Bidayah al-Hikmah (Arabic-English) [The Elements of Islamic Metaphysics]{Edited}

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Bidayah al-Hikmah (Arabic-English) [The Elements of Islamic Metaphysics]{Edited}

Bidayah al-Hikmah (Arabic-English) [The Elements of Islamic Metaphysics]{Edited}

Author:
Publisher: www.zainabzilullah.wordpress.com
English

This book is corrected and edited by Al-Hassanain (p) Institue for Islamic Heritage and Thought


Notice

We have taken this book from the www.zainabzilullah.wordpress.com, but regretfully she did not mention the translator's name. We compared its 5th Chapter's first page with the translation of Ali Quli Qarai, there was little difference, so we don't not know yet exactly whether it is translated by own or someone other. Meanwhile we have added some topics and numbers of Units on the first pages of every Chapter.

4.5. A THING DOES NOT EXIST UNLESS IT BECOMES NECESSARY

There is no doubt that the contingent, which is indifferent to both existence and non-existence, depends for its existence on that which is called the ‘cause,’ without which it cannot exist. Does the existence of the contingent depend on being necessitated by its cause, which makes it accidentally necessary, or does it come into existence by merely emerging out of the state of indifference (to existence and non-existence) without reaching the limit of necessity? The same question can be framed in regard to its non-existence. The ‘theory of preponderance’ (awlawiyyah) upholds the latter view. Its proponents classify ‘preponderance’ into essential and accidental. The former is said to be what is required by the quiddity and essence of a contingent. They further divide each of these kinds into that which is sufficient to actualize the contingent and that which is insufficient.

However, the idea of preponderance with all its divisions is a false notion.

As to ‘essential preponderance,’ the quiddity of a thing prior to its existence is a vacuity having no entity, so as to require any preponderance, sufficient or insufficient, in favour of its existence. In other words, quiddity as such is neither existent nor non-existent, nor is it anything else. As to accidental preponderance, which derives from the cause, it cannot bring the contingent out of its state of indifference as long as it does not reach the point of necessity. By itself it cannot determine the contingent’s existence or non-existence,’ and the question as to why this has actualized instead of that remains open, which proves that the cause is not yet complete.

To sum up, preponderance lies solely in the cause necessitating the existence or non-existence of the effect, in the sense that when the cause determines its existence its non-existence is impossible, and when the cause necessitates non-existence of the contingent, its existence does not become necessary. Hence a thing - that is a contingent - does not exist unless necessitated.

Conclusion

The aforementioned necessity is one that the contingent derives from its cause. It has another necessity attending its existence or non-existence. This necessity is called ‘necessity imposed by the predicate’ [i.e. existence or non-existence, in the present case].

Thus a contingent is bracketed by two kinds of necessity: prior and attendant.

الفصل السادس في معاني الإمكان

الإمكان المبحوث عنه هاهنا هو لا ضرورة الوجود و العدم بالنسبة إلى الماهية المأخوذة من حيث هي, و هو المسمى ب “الإمكان الخاص” و “الخاصي”.

و قد يستعمل الإمكان بمعنى سلب الضرورة عن الجانب المخالف, سواء كان الجانب الموافق ضروريا أو غير ضروري; فيقال: الشي‏ء الفلاني ممكن أي ليس بممتنع; و هو المستعمل في لسان العامة, أعم من الإمكان الخاص; و لذا يسمى “إمكانا عاميا” و “عاما”.

و قد يستعمل في معنى أخص من ذلك, و هو سلب الضرورات الذاتية و الوصفية و الوقتية; كقولنا: الإنسان كاتب بالإمكان, حيث إن الإنسانية لا تقتضي ضرورة الكتابة, و لم يؤخذ في الموضوع وصف يوجب الضرورة, و لا وقت كذلك; و تحقق الإمكان بهذا المعنى في القضية بحسب الاعتبار العقلي, بمقايسة المحمول إلى الموضوع, لا ينافي ثبوت الضرورة بحسب الخارج بثبوت العلة; و يسمى “الإمكان الأخص”.

و قد يستعمل بمعنى سلب الضرورة من الجهات الثلاث و الضرورة بشرط المحمول أيضا كقولنا “زيد كاتب غدا بالإمكان” و يختص بالأمور المستقبلة التي لم تتحقق بعد حتى يثبت فيها الضرورة بشرط المحمول و هذا الإمكان إنما يثبت بحسب الظن و الغفلة عن أن كل حادث مستقبل إما واجب أو ممتنع لانتهائه إلى علل موجبة مفروغ عنها و يسمى “الإمكان الاستقبالي”.

و قد يستعمل الإمكان بمعنيين آخرين:

أحدهما: ما يسمى الإمكان الوقوعي, و هو كون الشي‏ء بحيث لا يلزم من فرض وقوعه محال, أي ليس ممتنعا بالذات أو بالغير; و هو سلب الامتناع عن الجانب الموافق, كما أن الإمكان العام سلب الضرورة عن الجانب المخالف.

و ثانيهما: الإمكان الاستعدادي, و هو, كما ذكروه, نفس الاستعداد ذاتاً, و غيره اعتبارًا, فإن تهيؤ الشي‏ء لأن يصير شيئا آخر, له نسبة إلى الشي‏ء المستعِدّ, و نسبة إلى الشي‏ء المستعَدّ له; فبالاعتبار الأول يسمى “استعدادا” فيقال مثلا: النطفة لها استعداد أن تصير إنسانا; و بالاعتبار الثاني يسمى “الإمكان الاستعدادي” فيقال: الإنسان يمكن أن يوجد في النطفة.

و الفرق بينه و بين الإمكان الذاتي: أن الإمكان الذاتي, كما سيجي‏ء, اعتبار تحليلي عقلي يلحق الماهية المأخوذة من حيث هي, و الإمكان الاستعدادي صفة وجودية تلحق الماهية الموجودة فالإمكان الذاتي يلحق الماهية الإنسانية المأخوذة من حيث هي و الإمكان الاستعدادي يلحق النطفة الواقعة في مجرى تكون الإنسان.

و لذا كان الإمكان الاستعدادي قابلا للشدة و الضعف, فإمكان تحقق الإنسانية في العلقة أقوى منه في النطفة; بخلاف الإمكان الذاتي فلا شدة و لا ضعف فيه.

و لذا أيضا كان الإمكان الاستعدادي, يقبل الزوال عن الممكن, فإن الاستعداد يزول بعد تحقق المستعد له بالفعل; بخلاف الإمكان الذاتي فإنه لازم الماهية, هو معها حيثما تحققت.

و لذا أيضا كان الإمكان الاستعدادي, و محله المادة بالمعنى الأعم, يتعين معه الممكن المستعد له, كالإنسانية التي تستعد لها المادة; بخلاف الإمكان الذاتي الذي في الماهية, فإنه لا يتعين معه لها الوجود أو العدم.

و الفرق بين الإمكان الاستعدادي و الوقوعي: أن الاستعدادي إنما يكون في الماديات و الوقوعي أعم موردا.

4.6. SOME OTHER MEANINGS OF IMKÂN

The imkân discussed above is in the sense of non-necessity of existence or non-existence in relation to quiddity when taken as such. It is called al-imkân al-khâshsh or al-khâshshî (special possibility).

(i) However, the word imkân is also used in the sense of negation of necessity in relation to the contrary of something, irrespective of whether it be necessary or not. For example, when it is said that such and such a thing is possible, what is meant is that it is not impossible. In this common usage, imkân has a wider meaning than contingency. Hence it is called imkân âmm or âmmî (general possibility).

(ii) The word imkân is also used in a narrower sense than that of contingency to mean absence of the threefold logical necessities (darûrah). essential (dzâtiyyah), attributive (wasfiyyah) and time-bound (waqtiyyah). For instance, in the statement, ‘Man may be a writer,’ being human does not necessarily require the ability to write; nor is there a quality that may entail that such a necessity is subsumed in the subject, nor is any particular time associated with it that may entail such a necessity. Possibility, in this sense, arises in a proposition on account of a conceptual consideration wherein the predicate is related to the subject; it does not negate the actualization of necessity in the external world due to the actualization of the cause. Possibility in this sense is called al- imkân al-akhashsh (more special possibility).

(iii) Imkân is also used in the sense of absence of necessity imposed by predication and the absence of the three kinds of necessity mentioned above, as in the statement ‘Zayd may be a writer tomorrow.’ It pertains to circumstances pertaining to the future that have not yet occurred so that necessity imposed by the predicate may apply to them. This kind of possibility derives from conjecture and from inattention to the fact that every future event is either necessary or impossible because of its dependence on the presence or absence of its causes. This kind of possibility is called al- imkân al-istiqbâlî (future possibility).’

(iv) The word imkân is also used in two other senses. One of them is the so-called al-imkan al-wuqû’î (possibility of occurrence), which applies to a thing the assumption of whose occurrence does not entail an impossibility. That is, it is neither impossible in itself nor by virtue of something else. It involves a negation of impossibility in regard to the affirmative side of the proposition (e.g. in the proposition ‘A’s existence is possible,’ impossibility is negated in regard to A’s existence), whereas ‘general possibility’ involves a negation of necessity in regard to the converse side. (In the above proposition, the negation of necessity will be in regard to A’s non-existence.)

(v) The second is imkân al-isti’dâdî (potential), which, as mentioned by metaphysicians, is essentially a thing’s potential (e.g., the seed’s potential to become a tree), differing from it only in respect of consideration. The potential of a thing for becoming another thing can be considered in two ways: (i) in relation to the thing possessing that potential and (ii) in relation to that which it has the potential to become. In the first case, it is called ‘potential.’ Hence one may, for instance, say, ‘The embryo has the potential

to become a human being.’ In the second, it is called ‘possibility by virtue of potential (al-imkân al-isti’dâdî).’ Hence, in the above example, one may say, ‘It is possible for a human being to come forth from the embryo.’

Following are some points of difference between this kind of possibility and essential contingency (al-imkân al-dzâtî), which will be discussed in the next section:

(i) Essential contingency is a rational analytic concept (i’tibâr tahlîlî ‘aqlî) associated with quiddity qua quiddity, whereas ‘possibility by virtue of potential’ is an existential quality associated with an existing quiddity. Hence essential contingency is associated with man’s quiddity conceived as such, whereas possibility by virtue of potential is associated with the embryo in the process of becoming a human being.

(ii) Accordingly, possibility by virtue of potential is subject to various degrees of strength and weakness, as this possibility is greater in a developed foetus than one in the early stages, unlike essential contingency, which does not vary.

(iii) Also, possibility by virtue of potential can disappear with the disappearance of the potential after the thing actually becomes what it had the potential for, unlike essential contingency, which clings to quiddity and remains with it even when it is actualized.

