by Robert Irwin
Said Abu Darda: ‘The signs of the fool are three: Self-conceit, abundant talk about what is not his concern and prohibiting what he [himself] does.’
The ‘Uyun al-Akhbar oflbn Qutayba, trans. L. Kopf and ed.
F. S. Bodenheimer and L. Kopf (Paris and Leiden, 1949), pp. 84–6
COMMENTARY
The translators have omitted the chains of transmission, i.e. ‘I was told by so-and-so, who had it from what’s-his-name, who heard it recited by.…’ etc., etc.
As can be seen from some of the above, one of the uses of poetry was to serve as a vehicle for ethical teaching.
Kuthayyir, who lived in the Umayyad period, was famous for his love poetry.
Dhu-l-Isba‘ al-Adwani was a pre-Islamic poet who belonged to the warlike tribe of Adwan. (Dhu-l-Isba‘ literally means ‘possessor of the finger’ and refers ironically to the fact that the poet lost a finger as the result of a viper’s bite.)
Sufyan ibn Mu’awiya was a member of the princely Umayyad clan; hence the envy.
Mus’ab ibn al-Zubayr was a prominent anti-Ummayad politician of the late seventh century. Al-Ahnaf ibn al-Qays was a leading politician and general. ‘Ahnaf refers to his deformed feet. He was also a poet, and he was credited with many aphorisms and proverbs.
A’sha (‘the night-blind’) is a name that was shared by a number of pre-Islamic poets.
The Bedouin’s somewhat cryptic formulation means that a man’s bearing is so arrogant that his face could damage stone. The Ka’ba is the Black Stone at Mecca, the object of the annual Muslim pilgrimage. To steal the curtains which are hung over it would be an act of gross sacrilege.
Abu-l-Aswad is probably the politician and poet al-Du’ali, who lived and wrote in Basra in the Umayyad period. He was notorious for his miserliness and obstinacy. (Inevitably, therefore, he also featured in Jahiz’s book on misers.)
Abu Darda was a Companion of the Prophet. He is alleged to have abandoned a successful business in order to devote himself entirely to religion. Many pious and ascetic sayings were attributed to him.
The ‘Uyun was a typical work of adab, consisting of choice materials which would improve a person’s conduct and conversation. (Mastery of adab might also improve a person’s prospect of advancement in government service.) Adab anthologies were a characteristic product of the culture of the majlis. A majlis (pl. majalis) means session, or, in a literary context, soirée or seance. At such soirées the cultured elite delivered improvised lectures and capped each other’s anecdotes. Much of the material which went into later anthologies came from such assemblies. Adab lore was transmitted from generation to generation. It is a general characteristic of medieval Arabic prose literature that its writers tended to disclaim originality; instead they stressed the fact that they were transmitting rather than inventing their material. They usually took care to provide a chain of transmission which authenticated a story and explained how it had reached their ears. Wisdom was supposed to be transmitted by word of mouth, rather than gleaned by reading texts, and therefore oral sources rather than written sources tended to be stressed.
The Barmaki (or Barmecide) clan were, after the caliphs themselves, the grandest patrons of literary assemblies. The Barmakis were a Persian administrative dynasty who originated in Balkh, a city in what is today northern Afghanistan. From the beginnings of ‘Abbasid rule in the 750s onwards, several generations of the Barmaki clan served the caliphs as viziers, as well as in other administrative posts. Until the sudden, mysterious and bloody disgrace of him and his clan in 803, Yahya ibn Khalid al-Barmaki was the power behind the throne during the caliphate of Harun al-Rashid (786–809). Yahya and his kinsmen were also leading patrons of literature and thought. Despite or perhaps because of their Persian origins, they were at pains to favour traditional Arab forms of poetry. Their majalis, at which poets, littérateurs, theologians and philosophers gathered, were particularly famous. On one celebrated occasion Yahya ibn Khalid presided over a majlis which (evidently following the example of Plato’s Symposium) was devoted to the theme of love. The account which follows was written by al-Mas’udi (on whom see Chapter 5).
