Union and Ibn 'Arabi

Dictionaries give the meaning of a combination, an association, something of a

collectivity, to union, like a Union of States, like the Workers' Union etc. and also
that it has the meaning of unification of different but similar elements, a unifying
principle, in short, which unites into one body that which is several or separate.

None of these meanings apply to what Muhyiddin Ibn 'Arabi understands from
Union, nor does it apply to what any of the esoteric ways mean by union. Though
the word "union" may mean "unification".

In Ibn 'Arabi's case, or for that matter in all Sufi esoteric lore, Union is
understood to equate in meaning to the word Tawhid. Tawhid actually does mean
"unification", or "making into one". But what Tawhid is meant to mean is not
"unification" of several things, nor is it meant to mean "making into one" of many
things. However, in the idea of "making into one" there is a possibility of delving
into the "mystery" of the word Tawhid which means "unifying" into One. This
"mystery", if it is a mystery, lies in the prerequisite knowledge ofTawhid or
"making into One". That knowledge is that there is absolutely no other Being in
existence than the One and Only, Self-Subsistent Being which is not "All" that
there is, but that what seems to be "all" is no other than Itself, somewhat like the
apparently different facets of the jewel are no other than the jewel itself or like
the different colours refracted by the prism are no other than The Light which
turns into various colours when passed through the prism.

Tawhid then comes to mean the recognition of plurality as no other than the fact
that what seemingly appears as many or varied is in reality One and Only in
Essence.

The meaning of the word Tawhid or Union as used by many like Ibn 'Arabi (and
many that followed him) does not, however, end with its admitted esoteric
vocabulary meaning. For Ibn 'Arabi and many that think like him, Tawhid or Union
is not a matter of knowing what it means but the act of progression towards the
fulfilment of that action and knowledge, to feel an irresistible desire to reach,
consciously, that state of being where one is in Union or in Tawhid - i.e. in the
state of having formed a concept whereby there exists no other than the One and
Only, the Unique Existent, Absolute, not like a monarch, but absolute in the sense
that since it is all-inclusive it is not comparable or relatable to anything outside
itself and therefore Complete and thereby Perfect. Yet the knowledge of all this is
not per se enough to allow one to be in the State of Union or Tawhid. An example
borrowed from Ibn 'Arabi clarifies what is meant by knowing about it and being it.
He says one might know what heroism is but that does not make one into a hero
until one actually performs an act of Heroism. Then only is one a Hero.
So Tawhid or Union is a deliberate act of progression to being One. Not only is it
an act which is deliberate, like any other deliberate action, but that action
deliberately and consciously undertaken must, by its nature, be all exclusive,
irresistible in its attraction, a passion induced by the supreme and all pervading
Love of the State of Union or Tawhid. Ismail Hakki Bursevi, who was one of the
great teachers of the Jelveti order, now closed, and who translated and
commented upon the Fusûs al-Hikam of Ibn 'Arabi in what may be called the
definitive commentary on the Fusûs up to now, has an inscription on his modest
tomb in Bursa which proclaims that only he who has the Love of Tawhid branded
upon his heart brings light to the tomb of Ismail Hakki Bursevi.

As we can gather, Union or Tawhid is both an act of progression and a State of

Being to which the action of progression leads but does not stop in its action
when once it is in Being.

That Tawhid is both a state of Being and an act of progression without end is due
to at least four aspects of the Being Itself:

First because the Being is Complete, Non-relative, therefore beyond relativity

defined by time, space, distance. It is infinite. As Einstein says, everything is
relative one to another ad infinitum, looking at it from one end of the telescope so
to speak. Then that which is not defined by the requisite of the relative is infinite;
and the Infinite is limitless, without boundaries in time. Consequently the ever
progressive Union is ever, non-stop Continuous Being.
The second aspect derives from this very same non-conditional. That Being is, at
all instants, in a different configuration, and different "business" or State of
Being, (kulli anin fi she'nin = at every instant in a different state or "business", or
at a "thing that is its private thing", which are of the shu'un-i dhatiye or "to do
with 'things' of its own Ipseity"). Hence the Progression mentioned and the State
of the Union is constantly varied at every instant to suit and conform to the State
of the Configuration in which the Being happens to reveal Itself.

The third aspect of the non-stop progression and the State of Being is that it is
irremediably and exclusively a matter of Love. Now, according to Ibn 'Arabi, Love
is a sentiment with an aim to come into Tawhid or Union with Beauty. Hence it is
the vehicle which transports the sentiment for Beauty to Beauty.

When Ibn 'Arabi speaks of sentiment he makes it very clearly understood that he
is not talking of an emotion. Emotions are murky at best and Ibn 'Arabi's
sentiment is crystal clear and definite, even to the degree of exclusivity. This
sentiment is an active feeling which is only translatable with expressive Love
which is equally its vehicle. Hence Love is the Love of Beauty to which it
transports the Lover. The sentiment and its vehicle coinciding in action, in
purpose, in reaching to, and, in the State of Being that which it reaches out
towards, Beauty.

One has to be extremely careful in understanding this Beauty, not as something

qualified by Beauty, even though we have no other means of expressing it except
by a qualifying adjective. Yet we must come to know that Beauty not as qualified
by the adjective of Beauty but as sheer Beauty, as Beauty Itself, far beyond
anything by which it can be qualified - a Total Beauty, therefore a perfection
which can never be qualified except by Its own Being such as It is. A qualifying
statement comes as a Hadith in the words of the Prophet Mohammed: in-Allahu
Jamilun wa yuhibb-ul Jamal - "In that God is extremely Beautiful and Loves
Beauty".

The fourth aspect of the continuous act of progression and the State of Being is
that it is Alive, Hayy. Ibn 'Arabi makes us definitely understand that Life is
movement. Water which is not in the motion of flowing, therefore not in
movement, is stagnant. Stagnant water is "dead" water. Life being the quality of
the Being, the State of Its Being is active and in movement. Consequently all
action towards Union or Tawhid with that Being and the State of Being of that
Being are in constant movement. This consideration takes us back to the third
aspect mentioned above. If the Being is in constant movement then Beauty is
equally in a state of constant movement. As the movement of Beauty is Love,
then the Beauty is in constant Love and it is because of this Sentiment that the
Love of Union or Tawhid is a constant progression towards Beauty, as at the same
time being in the state of that Being is Beauty.

We have seen the constant movement of Beauty and that the movement of
Beauty is Love. Yet Beauty is also in constant expression, as Beauty without
expression is inconceivable when there is no one to appreciate that expression or
to witness its presence. So the expression of Beauty is Love as well as it being
vehicled by Love.

Ibn 'Arabi states that even in the other world as well as this, man is constantly in
progress whether he is conscious of it or not. What we have seen here is that the
progressive movement with Love towards Beauty is constant whether one knows
about it or not or whether one is in this world or not. In the case of the two
worlds the explanation is easy. Ibn 'Arabi sees "death" as such, leave alone as a
finality, as not existing. He himself goes and comes to and fro to the other world,
converses with the inhabitants of both worlds and advises them, and assumes
that such a state is not a unique possibility accessible to him alone. Quite in
concordance with the saying of the Prophet "Die before you die", Ibn 'Arabi
expects all that follow his teachings to acquiesce and to accede as urgently and
as possibly soon as each is capable of understanding what it means. He has no
patience in this and will brook no reluctance. He says in his Treatise on Being
(Risalat-ul Wujudiyya) that he has no converse with those who see illusion as
reality since they are limited in their vision to the objects or "things" seen and are
veiled from Reality. They are not, therefore, ardently in Love and are not
consequently intent on Union or Tawhid.

As regards man's progression towards Union or Tawhid, since Beauty is always in

expression and Love is Its movement, then the expression which is always in
movement cannot but reach man for whom that movement and that expression is
meant. Whether man acknowledges this or not, he is subjected to that Love and
Beauty.

And the effusion of Beauty is such that it covers the wary and the unwary
recipient, the former consciously responding to it, the latter denying it through
unawareness. But when he is in the other world, released from the veil of his
relative identity, he will see the Reality of the situation necessarily and will comply
and conform with the unavoidable Truth (Haqq) - eventually reaching a state
which will be his state of unconscious but definite progress. This progress might
be of many varieties and kinds but it is always a progress either through and to
Divine Names or even further to the Essential Being and the Perfection of Being.
That will depend on many factors to do with his ability to receive the Divine
Effusion and his appreciation of the Beauty. When Ibn 'Arabi says everyone
progresses, he does not equally say everyone progresses in the same latitude nor
in the same manner. This is possible because though the Divine Names are the
source of relativity they are all the same absolute in their Essence emanating
from the same Ipseity.

It is true that the way one goes, towards Union - Tawhid - or not, and which way,
is a matter of Taste (dhawq). The Progress through Taste (dhawq) does not
impair in any way the Expression of Beauty nor the Love.

In his Fusûs al-Hikam, 'Arabi quotes a converse where David is told: "Oh David, it
is I who desire them even more intensely" than they yearn for Him. So as we
have seen Divine Love remains constant, only response to it is relative depending
on many factors, one of which is ability to receive, then the inclination to respond
and to return. Then acceptance or denial of Love depends on the individual's
desire to wake up to that Reality of Beauty or not. This is a complicated matter
and that is why it is referred to as a mystery.

To "wake up" or not is, as we have seen, a matter of Taste (dhawq). It is related
that Bayazid (also referred to as Abu Yazid) of Bastam in Iran, one of the greatest
Saints of this line of thought, was met by some people going to the mosque for
the pre-dawn prayer. Bayazid of Bastam was coming from a direction other than
his house. Upon being questioned as to where he had been so early, Bayazid
answered that it had been an especially lovely moonlit night and everyone was
asleep, so he had decided, since God had been so bountiful in showing His
Beauty, that at least he himself should devote his night to the witnessing of such
loveliness, as no other servant of God seemed to wish to do, and had passed the
night in wakeful adoration of Beauty, so that His Beauty did not pass unnoticed.

To be conscious or awake to Beauty is a matter of predilection in the servant. The

servant of a master or Lord (Rabb) is necessarily advanced in the perfection of his
function in the ratio of his self-identification with the Lord he serves.

Though service itself does in no way belong to the Lord, service of the Lord
entails full identification with the Lord served, so as to serve in the best manner
possible. This self-imposed humility to serve the Beloved has its side of dignity,
which is the dignity of the knowledge that one is willingly serving the supreme
Beauty. Elsewhere we have said (in the film called "Turning") that Love is a
bondage willingly accepted by the free, and it is this willingness, this choice to
serve that Beauty in Love, that is what imparts dignity to the office. Again Ibn
'Arabi says in the Tuesday recital of his Wird (a collection of daily recitals he wrote
for his pupils) "and dress me in the cloak of Dearness and Receiving... and crown
me with the crown of Generosity and Dignity".

So through service with dignity and seeing oneself from the point of view of God,
not from the point of view of the self itself until one is Him and not oneself
(Saturday recital of the Wird) and demanding to be clothed with the Cloak of
Beauty and being crowned with the crown of Awe and Majesty (Friday Evening
recital), the servant finds identification with the Lord he serves. This is how
"Tawhid is the Mystery of Servanthood" (Wird: Sunday recital).

As Ibn 'Arabi says in his "Kernel of the Kernel", when the servant has gathered in
himself the five states of awareness, then he becomes a Sufi, a gnostic ('Arif).
After this state, Ibn 'Arabi says, "five other things happen, the explanation of
which is not suitable here and to reveal this even is forbidden". Elsewhere there is
a passage in the Kernel of the Kernel where is described what happens to the
servant after he has reached Fanâ (the state of non-existence as oneself as
mentioned in the Wird above: "... until there be You and not I") where after a
while the servant is "painted with the Divine colour" and "God grants him an
existence from His own existence". "Then God gives this man of knowledge a
Divine Sight, Ear, Tongue...". A person's "real understanding and knowledge starts
after this".

Nothing has happened. Simply, that he who was Essentially Him, came to realise,
but not only intellectually, that he was no other than Him.

As we have seen the prerequisite of this unceasing progression towards and

finally Being is a predilection of those who have the good-Taste for it. As the
French saying goes "Le bon-goût s'apprend" (Good-Taste is learnt) and as the
Prophet Mohammed said: "... give me Taste in vision", the crux of the matter of
Union or Tawhid seems to lie in a taste for it. Dhawq (taste) has a connotation of
"enjoyment" in it. There is "joy" in the enjoyment of it because it leads to
appreciating fully, and then identifying with, Beauty.

The drunken Sufi poet of Iran wrote:

Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,

A flask of Wine, a Book of Verse - and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness -
And Wilderness in Paradise now.

The Bread is the body of Knowledge. The Verse is the Praise of Beauty. The Wine
is its intoxication and Thou art Thou. Beneath a bough is in this world, already
here, it is Paradise - if one has the predilection and the necessary intention to
progress towards and Be no other than that which is unqualified Sheer Beauty
- the Jamâl.

The Turkish poet wrote "Kande baksan ol güzel Allahi gör" - wherever you look
see that Beautiful God!

No other can see God. But those who have vision to see "no other" see God in all
His effects everywhere. When one's vision has progressed to a vision of "no-
other", then one sees Him everywhere. From thence, as Ibn 'Arabi says in his
poem:

O marvel!...
... I follow the religion of Love:
whatever way Love's mounts take,
That is my religion and my faith.

This is seeing Him everywhere, whatever way Love transports, it is necessarily to

Beauty and that is his religion and his faith.
Concerning the Universality of Ibn 'Arabi

There is only one Existence. That existence is, naturally, a state of Being. That
being, then, is the One and Only, Infinite Being. It exists through its own
existence irrespective of any other consideration. Naturally so, because there is
no other premise than its own existence, therefore there is no other point of
reference or relationship in respect of which it could be considered. When it is
self-conscious it creates or constitutes its own consideration of itself. This bringing
into consciousness of itself as a mentation of its own potential existence is when
it "manifests" itself to itself. This is the only state of its own duality possible or
imaginable where the duality is really no other than itself with its own image of
itself. This self-consciousness of its own mentation of iis potentiality takes itself
from its own singularity and uniqueness to its own duality of unique singularity
only in its own consciousness. At this point of its singularity of duality it is
necessary to give existence to all of its own potentialities since these
potentialities are of the "fabric" of its own self-consciousness. These infinite
number of potentialities which thus have come to and have acquired existence
through the self-consciousness of the essentially self existing Unique, One and
Only, Infinite Existence, then, are the only source of number and, consequently,
of all possible plurality.

Universality presumes a locus or a multiplicity of areas, a plurality of loci. This

plurality, in reference to the One and Only and Infinite Existence, must either
deny it or allow a situation where plurality of the One is essentially a self-
corporate mode of a many-faceted existence where "each" individual existence is
a consideration of accommodation for this global Uniqueness in expression.
Consequently, here the infinity of the one permeates the theoretically many facets
of the global one. The result is One expressed manifoldly. Each of these
manifoldly expressed facets of the One Infinite Existence are so many Universes
all enclosed in the One and Unique Infinite Existent.
People who have been self-styled archi-erudites, motivated by a leaning towards
a "byzantinism" and who have thus achieved a chair in the society of the cymini
sectores, cannot coincide with Ibn 'Arabi's horizon which remains an unlimited,
infinite universal vision simply because in Ibn 'Arabi universality is expressed by
ihe infinity contained in the Essential Uniqueness. Here the word "contained"
misrepresents a slate where nothing is "contained" since to "contain" requires a
container which contains by the limits of its own structure. The Esseniial State
has no such limits. Hence to qualify its own Infinity as being "contained" may lead
to a misrepresentation of the Essential Stale of Being of the Uniqueness. This sui
generis essentiality qualifies itself by Us Uniqueness which naturally presumes
unlimited, therefore Infinite, possibilities which are impossible of number.
Incidentally, it could be said that Its numerality is only a conceptual consequence
of the triplicity of its being Essential, Infinite, and Unique.

The juxtaposition of Uniqueness and Infinity are, somewhat, complementaries

that form the Essentiality of its Latitude of Being. It is this Being which is
expressed through its phase of Infinity that gives rise to our concept of a state of
being universal. Then again Ibn 'Arabi underlines the infinite number of these
universes ('awâlim) which according to him may be of ihe number of the grains of
sand on the beach or more, and which, for convenience, he refers to as the
Eighteen Thousand Universes.

This theocosmology, so to speak, of Ibn 'Arabi is in complete concordance with

illumination received by him from the Qur'an, which Ibn 'Arabi follows
assiduously, without ever deviating, even when scholars and "doctors" find
divergence in the words of Ibn 'Arabi from the practice of the Mohammedan
religion, thus "missing" the depth of the Mohammedian Way.

A passage of the Qur'an which reflects the infinite plurality of the universes says
"Lord of the Heavens and of the Earth, Lord of the Universes" (Rabb-as Samawâti
wa-l ard Rabb-el 'Alemîn). The mention of the second Lordship is not only a
poetical adornment in the sentence. It is a pointer to the fact that even though
the "Heavens" (Samawâti) are mentioned in plural, there is still room to draw the
attention to the infinite existence of universes ('alemîn, 'awâlim) beyond our
concept of the "Heavens". It is the infinity of Universes aspected with the
Lordship and for every potentiality and possibility, beyond the concept of number
as we understand it which qualifies the Esoteric Lordship represented in the
Reality of Mohammed, the Reality of Realities or the Reality of the Mohammedian
Way, by which is meant the esoteric reality of the Mohammedian meaning — a
meaning that Ibn 'Arabi represents himself as the total heir and as the explicit
and the implicit attributions of exposed and esoteric meanings involved in the
divergent Unicity of the micro- and macro-cosmic Reality of Realities.

In that case the existence of Ibn 'Arabi himself is the attribution of Reality in the
sense of the exposed meaning and the esoteric meaning hermeticized in the
cosmos both as macro and micro where these two are inconsequentially equal
before the Reality of Unique, Infinite, Essentiality.

This is the basis of the all-important "Universality" of Ibn 'Arabi.

A Question Posed by Bulent Rauf, and the answer he gave:
What is the single most important point that must be
understood by a person who wants to know?

It is that there is only One, Unique, absolute, infinite Existence. It must be more
than an idea. One has to be so completely certain of it that one adopts it through
reason and intuition as the basic unshakable fact of one's existence.

When it is like that in one's existence then every possible ramification that occurs
to one is seen as not being outside The Existence, but as being an aspect of it.

Accept and completely adopt the idea that there is only the Unique, Absolute
Existence, apart from which there is not. Then constantly, or as much as possible,
keep it in mind. Then, as only He can adopt such an idea, you disappear in the
face of the awareness of this idea (which is Him in any case who else could think
of it?). Then your consciousness of this idea is your consciousness of His
Existence; His consciousness of Himself. Then where are you? You never were.

He shows you He is yourself, then bit by bit He shows you how He is all that there
is. These showings are His caprices, until all exterior existence is known as Him.
He shows you He is you, then shows you (Himself) that all else is Him.

ln the instant, all so called progress is annihilated in Him.

The Circle of Inclusion

Each person who has stood in an open space, or sailed on the sea, or stood on a
high mountain has experienced the circularity of the horizons, seen the direction
of the sun rising in the east, reaching its zenith and then setting in the west, or
felt the overarching night-sky studded with stars, and found themselves at the
centre looking from a face they cannot see. This experience applies equally to
everybody who stands in such a space and it is a wonderful example of how each
person is right at the centre of what is happening. Similarly each of us has a
direct connection to what is real, like the path of the sun that reaches us from
across the waters. If the attention is then turned inwards towards the invisible
centre of one's being – the heart – and what is happening there is observed, it is
possible to establish a connection with the source of one's being, which is equally
the ever-present dimensionless point of return.

In his Theophany on Perfection Ibn 'Arabī writes:

Listen, O my beloved!
I am the essence ('ayn) that is sought in creation,
The centre of the circle and its circumference,
Its complexity and simplicity.
I am the order revealed between heaven and earth…[2]

In Cordoba, 814 years ago in 1190, Ibn 'Arabī had a vision where he met all the
prophets from Adam to Muhammad. It was only the prophet Hūd, whose wisdom
in the Fusūs al-Hikam, is that of uniqueness (ahadiyya), who spoke to him on
that occasion. Ibn Arabī tells us,

Know that when the Real revealed to me and made me witness the essential
realities of all His messengers and prophets, who are human beings, from Adam
to Muhammad (may God bless them all and give them peace) in a vision in which
I was made present in Cordoba in the year [AH] 586, the only one who spoke to
me from that group was Hūd (SA) who told me the reason for their gathering.
[3] I saw him as a large man, a handsome figure, pleasant and subtle in
conversation, knowledgeable about things and having insight into them. The proof
I had of this insight were his words, “There is no moving creature whom He [God]
does not take hold of by the forelock. Indeed, my Lord is on the straight
path.”[4] And what greater good news (bishāra) to creation is there than this?[5]

Ibn 'Arabī's universality is immediately evident in the fact that all the prophets
from Adam to Muhammad appeared to him, here in Cordoba. “The reason why it
was that Hūd spoke”, the Ottoman commentator on the Fusūs al-Hikam informs
us, “was because the ways and tastes of Hūd were most suitable in the ways
of tawhīd, Unity in plurality”;[6] and the great good news referred to is that
“Truth, God, is the Ipseity[7] of all things.”[8] God takes charge of all creatures,
and whatever path they are moving along is in fact the straight path of their Lord.
Ultimately, God is the only one who moves in anything that moves; since He is
the only one in existence, He is the only actor and all actions are His. In this
sense, nobody has gone astray, since everything is included in the boundless
Mercy of God[9] which overrides the divine anger.

In the poem at the beginning of the chapter on Hūd in the Fusūs al-Hikam Ibn
'Arabī writes:

The Straight Path belongs to God (Allāh).

It is manifest in all, not hidden.
He is present in the small and the great,
In those who are ignorant of how things are and those who know.
Because of this His mercy encompasses everything,
No matter how base or magnificent.”[10]

These lines emphasize the universality of the straight path of God upon which all
things walk and which leads them all back to God.[11]In this chapter, Ibn 'Arabī
emphasizes God's closeness to us, closer than life itself, closer than the jugular
vein.[12] No particular kind of person is specified for this closeness, the knowing
or ignorant, the blessed or damned, except that the very blessing is in being
aware of this closeness which is sensed, and the sadness of distance is in being
unaware of it.[13] Everything is included in the divine grace and favour, but it is a
question of whether we choose to be aware of this or not.

The path upon which all things walk is called “straight” even if it deviates for, as
Ibn 'Arabī says in the Futūhāt al-Makkiyya,

… curvature is straight in reality, like the curvature of a bow since the

straightness which is desired from it is curvature … and all movement
and rest in existence is divine because it is in the hand of the Real.[14]

Everything emerges from God and everything is returned to Him but things do
not go back by the path on which they emerged; rather, they return in a circular
motion, for Ibn 'Arabī maintains that “Every affair and every existent thing is a
circle that returns to that through which it had its beginning.”[15]

If, therefore, every existent is on the straight path in any case, what was the
point of sending prophets and messengers to call people to God? The Ottoman
commentator on the Fusūs who posits this question, then answers it by adding,

This one cannot say, because this invitation is the invitation from the
Name Misleader (mudill) to the Name Guide (hādī) to Truth, and the
invitation from the Name Compeller (jabbār) to the Name Just ('adl).
[16]

Our happiness lies in the path of guidance to blessing and grace, not in the path
which leads to misery, constriction and anger. Yet just as all actions belong to
God, so do all names and qualities. To recognize the Guide we need to see how
guidance is manifested in us and ask who it is that is guided? The same is true of
the Name Just, and all other names and qualities. This involves knowledge of the
self in discovering who we are.[17] In one sense we are all under the divine
impulsion. Yet God is not unjust to his servants by compelling them to behave in
a certain way – He simply allows them to be what they are. Ibn 'Arabī writes,
“'God does not treat his servants unjustly',[18] for He only knows what the
objects of knowledge give to Him, since knowledge follows the object of
knowledge.”[19]

There was an apparent conflict for the prophets between calling the people to God
according to the prescriptive command and the fact that everyone is in any case
on the straight path of God. Ibn 'Arabī writes,

The Messenger of God said, “Hūd and its sisters have made my hair go
white,” that is (the Quranic sura of) Hūd and all the (Quranic) verses
which mention going straight.[20]

However, God's eternal knowledge of us does not determine what we will do

because knowledge is dependent on the known and His knowledge of us is in
accordance with what we show Him of ourselves, since knower, knowledge and
the known are ultimately one.

The invitation is therefore to knowledge and to removing the constriction which

our limited beliefs impose on us and on Truth. It is an invitation to discriminate
between a lesser vision of reality and a greater one, to abandon a partial view for
a more comprehensive and complete one, to progress through our own personal
Lord to the Lord of Lords, the all-inclusive God who encompasses all names and
qualities and where all opposites are united.

The whole of humanity is being invited to this universal perspective. If, from
among the infinite possibilities, we have selected a limited belief structure and
decided to serve that, then we are in a prison of our own making and have
excluded ourselves from the boundless generosity of existence. Ibn 'Arabī writes,

The people of God say “There are as many ways to God as the breaths
of the creatures” and every breath emanates from the heart according
to the belief the heart has of God.[21]

However a person believes God to be, that is how God will appear to him.[22] By
limiting God in a particular way, the holder of a particular belief limits himself. In
the chapter on the prophet Hūd, in the Fusūs al-Hikam, Ibn 'Arabī writes,
 Take care not to be tied by any particular belief ('aqd) while denying all
others, for much good would escape you – in fact, knowledge of how
things are would evade you. So be in yourself the “substance” of all
forms of belief, for God the High is too vast and great to be confined to
one belief rather than another. He [God] has said, “Wherever you turn,
there is the face of God”,[23] without mentioning any particular
orientation.[24]

The complete Quranic verse referred to is as follows, “To God belong the east and
the west. Wherever you turn, there is the face of God. God is all-encompassing,
all-knowing.”[25] Whether east and west are understood as different parts of the
globe, representing different cultural values, or whether they are understood as
the place of the rising sun and the place of the setting sun and therefore as the
visible and invisible worlds, God is in every direction that is turned to in both the
exterior world and the interior. While acknowledging that God is the one who is
worshipped in everything that is worshipped[26] and that He cannot be limited to
any particular manifestation, we are exhorted to know that it is the “face” of God
which is in every direction and orientation, that is to say, His Essence. This is the
central point which we need to be constantly aware of in our heart, the sacred
aspect to which we adhere and before which we bow in prayer.[27]

Ibn 'Arabī's emphasis on the inclusion of all beliefs is of particular relevance to us

today. Since it is God who appears in every form, without being limited to any
particular form, He can be seen in all ways of worship and all forms of belief.
However, the ability to accept all beliefs without being tied to any one in particular
requires giving up all of one's preconceived notions about reality. When Ibn 'Arabī
exhorts us to be the “substance” of all beliefs, this is not so that we just take on
another belief which is more inclusive. It is a matter of vision, of seeing that He,
God, is the Essence of everything including ourselves, and that He is the One who
appears in everything and takes on the forms of all beliefs, and can be recognized
there.
On the matter of inner vision, Ibn 'Arabī follows the Prophet Muhammad, since he
has inherited Muhammad's all-inclusiveness and brings out the interior meaning
of Muhammad's prophecy. Muhammad called to God according to inner vision by
which Reality is witnessed not merely conjectured, when he said,

This is my Way. I invite to God according to clear insight (basīra), I and

whoever follows me, and praise and glory to God, I am not of those who
associate (anything else with God).[28]

It is an appeal to those with a receptive heart, because truth which is directly

perceived by inner vision constitutes direct knowledge which cannot be grasped
by thought.

Just as the divine mercy encompasses everything, so does the divine knowledge.
[29] For Ibn 'Arabī, the seat of this kind of direct knowledge is the heart, which
alone is able to perceive that the Divine Self is the identity both of everything
that is revealed and of everyone who receives the revelation. In the chapter on
Shu'ayb in the Fusūs al-Hikam, Ibn 'Arabī writes,

“In that there is a reminder for the one who has a heart”,[30] due to
(the heart's) ability to vary according to different kinds of images and
qualities. He (God) does not say for the one who has an intellect
because the intellect conditions and fixes the order to one particular
qualification and the Reality refuses such limitation. It is not a reminder
to those of the intellect who are people of formal beliefs, who accuse
each other of unbelief and condemn one another.[31]

Here, Ibn 'Arabī is referring to those who interpret the news given of Reality
according to their own limited understanding rather than perceiving it directly and
accepting it in their heart.

Since God appears differently at each moment, the human being needs to be able
to adapt and respond appropriately, according to wisdom. This only comes about
by serving as a mirror to the Real. Such service cannot be conditioned by any
personal goal, not even the pursuit of happiness, even though our true happiness
may be consequent to such service.

Ibn 'Arabī calls those who mirror the Real most perfectly the Muhammadians.
They have nothing of their own and are not defined by any particular divine Name
or attribute. They bring together all the different standpoints or stations on the
spiritual path and go beyond them to “no station”.[32]

Ibn 'Arabī writes,

The divine properties differ all the time and (the Muhammadian) varies
with their variation, for God is “Every day busy with some affair” and so
is the Muhammadian. God said, “In this there is a reminder for the one
who has a heart” and He did not say “intellect” because that would limit
him. The heart (qalb – which literally means turning or changing) is only
called that due to its variation in states and affairs continually with each
breath.[33]

The person whose heart is pure does not oblige Reality to conform to his own
image of it, but his heart is able to receive and conform to Reality as it truly
appears at that moment. Ibn 'Arabī writes,

“The one who has a heart” knows the variation of the Real in images, by
virtue of (the heart's) variability in modes. For he knows the (Real) Self
from himself and his heart is no other than the Itselfness (huwiyya) of
the Real. There is nothing existent in the world which is other than the
Identity (huwiyya) of the Real – indeed it is the Identity itself.[34]

This is the greatest perplexity in the mystery of God, seeing that He possesses all
forms yet is confined to none. Ibn 'Arabī writes,

The affair is a circle. It has no limit which can be seen and therefore
stopped at. This is why the Muhammadians, who have an insight like
this, are told “You have no station”, since the affair is circular, “so
return!”[35]
Because this changeability pervades the whole world, every person undergoes
variation in their state with every breath. What distinguishes the knower of God is
their knowledge of this variation.[36]

As we have seen, everyone is already, by their very existence, complete,

encompassed by divine mercy and therefore on the straight path of their Lord,
yet at the same time called to a perfection which defies limitation. Ibn 'Arabī
writes,

God “gives everything its creation”, thereby completing it, “then He

guides” to the acquisition of perfection. So whoever is rightly guided
becomes perfect but whoever has stopped with his completion has been
deprived.[37]

This call to perfection is a call to wholeness and peace where all qualities are
integrated in total equilibrium.

All human beings are born with an unlimited potential for perfection where the
entire spiritual and cosmic realities may be clearly reflected in them so that they
become the place of manifestation for the totality of divine attributes. This
possibility of further perfection for the sake of beauty heightens the value and
meaning of human life. In closely adhering to God, there is guidance in the right
way.[38]God responds to request and what more beautiful request is there than
that He may bring about for us the aptitude for perfection.

Once it is known that we have no existence of our own, that only the Real exists,
the intended revelation of beauty can take place. Ibn 'Arabī writes,

“God is beautiful and loves beauty.” Certainly, God dresses the interior of
(the) servant with beauty insofar as He only reveals Himself to him out
of love when He manifests in him the special beauty which is bound to
him and which can only appear in this particular place. Every place (of
manifestation) has a beauty which is special to it which belongs to
nothing else. God does not look at the world until after He has made it
beautiful and arranged it harmoniously so that it receives what He
 brings to it in His revelation according to the beauty of its aptitude. He
dresses that revelation with beauty upon beauty so it is always in a new
beauty in every revelation, just as it is always in a new creation in itself.
(The revelation) undergoes perpetual transformation in the interior and
exterior for the person from whom God has removed the covering of his
blindness from his inner vision (basīra).[39]

For most people intense glimpses of beauty are rare, but we have numerous
examples of the ability of the human spirit to transcend the most abominable
suffering and hardship to keep faith with the witnessed reality of this vision. It is
a vision based on an inner certainty of the essential oneness and generosity of
being.

To summarize, the Muhammadian vision provided by Ibn 'Arabī gives an overview

which is not tied to any particular belief, or property, or attribute. Essentially the
self is unbounded. If we impose our own limitations and constraints on it, we are
prevented from fully receiving each new revelation. We need to empty ourselves
of our own limitation so we are ready to respond in accordance with the needs of
the moment, freed from the burden of fixed beliefs. For, as Ibn 'Arabī says, “The
Essence is unknown and not bound by any fixed qualification.”[40]

The importance of Ibn 'Arabī in our time is what is timeless in his writings. For the
current moment, “now”, is the gateway to what lies beyond temporal and spatial
considerations. It includes that which is timeless and universal as well as all the
particular ramifications which are configured according to time and place. In our
present age, spiritual knowledge is becoming more accessible as there is a
greater urgency to recognize the true value and potential of human beings.
However many human beings are born, humanity is never divided but remains a
single reality, expressing itself in numberless different ways, each as an
individuation of the One Real Self. No one is excluded from the possibility of
coming to know themselves and therefore to know God the Real.
Ibn 'Arabī's writings illuminate the various aspects of reconciling the inner reality
and the outer reality, God and creation, the invisible and visible worlds. He
constantly refers back to the source of the revealed words of the Quran rather
than relying on subsequent interpretations of Islam. In this way he brings out the
true meaning of the religion, emphasizing the universality of the Muhammadian
Way which shows the uniqueness of the single reality of Being and its infinite
possibilities expressed in endlessly changing forms and images. The all-inclusive,
absolute God appears in all things yet remains unconfined by the limitations of
anything. Ibn 'Arabī frequently quotes the Quranic verse, “We shall show them
Our signs on the horizons and in themselves until it is clear to them that it is the
Real.”[41]

Throughout his work, Ibn 'Arabī emphasizes the need to be aware of those
aspects of reality which transcend particular circumstances, as well as paying
attention to how that reality manifests in the world, for he maintains that the
movement of the world from non-existence into existence is a movement of love.
[42] The world is itself nothing other than the One and Only Reality manifesting
itself in infinitely varied forms and states, which are already present within it in
potential. From this point of view, the signs manifested in the world should not be
dismissed or ignored, especially for those who are embarked on a spiritual
journey whose aim is union, integration and completeness.

What is it, then, that speaks in Ibn 'Arabī's words with a voice that goes beyond
the confines of his particular context, evoking a response that can be universally
recognized? Whilst respecting the diversity of viewpoints, the purpose of our
coming together for this conference is not to dwell on the determining factors
which set people apart, but to focus on their underlying unity; not to dwell on
what makes Ibn 'Arabī's teachings distant from us and inaccessible, but to focus
on what makes them close to us in opening a door to an all-inclusive spiritual
perspective. Such a universal perspective necessarily includes the totality of
perspectives, not by focusing on the detail of each, but by concentrating on the
point from which all perspectives arise and consequently encompasses them all.
This is the still point at the centre of the circle, the point about which the
universes turn.

Notes

1. This paper was originally presented at the conference entitled “Between East
and West, the spiritual journey: the significance and implications of Ibn 'Arabī's
teaching in today's world”, held in Cordoba at the Biblioteca Viva Al-Andalus,
Roger Garaudy Foundation, 24–26 September 2004.

2. Ibn 'Arabī, al-Tajalliyāt al-ilāhiyya, ed. O. Yahya (Tehran, 1988), Theophany 81,
p. 460.

3. In his Rūh al-quds, Ibn 'Arabī gives one reason for the assembly: Hūd informed
him that all the messengers and prophets had come to visit Abu Muhammad
Makhlūf al-Qabā'ilī in his sickness before he died. See Ibn 'Arabī, Sufis of
Andalusia, trans. R.W.J. Austin (London, 1971), p. 124. However, another reason
for the assembly is given by Jandī, a disciple of Ibn 'Arabī's spiritual heir, Sadr al-
Dīn Qūnawī: it was to congratulate Ibn 'Arabī on becoming the Seal of Saints, and
heir to the Seal of the Prophets. On the Great Vision at Cordoba and the Seal of
Muhammadian Sainthood, see C. Addas, Quest for the Red Sulphur (Cambridge,
1993), pp. 74–81; S. Hirtenstein, The Unlimited Mercifier (Oxford, 1999), pp. 85–
6; C. Gilis, Le livre des chatons des sagesses (Beirut, 1997), vol. I, pp. 282–3.

4. Q. 11: 56.

5. Ibn 'Arabī, Fusūs al-Hikam, ed. A. 'Afīfī (Beirut, 1946), p. 110. See also Ibn
al-'Arabī, The Bezels of Wisdom, trans. R.W.J. Austin (New York, 1980), pp. 133–
4.

6. Ismail Hakki Bursevi's translation of and commentary on Fusūs al-Hikam by

Muhyiddin Ibn 'Arabī, rendered into English by B. Rauf, 4 vols. (Oxford, 1986–91),
p. 570. This Ottoman commentary on the Fusūs al-Hikam is usually attributed to
Abdullah Bosnevi. To avoid confusion, I refer to the “Ottoman commentator”.

7. Identity, itselfness – huwiyya.

8. Ibid., p. 564.

9. Cf. Q. 7: 156, frequently quoted by Ibn 'Arabī.

10. Fusūs, 'Afīfī, p. 106. See Bezels, pp. 129–30.

11. See al-Futūhāt al-makkiyya (Cairo, 1911; reprinted Beirut, n.d.), vol. III, p.
410, beginning line 24 (III.410.24). See also W. Chittick,The Sufi Path of
Knowledge (Albany, NY, 1989), pp. 301–3.

12. Cf. Fusūs, 'Afīfī, p. 108; see Bezels, p. 132.

13. See Thursday Morning Prayer: “In Your hand is the compulsive power holding
sway over hearts and forelocks. 'To You the whole affair is returned', irrespective
of obedience or disobedience.” Ibn 'Arabī, Wird (London, 1979), p. 39. See
also, The Seven Days of the Heart, trans. P. Beneito and S. Hirtenstein (Oxford,
2000), p. 104.

14. Fut. II.563.23.

15. Fut. I.255.18. See also W. Chittick, The Self-Disclosure of God (Albany, NY,
1998), p. 224.

16. Bursevi Fusūs, p. 564. See also Sufi Path, pp. 297, 300.

17. See Fusūs, 'Afīfī, p. 109; Bezels, p. 132.

18. Q.3: 182.

19. Fut. IV.182.12.

20. Fut. IV.182.11. Hūd is the sura within which “Go straight as you have been
commanded” (Q. 11: 112) is revealed. See also Sufi Path, p. 300 and the end of
the chapter on Jacob, Fusūs, 'Afīfī, pp. 98–9; Bezels, pp. 117–18. In the epilogue
to his Mashāhid al-asrār, Ibn 'Arabī affirms that “The straight path is finer than a
hair and sharper than a sword; no one can adhere to it except the people under
God's special care.” See Ibn 'Arabī, Contemplation of the Holy Mysteries, trans. C.
Twinch and P. Beneito (Oxford, 2001), p. 120.

21. Fut. III.411.22.

22. “Whoever believes that (God) is like such and such, He appears to him in the
form of his belief.” Fut. III.411.26. Cf. also Fusūs, 'Afīfī, p. 124; Bezels, p.
152; Sufi Path pp. 302–3.

23. Q. 2: 115.

24. Fusūs, 'Afīfī, p. 113.

25. Q. 2: 115.

26. Fusūs, 'Afīfī, p. 72. See Bezels, p. 78.

27. See Fusūs, 'Afīfī, p. 114; Bezels, p. 138.

28. Q. 12: 108.

29. Cf.Q. 40: 7 often quoted by Ibn 'Arabī. See, for example, Self-Disclosure, p.
329.

30. Q. 50: 37.

31. Fusūs, 'Afīfī, p. 122. See Bezels, p. 150; Bursevi Fusūs, p. 607.

32. Cf. Fut. III.506.30. See Sufi Path, pp. 375–81.

33. Fut. IV.76.35.

34. Fusūs, 'Afīfī, p. 122. See Bezels, p. 151.

35. Fut. IV.14.13. See also Self-Disclosure, p. 226.

36. Cf. Fut. IV.77.3.

37. Fut. III. 405.4. Cf. Q. 20: 50 and Sufi Path, p. 297.

38. Cf. Q. 3: 101; Saturday Morning Prayer, Wird, p. 52; Seven Days, p. 135.

39. Fut. IV.146.5. With reference to “the ruling (hukm) which makes the hair of a
youth go white”, in this context see also Self-Disclosure, p. 80.

40. Fut. IV.40.1.

41. Q. 41: 53.

42. Fusūs, 'Afīfī, p. 203. See also the Wisdom of Moses in Bezels, p. 257.
The Degrees of the Station of No-Station

Regarding the End of the Journey

"Say: Lord, increase me in knowledge" (Qur'an,XX: 114)
"Those who believe have a stronger love for God" (Qur'an, II: 165)

The notion of station (maqām) in Sufism ought not to be very difficult to

understand. We know what a position, a grade, a rank and an office are within a
political, military or administrative hierarchy. We are also familiar with the
different stages of education which, through a series of examinations and tests,
lead to a diploma. There is a recognised difference, however: if Sufism is also
regarded as an education – for the relationship is that of master and pupil – then
its school, although open to all men and women, only comprises those students
who continually seek more (murīd), who agree to submit to the spiritual authority
of their master, and to obey him, for it is a question of replicating a relationship
that originated with the prophets, and the saints who teach by example.

It should not therefore be difficult to imagine what a spiritual station is, and to
what it can be compared. Even if modern psychology does not know what a
spiritual station is, it knows about psychological states (emotions, joy, feeling
depressed, feeling desperate, seeing the light at the end of the tunnel) and
psychological types which, even if they cannot be compared to these stations, can
serve to illustrate them.

The expression maqām (spiritual station) is part of the technical vocabulary of

Sufi literature. It does not refer to an office in the initiatory hierarchy but to a
degree, or rank. This means that a person can have attained this station without
necessarily being invested with any active power or authority.

But in our attempt to understand the notion of station, it must be said

straightaway that any description of it, or any definition that could be given of it
in an objective fashion, that is to say by drawing on the Sufi texts, could never be
wholly adequate. These writings are often themselves descriptive, analytical and
impersonal, revealing the internal structure of Sufism, but never disclosing how
this psychological evolution takes place at an individual level in relation to a
particular disciple, how little by little this disciple will learn to react in a different
way, and follow a path that will lead him far beyond the ordinary perception of the
world. That is something that is the province of autobiographical account. But
such accounts are quite rare among Sufis, who are very reticent, particularly
since each experience is in many respects personal, incommunicable and unique.