(iv) Furthermore, possibility by virtue of potential is found in ‘matter,’ in its most general sense. This possibility determines the end product of the potential, like the human form determined by the potential of the matter (in the form of the embryo). On the contrary, essential contingency, which is associated with quiddity, does not determine its existence or non-existence.

The difference between ‘possibility by virtue of potential’ and ‘possibility of occurrence’ is that the former relates solely to material beings, while the latter applies to material as well as immaterial things.

الفصل السابع في أن الإمكان اعتبار عقلي, و أنه لازم للماهية

أما أنه اعتبار عقلي, فلأنه يلحق الماهية المأخوذة عقلا مع قطع النظر عن الوجود و العدم, و الماهية المأخوذة كذلك اعتبارية بلا ريب, فما يلحق بها بهذا الاعتبار كذلك بلا ريب; و هذا الاعتبار العقلي لا ينافي كونها بحسب نفس الأمر إما موجودة أو معدومة, و لازمه كونها محفوفة بوجوبين أو امتناعين.

و أما كونه لازما للماهية, فلأنا إذا تصورنا الماهية من حيث هي, مع قطع النظر عن كل ما سواها, لم نجد معها ضرورة وجود أو عدم, و ليس الإمكان إلا سلب الضرورتين, فهي بذاتها ممكنة. و أصل الإمكان و إن كان هذين السلبين, لكن العقل يضع لازم هذين السلبين, و هو استواء النسبة, مكانهما; فيعود الإمكان معنى ثبوتيا, و إن كان مجموع السلبين منفيا.

4.7. CONTINGENCY IS ESSENTIAL TO QUIDDITY

Contingency is a conceptual construct (i’tibâr ‘aqlî), for it is associated with quiddity as conceived by the intellect without taking existence or non-existence into account. Quiddity conceived in this manner is undoubtedly a conceptual construct; hence that which is associated with it is also undoubtedly a mental construct. However, being a conceptual construct does not preclude quiddity’s existence or non-existence in actual fact, nor does being bracketed by two necessities or impossibilities.

As to contingency being inseparable from quiddity, when we conceive quiddity as such without taking into account anything else, we do not find in it either the logical necessity of existence or that of non-existence. Contingency is nothing except negation of the two necessities. Hence quiddity is contingent in its essence. Although there are two negations involved here, the intellect substitutes them with their implication - that is, equality of relation to existence and non-existence - and thus contingency becomes a positive concept (ma‘nâ tsubûtiyyan) despite the negative import of the two negations.

الفصل الثامن في حاجة الممكن إلى العلة و ما هي علة احتياجه إليها؟

حاجة الممكن إلى العلة من الضروريات الأولية, التي مجرد تصور موضوعها و محمولها كاف في التصديق بها; فإن من تصور الماهية الممكنة المتساوية النسبة إلى الوجود و العدم, و تصور توقف خروجها من حد الاستواء إلى أحد الجانبين على أمر آخر يخرجها منه إليه لم يلبث أن يصدق به.

و هل علة حاجة الممكن إلى العلة هي الإمكان, أو الحدوث؟ الحق هو الأول, و به قالت الحكماء.

و استدل عليه بأن الماهية باعتبار وجودها ضرورية الوجود, و باعتبار عدمها ضرورية العدم, و هاتان الضرورتان بشرط المحمول, و ليس الحدوث إلا ترتب إحدى الضرورتين على الأخرى, فإنه كون وجود الشي‏ء بعد عدمه, و معلوم أن الضرورة مناط الغنى عن السبب و ارتفاع الحاجة, فما لم تعتبر الماهية بإمكانها لم يرتفع الوجوب, و لم تحصل الحاجة إلى العلة.

برهان آخر: إن الماهية لا توجد إلا عن إيجاد من العلة, و إيجاد العلة لها متوقف على وجوب الماهية المتوقف على إيجاب العلة, و قد تبين مما تقدم و إيجاب العلة متوقف على حاجة الماهية إليها و حاجة الماهية إليها متوقفة على إمكانها; إذ لو لم تمكن بأن وجبت أو امتنعت استغنت عن العلة بالضرورة; فلحاجتها توقف ما على الإمكان بالضرورة; و لو توقفت مع ذلك على حدوثها, و هو وجودها بعد العدم, سواء كان الحدوث علة و الإمكان شرطا, أو عدمه مانعا, أو كان الحدوث جزء علة و الجزء الآخر هو الإمكان, أو كان الحدوث شرطا, أو عدمه الواقع في مرتبته مانعا, فعلى أي حال يلزم تقدم الشي‏ء على نفسه بمراتب. و كذا لو كان وجوبها أو إيجاب العلة لها هو علة الحاجة بوجه.

فلم يبق إلا أن يكون الإمكان وحده علة للحاجة, إذ ليس في هذه السلسلة المتصلة المترتبة عقلا قبل الحاجة إلا الماهية و إمكانها.

و بذلك يندفع ما احتج به بعض القائلين بأن علة الحاجة إلى العلة هو الحدوث دون الإمكان, من أنه لو كان الإمكان هو العلة دون الحدوث, جاز أن يوجد القديم الزماني, و هو الذي لا أول لوجوده و لا آخر له; و معلوم أن فرض دوام وجوده يغنيه عن العلة, إذ لا سبيل للعدم إليه حتى يحتاج إلى ارتفاعه.

وجه الاندفاع: أن المفروض أن ذاته هو المنشأ لحاجته, و الذات محفوظة مع الوجود الدائم, فله على فرض دوام الوجود حاجة دائمة في ذاته, و إن كان مع شرط الوجود له بنحو الضرورة بشرط المحمول مستغنيا عن العلة, بمعنى ارتفاع حاجته بها.

و أيضا سيجي‏ء: أن وجود المعلول سواء كان حادثا أو قديما, وجود رابط, متعلق الذات بعلته, غير مستقل دونها; فالحاجة إلى العلة ذاتية ملازمة له.

4.8. THE CONTINGENT’S NEED FOR A CAUSE

The contingent’s need for a cause is one of the primary self-evident propositions, wherein the mere conception of the subject and the predicate is sufficient to affirm its validity. For if one were to conceive the contingent quiddity, which is equally related to existence and non-existence, and its dependence on something else for drawing it from this state of equality toward one of the two sides, one would affirm its need for a cause.

However, what is it that makes the contingent require a cause? Is it contingency, or is it coming into existence after being non-existent (hudûts)? The truth is that it is contingency, and this is the view of the philosophers.

An argument in favour of this view is that quiddity is necessarily existent when considered in relation to its existence, and necessarily non-existent when considered in relation to its non-existence, each of these necessities being conditioned by predicate; hudûts is nothing except one of these necessities followed by the other, for hudûts means a thing’s coming into existence after being non-existent. It is obvious that necessity is the criterion for the absence of need for a cause. Hence so long as quiddity is not conceived with its contingency, necessity does not disappear and the need for a cause does not actualize.

Another argument is that a quiddity does not come into existence unless brought into existence by the cause. Its being brought into existence by the cause depends on the quiddity’s existence becoming necessary, which again depends on its being necessitated by the cause. From what was said earlier, it becomes clear that the cause’s making its existence necessary depends on the quiddity’s need for it and the quiddity’s need for it depends on its contingency. For were it not contingent, and were it necessary or impossible, of necessity it would not need any cause. Hence its need depends necessarily on its contingency. Moreover, if it were to depend as well on its hudûts, i.e., its coming into existence after non-existence, that would entail a thing being prior to itself. To explain, irrespective of whether we consider hudûts as the cause and contingency as a condition; hudûts as the cause and non-existence of contingency as an obstacle; whether hudûts is considered as forming a part of the cause with contingency as the other part; whether we consider contingency as the cause and hudûts as a condition, or contingency; or something else, as the cause and the non-existence of hudûts as an obstacle, every one of these cases necessitates a thing preceding itself by several stages. The same is true of the case when its necessity or the cause’s necessitating it is assumed to be the reason for its need for a cause.

Hence there remains no alternative except to consider contingency as the sole ground of its need, for in this interlinked sequence there is no rational stage prior to the need except that of quiddity and its contingency.

On this basis, the argument offered by some theologians that the ground of the need for cause is huduth and not contingency, stands refuted. Their argument is that if the need for cause were due to contingency, the existence of entities without a beginning or end in time (al-qadîm al-zamânî) would be admissible. The assumption of their eternal existence exempts them from

the need for a cause, for it is never non-existent so as to be brought into existence by a cause.

The answer to this objection is as follows. The assumption is that it is a thing’s essence that is the source of the need for a cause, and it retains this essence throughout its eternal existence. If it is assumed to exist eternally, then its need for a cause, which inheres in its essence, will be eternal, though given the condition of existence by way of necessity conditioned by the predicate (al-darûrah bi syarth al-mahmûl) it would not require a cause in the sense of removal of the need for it.

Moreover, as will be discussed later on, the existence of an effect (wujûd al-ma’lûl), irrespective of whether it is eternal or comes into existence after being non-existent, is a relative existence (wujûd râbith) essentially dependent on its cause with no independence of its own. Hence the need for a cause is essential to it and inseparable from it.

الفصل التاسع الممكن محتاج إلى علته بقاء كما أنه محتاج إليها حدوثا

و ذلك: لأن علة حاجته إلى العلة إمكانه اللازم لماهيته, و هي محفوظة معه في حال البقاء, كما أنها محفوظة معه في حال الحدوث, فهو محتاج إلى العلة حدوثا و بقاء, مستفيض في الحالين جميعا.

برهان آخر: أن وجود المعلول -كما تكررت الإشارة إليه و سيجي‏ء بيانه- وجود رابط, متعلق الذات بالعلة, متقوم بها غير مستقل دونها; فحاله في الحاجة إلى العلة حدوثا و بقاء واحد و الحاجة ملازمة.

و قد استدلوا: على استغناء الممكن عن العلة في حال البقاء بأمثلة عامية; كمثال البناء و البناء, حيث إن البناء يحتاج في وجوده إلى البناء, حتى إذا بناه استغنى عنه في بقائه.

و ردّ: بأن البناء ليس علة موجدة للبناء: بل حركات يده علل مُعِدّة لحدوث الاجتماع بين أجزاء البناء; و اجتماع الأجزاء علة لحدوث شكل البناء, ثم اليبوسة علة لبقائه مدة يعتد بها.

خاتمة

قد تبين من الأبحاث السابقة: أن الوجوب و الإمكان و الامتناع كيفيات ثلاث لنسب القضايا; و أن الوجوب و الإمكان أمران وجوديان, لمطابقة القضايا الموجهة بهما للخارج مطابقة تامة بما لها من الجهة; فهما موجودان لكن بوجود موضوعهما لا بوجود منحاز مستقل, فهما كسائر المعاني الفلسفية, من الوحدة و الكثرة, و القدم و الحدوث, و القوة و الفعل, و غيرها, أوصاف وجودية موجودة للموجود المطلق, بمعنى كون الاتصاف بها في الخارج و عروضها في الذهن; و هي المسماة ب “المعقولات الثانية” باصطلاح الفلسفة.

