Journal of Religious Ethics, Inc

The Ethical Concerns of Classical Sufism Author(s): Peter J. Awn Reviewed work(s): Source: The Journal of Religious Ethics, Vol. 11, No. 2 (Fall, 1983), pp. 240-263 Published by: on behalf of Journal of Religious Ethics, Inc Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/40017708 . Accessed: 05/09/2012 16:02
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THE ETHICAL CONCERNS OF CLASSICAL SUFISM Peter J. Awn

ABSTRACT
described covenant Islamic has relationship mysticism its rootsin the primordial in Qur'an7: 172.The earliestphaseof Sufism,the asceticaltradition,focuses of on the presenceof evil withinman and the world.The laterdevelopment the scienceof oppositesby ecstaticmysticsresultsin an elitist ethicalsystem not The seeds of this whose groundis the mysticalrelationship, the shari'ah. Ibn Ash'arite can synthesis. Finally, Arabfs development be foundin the classical of the elaboration wahdatal-wujud, unity of Being, deterministic relentlessly reducesman'sindividualmoral choice to an illusion, exceptinsofaras man realizeshimself to be one with God.

The Islamic mystical tradition, known as Sufism because of the coarse garments of wool (suf) worn by the early Muslim ascetics, springs from the heart of Islam, the Qur'an. One need not, therefore, look beyond the Muslim community to discover the catalyst for the development of mystical piety. Undoubtedly the predominant Qur'anic vision of God is that of a transcendent, omnipotent creator-judge who wields terrifying power yet remains eternally compassionate. The fundamental God-man relationship in Islam, therefore, is that of Lord (rabb) and servant ('abd). On closer scrutiny, however, the text revealsas well a complex God-man relationship based on a unique experience of divine intimacy and immanence. Man's very nature testifies to this intimacy and to his superiority over all heavenly or earthly beings because of his privileged possession of God's vivifying spirit (ruh) which the Lord breathed into him at the moment of creation (Qur'an 15:29 and 38:72). It is, in fact, the inability to recognize the essential superiority of man, created of humble clay, that initiated the fall of Satan, an angel of fiery might who guarded the divine throne. God ordered all the angels to bow to man; all complied except Iblis (the devil: from the Greekdiabolos) who was condemned for his arrogantdisobedience(Qur'an 2:34; 7:11; 15:30-31; 17:61; 18:50; 20:116; and 38:73-74). One of the most crucial Qur'anic verses affirming the intimacy between God and man describes the establishment of the primordialcovenant between God and the souls of men and women at a time before the material universe existed (Qur'an 7: 172). The goal of every Muslim mystic is to reestablish this
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loving union which was sealed on that day (the day of alast) when God proclaimed His lordship and the souls of all men and women acquiesced in an act of perfect self-surrender (isldm). Not only does the Qur'an confirm the existence of this unique covenant but it also confronts the believer with God's immanence within the created universe. Nothing exists but by God's direct, creative intervention; neither nature nor mankind acts by its own power, for all depend directly on God. His pervasive presence extends to each man's corporeal existence for God is "nearer to him than his jugular vein" (Qur'an 50: 16). Early approaches to Qur'anic exegesis fostered the development of Sufism by employing imaginative, allegorical, and esoteric interpretations of the text (ta'wil) as well as the more exoteric method of analysis (tafsir) based on philology, grammar, history, and dogma. Ta'wil, associated with the Shiite community as well as with Sufi commentators, emphasizes the search for the obscure, hidden meaning of the divine Word. The sixth imam,1 Ja'faras-Sadiq (d. 765 c.e.), a pivotal figure in both Shiism and Sufism, interpreted particular verses as symbolic allusions which refer the individual back directly to his or her personal experiences of the spiritual life. If an understanding of the text is not accessible solely through exoteric analysis or reliance on the text's self-revelatoryquality, of equal significance must be the interior state of the interpreter.Consequently one has insight in direct proportionto one's spiritualsensitivityand development.Thus a dynamic interrelationshipis forged between individual and text, where each is perceived as a living reality, one continually increasing in spiritual awareness, the other revealingitself as a Wordwhose depths can never be plumbed. The earliest stimuli for the burgeoning Sufi tradition should not, however, be localized in the text of the Qur'an alone; social and political forces exerted influence as well. The transfer of the capital of the nascent Islamic empire in the mid-seventh century from its birthplace in the Arabian peninsula to the more cosmopolitan ambiance of Damascus, a wealthy urban metropolis, may have provided an important impetus for the development of Sufism.

THE LOWERSOUL AND THE WORLD ASCETICISM:

The early Muslim ascetics preached detachment from worldly goods and power, in fact from all earthly attainments, as a prerequisite for creating a suitable environmentin which to cultivatethe experienceof God's immanence. The centers for this eighth and ninth century phenomenon were the province of Khurasan (an area embraced today by northeast Iran, most of Afghanistan, and part of southern USSR), especially the former Buddhist city of Balkh (in Afghanistan northwest of Kabul), and Iraq, particularlythe cities of Baghdad, Basra, and Kufa.

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The writings attributed to the early ascetics and the didactic fables about their lives preserved in the Muslim hagiographic sources provide important insights into the Sufi attitudes towards asceticism both in the early and more developed stages of Islamic mysticism. It is worthwhileto bear in mind, nonetheless, that the hagiographic material often contains mythic embellishments that reflect more the later community's perception of a particular Sufi rather than the actual facts of his or her life. This reality should not diminish the value of these pious tales in our eyes; rather they should be interpreted as accurate reflections of the continuing concerns of the Sufis who attempted to develop coherent approaches to the mystical life. Underlying all ascetical practices in Sufism is the conviction that man has somehow been corrupted by evil despite his possession of the divine spirit. This reality is dramatized in the tradition literature {hadith) where the cry of children at birth is ascribed to the fact that the newborn is being pricked by Satan's goad. (See Muslim, n.d.:7:96-97; 8:53-54 and al-Bukharl, n.d.: 4: 151.) The only two humans spared this fate were the prophet Jesus ('Isa) and his mother Mary (Maryam). Muhammad is no exception; however, during his youth, Muhammad's heart was cleansed by the angel Gabriel who split open his chest, removed his heart, and purified it in the holy waters of Zemzem (Muslim, n.d.: 1:101-102). A similar theme in the hadith literature attributes to every human being a companion evil spirit who whispers (waswasa) temptations. Once again Muhammad is eventually spared, for his spirit converts to Islam and urges him thereafter only to the good (Muslim, n.d.: 8: 139). A particularlyimportant hadith theme incorporated by the Sufis into their ascetical theory is vividly portrayedin a fable recounted by the mystical writer Farld ad-Din Attar (d. 1220 c.e.) who attributes the tale to the earlier Sufi Muhammad Ibn 'AHat-Tirmidhl(d. c. 932 c.e.). The scene takes place after the seduction of Adam and Eve by Iblis (the devil), who has vowed revenge on mankind. For their part, Adam and Eve have made peace with God after their expulsion from Paradise and are busily engaged in the tasks of everyday life. One morning Iblis comes to visit Eve, bringing along his little goat-like son, al-Khannas ("the one who slinks away"), a name for Satan in the 114th chapter of the Qur'an.
Iblis said, "Something important has come up. Please watch my son until I come back." Eve agreed and Iblis went on his way. When Adam came back, he asked, "Who is this?" She said, "It is the child of Iblis; he has been left in my care." Adam reproached her, "Why did you agree?" He flew into a rage, killed the child, chopped him into pieces, and hung each piece from the branch of a tree. Iblis came back and asked, "Whereis my child?" Eve told the whole story: "He has been cut into pieces and each piece has been hung from the branch of a tree." Iblis called out to his child and he was joined back together. Alive once again, he stood before Iblis. Another time he addressed Eve: "Here, take him;

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I have something else important to do." Eve refused. He kept after her with entreaty and lament until she agreed. Then Iblis went on his way. Adam returned and asked her, "Who is this?" Eve told the whole story. Adam berated her and said, "I do not know what the secret is in this affair. My order you reject, but the one from God's enemy you accept, and you are beguiled by his words!" Thereupon he killed the child and burned him. Half of his ashes he threw into the water and half he flung to the winds; then he left.

