّاألضدادّفهي ّ‬

‫ّ‬

‫‪619‬‬
‫‪Al-Tirmidhī also refers to the humors in Nawādir al-Uṣūl but only indirectly and not as a complete system as he‬‬
‫‪does here. He argues for the importance of medicine and science, stating that these are supported by the Prophet.‬‬
‫‪Ibid. Nawādir 1972, p. 52.‬‬
‫‪620‬‬
‫‪Seeing the humors as opposites is consistent with al-Tirmidhī’s view of the world as composed of opposites‬‬
‫‪(aḍdād) and is found throughout his works.‬‬

‫‪291‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 5v‬‬

‫هتيجّالريحّمرةّابللنيّواللطفّومرةّابلشدةّوالعنفّفيقلعّويهدمّ ّ‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫ويكسرّنمعنّإمعاانّالّتلويّوالّتقرّإىلّأنّأييتّإذنّابرئهاّيبسطهاّعلىّاملاءّ ّ‬

‫فيخمدّمرةّ ّويهيجّاألمواجّمرةّوعلىّالنارّفتوقدهاّوتشعلهاّوعلىّاهلواءّ ّ‬

‫ويستمرئّمنهّاملاءّواألنداءّإبذنّرهباّومرةّأيذنّاملاءّابلطموّ ّ‬
‫حتركهّ ّ‬

‫واالهتياجّواالعتالمّفرتخوّوتغرقّوتصريّسيالّميرّمراّفهدمّ ّوتفسدّ ّ‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫ومرةّيسكنهّويلينهّومرةّيشتعلّالنريانّوينتجّاحلريقّفيعجزّالق ّومّ ّ‬

‫منّإطفائهاّومرةّيطفئهاّومرةّيكدرّاملاءّالصايفّومرةّيصفيّالكدرّ ّ‬

‫فيصحّابنّآدمّوامللكّاجلبارّيدبرّمنّهذهّالطبائعّفيهّمباّيشاءّفينبغيّ ّ‬

‫أنّيكونّبصرّقلبهّطاحماّإليهّأبداّمنتظراّمباّيصنعّبهّمنّهتييجهّوتسكينه‪ّ ّ621‬‬

‫وماّكانّخارجاّمنهّفتوصلّإليهّأوّمنهّإىلّغريهّيشتغلّابلنظرّإليهّعنّ ّ‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫النظرّإىلّمنّسواهّوماّسواهّفيعرفّربوبيتهّوقدرتهّويكونّمرتعداّوجالّ ّ‬

‫الّيغرّأبداّوكماّأنّالدنياّالّتفّرقّحالةّحىتّينتقلّإىلّغريهاّمنّاحلاالتّ ّ‬

‫خريفاّإىلّشتاءّوشتاءّإىلّربيعّوربيعاّإىلّقيظّوقيظاّإىلّخريفّكذلكّ ّ‬

‫لهّطبائعهّاألربعّمنتقلةّمنّحالةّإىلّحالةّفبحسبّذلكّّجيبّعليهّمراقبتهّ ّ‬

‫‪ 15‬بعنيّوإعدادهّلكلّحالةّغيارهاّواحدهّأهبهاّواستعانتهّابهللّالواحدّ ّ‬

‫املعنيّأنّالّخيذلهّيفّحالةّمنّاحلاالت ّإنّاحلكيمّتباركّوتعاىلّتلطفّ ّ‬

‫‪621‬‬
‫‪Al-Tirmidhī uses this pair of terms in Nawādir al-Uṣūl. Ibid. Nawādir 1972, p. 432.‬‬

‫‪292‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 5v‬‬

‫وبداانّيفّتباركهّوتعاليهّأحكمّحبكمتهّأمرّدنياهّوآخرتهّومساواتهّوأرضهّ ّ‬ ‫‪17‬‬

‫ينظرّإىلّحكمتهّفيهاّأبصارّالعامّفالّيبصرهاّإالّأبصارّاحلكماءّالعلماء‪ّ622‬العقالءّقالّ ّ‬

‫هللاّتعاىلّإنّيفّذلكّآلايتّلقومّيعقلون‪ّ623‬آلايتّألويلّاأللباب‪ّ624‬آلايتّ ّ‬

‫ألويلّاألبصار‪ّ625‬لقومّيتفكرون‪ّ626‬ماّيعقلهاّإالّالعاملون‪ّ627‬فمنهاّماّأدركتّ ّ‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫العقولّبقدرّطاقتهاّومنهاّعجزتّمنّإدراكهّفاحتمالهّالّجيتازهاّ ّ‬

‫كيفّتسعّقشرةّجوزةّرملّعاجلّأمّ ّ‬
‫ّ‬ ‫عنّقدرةّالقادرّوتدبريّاملدبرّو‬

‫كيفّتستوعبّمعدةّآدميّمياهّالبحارّأمّكيفّحتيطّعينهّمباّيفّالدارينّ ّ‬

‫أمجعّأمّكيفّتتضمنّصماخّأذنهّمجيعّاألصواتّاليتّيفّملكهّأمّكيفّ ّ‬

‫تقبضّراحتهّعلىّكلّحمسوسّأمّكيفّحيتويّبطنهّعلىّكلّمأكولّ ّ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫أمّكيفّتطيقّمنخراهّمجيعّكلّرائحةّخلقتّأمّكيفّتصلّهلاتهّإىلّ ّ‬

‫مذاقّكلّطعمّأمّكيفّتطأّقدماهّكلّموطئّقلبهّالضعيفّالذيّ ّ‬

‫كونّمنّمضغةّرخوةّمتبدلةّمتغريةّحقريةّصغريةّمتالشيةّمنّماءّ ّ‬

‫مهنيّمقدرةّتقديرّالغفرانّأبعدّعنّاستدراكّعلمّغريّمقدرّوالّحمدود ّ‬

‫‪622‬‬
‫‪Al-Tirmidhī consistently uses the terms ʿulamāʾ (scholars) and ḥukamāʾ (sages) in close conjunction. Both of‬‬
‫‪these categories are considered to be ʿuqalāʾ (those who possess intelects), the third term used in the sequence here.‬‬
‫‪This is because al-Tirmidhī considers those who are higher in the spiritual hierarchy to be those who are increased in‬‬
‫‪ʿaql. Ibid, p. 57.‬‬
‫‪623‬‬
‫‪Qurʾān 2:164, 13:4, 16:12, 16:67, 30:24.‬‬
‫‪624‬‬
‫‪Qurʾān 3:190‬‬
‫‪625‬‬
‫‪Qurʾān 3:13, 24:44. These verses present a different reading la-ʿibaratan li-ūlī al-abṣār, “a lesson for those who‬‬
‫‪have inner sight”.‬‬
‫‪626‬‬
‫‪Qurʾān 10:24, 13:3, 16:11, 16:69, 30:21, 39:42, 45:13.‬‬
‫‪627‬‬
‫‪Qurʾān 29:43‬‬

‫‪293‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 6r‬‬

‫وتدبريّغريّمتكلفّوالّمعدودّوحكمّغريّمستفادّوّالمولودّفسبحانّ ّ‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫الذيّأحسنّكلّشيءّخلقه‪ّ628‬ملّخيلقّشيئاّعبثا‪ّ629‬والّحييطونّ ّ‬

‫بهّعلمّاً‪ّ630‬وماّأويتّالعبادّمنّالعلمّإالّقليال‪ّ631‬إنّخالقّالنورّهوّخالقّالظلمةّ ّ‬

‫وخالقّالنهارّهوّخالقّالليلّوخالقّالربدّهوّخالقّاحلرّّوخالقّ ّ‬

‫الرطبّهوّخالقّاليابسّوإنّخالقّاحلكيمّهوّخالقّالعيّّوخالقّ ّ‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫العاملّهوّخالقّاجلاهلّوخالقّالعاقلّهوّخالقّاألمحقّوخالقّ ّ‬

‫املنتبهّهوّخالقّالغافلّوخالقّالوقورّهوّخالقّالطياشّوخالقّ ّ‬

‫احلكيمّهوّخالقّالسفيهّوملّخيلقّمنّذلكّشيئاّعبثاًّوالّسهواًّعنّاإلحكامّ ّ‬

‫بوزنّاحلكمةّوالّإمهاالّعنّاإلتقانّبوزنّالتدبريّسبحانهّعنّذلكّوتعاىلّ ّ‬

‫أملّترّإىلّسفاهةّالسفيهّجعلتّأماّحللمّاحلليمّمنهاّيولدّوهباّيرضعّو ّ‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫يرىبّوبلبنهاّيغذىّوهباّيصاغّسنخّاحللمّومسعهّوبصرهّوهلاتهّوهباّيصلّ ّ‬

‫احلكيمّإىلّمنافعهّومرافقهّفإنهّلوالّسفاهةّالسفيهّملّيكنّللحليمّأمّّعنهاّ ّ‬

‫يتولدّاحللمّويظهرّهبا ّأالّترىّأنهّالّيعرفّاحلليمّإالّابلسفيهّوالّ ّ‬

‫يظهرّإالّبهّوالّحيلّإالّبهّأالّترىّأنّالعاقلّظهرّابألمحقّوعرفّبهّ ّ‬

‫وفتحّلهّسكرّعقلهّمنّاألمحقّولوّكانّالسكرّمعدوماّلكانّفيهّعدمّ ّ‬ ‫‪15‬‬

‫‪628‬‬
‫‪This is a reference to Qurʾān 32:7.‬‬
‫‪629‬‬
‫‪This is a reference to Qurʾān 23:115.‬‬
‫‪630‬‬
‫‪This is a reference to Qurʾān 20:110.‬‬
‫‪631‬‬
‫‪This is a reference to Qurʾān 17:85.‬‬

‫‪294‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 6r‬‬

‫العقلّونتجّمنهّخوفّزوالّالعقلّوضرورتهّإىلّفعالّاحلمقّومنزلتهّ ّ‬ ‫‪16‬‬

‫ولوّعدمّاخلوفّلكانّاألمنّيسلبهّالعقلّفيستويّهوّابألمحقّوينتجّ ّ‬

‫منهّالتطوعّوالتعظيمّخلالقهّوتعلقّالقلبّبهّونتجّمنهّرمحتهّلألمحقّ ّ‬

‫ودعاءهّإىلّالعقلّ ّوإرادةّاخلريّوإنصافهّواحتمالّظلمهّوجورهّوالصربّ ّ‬

‫علىّأذاهّوإحسانهّإليهّمعّإساءةّاألمحقّإليهّوسرتهّعليهّمعّأذاءّاألمحقّ ّ‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫عليهّونصيحتهّلهّمعّغشّاالمحقّلهّفكلّذلكّبسببهّأدركّأالّترىّ ّ‬

‫أنهّجعلّاملذمومّللمحمودّسبباًّوركناًّودعامةًّوإمناّيولدّإحكامّاحلكيمّ ّ‬

‫أ ََماّترىّأنّاألنبياءّصلواتّهللاّعليهمّأمجعنيّولدواّمنّإصالبّالكفرة‪ّ ّ632‬‬

‫وأرحامّالضاللةّمعّطهارهتمّونورهمّجعلّالظلمةّسبباّلنورهمّوالنجاسةّ ّ‬

‫عنصراًّلطهارهتم ّأماّترىّأنّاجملاهدينّأدركواّمنالّاجلهادّودرجاتهّ ّ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫ابلكفارّفبالنجسّيظهرّالطاهرّمنّجناستهّبقدرتهّإذاّمشىّاآلدميّ ّ‬

‫علىّاألرضّرأىّإحكامّذلكّكلهّوصارّحمكماّبذلكّكلهّإنّاألنسانّ ّ‬

‫خلقّظلوماّجهوالّعجوالّبنيّسباعّعاديةّمنّالشياطنيّفجعلّهللاّتعاىلّ ّ‬

‫أعداءهّسالحاّلوليهّبهّيقاتلّسباعهّوينجوّبهّمنهمّوجعلهمّحراسا ّ‬

‫‪632‬‬
‫‪Al-Tirmidhī expresses a similar idea using the same language in Nawādir al-Uṣūl when he discusses how‬‬
‫‪Muslims were born from the loins (aṣlāb) of the unbelievers (al-kafara) of Makka. Ibid. Nawādir 1972, p. 92.‬‬

‫‪295‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 6v‬‬

‫لوليهّكمّعبداًّ[ ]ّمتمردّعاتّعاصّعاندّزائغّمتعسفّانكبّعنّ ّ‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫‪5‬‬
‫الصراطّاملستقيمّمستدرجّمستورّعليهّأمرهّعندهّوعندّالعامةّ ّ‬

‫خائزّالقولّعزيزّالنفسّعظيمّالشأنّقدّزينّلهّسوءّعملهّفرآهّ ّ‬

‫حسناًّأصبحّيعشوّعنّذكرّالرمحنّيقيضّلهّشيطاانّفهوّلهّقرين‪ّ633‬وإهنمّ ّ‬

‫ليصدوهنمّعنّالسبيلّوحيسبونّأهنمّمهتدون‪ّ634‬قدّجعلهمّحبكمتهّ ّ‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫حراسا‪ّ635‬لوليهّحيرسونهّمنّالسباعّالعاديةّمنّطريقّاألخالقّوالشهواتّ ّ‬

‫كلماّأرادّسبعّمنهمّمشاورتهّمنّاإلشتهارّوالتعرفّوالرائسةّواالنتقامّ ّ‬

‫ابخللقّأوّالتطاولّعليهمّأوّترهيبّالنفسّإىلّماّيفّأيديهمّأوّمعرفةّ ّ‬

‫خطرهّوقدرهّوتعظيمّاخللقّلهّفنظرّموالهّإىلّهذهّالسباعّقدّهنضتّ ّ‬

‫منّمواضعهاّوأقبلتّوحوهّهيج‪ّ636‬منّهذاّاملستدرجّصياحاّونباحاّ ّ‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫متتابعاّيفّتشمريّوسورةّكماّتنبحّكالبّالغنمّعندّحسّالسباعّوتقاتلهاّ ّ‬

‫فالّيزالّهذاّاحلارسّاملفتونّيصيحّحىتّتفرّسباعهّوالّيزالّهباّيقاتلهاّ ّ‬

‫وينافرّهباّحىتّينفيهاّأوّيقتلهاّفصارّغنمّاألولياءّحمفوظةّهباّترعى‪ّ637‬ساكنةّ ّ‬

‫‪633‬‬
‫‪Qurʾān: 43:36.‬‬
‫‪634‬‬
‫‪Qurʾān: 43:37.‬‬
‫‪635‬‬
‫‪The idea that there are guards (ḥurrās) that oppose the enemies (aʿdāʾ) of the human being is an idea expressed‬‬
‫)‪in NU. The guards mentioned in NU are different in that they protect the treasures of God’s knowledge (maʿrifa‬‬
‫‪from the devils who are enemies. Ibid. Nawādir 1972, pp. 325–326.‬‬
‫‪636‬‬
‫‪This same terminology is used in NU to discuss the arousal of the heart by the enemies of the human being. Ibid,‬‬
‫‪p. 326.‬‬
‫‪637‬‬
‫‪Al-Tirmidhī uses the same mathal of the shepherd and his flock to describe the walāya of the Prophet. Ibid.‬‬
‫‪Nawādir, vol. 5, pp. 284–285.‬‬

‫‪296‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 6v‬‬

‫مطمئنةّيفّمراعيهاّكماّحيفظّالراعيّالشفيقّالعطوفّاللطيفّاجملدّ ّ‬ ‫‪14‬‬

‫يفّتشمريهّللحفظّواحلكيمّيتلقىّذلكّمنهّابلسجودّلهّشكراّومعرفةّحاجتهّ ّ‬

‫إىلّالغنمّليسّإىلّالكالبّنمسكّالكالبّللغنمّالّالغنمّللكالبّورمباّ ّ‬

‫أعتمّإليهمّوالسجلةّوالنقدّوبعضّالغنمّلصياحّالكالبّوكرههاّإذاّ ّ‬

‫رآهاّمنّغريّحبسهاّوغريّصورهتاّويفّغريّطبعهاّوإذاّهوّيفّاألصلّضدهاّ ّ‬

‫كسائرّأعدائهاّمنّالسباعّإالّأنهّجعلّهذاّالضدّحارساّلهّوسبباّحلياتهّ ّ‬

‫وجناتهّبقدرهّأحكمّاحلاكمنيّوالغنمّغافلةّعنّهذاّذاهلةّإمناّحتبّجنسهاّ ّ‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫وتسكنّإليهاّحاميةّعنّالكالبّغريّخمتلطةّهباّوالّتدريّماّجعلّهلاّ ّ‬