و ذهب بعضهم إلى كون الوجوب و الإمكان موجودين في الخارج بوجود منحاز مستقل. و لا يعبؤ به. هذا في الوجوب و الإمكان, و أما الامتناع فهو أمر عدمي بلا ريب.

هذا كله بالنظر إلى اعتبار العقل الماهيات و المفاهيم موضوعات للأحكام; و أما بالنظر إلى كون الوجود هو الموضوع لها حقيقة لأصالته, فالوجوب: كون الوجود في نهاية الشدة قائما بنفسه مستقلا في ذاته على الإطلاق كما تقدمت الإشارة إليه; و الإمكان: كونه متعلق النفس بغيره متقوم الذات بسواه, كوجود الماهيات, فالوجوب و الإمكان وصفان قائمان بالوجود غير خارجين من ذات موضوعهما.

4.9. THE CONTINGENT NEEDS A CAUSE EVEN IN CONTINUANCE

The reason for the contingent’s need for a cause is contingency, which is inseparable from quiddity, and thac need remains with it in the state of continuance in the same way that it accompanies it while coming into existence (hudûts). Hence it needs the cause for coming into existence as well as for continuance, being dependent on it in both the states.

Another proof of it is that the existence of the effect, as mentioned repeatedly earlier and as will be explained further later on, is a relative existence, essentially dependent on the cause and subsisting through it, having no independence of its own. Hence its state of need for the cause is the same in coming into existence as well as continuance, being inseparable from it.

Those who consider the contingent’s need for a cause to lie in its hudûts have argued by advancing such commonplace analogies as that of a building and its builder, suggesting that the building needs the builder for coming into existence, but once it is built it does not need him for continuing to exist.

But the fact is that the builder is not the creative cause of the building. Rather the movements of his hands are the preparatory causes for bringing together the parts of the building. The bringing together of the parts is the cause for the coming into existence of the building’s form. Thereafter its continuance for any considerable period of time depends on its rigidity and resistance to destructive elements such as moisture, etc.

Conclusion

It becomes clear from the above discussions that necessity, contingency and impossibility are threefold modes for propositions and that necessity and contingency are existential features. That is because modal propositions completely correspond to external reality in respect of their mode. Hence the two are existent but their existence is implicit in their subject, not something separate and independent. Therefore, they are like other philosophical concepts such as unity and multiplicity, qidam and hudûts, potentiality and actuality, and so on, which are existential attributes that relate to absolute existence, in the sense that the attribution is there in external reality and their predication occurs in the mind. They are called ‘secondary’ intelligibles or concepts (ma‘qûlât al-tsâniyyah) in the terminology of philosophy.

Some thinkers have held that necessity and contingency exist externally as separate and independent existents. No serious notice need be taken of this opinion. This was concerning necessity and contingency; as to impossibility, there is no doubt that it is derives from non-existence.

The entire discussion above was from the viewpoint of the intellect’s consideration of quiddities and concepts as subjects in judgements. However, from the viewpoint of existence with its fundamental reality being the subject, necessity means: the being of existence at its ultimate strength, self-subsisting, and absolutely independent in itself, as pointed out earlier. Also contingency means: the essential dependence of an existent on something else that sustains it, as in the case of quiddities. Hence necessity

and contingency are two qualities that depend on existence, and they are not extraneous to the essence of their subjects.

المرحلة الخامسة في الماهية و أحكامها

و فيها ثمانية فصول

CHAPTER FIVE: Quiddity and Its Properties

8 Units

الفصل الأول الماهية من حيث هي ليست إلا هي

الماهية و هي ما يقال في جواب ما هو لما كانت تقبل الاتصاف بأنها موجودة أو معدومة أو واحدة أو كثيرة أو كلية أو فرد و كذا سائر الصفات المتقابلة كانت في حد ذاتها مسلوبة عنها الصفات المتقابلة.

فالماهية من حيث هي ليست إلا هي لا موجودة و لا لا موجودة و لا شيئا آخر و هذا معنى قولهم إن النقيضين يرتفعان عن مرتبة الماهية يريدون به أن شيئا من النقيضين غير مأخوذ في الماهية و إن كانت في الواقع غير خالية عن أحدهما بالضرورة.

فماهية الإنسان و هي الحيوان الناطق مثلا و إن كانت إما موجودة و إما معدومة لا يجتمعان و لا يرتفعان لكن شيئا من الوجود و العدم غير مأخوذ فيها فللإنسان معنى و لكل من الوجود و العدم معنى آخر و كذا الصفات العارضة حتى عوارض الماهية فلماهية الإنسان مثلا معنى و للإمكان العارض لها معنى آخر و للأربعة مثلا معنى و للزوجية العارضة لها معنى آخر.

و محصل القول إن الماهية يحمل عليها بالحمل الأولى نفسها و يسلب عنها بحسب هذا الحمل ما وراء ذلك.

5.1. QUIDDITY QUA ITSELF IS NOTHING BUT ITSELF

The quiddity of a thing is that which is mentioned in answer to the question, ‘What is it?’ As it is capable of accepting such attributes as ‘existent’ or ‘non-existent,’ ‘one’ or ‘many,’ ‘universal’ or ‘particular,’ and yields to other such opposite descriptions, it is devoid of all opposite attributes in the definition of its essence.

Therefore, quiddity qua itself is nothing but itself. It is neither existent nor non-existent, nor is it anything else. Hence the statement of the philosophers: “Both the contradictories are negated at the plane of quiddity.” It means that nothing pertaining to any of the contradictories is subsumed in the concept of quiddity, though in the external world of necessity, quiddity cannot be devoid of either of them.

Thus the quiddity of man, for instance, is ‘rational animal,’ and it is either existent or non-existent. These two attributes cannot be affirmed or negated of it simultaneously. However, the notion of existent or non-existent is not subsumed in the concept of ‘man,’ and hence ‘man’ has a meaning that is different from that of ‘existence’ or ‘non-existence.’ The same applies to accidental characteristics, even those that are predicable of quiddity. Hence the quiddity of ‘man,’ for instance, is one concept, and contingency, with which it is characterized, is another concept. ‘Four,’ for instance, is a concept different from that of ‘evenness,’ with which the former is characterized.

That which can be concluded from the above statements is that quiddity is predicated of itself with primary predication (al-haml al-awwalî ; as in the statement, ‘Man is a rational animal’) and in respect of this predication everything else is negated of it.

الفصل الثاني في اعتبارات الماهية و ما يلحق بها من المسائل

للماهية بالإضافة إلى ما عداها مما يتصور لحوقه بها ثلاث اعتبارات إما أن تعتبر بشرط شي‏ء أو بشرط لا أو لا بشرطي شي‏ء و القسمة حاصرة

أما الأول فإن تؤخذ بما هي مقارنة لما يلحق بها من الخصوصيات فتصدق على المجموع كالإنسان المأخوذ مع خصوصيات زيد فيصدق عليه.

و أما الثاني فإن يشترط معها أن لا يكون معها غيرها و هذا يتصور على قسمين أحدهما أن يقصر النظر في ذاتها و أنها ليست إلا هي و هو المراد من كون الماهية بشرط لا في مباحث الماهية كما تقدم و ثانيهما أن تؤخذ الماهية وحدها بحيث لو قارنها أي مفهوم مفروض كان زائدا عليها غير داخل فيها فتكون إذا قارنها جزء من المجموع مادة له غير محمولة عليه.

و أما الثالث فأن لا يشترط معها شي‏ء بل تؤخذ مطلقة مع تجويز أن يقارنها شي‏ء أو لا يقارنها.

فالقسم الأول هو الماهية بشرط شي‏ء و تسمى المخلوطة و القسم الثاني هو الماهية بشرط لا و تسمى المجردة و القسم الثالث هو الماهية لا بشرط و تسمى المطلقة.

و الماهية التي هي المقسم للأقسام الثلاثة هي الكلي الطبيعي و هي التي تعرضها الكلية في الذهن فتقبل الانطباق على كثيرين و هي موجودة في الخارج لوجود قسمين من أقسامها أعني المخلوطة و المطلقة فيه و المقسم محفوظ في أقسامه موجود بوجودها.

و الموجود منها في كل فرد غير الموجود منها في فرد آخر بالعدد و لو كان واحدا موجودا بوحدته في جميع الأفراد لكان الواحد كثيرا بعينه و هو محال و كان الواحد بالعدد متصفا بصفات متقابلة و هو محال.

5.2. DIFFERENT CONSIDERATIONS (I’TIBARAT) OF QUIDDITY

Quiddity can be considered in three different ways in relation to anything else that may be conceived as being associated with it. It may be considered either as being conditioned by something (bi syarthi shay’); with a negative condition (bi syarthi lâ, i.e. with the condition of being dissociated from something); or conceived in a non-conditioned manner (lâ bi syarth). This division is exhaustive.

In the first consideration it is taken along with some associated qualities so that it corresponds to the aggregate of them, such as where the quiddity of ‘man’ in combination with the attributes of a particular individual Zayd corresponds to him.

In the second consideration, there is a condition that it is not to be accompanied with anything else. There are two aspects to this consideration. In the first, one’s view is confined to quiddity qua itself and as nothing but itself. It was in this negatively conditioned sense (al-mahiyyah bi syarthi lâ) that we dealt with quiddity in the preceding chapter. In the second consideration, quiddity is taken alone, in the sense that any other assumed concept accompanying it would be extraneous and additional to it, whereupon quiddity would be part of the whole and ‘matter’ for it and incapable of being predicated of it (i.e. the whole).

In the third consideration, no condition accompanies quiddity, and it is taken in an absolute manner, wherein something may or may not accompany it.

In the first consideration, quiddity is called ‘mixed’ quiddity (makhlûthah), or ‘quiddity conditioned by something.’ In the second, it is called ‘divested quiddity’ or ‘negatively conditioned quiddity’ (mujarradah). In the third, it is called ‘absolute quiddity’ or ‘non-conditioned quiddity’ (muthlaqah). The quiddity of which these three kinds are sub-classes is the ‘natural universal’ (al-kullî al-thabî’i), which possesses universality in the mind and is capable of corresponding to a multiplicity of things. It exists in the external world, for two of its divisions, that is, ‘mixed’ and ‘absolute,’ exist there, and a class is preserved in its sub-classes and exists where its sub-classes are found.

However, its existence in any individual to which it corresponds is not numerically other than its existence in other individuals. For if something that is one were to exist despite its unity, in all individuals, what is one would be many, and what is numerically one would possess opposite qualities, both of which are impossible.