Iblis returns and the same scenario is acted out once again. He resurrects his son from the ashes and asks Eve to watch over him; she refuses, for now she fears Adam's wrath even more: "He will destroy me!" she pleads. But Iblis beguiles her and she capitulates, unable to resist his power. Adam returns and, at wit's end, he resolves to devise a permanent solution.
Adam killed al-Khannas and fried him; he ate half himself and gave Eve the other half to eat. . . . When Iblis returnedand asked for his child, Eve recounted the whole tale: "He killed him and fried him; I ate half and Adam ate half." Iblis said, "This was exactly my intention, in order that I might have access to man's interior. Since his breast is now my abode, my goal is achieved."('Attar, [a]:529-531)

"Fortruly Satan flows in man's bloodstream,"warnsthe hadlth (al-Bukhari, n.d.:4: 150; Muslim, n.d.:7: 8-9). To believe one can be rid of him completely is an illusion. Or worse, it is an act of self-destruction since his home is the arteries and veins that provide man's very life-blood. How, therefore, does the Sufi cope with the innate conflict between good and evil? Moral choice in the minds of the early masters depended on a careful analysis and process of discernment of the spiritual forces at war within the individual's heart (qalb). The satanic power is identified with the lower soul (nafs) (al-Hujwirl, 1911:208);opposing the lower soul is the angel (malak). The combat that rages between the Ib\is-nafs and God-malak in the arena of the heart (qalb) demands weapons; these are the various ideas, impulses, and notions (known as khawdtir or khatardt, the singular being khdtir) that arise in the heart at the insistence of one or the other side. These impulses are morally neither beneficial nor blameworthy in themselves since they do not arise out of any free choice on the part of the individual. Culpability depends, rather, on one's subsequent free appropriation of these impulses (al-Muhasibl, 1940:44-45; al-Ghazall, n.d.: 3, 21:41-42). The khawdtir vary, of course, in type and intensity. Many Sufis believe that it is possible to trace a particular khdtir back to its particular source because of the nature of the act suggested. However, there are often occasions so ambiguous that it is almost impossible to reach a decision whether the khdtir arises from lb\is-nafs or God-malak. The most perplexing problem is not the issue of discerning the source of an obviously good or evil impulse. The critical ethical dilemma arises when one is urged not to grossly

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evil deeds, but to different, apparently laudable, courses of action. Which, therefore, is the greater and which the lesser good? The renowned mystic-theologian Abu Hamid al-Ghazali (d. 1111c.e.) illustrates this crisis well in a series of tales he recounts in his magnum opus, the Ihyd' (ulumad-din (The Revivification of the Religious Sciences). He tells of a group of pious men who assembled for dhikr (the rhythmic recitation of formulae containing the divine name). Satan comes to try to disrupt their prayerbut to no avail;they continue their worship with greaterdevotion. Presently another group arrives and sits discussing various worldly topics, until a violent disagreement arises among them, resulting in a raucous battle. The group of pious believers are induced by khawatir to intervene in the quarrel and, to this end, they break off their prayerto rise and separate the combatants. This, of course, was the lesser good to which Satan wished to seduce them in the first place! (See al-Ghazali, n.d.:3, 21:35-36.) Perhaps the most tragic example of this genre of didactic fable is the tale of the monk Barsisa, again recounted by al-Ghazali. The story opens with Satan seizing a young girl and afflicting her with a grave illness; at the same time he puts in the hearts of her family the idea that the only cure for her sickness is possessed by the holy Christian monk Barsisa. They go and beg him to take her in, but he refuses, because of the demands of the eremitical state. However, they importune him until he relents. Once he takes her into his cell, Satan fills his mind with fantasies about the young girl until he finally lies with her and she becomes pregnant. Overwhelmed with terror, the monk kills her and buries her, lest his pernicious deed come to light. As for the family,if they probe, they can be told that she has succumbedto the disease. Not content with all the havoc he has wrought, Satan whispers to the family what has actually befallen the girl, with the result that they resolve to kill the monk. After confronting him with his crime, they resolve to have their way with him when Iblis appears to the monk and proclaims:
"I am the one who throttled her. I am the one who put this in the hearts of her family. Obey me and be saved, for I will rescue you from them." "How?" he asked. "Bow to me twice," and he bowed to him two times. Satan said to him, "TrulyI am quit of you! . . ." Take a good look now at his ruses, and his coercion of the monk into committing these heinous crimes. And all because he accepted the young girl, to cure her. Such a modest thing! (al-Ghazali, n.d.:3, 21:31)2

The forces for good and evil are not limited to the Sufi's interior life but take on concrete form in the external world. One discovers in the writings of early ascetics an incipient dualism opposing the material world of evil (addunyd) to the pure spirit of man's soul. There is not sufficient space to explore in depth the sources of this paradoxical stance vis-a-vis the created world.

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Suffice it to say that the Western religious traditions - Judaism, Christianity, and Islam - take pains to emphasize the value of material creation as God's gift to man. Equally significant is the fact that the salvation of man in the Westerntraditions is effected through the linear historical process. The Hindu-Buddhist synthesis, on the other hand, with its cyclical view of history, identifies the flux of human history and the transient material universe as the realm of illusion and ignorance which must be overcome. Materiality is so valued in Christianity and Islam that the divine Word takes on actual material form and dwells within the community. The Johannine formulation, et Verbumcaro factum est ("and the Word became flesh"- John 1:14) can easily be revisedto et Verbumliberfactum est ("andthe Wordbecame book") in an Islamic framework. Despite the positive valuation of materiality, dualistic tendencies are evident in the ascetical traditions of the West. A pointed Sufi illustration is preservedin a letter of the renowned traditionist and ascetic Hasan al-Basri (d. 728 c.e.) written to the Caliph 'Umar Ibn 'Abd al-Aziz.
Beware of this world with all wariness; for it is like a snake, smooth to the touch, but its venom is deadly. . . . For this world has neither worth nor weight with God; so slight it is, it weighs not with God so much as a pebble or a single clod of earth; as I am told, God has created nothing more hateful to Him than this world and from the day He created it He has not looked upon it, so much He hates it. (Arberry, 1950:33-34)3

