âµ
On the night of 25 ShaÊ¿bÄn 1324 (14 October 1906), the pious scholar, Ottoman poet, and judge YÅ«suf ibn IsmÄÊ¿Ä«l al-NabhÄnÄ«, who was born in Palestine in 1265/1849 and died in Beirut in 1350/1932, saw Ê¿Abd al-GhanÄ« al-NÄbulusÄ«, who had died two centuries before, in a dream; they had a pleasant conversation. The following morning NabhÄnÄ« had forgotten what they had discussed, but rejoiced nevertheless, because, he said, NÄbulusÄ«
is one of the greatest gnostic saints and the imam of practising scholars. His way of bringing together (jamÊ¿) the sciences of the apparent and the hidden (Ê¿ulÅ«m al-áºÄhir w-al-bÄá¹in) is unmatched among all the authors I know of who, from his day to our own, have surpassed themselves in knowledge and gnosis. From him one can gain a great deal in all the sciences, especially those that concern religion (dÄ«n), the unicity of God (tawḥīd), divine gnosis (al-maÊ¿rifa bi-llÄh), and the exaltation of the rank (Ê¿uluww qadr) of the Lord of Messengers, may God bless him and bring him peace.2
In this passage, the âexaltation of the rankâ of Muḥammad is presented as a domain of the religious sciences in its own right. At the beginning of the twentieth century NabhÄnÄ« published two monumental anthologies of prose texts and poems honouring the Prophet (madÄʾiḥ), mostly by Mamluk and Ottoman authors who wrote in Arabic, but werenât necessarily Arabs.3 Their variety gives the reader some idea of the importance of the veneration of the Prophet in the study of Islamic cultural and religious history during these periods. NabhÄnÄ«âs anthologies invite us to rethink the historiographical categories and definitions of identity that have become standard in the contemporary period. The glorification of the Prophet defies all such divisions because it links theology and ritual, metaphysics and poetry, jurisprudence and Sufism, occurring in a wide variety of genres and registers, from erudite commentary to accounts of the miraculous birth of the Prophet (mawlid), from qaá¹£Äʾid full of the figures of style prized by scholars to strophic poems (muwashshaḥÄt and mawÄliyÄ) sung at festivals and dhikr sessions.
NÄbulusÄ«, who lived in Damascus between 1050/1641 and 1143/1731, excelled in all of these genres, and features prominently in Nabhaniâs two anthologies.4 A âgnosticâ and poet, he was skilled both in speculation on the ârealityâ (ḥaqÄ«qa) of Muḥammad, and in the poetic description of his âattributesâ (awá¹£Äf). His work is representative of the polemical issues raised by the veneration of Muḥammad, the vision of the world this veneration brought with it, and the practices centred on it. NÄbulusÄ«âs engagement in these controversies provided NabhÄnÄ« with another reason to see him as an author who was still relevant. For NabhÄnÄ«, who was a civil servant of Ottoman justice during the Hamidian regime, promoting the cult of the Prophet also meant underlining oneâs support for the brand of SunnÄ« orthodoxy that was favoured by the state, against its reformist and Wahhabi opponents. Writing in 1909, he invites âMuslimsâ to read NÄbulusÄ« in order to be forearmed against the âinfatuated onesâ (baʿḠal-maftÅ«nÄ«n) who spread the âinnovationsâ of Ibn Taymiyya.5 About fifteen years later, and still during NabhÄnÄ«âs lifetime, the cemetery of al-BaqÄ«Ê¿ in Medina was destroyed by the Wahhabites after the Saudi conquest of the ḤijÄz in 1924â25. NÄbulusÄ« lived and died before Ibn Ê¿Abd al-WahhÄb had begun his predication, but even in his day voices were raised to remind the faithful that the cult of Muḥammadâs person was competing with the legalist conception of what the properly âIslamicâ practice of Islam should be: that of a religion that has cut all ties with its âidolatrousâ environment. The mawlid does not, in fact, celebrate the birth of Islam, but that of Muḥammad, who was Godâs well-beloved even before his encounter with the angel Gabriel and, indeed, from before his birth. Some people rejected the doctrine according to which the âMuḥammadan lightâ (nÅ«r muḥammadÄ«) was transmitted from Adam to Muḥammad by an uninterrupted line of pure beings, objecting that the Prophetâs parents were mere idolaters. This debate, which has been well described and studied by Joseph Dreher, also called into question Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ«âs Fantastische Philosophie6 and the ritual of the mawlid, which celebrates the Prophet as well as his Arab ancestors and his mother, Ämina. In one of his mawÄlÄ«d, NÄbulusÄ« calls Muḥammadâs mother âluminous beautyâ (bahja nÅ«rÄniyya), âpreserved from all harm in this world and the nextâ (min kull sūʾ fÄ« al-dÄrayn Ämina).7
In NÄbulusÄ«âs time we can find a direct attack on the veneration of the Prophet in the Arabic-language sermons of the Anatolian preacher Aḥmad al-RÅ«mÄ« al-Aqḥiá¹£ÄrÄ« (d. 1041/1631 or 1043/1634).8 Drawing on Ibn Taymiyya and Ibn al-Qayyim, Aqḥiá¹£ÄrÄ« reminds his hearers that the ban on visiting tombs applies equally to the tomb of the Prophet.9 He compares the veneration of tombs to the âidolatryâ of âthe people of the Bookâ,10 affirming that the rule (ḥukm) of Islam on the subject of mosques built over tombs is that they must be destroyed down to the ground (an yanhadim kulluhÄ á¸¥attÄ yusÄwÄ bi-l-ará¸),11 and mentions that the Caliph Ê¿Umar had the tree under which the Prophet received the pact of allegiance (bayÊ¿a) cut down when he noticed that people were venerating it.12
Aqḥiá¹£ÄrÄ« was a Qadizadeli, and thus belonged to a current of opinion that NÄbulusÄ« would be confronting throughout his life. Iconoclastic attitudes such as these, though rare at the time13 â despite occasionally being exploited by those in power â spring from problems that go beyond questions of what is permitted or forbidden. I will leave juridical polemics in the background and concentrate on the aesthetic and literary dimensions of the presence of the Prophet in NÄbulusÄ«âs work. This approach allows one to look deep into the impacts and effects of the veneration of the Prophet, especially as regards the place of the imagination in human experience. For NÄbulusÄ« the texts, objects, and rituals relating to the cult of the Prophet constitute a âpatrimonyâ that is artistic as well as religious, and the defence of this patrimony must reflect deeply on the nature of the âMuḥammadan heritageâ and the modes of its transmission and its appropriation, along with all the consequences these may imply for the conception of authority, and the relationship of Islam with the other âpropheticâ religions, particularly Christianity.
1 Seeing the Prophet in a Dream
The best introduction to the study of the presence of the Prophet in NÄbulusÄ«âs work may be through the theme of the dream-vision in which one encounters the Prophet. He writes of every aspect of such dream-visions, whether as experienced by ordinary believers or by accomplished mystics. He offers a general overview of the subject in his extensive dictionary on the interpretation of dreams (written in 1096/1685), which remained one of his most popular works and still enjoys a wide circulation today.14 NÄbulusÄ« is not laying claim to originality in this book. He analyses the ḥadÄ«th, âwhoever sees me in a dream has really seen meâ (man raʾÄnÄ« fÄ« manÄmihi fa-qad raʾÄnÄ« ḥaqqan), âwhoever sees me in a dream will see me when awakeâ (man raʾÄnÄ« fÄ« l-manÄm fa-sa-yarÄnÄ« yaqáºatan), using a slightly abridged transcription of Ibn Ḥajar al-HaytamÄ«âs commentary.15 NÄbulusÄ« had already used an exact copy of this passage in a short treatise, still extant in manuscript form only, dated before 1089/1678.16 This treatise is a ḥilya, a description of the physical and moral characteristics of the Prophet, made with the devotional aim of helping the reader to visualise him. NÄbulusÄ« says in his introduction: âI translate in the clearest terms the descriptions of the Prophet transmitted by tradition in order that the believer may familiarise himself with his qualities (awá¹£Äf) and depict his appearance in imagination (yarsum shaklahu fÄ« khayÄlihi), in the hope of seeing him in a dream (Ê¿asÄ yarÄhu fÄ« manÄmihi).â This descriptive section is followed by a discussion on the âtruthfulnessâ of dreams in which the Prophet appears. The framing of this is significant: since the ḥilya is a verbal portrait based on the ḥadÄ«th, that is to say on a description validated by eye-witnesses, it can serve as the basis for a vision identical with Muḥammadâs historical appearance, thus inscribing such dreams within a practice of preserving memory. But the passage that interests us here provides a corrective to this idea: in fact, it contains a critique of the opinions of a group of scholars that includes Ibn SÄ«rÄ«n, the âfatherâ of Arab dream-interpretation, according to whom the appearance of the Prophet in a dream is only authentic if he manifests the traditionally-attested qualities. The contrary opinion, adopted by a current that became the majority, was formulated as follows by the Andalusian scholar AbÅ« Bakr b. al-Ê¿ArabÄ« (d. 543/1148):
The vision of the Prophet that conforms to his description as we know it is an apprehension (idrÄk) of reality (ḥaqÄ«qa), whereas, if he is seen in another form, this is the apprehension of an image (mithÄl). Since the earth [in which they are buried] does not corrupt prophets, the apprehension of the noble person (dhÄt) of the Prophet is a reality, whereas the apprehension of his attributes is an image. [â¦] When the Prophet says: âwhoever sees me in a dream has really seen meâ, this means that if that person saw him when awake he would find a perfect correspondence with what he had seen while dreaming. The waking vision is authentic and real (ḥaqqan wa-ḥaqÄ«qatan), whereas the dreaming vision is authentic and representative (ḥaqqan wa-tamthÄ«lan).17
While the first outlook sets the truthful dream against the untruthful dream, according to the criterion of the dreamâs conformity with the description transmitted by tradition, the second distinguishes between the ârealityâ (in its proper sense) of the vision of the Prophetâs person (his dhÄt), and the figurative representation of his qualities.