‫منّالصالحّفيهاّفتباركّهللاّأحسنّاخلالقنيّفاحلكيمّعرفّلطفهّفيماّأدركّ ّ‬

‫منّتدبريهّوماّعجزّعنّإدراكهّوانتفعّبكلّشيءّوهوّكامللكّالكبريّ ّ‬

‫الغينّذيّالضياعّالفاشيةّواألموالّالكثريةّوكلّأولئكّلهّضياعّ ّ‬

‫جيهلّاإلنزالّمنهاّولكلّنوعّمنّاإلنزالّعندهّوعاءّجيعلهّفيهّحىتّيضبطّ ّ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫ملكهّوإنّيفّكلّواحدّمنّهؤالءّمنّاألمحقّوالفاسدّوالظاملّواألبلهّ ّ‬

‫والكفورّوالطياشّوغريهمّلهّنزلّونوعّمدخلّمنهّالّيدخلّمنّغريهّ ّ‬

‫فهوّيتعاهدّضياعهّويرقهاّوحيررهاّوحيرر‪ّ638‬ماّيدخلّلهّمنهاّوالّيكونّ ّ‬

‫‪638‬‬
‫‪Here we have the connection discussed in Chapter 1 of the dissertation about the connection between freedom‬‬
‫‪(ḥurriyya) and walāya. The sage (ḥakīm), as one type of saint (walī) is like a king who can enslave and free others as‬‬
‫‪he chooses.‬‬

‫‪297‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 6v‬‬

‫كالفقريّالذيّالّميلكّشرباّمنّاألرضّوملّيلزمهّشغلّذلكّوالّلهّوعاء ّ‬ ‫‪29‬‬

‫ّ‬

‫‪298‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 7r‬‬

‫إنّتنصرواّهللاّينصركمّويثبتّأقدامكم‪ 639‬ولينصرنّ‪ّ640‬هللاّمنّينصرهّورسلهّ ّ‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫ابلغيبّإنّهللاّقويّعزيز الّختفّإنكّأنتّاألعلى‪ّ641‬وألقّماّيفّميينكّتلقفّ ّ‬

‫ماّصنعوا‪ّ642‬إىلّقولهّأمسعّوأرىّفأتياه‪ّ643‬إىلّقولهّس ّريهتاّاآليةّوإنّميسسكّهللاّبضرّ ّ‬
‫ّ‬

‫فالّكاشفّلهّإالّهوّإىلّقولهّالرحيم‪ّ644‬أنتّمضطرّإىلّ[ ]‪ّ645‬يفّكلّطرفةّعنيّ ّ‬

‫وأقلّأوّأكثرّاضطراراّاتماّغريّانقصّواخللقّكلهمّنميزّمراقيّالضرورةّإليهّأهلّ ّ‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫السمواتّواألرضّالّأحدّأغ ىّعنهّمنّأحدّبشيءّوالّأحدّأقلّضرورةّإليهّمنّآخرّ ّ‬

‫ّوالّأحدّأغ ىّعنهّيفّدونّوقتّوالّأحدّسواهّإالّوّهوّجمبولّعلىّاالضطرارّ ّ‬

‫إليهّوالّجمبولّعلىّاالضطرارّإليهّإالّوهوّمضطرّإليهّيفّمعرفةّضرورتهّإليهّيفّكلّ ّ‬

‫وقتّفالعبدّكاملعلقّبهّيفّجوّاهلواءّيدهّيفّيدِّمسكّلهّفالعبدّغريّمضطرّ ّ‬

‫إىلّاجلوّألنهّيفّاجلوّوهوّمضطرّأبداّإىلّيدِّمسكهّألنهّإنّأرسلّتعطيالّ(هطيال)ّ ّ‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫فذهبّضرورتهّطرفةّعنيّفهوّمضطرّإليهّبظاهرهّوابطنهّوحركاتهّوسكناتهّ ّ‬

‫أشدّمنّكلّشيءّهوّيرىّنفسهّمضطراّإليهّوحمتاجاّإليهّفأحذرّالكالمّ ّ‬

‫واستعنّابهللّفإنهّجيرّكثريّاملهالكّوّاملعاطبّمنّفرحهّونشاطهّوعجبهّ ّ‬

‫‪639‬‬
‫‪Qurʾān: 47:7.‬‬
‫‪640‬‬
‫‪Al-Tirmidhī blends two verses of the Qurʾān most probably by accident since they both resemble each other.‬‬
‫‪These are 22:40 and 57:25.‬‬
‫‪641‬‬
‫‪Qurʾān: 20:68.‬‬
‫‪642‬‬
‫‪Qurʾān: 20:69.‬‬
‫‪643‬‬
‫‪Qurʾān: 20:46–47.‬‬
‫‪644‬‬
‫‪Qurʾān: 10:107.‬‬
‫‪645‬‬
‫‪ but this does not make sense in the context of the passage.‬عني ‪It looks like the word could be‬‬

‫‪299‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 7r‬‬

‫ايئهّوافتخارهّوتركّالقيامّبهّوتركّوفائهّوماّجيلبّإىلّصاحبهّمنّاالستطالةّ ّ‬
‫ور ّ‬ ‫‪14‬‬

‫علىّمنّفوقهّأعينّكالمّالصوابّوالعظةّوالذكرّفكلّذلكّمنّآفاتهّوكلّواحدةّ ّ‬

‫منهاّخترّمطرّابلعطبّإالّأنّينالهّرمحةّالرحيمّمثّأنّخيلصّمنّآفاتّ ّ‬

‫الكالم‪ّ646‬فإنّاملتكلمّمقدرّملاّيفيتّهباّامللكّومقتدرّلتقديرّأمورهّوتدبريّ ّ‬

‫أعمالهّفكيفّجيرتيّأنّيقدرّأوّيهتديّأوّيدبرّمنّأعمالهّعلىّمقدارّعظمتهّ ّ‬

‫وملكهّوكيفّيرىّنفسهّيصلحّلذلكّفعسىّأنّيقدمّمؤخراّأوّيؤخرّمقدماّ ّ‬

‫أوّيزيدّعلىّاملقدارّأوّينقصّمنهّفيفسدّأمرهّكانّالبصريّمنّالرجالّيفّ ّ‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫حرفةّإذاّكلفّتدبريّعملّملكّمنّملوكّاألرضّفيماّلهّبصرّهابّذلكّوجنبّ ّ‬

‫عنهّوهالهّخمافةّأنّالّيقعّمنهّابملوافقةّفكيفّبتدبريّأمرّملكّالسماواتّ ّ‬

‫واألرضّوجاعلّاملقاديرّوصانعّالتدابريّوالعارفّبكلّذلكّواملتعايلّ ّ‬

‫بنفسهّعنّاخلللّوالفسادّأمّكيفّيطمعّنفسّالغافلّمنّأنّيكونّترمجاانّ ّ‬

‫هلذاّامللكّالعظيمّوانقداّلهّومدبراّألمرهّوأنّيكونّمنهاّيصلحّلذلكّأوّيستحقهّ ّ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫معّصغرهّيفّعظمتهّوجهالتهّيفّعلمهّوسفالتهّيفّعلوهّوجناستهّ ّ‬

‫يفّطهارتهّوسخافتهّيفّحكمتهّولومتهّيفّكرمهّكيفّطمعّأوّيصلحّالصغريّ ّ‬

‫أنّيكونّمدبراّألمرّالعظيمّواجلاهلّمدبراّألمرّالعاملّوالغين‬

‫‪646‬‬
‫‪This is an example of where al-Tirmidhi criticizes Kalām (theology) and likens the mutakallim (theologian) to a‬‬
‫‪minister of a king who changes the wording of the king’s rulings.‬‬

‫‪300‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 7r‬‬

‫مدبراّألمرّالطاهرّوالسخيفّمدبراّألمرّاحلكيمّوالذميمّمدبراّألمرّالكرمي ّ‬ ‫‪29‬‬

‫ّ‬

‫‪301‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 7v‬‬

‫إنّآفةّاحلريصّعلىّالربّتركّالتواضعّللسائلّاحلريصّعلىّمجعّاملعاشّ ّ‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫متواضعّيفّسؤالهّيضعّابلكسرةّواحلبةّوالّيكادّيرغبّيفّالرغيفّالصحيحّ ّ‬

‫والدرهمّالوايفّمتواضعاّبنفسهّعنّاستحقاقّذلكّواستعظاماّللدرهمّ ّ‬

‫والرغيفّو [ ] هلماّعنّقدرهّفإنّأعطيّذلكّشكرهّعليهّعلىّقدرّإجاللهّ ّ‬

‫عنّقدرتهّوعلمّإنّصنعّإليهّمنّاملعروفّماّملّيكنّمنزلتهّيبلغّواملستغينّ ّ‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫يفّنفسهّيبغضّحبرصّالدنياّحريصاّعلىّمجعّاحلطامّفإنّأعطيّماّيعظمّ ّ‬

‫عليهّالسائلّالشاكرّتتعجبّمنهّإجالالّلهّأسخطهّملاّيرىّنفسهّأرفعّ ّ‬

‫منزلةّمنهّوإنّأعطيّغايةّمنيتهّملّيعظمّعليهّشكرهّملاّيقدمّطمعهّ ّ‬

‫فيهّورأىّنفسهّمستحقاًّلهّورمباّعظمّمنهّالفرحّلبلوغهّمنيتهّ ّ‬

‫فظنّأنّعظمّالفرحّعظمّالشكرّفخدعّفهذاّتفسريّأولّاملسألهّفالّحتدثّ ّ‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫ابلكالم‪ّ647‬نفسكّفإنّأدىنّماّأخشىّعليكّخصلتنيّويفّكلّواحدةّمنهماّ ّ‬

‫آفةّأحدمهاّأنّالّأتخذّالكالمّمنهّفتوديهّإليهّوالّيردكّعنهّفيهّمنّعندّ ّ‬

‫مبتداهّإىلّآخرهّواألخرىّأنّالّحيلهّعنّتدبريكّأمرهّفيكونّذلكّاستصغاراّ ّ‬

‫لعظمتهّوكالمهاّمضرةّابحلكمة‪ّ648‬حمشوةّابآلفةّأماّعلمتّأنهّينبغيّللمتكلمّ ّ‬

‫إذاّابتلىّفاضطرّإليهّأنّيكونّنظرهّإليهّواستخراجّالكالمّمنّعندهّ ّ‬ ‫‪15‬‬

‫‪647‬‬
‫‪This represents further criticism of Kalām.‬‬
‫‪648‬‬
‫‪Theology (Kalām) is contrast here to wisdom (ḥikma).‬‬

‫‪302‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 7v‬‬

‫قبلّابتدائهّفيهّبنظرّماّيعطيهّوماّجيريّعلىّلسانهّوإنّعرضّلهّ ّ‬ ‫‪16‬‬

‫قبلّذلكّعلمّينبغيّأنّيعرضّعليهّقبلّأنّينفردّبهّويضطرّإليهّفيهّ ّ‬

‫كأنهّيقولّيرضىّأوّالّيرضىّيصلحّأوّالّيصلحّيفّهذاّالوقتّأوّيفّغريّهذاّ ّ‬

‫الوقتّيرادّفيهّزايدةّأوّنقصانّأتخريّأوّتقدميّماّيرادّفيهّوماّالّ ّ‬

‫يرادّفيهّمثّالّجيعلّألحدّغريهّفيهّنصيباّإىلّأخرهّيفّشيءّمنّاألشياءّ ّ‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫مثّيكونّخائفاًّأنّيكونّدخلهّحالّملّيعلمهّويعلمّأنهّقدّأصابتهّتوبتهّ ّ‬

‫منّالقيامّأبمرهّفكيفّينبغيّأنّيكونّدخولهّفيهّوإحكامهّإايهّوفراغهّ ّ‬

‫منهّوعرضهّعليهّوجوابهّلهّعندّسؤالهّإايهّعنهّوتركّخيانتهّلهّفيهّيفّ ّ‬

‫تركّاللهوّفيهّومىتّيكونّكالمكّعلىّهذاّاملقدارّوإىلّ ّ‬

‫هذاّاملقدارّمنّ[ ]ّماّيستحقهّبعظمتهّوتعرفهّحبكمتهّوكلّماّأوصيتكّ ّ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫بهّالّتطبقهّإالّبهّ[ ]ّأعانكّعليهّوصنعّلكّفيهّوإمناّتفعلهّتفضال ّ‬

‫وتطوالّمنهّالّأنكّتستحقهّلشيءّمنّكانّأوّيكونّمنكّولكنّبرمحتهّإيلّ ّ‬

‫ابتداءكّهباّفضالّمنهّوكرماّوجوداّوجتاوزاّوإحساانّوإنّخذلكّ ّ‬

‫فبعدله‪ّ649‬وقدّكنتّمستحقاّلهّالبتةّومباّملّتساهلّغريكّوملّيصلحّلسواه ّ‬

‫‪649‬‬
‫‪Here al-Tirmidhī states that were God to forsake one then it would be out of his justice. This perspective is‬‬
‫‪consistent with Ḥanafī theological viewpoints.‬‬

‫‪303‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 8r‬‬

‫لسواهّومنّقبلّنفسكّأتيتّوأنتّامللومّعليهّورمحتهّأوسعّوإحسانهّ ّ‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫أسبقّفنعمّالربّولبئسّالعبدّوأحذرّالصحبة‪ّ650‬أشدّاحلذرّوضعهاّ ّ‬

‫موضعّالعطبّفيكونّحذركّمنهّحلذركّمنّالعطبّاليقني ّفإنكّقدّ ّ‬

‫جربتهاّورأيتهاّورأيتّآفاهتاّوماّحلّبكّمنّأجلهاّوماّعوفيتّ ّ‬

‫ِماّابتليّغريكّفيهاّأبلوانّالبالءّوكيفّأهلكّنفسهّواستدرجّوخدعّ ّ‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫هباّفالّأتمنهاّبعدّماّرأيتّوتواضعّلربكّملعرفةّضعفّنفسكّعنّ ّ‬

‫طاقتهاّأماّرأيتّقدّأصابتكّمنّنكباهتاّإنّاستقبلتكّمنهاّخمافةّ ّ‬

‫أذهبتّمنكّخوفّهللاّوحياءّأذهبّحياءّهللاّوطمعّأذهبّطمعكّ ّ‬

‫فيماّعندّهللاّوهيبةّأذهبتّهيبةّهللاّوجاللّأذهبّجاللّهللاّ ّ‬

‫وتعظيمّأذهبّتعظيمّهللاّأبعدّهذاّالعنيّخيدعّمعّأنكّضعيفّيفّكلّ ّ‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫األحوالّإالّبقوةّهللاّخمذولّإالّبنصرةّهللاّجاهلّإالّبتعليمّهللاّمائلّ ّ‬

‫إالّبتسديدّهللاّمثّإنكّإنّصحبكّمنّيريدّاالنتفاعّبكّوملّيفيدّبكّوملّيقتصرّ ّ‬

‫علىّرأيكّوملّخيلكّجرتّورعتّوأضمرتّلهّالعداوةّواخلشونةّوحكمتّ ّ‬

‫عليهّخالفّماّحكمتّعلىّنفسكّواشتدتّالّمينكّفيماّأييتّمثلهّكثرياّ ّ‬

‫وملّترّضعفهّوالّينطوّعلىّرمحتهّوملّيتمسكّابلنظرّإىلّقدرةّهللاّجلّ ّ‬ ‫‪15‬‬

‫‪650‬‬
‫‪The topic of companionship (suḥba) is important in al-Tirmidhī’s mystical framework. One of the chapters of his‬‬
‫‪NU is titled, “The Etiquette of Companionship.” Ibid. Nawādir 1972, p. 45.‬‬

‫‪304‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 8r‬‬

‫سلطانهّوعظمّكربايءهّوّأخذهّبنواصيّالعبادّواستعمالهّإايهمّوملّختفّ ّ‬ ‫‪16‬‬

‫علىّنفسكّمثلّماّرأيتّمنهّمنّالتقصريّوملّميتلئّقلبكّمنّالشكرّواخلوفّ ّ‬

‫وإنّاقتدىّبكّفعسىّأنّيكونّاقتداؤهّيفّأمرّركبتّفيهّاهلوىّأوّشبيهّ ّ‬

‫ابهلوىّأوسننتّفيهّسنةّغريّصحيحةّأوّأنتّفيهّمغرورّفتحملّوزرهّمعّ ّ‬

‫وزرّنفسكّمثّترىّنفسكّلهّمتضيقاّيفّوقتّمنّاآلفاتّأوّحالّمنّاألحوالّ ّ‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫وإذاّابتليتّابلصحبةّمنّغريّتكلفّمنكّفإايكّأنّحيملكّخوفّهذهّ ّ‬