The world (ad-dunya)is describedelsewhereby Sufi writersas a rotting corpse with a dog (i.e., the devil Iblis) perched on top. Anyone who involves himself or herself in the world becomes permanently tainted with evil. (See al-Makki, 1961:1:495; Badawi, 1949:1:169.) The model of the rejectionist ascetic who eschews the dunyd is Ibrahim Ibn Adham (d. 777 c.e.), said to have been a prince of Balkh.4 Ibrahim renounced his kingship to follow the path of radical self-denial; the details of his life are modeled in many respects on the Buddha legend. To him is attributed the popularization of tawakkul, complete and total dependence on God for both one's physical and one's spiritual needs. Not only are the renunciation of food, money, power, and the like advocated by Ibrahim, but also marriageand family life are perceived to be fatal distractions. From its outset the Sufi movement viewed sexuality and man's consequent commitment to the social structures of the community as problematic. A permanent state of celibacy was advocated by some, temporary celibacy by others, despite the fact that the Qur'an is clear in its unabashed commitment to sexuality and the family, in fact to all of God's created gifts (Qur'an 57:27; 4: 1-35). A significant advance beyond the extremism evidenced in the theory and practice of early Sufi asceticism is attributable to the first prominent woman mystic in Islam, Rabi'a al-Adawrya (d. 801 c.e.). Rabi'a perceived that ob-

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sessive concern with denying the world was ultimately as preoccupying as dedicating oneself completely to the life of the libertine. The violent, almost masochistic, struggle to wrest the spirit from the material evil of the dunyd was in reality a confusion of ends and means. For Rabi'a, the need for poverty and detachment was to provide the mystic with the freedom to focus his or her total attention on the goal of loving intimacy with God, not to fixate oneself on the ascetical practicesthemselves. It is this emphasis on altruistic love that sets Rabi'a apart from her male peers. God is to be loved for his own sake, not because one fears retributionor seeks the enjoyment of Paradise. While this emphasis on love did not eliminate by any means the early Sufis' perception of the world as the realm of Satan, and, therefore, to be avoided, Rabi'a did provide an important balance by insisting that not all material creation is essentially evil. By redirectingthe Sufi towards the goal of loving union, Rabi'a demonstrated that the true value of asceticism is not in separating evil matter from pure spirit, but in treating the environment as a mixture of good, evil, and neutral forces whose power can be harnessed for the attainment of the ultimate goal. A well known tale describes Hasan al-Basri's visit to Rabi'a5 in the desert where he discovers her surrounded by all species of wild animals who appear tame and at ease by her side. At the sight of Hasan, however, they flee in terror. Chagrined at being bested once again, Hasan, enraged with jealousy, demands to know from Rabi'a the reason for their flight. Rabi'a inquires if he has eaten that day. Only some onions fried in fat is Hasan's reply. "Thou hast eaten the fat of these poor creatures- how should they not run away from thee?"6 According to this tale, the life of asceticism should lead to harmony with one's environment, not to a radical separation between the Sufi and material creation. However, one's involvement in the world should be only to the extent that it fosters one's progress along the Path. Detachment leads to a renewed freedom since one is master of one's physical environment as well as one's psychological and emotional needs. Instead of being the pawn of his or her human instincts, the Sufi is able to employ both interior strengths and the world of creation to foster continued progress. Asceticism, seen in this light, is transformed from the violent wrenching of spirit from matter enjoined by a dualistic perception of the universe into a force for moderation, temperance, and harmony. The good is to be found even in the world, for a healthy body, sharp mind, and integrated emotional life are assets, not deficits, to continued spiritual growth. It is this more moderate perception of the role of asceticism that was integratedduring the tenth and eleventhcenturies into the more systematictreatments of the Sufi Path. (See, for example, al-Kalabadhi [d. 990 c.e.], 1935: esp. ch. 52) These works, known as Sufi manuals, providethe initiate with both

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theoretical and practical advice about the life of mysticism as well as detailed analyses of the various stages (maqamaf) and states (ahwat) experienced by the Sufi wayfarer.

THE SCIENCEOF OPPOSITES, ECSTASY, AND THE GROUNDOF ETHICS

The development of ascetical, theoretical and hagiographic literature in Sufism must be viewed as companion to and parallel with the development of a far more provocative expression of mystical experience, namely, the ecstatic utterance. It is here that one encounters the most problematic and yet most intriguing efforts by the mystics to convey in words their ultimately ineffable experience of union with the Beloved. Ecstasy and ecstatic modes of expression are recorded during the formative period of Sufism in the sayings of Abu Yazid al-Bistami (d. 874 c.e.). While he himself wrote nothing, his words were preserved by his disciples. Al-Bistami's cries of "Glory to Me!," "How great is My majesty!" and similar self-divinizing expressions provoked lively debate about the ability of the Sufi to communicate his or her experience of union without misleading the uninitiated members of the Islamic community with what appear to be expressions of shirk (presumptuous association with God). This conflict is best illustrated not in the life of al-Bistami, but in that of the most famous of the Baghdad mystics, Husayn Ibn Mansur al-Hallaj, who was put to death by order of the Abbasid Caliph al-Muqtadir in 922 c.e. Al-Hallaj 's uAna I'-Haqql" ("I am the Divine Truth!")rings throughout the history of Sufism as the paradigmatic ecstatic utterance. Whereas the catalyst for moral choice in the early ascetical phase of the Sufi movement was the mystic's experience of evil within man and the material world, the primary force motivating the choices of the ecstatic mystic is the intense experience of union with the Beloved. Here the Sufi has moved and into a different plane of existence, above the legal structures (sharVaK) stitutions that specify for the majority of Muslims the path of righteousness. This need not mean that the ecstatic is no longer bound by the sharVah and common practice of the community. The point to be made is that these community structures do not address with sufficient profundity the interior crises encountered by the enraptured mystic; the lover turns not to external structures but to the Beloved for guidance in the moral life. It is, therefore, the relationship of lover-Beloved that specifies right action for the mystic, not the shari'ah-based structures delineating Islamic praxis. In the writings of al-Hallaj one begins to see clearly the gradual development of an elitist ethical system that functions only for the elect and that need not be understandable to the masses for whom it is ultimately inacces-

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sible. The most creativemode of expressionhe employsis the paradoxical on of reliance the traditional juxtaposition oppositeswhichjolts the reader's orderand structure the shan'ah-based of community.
Because things are known through their opposites, fine white silk is woven with a backing of coarse black wool. The angel can point out good deeds to someone and say to him as an abstract statement, "If you perform these deeds you will be rewarded."But he who does not know evil in the concrete, cannot know good. (al-Hallaj, 1913:49,- #19)

Thusal-Hallajdefendshis use of "Ana'l-Haqq\" insistingthat the two by othercosmicfigureswho attainedto this sameuniqueintimacywiththe Beloved are Iblis, the archfiend,and Pharaoh,the archenemy Moses. The of word of bothwithGod prompted eachto utterthe self-divinizing relationship "I"(Qur'an 12;38:76;79:24) and suffercondemnation it. Nevertheless, 7: for theiractionsweremorallycorrectdespitetheiroutward because degradation, these actions had been dictatedby the Beloved.
My friend and my teacher are Iblis and Pharaoh. Iblis was threatened with the fire, but he did not go back on his preaching. And Pharaoh was drowned in the Red Sea, but he did not acknowledge any mediator at all. . . . And if I were killed, or if my hands and feet were cut off, I would not go back on my preaching. (al-Hallaj, 1913:51-52,- #24 and #25)

Perfectionof life for al-Hallajand his spiritualmodels lies in the paradoxicalrealitythat curseis the sign of God's favor.Al-Hallajmade a concertedeffort to incurthe wrathof the pious, in the processhighlighting his two-tiered ethicalsystem,the lowertier applicable the massesof the Musto lim community, higherto the elite amongthe Sufis. By baitingthe relithe andpoliticalauthorities withhis shoutsof ecstasythatsmacked herof gious he attainshis goal. The communitychoosesthe correctcourseof action esy, by puttinghim to death;al-Hallajat the same time achievesfulfillmentby bringingabout the deathof "theaccursedone,"i.e., himself.Both act in accord with God's particularwill for each of them.
Kill me my trustedfriends, for in my death is my life! Death for me is in living, and life for me is in dying. The obliteration my essence of is the noblest of blessings. in My perdurance my humanattributes, the vilest of evils. (al-Hallaj,1955:33-34) The science of paradox, whose roots are found in the writings of al-Hallaj, should not, however, be considered a uniquely Sufi phenomenon. For the