It is exaggeration and foolishness â continues AbÅ« Bakr b. al-Ê¿ArabÄ« â to say that we see our dreams with the eyes of our heads; according to certain theologians, however, dreams are perceived by the eyes of the heart, and they are a kind of metaphor (innahu á¸arb min al-majÄz).18
This position implies that the mithÄl is accorded the status of figurative representation of reality. AbÅ« Bakr ibn al-Ê¿ArabÄ«, who, during his travels in the Near East, had studied with al-GhazÄlÄ«, takes the same position on this point as the latter had; it is synthesised thus by Pierre Lory: âthe vision of the Prophet cannot be that of his physical person, nor of his spirit or essence, but that of a representation in a symbolic mode of this spirit, and this representation is fully true.â19
This distinction between the symbolic representation of Muḥammad and his actual being lies behind NÄbulusÄ«âs approach to the much-debated question of the waking vision of the Prophet. NÄbulusÄ« several times declares that he believes those of his contemporaries who say they have had such visions,20 but he never, as far as I know, laid claim to having had one himself. The intimate relationship with the Prophet of which he writes, in works destined for an audience of Sufis, is not described as a vision of his person, but as an existential experience. In his commentary on a prayer on the Prophet attributed to Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ«, he described âjoiningâ (iltiḥÄq) with Muḥammad as reaching his âincorruptible realityâ, which he identifies with the barzakh, âthe isthmusâ. Initiates may enter into this latter, which is âthe threshold between the servant and his lordâ, while they are still alive:
This barzakh, he says, is the ḥaqÄ«qa muḥammadiyya: anyone who voluntarily dies to this world and to his carnal soul, and realises the station of Islam (maqÄm al-islÄm), enters into this barzakh which is his reality (ḥaqÄ«qa), that is, the reality from which he has been created, the light of Muḥammad that comes from the light of God (alladhÄ« min nÅ«r AllÄh), since earthly life has not changed it in any way (lam tughayyirhÄ al-ḥayÄt al-dunyÄ).21
In a similar way, at the beginning of a treatise addressed to his Sufi âbrothersâ, he says: âMay God pray on Muḥammad, thanks to whom, by the blessing of his imitation (barakat mutÄbaÊ¿atihi), God opens a little window (kuwwa) in the heart to the presence of the invisible (ḥaá¸rat al-ghayb).â22
Here we can observe that the debate on the nature of the Prophetâs image, which concerns both prayer and dreams, corresponds to the distinction between the two styles in which he is figuratively represented in miniatures, as studied by Christiane Gruber: the dream that conforms to the âtransmitted descriptionâ corresponds to memory images, illustrations of episodes in the Prophetâs life that are notable by their âverismâ, while the image of the Prophet as a reflection of his metaphysical reality corresponds to his symbolic representation as a figure of light.23
The symbolic dream has the same function as the icon: like the icon, it is not the âillustrationâ of a memory, but a reflection of an actual presence. The analogy between dream and icon is the opening theme of a famous essay by Pavel Florensky, a Russian orthodox theologian and coeval of NabhÄnÄ«, and a passionate defender of the aesthetic of the icon and its conceptual universe at a time and place when these were being swept away by the Soviet regime. For Florensky, every icon, even one that is âpoorly executedâ, can be âa window on eternityâ, because âit necessarily authenticates perception of the world beyond the senses through an always authentic spiritual experienceâ. Thus the copy of the prototypical icon has the same âspiritual contentâ as the original, âthough it may be in a veiled, dimmed, or dulled mediumâ.24 In the same way, the Prophet, like the sun, can be seen at the same moment by many people, and his image varies according to the clarity or cloudiness of the heart that reflects it.25 The Prophet, in other words, is the prototypical image of God that the dreamer copies within himself, and the âauthenticityâ of the copy does not depend on the exactitude of the reproduction.
In NÄbulusÄ«âs work, the validation of symbolic dreams is connected to the defence of innovations in worship and a claim to spiritual authority conceived as a âMuḥammadan inheritanceâ (wirÄtha muḥammadiyya), accessible through a journey of individual transformation, without any need for the mediation of a formal hierarchy. These two levels are interdependent: it is as a âMuḥammadan inheritorâ that NÄbulusÄ« allows himself to take a stand in the great and divisive debates of his time. In his dream-journal, he makes a detailed note of a dream-vision he had one night in the month of Rajab 1088/1677, in which the Prophet told him to speak publicly. He relates how, in this dream of investiture, he was at once himself and the Prophet.26 The manuals of dream interpretation studied by Pierre Lory say that âfor he who sees himself as the Prophet in a dream, this means that he will also pass through the trials that Muḥammad faced during his life.â27 In NÄbulusÄ«âs case, these trials were the disapproval of his opponents, who resisted his âMuḥammadanâ explications of the sunna and the sharÄ«Ê¿a: he completed his courageous treatise in defence of the samÄÊ¿ barely a month after having received this dream.28
As Pierre Lory indicates, the typological approach to the analysis of dreams contains traces of Christian Old Testament exegesis.29 The typological method, which is also used in hagiography, offers a key to interpreting the individualâs role in society. The âresemblanceâ between a saint and Muḥammad, and between the former and other prophets, takes on political implications once it is recognised by the saintâs contemporaries. A considerable number of the dreams recorded in NÄbulusÄ«âs journal are not his own but those of people around him who claim to have dreamed of him as the Prophet.30
2 Creative Imagination and Muḥammadan Inheritance
The tool NÄbulusÄ« uses to obtain public recognition is the written and spoken word. In the hagiography written about him at the beginning of the nineteenth century, his charisma relates to his power of persuasion, his ability to transform other peopleâs âgazeâ (naáºar), to bring out emotions, especially in his polemical writings that âfulfil the hearts of those who have the knowledge, and tighten the chests of the incredulous or oppressive ones.â31
In spite of the effectiveness of NÄbulusÄ«âs pamphlets defending controversial practices, or of the theoretical treatises in which he seeks to help readers understand Sufi metaphysics, it is in his poetry, through which he experiences spiritual ârealitiesâ and makes others experience them, that his way with words is most powerful. His hagiography shows us the role of the creative or poetic imagination in the âMuḥammadan inheritanceâ to which NÄbulusÄ« lays claim, saying that he had entered the âland of the sesame seedâ (arḠal-simsima); the author draws his description of this immense and marvellous âlandâ from Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ«, transcribing a long passage from the Illuminations of Mecca that was made famous by Henry Corbin.32 This âlandâ, that is identical with the âimaginal worldâ (Ê¿Älam al-khayÄl), is located in the barzakh. As we have seen, to reach this world is, for NÄbulusÄ«, to achieve union with the ḥaqÄ«qa muḥammadiyya. Let us pause a moment to try to cast light on the relationship between language and imagination, before we examine the literary aspect of the veneration of the Prophet in NÄbulusÄ«âs work.
The mediating function of this âisthmusâ or âin-between worldâ, which is the place where opposites meet, is shared by all the forces or faculties that enable the relationship between the earth and the heavens (such as angels) or between the intellect and the senses (such as the faculty for imagination); this also applies to relationships between two subjects, which are mediated by language. The definition of the imaginal world as âthe world through which spirits are embodied, and bodies spiritualisedâ,33 does indeed also apply to the act of communication. Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ« defines Ê¿ibÄra (âexpressionâ) as the transfer of the imaginal representation (khayÄl) of the soul from the speaker to the listener, by means of words.34 He underlines that the term taÊ¿bÄ«r indicates both the expression through which the speaker gives a formal and materially supported consistency to an invisible meaning, and the interpretation through which the listener accomplishes the inverse process, translating the words into an inner image. This demonstrates that all language is metaphorical, requiring interpretation, and thus that the imagination has a âmighty rankâ (Ê¿iáºam rutbat al-khayÄl), because it controls (ḥÄkim) all knowledge.35
This passage from Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ« appears to be in dialogue with the Greco-Arab traditions of logic and philosophy. His definition of the term taÊ¿bÄ«r corresponds perfectly to the Greek hermeneia, which forms the title of Aristotleâs Peri hermeneias; this can be translated as âOn Interpretationâ, or âOn Expressionâ, as in the ninth century Arabic translation (fÄ« l-Ê¿ibÄra).36 This definition of taÊ¿bÄ«r also corresponds to that of poetic discourse in Arabic commentaries on Aristotleâs Poetics and Rhetoric, where this discourse is called takhyÄ«l, and defined as: âthe creation of mental images (khayÄlÄt) by the poet for the Ê¿imaginationâ (al-quwwa al-mutakhayyila) of the listenerâ.37 In the canon of Aristotleâs works in late antiquity and then in the Islamic world, the Poetics and Rhetoric were placed at the end of the Organon, the treatises on logic. For the falÄsifa, poetic discourse is distinguished from logical propositions that are true, precisely because it engages the imaginative faculty, and thus contains an element of illusion. By extending the definition of poetic discourse to include all acts of communication, Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ« sets himself apart from the philosophical hierarchisation of discourse, but his attitude is not incompatible with a philosophical approach to rhetoric.38 What he has to say about the power of the imagination recalls Averroesâ words at the beginning of his commentary on the Rhetoric: like the other parts of logic, the science of rhetoric does not have a specific aim; it is a method, or instrument, that can be used in all the other sciences and is thus in some way associated with them.39 According to Averroes, rhetoric and dialectics are to be distinguished from other aspects of logic, âsince man does not use these two arts to converse with himself (baynahu wa-bayna nafsihi), as is the case for the art of demonstration, but uses them only with other people (maÊ¿a l-ghayr)â.40 This definition also applies to poetry, not as shiÊ¿r, which refers to an âintimateâ discourse,41 but as naáºm, a versified discourse. Among the âstrange and marvellousâ things that Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ« saw in the âland of the sesame seedâ was a âvessel of stoneâ navigating a sea of sand. Claude Addas has pointed out that this apparently surrealist description is in fact a riddle, alluding to the classical ode (qaṣīda). Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ« brings about a double meaning by using technical terms from Arabic prosody in their concrete sense (for example, baḥr, which means both âseaâ and âmetreâ).42 This fantastical metaphor is an example of takhyÄ«l, in the specific sense that this term has had in Arabic criticism since the time of Ê¿Abd al-QÄhir al-JurjÄnÄ« (d. 471/1078 or 474/1081). Beatrice Gruendler defines it thus: âtropes with arresting fantastic features that purported to be true. They all shared the blurring of the borderline between reality and image and the interpenetration of these two planes with an illogical or fantastic effect, construed with logical tricks and figures of speechâ.43 This manner characterises the ânew styleâ (badÄ«Ê¿) invented by poets from the beginning of the Ê¿AbbÄsid period; through the same distinctive evolution, badÄ«Ê¿ moves to signify ârhetorical artificesâ. The imaginal world, in which, Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ« says, âa multitude of things exist which are rationally impossibleâ,44 is certainly a fitting locus for this âfantastic aestheticsâ. Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ«âs approach is nevertheless quite distinct from that of a literary critic, such as JurjÄnÄ«, for whom this style perfectly demonstrates the maxim khayr al-shiÊ¿r akdhabuhu, âthe best poetry is that which Ê¿liesâ the most.â45 In fact, for mystical poetry the takhyÄ«l tends rather to prove that it is possible to bring the real and the fictional together, and that this happens before our very eyes if we can perceive the invisible meanings of things by looking at them âsubtlyâ.