‫اآلفاتّبعدّعلىّتركّماّيلزمكّمنّإقامتكّعلىّالعدلّفيهاّوفراركّمنهاّ ّ‬

‫مكابرهّأوّجوركّفيهاّوتبدلّأمرّموالكّأوّقلةّنظركّإىلّماّمحلكّواستقبلكّبهّ ّ‬

‫ّوجرئكّوغفلتكّعنّقدرتهّعليكّفيهاّوفيماّهوّخارجّمنهاّواستخراجهّاملنفعةّ ّ‬

‫منّسببّالنصرةّواملضرةّمنّتسببهّاملنفعةّأوّمنكّبذلكّإىلّاختيارّشيءّدونّ ّ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫شيءّدونّأنّيكونّمثلّقلبكّّإليهّوإىلّقدرتهّوموافقتهّوالقولّيفّأمرهّوكنّكمحرتفّ ّ‬

‫ألقيّإليهّامللكّثوابّمنّثيابهّأوّمتاعاّمنّأمتعتهّكلفهّإصالحهاّفكنّأحدّرجلنيّ ّ‬

‫إماّرجلّاستعانّبهّعلىّالقيامّابلعدلّيفّذلكّوعزمّعليهّأوّرأىّرجلّ ّ‬

‫ضعفّنفسهّعنّذلكّفتضرعّإليهّواضطرّإليهّيفّختليصهّمنّشرهّمنّأنّيكون ّ‬
‫ّ‬

‫ّ‬

‫‪305‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 8v‬‬

‫خمتاراّلشيءّألنهّالّتدريّفيماّخريّلهّالعبيدّثالثةّيفّالدخولّيفّأمرّموالهّ ّ‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫واخلروجّمنهّأحدهمّقدّأختارّهواهّفلبسّيدخلّوالّخيرجّإالّهبواهّفقدّ ّ‬

‫خسرّوأبقّمنّموالهّونمردّعليهّواآلخرّيدخلّخبوفّورجاءّ ّ‬

‫فيستقيمّومييلّوّهوّبنيّالضرّوالنفعّواآلخرّيدخلّابملوافقةّاليريهّ ّ‬

‫منّاألمرّإالّموافقتهّفهوّالسابقّاملقدمّفخوفهّمنّزاولهّعنّموافقتهّوهربهّ ّ‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫منّهربّنفسهّعنّموافقةّموالهّإىلّاختيارهاّمثّيرجعونّمنّعندّ ّ‬

‫املوىلّعندّفراغهمّمنّالعملّعلىّثالثةّأوجهّفواحدّيرجعّابلسخطةّسخطّ ّ‬

‫عليهّربهّوهوّراكبّللهوىّوآخرّيكونّرجوعهّابلعفوّولعلّأكثرّذلكّ ّ‬

‫الذيّيدخلّابخلوفّوالرجاءّيثابّعلىّاستقامتهّويعفىّعنّمثله ّوآخرّ ّ‬

‫يكونّرجوعهّابلرضىّمنّموالهّوعسىّأنّيكونّأكثرّذلكّمنّدخلّابملوافقةّألنّ ّ‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫صاحبّاملوافقةّيكونّعزمهّعلىّماّيرضىّفيهجمّعلىّماّطلبّوحيصدّماّزرعّ ّ‬

‫ويكونّصاحبّاخلوفّوالرجاءّعلىّالنجاةّفيهجمّعلىّماّطلبّوحيصدّماّزرعّصاحبّ ّ‬

‫املوافقةّالّتطيبّنفسهّبشيءّدونّارتكابّهواهّالعبيدّثالثةّعبدّأبقّ ّ‬

‫وعبدّيغلّعلىّموالهّوعبدّخادمّقامّعلىّرأسّموالهّفأماّاألبقّفقدّ ّ‬

‫نمردّعلىّموالهّوركبّهواهّفعاقبتهّاألخذّوالقيدّوالطوقّوالضربّ ّ‬ ‫‪15‬‬

‫واحلبسّوالبالءّوأماّاملغلّسلمّإىلّحرفةّمنّاحلرفّوعلمّوجههاّو ّ‬

‫أعطىّالتهاّ ّوبنيّّلهّماّيرادّمنهّمنّالغلةّوأشرفّعبيدّالغلةّوأحسنهمّ ّ‬
‫‪306‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 8v‬‬

‫أداءّللغلة‪ّ651‬يفّتوفريهاّومبادرهتاّوتطييبهاّوأكثرهمّتواضعاّملوالهّ ّ‬ ‫‪18‬‬

‫ونملقاّوتقرابّأبلوانّالنسبّ ّوسدادّماّيقربهّإىلّموالهّكلهّعلىّ ّ‬

‫وجهنيّيفّعملهّعلىّإقامةّالربوبيةّلربهّوإقامةّالعبوديةّلنفسهّفإذاّ ّ‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫أقامّالربوبيةّلربهّرأىّقوامهّكلهّبيدهّيفّمصاحلهّومنافعهّوتوكلّعليهّ ّ‬

‫وإذاّأقامّالعبوديةّلنفسهّواىلّتوجيهّعليهّوعملهّكلهّإىلّموالهّوتواضعّ ّ‬

‫لهّفهوّمتواضعّلهّمضطرّإليهّفهذاّإحكامّعملهّوحصنهّوأداتهّوأماّ ّ‬

‫اخلادمّفليسّلهّخدمةّمعلومةّنصيبّابخلدمةّملوالهّواخلدمةّخمتلفةّأمرهاّ ّ‬

‫مرةّأيمرهّبلطفّومرةّأيمرهّجبفاّومرةّابلشدةّومرةّابللنيّومرةّابلعطاّ ّ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫ومرةّابحلرماتّومرةّيكونّقائماّومرةّقاعداّوهوّغريّمنسوبّإىلّعملّسوىّ ّ‬

‫اخلدمةّواخلدمةّأحواهلاّخمتلفةّوأمرهّكلهّعلىّاألدبّأدبّيكونّبينهّوبنيّموالهّ ّ‬

‫فإنهّالّيصلحّللخدمةّإالّاألديبّالظريفّالنظيفّاخلفيفّإذاّتكلمّتكلمّ ّ‬

‫بوزنّوإذاّسكتّسكتّهبيبةّوإنّجلسّجلسّمتواضعاّوإنّوقف ّ‬

‫ّ‬

‫ّ‬

‫‪651‬‬
‫‪In NU al-Tirmidhī uses the same configuration of types of slaves. The farm or agricultural slaves (ghulla) are‬‬
‫‪likened to the Jews while the house slaves (khadam) are likened to the Muslims. Ibid, p. 99.‬‬

‫‪307‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 9r‬‬

‫وقفّمنتظراّوإنّدعىّأسرعّاإلجابةّوإنّعملّأتقنّالعملّفقدّتركّ ّ‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫مجيعّحوائجهّوحوائجّغريهّحلاجةّاخلدمةّفليستّلهّحاجةّسواهاّوالّعملّ ّ‬
‫ّ‬

‫سواهّالّيعرفّمنهّسعيّلنفسهّسواهّوالّلغريهّكسعيّغريهّمنّالعبيدّاملغلنيّ ّ‬

‫واألبقني‪ّ652‬فإنهّيفّكنفّموالهّيفّبيتهّوّمطبخهّوعلىّمائدتهّوبنيّيديهّ ّ‬

‫يتعاهدهّموالهّمباّيرىّمنّمصاحلهّويستعملهّمباّيشاءّمنّأمورهّويرينهّ ّ‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫مباّيشاءّمنّدنيتهّاليتّالّيرينّهباّأحداّمنّعبيدهّ ّوسدادّأمرهّكلهّعلىّأربعةّ ّ‬

‫أوجهّعلىّاألنتظارّواالستيذانّوبعدّاالضطرارّوالتواضعّفهوّالّيعملّ ّ‬

‫عمالّصغرياّأوّكبرياّإالّابستئذانّأوّانتظارّبعدّاستكمالّدرجةّاالضطرارّ ّ‬

‫والتواضعّمنّوحوّكلمةّأوّسكتةّأوّقيامّأوّقعودّأوّأكلّأوّشربّأوّحركةّ ّ‬

‫أوّسكون‪ّ653‬أوّنظرةّأوّرفعّأوّوضعّألنهّالّيكونّللخادمّإالّذلكّألنهّ ّ‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫خداعّالسيدّكفاحاّوذلكّبقلبهّفهوّمنتظرّماّحينّهّمنّسيدهّوإنّأرادّ ّ‬
‫ّ‬

‫أمراّاستأذنهّويرىّنفسهّمضطراّإليهّيفّمجيعّأحوالهّويتواضعّ ّ‬

‫عنّأنّيكونّوضعّنفسهّيفّموضعّليسّلهّأبهلّمنّاختيارهّلنفسهّ ّ‬

‫أوّاختيارهّألمرّرفيعّفإنّكانّفيهّمرضاةّموالهّإلنهّالّيدريّيصلحّ ّ‬

‫هوّلهّأمّالّيصلحّلهّأوّيرادّلذلكّالعملّخادمّأرفعّمنهّوالّيبلغّقدرهّ ّ‬ ‫‪15‬‬

‫‪652‬‬
‫‪For the similar analogy of the runaway slave (ābiq) see NU: Ibid, p. 326.‬‬
‫‪653‬‬
‫‪Movement (ḥaraka) and stillness (sukūn) are two opposites used by the Pythagoreans in their list of primary‬‬
‫‪opposites.‬‬

‫‪308‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 9r‬‬

‫وخطرهّذلكّالعملّفهوّيتواضعّفيهّشفيعاّمنكسراّوّيستأذنّإنّ ّ‬ ‫‪16‬‬

‫أرادّالدخولّلهّذلكّويرىّنفسهّمضطراّإليهّيفّدخولهّكيفّيدخلهّ ّ‬

‫يفّأيّوقتّومعّأيّشيءّوأبيّشيءّيرىّنفسهّجاهالّيفّذلكّكلهّ ّ‬

‫ويرادّلهّالدخولّفيهّأمّالّويتواضعّعنّأنّيعملّعمالّيكونّالعزّفيهّلغريّ ّ‬

‫موالهّفإنّغفلّعنّشيءّمنّذلكّأوّنزلّفيهّرأىّخذالنهّمنّموالهّورأىّيفّ ّ‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫ذلكّمنهّعدالّورأىّنفسهّلهّأهالّفاضطرّإليهّيفّإقالتهّمتواضعاّ ّ‬

‫يفّذلكّأنهّيطلبّأمراّليسّلهّأبهلّمستحسناّمنهّملاّصنعّمنّحقهّ ّ‬

‫وارتكبّمنّآذاهّوملاّأنهّيطلبّماّليسّلهّأبهلّفإنّوقفّعلىّشيءّ ّ‬

‫منّأمورّاخلدمةّرأىّذلكّفضالّمنّربهّعليهّوالّيرىّنفسهّلهّأهالّ ّ‬

‫البتةّعلىّحالّملاّعرفّمنّلومهّوجناستهّوكفرانهّوجهالتهّو ّ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫معصيتهّوماّعرفّمنّعظمةّموالهّوجاللةّخطرهّوطهارتهّوارتفاعهّ ّ‬

‫عنّاألقذارّواألجناسّفهوّيفّالسيئةّمضطرّمتواضعّويفّاحلسنةّ ّ‬

‫منتظرّمستأذنّوهوّماّصارّإليهّمنّاخلريّقليالّكانّأوّكثرياّيعلمّأنهّ ّ‬

‫كانّأهالّلهّوهوّعدلّمنّربهّعليهّليعرفهّجربوتهّفهوّجبارّفهوّالّأبدا ّ‬

‫ّ‬

‫ّ‬

‫‪309‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 9v‬‬

‫أبداّإالّفضلهّوالّخيشىّأبداّإالّعدلهّمثّهوّيفّمجيعّأحوالهّالّخيلوّمنّفضلهّ ّ‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫وإنّأصابهّعدلهّألنهّإنّوقعّيفّعدلّالزلةّتضامنّموالهّعليهّيفّالزلةّ ّ‬

‫واخلوفّمنهاّفضلّوالتواضعّمنهّفيهاّفضلّوأمرهّمعاتبتهّوهوّيعاملّ ّ‬

‫ويعاملّعلىّالعنانّفرمباّبنيّلهّيفّالباطنّورمباّبنيّلهّيفّالظاهرّ ّ‬

‫عندّانتظارهّواستيذانهّوحركاتهّوعملهّوالظاهرِّماّميضئهّأوّيصدهّ ّ‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫منّأسبابّاإلمضاّوالصدّورمباّتركّيفّخريةّويزدادّلهّفيهاّأيضاّ ّ‬

‫تواضعّواضطرارّفإنّأمرّموالهّعلىّالتؤدةّواإلانةّواهليبةّواجلربوتّ ّ‬

‫فالّينبغيّأنّيكونّطياشاّمستعجالّقالّجلّوعزّالّتعجلّابلقرآنّ ّ‬
‫ي‬
‫منّقبلّأنّيقضىّإليكّوحيهّوقلّربّزدينّعلمّاً‪ّ654‬وقالّقدّنرىّ ّ‬

‫تقلبّوجهكّيفّالسماءّفلنولينكّقبلةّترضاها‪ّ655‬وقالّولقدّنعلمّ ّ‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫أنكّيضيقّصدركّمباّيقولون‪ّ656‬إىلّآخرهّالسورةّوماّكانّمنهّيفّشأنّ ّ‬

‫اإلفكّوسؤالّأصحابّالكهفّإنّالذينّجاءواّابإلفكّعصبةّمنكم‪ّ657‬وال ّ‬

‫تقولنّلشيءّإينّفاعلّذلكّغداّإالّأنّيشاءّهللا‪ّ658‬ويفّأمرّيعقوبّمعّ ّ‬

‫يوسفّعليهماّالسالمّويفّأمرهّمعّولدهّحنيّدعوهّوإجاتبهّبعدّعشرينّومائةّ ّ‬

‫‪654‬‬
‫‪Qurʾān: 20:114.‬‬
‫‪655‬‬
‫‪Qurʾān: 2:144.‬‬
‫‪656‬‬
‫‪Qurʾān: 15:97.‬‬
‫‪657‬‬
‫‪Qurʾān: 24:11.‬‬
‫‪658‬‬
‫‪Qurʾān: 18:23.‬‬

‫‪310‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 9v‬‬

‫سنةّأوّوحوّذلكّويفّأمرّالنبوةّوقصورّالوحيّمدةّوماّأظهرّمنّآايتهّ ّ‬ ‫‪15‬‬

‫يفّكلّشيءّمنّأمرّالسحابّواملطرّواألشجارّوخلقّاإلنسانّوالدوابّ ّ‬

‫والطيورّوغريهمّمنّمجيعّأمورهّفهذاّيفّالظاهرّوأماّالباطنّفيصريّ ّ‬

‫مبنزلةّينظرّبنورّهللاّويرميّبسهمّهللاّفالّخيطئّفينبغيّلهّقبلّذلكّأنّ ّ‬

‫يلقيّهمّنفسهّالذيّيكونّمنهّإشعالهّيفّمصدادهّوتدبريهّوتقدميهّ ّ‬

‫وأتخريهّألنّلهّمهاّحيملهّعلىّهذهّاألشياءّمنّوحوّماّيريدّمنّالصالحّيفّ ّ‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫أمرّوالفسادّيفّأمرّأوّاهلونّيفّأمرّأوّالطمعّيفّأمرّواملنفعةّيفّأمرّ ّ‬

‫أوّالنصرّيفّأمرّوهوّمقدارهّالذيّيقدرهّعلىّالتجريدّوالتجريدّجيربهّ ّ‬

‫اخللقّفإنّاخللقّعامتهمّميضونّعلىّالتجربة‪ّّ659‬كنحوّماّأيكلّاإلنسانّفيشبعّ ّ‬

‫ويكتسبّفيجمعّويلبسّفيدفئّويتقيّفتوقىّويطلبّفيعطىّويؤذيّ ّ‬

‫مّفيكرمّويهربّفينجوّووحوّذلكّوهيّجتربةّفقدّوقعتّ ّ‬‫ي‬
‫فيؤذىّويكر َ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫العامةّعليهاّوجبنواّعنّإلقائهاّوهوّالسببّفاخلادمّينبغيّلهّأنّ ّ‬