الفصل الثالث في معنى الذاتي و العرضي

المعاني المعتبرة في الماهيات المأخوذة في حدودها و هي التي ترتفع الماهية بارتفاعها تسمى الذاتيات و ما وراء ذلك عرضيات محمولة فإن توقف انتزاعها و حملها على انضمام سميت محمولات بالضميمة كانتزاع الحار و حملها على الجسم من انضمام الحرارة إليه و إلا فالخارج المحمول كالعالي و السافل.

و الذاتي يميز من غيره بوجوه من خواصه :

منها أن الذاتيات بينة لا تحتاج في ثبوتها لذي الذاتي إلى وسط

و منها أنها غنية عن السبب بمعنى أنها لا تحتاج إلى سبب وراء سبب ذي الذاتي فعله وجود الماهية بعينها علة أجزائها الذاتية.

و منها أن الأجزاء الذاتية متقدمة على ذي الذاتي.

و الإشكال في تقدم الأجزاء على الكل بأن الأجزاء هي الكل بعينه فكيف تتقدم على نفسها مندفع بأن الاعتبار مختلف فالأجزاء بالأسر متقدمة على الأجزاء بوصف الاجتماع و الكلية على أنها إنما سميت أجزاء لكون الواحد منها جزءا من الحد و إلا فالواحد منها عين الكل أعني ذي الذاتي.

5.3. THE MEANING OF ‘ESSENTIAL’ AND ‘ACCIDENTAL’

The concepts which enter into the definition of a certain quiddity, without which the quiddity cannot be conceived, are called its ‘essential parts’ or ‘essentials’ (al-dzâtiyyât, i.e. its genus and differentia). Any besides these are ‘accidental qualities’ (‘aradiyyât), which may be predicated of it. If their abstraction from a subject and their predication depends on their union with the subject, they are called ‘predicates by way of union’ (mahmulât bi al-dhamîmah), such as when ‘hotness’ is abstracted from a hot body and predicated of it by relating hotness to it. Otherwise they are called ‘extraneous to the subject’ (al-khârij al-mahmûl), such as ‘high’ and ‘low.’

There are certain properties that distinguish the ‘essentials’ from whatever is not such.

One of these properties is that the ‘essentials’ are self-evident and do not require any intermediary terms in order to be affirmed of that to which they belong.

A second property is that they do not require any cause (sabab), in the sense that they need no cause in addition to the cause of that to which they pertain. Hence the cause of a quiddity’s existence is itself the cause of its essentials.

A third property is that the essentials are prior to that to which they belong.

An objection has been set forth to the priority of the essentials. It says, “The parts are the same as the whole; how can they be prior to themselves?” It is refuted on the ground that the difference is that of consideration (i’tibâr); hence the parts taken individually are prior to parts when taken collectively and as making the whole. Moreover, they have been named ‘parts’ because each one of them is a part of the definition; otherwise, each of them is identical with the whole, of which it is an essential part.

الفصل الرابع في الجنس و الفصل و النوع و بعض ما يلحق بذلك

الماهية التامة التي لها آثار خاصة حقيقية من حيث تمامها تسمى نوعا كالإنسان و الفرس.

ثم إنا نجد بعض المعاني الذاتية التي في الأنواع يشترك فيه أكثر من نوع واحد كالحيوان المشترك بين الإنسان و الفرس و غيرهما كما أن فيها ما يختص بنوع كالناطق المختص بالإنسان و يسمى المشترك فيه جنسا و المختص فصلا و ينقسم الجنس و الفصل إلى قريب و بعيد و أيضا ينقسم الجنس و النوع إلى عال و متوسط و سافل و قد فصل ذلك في المنطق

ثم إنا إذا أخذنا ماهية الحيوان مثلا و هي مشترك فيها أكثر من نوع و عقلناها: بأنها جسم نام حساس متحرك بالإرادة جاز أن نعقلها وحدها بحيث يكون كل ما يقارنها من المفاهيم زائدا عليها خارجا من ذاتها و تكون هي مباينة للمجموع غير محمولة عليه كما أنها غير محمولة على المقارن الزائد كانت الماهية المفروضة مادة بالنسبة إلى ما يقارنها و علة مادية للمجموع و جاز أن نعقلها مقيسة إلى عدة من الأنواع كان نعقل ماهية الحيوان بأنها الحيوان الذي هو إما إنسان و إما فرس و إما بقر و إما غنم فتكون ماهية ناقصة غير محصلة حتى ينضم إليها فصل أحد تلك الأنواع فيحصلها نوعا تاما فتكون هي ذلك النوع بعينه و تسمى الماهية المأخوذة بهذا الاعتبار جنسا و الذي يحصله فصلا.

و الاعتباران في الجزء المشترك جاريان بعينهما في الجزء المختص و يسمى بالاعتبار الأول صورة و يكون جزءا لا يحمل على الكل و لا على الجزء الآخر و بالاعتبار الثاني فصلا يحصل الجنس و يتمم النوع و يحمل عليه حملا أوليا.

و يظهر مما تقدم أولا أن الجنس هو النوع مبهما و أن الفصل هو النوع محصلا و النوع هو الماهية التامة من غير نظر إلى إبهام أو تحصيل.

و ثانيا أن كلا من الجنس و الفصل محمول على النوع حملا أوليا و أما النسبة بينهما أنفسهما فالجنس عرض عام بالنسبة إلى الفصل و الفصل خاصة بالنسبة إليه.

و ثالثا أن من الممتنع أن يتحقق جنسان في مرتبة واحدة و كذا فصلان في مرتبة واحدة لنوع لاستلزام ذلك كون نوع واحد نوعين.

و رابعا أن الجنس و المادة متحدان ذاتا مختلفان اعتبارا فالمادة إذا أخذت لا بشرط كانت جنسا كما أن الجنس إذا أخذ بشرط لا كان مادة و كذا الصورة فصل إذا أخذت لا بشرط كما أن الفصل صورة إذا أخذ بشرط لا.

و اعلم أن المادة في الجواهر المادية موجودة في الخارج على ما سيأتي و أما الأعراض فهي بسيطة غير مركبة في الخارج ما به الاشتراك فيها عين ما به الامتياز و إنما العقل يجد فيها مشتركات و مختصات فيعتبرها أجناسا و فصولا ثم يعتبرها بشرط لا فتصير مواد و صورا عقلية.

Chapter Two: Holy Women in Holy Texts

One of the most important goals of comparative religion is not simply to detail historical similarities and differences in religious systems but to discover new ways of understanding them.1 To that end scholars often assign categories or topical classifications to specific cultural elements, for example, ritual, myth, or mysticism.2 Hagiography and gender also serve as comparative categories, although they pose a set of unique problems.

Employing hagiography as a comparative tool is difficult first and foremost because of the debate over how to define this genre, as well as use it as source material. Hagiography in its broadest sense is symbolic literature that presents the holy (Greek, hagios) to both popular and elite audiences in a variety of forms.3 Medieval hagiographies were read aloud, memorized, proliferated by scholars, and displayed in pictorial or symbolic compositions for the illiterate population.4 In written, oral, and visual form, hagiographies praised the virtues and damned the vices of heroic persons set forth as didactic exempla; yet these texts reviewed the miraculous happenings involving more than just holy people. Hagiography celebrated sacred locales, architectural structures, and holy objects: early Christian hagiographers, for example, popularized Jerusalem as a holy site, the Holy Sepulcher as a holy structure, and bits of the true cross as holy relics.5 Jerusalem was not unique in this respect; almost every Christian town publicized its local saint’s site. Shi`ite communities likewise celebrated the Imams’ lives by recounting their miracles and visiting their shrines.6 Holiness in one form or another permeated the learning and the physical landscape of medieval life for both Christians and Shi`ite Muslims.

As literature intended to depict cultural ideals symbolically, hagiography is a complex genre in terms of both substance and agenda. On the surface hagiography appears biographical and descriptive; it speaks of life and death, joy and suffering. However, it was not intended primarily to preserve and communicate a historical kernel of truth or recount an objective chronicle of events. Gregory of Tours opted to name his hagiographic collection “Life [Vita] of the Fathers” rather than “Lives [Vitae] of the Fathers.” Gregory explained that “there is a diversity of merits and virtues among [the saints], but the one life of the body sustains them all in this world.”7 In Gregory’s compendium the saints’ differences and distinctions disappear as he reveals the underlying holiness that unites them all.

Hagiography is thus fundamentally didactic: it edifies through exemplary displays of piety and holiness; it promulgates sacred narratives and then explains the moral and theological imperatives embedded in them; and it models proper modes of ritual and other cultic practices. Hagiographic discourse aims to resurrect and then reconstruct for its audience examples of holiness or ideal modes of being intended for pious imitation. With this functionalist definition of hagiography in mind, scholars should expect that any hagiographic tradition would be radically determined by the canon of values, beliefs, and authoritative texts particular to the cultural context from which it emerges. This certainly holds true for early Christian and Islamic hagiographic texts, which reflect their (sometimes) radically different ideals of the holy.

Hagiography also includes idealizations of masculine and feminine piety that modern readers might find distressingly misogynistic. Literate men mostly constructed these gender paradigms as very few texts by women exist. These male-authored texts provide the only substantive view of women (and expectations of women) in early Christian and Shi`ite religious communities. By using gender as a point of comparison, it becomes clear that theologians and hagiographers in both traditions limit holy women’s miraculous actions and proscribe holy women’s miraculous bodies to the domestic sphere.

Medieval and Modern Audiences: Christianity Late antique and early medieval Christian hagiographers transformed their saintly characters and sacred landscapes in accordance with Greco-

Roman and biblical formulas.8 Some of the most influential early Christian hagiographies sprang from Syria and Egypt during the fourth and fifth centuries.9 These texts applauded the efforts of holy men and women who surrendered mundane existence for a higher, angelic life. The era of Christian martyrs had all but ended as Roman emperors legalized Christianity throughout the empire. As martyrs became increasingly unnecessary, ascetics supplied another model of Christian heroism: they mortified their bodies and sought to transcend the problems of the flesh as they struggled against their spiritual enemy, Satan, and his demonic forces.10

Bishop Athanasius of Alexandria (d. 373) constructed one of the most important Christian hagiographies in his Life of Anthony, an Egyptian recluse who haunted nearby deserts and caves.11 Athanasius describes a vicarious martyr, guarding the periphery of human existence against evil while struggling against his interior lusts and desires. In the end Anthony provides his audience with a new Christ figure who prays in the desert, casts out demons, heals the sick, and raises the dead.12 Anthony’s hagiographer produces a hero-hermit much like the biblical Elijah, reconstructed in the fourth century, intended to model the miracles and grace of Christ. Indeed, one of the greatest signs of sanctity was imitatio Christi (the imitation of Christ) wherein holy men and women performed Christ’s miracles after symbolically sharing in his suffering by means of ascetic feats.