In the chapter in which Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ« defines the taÊ¿bÄ«r, he also explains that God reveals Himself to us through His Names and through similes (á¸arb al-amthÄl), and through âthe world of imaginationâ, in order to establish a relationship with us: some people adore Him and never go beyond the form; other, less fortunate, people aspire to make the form into an abstraction, and the ones who are perfect unite the faith of the first with the intellect (Ê¿aql) of the latter.46 Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ«âs âliteralismâ sets him apart not only from philosophers but also from rationalist theologians.47 In spite of this, he does not reject the analogy between rhetorical discourse and prophetic discourse, which is part of the philosophical reading of prophecy â but he does emphasise the loving intention behind the exteriorisation of divine discourse, which means that its ends can be achieved even through the âimaginativeâ faith of non-intellectual believers. Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ«âs attitude is incompatible with al-FÄrÄbÄ«âs political interpretation of prophecy, according to which the Prophetâs rhetoric, like Platoâs myth, serves to govern the masses who are incapable of knowing the truth ⦠but it does have things in common with the more nuanced positions of Avicenna and Averroes.48
3 Poetry and ḥaqīqa muḥammadiyya
As we shall shortly see, these knotty questions are at the heart of NÄbulusÄ«âs reflections on poetry and ḥaqÄ«qa muḥammadiyya. NÄbulusÄ« puts his fantastical poetry in the service of veneration of the Prophet in his account of a journey to Palestine, al-Ḥaá¸ra al-unsiyya fÄ« l-riḥla al-qudsiyya, âthe presence of intimacy in the journey to the Holy Landâ. As Gracia López Anguita has observed, this title refers to the holiness of Jerusalem, and of Palestine in its entirety, as an âintimateâ pendant to the holy places of the ḤijÄz; these holy spaces are both analogues â because the stages of the Palestinian itinerary are âcomparableâ to those of the ḤijÄz â and complements: NÄbulusÄ« says, speaking of the al-Aqá¹£Ä mosque, âGod has looked at this mosque with the eye of Beauty, and at Mecca with the eye of Majesty.â49 Right from the beginning of his book, NÄbulusÄ« affirms and upholds the legitimacy of this pilgrimage, in response to the attacks of Ibn Taymiyya and other scholars on the religious merits of Jerusalem and its prophetic relics. When describing its culmination, the visit to the Dome of the Rock (Qubbat al-á¹£akhra), he examines the legends and polemics relating to the Prophetâs footprint on the rock. NÄbulusÄ« first refutes sceptics in prose, presenting several arguments in support of the credibility of the account, which holds that when the Prophet was ascending from the earth the rock from which he rose melted with tenderness for him and sorrow at the parting. But the most important parts of NÄbulusÄ«âs argument are expressed through poetry:
The footprint in the rock says it will function only if the pilgrim detaches himself from appearances, and from the obvious meanings of words, and understands that it is a veil, or a threshold, between the visible and the invisible. However, we must specify that NÄbulusÄ« does not see the âgnosticâsâ perception as qualitatively different from that of the ordinary believer: for example, in a qaṣīda composed in Medina on the subject of the Prophetâs tomb, he lists the many inspirations that the mystic draws from it and also the healing that it brings to the ordinary devout people who are clinging to the fence.51
The transformative power of NÄbulusÄ«âs gaze surpassed that of alchemists, according to his biographer, who recounts that a Maghribi who was passing through Damascus offered to teach him Art (al-á¹£anÊ¿a), but in reply NÄbulusÄ« asked him to look out the window: there the visitor saw Mount Qasiyun turn to gold before his very eyes.52 In the journal he kept during his travels to Egypt, NÄbulusÄ« transcribes a fantastical comparison whose subtlety had struck him (takhayyul laá¹Ä«f), and then imitates it, with the addition of an alchemical theme:
According to this model we have imagined the following unparalleled concept:
When the sun sets and the waves are moving
brighter than the stars does the sea glow,
just as silver melted by the flameâs heat
the elixir flows over it
and the alchemic ingots turn into pure gold.53
The institutionalisation of the mawlid propelled the madīḥ nabawÄ« to greater heights, and perhaps stimulated new reflections on the relationship between âtechniqueâ and âinspirationâ in poetry. The growth of the genre is demonstrated by the fact that BūṣīrÄ«âs Burda (mantel ode) became a set text for those learning the art of rhetoric, and the fourteenth century saw the invention of the badÄ«Ê¿iyya sub-genre, consisting of imitations of the Burda in which each verse exemplifies at least one rhetorical artifice (badÄ«Ê¿).54 When he was twenty-five, NÄbulusÄ« composed a badÄ«Ê¿iyya, which marked his entry into literary society in Damascus.55 NÄbulusÄ« followed this poem with an extensive commentary, which is consultable today thanks to Pierre Cachiaâs work: he has extracted 180 detailed definitions of figures of style from it. This text gives us some idea of the level of elaboration that the art and science of badÄ«Ê¿ had reached by NÄbulusÄ«âs time. Cachia calls this book âa full exposition of the science [of the badÄ«Ê¿] and of the aesthetic perceptions attending it at a significant juncture in cultural historyâ,56 that is to say, some time before the dawn of a new literary period which would (among other things) rid itself of the badÄ«Ê¿.
Yet NÄbulusÄ«âs most important madÄʾiḥ are closer to love poetry (ghazal) than to the neo-classical qaṣīda in the style of BūṣīrÄ«. These poems are collected in his dÄ«wÄn entitled Nafḥat al-qabÅ«l fÄ« midḥat al-rasÅ«l (âBreath of the Southern Wind in praise of the Messengerâ); there are 29 of them â one for each letter of the alphabet â and each poem comprises fifty verses. Here NÄbulusÄ«âs style has similarities to that of Ibn al-FÄriḠ(d. 632/1235), whom he considered more eloquent than BūṣīrÄ«; despite the latterâs excellence in the art (fann) of describing the virtues of Muḥammad, NÄbulusÄ« believed that Ibn al-FÄriḠwas better at expressing how very indescribable these virtues are.57 In the preface of this dÄ«wÄn, NÄbulusÄ« underlines the fact that here he does not repeat any of the praises of the Prophet that he had previously composed, instead relying on his talent for improvisation (aÊ¿maltu qarīḥatÄ« fi naáºmihÄ irtijÄlan).58 The main themes of these poems are the declaration of passionate love (Ê¿ishq) for the Prophet, ardent desire (shawq) for the ziyÄra in Medina, and the invocation of help against his enemies. The lyrical âIâ of loveâs slave (mutayyam), hated and misunderstood by his peers, is identified with the Prophet at the time when his people rejected him. The identification of the poet/loverâs censor with the Sufiâs adversary is one typical motif of the mystical ghazal.59 In the framework of the madīḥ, this theme takes on a particular polemical power, putting the censor in the same category as Muḥammadâs QurayshÄ« adversaries. In the dÄ«wÄnâs preface, NÄbulusÄ« says that the motive (bÄÊ¿ith) of its composition is his gratitude for the âhealingâ of a sickness.60 The fact that this is a conventional theme does not mean he was not sincere in advancing it. The affirmation in this preface of the unmeasurable distance between poetsâ praises of the Prophet and the inimitable praises for him found in the QurʾÄn corresponds to the feeling of yearning brought forth in the poems by the absence of the Prophet. Whatâs more, the Prophetâs reality surpasses all beauty and the art of language cannot express it; in fact, the eloquence and clarity (balÄgha and faá¹£Äḥa) of language itself were created by his light.61 These statements represent a sort of profession of tanzÄ«h, of the un-bridgeable distance that separates the suffering poet from Muḥammadâs original light, and his poems from the words of the QurʾÄn. Like the âopaqueâ dream, the poetic description of Muḥammad tells us more about the value (qadr) of the person praising than it does about the one being praised.62
In his preface to his DÄ«wÄn al-ḥaqÄʾiq, a retrospective essay looking back over his entire poetic production, NÄbulusÄ« also informs us about the place of the madīḥ in his poetry. Here he enumerates the four poetic genres that he cultivated, comparing them to the four âgatesâ of Paradise, and to the four âcornersâ (arkÄn) of the KaÊ¿ba.63 These genres are, in order, mystical poetry, the madīḥ nabawÄ« (represented by the Nafḥat al-qabÅ«l), the praises of contemporaries, and erotic poetry (ghazal). Although the last three of these genres are distinct in function and object, especially the madīḥ nabawÄ«, because it is addressed to those who follow the spiritual path, for NÄbulusÄ« the essential distinction is not between sacred and profane poetry, but between mystical poetry, expressed in the âlanguage of unionâ (lisÄn al-jamÊ¿), and the three other genres, all expressed in the âlanguage of separationâ (lisÄn al-farq).