‫جياوزّالسببّإىلّاملسبب‪ّ660‬والتجربةّإىلّاجملربّواملقدارّإىلّاملقدرّألنّ ّ‬

‫لهّمقداراّسوىّمقدارّاخللقّالذيّأعطاهمّمنّقبلّالتجربةّومقدارهّ ّ‬

‫خالفّمقدارّالعبيدّألنهّخيرجّاملنفعةّمنّسببّاملضرةّعندّاخللقّواملضرة‬

‫‪659‬‬
‫‪Experimention (tajriba) is considered an important aspect of ḥikma in al-Tirmidhī’s NU. Ibid. Nawādir 1972, p.‬‬
‫‪224.‬‬
‫‪660‬‬
‫‪Al-Tirmidhī calls God musabbib al-asbāb (the causer of causes) in NU. Ibid, p. 17.‬‬

‫‪311‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 10r‬‬

‫الكساحةّوالكناسةّوالكثيبّومواضعّّقيامهّوقعودهّومضجعهّ ّ‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫ومبيتهّفيأخذّأبيديّالناسّويطوفّهبمّعلىّهذهّاألشياءّفهذهّمنهّ ّ‬

‫طيشّوسرفّوعبثّكبريّوذلكّأنهّاطلعّالناسّعلىّعورتهّوبنيّ ّ‬

‫هلمّحدّهلكتهّوفلكهّفصارّاملتحريّفيهّعارفاّبهّفإذّأعرفهّمكانةّملكهّوأسرهّ ّ‬

‫وصارّالسارقّقدّوجدّمساغاًّإىلّالسرقةِّماّيفّخزاتنهّوصارّالعدوّ ّ‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫قدّاطلعّعلىّعورتهّووجدّالسبيلّإىلّموضعّالشماتةّبهّوصارّاملتجينّ ّ‬

‫عليهّقدّوجدّالسبيلّإىلّماّيعتبهّبهّوصارّالويلّإىلّأنهّقدّاطلعّ ّ‬

‫علىّأمرينّماّيوافقهّوماّيكرههّفإنّكانِّماّحيبهّويوافقهّيطمعّ ّ‬

‫منهّفيهّفإنّملّجيدّيذمهّوهذاّامللكّيلزمهّإنصافهّفيهّوإنّكانِّماّ ّ‬

‫يكرههّيزدادّبذلكّامللكّبردهّعنهّويزدادّالصديقّزهداّفيهّ ّ‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫وصارّالنظريّحيسدهّعلىّماّيرىّعندهّمنّالنفيسّالغايلّويهاونّبهّ ّ‬

‫علىّماّيرىّعندهّمنّاخلسيسّالرديءّواملكروهّوالعيبّمثّامللكّالذيّ ّ‬

‫فوقهّيتباهىّإليهّذلكّاخلريّمنهّفيقتدرانهّوخيطبهّيفّأمرهّألنّذلكّ ّ‬

‫ليسّمنّمنزلةّامللوكّوّمنفعتهمّويوشكّأنّيسخطهّذلكّمنهّ ّ‬

‫لهّفيقولّأنتّالّتعرفّتدبريّامللكّومنّفتحّلهّطريقّاملعرفةّ ّ‬
‫ّ‬ ‫فيعز‬ ‫‪15‬‬

‫فكأنهّأسندّإليهّامللكّوقلدّتدبريهّوطلبّمنهّسريةّامللوكّيفّ ّ‬

‫وقارهمّوكتمانّأسرارهمّوعلمهمّوحلمهمّوطرفهمّومداراهتمّوتركّ ّ‬
‫‪312‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 10r‬‬

‫اخلفةّوالطيشّوالصلفّوالنزقّوالسفهّفإنّهذهّكلهاّفعالّ ّ‬ ‫‪18‬‬

‫منّدوهنمّوالّيصلحّهلمّشيءّمنّذلكّفالعارفّملكّاجلبارّتباركّامسهّ ّ‬

‫هوّالذيّملكهّوليسّفوقهّملكّغريهّاجلبارّتباركّامسهّصريهّدونهّ ّ‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫فهوّحمتاجّإىلّأداةّامللوكّّفاحللمّبيتهّومنزلهّوقصرهّالذيّيسرتّ ّ‬

‫علىّعورتهّويكنهّمنّاحلرّوالربدّوينظرّالناسّإىلّحسنهّوهبائهّوتشييدهّ ّ‬

‫وشرفهّونقشهّوإحكامهّالّيزالونّيطوفونّحولهّوينظرونّإليهّفالّبدّ ّ‬

‫للملكّمنّهذاّالقصرّفمنّنظرّمنّخارجهّحارّبصرهّوتعجبّومنّنظرّمنّ ّ‬

‫داخلهّكلّلسانهّعنّوصفّماّفيهّمنّبيوتهّوحدائقهّوأنواعّشجرهّوخضرهّ ّ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫ورايحينهّمنّطرفهّوحكمتهّوعقلهّووزنّاألمورّمبيزانّالعدلّ ّ‬

‫والفصلّفيهّوالعقلّسيفهّالذكيّاحلسامّاملقصصّيفّوبيضهّو ّ‬

‫بريقهّوأفرندهّوحدتهّوجودتهّيدبرّبهّأمرّمعيشتهّودينهّوكالمهاّلهّ ّ‬

‫واحدّوالعلمّمصباحهّومشعهّيفّضيائهّونورهّيفّالليايلّاملظلمةّيستضيء‬

‫‪313‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 10v‬‬

‫بهّيفّأمورهّوالعملّنزلهّالذيّيدخلّعليهّمنّضياعهّمنّأنواعّاحلبوب ّ‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫اليتّيعجزّعنّمثلهّمنّسواهّواللبسّلباسهّالذيّيقيهّاحلرّّوالربدّويواري ّ‬

‫عورتهّويطهرّبهّحالهّمنّحسنّلباسهّورفعتهّونفاستهّوعظمّخطرهّالذي ّ‬

‫الّجيدّغريهّمثلهّوالّينسجّمثلهّإالّلهّوابنّبهِّمنّدونهّوعرفّبهّملكه ّ‬

‫حنيّنظرّإليهّوعرفهّبهّمنّلهّيعرفهّوالورعّجملسهّالذيّجيلسّفيهّكما ّ‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫سعىّملثلهّمنّنظافتهّوطهارتهّوكنسهّوتطهريهّعنّّكلّقذرّوقذى ّ‬

‫وتدخينهّابلريحّالطيبةّوألوانّبسطهّووسائدهّاليتّجيملّهباّوالصدق ّ‬

‫مركبهّيفّحسنهّومجالهّومطاوعتهّوانقيادهّالذيّالّيصلحّإالّبهّوالصرب ّ‬

‫حصنهّالذيّيتحصنّبهّوحرزهّالذيّيتحرزّبهّمنّعدوهّوميكنّفيهّهوّوحشمه ّ‬

‫وأهلهّومالهّفينجيهّمنّاآلفاتّوالنكباتّإذاّماّرامهّعدوهّوالرفق ّ‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫ّاتجهّالذيّيربقّكالشمسّالطالعةّعلىّرأسهّوينالّشعاعهّكلّمنّ ّ‬

‫نظرّإليهّأوّجلسّإليهّأوّاستقبلهّمنّويلّأوّعدوّوالّمينعّشعاعهّمنّأحد ّ‬

‫ِماّفيهّمنّاجلواهرّالنفيسةّواليواقيتّالسنيةّوالآليلّالرفيعةّوالدر ّ‬

‫واملرجانّوالذهبّوالفضةّوقدّبنيّبهّعزهّوفخرهّوهباؤهّوسلطانه ّ‬

‫وكملّبهّملكهّإنّامللكّيفرشّلهّيفّمائةّبيتّوهوّيبيتّمنهاّيف ّ‬ ‫‪15‬‬

‫فراشّواحدّوإمناّيريدّبذلكّكيالّيعرفّأينّمبيتهّويفّأيّفراش ّ‬

‫هوّمنّكتمانّأمرهّحالّامللوكّليسّكحالّغريهمّوعليهمّمنّاملؤنةّماّليس ّ‬
‫‪314‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 10v‬‬

‫علىّغريهمّإنّامللكّمتواضعّللذيّمكلهّوأجلسهّجملسهّمضطرّإليهّمتحرّ ّ‬ ‫‪18‬‬

‫مرضاتهّإنّجفاهّشكرهّوإنّجاءهّمنهّمكروهّأوّعزلهّأسرهّفيماّبينهّوبينه ّ‬

‫متواضعاّمذعنّاًّالّيبثّذلكّوالّيشكوّإىلّأحدّيريدّبذلكّراحةّنفسه ّ‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫وإنعاماّلربهّمنّالنفلّوإنّضاقّبهّذرعاًّيرىّمليكهّمنّنفسهّتواضعا ّ‬

‫وخشوعاّوانقياداّيعلمّأنهّالّحيبهّحمبوبّأوّمكروهّإالّمنهّليسّعليهّمسلط ّ‬

‫غريهّفإنّسلطّعليهّأحدّفهوّمنّعندهّوإنّجاءتهّكرامةّمنّأحدّفهيّمنّعنده ّ‬

‫يتحملّمنّأمرهّكلّماّتطيقهّوإنّجاءّماّيقدحهّويعجرّعنّطاقتهّوعن ّ‬

‫احتمالهّالّحيتالّإللقائهّفيكونّهتاوانّبهّعلىّقدرّذلكّولكنّيرغبّإليه ّ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫يفّحتقيقهّعنهّالّجيعلّحيلتهّإالّذلكّعلىّحياءّمنهّومهابةّلهّووجلّمنه ّ‬

‫فعالمةّحلمهّوهوّقصرهّاملشيدّاملزخرفّكماّقالّاحلكيمّوهبّبنّمنبه‪ّ661‬رمحهّهللا ّ‬

‫إنهّيتشعبّويظهرّمنهّعشرةّأخالقّالوقارّواهلينءّوالعفافّواحلياء ّ‬

‫الدعةّوالركونّوالكرمّواخلشوعّواإلانبةّوالسكينةّوعالمةّعقله‬
‫ّ‬ ‫و‬

‫‪661‬‬
‫‪Al-Tirmidhī titles Wahb b. Munabbih as al-ḥakīm or “The Sage” on account of him being a major transmitter of‬‬
‫‪Biblical lore into Arabic.‬‬

‫‪315‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 11r‬‬

‫منّسببّاملنفعةّعندّاخللقّوالصالحّمنّسببّالفسادّعندّاخللق ّ‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫والفسادّمنّسببّالصالحّعندّاخللقّواحلرمانّمنّموضعّالطمعّعندّاخللق ّ‬

‫واملنالةّمنّموضعّاليأسّعندّاخللقّوالكرامةّمنّموضعّاهلوانّعندّاخللق ّ‬

‫واهلوانّمنّموضعّالكرامةّعندّاخللقّووحوّذلكِّماّيطولّويكثرّتفسريه ّ‬

‫فإذاّألقىّالعبدّمقدارهّهالهّذلكّواستقبلهّجتربةّإلنهّيلقىّسبب‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫منافعهّفيسرفّبهّعلىّاملضرةّكأنهّيقالّلهّقدّألفيتّاملنفعةّفالّبد ّ‬

‫منّاملضرةّوقدّألفيتّاحملبوبّفالّبدّمنّاملكروهّويرادّمنهّشجاعةّعندّذلك ّ‬

‫وجسارةّومضىّفإنّكانّذلكّيوجدّمنهّفقدّصحّلهّالظاهرّوالباطنّووصل ّ‬

‫إىلّمجيعّأمنيتهّإنّشاءّهللاّعزّوجلّوإنّكانّأمرّإبراهيمّصلواتّهللاّعليهّيف ّ‬

‫الذبحّوالنارّوأمرّموسىّصلواتّهللاّعليهّحنيّأمرّأنّأييتّالبحرّفـيأخذّفيه ّ‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫وأمرّيوشعّبنّنونّيفّحبسّالشمسّوأمرّحممدّصلواتّهللاّعليهّيفّسراقهّبن ّ‬

‫جعشمّويرادّلهّاحلسارةّقتلّعثمانّالصنعّقالّهللاّتعاىلّ"الذينّيؤمنون ّ‬

‫ابلغيب"ّواعتربّأبمرّموسىّصلواتّهللاّيفّذلكّكلهّحيثّقالّ"وما ّ‬

‫تلكّبيمينكّايّموسىّقالّهيّعصايّأتوكأّعليهاّوأهشّهباّعلىّغنمي ّ‬

‫ويلّفيهاّمآربّأخرى‪ّ662‬وكانتّالعصاّمقدارهّومهتهّوفيهاّحوائجهّكما ّ‬ ‫‪15‬‬

‫ذكرّوفسرّقالّألقهاّايّموسىّفإذاّهيّحيةّتسعىّفهذهّاليتّكانتّفيها‬

‫‪662‬‬
‫‪Qurʾān: 20:17.‬‬

‫‪316‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 11r‬‬

‫منافعّموسىّوحوائجةّصارتّبعدّإلقائهّثعباانّهائالّفظيعاًّعيناه ّ‬ ‫‪17‬‬

‫يتوقدانّانراّ ّوانبهّيصرفّيبتلعّالصخرةّالعظيمةّ ّوتبلغّالشجرةّالعظيمةّمن ّ‬

‫أصلهاّوصارّموسىّإىلّفزعّمنهّوخوفّوهولّوفرارّوملّيكنّلهّطاقة ّ‬

‫الوقوفّمعهاّبعدماّكانتّتعينهّوفيهاّمرافقةّوحوائجهّوقالّتعاىل‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫وىلّمدبراّوملّيعقبّايّموسى‪ّ663‬الّختفّإنكّمنّاآلمنني‪ّ664‬خذهاّوالّختفّسنعيدها ّ‬

‫سريهتاّاألوىل‪ّ665‬فلماّوثقّبقولهّوصدقّبوعدهّومدّيدهّإىلّهولّملّير ّ‬

‫الراؤونّمثلهّوفظيعةّملّينظرّالناظرونّإىلّمثلهاّوخطرّملّجيسر ّ‬

‫اجلاسرونّعليهّفصدقّبوعدهّفيهّوسرائرهّفأعادهاّسريهتاّاألوىل ّ‬

‫وجعلّفيهاّملوسىّصلواتّهللاّعليهّمنّاملرافقّواملنافعّوالعزّوالربهان ّ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫والسلطانّماّدامتّفيهّمرافقهّاألوىلّاليتّكانتّقبلهاّوحوائجهّاليت ّ‬

‫كانتّإليهاّوكلّواحدّمههّفيهاّمقدارّأمورهّوحوائجهّكماّكانتّحوائج ّ‬

‫موسىّإىلّعصاهّوهللاّأعلمّفهوّمدعوّإىلّإلقائهاّإنّكانتّمنّأهلّاخلدمة ّ‬

‫ويكلفّالتحولّمنّمقدارهّإىلّمقدارّموالهّفإذاّألقاهاّرأىّيفّإلقائه ّ‬

‫ّ‬

‫‪663‬‬
‫”‪Missing from this verse is aqbil wa, “come forward and.‬‬
‫‪664‬‬
‫‪Qurʾān: 28:31.‬‬
‫‪665‬‬
‫‪Qurʾān: 20:21.‬‬

‫‪317‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 11v‬‬

‫منّاهلولّوالفظاعةّكنحوّماّرأىّموسىّصلواتّهللاّعليهّيفّاحليةّوجعل ّ‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫لهّإلقاءهاّكاحليةّإنّشاءّهللاّوهللاّيعلمّألنهّيستقبلهّهولّمنّالناس ّ‬

‫إذاّذهبّمقدارّمداهنتهمّومداراهتمّوهولّالدنياّإذاّذهبّمصاحلها ّ‬

‫وهولّالنفسّمقدارّتعاهدهاّويرىّمنّالفظاعةّيفّإلقاءّاملقدارّما ّ‬

‫يهولهّويهولّكلّسامعّوانظرّمنّالناسّفإذاّقبضّعلىّهذاّاهلول ّ‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫وهيّاحليةّسكنّلهّجأشهّوماتّخوفهّوفزعهّوهوّإعادهتاّإىلّسريهتا ّ‬