As Christianity expanded from the Syrian and Greek East to the Gallo-Roman/Latin West, hagiographers encountered a new audience.13 It proved difficult if not impossible to transform urban Gaul into a physical wasteland of caves and demon-inhabited deserts. Western hagiographers thus created a spiritual desert and challenged the Roman elite and Mediterranean nobility to convert to Christianity and to live as Christ through renunciation of wealth and status. Women proved particularly important in this newly imagined desert as the viable patrons of the church who gladly distributed their Roman patrimony among ecclesiastical authorities.14 Hagiographers in Gaul expressed innovative ideals of holiness for a new constituency of sinners.

The fourth-century author Sulpicius Severus created perhaps the most influential hagiography in early medieval Gaul. His Life of Martin of Tours transformed a Roman soldier known for his valor into an Old Testament prophet, traveling and preaching throughout Gaul, who only reluctantly accepted the bishop’s office of Tours.15 Martin’s life became the hallmark of Western hagiography: the loyal Roman citizen forsakes his mundane wealth to serve his heavenly king. Martin, in typical fashion, healed the sick, exorcised the demon possessed, and practiced profound charity and kindness. At the same time, he assumed the bishop’s mantle and dutifully acknowledged the church’s authority. The hagiographer modified his wandering holy man at first reminiscent of the eastern Anthony into a stable bishop ever mindful of his parish and his flock. A pious Christian but also a good Roman, Martin embodied the ideals of hierarchy and structure.16

Merovingian hagiographers inherited the model of Martin and effectively blended their new bishops with this very Roman ideal: Frankish clergy promoted order and hierarchy within both church and state. Merovingian hagiographers were aware also of the saint cults that proliferated throughout Gaul as they addressed popular audiences who increasingly committed themselves to local saints, both living and dead. Merovingian hagiography thus served a pastoral purpose, aimed directly at teaching and educating a general constituency about the developing protocols for the veneration of saints.

Linguists in particular first recognized the pastoral function of Merovingian texts by their distinctive Latin vocabulary: the language is both colloquial and active.17 Merovingian hagiographers focused on how to venerate local holy figures and what miraculous results might be expected. They provided models instructing pious petitioners to gather remnants from the cells of saints such as ash, candle wax, or oil; through these contact relics, miraculous healing followed and the saints’ fame spread.18 These instructive texts compare dramatically with the later Carolingian hagiographies intended for monastic use; Carolingian Latin indicates more interior action such as meditation and prayer.19 In contrast, Merovingian hagiography speaks to a nonmonastic audience, defining innovative notions of holiness associated with the spread of saint veneration.

There is considerable disagreement among modern scholars of medieval Christianity as to what to do with hagiography as a source. European intellectuals generally scoffed at Christian hagiographic sources during the Enlightenment period. Scholars of the ancient world such as David Hume and Edward Gibbon dismissed hagiography as an irrational literature confined to the lower classes that recounted fanciful miracle stories and fantastic displays of a misnamed polytheism.20 Beginning only in the 1930s, scholars and theologians began to mine hagiography for details about life, society, and intellectual history. Hippolyte Delehaye and the Bollandists, a group of Jesuit priests dedicated to recovering and categorizing hagiographies, led this movement, although much of their work still attempted to separate the factual from the spurious, the believable from the unbelievable.21

During the past two decades, hagiologers have generally disregarded the fact or fiction debate and gleaned information about cultural milieus and gender roles from holy texts.22 Most scholars now agree that hagiography was not just a literature intended for a lay, mostly illiterate population; instead, wealthy and poor audiences alike shared a hagiographic corpus that greatly defined their experiences. This literature provided the system of cultural symbols that united western Christendom.

Medieval and Modern Audiences: Islam

Early Shi`ite hagiography reveals an equally dynamic symbolic system at least during the late eighth and ninth century. Shi`ite notions of power and authority increasingly considered `Ali and Fatima’s descendants Imams responsible for their community’s spiritual guidance. Hagiographies explained the Imams’ miraculous births, their infallible lives, and their sublime wisdom. These models of holiness inspired ritual activities surrounding the Imams’ tombs and shrines. Shi`ite hagiographers, for example, encouraged devotees to visit holy places on pilgrimages (ziyara).23 Most Shi`ites turned their attention to the shrine of Husayn, `Ali and Fatima’s son who died a martyr’s death at Karbala. Husayn’s body was interred at Karbala, but tradition also placed his head at Karbala, Damascus, Najaf, and Cairo.24 All these locales remain important pilgrimage sites where Shi`ites venerate their third Imam.

Locating the mainstream notion of sanctity is more difficult in Islam than in early Christianity. Many Muslim theologians avoid the elevated designation of sainthood, stressing instead that every individual maintains direct access to Allah, thus disallowing the need for a saintly intercessor.25 Qur’an 39.44 declares, “To Allah belongs exclusively the right to grant intercession. To Him belongs the dominion of the heavens and the earth: in the end, it is to Him that you shall be brought back.” Thus in Islam no centralized clergy propagates and authorizes a genre of literature akin to Christianity’s saints’ lives. Saintly canonization is almost completely within the province of hagiographers and reader response to their products (both oral and written).

Medieval Muslims nonetheless maintained a definite notion of holiness (wilaya) and disseminated those sacred ideals through their own, distinct forms of hagiography. These sacred collections included biographies of the Prophet, battlefield accounts, or, for Shi`ites, descriptions of the Imams and their miraculous powers. The earliest known biography of the Prophet, for example, resembled early Christian tales of desert saints.26 Bedouin tribes on the edges of the Arabian peninsula certainly were familiar with Christian veneration of desert holy men and their miracles: historical records indicate that they shared the same deserts and caves as Christian hermits, witnessed their fame, and heard about their miraculous powers. The Prophet’s biographer cast him as a functioning holy man to his community: Muhammad healed the sick, provided righteous judgments, and multiplied food.27 Many of the Prophet’s friends and family described in the biographical materials also served as pious models intended for emulation and edification.

While Muslim hagiography might vary in intent and audience - for example, some collections, qisas al-anbiya, or “Tales of the Prophets,” featured miracle stories of the same prophets shared by Jews, Christians, and Muslims - most of it has the same format. Accounts of holiness are usually recorded as hadith, one of two genres of sacred texts in Islam, the other being the Qur’an.

Like Christianity, Islam is a religion of the book and reveres a sacred and revealed scripture. The Qur’an confers the direct revelation of Allah through his final messenger, Muhammad. The holy text describes humanity’s virtues and vices, directs the actions of the community (umma), and offers a glimpse of an impending apocalypse.28 It also presents a series of prophets and holy men and women for pious Muslims to imitate.29

The hadith collections advance their own notions of holiness. Hadith (used here as a collective noun; the proper plural is ahadith) are traditions that relate back to the Prophet Muhammad’s own lifetime, describing his actions and utterances as well as those of his friends, family, and other contemporaries.30 The hadith literature functions as hagiography when read as a means of resurrecting a pristine past and endowing Muslims with models of holiness and virtue. Read in this way, hadith literature allows scholars and others to eavesdrop on the earliest Muslim community: the Prophet’s lifestyle and the faithfulness of his friends and family (and the perfidy of his enemies), and directives and patterns outside the Qur’anic framework. Taken together the Qur’an and hadith (the “trodden path,” or sunna), provide models for emulation; scholarly exegesis (tafsir) then attempts to explain and contextualize the sunna so that pious Muslims may follow them.

Islamicists approach hadith literature as carefully as medievalists approach Christian hagiography, and this is not a recent methodological problem. Medieval Muslims themselves devoted an entire science to proving or disproving hadith authenticity. To do this they focused most strenuously on the chain of transmitters, or isnad. The hadith consists of two parts: the tradition itself (matn) and a detailed list of individuals who observed or transmitted the Prophet’s advice or actions (isnad). Scholars and linguists identified the transmitters, reconciled their death dates with times of transmission, and located the hadith in an elaborate spectrum of categories ranging from sound (sahih) to weak (da`if), from precious (`aziz) to forged (mawdu`).

Medieval hadith collections contributed more than personal models of piety and words of wisdom from the Prophet. The central role of hadith was to lay the foundation of Islamic law: Islamic jurisprudence (fiqh) carefully reasoned what was obligatory (fard), recommended (mandub), neutral (mubah), reprehensible (makruh), and forbidden (haram). By the late ninth and early tenth century, Islamic scholars generally accepted as canonical the six rigorously scrutinized compendia composed by separate hadith critics: al-Bukhari, Muslim, Ibn Da’ud, al-Tirmidhi, al-Nisa’i, and Ibn Hanbal. Other scholars compiled their own hadith collections, but these six became the pillars of Sunni piety and law.

Shi`ite Muslims, on the other hand, esteem additional hadith collections as authoritative.31 The Shi`ites value above all the traditions that relate back to the Prophet’s family. For Twelver Shi`ites, this includes the twelve Imams, among them `Ali himself. Since the Shi`a regarded `Ali and the Imams as Muhammad’s rightful successors, they gathered accounts of the Imams’ deeds and sayings for both political and spiritual guidance.32

Shi`ites maintain that `Ali and Fatima’s descendants, beginning with their sons Hasan and Husayn, became the sources of true spiritual sustenance to the Islamic community. According to one tradition, Husayn (quoted by Ja`far al-Sadiq, the sixth Imam) proclaimed:

“God created His servants solely that they might know Him, for when they know Him they worship Him and thus free themselves from the worship of anything that is not Him.” Someone then asked: “What is knowledge of God?” “It is, for the people of each age, knowledge of the Imam to whom they owe obeisance.” 33

For Shi`ites recognition of and dependence on the Imams equaled knowledge of God himself. It was irrelevant if the ruling Umayyad or `Abbasid dynasty acknowledged the Imams as the community’s rightful leaders. Allah required the Shi`a itself to identify the Imam and maintain his sublime teachings through its collective memories and records.

Many Shi`ite hadith collections function, therefore, as a form of political and spiritual rhetoric explaining the cosmological link between the Prophet’s beloved family and the community.34 These hadith demonstrate the Shi`a’s sublime authority in heaven even if it is not always recognized on earth.35 They also offer adoptive membership into the ahl al-bayt for those who recognize the Imam’s authority. The hadith function as hagiography because they outline a mode of holiness (acceptance into the family), reveal moral and theological imperatives (allegiance to the family), and supply holy models to imitate (the prophets, Imams, and early community members). Like Merovingian hagiography, hadith reconstruct a sacred past in their own dynamically changing context to promote a new identity, namely, the identification of the Imams and an evolving Shi`ism as it distinguished itself from Sunni Islam.

