Alhassanain(p) Network for Heritage and Islamic Thought

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© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2013

Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 56 (2013)

Female Mystics in Mediaeval Islam: The Quiet Legacy

Arezou Azad*

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Table of Contents

Abstract 5

Introduction 6

Surveys, Numbers, Profiles 8

Visibility, Image, and Agency of Women 10

The Argument of “misogyny” 12

The Sources on Umm ʿAlī of Balkh 13

Umm ʿAlī’s Path to Scholarship 15

Study and Credentials 15

Marriage and Home 16

Social Class and Family Relations 18

Umm ʿAlī’s Actions and Attributes 22

Social Etiquette in Religious Society 22

Living out the Sufi Experience 23

Advanced Learning and Exchange with Sufi Masters 24

Conclusion 28

Bibliography 30

Primary Sources 30

Secondary Sources 32

Appendix 36

Notes 38

Abstract

Historians and analysts of current affairs alike are interested in the role that women have played in Islam, including the extent to which women were the agents and creators of Islamic mysticism. We still know surprisingly little about premodern learned women, particularly from the eastern Iranian world. This article describes one female mystic, Umm ʿAlī, who flourished in ninth-century Balkh and has so far eluded modern scholarship. A historiographical study of her provides insight into how the representations of mystical women changed over time. From the earlier sources, we learn that Umm ʿAlī applied creative and interesting strategies that provided her access to the highest sources of learning. Umm ʿAlī’s case also allows for some tentative conclusions on the importance of pedigree, and the practice of strategic marriages that connect local power-holders with the ʿulamāʾ.

Keywords mysticism, Islam, scholarship, eastern Iran, Afghanistan, Central Asia, mediaeval history, gender, women.

anān-i īn pākān chunīn būda-and, tā mashāyikh-i aʿẓām bi chi ḥadd būda bāshand!

If the wives of these pure [ones] were such, [just think] at what levels the great shuyūkh must have been!1

Introduction

The archetypal female mystic of mediaeval Islam is, no doubt, the famous Rābiʿa al-ʿAdawiyya al-Qaysiyya (d. 185/801), known simply as “Rābiʿa.” Annemarie Schimmel pointed out that Rābiʿa had many successors and that they did not all resemble Rābiʿa.2 But, despite wide current interest in the role of women in Islam, the story of public, mystical Muslim women remains largely focussed on Rābiʿa, and, in the accounts on her, it is sometimes difficult to distinguish between fact and myth. Fragmentary records, scattered references, and ambiguous representations also confound attempts to form a coherent view of other female mystics. The goal of this article is to bring together evidence on one nearly contemporary mystic, Umm ʿAlī of Balkh, also known as the “one of high standing” (mahd-i ʿaliyya). It will be seen that Umm ʿAlī presents a very different profile of female mystic. A close reading of the primary sources highlights the fact that the narrative of her agency and impact changed over time. The transformation occurred at the hands of her biographers, who were bound by social conventions that restricted women’s agency. From the earlier sources, we learn that Umm ʿAlī applied creative and interesting strategies that provided her access to the highest sources of learning.

The topic of female mysticism in mediaeval Islam is particularly important because religious scholarship was one area in which Muslim women assumed roles equal to those of men. This article might best be compared with the “women worthies” genre that Margaret Meriwether and Judith Tucker identified. The expression refers to the history of notable women “who have played a role that is visible (although often neglected in history writing) in public activities.”3 Given that we do not have much information on female scholars in pre-modern times, this approach that “adds women to history” remains valid. It raises new questions about the role of women as social and economic actors. There is not enough data on premodern female scholars for us to answer them comprehensively. Nonetheless, Umm ʿAlī’s case allows us to reach some tentative conclusions about the importance of pedigree and the practice of strategic marriages that connect local power-holders with the ʿulamāʾ.

It should be added, as a caveat, that reconstructing the life experience of learned women such as Umm ʿAlī of Balkh from fragmentary texts with difficult historiographical traditions is a daunting task. The job is more difficult because early Islamic scholarship does not, by its very nature, lend itself to generalizations. Our clearly-defined modern view of Islamic scholars ( ʿulamāʾ) and the legal schools (madhāhib) to which they may have belonged, for example, denies the plurality found in early mediaeval religious scholarship.4 Our Balkhī source on Umm ʿAlī, the Faḍāʾil-i Balkh, nowhere contains the word “Sufi.”5 Some of the biographies in this work are of public religious figures who have since been canonized as the prototypes of Sufism.6 But, because our main source does not use it, we shall not call Umm ʿAlī a “Sufi” either and will use the generic term “mystic.”

Before we turn to Umm ʿAlī’s story, let us consider some of the relevant historiography and scholarship on the history of women scholars in the Islamic world. Most relevant for this article are quantitative studies; qualitative analyses of the visibility, image, and agency of female scholars; and the discussion of “misogynistic” attitudes held towards them.

Surveys, Numbers, Profiles

Since the early 1990s, modern scholars have questioned the traditional wisdom that Muslim women were “silent” and “oppressed” in pre-modern Islam. Relevant studies of the past two decades have revealed that women exercised far more power than was previously believed, including in the area of Islamic scholarship.7 Evidence for pre-modern female scholars in the Islamic world can be found in the biographical dictionaries that formed an important genre in Islamic historiography. Modern scholars have collated hundreds of women’s biographies from these sources. The surveys do not always differentiate between categories of Islamic scholars - e.g., mystics, female traditionists (i.e., collectors of ḥadīth), and legal analysts - but total numbers of recorded female scholars remain relevant to us, because they allow us to place Umm ʿAlī in the context of the history of female Islamic scholarship.8

Ruth Roded found that several dozen mediaeval biographical compilations were filled with tens, hundreds, and even thousands of women scholars.9 A more recent encyclopaedic collection of 8000 muḥaddithat is being carried out by Mohammad Akram Nadwi.10 Irene Schneider focussed specifically on the twenty women scholars of the seventh to the thirteenth centuries CE discussed by the Syrian historian Shams al-Dīn al-Dhahabī (d. 748/1347). She found that they played an active role in the educational system of their time.11

Disaggregating the numbers, Roded, and more recently, Nadwi, have shown that the majority of women are concentrated heavily around the first century of Islam. This is no doubt related to the unique position of the ṣaḥabiyyāt - women Companions who were the contemporaries of the Prophet - as precedents and role models for Muslims in general and for Muslim women in particular.12 The numbers are lower but still significant in the eighth and ninth centuries CE but taper off dramatically thereafter.13

Umm ʿAlī flourished during the ninth century CE, when women scholars were still well represented in the biographical dictionaries.

The accounts on female scholars have survived not only in biographical dictionaries but also in local histories. There are important references in Ibn ʿAsākīr’s (d. 571/1176) Taʾrīkh Dimashq with 13,500 biographical entries, including more than 200 women (although these are mainly members of the Umayyad family rather than scholars).14 Richard Bulliet examined the entries on women in the biographical dictionaries of Baghdad, Nishapur, and Gurgan. Al-Khatị̄ b al-Baghdādī’s Taʾrīkh Baghdād (completed 463/1071) includes thirty women out of a total of 7,831 biographies.

ʿAbd al-Ghāfir al-Fārisī (d. 529/1132) wrote his al-Siyāq li-Taʾrīkh Naysābūr and included twenty-two women among his 1,699 biographies.

Ḥamza al-Sahmī’s (d. 426/1035) Taʾrīkh Jurjān gave the biographies of twelve women among his 1,194 biographies.15 Bulliet spells out the important finding that these (relatively few) women were mentioned on account of their kinship ties to the compiler. Some were noble, others were involved in mysticism, and more were known for scholarship in ḥadīth or, rarely, in other disciplines.16

The local histories from further east - Bukhara, Samarqand, and Balkh - which are missing from Roded’s survey, have a much smaller selection of women (and men). The Faḍāʿil-i Balkh, a text that forms the basis for much of this article’s discussion, includes only the case of Umm ʿAlī and, to a far lesser degree, that of her husband’s second wife, Ḥakīma Zāhida. The excerpt with the relevant account is translated from Persian into English in the appendix to this article. The Persian Tārīkh-i Bukhāra, which is more a history than a prosopography, does not mention any Bukharan female scholar, much like the Arabic Taʾrīkh Samarqand, which follows the western Islamic prosopographical style of listings of isnāds (chains of transmitters), with limited information on the lived experiences of the scholars. The Taʾrīkh Samarqand profiles a single muḥadditha named Ṣūfiya bt. al-Shaykh al-Ḥāfiẓ al-Mustamlī Ismaʿīl b. Ibrāhīm b. ʿAbdallāh b. ʿUmrān al-Balkhī.17

Visibility, Image, and Agency of Women

The image of women as passive citizens confined to carrying out domestic chores and raising families was revised amongst Orientalists and Islamic historians in the 1970s and 1980s with studies of working women. Maya Shatzmiller studied mediaeval Muslim “working women,” including rural labourers, hairdressers, peddlers, secretaries, prostitutes, and ḥadīth scholars. She concluded that “women were involved in economic life in medieval Islam to an important degree.”18 Leslie Pierce and Ruby Lal, who reinterpreted the Ottoman and Mughal harems respectively, have shown the complex and contradictory character of domestic life, which was not limited to the home but extended well into the “public” domain.19

This complementary view of women as social and economic agents still, however, requires further refinement amongst Orientalists and Islamic historians. Julia Bray, in her study of men, women, and slaves in Abbasid society, laments that:

[D]espite their [women’s] much greater prominence in the biographical sources from around the thirteenth century onwards and in documentary sources from the Mamluk and Ottoman periods, and the greater attention that both families and women of these later periods are now receiving, women - though no longer families - tend to be seen as objects rather than as agents, of social development.20

One might add the criticism that, even where women in the mediaeval Islamic world are considered, scholars have tended to focus on the western Islamic lands, providing far less evidence from the eastern Iranian world or Central Asia. Umm ʿAlī of Balkh contributes in a small way to rectifying this imbalance.