Thus the madīḥ nabawÄ« belongs in the same group as the âprofaneâ madīḥ and ghazal: all three are indirect expressions of reality because of their separation and distance from God. A single internal criterion is therefore more important than distinctions based on genre: the mystical poem is not necessarily distinguished from other poems by its formal qualities, but by the state of the poet while writing it. NÄbulusÄ« clarifies this point in two further texts: synthesising it in an autobiographical letter written in 1099/1687 to the Egyptian Sufi master Zayn al-Ê¿ÄbidÄ«n al-BakrÄ« al-á¹¢iddÄ«qÄ«, in which he speaks of his ârealisation of the station of inheritanceâ (taḥqÄ«q maqÄm al-wirÄtha) at the end of his retreat,64 and discussing it at length in his commentary on Ibn al-FÄriá¸âs DÄ«wÄn, a commentary that covers more than 2000 pages in its unabridged version, which was only published in 2017.65 A mature work completed in 1123/1711, this commentary is also somewhat autobiographical: between the verses by Ibn al-FÄriá¸, NÄbulusÄ« paints the portrait of a theologian-poet exactly resembling himself.66
In these texts, unlike in the Nafḥat al-qabÅ«l, the emphasis is not on distance, but on the resemblance between the Prophet and his heir. For his âheirâ, Muḥammad is not just an object of devotion. He is also the model of the transformative experience through which a compiler-epigon becomes an âauthorâ himself. The many passages on âMuḥammadan inheritanceâ in NÄbulusÄ«âs work illustrate his conception of the continuity of prophecy. He emphasises the ever-renewed descent of the divine word onto the heart of the saint who becomes capable of translating it into human language.67 The âheirâ, as an author who speaks in the first person, and whose words flow directly from his heart, bears witness to the relevance of prophecy. He is not imitating a model from the past, but has become a new âlocus of manifestationâ of âMuḥammadan lightâ.68
The âinternalâ similarity with the Prophet is the ultimate source of âauthorityâ. In his commentary on Ibn al-FÄriá¸, NÄbulusÄ« often insists that the âpsychic âIââ (nafsÄnÄ«) of the poet has become a rabbÄnÄ« âIâ; the adjective is derived from the word rabb, meaning lord or master. In the QurʾÄn, this term relates to teaching and to study (Q 3:79), and it is also related to the verb rabbÄ (to make [people] grow, to raise), from which we get the verbal noun tarbiya (education). These meanings are semantically close to the Latin terms auctor and auctoritas (derived from augeo). As Hannah Arendt has shown, the function of auctoritas in Latin culture is precisely that of constantly âaugmentingâ the tradition established by the founders; it is incompatible with the violence that is the prerogative of power (potestas).69 For NÄbulusÄ«, religion springs from this domain of authority (auctoritas), rather than from power, and it must be imposed by the word, without recourse to force or constraints.70
The âheirâ also resembles the Prophet outwardly, in his way of speaking. The Prophet and the âheirâ both address their âpeopleâ (qawm) in the peopleâs own language, translating divine speech (kalÄm) into a figurative language communicating through that which is âotherâ than God. NÄbulusÄ« calls this language lisÄn al-ghayr and lisÄn al-siwÄ, and also the âlanguage of separationâ (lisÄn al-farq), distinguishing it from the âlanguage of unionâ (lisÄn al-jamÊ¿). Thus the first three terms refer to the consciousness of the separation between subject and object, between God and the world.71 Using an expression that recalls the philosophical interpretation of prophecy, NÄbulusÄ« says that prophets guide people by âwrapping the things [of this world] in symbols from the imaginationâ (labisÅ« tamÄthÄ«la l-khayÄl Ê¿alÄ al-siwÄ).72 This figurative language is not âpoetryâ, but, because of its formal aspects, it is associated (ishtaraka) with poetry, and therefore its true nature risks being misunderstood.73 In the same way that the Prophet was not a poet, the poetry of his âheirsâ is not poetry, but a form of inspired discourse.74
NÄbulusÄ« applies this idea throughout his commentary on Ibn al-FÄriá¸: it is because Ibn al-FÄriḠis a rabbÄnÄ« poet that the ḥaqÄ«qa muḥammadiyya speaks in the first person in his mystical poetry, or speaks âwith his tongueâ in his seemingly profane ghazal.75 In one remarkable passage, he describes the spiritual and poetic itinerary of Ibn al-FÄriḠas a circular path: in the first phase, when the poet, through his perspicacity (baṣīra), discovers that the ḥaqÄ«qa muḥammadiyya is the source of light, his tongue is untied (yaná¹aliqu lisÄnuhu) âand he composes figurative poetry (al-shiÊ¿r al-badÄ«Ê¿) according to his mastery of the poetic arts and literary sciences (Ê¿alÄ á¸¥asab mÄ Ê¿indahu min maÊ¿rifat al-á¹£inÄÊ¿a al-shiÊ¿riyya wa-l-Ê¿ulÅ«m al-adabiyya) [â¦], even if his discourse should be called a divine science rather than poetryâ. Then, when he passes into the state of annihilation (fanÄʾ), his discourse separates itself from him (yanqaá¹iÊ¿u minhu al-kalÄm) and he openly proclaims the union (ittiḥÄd) with God, believing himself to have passed the stage of the ḥaqÄ«qa muḥammadiyya. But once he becomes settled in this station, he discovers that it does, in fact, belong to the ḥaqÄ«qa muḥammadiyya, to the facet of it that is turned towards absolute unity, called ḥaqÄ«qa aḥmadiyya by NÄbulusÄ«. At this point, and henceforth conscious that love for Muḥammad and love for the true being (al-wujÅ«d al-ḥaqq) are one and the same, speech returns to him (yarjiÊ¿u kalÄmuhu), and he begins once again to compose erotic poetry and celebrate the beauty of the apprehensible world, as he had at the beginning, except that now the person speaking is the only true speaker.76 This means that when the poet expresses his passion for the beautiful faces of boys or girls, even if this passion resembles that of a lover put to the test by âthe love of imagesâ (Ê¿ishq al-á¹£uwar), the source and goal of his words is always the ḥaqÄ«qa muḥammadiyya.77
Essentially, understanding the nature of the ḥaqÄ«qa muḥammadiyya means grasping the continuity or co-existence of âsubtletyâ and âdensityâ, of the spirit and the body. This means that ârealityâ can be perceived by the five senses, as it can be perceived by spiritual intuition.78 In fact, Muḥammad is the principle within which the spirit and the light, the two ways of exteriorising the invisible, join together.79 NÄbulusÄ« sometimes describes âMuḥammadan lightâ as the âprimal matterâ (mÄdda hayÅ«lÄniyya)80 from which God, as demiurge (á¹£ÄniÊ¿), fashioned the world;81 the clay from which Adamâs body was made also comes from the flow (fayá¸) of this luminous material.82 Importantly, the bodyâs âluminousâ origin means that the original legal assessment of all things is âindifferenceâ (al-aá¹£l fÄ« l-ashyÄʾ al-ibÄḥa), while any interdiction is secondary or accidental.83 This principle is the basis for the defence of listening to music, and of the âgazeâ, and also fits in with the malÄma, âavoiding distinguishing oneself from the common believersâ, and refraining from avoiding (for fear of scandal, for example) the company of âpeople who are lost and corruptâ (ahl al-á¸alÄl wa-al-fasÄd).84
The positive nature of the body also means that the entire human being, spirit, soul and body, is made in Godâs image, and therefore sacred, even if the individual is not a saint. Of course, this applies to Muḥammad, the archetype,85 but in fact it applies to every human being, which implies that one must adopt every recourse available in law in order to avoid bloodshed. Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ« affirms this in the chapter on Jonas in the book âThe Bezels of Wisdomâ. NÄbulusÄ«âs commentary on this passage underlines the fact that the lieutenancy of God generally belongs to all human beings (khilÄfa Ê¿Ämma), and not only to those who exert inner spiritual authority or external worldly power.86
It could be said that in some ways artists exercise this âlieutenancyâ in the external domain, because they partake of Godâs âcreativityâ. Ibn al-FÄriḠhimself suggests this in the two groups of verses that follow â the first of these concerns ḤarÄ«rÄ«âs MaqÄmÄt, the summit of the prose badÄ«Ê¿:
The second group of verses concerns shadow-theatre:
On the subject of these latter verses NÄbulusÄ« says that all these things are âexamples and parables forged for you, by the creative action that God realises through human handsâ (Ê¿ibar wa-amthÄl maá¸rÅ«ba laka bi-khalq AllÄh taÊ¿ÄlÄ Ê¿ala aydÄ« al-nÄs).89 Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ« remarks that human creations spring from the divine Names: the Name al-BadÄ«Ê¿ (the Originator) corresponds to the man who âhas invented [something] within himself, then made it appearâ;90 from the Name al-BÄrÄ« (the Creator) âderives the inspiration for painters in bringing beauty and proper harmony to their picturesâ.91
In his commentary on Ibn al-FÄriá¸, NÄbulusÄ« wants to create an original work: in fact, he proposes to fuse the two distinct readings that men of letters and âAkbariansâ have of Ibn al-FÄriá¸âs poetry, while avoiding the excessively technical elements of either groupâs approach.92 NÄbulusÄ«âs accessible and discursive style is closer to the adab than to the Ê¿irfÄn.93 As Denis Gril has said, NÄbulusÄ« has a place of his own in the tradition of interpreters of Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ«, who are mostly of Persian culture and have a more philosophical style. Not only are NÄbulusÄ«âs explanations addressed to a non-specialised audience, but his commentaries include many personal touches that allow the reader to glimpse his originality and the things he holds dearest.94
Two of Denis Grilâs comments are particularly interesting for our purposes. The first has to do with terminology: alongside ḥaqÄ«qa muḥammadiyya, a technical term from Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ«, NÄbulusÄ« also often uses the older term nÅ«r muḥammadÄ«, an indicator of his preference for a language that is closer to the ḥadÄ«th. The second of Grilâs insights is stylistic: in order to explain the expression âword of Godâ, NÄbulusÄ« compares the utterance of the divine verb with the human act of language, thus emphasising the physical dimension of this process.