‫األوىلّوصارّلهّسلطانّوعزّوملكّومنافعّملّيكنّيفّاألولّوخضعت ّ‬

‫لهّالرقابّوذلتّلهّالصعابّوطفتّلهّالنريانّاملشتعلةّوسكنت ّ‬

‫لهّاألمواجّاملعقلةّوحتولتّاهليبةّوالفزعّواخلوفّعنهّإىلّغريه ّ‬

‫منّاجلربارةّوامللوكّواألكابرّوذويّاألخطارّكلماّألقىّعصاهّتلك ّ‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫أوّنظرواّإىلّشخصهّأوّمسعواّبذكرهّفحينئذّيصفوّلهّالباطنّوالظاهر ّ‬

‫إنّشاّهللاّفإذاّصفاّأمرهّكانّموالهّمشتغلهّكماّقالّكنتّمسعهّالذي ّ‬

‫يسمعّبهّوبصرهّالذيّيبصرّويدهّاليتّيبطشّهباّومعقدّقلبهّوقوةّيديه ّ‬

‫ورجليهّفإذاّكانّكذلكّمجيعّأمرهّيفّمشيهّوقيامهّوقعودهّوكالمه ّ‬

‫وسكونهّعلىّاإلصابةّقالّجلّوعالّفأماّمنّأعطىّواتقىّوصدق ّ‬ ‫‪15‬‬

‫ابحلس ىّفسنيسرهّلليسرى‪ّ666‬أعطىّحقوقّهللاّواتقىّحمارمّهللاّوصدق ّ‬

‫‪666‬‬
‫‪Qurʾān: 92:5.‬‬

‫‪318‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 11v‬‬

‫مبوعودّهللاّقالّهللاّومنّيتقّهللاّجيعلّلهّمنّأمرّيسرّاً‪ّ667‬وخمرجّاً ّ‬ ‫‪17‬‬

‫وفرقاانًّفإذاّكانّخادماًّلربهّوكانّربهّمستعمالًّلهّالّتشبهّسريته ّ‬

‫ومذهبهّوأمورهّسريةّّغريهّومذهبّغريهّوأمورّغريهّألنّكالمهّعلمّمعلوم ّ‬

‫يوصفّبهّوّينسبّإليهّوهذاّليسّلهّعملّمعلومِّمنّملّيكنّيفّدرجتهّالّيقدر ّ‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫أنّيعرفهّأوّيؤمرّأبمرهّأماّإنّيتحريّفيهّأوّينسبهّإىلّضاللهّأوّجنون ّ‬

‫أوّأمرّمنكرّألنهّالّيرىّألمرهّمقداراّوالّوجهاّوالّسبباّوذلكّألنهّقد ّ‬

‫تركّمقدارهّوسببّالطاقةّفهوّيستعملهّفيماّيشاءّفالّيشبهّاستعماله ّ‬

‫استعمالّغريهّليسّمنّيستعملهّكمنّيستعملّنفسهّملوالهّيفّحرفتهّأالّترى ّ‬

‫إىلّاستعمالهّللسحابّكيفّيستعملّرمباّيبطئّبهّيفّمقدارّاخللقّحىت ّ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫يستبطئوهّويقولواّقدّجاءّأوانهّودكّجنّاملطرّإالّأهنمّالّيقدرونّأن ّ‬

‫يلومواّأحداًّألهنمّالّيرونّلهّمستعمالّغريهّولوّرأواّلالموهّوتذمرواّمنه ّ‬

‫ووقعواّفيهّفإذاّأنشأّالسحابّفتجمعّقزعاًّمنّأمطارّالسماءّفريكمها ّ‬

‫وميسكهاّيوماّويومنيّوثالثةّأايمّوأقلّوأكثرّمثّيفرقهاّوالّيوشكّمنها ّ‬

‫ّ‬

‫‪667‬‬
‫‪Qurʾān: 65:4.‬‬

‫‪319‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 12r‬‬

‫وهوّسيفهّالقاطعّعشرةّأخالقّيتشعبّالتفهمّوالنفقةّوالتعلمّوالتفكر ّ‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫واحليلةّواأل ّوبةّواالعتبارّوالتدبرّواالنزجارّوالتيكلّوعالمةّعلمهّوهوّمصباحه ّ‬

‫املضيءّعشرةّأخالقّيتشعبّمنهّالعلمّملاّحيبّهللاّوماّيكرهّوماّأحلّ ّ‬

‫وماّحرمّوكيفّهنىّوكيفّحدودهّوسننهّوفرائضهّوماّطاعته ّ‬

‫وعالمةّالعملّوهوّنزلهّعشرةّأخالقّيتشعبّمنهّالصالةّوالزكاةّو ّ‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫الصيامّواجلهادّ ّوإصالحّذاتّالبنيّوأداءّاألمانةّوالعدلّيف ّ‬

‫احلكمّوإقامةّالشهادةّومعاونةّأهلّاحلقّوالتمسكّمباّيقعدّعنّاملسئلة ّ‬

‫يفّأمرّاملعيشةّوعالمةّاللنيّوهوّلباسهّاجلميلّعشرةّأخالقّيتشعب ّ‬

‫منهّيعفوّعنّاملسيءّويدفعّابليتّهيّأحسنّويعفوّعمنّظلمهّوالّينهر ّ‬

‫منّسألهّوالّيربمّمنّجالسهّوالّيغضبّعلىّمنّأرادّأنّيغضبهّوالّيشادّ ّ‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫منّفوقهّوالّحيقرّمنّدونهّوالّيتعاطاّماّليسّلهّوالّيعجلّذاّحاجةّحاجته ّ‬

‫وعالمةّالورعّوهوّجملسهّعشرةّأخالقّيتشعبّمنهّيورعّلسانه ّ‬

‫عنّالكذبّوبطنهّعنّاحلرامّوفرجهّمنّالزانّورعيتهّمنّالشحّ ّ‬

‫وغضبهّمنّالعدوانّورهبتهّمنّالفتنةّوشهوتهّمنّاللهوّوهواه ّ‬

‫منّالباطلّوفرحهّمنّالبطرّوحزنهّمنّاجلزعّوعالمةّالصدق ّ‬ ‫‪15‬‬

‫وهوّمركبهّالشريفّعشرةّأخالقّيتشعبّمنهّيصدقّمنّاسرتهبهّومن ّ‬

‫أرغبهّومنّوعدّومنّعاهدّومنّأسرّإليهّومنّأئتمنهّومنّاستشاره ّ‬
‫‪320‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 12r‬‬

‫ومنّرافقهّومنّفارقهّومنّاستأجرهّوعالمةّالصربّوهوّحصنهّاحلصني ّ‬ ‫‪18‬‬

‫عشرةّأخالقّيتشعبّمنهّيصربّنفسهّيفّالرخاءّفالّيطغيهّوعندّالصالة ّ‬

‫خيلصهاّوعندّالزكاةّفالّيبخلّهلاّوعندّالصومّفالّيفسدهّابملعصيةّو ّ‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫عندّالشهوةّفالّيعونهّوعندّالرغبةّفالّيرديهّوعندّالغضبّفالّخيرجه ّ‬

‫عنّاحلقّوعندّالرضىّفالّيدخلهّيفّالباطلّويفّتغلبّالزمانّفالّحيوله ّ‬

‫عنّالدينّوعالمةّالرفقّوهوّاتجهّالعزيزّالباهيّالزاهرّاملهيب ّ‬

‫اجلليلّعشرةّأخالقّيتشعبّمنهّإنّأحسنّملّميننّإبحسانهّوإنّأحسن ّ‬

‫إليهّحمسنّشكرّلهّوإنّأساءّإليهّمسيءّغفرّلهّوإنّأساءّإىلّأحدّأعرف ّ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫وإنّخاصمهّخماصمّأنصفهّوإنّخيصمهّاخلصمّعدلّلهّوإنّحاورهّمنّيريد ّ‬

‫جاللهّأفهمّإنّفهمّأوّصمتّلهّوإنّضاقّيصاحبهّخلقّوويتبعّلهّوإن ّ‬

‫دعاهّداعّإلىىّنصحّأجابهّوإنّسألهّماّملّيعلمّفتحّلهّفهذهّأداةّملكه ّ‬

‫الّيستقيمّملكهّإالّبذلكّوالّجيدّإالّعندّامنتّعليهّفإنّأعطاهّعهدّامللك‬

‫‪321‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 12v‬‬

‫وهوّاملعرفةّفاملمنتّعليهّبعهدّامللكّهوّاجلامعّلهّماّحيتاجّإليهّمنّأداته ّ‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫فإذاّأصابّذلكّملّيضرهّماّفاتهّمنّغريّذلكّوالّينبغيّلهّأنّيطلبّسوى ّ‬

‫ذلكّأوّأيسفّعلىّشيءّسوىّذلكّأوّجيهلّأمرهّومنزلتهّفريىّنفسهّفقريّاً ّ‬

‫معّذلكّويرغبّفيماّعندّالفقريّويشرهّنفسهّإىلّماّيفّأيديهمّمنّاخلسيس ّ‬

‫الطفيفّالدينّاحلقريّكيفّميثلّإىلّذلكّونظرّفيهّوالبلدانّواألمصار ّ‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫منّأهلّاألرضّمنّامللوكّواألغنياءّوالفقراءّيفّضيافتهّوعيالهّطولّأعمارهم ّ‬

‫الّيلبسونّألوانّالثيابّوالّيركبونّألوانّاملراكبّوالّيطعمونّألوانّاملطاعم ّ‬

‫والّيسكنونّألوانّاملساكنّإالّبهّألنهّوتدّمنّأواتدّاألرضّوبهّينزل ّ‬

‫الغيثّوبهّيصرفّالعذابّالّعافيةّوالّسالمةّوالّصحةّوالّحياةّإال ّ‬

‫بدعائهمّوبهّينصرونّعلىّالعدوّوالّأمنّوالّظفرّوالّدعةّإالّابلنصرّعلى ّ‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫العدوّفيالهّملكاًّماّأعظمهّوأجلهّملّيبلغّذلكّبكثرةّصالةّوالّصيامّولكن ّ‬

‫بسخاءّالنفسّوسالمةّالصدرّوالرمحةّللمسلمنيّوالنصيحةّهلمّسختّ ّ‬

‫أنفسهمّهللّعماّسواهّوسلمتّصدورهمّمنّالغلّوالغيشّواحلسدّفطابتّكالعسل ّ‬

‫املاذيّمنّأذاقهّحلواّوإنّكانّحلواّمنّاملذاقةّفهوّحلوّيفّنفسهّطيبّحيثّماّكان ّ‬

‫واستنارتّابلتعلقّابهللّفصارّالقلبّكاملشكاةّفيهاّمصباحّاملصباحّيف ّ‬ ‫‪15‬‬

‫زجاجةّالزجاجةّكأهناّكوكبّدريّيوقدّمنّشجرةّمباركةّزيتونةّالّشرقيةّوال ّ‬

‫غربيةّيكادّزيتهاّيضيءّو[لو]ّملّنمسسهّانرّنورّعلىّنورّخيفيّنورهّيفّاألرض ّ‬
‫‪322‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 12v‬‬

‫ويظهرّيفّالسماواتّوامتألتّهذهّالقلوبّرمحةّللخلقّوصفتّابلرقة ّ‬ ‫‪18‬‬

‫وحوتّابلنصيحةّوالشفقةّوّصارتّكاألهنارّالعذبةّالساقيةّلألشجار ّ‬

‫احللوةّواملرةّواحلامضةّوالبشعةّفحييتّاألشجارّوعاشتّوصلحتّو ّ‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫تزينتّوطابتّفاخضرتّوتربهتّملّتقتصرّعلىّسقيّالطيبّدونّاخلبيث ّ‬

‫والّاحللوّدونّاحلامضّواملرّضيقاّوخبالّبلّعمتهاّكلهاّسعةًّوجوداًّوكرمّاً ّ‬

‫رمحواّأهلّالبالدّفرقواّهلمّودعواّهلمّورأواّضعفهمّفأشفقواّعليهم ّ‬

‫وعطفواّونصحواّهلمّورقواّلفقرهمّالغضوضّوأمراضهمّاملعطبةّوقيودهم ّ‬

‫وأغالهلمّاملرديةّوجمالسهمّالضنكّالضيقةّوجوعهمّاهلالكّوعطشهم ّ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫املضعفّوحرماهنمّاملتكدرّوكانواّإخواهنمّفوسعهمّورقةّوملّأيلوا ّ‬

‫هلمّمواساةّومعاجلةّبقدرّطاقتهمّواحتملواّأذاهمّوغباهمّمنّبني ّ‬

‫أمراضهمّورحيهاّوأقذارهاّوأجناسهاّو[ ]ّوهذايهنمّوماّكان ّ‬

‫منّذهابّعقوهلمّفاحتملوهاّرمحةّورقةّوشفقةّورمحواّأهلّالعافية ّ‬

‫ّ‬

‫‪323‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 13r‬‬

‫لضعفهمّوعجزهمّإنّحيلّبينهمّوبنيّذلكّوخالطوهمّابلنصيحةّوالشفقة ّ‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫وكلّذلكّمنّكرامةّرهبمّهلمّومنةّعليهمّفكيفّيصفّالواصفونّكرامته ّ‬

‫وهوانهّوإنّاستضرعواّأجهدهمّهيهاتّهيهاتّتكلّالسنةّالفصحاء ّ‬

‫وتضلّأوهامّالقلوبّعنّذلكّوإنّالذيّعلقّقلبهّالّيستنكرّأنّيكون ّ‬

‫هناكّذلكّوأكثرّمنّذلكّإنّالدنياّكجونةّالطبيبّفيهاّاحليات ّ‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫والسماميّالقاتلةّوفيهاّالدرايقّواألدويةّالشافيةّفالعبدّاجلاهل ّ‬

‫إذاّأدخلّيدهّيفّاجلونةّالّيدريّعلىّماّتقعّيدهّعلىّاحليةّأوّالسمّفيقتله ّ‬

‫أوّالدرايقّواألدويةّفيشفيهّوالّينبغيّأنّجيسرّعلىّذلكّدونّأن ّ‬

‫جيعلّالطبيبّذريعةّإىلّذلكّومعهّأيخذّويضعّويدخلّيدهّإبذنه ّ‬

‫وأبمرهّوالعرضّعليهّواألخذّمنهّفكذلكّاحلكيمّالّينبغيّأنّميدّيده ّ‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫إىلّلقمةّأوّحوزةّأوّخوخةّأوّلبسةّأوّنظرةّأوّسكنةّأوّلفظةّأوّحركة ّ‬

‫أوّسكونّإالّأبذنّطبيبهّوبهّومعهّوالعرضّعليهّواألخذّمنهّمتواضعا ّ‬

‫منتظراًّمستأذانّمضطراّفإنّالسمّيكفيّمنهّالقليلّوالقليلّحمذورّمنه ّ‬

‫كالكثريّواحليةّيكفيّمنهاّلدغةّواحدةّوكذلكّيفّكلّمشكلّوواضح ّ‬

‫عندهّفإنهّرمباّكانّالواضحّعندهّترايقّمساًّعندّالطبيبّفيقتلهّوقد ّ‬ ‫‪15‬‬

‫ّروىّذلكّكثرياّيفّالعبادّقدّنزلّهبمّذلكّمنّقتيلّقتلهّالعلمّوآخر ّ‬

‫قتلتهّالصالةّوآخرّقتلهّأعمالّالربّوكانّمساًّحسبهّترايقاّوآخر ّ‬
‫‪324‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 13r‬‬

‫قتلهّّكلمةّوآخرّقتلهّنظرةّوآخرّقتلهّأكلةّوآخرّقتلهّشربةّفيعترب ّ‬ ‫‪18‬‬

‫ويعلمّأنهّمضطرّإليهّيفّمجيعّأحوالهّوهوّكاألعمىّوسطّاحلياتّوالعقارب ّ‬

‫واحلفرّوالعشواتّحيتاجّإىلّقائدّيفّكلّخطوةّخيطوها ّفإنّوإنّسلم ّ‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫يفّكثريّمنّخطاهّفرمباّكانتّخطوةّمنهّعلىّرأسّحيةّأوّشفاّجرف ّ‬