The image of the mystical woman, in particular, has dominated the discourse on learned Muslim women. And, within this discourse, the case of Rābiʿa al-ʿAdawiyya has been adopted as the archetypal form. Rābiʿa was born into a poor home and sold into slavery. Her sanctity secured her freedom in a life of celibacy and prayer. She gathered around her many disciples, including one of Balkh’s most famous early saints, Shaqīq al-Balkhī (d. 174/790-1) and the traditionist Sūfyān al-Thawrī (d. 161/778), both of whom feature prominently in the Faḍāʾil-i Balkh.21 She received several offers of marriage but refused them all, choosing celibacy over marriage.

She was famed for her teaching on mystic love (maḥabba) and fellowship with God (uns).22 As we shall see, Umm ʿAlī of Balkh has a very different background to that of Rābiʿa, which indicates that mystical women must have been diverse.

Another line of enquiry concerns the alleged taboo against Muslim women studying with men to whom they were not related or married. In his study of Mamluk learned women, Jonathan Berkey refers to the fourteenth-

century Egyptian scholar Ibn al-Ḥajj, who held that it was not generally accepted that women sit across from men and get up and show the “private parts of their body.”23 This was seen as a threat to established sexual boundaries represented by the mixing of men and women in informal lessons in mosques or homes. Often, women were taught by other women. Huda Lutfi, however, emphasizes that there are discrepancies between the prescriptions that Ibn al-Ḥajj wants to uphold and women’s agency in reality. This becomes obvious in the fact that Ibn al-Ḥajj criticizes what had become a reality in Cairene society - the free mingling of women and men, as in mosques during public festivals.24 We shall see that Umm ʿAlī also displayed a more open attitude towards her male colleagues and teachers.

The question of women’s visibility and the law has been taken up by scholars such as Christopher Melchert, who surveyed mediaeval Islamic law on the question of whether women should be kept out of the mosque. He prefaces his article by saying, “It is commonly observed that women enjoyed greater freedom of movement in earlier Islamic law than later.”25 Matthieu Tillier found this public visibility to be true also of women at the Abbasid legal courts.26 Our study of Umm ʿAlī fits within these historiographical debates that find mediaeval Islamic women to be visible and influential in society, albeit usually mediated through male connections - a husband, father, or some other male relative.

The Argument of “misogyny”

Some scholars have tried to explain the decline in female scholarship after the ninth century CE as the result of a misogynistic bias of the male biographical compilers. Roded suggests that the ninth-century “ʿAbbāsid legists” purposely removed or omitted references to women scholars.27 Richard Bulliet has a counterargument: He takes the numbers of entries at face value and concludes that women actually lost importance in the scholarly circles from the tenth to the fifteenth centuries CE.28 As we shall see, Umm ʿAlī did not provoke an overt misogyny amongst her male biographers, who would have called into question her moral character or professional skills. She appears in numerous sources over the centuries, but again, she is only one case from Balkh.

The mediaeval female scholar presents a dilemma often misunderstood by those who look at ancient models to find support for contemporary views. Some scholars of the early 1990s held that the “origins” of the repression of modern Muslim women lay in the mediaeval period. Julie Scott Meisami argues strongly against this judgement29 posited by her colleagues, Fedwa Malti-Douglas, Leila Ahmed, and Denise Spellberg.30 Scott Meisami writes:

Gender and gender roles are social constructs and subject to change over time, both in actuality and in textual representations. Arguments based on the assumption that gender is a constant in any given society, culture, or religion and that it is uniformly so treated by writers, are therefore untenable.31

Equally, Umm ʿAlī should not be taken as the prototype for any paucity of women scholars observed in today’s eastern Iran or Central Asia, even though she presents only one case: we simply do not know the percentage of women scholars. Moreover, Umm ʿAlī’s scholarly path and her actions were mediated by a literary tradition that evolved over time. It is to this literary tradition that we now turn.

The Sources on Umm ʿAlī of Balkh

There are half a dozen interesting textual references to Umm ʿAlī in several Persian and Arabic sources. We are, in general, dealing with a challenging and limited base of sources, when compared with the evidence base in other disciplines. This contrasts markedly with the wealth of sources that scholars of learned women in ancient Greece possess, for example.32 It is with this source gap in mind that I deliberately adopt an in-depth view of the historiography on Umm ʿAlī to embrace the plurality and full range of possibility of her agency.

The main source of information on Umm ʿAlī’s life is the third part of the Faḍāʾil-i Balkh, which profiles seventy shuyūkh (pl. of shaykh, i.e., members of the ʿulamāʾ) who flourished in Balkh between the seventh and twelfth centuries CE. From this underused prosopographical and historical source we can extract by far the most data on Umm ʿAlī’s life. The original Arabic version of the Faḍāʾil-i Balkh was written by the Shaykh al-Islām al-Wāʿiẓ al-Balkhī (fl. 610/1214), and his account survives only in a Persian rendition made by a certain ʿAbdallāh [b. Muḥammad] b. al-Qāsim al-Ḥusaynī (fl. 676/1278). We know of the author and translator only what the Faḍāʾil-i Balkh tells us, and we have no way of determining how closely the Persian rendition follows the original Arabic. We can say with some certainty that the Arabic author was a member of the ʿulamāʾ, as was probably the Persian translator.

The work survives in four manuscript copies only, none of which can be precisely dated.33 The Faḍāʾil-i Balkh is largely hagiographical and anecdotal, The second-oldest manuscript came to light a decade ago

which might call into question its validity as a source for history, but scholars such as Jürgen Paul have argued that storytelling is a narrative technique that keeps the audience interested while giving them a taste of universal messages that are common to works of adab (educational and entertaining prose); factuality was not so much the issue.34 We need to be careful when using the Faḍāʾil-i Balkh as a historical source, but, as the earliest surviving narrative from and on Balkh, it remains invaluable for our study.

The Faḍāʾil-i Balkh, in turn, cites at least three sources for the account on Umm ʿAlī (see translated excerpt in appendix): the Risāla by Abū al-Qāsim Qushayrī; a work of ṭabaqāt, a biographical genre that classifies scholars according to “levels”;35 and “history books”. Abū al-Qāsim Qushayrī (d. 465/1072) is the source for the account of a dinner that Umm ʿAlī’s husband Aḥmad organized for a member of the futuwwa - the organizations of chivalry sometimes associated with Sufism but which, unlike the Sufi orders, tended to be more social than spiritual in orientation.36 Qushayrī is the well-known Khorasani mystic and scholar of the Shāfiʿī legal school, and his Risāla (c. 438/1045) is an important early compendium of the principles and terminologies of Sufism.37 The Faḍāʾil-i Balkh is a text that values the principles of piety and mysticism, and it is, therefore, not surprising that the author cites the Risāla. He was true to his source: the original account of the dinner in the Risāla survives today and is recognizable from the account in the Faḍāʾil-i Balkh.38

Sufi sources tend, in general, to provide more information on female spiritual figures than do other Islamic texts.39 Qushayrī’s Risāla has contemporary parallels and successors that the author of the Faḍāʾil-i Balkh could have cited yet did not but which we will consider in this article.