It could be said that interest in the âformâ of revelation, the letter, body of the word, is one aspect of Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ«âs teaching to which NÄbulusÄ« pays more attention than do Persian commentators. In doing so, he aligns himself not only with the âArabicâ poetry of Ibn al-FÄriá¸, but with the ârealismâ of traditional exegesis, which is linked to a belief in the representability of God in human form, and to the identification of the QurʾÄn with the word of God. This proximity goes beyond the literary: in Damascus, NÄbulusÄ« frequented the Hanbali circles of the á¹¢Äliḥiyya quarter, among which a pietist tradition that was open to Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ«âs mysticism had been cultivated since the beginning of the Ottoman period.95 This is not surprising: the Hanbali refusal of the rationalist allegorisation of the figurative expressions in the QurʾÄn and the ḥadÄ«th is not incompatible with a symbolic and mystical interpretation, and in fact this outlook encouraged the early rapprochement between religion and love poetry in devout traditionalist circles.96 This form of devotion, common to Sufis and medieval Hanbalis, has been accused of anthropomorphism and resemblances with Christianity.97 Since I have alluded several times to the conceptual affinities between the cult of icons and the veneration of the Prophet, I will now expand on this point. The defenders of icons were obliged to prove to their adversaries that the image of Christ could be venerated in a material support â the wood of the icons or the bodies of living saints â without this support being made divine in itself. The first formulation in Arabic of these arguments can be found in the treatise on the subject by the bishop of ḤarrÄn, Theodor AbÅ« Qurra (c. 755â830), who was active in the movement to translate Greek philosophy into Arabic. His demonstration has a typological argument at its heart: Christian exegesis considers the anthropomorphic descriptions of God by the prophets of the Old Testament to be prefigurations of the incarnation of the Word. Therefore, before the incarnation these descriptions are authentic âimagesâ of the eternal model. In the same way, icons and saints are âimagesâ of the model after the incarnation.98 This equivalence is based on a metaphorical conception of language, perhaps inspired by the Peri hermeneias: Abu Qurra says that names and âimagesâ (á¹£uwar), have the same signifying function99 â in fact:
written names are symbols (ashbÄh) and images (aá¹£nÄm) of sounds (alfÄáº), and these latter are symbols of imagined figures (ashbÄh al-awhÄm), and these imaginations (awhÄm) are symbols of things (ashbÄh al-ashyÄʾ), as the falsafa [var.: al-falÄsifa] affirm.100
By the term ṣūra AbÅ« Qurra indicates at once the âtypesâ of Christ in the Old Testament and icons. Indeed, in Greek, eikon is often used as a synonym for typos, and Latin retains this synonymy, translating typos as figura.101 According to Frances Young, the exegesis of the school of Antioch should be called âiconicâ rather than âtypologicalâ, in order to highlight the fact that it does not limit itself to establishing correspondences between the Old and the New Testaments, but constitutes a hermeneutic key to revelation and nature: the âcontemplationâ (theoria) that it encourages is distinguished from Alexandrine allegorism because it focuses on singular examples rather than on philosophical concepts.102 Whatâs more, AbÅ« Qurraâs treatise demonstrates how this iconic or figural approach relates to hagiography. The way he conceives the âpresenceâ of the archetype in the prophets and saints is very close to the Prophetic model of sainthood in Islam, in which the ârealityâ of Muḥammad is the source of sainthood, and is reflected in the prophets who preceded his full earthly manifestation and in the saints that came after it.103 On the one hand, this concept implies that earlier prophets retain an exemplary function for saints, and on the other that the advent of the âsupreme formâ (ṣūra Ê¿aáºÄ«ma)104 of God does not bring the believerâs personal relationship with God to an end, but rather reinforces it by mediating it.
It is true that NÄbulusÄ«, in a mawlid, says of Muḥammad: âhe destroys churches, synagogues, hermitages, and abrogates all other lawsâ.105 But elsewhere he specifies that even if Muḥammad has abrogated all other religions, âhe only abrogated them with respect to legal acts. As for professions of faith, he did not use abrogation on themâ.106 This passage occurs within a commentary on a poem by the Andalusian Sufi ShushtarÄ« (d. 668/1269), in which NÄbulusÄ« justifies the use of Christian symbols and terms in Sufi poetry; icons are notable among the symbols he mentions. In the introduction to this treatise, he synthesises the ideas laid out by Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ« in Chapter 36 of the FutūḥÄt, about the Muslim saints who follow Jesusâs model (Ê¿Ä«sÄwiyyÅ«n). This chapter contains a passage on the âdoctrine of imagesâ (al-qawl bi-l-ṣūra), the importance of which has been revealed in detail by Michel Chodkiewicz.107 In a commentary on ShushtarÄ«âs verse âThey shall give thee the key of the church in which their monks have painted Jesus figurativelyâ (wa-aÊ¿á¹awka miftÄḥa al-kanÄ«sati wa-llatÄ« â bihÄ á¹£awwarat ʿĪsÄ rahÄbÄ«nuhum shaklan) NÄbulusÄ« tackles the subject:
They shall make thee understand the images in which divine reality is made manifest to them in their spirits (afhamÅ«ka al-á¹£uwar allatÄ« fÄ« nufÅ«sihim taáºhar lahum fÄ«hÄ al-ḥaqÄ«qa al-ilÄhiyya): they declared its transcendence (yunazzihÅ«nahÄ) by virtue (bi-ḥukm) of âThere is nothing that resembles Himâ (Q 42:11), and they declare its resemblance (yushabbihÅ«nahÄ) by virtue of âAnd He is the hearer, the clairvoyantâ (Q 42:11). This is similitude according to the Law (al-tashbÄ«h al-sharÊ¿Ä«), that which brings the meaning that God [alone] knows (alladhÄ« warada bi-l-maÊ¿nÄ alladhÄ« yaÊ¿lamuhu AllÄh). For on this subject He has said that He has one face, by his own Word: âWherever thou turnest, the face of God is still thereâ (Q 2:115), and that He has one hand, by his own word: âThe hand of God is above their handsâ (Q 48:10), and other, similar, expressions, whereas, in all this, declaring His transcendence (tanzÄ«h) is necessary. Comparable ambiguous (mutashÄbih) expressions can be found in the Gospels.108
In other words, the âkeyâ to understanding icons is the symbolic exegesis of the QurʾÄnâs verses on âresemblanceâ. Through this equivalence between the veneration of icons and the contemplation of the figurative expressions in the QurʾÄn, NÄbulusÄ« offers an Islamic âtranslationâ of Christian spiritual practice. At the same time, this passage presents striking similarities to AbÅ« Qurraâs treatise. First comes the fairly exact correspondence of NÄbulusÄ«âs commentary with Chapter Five of this treatise. In the modern edition this is entitled âThe bodily attributes of God that are found among Muslims must bring them to understand what we aver on the subject of Christ.â109 Here AbÅ« Qurra alludes specifically to the QurʾÄnic verses on âresemblanceâ that NÄbulusÄ« mentions: âThe non-Jew who claims to be a believer [that is to say the Muslim] will say: I donât accept any of these things! Nevertheless, he asserts that God is seated on the throne, and that He has a face and a hand, and other things that we donât have space to mention here.â110
The second similarity is in the polemical aim of both texts: AbÅ« Qurra refutes the objections of outsiders (barrÄniyyÅ«n), meaning Jews and Muslims, but is also proposing to help Christians who are turning away from icons under the influence of the criticism of outsiders to return to the right path. Thus he reminds his Christian readers that what really differentiates Christians from followers of other religions is the spiritual intelligence of the Scriptures, which he contrasts with âcarnal intellectâ (al-Ê¿aql al-jasadÄnÄ«).111
As for NÄbulusÄ«, he refutes the objections of exoteric Muslims to the poetry of poet-saint Ê¿Ä«sawÄ«-muḥammadÄ« ShushtarÄ«, by explaining that the Christian practices of which he speaks (the cult of images is the one that interests us here) do not make their followers infidels (kuffÄr) if one understands their authentic meaning. Those gifted to understand these authentic meanings are spiritual masters (rabbÄniyyÅ«n), and as such are distinct from those who are dominated by their carnal soul (nafsÄniyyÅ«n). This distinction also applies to Christians, so that the rabbÄniyyÅ«n among them are not, in fact, infidels (kuffÄr), unlike their nafsÄniyyÅ«n.112 From this we can deduce that the Christian rabbÄniyyÅ«n may also themselves be a source of âcorrectâ intelligence on the cult of images. It is therefore possible that NÄbulusÄ« was familiar not only with Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ«âs approach to âthe doctrine of imagesâ, but also with the Christian sources themselves.
Here NÄbulusÄ« also introduces interesting thoughts on the expression of Christian concepts in the Arabic language: given that each prophet speaks the language of his own people, and that the language of Jesus was Syriac, the Arabisation of Syriac words is not enough to make them understandable in the language of Muḥammad. Thus, a poet such as ShushtarÄ«, who draws his inspiration from the ḥaqÄ«qa Ê¿Ä«sÄwiyya-muḥammadiyya, speaks in Arabic, but in the âSyriac tongueâ (lisÄn suryÄnÄ«), in other words, unclearly (ghayr mutabayyin al-maÊ¿nÄ). Whatâs more, in the Sufi lexicon, SuryÄniyya means a language understood by saints and unintelligible to others; NÄbulusÄ« plays on both senses. In the same way, the translation of the Gospels into Arabic, and the creation of an Arab-Christian lexicon (iá¹£á¹ilÄḥ) remain in âSyriacâ unless one also translates them conceptually, by explaining how they correspond to âsecretsâ and spiritual stages for insightful Muslims.113 For example, in âMuḥammadanâ Arabic the Messiah corresponds to the Spirit and Mary to the Well-Preserved Tablet.114 The inverse operation is also possible: for example, when a Ê¿Ä«sÄwÄ«-muḥammadÄ« saint reads the QurʾÄnic verse 19:34, its âSyriacâ meaning becomes apparent, which probably means that this verse will be understood to say âThis is Jesus, the son of Mary, the Word of Truth about whom they doubtâ, rather than âSuch was Jesus, son of Mary: (this is) a statement of the truth concerning which they doubtâ.115
It is likely that these considerations were prompted by events in Christian culture during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, when Arabic was confirmed as the liturgical language of most Arabic-speaking Christians in Syria.116 The Arabisation of the liturgy was accompanied by an increased tendency to translate the classical languages of Levantine Christians â Greek, Syriac, and Armenian, as well as Latin, under Romeâs influence â into Arabic; Arabic linguistic and literary traditions were also re-appropriated and adapted for a Christian public.
As Hilary Kilpatrick notes, literary history has neglected to place the renaissance in Christian literature that occurred during this period in the context of contemporary Arabo-Muslim culture; thus we lose sight of the role played by the intellectual exchanges and aesthetic syntony between Christians and local Muslims.117 A verse by Germanus FarḥÄt (1670â1732) on the Virgin Mary, âFaultless pearl, thou wert created â as though according to thine own desire thou wert createdâ (khuliqti durratan lÄ Ê¿ayba fÄ«hÄ â kaʾannaki mithlamÄ shiʾti khuliqti),118 that appears to take as its model the prototypical madīḥ nabawÄ«, the poem by ḤassÄn ibn ThÄbit (khuliqta mubarraʾan min kull Ê¿aybin â kaʾannaka khuliqta kamÄ shiʾta), demonstrates the relevance of NÄbulusÄ«âs reflections on the relationship between âMuḥammadanâ Arabic and âChristianâ Arabic.