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ethical theory of the mystics is closely related to the controversies and classical syntheses of Islamic philosophical theology (kaldm) which were formulated from the ninth through the twelfth centuries. The tension, for example, between God's omnipotence and man's freedom was experienced on all levels of Islamic life. In the realm of human praxis, man's capability to act as free agent appeared negligible when placed over against the determinative power of God's omnipotence. How, therefore, could an individual be held responsible for his or her deeds, for God "leads astray whomever He wills and guides whomever He wills" (Qur'an 16:93). During the formative stages of Islamic philosophical theology, a significant group of Muslims, among them the Mu'tazilites, attested vehemently to man's absolute moral responsibility.They became known as Qadarites,proponents of radical freedom of the will. Men and women are punished or rewarded for actions performed as a result of free moral choice, they insisted; God Himself is absolutely just in this regard. Consequently, He can have no involvement in the evil He condemns; on the contrary, evil is understood to be the unfortunate product of man's power to choose. In the opinion of the Qadarites, naively to affirm God's absolute and all-pervasive control over human action is at the same time to attribute responsibility for all actions good or evil - to God himself.7 The Mu'tazilite and Qadarite position did not, however, become the predominant influence on the classical resolution of the freedom-predestination controversy.This is representedin the reaffirmation of a more predestinarian view in the work of al-Ash'ari (d. 935 c.e.) and his school. Al-Ash'ari was himself a staunch defender of God's absolute omnipotence; the radical freedom of man espoused by the Qadarites he rejected, asserting that all human choices and actions are creations of God alone. Not even causality is permitted to hold sway lest somehow God's pervasive power be lessened and creation be given an ongoing power of its own in association with God, resulting in the cardinal sin of shirk. In defending God's omnipotence al-Ash'ari was forced at the same time to deny the intrinsic goodness or evil of any action. Since all depends on God, what is good or evil depends on what God wills to be good or evil, not the nature of the action itself. Something is good because God commands it, evil because He forbids it. Lying, for example, is evil only because God has willed it so. If He should declare at some point in time that lying were good and ordered his faithful to lie, men and women would be obliged to comply (al-Ash'ari, 1953:33-42,- #49-62; 99-100,- #169-172). The faithful formulate guidelines for ethical behavior by careful attention to God's will (irddah) and command (amf) codified in the Qufan-hadlthsharVahsynthesis, not by undue reliance on reason ('aql). An essential difference between the Sufis and the philosopher-theologians is that the Sufis took the abstract possibilities described by the Ash'arites and molded them

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into actual behavior patterns. If good and evil are solely dependent on God's will, those who have a special relationship of intimacy with God will be given special, if not unique, commands by God determinedby and mediatedthrough the mystical relationship. The Qur'an-hadith-shan'ahstructure, on the other hand, is what concretizes God's will for the wider Islamic community. While the possibility is left open that this structure could change (e.g., the question of lying), it functions in realityas a universalthat has been codified for all time. The two-tiered ethical system exemplified in the science of opposites created by al-Hallaj is not, therefore, a freakish hybrid of the mystical tradition but an elaboration of elements discoveredat the core of the classical Ash'arite synthesis. What is good or evil is what God prescribes for the individual Sufi at a particular stage of his or her development. No longer is the Lord (rabb)servant ('abd) relationship the paradigm for the God-man relationship; it is the ever growing relationship of lover (&/*/#)-Beloved (ma'shuq) that creates its own laws. An example of such a progression is the growth in mystical perfection of Abu Sa'id Ibn Abi '1-Khayr(d. 1049 c.e.) of Mayhana in Khurasan whose early life mirrors starkly the self-destructive practices of the eighth and ninth century ascetics.8 His austerities reflect as well Abu Sa'Id'smeticulous observance of the sharVahand his total repugnance for either the physical or social dimensions of human life. He never ate during the day, nor did he sleep at night except standing up. It is recorded that he was discovered by his father hanging by his feet in a pit reciting the Qur'an. Gradually Abu Sa'id became unable to cope even with the most fleeting contact with other humans; he would pass long periods in total isolation, preferably in the desert. These practices, extreme though they be, are by no means out of the ordinary given the classical Sufi ascetical tradition. Considerablymore relevant, however, is Abu Sa'id's about-face, sparked by his growing consciousness of union with the Beloved. His biographer reports that Abu Sa'Id attained the pinnacle of enlightenment at about the age of forty, a stage he never abandoned until his death over forty years later. What effect did this attainment of union have on his choice of actions? In place of continual fasting, Abu Said became renownedfor the lavish parties and entertainmenthe would stage for his disciples. In later life he is depicted as a corpulent fellow reclining on cushions, having his feet rubbed by several disciples. Nor was he loath to use his apparentlysuperhuman powers to terrify and coerce reluctantbenefactors into providing sufficient funds for his spiritual gatherings. While these excesses appear offensive, especially when fostered by one who professes to be an intimate of the Divine, they are not necessarily contrary to the shan'ah. However, Abu Sa'id's practices did, in fact, challenge the fundamental preceptsof the community. Once, during a revelwhich was followed by samd' (the audition and ecstatic dance of the Sufis), a pious Muslim announced the call to prayer, the performance of which is a religious obliga-

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tion. Abu Sa'id replied that they were at prayer and ordered that the rapturous music and dance continue. On another occasion, he was confronted by a member of the community who was shocked, not only by his girth, but by Abu Sa'id's refusal to perform an essential pillar of Islam, the Hajj (pilgrimage to Mecca) which is enjoined on every Muslim as a constitutive element of Islamic life.
"How is it that my neck is too big for my shirt collar? I marvel how there is room for my neck in the sevenheavensand earthsafter all that God hath bestowed upon me. Why have I not performed the Pilgrimage? It is no great matter that thou shouldst tread under thy feet a thousand miles of ground in order to visit a stone house. The true man of God sits where he is, and the Bayt al-Ma'mur (i.e., the celestial archetype of the Ka'ba, the sacred cube) comes several times in a day and night to visit him and perform the circumambulation above his head, look and see!" All who were present looked and saw it. (Nicholson, 1921: 60-62)9

One should not, however, look at Abu Sa'id's later practices as a total rejection on his part of the legal and ethical norms of the Islamic community. Rather his approach is to combine the standard ethical practices of the community, the primary tier, with the unique demands of his single-minded relationship with the Beloved. The structures of the primary tier are to be used only to the extent that they foster the mystical relationship. They may be modified, if not totally abandoned, when they conflict with the needs of the Sufi's higher level of spiritual existence. The understanding of the Sufi, of course, is that his or her actions are a response to God's clearly expressed will, not his or her own personal whim or fancy.