Yahya, the son of Khalid ibn Barmak, an enlightened man, learned and fond of discussion and philosophical inquiry, gathered at his house for symposiums a number of famous controversialists chosen from among Muslim theologians, free-thinkers and divines of various sects. In the course of one of these gatherings, Yahya spoke as follows:
‘You have discussed at length the theories of potentiality and actuality, pre-existence and creation, duration and stability, movement and rest, union and separation from the Divine substance, being and nothingness, bodies and accidents, acceptance and refutation of authorities, the absence or presence of God’s attributes, potential and actual forces, substance, quantity, modality, connection, existence and non-existence. You have examined the question of whether the Imamate is by right of succession or elective, and you have exhausted all metaphysical questions both in their principles and their corollaries. Today, describe love. But do not begin a debate. Let each of you limit himself to giving a brief definition, saying whatever occurs to him.’
The first to speak was Ali ibn Maitham of the Imamite sect and a celebrated Shi’a theologian.
‘O vizier,’ said this doctor, ‘love is the fruit of similarity and the index of the fusion of two souls. It issues forth from the sea of beauty, from the pure and subtle principle of its essence. Its extent is without bounds; too much of it destroys the body.’
The second speaker, Abu Malik al-Hadrami, of an extreme Kharijite sect, the Shurah, expressed himself thus:
‘O vizier, love is a magic emission. It is more hidden and more glowing than a burning coal. It exists only through the union of two souls and two forms. It penetrates the heart like water from a rain cloud seeping through desert sands. It reigns over all other qualities; intelligence bows in submission to it, opinions give way to it. All novelties and all time-honoured customs are left aside in its favour and subordinated to it.’
The third to take up the subject was Abu al-Hudhail Muhammad ibn al-Hudhail, known as Allaf – ‘The Fodder Merchant’. He was a Mu’tazilite and the Shaikh of the school of Basra:
‘O vizier, love sets its seal upon the eyes and impresses its signet upon the heart. Its pasture is the body; it drinks from the liver, seat of passion. The lover’s thoughts are thrown into disorder and the mind becomes unbalanced. For the lover, nothing remains pure, no promise binds; misfortunes hasten after him. Love is a draught from death’s cup, a drink from the cisterns of bereavement. But love comes from the bounty of nature itself and from the beauty which dwells in the qualities of the beloved. The man who loves is open-handed, deaf to the appeals of prudence and indifferent to all reproach.’
Hisham ibn al-Hakam of Kufa, Shaikh of the Imamites of his age, famous in his time for his works, was the fourth to speak:
‘O vizier, destiny has set love like a snare into which only hearts that are mutually sincere in their misfortunes can fall. When a lover is caught in love’s net and is trapped in its toils, it is then no longer possible for him to withdraw safe and sound nor to escape his impending doom. Love is born from the beauty of form and the perfect concord of ardent souls. Love is a mortal wound in the depths of the entrails, in the innermost depths of the heart. The most eloquent tongue freezes; the slave-owner becomes a slave; the master becomes chattel and abases himself before the lowliest of his subjects.’
The fifth was Ibrahim ibn Sayyar al-Nazzam, of the Mu’tazilite sect and one of the principal dialecticians of the Basra school in those days.
‘O vizier, love is more subtle than a mirage, more insidious than wine circulating in the veins. It is an aromatic clay worked in the vat of sublime power. As long as it is moderate, it is sweet, but if it passes certain limits it becomes a madness which leads to death, a mysterious sickness for which no cure can be hoped. It pours forth on the heart like a rain cloud and makes troubles sprout and grief bear fruit.
A man overwhelmed by love suffers without respite. Each breath is an effort, a kind of paralysis threatens him; he is plunged in melancholy. When night covers him, he lies sleepless; he passes his days in anxiety. Grief starves him; he breakfasts on sighs.’
The sixth speaker, Ali ibn Mansur, of the Imamite sect, a Shi’a dialectician and a disciple of Hisham ibn al-Hakam, expressed his views as follows:
‘At the beginning love is but a slight ill which filters into the soul, altering it as it wills. It penetrates the thoughts and quickly possesses them. Whoever drinks from this cup does not recover from his intoxication; he does not recover from the loss of his blood. Love is born from the contiguity and homogeneity of forms and composition.’