These include Sufi hagiographical and prosopographical compilations and tadhkira works, such as Abū Nuʿaym al-Ḥ āfiz ̣ al-Isf̣ ahānī’s Ḥ ilyat al-awliyāʾ wa-tạ baqāt al-asfị yāʾ (composed 422/1031), al-Hujwīrī’s (d. 465-9/1072-7) Kashf al-maḥjūb, and Farīd al-Dīn Atṭ ạ̄ r’s (d. 617/1221 or earlier) Kitāb Tadhkirat al-awliyāʾ.40

The second source cited in the excerpt on Umm ʿAlī is a certain ʿAlī b. Faḍl on the wise sayings attributed to Umm ʿAlī (and her husband Aḥmad’s second wife, Ḥakīma Zāhida). Perhaps this is ʿAlī b. al-Faḍl b. al-Ṭāhir al-Balkhī (d. 323/934-5?) whose ṭabaqāt is mentioned elsewhere in the Faḍāʾil-i Balkh as a key source.41 Women were by no means excluded from ṭabaqāt, as is demonstrated convincingly in Roded’s inventory. A very early source in the form of the Iraqī Ibn Saʿd’s (d. 230/845) ṭabaqāt, for example, included more than 4000 women (amongst them 629 independent entries, the rest being embedded in other sections).42 In the Khorasani Ṭabaqāt al-ṣūfiyya by al-Sulamī (d. 412/1021), from Nishapur, we find no mention of Umm ʿAlī,43 but she appears in al-Sulamī’s minor work, the Dhikr al-niswa al-mutaʿabbidāt al-Ṣūfiyyāt.44

A third set of sources in the excerpt on Umm ʿAlī is referred to as “the history books” (kutub-i tawārīkh), which the Shaykh al-Islām al-Wāʿiẓ used to describe Umm ʿAlī’s ancestry.45 The generic reference is repeated elsewhere in the work and reflects the author’s primary focus on legal, scholarly, and Sufi works, his limited familiarity with historical texts, and a possible later redaction.46

Umm ʿAlī’s Path to Scholarship

Study and Credentials

From the excerpt on Umm ʿAlī in the Faḍāʾil-i Balkh, we learn that she received an Islamic education of the highest level in her time. She studied with a certain Ṣāliḥ b. ʿAbdallāh and transmitted his book of tafsīr (Qurʾanic exegesis).47 Faḍāʾil-i Balkh editor ʿAbd al-Ḥayy Ḥabībī and Richard Gramlich have identified this teacher as Ṣāliḥ ʿAbdallāh Ṣāliḥ b. ʿAbdallāh b. Dhakwān al-Bāhilī al-Tirmidhī (probably d. 239/853-4), who also taught the Qurʾan to Umm ʿAlī’s husband, Aḥmad b. Khiḍrawayh,48 to whom we shall return shortly.

Umm ʿAlī later travelled to Mecca, where she performed the ḥajj pilgrimage and remained for seven years to study, until she mastered all the branches of Islamic knowledge ( ʿilm) and was instructed in ḥadīth. None of the other sources describes the educational background that formed the basis for her scholarship. These are, of course, the credentials sought by male ʿulamāʾ as well. Travel was an important part of Islamic education until the sixth century of Islam, that is, before Muslim learning became more formalized through schools and madrasas.49

Umm ʿAlī’s studies should not strike us as unusual for women. Berkey explains that obtaining an education is well attested in the sources for mediaeval learned women. Amongst the 1075 women listed in al-Sakhawī’s al-Ḍawʾ al-lāmiʿ fī aʿyān al-qarn al-tāsiʿ on leading figures of the fifteenth century, for example, 411 obtained such an education - either by memorizing the Qurʾan, studying with a particular scholar, or receiving ijāzas (licenses to transmit). Her transmitting a book - rather than a set of ḥadīth - is likewise not uncommon.50

The standards and expectations of Umm ʿAlī as a scholar were in no way less rigorous than those to which her male counterparts were held: she still needed to travel to Mecca for the pilgrimage, to study with a master for an extended period, and to obtain the credentials to transmit her teacher’s work. The Faḍāʾil-i Balkh mentions without judgement her travels, in which she may have been unaccompanied by her husband.51

Marriage and Home

Nowhere have I found Umm ʿAlī’s birth or death dates. The lack of dates is a common feature in mediaeval accounts on Muslim learned women in general. Fortunately, the biography of her husband Aḥmad b. Khiḍrawayh in the Faḍāʾil-i Balkh gives some information that allows us to home in on the second half of the ninth century. The clue is that, when Umm ʿAlī returned to Balkh from Mecca, her husband had already died. We know from the Faḍāʾil-i Balkh and other sources that Aḥmad died in 240/854-5, at the age of ninety-five. This sets the terminus post quem for Umm ʿAlī’s death at 240/854-5. If she did survive to old age, she would probably have lived well into the second half of the ninth century CE.

The Faḍāʾil-i Balkh does not mention Umm ʿAlī’s given name, but other sources do. Al-Hujwīrī tells us in his Kashf al-maḥjūb that Umm ʿAlī’s name was Fātịma.52 Umm ʿAlī married well, as one might expect for a woman of her standing (see below), but she did not marry a wealthy noble, choosing instead one of Balkh’s most beloved scholars and mystics, the qāḍī Abū Ḥāmid Aḥmad b. Khiḍrawayh (d. 240/854-5), who receives ample treatment in the Faḍāʾil-i Balkh53 and other hagiographical sources and is known as an example of the futuwwa (spiritual chivalry).54 Gramlich does not see him as a proponent of the malāmatiyya –the early Islamic mystical tradition that originated in Khorasan and based itself on the tenet that all outward appearance of piety or religiosity is ostentation– but, as Hamid Algar explains, the concepts of futuwwa and the malāma overlap during this period.55 As a fatā (a young male exponent of futuwwa), Aḥmad is credited with exhibiting much generosity, which left him in a constant state of debt.56 He expounded on the mystical concepts of seeking refuge in God alone, outlined a ten-step process to attain the Sufi ṭarīqa, and pondered the battle with the soul (nafs). He is said to have met and studied with major shuyūkh, such as Ibrāhīm b. Adham (d. 161/777-8), Ḥātim al-Asạ mm (d. 237/857-8), and Abū Ḥ afs ̣ b. Ḥ addād (d. c. 265/878-9) in Nishapur. Much is also written about his stay with Abū Yazīd al-Bistạ̄ mī (d. 261/874-5?).57 Aḥmad b. Khiḍrawayh had many students, including some better-known authorities.58 According to ʿAbdallāh al-Ansạ̄ rī al-Harawī (d. 481/1089), who mentions Umm ʿAlī only in passing, Aḥmad b. Khiḍrawayh also performed the ḥajj to Mecca, besides visiting the above-mentioned masters.59

While one might assume that Shaykh Aḥmad had chosen his betrothed, al-Hujwīrī’s account and those of his successors tell us that it was quite the opposite: Umm ʿAlī wooed Aḥmad. Umm ʿAlī’s decision to marry apparently came after a change of heart on the matter. We are not told what made her change her mind, but perhaps the message here is to stress the importance of marriage even for pious, mystical women. Al-Hujwīrī states that Umm ʿAlī had to ask Aḥmad more than once before he complied, and then only after she had cunningly appealed to his spiritual conscience.

Al-Hujwīrī says:

Chūn way-rā irādat-i tawba padīdār āmad, bi Aḥmad kas firistād, ki: “Ma-rā az pidar bikhwāh.” Way ijābat nakard. Kas firistād, ki: “Yā Aḥmad, man tū-rā mard-i ān napindāshtam ki rāh-i ḥaqq nazanī. Rāh-bar bāsh na rāh-bur.” Aḥmad kas firistād, wa way-rā as pidar bikhwāst.60

When she changed her mind, she sent someone [with a message] to Aḥmad: “Ask my father for my hand.” He did not respond. She sent someone [again with a message]: “Oh Aḥmad, I did not think you a man who would not follow the path of truth. Be a guide of the road; do not put obstacles on it.” Aḥmad sent someone [with a message] to ask her father for her hand.

In Atṭ ạ̄ r’s Tadhkirat al-awliyāʾ, Shaykh Aḥmad’s biographical entry contains a discussion of his wife Fātịma as a miracle-working mystic and “an accomplished master of the Sufi path” (andar ṭarīqat, āyat-ī būd).61 From here on, Atṭ ạ̄ r’s account closely resembles that of al-Hujwīrī. The latter recounts her wooing of Aḥmad thus:

Tawbat kard wa bar Aḥmad kas firistād, ki: “Ma-rā az pidar bikhwāh.” Aḥmad ijābat nakard. Dīgar bār kas firistād, ki: “Ay Aḥmad, man tu-rā mardāna-tar az īn dānistam. Rāh-bar bāsh, na rāh-bur.” Aḥmad kas firistād wa az pidar bikhwāst.62

She changed her mind, and sent someone to Aḥmad [with the message:] “Ask my father for my hand.” Aḥmad did not respond. Once more, she sent someone [with the message:] “Oh Aḥmad, I thought you were more manly than this. Be a guide of the road; do not put obstacles on it.” Aḥmad sent [a messenger] and asked her father for her hand.

Al-Hujwīrī, too, identified Umm ʿAlī as the daughter of a high official, although he calls her “daughter of the amīr of Balkh.”63 The imprecision about Fātịma’s lineage - she was the granddaughter of Balkh’s governor, as will be seen shortly - is repeated in later sources of the same genre. It contrasts with the persistence of the image of Umm ʿAlī as astute and “manly.”