THE IMPLICATIONS PREDESTINARIANISM OF

Abu Sa'id's dramatic turnabout in his approach to accepted social practice and to the sharVahdemonstrates in concrete terms what is implied only as a possibility in the Ash'arite synthesis, namely, that God may change His will for an individual or group. However, the dimension of Ash'arism that is more pervasively present in the continuing development of classical Sufi ethics is the emphasis on God's determinative power. It is appropriate to emphasize as well that certain key figures in eleventh-and twelfth-centurySufism moved beyond the limits of the conservative Ash'arite position to an even more predestinarian stance. Nevertheless, as Sufis, they were not concerned primarily with creating logically coherent metaphysical syntheses but with expressingthe painful tension they experiencedbetween God's power and their own ability to act rightly. The move beyond the classical formulation of the relationship of freedom

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to predestination theireffect on the Sufis'understanding the ground of and of ethicsis strikingly in the writingsof AbdullahAnsariof Herat apparent (d. 1089c.e.) whoseIntimateConversations 1978)area classicof (Mundjdt, the spiritual Ansari,a thorough-going life. wasan expertin hadlth Hanbalite, and an archconservative his literalistinterpretations the Qur'an.Not in of did he find the rationalism the Mu'tazilite of only position untenable,but also the Ash'aritesynthesiswas, in his mind, too liberalin its approachto the revealed word.Rather thansubjectthe conflicting verseson freeQur'anic dom and predestination an analysisthat wouldhopefullyresolve,at least to partially,the apparenttension of opposites,his approachwas to proclaim both poles of the paradoxas correct. It is herethat one encounters important an dimensionof the classicalSufi to the coincidentia of The approach oppositorum conjunction opposites). (the for the mysticis not to resolvethe tension but to embraceboth challenge sides of the paradox,convincedthat a true resolutioncan be found only in the mind of God.
O God, You commanded us to obey You and then prevented us from doing so. You forbade us to disobey you and then made us disobedient. You who are slow to anger and swift to make amends, You have raised the banner of imperfection over our heads. (Ansari, 1978:186)

Ansariproceeds describe fall of man, not as the seductionof Adam to the and Eve by Satanbut ratherby God. Nor can this cosmic eventbe seen as a true seduction,for man has no choice but to complywith God'swill. Despiteourvictimization God, Ansariinsistswe mustnot conclude,through by a dependence the feeble facultyof reason,that we are not culpablefor on our evildeeds.On the contrary, AdamandEve,we mustblameourselves like for our sinfulacts,regardless the paradox creates: of this "And theyboth said, 'O Lord,we havewrongedourselves!'" 7:23;Ansari, 1978: (Qur'an 189).This is the authenticstance of the Sufi, foolish perhapsto the uninitiated,but attested hereandelsewhere the onlyviablecourseopento the trueseeker to as of intimacy. The movefrom a discussionof the paradoxical tensionbetweenfreedom and predestination one of good and evil flows naturally the Mundjdt. to in a Here,too, Ansarirecapitulates greatdeal of classicalSufi theory:in sum, whatever comesfromGod is good, for it is whatHe wills.Whether appears it to the worldas good or evil, blessingor curse,is inconsequential. that All mattersis growthin loving union.

The Ethical Concerns of Classical Sufism Whetherthe belovedgives us agony or pleasure, Whatever comes from the Belovedis good. We do not think of good or evilOur intent is His pleasureand contentment. (Ansari, 1978: 193)

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Once again the insight is voiced that the ground of ethics is the subjective relationship, a relationship of loving union open to an elite group alone. This change in the type of relationship from Lord-servantto lover-Beloved entails a move beyond the standard community norms, from which perspective, as Ansari proclaims, all the pillars of Islam are beside the point. The pilgrimage appears an occasion for tourism; almsgiving is something that should be left to philanthropists;fasting is a fine way to conserve food; and the ritual prayers are something that might best be left to old women. Fall in love: That is doing something! (Ansari, 1978:216-217) One must be cautious in dealing with such texts of Ansari not to interpret his hyperbolic statements literally, for he was a religious conservative who defended the most literal interpretationsof Islamic law and practice. His cavalier treatment of these four pillars is paradoxically joined to a fervent commitment to his ritual obligations. To abandon all links with the community would be, for Ansari, to place himself beyond the limits of the Muslim faith encapsulated in the first pillar of Islam, the one pillar with which he does not dare toy. In Ansari's view, therefore, the Sufi must embrace both poles of the paradox: the need for a unique code tailored to the mystic's level of development,and the need to participatein the praxis of the community which functions as the lifeline that nourishes the more advanced spiritual states. One does not survive without the other. The relentlessfocus on God's controlling power and on God's will expressed through the mystical relationship leads naturally to the identification of God as the source for all that men and women, with their limited understanding, identify as good and evil. A truly exceptional treatment of the conjunction of opposites within God Himself is found in the mystical writings of 'Ain al-Qudat (d. 1131c.e.). A disciple of Ahmad al-Ghazali, the brother of the renowned philosopher-theologian and mystic Abu Hamid al-Ghazali, Ain al-Qudat equals, if not surpasses, al-Hallaj in both the creativity of his interpretation of the science of opposites and in the drama surroundinghis death. That 'Ainal-Qudat pinpoints the ambiguity and conflict of opposites within God Himself should not be seen as a novel development but ratherone which has roots in the Qur'an, where the God of revelation manifests Himself as both the Merciful, the Compassionate (ar-Rahman,ar-Rahim), as well as the who avenges disobedience with Subduer (al-Qahhdr),the Tyrant(al-Jabbdr)10

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staggering ferocity. Indeed God Himself does not refrain from deceitful ruses when challenged by those who naively believe they can dupe the Almighty. "Andthey were wily and God was wily, but God was the best of the wily ones!" (Qur'an 3:54). Ain al-Qudat highlights the ambiguity in the very essence of God through an ingenious use of the Iblis motif, i.e., the intimate dependency that exists between Iblis and Allah. The first locus for the diabolus-deus conjunction is in the shahddah (the confession of faith and first pillar of Islam): "Idildh ill' allah" ("There is no god but God"). The realm of Id ildh (There is no god . . .) is the realm of falsehood and negation, the evil that seduces the mystic from the Path. Truth, security, and ultimate good are found only in ill' allah (but God) (Ain al-Qudat, [a]:73-74,- #101-102). To move from the circle of Id ildh to ill' allah requires that one pass by the guardian and chamberlain of the Divine Presence, none other than Iblis. Without the devil's permission, therefore, no one can attain to God. In fact, God cannot be God without the devil, since God depends on him to guard His presence from desecration. A king is no king if anyone, regardless of merit, can have access to the royal presence and claim intimacy with the Lord (Ain al-Qudat, [a]:342-343,-#454). Ibliswas retained watchoverthe door to the presence the Almightyand to of was told, 'Youaremy lover.Be jealousaboutmy threshold keepstrangers and out of my presence.And continueto proclaimthis: "TheBelovedsaid to me, 'Sit at my door, do not allow inside anyonewho is not in accordwith Me. To him who desiresMe, say, "Be enraptured!" This state is not suitablefor any man unless I find it suitable'." ('Amal-Qudat,[a]:228-229,- #296) Not only do the devil and God appear as co-workers but the devil and Muhammad as well. Muhammad is the white light of righteousness, whereas the devil is the black light of straying. Yet Ain al-Qudat takes pains to emphasize that the lights of both Muhammad and Iblis spring from God and reflect concrete attitudes of the Divine, viz., mercyand destructiveanger. Only in the unknowable essence of the Absolute is the tension between these two opposites resolved. On the experiential plane of lived reality these attributes are in conflict, although they do depend on each other in one respect; it is only through the one that the other can be known or experienced (Ain alQudat, [a]:227,-#294). As a final symbol, Ain al-Qudat uses the lock of hair that hangs in an arrogant curl over the face and cheek of the Beloved to describe the juxtaposition of the devil with God. These tresses enjoy a privileged state of intimacy with the Beloved since they are allowed to caress her cheek. Moreover, the perfection of the Beloved's beauty is not complete without the curl (Ain al-Qudat, [a]: 121,- #169). God is not fully Himself without Iblis.

