µ pour corrections

VOIE MYSTIQUE

I

Sources historiques

Dossier assemblé par Dominique Tronc

MYSTIQUES en Terres d’ISLAM

HISTORY in PERSIA, CENTRAL ASIA, INDIA

HOMMES DU BLÂME & NAQSBANDIYYA

CONTENUS

Ce premier de trois dossiers est provisoire¹. Il assemble des informations en français ou en anglais. Mais l’essentiel intime demeure caché ².

Ses informations peuvent éclairer même si la lignée des ‘Aînés’ prit place au sein de conditions de vie et culturelles si éloignées de notre culture que leur méconnaissance conduit à des interprétations contradictoires³.

Il risque de trop concentrer l’attention sur l’historique au détriment de ce qui demeure d’intérêt universel en introduisant des distinctions secondaires, traces mortes d’un passé bien oublié. Mais ses exemples biographiques situent les conditions que nos aînés ont dû surmonter⁴.

Deux tomes de sources convergent du cadre général historique au spécifique vécu intime, procédant ainsi de l’écorce au fruit. Le troisième et dernier tome est un relevé de témoignages de mystiques « associés » où une douzaine « d’apôtres » représentent équitablement, quatre par quatre, trois Traditions mystiques (à défaut d’une quatrième vivante en extrême-orient ⁵). Leurs regards sont orientés vers le même Indicible.

J’opère en succession de zoom ou grossissement (et spécialisation). Voici leurs contenus des deux premiers tomes ⁶  :

UNE VOIE MYSTIQUE Tome I.

1. MYSTIQUES en Terres d’Islam ouvre le dossier sur une présentation française large des soufis et des hommes du blâme ainsi que d’une synthèse en anglais orientée par

2. HISTORY in PERSIA, CENTRAL ASIA, INDIA, introduit à deux grands empires musulmans nés en Asie centrale. Cadres historiques méconnus.

3. HOMMES DU BLÂME & NAQSBANDIYYA présente l’ordre de soufis et d’hommes du blâme du nom de leur réformateur Naqsband.

UNE VOIE MYSTIQUE Tome II.

4. FILIATIONS dont l’une remarquable mystiquement parmi les nombreuses silsilas de la Naqsbandiyya vit l’accomplissement intime en une transmission silencieuse de coeur à coeur.

5. QUATRE ÉCRITS ANCIENS : La lucidité implacable de Sulamî, Traité de l’amour d’Ibn ‘Arabi et le Traité de l’Unité qui lui fut attribué, Les Jaillissements de Lumière de Jâmî.

6. DEUX MYSTIQUES EN RELATION : les rapports unissant Lilian Silburn à son Maître.

Les pièces regroupées en six sections sont présentées dans leurs formes d’origine.

TABLE LIMITÉE AUX DEUX PREMIERS NIVEAUX

(Consulter également la Table détaillée figurant en fin de volume)

1.Mystiques  	237 pages
2.History  	247	
3.Blâme Naqs 	210

1. MYSTIQUES en Terres d’Islam

Ouverture : Une assemblée spirituelle

Trois tendances parmi les spirituels qui vécurent en terres d’Islam ⁷ 

– les soufis : Ils sont attestés à Koufa puis à Bagdad, dans l’actuel Irak, par des figures marquantes telles que Râb’iâ. Ils sont liés à la religion musulmane même si certains traits sont inspirés du monachisme syrien ou indien. Ils se distinguent le plus souvent par leur mode de vie retirée ou communautaire, en contraste avec l’existence laïque de milieux urbains fortement socialisés. Certains s’attachent aux états spirituels et à des pratiques favorisant l’apparition de transes, ou mieux, le partage d’états avec ceux de leur maître. Ainsi repérables par leurs vêtements, leurs règles, leurs monastères, pratiquant l’ascèse, le terme ‘soufi’ devint synonyme de ‘mystique’ en terre musulmane⁸.

Ils n’ont guère besoin des docteurs de la loi. Par leur pratique parfois inspirée des prophètes, au point de mettre en question le rôle totalisant du dernier d’entre eux, Mohammad, ils font facilement l’objet de persécutions : Hallâj (-922), Hamadâni (-1131), Sarmad (-1661) et beaucoup d’autres sont les figures emblématiques martyrisées en pays arabe, iranien, indien. Ils furent influencés par le modèle présenté par l’avant-dernier prophète Jésus.