The stations, and especially the station of no-station (maqām Id maqām), pertain
to spiritual experience. As a notion, the station of no-station appears very
frequently in the writings of the masters under different names (mawqifmā warā
al-mawāqif, maqām al-maqāmāt, maqām al-tawhīd, maqām al-qurba, etc.). But
as an expression, it appears very rarely. Ibn 'Arabī used it in the Futūhāt al-
Makkiyya[2] in a technical sense, crediting Abū Yazīd al-Bastāmī and others with
having attained it, as though he wanted to suggest the rarity and also the
measure of it. In the Jawāb al-mustaqīm,[3] to the brief list of those who have
known this station (which he calls here the station of Virtue, maqām al-ihsān), he
adds Sahl ibn 'Abd Allah al-Tustarī, who is his favourite, and with whom he links
himself in a poem in one of the chapters of the Fusūs al-Hikam.[4] Since Ibn
'Arabī only allowed himself to speak about what he knew from experience, it must
be assumed that he himself had also known the station of no-station. The
numerous expressions employed to describe a final station certainly convey many
subtle, and difficult to grasp, differences in meaning. They also suggest the
unique and personal character of each experience.

For Ibn 'Arabī, the idea of personal experience nevertheless fits into the
categorisation that he established in the Fusūs al-Hikam. On the one hand,
the viator, or traveller, puts in the effort, while on the other hand it is God who
creates the path that the viator will take. He will be in "the footsteps" ('alā
qadam) of this or that prophet. The paths are already marked out.

There is also the sense that a mystical journey which does not end in no-station is
very much a journey that is incomplete, which raises the question of the destiny
of the soul that does not become perfect, or close to perfection. Each and every
one of our efforts to reach other new stations are repeated attempts to break out
of the strait jacket that keeps us in this world and prevents us from being born in
the other world.

Every rank attained which does not open directly into no-station is but a false
door. This is why Bayāzid said: "Each time I thought I had reached the end of the
Way, I was told that this was the beginning of it."[5] Only one door will open onto
the divine void, the divine Ocean, and it is this door that the viator searches for.
Sometimes he has to take the longest way round, trying all the doors and only
coming across the right one last of all. Others are lucky enough to see it opening
at the first attempt.

The Way is also a relentless struggle for survival. The station of no-station
practises natural selection; only those who reach it survive. Sufis are the
Darwinians of metaphysics.

Since this does not apply to us, we can only talk about it by reference to a mental
representation based upon the written teachings of Sufism. To make such a
representation for ourselves, a broad knowledge of Sufism is therefore necessary.
For this reason, it is necessary to distinguish, on the one hand, between the
logical degrees and on the other the degrees that are expounded in well-known
Sufi texts, such as Ansāri's Manāzil al-sā'irīn or the Mawāqif of al-Niffarī (d. ca
354 ah)[6] or the chapters of the Futūhāt al-Makkiyya by Ibn 'Arabī, which are
psychological and metaphysical degrees, that is to say psychological states and
pitfalls that the disciple encounters, as well as the metaphysical knowledge that is
revealed to him as he advances through the different stages. In Sufi writing,
these degrees are presented in a structured way, categorised, and ordered in a
didactic fashion.

From a logical perspective, an uninitiated reader would have difficulty in

understanding for example what lies behind the sudden shifts in meaning that
occur in the works of al-Ansārī and similar authors, or again how a verse of the
Qur'an is suddenly given an unexpected interpretation in a context which the
reader not used to the allusive style of the Sufi masters would not be able to
understand a priori, or perhaps even accept. In his letter to Kāshānī, Semnānī
writes: "What does logic matter, once the objective has been achieved?"[7]

LOGICAL DEGREES

(1) We have here an expression that a priori does not make sense according to
formal logic. How can that which is not a station be called a station? Surely this is
a contradiction of the principle of non-contradiction (A is A, A is not not-A), a
paradoxical statement?

Or is it simply that it was defined in the negative as a way of giving a provisional

name to something that follows on from a state of affairs in which the stations
succeed each other in a normal manner until there appears a state of affairs
which seems to be unlike anything that has come before? A simple matter of
denomination, or is the substance itself anti-station? Should lā maqām therefore
be translated as anti-station, that against which the stations lean and rest, in the
sense of an opposite (anti-matter) or in the geographical sense (anticline, anti-
atlas)?

(2) If the station of no-station means the moment when one has not yet attained
any degree or any merit, it would then be the zero degree before the
first maqām.

(3) In circular representations of the initiatic way, this station would be the one
where the two extremes meet, where the serpent bites its own tail.

(4) Should the station of no-station be taken to mean a station beyond which
there is no other station? By implication this would be in Arabic maqām lā
maqāma ba'dahu (a station beyond which there is no other station). It would
therefore be the absolute station.

In other words, the station of no-station would be the terminus, a central station
at which all the trains coming from all the stations would arrive. It would be a
kind of metropolis, the sole and final destination for all the trains.
(5) Or else, is it another station, called no-station, which is not to be confused
with the last of the stations as described in the Manāzil al-sā'irīn? It would thus
be a station only in name. If this station called no-station is not to be confused
with the last of the stations, then presumably it can be reached by different
routes from those of the one hundred waystations, since it is not connected to
them. It could suddenly sweep over us at any moment, since clearly it is not
governed by the same rules that mark out the "tourist route" of the mystical
journey (siyāha).[8] The station of no-station would be a station situated outside
the circuit (represented by a circle on which there are points marking the
stations). Each station would thus have its parallel, invisible, station, in which the
traveller could unwittingly find himself, and which would be the station of no-
station (represented by two concentric circles).

"Go to and fro freely in the world... "[9]

But on this "trip" towards God, you are advised not to allow yourself to be
captivated by the beauty of the landscape. You must constantly remember that
beauty is unique, and that it is the beauty of God. If you gaze upon something of
exceptional beauty without returning it to God, you are wasting your time!

Ey dūst shekar khoshtar yā anke shekar sāzad

My friend, is it the sugar that is sweeter or he who makes the sugar?
[10] (Rūmī)

Can every station give access to the no-station? Or is it necessary to travel

through all the stations in order to be able to reach the station of no-station, even
if the latter is not locatable in space?

(6) If every station gives access to the station of no-station, does this mean that
these stations of no-station are necessarily relative, and that the station of no-
station arrived at after having passed through all the requisite stages is the only
true one?
(7) There is another possible meaning: station (in the next world) and non-
station (in this world). It is a station, but it is no longer categorised as a station of
this world. It is the first station of the next world, perhaps the one where the
initiate enters the imagi- nal world ('ālam al-mithāl) or even the one where he
begins his journey in the Essence. For some texts imply that the station of no-
station is situated rather in an epiphany of the Divine Essence, and thus beyond
the imaginal world. It would therefore be the station of "perhaps even closer
still... " (aw adnā),[11] the one that is beyond the epiphany of the Names, where
Gabriel risked burning his wings if he ventured there.

(8) Every station is called no-station until a new, undreamt-of station looms
ahead, like a new peak suddenly rising up in front of the mountaineer who
thought his troubles were over. The station of no-station thus signifies the station
that is pending, provisional, transitional.

(9) A station is called a station because one can discern one's position there:
there is an above and a below. The height is evidence of the station. It is said of a
king that he occupies the highest rank (maqām), because he also occupies the
highest part of the throne or tribune.

The station of no-station would thus be the station where one no longer perceives
that which is lower as such, where everything is levelled by reference to what is
higher, and where it is revealed to us that all the stations are perfect at whatever
degree they might be situated. The degrees disappear. The miracle is to see that
God is to be found in His totality at all the degrees, at all the stations where He
manifests, in all the degrees of manifestation, from the most radiant to the most
obscure. "And the earth shall shine with the light of its Lord... "[12]

All of these questions are of a logical order; they are all tenable in reality.

LITERATURE AND ART

Fiction and literary narratives in general provide us likewise with similar examples
and descriptions of these states because their heroes are not described abstractly,
with a view to illustrating a thesis. They live like real characters in everyday life,
encountering experiences that can be likened to those that spiritual disciples go
through. Writers of fiction depict their heroes as passing through and being
transformed by a series of condensed stages on their journey through the pages
of the book, and as living a "Romantic" life, a life full of adventures. These heroes
experience despair, they eventually see the light at the end of the tunnel, they
come out into the light, they attain their goal, they experience pain and joy, and
they mature. Many of these accounts can be regarded as descriptions of quasi-
stations, which can be compared to spiritual experience.

The station of no-station can be glimpsed in blazes, or flashes, like being able to
witness heroic exploits through a pane of glass, without oneself having the
necessary qualifications for taking part in the action. Or, as if on a TV screen, we
are able to watch scenes unfolding far away from where we ourselves are. The
images convey emotions to us which involve us in the ordeals of the heroes.

In dreams, this state presents itself to us in the form of premonitory images of

what the future holds for us. In Sufism, there is always anticipation: what one
sees at the beginning is what will be realised in the future. These visions prepare
the traveller for what will later become, if he reaches it, his final station.

The artist passes through periods, phases in the evolution of his art, during which
his art acquires gradually more and more maturity, more and more precision. He
tends towards absolute art. Thus, as Coomaraswamy[13] would say, the best
artist is the one who could represent a landscape, a still life, a portrait, such as it
would be in the mind of God, as it is in God. Such is the artist who practises
painting beyond painting, which seeks and perceives a form beyond form and
colour.

From this point of view, Sufism is an art. It is what explains why almost all Sufi
masters are poets. They have acquired the art of concise expression, the art of
speaking like God, inspired to say things aesthetically and in truth. This is why
many Sufis are good calligraphers, poets, etc.
THE STATION OF NO-STATION IN HISTORY

History and legend also reserve a special degree for certain individuals, who
become timeless and never leave the stage of sacred or mythical history,
hundreds or even thousands of years after their death. This is true of the
prophets, characters from the Bible and legend and characters from Greco-Roman
mythology (The Argonauts), or from Indian mythology, etc.

They are "undeposable": they are thus in the degree of no-station. Only he who is
in a station can lose it. The wave of the history of time only carries away in its
flow those who stand in its path.

A station is restrictive. It imposes constraints on the one in whose care it is and

requires him to obey certain rules, failing which he will fall and lose the quality of
it. As with every quality, honorary or real, it is subject to etiquette. Noblesse
oblige.

The station of no-station would thus be something that would apply to a

"liberated" being, free from constraints – such as themalāmatiyya, the heroes of
Greek mythology, Jason and the Argonauts, Ulysses, Hercules, and other demi-
gods. In Persian, they are called "kings" (Shāh), Shāh Ni'matollāh Valī, Safī 'Alī-
Shāh, etc. perhaps because they have arrived at the Divine Throne ('Arsh).

Switching into symbolic mode, the epics of Homer or Virgil can be regarded as a
record of the great events that lead exceptional men to a station of no-station,
since they make their heroes go through adventures and trials that make them
worthy of attaining their goal, and this takes place beneath the beneficent gaze of
the gods.

This applies also to Ferdowsi's Iranian epic Shāh-nāmeh (The Book of the Kings),
and other mythical epics of an initiatic nature.

We could paraphrase Paul Valéry and assert that all literature implies (and is
generally unaware that it implies) a certain idea of man, and even a view on the
destiny of the species, a whole metaphysic that ranges from the rawest
sensualism to the boldest mysticism.[14]
Formally everything is maqām; the whole of life presents only maqāms. It is by
virtue of their content that the stations differ from one another, and that the
initiatic maqām is higher. Otherwise, a man who had succeeded in making his
fortune by becoming a multimillionaire, or a man who had won the heart of the
most beautiful woman in his village, or a man who had succeeded in getting
elected mayor of his town – all would have reasons to think that they had
attained a high maqām, as a reward for their efforts. This formal resemblance is,
moreover, the foundation of Sufi parables and metaphors: the higher is explained
by reference to the lower, which is an image of it.

Everyone is on the Way. But not everyone is aware of it.

Each one of us is able to turn back towards our past and measure not only the
progress we have made in life, the obstacles that we have overcome (that which
does not kill you, makes you stronger), and the degree of maturity gained; but
also the flaws that are innate in us, the transgressions for which we cannot
forgive ourselves... ..

Man is thus on a path, although he does not know it, even if he comes to realise
that his life has not been merely an adding up of minutes, or the passing of time.

The station of no-station would therefore have as its first meaning the place
where one does not yet know what a station is, where one does not yet have any
station. When that is realised at the end of the mystical journey, one discovers
that what was true at the beginning of the journey is confirmed at the end. But
this confirmation is a reward: the person learns that in fact he or she has
no maqām.

The conscious entry into the Way thus marks the beginning of the path. It is the
moment when the path makes its appearance, as an indistinct, hazy form
emerging beneath our feet. It is the Way that comes to us, like a path that we
were following without knowing it, covered in dust that the wind of Providence
comes and sweeps before us.
In practice, this entry begins through meeting with a master, through being
fascinated by beauty, by love.

Che daārad dar del ān khwāje Ke mītābad ze rokhsārash

What does that gentleman have in his heart That is shining in his face?
(Rūmī)

Spiritual masters are able to discern those who have the potential for following
the way of light, those who are ready for service. For,

Dar rah-e manzel-e leylī ke khatarhāst dar ān Shart-e avval qadam ān

ast ke majnūn bāshī
Many are the dangers along the path that leads to the dwelling of Leylī

The condition for taking the first step along it is that you have to be mad.[15]
(Hāfiz)

But the advantage of the Way is that it teaches shortcuts, it enables you to save
time, and to discern more quickly any technical difficulty that will hold you up.

This entry into the Way, the first step, the first condition of which we have just
seen in a verse by Hāfiz, comes down to pure, genuine love – for the state of
Majnūn means nothing other here than an attitude that challenges any faith in
the rational mind and in the selfish motives of passion.

Hīlat rahā kon asheqā! Dīvāne sho dīvāne sho!

Lovers, abandon guile, be crazy, be crazy! (Rūmī)

The entry into the Way could justify an entire symposium devoted to it. All the
stations that are passed through will only deepen this first perception of a hidden
world, of the conviction that it is worth exploring. He who has tasted the
sweetness of something can no longer contain himself!

In this connection, there is a story about a sheikh of the 'alawiyya tariqa, the
Sheikh al-Madanī, who approached a group of young thieves.[16] He offers them
some easy but well-paid work. They agree to follow him. When they arrive at his
house, the 'alawī sheikh arranges them in a circle and asks them to recite zikr for
one hour. When they have finished, he pays them a sum of money with which
they are more than satisfied. Naturally, they ask for more. They come back the
following day. At the end of a few days, the louts become the murīds of the
sheikh, and decide to enter the Way. The 'alawī master had discerned in them the
inclination towards spiritual matters. All they needed was a taste of the pleasure
of zikr to be convinced.

It is possible therefore to have done the mystical journey, to be so far advanced,

to have got so close to the goal, without even realising it. A single spark, or a
nudge, would be enough to become fully realised.[17] Everybody knows the story
of the brigands who were the first disciples of 'Abdulqādir al-Gilānī.[18]

There is such a truth in this that for many the beginning is often confused with
the end of the mystical journey. They reach the goal the same day that they
become aware of the path. Others with less inclination will not take another step,
for the first taste is enough for them. They have achieved their measure, their
relative perfection. They did not need to drain the cup to its dregs; sniffing the
cork was enough to make them inebriated.

But then there is a rule which I shall explain through the Algerian proverb: ellī
sabqak b'lila, sabqak bi-hīla: he who is born one night before you is one trick
ahead of you. It applies also in Sufism. Besides, it is surely of Sufi origin: he who
is one night ahead of you on the Way, is one (Sufi) trick ahead of you.

In order to be a master – that is to have the ability to guide another person – it is

necessary to be at least one stage ahead. For one can only lead and guide toward
what one knows. Hence the necessity for an initiatic chain.

But perfect masters treat their disciples, and others in general, as though they
were already what they have been called upon to become, precisely in order to
help them to become what they are capable of becoming. The most accomplished
master can only lead you to your own perfection, for perfection is relative.
METAPHYSICAL DEGREES

Some preliminary comments on the theory of knowledge in Sufism:

Intellectual Sufism, particularly with Ibn 'Arabī, effected a definitive break with
the deus ex machina. There is no god but Allah. This is interpreted as an
immanent function in the world, which is inseparable from the Creator because,
quite simply, the creation is a mirror of God, a constant divine effusion. There is
no discontinuity, no gap between God, the Uncreated, and the created world.

In place of a theology in which the Divine Essence is contemplated from a

theoretical point of view and where care is taken to rid it of everything that would
be contrary to its perfection, which is the essential precept, we have a theosophy
or rather a practical discipline that makes Man the central focus of knowledge
rather than God. It is in Man that knowledge occurs and it is Man who must be rid
of his imperfections in order to gain awareness of this active presence in the
world that we call God. It is therefore a matter that is entirely the domain of Man.
To know God is to realise that the world is His manifestation; it is to realise
oneself, to realise what it is to be a human being.

The goal of Sufism is real knowledge, not theoretical knowledge.

There is no God apart from the Manifestation; there is no access to the Essence
(because it is unknowable and that is all that is known). Man in his turn realises
that his essence does not exist except as something provisional, with the
potential to become a cosmic function; he is the province of knowledge, the
medium for the Divine Names. The created beings (al-insān al-makhlūq)[19] are
animals, as Aristotle says, and endorsed by Ibn 'Arabī, for whom Man denotes
first of all Perfect Man. When the divine form leaves the human body, then shall
the trumpet sound heralding the end of the world.

We do not know God; we know al-ulūha, the divine function, in so far as it is

manifest. We pass through the various levels or planes of the divine manifestation
(Acts, Names, Essence). At each level, we transmute, we shed a skin. There is a
constant relationship between us and the way in which we array ourselves in the
Divine Names and Attributes. Man 'arafa nafsahu fa qad 'arafa rabbahu... ..

If the Torah is written on the "skin" of God, as the Kabbalists allege, then God
sheds a "skin" each time our level of understanding of the Torah changes, for it is
in the "skin" of God that we are reading.

There are three moments in Sufi metaphysics:

precreation | creation | de-creation

In concrete terms, these three moments correspond (1) to the moment when God
wanted, desired to be known, or lover (muhibb), (2) to the creation or
manifestation or hubb, love, and (3) to the return, or beloved (mahbūb).

Lover | Love | Beloved

One can continue in this fashion with triads such as 'ārif, ma'rifa, ma'rūf / murīd,
iradat, murād, etc.

At each of these moments the immutable essence ('ayn thābita) follows God and
obeys Him. As God desired it, it too loves to be known; it contemplates the
beauty of creation when it is itself brought into existence, and it finds itself the
object of the love and attention of God, when it returns to the Essence. God loves
it with the same love that He feels towards Himself. It becomes a murād.

The ascent to the station of no-station is nothing other than an attempt at

bringing together, jam', and then the unification of the metaphysical principle.
The mystical journey is in God.

Finally, the station of no-station is a way of going beyond the contradiction of the
opposites.

Instead of giving it a specific name, Ibn 'Arabī has kept the expression maqām lā-
maqām as a whole because it conveys this special state of the junction of two
worlds. It is a station on the human side, and a non-station on the divine side.
The station belongs to Man and the relative indetermination of no-station belongs
to Him. It is an expression that makes allowances: to the created, that which is
his due; to the Uncreated, Its language.

Immanence on the human side, and transcendence on the divine side.

It is the station of no-station because it is a station in which one cannot remain,

an untenable station, that has to be quickly relinquished, for it would be a conceit
to aspire to stay there. The sālik must retrace his steps, for he is reminded that
he is but an empty shell, an impotent creature. The maqām is an illusion for Man.
The maqām is God's alone. The sālik understands that he is a cosmic and
ontological function, predetermined in his attributes since the beginning of time.
The sole purpose of the mystical ascent was to reveal this to him. Moses has been
Moses since the beginning of time and Muhammad has been Muhammad since
the beginning of time. The people of the lā-maqām are pure servants ('abd
mahz). Thus the station of no-station seems to be the boundary where Man
reaches the borders of the divinity, and where he must necessarily realise and
affirm his essential servanthood ('ubūda).

This should be related to the famous Qur'anic verse VIII: 17 ("It was not you who
threw when you threw: it was God who threw") and to what Khidr reveals to
Moses: "In all of that I did not act on my own initiative" (Qur'an, XVIII: 82).

A station is something of which one becomes aware, but to become aware of a

station is to go beyond it. This is explained by the fact that knowledge is
dependent upon the station, and the station always corresponds to a level of
knowledge. We are what we know. To be is to know. Intensification of the act of
being depends on intensification of knowledge and vice versa. But the Qur'an,
which links the two (knowledge and station), in its promise, seems to accord
ontological primacy and the motive role to the pursuit of knowledge. The Prophet
was ordered to ask for an increase in knowledge – "Say: Lord increase me in
knowledge"[20] - and God promises him an increase in station: "It may be that
your Lord will exalt you to a praiseworthy station (maqām)".[21] It is
knowledge that must be sought, not the station. It is God who bestows the
station as a reward for the degree of knowledge. But here station has an
honorary meaning(makāna).

Mysticism implies the search for a secret. Sufism teaches that the secret is not
something external, like that sought by MI6 or the CIA. It is not outside us. It is
not something other than us. We are the secret. This implies that the world of
ordinary everyday appearance conceals something that transcends it, but which
enhances its value and refines it. The Sufi quest is not an asceticism that consists
in casting off the world. It consists in wearing the world inside out, or rather
turning it the right way round. The veil that presents the world as something
essentially negative must be lifted so that the light that it hides can be
contemplated. Thus the Sufi is not a destroyer of the world. Quite the opposite.
He is not an ascetic. He is a man who seeks happiness, Life. He endows the world
with life and with light. He renders the world to God, in accordance with the shat-
h of Jesus: "render unto God that which belongs to God and to Caesar that which
is Caesar's" (Matthew). When everything that belongs to God has been rendered
unto Him, where then will Caesar be, what will remain of Caesar?

The world has a Sufi future. When the world is finally perceived in its reality as a
manifestation of God, the Sufi will be revealed as one of the cogs in this
wonderful divine machine. Thus his aim is to preserve the world. He participates
in the perpetual creation of the world. This is what the station of no-station is.

This is evidenced again in Islamic mysticism, when compared with Plotinian

mysticism for example, by the fact that it considers that the world and its source,
the soul and the body, are not completely separate in a Manichaean manner, the
one being good and the other evil. There is always an intermediate world, not
only at the macrocosmic level but also at the level of the smallest particle, an
intermediate level where the two aspects touch each other and constitute an
indissociable and indivisible unity. An ignorance of the imaginal world is what
transformed all the earlier schools of mysticism into ascetic systems, aimed at
freeing the soul from the body.
There are several forms of ascent that are differentiated from each other
according to the method followed. Each one ends in a kind of knowledge. In this
connection, you may like to read the excellent contribution to a recent conference
in Rabat by my friend Stephen Hirtenstein on Ibn 'Arabī's Brotherhood of Milk.
[22]

IMAGES OF THE REAL

Sufism teaches through anecdote, metaphor and image. Let us look at some
illustrations of this point:

Image A: An alif with an infinity sign modified by plus or minus signs (+ or -) at

each end. This alif is the Way. When it reveals itself it contains in reality the Tree
of Being. Alef-e qāmat-e dūst (the alif which is the shape of the Beloved)! It is
the alif that it would be more accurate to depict in a horizontal position, like
the bā'.

In any event this alif, which extends from pre-eternity to post-eternity, is the
location of the mystical journey. At which station does one reach it? God alone
knows.

Hāfiz said:

Az azal tā be abad forsat-e darvīshān ast

The time of the dervishes stretches from pre-eternity to post-eternity.

In theory it can be reached at any moment. The letter alif is thus the only letter
that exists. All the other letters are contained in it. Hāfiz has also said:

Nist bar lowh-e delam joz alef-e qāmat-e dūst

Che konam harf-e degar yād na-dād ostādam

There is no other letter on the tablet of my heart, except the alif, the
shape of the Beloved
What is to be done? The master has not taught me any other letter
except that one!
Image B: Since the location of the mystical journey is a long path, let us content
ourselves with examining an enlargement of a segment of the Tree of Being
magnified a billion times through a metaphysical microscope.

We see a vertical segment indented alternately on either side (like an ear of

wheat, or the Tree that it was forbidden to touch for it causes vertigo, or like
DNA). This is the "distance" covered in a lifetime by a sālik who has attained
the maqām lā-maqām. The alif isserrated on all sides because the chance to climb
it is offered to everyone, and via every route. In fact, there is only one path for
each person, and no path encroaches on another.

"If the ephemeral were compared to the Eternal... "

Image C: This is the technical aspect of the passage from one station to another,
represented by a spring, which signifies that once a station has been traversed, it
already affords a view of the next station, and is preparing one for it. But for a
moment, this station is taken for the final station, as we have seen in the
quotation from Abū Yazid al-Bistāmī. What is one step by man in relation to
infinity? From this perspective, the Way is doomed to be nothing but an eternal
beginning.

This feeling of not moving forward, of always being at the starting point, indicates
to the traveller that the stations all come down to a single station that one must
take the time to examine from every angle. The impression of advancing, of
moving from one station to another, is engendered by an increase in "knowledge",
of a mastery of the Way, of the certainty that this effort generates.

This state should undoubtedly be related to the distinction which Ibn 'Arabī makes
between the makān (place) and the makāna (rank or position). While he is in the
station, the sālik is in a place that he explores gradually. When he has come to
know all the corners and nooks and crannies, he is transported, as a reward, to a
"place" that is no longer a place (lā-makān) but a rank (makāna).

From this perspective, the lā-maqām would then be the unique moment when
the sālik abandons the cycle, the eternal beginning again, to fall like a ripe fruit,
against his own free will, into a new state, a state of perplexity. This would be the
station of no-station.

The man who has been made perfect (al-mukammal) no longer has a
harbour in which to drop his anchor. No station can contain him (can
hold him) in existence (al-kawn).[23]

Like a fully inflated balloon, he is wrenched from the ground to rise up into the
sky! This can be likened to a suitcase on a carousel at an airport. As long as no
passenger comes to pick it up, it will go round and come past again several times
waiting for the hand of its Owner to grab hold of it and take it off the carousel.

Image D: A set of mirrors multiplying an increasingly faint

image...

... from the first vertiginous fall of creation, from mirror to mirror,
reducing in intensity until the final level from where one has to go
back up again. The word "fall" should not be understood in a
negative way, for the manifestation results from God's desire to
be known, to let Himself be known outside the Hidden
Treasure (al-kanz al-makhfī). It is an explosion of joy, of light, the metaphysical
big-bang. The immutable essences (a'yān thābita) do nothing other than follow
the will of God and imitate Him by multiplying. They too, also wanted to see
themselves, to make themselves known. They are affected by every decision of
God.

Dar azal partov-e hosnat ze tajallī dam zad

'eshq peydā shod o ātash be hame 'ālam zad

In pre-eternity, the ray of your beauty decided to manifest itself

Love therefore appeared and set the whole world on fire. (Hāfiz)

The being which is in the first mirror sees God and sees itself in the second mirror
(in imitation of God). It is thus the most recent manifestation of God, the one
that is the closest to Him on the line of "descent".
On the line of ascent, it is the last stage; the being has accumulated so much
experience that it feels a very powerful energy (himmat)drawing it towards the
Divine Eye. It has discarded created forms and strives with all its strength to
return to the Source.

Rūmī says that human beings go from mineral to vegetable, and from vegetable
to animal, before passing into the human state. And Ibn 'Arabī adds that the
human form is not adequate to define Man.[24]

On the line of ascent, as the sālik proceeds to climb the stages, he goes back up
from mirror to mirror, reducing the number of mirrors that separate him from
God. He measures his progress in terms of the spiritual energy (himmat) acquired
at each stage that he passes through. He senses that his act of being (wujūd) is
gaining in intensity, as Mollā Sadrā would say.

The station of no-station is the final moment when he emerges from the mirror to
discover himself as a divine thought.

During the stages of the ascent, the sālik is constantly in motion. He moves
progressively through the sequences of the film. He goes through them one by
one, until THE END.

When he arrives at the station of no-station, he comes to a halt. The film is now
projected before him. All the sequences are unfolded in front of him; he sees
them all spread out together for him to review, still and lifeless. It was his own
movement (of hayrat) that gave the impression of life, of moving images. In God
there is no movement at all. Now he knows the sequence that is to come, and
watches the frames of the film unwinding before his eyes. He has become a
perfect master.

The film reveals that this destiny, this scenario, has existed since the beginning of
time. God knew all the sequences of it. Having returned to God, he is allowed to
see the world as God sees it. Thus, he will be able to say, like Hāfiz:

Sālhā del talab-e jām-e Jam az mā mī kard

Vānche khod dāsht ze bīgāne tamannā mī kard
 For years on end, the heart asked us for the cup of Jamshid [cup of
immortality]
In vain did it ask the stranger for what it already had.

This is what Abū al-Hasan al-Kharaqānī had in mind when he said: the Sufi is not
created (al-sūfi ghayr makhlūq).[25]

He has de-created himself, as Chodkiewicz would say.[26] He has returned to the

state of 'ayn thābita, as an Akbarian would say. The Way leads us towards what
we have been since the beginning of time.

No doubt it was after having entered into this state that 'Ab-dulqādir al-Gilānī
made his famous declaration: "This foot of mine here is on the neck of every saint
of God" (qadamī hādhihi 'alā raqabati kulli waliyy Allāh).[27]

According to the question that was asked of Qūnawī: "From where (have you
come?) and to where (are you going?), and what happens between the
two?" (min ayn ilā ayn, fa mā al-hāsil fī l-bayn?),[28] he gave an impromptu
answer giving the question a metaphysical significance: "(We have come) from
(divine) knowledge (and we are going) towards the Essence. What happens in
between is the renewal of a relationship that unites the two extremes and
appears through both determinations."

His reply can be illustrated by saying: we come from the origin of the
manifestation of the stations and we return to no-station. The line that separates
these two domains represents the real location of the Way, that which occurs
between the two extremes, where the divine knowledge returns to the Essence,
where the knowledge of men is re-united with (the ignorance of) the immutable
essences.

In the ascent, the world was an illusion within an illusion (khayāl fī khayāl). In his
perfection, the master sees the world undeniably as the manifestation of
God (Haqq).

Innamā al-kawnu khayāl

Wa huwa haqqun fī l-haqīqā
Walladhī yafhamu hādhā
Hāza asrār al-tarīqa

The universe is an illusion

But it is true in reality
Whosoever understands this
Has grasped the secrets of the Way[29]

The secrets of the tariqa only allow themselves to be known by he who has
travelled in both directions.

* * *

SOCIOLOGICAL AND HISTORICAL DEGREES

For Plato, it is the thumos that is the origin of this spiritual aspiration, of this
intuition that it is possible to attain a better state than the one in which one is
currently, of this sorrow of the soul that longs to return to its source, that is to
say to pass from the lower level where the stations are attained to the upper level
where one leaves them behind.

This thumos gives Man the capacity for ambition, for righteous anger, and for
indignation. Whereas reason on its own – as can be observed in the neutral
stance of modern science – contents itself with saying things, with describing
them, the thumos is the ana-gogic faculty that enables one to make a value
judgment about things, and which aspires to go beyond them. It maintains what
is otherwise known as social constraint, the fact that men have a desire to change
a situation that is shocking and unacceptable. It manifests at an individual level,
as in the example given by Plato of the person who, having succeeded in getting
out of the cave, has no wish to return to it. But this example is equally valid for
society since, according to Plato, the soul of the Republic is the algebraic sum of
the individual souls of its members.

But this aspiration encounters stumbling blocks that can bring it to a halt, or lead
it on by a longer route, or into an impasse. Man does not have the intuition of
spiritual aspiration from the outset. The ambition of spiritual realisation is not
always the conscious driving force, and it may be that he is unable to see beyond
perfection of a material kind, or the attainment of some position or other in this
world. In the latter case, this is somebody who has realised his relative
perfection, even if he himself is unaware that that is its measure in relation to the
criteria of the Way.

Herein lies the trap. But this aspiration can be interpreted as an obstacle to a
divine name. For example, he who seeks power does not succeed in mastering
the divine name the Powerful. Hence De Gaulle said: "I am the majesty of the
French people!". Someone who attains the degree of representation of a people
can identify himself with it and speak in its name, well or ill, like Pharaoh saying:
"I am your lord!".

Every prophet fulfils his mission as a guide whilst at the same time seeking his
own personal realisation. He has one side turned towards God (Haqq), and one
side turned towards his people (Khalq). He is a saint in so far as he is turned
towards his Lord. In the case of the Prophet of Islam, al-isrā' (the Night-Journey),
takes place when he is already preaching his message. On his return from his
nocturnal journey, the Prophet returns with the Law (the prayer). It is the same
for Moses (SA): the maqām al-qurba occurs for him after the ten years spent with
Shu'ayb, according to Sulamī quoting Ibn 'Ata, interpreting the verb ānastu
nāran.[30]

On his return from the mountain, Moses returns with the tablets.
In both cases these are journeys that have a collective and communal effect. It
can be concluded from this that the station of no-station is a prophetic station,
whereas the qurbā, jam', and jam' al-jam', are stations of sainthood.

This thumos is without doubt what in Sufism is called al-irāda, or active will. It is
something that motivates the movement that is otherwise known as love. It is a
desire to search for one's origins, to go back to the source, to rise above the
insouciance of the masses, to gain degrees, promotions.

Who is it that keeps this aspiration, this fire of God, burning? There is the
ambiguity. In shi'ta qulta wa in shi't qulta. One can say that it is man who
aspires. One can say that it is God. What is essential is to understand that
this irāda is the epiphany of the Divine Jealousy(ghayrah), for God Himself is
implicated in the world, in order to defend His honour.[31] Wa mā qadaru Allaha
haqq qadrihi... [32] "They have not measured (considered) God with His true
measure... "

It is a question that has been summed up by a certain Sufi[33] in this ecstatic

statement (shat-h): "The difference between my Lord and me is that I was the
first to prostrate myself."

In any event, it is the exhaustion of this irāda that will characterise and be the
cause of the end of History according to Ibn 'Arabī. The Hour will rise over men
reduced to the animal state, satisfying their worldly desires. The divine call will
hear no answering echo from such men. For Sufism, the driving force of history,
its raison d'etre, is precisely the irāda. As the Tradition teaches, God will maintain
the world as long as there is at least one man to say: Allah, Allah, Allah!

Sufi initiation consists in making sure of leaving the ship before it founders in the
end of history. It is thus a doctrine of perfect salvation (soteriology).

Among the historians too, there is also this perception that history has a
direction, a movement towards perfection. Toynbee sees challenge as being at the
root of civilisation, without seeing that the challenge itself is underpinned by the
idea of salvation.[34] All the efforts of the men of a particular civilisation are only
the consequence of this desire to ensure their salvation, and of this spiritual
aspiration, its fruits.

Every civilisation will be a manifestation of a divine form. The twenty-seven

prophets of the Fusūs each symbolise a way of entering the station of no-station.

Today the phenomenon of globalisation can be regarded as the prefiguration of

the realisation of a kind of total manifestation of all the names, as a kind of Insān
kāmil in action. In the time of Ibn 'Arabī too, they were attracted by this
political tawhīd. Muslims were all seeking unity, but they could not see exactly of
what it might consist. Some sought it in political unity, others in philosophy (the
absolute Unity of Ibn Sab'īn). It was no coincidence that the dynasty which was in
power at the time of Ibn 'Arabī called itself Almohads (al-muwahhidūn: that is to
say the ones that unify). But the perception of their leader Ibn Tūmert (who died
in 524/1130) was, rather, of an artificial unity brought about by political force,
which could only give rise to a monolithism.

That the station of no-station could concern an entire community, as a society –

and not just an individual – is implicit in the Qur'anic verse[35] from which the
expression originates. It is as though God wanted to say to them: "O people of
Yathrib, you are not yet (as a community) ready for the station of no-station, for
the complete manifestation will only come later. Return home. You are not the
community that will unify the world, and in any event the world will not be unified
in your time."

This verse could also be interpreted thus, if one wants to round this off in a
positive sense: "It is you who will serve as the model for future society. You will
be the ideal city in the eyes of the men of the future." Having attained the station
of no-station, they are called upon to "return" (f-arji'ū) and to wait for the time to
arrive when they will serve as guides to others. Because, as Ibn 'Arabī
emphasises, "the process is circular and eternal".[36] For the perfection of
perfection is to be in the station of no-station whilst at the same time being
corporeally in this world. These "men of return" are the ones who keep the flame
of active will burning.
This sociological or, if you like, socio-sophic interpretation of the verse is justified
by the fact that the verse calls not upon an individual but a population, a human
group consisting of the inhabitants of Yathrib (Medina). By extension, this can
concern all of humankind.

In any event, the context of Yathrib allows Ibn 'Arabī to draw the conclusion that
this station of no-station is specific to the Muhammadan saints. He writes:

The highest category (of the saints) is that of no-station, and the reason
for this is that the stations govern those that reside there.

Now there is no doubt that the highest category is the one that holds
authority, not the one who is subject to authority... And that belongs to
the Muhammadans alone, by a divine solicitude already given to them,
as the Most-High has said: "As for those those whom we have already
rewarded with splendour, they will be kept far from Gehenna."[37] [38]
The stations are therefore likened to a degree of Gehenna.

It is a station specific to Muhammadans for it is the station of praise (maqām al-

mahmūd). Now, the standard of praise (liwā' al-hamd) is in the hands of the
Prophet whose three names Ahmad, Muhammad and Mahmūd derive from the
same root.

The station of no-station is where the destiny of the individual will determine the
destiny of the community, where destinies become a single destiny. Aeneas
having become the symbol of Rome, lā-maqām signifies in relation to him that he
is omni-present, in every Roman, in the sense that every Roman owes something
to him, so that he has become a sort of psychological or even metaphysical
universal.

Hence the insistence of all the commentators on the fact that the maqām al-
mahmūd is characterised above all by the power of universal intercession that is
recognised as belonging to the Prophet. Muhammad will intercede for all those
who have recognised themselves in him and for all those (men and women) that
he will recognise as his.

And so it is the case of Moses fighting with the strength of all the children of
Israel who had died for him, because they were all potentially a Moses,
individualities of Moses, the metaphysical universal.

Every society carries the "mark", the imprint of its prophet, the mark that guides
it in the right direction, or leads it astray. The guide may be faithfully imitated by
his people. But he may also be vainly imitated by those whose faith is insincere:
while Moses is on the mountain with the Lord, his people have a rendezvous with
the golden calf.

In the work of Ibn 'Arabī, the perspective of one world (globalisation), the
sociological tawhīd, the universal manifestation in action, could not occur in
History before occurring in spirit. If in its infrastructure the world is already one,
it will only find stability in this unity if it is unified also in its superstructure.

The universal function of sealing belongs to the saints, and not to the Prophets.

The end of the world will come when the last man destined to pass through the
station of no-station has succeeded in leaping into the divine absconditus. Those
who have attained realisation, those who have already passed behind the curtain,
are waiting for this saint of the final days.

When the last part of Perfect Man has crossed the Bridge, the world will collapse
because it will no longer have any pillar to hold it up. And God will invert the
hourglass of time again, ready for another beginning that will not be the
same: "We turned (the earth) upside down... " (Qur'an, XI: 82 or XV: 72). "On
the Day when the earth is changed into other than the earth, and likewise the
heavens, and they will be laid out before God the One, the Implacable" (Qur'an,
XIV: 48).

Finally it should be noted that this sociological interpretation has already attracted
many of the early Akbarians, especially those descended from the Kubrawiyya, up
until the initiation of the Kabbalistic revolution (horūfiyya), by Fazlullāh
Astarābādī.

It is also in a socio-sophic sense that Qaysarī interprets the verse: "Abraham was
an Umma,"[39] by saying that Abraham contained all the communities that were
to spring from him.[40] Likewise, Kāshānī made a connection between the
substance of the prophecies and the dispositions of the peoples concerned by the
teaching of the prophets.[41] There is a permanent connection between
communities and their guides, but this connection is not one of necessity: Moses
did not need his people. The higher does not need the lower.

CONCLUSION

All we have done is say things. We have not attained the station of no-station at
all. Studying Sufism does not make one a Sufi. Spiritual experience cannot be
summed up in words. Awhad al-Dīn Kermānī, who was a friend of Ibn 'Arabī,
uttered this quatrain:

The mysteries of the path cannot be solved by asking

nor by throwing away dignity and wealth.
Unless your heart and eyes shed blood for fifty years,
You will not be shown the way from words to states.[42]

If we must come to a conclusion, then the point that should be emphasised is

that the stations all correspond to the degrees of acquisition of divine knowledge,
from the lowest degree where the person knows nothing, but where he believes
that he knows something, right up to the highest degree where the person has
learnt much, but finally realises that he knows nothing. For this reason it is right
to say, following Ibn 'Arabī and those who followed him, that the lā-maqām is that
of nescience, not knowing (maqām al-jahl, nā-dānī). But it is learned ignorance.
To recognise one's ignorance of God is the highest station that one can attain.[43]
For Ibn 'Arabī, perfect knowledge of God is only possible through the affirmation
of opposites as simultaneous truths. God is the First and the Last, the Apparent
and the Hidden, and similarly the Knowing and the "Ignorant".

Having returned to the state of 'ayn thābita, in the "night" of the

divine absconditus, it is evident that man is "unknown" as such; in thewujūd al-
Haqq, the immutable essences are completely unknown, and even more so
unknowing. This is no doubt what the Greek philosophers sensed when they
claimed that God did not know individuals. But they did not suspect that this was
only true from the perspective of the Essence envisaged as absolutely
indeterminate.

A Qur'anic verse speaks of the creation and the resurrection as a moment that
lasts no longer than the blinking of an eye.[44] When God opens his eye, He
creates. When He closes it, He returns back to Himself. At every second, we make
the return journey from God to God.

Thus we can understand why, in order to speak of the end, it was enough for us
to speak of the beginning.

Translated from the French by Karen Holding

Notes

1. This paper was originally presented at the twenty-first annual symposium of

the Muhyiddin Ibn 'Arabi Society, entitled "The Station of No Station", held in
Oxford, 15-16 May 2004.

2. Ibn 'Arabī, al-Futūhāt al-Makkiyya, Vol. I, p. 223: "or a person who having
gathered together the stations then emerges from them into no-station like Abū
Yazīd (al-Bistāmī) and his kind." I am using the Cairo edition of Futūhāt al-
Makkiyya, 4 vols, 1 329 ah.

3. Al-Tirmidhī, Kitāb khatm al-awliyā, ed. Othmān I. Yahyā (Beirut, 1965), p.143.

4. Fusūs al-Hikam, Chapter 6 on Isaac. I am using the edition by Abū al-'Alā' 'Afīfī
(Beyrouth, 1946; repr. Tehran, n.d.).
5. Eric Geoffroy, Initiation au soufisme (Fayard, Paris, 2003), p. 22.

6. The Mawāqif and Mukhātabāt of Muhammad ibn Abdi' l Jabbār al-Niffarī, A.J.
Arberry edn (E.J.W. Gibb Memorial, London, 1932; repr. 1978).