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The curl, however,is not alone lying on the cheek of the Beloved, for there one also discovers a black mole, which is equated with Muhammad. Both curl and mole spring from the Beloved's face; however, the arrogant curl is seducer while the mole is guide to Truth. Nevertheless, they are both essential dimensions of the Sufi's experience of the Beloved, the curl and the mole, seduction and guidance. Through the tension between curl and mole, black light and light of Muhammad, Id ildh and ///' alldh, God reveals Himself as creator and source of paradoxes. To experience the conflict of these opposites is to experience personally the conflict that springs from God and that is resolved only in the serene, unfathomable essence beyond the Beloved's face CAin al-Qudat, [a]: 118-119,- #166). Ain al-Qudat's localization of good and evil within God is coupled, understandably,with an equally strong emphasis on God's determinative power and man's limited - almost nonexistent - ability to choose freely. This denial of true moral responsibility is not relegated to the common folk alone, but to Muhammad and Iblis as well. and Iblis'powerto Muhammad's powerto guide, know it to be a metaphor; in Knowthe truthto be, lead astray, the sameway knowit to be a metaphor. whomever wills,andHe guideswhomever wills" He He "Heleadsastray (Qur'an but Ibliswith such 16: I admitthat Iblisleadscreatures astray, who created 93). a characteristic? ('Ainal-Qudat,[a]:188,- #246) All power, human or cosmic, whether for good or for evil, is derivative; man is but an instrument who makes use of his or her potentialities like a servant acting in accordance with the master's desires. The essence of such instrumentality is loving obedience; there is no need for logical explanations from God nor for the servant to delve into the ultimate reasons behind God's choice of one particular action over another. The servant is enjoined only to accept the paradox of God's decree, not to interrogate Him about its justice or moral worth: "He is not questioned about what He does" (Ain alQudat, 1969-71: l:376,-#626)." Ain al-Qudat struggles vainly to allow some modicum of moral responsibility to man. He denies vehemently that man is compelled to perform acts fixed by the power of God. On the contrary, in the same way that burning is the unique characteristic of fire, freedom is the unique characteristic of man. With the next breath, however,in the by now familiar style of the astute practitioner of the science of opposites, Ain al-Qudat trivializes what he has so passionately affirmed: He for that man can chooseonly from whomever created happiness, However, He for and amongthe deedsof the saved; whomever created torment,thatman can chooseonly fromamongthe actionsof the damned.He provides explanathe tionsforthe peopleof faith . . . andhe reproaches peopleof unbelief, promising them the fire. (Ain al-Qudat,[a]:189-190,- #247)

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Clearly this attempt at moral sleight of hands fails because it does not cut to the heart of the dilemma, moral choice. Can one who is originally good choose evil, and vice versa? Ain al-Qudat is unambiguous in his belief that this possibility is closed to the Sufi. One is encouraged rather to cultivate obedience to God's will, a will that is mediated through the lover-Beloved relationship. This does not, however, relieve the underlying terror that can so easily permeate the Sufi life lived on the tenterhooks of fear (khawf) and hope (raja*), fear that all one's obedience and loving devotion will come to naught because of God's preordaineddecree, hope that God's mercyand compassion will lead one to unending, blissful union.
He cast him in the ocean, firmly bound, and said to him, 'You there! take care not to get wet!* ('Ain al-Qudat, 1969-71:2: 412,- #650)

'Ain al-Qudat's charismatic personality attracted many disciples and inflamed the hostility of the more traditionally minded. He was imprisoned first at Baghdad and later in his home town of Hamadhan. While in Baghdad he wrote an Apologia for his life and teachings, in an effort to discredit the charges of heresy laid against him. His attempts failed, and, on his transfer to Hamadham, Ain al-Qudat was put to death in grisly fashion in May of 1131 c.e. He was thirty-three years of age.

IBN ARABI: THE UNITY OF BEING

The themes of the mystical life that Ain al-Qudat expresses in figurative and aesthetic forms were molded a century later into a complex philosophical and mysticalsystem by one of the most influential genuises of Islam, Muhyi 'd-DInIbn Arab! (d. 1240c.e.) whose impact on post-thirteenthcenturySufism can scarcely be overrated. Born at Murcia in Spain in 1165 c.e., Ibn Arab! received his early training in mysticism under the guidance of two women spiritual masters. His travels led him from Muslim Spain to North Africa, Mecca and Damascus where he eventually settled. 'Ibn Arabi's literary output was prodigious; the physical volume and intellectual density of his work make any definitive analysis of his thought a goal yet to be achieved. Key, however, to any exposition of his ideas is the metaphysical concept of wahdat al-wujiid, the unity of Being, which, when perceived solely from a philosophical perspective, has much in common with monism. Ibn Arabi, however, was a mystic as well as a metaphysician, and his explication of wahdat al-wujiid reflects this dual involvement. If at first glance wahdat al-wujiid appears to be a radical departure from previous Sufi theory, on closer scrutiny it reveals itself as a logical extension of earlier Sufi

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preoccupations with the pervasive presence of God's determinative power in every human action. The move from perceiving God as the only true Agent to affirming Him as the only true Existent should not appear startling. In Ibn Arabi's scheme of things, al-Haqq (Reality perceived as undif ferentiated unity) initiates a process of differentiation which entails Reality's coming to self-consciousness. The distinction between al-Haqq and the created universe (al-Khalq) is effected through the agency of the Creative Imagination (al-khayat). Obviously, we are not here dealing with the traditional view of creationenshrinedin the dogmas of the Westernreligioustraditions,namely, that the universe was produced from nothing. The act of creation is perceived in dramatically different terms, captured vividly in severallines from a poem of the renowned mystic Jalal ad-DIn RumI (d. 1273 c.e.)
David said, "O King, since you have no need of us, say, then, what was the wisdom in the creation of the two worlds?" God (al-Haqq) replied, "O temporal man, I was a hidden treasure, I sought that that treasure of benevolence and beneficience be revealed. I made a mirror appear whose face is the heart, and whose back is the world; its back is better than its face if you know not the face." (RumI, 1898:14-17)

The famous Sufi hadith spoken by God, "I was a hidden treasure and I desired to be known, and so I created the world in order that I might be known," became the basis for the creation theory within the Ibn Arab! tradition. Reality's desire for self-consciousness is not a static, emotionless process of emanation, but one that reflectsReality'spassionate yearning,described by Ibn Arab! as a sighing, a breathing forth in love which produces al-Khalq (the mirror world of created realities). The mystical theory that evolves from this metaphysics moves one into the realm of what would more aptly be described as a gnostic tradition rather than a love tradition. The Sufi is no longer the eternally independent soul seeking to reunite himself or herself with the Beloved in a loving intimacy reminiscent of the day of the primordial covenant (the day of alast). Quite the contrary, for man is already in his essence identified with ultimate Reality. However, he is lost in illusion without true gnosis (ma'rifah), and is deluded because he naively believes himself to be a unique, individual and independent soul. Ma'rifah (gnosis) is not new to Sufism with Ibn Arabi; its roots go back at least as far as the prayersand poetry of the Egyptian mystic Dhu 'n-Nun (d. 859 c.e.) However Ibn Arabi's construction of an all-encompassing philo-