– Les gens du blâme ou malâmatîya apparurent à Nichapour dans le Khorassan, province du nord-est de l’Iran. Le premier d’entre eux serait Hamdun al-Qassâr (-884). Ils se réclament de Bistâmî (-849) et sont attestés par des figures telles que Sulamî (-1021), leur premier historien, suivi d’Hujwîrî (-1074), auteur d’un célèbre traité soufi. Le simple et très direct Khâraqânî (-1033) fut le premier au sein des directeurs mystiques : le ‘pôle’ de son époque. Tous demeurent cachés, se méfient des états et rejettent les pratiques, ‘blâmant’ leur moi jusqu’â son effacement complet. Ils ne sont pas à confondre avec certains qalandarîya et d’autres excentriques⁹.

– Les théosophes : une tendance théosophique (au sens premier du terme, à rapprocher de la théologie mystique telle qu’elle fut pratiquée par des spirituels chrétiens comme Syméon le Nouvau Théologien) s’illustre chez Sohravardî (-1191), Ibn ‘Arabî (-1240), Shabestarî (-1340). Elle est particulière en Iran chiite, reprenant des éléments de la tradition sassanide tels que des symboles propres au jeu lumière/ténèbres, les émanations propres au néo-platonisme supposant un monde intermédiaire. Elle s’illustre chez Molla Sadra (-1640) pour devenir un chemin intellectuel (peut-être sous influence de docteurs du judaïsme médiéval ?).

En fait on ne doit pas cloisonner les mystiques en terre d’islam en plusieurs voies, car elles fonctionnent comme des tendances qui peuvent s’associer chez le même individu : ainsi Abû Sa’id (-1049) apparaît-il à la fois soufi et homme du blâme. Le ‘premier des philosophes’ Abû Hamid al-Ghâzalî (-1111) est devenu soufi : il est l’auteur du bref Al-Munqid, ‘Erreur et délivrance’, autobiographie spirituelle et témoignage du grand philosophe éveillé à la mystique ¹⁰ (son frère Ahmad, probablement à l’origine de la conversion du philosophe, fut un soufi éminent). Ibn ‘Arabî demeure le ‘premier des soufis’, né en Andalousie, mort à Damas, d’influence immense¹¹.

Répartition des principales figures mystiques

Voici par régions géographiques les principales figures d’une foule innombrable. Sur les 35 noms retenus, la moitié vivent entre 1000 et 1300, grande période des civilisations urbaines arabe et perse, finalement presque détruites par les Mongols (les invasions de Gengis Khan se situent autour de 1220), auxquels succédèrent des Turco-Mongols (Tamerlan / Timur exerce ses ravages autour de 1400). Double coup de hache avant et après des pestes particulièrement meurtrières dans les villes.

Verso et page suivante

« CARTE DES LIEUX » selon des zones réparties en six colonnes de l’ouest vers l’est et en deux rangées du nord au sud. On retient les lieux présumés de naissance et de décès. On n’oubliera pas la mobilité d’un Ibn ‘Arabî (de Murcie à Damas !) ou de Ghâzalî le Philosophe (Tus, Bagdad, Damas, Nishapour, Tus) ou de Jîlî (de Bagdad en Inde ?). Une figure est alors présente deux fois (lien signalé par un « > »). Le nom figure en caractères gras au lieu de « séjour » privilégié.

On n’oubliera pas que les entités politiques arabes puis turques étaient seules en contact avec le monde chrétien : elles ont fait écran à notre connaissance des mondes musulmans de la Perse, de l’Asie centrale et de l’Inde, eux-mêmes étrangers et souvent hostiles aux mondes arabes et turcs ¹². L’image d’une infinie variété affectant les vécus et les pensées doit être substituée à la vision mythique d’un « grand califat » réglé par le seul Coran. Cette variété s’explique par la situation centrale des régions concernées, constituant un carrefour si on la compare à l’excentrement et au relatif isolement d’une presqu’île européenne chrétienne avant sa domination maritime, d’une péninsule indienne, d’une plaine chinoise protégée des zones civilisées par des déserts brûlants ou glacés. Nous distinguons plusieurs appartenances ou groupes : (1) à prédominance soufie, (2) à prédominance marquée par les « hommes du blâme », (3) non classés dont des mystiques d’Afrique du nord, (4) influencés par une théosophie. 

Les mystiques musulmans (Marijan Molé)

AVERTISSEMENT

Le présent livre¹³ ne prétend pas être une histoire du soufisme ; son format ne le permettrait pas, et il n'est pas encore possible de l'entreprendre. Trop de textes importants restent inédits et trop de facteurs nous échappent. Notre but a été d'en présenter les grandes lignes et de suggérer, sur certains points, la voie dans laquelle le développement de recherches nous paraît devoir être fructueux. Mais nous ne donnons pas de solutions aux problèmes abordés.