‫أوّشفريّعشوةّملّتغنّعنهّسالمتهّيفّاملاضيّفكذلكّالعبدّمعّربهّتبارك ّ‬

‫امسهّوفيهّللعبدّمنزلتانّأدانمهاّخوفّالعبدّعلىّهالكّنفسهّوتلفها ّ‬

‫وهذاّعلمّالّجيوزّألحدّغريّذلكّوالّيباحّلهّإغفالهّوأرفعهماّوهوّمنزلة ّ‬

‫اخلاصّخوفّالعبدّيفّمنّسخطّموالهّوأذاهّوتركّموافقتهّيفّشيءّمنّاألشياء ّ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫فهذاّالذيّنزلّمنزلةّاملوافقةّألنهّالّبدّلهّمنّتقصدّذلكّيفّمنزلتهّعلى ّ‬

‫موافقتهّوالثاينّالّبدّلهّمنّذلكّيفّمنزلتهّعلىّجناةّنفسهّفإنّأصابّذلك ّ‬

‫صاحبّاملوافقةّفهوّإحكامّأمرهّوفيهّمصلحتهّوهوّركنهّوسندهّوآلته ّ‬

‫وقوامّأمرهّفإنّرأيهّيفّنفسهّخالفّاملوافقةّكانّوقوفهّعلىّثالثةّمواضع ّ‬

‫ّ‬

‫‪325‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 13v‬‬

‫أحدهاّأنّيثبتّلربهّالربوبيةّعلىّهذهّاجلهةّمنّطريقّاملعرفةّوالثاينّأن ّ‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫يعرفّنفسهّابللومّواملذمةّوخمالفةّموالهّوالثالثّأنّيكونّاشتغالهّابلنظر ّ‬

‫إليهّلشيءّألقاهّفيهّفينظرّإىلّحكمهّوصنعهّماّيصنعّبهّالّيرونّطرفةّعنيّمساغه ّ‬

‫كالذيّوقفهّموالهّعلىّمجرةّفبصرهّطامحّإليهّمشتغلّابلنظرّإليهّعماّسواهّوإىل ّ‬

‫قدرتهّوحكمتهّواضطرارّنفسهّإليهّوخليقّأنّيكونّاشتغالهّبذلكّيشغلهّعما ّ‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫يتعاطىّنفسهّمنّاخلالفّحىتّالّجيدّنفسهّمساغاًّإىلّأنّميضيهّيفّاستعمالّاخلالف ّ‬

‫فطريقهّأنّيسوغّلهّأوّحيملهّعلىّالتدبريّفيهّحىتّجمهّحكمهّالذيّيريدّبهّوفضله ّ‬

‫وبيانّعاقبتهّقدّجيبّعليهّأنّيقيمّالربوبيةّلربهّوالعبوديةّلنفسهّيفّكلّحركة ّ‬

‫وسكونّفالّيتحركّإالّعبداّوالّيسكنّإالّعبداّوالّيرىّحمركاّإالّربهّتعاىلّوال ّ‬

‫يرىّمسكناّإالّربهّفالعارفّمنتظرّحتريكهّقبلّحتركهّالّإذ َنّلهّيفّالتحرك ّ‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫بعدّإرادتهّإايهّعارفّبتحريكهّإايهّبعدّحتريكهّابلقلبّأوّاجلوارحّمنتظر ّ‬

‫صنعهّفهوّمنتظرّيفّاالبتداءّقبلّأنّيبدوّومنتظرّيفّالصنعّبعدّماّيبدوّمنه ّ‬

‫هواجسّالقلبّوحركاتهّانسبّإليهّهتييجّاحلركاتّبعدّأنّهيجهاّمنتظر ّ‬

‫يكّقدريتّوربوبييت ّ‬
‫هتييجهاّقبلّهيجهاّايّعبديّالضعيفّقدّوقفتكّعلىّمجرّألُر َ‬
‫وجربويتّوعظميتّفإنّفزعتّإىلّغرييّالّنسفنكّعينّوإنّفزعتّإىل ّ‬ ‫‪15‬‬

‫حيلةّالّتغينّاحليلةّدوينّماّفزعكّإىلّاحليلةّوأانّواقفكّواحليلةّالّتنفذ ّ‬

‫بغريّأذىنّوليسّهلاّسلطانّدوينّفإنّشئتّفجربّاحليلةّالّتزيدك ّ‬
‫‪326‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 13v‬‬

‫إالّعبئاّومشقةّإمناّتغينّاحليلةّمنّملّأؤتهّمنّاملعرفةّماّأتيتكّإذّأريهّعلى ّ‬ ‫‪18‬‬

‫قدرّضعفهّوقلةّطاقتهّفأماّأنتّفقدّمنيتّعليكّمبعرفيتّوأردت ّ‬

‫منكّحقيقتهاّوالّتقدرّعليهاّإالّأينّأقفكّعلىّمجرةّوأريكّحدائقّانضرة ّ‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫أمامكّتنظرّإليهاّوالّتقدرّعلىّأنّتتحركّمنّمكانكّإليهاّحىتّتذعنّيلّوختضع ّ‬

‫وتثبتّعلىّمعرفيتّوالّتضيعهاّيفّأوانّاحلاجةّإليهاّكالعبدّاحلقري ّ‬

‫بنيّيديّالسيدّالكبريّوالضعيفّقدامّالقويّإذاّسقطّالّيشتغل ّ‬

‫ابحليلةّدونّاالستعانةّواملريضّقدامّالطبيبّالّيعاجلّدونّاالستعانة ّ‬

‫بهّواألعمىّقدامّالبصريّالّيشتغلّابلعصاّدونّاالستعانةّبقيادتهّكيفّوإن ّ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫رأىّالقويّأسقطهّمعّذلكّوكيفّوإنّرأىّالطبيبّأمرضهّوكيف ّ‬

‫وإنّرأىّالبصريّضللهّمثّيراهّقادراّعلىّهدايتهّوالطبيبّبصرياّبشفائه ّ‬

‫والقويّقادراّعلىّمعونتهّورفعتهّحكميّفيكّانفذّوأمريّفيكّجائز ّ‬

‫اضعتّرفعتُكّوالّنملكهّإالّيبّوإنّخشيت ّ‬
‫أقلبكّكيفّأشاءّفإنّتو َ‬
‫ّ‬

‫‪327‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 14r‬‬

‫يدهّوإنّخفتّالوقوعّيفّحمذور ّ‬
‫َ‬ ‫فوتّطمعكّفإينّالّأخشىّأنّيفوتينّشيءّأر‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫إلسرافكّعليهّفإينّالّأخافّأنّيباددينّشيءّفألبسّلباسّالذلّوالتواضع ّ‬

‫والّتقدرّلهّإالّوالّبطشّيفوتينّحليلتكّأوّيستغينّبقوتكّأانّالذي ّ‬

‫أدبرّاألمرّوأفصلّاآلايتّمالكّامللوكّأويتّامللكّمنّأشاءّوأنزعّامللك ّ‬

‫ِمنّأشاءّوأعزّمنّأشاءّوأذلّمنّأشاءّبيديّاخلريّإينّعلىّكلّشيءّقدير ّ‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫ماّأفتحّللناسّمنّرمحةّفالِّمسكّهلاّوماّأمسكّفالّمرسلّمنّبعدي ّ‬

‫وإنّأمسسّّبضرّفالّكاشفّلهّإالّأانّوإنّأردّخبريّفالّرادّلفضلي ّ‬

‫أصيبّبهّمنّأشاءّوأانّالغفورّالرحيمّإذاّغامضكّأمرّفلتطمحّببصرك ّ‬

‫فيهّإىلّهللاّدونّكلّشيءّوليكنّمنكّإلتفاتةّسريعةّإىلّالسماءّمعّاستقبال ّ‬

‫األمرّسواءّلتكنّهذهّعادتكّواملعنيّعليهاّربكّفإذاّكلفتّالشروعّيف ّ‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫العملّوالقيامّبهّفاجعلّاالختيارّإىلّربكّدونّاشتغالكّابختيارك ّ‬

‫وتدبريكّوتقديركّفإنّكانّغرضكّمرضّأوّأملّوملّيشغلكّبهّفأحسن ّ‬

‫ّبهّوإرضّبهّفإنكّملّتردّغريّذلكّطمأنينةّوسكوانًّواختياراّلعقلك ّ‬
‫َ‬ ‫الظن‬

‫وتدبريكّمعّخطائكّوجهلكّوغلطكّيفّجنبّعظمتهّوعلمهّالنافذّالذي ّ‬

‫الّخيطئّوتدبريهّالذيّالّيغلطّوتقديرهّاحملكمّاملربمّالذيّالّينقص ّ‬ ‫‪15‬‬

‫عنّإحاطةّالعقولّبهّواستدراكّاألفهامّإايهّفإنّهجسّيفّنفسك ّ‬

‫طريقّالوسوسةّأوّاخلوفّإنّقضاءهّقضىّعليكّلعلهّعقوبةّمنهّعلى ّ‬
‫‪328‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 14r‬‬

‫إساءةّمنكّولعلّغريهّكانّأوفقّلكّفجوابكّلنفسكّإنّكانّكذلك ّ‬ ‫‪18‬‬

‫فحاجيتّإىلّاعتناءهّوإرضائهّوالتواضعّلهّفيماّاستقبلينّبهّوقضاه ّ‬

‫علىّدونّنزوعيّإىلّمنزلةّودرجةّملّأكنّأانّأهالّهلاّوإغفالّماّارتكبت ّ‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫منّأذاهّوّمعصيتهّفإنّيفّذلكّخصاالّمذمومةّأوهلاّاستحقار ّ‬

‫اإلساءةّوالثاينّتعاطيّماّلستّلهّأبهلّمنّطريقّالتعظيمّوالثالث ّ‬

‫تركّالتواضعّيفّرفعّنفسكّعنّالدرجةّالسفلىّإىلّالعلياّفإذا ّ‬

‫ذكرتّعظمتهّوجاللهّوطهارتهّملّذكرتّمثّذكرتّخرابكّعليهّوإغفالكّأمرهّينبغي ّ‬

‫أنّأتخذكّاحلميةّعلىّنفسكّحىتّالّتبايلّماّصنعّهباّمنّاملكروهّوالسوء ّ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫غريةّخلالقكّومحيةّوغضباّفيماّارتكبتّنفسكّفأنتّأهلّذلكّوالّيتنبه ّ‬

‫هلذاّوالّيعنيّعليهّإالّمنّبيدهّملكوتّكلّشيءّوإنّإختاركّالدخولّيفّعمل ّ‬

‫أوّأمرّفليكنّدخولكّكأنّامللكّوالكّكورهّأوّمصراّأوّكتبّلكّعهدّاً ّ‬

‫فأنتّواليُهُّوأمريُهُّحتتاجّأنّتعملّمباّيفّالعهدّمنّمجيعّماّأمركّوهناك ّ‬

‫ّ‬

‫‪329‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 14v‬‬

‫وحتتاجّأنّتعدلّيفّالقضيةّوتقسمّابلسويةّوتعطفّعلىّالرعية ّ‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫وليكنّدخولكّعلىّأصلّواحدّوهوّأساسّأمركّأنّيكونّالعزّهللّيف ّ‬

‫ذلكّدونّإحكامّكلّشيءّوتقديرّكلّشيءّوإنّأهلّالغفلةّيدخلونّلتقدير ّ‬

‫شيءّوإحكامّأمرّوّالنظرّيفّشيءّوإنّكانّذلكّأيضاًّموجوداّيفّأهل ّ‬

‫العبادةّوأماّأهلّاملعرفةّواحلكماءّفإنّنظرهمّإليهّوإىلّصنعهّدون ّ‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫كلّمقدارّوأدخلّبهّومعهّوأعملّكلّعملّصغريّأوّكبريّبهّومعه ّ‬

‫وإنّكانّصواابّفإنهّرمباّيرتكبّالصوابّمنّليسّلهّدرجةّاملعرفةّوحده ّ‬

‫ويعملّوحدهّإذاّبنيّلهّوجهّالصوابّجزاهّعليهّوغفلهّعنّاالضطرار ّ‬

‫إليهّفيهّفرمباّإصابتهّنكبةّورمباّأجرىّلهّعملهّمدارا ًةّلهّعلىّطاقته ّ‬

‫والّيبنغيّألهلّاملعرفةّأنّيعملواّشيئاّمنّاألعمالّدونهّفإنّفعلواّرأوه ّ‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫ذنباًّوغفلةًّوتقصرياًّمالواّوأانبواّواتبواّواستغفرواّواستغاثوا ّ‬

‫فماّوضحّلكّفاعملّبهّومعهّوماّأشككّعليكّفانتظرهّوأعرضّعنهّواستفحص ّ‬

‫منّعندهّواركبّاألمرّاهلائلّمعهّجبسارهّوعونهّوقوتهّوضعفّالتهول ّ‬

‫هّواحذرّاملأمنّأنّتدخلّأبمنّفإنّهناكّهولّسلطانه ّ‬
‫عندهّوملكهّإاي ّ‬

‫وعظمةّشأنهّإذاّغفلكّعنهّيوشكّأنّأيخذكّأماّترىّماّصنعّمبنّفعل ّ‬ ‫‪15‬‬

‫هذاّويومّحننيّإذّأعجبتكمّكثرتكمّفلمّتغنّعنكمّشيئاًّوضاقتّعليكمّاألرض ّ‬

‫مباّرحبتّاآليةّقالّربّمباّأنعمتّعليّفلنّأكونّظهرياًّللمجرمنيّفأصبحّيفّاملدينةّخائفّاً ّ‬
‫‪330‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 14v‬‬

‫يرتقبّاآلية‪ّ668‬قالّفابتالهّوقدّماّقاهلاّرجلّأالّابتليّنظرّإىلّأمنّالرمحةّبدلّالنعمة ّ‬ ‫‪18‬‬

‫فابتالهّهللاّابخلوفّمباّأجرىّعلىّيدهّمنّقبلّالرجلّوقولهّتعاىل ّ‬

‫والّتقولنّلشيءّإينّفاعلّذلكّغداًّإالّأنّيشاءّهللاّواذكرّربكّإذا ّ‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫نسيت‪ّ669‬وقولهّتعاىلّفالّأيمنّمكرّهللاّإالّالقومّاخلاسرون‪ّ670‬وقولهّتعاىل ّ‬

‫ولوالّأنّثبـتناكّلقدّكيدتّتركنّإليهمّشيئاًّقليال‪ّ671‬مثّارتكابّاهلائلّبهّومعه ّ‬

‫ورؤيةّضعفّكلّهائلّيفّعظمةّسلطانةّفإنهّالّحولّوالّقوةّإالّابهللّواجلسارة ّ‬

‫عندّذلكّبهّوالتوكلّعليهّوإقامةّالربوبيةّلهّوحقيقةّاملعرفةّعندهّالذين ّ‬

‫قالّهلمّالناسّإنّالناسّقدّمجعواّلكمّفاخشوهمّفزادهمّإمياانّوقالوا ّ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫حسبناّهللاّونعمّالوكيلّإىلّقولهّإنّكنتمّمؤمنني‪ّ672‬إذّمهاّيفّالغارّإذّيقول ّ‬

‫لصاحبهّالّحتزنّإنّهللاّمعناّفأنزلّهللاّسكينتهّاآلية‪ّ673‬وإماّينزغنكّ ّ‬

‫منّالشيطانّنزغّفاستغذّابهللّاآلية‪ّ674‬فإذاّأقرأتّالقرآنّفاستعذّابهلل ّ‬
‫‪677‬‬
‫منّالشيطانّاآلية‪ّ675‬إنّينصركمّهللاّفالّغالبّلكم‪ّ676‬إىلّقولهّفليتوكلّاملتوكلون‬

‫‪668‬‬
‫‪Qurʾān: 28:17.‬‬
‫‪669‬‬
‫‪Qurʾān: 18:23.‬‬
‫‪670‬‬
‫‪Qurʾān: 7:99.‬‬
‫‪671‬‬
‫‪Qurʾān: 17:74.‬‬
‫‪672‬‬
‫‪Qurʾān: 3:173–175.‬‬
‫‪673‬‬
‫‪Qurʾān: 9:40.‬‬
‫‪674‬‬
‫‪Qurʾān: 7:200.‬‬
‫‪675‬‬
‫‪Qurʾān: 16:98.‬‬
‫‪676‬‬
‫‪Qurʾān: 3:160.‬‬
‫‪677‬‬
‫‪This verse ends in al-muʾminūn (the believers) and not al-mutawakkilūn (those who are reliant).‬‬

‫‪331‬‬
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‫جيعلّفيهّماّيعطيّويتصدقّعليهّوالّيعنيّنفسهّبهّوالّيرضىّلنفسه ّ‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫منزلتهّفيباشرّالضياعّيتعاهدهاّويطوفّهباّيفّأوانّشرهباّويعتزل ّ‬

