“In such cases of decline, and following the thousand and first absence, the thousand and first retreat, however severe may be the pain and difficulty, it seems I will probe my own self in order to confirm with astonishment that I am still alive and in control of you. It also seems that I will gather whatever is left of my presence and power and proceed erect through the cities and valleys of the land. As I proceed, I will ponder the fact that no one in power can take away my aura of prestige or interfere with my steadfast intent to achieve a linkage and pact between my lungs and the air. My thoughts must inevitably be drawn toward its eastern pole. Inevitably my capital must consist in keeping my head held high.
“What is most probable is that, after everything that has happened (and how I suffer over what has happened!), I will pace back and forth through the streets and alleys chanting a rousing song, with dervishes dancing before me. I am the unique atom, I shall say, so why should I care about my problems or fear death as though I were the first or last person who is going to perish?
“I shall compose fierce lampoons aimed at absence. I will spell every-thing in plural form and go in quest of unity and unification
“I have been walking and still am. Walking on foot, so philosophers and doctors have it, is good exercise that provides maximum benefit to the body and bolsters its resistance to depression whether psychological or nervous (despondent psyche, tread the earth’s uplands and pursue the posture of quest!). Yes, I have been walking and still am, as I contemplate writing reports of prohibitions and checks, a model for my tombstone while I am still alive. How amazing! Here I am, still seriously trying to convert to my own interest all the fates and mute trials that so dog my life.
“A few days later I had a fresh idea: maybe release might come with the diversion of a new marriage and in a panegyric to the bed; or else in learning the sounds of wild beasts; in hunting songbirds and butterflies or eating cold almonds. Maybe it lay in collecting severed heads or composing a volume on the benefits of jest.
“All this occurs whenever the water returns to its courses, calamities lessen their intensity, routine and habit return to quell the thunder and enclose bodies.”
An awesome silence now descended on the place. The trembling of the devotees in their corners was enough to blow out the candles close by. By now al-Hakim was strongly affected by both the wine and violet oil; sweat was pouring off him, and blood was coursing through his veins. Suddenly he leapt up and started talking in strident tones, as though delivering a sermon or recording minutes. The young scribe fell out of the pool and stayed where he was on the ground. Even though he was utterly exhausted, he tried to record as many of his master’s words as he could.
“To eradicate the concerns that reside in my vision,” he said, “1 took on the River Nile, as it did me; and I took on the birds, as they did me. To revive connections and relationships, I rode in a boat heading for the light, guided by the chant of the sea bird as I made my way to you, my devotees:
“With its mythic half my body is in quest of its destiny,
I lay down the foundation stone of its birthplace,
“I place the head between two crescents of embers,
“And open the path for the devotees of conscience and secrecy.
“Then I walk the earth unsheathing my sword and power
“Against anyone who would deny me through mind or magic.
“The sun never shines on me because I am a cave,
“A grassy cave, a grassy cave in ruins,
“A prison, an ancient prison, a map of secrecy …
“No, the sun never shines on me, but in my heart I see a gleaming star in search of its mate, of a country and people.
“I see myself grasping the last thread, projecting birds into the heavens to shoot down, banging on doors and asking who it is that is banging.
“The sun never shines on me, but in order to despair of my own despair and restore fire to my hidden places, I roam the country. And I will come …
“By the right I have to govern and reject! I will come again, my face aglow, from hidden realms and ultimate refuges; I will come from the markets of existence and places of this world, all in order to inform the morning and you. And so, my devotees, open your hearts and embrace me; lift up your hands and support me.
“I am the one that time has brought you.
“The factors of chance and lineage, they alone intercede for me.
“I am the child of that circumstance which seeks a place in existence and fate.
“I have it in me to oppose the wind through destruction and erection in the realms of architecture and stone.
“You can write what you will about me. My tents have need of the ropes of your love and hatred, just as the earth needs sun and rain.”
Al-Hakim went back and sat in the violet oil again. The young secretary joined him and continued recording his master’s words. As al-Hakim careered ahead at one moment and then slowed down out of sheer exhaustion, his tone of voice kept rising, then falling.
“Show me,” he said, “the kind of power I need, when people are cither asleep or distracted; and all the while the march of time works its unseen machinations to procure my end.
“I blacken the whiteness of days. I sense myself leaving the realms of existence and entering the clutches of mystery, secluding myself on the pathways of resolve and entrenchment.
“Politics is all toil. Nothing amazes me more than those who are hell-bent on acquiring yet more power.
“I am tired of it all, not because my intuition has run dry or the ulcer hasn’t healed, but rather because, at the best of times, my own share of its lofty intent and the flesh of my own fancies are entwined together in a common temptation.
“All I want from politics is to proceed on my way, leaving behind me heads in a state of contemplation and reflection or else frivolity and distraction. If success eludes me, then a pox on power, and perdition to all types of ruin by sword and pen.
“Every century has its own disaster.
“For this quarter-century I am that disaster.
“So transport me, the one who sits above you, beneath Cancer in the signs of the zodiac.