Notre présentation suit le cadre chronologique, mais sans rigidité. Là notamment où l'examen d'un problème général à propos d'un mystique nous paraissait l'exiger, nous n'avons pas hésité à poursuivre le développement et à anticiper sur l'époque suivante. D'autre part, aux différentes époques, nous avons concentré notre attention sur quelques problèmes qui se sont posés aux soufis, l'influence chiite et la réaction sunnite, l'expérience mystique et la doctrine de l'être. Sur ce dernier point, nous croyons avoir donné une interprétation nouvelle, mais qui aura besoin d'une élaboration plus poussée dans un travail plus technique. Ce problème permet également d'entrevoir une liaison plus grande et plus intime entre la théorie et la pratique soufies, entre la méta-

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physique de l'être, la conception de l'extase mystique et la coutume du samii cette liaison étant fondée sur la représentation du « Covenant » primordial.

Ceci nous a conduit à consacrer quelques développements au sama`, mais nous n'en donnons pas une description exhaustive. Nous n'analysons pas non plus la Voie soufie, ses pratiques, ses rites, ses institutions. Ces problèmes seront traités ailleurs.

CHAPITRE PREMIER LA PRÉHISTOIRE

Le mysticisme islamique présente pour l'observateur européen des difficultés considérables. La difficulté intrinsèque de comprendre une religion étrangère n'est pas la moindre. A quel point m'est-il possible de connaître une expérience religieuse, individuelle par définition, qui non seulement n'est pas la mienne, mais encore se développe à l'intérieur d'un système dont les coordonnées ne me sont pas familières ? L'entreprise exige un effort considérable ; tout en restant lui-même, le chercheur doit se mettre dans la situation de ceux qu'il étudie et suivre leur expérience de l'intérieur.

Les difficultés que présente l'islam sont d'un autre ordre que celles auxquelles nous avons affaire en abordant les religions de l'Inde ou de l'Extrême-Orient, nées dans un milieu culturel qui n'a eu, avec celui d'où est sortie notre civilisation, que des rapports sporadiques et extrêmement lointains. Sur ces domaines, avant de pénétrer dans l'univers de ces religions, un Occidental doit d'abord s'approprier un langage conceptuel dont il sait d'avance qu'aucun terme ne recouvre exactement la valeur de celui qui, dans sa propre langue, a une acception voisine ; et

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que tout le système des références et la hiérarchie de valeurs sur quoi ce langage est fondé diffèrent profondément de ceux auxquels il est habitué.

Le cas de l'islam est différent. La plus grande partie des éléments dont est bâti son système religieux sont les mêmes que ceux qui entrent dans la structure des systèmes juif et chrétien, tandis que la philosophie islamique dérive en grande partie des mêmes sources que la scolastique médiévale ; la mystique musulmane continue, en partie, les traditions des mystiques hellénistique et chrétienne. Mais ces éléments communs n'ont ni la même valeur ni la même place dans le système islamique que dans le système chrétien. L'islam n'est pas un christianisme imparfait, ni le christianisme un islam imparfait ; chacune de ces deux religions a une structure sui generis qui se suffit à elle-même et dont les différents éléments doivent être compris et jugés selon les critères qui lui sont propres.

Ces réflexions valent notamment pour le problème si controversé des origines du soufisme. Sa théorie contient plusieurs éléments qui sont connus d'autres religions et les pratiques soufies évoquent, plus d'une fois, certains usages analogues des moines chrétiens ou bouddhistes. Mais les soufis n'ont jamais voulu être autre chose que des musulmans ; toutes les doctrines qu'ils professent, et tous leurs gestes, coutumes et usages, s'appuient sur une interprétation du Coran et de la tradition prophétique. Il y a là deux plans à distinguer. Dans leur intention, les soufis ne font autre chose que méditer sur la révélation coranique et pratiquent, avec ferveur, le culte musulman. Mais, au moment de la conquête arabe, la population du Proche-Orient professe d'autres religions et ne s'islamise que progressivement ; la masse des musulmans au début de l'époque abbasside est constituée par les convertis chrétiens, mazdéens, manichéens, etc. En adoptant la nouvelle religion dominante, ces hommes n'ont pas, du jour au lendemain, oublié leurs traditions ni changé leur façon de penser. L'influence du substrat religieux préislamique sur l'islam dans la période formative de ce dernier ne s'est pas exercée uniquement par contact direct entre théologiens chrétiens et conquérants arabes, mais aussi par la persistance, au-delà du changement de credo, de certaines formes sociales et de certaines structures qui s'insèrent désormais dans un contexte nouveau et y retrouvent un sens nouveau.