7. 'Abd al-Rahmān Jāmī, Nafahāt al-Uns, Persian edn by Mahmud Abedī (Tehran,
1 370). The text of the letter to Kāshānīis on p. 490.

8. Siyāha is the word used today in Arab countries to translate the word tourism.

9. Qur'an, IX: 2.

10. All the quotations of Rūmī are from his Kulliyyāt-e Shams (Tabrizī), also
called Divān-e Kabīr, ed. Badī'uzzamān Foruzanfar (Tehran, 1336 AHsh./1 377
ah), 10vols.

11. Qur'an, LIII: 9.

12. Qur'an, XXXIX: 69.

13. Ananda K. Coomaraswamy, The Transformation of Nature in Art (New York,

1934).

14. Paul Valéry, Regards sur le monde actuel (Librairie Stock, Paris, 1933), pp.
53-4. Valéry was writing about politics.

15. All the quotations of the great Iranian poet, Shamsuddin Hāfez Shīrāzī, are
from his Dīvān, edited many times in Iran, the best edition being the one by
Qazwīni and Qāsim-Ghanī. I am using a CD reproducing that edition.

16. This story was related to me by my friend Daniel Abd al-Haqq Roussange, in
Paris.

17. Maybe this is what the Prophet meant when He said: "The best ones among
you in Jahiliyya (before Islam) are the best ones in Islam."

18. Nafahāt al-Uns, n.521, pp. 507-10.

19. Futūhāt, Vol. III, p. 108.

20. Qur'an, XX: 114.

21. Qur'an, XVII: 78.

22. Paper delivered at the University of Rabat, Morocco in October 2002 which
appears as an article in JMIAS, XXXIII, pp. 1-21.

23. Futūhāt, Vol.III, verse at the beginning of Chapter 351, p. 216. Alternative
translation: his "non-maqām" holds him in the universe.

24. See, for instance, Fusūs al-Hikam, Chapter on Noah, or Futūhāt, Vol. II, p.
499.

25. See Kharaqānī, Paroles d'un Soufi, intro. and trans. by Christiane Tortel
(Éditions du Seuil, Paris, 1998). See at the end of the book, my French translation
of a short commentary of this saying by Najm al-Dīn Dāya in Arabic, from MS
760-5 (fos. 57a-61 b).

26. Michel Chodkiewicz, Le Sceau des saints (Gallimard, Paris, 1986), p. 210.

27. See Nafahāt al-Uns, p. 511.

28. Anecdote told by Jāmī at the end of the note that he devotes to Qūnawī, n.
544, p. 554 of the new edn of the Nafahāt al-Uns.

29. Fusūs al-Hikam, Chapter on Solomon.

30. Qur'an, XX: 10. In this verse, Moses is thinking first of the interest of his
family, and mentions personal guidance second.

31. See Futūhāt, Vol. II, p. 10, where Ibn 'Arabī talks of the jealousy (their
jealousy is that of God) of the immutable essences in so far as they are
immutable.

32. Qur'an, VI: 91.

33. Unfortunately for the moment I am unable to find a reference in my library

for this well-known saying.

34. I am using a French translation of the summary made by D.C. Somer- vell of
Vols.I-VI of A Study of History by Arnold J. Toynbee, trans. into French by
Elisabeth Julia (Gallimard, Paris, 1951), under the title L'Histoire, Un essai
d'interprétation; see mainly Chapter 5.

35. Qur'an, XXXIII: 13. The interpretation of this verse given by Ibn 'Arabī is
surprising. He relates this verse to the verse at XVII: 78-79, which is about the
station of praise (maqām al-mahmūd) dedicated to the Prophet.

36. Futūhāt, Vol. IV, p. 14, "li-kawn al-amr dawriyan".

37. Qur'an, XXI: 101.

38. Futūhāt, Vol.III, p. 106.

39. Qur'an, XVI: 120.

40. Dāwūd b. Muhammad al-Qaysarī, commenting on the Chapter on Moses, Vol.

II, p. 402, in his Sharh Fusūs al-Hikam, 2 vols. (?Beyrouth, 1416).

41. Fusūs al-Hikam, Chapter on Noah in which Kāshānī comments that the Word
of Noah corrected (through tanzīh) the excesses brought about by the Word of
Idris (tasbīh).

42. Trans. by W.C. Chittickin Faith and Practice of Islam, Three Thirteenth-
century Sufi Texts (SUNY, 1992), p. 70.

43. Futūhāt, Vol.1, p. 108.

44. Qur'an, LIV: 50. "Our commandment is but one (with its object), like the
blink of an eye."
Presence with God

For the past twenty years or so, I have been struggling to express Ibn al-'Arabi's
technical terminology in an English idiom that will preserve the sense carried by
his writings in their original context. With this end in view, I have attempted to
establish a repertoire of technical terms in English - words that can be more or
less adequate, once redefined for the purposes of the discussion, to carry over
the meaning of the original Arabic. One of the terms that I have given up trying
to translate is wujûd, which is, I presume, what the organizers of this conference
had in mind by the term "Being".(1)

The first problem we face in using the word "Being" is its notorious vagueness, a
problem that is also present with the word "existence", which is more often used
to translate wujûd. A more serious problem is on the Arabic side,
where wujûd means literally "finding" and "to be found". Ibn al-'Arabi highlights
this side of the meaning in such expressions as ahl al-kashf wa'l-wujûd, "the folk
of unveiling and finding", or ahl al-shuhud wa'l-wujûd, "the folk of witnessing and
finding". These are the gnostics, the highest of the Folk of God, and what they
find, of course, is God.

An extremely important implication of the word wujûd that comes out when we
translate it as "finding" is that wujûd is not simply something that is there to be
found. Wujûd also finds, which is to say that awareness and consciousness are
among its essential attributes. Hence wujûd is not simply "to exist" or "to be", it
is also "to be alive" and "to be aware". Ibn al-'Arabi frequently reminds us of this
fact, as in the many passages where he comments on Qur'anic verses such as
"Everything in the heavens and the earth glorifies God" (57:1). "Being" and
"existence" in English obviously do not have this connotation and, even when we
apply the word Being to God, we know that God has knowledge and awareness
because we say so, not because the very word demands it.

One of the problems that come up when we think in terms of "being" and
"existence" becomes obvious when we glance at the history of Western thought,
where we find scientists, philosophers, and even some theologians who look upon
consciousness as an epiphenomenon of existence or as a latecomer on the cosmic
scene. By and large, modern people are comfortable thinking that "existence"
came before consciousness, or that living things gradually evolved from dead and
inanimate being. But for Ibn al-'Arabi and much of Islamic theological thinking, no
universe is thinkable without the omnipresence of life and awareness. The very
word that is employed to refer to the underlying stuff of the universe - wujûd - is
understood by them to express this.

On a practical level, the most important problem in attempting to

translate wujûd is that of consistency. When Ibn al-'Arabi employs it, he means
the same thing in each case, though, of course, he may be emphasizing one
nuance rather than another. In Arabic, the word applies to everything. God
has wujûd, or rather, God is wujûd, and everything else also has wujûd in one
mode or another, failing which, we could not discuss it. In English, one cannot use
the same word for every mode of wujûd without causing all sorts of confusion.
Often people resort to capitalization to indicate that in one place the wujûd of God
is meant, but in another place the wujûd of something else is meant. The problem
here is that Ibn al-'Arabi often does not specify which wujûd he has in mind,
because he is discussing it generically. If we use capital letters in English, we will
think that he means God's wujûd and, if we use small letters, we will think that
he does not mean God's wujûd. In fact he may mean neither, or he may mean
both.

Enough has been said to indicate why I am not happy with the word "Being", so
from here on I will use the term wujûd.

As for the word "presence", this has its own special problems. If one wants to
translate the English term back into Arabic, the two most obvious choices
are hadra and hudûr, two words from the same root. However, the meanings of
the two terms are significantly different, and I suspect that Ibn al-'Arabi would
only use the first along with wujûd, whereas it is the second that is implied in the
title of the conference. Hence, if I am correct, a fundamental misreading of the
Shaykh's position on wujûd is implied in this title. Nonetheless, it is a propitious
misreading, since it brings out important issues and can be used to illustrate
some of Ibn al-'Arabi's key teachings.

The basic distinction between the terms hadra and hudûr is that the first is used
typically to designate the presence of God or some divine reality, whereas the
second is used to designate our experience of the presence of God. These two are
not the same thing. Ibn al-'Arabi often explains the distinction by commenting on
the Qur'anic verse, "He is with you wherever you are" (Q. 57:4). Our whole
problem is that God is with us, but we are not with Him. The fact that He is with
us may be expressed with the term hadra, but our achievement of the vision of
God's presence can only be expressed with the term hudûr, not hadra. But this is
rough and schematic, so I want to look more closely at exactly how Ibn al-'Arabi
uses the two terms.

For Ibn al-'Arabi and his followers, hadra is roughly synonymous with English
"domain" and is almost always used along with some attribute or quality. Ibn
al-'Arabi himself uses the term most commonly in conjunction with various divine
names. For example, Chapter 558 of the Futûhât, one of the longest chapters in
the work, is dedicated to explicating the meaning of the divine names, and each
name is dealt with in a subsection that is headed by the title, "the presence of."
Thus we have, hadrat al-khalq, "the presence of creation", and the topic is the
divine name Creator. So also we have the presence of mercifulness, the presence
of peace, the presence of exaltation, the presence of form-giving, and so on. In
each case, the topic is the relevant divine name. What the use of the
term hadra implies here is that, in each case, a divine name has a domain or a
sphere of influence. This seems to be what Ibn al-'Arabi means when he says, "As
for each divine name, that is a presence" (wa kull ism ilâhî fa-huwa hadra).(2)

Although Ibn al-'Arabi himself uses hadra to refer to the presence of each and
every divine name, his followers picked up on one particular expression, and in
later times this became by far the most common usage of the term. This is al-
hadrat al-ilâhiyya, "the divine presence", that is, the sphere of influence of the
name God, that is, Allah. This name God is the "all-comprehensive name" (al-ism
al-jami'), because all the other divine names refer back to it. In Ibn al-'Arabi's
terms, "the divine presence" is the domain in which the name God exercises its
influence, and that domain is wujûd and all its concomitants, or, in other terms,
God and the whole universe. Then the "divine presences" - in the plural - are all
the domains in which the divine names exercise their effects and, since the divine
names are, from one point of view, innumerable if not infinite, the Shaykh writes.
"The divine presences can hardly be counted".(3) When Ibn al-'Arabi uses the
term al-hadra without an accompanying attribute, he seems to have the Divine
Presence in mind. Thus, in one passage, he defines "the Presence" in terms of a
standard theological hierarchy that is typically used to refer to God and to the
whole domain of His influence. He writes, "The Presence in the common usage of
the Tribe is the Essence, the attributes, and the acts".(4)

Sadr al-Din Qunawi, Ibn al-'Arabi's most influential disciple, seems to have coined
the expression "the five divine presences", referring to the five domains in which
the name God exercises its influence in a global fashion. In Qunawi's terms, the
first presence is the divine knowledge, which "embraces all things" (Q. 40:7).
Hence the divine knowledge, by embracing everything, whether divine or created,
delineates the total sphere of influence of the name God. However, this is on the
level of God Himself, within His own non-manifest knowledge. The second
presence is the spiritual world, which manifests the full range of the properties of
the name God in the appropriate spiritual modes of existence. The third and
fourth presences are the imaginal and corporeal worlds, and the fifth presence is
the perfect human being, who is the "all-comprehensive engendered thing" (al-
kawn al-jâmi'). The divine presence specific to the perfect human being is the
whole of reality on every level, which is to say that he experiences simultaneously
the first four levels in their fullness and total integration. After Qunawi, "the five
divine presences" becomes a standard discussion among Sufi theoreticians,
though a wide variety of schemes are offered to explain exactly what it signifies.
(5)
I said that Ibn al-'Arabi typically uses the term hadra in conjunction with an
attribute, most commonly, but not always, a divine attribute. One of the places
where he uses the term in conjunction with other sorts of attributes is in
discussions of cosmology, where he often refers to the "three presences",
meaning the three worlds, and this, of course, is one source for Qunawi's
elaboration of the presences into five.(6) Thus, employing basic Qur'anic
terminology, Ibn al-'Arabi refers to the two fundamental presences as those of the
unseen and the visible, or, more literally, the "absent" and the "witnessed", and
he refers to the presence of imagination as the place where the two come
together. He writes:

The cosmos is two worlds and the presence is two presences, though a third
presence is born between the two from their having come together. The first
presence is the presence of the absent, and it possesses a world called the "world
of the absent". The second presence is the presence of sense perception and the
witnessed; its world is called "the world of the witnessed" and is perceived by
eyesight [basar], while the world of the absent is perceived by
insight [basîra]. That which is born from the coming together of the two is a
presence and a world. The presence is the presence of imagination, and the world
is the world of imagination.(7)

It is plausible that by "In the Presence of Being" the organizers of the conference
had in mind the Arabic expression, fi hadrat al-wujûd. I have not noted this
particular expression in Ibn al-'Arabi's writings, but he does, on one occasion that
I know of, refer to al-hadrat al-wujûdiyya, "the wujûdi presence", employing the
adjective derived from wujûd. On several occasions he also employs the same
expression in the plural, and in these cases he is referring to the worlds of the
universe.(8) On the one occasion that I have found where he uses the expression
in the singular, he means everything that exists in the cosmos. In the passage, he
is referring to his doctrine of Nondelimited Imagination (al-khayâl al-mutlaq), or
the fact that the whole universe is nothing but imagination, which is to say that it
stands halfway between wujûd and utter nonexistence. The universe is an image
of wujûd in a nonexistent domain. It follows that, even though we divide what we
perceive into sensory and imaginal, in fact everything is imaginal. Ibn al-'Arabi
writes:

The whole cosmos takes the forms of raised-up images, for the Wujûdi Presence
is only the Presence of Imagination. Then the forms that you see become divided
into "sensory" and "imaginalized", but all are imaginalized.(9)

Although Ibn al-'Arabi uses the expression the "wujûdi presence" here, in this
sense of the term, "In the Presence of Being" is precisely where everything is,
without any exceptions, because absolutely everything, wherever it may be, is
found or exists. And this Presence ofwujûd is no different from the Divine
Presence. As the Shaykh writes, "There is nothing save the Divine Presence, and
it consists of the Essence, the attributes, and the acts".(10) Or again, "There is
nothing in wujûd save the Divine Presence, which is His Essence, His attributes,
and His acts".(11)

Even without the subtitle announced for the conference - "Preparation and
Practice according to Ibn 'Arabi" - everyone will have understood that what is
meant by "presence" is a presence with God that is to be achieved in some way
or another, a presence that presumably we do not now have. After all, it is
possible to recognize that everything dwells in the Divine Presence without this
making any practical difference in one's life. The Qur'an itself, as mentioned,
makes the point when it says, "He is with you wherever you are" (Q. 57: 4). But
to say that God is present with us is not the same as saving that we are present
with Him. Presence with God needs to be achieved. It is the object of the spiritual
quest. The whole problem is that people are not present with the God who is
present with them.

The second Arabic term commonly translated as "presence" is hudûr. The first
thing that one needs to know about this word is that it is the opposite of
"absence" (ghayba) and cannot be understood without reference to it. The word
"presence" here is one of two correlatives and, like all correlatives in Ibn
al-'Arabi's universe, it demands its own correlative. The two terms must be
understood together for them to have any sense. In every case, to be
present with one thing is to be absent from something else. These are issues in
the spiritual journey because people are absent from God as long as they are
present with creation. The goal is to be present with God and absent from
creation. But let me look more closely at the term "absence" and what it implies.
Once this is clear, the fact that presence with God needs to be established should
be self-evident.

First, it should be kept in mind that ghayba or absence means basically the same
as the Qur'anic term ghayb, which is commonly translated as "unseen" or
"invisible", but which can better be translated as "absent". The absent is
contrasted with shahada, which is usually translated in this context as "visible",
but which in other contexts is usually translated as "witnessing" or "witnessed".
The universe, in Qur'anic terms, has two basic worlds or presences (that
is, hadra) - the absent and the witnessed. God is "Knower of the absent and the
witnessed" ('âlim al-ghayb wa'l-shahâda), whereas human beings know only the
witnessed. As for the "absent", human beings must have "faith" (îmân) in it, as
the Qur'an asserts repeatedly. The later tradition usually differentiates between
two sorts of absent domain. One is the spiritual world, created by God, and the
other is God Himself, often called "the absent of the absent" (ghayb al-ghayb) or
the "absolutely Absent" (al-ghayb al-mutlaq).

In short, the spiritual world and God Himself are absent from the perception of
human beings. The goal is for people to perceive them as present. This vision of
the absent things can be called hudûr or presence, and the only way to achieve it
is by way of "faith in the absent" (al-îmân bi'l-ghayb), which is the sine qua
non of everything Islamic. I will not, however, investigate the issue of faith here,
since that would lead us too far afield.(12)

In the usual Sufi technical terminology, "absence" refers not to absence from
God, but to absence from created things. To become absent from creation is to
become present with God, since there is nothing other than these two, God and
creation. Thus presence and absence are understood in terms of awareness and
lack of it. Ibn al-'Arabi employs the term "witnessing" (mushâhada or shuhûd) to
refer to the state of presence, because the person who is present witnesses that
with which he is present. Notice that this term comes from the same Arabic root
that gives us the term "witnessed" in the expression "absent and witnessed". Ibn
al-'Arabi frequently uses this term "witnessing" to refer not only to seeing with
the eyes, but also to seeing with the heart, which is unveiling (kashf). Thus it is
not surprising that he refers, on occasion, to the "folk of unveiling and
presence" (hudûr),(13) meaning the gnostics or the highest among the Folk of
God. These are the same as the already mentioned "folk of unveiling and
finding" (wujûd), who are also called "the folk of witnessing and finding".(14)In
this respect, wujûd is synonymous with hudûr (and also with shuhûd). In his
short chapter on absence in the Futûhât, Ibn al- "Arabi defines the term as
follows:

"Absence" for the Sufis is the heart's absence from the states that occur to the
creatures because of the heart's occupation with what arrives to it. If this is the
case, absence derives only from a divine self-disclosure. As the Sufis define it, it
is not correct for it to derive from a created arriver [wârid], for the absent person
is occupied [with the arriver] and absent from the states of creation. It is through
this that this group is dif�ferentiated from other groups. After all, the property of
absence is found in all groups. But the absence of this group is through the Real
from creation, so it is ascribed to them in respect of eminence and praise. (15)

Here the Shaykh tells us that the typical Sufi definition of the word makes
absence refer to occupation with a divine self-disclosure while one is cut off from
witnessing created things. Although absence from the senses and the world
occurs to everyone - through sleep, disease, chemical intervention, and so on -
only in this specific definition can absence be considered an eminent and
praiseworthy state, since only here does it demand a presence with God.

In continuing his chapter on absence, the Shaykh describes various levels of

absence among the spiritual travellers in keeping with the degree to which they
have realized the Real. His descriptions are so short that I will quote them,
though a thorough explanation would take a good deal of space:

In absence, the Folk of God are ranked in stages, even though they possess all
these stages through the Real.
The absence of the gnostics is an absence through the Real from the Real.
The absence of those of the Folk of God below them is an absence through the
Real from creation.
The absence of the great knowers through God is an absence through creation
from creation. After all, such knowers have come to know that wujûd is nothing
but God in the forms of the immutable, possible entities. Nothing becomes absent
from him but the form of an entity's property in a Real Wujûd. Thus he becomes
absent by the property of another entity's form, which gives
within wujûd something that is not given by the first. The entities and their
properties are creation. Hence this knower becomes absent only through creation
from creation in a Real Wujûd.(16)

Ibn al-'Arabi concludes the chapter on absence by addressing not the specific Sufi
sense of the term, but the more general issue of absence and presence as
attributes of created things. Everything other than God, he tells us, is by
necessity both absent from God and present with Him, because everything other
than God is barred from God Himself by the utter inaccessibility of the Divine
Essence, but, at the same time, immersed in wujûd, the Divine Presence, because
there is nothing else. This is the Shaykh's most fundamental perspective on
everything in the universe - each thing is an image. Each is God/not God, He/not
He. He writes:

There is no entity among all the entities whose property is to witness everything,
such that it might not be described by absence. Since there is no entity that
possesses the description of encompassing everything through presence with
everything - for that is one of the specific characteristics of God - there is no
escape in the cosmos from both absence and presence.(17)
Thus ends the chapter on absence. In the next chapter -which, at eleven lines, is
probably the shortest in the Futûhât - the Shaykh provides a brief explanation of
what the Sufis understand by the term hudûr. He explains first that they mean
"presence with God along with absence",(18) that is, absence from creation.
Then, after three lines of poetry, he speaks about the impossibility of being
completely absent or completely present. No matter what the situation of any
created thing may be, it is both absent from God and present with Him. The basic
reason for this should be obvious - only God is God, and everything other than
God, even the greatest of the prophets, must be absent from God in precisely the
degree of the otherness. There can be no absolute presence with God, since that
would demand absolute absence from the universe. Nothing can be absolutely
absent from the universe save that which has no wujûd of its own in any mode
whatsoever, but there can be no such thing.

You should know that there is no absence without presence, so your absence is
from that with which you are present, because of the ruling authority of the
witnessing. In a similar way, the ruling authority of subsistence annihilates you,
because it is the master of the moment and the property.
As for the details in [the degrees of] the folk of presence, it is exactly like what
we mentioned concerning absence.
Everyone absent is present and everyone present is absent, because presence
with the totality is inconceivable. Rather, "presence" is presence with the units of
the totality [âhâd al-majmû']. This is because the properties of the [divine]
names and the entities are diverse, and the ruling property belongs to that which
is present. If someone were present with the totality, the properties would
counterbalance each other, and this would mean that they would impede each
other. Then the whole situation would be corrupted.
Hence presence with the totality is not correct, whether for those who see their
presence through the Real or those who see it through creation. After all, the
property of the entities is like the property of the names in counterbalancement,
diversity, and manifestation of ruling authority. So ponder what we have said! You
will find knowledge, God willing.(19)
Ibn al-'Arabi is telling us here that it is impossible to be present with God Himself,
because none is present with God but God. In other terms, he is telling us that no
one can be present with wujûd as such, or with "Being". When people do gain
what is called "presence with God" (not "presence with wujûd"), in fact they gain
awareness of God's self-disclosure, and God's self-disclosure to them is nothing
but themselves. It follows that no one is ever present with God as God, which is
to say that no one is ever present with anything but himself. In The Sufi Path of
Knowledge (p. 105), I quoted a passage in which Ibn al-'Arabi explains this point
using the term "presence". Here, let me cite another passage on the same topic.
However, here he explains the point while discussing the issue of
"intimacy" (uns)with God, which is the opposite of "alienation" (wahsha). For our
purposes, it would not be misleading to replace "intimacy and alienation" with
"presence and absence", since the same argument applies in both cases. He
writes:

The Qur'an calls God "Independent of the worlds" (Q. 3:97]. We make Him
independent of signifying. It is as if He is saying, "I did not bring the cosmos into
existence to signify Me, nor did I make it manifest as a mark of My wujûd. I made
it manifest so that the properties of the realities of My names would become
manifest. There is no mark of Me other than Myself. When I disclose Myself, I am
known through the self-disclosure itself. The cosmos is a mark of the realities of
the names, not of Me. It is also a mark that I am its support, nothing else."
Hence the whole cosmos has an intimacy with God. However, parts of it are not
aware that the intimacy they have is with God.
Each part of the cosmos must find an intimacy with something, whether
constantly, or by way of transferral to an intimacy that it finds with something
else. However, nothing other than God among the engendered things has any
properties. Hence, a thing's intimacy can only be with God, even if it does not
know this. When the servant sees his intimacy with something, that thing is one
of the forms of God's self-disclosure. The servant may recognize this, or he may
deny it. So the servant can feel repelled by the same thing with which he is
intimate, but he is not aware, because of the diversity of the forms. Hence, no
one lacks intimacy with God, and no one is alienated from any but God. Intimacy
is an expansiveness, while alienation is a contraction.
The intimacy of the knowers of God is an intimacy with themselves, not with God,
for they have come to know that they see nothing of God but the form of what
they are. They have no intimacy with anything but what they see. Those who are
not gnostics see intimacy only with the other, so they are overcome by alienation
when they are alone with themselves.(20)

In various other passages of the Futûhât, Ibn al-'Arabi mentions presence with
God and suggests some of what it implies. He associates it not only with
witnessing, but also with remembrance (dhikr). Hence, he identifies the
blameworthy absence, that is, the opposite of presence, with
"heedlessness" (ghafla)(21) , certainly the most fundamental human shortcoming
in Qur'anic terms.

In one passage Ibn al-'Arabi speaks of the astonishment of the angels when they
descend upon the gnostic with something from God, for they find that he is
already "clothed in the robes of courtesy, divine presence [al-hudûr al-ilâhi] in
taking from Him, light, and splendour".(22) "Courtesy" is for Ibn al-'Arabi an
especially important technical term, and he discusses it far more often than he
mentions presence. It is to do everything in the proper manner, which means
acting in a way that always pleases God. The least actualization of courtesy is
found in careful observance of the Shari'a. As the traveller advances, he remains
firmly rooted in all the details of the Prophet's Sunna as set down in the Shari'a,
but he also actualizes the vast range of inner qualities that the outer activities
demand. These inner qualities can lead eventually to "divine presence", that is,
presence with God and, as the Shaykh mentions in the just-cited passage, it can
also lead to "taking from Him", which is to say that the gnostic takes everything
he has directly from God. Finally, as the passage says, the gnostic also becomes
manifest with "light" (nur) and "splendour" (bahâ'), terms that allude to his
having assumed all of God's character traits (al-takhalluq bi akhlâq Allâh).
The fact that presence has to do with God's character traits is brought out in a
passage from Chapter 380 of the Futûhât, which is dedicated to explaining the
meaning of the prophetic saying, "The 'ulamâ' are the inheritors of the prophets."
As we know from the studies of Michel Chodkiewicz and others, "inheritance" is
one of Ibn al-'Arabi's key terms for expressing the special status of the Folk of
God. In the chapter, he talks about two basic types of inheritance, sensory and
suprasensory. The sensory inheritance pertains to words, activities, and
everything that becomes manifest through states - that is, all the signs and
marks given to the spiritual travellers when they experience the absent domains.
In contrast, the suprasensory inheritance has to do with assuming the character
traits of God and thereby gaining presence with God. Ibn al-'Arabi writes:

As for the suprasensory inheritance, it pertains to the non- manifest side of the
states, such as purifying the soul of blameworthy character traits and adorning it
with noble character traits. It also pertains to the remembrance of his Lord that
the Prophet possessed in all his moments. This is nothing but
presence [hudûr] and watchfulness [muraqaba] over God's traces in your heart
and in the cosmos. Thus nothing falls to your eye, nothing occurs to your hearing,
and nothing attaches itself to any of your faculties, unless you have, through it, a
divine consideration and viewpoint [nazar wa i'tibâr ilâhî]. Through this you come
to know the divine wisdom in that. Such was the state of God's Messenger.(23)

Given that there is no such thing as pure presence or pure absence, it should be
obvious that there are degrees of presence and absence, or degrees of prophetic
inheritance. It is here that the travellers meet dangers on the path to God. No
one can ever be safe from God's deception (makr), not even the prophets. As the
Qur'an itself says, "No one feels secure against God's deception save the people
who have lost" (7:99). Ibn al-'Arabi often discusses the dangers of deception on
the path, and his repeated advice to the travellers is that nothing can preserve
them from error save careful observance of the Sunna and the Shari'a. As he
writes in one passage, "If anyone desires that God give him good and preserve
him from the calamities of deception, let him never let the Scale of the Shari'a
drop from his hand!"(24)

In another passage of similar import, the Shaykh suggests that one of the major
errors of the travellers, even the "Folk of Presence", is their failure to observe
God's commands and prohibitions. The chapter is dedicated to explicating the
meaning of the term waqt, which means "moment" or "present moment". The
term is found in the famous aphorism, al-sufi ibn al-waqt, "The Sufi is the son of
the moment". However, this aphorism implies a certain passivity on the part of
the traveller, and in this chapter the Shaykh explains that the Sufi should rather
be sâhib al-waqt, "the owner of the moment". At the beginning of the chapter, he
defines waqt in terms of the standard understanding as "That through which and
upon which you are in the time of the state"(25). Here by "state" (hâl) he means
the situation at the moment, the actual situation of the thing at the time in
question, which is this instant. In other words, the "moment" is what comes to
you from God and defines your own situation at any given time. We could
paraphrase this by saying that the "moment" is that which is present with you
and with which you are present at the instant that divides the past from the
future.

Toward the end of the chapter, Ibn al-'Arabi explains that the best of all the
moments that people can have is for God to give them the observance of the
rulings of the Shari'a. He explains why this should be so as follows:

The intelligent person among the Folk of God is he who sees that all the good that
pertains to the servant is found in what the Real has required through that which
He has laid down as Shari'a for His servants and sent with His Messenger. When
God employs someone in the Truth laid down as Shari'a, there is no solicitude of
God toward him beyond this - for those who understand from God.

The "moment" that is known from the side of the Real is identical with that with
which the Shari'a addresses you in the state. So, be in keeping with the words of
the Lawgiver in every state! Then you will be an Owner of the Moment, and this is
a mark that you are one of the felicitous with God.
This, however, is rare in existence among the Folk of God. It belongs to certain
individuals among them, those who are the folk of watchfulness. They are never
heedless of God's ruling in the things.
Among the folk of presence with God in each thing [ahl al-hudûr ma'a Allâh fî kull
shay'], it is here that the feet of one group slip. They are not heedless of God for
the blink of an eye, but they are heedless of God's ruling in the things, or in some
of them, or in most of them.

He who is not heedless of God's ruling in the things is not heedless of God. He is
the one who brings presence with God together with His ruling. Such as these
have greater knowledge and a more tremendous felicity. These are the owners of
the moment that bestows felicity.(26)

Notice the importance that Ibn al-'Arabi places on "felicity" (sa'âda) here. Felicity,
as you know, is the Qur'anic term for the happiness that is achieved by the
people of paradise. It is the opposite of "wretchedness" (shaqâ'), which is the
state of the people of hell. In Islamic terms, felicity is the goal of religion. Some
Sufis, especially poets, have taken a rather dismis�sive attitude toward paradise,
suggesting that Sufis do not desire the Garden, but rather the Gardener. Although
some passages in the Shaykh's writings might be read in these terms, for the
most part he keeps a cool head and does not allow hyperbole to get the better of
him. Hence he states explicitly and repeatedly that the goal of the Sufi path is
not, as some people imagine, "reaching God", since, in the final analysis, God
cannot be reached. What the Sufis are really out to achieve is not oneness with
God, but felicity.

I can summarize by saying that the expression "in the presence of Being" can be
understood in Ibn al-'Arabi's terms in one of two ways. If we mean fî hadrat al-
wujûd, then we have not said anything, because everything is already there. If
we mean fi hudûr al-wujûd, this is either the inescapable situation of everything
(if take hudûr and wujûd in loose senses), or it is impossible to achieve (if we
mean the terms strictly, in which case God alone is present with His
own wujûd). Nevertheless, there are degrees of hudûr and, in each case, the
traveler is present with God's self-disclosures, not with God Himself. In other
words, if we follow Ibn al-'Arabi's own terminology, we cannot move toward the
"Presence of Being", because we are already there. What we are really striving for
is presence with specific self-disclosures of God in ourselves, self-disclosures that
derive from divine names such as Guide, Compassionate, Forgiving, and
Pardoning. Thus, the goal of the Sufi path cannot be to achieve the "Presence of
Being". It is rather to achieve permanent happiness through following the
guidance brought by the prophets.

I will conclude my paper by quoting a section from the penultimate chapter of

the Futûhât. In this chapter, Ibn al-'Arabi summarizes the "realities and
mysteries" of all the 558 chapters that preceded it. Many of these short epitomes
are notoriously difficult to decipher, and the English translation that follows will
suggest some of the obscurities of the text. Nevertheless, the Shaykh's message
here is straightforward enough, and it does not deviate from what he teaches on
these matters elsewhere. He is saying that the Folk of God have not, in fact, been
striving to achieve "the Presence of God" since they know that they are already in
His Presence.

Therefore they have exerted effort only to achieve the goal of life, which is to
actualize permanent felicity through awareness of God's Presence in the
appropriate modes - modes that cannot be discerned and achieved without
prophetic guidance.

He who is certain of emergence will never seek ascent

Since you have no escape from returning to Him, you should know that you are at
Him from the first step, which is the first breath. So do not weary yourself by
seeking ascent to Him, for that is nothing but your emerging from your desire
such that you do not witness it. For "He is with you wherever you are" [Q. 57:4],
so your eyes will fall on none but Him. However, it remains for you to recognize
Him. Were you to distinguish and recognize Him, you would not seek ascent to
Him, for you have not lost Him.
When you see those who are seeking Him, you will see that they are seeking their
felicity in their path. Their felicity is the repulsion of pains from them, nothing
else, wherever they may be.

The one who is completely ignorant is he who seeks what is already there, so no
one is more ignorant than he who seeks God. If you have faith in His words, "He
is with you wherever you are", and His words, "Wherever you turn, there is the
face of God" [Q. 2:115], you will recognize that no one seeks God. People seek
only their felicity so that they will be safe from what they detest.(27)

Notes
1. Presented at "In the Presence of Being", the ninth annual symposium of the
Muhyiddin Ibn 'Arabi Society in the USA, University of California, Berkeley, 28-29
October 1995.

2. Futûhât al-makkiyya, Bulaq, 1911, IV, 318.18. (Reference numbers refer to

volume, page and line, respectively.)

3. Ibid., 318.16.

4. Ibid., 407. 32. For more on the Divine Presence, see Chittick, The Sufi Path of
Knowledge, Albany, NY, 1989, Ch. 1, and passim.

5. For some of the most important early examples, see Chittick, "The Five Divine
Presences: From al-Qonawi to al-Qaysari", The Muslim World, 72(1982), pp. 107-
28.

6. In another context, Ibn al-'Arabi writes of various presences that God has
made known to His servants so that they may come to know Him in a variety of
modalities, such as witnessing, conversing, listening, teaching, and engendering
(Fut., II, 601. 18; partly translated in Sufi Path, p.226).

7. Fut., Ill, 42.5.

8. Su'ad al-Hakim refers to five instances (once without the definite articles, and
three times in the plural) - Fut., III, S25.25, IV, 203.18, 24, 27, Mawaqi al-
nujum, p. 18 (p. 17 in the Muhammad 'All Sabih edition of 1965) (al-Hakim, Ibn
'Arabi wa mawadd lugha jadid, Beirut, 1991, pp. 108, 154). One can add to these
instances Fut., II, 241.10 (plural); this passage, translated in Sufi Path, p. 223
(with the expression rendered as "ontological presences") is a good example of
how the Shaykh
uses the term.

9. Fut., III,525.25.

10. Ibid., II, 173.33.

11. Ibid., 114.14.

12. See Sufi Path, pp. 193ff.; Chittick, Faith and Practice of Islam, Albany, NY,
1992, pp. 6-9 and passim; Sachiko Murata and Chittick, The Vision of Islam, New
York, 1994, Part II.

13. Fut., II, 479.17, 20.

14. Ibid., 389.22; III, 120.32-3.

15. Ibid., II, 543.22.

16. Ibid., 543.25.

17. Ibid., 543.30.

18. Ibid., 543.34.

19. Ibid., 544.3.

20. Ibid., 541.12.

21. Ibid., Ml, 540.22.

22. Ibid., 31.4. 28

23. Ibid., 502.11.

24. Ibid., II, 5303. For the passage in context, see Sufi Path, pp. 267-8.

25. Fut., 11,538.35. 30

26. Ibid., 539.25.

27. Ibid., IV, 424.15.

Fulfilling our Potential:
Ibn 'Arabi's understanding of man in a contemporary context

This talk has specific points of inspiration in two quotations which I heard whilst I
was thinking about a title for it. One of them came from a speech by the head of
the British Jewish community, Jonathan Sachs, on the occasion of the first
Holocaust Remembrance Day on January 27th as his 'wish' for racial tolerance in
the third millennium he said:

"May we come to know that we are all in the image of God, even though
we may not be in the image of each other."

The second quotation I took as the title, and came from an interview with a
government spokes-person on the launch of their new educational initiative, but it
could just as well have come from the prospectus of any school in the country.
For whenever anyone is asked about the purpose of education; the reply is always
- that every child should fulfill their full potential. And more; if one were to ask
the adult population in general what the aim of their life is, then I suspect that in
this era of prosperity and therapy, etc. one would receive an answer very much
along these lines. We all want to fulfill our potential.

What struck me about these two quotations whilst I was thinking about having to
talk under this title 'Man in the image of God', is that they both refer to ideas and
concepts which we find in the work of Ibn 'Arabi, and which in fact have a long
history, going back the ancient world of Greek philosophy and the classical age of
the first millennium AD. So they are ideas which are common to the three Semitic
traditions - Judaism, Christianity, Islam - as well as the Greek pagan tradition
from which the modern scientific enterprise developed. This suggested that
although one thinks immediately, faced with this title, that we in the modern,
scientifically dominated western world no longer have this concept of man being
in the image of God - which certainly we don't as far as our contemporary
theories of cosmology, evolution or even psychology are concerned - when we
come to express our human aspirations, our hopes for ourselves and the world,
then we still think in terms of unreconstituted concepts. After all, no-one would
ask for billions of pounds of public money for an educational programme in order
that we should know better that we are meaningless epi-phenomena, progressing
only by chance and random selection;we are not so foolish, and secretly we know
that human life is more than that, and that progress and fulfilment are possible
for us. To this extent, we have never ceased to share in the vision of the great
philosophers and the 'knowing' mystics like Ibn 'Arabi. Of course there are also
great differences in the way we see things now, and this talk is an exploration of
the common ground and the difference.

I should perhaps say at the very beginning that the point is not to consider
whether or not Ibn 'Arabi is correct in what he says; many years of study have
brought about the conclusion that Ibn 'Arabi's is almost certainly the most
complete exposition of human nature which has ever been set out. If it were not,
and one could obtain the same degree of understanding elsewhere, for instance
from within the western Christian tradition, then those of us who read Ibn 'Arabi
not as medievalists pursuing an academic study, but in search of spiritual help
and guidance, would be sensible to avoid the task of struggling with these
extremely complex texts, written in a difficult foreign language, and full of
cultural references which were probably abstruse even in their own time. But we
cannot, for there is nobody elselike him. The task of bridging the cultural gap
which we therefore undertake, would be not only impossible but also fruitless in
any real sense, if it were not for the fact that what Ibn 'Arabi is saying may be
dressed in the clothing of his time and in terms of the issues and controversies
which engaged his contemporaries, but its meaning transcends those limits and
speaks to the eternal human condition.

In fact, the penetration of the outer forms of things to perceive their reality and
inner meaning is precisely what he aims to effect in his work. As Jim Morris has
explained in a really excellent recent paper, which I hope will soon gain wide
circulation,it can be very hard, in a historical sense, to find and categorise the
followers of the Shaykh al-akbar, because the very characteristic of successful
followers is that they are able to penetrate to the heart of the matter, and re-
express it in the manner and language of their own time - that is, not in the
manner and language of Ibn 'Arabi's time in an imitative way, but in a creative,
contemporary way. I hope this talk will also explore something of this.

These terms 'potential' and 'fulfilment' - or we could say 'actualisation' or

'completion' - are of course originally from Aristotle (d. 322BC), formulated nearly
three centuries before Christ. He based his physics upon the notion that any
movement is a translation of a potentiality into an actuality; so a football lying on
the ground has the potential of movement which is only actualised when it is
kicked; a block of marble has the potential to be a statue which is actualised by
the sculptor. When it is actualised, it reaches a state of entelechy (from the same
root as telos, meaning perfection)which has connotations of reaching its intended
state, its final condition, a state of completion; in the Arabic, this word entelechy
became translated - as a kind of technical term - as kâmil, as in al-insân al-kâmil,
the perfect or completed man.

When Aristotle moved from the considerations of physics to psychology in his de

Anima, he applied the same model to the soul, saying: 'the soul is the first
entelechy of a living organism with organs'. He saw that each of the faculties of
the soul, such as sight, hearing, etc. is in the state of its first entelechy at the
moment of creation, but it reaches a further, second state of entelechy when it
performs its function. So the faculty of sight is in a certainstate of completion
when the physical eye comes into being, but it only reaches its final state of
completion in the act of seeing, i.e. when the eye actually sees. For Aristotle, the
highest of the faculties was the intellect - 'aql in Arabic -which is present only in
man, whereas all the others are shared by animals or plants. This too is in a state
of its first entelechy when the man is born, but it reaches its final state
ofcompletion when its function is actualised, i.e. when it actually intelligises.

Aristotle extended these ideas in his ethical work 'The Nicomachean Ethics' where
he asked the question; what is the final end - or 'happiness' -of man? And his
answer was, that it must consist of the fulfilment or completion (the final
entelechy)of that faculty which distinguishes man from all other creatures, and
which therefore embodies hisspecial function. So whilst the other faculties and
the fulfilment of physical needs are clearly important, it is only through the
completion of the intellectual faculty that man reaches his greatest happiness
(sa'ada in Arabic, eudaimonia in Greek). As to how this happens, Aristotle
developed the idea of 'virtue' - i.e. preferring and cultivating the good and the
good qualities - as the means by which man can perfect himself; and philosophy,
in the ancient traditions, was precisely the method by which this could come
about.

The ideas of the ancient Greeks - Aristotle and Plato - expressed something so
obviously true, that they were hugely influential on later generations, and they
provided terminologies and conceptual tools by which the monotheistic traditions,
even hundreds of years later, refined and articulated their understanding of man
as it was given in the revealed books of the Torah, the Bible and the Qur'ân. Thus
we find in every one of the semitic traditions people who attempted an integration
between Greek ideas and their religion - between faith and reason; such as, in
Christian tradition, the early fathers like Gregory of Nyssa (d.395) and later,
contemporaneous with Ibn 'Arabi, Albertus Magnus (d.1280) and Thomas Aquinas
(d. 1274); in the Jewish tradition Maimonides (d.1204) also a contemporary, and
also from Andalusia; these latter both drew from the ground-work done by Arab
translators and thinkers such as Ibn Sîna (d.1037) and Ibn Rushd (d.1198) in the
10th-12th centuries which were rendered into Latin primarily by Jewish
translators in the school at Toledo - also in Andalusia. But they did not draw from
the work of Ibn 'Arabi who was just a little later, and it is perhaps only today that
we have the opportunity to learn from the further insights that he brought to
bear.