“Once in a while all I can perceive are darkness and blocked paths. My thoughts contort and enfold themselves on their own foundations, leading only to what is coincidental and profoundly wanting. It is then I realize that my soul is in dire need of the stars and supreme athleticism.
“The human body is all naked corruption, and the soul incites to evil. So where is the refuge to be found, and whence the escape?
“I stare long and hard into the bogs of nothingness, computing the number of bodies floating in its firmament. Eventually they fade away and I feel exhausted, or else I revert to my own navel and reside there with eyes closed and ears chained shut,
“However in both circumstances, even though I try every trick to distance my overwhelmingly powerful ego, my life is still filled with the clanging of bells which keep dancing around me and threatening me with their poison and their lethal extensions. I spend hours searching for the most effective ideas that will thwart their manifestation.
“Exempt me then from all discourse, save that which is both lively and instantaneous, that whereby utterance legitimizes the roaring of my blood.
“Let me search in the archives of the possible and impossible for something to dizzy the vision and roll the eyes, something to bring ideas carved out of earth and fire, to turn hair white and baffle minds and intellects.
“On this dark night by the light of this low-burning candle, I wonder, can you even conceive of the black notions floating in my mind, some like stinging insects, others like killer reptiles?
“By my donkey, Qamar. Did you but realize some of these dire things, you would head for exile in droves, or else you would dig yourselves in amid the thickets of silence and fatigue.
“For that very reason I intend to keep them suppressed and to strive to keep them apart from the realm of events. Tha
t is not out of a sense of pity or sympathy for you, but rather because I’m afraid that I may turn into a shepherd with no flock or God’s own sword that for harvest has only wind and dust.
“In the space between myself and confession I amuse myself by dipping my hands in the blood of some of my slaves or by staring at boys’ genitals. One after the other I ask them: Show me your moon. In that way I can distinguish those who will die from others who will be saved.
“There are times when I find myself overpowered by the desire to allow natural disaster to happen. The answer I give is: Just for today and no longer I give you this earth and the people in it. So launch your attack, toy with its laws and rituals; send a deluge to create it and formulate it afresh.
“How is it that my terrifying dreams spin in circles? Ever since I took up the mantle of rule by the order of God, I have been afflicted by dreadful nightmares. They beset me every single night as I try to fall asleep. Just to give a single example from among many, I see myself stabbed and falling to the ground, just like ‘Ali and al-Husayn; I see myself as a severed head rolling like al-Husayn’s head; I see myself failing and calling out for help, but no one moves an inch. Such is the pain and shock that I wake up and discover, much to my delight, that the whole thing was just a nightmare. But no sooner do I go back to sleep than the ravening hordes of conspiracy and extermination overwhelm me yet again, but without ever slaying me or robbing me of my consciousness. The entire dream may repeat itself in cycles, each one more horrific than the last. So picture me at the moment when I wake up, with every wrinkle on my face mirroring the varieties of terror and anxiety.
“How can I keep this face concealed from my own people? How can I walk among them without lighting my path and enveloping myself with the weapons of oppression and deceit?
“I am one of those people who, whenever they cry, weep in a veritable flood of hot tears. I cannot begin to describe it. If I tried, I would do no better than Sufi poets when they try to depict tears. So look up what people have said previously about distress and tearful eyes.
“Why do I weep? The basic reason is that I can find no alternative to violence as a way of keeping my people and authorities on the straight path; also that all my actions and adventures in the political realm are merely a drop in a bottomless ocean.
“There are secrets that I can only divulge on the day when I am close to death. So wait till I am on my deathbed, and then I will provide you with information that will expose me and dash my honor and reputation.”
Dawn was on the point of appearing when al-Hakim’s expression showed clear signs of exhaustion and insomnia. He stood up, looked at the young scribe’s genitals, and put on his cloak. Then he left the balcony where he had been drinking and headed for his quarters in the palace. Hardly had he gone before the devotees descended on the young scribe, snatched the papers from his hands, and rushed to transcribe their contents in order to contemplate and interpret them for themselves and thereafter to utilize their findings among the circle of initiates as a mode of access to interpretation and occult wisdom.
2. A Session in Quest of Surprise
An amusing tale from the time of al-Hakim tells how a judge in Egypt was named “head-butter.” The reason was that he had a cap with two cow horns on it that he used to keep beside him. Whenever two litigants came to his court and one of them tried to bully the other, the judge would don his cap with the two horns, move out, and start butting the litigant who was bullying the other one. All this made the judge very famous. Al-Hakim got to hear about this and sent for the judge. When he came into al-Hakim’s presence, the caliph asked him what he thought he was doing to earn such a bad reputation among the people. The judge responded, “O Commander of the Faithful, I would be delighted if one day you came to my court, sat behind a curtain, and simply listened to what I have to endure from the common people. Either you’ll see my point of view, or else you can punish me as you see fit.” Al-Hakim told him he would come the next day to see what he meant. Next morning, al-Hakim did indeed go to the judge’s court and took a seat behind a curtain. Two litigants came before the judge; one claimed a hundred dinars from the other and claimed that the other man had acknowledged the debt. The judge then ordered the second party to pay what he owed, but the latter responded that he was having difficulties at that moment and asked the court to order payment in installments. “What do you have to say to that?” the judge asked the plaintiff. “Make him pay ten dinars a month,” he replied. “I can’t do that,” the defendant replied. “How about five dinars?” the judge asked, to which the defendant again said that he could not manage that much. “Two dinars,” the judge suggested, and again the defendant said it was impossible. “One dinar,” said the judge, with the same result. Eventually the judge got down to just ten dinars a month, and still the defendant claimed it was impossible. The judge now asked the defendant how much he could afford to pay in order to satisfy the plaintiff. He replied that he could only afford three dinars a year, but only on condition that my opponent in this case is put in jail so he’ll never receive the amount in any case. At this point al-Hakim ran out of patience and came out from behind the curtain. “For heaven’s sake, butt this fiendish wretch,” he said. “If you don’t, then I will.” Al-Hakim was actually more stupid than the judge. The end.