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sophical and mystical doctrine based on wahdat al-wujud and its gnostic implications is revolutionary. If one accepts that Ibn Arabi rejects the basic stance of Islam vis-a-vis the eternal independence of the soul, one must question as well the Sufi conviction that the goal of mysticism is loving union between two distinct, albeit intimate, realities, God and the soul. Wahdatal-wujud implies, in contrast, that the true goal is a return from the differentiated state of al-Haqq - alKhalq to the original undifferentiated state of perfect unity, a return to the One where the illusion of duality is permanently erased. The Sufism of Ibn Arabi, which has formed Sufis and Sufi theory from the late medieval through the modern periods, is that point in the history of Islamic religion where it reveals itself as a bridge tradition between East and West. The implications of wahdat al-wujud for the overall interpretation of mystical experience align Ibn Arabi's mystical theory far more closely with traditions that spring from the Indian Subcontinent (especially the AtmanBrahman identity of the Upanishads) than with the love traditions of the West. In attempting to assess the ethical consequences of Ibn Arabi's monist mysticism, it must be acknowledged first of all that questions of good and evil, freedom and predestination, and moral responsibility are all addressed. Nevertheless, it is equally evident that the overriding preoccupation of the Sufi in Ibn Arabi's world is not to act in conformity with the good but to move from ignorance to knowledge, to become an 'arif (gnostic) who experiences ultimate truth and acts accordingly. When ethics are discussed, it becomes apparent, as has been so often the case in the writings of earlier Sufis, that good and evil are relative terms since whatever comes into actualization must be good because it is God's will. If one adds to the relativization of good and evil the insight that the created world, man included, is ultimately a projection of God, an illusion, man appears even less capable of independent moral choice than in the earlier deterministic theories that, nonetheless, preservedthe individuality of the soul. Even the primacy of the lover-Beloved relationship is abandoned as the mediator of God's will, since the love relationship is not ultimate. Ibn Arabi struggles to extricate himself from reducing man to a robot or automaton, a victim of crude compulsion. The determinism that governs his system is woven into a complex relationship between al-Haqq (true Reality) and the world breathed forth. For each existent being is not an independent entity but is intimately related to, and dependent upon, a latent essence or archetype within ultimate Reality. As R. W. J. Austin explains: Sincetherefore each one of us as createdbeingsalso has eternaland essential we other beingin divinis,andsince,in ouressential latency, cannotbe anything than what God is and, furthermore, constituents the innerobjectof His as of

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knowledge we contribute to what He knows Himself to be - which knowledge, in turn, informs the divine Will and Decree - we therefore share in the most essential way, by our inevitable essentiality, in the divine free will. (Ibn Arabi, 1980:32)

This does not, I believe, solve the problem. It would appear that Ibn 'ArabFs theory affirms, not man's ability freely to make moral choice, but that man, to the extent that he realizes his true nature as God, participates as God in God's free will. An additional complicating element in Ibn 'Arabi'sscheme is the notion of predisposition. Our latent essence has determinative effects on our own created reality in that it provides the internal laws by which we act. True, we choose to act in a certain way, but all our choices will reflect the interior predisposition effected by our latent essence. Consequently, whatever deeds we perform have to be good since they conform to God's will specified in our latent archetype and our actual created self.
Whoever truly understands this Wisdom and establishes it in himself and realizes it releases himself from dependence on others and knows that good and evil come to him only from himself. By good I mean what is in consonance with his aim, in harmony with his nature and disposition, and by evil what is contrary to his aim and in conflict with his nature and disposition. He who has such knowledge (vision) excuses all creaturesregardingwhat they manifest, even though they themselves make no excuse, knowing as he does that all he undergoes is from himself. . . . (Ibn 'Arabi, 1980:144-145)

Of course one need not excuse another's action nor demand repentance, since no matter how apparently heinous the act, it is good because, if it occurs, it is God's will and therefore the natural outcome of the individual's predisposition. An added nuance will be helpful in rounding out our brief summary of Ibn Arabi's approach to mystical unity and Sufi ethics. As A. E. Affifi explains, the divine will is discussed under two aspects by Ibn 'Arabi:the mashVah (eternal power of God that determines what things actual and potential will be) and His iradah (by which He actually brings into external manifestation a potential reality). "The fact that a thing has any 'being' at all is an act of mashVah,but that it is manifested in the external world is an act of iradah" (Affifi, 1939:160). In addition to mashVahand iradah one must also take into account God's amr (His actual command) specified most clearly in the Qur'an, hadith and shari'ah. Speculation on the possible conflict arising between God's iradah and His amr, between His will and actual command, was initiated by alHallaj and commented upon throughout the classical period of Sufism. It is the insistence on the fact that this conflict does actually occur in world history that provides the key to explaining how an individual can be culpable

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for a deed he or she performsthat is, nevertheless, naturaloutcomeof the the person'spredisposition in conformitywith God'sirddah. and, therefore, The casesof Iblisand Pharaoharemost often discussedas examples clasby sical Sufi theorists,and, in this regard,Ibn Arab! is no exception. Pharaohis culpablefor havingtransgressed divine command(amr) the in God'sprohibition specified gods otherthan Himself againstproclaiming and in God'scommandsdelineating use of power.All men and women, the evengnostics,Ibn Arabiasserts,are"subject the ruleof time"(IbnArabi, to it is irrefutable that Pharaohwas in total conformity 1980:248).However, withGod'swill {irddah), evenby rejecting Moses,for God allowedPharaoh's actions to occur. In sum, Pharaohmust have been respondingfully to his the His predisposition, productof his essentialarchetype. life, therefore,is an accurate reflectionof what is understoodas the good man in the Sufism
of Ibn Arabi. Thus his (i.e., Pharaoh's) saying, "I am your highest Lord" (Qur'an 79:24) was correct, since even though he was (in essence) God Himself, the form was that of Pharaoh. By the divine Essence (within him), but in the form of falsehood, he cut off hands and feet and crucified people, so that ranks might be acquired that could be acquired only by such action. Causes can never be canceled, because the latent essences make them necessary. They are manifest in existence only in some form or other according as their latent states dictate, there being no way of changing the words (logoi) of God, which are nothing other than the essences of created things. In respect of their latency (in aeternis) they are called permanent, while, in respect of their existence and manifestation, they are called ephemeral. (Ibn Arabi, 1980:264)

in of AlthoughwithIbnArabithisbriefdiscussion keyelements the classical formulations Sufi ethicaltheorycomesto an end, one shouldnot conof cludethatthis studysomehowexhausts topic.On the contrary, is merely the it and whoseconintroductory notablefor the numerous figuresof importance tributionscould not be addressed. mainlines of development, The nonetheless, havebeen sketched,albeitin broadstrokes.The essayleavesone at the thresholdof one of the most significantperiods in Sufism, duringwhich majorevolutionsin institutionalforms and devotionalpiety wereto occur. The growthof Sufi Fraternities, popularization dhikr (the rhythmic the of recitationof formulaecontainingthe divine name and samd'(the audition and ecstaticdance of the Sufis), the venerationof holy men and women, the assimilationof local languagesinto Sufi literature, role of Sufism the in the continuedspreadof Islam- theseand otherdevelopments testifyboth to the vibrancyof Sufism from the classicalperiodto the presentday and to the needfor furtherexploration the differingapproaches into ethtowards ics that characterize post-classicalperiod. the