After all, convention would have it that the man proposes to his prospective wife, and not vice versa.64

Social Class and Family Relations

The Faḍāʾil-i Balkh is a rich source for details on Umm ʿAlī’s family background and social class, the like of which I have not found elsewhere. By tracing the family links between Umm ʿAlī and other shuyūkh of the Faḍāʾil-i Balkh, we can glean that Umm ʿAlī had considerable financial means and was descended from an important local family. Umm ʿAlī’s maternal grandfather was one of the early Abbasid governors of Balkh, al-Ḥasan b. Ḥumrān (fl. 142/759-60). The name of this early wālī (governor) of Balkh is attested also in fals coins.65 We are given her mother’s name (Muʾmina) and burial place, which emphasizes the importance of Umm ʿAlī’s semi matrilineal lineage, that is, one in which the mother is mentioned, with her patrilineal genealogy.66

The picture of Umm ʿAlī’s family comes into sharper focus when we trace the family links mentioned in at least five more biographies in the Faḍāʾil-i Balkh, all of which lead back to her grandfather, al-Ḥasan b. Ḥumrān. In fact, a genealogy emerges that is situated in the highest echelons of Balkhī society, both scholarly and secular. Thus, in addition to her maternal grandfather al-Ḥasan b. Ḥumrān, we learn about the latter’s brother (Umm ʿAlī’s great-uncle), Mutawakkil b. Ḥumrān (d. 142/759-60). He was a successor (ṭābiʿ) to a Companion of the Prophet. Mutawakkil was also Balkh’s first qāḍī and is profiled as the ninth shaykh in the Faḍāʾil-i Balkh’s seventy biographies.67 We are told that he was a staunch supporter of Umayyad rule, until its bitter end, and distinguished himself as a proponent of irjāʾ.68 Men like Mutawakkil were the reason that one of Balkh’s epithets was “Murjiʾābād.”69

We also read that the governor had a second brother (i.e., a second great-uncle of Umm ʿAlī’s), called ʿAbdallāh. His line accounts for four more of Balkh’s seventy saints: Balkh’s thirty-sixth shaykh, Muḥammad al-Fuḍayl (d. 261/874-5), is his great-grandson, while Balkh’s fourteenth shaykh, the qāḍī Abū Mutị̄ ʿ al-Balkhī (d. 204/819-20), married his greatgrandaughter (and aunt of the said Muḥammad al-Fuḍayl ). The son of Abū Mutị̄ ʿ al-Balkhī is Balkh’s thirty-first shaykh, called Muḥammad b. Abī Mutīʿ (d. 244/858-9). Moreover, the Faḍāʾil-i Balkh’s twentieth shaykh, Qāsim al-Zurayq (d. 201/820-1), married into the family through one of Abū Mutị̄ ʿ’s daughters.70 We can now construct a family tree, which I call, for convenience, the “House of Ḥumrān.”

Mapping the genealogy of the “House of Ḥumrān” makes a convincing case that scholarship and political power often went hand in hand within the same extended family. This house alone produced six of Balkh’s seventy scholars profiled in the Faḍāʾil-i Balkh, in addition to Umm ʿAlī. Thus, family ties and elite connections in the formation of the mediaeval scholarly community seem to have been equally important for men and women. I have argued elsewhere that a significant number - but not all - of Balkh’s shuyūkh were independently wealthy and connected to social and political circles of power.71 The same seems to have been true of women scholars. As we have seen, Umm ʿAlī had major family connections through maternal blood relations. Richard Bulliet also found that al-Fārisī’s women scholars were mentioned in his eleventh-century history of Nishapur, on account of their family and marriage ties.72

The Faḍāʾil-i Balkh emphasizes not only Umm ʿAlī’s family pedigree but also her wealth. She spent a considerable amount of her own money to finance her pilgrimage to Mecca.73 The ḥajj was an expensive undertaking for an eastern Khorasani: the distance between faraway Balkh and Mecca was 3150 kilometres, as the crow flies. Expenses included transport, food, and lodging costs for the outbound and inbound journeys, which took months. It appears she also financed her seven-year sojourn in Mecca herself. She obtained seventy-nine thousand dirhams from the sale of her estates and other possessions, and this would easily have covered all her costs.

It seems reasonable to assume that her wealth came from her grandfather’s days as the governor of Balkh, for he would probably have been a major landowner.

We do not know whether, during her sojourn in Mecca, Umm ʿAlī disbursed some of her great wealth to charity, a practice ascribed to other ninth-century women during their pilgrimages.74 Charity is a common trope in later accounts of Sufis and other mystical religious figures and scholars. Jāmī, in his account of Umm ʿAlī, says, “She was of noble descent and had many possessions. She donated everything to the poor” (Way az awlād-i akābir būd wa māl-i bisyār dāsht. Hama-rā bar fuqarā nafaqa kard).75

The channels through which female scholarship was acquired thus have a pragmatic element. The hosting and training of scholars and the patronage of shrines dedicated to them was expensive. In the ninth century CE it was the noble families, such as the House of Ḥumrān that had the financial resources, the know-how, and the important link with the early Abbasid past. The House of Ḥumrān is the only important family we can reconstruct from the biographies of the shuyūkh of the Faḍāʾil-i Balkh. The Faḍāʾil-i Balkh ends its own historical account of Balkh in Part One, which precedes the biographies - Part Two is a brief geographical overview - with that of the Samanids. Their ascent in Bukhara and that of the Banījūrids in Balkh seem to coincide with the end of the prominence of this family.76

Umm ʿAlī’s Actions and Attributes

Social Etiquette in Religious Society

One anecdote related in the Faḍāʾil-i Balkh excerpt concerning Umm ʿAlī (see appendix) emphasizes Umm ʿAlī’s awareness of social etiquette when advising her husband on how to organize a dinner for a member of the futuwwa. The author portrays Umm ʿAlī as the one with the “insider knowledge” on how to host such fatā men. Her husband, on the other hand, is depicted as lacking such knowledge (thus, we read in FB’s excerpt: “Oh Aḥmad! Can’t you do that, and don’t you know how one ought to invite these people of humanity and [fol. 135b]77 chivalry (murūwat wafutuwwat)?”). We are thus left with the sense that Umm ʿAlī was worldly and “in the know,” while Aḥmad appears to have lacked confidence and sociability.

The anecdote on the dinner is recounted in several Sufi hagiographical works, with some variations. Al-Hujwīrī identified the chivalrous guest as the mystic Yaḥyā b. Muʿādh al-Rāẓī (d. 258/872).78 He explains that Shaykh Aḥmad consulted his wife on the dinner party in this way:

“Daʿwat-i Yaḥyā-rā chi bāyad?” Guft: “Chandīn sar gāw wa gūsfand wa hawāyij wa tawābil wa chandīn shamʿ wa ʿatṛ Wa bā īn hama nīz bīst sar khar bibāyad kusht.” Aḥmad guft: “Kushtan-i kharān chi maʿnī dārad?” Guft: “Chūn karīmī bi khāna-yi karīmī mihmān bāshad, nabāyad ki sagān-i maḥallat-rā az ān khayr bāshad?79

“How do I make the invitation to Yahya?” She said: “Some cows and sheep, carrots and seasoning, and some candles and perfume. And on top of all this, twenty asses must be killed.” Aḥmad said: “What is the meaning of the killing of asses?” She said: “When a great man comes to the house of another great man, should the dogs of the quarter not benefit from it?

The implication in Faḍāʾil-i Balkh that Umm ʿAlī was questioning Aḥmad’s competence is absent from the Kashf al-maḥjūb. It appears that al-Hujwīrī’s account is less concerned with the possibly unbalanced relationship between Aḥmad and Umm ʿAlī but keen on passing on her experiences of hosting proper dinners and the importance and act of generosity in general.

It could be that the killing of the asses is a secondary element in the story. It certainly sounds like a component added to the main story, which concerns the treatment of the futuwwa. The secondary element is inserted to show that Umm ʿAlī was so sensitive to the needs of God’s creatures that she considered the needs even of the unclean dogs. The charity may, however, have gone too far: why slaughter useful asses to feed ravening dogs?

Living out the Sufi Experience

The second anecdote in the Faḍāʾil-i Balkh’s excerpt on Umm ʿAlī recounts her receiving the news that her husband had died and, shortly thereafter, learning that Aḥmad had merely fainted and was actually in good health. Umm ʿAlī is depicted as the apotheosis of composure and patience, which are important virtues for Sufis. Her unruffled stance throughout this series of events is contrasted with the agitated reactions of the co-wife, Ḥakīma Zāhida. The author concludes that it is clear from this account that everyone reaches his or her particular “station” (maqām) and “moment” (waqt) in life. The implication appears to be that Umm ʿAlī had reached higher levels in both maqām and waqt.

The concepts of maqām and waqt are important in Sufism. The Sufi maqām is the dimension of spiritual experience generally characterized as having a certain duration and resulting, to some extent, from individual striving. The Sufi waqt is a dimension of mystical experience considered a timeless instant in which one is aware most acutely of one’s spiritual state.80

Umm ʿAlī, who is also called the one who is “of a high standing” (mahd-i ʿaliyya), had reached these spiritual heights. Umm ʿAlī is, for Shaykh al-Islām al-Wāʾiẓ, an exemplary mystic.

Al-Hujwīrī also emphasizes Umm ʿAlī’s spiritual qualities, stating explicitly that she was “on the ṭarīqa”, the Sufi path upon which all mystics embarked: “Fātịma, his [Aḥmad b. Khiḍrawayh’s] wife, had a noble standing in the Sufi path” (Wa Fāṭima, ki ʿiyāl-i way būd, andar ṭarīqat shaʾnī ʿaẓīm dāsht).81

Section One: The Necessity of Prophethood

General objectives

After studying this discourse, the students are expected:

1. To realize the rational necessity of prophethood;

2. To be acquainted with the views of philosophers and scholastic theologians about revelation; and

3. To understand the perspective of the Qur’an and theSunnah regarding revelation.

Introduction

The issue of prophethood [nubuwwah ] or apostleship [risālah ] is the subject of many pages of voluminous history books-the accounts of men who spent their lives conveying the message of God to His servants and experienced different afflictions along this way.