Ibn Iyas,
Bright Flowers Concerning the Events of the Ages
Judicial proceedings and torts were normally resolved by personal interpretations of judges, but could also involve squabbles over influence and the stench of bribery and corruption. Al-Hakim lost no time in taking up the issue and devoting his attention to it. Perhaps the most remarkable judicial council that he graced with his caliphal chairmanship was the one that he held one night immediately after emerging from a treatment in violet oil. What made things so unusual was that the accused found themselves confronted with a banner, something that neither judges nor legal authorities had ever witnessed before—because it was entirely of al-Hakim’s own devising: “Surprise me, and I will forgive you!” The point of the whole thing—as Ghayn, the chief of police and public morality, explained to the six accused who were standing inside a cage—was that, as a way of saving themselves from death, each one of them should come up with the most adept aphorisms, the cleverest discourse, and the funniest jokes, all in order to surprise and entertain the caliph.
The first defendant to come before al-Hakim was a man from al-Basra, Abu ‘Ali Muhammad ibn al-Hasan ibn al-Haytham, who was renowned for his profound knowledge of physics and mathematics. The accused bowed respectfully to the caliph. “Ibn al-Haytham,” said al-Hakim. “just recall the things I revealed to you in secret. You asked me what I feared most, and I told you that my single fear was too little water in the Nile. My continual hope was that at irrigation time its level would always reach seventeen cubits so as to avoid inflation in food prices and the need for taxation. In such circumstances I would be faced with famine among my own people, outbreaks of disease, and deaths in large numbers. I would have no other recourse than to make contributions from my own property and force converts to Islam to readopt to their own faith so that I could then reimpose the head-tax and bolster revenues. You came to see me, Ibn al-Haytham, and claimed you could make use of your calculations and mathematical knowledge to increase the Nile’s product whether it was in flood or at lower levels. I commissioned troops of water technicians to inform you about the Nile from its Aswan cataracts all the way to its various stations, branches, and tributaries. The whole thing was a waste of time; your promises were so much hot air. Even so, we chose not to accuse you of breaking a promise. Instead we charged you to investigate other departments, hut now you have started to feign madness. All the documents and numbers were a mess, and the issues ended up in a very sorry state. Just when I was on the point of deciding to take away all your responsibilities, my sources have informed me that your feigned madness was merely a ruse to avoid serving me and escape punishment. Today you stand here burdened by t
he weight of this cunning deceit; furthermore, my admiration for your mathematical skills is not sufficient to rescue you from the troubles you’ve caused yourself.”
“My lord,” Ibn al-Haytham replied, “a curse on my failure to curb the Nile, something that has plagued me and disturbed my slumber ever since. The river defied all my calculations and projects and simply scoffed as it demolished all my equations and measurements, It almost seemed as though it was leaving its own banks just in order to bring cascades of water crashing down on my head. All I could do in response was to whistle and get out of the way. One day I was walking and whistling just a short distance from my sleeping place in the desert, when all of a sudden I got the idea of coming to the royal assembly and submitting a request to resign from all my responsibilities. That is in fact what I did. After waiting for a while I received a letter from my lord refusing my request because of the suspect personal motivations that had led me to submit the petition. Once I had read the letter, it seemed to me that the only thing I could do was to retire with my dark beard and feign madness. Without that, all avenues to a reasonable life would be closed, leaving me in the clutches of despair and never-ending insomnia. And so I sank ever lower. I started walking around the city with a scowl on my face, never responding to salutations and guffawing as I chased equations, measurements, and integers. Now, my lord, your sources have revealed my pseudo-madness, so I beg you to remove from my path the things that block my passage and stifle my breathing.”
“That is indeed amazing, Ibn al-Haytham,” said al-Hakim, signs of surprise already registering in his demeanor, “but I won’t let you go until you tell me why you won’t work in my service.”
“I’m afraid, my lord,” replied Ibn al-Haytham, “that serving you can never involve failure or diffidence; it all has to be brilliant and successful. Working within the shadow of your august presence, I have come to realize that every servant naturally strives to see his star wax strong, but that, once successful, the same star is destined to fall. This is a distressing irony, one that I find unbearable; indeed I can only discuss it in the words of the poet who says:
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