NÄbulusÄ« maintained a theological correspondence with a Christian dignitary whom we can probably identify as Athanasius DabbÄs (d. 1136/1724). He was the Melikite patriarch of Antioch, and one of the protagonists of the cultural renewal among Syriaâs Christians. He translated patristic works by John Chrysostom and Basil of Caesarea from Greek to Arabic, and founded the first printing house in Aleppo to use Arabic characters.119 At the beginning of his epistle, NÄbulusÄ« addresses his correspondent as âone of the brothers of spiritual detachmentâ (ikhwÄn al-tajrÄ«d).120 The dhimmÄ«s who had the gift of inner faith (al-Ä«mÄn bÄá¹inan) were also âbrothersâ, in a treatise in which NÄbulusÄ« takes up and amplifies a short passage in the FutūḥÄt, from the chapter on the Ê¿Ä«sawÄ«yÅ«n, the same one in which icons also feature.121 In it Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ« suggests that the people of the Book who submit to the jizya will go to paradise.122 NÄbulusÄ« defends this idea, arguing that God has no obligation to put his threats into practice; he supplements this theological reasoning with a linguistic argument: he contests the authority of his anonymous adversary, whom he derisively calls âTurkâ, to interpret the QurʾÄn, maintaining that he is incapable of understanding the spirit of the Arabic language, whereas Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ« and the Arab Ê¿ulamÄʾ whom he inspires do, on the contrary, understand it perfectly. The Arabic language has always been the inner language of revelation (waḥy),123 exteriorised with the advent of Muḥammad, the prophet of compassion (raḥma). It is not sufficient to know the rules of its grammar in order to master it; one must have a natural disposition and spontaneity (á¹abÄ«Ê¿a and salÄ«qa): this is why an illiterate Arab is considered more noble than an erudite non-Arab (aÊ¿jamÄ«).124 In spite of their extensive study, most foreigners must make huge and painful efforts in order to speak Arabic. Even worse is to be âa non-Arab at heartâ (aÊ¿jamÄ« al-qalb),125 to lack the ear to speak in the accents of mercy in the language of revelation.
In other words, the approach of the âTurkâ or ânon-Arab at heartâ to the Arabic language and the QurʾÄn is one of strict normativity, both grammatical and Islamic. People whose mother tongue is Arabic, even if they are illiterate and/or not Muslims, are closer to the matrix from which the language sprang. In this respect the original version of Germanus FarḥÄtâs Arabic dictionary is suggestive in containing two long explanations of the expressions al-raḥma al-jasadiyya (physical compassion) and al-raḥma al-rūḥiyya (spiritual compassion); these were substantially abridged by the dictionaryâs modern editor, who judged them to be based on Christian doctrine rather than on the study of the language itself.126 However, spirituality before the nahá¸a was not formally divided from adab, and NÄbulusÄ«âs Åuvre demonstrates how it can function as a component of a shared conceptual syntax.
4 Conclusion
In conclusion, for NÄbulusÄ«, celebrating and glorifying the Prophet means celebrating Sufis, celebrating Arabs127 and, especially, celebrating Arabic literary culture.128 And being âlike the Prophetâ means being an âauthorâ. His exaltation of his own literary production in prose or verse, and in all genres, is not, despite his workâs importance for the city, associated with leadership ambitions, or the foundation of a á¹arÄ«qa, but with his aim to persuade and educate his readers â both profane and specialist â both aesthetically and spiritually.129 In his image of himself, the eclecticism of the accomplished man of letters is part of the universalism of the perfect man.130 At the same time, his reflections on the space in religious life for imaginative representation mean that Muḥammad becomes not only the object of poetical, visual and musical production, but also (in a way) the patron of these expressions that are as devotional as they are artistic. NÄbulusÄ«âs reflections on Godâs manifestation in human language and human form are at the heart of his concept of Muḥammadâs ârealityâ; they also carry unmistakeable marks of his familiarity with the Christian culture of the Syrian people, and of his concern to âtranslateâ religious symbols in order to encourage intellectual and emotional exchange with Christian Arabs.
NabhÄnÄ« admires NÄbulusÄ« very much, but he differs from him on some of the latterâs most characteristic attitudes. For example, he prefers, in the madīḥ nabawÄ«, to set very narrow limits on the use of the ghazal (especially those addressed to young men).131 He also takes care to distinguish the veneration of Muḥammad from that practised by ShÄ«Ê¿Ä«s and Christians, since one must ultimately avoid confusing poetic hyperbole with dogma.132 Finally, although he had 40,000 copies of an engraving of the Prophetâs Sandal printed133 (mechanical reproduction had by now brought an end to the time when each copy was a unique exemplar, an âoriginalâ), he also wrote a pamphlet against images.134 This text, published in 1906, illustrates the profound cultural rupture that had occurred since the time of NÄbulusÄ«. When speaking of images, NÄbulusÄ« drew on the classical heritage of the Near East, whereas this seems to have disappeared from NabhÄnÄ«âs points of reference. In what may be a reaction to a 1903 text by Muḥammad Ê¿Abduh, in which the Egyptian Mufti celebrates European painting while implying a critique of the cult of saints as potentially being âidolatryâ (shirk),135 NabhÄnÄ« can find no better response than to attack the idolatry of Christians, expressing his disapproval of both religious and secular images. The supposedly âhistoricâ critique, in which he describes Christian adoration of images as a survival of paganism, and his reference to Protestant criticism of this âinnovationâ, lead one to speculate that he may have been influenced by a book written by the American pastor Benjamin Schneider (1834â77), who was then living in Aintab with the aim of encouraging the Armenians who populated the region at the time to return to the straight path.136
And yet NabhÄnÄ« makes an exception for the shadow theatre, praising the beauty of an anonymous couplet that alludes to the teachings contained in this form of spectacle.137 Despite his scruples on the subject of the ghazal, NabhÄnÄ« finally decides not to exclude them from his collection of madÄʾiḥ, because:
Considering that this is present in a great many admirable poems, my soul did not permit me to deprive this collection of such well-aligned pearls, and to deprive these excellent poets of such a noble station and such immense merit, for, if they have erred, they have nevertheless also done right in praising the Prophet, and only God can know their intentions.138
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Dreher, âPolémiqueâ, 296. Dreher takes up Balicâs definition in Das unbekannte Bosnien, 223.
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Michot, Against Smoking.
Aqḥiá¹£ÄrÄ«, MajÄlis, 127 (majlis 17), 359 (majlis 57).
Aqḥiá¹£ÄrÄ«, MajÄlis, 127 (majlis 17).
Aqḥiá¹£ÄrÄ«, MajÄlis, 129.
Aqḥiá¹£ÄrÄ«, MajÄlis, 128.
Heyberger, âEntre Byzance et Romeâ, 534: According to Catholic missionaries, Muslims were more respectful of holy images than were Huguenots.
Lory, Le rêve, 127â129.
Ibn Ḥajar al-HaytamÄ«, Ashraf al-wasÄʾil, 596â599; compare NÄbulusÄ«, TaÊ¿á¹Ä«r, 2: 213â214. On the aḥÄdÄ«th and their variants, see Lory, Le rêve, 46; on their interpretation, ibid., 149â162. For the English translation of the canonical version see Muslim, SahÄ«h, 6, 123â124 (k. al-ruʾyÄ 10â11).
NÄbulusÄ«, IzÄlat al-khafÄʾ, 6aâ8b. On the date, see Aladdin, Ê¿Abd al-Ä anÄ«, 1, 119.
NÄbulusÄ«, IzÄlat al-khafÄʾ, 6b; NÄbulusÄ«, TaÊ¿á¹Ä«r, 2: 213.
NÄbulusÄ«, IzÄlat al-khafÄʾ, 8a.
Lory, Le rêve, 150.
NÄbulusÄ«, ḤaqÄ«qa, 378; NÄbulusÄ«, Wird, 106aâb; NÄbulusÄ«, Kashf, 3: 1162 (NÄbulusÄ« specifies here that sometimes the Muhammadan reality âis embodied in human shapeâ: âtujassadu fÄ« haykal basharÄ«â). See also NabhÄnÄ«, Faá¸Äʾil, 3: 1066.
NÄbulusÄ«, Wird, 60 a-b. For more on this text, written in 1141/1729, see Gril âJawÄhirâ, 49; Aladdin, Ê¿Abd al-Ä anÄ«, 1: 233.
NÄbulusÄ«, RisÄla, 12a. This text is also transmitted under the title al-RusÅ«kh fÄ« maqÄm al-shuyÅ«kh; see Aladdin, Ê¿Abd al-Ä anÄ«, 1: 189.
Gruber, âBetween logosâ, 229. For more on the opposition between âmemoryâ and âpresenceâ, see Bettetini, Contro le Immagini, 101â102, 116â30. The question was already being asked in debates within Egyptian Monachism; see Camplani, âIl dibatitto sulla visioneâ, 154.
Florensky, Iconostasis, 74. Later in the same passage, Florensky explains the relationship between the prototypical icon and its hand-made reproduction, as distinct from âmere servile mechanical reproductionâ, saying: âIn a manuscript you write describing a country someone else has previously described in an earlier manuscript, you will see your own words and phrases in your very own handwriting; but the living basis of your manuscript is assuredly identical with that of the earlier one: the description of the country. Thus, the variations arising between successive copies of a prototypical icon indicate neither the illusory subjectivity of what is being depicted nor the arbitrariness of the icon-painting process but exactly the opposite: the living reality, which, remaining itself, nevertheless will appear with those variations that correspond to the spiritual life of the icon painter who seeks to comprehend that living realityâ.
NÄbulusÄ«, IzÄlat al-khafÄʾ, 7b.
GhazzÄ«, Wird, 441â442.
Lory, Le rêve, 152.
Compare Aladdin, Ê¿Abd al-Ä anÄ«, 1, 108.
Lory, Le rêve, 159.
GhazzÄ«, Wird, 470â71, 472, 477â78.
Ghazzī, Wird, 95.
GhazzÄ«, Wird, 515; see the translation of chapter 8 of the FutūḥÄt (1, 126â131) in Corbin, Corps spirituel, 164â72 (English translation, 135â43).
Corbin, Corps spirituel, 109 (English translation, 84).
Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ«, FutūḥÄt, 3, 453â54.
Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ«, FutūḥÄt, 3, 454.
Compare the explanation of this double meaning of the Greek hermeneia by Grondin, Introduction, 20â21: âIn âexpressionâ spirit, as it were, makes what is contained within knowable from without, whereas âinterpretationâ tries to penetrate an uttered expression to see the spirit contained within it.â
Heinrichs, âIntroductionâ, 5.
See Lizzini, âLe langage de Dieuâ, 23: âLe modèle dualiste qui opposerait un langage non rhétorique et porteur de vérité à la langue des images et de la poésie semble incompatible avec la philosophie élaborée dans lâislam, qui doit pouvoir reconnaître la vérité (aussi) dans le langage rhétorique et poétiqueâ (âThe dualist model that opposes a non-rhetorical, truthful language and the language of images and poetry seems to be incompatible with the philosophy elaborated in Islam, which must be able (also) to recognise the truth in rhetorical and poetic languageâ).
Averroès, Commentaire, 2, 1â2, par. 1.1.1. Thanks are due to Francesca Gorgoni for having brought this passage to my attention.
Averroes, Commentaire, 2, 1â2, par. 1.1.1.
Compare NÄbulusÄ«, Kashf, 1, 71: al-shiÊ¿r ḥadÄ«th al-nafs fÄ«mÄ tashÊ¿ur bihi min al-maÊ¿ÄnÄ«.
Addas, âLe vaisseau de pierreâ.
Gruendler, âFantastic Aestheticsâ, 215; see also Heinrichs, âIntroductionâ, 11.
Corbin, Corps spirituel, 166 (137 in English translation).
Heinrichs, âIntroductionâ, 12.
Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ«, FutūḥÄt, 3, 450â451.
Chodkiewicz, Océan.
Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ« explicitly rejects al-FÄrÄbÄ«âs position, without naming him, though he does mention the title of one of his books, in FutūḥÄt, 3, 178. For more on this passage, see Rosenthal, âIbn Ê¿ArabÄ«â, 19; Brague, La loi, 299â300. On Avicennaâs theory of the imagination, and his affinities with GhazÄlÄ« and Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ«: Michot, Destinée, 212â217. On the objections of Averroes to Platoâs political philosophy: Leaman, An Introduction, 184â85. On Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ«âs encounter with Averroes: Bashier, Ibn al-Ê¿ArabÄ«âs Barzakh, 59â74.
López Anguita, âLa riḥlaâ, notes 38 and 53.
NÄbulusÄ«, Ḥaá¸ra, 121: yÄ á¹£akhrata llÄhi l-muÊ¿aáºáºamata llatÄ« â qalbu al-mutayyami Ê¿an hawÄhÄ mÄ fatÄ«/ rūḥun taá¹£awwara fÄ« bawÄá¹ini khÄá¹irÄ« â nÅ«run tajassada fÄ« áºawÄhiri muqlatÄ« / [â¦] hiya á¹£akhratun lÄnat li-Ê¿Ärifi faá¸lihÄ â wa-qasat Ê¿alÄ l-juhhÄli ablagha qaswatÄ« / sirrun laá¹Ä«fun lÄḥa min awji l-Ê¿ulÄ â ka-l-shamsi fÄ« l-ÄfÄqi dhÄti ashiÊ¿Ê¿atÄ« / fa-hiya l-kathÄ«fatu fÄ« l-Ê¿uyÅ«ni li-annahÄ â aá¸á¸¥at tusammÄ fÄ« l-warÄ bi-l-á¹£akhratÄ«.
NÄbulusÄ«, ḤaqÄ«qa, 334.
Ghazzī, Wird, 509.
NÄbulusÄ«, ḤaqÄ«qa, 218: wa-takhayyalnÄ naḥnu min hÄdhÄ al-qabÄ«l hÄdhÄ l-maÊ¿nÄ lladhÄ« laysa lahu mathÄ«l: li-l-baḥri waqta ghurÅ«bi l-shamsi wa-á¸á¹arabat â amwÄjuhu rawnaqun yazhÅ« Ê¿alÄ l-shuhubi / ka-fiá¸á¸atin taḥtahÄ l-nÄ«rÄnu mÅ«qadatun â ḥattÄ ghalat baÊ¿da mÄ dhÄbat Ê¿alÄ l-lahabi / fa-darra min fawqihÄ l-iksÄ«ru fa-nqalabat â sabÄʾiku l-kÄ«miyÄ min khÄliá¹£i l-dhahabi.
See Stetkevych, Mantle Odes, 70; Kilpatrick, âFrom Literatur to Adabâ, 214.
Aladdin, Ê¿Abd al-Ä anÄ«, 1, 156 (n. 150); see also ibid., 141, (n. 127), 152 (n. 145).
Cachia, The Arch Rhetorician, 2.
NabhÄnÄ«, Faá¸Äʾil, 1071; NÄbulusÄ«, Kashf, 1, 116.
NÄbulusÄ«, Nafḥat, 7.
See, for example, Nicholson, Studies, 139 (on the subject of Ibn al-FÄriá¸). For an example of the identification with the rejected Prophet, drawn from Ottoman mystics of NÄbulusÄ«âs day, see Dreher, âPolémiqueâ, 298.
NÄbulusÄ«, Nafḥat, 7.
NÄbulusÄ«, Nafḥat, 5â6.
NÄbulusÄ«, Nafḥat, 6.
NÄbulusÄ«, DÄ«wÄn al-ḥaqÄʾiq, 1, 15â17.
GhazzÄ«, Wird, 399â408.
NÄbulusÄ«, Kashf.
See the fine analysis by Homerin, âOn the Battlegroundâ. Most of the extracts from NÄbulusÄ« in NabhÄnÄ«âs Faá¸Äʾil come from this text.
NÄbulusÄ«, ḤÄmil, §§ 55â58; Gril, âJawÄhirâ.
NÄbulusÄ«, NatÄ«ja, question 1. See also DÄ«wÄn al-ḥaqÄʾiq, 2, 34.
Arendt, âWhat is authorityâ, 120â22.
Pagani, âDéfendreâ, 322.
NÄbulusÄ«, DÄ«wÄn al-ḥaqÄʾiq, 1, 10â11; compare GhazzÄ«, Wird, 408. This distinction corresponds to that between the QurʾÄn and the FurqÄn. Elsewhere (Kashf, 2, 744), NÄbulusÄ« says that the former is Godâs âinterior discourseâ (al-kalÄm al-nafsÄ«), which does not belong to the genre of letters and sounds. The FurqÄn, on the other hand, is the descent of this discourse âthrough our letters, our words, our meaningsâ. Among human beings there is also an interior language (nuá¹q) (âthe discourse and the meanings that we conceive in our souls through imaginative powerâ) and a proffered language (al-nuá¹q al-lafáºÄ« al-lisÄnÄ« bi-al-mÄdda al-hawÄʾiyya). Compare the Stoicâs distinction between logos endiathetos and logos prophorikos: Grondin, Introduction, 21. For more on this distinction in the uṣūl al-fiqh, see Weiss, Search, 68: âThe QurʾÄn is the internal speech (al-kalÄm al-nafsÄ«) of God embodied in a phonic speech (al-kalÄm al-lisÄnÄ«) which is of Godâs own making. [â¦] In the case of the sunna, the internal speech of God comes to be embodied in a phonic speech or in acts and endorsements that are of the Prophetâs makingâ.
Ghazzī, Wird, 399.
GhazzÄ«, Wird, 407â408; NÄbulusÄ«, DÄ«wÄn al-ḥaqÄʾiq, 1, 13.
GhazzÄ«, Wird, 407â408; NÄbulusÄ«, DÄ«wÄn al-ḥaqÄʾiq, 1, 13; 2, 134 (wa mÄ anÄ shÄÊ¿ir wa-jamÄ«Ê¿ naáºmÄ« baÊ¿Ä«d Ê¿an madÄ shiÊ¿r al-mughannÄ«); NÄbulusÄ«, Kashf, 1, 71, 132, 136â137. See also Homerin, âOn the Battlegroundâ, 408; Addas, âLe vaisseauʾâ.
NabhÄnÄ«, Faá¸Äʾil, 1075â1076; 1080â82.
NabhÄnÄ«, Faá¸Äʾil, 1092â1094; NÄbulusÄ«, Kashf, 2, 833â834 (Ibn al-FÄriá¸, TÄʾiyya, verse 334).
NabhÄnÄ«, Faá¸Äʾil, 1094â97; NÄbulusÄ«, Kashf, 2, 835â36 (Ibn al-FÄriá¸, TÄʾiyya, verse 335).
Homerin, âOn the Battlegroundâ, 385â86. NÄbulusÄ« also comments on the verses translated by Homerin, in Wird, 13aâb.
NÄbulusÄ«, Kashf, 2: 831â832; NabhÄnÄ«, Faá¸Äʾil, 1091â92 (Ibn al-FÄrid, TÄʾiyya, verse 333).
NÄbulusÄ«, Kashf, 3, 1162.
NÄbulusÄ«, Kashf, 2, 832; NabhÄnÄ«, Faá¸Äʾil, 1091â92.
NabhÄnÄ«, Faá¸Äʾil, 1088â89; NÄbulusÄ«, Kashf, 2, 812 (Ibn al-FÄriá¸, TÄʾiyya, verse 313). This idea had been formulated as early as the ninth century by Sahl TustarÄ«: see Holmes Katz, Birth, 14.
NabhÄnÄ«, Faá¸Äʾil, 1088â89; NÄbulusÄ«, Kashf, 2, 812.
NÄbulusÄ«, Kashf, 2, 563 (Ibn al-FÄriá¸, TÄʾiyya, verse 80).
NÄbulusÄ«, JawÄhir, 309: Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ« says that Muḥammad is âtripleâ (muthallath al-nashʾ) because his constitution is based on three principles, wa-huwa al-haykal al-sharÄ«f alladhÄ« áºÄhiruhu jismÄnÄ« wa-bÄá¹inuhu rūḥÄnÄ« wa-barzakhuhu nafsÄnÄ«, wa-kull wÄḥid min al-thalÄtha allatÄ« fÄ«hi Ê¿ayn al-Äkhar min wajh wa-ghayruhu min wajh.