Here, we do not need to scan the pages of history to ascertain their existence because the signs of their existence are so obvious for us that there is no room for doubt. When our eyes are attracted to the architectural magnificence of churches or mosques, when our ears are drawn to the melodious recitation of the Qur’an or the call to prayer [adhān ], and when we observe faithful men and women sincerely and earnestly treading the path shown by the apostles of God (‘a ),1 we can see within ourselves the luminous visage of the prophets (‘a ).

By hearing the sound of the invitation of the prophets (‘a , seeing their celestial countenances and observing their saintly conduct, so many men and women were attracted to and believed in them. This faith [īmān ] is based on the testimony of human nature [fiṭrah ] which smells the familiar scent of the celestial world in the persons of the prophets (‘a ) and acknowledges their truthfulness or rightfulness without the need for rational investigation. However, this faith does not close the door for reflection [ta’ammul ] and thinking. In fact, it opens it wide. For those who have not yet embraced the faith, thinking can be a fertile ground for the growth of the seeds of faith while for those who have faith, it serves as a means of defending the faith and nurturing and cultivating the bud of belief [‘aqīdah ].

This point shows that the rational study or examination of prophethood is not an indispensable condition of faith in the prophets (‘a ) but only substantiates or supplements this faith.

As the door for thinking about prophethood is now open, questions must be given answers which the intellect or reason [‘aql ] can grasp well. This is exactly the concern of this chapter, and the following questions will be addressed:

1. Why must there be prophets in the lives of humankind? (The necessity of prophethood)

2. What services and benefits have the prophets rendered to mankind? (The blessings of the prophets (‘a ))

3. How did the prophets communicate with God and receive His message? (Revelation)

4. How can we be certain about the truthfulness of their claims to prophethood? (Miracles)

5. Assuming that their presence is necessary, why has the caravan of prophethood ceased to move? (Finality of the prophethood)

In the history of Islamic thought, the debate on thenecessity of prophethood has delved more into answering the following question: Why must God have sent prophets to mankind? Muslim scholars have tried to explain the philosophy behind the sending down of the prophets (‘a ) which is related to the ‘action of God’.

However, there is another question here and that is: Why should we humans pay heed and take seriously the message and invitation of the apostles (‘a )?

Could we not bother to take their invitation into account and just go along our way and pass by without paying attention to them? This question (regarding the human need to follow the prophets (‘a )) is of immense importance nowadays. In Islamic philosophy and theology books, the following question is also addressed: Why should man conduct research and investigation about the prophets (‘a )?

However, this question has not been dealt with at great length. Perhaps, the reason for this is that it is believed that if the philosophy behind the sending down of prophets (‘a ) is established, the philosophy behind the human need to follow the prophets (‘a ) will also be proven.

Muslim scholars have answered these questions by first dealing with God and His Action, and concluding with man and his need to follow the prophets (‘a ). Nowadays, however, there are some transcendent theosophers [muta’allihīn ] who start by studying man and his need to follow the prophets (‘a ), and concluding with God and His Action (sending down of the prophets (‘a )). This approach is widely adopted in the Christian world but is also to some extent observed in the works of Muslim scholars.

In this book, we shall follow the dominant approach in the books of Islamic philosophy and theology. By explaining the ‘Action of God’ (the necessity of sending down of the prophets (‘a )), we shall also establish the human need to follow the prophets (‘a ).

The necessity of prophethood from the Islamic theological perspective

Scholastic theology or theology [‘ilm al-kalām orkalām ], which is one of the important branches of Islamic sciences, has a long precedence. Scholastic theologians or theologians [mutakallimīn ] are those who expound religious beliefs and defend them against the misgivings and doubts expressed by others. Sometimes, these misgivings and doubts originate from outside the Islamic world. For example, whenever the principle of the existence of God or monotheism [tawḥīd ] was under attack, all Muslim theologians would come forward to defend it. However, there have also been times when doubts or misgivings were expressed by Muslims against the beliefs of fellow Muslims, and this has led to the emergence of different groups of theologians.

In addition, theologians have also differed about the methods of defending their religious beliefs. Some of them such as the Mu‘tazilites [Mu‘tazilah ] preferred the rational method while others such as the

Ash‘arites [Ashā‘irah ] did not much incline to rational theorization. In terms of method, the Shī‘ah2 theology has many similarities to that of the Mu‘tazilites but has fundamental differences with it with regard to the beliefs being defended.3

In this section, we shall use the arguments advanced by a great Shī‘ah theologian, Sayyid Murtaḍā.4

Through use of their intellect, human beings know that some things are good while others are bad, and to know this, they are in no need of revelation [wahī ]. Without citing any basis from revelation, we know that justice, honesty and trustworthiness are good and that injustice and violation of the rights of others are bad.5

Human beings not only understand the goodness of justice and gratitude for the kindness and benevolence of others but also consider themselves bound to observe justice and express gratitude towards others. In other words, the intellect is not only aware that justice is good but also knows that one must behave according to justice and not oppose it. Perception of the necessity and expediency of doing an action does not necessarily mean perception of its goodness and wholesomeness. Theologians have discussed at length the rational perception of duties (rational obligation).

The emphasis on the importance of intellect in perceiving what is good or bad and identifying responsibility shows the high station of the intellect in the life of humankind. In the Islamic traditions, the intellect is described as the “inner apostle” [rasūl-e bāṭin ]. Nevertheless, such an expression should not make us negligent of its definitional scope and limitations.

Attention to the scope and limitation of the intellect and its function is the basis of the theological proof [burhān-e kalāmī ] for the necessity of prophethood. Some of its limitations are as follows:

1. It is true that the intellect is capable of identifying the general principles underlying good and bad actions, but it is incapable of identifying particular cases in which a person is more involved in his practical life. Whenever the rational intellect [‘aql-e istidlālī ] intends to identify the ruling on specific cases, it often makes mistakes. The human intellect perceives that expressing gratitude to God is both good and obligatory, but it does not know which actions express such gratitude. The intellect is conscious of the necessity of respecting the rights of others, but it does not know exactly how to respect those rights nor does it know precisely what those rights are.

2. No doubt, the purpose of identifying good and bad actions is for people to train themselves to do good deeds and refrain from evil deeds. The truth of the matter, however, is that just to identify the goodness of actions and to sense the rational duty to do them does not automatically turn into action. In the same manner, mere identification of wicked acts does not translate into abandonment of the same. In addition to perception of an act’s goodness and the feeling of having a sense of duty, the performance of a voluntary action depends on the decision and will of a person. The nature of human will and the manner of decision-making are also completely intertwined with a person’s feelings, inclinations and desires.

Many people know that it is detestable to misappropriate the property of others, but the pressure of hunger can lead them away from this natural

sense of responsibility and urge them to sacrifice their will at the altar of needs and inclinations.

It is of immense importance to pay attention to the crucial role of feelings and emotions and it bespeaks of the fact that the guidance or direction of man toward perfection and deliverance does not depend solely on his intellect and reason. In fact, training or upbringing must also be given importance in such a way that feelings and emotions also assist man and not hinder him along the path of doing wholesome and righteous deeds.

The ethicists or moral teachers who reflect much on the elements of moral or righteous deeds inform us that the intellect is sometimes subdued by the desire [hawā ] and delegates the guidance or stewardship of the ship of humanity’s existence to feelings and emotions. Worse still, apart from delegating the captainship of the ship of existence to the feelings and emotions, at times it even makes itself their slave. Ethicists call such intellect the “satanic intellect” [‘aql-e shayṭānī ] which indulges in trickery to satiate bestial instincts and desires. As such, if man is supposed to attain salvation by doing righteous deeds and following the dictates of his reason, his feelings and emotions must be disciplined so as to abide by the intellect, and not the other way around.

Yea, it is a reality that God has made the intellect a light to show the way leading to man’s salvation, but it is also a fact that this beam does not shed light on every perspective of this way. Its brightness is not so strong that a breeze emitting from the carnal desires cannot blow it out.

Now, the following question can be raised: Does God truly intend to guide us or not? If not, why has He created the light of reason in human beings? If He does intend to guide humankind toward salvation and felicity-as He must be based on His infinite mercy-then He who knows everything, including the limitations of the “inner apostle”, would certainly send assistance so as to enhance the brightness of the light as well as to make it safe from the whirlwind of whims and caprice.

If God does not want to invite people to do righteous deeds, why has He bestowed them with an intellect which urges them towards righteousness? If He wants to guide humanity towards felicity through righteous deeds, why would He not supplement or complement the intellect’s invitation through revelation? If one is serious in inviting a friend and knows that by just reading an invitation the friend will not come, would he not send a representative to accompany the friend so that he would be assured of him coming?

The same is true in the case of God’s invitation to do righteous deeds and worship Him [‘ubūdiyyah ]. Out of His grace, He bestowed man with the intellect. In the same manner, out of His grace, He sent His chosen ones to affirm the intellect’s invitation and assist humanity by clearly showing the different dimensions of the way to salvation. In addition, by linking righteous deeds to everlasting bliss in the hereafter and evil deeds to eternal damnation in the afterlife, humanity’s feelings and emotions were resolutely set at the service of their intellects.