As in Christian hagiography, there exist equally contentious debates about how to use hadith as hagiography. Many Muslims view the Prophet Muhammad with esteem and adoration and therefore strive to achieve a real view of him and his community. Hadith accepted as authentic are windows into that reality and afford a genuine depiction of the Prophet. Many Muslim scholars maintain the historicity of hadith transmission and argue that the earliest community assured hadith veracity. These scholars admit that hadith evolved from an oral to a written genre, but they also insist that skilled, literate scholars held the transmissions to high standards of authentication.36

The question of veracity has plagued non-Muslim and secular scholars as well. Since the early twentieth century some Islamicists have recognized that formally written hadith compilations only circulated in the late eighth century. They have argued that these hadith reveal more about eighth-century life than about Muhammad’s own community.37 This approach fundamentally questions the hadith’s reliability as a historical source for the earliest Islamic period; and, for Muslims, this critique challenges hadith as an authoritative source of sublime direction and models of piety. Other Islamicists have forged a middle ground: hadith reflect the Prophet’s own lifetime, but the standardized method of transmission and compilation must be dated much later. According to this argument, it remains impossible to demonstrate absolutely the hadith’s historicity.38

I avoid the question of hadith veracity altogether; instead of expecting the hadith to betray an objective historical reality, I see them as revealing important cultural symbols and notions of holiness relevant to their medieval audiences.39 If hadith were deemed important enough to copy, memorize, and scrutinize, then they must disclose valuable clues about the community that treasured them. Even the more obscure, “weak” hadith that “sound” compendia often fail to include are important; they help to recapture the evolutionary nature of Muslim identity by revealing the developing hagiographic tradition. As in Christianity, theology and religious identity evolved over the centuries as leaders, theologians, and scholars formulated and answered questions important for their nascent communities. Even those hadith that were later rejected or considered spurious by Shi`ite scholars reflect the stages of that evolutionary process.

Classical Shi`ite sources are especially difficult to date and ascribe to specific compilers. Although the hadith format provides lists of transmitters, the editors themselves sometimes evade designation. Some extant compendia do give the names of editor and author, such as the tenth-century Kitab al-Irshad (Book of Guidance into the Lives of the Twelve Imams) by Shaykh al-Mufid. Other hadith survive only in later compilations such as that of the seventeenth - century Safavid scholar Muhammad Baqir al-Majlisi, Bihar al-anwar (Sea of Lights). Although this collection is rather late, it is indispensable to scholars of Shi`ite Islam.

With the help of scholars such as al-Majlisi, the seventeenth-century Safavids of Persia launched a prolific religious campaign against Sunni and Sufi piety.40 Al-Majlisi’s job as a member of the `ulama´ was to collect and distribute hadith that illustrated Shi`ite identity and the holy family’s election since before created time. He intended his collections to serve as a type of propaganda, popularizing a legalistic form of Twelver Shi`ism while disavowing Sunnism and some Sufi orders. He was the first scholar to translate a large number of hadith collections, theologies, and histories into Persian for greater availability to a general audience.

Al-Majlisi’s collection is important for another reason: it includes both the widely accepted, sound hadith and the potentially spurious (or weak) traditions. For example, al-Majlisi repeated many of the earliest Shi`ite sources from al-Kulayni and Ibn Babawayh, renowned tenth-century Shi`ite scholars,41 some of which are extant only through his encyclopedic collection. But he also chose hadith that were not included in ordinary compilations of Shi`ite texts. Because of this broad inclusiveness, some scholars doubt its historical veracity. (One colleague referred to the Bihar al-anwar as the “great trash heap of Shi`ite traditions.”)42 Because al-Majlisi cast such a wide net in collecting his hadith, he provides scholars with an opportunity to view Shi`ism as it developed and blossomed throughout the classical and medieval periods.

Al-Majlisi quite naturally focused on the Prophet’s family and particularly his daughter Fatima to prove Shi`ite Islam’s superiority over Sunnism and Sufi sm. The traditions range from those of the most mystical bent (which define the holy family in terms of pure light with absolute knowledge)43 to those of more practical application (which define the twelfth Imam as the source of all spiritual authority).

This grand collection of hadith also certainly added authority to al-Majlisi’s own position. According to Twelver doctrine, the twelfth Imam, Muhammad al-Mahdi, did not die but went into a sublime hiding, or occultation. During this period of hiddenness, the Shi`ite community relies on the scholars to discern the Imam’s justice. Al-Majlisi was just such a scholar who implicitly designated himself as one of the twelfth Imam’s spokesmen until the final, apocalyptic return. Through his hadith compilations, al-Majlisi justified his own political station while constructing a hagiographic edifice praising the holy family’s spiritual status.44

Sources and Gender

As Merovingian Christians and Shi`ite Muslims sought to make sense of their world and to delineate their place in it, they devised and articulated dynamic notions of holiness. For the people of Gaul, the changes in their world involved the political transition from late Roman to Merovingian rule and the spiritual acculturation to a new, unifying Christendom. Shi`ite communities, in many cases bereft of political ascendancy because of a Sunni majority (except for a brief interim in the mid-tenth century), articulated their unique cosmology and loyalties to the Imam and the holy family. In both these cases, discussions of sanctity in hagiographic sources betray both theological and political agendas. On closer examination it becomes clear that gender expectations and the introduction of feminine ideals signaled radical changes in society as well. Both Christian and Muslim cultures supported and preserved the literary products of a male elite, which constructed paradigms of community and holiness via women, in particular Mary and Fatima.

Most extant Christian texts from late antiquity originate from the ecclesiastical sphere. Theologians such as Ambrose, Augustine, and Jerome charted the twists and turns Christian theology would take in terms of asceticism, ideals of marriage, the Trinitarian debate, and the path of Christ’s church (ecclesia).45 Late antique authors both reflected and refuted beliefs about the Virgin Mary popularized by anonymous, apocryphal texts. They absorbed, for example, the precept of Mary’s perpetual virginity (both before, during, and after Christ’s birth), yet some cautioned against Mary’s Immaculate Conception, or birth free from sin.46 Marian theology, and Christian theology in general, was only slowly evolving.

The early Middle Ages yield a wider variety of sources, although most still come from the ecclesiastical sphere: church councils left records of decisions and debate; bishops wrote histories of their bishoprics (which were more like family trees); priests and popes wrote hagiographies;47 and holy men crafted monastic rules for female religious to follow. One of the most prolific authors of Merovingian Gaul was Gregory of Tours; he provided a veritable who’s who among Merovingian bishops in his Ten Books of History and numerous hagiographies of male and female saints.48 In early Christian hagiography, few texts written by women survive, and only one of those has a self-identified female author (Baudonivia, who wrote her saint’s life only to complement an earlier redaction by a man, Fortunatus).49 Scholars suspect other works might be written by women, especially nuns who had firsthand knowledge of their saint-abbesses.50 In most cases male clergy wrote about women.

A similar case arises in classical Islam. Women may have lent considerable time, faith, and even wealth to their respective traditions, but they remained largely silent in the sources. Muslim women’s social expectations depended largely on the geographic locale and ruling elite; yet in most cases women played a sizable role in the establishment of schools and the transmission of knowledge. Like female patrons of Christianity, wealthy wives and mothers commissioned schools and donated land for educational institutions, and with those same sources of wealth, many women acquired personal tutors and received competitive educations.51 Also as with Christianity, tradition largely circumscribed women’s practical role in the public classroom as teachers or students; modes of formal education, including Qur’anic studies, remained confined to males.52 Any formal training or introduction to Islamic jurisprudence and hadith studies also remained a mostly masculine domain.

Although Muslim scholars restricted women from formal educations, they did not release them from the burden of learning and studying the hadith and models of holiness. Theoretically, women bore the same responsibility as men to understand and follow Islamic teaching. Hadith scholars even recognized several women of the early community as worthy transmitters. Many of these women, such as `A’isha, the Prophet’s youngest wife, lived with Muhammad and had intimate dealings with him. These women like none other could transmit information about the Prophet’s actions, words, and directives because of their association in the domestic sphere.53 Women’s official roles largely ended in the domestic sphere, however; while many women acted as hadith transmitters, there are no extant compilations by female scholars and no information about them. Thus our medieval sources are once again written by men about women.

In these male-authored medieval texts about women, gender, and holiness, hagiographers and theologians transformed Mary and Fatima into champions for their pious agenda. Mary marked the boundaries between Christianity and heresy; Fatima led her family to paradise and consigned her enemies to hell. Both communities fashioned a view of piety, politics, and family by manipulating traditional gender roles while still assigning their heroines to the domestic sphere as miraculous mothers and virgins. Today’s readers might be tempted to dismiss much of the hagiographers’ works as too proscriptive if not blatantly misogynistic, but closer examination reveals a more complex agenda.

Chapter Two: Holy Women in Holy Texts

One of the most important goals of comparative religion is not simply to detail historical similarities and differences in religious systems but to discover new ways of understanding them.1 To that end scholars often assign categories or topical classifications to specific cultural elements, for example, ritual, myth, or mysticism.2 Hagiography and gender also serve as comparative categories, although they pose a set of unique problems.

Employing hagiography as a comparative tool is difficult first and foremost because of the debate over how to define this genre, as well as use it as source material. Hagiography in its broadest sense is symbolic literature that presents the holy (Greek, hagios) to both popular and elite audiences in a variety of forms.3 Medieval hagiographies were read aloud, memorized, proliferated by scholars, and displayed in pictorial or symbolic compositions for the illiterate population.4 In written, oral, and visual form, hagiographies praised the virtues and damned the vices of heroic persons set forth as didactic exempla; yet these texts reviewed the miraculous happenings involving more than just holy people. Hagiography celebrated sacred locales, architectural structures, and holy objects: early Christian hagiographers, for example, popularized Jerusalem as a holy site, the Holy Sepulcher as a holy structure, and bits of the true cross as holy relics.5 Jerusalem was not unique in this respect; almost every Christian town publicized its local saint’s site. Shi`ite communities likewise celebrated the Imams’ lives by recounting their miracles and visiting their shrines.6 Holiness in one form or another permeated the learning and the physical landscape of medieval life for both Christians and Shi`ite Muslims.

As literature intended to depict cultural ideals symbolically, hagiography is a complex genre in terms of both substance and agenda. On the surface hagiography appears biographical and descriptive; it speaks of life and death, joy and suffering. However, it was not intended primarily to preserve and communicate a historical kernel of truth or recount an objective chronicle of events. Gregory of Tours opted to name his hagiographic collection “Life [Vita] of the Fathers” rather than “Lives [Vitae] of the Fathers.” Gregory explained that “there is a diversity of merits and virtues among [the saints], but the one life of the body sustains them all in this world.”7 In Gregory’s compendium the saints’ differences and distinctions disappear as he reveals the underlying holiness that unites them all.