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1. Among the Shiites the imam is the divinely-ordained head of the theocratic state in whom both religious and political authority reside. The imam must be a direct descendent of the prophet Muhammad through Ali (Muhammad's first cousin and son-in-law) and Fatima (Muhammad'sdaughter). TraditionalShiite theology describes the imam as sinless, and possessed of extraordinary virtue and unparalleled insight into the hidden meanings of the Qur'an text. Moreover, he is infallible, incapable of erring in his guidance. Thus the Shiite imam is a unique religious figure, the perfect mediator between God and man. 2. For fables of a similar genre see al-Makki, 1961:2:333-334 and al-Makkl, 1964:169. Perhaps the literary masterpiece of this genre is to be found in the work of the Persian mystical poet Jalal ad-Din Rumi. See Rumi (1925-40: 2: 356-366, lines 2604-2792). 3. The original of this letter can be found in the prodigious hagiographic Hilyat al-awliyd of Abu Nu'aym al-Isfahani (d. 1038 c.e.), without which a great deal of historical and mythical data about the lives of the early Sufis would be lost. 4. For a translation of one hagiographic source of the life and works of Ibrahim Ibn Adham, see Arberry (1966:62-79). 5. There is a whole genre of didactic fable pitting Rabi'a against Hasan in which Rabi'a is always portrayed as the wiser, more mature Sufi. It should be noted, however, that their relationship would seem to be a pious fabrication, since Rabi'a was only about ten years of age at the time of Hasan's death. 6. For translations of this fable from the works of Farid ad-Din Attar, see Arberry (1966:44-45) and Boyle (1976: 115-116). 7. For a brief summary of the issues, see Watt (1973:238-242). 8. An excellent treatment of Abu Sa'id's life can be found in Nicholson (1921). 9. Similar and even more extreme forms of antinomianism were evident at this time in the Sufism of the Maldmatiya (those who actively pursue blame [maldma] ratherthan public praise for their true worth lest they succumb to pride). This preoccupation with ikhlds (sincerityuntainted by worldly recognition) was pervertedby some into a license for grotesque, anti-social practices. 10. For al-Qahhdr,see Qur'an 12:39; 13:16; 14:48; 38:65; 39:4; 40: 16;for al-Jabbdr, see Qur'an 59:23; ar-Rahmdn and ar-Rahlm are found in the introductory verses of most chapters of the Qur'an.

REFERENCES
Affifi, A. E. 1939 The Mystical Philosophy of Muhyid Din Ibnul Arabi. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Reprint ed., Lahore: Muhammad Ashraf, 1964. Ain al-Qudat (the more common name of Abu '1-Ma'aliAbdullah Ibn Muhammad AH Ibn al-Hasan Ibn AH al-Mayanaji al-Hamadhani) Tamhlddt.Ed. Afif Osseiran. Teheran:Chapkhana-yi danishgah. The date [a]

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is 1341 a.h. solar, for which the symbol [a] is used here and in the preceding text. Ndmahd-yi 'Ain al-Quddt Hamddhani, 2 volumes. Ed. Alinaqi Munzavi and Afif Osseiran. Tehran: Intisharat-i bunyad-i farhang-i Iran.

1969 -71

Ansari (Khwaja Abdullah Ansari) 1978 There is an English translation of Ansari's Mundjdt in Ibn Ata'illah and Khwaja Abdullah Ansari, The Book of Wisdom and Intimate Conversations. Transl.Victor Danner and Wheeler M. Thackston. New York:Paulist Press. Ibn Arab! (Muhyi 'd-Din Ibn Arab!) 1980 There is an English translationof Ibn Arabfs Fusus al-Hikam entitledBezels of Wisdom. Transl., with intro., R. W. J. Austin. New York: Paulist Press. Arberry, A. J. 1950 Sufism: An Account of the Mystics of Islam. London: George Allen and Unwin. Contains a translationof excerptsof Hasan al-Basri'sletterto Caliph 'Umar Ibn Abd al-Aziz quoted in the essay above. 1966 Muslim Saints and Mystics. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. al-Ash'ari 1953 There is an English translation of Al-Ash'ari's Kitdb al-Luma' in The Theology of Al-Ash'arl.Transl.R. J. McCarthy.Beirut:ImprimerieCatholique. Attar (Farid ad-Din Attar) Tadhkiratal-awliyd*.Ed. Muhammad Isti'lami. Teheran:Zawar. The date [a] is 1346 A.H. solar, for which the symbol [a] is used here and in the preceding text. Badawi (Abd ar-Rahman Badawi) 1949 Shatahdt as-sufiya. 2 volumes. Cairo: Maktabat an-nahdat al-misriya. Boyle, John A. 1976 The Ildh'iNdma or Book of God of Fafid ad-Din Attar. Manchester: Manchester University Press. al-Bukhari (Abu Abdallah Muhammad Ibn Isma'il Ibn al-Mughira Ibn Bardizba al-Bukhari) n.d. Sahih. 9 volumes. Cairo: Dar wa matabi' ash-sha'b. al-Ghazali (Abu Hamid Muhammad Ibn Muhammad al Ghazali) n.d. Ihyd' (ulumad-Din. 5 volumes, 40 books. Cairo: Matba'at al-istiqama. The English title of this work is The Revivification of the Religious Sciences. However, there is no satisfactory translation of the complete work at this time. al-Hallaj (Husayn Ibn Mansur al-Hallaj) 1913 Kitdb at-tawdsin. Ed. Louis Massignon. Paris: Paul Geuthner, 1913. 1955 Le Diwan d'al-Halldj. Ed. Louis Massignon. Paris: Paul Geuthner, 1955. al-Hujwiri (All Ibn 'Uthman al-Jullabi al-Hujwiri) 1911 Kashf al-mahjub. Transl. Reynolds A. Nicholson. London: Luzac and Co. Reprint ed., 1976.

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al-Kalabadhi (Abu Bakr al-Kalabadhi) 1935 Kitdb at-ta'arruf. There is a translation by A. J. Arberry under the title The Doctrine of the Sufis. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Reprint ed., New York: AMS Press, 1976. al-Makki (Abu Talib Muhammad Ibn AH Ibn Atiya al-Harithi al-Makki) 1961 Qut al-qulub. 2 volumes. Cairo: Mustafa '1-Babi al-Halabi. 1964 'Ilm al-qulub. Ed. Abd al-Qadir Ahmad Ata. Cairo: Maktabat al-Qahira. al-Muhasibi (Abu Abdallah al-Harith Ibn Asad al-Muhasibi) li 1940 Kitdb ar-rVdya huquq Allah. Ed. MargaretSmith. London: Luzac and Co. Muslim (Abu'l-Husayn Muslim Ibn al Hajjaj Ibn Muslim al-Qushayri an-NIsaburi) n.d. Al-Jami' as-sahih. 8 volumes. Beirut: The Trading Office. Nicholson, Reynold A. 1921 Studies in Islamic Mysticism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, Reprint ed., 1978. Rumi (Jalal ad-Din Rumi) 1898 Divdni Shamsi Tabriz.Ed. and transl. by ReynoldA. Nicholson. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Reprint ed., 1977. 1925 The Mathnawi. 8 volumes. Ed. with critical notes, transl., and commen-40 tary by Reynold A. Nicholson. London: Luzac and Co. Watt, William Montgomery 1973 The Formative Period of Islamic Thought. Edinburgh:University of Edinburgh Press.