If a person were to truly understand that by doing righteous deeds he would attain divine proximity [qurb-e ilāhī ], and that divine pleasure or

satisfaction, which manifests in various forms, is the most pleasant of all things, would he not desire to perform more and more righteous deeds? Theologians call these acts of God “grace” [luṭf ] and consider them incumbent upon Him, for He does not withhold any grace that does not result in some type of harm or corruption among creation.

Therefore, the theologian’s approach is essentially based on the fact that God has invited man in accordance with the invitation of the intellect to good, but that without the sending down of apostles (‘a ) this invitation is less productive and imperfect. Similarly, without the sending down of revelation the light of the intellect will not be sufficiently bright. He who, out of His grace, endows humanity with the intellect also grants the religion and revelation so as to make the light of reason brilliant enough to assist the intellect against whims and caprice by linking everlasting felicity to righteous deeds.The necessity of prophethood from the Islamic philosophical perspective.

Although Islamic philosophy [falsafah orḥikmah ]6 is rooted in Qur’anic wisdom and Islamic traditions, especially the sayings of Imam7 ‘Alī (‘a ), there is no doubt that its organization or systematization into an organized body of knowledge is the result of the acquaintance of Muslim scholars with Greek thoughts with the translation [into Arabic] of their works during the second and third century AH. The Islamic civilization has produced great philosophers the most prominent of whom are Fārābī,8 Ibn Sīnā,9 Shaykh al-Ishrāq,10 and Ṣadr ad-Dīn Shīrāzī, well known as Mullā Ṣadrā.11 Islamic philosophy deals not only with the common and prevailing subjects in Greek philosophy but also with subjects that are not covered by Greek philosophers. The most important of these are the issues of Resurrection [ma‘ād ] and prophethood [nubuwwah ]. The philosophical discussion on prophethood focuses more on divine revelation, but there is also an examination of the necessity of sending prophets as the conveyers of the divine revelation. The approach which is labeled “proof of general guidance” [burhān-e hidāyat-e ‘āmmeh ] is a legacy of Muslim philosophers in this field.12

In this section of the book, we shall present the following arguments:

1. Wherever you look at the infinite creation of God, in addition to the order of existence you can also observe a sort of open and hidden guidance and direction everywhere. The order of a being shows the organization and coordination of its different components and the absence of contradiction and conflict. However, its guidance means that God has directed it towards a certain destination. God has not created contingent beings [mawjūdāt-e imkānī ] just to be abandoned later. Rather, apart from designing an order or system of creation, He has provided a sort of guidance according to the natural constitution of each being:

﴿ رَبُّنَا الَّذِي أَعْطَى كُلَّ شَيْءٍ خَلْقَهُ ثُمَّ هَدَى ﴾

“Our Lord is He who gave everything its creation and then guided it.” 13

God created the honeybee and then taught it a wonderful system of livelihood and attainment of perfection. If we try to liken the honeybee’s system of life to a strong and organized ship, the instincts which are actually

God’s inspirations [ilhām ] serve as the captain who will direct it toward its predefined destination:

وَأَوْحَى رَبُّكَ إِلَى النَّحْلِ أَنِ اتَّخِذِي مِنَ الْجِبَالِ بُيُوتًا وَمِنَ الشَّجَرِ وَمِمَّا يَعْرِشُونَ﴾

“And your Lord inspired the bee [saying]: ‘Make your home in the mountains, and on the trees and the trellises that they erect’.”14

One plants a delicate seed and after sometime it grows, becomes a tree and bears sweet and nutritious fruit. Certainly, inside the small seed are wonderful elements that remain there until it becomes a full grown tree. In every living thing, there is a sort of program that guides its life through the rocky roads of the material or natural world-which is the arena of struggle and conflict-to a certain destination. Muslim philosophers have called this “the principle of general guidance” [aṣl-e hidāyat-e ‘āmmeh ].

It is said that the credibility of the above mentioned principle is not anchored in a defective inductive reasoning or limited observation, but rather on a proof that bespeaks of the existence of a motive and purpose in the creation of every creature or thing. The reason behind this is that God is All-wise and He does not do anything futile or useless:

﴿ وَمَا خَلَقْنَا السَّمَاء وَالْأَرْضَ وَمَا بَيْنَهُمَا بَاطِلًا ذَلِكَ ظَنُّ الَّذِينَ كَفَرُوا فَوَيْلٌ لِّلَّذِينَ كَفَرُوا مِنَ النَّارِ ﴾

“We did not create the sky and the earth and whatever is between them in vain. That is a conjecture of the faithless. So woe to the faithless on account of the Fire!”15

If God did not guide living things to their ideal destinations according to their natural constitutions, their lives would consist of aimlessness and lack of purpose, whereas futility and vainness is unbecoming of Allah.

Like other creatures, human beings are enveloped in God’s mercy and guidance for there is surely a purpose in his creation:

﴿ أَفَحَسِبْتُمْ أَنَّمَا خَلَقْنَاكُمْ عَبَثًا وَأَنَّكُمْ إِلَيْنَا لاَ تُرْجَعُونَ ﴾

“Did you suppose that We created you aimlessly, and that you will not be brought back to Us?”16

Yes, anyone who acknowledges [the existence of] God and believes in His power and wisdom has no doubt about the soundness of theproof of general guidance . Is there any doubt about a principle which the Qur’an explicitly affirms?

﴿ وَمَا قَدَرُواْ اللّهَ حَقَّ قَدْرِهِ إِذْ قَالُواْ مَا أَنزَلَ اللّهُ عَلَى بَشَرٍ مِّن شَيْءٍ ﴾

“They did not regard Allah with the regard due to Him when they said, ‘Allah has not sent down anything to any human’.”17

This verse bears witness to the fact that due recognition of God necessitates acknowledgment and recognition of His general guidance and direction especially His intervention in the lives of humankind.

2. Guidance is commensurate to the faculties and potentials of every being. Stones and other inanimate objects are guided according to certain mechanical laws. Having a more complex structure, the plants also have a more perfect sort of guidance, while the animals are guided by their instincts.

Among all creatures, humans occupy the highest station. Like the shell, the human being is an animal that has a precious gem within. In appearance, the human being resembles other animals, but in addition he has a divine spirit that bears a heavy burden of trust:

﴿ وَإِذْ قَالَ رَبُّكَ لِلْمَلاَئِكَةِ إِنِّي خَالِقٌ بَشَرًا مِّن صَلْصَالٍ مِّنْ حَمَإٍ مَّسْنُونٍ ٭ فَإِذَا سَوَّيْتُهُ وَنَفَخْتُ فِيهِ مِن رُّوحِي فَقَعُواْ لَهُ سَاجِدِينَ ﴾

“When your Lord said to the angels, ‘Indeed I am going to create a human out of dry clay [drawn] from an aging mud. So when I have proportioned him and breathed into him of My spirit, then fall down in prostration before him’.” 18

Like other animals, man has instinctive guidance for his physical growth and perfection and lives and develops by following that instinctive guidance.

Yet, the divine spirit on which rational human life depends has endowed man with an important advantage and that is the element of freewill or volition [ikhtīyār ]. Unlike other animals, man is not an innate prisoner of his instincts for he can overcome their influence. He can even regulate his instincts and desires to be at the service of his intellect or reason.

Of course, such a creature requires access to a sort of guidance which is consistent with his freewill.

Aristotle says:

“We must not follow those who tell us that since we are humans, we must think of things human, and since we are mortals, we must engage in transient affairs. Rather, as far as possible, we must make ourselves immortal and we must try our best to live consistent with the best thing (intellect) within us.”19

Yet, how is it that we can make ourselves immortal and think of eternity? Is it possible except by way of divine revelation? In the absence of divine revelation, it is not possible to attain eternal happiness.

Of course God, who has not spared creating eyebrow and eyelash-which have lower albeit vital functions in the lives of human beings-does not also spare sending prophets in which lie the survival of the human race and the eternal happiness of every person.20

3. It is true that the “principle of general guidance ” emphasizes the guidance of humanity toward eternal salvation in the hereafter; however, since worldly life is the preliminary stage of this guidance, leadership and direction in the affairs related to life in the world are among the tasks of the prophets (‘a ). In this connection, it is usually emphasized that social life, which is the foundation of human civilization, is only possible under the auspices of revealed teachings. If there had been no historical record of the existence of prophets, there would also have been no trace of human civilization. Collective life is only possible with the existence of just laws and moral upbringing which in turn emanate from revealed teachings.

If legislative authority had been delegated solely to humans, they would not have taken true justice into consideration and would have enacted laws according to material and personal interests. Moreover, in the absence of superior morality, which is only possible through faith in God and the

hereafter, the existence of just laws cannot contribute to the perpetuity of society and serve as the groundwork for material welfare in this world as well as perfection and happiness in the next world. Given the urgent need of mankind for divine guidance and theprinciple of general guidance , the necessity of the mission [bi‘that ] of the prophets (‘a ) and their presence in human society is so evident that it cannot be denied.