Thus there is a great hinterland of history and experience in common between all
these traditions, and even today, as I have mentioned, we continue to share,
albeit unconsciously, many of these ideas. But there are also great differences in
the way the concepts have been interpreted. In the Christian west, there was a
further influx of Greek ideas during the Renaissance when translators went back
to pre-Arab sources, and this resulted in a crisis between faith and reason that
has resolved itself largely in terms of reason; so today, we have a generally
rationalist society in which the findings of speculative intellect in the particular
form of modern science are considered to be more 'true' - much more true - than
accounts of, say, events in the Bible, or, to come even closer to our subject, than
the realities of our subjective experience such as the fact that the sun rotates
around the earth and therefore 'rises' on the horizon each morning. Reason for
us, as for Aristotle, is the highest faculty, and we continue to believe that in order
to bring it to itshighest level of fulfilment, we have to undergo development in the
form of education - education being a Latin word meaning literally 'leading
forth'- e-ducere -whose use makes a clear reference to these Aristotelian origins.
In Arabic, they used the verb kharaja meaning 'to go out', or 'to emerge from', in
the same sense for the transformation from potentiality to actuality.

In the Islamic world, by contrast, the theologians and the mystics largely
triumphed over the rationalists, and the place of reason at the top of the faculty
hierarchy was challenged. For the theologians, reason had to conform to the
requirements of the religion and the religious law. For the Sufis, the Islamic
mystics - amongst them Ibn 'Arabi - it came to be understood that the highest
knowledge is attained not by reason and effort, but by revelation from God. Man
therefore has a faculty which is superior to reason, which they referred to as the
'heart' (qalb); this is a receptive 'place'- in inverted commas because this is not
really a physical place - in which God reveals Himself to man - which 'turns'
(taqallaba) or changes in response to the Divine revelation (tajalli). In contrast to
the philosophical conception of effort and virtue, this knowledge can only be
attained through submission and purification, through Divine guidance, and
ultimately through man coming to know that he is 'no other' than God. It is
referred to as dhawq (taste or intuition) and kashf (unveiling), and is what might
be called now 'mystical intuition'.
The distinction between the knowledge of the intellect and knowledge of the
heart, however, is not completely clear-cut; as is well illustrated by Ibn 'Arabi in
his description in the Futûhât of the encounters he had with the Andalusian
philosopher Ibn Rushd. Ibn Rushd was not just any old philosopher, but one of the
great interpreters of Aristotle whose life-work - and that of his protégé Ibn Tufayl
who wrote the famous 'Hayy Ibn Yaqzan' - was to demonstrate that what the
philosophers discover by use of their reason is the same truth as is given to the
prophets in revelation. It should perhaps be said here, that the Islamic
rationalists never had a secular understanding of the intellect such as we have
today; for them, the final entelechy was always contemplation of God and union
- ittisâl, or ittihâd - with the Divine Intellect. Thus, in their first encounter, Ibn
Rushd asks Ibn 'Arabi, as I am sure you all remember: “What kind of solution
have you found through divine unveiling and illumination? Is it identical with what
you have found through speculative thought? " and Ibn 'Arabi replies: "Yes - No.
Between the yes and the no, spirits take wing from their matter and necks are
separated from their bodies'.

This answer embodies the great mercy that Ibn 'Arabi is to us. On the one hand,
he indicates that reason alone cannot encompass the highest truth; on the other,
he does not entirely exclude it. No-one who has tried to read Ibn 'Arabi could ever
think that he wishes to exclude intellect from the process of realisation; he was
an intellectual genius, and, as Souad Hakim has said:

...it is the heart which is the place and instrument of knowledge...[yet

Ibn 'Arabi] makes no separation between the heart and the intellect...
[For] if the Sufi does not state his knowledge in intelligible form then
the intellect will not accept it, and no-one will pay any attention to what
he says... He will be unable to state his knowledge in intelligible form
insofar as he has not brought his knowledge across from the heart to
the intellect, or else receives an understanding developed in the image
of reasoned theory, as did Ibn 'Arabi... The heart is drunkenness (sukr),
the intellect is lucidity (sahw) [and]... the 'knowing' Sufi, although he
 has tasted all states of knowledge, does not omit to return to the
sensory in order to give a line of conduct to disciples.

In fact, when the heart is orientated invariably towards God, and its potential fully
realised, then, for Ibn 'Arabi, every one of man's faculties can become a means
and a channel for the knowledge of God - so it flows through the imagination and
the senses as well as through intellect and intuition, because all the faculties are,
in reality, instruments of the heart. Therefore it has been said, that Ibn 'Arabi has
'an all-inclusive point of view',i.e. his exposition includes all kinds of perception
and knowledge, all points of view, and he avoids the dichotomies which have
bedevilled so many western attempts to discuss knowledge and perfectibility -
reason versus revelation, reason versus empiricism, imagination versus science,
etc. The heart is a supra-rational rather than an anti-rational faculty, and in his
work, Ibn 'Arabi gives a comprehensive account of the way in which all the
different faculties - dhawq, imagination, reason and sensory perception - operate
and inter-relate. This is perhaps especially valuable to us in the present day,
when secular rationalism has become so prevalent that it sometimes seems as if
our capacity for mystical insight and creative imagination has been forgotten, or if
remembered, not afforded validity. He gives us a map to a lost land, which is the
complete human potential.

What then does Ibn 'Arabi mean by this potential? For him, as for all the Semitic
traditions, man's potential is the greatest conceivable, i.e.that he is made in the
image of God. This is the real, intrinsic nature of every human being, but it also
has to be actualised, and this actualisation, as we have said, takes place primarily
through the establishment of the heart, which is the locus of Divine knowledge
and remembrance in man. Ibn 'Arabi of course discusses the perfectibility of man
within the overall context of the unity of being; for him, there is only One Reality,
which is God, and there is nothing in existence but Him. The world, then, and
everything in it, including ourselves, is not a separate thing from God, but His
Self-revelation, an imaging. This is set out perfectly in the first sentence of
the Fusûs al-Hikam where Ibn 'Arabi describes the creation of the primordial man,
in the form of Adam.

God (al-haqq) wanted to see the essences of His most perfect Names
whose number is infinite - and if you like, you can equally well say, God
wanted to see His own Essence in one global object which having been
blessed with existence, summarised the Divine order so that there he
could manifest His mystery to Himself. For the vision that a being has of
himself and in himself is not the same as another reality procures for
him, and which he uses for himself as a mirror; (in this, he manifests
himself to his self in the form which results from the 'place' of the
vision...) So the Divine order required the clarification of the mirror of
the world, and Adam became the light itself of this mirror and the spirit
of this form.

Amongst the very many things that can be drawn from this passage, is a further
difference between Ibn 'Arabi's understanding of man and that of the
philosophers. For Ibn 'Arabi, theultimateaim is not for man to attain union with
God; it is that he becomes the place of God's self-revelation to Himself, according
to another closely related tradition, in which God says "I was a hidden treasure
and I loved to be known, so I created the world that I might be known". It is in
the human being - and specifically in the human heart - that this complete
'imagining' and knowing can take place, and when thisis fully realised, then not
only is man in his final state of entelechy - al-insân al-kâmil - but also, the whole
purpose of creation is fulfilled.

The actual phrase - man in the image of God - does not occur in the Qur'ân. It is
a hadîth of the Prophet: “God created man in His own image",or 'form' because
the word used here, sura, can mean both image and form. This was a
controversial hadîth, some people arguing thatit meansthatGod created man is his
(man's) form; but there is no doubt that Ibn 'Arabi reads the 'his' as referring to
God. One way of understanding what ismeant by 'God's form', as is clear from the
quote from Adam, is the universe or cosmos, which is the place in which God
reveals Himself first. Ibn 'Arabi says in the Futûhât:

...the Prophet reported that God created Adam in His form, and the
human being is the place where the whole cosmos is brought together.
God's knowledge of the cosmos is none other than the knowledge of
Himself, since there is nothing in existence but Him. So inevitably, the
cosmos is in His Form.

In this sense, 'in the image of God' is a reference to the ancient idea that man
and the universe are reflections of each other; man is microcosm and the
universe macrocosm, and the same reality is manifest in each. This again, is
common to both the pagan and monotheistic traditions, as can be seen by just a
quick quote from a 4th century text written by Nemesius of Emesa, a Greek
thinker who turned Christian in later life and whose work was one of the earliest,
and therefore most influential, treatise on man to be translated into Arabic;
Nemesius says:

"When we consider [the] facts about man, how can we exaggerate the
dignity of his place in creation? In his own person, man joins mortal
creatures with the immortals, and brings the rational beings into contact
with the [those that are not] rational. He bears about in his proper
nature a reflex [a reflection] of the whole creation, and is therefore
rightly called 'the world in little' (mikros kosmos in the Greek). He is the
creature whom God thought worthy of such special providence that, for
his sake, all creatures have their being ... he converses with the angels
and with God Himself... He explores the nature of every kind of being.
He busies himself with the knowing of God and is God's house and
temple.

We should remember that cosmos or universe here did not mean merely the
physical world; the spheres of the planets were also spirits, or angels, and
aspects of the Divine intellect; so cosmos includes the world of imagination and
the world of thought; in the Islamic tradition, it came to explicitly include the
Divine degrees of the First Intellect (the Pen), the Guarded Tablet, the Throne,
etc. It meant 'everything that there is'. And the use of the term cosmos was a
reference, from the time of Plato, to the fact that it was a single, ordered entity,
with one soul.

For Ibn 'Arabi, writing in the context of the unity of being, the principle of the
macrocosm/microcosm means, that there is complete correspondence between
knowledge of the cosmos and knowledge ofGod, because there is nothing but
God. And also, as both man and the cosmos are both in the image of God, then in
knowing the cosmos, man is coming to know himself. Thus, there is no such thing
as knowledge of 'external' things; there is only knowledge of the self. Hence our
own self is the most direct means by which we can come to know God, as in the
tradition - again a prophetic hadîth - “He who knows himself knows his Lord".
This is so closely linked in Ibn 'Arabi's work that it is virtually identical in meaning
to the Qur'ânic verse: "We shall show them our signs (ayât) to the horizons and
in themselves, until it is clear to them that it is God, the Real". (Q 41:53)Ibn
'Arabi says, in the K. 'Anqa Mughrib, one of his earliest works which is a detailed
and complex exposition on cosmology and the degrees and historic development
of sainthood:

...whenever I discourse on such recondite matters as [the mahdî and

the Seal], I speak in terms of the two worlds [that is the microcosm and
the macrocosm] in order to clarify the issue for the listener by referring
to the greater [i.e. external] world which he knows and comprehends,
after which I draw comparisons between that outer world and its secret
deposited in man - who yet denies it and does not comprehend it. For
my purpose in everything I write is never the gnosis which appears in
phenomenal existence, but rather the purpose is ever the gnosis which
is found in this human essence and Adamite substance.

As to this matter of man 'denying and not knowing'what is deposited in himself,

this is precisely the matter of actualising the already-existing potential, which Ibn
'Arabi likens to coming to read a book which is written within ourselves but which
we cannot yet decipher, or to polishing a tarnished mirror so that the image can
be seen clearly. To do this, we need instruction, as Ibn 'Arabi indicates a little
further on:

Were [man's] understanding capable of arriving at this secret without

my having to make mention of it, I would not have regarded its external
aspect at all, nor ever paused for a moment over its inner meaning.

Thus, for Ibn 'Arabi the important thing about our knowledge of the external
world - the only important thing - is that it is an indicator of something in
ourselves. He says:

He made you a sign (or a demonstration) (dalîl) [of your Lord]. That is,
he made your knowledge of your self a 'sign' (dalîl) to your knowledge
of Him. This is either by way of the fact that He describes you with the
same essence and attributes with which he describes Himself, and He
made you His vice-regent and deputy upon the earth. Or it is that you
have poverty and need for Him in your existence, or it is the two affairs
together...
...He mentioned the horizons... lest you imagine that something
remains in the horizons giving a knowledge of God that is not given by
yourself. Hence he turned you over to the horizons...[Then he] turned
you over to yourself alone, because he knew that the Real would be
your faculties and that you would know Him through Him, not through
other than Him... When you know Him and you attain to Him no-one will
have known and attained to Him save Himself... for the door to
knowledge of Him is shut, unless it comes from Him.

This 'turning us over to ourselves' is a reference to the practice of

retreat, khalwa, which,whether understood literally as a practice or
metaphorically as an interior state, was, and is, an intrinsic part of all esoteric
training; we know that Ibn 'Arabi himself underwent periods of seclusion
throughout his life. In his understanding, the point is not to exclude the world
because it is 'other than God' - there is nothing other than God - but simply to
concentrate for a time upon the interior aspect - to the signs 'within themselves';
in the same passage, he tells us:

The Real turned us over to the horizons which is everything outside of

us, and to ourselves which is everything that we are upon and in. When
we come to understand these two affairs together, we come to know
Him, and that 'it is God, the Real'. Thus the signifying of God is more
complete.

This principle of 'self-knowledge' embodies an epistemology - a way of knowing -

that would seem to be completely opposite to the way that we understand
'knowledge' inthe contemporary context. Scientific methodology gives real
existence to the external world and seeks 'objective' knowledge of it by
attempting to eliminate from the investigator all subjective input and experience;
and the resulting knowledge is understood to be the knowledge of the 'external'
things, not of ourselves. As already mentioned, such an approach comes up with
a view of the universe which, hardly surprisingly considering its initial premises,
designates no function orcoherent meaning at all to man in the universe. Hence
the subtle difference between answering 'yes' rather than 'yes-no' to Averroes'
question, results in a gross difference in our understanding of ourselves, and the
meaning of our lives.

Ibn 'Arabi of course wrote within an intellectual context in which this

correspondence between the macrocosm and the microcosm was at the heart of
both physics, metaphysics and religious expression. The sun and the planets
rotating around the earth were easily seen to be symbolic of man the microcosm
at the centre of the universe; the spheres of the physical bodies were enclosed by
those of the spirits, and at the outer edge, was the First Cause, Aquinas' 'Prime
Mover' - God as the creator and maintainer of the universe. The universe we
inhabit now is a much more mysterious and perplexing place - a much less
personal place.
But this difference in cultural context cannot be a barrier, ultimately, to realising
the truth to which Ibn 'Arabi refers in ourselves. For the principle of the unity of
existence, and the consequent principle of self-knowledge, is an essential one, to
do with the eternal reality of man, and is not dependent upon any particular
cultural environment. The difference in context may make it hard sometimes to
understand the real meaning to which Ibn 'Arabi is pointing, but this is not
insuperable. For one thing, the difference between our worlds is only a cultural
one. Whilst Ibn 'Arabi would agree, I think, with those more aware philosophers
and psychologists of our own time who have noticed that what we see - even in
the case of physical vision - is often deeply influenced by what we believe, itis still
the case that we live in the same universe as Ibn 'Arabi; the earth has not
actually moved in relation to the planets; we still see the sun rise on the horizon,
the night still falls. For Ibn 'Arabi, such every-day experiences are the very nitty-
gritty of God's constant revelation to us; as he says in the Futûhât:

God has placed His 'signs' (ayât) in the cosmos as 'habitual' and 'non-
habitual'. Only the people who have understanding from God in a
special way take the habitual [signs] into account, and the rest of the
people do not know what God intends by them.
God has filled the Qur'ân with [mention of these] habitual signs - such
as the alternation of day and night, rain falling, plants emerging from
the ground, ships running at sea, the diversity of tongues and colours,
there being sleep at night and the seeking of bounty during the day ...
the non-habitual signs are [things]... such as earthquakes and
tremblers, eclipses, the rational speech of animals, walking on water,
passing through the sky, {announcing events in the future that happen
exactly as announced}, ... etc. Such things are taken into account only
by the common people.

And:

Nothing walks in the cosmos without walking as a messenger (rasûl)

with a message. This is a high knowledge. Even the worms, in their
 movements, are rushing with a message to those who can understand
it.

Such passages make it clear that the problem is not to do with culture, but with
moving the organ of our perception from the intellect to the heart, so that we
actually witness the revelation that is constantly given to us, and understand
what it is 'indicating', what 'sign' it is making, about our own reality. Ibn 'Arabi
gives us many examples from his own life of such things; for example, the
experience he had on his journey East (1201AD), when he saw himself as united
in marriage to all the stars and the letters of the alphabet and understood all their
meanings. Most spectacularly, we havehis own accounts, in the K. al-Isra and
the Futûhât, of his spiritual ascension or mirâj, in which, mirroring the night-
journey of the prophet Muhammed, he was taken horizontally across the earth
from Mecca to Jerusalem, then vertically through all the degrees of existence,
from the realm of the minerals to the highest heaven - a journey in which as
Stephen Hirtenstein has remarked: "physical geography metamorphoses into
spiritual topography". Ibn 'Arabi remarks; “My journey took place only in me, and
my pointing was only to me".

If this can happen with the physical world, then it is possible that we can come to
understand that the same principle occurs also at a cultural level. So, for
example, at the level of the imagination, it is clear that the images of our
contemporary world can become the raw material by which meaning is conveyed
to us in dreams; so that we now find ourselves flying in airplanes or microlites
rather than on wingéd steeds, but the meaning of flying, or elevation, is still the
same as it was at the time of Muhammed. By the same token, it is possible that
at the level of reason, the discoveries of modern science can also provide us with
images and concepts that reveal meanings to us. A famous example is the
findings of quantum mechanics which, as Frithjof Capra, amongst others, has
pointed out in his famous Tao of Physics,bear a marked resemblance to mystical
expositions of reality. I came across an example myself whilst thinking about this
talk, and Jonathan Sachs' statements about us all ' being in the image of God'.
Just a few weeks later, the findings of the human genome project were published,
revealing that the genetic differences between people are so small that we are to
all intents and purposes the same; so Craig Venter who was one of the chief
scientists on the American project was moved to say; 'Really, we are just identical
twins'. And of course, it is hard to ignore the wonderful symbolism that DNA
research reveals, i.e. that at the core of our make-up is the principle of self-
replication, which is just another way of saying 'imaging'.

That science can come up with these images, although it starts from such
different premises, is in itself a sign to the unity of existence - to the fact that
there is really no-where else to go but the One Reality - and is a pointer to the
great mystery to which Ibn 'Arabi alludes in his Yes-no, and what liesbetween
them.

We can find ourselves especially at one with the scientists when it comes to
appreciating the wonder and beauty of the universe, for there is no doubt that
modern technology such as the Hubble telescope which turns our sights towards
the outer reaches of time and space, or time-lapse photography which shows us
the intricacies of the micro-world of nature, is now revealing to us new aspects of
what Ibn 'Arabi calls in the Wednesday morning prayer of his Wird:“raqâ'iq al-
daqâ'iq" - “the subtle threads of the intricacies, which arespread through
existence". Ibn 'Arabi sees beauty as a fundamental attribute of the universe;
saying in the Futûhât:

"Since God made the cosmos manifest as the same as Himself, it was His own
self-revelation, so He saw nothing within it but His own beauty, and He loved [its]
beauty. Thus the cosmos is God's beauty, and He is [both] the beautiful and the
lover of beauty. Anyone who loves the cosmos with this contemplation has loved
it with God's love, and has loved nothing but God's beauty, for the beauty of
[excellent] craftsmanship is not ascribed to itself; it is rather ascribed to the
craftsman who made it. Hence the beauty of the cosmos is God's beauty."

There is not time in this short talk to go into the further levels of symbolism
through which Ibn 'Arabidiscusses this matter of human potential. But given that
this is really the first symposium of the new millennium, and a time when so
many questions about the nature of our time and era have been raised, then I
feel that something of it should at least be mentioned. For Ibn 'Arabi, the
knowledge which is revealed both in the totality of the cosmos and in the interior
of man, is brought together in 'summary' form in the figures of the prophets and
saints, so that, he says for instance, of the station of Muhammed, that“in this is
found the knowledge of the messages scattered throughout the [entire]
cosmos."These gatherings and summaries of the 'signs' of the universe provide a
quicker and easier way for us to come to knowledge, and therefore, in his Fusûs
al-Hikam, as we all know,he represents the matter of the realised man, al-insân
al-kâmil, in the form of the wisdom of 27 prophets, beginning with Adam and
ending with Muhammed. In making this representation, he introduces into the
matter the further dimension of the unfolding of man's potential in time; and
elsewhere, as we have already mentioned briefly, in works like K. 'Anqa
Mughrib and in the Futûhât, he discusses in detail the evolution of human history,
and the meanings of figures like the Seal of the Saints, the Mahdi, and the Seal of
the Children who will end this emergence of man. What this would add to the
discussion of this paper, would be that for Ibn 'Arabi God's revelation appears also
in the form of the 'time', of the 'era'. For those who would know God in the way
we have discussed, then this also is a 'sign' to their own reality and potential.

But as there is no time to go into this in the detail it would demand, I would like
to finish by exploring the related question of whether man's potential is fixed,
with some kind ofdefinite limit or expected end, or whether it is open-ended. And
I think that one has to say that the tendency of Ibn 'Arabi's thought is towards
open-endedness, and constant expansion into new forms of expression. Man is in
the image of God, and God is Infinite, Single, beyond being expressed in form;
He is ultimately unknowable. So although He reveals Himself constantly, this does
not exhaust His possibilities such that the revelation will ever come to an end.
Therefore, for Ibn 'Arabi, as for the Sufi tradition in general, the characteristic of
the heart which is the locus of the Divine Revelation, is that it is not fixed in one
form, but changes, or turns - the root of the Arabic word for heart, qalb, means
'to turn' - with the revelation of God. It is an important principle for Ibn 'Arabi,
that in fact, the revelation is never repeated, and he quotes from his predecessor,
Abû Tâlib al-Makki:

He never reveals Himself in the same form twice to a single individual,

nor to two individuals in one form

Whereas the one who relies on intellectual knowledge tries to confine the
revelation to one form or other, and to make generalisations, the one who has a
heart acknowledges Him in all forms; Ibn 'Arabi says in the chapter on Shu'ayb in
the Fusûs al- Hikam:

The forms of revelation do not have a point of termination where they

could stop. In the same way, knowledge of God has no limit in the one
who knows Him where it could stop. Rather, the one who knows Him is
the one who at every moment seeks to increase knowledge of Him,
asking: Lord increase me in knowledge, Lord increase me in knowledge,
Lord increase me in knowledge. The matter has no end from both sides
[i.e., either from the side of God or the side of man].

From this point of view, the challenge for each new generation is to come to know
God, by knowing themselves, in the new form of revelation that each era and
indeed, each moment, brings. I have mentioned science because this is what I
know best, but, as Jim Morris has pointed out,this also applies to music, poetry,
filmand new forms of social structure; new forms of spirituality, all of which can
be ways in which God is known and praised. To end with a quote from
the Futûhât which seems to me to sum up the matter of human potential very
well:

The self is an ocean which has no shore. There is no end to the

contemplation of it in this world or the next, for it is the closest sign (or
demonstration) (dalîl) [of your Lord]. The more [you] contemplate [it],
the more [your] knowledge of it increases, and the more [your]
 knowledge of it increases, the more [your] knowledge of your Lord
increases.

Jane Clark, 29/3/2001

The Time of Science and the Sufi Science of Time

Physics used to teach us that space is a kind of absolute container, separate from
the flow of time. In this classical or Newtonian conception, objects traveled
through or remained stationary in space, which itself was not subject to change
or to internal variations. The three dimensions of space were the same, always
and everywhere. Galileo's observation of the moons of Jupiter would eventually
lead to the fundamental assertion, so damaging to the prevailing Christian or
traditional cosmology of the time, that in fact the laws down here on earth and
the laws up there in the heavens are the very same. Our "space" as we
experience it on earth, according to its inviolable coordinates of width, height,
and depth, or the famous x, y, and z of the Cartesian coordinate system exists
uniformly throughout the universe and is governed by the same rules. With the
dismissal of the ether (the fifth element the celestial spheres were thought to be
made of) and the adoption of an atomist theory, the physical vision of the
universe was one of billiard balls colliding in a uniform and static vacuum, with
things like electromagnetism and thermal energy thrown into the mix.

In this conception, time was a measure and nothing more, and was itself
assumed to be constant and unchanging. One used time in frequency and velocity
values, but time itself had nothing essentially to do with the nature of space and
certainly nothing to do with physical objects themselves. The great paradigm shift
in physics came with Einstein's special theory of relativity, which was later to be
expanded upon in his general theory of relativity. In addition to showing that
there is no absolute frame of reference for physical measurements, the theory
also demonstrated mathematically that what we ordinarily think of as space and
time are actually intertwining realities – or two aspects of the same reality. How
we move through space changes how we move through time, at least depending
on the point of observation. If I travel from Earth for a period of time near the
speed of light and then return, a much longer period of time will have elapsed
from Earth's frame of reference than will have elapsed from my own frame of
reference, in some sort of space vehicle for example. Time also changes
depending on how close I am to a strong gravitational field. A clock in orbit high
above the earth, for example, will run slightly slower than an identical clock on
the surface of the earth.

Now, many books have been written in the last few decades claiming that the
teachings of Eastern religions such as Buddhism and the finding of modern
physics, specifically quantum mechanics and relativity theory, are really the

same, and much is made of the spiritual significance of this new physics. 2 Though
it is a topic for another forum, I believe that the perceived intersection of physics
and mysticism or religion results from a sublimation of certain hypothetical
assumptions of physical data on the one hand, and a denaturing of the spiritual
doctrines on the other. That is to say, certain interpretations of the physical data,
such as the idea that the observer influences the state vector collapse, and the
notion of multiple universes arising out of the actualization of the wave function
of particles, are nothing more than philosophical struggles on the part of
physicists and laymen to come to grips with the data. They are not demanded by
the data themselves, which is why many physicists who agree on the same data

have sometimes wildly different models for accounting for those data. 3 On the
religious side, one comes across pat explanations of spiritual doctrines taken out
of their traditional context, and Buddhism is reduced to a group of clever insights
about our mind and the nature of the world.

Thus I want to be careful of including the findings of physics in a paper on the

experience of time and non-time at a conference on Ibn al-'Arabī. I may joyously
proclaim that Ibn al-'Arabī told us in the thirteenth century what physicists claim
to have discovered only a few decades ago, but what happens when the scientists
change their minds? After all, despite what the popular literature and movies tell
us, there are enormous lacunae in physics, and for all we know the spatio-
temporal conception ushered in by Einstein may one day itself be overturned by
something as radically different. To give you some examples, quantum mechanics
works for very small things, and relativity works for very big things, but at a
certain point in between, for medium sized things, the theories become
incompatible. This was the problem with Newtonian or classical physics: for many
purposes the theory worked just fine, but physicists were puzzled because it did
not work for all observed phenomena. Thus Newtonian equations will correctly
predict how a baseball will travel through space, but it took relativity to correctly
account for the orbit of the planet Mercury. Our present idea of gravity and the
mass of the universe should have the universe flying apart, but since it does not
actually do so, physicists posit dark matter, which accounts for 98 percent of the
mass of the universe. The problem is since we cannot see or measure this dark
matter, we do not know what it is, or really if it is there.

So why start a discussion of time at an Ibn 'Arabī Society gathering with physics?
Firstly, despite the fact that classical physics is part of history as far as scientists
are concerned, its world view still dominates the consciousness of the age. It is
what is most typically taught in high school textbooks, and its assumptions are
built into popular language about the subject. The next time you hear someone
say "fundamental building blocks of matter" know that such a notion is
completely classical in its origin. All our notions of mass, force, and energy are
usually classical conceptions, that is to say conceptions beginning from the
bifurcation of the world into measurable and subjective knowledge by Descartes,
then Galileo's uniformity of the universal laws, and finally Newton's brilliant
synthesis. Moreover, these ideas, together with the advent of the heliocentric
model, was a major force, perhaps the most important force, in sidelining
Christianity in the Western world. First the Church abdicated its claim to having
knowledge of the natural world, and while it spent the next few centuries in the
domain of moral and spiritual questions, scientists gradually reduced the world to
physical bits, reduced man to a hyper developed animal, reduced animals to
complex arrangements of atoms, and reduced consciousness to complex patterns
of synaptic activity in the brain. Meanwhile the philosophers and pseudo-
philosophers of scientism were busy trying to convince themselves and everyone
else that truth was provided only by quantitative measurement. The rest was
quality, which fell on the side of subjective feeling, and as we all were supposed
to know, feelings are really just complex instincts, which somehow result from the
structure of the brain, resulting from the structure of DNA, resulting from the
happenstance arrangement of atoms.

Relativity theory and quantum mechanics overturned classical mechanics, which

had itself overturned Christian cosmology. The paradigm shift ushered in by such
figures as Einstein, Max Planck, and Neils Bohr is important because it destroyed
the destroyer. Heliocentrism was erased, because from the point of view of
relativity it is nonsense to say that the earth "goes round" the sun, as it is to say
that the sun goes round the earth, because there is no fixed frame of reference to
say which is going around which. The sun's gravitational field is stronger than the
earth's, but the earth does pull on the sun, and because there is no absolute
frame of reference anymore, then certainly it is correct to say the sun goes
around the earth. Geocentrism actually comes out slightly ahead, since it at least
corresponds to our experience from our frame of reference. From the point of
view of science, however, we have lost both geocentrism and heliocentrism.

As for universal laws, we find that things do not behave the same everywhere.
For example a clock seems to run at a different speed high above the earth. Light
does not always travel in a straight line, but seems to bend from different points
of reference, because space itself seems to bend and take on all sorts of shapes
depending on the objects in it.

Then we discover that atoms are not mere little balls. Rather, it seems the only
way we can properly describe what seems to be happening on very small scales is
through various kinds of mathematical form, very unlike a little ball. The only
reason scientists talk about wave-particle duality is because the measurements
they get look sometimes like a particle, sometimes like a wave, but they never
have nor ever will see what causes those measurements. The relationships
between the "atoms" is mathematically incredibly complex and is more like
threads in a tapestry than balls flying through space, but of course they are
neither. The problem is further complicated by Bell's theorem, which shows
entities like electrons to be connected, as far as we can tell, instantaneously even
at distances too great for a light-speed communication to take place. This is
important because relativity theory states that nothing can travel faster than the
speed of light.

Thus the momentousness of heliocentrism, atomist theory, uniformity of spatial

laws and time was shown to be not so momentous after all, but this is lost on
popular thinking. Einstein certainly earned his own fame but did not manage to
steal all of Newton's thunder. The most usual understanding of the natural world
is still a classical one.

But I already cautioned myself about too great an enthusiasm for what the new
physics teaches. Indeed it may be that the current paradigm is overturned, but it
seems well-nigh impossible that any such a revolution will bring us closer to the
classical conception that destroyed traditional cosmology in the West. We have
already pushed the limits of what we can actually observe with our own senses,
which is to say anything else we observe will be the effects of experiments
together with the mathematical models based on the data of those experiments.
Physicists' eyes are not more powerful than our own; their insight comes through
the mathematical form they derive from the data. Such mathematical models are
the very stuff of physical theory.

The significance of this is not that it elevates one theoretical model above
another, but that it throws into sharp focus the fact that any model of what
happens beyond the perceptible world is as good as any other from the point of
view of science, so long as it correctly predicts the data. The problem with
superstring theory, hidden variable theory, many-universe theory, is that they are
all mathematical models based upon the exact same body of data, and they all
predict the data equally well. These models are sometimes so wildly different that
any pretense to some one great scientific conception of the universe must be
seen as philosophical hubris. The precision of the data themselves and the
success of the accompanying mathematics in predicting the behavior of the
physical world on small and large scales – indeed the most successful scientific
theory to date – paradoxically serves to undercut the assumption that the only
real knowledge we can have of things is through scientific measurement. What we
are measuring are things we can never perceive without a measurement.
Classical mechanics usually dealt with ordinary scale objects. If the real
knowledge we have of a baseball is the measurements we can make of it, we are
still left with an object that at least corresponds to an object we actually
experience, even if that experience is merely subjective or even meaningless
from the point of view of science. An electron is an entity no one has, can, or ever
will experience. Even if we never perceive a unicorn in fact, we could in principle.

The key reversal at play is the following: we measure quantum entities, but our
knowledge of them is mediated completely by our ordinary experience of the
world, by our pointer-readings, as Wittgenstein once remarked. I said that the
new physics paradoxically undercuts classical bifurcation because it leaves us with
the troubling proposition that our true scientific knowledge depends for its very
survival upon the offices of our subjective, non-scientific experience. Actually, this
was the case in classical mechanics as well, but the fact that quantum entities are
wholly unlike ordinary entities makes the rigid bifurcation into a subjective world

of quality and an objective world of quantity all the more absurd. 4

The situation we are left with is this. The revolution of classical mechanics
suffered a counter-revolution, the new physics, which neutralized the sting
delivered by the heliocentric model, uniform space and time, and the classical
atomist theory. Though this counter-revolution did not put traditional cosmology
back in its place, it robbed the scientist of his ability to make absolute statements
about what we can know. A man might be lulled into a kind of complacency about
the baseball; perhaps the knowledge provided by scientific measurement is more
true and reliable than his mere experience of the thing. This may not hold up to
philosophical scrutiny, but overlap between the measured baseball and a baseball
as one sees it gives the whole affair an air of respectability. But when the scientist
tells us that true knowledge is measuring things that we cannot see, and that the
scientist cannot see either, it begins to sound too strange to be believed. And of
course, it is.
So unlike many of the popular ideas linking the new physics to traditional
metaphysics, my assertion here is simply that science has exposed the fallacy of
Cartesian bifurcation and the alleged supremacy of quantitative knowledge.
Science has turned on itself, or more correctly, the data has betrayed
philosophical scientism and exposed its limitations. We have quite literally come
back to our senses.

If we actually pay attention to the difference between quantitative data and

physical theory, we see that science has altogether lost the destructive power to
make us denigrate our senses and the ideas we form from sensory experience.
We know that what the scientist says about time is a model based on
observations of the world, and that any number of such models possess equal
validity, and all of them are subservient to the real experience of the human
subject. Choosing one model above another is not a scientific decision, but a
philosophical one.

Time, like space, is one of the most concrete aspects of our experience of the
world. It is not an abstract entity such as an electron, but a reality so close and
intimate that we stumble in defining it owing to its sheer obviousness. It is a
mystery that baffles due to its clarity, not its obscurity. If a physicist says that
time is not what we think but is actually this or that, we can agree in part and
acknowledge that the reality may have aspects of which we are not aware.
However, we always possess the powerful rejoinder that no matter what the data
or theory, it has been formed on the basis of the physicist's ordinary human
experience of time and observations taking place within that experience.
Logically, it is impossible to negate the qualitative time of our own experience
without undercutting the basis of the quantitative time derived through
measurement, since no observation is possible without ordinary time and ordinary
space. "Reification" is the problem we get when we put our theories of
quantitative time above qualitative time in our hierarchy of knowledge. I may give
a mathematical description of time utilizing perhaps a symbolic or allegorical use
of geometric shapes, but then become trapped in my own provisional model.
Even the word "linear" in linear time is a model. We make an analogy of some
property of our experience of time to the properties of a physical line in space,
i.e., being continuous and existing in two directions. But time is not a line,
a line is a line. Having used the image of a line to enable us to talk about time in
a scientifically useful way, we get trapped by an image which has taken on a life
of its own, so to speak. Then anything other than linear time begins to seem
absurd, a violation of time the way a loop is a violation of a line.

The Cartesian bifurcation which elevates quantitative measurement and theory

while denigrating the real experience of qualities is ultimately absurd, because no
model can repudiate the model-maker and continue to remain meaningful. It
would mean that the model-maker's knowledge of what he is making a model of
is dependent upon the knowledge provided by that very model itself. A
bifurcationist physicist discerns a mathematical form in the data of the world,
then says that this mathematical form is more true than the very perception he
used to discern that mathematical form. If by this he meant that the world
manifests laws present in the Intellect or Great Spirit, we could agree, since we
perceive those laws by virtue of participating in that same intellect. But that is not
an idea the philosophers of scientism would be willing to entertain.

Let me now leave off the space-time continuum of physics and come to the soul's
qualitative and lived experience of these realities we call space and time. Space
and time appear to us to be two modes of extension, or in simpler terms two
ways in which things are spread out in relationship to each other. Spatially things
are here and there, and temporally things are before and after. In another essay I
discussed at length this notion of space and time as extension, and I do not wish

to duplicate that discussion here.5 My purpose here is to establish a link between

space and time that is not at all based on relativity theory, but arises from our
living experience. Although in the classical conception which so often dominates
our minds space and time are seen as two separate and unlike things, the truth is
that time is impossible without space, and space is impossible without time. I do
not make this assertion from the point of view of physical science, but from within
the world of the metaphysics of Ibn al-'Arabī and similar metaphysical systems.

Let us first ask what the world would be like if there were only space, but no
time. The first thing that we would notice is that change would become
impossible. Think of a group of objects existing in space, and then think of them
existing in a different arrangement. In order for them to go from the first
arrangement to the second one, something has to happen. They have to at the
very least traverse the distances necessary to arrive at the second arrangement,
but how can they do that if there is only space and no time? Something has to
ontologically link the two arrangements. Even if somehow they do not traverse
the distance in between, the objects are still the same objects, and the only thing
allowing us to call them the same objects in the two different arrangements is a
reality that allows the objects to change but retain some kind of continuity. This
connecting dimension is time.

Let us then ask what the world would be like if there were time but no space.
Since there would be no spatial extension to observe, we would somehow have to
measure time with our subjective experience in the absence of height, width, and
depth. How would we know that there even was a course of time? Feelings have
no dimension perhaps, but what about the rest of the soul? The images in our
imagination, never mind the objects of the objective world, all have spatial
extension, so we would have to disallow them in a world without space. That is to
say, time implies a kind of inward space in the soul – a different kind of space to
be sure – that makes it meaningful to speak of before and after, a referent that is
constant in the face of change.

Let us as an exercise try to erase the words "space" and "time" from our minds
and come back at the question. We notice that in life there are things that change
and things that stay the same, and often the very same things seem to change
and stay the same but in different respects. The baseball is the same baseball,
both in the hand of the pitcher and in the glove of the catcher, but it is not wholly
the same because some things about it are different, such as its location and its
relationship to the things around it. We can talk about things that are constant
and changing, or static and dynamic. (In Arabic the relevant terms
are qārr and ghayr al-qārr.)

But I do not wish to encumber myself from the beginning with technical language.
For now I simply have the "constant" and the "changing". I, too, am constant and
changing. I am the same person but I am always becoming this or that,
experiencing all sorts of colors and sounds and shapes in addition to my
emotions, and yet the constant identity abides. In the statement, "I was sad,
then I found my true love, and then I was happy," the then does not split
the I into parts. It does not erase the identity.

Such paradoxes of the many in the one, and the one in the many, really form the
basis of Ibn al-'Arabī's metaphysics, and make a good point of departure for an
analysis of time and non-time. At the highest level, the mystery of the many and
the one is the identity between the Ultimate Reality and the many things we
usually think of as being real in and of themselves. The ontological status of
things in relation to the ultimate reality is a question for metaphysics, but the
mystery of the many and one also plays out in cosmology, meaning the study of
the world in which the puzzles of constancy and change arise.

At the highest level of Akbarian thought, the manyness of the divine qualities is
resolved in the unity of the supreme Self. This is not a unity of "before" and
"after", where I might say that all qualities are happening right now; nor is it a
unity of "here" and "there", where I might say that all qualities are in one place.
Rather it is a unity of being, of identity. The Creator is not another being than the
Just or the All-Merciful. They are unified in what they truly are, and mysteriously
the world's illusory reality disappears in the face of this essential unity.

Now, Akbarians do not throw away manyness, but put it in its place, and from our
point of view in the world the many divine qualities and their relationships to one
another are of the greatest significance. The manyness of the qualities is unreal
only for the supreme Self, but for us this manyness is as real as we are, so to
speak. In fact, we depend on this manyness for whatever illusory reality we
possess, because it is by virtue of the divine names and qualities and their
relationships that the world comes to be. How, then, does this one in the many,
many in the one, play out in the world?

There is no shortage of ideas that Ibn al-'Arabī and his school use to describe how
the divine qualities give rise to the world. Some of the most important are
emanation (fayd), self-disclosure (tajallī), identification (ta'ayyun). For this talk I
want to use the symbolism of light, and the divine name "Light" or al-Nūr. Mystics
and philosophers have often started with light, and its symbolism is so powerful
because light is both what we see and what we see by. Light is both a means and
an end. If we apply the symbolism of light to all knowledge, light is both what we
know and how we know. It is, moreover, a symbol that Ibn al-'Arabī and his
school often used as a metaphysical basis, the same way they could use the
concepts of mercy and existence.

The Quran says, God is the Light of the heavens and the earth (24:35). The
heavens and the earth are the realm of the constant and the changing, so let us
say that God is the light of the constant and the changing, making God what we
know the constant and the changing by. This leaves us to ask what the constant
and the changing are. Each and every thing is, ultimately, a manifestation of a
name of God. God knows His endless names, and this knowledge is the realm of
the immutable identities, the al-a'yan al-thabitah. Each immutable identity is a
special way in which God knows God, but God's knowledge of Himself is neither
before and after nor here or there. It introduces neither distance nor duration
between His names.

But if the identities are essences or forms in the knowledge of God that are
separated neither by distances nor durations, how do we get to the situation
where these identities, when they are in the world, do get separated by distance
and duration? In God's knowledge the identities are immutable, but in the world
they are what we are calling constant and changing. They are here and there, and
they are before and after. The baseball is here, not over there. Or, the baseball is
here now, but it was not here earlier. This does not happen in God's knowledge.
The immutable identities are different but not apart. There is an immutable
identity for the pitcher and an immutable identity for the catcher, but they exist
eternally in God's act of knowing, fused but not confused, to borrow Meister
Eckhart's language.

Akbarian cosmogenesis is a two-tiered emanation, or self-disclosure which first

gives rise to the immutable identities in God's knowledge, and then externalizes
or existentiates them in the world. There is a way in which these two identities,
one manifest and the other unmanifest, are two different things, and another way
in which they are simply the same thing viewed from two different points of view.
When God's light illuminates the immutable identities – which we can reword and
say when God as the Light meets with God as the Knower – the result is the
world. In a sense the immutable identities are dark, because as independent
beings they are nothing. They are only God's knowledge of Himself. The divine
light is a gift that illuminates the identities and gives them their own reality. This
light allows there to be something "other than God", this phrase "other than God"
being Ibn al-'Arabī's definition of the world, because by being illuminated the
identities can see each other, and see themselves, and by "see" I mean "know".

Now, in the world this light by which we are illuminated to each other is none
other than the very realities of duration and distance. What we give the name
"space" is a state of affairs where the forms of things exist in a kind of
relationality to each other, separated and yet existing in the same domain and
thus connected in a kind of continuum. What we give the name "time" is a state
of affairs where forms exist in a different kind of relationality, where even a single
given thing is able to be separated from its previous state and yet still be
connected to those states by virtue of its being a single thing. Thus its states also
exist in a kind of continuum. God's light in static mode is space, and His light in
dynamic mode is time. The identities themselves are not space and time, for the
identities are pure forms in the knowledge of God, but when God casts His light
upon them they enter into the dance of spatial and temporal interaction we call
the world. This light enables the realities of sound, color, shape, smell, feeling,
number, mass, and energy to connect and manifest the forms. Light is the vessel,
both in static and dynamic mode, upon which the identities journey in between
the plenary darkness of God's knowledge on the one hand and the uninhabitable
darkness of pure nothingness on the other.