Hagiography is thus fundamentally didactic: it edifies through exemplary displays of piety and holiness; it promulgates sacred narratives and then explains the moral and theological imperatives embedded in them; and it models proper modes of ritual and other cultic practices. Hagiographic discourse aims to resurrect and then reconstruct for its audience examples of holiness or ideal modes of being intended for pious imitation. With this functionalist definition of hagiography in mind, scholars should expect that any hagiographic tradition would be radically determined by the canon of values, beliefs, and authoritative texts particular to the cultural context from which it emerges. This certainly holds true for early Christian and Islamic hagiographic texts, which reflect their (sometimes) radically different ideals of the holy.

Hagiography also includes idealizations of masculine and feminine piety that modern readers might find distressingly misogynistic. Literate men mostly constructed these gender paradigms as very few texts by women exist. These male-authored texts provide the only substantive view of women (and expectations of women) in early Christian and Shi`ite religious communities. By using gender as a point of comparison, it becomes clear that theologians and hagiographers in both traditions limit holy women’s miraculous actions and proscribe holy women’s miraculous bodies to the domestic sphere.

Medieval and Modern Audiences: Christianity Late antique and early medieval Christian hagiographers transformed their saintly characters and sacred landscapes in accordance with Greco-

Roman and biblical formulas.8 Some of the most influential early Christian hagiographies sprang from Syria and Egypt during the fourth and fifth centuries.9 These texts applauded the efforts of holy men and women who surrendered mundane existence for a higher, angelic life. The era of Christian martyrs had all but ended as Roman emperors legalized Christianity throughout the empire. As martyrs became increasingly unnecessary, ascetics supplied another model of Christian heroism: they mortified their bodies and sought to transcend the problems of the flesh as they struggled against their spiritual enemy, Satan, and his demonic forces.10

Bishop Athanasius of Alexandria (d. 373) constructed one of the most important Christian hagiographies in his Life of Anthony, an Egyptian recluse who haunted nearby deserts and caves.11 Athanasius describes a vicarious martyr, guarding the periphery of human existence against evil while struggling against his interior lusts and desires. In the end Anthony provides his audience with a new Christ figure who prays in the desert, casts out demons, heals the sick, and raises the dead.12 Anthony’s hagiographer produces a hero-hermit much like the biblical Elijah, reconstructed in the fourth century, intended to model the miracles and grace of Christ. Indeed, one of the greatest signs of sanctity was imitatio Christi (the imitation of Christ) wherein holy men and women performed Christ’s miracles after symbolically sharing in his suffering by means of ascetic feats.

As Christianity expanded from the Syrian and Greek East to the Gallo-Roman/Latin West, hagiographers encountered a new audience.13 It proved difficult if not impossible to transform urban Gaul into a physical wasteland of caves and demon-inhabited deserts. Western hagiographers thus created a spiritual desert and challenged the Roman elite and Mediterranean nobility to convert to Christianity and to live as Christ through renunciation of wealth and status. Women proved particularly important in this newly imagined desert as the viable patrons of the church who gladly distributed their Roman patrimony among ecclesiastical authorities.14 Hagiographers in Gaul expressed innovative ideals of holiness for a new constituency of sinners.

The fourth-century author Sulpicius Severus created perhaps the most influential hagiography in early medieval Gaul. His Life of Martin of Tours transformed a Roman soldier known for his valor into an Old Testament prophet, traveling and preaching throughout Gaul, who only reluctantly accepted the bishop’s office of Tours.15 Martin’s life became the hallmark of Western hagiography: the loyal Roman citizen forsakes his mundane wealth to serve his heavenly king. Martin, in typical fashion, healed the sick, exorcised the demon possessed, and practiced profound charity and kindness. At the same time, he assumed the bishop’s mantle and dutifully acknowledged the church’s authority. The hagiographer modified his wandering holy man at first reminiscent of the eastern Anthony into a stable bishop ever mindful of his parish and his flock. A pious Christian but also a good Roman, Martin embodied the ideals of hierarchy and structure.16

Merovingian hagiographers inherited the model of Martin and effectively blended their new bishops with this very Roman ideal: Frankish clergy promoted order and hierarchy within both church and state. Merovingian hagiographers were aware also of the saint cults that proliferated throughout Gaul as they addressed popular audiences who increasingly committed themselves to local saints, both living and dead. Merovingian hagiography thus served a pastoral purpose, aimed directly at teaching and educating a general constituency about the developing protocols for the veneration of saints.

Linguists in particular first recognized the pastoral function of Merovingian texts by their distinctive Latin vocabulary: the language is both colloquial and active.17 Merovingian hagiographers focused on how to venerate local holy figures and what miraculous results might be expected. They provided models instructing pious petitioners to gather remnants from the cells of saints such as ash, candle wax, or oil; through these contact relics, miraculous healing followed and the saints’ fame spread.18 These instructive texts compare dramatically with the later Carolingian hagiographies intended for monastic use; Carolingian Latin indicates more interior action such as meditation and prayer.19 In contrast, Merovingian hagiography speaks to a nonmonastic audience, defining innovative notions of holiness associated with the spread of saint veneration.

There is considerable disagreement among modern scholars of medieval Christianity as to what to do with hagiography as a source. European intellectuals generally scoffed at Christian hagiographic sources during the Enlightenment period. Scholars of the ancient world such as David Hume and Edward Gibbon dismissed hagiography as an irrational literature confined to the lower classes that recounted fanciful miracle stories and fantastic displays of a misnamed polytheism.20 Beginning only in the 1930s, scholars and theologians began to mine hagiography for details about life, society, and intellectual history. Hippolyte Delehaye and the Bollandists, a group of Jesuit priests dedicated to recovering and categorizing hagiographies, led this movement, although much of their work still attempted to separate the factual from the spurious, the believable from the unbelievable.21

During the past two decades, hagiologers have generally disregarded the fact or fiction debate and gleaned information about cultural milieus and gender roles from holy texts.22 Most scholars now agree that hagiography was not just a literature intended for a lay, mostly illiterate population; instead, wealthy and poor audiences alike shared a hagiographic corpus that greatly defined their experiences. This literature provided the system of cultural symbols that united western Christendom.

Medieval and Modern Audiences: Islam

Early Shi`ite hagiography reveals an equally dynamic symbolic system at least during the late eighth and ninth century. Shi`ite notions of power and authority increasingly considered `Ali and Fatima’s descendants Imams responsible for their community’s spiritual guidance. Hagiographies explained the Imams’ miraculous births, their infallible lives, and their sublime wisdom. These models of holiness inspired ritual activities surrounding the Imams’ tombs and shrines. Shi`ite hagiographers, for example, encouraged devotees to visit holy places on pilgrimages (ziyara).23 Most Shi`ites turned their attention to the shrine of Husayn, `Ali and Fatima’s son who died a martyr’s death at Karbala. Husayn’s body was interred at Karbala, but tradition also placed his head at Karbala, Damascus, Najaf, and Cairo.24 All these locales remain important pilgrimage sites where Shi`ites venerate their third Imam.

Locating the mainstream notion of sanctity is more difficult in Islam than in early Christianity. Many Muslim theologians avoid the elevated designation of sainthood, stressing instead that every individual maintains direct access to Allah, thus disallowing the need for a saintly intercessor.25 Qur’an 39.44 declares, “To Allah belongs exclusively the right to grant intercession. To Him belongs the dominion of the heavens and the earth: in the end, it is to Him that you shall be brought back.” Thus in Islam no centralized clergy propagates and authorizes a genre of literature akin to Christianity’s saints’ lives. Saintly canonization is almost completely within the province of hagiographers and reader response to their products (both oral and written).

Medieval Muslims nonetheless maintained a definite notion of holiness (wilaya) and disseminated those sacred ideals through their own, distinct forms of hagiography. These sacred collections included biographies of the Prophet, battlefield accounts, or, for Shi`ites, descriptions of the Imams and their miraculous powers. The earliest known biography of the Prophet, for example, resembled early Christian tales of desert saints.26 Bedouin tribes on the edges of the Arabian peninsula certainly were familiar with Christian veneration of desert holy men and their miracles: historical records indicate that they shared the same deserts and caves as Christian hermits, witnessed their fame, and heard about their miraculous powers. The Prophet’s biographer cast him as a functioning holy man to his community: Muhammad healed the sick, provided righteous judgments, and multiplied food.27 Many of the Prophet’s friends and family described in the biographical materials also served as pious models intended for emulation and edification.

While Muslim hagiography might vary in intent and audience - for example, some collections, qisas al-anbiya, or “Tales of the Prophets,” featured miracle stories of the same prophets shared by Jews, Christians, and Muslims - most of it has the same format. Accounts of holiness are usually recorded as hadith, one of two genres of sacred texts in Islam, the other being the Qur’an.

Like Christianity, Islam is a religion of the book and reveres a sacred and revealed scripture. The Qur’an confers the direct revelation of Allah through his final messenger, Muhammad. The holy text describes humanity’s virtues and vices, directs the actions of the community (umma), and offers a glimpse of an impending apocalypse.28 It also presents a series of prophets and holy men and women for pious Muslims to imitate.29

The hadith collections advance their own notions of holiness. Hadith (used here as a collective noun; the proper plural is ahadith) are traditions that relate back to the Prophet Muhammad’s own lifetime, describing his actions and utterances as well as those of his friends, family, and other contemporaries.30 The hadith literature functions as hagiography when read as a means of resurrecting a pristine past and endowing Muslims with models of holiness and virtue. Read in this way, hadith literature allows scholars and others to eavesdrop on the earliest Muslim community: the Prophet’s lifestyle and the faithfulness of his friends and family (and the perfidy of his enemies), and directives and patterns outside the Qur’anic framework. Taken together the Qur’an and hadith (the “trodden path,” or sunna), provide models for emulation; scholarly exegesis (tafsir) then attempts to explain and contextualize the sunna so that pious Muslims may follow them.

Islamicists approach hadith literature as carefully as medievalists approach Christian hagiography, and this is not a recent methodological problem. Medieval Muslims themselves devoted an entire science to proving or disproving hadith authenticity. To do this they focused most strenuously on the chain of transmitters, or isnad. The hadith consists of two parts: the tradition itself (matn) and a detailed list of individuals who observed or transmitted the Prophet’s advice or actions (isnad). Scholars and linguists identified the transmitters, reconciled their death dates with times of transmission, and located the hadith in an elaborate spectrum of categories ranging from sound (sahih) to weak (da`if), from precious (`aziz) to forged (mawdu`).

Medieval hadith collections contributed more than personal models of piety and words of wisdom from the Prophet. The central role of hadith was to lay the foundation of Islamic law: Islamic jurisprudence (fiqh) carefully reasoned what was obligatory (fard), recommended (mandub), neutral (mubah), reprehensible (makruh), and forbidden (haram). By the late ninth and early tenth century, Islamic scholars generally accepted as canonical the six rigorously scrutinized compendia composed by separate hadith critics: al-Bukhari, Muslim, Ibn Da’ud, al-Tirmidhi, al-Nisa’i, and Ibn Hanbal. Other scholars compiled their own hadith collections, but these six became the pillars of Sunni piety and law.