The seventh definition was given by Mu’tamir ibn Sulaiman, one of the leading shaikhs of the Mu’tazilite school:
‘O vizier, love is the result of similarity and resemblance. It creeps into the heart like an ant. Its prisoner can rarely burst his bonds. He who is in its grip rarely recovers. It is mutual recognition by different natures and the union of souls; it summons hearts and draws different natures together. But this happiness is short-lived, troubled by the fear of separation at meeting and spoiled, in its sweetest moments, by the fear of evil tongues. Thus philosophers have called it a cutting weapon, destroyer of the body.’
Bishr ibn Mu’tamir spoke eighth. This learned Mu’tazilite was a shaikh of the school of Baghdad, master of such dialecticians and theologians of that town as Ja’far ibn Harb, Ja’far ibn Mubashshir and others:
‘O vizier, love unmans and engenders abasement. A man under its sway is beneath criticism. Had he the strength of a lion, he would still smile on every slave and become himself the slave of desire. He speaks of nothing but his aspirations and is interested in nothing but his passions.’
The ninth to take up the theme was Thumama ibn Ashras of the Mu’tazilite sect:
‘O vizier, love occurs when the substance of which souls are made draws in the emanations of similarity, homogeneity and fellow-feeling. It darts rays of brilliant light which illuminate the sense of understanding and touch the very sources of life with its refulgence. From this ray, or glance, emanates a pure light which strikes the soul and becomes an essential part of it: this is what we call love.’
Al-Sakkak of the Imamite school, a disciple of Hisham ibn al-Hakam, gave a tenth definition:
‘O vizier, love is engendered of mutual liking and the seal is set on it by similarity. It proves the existence of the sympathetic soul and is witness to the mutual attachment of similar species. It pervades the body like wine. He who loves is illuminated by an inner flame, all his being shines, his qualities exalt him. But the agitation of his senses betrays his passion to other eyes and before love exalts someone, it first humiliates him.’
The eleventh doctor, Sabbah ibn al-Walid of the Murji’ite sect, defined love thus:
‘O vizier, love’s effects are swifter than words. The heart of a man which is marked with innocence and purity and who has a pleasing appearance will not reject love, for love inclines only to mutual affinity and a delicate sensibility on the part of the lover.’
Ibrahim ibn Malik, the jurisconsult of Basra, a highly skilled polemicist, who belonged to no school and was attached to no sect, spoke twelfth:
‘O vizier, love is nothing but a series of thoughts which occur to a man; sometimes they incapacitate him, sometimes they comfort him; by engendering disquiet in his heart, they consume his very entrails.’
The thirteenth speaker was a mubadh, that is to say, a judge of the sect of the Magians, which is in fact what the term mubadh means in Pahlavi, the ancient form of Persian:
‘O vizier, love is a fire kindled in the area around the heart and its blaze spreads between the heart and the ribs. It is inherent in the existence of beings and in the actions of the heavenly bodies. Its origin is in animal motion and depends on material causes. It is the flower of youth, the garden of generosity, the charm of the soul and its diversion. The elements engender it, the stars cause it, the action of the sublime mysteries gives it its form. Then it combines the best of the substance with the purest elements. It gives rise to the attraction of hearts, the concordance of passions, the fusion of souls, the joining of like minds, the purity of feelings in hearts and sympathy. It cannot exist without beauty, without intelligence, without delicate senses, without health, harmony and equilibrium of the various forces, for its sublime origin gives rise to movements of the celestial spheres which then harmonize with the feelings which bodies experience.’