This is one possible understanding of the divine saying where God says, "Do not
curse time, for I am time." By cursing time, we are in reality cursing the light of
God, which is identical with Himself. It is by God giving of Himself, of His light,
that our existence as beings going through changing states is even possible. But
it then follows that one could also say that God is space. Islamic metaphysics
does not have, to my knowledge, a classification of space as it does of time. As I
am sure will be widely discussed in this conference, there is a distinction made
between sarmad, dahr, and zamān, or eternity, sempiternity, and ordinary time.
But if what I am saying about the divine light is true, is it not equally true to say
that God is space?

In the bodily world the divine light shines in a certain mode, far short of all the
possibilities of divine illumination. The light is relatively dim, and though I see
myself and others, I cannot see much, and the wholeness and connectedness of
things is largely hidden in a darkness that is yet to be illuminated. The
possibilities of this world are basically limited, at least in our ordinary experience,
to the usual dimensions of space and time. Akbarian metaphysics teaches that
the imaginational world, the world ontologically superior to the world of bodies, is
more illuminated. In that world, the rules governing the constant and the
changing, or distance and duration, are not the same. Remember that the
imaginational world, like the world of bodies, is still a world of extension, which is
to say that it is a world of manifested forms – of shapes, colors, duration,
changing states. But because it is so luminous, the possibilities for the interaction
of the constant and the changing are much greater. The forms in the
imaginational world are indeed not limited by bodily space and time, though there
is an imaginational space and an imaginational time. Recall the saying that the
bodily world in relation to the imaginational world is like a ring tossed into a vast
wilderness. Rūmī declares that there is a window between hearts, meaning that
we are connected to each other at the level of our souls, both across space and
across time. True believers can have dreams foretelling the future, and great
saints can meet in spirit if not in body. These wonders do not take place by virtue
of bodily existence, but by virtue of the imaginational world, the world of souls.

Not only do the conditions of space and time change from bodily to imaginational
existence, but they change from this world to the next, from the dunyā to
the ākhirah. This is what Dāwūd al-Qaysarī means when he says that there are
some divine names whose governance of the world lasts for a certain duration.
That is to say, there is a certain way in which the divine light manifests the forms
in our ordinary earthly life, but at the end of the world the cycle of that kind of
light, of that particular divine name, will come to a close. The hereafter will then
be governed by another divine name, another kind of divine light. That which is
impossible here will be possible there because the divine light will illuminate ever
more possibilities for the interplay of forms and identities. Space itself will be
greater and more infinite, time itself will be infused with greater barakah and
potential for realizing the self-disclosures of God.

Thus far I have been discussing the ontological status of time together with
space, because I think the two are inseparable insofar as they are two modes of
the divine light as far as worldly existence is concerned. But what does the reality
of time mean for the spiritual journey of the soul?

If we take Ibn al-'Arabī's metaphysics and cosmology to their logical conclusion, I

believe we can say the following. God created us as a freely given gift, simply so
that we who were not could be, that we who were nothing could be living beings.
But at the same time God experiences all of our pains and our joys, our stupidity
and our wisdom, our fear and our courage with us in a mysterious way. Recall
thehadīth where God says, "I was sick, and you did not visit Me," (Muslim 4661)
and the Quranic verse "Those who hurt God and His Messenger …" (33:57). Yet
for God there is no pain, stupidity, or fear, because God is not confined to the
moment of suffering. He knows the whole life. God does not move down the line
with us as we do, although He lives what we live. God could never suffer as we
suffer because for God there is no despair, no hopelessness. Hopelessness is the
most human of sufferings.

For God, the pain is like the pain of separation we feel at the very moment we are
running to meet our beloved. We are in fact separated, and the effect of running
and the distance between us is a kind of suffering, but that suffering is totally
redeemed by the hope we have, the certitude, that we have in the meeting with
our beloved. The pain that God experiences with us is like the pain we experience
while running to our beloved. It is not really a pain at all; it is a part of the
fullness of the moment. God sees in our life, when we cannot, the abundance and
perfection of our destiny in a way so perfectly complete that the so-called
suffering is ever blessed and redeemed in the final reunion. We are not God,
though, and so for us the experience of pain is not the same, but it is what it
must be for a being God created for joy. When we become more like God, we
suffer more in the way God "suffers", so to speak. We gradually experience and
taste how death is just a flavor of life.

In us, God is always running to the beloved, He lives the separation in the total
light of (re)union, death in the light of life, pain in the light of total bliss. We may
think that we are just stamping our feet, out of breath, running to a horizon that
never seems to come closer, but we are growing still.

To turn a nothing into a something like God is going to have to hurt sometimes,
ripping open nothingness and pulling out a god-like being strand by strand, sinew
by sinew, love by love, pain by pain, stupidity by stupidity … into bliss, wisdom,
wholeness, and ever greater life.

Think of a pebble in the shoe of the running lover. If that lover had placed all his
hope in a perfect shoe, a perfect foot to go in that perfect shoe with a perfect
sock, all to create a perfect fit. If he longed for it and made it his great hope, a
pebble in his shoe while he was running would crush him, reduce him to anger,
despair, agony, humiliation.

But what does a true lover care about a pebble in his shoe? Does he even feel it?
Would he care? Perhaps it would make for an even fonder memory of the reunion.

The Quran promises that "… in Paradise the believers shall neither fear nor
grieve" (2:62), meaning that the light of God will so illuminate us that we shall
see the beauty of all things past and of what may come. It is in the darkness and
opacity of the past, the inability to grasp the greater harmony of what happens to
us, that causes the pain of grief. In grief, we suffer from the past. In fear, we
suffer from the future. When God's light shows us the way, we suffer from
neither. The Quran does not deny the passage of time in Paradise, only the
difficulties we experience on account of it in this world. Our memory is illuminated
and causes us no more trouble, and our imagination, that faculty capable of
reaching out to the future, can conceive of no cause for despair or hopelessness.
The ignorance built into the darkness of the world simply cannot exist in the full
light of God in Paradise. It is thus that the soul transcends time, not by leaving it
but by conquering it.

Our destiny in this world is both static and dynamic, which is to say that we are a
harmony of parts and of experiences, of aspects and states. We can understand
easily that beauty in the spatial sense is the presence of unity in multiplicity,
which is to say, of harmony in all its forms. Music is the classic example of
dynamic harmony, of a harmony that not only exists statically in a chord for
example, but also dynamically, in a progression of counterpoint and in the
movements of a melody.

If the soul can conquer time and live in it in Paradise, what about here in this
world? What enables us to wake up to the harmony of our destiny in this world
and the next? Surely we must acknowledge that an awakening is called for,
because we do grieve and fear, groping about in the dark while falling prey to
unhappiness and despair. How can we become like God and experience reunion in
separation? The Sufis indeed speak of taking on the divine qualities (al-ittisāf bi-
sifātillāh), and this is done through the remembrance of God, the dhikr, in all its
forms. It is through the dhikr that the light of God shines brighter and brighter
upon the soul, transforming and purifying it. A Sufi shaykh has said that when the
traveler looks back upon his life, he will see that dhikr as a kind of golden chain
passing through all its states and experiences. This means that through the
remembrance, practiced faithfully, the Sufi overcomes the vicissitudes of time.

And this brings us finally to the dimension of non-time, which from man's point of
view, both in the spiritual life and in the hereafter, is the spirit, or the heart, or
the intellect. The heart or spirit or intellect is the point in man where the divine
light resides and can shine down into the soul. It is the mysterious divine spark,
both created and uncreated, or as some would say, neither. The spiritual life is the
wedding of the soul to the spirit, not the elimination of the soul. Remember that
by virtue of being made in the image of God we all possess an intrinsic dimension
of light ourselves. The illumination we receive is truly just an aspect of our own
nature, as Ibn al-'Arabī says so clearly in the Fusūs. In the spiritual life, in the
remembrance of God, the spirit or heart acts upon the soul, illuminating it,
transforming it, untying its knots, turning it clear where it was once opaque. From
the point of view of time, progress is made in tying together our temporal selves
with our non-temporal selves so that the former can be transfigured by the latter.
When the non-time or eternity of the spirit enters fully into the soul, the Sufi
becomes ibn al-waqt, newly born in each moment. Wa Allāhu a'lam.

Notes

1. For a good general introduction to both special relativity and quantum

mechanics, see Gary Zukav's The Dancing Wu Li Masters (New York, 2001).

2. Among the most popular of such books is Fritjof Capra's The Tao of
Physics (Boston, 1999). Other titles include David Darling, Zen Physics: The
Science of Death, the Logic of Reincarnation (San Francisco, 1996); Alan Wallace
(ed.) Buddhism and Science: Breaking New Ground (New York, 2003); Matthieu
Ricard and Trinh Xuan Thuan, The Quantum and the Lotus: A Journey to the
Frontiers Where Science and Buddhism Meet (New York, 2001).

3. For example, the physicist David Bohm interpreted the data of physics as being
consistent with a deeper level of reality, and in fact argued that a more profound
wholeness is actually implied by the data. See for example his Wholeness and the
Implicate Order (New York, 1980).

4. This point is argued fully in Wolfgang Smith's The Quantum Enigma: Finding
the Hidden Key (Hillsdale, NY, 2005). A collection of essays also dealing with the
new physics can be found in his The Wisdom of Ancient Cosmology (Oakton, VA,
2003), which touches on a wide assortment of questions relating to science and
philosophy.

5. "On Beginning a New System of Islamic Philosophy," The Muslim World, 94:1
(January, 2004).
The Way of Walâya (Sainthood or Friendship of God)

Prologue

Glory be to God who created all creatures equal in relation to Him. Everybody is
His servant and carries His Divine secret, the secret of creation and
manifestation. And every creature enjoys a particular aspect and a special
relationship with God the Real (al-Haqq) that no one else shares and without a
third coming between. The source and evidence of this special aspect coincide
with the moment of creation, the moment when the will of the Real decided to
create this creature, and so he becomes.[1]

Muhyiddin Ibn 'Arabi makes us understand the possibility of establishing this

particular creature-creator relationship by using geometric symbolism. He
chooses the design of the circle and elaborates on the relationship between its
centre and every point on the circumference. In a circle each radiation emitted
from the centre is connected to a corresponding point on the circumference.
Thus, in our sensible world there is the possibility of the One in essence coinciding
with many different numbers without the One becoming multiple or the relations
becoming confused.

Among all these creatures, analogous to the grains of sand spread like oceans
without shores or harbours, a distinguished few appear in the circle of vision. The
Great Shaykh does not restrict this appearance to the human species since the
Real creates what He wants, then selects from within each species.

God, Glory to Him, selected the word 'Allâh' from among the Beautiful Names,
and from among people, the messengers; from men, Muhammad (SA); from
women, Mary and Asyah; from the servants, the angels; from the angels, the
Spirit (Gabriel); from elements, water; from months, Ramadan; from methods of
worship, fasting; from centuries, the century of the Prophet; from weekdays,
Friday; from nights, the Night of Qadr; from actions, the religious duties; from
Qur'anic suras, the sura of Yâ Sîn; from the Qur'anic verses, theÂyat al-Kursî;
from colours, white; from the human being, the heart; from proofs, the proofs of
existence; from lights, the lights accompanied by vision; from among desires,
intentionality, since it discriminates in accepting an action or rejecting it; and so
on. Therefore, despite the original equality of things, everything in itself allows for
selection.[2]This Divine selection plays a major role since the Sufis, due to their
knowledge of this selection, divided their works according to time and place and
consequently selected their invocation and their way and its steps.

The topic of this paper, the way of walâya, is an attempt to approach certain
people selected by God from among millions of others to be His friends, His
'walîs', hoping that this proximity will benefit us in a way that can be adopted
easily, or even with difficulty. So we follow, or at least we try. If one manages to
eliminate the obstacles of separation, one will be united and cross from the
shadows, illusions and assumptions to substance, action and influence. One
crosses from being for oneself, with one's limited abilities, to being for God with
an opening to unlimited and unexpected abilities that arise as a result of this new
state.

Ibn 'Arabi focuses on the words 'walî' and 'li' in order to establish a comparison.
He says that the significance of 'walî' is present in the word 'li', meaning 'for me
or mine'.[3]The walî is the one who is selected by God to be for Him. Ibn 'Arabi
remarks on what was said in the holy Hadith: 'I shall declare war on whoever
makes an enemy of My (lî) walî.' The Hadith did not say: 'I shall declare war on
whoever makes an enemy of the walî.' It included the word 'li' (My) to emphasize
that this human was selected by God to be from among His chosen ones, from
among those on whom He bestows His care and friendship. Consequently, this
position brings privileges and requires special efforts and endeavours.

Now that the great benefit of the human project that aims towards the distinction
of the selected friends from the unknown common people has been clarified, we
ask the following: what is the way to walâya? Does the walî present himself to the
Real or does the Real, Glory to Him, select His walî in the first place without any
intervention from the human side?
Challenges

When I chose to write about the way of walâya, I knew I was going to face two
major challenges.

The first challenge is that the arrival of the walî at union is similar to the non-
repetition of 'chemical elements': a mixture of preparation, effort and gifts that
form a whole which is impossible to duplicate. The result is that the ways become
as many as the walîs, each of whom reaches their end in their own individual way
in realizing their own reality. So will this study be able to discover one or more
clearly defined ways that gather together this unlimited multiplicity of ways?

The second challenge is that a lot of research and many books are concerned with
the study of the Sufi way as being the one that leads to walâya. There is almost a
consensus on the effectiveness of physical effort and psychological exertion on
the human's part in return for the Divine gift to the human. Walâya, according to
the Sufis even before Ibn 'Arabi, is a Divine gift to the human being, without
neglecting the roles of work and exercise in preparation and education.

The Futûhât al-Makkiyya, together with other books by Ibn 'Arabi, includes
directions that push the follower of the way towards effort and exertion and to the
way based on the four external principles: hunger, wakefulness, silence and
solitude; and on the five internal principles: veracity, trust, patience, resolution
and certainty. All nine are included in the Sufi way.[4]In addition, I have
personally conducted studies that revealed to me the ways to arrive at the Holy
Presence outlined by Ibn 'Arabi in his books. The most important are:

1. The way of invocation, explained in the study 'Invocation and Illumination'.[5]

2. The way of 'correspondence of attributes' based on changing the states of the

self and its attributes, starting from conduct (sulûk).

3. The way of following the Prophet (SA) and imitating his states, his sayings and
his works, which leads to an opening into his world and his inheritance.

Ibn 'Arabi's writings are saturated with gifts received by the heir, especially the
ascensions and addresses outlined in his Futûhât andKitâb al-Isrâ'.
So will this study be able to offer anything deeper than some of the current
approaches?

Foundations

Before clarifying the different types of walîs and the means of their arrival, let us
consider three points which need to be agreed upon from the beginning:

1. Knowledge and Work

It may be noticed, through studying Sufi experiences, that Sufism can be

classified according to two aspects. The first is represented by outstanding
luminaries like Abu Talib al-Makki, al-Qushairi, al-Tusi, Suhrawardi and finally, in
its perfection, by Ghazali. It is a safe course based on conduct, and considers the
Sufi experience to be an exercise for the fulfilment of a ladder of ranks that are
already known and determined. This course selects from all knowledge the
knowledge of conduct. Indeed, the purpose of knowledge is work as we observe
with Ghazali, who divided Sufi knowledge into the knowledge of conduct and the
knowledge of unveiling, and based his book Ihyâ' Ulûm al-Dîn on the knowledge
of conduct, leaving out that of unveiling because the latter is a specific bestowal
and includes no work.

The second aspect is represented by individuals like Abu Yazid al-Bistami, Shibli,
Junayd, Hallaj and finally, in its perfection, by Muhyiddin Ibn 'Arabi. It is a course
that involves risk, based on spiritual states and witnessing of the heart. It views
the Sufi experience as being the return of the human being to his original truth,
to non-existence and extinction or pure susceptibility and a place for receiving
Divine revelations. This course does not view the Sufi way as comprising pre-
designed stations but instead sees the Sufi as the one who throws himself into
the sea of non-existence, hoping to come out with existence on the second shore,
where real existence and certain knowledge are found. This certainty is based on
vision and witnessing and not on intellectual thought and speculation.
2. The Law of Causality

Ibn 'Arabi divides the Divine bestowal into two major parts: reward and gift. The
reward follows positive work whereas the gift is a pure Divine giving without any
known reason.[6]Although there are only a few texts by Ibn 'Arabi about this,
they reveal a great deal. We will consider two passages in particular: the first
informs us that the actor, through physical effort and self-exertion, will inevitably
receive from these actions an unveiling, which he calls the unveiling due to
exertion. Once the souls are purified from the sadness of preoccupation with habit
and are elevated above their physical condition, they become associated with
their appropriate world, learn what the high spirits know from the knowledge of
the Divine Kingdom and its secrets, and the meanings of the world are inscribed
upon them.[7]

Do these words of Ibn 'Arabi lead us to the distinction between the Sufi and the
one in the way of the Sufi on the one hand and the walîs on the other, since the
unveiling here is a result of purity, rather than being brought near and walâya? Or
shall we stay with what the Great Shaykh mentioned in the Futûhât where he
linked Sufis with the walîs, specifically the 'men of ranks'? [8]

In the second passage, Ibn 'Arabi instructs the seeking servants on how to relate
the degree of their opening to the degree of their state. He teaches them the
appropriate relationship between the opening and the state. He tells them to
beware if the opening is found to be equal to the state because the world is not a
place of recompense, but if the opening gives refinement and elevation then it is
through the Divine care for His servant and is not deception.[9]

These two positions make it clear that Ibn 'Arabi respects the law of causality in
the action of the actors since for every action there is a result. At the same time
he has not restricted the Divine bestowal to a law that governs it, which is the law
of justice and recompense, but has opened an unlimited door suitable to the
Divine side and cleared a place for graciousness and gifts originating from God for
those whom He selects from amongst his servants.
3. Will and Spiritual Aspiration (himma)

One may say that every system of thought takes a part of the human being as
the essence and the key to understanding the whole. In the same way the Sufis
considered that the essence of the human being is the will (irâda).

The human being wills and his value is the strength of this will. The strength of
this will results from its sincerity and the purity of its facing, its collectedness, and
its focusing on a specific matter. Many passages give an account of the ascension
of the hearts to God and what obstructs their way in the form of pressure on the
will to deviate from what it seeks, by tempting it, thwarting it and pulling it back
from its goal. The one who arrives is tried again and again in order to test the
sincerity of his will and the strength of its facing towards God and not towards
any kind of bestowal. Veracity of facing brings about the reunion.

The Sufis highlighted the term 'himma', meaning spiritual aspiration. Himma is an
active force of the Greatest Name of God (Man). Ibn 'Arabi emphasized that
the himma is a pure force in the human being and is found in the origin of his
creation and nature, or else it is acquired later.[10]From the point of view of it
being a force, it is capable of attachment and is therefore attached in accordance
with the will of its owner. If one attaches one's himma to the world, one achieves
riches and position; if one attaches it to worship, one achieves stations and
inspirations; and if it belongs to God, praise be to Him, all attachments fall away
and the aspiration becomes one. This is the action of the himma in the arena of
its attachment,[11]which shows the importance of relating the himma to the will
on the one hand and the will being sincere in its facing to God on the other. He
who has no spiritual aspiration or sincere will in seeking God in gratitude or in
love cannot have an ambition to follow the path of Sufi walâya.

Conclusions of the Preface

Now that the general framework of our subject has been identified through this
introduction we shall divide the rest of the paper into two parts: the first will
examine the different types of walâya according to Ibn 'Arabi; the second will
clarify the characteristics of these types. We shall conclude by examining the
results of this two-part study.

In the following sections we have relied on analytical readings of the second

section of the Futûhât.

The Walâya is two Walâyas

Having been, since childhood, a member of a circle that studies Sufism and the
Sufi experience as part of a thorough study of Islam, I managed through this
association to become exposed to several unpublished statements by the founder
of the circle, the great walî, Muhammad al-Dandarawi.[12]The words of the walîs
usually serve to explain each other, and I found references that assisted me in
understanding the writings of the Great Shaykh concerning the walâya. Al-Sultan
al-Dandarawi divides the walâya into two: the walâya of a walî of whom God
takes charge (tawalî) and the walâya of a walî who is put in charge by God
(tawliya).

Based on this dual division of the walâya, I went back to the writings of the
Shaykh, who considers the walâya to be the surrounding orbit (of all attainment).
Through contemplation of the words of the text, I discovered that Ibn 'Arabi uses
the expressions 'tawalî' and 'tawliya', which suggest a distinction between the two
types of walâya: walâya of the tawalî and walâya of the tawliya. For example, he
says about the walâya of tawalî: 'From amongst them are the righteous ones
whom God takes charge of through the attribute of righteousness, and amongst
them are the witnesses whom God takes charge of through witnessing, and
amongst them are the virtuous ones whom God takes charge of through
virtuousness, and amongst them are the people of submission whom God takes
charge of through submission...', and similarly with the obedient ones, the
truthful ones, the patient ones, and the humble ones, each according to the
attribute proper to him or her.[13]Ibn 'Arabi says about the walâya of tawliya, 'He
entrusts them [that is, God entrusts humankind] with the rank of command and
prohibition.'[14]Or he says: 'And these two attributes [forgiving, compassionate
- ghafûr, rahîm] are only in the hands of the one with rule, command and
prohibition. This supports the fact that He, the Most High, desired the succession
of sovereignty and dominion in His words, praise be to Him: 'He made you
vicegerents on earth.' This is the Divine tawliya. Its greatest effect is action
through the himma.' [15]

This makes it clear that Ibn 'Arabi also viewed the walâya as of two kinds:
the walâya where God takes charge of the servant whom He provides with an
attribute in which He stations the servant, and the walâya of tawliya where God
makes the servant His vicegerent and prescribes the way for him after He has
given into his hand rule, command and prohibition. In Chapter 73 of the Futûhât,
where he discusses 'the men of God', that is, the walîs, we can easily discern the
two aspects of the walâya.[16]

The Way is two

Careful reading of the second volume of the Futûhât allows us to deduce that Ibn
'Arabi establishes two ways for the walâya, one higher than the other. The first is
the way of conduct and the second, higher one, is the way of witnessing.

1. The Way of Conduct, Human Action

In this path the role of human endeavour in gaining the stations of Proximity is
evident. Ibn 'Arabi does not delineate a path with prescribed steps where each
step leads to another, as we find, for example, in the Risâlat al-Qushairiyya where
the seeker begins with the station of repentance then proceeds from it to patience
and contentment. Rather, for him every station is an independent world that the
seeker enters as a result of undertaking a specific action. This station may be the
first or the last in relation to the seeker. He enters it and reaches through it to the
station of his walâya.

Ibn 'Arabi deduced the stations of his path not from the experience of earlier Sufis
but from his study of God's prescription (taklîf). Divine prescription is divided
between command and prohibition. It is for this that every command which issues
from the Divine side to creation benefits the one addressed, as when the
command is fulfilled the station is gained.

Ibn 'Arabi says 'Everything commanded is a station to be gained.'[17]We can take

an example from the Futûhât where the Great Shaykh speaks of the station of
devoutness. In His Qur'an God has commanded His servants to be devout.
Therefore devoutness becomes a station for the servant, but the rule of
devoutness in the human being is divided into two because the Divine command
for devoutness is divided into two. One part of the command is to revere God as
He deserves and the other part is to revere Him according to ability,[18]and so on
in every station. Therefore, one can enter the presence of Proximity through the
endeavour to fulfil a Divine command.

Page after page in the Futûhât describes the numerous possibilities for man. The
general rule is that every command results in a spiritual station. Ibn 'Arabi points
out many of these stations, like repentance, spiritual exertion, intimacy, flight,
devoutness, piety, abstinence, silence, wakefulness, fear, hope, grief, hunger,
humility, self-denial, contentment, trust, gratitude, certainty, patience,
servanthood, devotion, veracity, diffidence, freedom, remembrance, meditation,
chivalry, poverty, decency, wisdom, companionship, walâya[help of God],
unification, knowledge and love.[19]From another aspect, Ibn 'Arabi does not
restrict spiritual stations to what he describes but leaves the door open for the
seeker so that he can enter through any order of authority in the Qur'an or the
Hadith that can be obeyed.[20]Wherever the seeker finds a command to act, he
knows that an attainable spiritual station can be gained.

Having established that work is one of the ways to gain walâya, we return to the
facets of walâya and find out which one is achieved through work, which one we
reach through our human exertion. We can understand the different forms of
action which Ibn 'Arabi employs in his description of the men of ranks, and we
notice that the texts are full of actions whose subject is mankind, without
reference to God who acts in the human being. He says of the Sufis, the men of
ranks, that they have dropped the possessive adjective (ya) three times, so they
do not say 'for me', 'I have' or 'my possessions' (lî, 'indî, matâ'î). The verb 'drop'
requires specific actors - the Sufis - and he does not speak of an example where
it is God, praise be to Him, who purified the Sufis from the need to add anything
to themselves.[21]

When he describes the servants of God in general, all the verbs he uses
emphasize that man is the subject. He relates about his uncle Abu Muslim-
Khawlani, who is one of the servants, that he stays up at night and when
tiredness overtakes him he hits his legs with rods and says to them: 'You deserve
beating more than my mount. Do the companions of Muhammad (SA) think that
they can have him all to themselves? By God, I will compete with them.' This
story emphasizes the role of human action and the spiritual aspiration of the
human will, the role of exertion in action in the context of outdoing and
competition for a station.

If we return to the passages that speak of the men of ranks, the friends of God of
whom God has taken charge, we will find that they are full of human action.
However, this action is only the beginning of the way; it is as if the human being,
when he practises a particular action continuously, is carried by an
unceasing himma. This is not to say that this action becomes a character trait and
a habit without effort or without prescription and without going beyond the known
boundaries. However, the texts reveal that if the person continues at all times to
carry out a specific action (such as repentance, patience or abstinence), God
takes charge of him through the quality of that action in the interior. Good tidings
follow for that servant who has traversed the valleys of contradictions, and he
becomes safe from lapses, turning back and change, however circumstances and
states may alter.

Therefore, human action, transformed through Divine command, is one of the

ways to gain the walâya of God. This is one manner in which one becomes
available for the Divine selection described earlier. That is, that God selects some
from every kind, looks at the actors, each according to the arena of his action,
and selects from each type those whom He takes charge of through the quality of
their action.

Ibn 'Arabi emphasizes the role of action and gain, taking into account the
causality of causes, and goes beyond causes to the will of the Real, which favours
one actor over another. So the desirer becomes desired by the Divine selection,
the sought becomes the seeker and so on. There is human exertion and Divine
selection, causality and no causality at the same time.

In conclusion, these friends of God who have arrived through actions are the
carriers of the Divine prescriptive command and the guardians of its execution.
There is no time on earth devoid of people whom God chooses to be His friends.
Each executes a Divine command directed towards the people, because no
command issuing from the Real remains without effect. The men of rank are the
friends who carry out the prescriptive command.

2. The Way of Witnessing: Refraining from Action

We now arrive at the creativity of Ibn 'Arabi and the specificity of his experience.
Everything he has said up to now is characterized by universality, breadth of
understanding and education, and proximity to the walâya of others. But here he
allows us to enter the vast expanse of his personal walâya, the expanse of
knowledge which is the nub of walâya and its resolution.

We will start by delineating this way from its first premisses, from the appearance
of the Divine prescription with its two facets, command and prohibition. He the
most High said to Iblis (Satan), 'Prostrate to Adam', and command manifested.
He the most High said to Adam and Eve, 'Do not go near this tree', and
prohibition manifested. Ibn 'Arabi makes a connection between the prescriptions
by God for man and his reality. He sees that the prescription that God has
specified for Adam and Eve is not a practical prescription because it contains a
command of Not Being: 'do not do'. It is of the reality of man, the possible
existent, that he does not act. It is as if it has been said to him, 'Do not depart
from your origin.' However, the prescription to Satan contained a command of
Being: 'do'. It is as if he was told to depart from his origin. The 'command' is
harder on the soul than the 'prohibition' because it is an obligation to depart from
the origin.[22]

From the beginning of Divine prescription, according to Ibn 'Arabi, prohibition, in

what it has of refraining from action, is in harmony with the reality of man, as it is
established in non-existence and in not having smelt the breath of existence. It is
as if man, when he refrains from action, returns to his reality, in which he
becomes realized, and becomes conscious of it. And whoever is conscious of his
reality without a doubt enters the whole in its integrated harmony, where every
reality forms a part carrying the whole.

How does Ibn 'Arabi justify this path, built on refraining from action, logically and
according to religious law? How does he justify man going outside the Divine
command that he considered the entry to the walâya in the last section? If the
repentant one is a walî, how can the one who refrains from repentance be a walî,
and so on in every station?

We start with a simple text that shows the divergence of the path, according to
Ibn 'Arabi, into two, the second of which is higher than the first. He says about
seclusion that its origin in law is from the holy Hadith: 'He who remembers Me in
himself, I remember him in Myself', which is the highest station.[23] He then
goes on to contradict this by saying that seclusion is only appropriate for the
veiled one. For the people of unveiling, seclusion is never appropriate because
they witness the high spirits and the spirits of fire, and see the creation being
eloquent.

Unveiling forbids seclusion because the servant, when he is unveiled, knows that
he is not in seclusion. The Divine Names the First and the Hidden request
seclusion, while the Last and the Manifest request refraining from seclusion,
because the Real is the Manifest in the essences of the world and there is no
other than He.[24]
He says about abstinence that it is one of the stations that accompanies the
servant as long as there has been no unveiling. If the veil is lifted from the
essence of his heart, he stops abstaining and must not abstain. According to what
he says, if you see the Real you do not abstain because God does not abstain in
creation. One cannot assume the character traits of God except through God, so
which character traits do you assume in abstinence? [25]

As for wakefulness and refraining from it, the station of wakefulness is called the
station of self-subsistence and that wakefulness is one of the four supports upon
which the dwelling of the substitutes (abdâl) is based: wakefulness, hunger,
silence and solitude. The ultimate one stationed in this station is the Pole of the
time (who is 'awake to preserve the creation') and in spite of the height of the
station of wakefulness, Ibn 'Arabi makes sleep higher than it. He says that sleep
is a state which transports the servant from witnessing in the world of the senses
to witnessing in the in-between world (barzakh) that is the presence of meanings.
This is a more perfect world because it is the origin of the world; it has real
existence and rules in all matters.

So through these three simple examples it is clearly shown that the reason for
refraining from action, according to the Great Shaykh, is the occurrence of
unveiling and specific witnessing. The actor acts, until he is surprised by an
unveiling or witnessing that changes the course of his life and transports him
from doing and exertion to refraining from doing: 'the contemplation of God in his
creation'.[26]His view of the creation changes, a change that he cannot prevent
or formulate rationally to others. The servant, according to the Shaykh, 'cannot
repulse the revelation from himself if it is a reality, for he is ruled by it',[27]and
as he says in another passage, if 'they receive the unveiling they are unable to
ignore what they know'.[28]

Accordingly, the removal of the veil from the heart changes what is known and
consolidated in the books on conduct and establishes a new path based on the
witnessing of 'the Reality'. He says, regarding the one who is unveiled in
refraining from repentance (tawbah): 'when they have acquired knowledge to this
extent, then repentance is not appropriate for them... and this is a determination
that pervades all the actions of the servant'.[29]

Many questions arise here: does the seeker reach unveiling and witnessing
through specific actions, and does this unveiling that leads to the state of
refraining from action differ from one person to another, where two cannot share
in one unveiling and one knowledge? If there is for every seeker a witnessing that
is special to him, how can Ibn 'Arabi build a path based on what is personal and
has no common principles in it? Is the passage from action to non-action a
negative passivity with regard to the material world where we do not intervene to
improve its course? Before considering these, we must add that the unveiling on
which Ibn 'Arabi builds this path of refraining from action is not a partial unveiling
but an unveiling that is a radical change in the knowledge of the one unveiled.
Because according to this, the person gazes upon the 'Face of the Real' in
everything. Suddenly, the person looks at things and does not see them but sees
the face of the Real in them.[30]

This unveiling makes known to the seeker the relationship between humankind
and divinity, the relationship between the giver of existence and the existent, the
One who is apparent and the appearance, and so on. He sees that everything is a
manifestation of the Real and a mirror. Everything becomes equal to him and the
Real appears in everything, both in action and refraining from action. Only this
unveiling can transport the seeker from the path of conduct to the path of
witnessing, from action to refraining from action. We have to say that this
unveiling is a condition for this transportation.

This is how we enter into the unity of existence, according to Ibn 'Arabi, into the
Divine Names which require the creature to be attached to them so that they can
manifest their sovereignty in him.[31]We stay with the Divine Names, where the
person has pity on himself because of the appearance of their sovereignty in him,
which is inevitable so that the Divine predications do not cease. Ibn 'Arabi
recounts that a friend of his met one of the Substitutes (abdâl) and complained to
him about the state of people and their wickedness. The Substitute became angry
and said to him, 'Do not interfere between the master and his servant. Do you
want the Divinity to cease its sovereignty? ' [32] If all creatures desired the
manifestation of the effects of the names of Mercy and Beneficence in them, on
whom will fall the revelation of the names of Taking and Anger and Revenge? Is
the unveiling of the walî a recurrence of the knowledge that was given during the
time when Adam was made vicegerent and when the Real taught him all the
Names?

In summary: these friends of God who have arrived through the way of unveiling
are in a manner of speaking the carriers of the Divine creative command, the
carriers of the effects of the Divine Names that require manifestation in creation.
There is no time on earth devoid of people who each carry the effect of a Divine
Name (the servant of the Gracious, the servant of the Forgiver, the servant of the
Avenger), such that no Name remains without authority.

Conclusion

We reach the conclusion, from re-reading Ibn 'Arabi's Futûhât, that there are two
paths for the walâya: the path of action and the path of witnessing. The end of
both is almost the same. According to Ibn 'Arabi the path of action leads the
seeker to unification (tawhîd) and the path of witnessing begins with unification.
Ibn 'Arabi indicates this in what he promises the seeker after following the nine
actions in the interior and the exterior, and before meeting with the right teacher.
He says, 'He has to adhere to the nine things and if he works on these things he
will have a firm footing in unification.' [33]

Without a doubt, the unification indicated here is the unification of the people
of walâya according to its first aspect. We can also say that it is a unification of
the witnessings of the existential unity; witnessings of the unity in the many and
the many in the unity; witnessings of the relationship of the Divine Names with
their appearance in creation; and this unification is the very same as the
unification of thewalî of the people of walâya in its second aspect.
We onlookers on these worlds benefit from the work of Ibn 'Arabi, though not in
trying to gain the power of the saints, as described in the stories of their
miracles; modern science today enables people to achieve this power, and
sometimes more. We are not doing it because of this but because we benefit from
their knowledge. We are inspired by the existential unity of Ibn 'Arabi and we
train ourselves to see the many in the unity and the unity in the many. We
practise the acceptance of others in their variety, but not as an introduction to
transforming them into people like us. Every other is the One in one of His self-
revelations, in one appearance from the appearances of His many opposite and
opposing names. Every other is joined with the One and proceeds from Him.

We can apply this knowledge in our human world and look at the 'One' as man,
from whom proceeds these educational and cultural manifestations that we
witness in our world today. The acceptance of the other and of plurality eradicates
any condescension on account of race or culture. We are transported beyond the
dilemma of merely outward and diplomatic recognition of the other, a dilemma
that leads to duplicity.

We gain from the walâya of the saints of Ibn 'Arabi a logical solution to our
present-day difficulties; we learn to apply the unity of existence in the human
world; we learn to protect the universality of human beings as well as to preserve
the actual variety of their appearances. We gain the power to see the One in the
manifestations of His different states.

Notes
[1] It is equally so if creation is from prior non-existence or existence, or creation
with His two hands, or through the creative order. And equally, if it is like the
creation of Adam from mud without parents, or the creation of Eve from Adam, or
the creation of Jesus from Mary, or the creation of humankind from fathers and
mothers, and so on.

[2] Futûhât al-Makkiyya, Beirut edition, II, 169.

[3] Futûhât, IV, 376.

[4] Futûhât, critical edn by Osman Yahia, IV, § 342.

[5]See Souad Hakim, 'Invocation and Illumination According to Ibn 'Arabi',

in Prayer and Contemplation, ed. S. Hirtenstein, Oxford, 1993, pp.18-41.

[6] Al-Mu'jam al-Sûfî, Souad Hakim, Beirut, 1981, 'al-minna wa al-istihqâq'.

[7] Futûhât, II, 21; Yahia edn, IV, § 441 and V, § 142.

[8] Futûhât, II, 17.'“Rijâl” (men) denotes human kind, whether male or female'
(IV, 10).

[9] Futûhât, II, 505.

[10] Mawâqi' al-Nujûm, Cairo, 1965, p. 84.

[11] Al-Mu'jam al-Sûfî, 'himma'.

[12]'Awdat al-Wâsil (The Return after Arrival), Souad Hakim, Beirut, 1994.

[13] Futûhât, II, 23-39.

[14] Futûhât, Yahia edn, IV, § 232.

[15] Futûhât, II, 68.

[16] Futûhât, II, 23-39, where Ibn 'Arabi discusses the levels of the walîs and the
way in which God takes charge of them according to the appropriate attribute.
Also pp. 6-22, where he discusses the states of the walîs whom God has put in
charge and authorized like thequtbs, the imâms, the awtâd, the abdâl,
the nuqabâ' and many others.

[17] Futûhât, II, 157.

[18] Futûhât, II, 157.

[19] Futûhât, II, 139-372.

[20] Futûhât, I, 191-3. [The two feet of the seeker are his exterior and interior.
The Book and the Sunna.]

[21] Futûhât, II, 17.

[22] Futûhât, I, 231.

[23] Futûhât, II, 150.

[24] Futûhât, II, 151-2.

[25] Futûhât, II, 178.

[26] Futûhât, IV, 182.

[27] Futûhât, II, 177.

[28] Futûhât, II, 20.

[29] Futûhât, II, 144. The Shaykh al-Akbar is not limiting himself to equating
goodness and badness for the one who witnesses the reality of creation, but goes
even further. He says, regarding the second principle of repentance, which
concerns feeling regret for what is past: 'some regret having missed out seeking
forgiveness after each misdeed � some regret having missed out obedience at
the time of disobedience, and some regret having missed out great deeds at the
time of disobedience, for they witness the exchanging of every bad deed for their
equivalent in good deeds' (II, 140). Ibn 'Arabi sees that it is our view of an action
that qualifies it: actions are essentially good, and badness is only incidental - and
all that is incidental vanishes. If man witnesses his action as being due to God, he
will see it as good, while if he sees it as coming from himself, bad manifests.
According to Ibn 'Arabi, the essence of action is one while its attributes are
variable. Actions can be changed, and the bad transformed into good, just as He
the Most High says in the Qu'ran: 'He changes their bad deeds into good deeds.'

[30] Futûhât, II, 177. He also says, at II, 156: 'The perfected one from amongst
us witnesses Him in every 'ayn, but some a'yân may be more preferable than
others to some people.'

[31] Futûhât, II, 156.

[32] Futûhât, II, 177.

[33] Futûhât, Yahia edn, IV,§ 342.

Unity of Being in Ibn 'Arabî - A Humanist Perspective

Introduction
1. To Know Being is a Human Right

For as long as man has been thinking and putting his ideas and visions into
writing, a three- dimensional structure of knowledge has been evident. The
passing of time has proved that this tripartite knowledge expresses an original
and living human need, the need for a healthy and just life. This structure
includes individual self-knowledge, knowledge of the surrounding world and
knowledge of what is beyond the visible world.

In modern societies, these three dimensions have become a human right, which
is claimed and safeguarded. Whoever conceals information about one of these
dimensions has some explaining to do to humanity, whether such information is
in the field of medicine, social science, politics, economics or scientific discovery.

If we look at the human inheritance of explaining Being in its three aspects, we

see two great currents:

A dualist current which professes multiple essences different from each other by
their being. This current is represented in Greek thought by Aristotle (384–322
BC), in Islamic thought by Averroes (1126–98) and in Western Christian thought
by Descartes (1596–1650) and St. Thomas Aquinas (1225–74).

A monist current, which reduces Being, its aspects and concrete manifestations,
to a single principle or essence. It is around this current, which professes the
Unity of Being, that we shall locate our search.

2. "Unity of Being" in the plural: religious and philosophical theories

The monist current mentioned above does not go back to any single school or
source, but is manifested in different forms, in many places and across a variety
of philosophies and religions. This allows us to say that we have known the Unity
of Being in the plural and not in the singular.
The multiple images of the Unity of Being may be classified into two lines, parallel
in their principles and instruments, and overlapping in their teachings, partially if
not wholly. These two groupings are (a) religion, and (b) philosophy.
Contemplative religious thought and positivist philosophical meditation developed
in parallel, and sometimes arrived at similar, if not identical, results. We shall
briefly mention some headings concerning the Unity of Being, common to the two
lines. We hope that these will reflect a global view of the theory, and its flowering
in time and space, up to the time of Ibn 'Arabî.

(a)

The first religious formula of the Unity of Being comes to us from the Far East, in
the Upanishads, which contain the teachings of the Hindu Brahmins. This
pantheistic Monism filtered into the theories of the Unity of Being which came
after it, to the point where the Hindu theory was considered as the basis,
reference point and criterion, but above all as an instrument from which the
reader understands all Unitive theories of Being.

Since many people consider this Unity as foundational and the point of reference,
we can see that this is the reason behind the legal and dogmatic polemic around
the teachings of Ibn 'Arabî. Because of this we shall present it here in brief: the
Hindu theory of the Unity of Being on the one hand regards the essence of man
not as his body or his intellect, nor yet his individuality, but as pure being, which
it calls Atman. Atman is not born, does not decline and does not die, for it is a
part of Brahman, Divinity. On the other hand, Divinity is the essence of all created
things which appear. Thus Atman and Brahman have one and the same nature.

Man, according to this teaching, designs an undertaking and embarks on a path,

intending to unify himself with the Divinity in a natural union. In the same way
that a drop of water returns to the ocean and unites with it because it is of the
same nature as it, so do multiplicity and diversity fall and the repetition of births
ceases, so that the part, Atman, may rejoin the whole, Brahman, and unite with
it.
In the context of religious formulae of the Unity of Being, there arose a Chinese
Taoist Monism which proclaims that all the things in the world were created by the
action of a single principle, the Dao, which is the origin of all and which embraces
all. In the same context, Japanese Zen Buddhist Unity sees the Buddha Nature as
present in all creatures, and states that thought frees itself from the influences of
the exterior world by contemplation, allowing the Buddha Nature to manifest in
man.