‫عنهاّيفّأوانّاعتزاهلاّيدريّمىتّيباشرّومىتّينعزلّوكيفّوهذا ّ‬

‫الويلّامللكّخيالطّبذلكّماّخالطّابحللمّواالحتمالّوالنصيحةّوالرمحة ّ‬

‫والشفقةّفهوّمباشرّضياعهّومجيعّإنزالهّيفّأوانّذلكّويعتزل ّ‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫ليكفّظلمهّوجورهّوعداوتهّوأذاهّإذاّماّخافّعلىّنفسهّفلهّاإلنصاف ّ‬

‫ألنّاجملالسةّمعّكلّمباحّإذاّكانتّمعّاإلنصافّوإذاّخافّأنّ ّ‬

‫الّيؤديّهللّأمانةّأوّجتيءّمنهّخيانةّيفّذلكّأوّتركّعدلّيفّشيءّمن ّ‬

‫األشياءّهربّمنّأذاءّسيدهّوارتكابّماّالّيرضىّإعظاماّلهّعلىّذلك ّ‬

‫وهوّأنّاعتزالهّوجلوسهّعنّالضيعةّليسّملنّخيالطّهباّوعظمةّوتعززا ّ‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫وغفلةّوجوراّويعتزلّكرباّوإعجاابّواستصغاراّلغريهّ ّونظراّإىل ّ‬

‫مساوئهّوتطاوالًّعليهّوارتفاعّنفسّعنّأنّيكونّيصلحّلهّجليساًّو ّ‬

‫أنيساًّوأىنّلهّذلكّوهوّينظرّإىلّمساوئهّوّمعاتبهّوجورهّولومه ّ‬

‫وكفرانهّوزلتهّوغفلتهّومعصيتهّواستصغارهّألمرّموالهّوإيثارهّعليه ّ‬

‫معّجناستهّوأقذارهّكيفّيطمئنّإىلّأنّيرىّموالهّيصلحّأنّيكونّلهّجليسّاً ّ‬ ‫‪15‬‬

‫وأنيساًّومؤدابًّورابضاًّومعيناّويرغبّيفّذلكّإليهّويسألّإايه ّ‬

‫معّماّيرىّمنّأجناسهّوأقذارهّمعّطهارةّموالهّوقدسهّوارتفاعهّوعظمته ّ‬
‫‪332‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 15r‬‬

‫وملكهّوجربوتهّوسلطانهّوالّيرىّنفسهّيصلحّأنّيكونّجليساّأوّأنيساّو ّ‬ ‫‪18‬‬

‫مؤدابّورابضاّومعيناّآلدميّمثلهّويرفعّنفسهّعنّذلكّإنّاحلكيم ّ‬

‫إذاّنبهّربهّتباركّامسهّلذلكّيستحييّمنّربهّتعاىلّأنّينزلّهذهّاملنزلة ّ‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫ولكنّيكونّاعتزالهّمعرفةّبضعفّنفسهّوكثرةّجورهّوأذاهّفيكفّجوره ّ‬

‫وشرهّوأذاهّوذلكّمنّمنّموالهّعليهّكيفّيشكرّالطاهرّلوّملّيرّجناسة ّ‬

‫النجسّوكيفّخيافّالنجاسةّلوالّالنجاسةّوكيفّيفزعّويضرعّإىلّمواله ّ‬

‫منّننتّاملننتّلوالّاملننتّوكيفّيشكرّعلىّطيبّالرائحةّلوالّالريحّاملنتنة ّ‬

‫فسبحانّمنّجعلّالطيبّصالحاّللطيبّوجعلّالطيبّحمتاجاّإىل ّ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫املننتّوجعلّالنجسّصالحاّللطاهرّوجعلّالطاهرّحمتاجاًّإىلّالنجس ّ‬

‫كماّجعلّالروثّالنجسّصالحاّللكرمّالطاهرّوكماّجعلّالكرمّالطيب ّ‬

‫حمتاجاّإىلّالروثّالنجسّأملّترّإىلّجسدّاإلنسانّكيفّدبرّحبكمته ّ‬

‫احلكيمةّمصاحلهّومرافقهّابلضياءّوالظلمةّوالطيبّوالننتّوأنواع ّ‬

‫‪333‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 15v‬‬

‫األضدادّكيفّدبرّبربوبيتهّمصباحنيّمضيئنيّصافينيّمنريينّركبهما ّ‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫يفّرأسهّمثّركبّمنّورائهماّثقبنيّمظلمنيّجعلّفيهاّأقذاراّومرارات ّ‬

‫وهبماّانتفعّاإلنسانّيفّأوانّحاجتهّإليهماّوملّينتفعّحينئذّابملصباحني ّ‬

‫الصافينيّفكيفّملّيكنّهذاّالثقبّاملظلمّاملرّالقذرّمذمومّاً ّ‬

‫منفرّيفّمقدارّجهلّاجلاهلّأمّكيفّملّيكنّعلىّهيئةّاملصباحّلوّكان ّ‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫كذلكّلزاملتهّاملنفعةّالّيدركهاّإالّبهّواملصلحةّاليتّالّسبيلّإليها ّ‬

‫إالّمنّطريقهّمثّكيفّدبرّحبكمتهّيفّأسفلهّثقباّخيرجّمنهّالننت ّ‬

‫والقذرّويتلطخّبهّويلزمهّمؤنةّالتطهرّمنهّومقاساةّماّيصل ّ‬

‫إليهّمنّمكروههّعندّإلقائهّكيفّملّيطلبّاجلاهلّمسداّهلذا ّ‬

‫الثقبّفراراّمنّمكروههّبلّلوّسدّعليهّيفّبعضّاألوقاتّبذل ّ‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫مجيعّماّميلكّمنّالدنياّوإنّملكهاّحبذافريهاّليفتحّلهّموضعّنتنه ّ‬

‫وقذرهّملاّيرىّمنّالعطبّيفّسدهاّوالفرحّوالراحةّيفّفتحها ّ‬

‫فإنّمدبرّذلكّهوّالذيّدبرهاّوقدرهاّلكّمنّاألضدادّواألشياء ّ‬

‫املختلفةّهبذهّاحلكمةّوهبذهّالشفقةّوهبذاّاللطفّوهبذاّالنظر ّ‬

‫وتدبريّجسدهّدليلّعلىّماّسواهّلوّنظرّفيهّ ّوفرغّذهنهّمثّيسقمّجسده ّ‬ ‫‪15‬‬

‫فينزلّاملرضّبطائفةّمنّجسدهّوالعافيةّبطائفةّمنهّفيكونّالعضو ّ‬

‫املعاىفّللحكيمّشكراّورؤيةّمنةّولطفّوعرباّوّتربيةّويكونّالعضو ّ‬
‫‪334‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 15v‬‬

‫السقيمّصرباّورضىّوموافقةّودواء ّفهذهّدواؤهّيفّمرارتهّوكراهته ّ‬ ‫‪18‬‬

‫وذلكّعداءهّيفّلطافتهّوحالوتهّوعذوبتهّفهوّبنيّالعداءّوالدواء ّ‬

‫الّيوجدّنفعّذلكّيفّذيّوالّنفعّذيّيفّذلكّجعلّاحملبوبّلهّمصلحة ّ‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫واملكروهّمصلحةّواحللوةّنفعاّواملرارةّنفعاًّدبرّلهّمصاحلهّابلليل ّ‬

‫والنهارّوالظلمةّوالضياءّوالصيفّوالشتاءّواحلرّوالربدّواليابس ّ‬

‫اةّإينّركبتّجسدّآدمّحني ّ‬
‫والرطبّكماّقالّهللاّتباركّامسهّيفّالتور ّ‬

‫خلقتهّمنّرطبّوايبسّوسخنّوابردّمثّخلقتهّيفّاجلسدّأربعةّ ّ‬

‫أقوامّمنّاخللقّهنّهالكّاجلسدّوقوامهّابذينّالّيقومّاجلسدّإالّهبنّ ّ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫والّتقومّواحدةّمنهنّإالّابألخرىّمنهنّاملرةّالسوداءّواملرةّالصفراء ّ‬

‫والدمّوالبلغمّأسكنتّبعضّهذاّاخللقّيفّبعضّفجعلّمسكنّاليبوسة ّ‬

‫يفّاملرةّالسوداءّومسكنّالرطوبةّيفّالدمّومسكنّاحلرارةّّيفّاملرةّالصفراء ّ‬

‫ومسكنّالربودةّيفّالبلغمّفأيّجسدّاعتدلتّفيهّهذهّالفطر ّ‬

‫ّ‬

‫‪335‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 16r‬‬

‫األربعّاليتّخلقتهاّوجعلتهاّمالكهّوقوامهّفكانتّكلّواحدةّمنهن ّ‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫ربعاًّالّتزيدّوالّتنقصّكملتّصحتهّفاعتدلتّبنيانهّوإنّازدادتّواحدة ّ‬

‫منهنّعليهنّقهرهتنّومالتّهبنّودخلتّالسقمّمنّانحيتهاّبقدر ّ‬

‫ماّزادتّوأيتهنّكانتّانقصةّتقلّعنهنّوأدخلنّعليهاّالسقمّمنّانحيتهنّ ّ‬

‫بقدرّقلتهاّعنهنّحىتّتضعفّعنّطاقتهاّوتعجزّعنّمقاربتهنّوهوّالزائدّالناقص ّ‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫املتمّاملستخرجّمنّالتمامّمصلحةّليستّيفّالنقصانّوالزايدةّبتدبريه ّ‬

‫ولطفهّواملستخرجّمنّالزايدهّوالنقصانّليستّيفّالتمامّبتدبريه ّ‬

‫ولطفهّوحكمتهّاحلكيمةّفالبلغمّيهيجّمنّرطوبةّالدمّوحالوتهّولوال ّ‬

‫استقبالهّالدمّألهلكّالدمّاجلسدّواملرةّالصفراءّهتيجّمنّشدةّالبلغم ّ‬

‫لوالّاستقباهلاّإايهّألهلكّاجلسدّوالريحّهتيجّمنّيبوسة ّ‬
‫ّ‬ ‫إذاّأبلغّغايتهّو‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫املرةّالسوداءّوحرارهتاّولوالّاستقبالّبرودةّالريحّإايهاّألهلكت ّ‬

‫شدةّحرارهتاّاجلسدّوالدمّيهيجّمنّاضطرابّالريحّومهبهاّوجمرها ّ‬

‫يفّالعروقّفلوالّاستقبالّالدمّإايهاّألهلكتّاجلسدّوكلّواحدةّمنهنّ ّ‬

‫مزاجّلصاحبهّوقوامّلهّإبذنهّقالّوخلقّأربعاًّمنّالرايحّيف ّ‬

‫جوفّاإلنسانّوكلهاّبهّفمنهاّريحّوكلهاّالبتالعّالطعامّوالشرابّالّيبلع ّ‬ ‫‪15‬‬

‫اإلنسانّشيئاًّإالّهباّسلطاهناّيفّأذنّاإلنسانّومنزلتهاّالصدرّمع ّ‬

‫البلغمّوريحّوكلهاّحلفظّالطعامّوالشرابّيفّاملعدةّومنزلتهاّيف ّ‬
‫‪336‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 16r‬‬

‫الطحالّمعّاملرةّوريحّوكلهاّأليقادّانرّاملعدةّوطبخّالطعامّوالشراب ّ‬ ‫‪18‬‬

‫وقسمتهاّيفّمجيعّاجلسدّيفّالعروقّومنزلتهاّيفّالكبدّمعّاملرةّوريح ّ‬

‫وكلهاّلتحريكّالطعامّوالشرابّمنّاألعفاجّواألمعاءّوإخراجهاّمنّاإلنسان ّ‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫ومنزلتهاّيفّالكليتنيّوكلّشيءّيذوقهّاإلنسانّيقعّعلىّالكبدّمثّيرتفع ّ‬

‫إىلّالدماغّفيأخذّالدماغّمنهّحاجتهّمثّيدفعهّإىلّالقلبّفيأخذ ّ‬

‫منهّحاجتهّمثّيصريّإىلّالطحالّمثّيتفرقّيفّسائرّاجلسدّوإمناّيهتدي ّ‬

‫ابلكبدّألنّمجيعّعروقّاجلسدّأصلهاّيفّالكبدّوهيّثالمثئةّوستنيّعرقا ّ‬

‫واجلسدّأسسّعلىّمنازلّامللكّفملكّاجلسدّالقلبّوعمالهّالعروق ّ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫يفّاألوصالّفأرضهّاجلسدّوحراسهّمعدتهّوحجابهّصدرهّوأعوانه ّ‬

‫يداهّفاليدانّيقرابنّويبعدانّحبسبّماّيوحيّامللكّإليهماّوالرجالن ّ‬

‫ينقالنّامللكّحيثّشاءّومهاّكالدابةّللملكّوالعينانّمصباحّله ّ‬

‫هبماّيبصرّكلّشيءّواألذاننّابابنّلهّألنهّيفّحجابّومنهماّيدخلّعليه‬

‫‪337‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 16v‬‬

‫والّيدخلّعليهّإالّمنّأيذنّلهّامللكّفإذاّدخلّأطرقّمنصتاّحىتّيعى ّ‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫علىّالداخلّمثّجييبّبقدرّماّيريدّواللسانّترمجانّلهّفهوّيوحيّإىل ّ‬

‫الدماغّماّيريدّوالدماغّإىلّاللسانّواللسانّيرتجمّويفصحّوكذلك ّ‬

‫الصوتّإذاّأدخلّيفّاألذنّأدتهّاألذنّإىلّالدماغّوالدماغّإىلّالقلب ّ‬

‫فهوّأقربّاحلُ َّجابّإليهّواللسانّالّيرتجمّإالّأبداةّّكثريةّبريحّاهلواء ّ‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫وخبارّاملعدةّوعونّالشفتنيّوليسّللشفتنيّقوةّإالّإبسنادّاللسان ّ‬

‫الّيستغينّبعضهاّعنّبعضّوالكالمّالّحيسنّإالّبرتجيعهّيفّاألنفّألنّاألنف ّ‬

‫يزينّالكالمّكماّيزينّالنافخّيفّاملزمارّواألنفّيؤديّإىلّالدماغ ّ‬

‫ابلريحّوالدماغّإىلّالقلبّفإذاّدخلّعلىّامللكّماّالّيوافقهّعاقب ّ‬

‫احلجابّواختلطّوإذاّدخلّعليهّماّحيبّأاثبّاحلجابّوعقوبته ّ‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫احلزنّومنهّيكونّاألمراضّوالعللّوثوابهّالفرحّومنهّيكونّالغذاءّوالصحة ّ‬

‫إبذنّابرئهّوهوّأعلمّمباّدبرّوأرادّوقدرّوأحكمّوالعينانّشحمتان ّ‬

‫جعلّماؤمهاّماحلاًّألنّاملعدةّقيدرّالطعامّوالشرابّوالكبدّانرّموكلة ّ‬

‫إبنضاجّماّيدخلّيفّاملعدةّفريتفعّخبارّحرارهتاّإىلّالرأس ّ‬

‫أنبت ّ‬
‫فلوالّأنهّجعلّماءّالعنيّماحلاّلذابتاّوفسداتّوانتنتاّقالّو َّ‬ ‫‪15‬‬

‫األشفارّواحلاجبّلينشفّشعرهاّماءّالعنيّألنّهذاّاملاءّيسخن ّ‬

‫حبرارةّاملعدةّفإذاّنشفتهّاحلرارةّواألشفارّبردتّاملقلةّوصحت ّ‬
‫‪338‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 16v‬‬

‫فإنّصالحهاّيفّبرودهتاّوملوحتهاّوهلذاّقالواّأقرّهللاّعينكّوتفسريها ّ‬ ‫‪18‬‬

‫بردّهللاّعينكّفيماّفسرواّالقرّابلربدّيفّكالمّالعربّوإمناّدعواّهبذا ّ‬

‫ألنّصالحهاّيفّالقر ّوتصديقّذلكّأهنمّقالواّهوّقرةّعنيّوهوّسخنة ّ‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫عنيّملنّالّيوافقّالعنيّألنّفسادهاّيفّسخونتهاّفيتقيّسخونتهاّابحلواجب ّ‬