Shi`ite Muslims, on the other hand, esteem additional hadith collections as authoritative.31 The Shi`ites value above all the traditions that relate back to the Prophet’s family. For Twelver Shi`ites, this includes the twelve Imams, among them `Ali himself. Since the Shi`a regarded `Ali and the Imams as Muhammad’s rightful successors, they gathered accounts of the Imams’ deeds and sayings for both political and spiritual guidance.32

Shi`ites maintain that `Ali and Fatima’s descendants, beginning with their sons Hasan and Husayn, became the sources of true spiritual sustenance to the Islamic community. According to one tradition, Husayn (quoted by Ja`far al-Sadiq, the sixth Imam) proclaimed:

“God created His servants solely that they might know Him, for when they know Him they worship Him and thus free themselves from the worship of anything that is not Him.” Someone then asked: “What is knowledge of God?” “It is, for the people of each age, knowledge of the Imam to whom they owe obeisance.” 33

For Shi`ites recognition of and dependence on the Imams equaled knowledge of God himself. It was irrelevant if the ruling Umayyad or `Abbasid dynasty acknowledged the Imams as the community’s rightful leaders. Allah required the Shi`a itself to identify the Imam and maintain his sublime teachings through its collective memories and records.

Many Shi`ite hadith collections function, therefore, as a form of political and spiritual rhetoric explaining the cosmological link between the Prophet’s beloved family and the community.34 These hadith demonstrate the Shi`a’s sublime authority in heaven even if it is not always recognized on earth.35 They also offer adoptive membership into the ahl al-bayt for those who recognize the Imam’s authority. The hadith function as hagiography because they outline a mode of holiness (acceptance into the family), reveal moral and theological imperatives (allegiance to the family), and supply holy models to imitate (the prophets, Imams, and early community members). Like Merovingian hagiography, hadith reconstruct a sacred past in their own dynamically changing context to promote a new identity, namely, the identification of the Imams and an evolving Shi`ism as it distinguished itself from Sunni Islam.

As in Christian hagiography, there exist equally contentious debates about how to use hadith as hagiography. Many Muslims view the Prophet Muhammad with esteem and adoration and therefore strive to achieve a real view of him and his community. Hadith accepted as authentic are windows into that reality and afford a genuine depiction of the Prophet. Many Muslim scholars maintain the historicity of hadith transmission and argue that the earliest community assured hadith veracity. These scholars admit that hadith evolved from an oral to a written genre, but they also insist that skilled, literate scholars held the transmissions to high standards of authentication.36

The question of veracity has plagued non-Muslim and secular scholars as well. Since the early twentieth century some Islamicists have recognized that formally written hadith compilations only circulated in the late eighth century. They have argued that these hadith reveal more about eighth-century life than about Muhammad’s own community.37 This approach fundamentally questions the hadith’s reliability as a historical source for the earliest Islamic period; and, for Muslims, this critique challenges hadith as an authoritative source of sublime direction and models of piety. Other Islamicists have forged a middle ground: hadith reflect the Prophet’s own lifetime, but the standardized method of transmission and compilation must be dated much later. According to this argument, it remains impossible to demonstrate absolutely the hadith’s historicity.38

I avoid the question of hadith veracity altogether; instead of expecting the hadith to betray an objective historical reality, I see them as revealing important cultural symbols and notions of holiness relevant to their medieval audiences.39 If hadith were deemed important enough to copy, memorize, and scrutinize, then they must disclose valuable clues about the community that treasured them. Even the more obscure, “weak” hadith that “sound” compendia often fail to include are important; they help to recapture the evolutionary nature of Muslim identity by revealing the developing hagiographic tradition. As in Christianity, theology and religious identity evolved over the centuries as leaders, theologians, and scholars formulated and answered questions important for their nascent communities. Even those hadith that were later rejected or considered spurious by Shi`ite scholars reflect the stages of that evolutionary process.

Classical Shi`ite sources are especially difficult to date and ascribe to specific compilers. Although the hadith format provides lists of transmitters, the editors themselves sometimes evade designation. Some extant compendia do give the names of editor and author, such as the tenth-century Kitab al-Irshad (Book of Guidance into the Lives of the Twelve Imams) by Shaykh al-Mufid. Other hadith survive only in later compilations such as that of the seventeenth - century Safavid scholar Muhammad Baqir al-Majlisi, Bihar al-anwar (Sea of Lights). Although this collection is rather late, it is indispensable to scholars of Shi`ite Islam.

With the help of scholars such as al-Majlisi, the seventeenth-century Safavids of Persia launched a prolific religious campaign against Sunni and Sufi piety.40 Al-Majlisi’s job as a member of the `ulama´ was to collect and distribute hadith that illustrated Shi`ite identity and the holy family’s election since before created time. He intended his collections to serve as a type of propaganda, popularizing a legalistic form of Twelver Shi`ism while disavowing Sunnism and some Sufi orders. He was the first scholar to translate a large number of hadith collections, theologies, and histories into Persian for greater availability to a general audience.

Al-Majlisi’s collection is important for another reason: it includes both the widely accepted, sound hadith and the potentially spurious (or weak) traditions. For example, al-Majlisi repeated many of the earliest Shi`ite sources from al-Kulayni and Ibn Babawayh, renowned tenth-century Shi`ite scholars,41 some of which are extant only through his encyclopedic collection. But he also chose hadith that were not included in ordinary compilations of Shi`ite texts. Because of this broad inclusiveness, some scholars doubt its historical veracity. (One colleague referred to the Bihar al-anwar as the “great trash heap of Shi`ite traditions.”)42 Because al-Majlisi cast such a wide net in collecting his hadith, he provides scholars with an opportunity to view Shi`ism as it developed and blossomed throughout the classical and medieval periods.

Al-Majlisi quite naturally focused on the Prophet’s family and particularly his daughter Fatima to prove Shi`ite Islam’s superiority over Sunnism and Sufi sm. The traditions range from those of the most mystical bent (which define the holy family in terms of pure light with absolute knowledge)43 to those of more practical application (which define the twelfth Imam as the source of all spiritual authority).

This grand collection of hadith also certainly added authority to al-Majlisi’s own position. According to Twelver doctrine, the twelfth Imam, Muhammad al-Mahdi, did not die but went into a sublime hiding, or occultation. During this period of hiddenness, the Shi`ite community relies on the scholars to discern the Imam’s justice. Al-Majlisi was just such a scholar who implicitly designated himself as one of the twelfth Imam’s spokesmen until the final, apocalyptic return. Through his hadith compilations, al-Majlisi justified his own political station while constructing a hagiographic edifice praising the holy family’s spiritual status.44

Sources and Gender

As Merovingian Christians and Shi`ite Muslims sought to make sense of their world and to delineate their place in it, they devised and articulated dynamic notions of holiness. For the people of Gaul, the changes in their world involved the political transition from late Roman to Merovingian rule and the spiritual acculturation to a new, unifying Christendom. Shi`ite communities, in many cases bereft of political ascendancy because of a Sunni majority (except for a brief interim in the mid-tenth century), articulated their unique cosmology and loyalties to the Imam and the holy family. In both these cases, discussions of sanctity in hagiographic sources betray both theological and political agendas. On closer examination it becomes clear that gender expectations and the introduction of feminine ideals signaled radical changes in society as well. Both Christian and Muslim cultures supported and preserved the literary products of a male elite, which constructed paradigms of community and holiness via women, in particular Mary and Fatima.

Most extant Christian texts from late antiquity originate from the ecclesiastical sphere. Theologians such as Ambrose, Augustine, and Jerome charted the twists and turns Christian theology would take in terms of asceticism, ideals of marriage, the Trinitarian debate, and the path of Christ’s church (ecclesia).45 Late antique authors both reflected and refuted beliefs about the Virgin Mary popularized by anonymous, apocryphal texts. They absorbed, for example, the precept of Mary’s perpetual virginity (both before, during, and after Christ’s birth), yet some cautioned against Mary’s Immaculate Conception, or birth free from sin.46 Marian theology, and Christian theology in general, was only slowly evolving.

The early Middle Ages yield a wider variety of sources, although most still come from the ecclesiastical sphere: church councils left records of decisions and debate; bishops wrote histories of their bishoprics (which were more like family trees); priests and popes wrote hagiographies;47 and holy men crafted monastic rules for female religious to follow. One of the most prolific authors of Merovingian Gaul was Gregory of Tours; he provided a veritable who’s who among Merovingian bishops in his Ten Books of History and numerous hagiographies of male and female saints.48 In early Christian hagiography, few texts written by women survive, and only one of those has a self-identified female author (Baudonivia, who wrote her saint’s life only to complement an earlier redaction by a man, Fortunatus).49 Scholars suspect other works might be written by women, especially nuns who had firsthand knowledge of their saint-abbesses.50 In most cases male clergy wrote about women.

A similar case arises in classical Islam. Women may have lent considerable time, faith, and even wealth to their respective traditions, but they remained largely silent in the sources. Muslim women’s social expectations depended largely on the geographic locale and ruling elite; yet in most cases women played a sizable role in the establishment of schools and the transmission of knowledge. Like female patrons of Christianity, wealthy wives and mothers commissioned schools and donated land for educational institutions, and with those same sources of wealth, many women acquired personal tutors and received competitive educations.51 Also as with Christianity, tradition largely circumscribed women’s practical role in the public classroom as teachers or students; modes of formal education, including Qur’anic studies, remained confined to males.52 Any formal training or introduction to Islamic jurisprudence and hadith studies also remained a mostly masculine domain.

Although Muslim scholars restricted women from formal educations, they did not release them from the burden of learning and studying the hadith and models of holiness. Theoretically, women bore the same responsibility as men to understand and follow Islamic teaching. Hadith scholars even recognized several women of the early community as worthy transmitters. Many of these women, such as `A’isha, the Prophet’s youngest wife, lived with Muhammad and had intimate dealings with him. These women like none other could transmit information about the Prophet’s actions, words, and directives because of their association in the domestic sphere.53 Women’s official roles largely ended in the domestic sphere, however; while many women acted as hadith transmitters, there are no extant compilations by female scholars and no information about them. Thus our medieval sources are once again written by men about women.

In these male-authored medieval texts about women, gender, and holiness, hagiographers and theologians transformed Mary and Fatima into champions for their pious agenda. Mary marked the boundaries between Christianity and heresy; Fatima led her family to paradise and consigned her enemies to hell. Both communities fashioned a view of piety, politics, and family by manipulating traditional gender roles while still assigning their heroines to the domestic sphere as miraculous mothers and virgins. Today’s readers might be tempted to dismiss much of the hagiographers’ works as too proscriptive if not blatantly misogynistic, but closer examination reveals a more complex agenda.


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