From Brahmin, Taoist and Buddhist theories came romantic and literary formulae
of the Unity of Being. We first find them in the literature of the Far East, and their
influence has affected the poetic experience of recent times, seducing them with
the idea of union with nature, and with the divinisation of all things.

(b)

The first philosophical formula of the Unity of Being comes to us from Pre-Socratic
Greece. We find it in the first positivist intellectual attempts to explain the
universe, especially regarding the constitutive element of all that is created. In
answer to the philosophical question, "From what single substance are things
made?", several solutions were given. For Thales it was water, for Anaximander,
the Aperion, i.e. the unlimited and infinite, for Anaximenes, air, and for Heraclitus,
fire. Then, with the Stoics and especially Zeno, we find the first clear statement
that the world is God, the world being like the body, and God the breath which
inhabits it. Last came Plotinus, who began his philosophy with a contemplation on
Being, The One. And from that One there flows out a series of hierarchised
emanations which formed the world.

3. Plan

We shall pass over the perceptions of the Unity of Being which appeared in
Islamic thought prior to Ibn 'Arabî, having already discussed that in an article
entitled "Wahdat al-Wujûd" (The Unity of Being). Let us simply mention the role
of the polemic concerning the Divine Essence (dhât) and the Attributes in
juristical (fiqhî) and theological (kalamî) circles. We find these perceptions again
in Sufi circles, with the question of Divine Love and Extinction in Love (fanâ' fi'l-
hubb), in Râbi'a, Dhu'l-Nûn al-Misrî and Hallâj, and with extinction in the
witnessing of Unity (fanâ' fi'l-tawhîd) in Junayd and Ghazzali. We shall therefore
limit our account to Ibn 'Arabî's Unity of Being, and to our understanding of his
monist formulation, with a look at his spiritual heritage, and if possible a
reformulation of his theory from the standpoint of our present society. We divide
our contribution into three parts: the first presents the Unity of Being according
to Ibn 'Arabî in its totality; the second classifies the inheritance of Ibn 'Arabî in
terms of schools or currents; and the third summarises Ibn 'Arabî's teaching and
tries to bring it up to date.

I. The Unity of Being

Ibn 'Arabî's vision of the Unity of Being revolves around a single idea, from which
all others flow and diverge. We shall first speak about that principal, unique idea,
and then we shall speak of the other ideas which are necessary in consequence of
that one, or which derive from it.

1. Being (al-wujûd) is the Divine Essence Itself ('ayn al-dhât al-ilâhiyya)

Ibn 'Arabî considers that only He who possesses Being in Himself (wujûd dhâtî)
and whose Being is His very essence (wujûduhu 'ayn dhâtihi), merits the name of
Being. Now only God can be like that. For the creatures, Being is a loan, which is
not part of their essence. This means that a creature does not own its being, that
it can never be independent in itself, and that it cannot for the blinking of an eye
do without Him who lends it Being. Thus for Ibn 'Arabî, the created does not
deserve the attribution of Being. Only God is Being, and all the rest is in reality a
possibility (imkân), a relative, possible non-existence.

Thus Being is Divine Essence. Indeed, if the Being of God were an adjunct to His
Essence, then Absolute Unity (wahdâniyya) would be done away with. Besides,
for Ibn 'Arabî, since Being is the Divine Essence, if a creature claimed to possess
Being, it would be claiming to share with God in His Divinity.
And if we ask ourselves about the nature of Being and Its meaning, we find that
Ibn 'Arabî forbids us to think about it, for we are creatures who "have not smelled
the perfume of Being". How then can we know His meaning? He writes: "God,
exalted is He, […] is described as Absolute Being […] and to know Him means
knowing His Being. And His Being is not other than His Essence. But His Essence
cannot be known. Only His Attributes are knowable […] Knowledge of the Truth of
His Essence is forbidden. It is known neither by proof nor by intellectual
argument, and cannot be defined […] The Revealed Law (shar') forbids thinking
about the Divine Essence."[2]

Therefore, creatures cannot know the meaning of Being because, on the one
hand, Being is the Divine Essence, and on the other hand, the creatures have not
tasted the flavour of Being and "have not smelled its perfume", as Ibn 'Arabî puts
it.

2. Creation

The Divine Names turned towards the all-comprehensive (al-jâmi') Name "Allâh",
asking of Him to see their effects in a created world. Their request was granted,
creation began and the entities of the possibilities (al-a'yân al-mumkinât) left the
immutable non-existence to become a place (locus) receiving the effects of the
Names.

According to Ibn 'Arabî, the process of creation does not occur only once, in time
or before time. For him, creation is always constantly unfurling – otherwise
creatures would return to the non-existence in which they were immutable.

For Ibn 'Arabî, to create means to make appear (izhâr). God creates the
creatures, i.e. He makes their entities apparent, bringing them out of their state
of immutability into existence in the apparent world. And this act belongs to God
alone, since no creature is capable by his own will of making immutable entities
appear in the exterior world.

Ibn 'Arabî used the term "effusion" (fayd) to denote the act of creation. His
writings contain expressions which show different stages of creation, a distinction
merely logical and not actual. The following gives details about his vision of
creation in three stages: the Most Holy Effusion (al-fayd al-aqdas), the Holy
Effusion (al-fayd al-muqaddas) and the Perpetual Effusion (al-fayd al-mustamirr).

(a) The Most Holy Effusion (al-fayd al-aqdas) and the immutable entities (al-a'yân
al-thâbita)

The Most Holy Effusion is the theophany of the Divine Essence for Itself, in the
images of all the immutable possibilities in the Divine Knowledge. It represents
the first degree of manifestation of Absolute Being. These effusions are, however,
of the domain of the intelligible, not existent in the exterior world. They are
exclusively "receptacles of Being" (qawâbil lil-wujûd). These "receptacles" or
possibilities of Being are what Ibn 'Arabî calls the "immutable entities" of the
creatures.

Ibn 'Arabî was the first to use the expression "immutable entity" to mean the
possible (al-mumkin), which exists only in the Divine Knowledge as quiddity
(mâhiyya), in contrast to "concrete existence" (mawjûd), realised in time and
space.

These eternal entities represent a stage between God in His absolute

"unknowableness" (ghayb) and the concrete world. We may conceive of them as
immutable "models" (muthûl) in the Divine Knowledge, being the origin of
created things, albeit non-existent in the external world.

God created us in the world according to our eternal entity, immutable in His
Knowledge. Ibn 'Arabî says: "It is certain that He fashioned us in actuality, not
that He fashioned our models (mithâl) in Himself."[3] Thus God created us
according to the immutable image that He has of us in His Knowledge. There is
then no invention in the "models". There remains only fashioning in reality.

In the Futûhât (III.92), Ibn 'Arabî describes how God brings forth the things from
– to us – an unknowable existence to a knowable existence. What the things have
gained from accepting existence in the exterior world, is to be distinguished for
themselves and for others. For God knows the things after existence, just as He
knew them when they were in the state of non-being and immutability,
differentiating them by their entities and distinguishing them one from the other.
In this way, the departure of the things from immutability to the concrete
changes our knowledge, but does not change anything of Divine Knowledge.

(b) The Holy Effusion (al-fayd al-muqaddas)

The Holy Effusion is the second degree of manifestation of Absolute Being (al-
wujûd al-mutlaq). It consists in the divine act of making the creatures appear in
the external world, according to the model of their eternal entities, by the
manifestation of His Divine Names in them. Ibn 'Arabî describes this, saying:
"God, exalted is He, creates the creature according to that which the creature is
in itself and in its entity. He only invests with existence by an act called ‘bringing
into existence'(îjâd)."[4]

The movement of creatures from immutability to existence is done according to a

pre-established order, in accordance with the Will of God to be known and to see
Himself in an entity which encompasses the realities (kawm jâmi'). Since the only
reality which accepts the effects of all the Divine Names and which encompasses
the realities of all the creatures is the entity ('ayn) of the perfect man, he was the
first existent (mawjûd). Ibn 'Arabî says: "He (al-Huwa) wanted to see Himself
with perfect vision (ru'ya kamâliyya) […] He looked at the eternal entities, but
saw no entity capable of reflecting the I (al-anâna) except the entity of the
perfect man. He compared it to Himself and placed it facing Him. Then it accepted
[the image of the Huwa], with the exception of one reality, that of self-existence.
He then gave it existence. The two images [the image of the Divine Names and
the image of the entity of the perfect man] coincided on all sides […] He called it
man (insân) because it accepted and familiarised itself (anisa) with the degree of
perfection."[5]

This reality, which encompasses all the realities, those of the Divine Names and
those of the cosmic Names, through its appearance in the universe became an
isthmus (barzakh) between God and the world. With one of the two faces this
isthmus turns towards the Divine Names, and with the other towards the cosmic
realities.

(c) The Perpetual Effusion: continuous creation, renewed at each moment

The creatures, in leaving the world of immutability for the world of existence, do
not really leave their immutability, i.e. their possibility, because possibility is the
reality of every creature. Thus the creatures have manifested themselves in the
world, without by that possessing Being, remaining at every instant in need of
Being (îjâd) in order to be able to continue to exist and not return to non-being.
Being is thus, for the creatures, a state and not a constant attribute.

God is permanently creating all the creatures, making them appear continually.
And the creatures are permanently returning to the state of non-being which is
their essence. Their images disappear, and God replaces them continually with
similar images, without a temporal caesura between the moment of the
annihilation of the image and the moment of appearance of its new, similar one.
God, then, continues to be Creator and the possibilities in their state of non-being
remain fitted to accept existence.[6]

There is no Being other than God's, and the whole universe is the effect of the
manifestation of His Names. If the perpetual theophany were to stop for the
blinking of an eye, the whole universe would fall into non-being. Ibn 'Arabî,
speaking of that non-existent existent (mawjûd ma'dûm), says, "God made me
contemplate the light of existence, as the star of direct vision rose, and He asked
me, ‘Who are you?' I replied, ‘Apparent non-existence.'"[7]

3. Perplexity (al-hayra)

Ibn 'Arabî finds that the intellect is perplexed by the reality of creation and asks
itself: "Have the eternal entities passed from the state of non-being to the state
of Being, or are they still in the state of non-being, knowing each other in the
mirror of the Being of God? At the time of the divine theophany in the entities
which allowed them to know each other, did these entities really acquire
existence, or was it only the divine theophany which allowed them to see
themselves, they being still in immutability?"[8]

Elsewhere in the Futûhât (III.193), Ibn 'Arabî states that things do not leave the
treasuries of their possibilities. Indeed, God has opened the doors of these
treasuries. So we gaze upon them and they gaze upon us, and we are in them
[the treasuries] and out of them.

4. "He Within Himself" (Huwa fî Huwa) and not "He is He" (Huwa Huwa)

The expression "He is He" (Huwa Huwa) is widely used to denote the Unity of
Being. It means that God and the creatures have a single essence, and such an
expression is not in agreement with the Unity of Being in Ibn 'Arabî. It is for that
reason that we have coined a new expression "He Within Himself" (Huwa fî
Huwa). This expression respects the Lord-Servant duality, and translates the
manifestation of God in every instant (mawjûd), not in Himself but through His
Most Beautiful Names. We may here quote a text of Ibn 'Arabî which describes the
manifestation of God in created things, in accordance with the expression "He
Within Himself" (Huwa fî Huwa), "God is too Exalted and High to be known as He
is In Himself (fî nafsihi). Yet He is known in created things […] Some see God in
things while others see things and God in them."[9]

5. Man

Ibn 'Arabî gives man a pivotal position. The following principles show how man is
perceived in the work of the Shaykh al-Akbar.

(i) Man is the goal (maqsûd) of the creation of the world. God, exalted is He,
created the world only that He might be known and served. And man alone
accomplishes the task, for he is capable of possessing perfect knowledge and
accomplishing complete servanthood. He is the unique one who can receive the
reality of the revelations of all the Divine Names. Man is the heart of the world
and its spirit, because if man dies and passes to the world beyond, this world is
extinguished and life is no longer renewed.[10]
(ii) Man is the isthmus (barzakh) between God and the creatures. The reality of
man holds the created things so that they do not fall into non-being. He receives
from God and gives to the creatures. He alone is creator and creature (haqq wa
khalq), and all others are only creatures.[11]

"When his humanity vanishes in his Lord, the things are created from him, and
the things are only created by God. And when Lordship vanishes in his humanity,
he takes pleasure in the things, and lives in ease and eats […] he is creature-
creator (khalq haqq)."[12]

(iii) Man is the representative (khalîfa) of God on earth, occupying the post of
divine deputy (niyâba ilâhiyya) in the universe … He is king of the universe and
he appears in the world glorified by all the Divine Names.

(iv) Man is a copy (nuskha) of both the realities of the Divine Names and the
cosmic realities. He is made according to two images: his exterior image, his
body, is a copy of the cosmic realities, while his interior image, his powers, is the
image of the Divine Names.

(v) Man is the most perfect place of contemplation (akmal mashhad). From the
fact that God is perceived only in an image, in a thing [Huwa fî Huwa], man is the
most perfect revelation of God and the most complete place.

Thus the status of man in the Unity of Being is defined in Ibn 'Arabî. He is the axis
of existence, its meaning and the isthmus between it and God.

6. Double Mirror and Two Mirrors

Ibn 'Arabî uses a number of comparisons to show the relation between God, the
world and man, within the theory of the Single Being.

The first and best-known of these metaphors is that of the sun and its light. He
says: "Things in being (mawjûdât) are all a light from the lights of the sun of
Power (qudra). The light of the sun does not share with the sun the status of
concomitance (ma'iyya), but the status of the candle (sham'iyya)."[13]
Secondly, he compares the Creator and the creatures to light and shadows. Light,
Being, is one, and its shadows multiply according to the number of the things it
illuminates.[14]

He also uses the image of the rainbow, when sight deceives us and we see
colours which in reality are only refractions of the colour white.[15] In the same
way he compares the human spirit to the mirage in the desert, an image of water
without there being any water, just as the human spirit is perceived (mashhûd)
without being existent (mawjûd). He says: "If the covering is removed from [the
spirit] and it looks, it realises that it is a mirage in the form of water. It [the
spirit] sees in fact no existing thing capable of serving God as it owes it to itself to
do, with the exception of the One who created the acts, that is to say, God. It
[the human spirit] then finds that God is the same as what it imagined its own
essence to be."[16]

Finally, the most important metaphor used by Ibn 'Arabî to depict the relation
between God, the world and man in particular, remains that of the mirror. Ibn
'Arabî did not invent the symbol of the mirror, but he resorted to it to clarify the
nature of the relation between God and His creatures. A real mirror reflects the
image of the person looking at it. In the same way, symbolically, a mirror reflects
ideas. When we say, figuratively, that a poet is the mirror of his age, or that one
person is the mirror of another, we mean by that, that the poet or the person has
been able to capture the characteristic image of his age or of the other person,
and show it to people. Perhaps if Ibn 'Arabî had lived in our time, he would have
made use of the screen, and used it as a symbol. For the screen has an amazing
ability to receive and transmit images. Within this framework, we may say [that]:

(i) Man is a double mirror, being the isthmus between God and the world. One
face is the mirror of the Divine Names, while the other is the mirror of the cosmic
names.

(ii) Man is the mirror of God, and God is the mirror of man. They are two mirrors,
each reflecting the other. God is the mirror of man, with man seeing himself in
the Divine mirror. And man is the mirror of God because he reflects His Names
back to Him.[17]

The following are some of Ibn 'Arabî's texts which describe these two mirrors.

(a) Man as mirror of God

The texts of Ibn 'Arabî successively describe the world as a mirror, and the mirror
means the place which accepts the image of a thing and not the thing itself. Thus,
the mirror is at the same time a deception, for the image of a person in a mirror
is the person himself, while being quite other. In the same way, there is in the
mirror nothing of the reflected person. He says: "The world […] is the mirror of
God. The people of Knowledge ('ârifûn) see there only the image of God."[18] He
also says: "The Pole […] is the mirror of God and the place of manifestation of the
sacred Attributes…"[19] The whole world is, however, an unpolished mirror, and
the appearance of Adam polished the mirror of the world.[20] Finally, the best
mirror, which reflects the most complete and exact image, is the image of the
Prophet Muhammad.[21]

(b) God as Mirror of the World

The traveller exerts himself that his Lord may be unveiled to him, but at the end
of his spiritual retreat, what is unveiled to him is his own truth, and he sees his
own image in the mirror of God. This is reminiscent of the final arrival of
Farîduddîn 'Attâr's birds and their vision of the Simurgh. Regarding the fact that
God is the mirror of the world, Ibn 'Arabî says: "God is the mirror of the world.
They [the creatures] see in this mirror only their own images."

II. The School of Ibn 'ArabÎ and its diffusion

1. Polemical approach

Ibn 'Arabî faced some very difficult situations in his life vis-à-vis other people, and
he was attacked by the authorities under the influence of certain jurists and
theologians. His texts were also subjected to horizontal readings without depth,
incapable of unlocking their allusions and symbols. However, his presence in time,
both material and spiritual, was very dominant, as if he were a mountain which
by its very height reduces to silence the boiling up of a volcano, forbidding it to
erupt…

At the Shaykh's death, the volcano erupted and its lava spread out over the
circles of jurists, Sufis and theologians. It became a public issue, everyone feeling
free to give his opinion. Works were written attacking Ibn 'Arabî's books and
putting readers on guard lest they became ensnared by his ideas. On the other
hand, works tending to exculpate him were written, defending his theories and
rehabilitating him.

The greatest opponents of Ibn 'Arabî are:

Ibn Taymiyya al-Harrânî [661–729H/1262–1327] in his book Majmû' fatâwa Ibn

Taymiyya

Ibn al-Ahdal, one of the 'ulamâ' of Yemen [d.855H/1450] in his work Kashf al-
ghitâ' 'an haqâ'iq al-tawhîd

Muhammad ibn Nûr al-Dîn [d.825H/1421], who wrote a book in response to

the Fusûs al-Hikam, showing the paradoxes of Ibn 'Arabî

Ibrâhîm al-Biqâîî [d.885H/1479], who belonged to the line of Ibn Taymiyya, and
who wrote two works in which he attacked Ibn 'Arabî, called Tanbîh al-ghabî 'alâ
takfîr Ibn 'Arabî and Tahdhîr al-'ibâd min ahl al-'inâd bi-bid'at al-ittihâd

Radî al-Dîn Ibn al-Khayyât [d.811H/1407], mentioned by Ibn al-Ahdal in his Kashf
al-Ghitâî, whose words were preserved by Fayrûzâbâdî in a letter entitled Fatwa
Ibn al-Khayyât

Sharaf al-Dîn Ibn al-Muqri'[d.837H/1434], author of poems which condemn Ibn

'Arabî's ideas, mentioned by Ibn al-Ahdal in the Kashf al Ghitâî

Ibrâhîm al-Halabî [d.956H/1549] who replied to Suyûtî in a work entitled Tafsîh

al-ghabî fî tanzîh Ibn 'Arabî[22]

Al-Dhahabî [d.748H/1346] and Ibn Khaldûn [d.808H/1404], whose pupil al-Fâsî

mentioned his teacher's fatwas in his book, Al-'Iqd al-thamîn. One of these calls
for Ibn 'Arabî's books to be burned and washed in water to remove all trace of
writing

Taqî al-Dîn al-Fâsî [d.832H/1428] and his book Tahdhîr al-nabîh wa-l-ghabî min
al-iftitân bi-Ibn 'Arabî

Imâd al-Dîn al-Wâsitî [d.711H/1311], who wrote three booklets denigrating Ibn
'Arabî and his school, Al-Bayân al-mufîd fî'l-farq bayn al-ilhâd wa-l-
tawhîd, Lawâmi' al-istirshâd fî'l-farq bayn al-tawhîd wa-l-ilhâd, Ash'iat al-nusûs fî
hatk astâr al-Fusûs

Ibn Hajar al-'Asqalânî [d.852H/1447]

Ibn al-Jazri [d.711H/1311]

Badr al-Dîn Ibn Jamâ'a [d.733H/1332]

'Alâ'al-Dîn al-Bukhârî [d.841H/1436], pupil of Taftazânî, who wrote a letter

entitled "Fâdihat al-mulhidîn wa nâsihat al-muwahhidîn" (Bakri Aladdin studied
this letter in the introduction to his re-edited version of Nâbulusî's book "Al-Wujûd
al-haqq wa-l-khitâb al-sidq" (Damascus, IFEAD, 1995)

Athîr al-Dîn Abû Hayyân [d.729H/1329], Bukhârî's master

Shams al-Dîn Ibn al-Naqqâsh [d.736H/1336]

Lisân al-Dîn Ibn al-Khatîb [d.766H/1364]

Zayn al-Dîn al-'Irâqî [d.806H/1403]

Shams al-Dîn al-'Ayzarî [d.808H/1404] who wrote a book entitled Al-Fatâwa al-
muntashira

Ibn 'Arabî's best-known supporters are:

Muhammad ibn Ya'qûb al Fayrûzâbâdî [d.811H/1407] who wrote a letter by way

of a reply to the opponents (unpublished manuscript)

Sirâj al-Dîn al-Makhzûmî [d.885H/1479] in his book Kashf al- Ghitâ' 'an asrâr
kalâm al-Shaykh Muhyîddîn
'Abdu-l-Wahhâb Al-Shaîrânî [d.973H/1564] in his books Al-Yawâqît wa-l-jawâhir fî
bayân 'aqâîid al-akâbir, Lawâqih al-anwâr al-qudsiyya andAl-Kibrît al-ahmar fî
bayân kalâm al-Shaykh al-Akbar

Al-Qârî'al-Baghdâdî [8th century H] in a letter which he entitled Al-Durr al-thamîn

fî manâqib al-Shaykh Muhyîddîn

Salâh al-Dîn al-Safadî [d.764H/1362]

Jalâl al-Dîn al-Suyûtî [d.911H/1504] in his book Tanbîh al-ghabî bi-tabirîat Ibn
'Arabî

Sirâj al-Dîn Hindî, a great Hanafi judge in Egypt [d.764H/1363] who

wrote Lawâîih al-anwâr fî-l-radd 'alâ man ankara 'alâ al-'ârifîn latâîif al-asrâr

Abû Dharr al-'Ajamî [d.780H/1378]

Badruddin Ibn al-Sâhib [d.788H/1386] who was an unflinching admirer of Ibn

'Arabî

Shams al-Dîn, known by the name of Shaykh al-Wudû' [d.790H/1388]

Abû 'Abdallâh al-Tawzarî al-Maghribî [d.800H/1396] who fought for Ibn 'Arabî's
doctrine

Shams al-Dîn Ibn Najm [d.801H/1397]

Najm al-Dîn al-Bâhilî al-Hanbalî [d.802H/1398]

Ismâîîl ibn Ibrâhîm al-Jabartî, master of 'Abd al-Karîm al-Jîlî. He taught his
students the books of Ibn 'Arabî and helped in the development of Ibn 'Arabî's
school in the Yemen

Abû'l-Hasan Ibn Salâm al-Dimashqî al-Shâfi'î

'Alî ibn Maymûn ibn Abî Bakr al-Qurashî al-Maghribî [d.917H/1510] who
wrote Tanzîh al-siddîq 'an wasf al-zindîq[23]

Abû Kamâl Bâshâ al-Hanafî [d.940H/1532], grandson of one of the Ottoman

princes, he pronounced a fatwa about Ibn 'Arabî, which said that the governor
ought to oblige people to profess the Unity of Being[24]
We have quoted all these names to show that Ibn 'Arabî really did become a
public issue, occupying every circle of knowledge in all Islamic regions. Indeed,
those who took part in the polemic, belonged to different juridical schools and
schools of knowledge, Shafi'is, Hanafis, linguists, philologists, theologians etc.,
and came from the four corners of the (Islamic) world, Damascus, the Maghreb,
Mecca, Egypt etc.

In the list presented above, we have seen, on the one hand, the books and
people who had a direct relationship with the polemic, replying and promulgating
fatwas. On the other hand, we have reduced the list to the three centuries which
followed Ibn 'Arabî, because it is during these centuries that the polemic was at
its hottest and most prolonged at the level of the 'ulamâ'and the community in
general. After these three centuries, Ibn 'Arabî and his ideas became confined to
being a matter of Sufi theology, and were no longer a hot subject and a public
issue debated in every language. It is, however, surprising that one person should
have remained so contentious for a whole community for three hundred years.

2. The Schools of Ibn 'Arabî – not just a single school

The intellectual and spiritual heritage of Ibn 'Arabî has permeated several groups
with different aspirations, which allows us to say that we may distinguish schools
founded on the texts of Ibn 'Arabî, and not just one single school. A look at the
centuries which separate us from Ibn 'Arabî allows us to see four lines emerging
out of his work and person, each line continuing on along its own route and
carrying this immense heritage, using it and enlarging it, each one in the
framework of its own interests and aspirations to knowledge. We shall briefly
sketch the skeleton of these four great lines, without going into detail, for each
representative of these lines has been the centre of interest of one or more
researchers.

(a) A school which was interested in Ibn 'Arabî's ideas

We may count Sadr al-Dîn al-Qûnawî, son-in-law and disciple of Ibn 'Arabî, as
founder of this school. Indeed, he worked to propagate the ideas of his master,
writing several works in which he explains the ideas of the Great Shaykh, the
most important being Marâtib al-Wujûd. It is likely that Qûnawî was the first to
use the expression Unity of Being (Wahdat al-Wujûd) to mean the concept of
Being in Ibn 'Arabî.[25] Qûnawî had a widespread network of relationships in the
Persian world, the most important being his relationship with Jalâluddîn Rûmî.
Through Rûmî, the influence or heritage which Qûnawî carried spread to a whole
generation of Persian poets, such as Shabistarî [d.791] and Jâmî [d.899]. In the
same way, the relationship and correspondence between Qûnawî and Nâsir al-Dîn
at-Tûsî helped the propagation of Ibn 'Arabî's ideas in the Persian world. Also, the
circles in which Qûnawî explained the ideas of Ibn 'Arabî to the great intellectuals
and Sufis, played a large part. Indeed, Fakhruddîn 'Irâqî wrote his Lama'ât after
one of these meetings.

In our view, the most important characteristic of this school is presentation,

explanation and interpretation. It brings together the greatest commentators on
Ibn 'Arabî, such as Qâshânî, Qaysarî, Bâlî Efendi and many others.

(b) A school which was interested in Ibn 'Arabî's theology

This school was born out of a full-scale war which was declared against Ibn 'Arabî.
Due to this war focusing above all on the theology of Ibn 'Arabî, accusing him of
infidelity and atheism, this school put all its effort into defending the theological
doctrine of the Shaykh al-Akbar. In our view, its most important characteristic is
its attempt to demonstrate that the theory of the Unity of Being is based on the
Attestation of Unity (shahâdat al-tawhîd), taking in Extinction in the Unity
(fanâ'fî'l-tawhîd) among the Sufis. The most important representatives of this
school are 'Abd al-Wahhâb al-Sha'rânî and after him, 'Abd al-Ghanî al-Nâbulusî.
Numerous researchers have worked on these two authors, and for that reason we
shall confine ourselves to simply naming them.

(c) A school which was interested in Ibn 'Arabî's Sufism

The Sufi experience of Ibn 'Arabî, extremely rich in visions and unveilings, greatly
interested later Sufis. This school may be divided into two currents.
The first current is represented by the entry of Ibn 'Arabî, as a Sufi who had
attained the most elevated stations of perfection, into the world of the Sufi paths.
His inner experience filtered into the Naqshbandîs on the one hand, and to the
Shâdhilîs on the other, to the extent that in our time we find no-one who belongs
to one or other of these great Sufi ways who does not profess interiorly a doctrine
usually reserved for the great ('aqîdat al-akâbir), while being in agreement with
the theological doctrine of the masses. And there are many who understand the
doctrine of Ibn 'Arabî on the basis that there are several levels of attestation of
the Unity.

The second current is restricted in its representatives. We shall, however, reserve

for it its own space, in the hope that the future will add supporters to it. Perhaps
also, it is made up of people still unknown to us. This current is distinguished by
the fact that its representatives fill themselves with the texts of Ibn 'Arabî, carry
them around within themselves and continue the journey, pushing the experience
of the Shaykh al-Akbar forwards. In our view, this current is represented by the
great Sufi, 'Abd al-Karîm al-Jîlî. Jîlî had as his master al-Jabartî, who was in love
with Ibn 'Arabî and propagated his teachings in Yemeni Sufi circles. The visions
and unveilings of Ibn 'Arabî quickly shook Jîlî's conscience and experience, and
opened to him the way to personal visions and unveilings which he set down in
writing. We may thus conceive of his books as a link added to the chain of Ibn
'Arabî. In our view, Jîlî's unveilings are a continuation and extension of the
experience and ideas of the Shaykh al-Akbar. We should like to draw attention to
the fact that Ibn 'Arabî's last book,Fusûs al-Hikam, addresses the Perfect Man
who sums up in himself all religious history. And as if Jîlî had taken over from
there, the latter's experience and writings take the Perfect Man as their axis,
addressing the subject in a different way.[26]

(d) A school which was interested in adapting Ibn 'Arabî's ideas to the Persian
world

Following the penetration of Ibn 'Arabî's works into Persia through the efforts of
Qûnawî and other commentators, some great gnostic personalities appeared. In
our view, the principal characteristic of that school is its attempt to bring together
Ibn 'Arabî's Sufism and Shi'ite doctrine. From this arose the formation of a Shi'ite
Sufi school ('irfâniyya) familiar with the thought of Ibn 'Arabî and his teaching.
Among the greatest figures in that school, we find Sadr al-Dîn al-Shîrâzî.[27]

To conclude this glimpse of the schools which flowed from the work of Ibn 'Arabî,
we should mention that there exists no separation among the schools, but each
profits from the writings of the others. The schools do not oppose but
complement each other, each one interested in an aspect of Ibn 'Arabî's work.

III. A New Link in the Chain of Ibn 'ArabÎ A Humanist reading of the Unity of
Being
It is possible that the most important of the four schools founded on the work of
Ibn 'Arabî is the one which interests itself in his Sufism, whether at the level of
ways (turuq), or at the level of people, because that school has put into action
the teachings of the Shaykh al-Akbar. From this initiative have emerged new links
in Ibn 'Arabî's chain which merit our attention.

We too would like to contribute by adding a new link to the chain left open by Ibn
'Arabî for the generations who were to follow him. We shall limit our contribution
to some points of intersection between the Unity of Being of Ibn 'Arabî and our
current contemporary life, noting that these points of intersection have as their
axis man, his reality, and his knowledge of himself, the other and God.

1. Man is an isthmic creature (barzakhiyya)

Many people are not aware of this Akbarian teaching, and consequently do not
profit by their ‘isthmuseity'. The fact that our reality is ‘isthmic' means that we
have the power to connect to two different worlds at the same time, from two
sides.

In practical terms, man today could realise a temporal isthmuseity, by having one
face turned to the present and another turned towards eternal time. He could
gain greatly by this temporal isthmuseity, reconciling the past, present and
future, but also in taking up the past again, not as the past, but in its present. We
could also gain by the isthmuseity of our intellect between reason and inspiration,
receiving from one side the data of sense and reason, and from the other
receiving the inspiration of the heart.

Thus we can open the possibilities of our existence and gain from our isthmuseity
to realise our spiritual fullness on earth.

2. Hayy and Asal – the philosopher and the Sufi

Whoever contemplates the history of humanity notices two tracks: a theoretical,

philosophical track and a contemplative, religious track. These two courses
intersect in their results and objectives in most cases (as we have mentioned in
our introduction). Ibn Tufayl, in his philosophical account Hayy ibn Yazqan,
expressed this intersecting of the two courses. When Hayy met Asal and they
compared their respective knowledge, they discovered a great similarity. And
when they decided to leave the island and convince others of the ability of faith to
convey truth, they were disappointed and decided to return to their island. We
believe that this story has been repeated in the course of time. Religious and
philosophical thought do indeed agree about man, his elevated status, respect for
his rights, his designation as the centre of the world, and his responsibility
towards the other creatures. This similarity could, however, not be extended
further than appearance. Ibn 'Arabî drew attention to that at the time of his
meeting with Ibn Rushd/Averroës. Averroës asked him, "Is what you have found
[by the heart] the same as that which we have found [by reason]?" Ibn 'Arabî
answered, "Yes and no".

In any case, our isthmic reality can help us to write a new ending to Ibn Tufayl's
account, because our isthmic reality is capable of seeing both the past and
present and comparing them. If we compare the men of today to those of the
Middle Ages, we notice the qualitative change which has taken place in man in
general, his awakening, the way he relates to his presence in the world… This is
caused by the change in the conditions of life. This new world – with its mass
communications, opening up, globalisation – has created a new man at the level
of the masses, everywhere in the world. Now, the ending we are hoping for,
according to Ibn Tufayl's account, bets on the masses, i.e. on the people of the
whole world, for security and love to reign for every-one everywhere. From the
fact of all these changes, we believe that in the twenty-first century, Hayy and
Asal would not have returned to their island, but would have stayed among men.

3. Man, divine manifestation and the secret of predestination

The Unity of Being restores man to his rightful position, through an open, living
and renewed relationship between God and him. God manifests by one of His
names in each man, and this divine manifestation is permanent and continuous.

Why do we not benefit from this knowledge of manifestation and from the
continuous creation, in our public and civic lives, and only make use of it in our
spiritual lives? We should be able to look within and around us, and unlock the
effects of the Divine Names which manifest and act. If we find gifts and
successes, for example, we should see that God has manifested by His Name The
Generous (al-Karîm), The Enricher (al-Mughnî) and The Provider (al-Razzâq) and
other Names which mean gift and generosity, and vice versa.

The question then arises: can man change his life and destiny with this
knowledge? Can he leave the effect of one Divine Name to enter into the effect of
another Name? Does this knowledge pierce the secret of destiny?

We can unlock one answer in the tradition (Hadîth) of the Prophet and the texts
of Ibn 'Arabî. The Shaykh al-Akbar describes the Pole as the secret of
predestination (sirr al-qadar).[28] Elsewhere, he says: "God responds only to the
one who invokes Him, and He is invoked only by His Names."[29] We may deduce
that he is alluding to the possibility of leaving the effect of one Name for the
effect of another. The Prophet at a difficult time, fearing that the difficulties were
a sign of Divine Anger against him, invoked God, saying, "Whether there is no
Anger in You towards me, that is of no concern to me, for Your Pardon is more
encompassing for me." Thus he invoked the Names of Beauty (asmâ'al-jamâl) to
be relieved of the effect of the Names of Majesty (asmâ'al-jalâl). From this comes
the importance of invocation, generally consisting of Divine Names which a man
repeats in a continuous fashion until there is a rapport between the man and the
Name repeated. He hopes by that, that the Name invoked will respond and
manifest its effects in him.

4. The creatures are the mirrors of God … universal brotherhood

If we look at our world through Ibn 'Arabî's theory of the Unity of Being, we find
that life flows into every corner, in men, animals, trees and stones – life renewed
with every breath – and we see the Divine Names manifested in every thing.

And if we make that vision real, then how could we stretch out our hand to do
harm to a creature?

For even if we cannot see God in it, at least we know that He is in it.

Translated from the French by James Lees

Notes
[1] This paper was originally presented at the twentieth annual symposium of the
Society entitled "The Unity of Existence" held in Oxford on 3 and 4 May 2003.

[2] Futûhât I.118.

[3] Fut. I.91.

[4] Fut. IV.86.

[5] Fut. II.642–643. Here there is a play on words in the Arabic between man
(insan) and familiarity (uns).

[6] See Fut. III.452.

[7] See Mashâhid al-Asrâr, First Contemplation (trans. C. Twinch and P. Beneito
as Contemplation of the Holy Mysteries, Oxford, 2001, p. 23).

[8] Fut. IV.211.

[9] Fut. II.507–8.

[10] See Fusûs al-Hikam, chapter on Adam.

[11] Fut. II.397.

[12] Fut. II.441.

[13] al-Ajwîba al-lâîiqa, fo. 6b.

[14] Fut. IV.279.

[15] See S. Hakim, Al-Mu' jam al-Sûfî, Beirut, 1981, "Wahdat al-wujûd".

[16] Fut. II.339.

[17] Fusûs, p. 62 (ed. A. 'Afîfî, Cairo, 1946).

[18] Fut. IV.449.

[19] Fut. III.573.

[20] Bulghat al-Ghawwâs, fo. 12; Fusûs, ch.1.

[21] Fut. IV.203 and 433; Bulghat, fo. 21.

[22] The manuscript is in the Zâhiriyya library, No. 4394 Tasawwuf, fo. 3a.

[23] There is a manuscript copy in the Zâhiriyya library, No. 5916 Tawassuf.

[24] The entire text can be found in Bakri Aladdin' s introduction to his re-edited
edition of the book Al-Wujûd al-haqq by Nâbulusî, p. 81.

[25] Chodkiewicz, Épitre sur l' unicité absolue, Paris, 1982, pp. 26–36.

[26] See his book The Perfect Man (Al-Insân al-Kâmil) and his poem Al-Qasîda
'Ayniyya.

[27] See the work of Henry Corbin in Iranian Islam.

[28] Fut. II.573.

[29] 29. Fut. IV.393.

 The Dimensions of the Mystical Journey

"You should know that man has been on the journey ever since God brought him
out of non-being into being"[1]

The Shaykh al-Akbar, Ibn 'Arabi, describes the state of being of the man on the
journey in his Risâlat al-Anwâr and points out that it is only possible for man to
cease journeying in the fifth abode (mawtin), namely in Paradise or in hell. The
six mawatin (abodes)[2] are ordered as follows:

• (a) alastu-birrabbikum ["Am I not your Lord?"]

• (b) the material world

• (c) barzakh

• (d) sâmirah [the Resurrection]

• (e) Paradise or Hell

• (f) kathîb [the Sand Dune beyond the Garden]

This order summarises the phenomenology of the mystical journeys and also their
ontology. If man has been on the journey since the Day of Alast and does not
relinquish this state of travelling except in Paradise or in Hell, then he is
ontologically a traveller, an existence that moves from one world to the other.
This is the first fact that must be known by the sâlik (traveller). It is also
necessary for him to know that there is no security on the journey. Thirdly, the
traveller may only seek at each mawtin that which is required of him by
thatmawtin; thus he should not aim for fanâ' (annihilation) if he is not at the
station of fanâ', and so on. Should he try to do so, the waqt – that is, the
anchoring of his own being in his present state – will be broken. This is of the
utmost importance for the Sufi, because he is said to be "the Son of his Time"
(as-sufi ibn al-waqt). From a metaphysical viewpoint, the attainment of the
reality of Union is through the conscious realisation of the intended vision, in
other words that he sees his own non-being in the light of the One.[3]
The question now arises as to why a person, a Sufi, should choose deliberately to
embark on the mystical journey when he is ontologically on that journey in any
case. Such a question forms a paradox inasmuch as the solution to the mystery
appears when both sides of the paradox are considered simultaneously,[4] a fact
that at first sight appears confusing. The Shaykh al-Akbar stressed, however, that
man must first become fully aware, in order that he may travel with his whole
being. For the traveller to find out where he stands, he must also incorporate a
further journey within the ontological journey. The Shaykh made it clear,
furthermore, that the mystery can be penetrated only by addressing the paradox,
not merely by thought, but rather with all of one’s actions and interactions. The
end of the conscious and intentional journey is the degree of baqâ' (subsistence),
and this is attained after "re-emerging".[5]

In this article we will briefly examine the various forms of the mystical journey.
The forms of the journey may be divided into the following fundamental
types: tartîb (the way of Levels) and wasâ'it (by means of an intermediary),
which are both also known as tarîq â'm (the general way), and the form of the
special aspects, tarîq wujûhi khâs. There is a further form, qâb qausayn au
adnâ' , which will be included together with the form of the special aspects. It
should be mentioned that the ways of tartîb and wasâ'it are based in principle on
the guidance of a shaykh, whereas that of the special aspects may also be
undertaken alone, such that the seeker is plunged into a metaphysical space by
means of sudden and immediate contact with the a'yân-ath-thâbitah (the fixed
entities or archetypes). The degree, intensity and depth of perception within that
world determine the seeker’s future station.

1. The mystical journey through Tartîb (the way of the Levels/degrees)

This form of the journey moves through various marâtib (levels or degrees), and
the traveller must recognise and pass beyond certain veils of light and darkness,
one after another, until he comes to a degree appropriate to his own excellence.
The level that befits each person is to be found in the sûr (trumpet /horn), and
the basis of this is stated in the Qur'an as follows: "None of us there is but has a
known station".[6] It should be remembered that the levels are ontological, which
is to say that being and non-being form two poles, and it is between these that
the Divine is mirrored (huwa lâ huwa). The identification of each seeker with one
of these levels is equally his respective state of consciousness of the level or
station where he currently stands, if it is possible to speak of "standing" in this
sense at all – given that the seeker cannot and must not stand still.[7] Seen from
without, the sâlik is at a particular maqâm. From within he identifies himself with
the level of being that is completed by certain of the Divine Names. This level
then forms his consciousness, his identity, his being.

The Risâlat al-Anwâr describes a type of journey that is not identical with the
traditional way as described by Abû Nasr al-Sarrâj Tûsi or Qushairy, nor is it
based on the relationship of a shaykh and a student. Nonetheless, I consider such
a journey to be a way through themarâtib (levels). The seeker progresses step by
step; he examines each step, without obtaining a direct and immediate
relationship to his 'ayn ath-thâbitah. Ibn 'Arabî classifies this journey
under khalwa (retreat) and describes how the seeker first unveils the world of the
senses. The next degree is the unveiling of the imaginary world (khayâl), so that
the world of meanings (ma'nâ) becomes visible. Later he sees how life spreads
through the bodies. In the following stages he reaches a state from which he may
be informed of his ownmartabah (level/degree). After this he comes to see the
forms of all mankind, then he arrives before the Throne of the All-Compassionate
(sarîr). From this point on he knows all things according to Reality and not as the
ordinary person sees them. Then he is himself unveiled; he is invisible to himself,
his self is nowhere to be found, there is no trace of being in him (fanâ'). The next
principal stage is his returning to himself and his remaining (baqâ') in that which
he is. He is brought back to the world of the senses.

When reading this text, one notices that it is a description of the way into
the sûr (horn) whose form is a reversal of that of the emanation of all things from
the Divine. The wide part of the horn contains the amâ' (the Cloud) and the
narrow part the earth. The forms of all things are contained in the sûr, as the
word suwar (forms, images) implies. It should be remembered that the horn is
called al-barzakh as-sûrî (the intermediate world of the forms).[8] The fact that,
after finding himself before the Throne of the All-Compassionate, the sâlik is
given knowledge of all things and then becomes hidden from himself, shows that
his human consciousness has been lost at this degree. He no longer finds and
feels himself, since his own consciousness was that of a person, an observer,
whereas here there is no longer any observing, no more considerations of duality.
His consciousness/existence is now, rather, identical to the forms that are
manifested in the sûr. Consequently there remains "no trace of being in him", and
this clearly refers to worldly being in the sense that we normally experience it.
For how can a person re-emerge if there is no longer any trace of being in him?
This is in turn a paradox.