NÄbulusÄ«, JawÄhir, 2: 190. âAnthropomorphiteâ monks of the fourth and fifth centuries also believed that all men carry the imprint of Godʾs image within their physical forms: see Camplani, âIl dibattito sulla visioneâ, 161. Like Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ« and NÄbulusÄ«, they drew important legal and ethical conclusions from this belief: Del Cogliano, âSituating Serapionʾs Sorrowâ, 404.
Ibn al-FÄriá¸, TÄʾiyya, vv. 655â58 (trans. Nicholson, Studies, 200), in NÄbulusÄ«, Kashf, 3, 1172. Wa-á¸arbÄ« laka l-amthÄla minnÄ«ya minnatun â Ê¿alayka bi-shaʾnÄ« marratan baÊ¿da marratÄ« / taʾammal maqÄmÄti l-SarÅ«jiyyi wa-Ê¿tabir â bi-talwÄ«nihi [â¦] / wa-tadrÄ« ltibÄsa l-nafsi bi-l-ḥissi bÄá¹inan â bi-maáºharihÄ fÄ« kulli shaklin wa-ṣūratÄ« / Wa-fÄ« qawlihÄ« in mÄna fa-l-ḥaqqu á¸Äribun â bihÄ« mathalan [â¦]. NÄbulusÄ« mentions elsewhere that the Egyptian scholar Ibn Ḥajar al-HaytamÄ« was asked for his legal opinion on whether a person who says that ḤarÄ«rīʾs MaqÄmÄt are lies should be declared an infidel because in so doing he would ridicule knowledge (li-istihzÄʾihi bi-l-Ê¿ilm): NÄbulusÄ«, al-Ê¿UqÅ«d, 24.
Ibn al-FÄriá¸, TÄʾiyya, vv. 679â80 (trans. Nicholson, Studies, 202), in NÄbulusÄ«, Kashf, 3, 1187f.: wa-iyyÄka wa-l-iÊ¿rÄá¸u Ê¿an kulli ṣūratin â mumawwahatin aw ḥÄlatin mustaḥīlati / fa-á¹ayfu khayÄli l-áºilli yuhdÄ« ilayka fÄ« â karÄ al-lahwi mÄ Ê¿anhu al-satÄʾiru shaffati. The symbolic interpretation of the shadow theatre has been further taken up by one of NÄbulusÄ«âs disciples: see Aladdin, âÊ¿Abd al-GhanÄ« al-NÄbulusÄ«â, 43f., referring to BaytamÄnÄ«, Kashf al-asrÄr fol. 281a. On this manuscript, see MÄliḥ, Fihris, 2, 503f.
NÄbulusÄ«, Kashf, 3, 1188.
Abdel-Hadi, âUnexplored Conceptsâ, 73, translation of Chapter 558 of the FutūḥÄt.
Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ«, FutūḥÄt, 2, 424, translated in Hirtenstein, The Unlimited Mercifier, 7. On this passage from the FutūḥÄt see further Puerta VÃlchez, Aesthetics, 814.
Homerin, âOn the Battlegroundâ, 359â60.
See, as a contrast, Scattolin, âThe Key Conceptsâ, 78â79.
Gril, âJawÄhirâ.
El-Rouayheb, Intellectual History, 262â264, 285â294; Voll, âÊ¿Abd al-GhanÄ« al-NÄbulusÄ«â, 195â209.
Vadet, Lʾesprit courtois, 379â430. More recently, Williams, in âA Body Unlike Bodiesâ, 44, underlined that classical SunnÄ« traditionalism is not iconoclastic, but exists in continuity with the âtranscendent anthropomorphismâ of the Bible, the Near East, and the QurʾÄn. In addition, Jokisch, Islamic Imperial Law, 503â508, compares the controversies between SunnÄ«s and their Jahmite and MuÊ¿tazilite adversaries with those between Byzantine iconophiles and iconoclasts during the same period.
Compare the quotation from JÄḥiẠin Corbin, Lâimagination créatrice, 205 and 275, note 323; see also Holtzman, âAnthropomorphismâ, 53b.
Abuqurra, Traité, Ch. 5, 11, 21. AbÅ« Qurra refers in particular to the vision of the throne of Ezekiel (5: 12; 11: 30â37), which has fed both Christian and Jewish mysticism. This vision is recalled in the KitÄb al-Zuhd by Aḥmad ibn Ḥanbal, in a tradition by Wahb ibn Munabbih, according to which God says to Ezekiel: âThe fearful and tender heart of the believer contains meâ (wasiÊ¿anÄ« qalb al-muʾmin al-wÄriÊ¿ al-layyin). See
Abuqurra, Traité, Ch. 12, 2.
Abuqurra, Traité, Ch. 12, 18. Compare Aristote, De lâinterprétation 1 (16a), trans. Tricot, 78â79.
Young, Biblical Exegesis, 192.
Young, Biblical Exegesis, 192â201.
Chodkiewicz, âLe modèle prophétiqueâ.
Compare NÄbulusÄ«, JawÄhir, 308.
NabhÄnÄ«, Faá¸Äʾil, 1063.
Urvoy, âLes thèmes chrétiensâ, 108; NÄbulusÄ«, Radd, 632â633.
Chodkiewicz, Sceau, 97â98. See further: Abdel-Hadi, âUnexplored Conceptsâ.
NÄbulusÄ«, Radd, 636.
Abuqurra, Traité, 106: mÄ jÄʾa ladÄ al-muslimÄ«n min awá¹£Äf mujassima li-AllÄh yajib an tuqarrib lahum fahm mÄ naqÅ«luhu fÄ« al-masīḥ.
Abuqurra, Traité, Ch. 5, 16; see also Ch. 9, 35â37, where the prosternation of angels before Adam, Q 2:30, is discussed.
Abuqurra, Traité, Ch. 5, 4; see also Ch. 18, 18â19.
NÄbulusÄ«, Radd, 63: al-naá¹£ÄrÄ alladhÄ«na kafarÅ« kÄnÅ« nafsÄniyyÄ«n lÄ rabbÄniyyÄ«n.
NÄbulusÄ«, Radd, 632.
NÄbulusÄ«, Radd, 637.
NÄbulusÄ«, Radd, 633â34: wa-qÄla taÊ¿ÄlÄ: âdhÄlika ʿĪsÄ ibnu Maryama qawl al-ḥaqq alladhÄ« fÄ«hi yamtarÅ«nâ [Q 19:34]: fa-akhbara subḥÄnahu anna al-imtirÄʾ ḥÄá¹£il fÄ« hÄdhihi al-kalima al-suryÄniyya al-Ê¿Ä«sÄwiyya fa-idhÄ takallama bihÄ al-muḥammadÄ« min al-mashrab al-Ê¿Ä«sÄwÄ« áºaharat suryÄniyya kamÄ kÄnat li-annahu taÊ¿ÄlÄ lÄ mubaddila li-kalimÄtihi.
Kilpatrick, âFrom Literatur to Adabâ, 203.
Kilpatrick, âFrom Literatur to Adabâ, 203; for example, in the library of a Lebanese monastery there was a glossed copy of Ibn al-FÄriá¸âs DÄ«wÄn: Walbiner, âMonasticâ, 473.
Ayoub, âLâhyperboleâ, 17.
Aladdin, âDeux fatwÄ-sâ; Rafeq, âReligious Toleranceâ, 7. On the translations, see Graf, Geschichte, 3: 127â133.
Aladdin, âDeux fatwÄ-sâ, 9 (French), 22 (Arabic).
NÄbulusÄ«, Qawl, 216a: the dhimmÄ«s who believe inwardly pay the jizya âto help their Muslim brothersâ (iÊ¿Änatan li-al-muslimÄ«n min ikhwÄnihim). Lejla Demiri is preparing a critical edition of this text.
Chodkiewicz, Sceau, 101.
NÄbulusÄ«, Qawl, 58a.
NÄbulusÄ«, Qawl, 63a.
NÄbulusÄ«, Qawl, 84a. Conversely, a saint who canât speak Arabic is âArab in spiritâ when he speaks in his own language under inspiration, as NÄbulusÄ« says explaining the saying: âI slept as a Kurd and woke up as an Arabâ, attributed to an illiterate shaykh admired by JalÄl al-DÄ«n RÅ«mÄ«: See Sukkar, âal-NÄbulusÄ«â, 155.
Kilpatrick, âFrom Literatur to Adabâ, 208.
See his exaltation of the Arab qabÄʾil in a mawlid improvised for the people of NÄbulus: NÄbulusÄ«, ḤaqÄ«qa, 106â107.
In another mawlid, he celebrates as blessings from God a lengthy series of books that âflowsâ from the prophetic source, starting with the FutūḥÄt. Yet the series also includes a book in Persian, the MathnawÄ« by RÅ«mÄ«. See NabhÄnÄ«, Faá¸Äʾil, 1060â64. On NÄbulusÄ«âs commentary on the Arabic preface to the MathnawÄ«, see Sukkar, âal-NÄbulusÄ«â, 152â56.
NÄbulusÄ«, DÄ«wÄn al-ḥaqÄʾiq, 1, 6, 16.
NÄbulusÄ«, DÄ«wÄn al-ḥaqÄʾiq, 1, 11â12; 2, 24.
NabhÄnÄ«, al-MajmÅ«Ê¿a al-NabhÄniyya, 14, 24â31.
NabhÄnÄ«, Faá¸Äʾil, 1 and 3.
NabhÄnÄ«, Faá¸Äʾil, 931, 972, 975â76.
NabhÄnÄ«, TaḥdhÄ«r.
Ê¿Abduh, AÊ¿mÄl, 2, 198â200.
Schneider, Rayḥana. This book is still honoured in a recent publication on the correct way of imitating the Prophet: ḤÄmid, MuqaddimÄt, 116â40.
NabhÄnÄ«, TaḥdhÄ«r, 1: raʾaytu khayÄla al-áºilli akbara Ê¿ibratin â li-man kÄna fÄ« Ê¿ilmi l-ḥaqÄ«qati rÄqÄ« / shukhÅ«á¹£un wa-ashbÄḥun tamurru wa-tanqaá¸Ä« â wa-tanfÄ jamÄ«Ê¿an wa-l-muḥarriku bÄqÄ«. NÄbulusÄ« wrote an imitation of these verses: see DÄ«wan al-ḥaqÄʾiq, 1, 341.
NabhÄnÄ«, al-MajmÅ«Ê¿a al-NabhÄniyya, 14â15.