Both ancients and moderns have argued about the nature of love and its first manifestations – is it born of the eye and of the ear? Of the will? Or of necessity? What are the causes which bring it into existence where it was not, or destroy it after its appearance? Is it an action of the rational soul? Or of the body and its nature? Here is a definition which is attributed to Hippocrates:
‘This passion,’ he said, ‘consists of the mixing of two souls and is analogous to the mixing of two waters of the same nature, which are then difficult, even impossible, to separate by any process whatsoever. The soul being finer and more subtle in its nature even than water, the passing of time cannot obliterate love; duration cannot lessen it. Nothing can impede it. Its course is too subtle to imagine; its seat is hidden from the sight. Reason cannot tell how it establishes its sway, she knows only that its starting point and greatest power lies in the heart, whence it spreads through all the limbs. Then it shows itself in a trembling of the hands, pallor, difficulty of speech, weakening of the intellect, a heaviness on the tongue, slips and stumblings which make it seem that he who is dominated by this passion declines in intelligence. Many natural philosophers and those dedicated to medical research consider love as an appetite which is born in the heart, grows there and there draws to itself all the elements of desire. As its strength grows, the lover becomes more agitated, more irritable. He is absorbed in his thoughts, his vague aspirations, his sorrows. He draws breath with difficulty, is permanently wrapt in his reveries and loses his appetite. His intelligence withers, his brain dries up and his life becomes exhausted, for, through the ceaseless action of desire, the blood becomes heated and converted into black bile. This increases and invades the seat of thought. Fever develops and then the yellow bile becomes inflamed, turbid, decays and ends by mixing with the atrabilious humour, of which it becomes an integral part, increasing its strength. Now one of the properties of this atrabilious humour is to act on the thoughts. When thought weakens, the gastric juices mix and decompose, hence sluggishness, dwindling of the intellectual powers, desire for the impossible and at last, madness. Then the lover either commits suicide or dies of grief and despair. Sometimes a simple glance cast on his beloved makes him die of joy, love and regret, or else he gives a great cry and falls into a coma which lasts twenty-four hours. He is thought dead and is buried, although he is still alive. At other times, he gives a deep sigh, the blood flows to the heart, the heart contracts and he is only delivered from this state by death. Or, yet again, if after having passionately longed to see the beloved he appears before him suddenly, love flees at once. Everyone has seen a lover when he hears his beloved named – his blood flees and his face changes colour.’
If certain philosophers are to be believed, God, in his wisdom and great goodness, gave every soul at its creation a rounded form like a sphere. Then he divided them in half and placed each half in a different body. When one of these bodies meets that which encloses the other half of its own soul, love is of necessity born between them owing to the fact that they were once one. Afterwards, it develops with greater or less strength, depending on temperament.
The originators of this theory have developed it at length.
According to them, souls, luminous, pure essence, descend from the sublime spheres to find the bodies in which they will dwell. They search each other out on a basis of their previous closeness or distance in the immaterial world.
The same doctrine h
as been adopted by a certain number of those who profess Islam, who defend it by means of proofs drawn from the Koran, the Sunna and by analogy, according to their own reason, from these two sources. They quote, for example, the words of God: ‘O serene soul! Return to your Lord, joyful, pleasing unto Him. Enter my paradise, numbered among my worshippers!’ (Koran 89:27–9).
Now, these men say that the return to a first state implies an earlier existence. They also produce the following statement of the Prophet, may the prayers and peace of God be upon him, taught by Sa’id ibn Abi Maryam, to whom it was transmitted by Yahya ibn Ayyub, according to Yahya ibn Sa’id, according to Amra, according to A’isha, who had it from the Prophet himself, may the prayers and peace of God be upon him:
‘Souls are like armed battalions. Those who know each other makes alliances, those who do not know each other fight.’
A similar view was current among some of the Arabs, as is proved by the verses in which Jamil ibn Abd Allah ibn Ma‘mar al-Udhri of the tribe of Udhra, singing of his mistress Buthaynah, conjures up the memory of an earlier existence and a union which would have preceded their appearance in this world:
My soul clung to yours before we were created,
Before we were weaned, before we were laid in the cradle.
Our love has grown and developed with our selves;
Death cannot break the promises of this love.
It will survive all the trials of fate
And visit us among the shadows of the tomb,
In the depths of the grave.
According to Galen, sympathy is born between two intelligent beings because of the very similarity of their intelligences, but it cannot exist between two stupid people with limited minds, because of the stupidity which they share.
‘Indeed,’ he said, ‘intelligence follows a regular path and it is possible for two beings following the same path to meet, while stupidity moves in a completely unpredictable way, which renders all encounters impossible.’