When the traveller reaches the Throne of the All-Compassionate he has arrived at
the first bodily form that encompasses the entire universe. He witnesses here the
full extent of the Divine Compassion in the form of effusion, that is to say that
"everything that you have seen up to now you will see all the more in him".[9]
And this is the recognition of the Holy One who bestows His Compassion on the
traveller.

After this begins his journey in the subtle world of the spirits, which cannot be
reached by men. For this he becomes veiled and annihilated. The Divine
Compassion returns him to his being by means of the Beautiful Name hayy, since
he no longer possesses any will or strength of his own. He has become a "non-
being" in the subtle world of the spirits. Only when he has
attained baqâ' (subsistence) is he able to experience the ordinary world again. He
can even re-experience all that has happened to him, but, as the Shaykh al-Akbar
stresses, in another form.

From a phenomenological perspective the experiences in the sûr (horn) differ

from those of the phenomenal world. In the former, one is witness to imaginal
forms that constitute the basis of Being as a vast but imperceptible system that
can never be comprehended. Here one experiences processes that are controlled
by that system and with which one must align oneself, having made this journey
once only. He who returns is no longer the same person that he once was. He
does not even need to speak, because the intensity of the experience of finding
himself before the sarîr has left him nothing that can be spoken about. The
Shaykh al-Akbar gives important information on this phenomenon.[10] It follows
that "silence" (samt) is not an everyday act but rather a status that is reached by
only a small number of people, particularly in the case of attaining silence of the
heart.

2. The mystical journey through wasâ'it (by means of an intermediary)

There is a Man who is a being with two aspects or faces: al-insân al-kâmil. He is
the most important connecting link that joins man with God across the bridge of
love. He is a mirror in which all the Names of God are reflected and become
apparent. He is the comprehensive separating Word (kalama-fâsilah-jâmi-a)[11]
and his station is ahadîyyah.[12] He is able to intervene in creation, since he
stands on the dividing line between hazrat ilâhî and hazrat kaunî. Consequently
he is also the shaykh or pir through whose aid the sâlik may look upon the Divine.
He serves as the mirror. Important here is the fact that the Perfect Man has two
aspects, the divine and the human, and the theory of the walî is based on this
fact. Walî is God the Great in the general sense Who, as the Friend, stands close
to every believer. In a specific sense he is the perfect man who, as the friend of
God, is also the friend of any believer. This is the walî khâs,[13] who can
intervene in being itself. The Pole or qutb is nothing other than the walî who
oversees the whole world and who himself closes at night the door of mankind
left ajar, while he opens the door of the Beloved.[14]

This forms the basis on which the relationship between shaykh and student is
founded. What the student learns from his shaykh is seeking or sulûk.
The sâlik travels through various maqâm, while remaining under the instruction of
the shaykh. Accounts vary considerably as to the number of the maqâm, but that
given by Abû Nasr al-Sarrâj Tûsi is generally accepted. He names the seven
stations[15] of the journey through which a sâlik must pass under the guidance
of the shaykh. The shaykh is the master, the walî, the mirror and the
intermediary, and maintains a constant dialogue with the student. Shaykh and
student face each other like two mirrors, each reflecting the light of the other.
These reflections inspire and purify the heart of the student until he is in a
position to reach themaqâm by his own efforts, albeit with the guidance of the
shaykh.

Mention should also be made at this point of the spiritual state (hâl). Hâl is a gift
from the Divine grace; it cannot be obtained by one’s own will. Depending on the
situation of the traveller it is possible that hâl may be given to him in the form
of wârid (inrush). Such states always arise in pairs, in opposition and
complementarily:[16] for example, first a state of qabz (contraction) is reached,
and then after a certain time the state of bast (expansion) is given. It is of the
greatest importance that these opposing and complementary states arise in pairs,
since one of them counteracts the other. Both are aspects of a cosmic event that
gives the traveller the impulse necessary for his journey. If only one of them were
to occur, the traveller would remain forever in that state.

From this cosmic event the seeker receives the tajallî (Divine manifestation),
which may take one of two forms: tajallî jalâl (manifestation of Majesty) or tajallî
jamâl (manifestation of Beauty). All that comes from Beauty (jamâl) is from His
Gentleness (lutfîyyah); whatever comes from Majesty (jalâl) is from His Severity
(qahrîyyah). The origin of both of these are His Names jamîl (the Beautiful)
and jalîl (the Majestic). The cosmic event described above is an interplay between
these two names: at one moment the world goes into non-existence (ma'dûm)
through the Name jalîl, and at the next moment it comes into existence (maujûd)
through the Name jamîl. Since the Name jamîl is under the order of the Name az-
zâhir (the Manifest/Outward), which in turn is under ar-rahmân (the All-
Compassionate), man experiences the qualities and actions of this form more
often. The Name jalîl, on the other hand, is under the Name al-bâtin (the
Nonmanifest/Inward) and generally remains in sitr, or concealed. Thus the Divine
does not manifest as jalâl in this world. In this case the seeker receives only the
states resulting from the characteristics and actions of this Name, such as qabz.
[17]

Seen thus, the traveller does not remain in a single state; his heart vacillates and
moves between states within a matter of seconds. This situation is known
as taraddud (vacillation), and has four principal types: jahl (ignorance,
stopping), shakk (doubt), zann (surmise) and ilm (knowledge). All that effuses
from the Unseen arrives in the heart and gives rise to further changes of state.
'Abd ar-Razzâq Kâshânî gives a series of definitions concerning the heart.[18] The
Shaykh al-Akbar acknowledges the heart as the place of knowledge, and in this
regard it is larger even than ar-rahmân, the Divine Compassion. Only the ahl
Allâh (the people of God) are aware of this fact and follow closely
the khawâtir (incoming thoughts) that manifest in their hearts as tajallî. Ibn
'Arabî names the state of sajdat al qalb(prostration of the heart before the Divine)
as the highest state of bliss.[19] The importance to the Sufi of the purity of the
heart (tahârah) should be noted here. The purification of the heart is a
recognition of the realisation of God, of the knowledge of tawhîd (Unity), of the
knowledge of the beautiful Names of the Divine (asmâ' husnâ) and of the
knowledge of all in this world that is conjoined to the Divine.

Despite all that has been said here about the heart and its importance for the
mystical journey through marâtib, however, we should not forget that, owing to
the particular role it plays, the heart is a place of direct communion with God. The
address of the Divine is "cast" into the heart directly, without any intermediary
action by the shaykh. Furthermore, unveiling (kashf) is nothing other than the
moving aside of the layers or veils that come between the heart and the light of
the Unseen.

The metaphysics of Mullâh Sadrâ Shîrâzî can more accurately be called a

metaphysics of the heart.[20] The metaphysics of the heart contains a
psychological system in which the heart is seen as an intermediate station that
binds together the nafs (human nature/ego) and the rûh (spirit). When
the nafs has reached perfection through re-education, it passes over to the heart.
When the level of the heart reaches perfection, the consciousness of the heart is
attained. This is the longing for Union. Only from the level of the spirit does the
movement forward then begin towards the mystery (sirr).

3. The mystical journey as the way of the special aspects (tarîq wujûhi
khâs)

One of Ibn 'Arabî’s commentators, Khârazmî, describes this way as follows: "This
path leads by way of the relationship of the man to the Divine Presence through
his own 'ayn ath-thâbitah (fixed entities)".[21] Such a relationship occurs directly
and without any intermediary, and its basis is set out by the Qur'anic verse
"yuhibbihum- wa-yuhibbûnahû"(Q. 5: 54, Al-Mâ'idah). This is to say that since
God loved Man in pre-eternity, and since the love of Man for God is also ultimately
from God, there exists the possibility of a direct relationship to God through the
heart of Man. "The sâlik (traveller) is not concerned with the stations and degrees
here, except when he returns from the Divine to the human".[22]

We know that the a'yân ath-thâbitah are the forms in Reality of the Divine
Names, and Khajah Parsa, another of Ibn 'Arabî’s commentators, says that when
a man can see these, he has seen the Divine Itself.[23] The a'yân ath-
thâbitah are the degrees, the names and the qualities of God and are engraved in
the heart of every person. They are the foundation of the relationship of the
Divine to the human and vice versa. Each person may come to recognise the
Divine according to his own 'ayn ath-thâbitah, and the Divine also recognises
each person according to these forms that are carried within each.

The tajallî (manifestation) is accordingly a wholly personal tajallî, and

consequently there is no general tajallî. This fact was pointed out by 'Ayn al-Quzât
Hamadânî prior to his martyrdom in the year 1131: "The Names of God the Great
are countless. You should look into your own pocket if you want to find out what
you have been granted of them all … He will manifest Himself to you (tajallî) from
the degree of the Names … in each heart He keeps a different secret, and to each
heart He tells a different secret."[24] We know that the Sufi masters have called
this way "the way of sirr (the mystery)".[25]

From a psychological perspective, the manifestations of God form an entirely

personal Divine form for the person’s innermost consciousness. Metaphysically,
this relationship to the Divine occurs at the level of the wâhidîyyah (Oneness) and
not at that of theahadîyyah (Uniqueness); the manifestations witnessed by
the sâlik are thus those of his own rabb and not of Allâh. Accordingly, such
recognition of the Divine is limited to the rabb al-khâs (the particular Lord). Each
person knows Him according to the form that he desires and loves, and to the
extent of his istiîdâd (preparedness) and his ideals. This is what Ibn 'Arabî means
by khalaq al-haqq fil-iîtiqâd (God created in Belief).

It should be remembered here that from pre-eternity, since the Day of Alast, the
Divine Names have been impregnated with shauq(yearning) to be manifested. All
the Names of God that are not yet known remain in huzn (sorrow, grief) of ardent
desire prior to tajallî; they seek a majlâ (place of manifestation), and this place is
the heart of a believer with istiîdâd (preparedness).[26] Viewed thus, such
recognition is each person’s empirical experience of God.

Clearly, then, no person is capable of being the place of manifestation of all the
Divine Names. No person can allow multiple Divinities to enter him
simultaneously. It is, however, possible for different tajallî to take place one after
the other. Each tajallî arrives differently, reveals itself differently and changes the
person in a new way. The Shaykh al-Akbar thus said that there is no repetition in
the manifestation.[27] In no case can the dhât (the Divine Essence) be perceived,
since this is at the level of ahadîyyah and beyond the realm of the human.

Another of Ibn 'Arabî’s commentators, Shaykh Heydar Amulî, described this form
of sulûk as sulûki mahbûbî (journey as the beloved). He speaks of it thus:
"… Sulûki mahbûbî does not depend upon knowledge, practice, words and actions
…"[28] He adds that attainment occurs even prior to the sulûk. He compares this
to the other form, sulûki muhibbî (journey as the lover) that only brings the
seeker to his aim after long mujâhadah (endeavour) and khalwah (retreat) under
the guidance of the shaykh.

Amulî gives a wonderful description of miîrâj (spiritual ascent) that we also know
as qab qausayn au adnâ. This is a maqâm of which only such chosen ones as the
Prophet are capable. It consists of a circle formed of two arcs. One arc is
the qaus bâliqah (the arc of ascent); the other is qaus nâzilah (the arc of
descent). The traveller undertakes his journey in this circular form, continually
moving from wujûb (the necessary) to imkân (the possible) and other like
movements. Despite this, he is capable of discrimination. The
highest maqâm that he can reach on this journey is the degree of au adnâ (even
closer), in which discrimination is also no longer possible. This is the miîrâj of the
prophets.[29] It is clear that this state cannot be reached
through mujâhadah and marâtib; it is the status of the chosen ones, and happens
only by Divine favour. Within a short time the traveller experiences countless
unveilings (kashf) that would be too much for "ordinary" people to withstand and
would drive them to madness. In this sense a "chosen" person is he or she who is
capable of undergoing such experiences and remaining healthy and collected. So
seen, this mystical experience is the highest level of initiation for seekers in
Sufism.

Excursus

The mystical journey is the form of practice of the Sufi way (tarîqa). Every person
who feels awakened and has begun to marvel at Being (hayrah) accordingly feels
called to begin to follow the way of the transcendent. And this is only the
beginning. The Sufi learns first to know himself, since an insight gained without
knowledge of who he is cannot be a true witnessing of the Divine. For this the
adept seeks a shaykh (or is "called" by the shaykh) who can help him to change
his inner structure by means of re-education, to conform to the Unseen and to
develop the taste (zauq) he requires for the long journey. From the first steps,
Love begins, since if there is not Love his steps are counted, and the adept will
find no strength to continue on the way. The deeper he swims in this ocean, the
greater becomes his yearning for realisation of the Holy. This in turn precipitates
more Love. Notwithstanding which of the ways he takes, whether by the degrees
(marâtib) or by direct and immediate inrush (wârid) of the Divine, the eye of the
heart ('ayn al-qalb) now sees the contours of that which was sought, made
possible by relationship with the Highest.

Ibn 'Arabî’s legacy to us is a detailed description of the Way that is like a map of
the inner journey through the Beautiful Names of God and their manifestations
(tajallî) in existence. These are signs (âya) and milestones for the seeker, by
which he may step from one station (maqâm) to the next. When the seeker has
reached the point at which he can enjoy the Divine Gentleness (lutf) in its totality,
he is worthy to appear before the Throne of the All-Compassionate (sarîr ar-
rahmân), in obliteration (mahw) and veiled from himself, such that no trace of
existence remains in him. This is the highest point that he can reach. Then the
All-Compassionate endows him with the Name the Living (hayy) and he is
returned to existence. From this moment he remains forever in this state
of baqâ' (subsistence).

It hardly need be mentioned that prayer and dhikr are the constant companions
of the traveller; without these he cannot bring the Divine Names into his
awareness and internalise them. Only when these are internalised can the
internal upheaval come about that places the traveller in a position to undergo
the process of realisation of the Divine insight. The other function of prayer
and dhikr is to deepen the Divine Love, which is a further important aspect of the
mystical way. This Love lends the seeker a deep feeling of security, closeness and
certainty that may be called tawakkul. Without this, the seeker finds himself lost
in the labyrinth of the ways. Withtawakkul, however, the seeker may align himself
to that Face that does not become lost. For,

kullun shaii hâlik illâ wajhahu

Everything is annihilated except His Face.[30]

1. Ibn 'Arabî, Risâlat al-Anwâr, ed. Najîb Mayil Hirawî (Maula Publishers, Tehran,
1996), p. 57.

2. Ibid., p. 156.

3. Seyyed Hossein Nasr, Die Erkenntnis und das Heilige (Diederichs, 1990), p.
414. For the phenomenological interpretation of this term see also Bahram
Jassemi, Der Weg der Liebe (Verlag Videel, Niebüll, Germany, 2003), p. 26.

4. The great anthropologist and cybernetics theorist Gregory Bateson has

suggested an interesting solution to this. In his book Mind and Nature (Dutton,
New York, 1979) he points out that the world "is a slowly healing tautology". If
the inner consistency of a tautology is torn, it is moved up to the next level of
abstraction. Thus also are the eternal realities (forms).

5. Risâlat al-Anwâr, p. 166. The traveller begins with the unveiling (kashf) of the
world of the senses, so that he may see through the walls. At the penultimate
degree he becomes obliterated (mahw) and no trace of worldly existence remains
in him. Then he re-emerges.

6. Wa mâ minnâ illâ lahû maqâmun ma'lûm. (Q. 37: 164, As-Sâffât)

7. To stand still is tantamount to a relapse, a situation that Sufis strive to avoid.

8. Risâlat al-Anwâr, p. 166. For a detailed interpretation, see also William C.

Chittick, The Self-Disclosure of God: Principles of Ibn al-'Arabî’s
Cosmology (Albany, NY, 1998).

9. Risâlat al-anwâr, p. 166.

10. Ibn 'Arabî, Hilyah al-abdâl, ed. Najib Mayil Hirawi (Maula Publishers, Tehran,
1996), p. 12: "… And the hâl (state) of samt (silence) is the station
of wahy (revelation), and silence is the consequence of Divine insight …". Ibid., p.
11: "... to him, who is silent both in speech and in the heart, the mystery (sirr)
will be unveiled, and God manifests himself to him (tajallî)."

11. 'Abd ar-Razzâq Kâshânî, Sharhi-Fusûs (Cairo, 1321H), p. 11.

12. Ibn 'Arabî, 'Anqâ' mughrib (Cairo, 1975), p. 42.

13. Ibn 'Arabî, Futûhât al-Makkîyyah. Commentary by Mohsen Jahângîrî
(University of Tehran, 1996), p. 468.

14. From a well-known Rubai by Abû Said Abu al-Khayr.

15. Abû Nasr al-Sarrâj Tûsi, Kitâb al-luma'fi tasawwûf, ed. R.A. Nicholson (Jahan
Publishers, Tehran, 2003).

16. Bahram Jassemi, Der Weg der Liebe, pp. 24–7.

17. Ibn 'Arabî, Futûhât al-Makkîyyah. II, p. 542. Commentary by Mohsen

Jahangîrî: p. 357.

18. 'Abd ar-Razzâq Kâshânî, Istilâhat al Sufîyyah, ed. Dr Jafar (Tehran, 1976), p.
168.

19. Futûhât al-Makkîyyah. III, pp. 302–3.

20. Henry Corbin, Osman Yahya, Seyyed Hossein Nasr, Histoire de la Philosophie
Islamique (Amir Kabir Publishers, Tehran, 1973). Dr Mishkat ad-Dînî, Philosophy
of Sadr ad-Dîn Shîrâzî (Agah Publishers, Tehran, 1999). It should be mentioned
that sirr or khafi (the veiled) of the Sufis is equivalent to the mystery. This is also
the level of wahdânîyyah (fayz ath-thânî = The Second Emanation).

21. Taj-iddin Hossein ibni-Hassan al-Khârazmî, Sharhi Fusûs al-Hikam, ed. Najib
Mayil Harawî (Maula Publishers, Tehran, 1996), p. 30.

22. Ibid.

23. Khâjah-Muhammad-Pârsâ, Sharhi Fusûs al-Hikam, ed. Jalil Messgar Nejâd

(Tehran, 1987).

24. Letters of 'Ayn al-Quzât Hamadânî, ed. Dr Monzavi and Dr Osseiran (Asatir
Publishers, Tehran, 1998), book 1, pp. 269–70.

25. Al-Khârazmî, ibid., p. 30. He also mentions here that the Greatest Shaykh
calls this way the way of shattâr. In Sufi psychology this degree is equated
with khafi (the basis of the soul), at which shuhûd (the contemplative witnessing
of the Divine) is possible. See also Bahram Jassemi, Die Psychologie der Liebe im
Sufismus (unpublished).
26. Najmi-al-dîn Râzi, Marmûzâti Asadî dar Mazmûrâti Dawûdî, ed. Shafii Kadkanî
(Tehran, 1973).

27. Lâ-Takrâr fiîl-Tajallî: Ibn 'Arabî cites this saying from Abû Tâlib Makkî see
Osman Yahya: Futûhât al-Makkîyyah, Vol. IV, no. 248 (Cairo, 1975).

28. Shaykh Seyyed Heydar Amulî: Kitâbi Nass il Nusûs, ed. Mohammed Resa
Jauzi (Rozaneh Publishers, Tehran, 1996), p. 115.

29. Ibid., p. 83. A poetic description of this journey may be found in Al-Isrâ'ilâ
Maqâm al-Asra'by Ibn 'Arabî, ed. Dr. Ansari (Tahuri Publishers, Tehran, 1997).

30. The Qur'anic term wajhallâh (the Face of God) is the externalisation of the
Divine Names and Qualities at all levels of being, and is thus the structure of the
universe. See Seyyed Hossein Nasr, Die Erkenntnis und das Heilige, p. 438.
Listening for God: Prayer and the Heart in the Futûhât

Part 1
"Surely there is a Reminder in that for whoever has a heart, or listens
attentively, while he is witnessing..." (Qur'ân 50:37)

This Qur'anic verse beautifully summarizes a sort of recurrent paradox that has
surely puzzled every student of Ibn 'Arabî from time to time. One need only
recall, for example, his classic discussion of the "Wisdom of the Heart" of the true
spiritual Knowers (the 'urafâ') in the central chapter on Shu'ayb in his Fusûs al-
Hikam, where this same verse figures so prominently. If, from the wider
metaphysical point of view so well illustrated in that famous chapter, it may be
true that all human perception, all experience is ultimately "theophany," it is even
more indisputably true - as his distinction in that chapter between those rare
enlightened "Knowers" and the rest of humanity pointedly acknowledges - that
we don't usually experience things that way, that for many of us there is a
noticeable gulf in our lives between rare moments of true contemplative prayer
and our ordinary states of perception. And that gulf often seems too much to
bridge by our own efforts, whether of prayer or other forms of spiritual practice: if
we have some intuition of what the inner life of the Shaykh's "Knowers" might be
like, it is probably based on a few special moments of grace, on a memorable but
ephemeral "state" (hâl), not a lasting, fully realized spiritual "station" (maqâm).

Put simply, then, what is it about the "heart" - or rather, how is it? - that can so
miraculously transform perception into contemplation, everyday experience into
theophany, the words and movements of ritual into the ineffable reality of prayer?
As the Qur'an repeatedly insists, each of us surely has "had a heart" - but what is
it that so rarely and unforgettably makes that heart "shahîd," actively and
consciously contemplating the Truly Real, so that our transient awareness is
transformed into true prayer and remembrance of God? That transformation of
everyday experience into realized theophany, whenever and however it occurs, is
always a mysterious divine "opening" (fath) or illumination, so it is not surprising
that Ibn 'Arabî's most detailed and effective discussions of that central question of
 spiritual practice are scattered throughout the record of his own "Meccan
Openings" (al-Futûhât al-Makkîya). Before beginning to explore his unfolding
discussion of the secrets of prayer and the heart in the opening chapters of
the Futûhât, however, it is necessary to summarize a few essential features of the
broader development of this problem in the Qur'an and the hadith, since that
basic scriptural background, as always, is presumed throughout the Shaykh's own
teachings.

I. The Heart in the Qur'an and Hadith:

To begin with, it would be difficult to exaggerate either the centrality or the

complexity of the references to the "heart" throughout the Qur'an in this
extended metaphysical and epistemological sense, as the locus of our awareness
- and even more frequently of our ignorance - of the divine Presence. The Arabic
noun, al-qalb, appears some 132 times (only two or three of these possibly
referring to the bodily organ), far more than such closely related terms
as fu'âd or lubb/albâb (both occurring sixteen times). The contrast between the
Qur'anic treatment of the heart and the discussion of any number of related
terms or roots - such as sadr ("breast"), 'aql ("intellect"),nafs (in the sense of
"soul"), sarîra, etc. - only serves to highlight the epistemological
comprehensiveness and peculiarly divine focus of this particular Qur'anic
expression. Typically enough, Ibn 'Arabî's own widely scattered discussions of the
"heart," when we look at them more closely, turn out to be dictated not so much
by various earlier Islamic traditions (which had developed multiple technical
meanings for each of these terms) as by his own profound reflection and
meditation on the full complexities of the original Qur'anic usage. Here we can
only mention a few central features of the Qur'anic discussions of the "heart" that
are directly related to the problem with which we began, and which are usually
assumed each time Ibn 'Arabî brings up that term.

• The Qur'an repeatedly emphasizes God's extraordinary closeness and

proximity to the human heart (e.g., at 8:24, "He passes between the man and
 his heart"), as well as the uniquely all-encompassing divine knowledge of "what
is in their hearts" (4:66, 33:51, etc.).

• That divine awareness of what is in the heart extends in particular to people's

innermost intentions (especially in contrast to their words and ostensible
actions). That is one important indicator, along with each of the following points,
that considerably more than abstract "epistemology" is involved here: from the
Qur'anic perspective a spiritually crucial dimension of the human heart is the
integral involvement - together with God - of our own "will" and intimate
intentions, which are portrayed as somehow inseparable from the degree and
nature of our awareness of the divine. In consequence, the Qur'an can even
speak of the heart (as more commonly of the soul, al-nafs) as the enduring "self"
or ongoing seat of our moral and spiritual responsibility, as at 2:225: "...He will
call you to account for what your hearts have earned...."

• Perhaps most obvious of all in the Qur'an is the consistent stress on the divine
"responsibility", indeed the ongoing divine Activity, expressed in all the different
states of our hearts, including especially our recurrent failures to "remember"
God. In this respect, as those familiar with the Qur'an will recognize, the larger
metaphysical "paradox" with which we began this discussion is certainly not, to
begin with, Ibn 'Arabî's own invention: almost half of the Qur'anic references to
the heart directly mention God's responsibility for its states, often without any
explicit reference to the shared role of the human "actor."

• In several famous Qur'anic passages, repeated throughout Sufi literature and in

popular piety, the enlightened or divinely supported heart (whether in this world
or the next) is said to be the locus of true Remembrance of God (dhikr Allâh, at
13:28) and the grace of divinely bestowed Peace and Tranquillity, as well as the
receptacle for the sending down of the Spirit and Gabriel and other special acts of
divine support. But the Qur'anic references to these special states of enlightened
hearts are limited to what in context usually seems like a very small and elect
group: Muhammad and other divine prophets, certain of their disciples or saints,
or some of the blessed in the Gardens of Paradise...
• With far greater frequency, the Qur'an refers instead to God's sealing, veiling,
hardening, locking, binding, closing, or frightening hearts - to hearts that as a
result (of their own misdeeds or the divine reaction) are "sick" or "blind" and
"suffering." Typical of this disproportionate emphasis are the many references to
hearts that "fail to understand" (lâ yafqahûn), far more frequently than those
who do perceive the divine "Signs," whose hearts are 'âqilûn. In the Qur'an,
therefore, the starkly contrasting dimensions and potentialities of the human
heart with which we began are, if anything, even more predominant and vividly
drawn. The Qur'anic account of the heart and its situation is repeatedly cast in an
intensely dramatic and unavoidably existential form. That intrinsic inner drama is
certainly presupposed in each of Ibn 'Arabî's own discussions of the heart,
whatever the particular language or context of each discussion.

• Against that sharply drawn dramatic backdrop, the Qu'ranic verses that indicate
the actual ways or conditions for us to move from these "negative" or perverse
states of the human heart to full awareness of God and the corresponding divine
Peace and understanding are relatively few, but certainly all the more worth
noting: these practically decisive verses include references to the "softening" and
"humbling" or "purification" and "strengthening" of hearts, to the necessity of a
"sound" or "repentant" or "mindful" heart (qalb salîm or munîb), and so on.

Unlike the case with many topics in the Futûhât, the Prophetic sayings or hadith
favored by Ibn 'Arabî in his discussions of the heart are short and to the point.
(This is partly because, as we shall see, the Shaykh's allusions to the
"purification" of the heart frequently occur in connection with more concrete,
practical aspects of Islamic law and ritual.) As readers of any of the Shaykh's
works are well aware, each of these hadith typically serves as a highly
condensed, pedagogically pointed summary of many related verses and concepts
in the Qur'an. Almost all of these particular hadith were already widely used
within earlier Sufi tradition, and several of them should already be familiar to
readers of the Fusûs and other English translations of Ibn 'Arabî's writings.
However, reflecting on the inner connections of those sayings when they are
 viewed together, in the following summary, helps to highlight not only their
thematic density and mnemonic effectiveness, but also their relatively greater
emphasis (compared with the above-mentioned Qur'anic verses about the heart)
on the crucial dimensions of spiritual practice and realization.

• "The heart of the person of faith is between two of God's Fingers." This canonical
hadith is depicted as the response to Aisha's asking the Prophet whether he was
ever afraid. This beautifully succinct image concretely pulls together dozens of
the Qur'anic verses we have just mentioned, powerfully representing the
constant ups-and-downs of our inner experience, the contrasting roles of the
different divine Names of Majesty and Beauty (Jalâl and Jamâl) expressed and
realized through that experience, the "ever-renewed theophanies" of those
Names, and the reality of God's ultimate control of that panoply of ever-changing
inner states.

• Perhaps the most frequently cited saying about the heart in all of the Shaykh's
works is the famous canonical hadîth qudsî (one in which the divine Voice speaks
in the first person, as in the Qur'an): "My earth and My heaven do not
encompass Me, but the heart of My servant who has faith does encompass Me..."
(Often this was summarized by Sufis in the briefer formula "The heart of the
person of faith is the Throne of the All-Merciful": Qalb al-mu'min 'arsh al-
Rahmân.) Ibn 'Arabî's own understanding of either of these sayings is of course
inseparably related to the famous hadith that figures so prominently in the
opening chapter of the Fusûs and throughout the Shaykh's writings, describing
Adam's being created "according to the form of the All-Merciful" ('alâ sûrat al-
Rahmân).

• "Hearts rust like iron, and their polishing is through remembrance of God (dhikr
Allâh) and recitation of the Qur'an."

• "Were it not for the excess of your talking and the turmoil in your hearts, you
would see what I see and hear what I hear!"
• "O Transformer of hearts (yâ muqallib al-qulûb), keep my heart firm
in Your Religion."

• "My eyes are sleeping, but my heart is awake."

• "(True spiritual) Knowledge is a light that God projects into the heart of the
Knower."

• "Seek the guidance (istaftî: 'ask for the fatwâ') of your heart, even if it guides
you toward al-maftûn (what enthralls or charms you)."

Part 2

II. The "Opening" of the Heart in the Meccan Illuminations

Ibn 'Arabî's gradual unveiling of his own realization and understanding of the
heart in the opening sections of the Futûhât is a beautiful illustration of his unique
methods of spiritual pedagogy in that work - methods that are consciously based
on his own understanding of the nature and divine underpinnings of that reality of
the heart which literally makes us what we are, which, as he simply puts it,
"isinsân," is the very inner reality of human being. His method of teaching there
is not the elaboration of a single "theory" or system that could somehow be
adequately summarized, but rather the intentionally poignant and revelatory
"scattering" of allusions to that one Reality in a way that closely mirrors the
actual process of spiritual experience and growth in each of our lives. The key to
that process of discovery, in each succeeding chapter, is not so much the
development of new "concepts" (since his underlying metaphysical perspectives
are always present and constantly repeated), but rather the new meanings that
each attentive reader constantly discovers through our mysteriously activated
awareness of the ever-renewed reflections of what Ibn 'Arabî (and the Qur'an and
hadith) are talking about in the changing forms of our own experience, moment
by moment.

For that reason we shall follow the unfolding of that teaching very much in the
order that references to the heart actually appear in theFutûhât, beginning - as
Ibn 'Arabî himself does - with his evocation of his own revelatory experiences of
this reality that underlie this and all his writings, and with some of his more
abstract references to that contemplative and divinely inspired dimension of
spiritual experience. The language of those opening discussions may at first seem
impossibly far removed from anything we could possibly encounter ourselves, but
the Shaykh gradually moves on to deeper and deeper phenomenological
"allusions" (ishârât) that begin to awaken our awareness of a kind of knowledge
and understanding that in fact is constitutive of all that gives meaning to our lives
in this world. As we shall see, those more phenomenological, even anecdotal,
passages are often remarkably reminiscent of classical discussions of spiritual
experience - whether in poetry, prose or scripture - from mystics and artists who
were working within other religious traditions.

The first mention of the heart in the Futûhât is in a key autobiographical poem at
the very beginning of the book, part of Ibn 'Arabî's famous opening letter to his
Tunisian Sufi friend, the shaykh 'Azîz al-Mahdawî, explaining the spiritual
circumstances and motives for composing this work. As this passage (at I, 71)
makes clear, when the Shaykh speaks of the heart in this work, he is speaking
from his own direct experience: everything in this immense book, he insists,
comes from a single revelatory experience, when after

"continually knocking at God's gate (of the heart), closely attentive

(murâqib: a key term throughout all his discussions of the heart), not
being distracted..., there appeared to my eye (and 'my essence' or
'self': 'aynî) the splendors of His Face, until nothing was there but that
Essence, so that I encompassed a knowing of Being in which there was
no knowing in our heart of anything but God."

Then follows a remarkable, almost outrageously boastful invitation for each

reader to plunge into the rest of this book: "If those people, who are so strange
(al-khalq al-gharîb), would follow my Way, the angels would not ask you about
the Realities (of the divine Names), what they are!"
In the opening poetic lines of the very first chapter (I, 215), Ibn 'Arabî calls on his
reader to "Look at that House (the Kaaba of the divine Presence, the 'Heart of
Being,' qalb al-wujûd), whose unveiled Light is resplendent to purified hearts, to
those who see It/Him through/with God (billâh), without any veil...." Returning to
the openly autobiographical plane, that opening poem introduces Ibn 'Arabî's
celebrated conversation at this inner "House" or Temple of the Heart between his
earthly self and the image of his true Self, a mysterious divine "youth" (fatâ) who
reveals to him all the spiritual secrets to be recorded in these very special
"Openings." Having "turned the face of his heart toward his Lord," Ibn 'Arabî is
told by this divine Person (at I, 226-27):

"This Kaaba of Mine is the Heart of being, and My Throne (the whole
universe) is a limited body for this Heart. Neither of them encompasses
Me... but My House which does encompass Me is your heart, which is
the sought-for Goal (al-maqsûd), deposited in your visible body. So
those circling around your heart are the mysteries/secrets (of the divine
Names), who resemble your (human) bodies circumambulating these
rocks (of the earthly Kaaba)....

So just as one who knows the Secrets - who are circling about the Heart
which encompasses Me - is in the loftiest and most resplendent of
stations, so you (human beings) have precedence over those (angels)
circling the all-encompassing Throne. For you-all are circling the Heart
of the Being of the world: you are in the station of the secrets of those
who know.... For none but you (human beings) encompass Me, and I
have not revealed Myself in the Form of Perfection to any but your inner
Realities. So realize the full extent of what I have freely bestowed on
you from the supernal Dignity....

You are the receptacle (anta al-inâ') and I am I (wa anâ anâ). So do not
seek Me in yourself, lest you suffer and toil; and do not seek Me outside
yourself, or you will have no pleasure. Never stop seeking Me, or you
 will suffer torment. So do seek Me until you find Me, and then ascend!
But follow the right adab in your seeking, and be ever-present (with Me)
as you set out on your way of going...."

In the following chapter 2, which concerns the mysterious "science of letters," Ibn
'Arabî's references to the "heart" almost always occur in the course of
epistemological discussions where he is trying to explain the special nature of the
divinely inspired knowing that is the source of this esoteric science. Here we can
only quote a few key passages from those discussions (at I, 250-51), which
necessarily appear somewhat abstract or mysterious at this early point and in this
explicitly autobiographical context:

"Now it is God (al-Haqq), from Whom we take this knowledge, by

emptying our hearts of thinking and preparing them to receive the
divine inspirations (wâridât). It is He who gives us this matter from its
very Source, without any summarizing or confusion (as in poetic or
intellectual inspiration), so that we know the Realities as they really are,
whether they be individual Realities (of the divine Names), or ones that
come into existence in combinations, or the divine Realities: and we do
not have any doubt about anything concerning them. Our knowledge
comes from There, and God (al-Haqq) is our teacher - through
inheritance from the prophets, preserved and protected from error or
generality or (confusion with) external form.... And our share of that is
in proportion to the purity of the place (of our heart) and our receptivity
and awareness of God."

A little later in the same chapter (I, 255-58), however, the Shaykh explains the
relevance of this inspiration to all his readers:

"Our aim in this book is to reveal the glimmers and allusions and
intimations from the secrets of Being. For if we were to speak fully and
openly about the inner secrets of these letters and what is demanded by
their realities..." (our work would never come to an end), "Since they
 are among those 'Words of God' of which He has said: 'If the sea were
ink for the Words of My Lord, the sea would be dried up before the
words of My Lord would be exhausted....' (18:109)."

This kind of inspired knowing, he points out,

"contains a secret mystery and a remarkable allusion for whoever

reflects deeply on it and comes across these divine 'Words.' Because if
these kinds of knowing were the result of thinking and reflection,
human-being (insân) could be circumscribed in a short period. But
instead these acts of knowing arrive from God (al-Haqq), continually
flowing into the heart of the (true) servant: they are His devoted spirits
descending upon the servant from the world of His Unseen, through His
Mercy...and 'from His Presence' (18:65). For God is perpetually
bestowing them and continually flowing forth with them, and the 'place'
(of the heart) is likewise continually receiving - either knowing or
ignorance. So if the servant (of God) is prepared and receptive, and has
polished and purified the mirror of their heart, then they realize that
divine Giving continually and receive in a single instant what could
never be bounded within time...."

"I have recorded these inspirations in accordance with the command of

my Lord that I received," Ibn 'Arabî continues (I, 264-65). "I do not
speak about anything except by way of (reporting) what I have heard
(from God) - just as I will stop (writing) whenever I am directed to do
so. For our compositions - this book and all the others - are not like
other books; we do not follow the procedure of (ordinary) writers...
(who follow their own aims and desires, or what is required by a
knowledge they want to communicate, at their own discretion). No, we
are not like that in our writings. They are only hearts intent upon the
Door of the divine Presence , carefully attending to what is opened up to
them through that Door, needy (faqîra) and empty of all knowledge (of
 their own).... So sometimes there appears to them from behind that
Curtain a particular matter that they hasten to obey in the way that was
defined for them in that Command. And sometimes they receive things
that are unlike anything ordinarily found by custom or thinking or
reflection in outward knowledge... because of a hidden correspondence
that is only perceived by the people of spiritual unveiling. Indeed
sometimes it is even stranger than that: for things are given to this
heart that it is ordered to communicate, although the person doesn't
understand them at this time, because of a divine Wisdom which is
hidden from the people. Therefore every person who composes
according to this 'receiving' from God is not restricted to understanding
that about which they are speaking...."

Not surprisingly, for Ibn 'Arabî the process of true spiritual understanding and
interpretation of Scripture or other forms of revelation requires a very similar kind
of preparedness and receptivity of the heart, even if that process is far more
common and familiar. Thus somewhat later in the same chapter 2 (II, 73-75), in
a discussion of how one should properly go about discovering the intended
meanings of apparently "obscure" or anthropomorphic expressions in revealed
Scripture, Ibn 'Arabî again stresses the indispensable role of the heart in the
practical methods adopted by the "people of unveiling and realization" for
understanding such problematic or mysterious divine sayings:

We empty our hearts of reflective thinking, and we sit together with God
(al-Haqq) on the carpet of adab and spiritual attentiveness (murâqaba)
and presence and readiness to receive whatever comes to us from Him -
so that it is God who takes care of teaching us by means of unveiling
and spiritual realization. So when they have focused their hearts and
their spiritual aspirations (himam) on God and have truly taken refuge
with Him - giving up any reliance on the claims of reflection and
investigation and intellectual results - then their hearts are purified and
open. Once they have this inner receptivity, God manifests Himself to
them, teaching them and informing them through the direct vision of
the inner meanings of those (obscure scriptural) words and reports, in a
single instant. This is one of the kinds of spiritual "unveiling....

(Through it) they limit (the meanings of these scriptural or prophetic

expressions) to what (God) actually intended by them - even if that
very same expression occurs in another report (with an entirely
different intended meaning). For there (these identical words) have
another meaning, among those sacred dimensions of meaning, which is
specified in that specific act of witnessing.

You should know that the heart is a polished mirror, that all of it is a
face, and that it never rusts. For if it has been said to 'rust' (as in the
famous hadith that 'hearts rust like iron...')..., that expression only
refers to when the heart becomes connected and preoccupied with
(seeking) knowledge of worldly matters (asbâb), and thereby distracted
from its knowing of and through God. In that case its connection with
what is other than God does obscure the face of the heart, because it
prevents God's Self-manifestations (or 'theophanies': tajalliyât) from
reaching the heart. Because the divine Presence is continually
manifesting Itself, and one could not imagine any 'veil' for that Self-
manifestation. But when this heart fails to receive that Manifestation in
the prescribed and praiseworthy way, because it has received
something other than God instead, then that receiving of something else
is what is referred to as the 'rust' and 'veils' and 'lock' and 'blindness'
and the like (mentioned in the Qur'anic verses on the heart).

"For the hearts are eternally and unceasingly, by their very primordial
nature, polished and pure and resplendent (mirrors of God). Therefore
every heart in which the Presence of God is manifest insofar as the
Theophany of the divine Essence (al-tajalli al-dhâtî), or (what the
mystics call) 'the Red Ruby': that is the heart of the perfected human
 being, the (true) Knower (of and with God), the (pure) contemplator (of
God) - and there is no other theophany higher than that. Beneath that
is the theophany of the divine Attributes (in which the heart
immediately grasps and comes to know the various divine "Names"
manifest in its experience). And beneath both of those (higher levels of
theophany) is the theophany of the divine Activities - but (in which
those actions are) still perceived as being the Presence of God. As for
anyone who does not (perceive all the happenings of their experience)
as Self-manifestations flowing from the Presence of God, that is the
heart of a person who is heedless of God, banished from the proximity
of God."

The unfolding discussions of the heart scattered throughout the rest of

the Futûhât are essentially a vast phenomenological amplification of what Ibn
'Arabî has summarized here, designed to bring out the essential connections or
"correspondences" (munâsabât) between the underlying Realities of these divine
"Names" and "Activities" and their actual exemplifications in each reader's own
experience - and thereby to initiate the transforming movement from
"heedlessness" to the heart's innate "knowing" and spiritual perfection. While
those more phenomenological sections are usually easier reading, the individual
experiences they point to and presuppose are another matter.

Part 3

III. Unveiling the Heart (Chapters 3-54)

In chapter 3 (II, 105-107), in his first discussion of the famous hadith of "God's
Two Fingers" and the related prayer of the Prophet for the "Transformer of hearts"
to "fix my heart in Your Religion," Ibn 'Arabî takes up a kind of "inspiration" and
awareness of the heart that, if much less spectacular, is also much closer to the
actual reality of our moment-by-moment experience: namely, the universal
human awareness of moral realities, and the resulting conflicts, judgments, and
"tests" (to use the recurrent Qur'anic expression) that continually occupy the
theater of the Heart.

...God's 'turning over' (taqlîb) of the hearts (6:110) is His creating in

them our concern with good and our concern with evil. So whenever the
human being perceives the conflict of these opposing inclinations
(khawâtir) in the heart, that is an expression of God's 'turning over' the
heart - and this is a kind of knowing that the human being cannot keep
from having...

Ibn 'Arabî goes on to explain that the allusion to God's "Two Fingers" holding the
heart, in the well known hadith, refers "to the speed of its turning over between
faith and ingratitude (to God), with all that implies," and that the "duality" of the
two Fingers likewise refers to the opposing "inclinations toward good and evil" -
although he hastens to add that an "unveiling" reveals (in ways he explains
considerably later ) that these "Two Fingers" are related to the famous hadith
concerning "both of God's Hands being 'Right' Hands", both instruments of the
all-encompassing divine Lovingmercy (Rahma).