‫واألهدابّوذوهباّونتنهاّابمللوحةّوالقرّوإمناّجعلّاملرارةّيفّاألذنني ّ‬

‫كيالّتدخلهّالدوابّفتهجمّعلىّدماغه ّفليسّدابّةّتدخلهاّإالّماتتّقبل ّ‬

‫أنّتصلّإىلّالدماغّقالّوإمناّجعلّالعذوبةّيفّالشفتنيّواللهاة ّ‬

‫لتجدّطعمّالشرابّوالطعامّقالّقائلّفكيفّخلقّيفّالعنيّسوادا ّ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫والعنيّمصباحّوالبياضّأقربّإىلّالضياءّمنّالسوادّقالّإنّالنور ّ‬

‫إمناّيضيءّأبداّيفّالسوادّأماّترىّالسراجّإذاّكانّيفّالظلمةّفإذاّبرز ّ‬

‫إىلّالضوءّذهبّنورهّأماّترىّالقمرّوالنجومّإذاّأقبلتّظلمةّالليل ّ‬

‫أضاءتّفإذاّجاءّضوءّالنهارّذهبّنورهنّقالّوأسكنّالعقل ّ‬

‫يفّالدماغّولذلكّصارّأقربّإىلّالقلبّمنّكلّشيءّقالّوالطحال ّ‬

‫ّ‬

‫‪339‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 17r‬‬

‫والطحالّضدّالكبدّوالكبدّانرّمشعلةّوالطحالّمثلّاجلرةّاململوءة ّ‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫ماءّابرداّوهيّقُبالةّالكبدّمنّالشقّاأليسر ّولوالّبرودتهّواستقباله ّ‬

‫الكبدّألحرقتّالكبدّاجلسدّبنارهاّقالّفحنيّخلقّهللاّتعاىلّآدم ّ‬

‫صلواتّهللاّجعلّيفّجسدهّتسعةّأبوابّسبعةّيفّرأسهّواثنني ّ‬

‫يفّجسدهّمثّوضعهّأربعنيّعاماًّقبلّأنّينفخّفيهّالروحّتنظرّإليه ّ‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫املالئكةّحىتّعادّصلصاالّكالفخارّفإذاّوقعتّالنطفةّيفّالرحم ّ‬

‫صارتّيفّاجلسدّأربعنيّيوماّمثّتكونّعلقةّأربعنيّيوماّمثّتكون ّ‬

‫مضغةّأربعنيّيوماّمثّتكونّخملقةّيفّالشهرّاخلامسّوينفخّفيهّالروح ّ‬

‫لعشرّميضنيّوهوّقولهّتعاىلّيرتبصنّأبنفسهنّأربعةّأشهرّوعشرّاً‪ّ 678‬‬

‫فإذاّأبلغّستةّأشهرّسلطّهللاّرحياّمنّبنيّيديّأمهّعلىّرمحهاّفمن ّ‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫هناكّبدأّطعامهّوشرابهّفإذاّبلغّاملولودّيفّبطنّأمهّستةّأشهر ّ‬

‫أخذّيفّنقصانّرزقهّفإذاّبداّمنكساّمنّفرجّأمهّأخذّيفّنقصان ّ‬

‫أجلهّقالّإنّاحلكيمّروحهّيفّامللكوتّومرتعهّهناكّالّيكاد ّ‬

‫ينزلّيفّأسرابّاملزبلةّأوّيرتعّيفّعشواهتاّجسداّكانّأوّغريهّفهوّكاملاء ّ‬

‫الطاهرّالعذبّيفّاجلوّفهوّطاهرّمطهرّاألجناسّفإذاّوقعّيفّهذةّاملزبلة ّ‬ ‫‪15‬‬

‫صارّجنساّمنجساّمثلّاملاءّتدخلّيفّالبطنّفال بدّأنّتقذرّوتنجس ّ‬

‫‪678‬‬
‫‪Qurʾān: 2:234.‬‬

‫‪340‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 17r‬‬

‫ساعةّماّتدخلّالبطنّوختالطّالقذرةّواألقذارّفبعدّذلكّينجس‬ ‫‪17‬‬

‫‪1‬‬
‫والّيطهرّوالّيطهرّمنهّفليتقّاحلكيمّإنّيرىّمرتعّروحهّدونّامللكوت ّ‬

‫وليكنّيفّذلكّمفزعهّإىلّابرئهّومالكهّوضرورتهّإليهّفإذاّبنيّللحكيم ّ‬

‫لومهاّوكفراهناّوأجناسهاّوأقذارها ّ‬
‫حقارةّنفسهّوصغرّقدرهاّوعيوهباّو ّ‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫وفتحّلهّطريقّمعرفةّالقدوسّالظاهرّالعليّالعظيمّفالّيقدرّأنّيتم ىّاملنازل ّ‬

‫الطاهرةّأوّيسألّذلكّأوّيزاولهّاستحياءّمنّهللاّتعاىلّوإجالال ّ‬

‫عنّأنّيكونّهوّيصلحّمعّأقذارهّأنّينالّمنهّهذهّاملنزلةّأوّيكونّأهالّهلا ّ‬

‫وّالّيرضىّأيضاّأنّيؤذيّربهّوخيالفّمرضاتهّفيتحريّفيؤيدهّالقادر ّ‬

‫إنّشاءّبتسهيلّطريقّلهّأوّطرفّبنيّالطريقنيّفيكونّمزاولتهّذلك ّ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫علىّطريقةّمعرفةّخالقهّإنهّأهلّأنّيقدسّويتجلّويعبدّهذهّالعبادة ّ‬

‫ويعرفّلهّهذهّوإنّملّأكنّأانّأهلّهلذهّاملنزلةّفرتدديّيفّذلك ّ‬

‫التماساًّمينّملعرفةّماّهوّأهلهّالّالتماساًّلشيءّأانّأهلهّفإنّاستعملينّفيماّدون ّ‬

‫ذلكّمنّالتخليطّوالتلطيخّفإينّالّأستوجبّإالّذلكّوالّيبلغّقدريّفوق ّ‬

‫ّ‬

‫‪341‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 17v‬‬

‫ذلكّوأنزههّعنّأنّيكونّيستوجبّمثلّهذهّالعبوديةّمنّعبيدهّوإن ّ‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫استعملينّفوقّذلكّمنّالطهارةّفهوّأهلّذلكّوالّيستوجبّإالّالطاهر ّ‬

‫وليسّهوّأهلّإالّللطاهرّألنهّطاهرّوأبعدّنفسيّعنّأنّيستوجبّمثقال ّ‬

‫حبةّمنّخردلّمنّذلكّإنّاحلكيمّإذاّنظرّإىلّاملبتليّابلغيبّيعدله ّ‬

‫بنظرةّإىلّقدرةّهللاّعزّوجلّاليتّهباّابتالهّوعظمتهّوجربوتهّكيفّقهر ّ‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫العبادّهباّوكيفّابتالهمّوكيفّحوهلمّوكيفّقلبهمّوشتتهمّوصنفهم ّ‬

‫حىتّميتلئّقلبهّمنّهيبةّعظمتهّوجاللةّفيورثهّذلكّخوفاًّمنهّوجال ّالً ّ‬

‫وإشفاقاًّعلىّنفسهّوضرعةّإليهّوتواضعاًّمثّيرجعّبذلكّالنظرّإىلّاملبتلي ّ‬

‫وضعفهّوقلةّحيلتهّوماّحلّبهّمنّهوانّربهّوخذالنهّوحيلولته ّ‬

‫بينهّوبنيّكرامتهّوألطافهّورمحتهّوميتلئّقلبهّلهّبرأفةّورمحةّورقة ّ‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫ويرثيّلهّويدعوّمثّيرجعّبذلكّالنظرّإىلّماّاصطنعّهللاّعندهّمن ّ‬

‫العافيةّوالسالمةّوألوانّالكرامةّوالفضيلةّعلىّغريهّاليتّملّيكنّلهّفيها ّ‬

‫مثقالّحبةّمنّخردلّمنّالقوةّوملّيستوجبهاّشيءّكانّمنهّومل ّ‬

‫يستأهلهاّفحمدّربهّعلىّذلكّوميتلئّقلبهّمنّالشكرّلهّوالتعلقّبه ّ‬

‫السكونّإليهّمثّيرجعّبذلكّالنظرّإىلّخوفّالتحويلّمنّمنزلهّإىل ّ‬
‫ّ‬ ‫و‬ ‫‪15‬‬

‫منزلةّاملبتليّأوّدونهّفإنّمكرهّغريّمأمونّمثّيرجعّإىلّأصل ّ‬

‫كتبتّشقيا ّ‬
‫نظرهتماّفيقولّالّأدريّلعلهّكتبّيفّاألصلّسعيداّو ُ‬
‫‪342‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 17v‬‬

‫ولعلهّحيولّإىلّأرفعّاملنازلّوأحولّإىلّأدىنّاملنازلّفريجوّله ّ‬ ‫‪18‬‬

‫وخيافّعلىّنفسهّفهيّأربعّمنازلّيرتقاهاّمنزلةّمنزلةّالتعظيم ّ‬

‫لربهّواهليبةّلهّوّالرمحةّللمبتليّوالشكرّعلىّاملنةّواخلوفّملكره ّ‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫فتحلّدرجاتّالعدلّومراتبّاالنصرافّومنّاجتذبتّقلبهّاملالمة‪ّ 679‬‬

‫ابلقلبّأوّاجلسدّدونّهذهّالدرجاتّفقدّخاطرّبنفسهّوأشرف ّ‬

‫علىّالظلمّواجلورّوالقساوةّوكفرانّالنعمةّواألمنّمنّاملكرّوالعقوبة ّ‬

‫فصارّإىلّأكثرّمنّمنزلةّاملبتليّوأسفلّمنهّإنّملّيتداركهّربه ّ‬

‫برمحتهّقالّاحذرّاحلكايةّواحملادثةّأشدّاحلذرّواستعن ّ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫ابهللّأعينّبذلكّاحلكايةّعنّنفسكّفإنّفيهاّآفااتّواختالطاّكثريا ّ‬

‫وأخطاراّومؤانتّونداماتّفماّالعاصمّإالّهللاّوإفسادّاحلكمة ّ‬

‫ونقصّالعقلّوذلكّمثلّامللكّالذيّلهّأنواعّاخلزائنّمنّالذهب ّ‬

‫والفضةّواجلوهرّوالثيابّواملطبخّوغريّذلكِّماّيفّدارهّمن‬

‫‪679‬‬
‫‪This could demonstrate a criticism of the approach of the Malāmatiyya since he uses the word for blame‬‬
‫‪(malāma) here to criticize those who focus on reproaching their body and their soul rather than focusing on God‬‬
‫‪himself.‬‬

‫‪343‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 18r‬‬

‫الً ّ‬
‫قطرهّوهذاّخمالفّملقدارّالناسّمثّرمباّأرسلّمنّاملطرّوبالًّوسخاًّوسي ّ‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫وسكباًّحىتّميلهّالناسّويهدمّالبيوتّويوحلّالطريقّويبلّويتلطخون ّ‬

‫ويشقّعليهمّطوراّلوّرأواّمستعمالًّغريهّلذمواّفعلهّألنهّليسّعلىّمقدارهمّمثّيكون ّ‬

‫وقتّذلكّيفّالوقتّالذيّالّيرونّوقتهّوالّيكونّيفّالوقتّالذيّيرون ّ‬

‫وقتهّوكذلكّالريحّرمباّالنتّورمباّاشتدتّوعصفتّكاملعتلمّأوّاجملنون ّ‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫أوّالشيءّالطائشّيفّمقدارّالناسّعلىّهذهّاألشياءّفهذاّالويلّاخلادمّالعارف ّ‬

‫آثرّالبالدةّمرةّوالطيشّمرةّوالبخلّمرةّوالسخاءّأخرىّواملنفعةّمرة ّ‬

‫واملضرةّأخرىّالّيوافقّمقدارهمّوكذلكّالشمسّيفّطلوعهاّوغروهباّومضرهتا ّ‬

‫مرةّلقومّومنفعتهاّمرةّلقومّوسرعةّوحينهاّإذاّحانّغروهباّواحتباسها ّ‬

‫احتجاهباّابلسحابّمرةّوبروزهاّمنهّأخرىّوكذلك ّ‬
‫ّ‬ ‫حىتّالّجتيءّحنيّطلوعهاّو‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫يفّإخراجهاّميرهاّمرةّوورقهاّونزههاّوخضرهتاّيفّوقتّربيعهاّوصيفها ّ‬

‫وجتردهاّوامتناعهاّعنّذلكّكلهّمرةّيفّوقتّنسياهناّفكذلكّاستعماهلا ّ‬

‫السيدّالكبريّوفعلهّولوّفعلّذلكّغريهّلضجرّالناسّوالموهّمعّأهنم ّ‬

‫يضجرونّمنّفعلهّإنّملّيقدرواّعلىّلومهّفإذاّكانّاستعمالهّلإلنسان ّ‬

‫فإمناّيكونّسعيهّعلىّثوابتّاستعمالهّيفّمنفعتهّمرةّلقومّومضرتهّألخرى ّ‬ ‫‪15‬‬

‫ولقومّدونّقومّوسرعتهّمرةّوبطؤهاّأخرىّوسخائهّمرةّوخبلهّأخرى ّ‬

‫وخفتهّمرةّوأانتهّأخرىّإالّأنّاخللقّالّيرونّاستعمالهّفينسبونّاللومّإليه ّ‬
‫‪344‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 18r‬‬

‫وإنّكانّفيهمّفامللكّاملتوجّوالعزيزّالقاهرّواحلرّاملكدّوالغينّاملثري ّ‬
‫ّ‬ ‫‪18‬‬

‫واجلبارّاملتسلطّوالكرميّاملتعطفّطوىبّهلمّوحسنّمآبّإايكّمث ّ‬

‫إايكّوإايكّوشيئاّمنّاستعمالّالدنياّواخللقّمنّقبلّاملكاسبّوالصناعات ّ‬ ‫‪20‬‬

‫واملخالطةّدونّالفراغّمنّمجيعّالشغلّوالتفردّلعنايةّاإلميانّأنّختلص ّ‬

‫إىلّسويداءّالقلبّوماّهوّمنّأسبابهّفقدّعرفتّاحلجبّمنّالشكر ّ‬

‫وابهللّفاستعنّوالّتقرّإىلّشيءّماّملّيظهرّصدقّذلكّفالزمانّزمان ّ‬

‫غرورّواستدراجّوظلمةّولبسّإالّمنّعصمّهللاّبرمحتهّوفضلهّوأعده ّ‬

‫كلّشيءّسوىّذلكّكعبادةّالصنمّوإنّكانّيفّاألمورّالعظامّمنّالفضائل ّ‬ ‫‪25‬‬

‫وبسببهّالوجوبّفإنّحاجتكّإىلّمباشرةّاليقنيّابمل ّوالربّوصفاته ّ‬
‫ّ‬

‫علىّحقائقهّوصدقهّفاهللّاملعنيّوالّترضّلنفسكّعملّالعبادّمعّنور ّ‬

‫اليقنيّوالتصديقّوذلكّإمناّينصرّبفضلّهللاّمنّكانّمنهّفارغاّمنّالشغل ّ‬

‫مثّأخذّالنظرّجيداّجداّيفّتصديقّماّأقربهّبقلبهّعندّ ّّوالثوابت‬

‫‪345‬‬
 ‫‪Folio 18v‬‬

‫واحلقائقّفيماّهوّأصغرّمنّخردلةّوأخفّمنّذرةّوأدقّمنّرأس ّ‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫إبرةّمنّخطراتّقلبهّوإقرارهّأبنّهللاّتعاىلّعاملّجبميعّذلكّوقادر ّ‬

‫علىّمجيعّأمورهّوأرحمّبهّمنّنفسهّوماّذكرّلهّووصفّمنّأمرّمعاده ّ‬

‫شيئاّشيئاّفهناكّيستبنيّلهّالشكّمنّاليقنيّإنّشاءّهللاّتعاىل ّ‬

‫وقدّجنزّالكتابّبعونّامللكّالوهاب ّ‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫كتبهّألجلّخمدومهّوموالهّعمادّاحلقّوامللةّوالدين ّ‬

‫الّزالّمرتقياّإىلّأعايلّمنازلّالصديقني ّ‬

‫ومرتغباّيفّأزهارّأنوارّمشاهداتّاملقربني ّ‬

‫خامجنّحممودّبنّحممدّالشيخاينّملتمساّمن ّ‬

‫عايلّجنابهّأنّيستغفرّلهّويرتحم ّ‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫عليهّبعضّ[ ]ّوصلى ّ‬

‫هللاّعلىّحممدّوآله ّ‬

‫أمجعني‬

‫‪346‬‬
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