Those who assert that the interests of humanity in this world do not need prophetic teachings because we presently witness civilizations devoid of revealed teachings and founded on atheism have ignored the following points:

Firstly, notwithstanding a verbal denial in terms of beliefs and moral principles, humankind of today is in fact deeply indebted to the prophets (‘a ). There are many religious virtues that hold various societies intact which are actually products of the prophets’ (‘a ) efforts. When looking at history it is clear that humanity has benefited much from the teachings of the prophets (‘a ). Without the teachings of the prophets would humankind have a stable collective life or would people lead a more bestial life in which right and value would be the slaves of power and might.21

Secondly, Muslim philosophers do not claim that without the existence of the prophets (‘a ) and their teachings, no society could be founded whatsoever. They are rather referring to a society which serves as the grounds for human perfection and eternal bliss in the hereafter.22 What rational person can claim that without the guidance of God he can enact a code of law which is not only just and guarantees the perpetuity of human race in this world but is also codified in such a manner that it ensures eternal happiness and felicity in the next world? Only the prophets (‘a ) can teach the members of society and train them such that they would observe the rights of others completely. Only the prophets (‘a ) can reform man, send him back to his original nature which is God’s spirit, and make him immortal by the grace and mercy of God:

﴿ هُوَ الَّذِي بَعَثَ فِي الْأُمِّيِّينَ رَسُولًا مِّنْهُمْ يَتْلُو عَلَيْهِمْ آيَاتِهِ وَيُزَكِّيهِمْ وَيُعَلِّمُهُمُ الْكِتَابَ وَالْحِكْمَةَ وَإِن كَانُوا مِن قَبْلُ لَفِي ضَلَالٍ مُّبِينٍ ٭ وَآخَرِينَ مِنْهُمْ لَمَّا يَلْحَقُوا بِهِمْ وَهُوَ الْعَزِيزُ الْحَكِيمُ ﴾

“It is He who sent to the unlettered [people] an apostle from among themselves, to recite to them His signs, to purify them, and to teach them the Book and wisdom, and earlier they had indeed been in manifest error. And to others from among them [as well] who have not yet joined them.”23

Some notes

1. In addition to their holy scripture (the Qur’an), the Muslims have access to a great literary corpus calledSunnah . In general,Sunnah refers to the recorded narrations [riwāyāt ] of the Holy Prophet (ṣ )24 and infallible Imāms (‘a ). A considerable section of these narrations explains practical laws on the individual and collective life but many narrations also expound ideological tenets and even deal with the natural world and humanity.

The issue of the necessity of prophethood and the blessings of the prophets has been also reflected in numerous narrations. Here, it suffices to mention two narrations. From the following two narrations, it can be discerned to what extent the writings of philosophers and theologians in this regard are indebted to theSunnah .

a. In reply to someone who asked for a proof of prophethood, Imām aṣ-Ṣādiq (‘a ) said:

“As we have proven that God, the All-wise, is our Creator who is Most Sublime and Exalted to be comprehended and communicated by anyone, we know that there must be prophets among the people to speak on His behalf, express His will and guide the people about what is good and bad on which depend their fate. So, there must be bidders and forbidders who are none other than the prophets (‘a ).”25

b. In Sermon 1 ofNahj al-Balāghah ,26 Imām ‘Alī (‘a ) said:

فَبَعَثَ فِيهمْ رُسُلَهُ، وَوَاتَرَ إِلَيْهِمْ أَنْبِياءَهُ، لِيَسْتَأْدُوهُمْ مِيثَاقَ فِطْرَتِهِ، وَيُذَكِّرُوهُمْ مَنْسِيَّ نِعْمَتِهِ، وَيَحْتَجُّوا عَلَيْهِمْ بَالتَّبْلِيغِ، وَيُثِيرُوا لَهُمْ دَفَائِنَ الْعُقُولِ، وَيُرُوهُمْ آيَاتِ الْمَقْدِرَةِ: مِنْ سَقْف فَوْقَهُمْ مَرْفُوع، وَمِهَاد تَحْتَهُمْ مَوْضُوع، وَمَعَايِشَ تُحْيِيهِمْ، وَآجَال تُفْنِيهمْ، وَأَوْصَاب تُهْرِمُهُمْ، وَأَحْدَاث تَتَابَعُ عَلَيْهِمْ.

“Then Allah sent His Messengers and a series of His prophets towards them to get them to fulfill the pledges of His creation, to recall to them His bounties, to exhort them by preaching, to unveil before them the hidden virtues of wisdom and show them the signs of His Omnipotence namely the sky which is raised over them, the earth that is placed beneath them, means of living that sustain them, death which brings an end to everything, ailments that turn them old and incidents that successively betake them!”27

2. Both philosophical and theological arguments show the intellect’s limitations in identifying the rational and humane way of life which raises man above the bestial form of living. These limitations are more evident with respect to the otherworldly life which is beyond comprehension of the intellect.

However, the limitations of the intellect do not negate its value and credibility. It is only in comparison with the extensive needs of humanity that we talk about the limitations of the intellect. Similarly, whenever we talk about the insufficiency of the senses, this does not mean we deny their exceptional cognitive functions. Everyone knows that in the absence of the senses, the intellect or reason cannot function properly. Conversely, without the intellect the senses cannot function at all. The same is true in the case of reason [‘aql ] and revelation [waḥī ]. Reason is kindled under the auspices of revelation. Without the latter, the former will wander in the valley of the unknown. Meanwhile, it is also by the hint of reason that revelation is welcomed, and it is in the hearts of those who apply reason that the tree of revelation bears fruit:

﴿ إِنَّمَا يَخْشَى اللَّهَ مِنْ عِبَادِهِ الْعُلَمَاء ﴾

“Only those of Allah’s servants having knowledge fear Him.” 28

“Reason [‘aql ] and religious law [shar‘ ]have no option [but to acknowledge] that reason is the basis or foundation while religious law is the structure. A structure without foundation is baseless while a foundation without any structure is useless.”29

In the words of a Christian theologian, Ian Barbour, “Revelation does not negate reason but rather develops it. Reflection and research could be compatible with religious commitment.”30

3. It is sometimes assumed that the concept of “the necessity of doing an action” cannot be applied to God on the grounds that accepting such necessity implies setting a duty for Him to discharge and it does not behoove Him to beobligated by others. Therefore, what do we really mean by saying that-it is ‘incumbent upon ’ or ‘necessary ’ for God to send down prophets? Do we want to setdos anddon’ts for God?! For this reason, the Ash‘arites [Ashā‘irah ] have entirely avoided discussing the necessity of prophethood.

4. What is meant by the necessity for God todo an action is that the human intellect or reason understands the continuity of this action within the context of the will of God and perceives God as the Doer of the action. For example, when we say that God is the Necessary Being [wājib al-wujūd ] it means that the Being cannot be separated or detached from the Divine Essence [dhāt-e ilāhī ]. When we say that it is necessary for God to send down prophets, it means nothing except that God is All-wise and so benevolent to humanity that it is impossible for Him not to send prophets.31

References

1. - The abbreviation, “‘a” stands for the Arabic invocative phrase, ‘alayhi’s-salām, ‘alayhim’us-salām, or ‘alayhā’s-salām [may peace be upon him/them/her], which is mentioned after the names of the prophets, angels, Imāms from the Prophet’s progeny, and saints (‘a). [Trans.]

2. - In this volume, I have maintained the word “Shī‘ah” to refer to both the group (single collective unit) and the individuals constituting the group (plural). [Trans.]

3. - See Murtaḍā Muṭahharī, Understanding Islamic Sciences (London: ICAS Press, 2002), p. 57-84. [Trans.]

4. - See ash-Sharīf al-Murtaḍā, Adh-dhakhīrah fī ‘Ilm al-Kalām, p. 323.

Sayyid Murtaḍā ‘Alam al-Hudā (355-436 AH): a man of versatility with a keen taste and talent for literature, jurisprudence and theology whose verdicts and opinions are taken into account even today. Both he and his brother Sayyid ar-Raḍī, the compiler of Nahj al-Balāghah, studied from Shaykh al-Mufīd. [Trans.]

5. - Some theologians point out the origin of the difference between good and bad actions, believing that its criterion is the effects they bring about in the lives of human beings. Accordingly, good deeds are the source of felicity while evil deeds lead to perdition.

6. - Regarding its literal and semantic definitions, see Muṭahharī, Understanding Islamic Sciences, pp. 11-19. [Trans.]

7. - Hadrat: The Arabic word Hadrat is used as a respectful form of address. [Trans.]

8. - One of Islam’s leading philosophers, al-Fārābī was born at Fārāb, situated on the Jaxartes (Syr Darya), the modern Otrar. Coming to Baghdad, he studied under the Christian doctor Johanna, son of Hilan. Another of his teachers was Abū Bishr Matta, known as a translator of Greek works. He next proceeded to Aleppo, to the court of Sayf ad-Dawlah, son of Hamdān, and led a somewhat retired life under his protection, assuming the garb of a Sufi. When this prince captured Damascus, he took the philosopher with him, and there Fārābī died in 339 AH/950. Fārābī’s literary production was considerable, but a great number of his works were lost very early. They were chiefly commentaries or explanations of the Greek philosophers, especially Aristotle. In the sphere of moral philosophy he wrote a commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics; in that of political philosophy, he made a summary of Plato’s Laws, and composed a short treatise on the Ideal City. To psychology and metaphysics he contributed numerous works, with such titles as Intelligence and the Intelligible, The Soul, The Faculties of the Soul, The One and Unity, Substance, Time, The Void, and Space and Measure. He also commented on Alexander of Aphrodisias’ book, de Anima. Believing that Greek philosophy was a unity, he labored to reconcile Plato and Aristotle, and with this idea wrote treatises on The Aims of Plato and Aristotle and The Agreement between Plato and Aristotle. He also discussed certain interpretations of Aristotle proposed by Galen and John Philoponus, and composed An Intervention between Aristotle and Galen. [Trans.]