In chapter 4, in the context of praising the special spiritual blessings and

influences of Mecca, Ibn 'Arabî goes on to mention (at II, 120-24) a kind of
"contemplation" and inspired knowledge of the heart that is a bit less mundane,
but still a remarkably powerful and widespread experience for many individuals
who today are often unaware of its deeper religious roots and significance: the
question of our sensitivity to the spiritual power of sacred places:

One of the conditions for the person who knows through direct vision,
who is master of the stages and modes of witnessing the Unseen
spiritual realities (mashâhid al-ghayb), is that they are aware that
places have an influence on sensitive hearts... (Only the individual
entirely under the influence of their own perturbed inner state, the sâhib
al-hâl, could fail to perceive this powerful difference in the spiritual
intensity of being, the wujûd, of different places.) But as for the
perfected person, the master of this spiritual stage (sâhib al-maqâm),
they are able to discern this difference in the power of places, just as
God differentiates between them... What a difference there is between a
city most of whose buildings are the carnal passions (shahawât) and a
city most of whose buildings are (divine) Signs and Miracles! [Here Ibn
'Arabî is probably alluding more specifically to "cities" or spiritual
communities of human hearts. He then goes on to address directly his
friend in Tunis, the Shaykh Mahdawî (for whom the entire Futûhât was
originally composed), and to remind him of his inexplicable preference
for spiritual retreat at a particular place in a cemetery of Tunis, where
he felt closer to the presence of al-Khâdir ('Khezr') - and eventually
encountered that ageless initiatic figure.]

...Now my friend knows that this (power of spiritual places) is due to

those who inhabit that place, either in the present, such as some of the
noble angels or the pious spirits (jinn), or else through the spiritual
intentions (himma) of those who used to inhabit them and have passed
on, such as (...the house of Abû Yazîd al-Bastâmî, the prayer-room of
al-Junayd ...) and the places of the Righteous (theSâlihîn) who have left
behind this abode, but whose influences have remained behind them, so
that sensitive hearts are influenced by them. This is also the cause for
the influences that different places of prayer have on the intensity of
presence (wujûd) of the heart - not the number of their bricks! ...And
whoever doesn't notice this difference in the spiritual presence of their
heart between the marketplace and the place of prayer is under the
influence of their passing hâl, not the master of this spiritual station.
...Indeed your intensity of presence (wujûd) is according to your
companions (julasâ'), for the spiritual aspirations (himam) of one's
companions have a tremendous influence on the heart of the one who is
 there with them - and their intentions are according to their spiritual
ranks...

...So for us, the awareness of this matter, I mean the knowledge of the
spiritual influence of places and the sensitivity to its greater or lesser
presence, is part of the completion of the mastery of the Knower and
the high dignity of that station, of the Knower's responsibility for things
and their faculty of spiritual discernment...

Of course this particular case is only one small part of the larger question of the
spiritual presence or awareness of the heart, and in chapter 12 (II, 346) Ibn
'Arabî alludes to the example and exemplar which underlies so much of his work:

Now (Muhammad) alluded to something which the people of God have

put into practice and found to be sound, and that is his saying: 'If it
were not for your speaking too much and the turmoil in your hearts,
then you would have seen what I see and would have heard what I
hear!' For he was singled out for the rank of perfection (kamâl) in all
things, including perfection in servanthood, so that he was the absolute
servant (of God).

...And Aisha said: 'the Messenger of God used to remember God in all of
his states,' and we have had an abundant inheritance from that. Now
this (constant presence with God) is a matter that specifically involves
the inner dimension of the human being and our 'speech' (qawl),
although things (apparently) contradicting that may appear in our
actions, as we have realized and verified with regard to this spiritual
station - even if that appears puzzling to someone who has no
knowledge of the spiritual states.

Fortunately, although many of the forms or degrees of prayer and contemplation

evoked by Ibn 'Arabî might appear at first glance to lie beyond the usual range of
our experience or, in some cases, even our most ambitious aspirations, he is also
a master in evoking and suggesting the fundamental role of the divine activity
and the providential divine "Caring" ('inâya) that constantly underlies every stage
of this individual process of realization - not just in an abstract, metaphysical
terms, but often, especially in the Futûhât, in subtly practical ways whose
relevance and meaning only become clear to readers who are willing to approach
the work slowly and attentively in terms of its echoes and implications in their
own experience. His language for describing the phenomena of "grace" and the
human-divine interactions, in all their richness, are surely most fully developed in
the hundreds of later chapters of the Futûhât on the various spiritual stations, but
chapter 24 (III, 178-79) marks one of his first allusions to this practically central
dimension of the problem that concerns us here:

"As for those hearts who are passionately in love (muta'ashshiqa) with
the (divine) 'Breaths', since the treasuries of the animating spirits (of
human souls) are in love with the Breaths of the All-Merciful - because
of this inner connection and correspondence (between the divine Spirit
and our souls) - the Messenger of God said: 'The Breath of the All-
Merciful is coming to me from the Yemen.' Because the animating spirit
(that gives life to our soul) is a (divine) "breath," and the Source of
those breaths, for the hearts that are in love with them, is the Breath of
the All-Merciful which is from the 'Yemen,' for whoever has been taken
from their true Homeland, separated from their home and resting place:
therefore (that Breath) contains release from (the hearts') oppression
and the removal of misfortunes. Which is why he also said: 'Surely God
has fragrant breaths (or 'breezes', nafahat), so go toward the fragrant
breaths of your Lord!'

One of the Shaykh's most powerfully moving evocations of the soul's state of true
prayer and awareness of God is in his chapter 41, on the "People of the Night" -
the "Night" in question (based on complex allusions to a number of hadith and
Qur'anic verses, as well as classical Arabic love-poetry) being conceived here as
the inner state of mutual intimacy and awareness between the human lover and
the divine Beloved, however and whenever that contemplative state might occur.
In this intimate, speechless dialogue within the heart, it is the divine "Voice" that
is speaking at first here (IV, 41-43), describing the inner reality of these
"nocturnal" prayers, the fully realized state of "recollection" (dhikr):

So I am the One reciting My Book to the person praying, through his

tongue - and he is the one who is listening, for that is My 'nighttime
conversation' (musâmiratî). And that servant is the one who is taking
pleasure in My Speaking - such that if he stopped (to ponder) the
meanings (of what I am saying) he would be taken away from Me by his
thinking and reflection.

For what is essential for the servant here is to listen attentively to Me,
to devote his hearing entirely to what I am saying, until the point where
I am actually the One in that reciting - as though I were reciting it to
him and making him listen to it - until I am the One explaining My
words to him, translating its inner meaning to him. That is My nocturnal
conversing with the servant, so that he takes his knowing directly from
Me, not from his own thinking or considerations.

For (the true Knower) is not distracted (from total attention to Me) by
the mention (in those Qur'anic words) of the Garden or the Fire, of the
Accounting and Reviewing (of our works at the Judgment), or of this
world or the next. For that (accomplished divine Knower) does not
reflect on each verse with their intellect or investigate it with his own
thinking. Instead he only 'listens attentively' (alluding to the key verse
at 50:37 with which we began) to what I am saying to him, 'while he is
witnessing' (Me), present with Me, while I take upon Myself the
responsibility for teaching him... In that way the Knower realizes with
complete certainty knowings which did not come from within himself,
since It was from Me that he heard the Qur'an, from Me that he heard
 Its explanation and the commentary on Its meanings, what I meant by
this or that particular verse or chapter.

That is the Knower's proper adab with me, his carefully listening and
paying heed to Me. So if I seek them out for a nocturnal conversation
concerning something, they answer Me immediately with their presence
and readiness, and their immediate witnessing...

Indeed if the Dawn comes along and I have ascended upon the
Throne ..., My servant goes off to his livelihood and the company of his
fellows. But I have already opened up a 'Door' for him among My
creatures, a Door between Myself and him through which My servant
sees Me and through which I see him - although the others don't notice
that. So I converse with My servant through his tongue, without his
being aware of that. And My servant receives (that spiritual instruction)
from me 'with clear Insight' (12:108), although those people don't know
that and think that they are the ones who are talking to him, even
though (in reality) no one is speaking other than Me! They imagine that
My servant is answering them, when they are actually replying to no
one but Me!

The final paragraph here of course recalls some of the metaphysical teachings
most commonly associated with Ibn 'Arabî and his later interpreters, ideas which
he most often develops in connection with the hadith of the divine
"transformation through the forms (of the creatures)" and the celebrated hadith
in which the spiritual virtue of ihsân ("right-and-beautiful-action") and the
ultimate goal of Religion is defined as "serving God as though you see Him." But
this divine speech from chapter 41, with its open identification of the heart as the
open "Door" linking God and the soul - and of the most "mundane" incidents of
each person's everyday life as priceless, entirely individual "private lessons" from
God - throws a very different, less "mystical" and much more practical and
instructive light on that same teaching.
Ibn 'Arabî's next discussion of the enlightened "heart," in chapter 43 (IV, 78-82)
on the "people of inner spiritual 'scrupulousness'," emphasizes even more
strongly the importance of carrying out this spiritual practice of realizing the
divine Presence within all the testing demands of social life in this world, but in
complete secrecy, without leaving any opening for the multiple forms of inner
hypocrisy and potential corruption that are usually tied up, in any culture, with
any overt or distinctive personal focus on "spiritual" activities. And in fact the
Prophetic advice regarding this state that Ibn 'Arabî quotes here, if one puts it
into practice, is likely to lead in directions somewhat different from any society's
public expectations of "religiosity":

Now since this was the inner state of the people of wara', they followed
in their (daily) matters and activities the ways of the common people,
not letting them know that this (inner scrupulousness and
attentiveness) distinguished them from them, concealing themselves
behind the conventional arrangements in the world so that no special
praise is accorded the person who takes on those ways...;

Here the Shaykh goes on to explain that 'the people of God carefully avoid
anything like' what would cause them to be singled out for their piety or
asceticism or good nature and the like. He then asks his reader to

Ponder what (the Prophet) said about this spiritual station, teaching his
intimates how they should act in regard to it: 'Stop doing whatever
disturbs you, and turn to what does not disturb you!' And his saying:
"Seek the guidance of your heart (istaftî qalbaka), even if it guides you
toward what fascinates or tempts you (al-maftûn).

These two hadith, which could certainly be interpreted (if taken in isolation) in
order to justify some of the notorious ways of themalâmîya or the nonconformist
attitudes associated with the ideal of the "rend" in Hafez's poetry, in fact offer
some of the most useful and straightforward - if also incredibly demanding and
challenging - practical spiritual guidance one could find anywhere in the Futûhât:
 Thus (the Prophet) pointed them in the direction of their own hearts,
because of what he knew their hearts contained of the secret/mystery
of God (sirr Allâh), what their hearts included (of that Secret) that is
essential to realizing this spiritual station. For in the hearts there is a
special divine Care and Protection that is not perceived by any but the
people of attentive awareness (ahl al-murâqaba), concealed for them
there (in the heart).

The people of this "Pure Religion" (39:3), Ibn 'Arabî admits, almost inevitably
become recognized eventually as somehow peculiar - although most people do
not at all suspect just why they are so mysteriously "special." The particular
example he chooses to give here, of the conscientiousness of an anonymous
sister of the famous early Baghdadi Sufi Bishr al-Hâfî, revealed in a question she
brought to the learned jurist Ahmad Ibn Hanbal, is a telling illustration of the
outwardly modest way of life the Shaykh has in mind. The key to this highest
level of conscientious spiritual practice, he again insists, is simply to begin
applying these two utterly straightforward sayings of the Prophet:

For he gave us the True Balance (al-mîzân) in our hearts, so that our
station might be concealed from others, wholly devoted to God, in
complete purity and sincerity, not known by any but God and then His
trusted companion: 'Is not the Pure Religion (wholly) God's?!' (39:3) -
since any other form of religion is inevitably corrupted either by the
promptings of the egoistic self (the nafs) or its concern with social
proprieties.

...So when the people of this spiritual station saw the Prophet's careful
attention to what is realized within the heart of the servant, what he
said about it and what he pointed out that the human being should do
and should avoid by seeking to remain concealed: (when they saw all
that,) they put it into practice in order to realize that (station), they
followed that path, and they knew that the salvation we seek from the
 Lawgiver is only possible through concealing our spiritual state. So he
bestowed upon them (the duty) to act according to that and to actively
realize it.

Therefore the people of this station realized that this (earthly) abode is
an abode of concealment (for us as it is for God), and why God was not
content in describing (His) religion until He had qualified it as the "Pure
and Sincere (Religion)" (al-dîn al-khâlis). So they sought a way in which
they would not be corrupted by any form of associating (any worldly
motives with the pure service of God), so that they might apply
themselves to this place (i.e., life in this world) with just what it
deserves, from the point of view of proper adab, wisdom, and observing
and following the law (shar'). Hence they veiled themselves from the
ordinary people through the veils of scrupulous piety (wara'), which the
people don't even notice, since (for them) that is the outward aspect of
religion (zâhir al-dîn) and the received forms of knowledge. For if the
people of this spiritual station followed outwardly anything other than
the commonly received forms of religion they would stand out - and
thereby end up accomplishing the opposite of what they were seeking...

Yet if "the common people only notice these (anonymous saints) according to the
usual motives they have concerning them," he concludes, those who have
realized this spiritual station are already "being praised by God, by the holy divine
Names, by the angels, by the prophets and messengers, and by the animals and
plants and minerals and everything that sings God's praises. It is only the jinn
and human beings (al-thaqalayn) who are entirely unaware of them, except for
those individuals to whom God may reveal their identity..." This emphatic allusion
to the necessary anonymity of the "Friends of God" (the awliyâ') is of course a
central theme in Ibn 'Arabî's spiritual teaching, and one that is marvelously
illustrated by his anecdotes about his own personal encounters with such hidden
saints throughout the Islamic world, whether scattered in the Futûhât or, more
accessibly in English, in the stories translated in Sufis of Andalusia. However, from
practical point of view, it might be even more revealing to connect what Ibn 'Arabî
has said about such hidden saints, whether in those collected stories or here in
chapter 43, with his lesson on God's instruction of the heart (and His mundane
instruments of that teaching) in the immediately preceding excerpts from chapter
41. The special effectiveness, and the deeper fascination, of this strange book -
mirroring life itself - lies in just such juxtapositions and hidden connections.

Since the external, visible path of these true "people of the heart," for Ibn 'Arabî,
ordinarily comprises above all the "outward aspect of Religion" (zâhir al-Dîn), it is
not surprising if much of the rest of this opening section of the Futûhât is devoted
to the inner secrets or mysteries (asrâr), the "heart-dimension," of the "Five
Pillars," and especially of the ritual prayer (salât). As the Shaykh points out in his
next discussion of the heart, in chapter 47 (IV, 134-37):

Now there is no act of worship or devotion ('ibâda) that God has

prescribed for His servants that does not have a special connection with
a divine Name, or a divine Reality implicit in that Name, which gives to
(the person carrying out) that devotion what it gives to the heart in this
world...and in the other world. ...(In this world, those corresponding
'gifts' of each Name to the heart include its specific) stations and forms
of knowing and awareness, and the divine Signs and manifestations of
Grace (karamât) included in its specific spiritual states...

Now God says that He converses intimately with the person praying
[alluding to ch. 41 above], and He is Light (24:35), so He confides (in
His servant in prayer) through His Name 'The Light' (al-Nûr) and no
other. And just as Light drives away all darkness, so the ritual prayer
cuts off every other preoccupation, unlike the other acts (of devotion),
which do not involve letting go of everythingother than God, as the
ritual prayer does. This is why prayer is called 'a light' [in the hadith
'Prayer is a light'], because in that way God gives (the servant) the
Good News that if he confides in God and entrusts himself to Him
through His Name 'The Light,' then He is alone with the servant and
 removes every transient thing (kawn) in the servant's act of witnessing
Him during their intimate conversation...

Therefore every servant who is (outwardly) praying, but whose act of

prayer does not remove them from everything (other than God), is not
truly praying, and that act of prayer is not a Light for them. And anyone
who is reciting (the verses of the Qur'an) inwardly, within their soul, but
who does not directly witness God's remembering them within Himself,
has not...really remembered God within their soul, because of the lack
of the right inner correspondence (between God and the receptive soul),
due to what is present there of things of this world, such as family and
children and friends, or of the other world, such as the presence of the
angels in his thoughts... The inward state (of presence and receptivity)
of the servant praying must be such that none but their Lord is
intimately addressing them in their prayer and recitation, in their
praises and petitions (to God).

And Ibn 'Arabî goes on here to multiply at length the inner conditions for
experiencing the true reality of salât. For as he points out, "Among the acts of
devotion and worship ('ibâdat) there is none that brings the servant closer to the
angelic spiritual stations of 'those drawn near to God' (the muqarrabûn), which is
the highest station of the Friends of God - whether of angel or Messenger or
prophet or saint or person of faith - than the act of prayer." Lest one despair of
ever realizing - at least as something more than a memorable hâl - such a true
inner state of prayer, the Shaykh immediately follows this description with
another imagined speech of God to his angels, a speech which underlines the
extraordinary dignity and rarity of any human achievement in this realm of
prayer:

...For I have placed between this servant of Mine and the 'station of
Proximity (to Me)' (maqâm al-qurba) many veils and immense
obstacles, including the goals of the carnal soul; sensual desires and
 passions; taking care of other people, property, family, servants and
friends; and terrible fears. Yet (My servant) has cut through all that and
continued to strive until he prostrated himself [clearly more than bodily
motions are involved in this sense of sujûd] and drew near (to Me) and
became one of the muqarrabûn. So look, O My angels, at how specially
favored you are and at the superiority of your rank, although I did not
test you with these obstacles nor obligate you to undergo their pains.
And realize the rank of this servant, and give him all that he is due for
everything that he has undergone and suffered on his path (toward Me),
for My sake!

In chapter 50, on the "people of Hayra (spiritual 'bewilderment')" - one of the

highest spiritual stations for Ibn 'Arabî, as we know - he returns to an even closer
phenomenological description of this state of the truly open and purified heart, in
an account whose conclusion recalls certain celebrated poems of John of the
Cross. The first part of that description (IV, 218-25), though, simply summarizes
the process by which any of the "people of spiritual unveiling" - as opposed to the
followers of intellectual reflection or of mere formal obedience (taqlîd) - set out to
discover the right divine answer to their religious questions, arising from the
recurrent fundamental problem of applying or interpreting scriptural tradition:

So this group apply themselves vigorously to acquiring (the reality

concerning) something that has come down in the divine reports from
the side of God (al-Haqq), and they begin by 'polishing their hearts
through acts of dhikr and the recitation of the Qur'an' (as specified in
the famous hadith), by emptying the receptacle (of their hearts) from all
inquiry about contingent things, and through the presence of careful
attentiveness (to the inner state of their hearts, murâqaba) - along with
observing the purity of their outward action through following the limits
set by revelation... (Such a person seeking inspiration) turns their
thoughts completely from their self (nafs), since that (turning away)
disperses their worries, and remains alone carefully attending to their
 heart, at the Door of their Lord. Then when God opens up this Door for
the possessor of such a heart, they realize a divine Self-manifestation
(or 'theophany':tajalli) that is in accordance with their inner condition.
And through that (inspiration they realize) the relation of something to
God that they would never have dared to risk relating to God before and
would never have even attributed to God...[unless that were already
reported by the divine prophets, in which case they still could only have
accepted it on faith]. But now that person applies that (newly revealed
aspect of the divine) to God as verified and realized knowing, because of
what was revealed to them through that divine Self-manifestation.

But this sort of "extra-ordinary" experience of divine illumination is only the first
step toward the spiritual state of "Bewilderment":

For after the first such Self-manifestation (the person experiencing such
an unexpected revelation of God's nature or activity in the world)
imagines that they have reached their goal and accomplished the
matter, and that there is nothing to be sought beyond that except for
that (revelatory state) to continue. But then another Self-manifestion
occurs to them, with still another quality and implication (hukm) unlike
that of the first - even though the (divine Reality) manifesting Itself is
undoubtedly the same, in the same position as in the first case. After
that still other Self-manifestations follow one another for that person,
with their different implications, so that through this (ongoing
revelation) the person comes to know that this matter has no end at
which it might stop. Only then do they realize that they
have not perceived (or 'attained') the divine Ipseity (innîya), and that
the divine Essence (huwîya) cannot be made manifest to them, in that it
is the Spirit (the rûh) of every theophany. So that person's
'bewilderment' increases, but there is great pleasure in it...[which, Ibn
'Arabî hastens to add, is totally unlike the different and quite frustrating
"perplexity" of our intellect that is called by the same name]. People like
 this have been raised above the contingent things (akwân), so that they
witness nothing but (God), and He is the object of their witnessing...
Their state of 'bewilderment' only grows more intense, and (because of
the intensity of the satisfaction associated with it) they only seek to
continue experiencing those successive Self-manifestations...

Perhaps such a description, as is not infrequently the case with Ibn 'Arabî, may
seem to apply to a state of the contemplating heart almost unimaginably beyond
anything we might consider possible in our own experience. But as always, the
Shaykh returns to this subject from another perspective which may suggest that
the fruits of such inspiration are in fact not so far removed from things we have
already realized, if we can only make the essential connection (the mysterious
"correspondence") between his concepts here and the corresponding spiritual
phenomena. His next extended discussion of the heart, in chapter 54 (IV, 268-77)
on the "Allusions" (ishârât) and technical vocabulary of the Sufis, is a striking
illustration of that kind of unexpected connection - and of the fundamental role of
individual "preparedness" and (humanly) inexplicable spiritual "aptitudes" in the
realization of everything discussed in the Futûhât:

One of the most astonishing things about this Path (of the people of
God), and something that is only found here, is the fact that there is no
other group bearing a kind of knowledge - whether the logicians,
grammarians, mathematicians, geometricians, theologians or
philosophers - who do not also have a technical vocabulary that the
novice among them does not know except by frequenting a master or
another one of them: that is necessarily the case. Except for the unique
case of the people of this Path, when a sincere seeker (murîd) enters
among them who does not know anything at all about their technical
terminology: indeed this phenomenon is precisely what allows them to
know that person's spiritual sincerity (sidq). For if God has already
opened the eye of that seeker's understanding and that person has
(truly) taken the beginning of their spiritual 'tasting' from God, then that
 person will sit down among them and speak with them using their
terminology in the special way that no one else knows but them - even
though that person knew nothing before about the special expressions
of the people of God! For that sincere spiritual seeker understands
everything that they are talking about, just as though that person were
actually the one who had decided upon those technical expressions; and
that seeker (immediately) joins them in using that language, without
feeling any strangeness about doing so - indeed that person feels that
the knowledge of these expressions is immediately self-evident and
unavoidable. It is as though they had always known that language,
without knowing how they ever came to acquire it.

Ibn 'Arabî's allusion here to the vast extent of the "unconscious" or ordinarily
unarticulated spiritual knowing and awareness of the heart that is often taken for
granted precisely by those who most obviously possess it is a phenomenon that
everyone has probably encountered at one time or another, and not only in the
history of religions.

Part 4

IV. THE "SECRETS OF PURIFICATION" (Chapter 68):

The next discussions of the Heart in the Futûhât are in the lengthy chapter 68 on
the "Secrets of Purity" (asrâr al-tahâra), where dimensions of spiritual
"purification" are raised more than twenty times, usually in implicit or explicit
connection with prayer (the subject of the even longer following chapter). Many of
Ibn 'Arabî's points there about realizing the contemplative potential of the heart
are both brief and exceedingly practical even for the uninitiated reader, while
others are astonishingly subtle and far-reaching in their implications. Within this
article we can highlight or summarize only a few of the most important of those
passages. To begin with, Ibn 'Arabî points out (V, 148-49) that

"the divine knowledge received directly from God's Presence through

revelation ('ilm ladunnî ilâhî mashrû') has a single taste - even if the
places where it is drunk may differ, they do not differ in being good:
and whether it is good or better, it is all pure, without any corruption...
For the prophets and saints and everyone who informs us from God all
say the same thing of God...not differing among themselves, and
confirming one another - just as the pure rain from the sky is not
different when it falls.

So let the foundation of your purification of your heart be with water like
this - with nothing but knowledge known through divine revelation
(shar'), which has been likened to rainwater. ... then your own essence
and your purification (of it) will be like that spring from which water
flows forth. And if you should differentiate sweetness or saltiness (in
what is claimed to all be 'revealed' rainwater), then know that your
perceptions are sound! This is a topic to which I have not found anyone
alluding. And yet the person who eats sugar knows its sweetness like
that, and knows that there is something wrong with the bitterness of
aloes: they don't need a "rational proof" (dalîl 'aqlî) (to recognize the
difference)! Now I have definitely pointed this out to you, so take my
indication to heart - and watch out!

Now that that is established, my friend, start employing the forms of

knowledge given by the revelation (shar') in (purifying) your own
essence, and use the knowings of the saints and the true Knowers who
took them from God in your own spiritual exercises and spiritual efforts
and exertions, refraining from the excesses (i.e., the desires) of the
bodily members and the promptings of the egoistic self (the nafs) For if
you cannot distinguish between those waters (i.e., which are truly pure
 and divinely revealed, and which polluted by human interference), then
know that something is wrong with your nature, that it has somehow
been corrupted. In that case we can do nothing for you, except that God
may help you, through His Lovingmercy."

It should not be necessary to underline the continued practical relevance of his

remarks here, or the way they apply equally to every religious tradition. This
innate human awareness of the right course of spiritual action, Ibn 'Arabî
continues (V, 165-71), is a "purification" that is religiously obligatory

"...for every responsible-rational person (every 'âqil, in the legal sense

of that term). For that person is the one who understandsfrom God ('an
Allâh) what they are ordered and prohibited, and what God gives to
them in their innermost being; they are the person who is able to
distinguish, among the inner promptings of their heart, what comes
from God and what from their egoistic self (nafs), what from the touch
of an angel or the touch of a devil: and that is the fully human being
(al-insân)! So if someone reaches that degree in their spiritual
awareness (ma'rifa) and their discernment, and understands from God
what He wants from them, and truly hears God's saying that 'the heart
of My servant encompasses Me': then it is obligatory for that person in
this situation to use this (awareness) in purifying their heart and every
other member connected with it, in the way God intends..."

Therefore, the Shaykh concludes (V, 166), this inner purification and discernment
are an obligation for every single responsible human being, whether or not
they've even heard of the historical forms of religion:

"Our own way of proceeding (our madhhab) is that all people in

general - whether they are among the people of faith, or kufr, or inner
hypocrites - are 'addressed' (mukhâtabûn: spoken to directly by God in
their hearts) regarding the Sources of the divine Way (thesharî'a, in its
 root sense) and its branches, and that they are all held responsible at
the Day of the Rising."

"For us," he explains further on (V, 320-22), "purification itself is an independent

act of devotion." Indeed for Ibn 'Arabî, as we have already seen, it is in a way the
ultimate root and aim of every act of worship. From the traditional legal point of
view, of course, "it may also be the condition for properly performing another act
of worship and devotion, either an essential condition or one necessary for its
proper performance, while for another act of devotion it may be only 'preferable'
or part of the Prophet's personal example (mustahabb orsunna)."

"The inner spiritual grounds (hukm al-bâtin) for that," he continues, "is that the
purification of the heart is a precondition for our intimate converse (munâjat) with
God or for our contemplating Him - a condition that is at once both obligatory (or
'essential') and necessary for the proper realization (of that spiritual intimacy and
true contemplation)." "Sometimes," he adds,

"spiritual knowing may be an essential condition for the soundness of

our faith in a matter. And sometimes faith in turn may be an essential
condition as well as a necessary condition for assuring the soundness of
our knowing through experiential 'unveiling.' However in faith there is
the purification of the heart from being veiled (from God's presence),
while (spiritual) knowing purifies the heart from ignorance and doubt
and pretension. So purify your heart with both of those purifications (of
faith and of knowledge): you will rise high, through that, in both the
worlds, and through it you will attain the knowledge of the 'Two
Handfuls' (of human souls destined to suffering or bliss)."

And he concludes: "As for the inner spiritual judgment (hukm al-bâtin) concerning
all of this," the Shaykh concludes, "we say that every prescribed religious action
that is not preceded by this purification through faith is unsound because of this
lack of faith. Therefore faith is necessary for every religious action."
In his ensuing discussion (V, 341-44) of the purifications appropriate to the
pilgrim visiting the Kaaba - whether that "pilgrimage" be inward or outward - Ibn
'Arabî makes two points that are very simple, but practically of the utmost
importance. The first concerns the proper inner attitude to have in our relations
with all the other creatures, which is the full realization of the virtue of ihsân - of
"seeing God" and the divine Presence through and with all things:

"Now spiritual purification (tahârat al-bâtin) - which is (purification of)

the heart is through liberating ourselves (from all attachments other
than God), in order to seek (His) friendship. And there is no (true)
friendship and closeness with God except through freeing yourself from
the creatures, insofar as you used to consider them (only) in light of
their relation to yourself (to your ego or nafs) and not through God (and
the realization of His aims in their regard)."

The Shaykh's second point is made in regard to the spiritual experience of the
pilgrim with regard to the "treasure" and blessing and guidance that the Prophet
has mentioned as being reserved for those visiting the "House (or Temple: al-
bayt) of God":

"So consider the one who comes to circumambulate (the Kaaba), when
he has turned to his heart after going around (the House). If he finds an
'increase' in his awareness of his Lord and a 'clear indication' (from God)
that he did not have before, then he knows from that that he has
properly carried out his purification for entering Mecca. But if he finds
none of that (in his heart), then he knows that he has failed to purify
himself, did not come to his Lord, and so did not (truly) go around His
House. For it is impossible that anyone should come to stay with a noble
and wealthy host, entering into his house, and yet not experience his
hospitality! ...If such a person 'came close' (to God's House), they only
came close to the rocks, not to the Essence (or the Source: al-'ayn) -
May God place us among the possessors of hearts, the people of God
and those close to Him!"
This process of inner purification obligatory for all worship and devotion, Ibn
'Arabî constantly reiterates, is always changing and always essential (V, 349):

"The purification of the heart (is obligatory) so that it may be joined

with its Lord, and so that its spiritual aspiration may be joined in
intimate converse (munâjât) with Him through the raising of the veil
from (the servant's heart). ...So it is necessary for anyone who is
seeking this state (of the heart's intrinsic intimacy with God) to purify
themselves with a special purification. Indeed I say thatevery state of
the servant with God requires its own special purification..."

At this point (V, 346-47) Ibn 'Arabî adds a special warning, but one which also
highlights his typical reliance on the actual consequences of spiritual effort - and
the sensitivity of each individual's heart - in overcoming these recurrent dangers
of the Path:

"Now the guardians (the bawwâbs of the heart) may sometimes be

sleeping or distracted, so that the secret promptings (khawâtir) of the
carnal souls and the devils find nothing to keep them from entering that
person's heart. In that case, when that person says 'Labbayk!' ['Here I
am, Lord!', the traditional pilgrim's call] with their tongue, imagining
that they are coming in response to the call of their Lord, they are only
responding to the prompting of their own nafs or of a devil calling to
them in their heart."

And Ibn 'Arabî goes on to describe the glee of that ever-present impostor in thus
fooling the deluded seeker... "So 'If it were not for the Generosity of God
and His Lovingmercy' - through the tongue of our inner spiritual state (lisân al-
bâtin wa-l-hâl) and the spiritual intention (nîya) preceding that event," such a
person who was imperfectly purified would surely encounter the 'dire suffering'
mentioned in that same verse (24:14). But in reality, as he insists in another
extraordinary passage of this same chapter, it is necessary to take a much more
comprehensive view of the providential divine "Caring" ('inâya) and "Outwitting"
(makar) with regard to Iblis and the devils, a proof of God's Mercy and Grace that
is ultimately manifested precisely through the multitude of such memorable
spiritual "mishaps" and delusions that each person inevitably experiences over
time.

This is why, Ibn 'Arabî explains (V, 354-56), "it is necessary to purify the heart
from the 'touch of Satan'" - which he has elsewhere identified with the passion of
blind anger, sakht - "when it descends on the heart and touches the inner being
of a person." And that purification of the heart is through the 'touch of the
angel,'" which is the manifestation of God's providential Caring for the heart at
that point.

"And if the hadith of God's 'Two Fingers' alluded to that (mysterious

working of Grace and divine Providence)," Ibn 'Arabî continues, then
"both of those Fingers are Lovingmercy (rahma)...since if it were not for
God's Lovingmercy for His servant through that touch of the devil, the
servant would never receive their reward for countering that prompting
(of the devil) and turning away from it to the work of the angel's touch
(i.e., the experience of repentance and divine Grace), so that the
servant acquires two rewards (for the inner struggle, and for the
eventual repentance and right action). And that is why we say that God
attributed both (of those 'Two Fingers') to the Divine Name 'the All-
Merciful' (al-Rahmân)."

This point, which has so often been treated as paradoxical or even heretical by
later Islamic critics of the Shaykh, in fact could not be more central to Ibn 'Arabî's
comprehensive awareness of the processes of spiritual growth and
transformation, on both the individual and larger cosmic levels. For in a passage
so long that it can only be summarized here, Ibn 'Arabî carefully points out how
the devil always ends up accomplishing the exact opposite of what he intended,
as the results of his deception eventually push the servant to regret - "the
greatest of the pillars of repentance and return to God," as the Shaykh calls it -
and then to true re-turning to God (tawba). Thus the "victim" of Satan
 "has the reward of the shahîd [here not only 'martyr,' but also the literal
'witness' of God's Love and Mercy] because of the occurrence of that act
(of turning to God) in him. And the shahîd (as confirmed by Qur'an and
hadith alike) is alive, not dead - for what life could be greater than the
Life of hearts together with God, in whatever activity that may be?! For
the presence (of the heart) with faith, in the face of the opposition (of
Satan), renders that action alive with the Life of the (divine) Presence."

So this, Ibn 'Arabî concludes (V, 356) , is again why both divine "Fingers" -
although they appear to us, in terms of our own dualistic feelings and judgments
of our experience, as diametrically opposed - are in fact equally instruments of
God's Love and Mercy:

"If (the devil) knew that God was blessing the servant, through the
devil's touch, with a special sort of happiness, then he wouldn't have
done any of that. But this is the divine Cunning (makar Allâh) through
which He fools Iblis, and I have not seen anyone else allude to that. And
indeed were it not for my knowing Iblis and being aware of his
ignorance and his compulsion that drives him to counter (God), I too
would not have alluded to this... But this is what encouraged me to
mention this, because the devil can never stop at those occasions (for
temptation) because of his veil, through his compulsion to make the
servant suffer and his ignorance that God is (always) turning (to
forgive) the servant. For God always cunningly deceives someone in
such a way that they themselves fail to notice it, even if others are able
to see what is really happening!"

The preceding discussion highlights one of the active principles of spiritual life
underlying one of Ibn 'Arabî's most straightforward and illuminating pieces of
practical advice (V, 359-60) regarding this ongoing purification of the heart and
the way it transforms every single event of our life, inner or outer, into a further
occasion for discovering the secrets of our relationship with God:
"Now the Knower finds in one of his spiritual states a contraction or
expansion (qabd aw bast) whose immediate cause (sabab) he does not
know. And for the people of the Path this is (always) a significant
matter. For he knows that this (uncertainty as to the meaning of this
experience) is due to his unconsciousness or heedlessness (ghafla) with
regard to carefully observing his heart and his spiritual intention - and
to his lack of spiritual insight (basîra) in grasping the inner
correspondence of that state with the (spiritual) matter which that
(divine) Attribute caused him to experience. In that case what is
incumbent on (the Knower) is tosurrender (taslîm) to the eventual
effects of the (divine) Decree, until he sees what that gives rise to in the
future.

But if the Knower recognizes (the inner reason for that particular
experience), then he should purify himself through being completely
present with God in his knowledge of those correspondences, so that he
does not become unaware of what has come to him from God through
these 'sanctifying spiritual experiences' (wâridât al-taqdîs) - so that he
is not unaware of which (divine) Name became (real) to him through
that experience, and which Name came to be through him, and which
Name is actually influencing him at that instant, causing him to call out
for that experience. So these (spiritually "educational" dimensions of our
experience realized by the Knower, sooner or later) are three: the name
that is calling (to the Knower), the name that is called (into being)
through him, and the name that is (at this instant) coming over him. Of
course there is no possible correspondence (of this sort) through which
God, in His Essence, might be (ultimately) circumscribed to us or
through us..., But through His Names we are connected (with Him),
through those Names we take on His qualities, and through them we
become realized (or 'become transformed toward what is
Real':natahaqqaq) - and God makes this possible!"
The next set of allusions to the heart's "purification" in this chapter (V, 363-366)
stands out in every possible way from the discussions that surround it. The
passage itself is almost certainly an illustration of that quintessential spiritual
teaching destined for the "elite of the elite" which Ibn 'Arabî, in a key passage of
his Introduction, claims to have intentionally "scattered" throughout the Futûhât.
An adequate translation and commentary would require a separate article, but
the real difficulty, as one might expect of such a lesson, has nothing at all to do
with its language. The essential point clearly has something to do with
overcoming spiritual "dualism" - but at a fundamental level of depth and subtlety,
and of necessarily personal and nearly ineffable intensity, considerably more
profound than in the passages we have just discussed. The section begins with a
discussion of distinctly spiritual qualities that, according to Ibn 'Arabî, require a
complete bodily ablution (ghusl) - an act of purification that Islamic law typically
requires for very different types and circumstances of "impurity." Ibn 'Arabî's
movement here beyond the received forms of Islamic law, which serve as at least
the ostensible point of departure for all of his other discussions of spiritual
purification in the rest of chapter 68, is already a dramatic sign of the unique
character of this section. The largest part of the passage, however, is a strange
and in some ways metaphysically "comprehensive" catalogue of spiritual or
ontological states and qualities.

The chapter (or "Door": bâb has both meanings) opens as follows:

"Now we have already established that janâba (the technical legal term
for a major ritual impurity requiring the total bodily ablution)
is ghurba (a state of 'exile,' 'estrangement,' or 'removal' from one's
rightful place). And here that is the exile of the servant from his rightful
homeland which he deserves - and that is nothing but the state of pure
servanthood ('ubûdîya). Or that (impurity) is the estrangement of an
attribute of 'Lordship' from its rightful homeland (in God), so that
someone (wrongfully) ascribes it to themselves or uses it to describe
 some contingent creature or another. Now there is no disputing that one
must be purified from this question.

So you must know that this single total ablution mentioned here in this
chapter branches into 150 spiritual states, and that the servant, in his
heart, must be completely purified from every single one of those
states. So we will mention to you the essence ('ayn) of each one of
them, if God wills, in ten sections, each section containing fifteen states,
so that you will recognize how you (should?) meet them when they
occur to the heart of the servant. Because they must inevitably occur to
every heart, both of ordinary people and of the (spiritual) elite - and
God gives support and inspiration, there is no power but through Him!

While the adequate translation of this strange catalogue of spiritual states would
be very long, we can at least note that it includes a number of what would
ordinarily be viewed as "opposite" or contrary states (at least partially
reminiscent of the lists of divine Names in the hadith and elsewhere): e.g., this
world and the other world, life and death, mercy and anger, and so on, although
the vast majority are of what would ordinarily be taken as positive and even
rarely achieved spiritual virtues. The catalogue, with no other explanation or
amplification, is followed by the following remarks:

"You must know - may God support us and You with a Spirit from Him! -
that according to the school (madhhab) of the people of God and His
elite among the people of spiritual unveiling, it is obligatory for every
human being to completely purify their heart and their inner being from
everything that we have mentioned in these (ten) sections, as well as
everything else each of these spiritual states includes which we did not
mention, for fear of being too long, There is no dispute among the
people of immediate spiritual experience ('tastings') concerning that.
But those who seek to purify themselves from most of them will need an
abundance of difficult knowledge concerning the proper ways to become
 purified from what we have mentioned; and some of these states may
serve as purifications from others!"

Later in the same chapter, Ibn 'Arabî's explanation of the proper "times" for
purification also begins to move more openly beyond the ritual or legal contexts
that are the usual occasion for such discussions in this chapter, as in the following
passage (V, 374):

"Now the purification of all things is with and through God (bi-l-Haqq).
So if someone becomes heedless of the (heart's primordial) witnessing
(of God) and instead sees their self (or 'ego,' the nafs) taking the
different kinds of knowing that God is (always) causing to descend on
the heart, they must be purified because of their seeing their own ego-
self (rather than God).

In the same way, if we should happen to encounter another person in a

matter in such a way that we teach them, either through our state or
our words, and if that teaching flows from our presence (with God),
then no purification is necessary, for we have not left our state of purity
(with God). But if we should notice our own self (our nafs) in the
process of teaching another person through our words or our state, then
purification is absolutely obligatory for us, because of our noticing our
self. For the people of God in this Path do everything that they do with
and through God, out of their witnessing and unveiling of and from
Him..."

Of course the very awareness of this hidden "corruption" or unconscious

hypocrisy, and our corresponding need for purification, is itself a kind of gift of
divine Grace, as Ibn 'Arabî recalls in this phenomenologically precise summary (V,
435):

"Therefore the 'time' or 'moment' of purification in the spiritual sense

(fi-l-bâtin), for us, is whenever one has specifically realized the
 (eternally unfolding) connection between the divine 'Address' to the
person obligated by it (the mukallaf) regarding what is incumbent on
them both inwardly and outwardly. In spiritual terms, that is a divine
Self-manifestation that suddenly comes over their heart, which is called
in the Path a 'surprise attack' (hujûm)."

And finally, near the very end of this chapter (at V, 499), Ibn 'Arabî restates
everything as simply as possible:

"For God sees nothing of the human being (al-insân) but the heart. So it
is incumbent on the servant that their heart should always and
continually be pure, because it is the place God sees in them."

V. CONCLUSION:

At this point we have followed Ibn 'Arabî's lessons on the heart and contemplation
as far as his long chapter on the secrets of prayer (ch. 69), which would require
several lengthy volumes to translate into English. So it is fitting to conclude with
what he says there (VI, 217-219) about the puzzling Qur'anic verse (50:37) with
which we began, in his discussion of the moments of silence during the ritual
prayer:

"...So it is obligatory for the servant, when he has finished reciting the
verse (in prayer), to "listen attentively, while he is witnessing"
(50:37). Therefore (the person praying) becomes silent, so that he can
see what God is saying to him concerning that, as is only appropriate
behavior (adab) with God. For we must not interrupt someone who is
speaking to us, since that is only proper etiquette even in ordinary
conversations - and God is far more deserving that we should be that
way with Him! ...That is how this matter remains between the listener
and the One speaking to him, so that the listener might gain benefit
(from that silent pure receiving in prayer). Know that kings do not take
a person without proper adab to sit with them, nor to converse with
them at night, nor to be their intimate companion."