9. - Abū ‘Alī al-Husayn ibn ‘Abdullāh ibn Sīnā, or Avicenna, entitled al-Shaykh al-Ra’īs, or Hujjat al-Haqq by his compatriots, simply Shaykh by his disciples, and the Prince of Physicians in the occidental world, was born near Bukhārā in the year 370 AH/980. When Ibn Sīnā was five years old he and his family moved to the city of Bukhārā, where the young boy had a greater opportunity to study. At the age of ten he already knew grammar, literature, and theology as well as the whole of the Qur’an. When the famous mathematician, Abū ‘Abdullāh al-Natīlī, came to Bukhārā, he was invited to stay at the house of Ibn Sīnā in order to teach him mathematics. Under his tutelage Ibn Sīnā mastered the Almagest, the Elements of Euclid and some logic, all of which he soon knew better than his teacher. Having mastered mathematics, he then turned his attention to physics, metaphysics, and medicine. By the time he was sixteen, Ibn Sīnā had mastered all the sciences of his day and was well known as a physician. In another two years, thanks to the commentary of al-Fārābī, he was also to complete his understanding of Aristotle’s metaphysics which at first had presented considerable difficulty for him. Despite the loss in part or in toto of several of his major works, such as the twenty-volume Kitāb al-Insāf on the arbitration of Eastern and Western philosophy and the Lisān al-‘Arab in ten volumes, over two-hundred and fifty books, treatises, and letters of Ibn Sīnā have survived. They range from the voluminous Kitāb ash-Shifā and Al-Qānūn fi’t-Tibb to treatises of only a

few pages like Risālat al-Fi‘l wal-Infi‘āl and Risālah fi’s-Sirr al-Qadar. His books can be roughly divided into four separate groups: the philosophical, religious, cosmological and physical, and finally the symbolical and metaphysical narratives. Kitāb ash-Shifā, a vast philosophical and scientific encyclopedia, is probably the largest work of its kind ever written by one man. His dominating influence in medicine, philosophy and theology has lasted over the ages and is still alive within the circles of Islamic thought. [Trans.]

10. - A towering figure of the Illuminationist School of Islamic Philosophy [ishrāqī], Shahāb ad-Dīn Yahyā Suhrawardī (known as Shaykh al-Ishrāq), was born in Suhraward, near Zanjān, Iran in 1155. After studying in Isfahān, a leading center of Islamic scholarship, Suhrawardī traveled through Iran, Anatolia and Syria. Influenced by mystical teachings, he spent much time in meditation and seclusion, and in Halab (modern Aleppo) he favorably impressed its ruler, Malik az-Zāhir. His teachings, however, aroused the opposition of established and learned religious men [‘ulamā], who persuaded Malik to have him put to death. The appellation al-Maqtūl [the killed one] meant that he was not to be considered a shahīd [martyr]. Suhrawardī wrote voluminously. The more than 50 works that were attributed to him were classified into two categories: doctrinal and philosophical accounts containing commentaries on the works of Aristotle and Plato, as well as his contribution to the Illuminationist School; and shorter treatises, generally written in Persian and of an esoteric nature, meant to illustrate the paths and journeys of a mystic before he could achieve ma‘rifah (gnosis or esoteric knowledge). [Trans.]

11. - Mullā Sadrā (d. 1050 AH/1640), also called Sadruddīn Shīrāzī and Sadr al-Muta’allihīn, was a philosopher who led the Iranian cultural renaissance in the 17th century. The foremost representative of Ishrāqī [Illuminationist] School of philosopher-mystics, he is commonly regarded by Iranians as the greatest philosopher of Iran. A scion of a notable Shīrāzī family, Mullā Sadrā completed his education in Isfahān, then the leading cultural and intellectual center of Iran. After his studies with scholars there, he produced several works, the most famous of which was his Asfār (Journeys). Asfār contains the bulk of his philosophy, which was influenced by a personal mysticism bordering on asceticism that he experienced during a 15-year retreat at Kahak, a village near Qum in Iran. Toward the end of his life, Mullā Sadrā returned to Shīrāz to teach. His teachings, however, were considered heretical by the orthodox Shī‘ah theologians, who persecuted him, though his powerful family connections permitted him to continue to write. He died on a pilgrimage to Mecca. [Trans.]

12. - See Sayyid Muḥammad Ḥusayn Ṭabāṭabā’ī, Al-Mīzān fī Tafsīr al-Qur’ān, vol. 2, under the commentary of Sūrah al-Baqarah 2:213. See also Murtaḍā Muṭahharī, Nubuwwat [Prophethood] in Majmū‘eh-ye Āthār [Anthology of Muṭahharī’s Works], vol. 4, p. 398.

13. - Sūrah Ṭā Ḥā 20:50. In this volume, the translation of Qur’anic passages is adapted from Sayyid ‘Alī Qulī Qarā’ī, The Qur’an with a Phrase-by-Phrase English Translation (London: Islamic College for Advanced Studies Press, 2004). [Trans.]

14. - Sūrah Naḥl 16:68.

15. - Sūrah Ṣād 38:27.

16. - Sūrah Mu’minūn 23:115.

17. - Sūrah An‘ām 6:91.

18. - Sūrah Hijr 15:28-29.

19. - Quoted in Marta Nusham (?), Aristotle, trans. ‘Izzat Allāh Fūlādvand, p. 99. It can be said that Aristotle alludes to those who say that man is flesh, skin and blood and nothing else, and the perfection of human life must be sought in the same animalistic life.

20. - Ibn Sīnā, Ash-Shifā, Theology Section, p. 44.

21. - For more information see Muṭahharī, Nubuwwat in Majmū‘eh-ye Āthār, vol. 4, pp. 351, 364.

22. - ‘Abd ar-Razzāq Lāhījī, Guzīdeh-ye Gūhar-e Murād, ed. Ṣamad Muwaḥḥid, p. 252.

23. - Sūrah Jum‘ah 62:2-3.

24. - The abbreviation, “s”, stands for the Arabic invocative phrase, sallallāhu ‘alayhi wa ālihi wa sallam [may God’s blessings and peace be upon him and his progeny], which is mentioned after the name of the Holy Prophet Muhammad (s). [Trans.]

25. - Uṣūl al-Kāfī, vol. 1, p. 168 (with slight modification).

26. - Nahj al-Balāghah (The Peak of Eloquence) is a collection of speeches, sayings and letters of the Commander of the Faithful, Imām ‘Alī ibn Abī ālib (‘a) compiled by Sharīf ar

Radī Muhammad ibn al-Husayn (d. 406&T AH/1016). The contents of the book concern the three essential topics of God, man and the universe, and include comments on scientific, literary, social, ethical, and political issues. With the exception of the words of the Glorious Qur’an and of the Holy Prophet (s), no words of man can equal it in eloquence. So far, more than 101 exegeses have been written on the Nahj al-Balāghah, indicating the importance of this treatise to scholars and learned men of research and investigation. For more information, visit: http://www.al-islam.org/nahjul. [Trans.]

27. - Syed ‘Ali Raza, Nahj al-Balāghah: The Peak of Eloquence (Qum: Foundation of Islamic Cultural Propagation in the World, 1995), Sermon 1. [Trans.]

28. - Sūrah Fāṭir (or al-Malā’ikah) 35:28.

29. - Risālah Hidāyah aṭ-Ṭālibiyyīn in the anthology of treatises of the great philosopher Ḥājj Mullā Hādī Sabziwārī, introduced and edited by Sayyid Jalāl Ashtiyānī, p. 10.

30. - Ian Barbour, ‘Ilm va Dīn [Science and Religion], trans. Bahā’uddīn Khurramshāhī, p. 305.

Ian G. Barbour (1923- ) is an American scholar of the relationship between science and religion whose 1989-91 Gifford Lectures yielded the widely recognized texts, Religion in an Age of Science (1990) and Ethics in an Age of Technology (1993). His earlier Issues in Science and Religion (1965), widely acclaimed as a groundbreaking volume, discussed the relationship of religious thought to the history, methods, and theories of science. As a physicist and theologian, Barbour was awarded the Templeton Prize in 1999 for Progress in Religion in recognition of his efforts to create a dialogue between the worlds of science and religion. [Trans.]

31. - Muṭahharī, Nubuwwat in Majmū‘eh-ye Āthār, vol. 4, p. 365. For in-depth discussion on the meaning of “necessity” with respect to God, see Sayyid Muḥammad Ḥusayn Ṭabāṭabā’ī, Al-Mīzān fī Tafsīr al-Qur’ān, vol. 14, p. 94.