La tradition sur Salmân Farsî, « le barbier perse », ou Salmân-i Pâk « le barbier pur », a ici la valeur d'un symbole. Fils d'un mage, Rôzbih douta de la religion de ses ancêtres et partit à la recherche du vrai prophète. Il se fit tout d'abord moine chrétien ; puis, familier de Muhammad, il accepta sa religion, et devint son client et son compagnon, voire son confident. Le Prophète aurait dit à son sujet : « Salmân fait partie de nous, gens de la maison », et cette phrase, comprise comme le prototype de l'adoption spirituelle et de l'initiation, joua un grand rôle dans l'ésotérisme islamique. Confident de ‘Ali, il se serait opposé à l'élection d'Abû Bakr au califat ; d'autres traditions, visiblement sunnites, en font par contre un confident d'Abû Bakr, et son disciple : et c'est à ce titre qu'il est revendiqué comme ancêtre spirituel par certaines congrégations sou fies. Il serait mort

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à Madá'în, l'ancienne Ctésiphon, capitale de l'empire des Sassanides. On montre en tout cas sa tombe, objet de pèlerinage, non loin des ruines de cette ville.

Quelle que soit la réalité historique qu'ils recèlent, les récits sur Salmân ont une valeur de symbole : le barbier perse, le client ‘adjami admis dans la famille prophétique, le patron de petits artisans qui peuplent depuis des temps immémoriaux les bazars des grandes villes du Proche-Orient, ne représente-t-il pas ces milliers de mawâli non arabes, dont l'adhésion à l'islam permit à ce dernier de surmonter la tentation de n'être qu'un autre judaïsme, une religion réservée aux conquérants arabes, et de s'épanouir pleinement comme une religion universelle qui ne connaît pas de barrière de race ? Son adhésion à la nouvelle foi est entière et sa sincérité ne saurait être mise en doute. Mais, né mazdéen, converti au christianisme, Salmân a-t-il tout oublié de son passé au moment où il devient musulman ?

Voyons la carte religieuse des pays où va se former la nouvelle civilisation : la Perse, l'Iraq, la Syrie et l'Égypte à la veille de la conquête arabe. Des cultes anciens subsistent ici et là, mais la plus grande partie du territoire en question a été soumise au double nivellement hellénistique et chrétien ; ceci apparaît immédiatement pour sa partie occidentale, politiquement romaine, mais la double empreinte est sensible également dans l'Empire perse. La résistance des anciennes religions est inégale ; rien ne subsiste plus de celle de l'ancienne Égypte, du paganisme grec, des cultes syriens. Les Harraniens se rattachent sans doute beaucoup plus à la philosophie néoplatonicienne qu'à ces derniers. Seule des anciennes religions nationales, le mazdéisme est encore vivant. Le christianisme a pourtant pénétré dans l'Empire perse ; malgré les persécutions, l'Église nestorienne de Perse est majoritaire parmi la population araméenne de l'Iraq et son activité missionnaire la porte en Iran proprement dit, en Transoxiane et, au-delà, jusqu'en Chine.

A la veille de la conquête, la Perse n'est donc pas exclusivement mazdéenne. Le mazdéisme, d'autre part, n'est pas homogène. Il vient de traverser une crise qui a laissé de profondes blessures et amené la naissance d'une nouvelle religion, le mazdakisme. D'une façon générale, l'attraction spirituelle du mazdéisme est épuisée et sa vitalité religieuse bien entamée. Lorsque les mystiques persans parleront de la « taverne des mages » et se proclameront « mazdéens », il s'agira uniquement d'un « chiffre » pour « mauvaise religion », ce qui n'implique ni contact direct, ni, à plus forte raison, influence du mazdéisme sur la mystique islamique.

A l'époque qui nous intéresse, les provinces orientales de la Perse sont bouddhistes. Il est très malaisé de discerner ici les influences possibles. Certaines analogies peuvent s'expliquer par une parenté élémentaire. Le chapelet est d'origine indienne, certains détails du costume soufi peut-être également. La légende d'Ibrâhim Adham est bien d'origine bouddhique, mais son modèle direct, le Roman de Barlaam et Budasaf, a été transmis par les manichéens d'Asie centrale. Quoi qu'il en soit, des survivances bouddhiques sont a priori possibles ; il n'en est pas de même de prétendues infiltrations védântines. Dans la période formative de la civilisation islamique, on

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voit mal leur assise territoriale. L'essai récent de retrouver du Védânta chez Abû Yazid Bistâmî doit être considéré comme un échec.

Les manichéens sont nombreux. Aux premiers siècles de l'islam, ils représenteront un danger réel pour la nouvelle religion et la polémique contre eux sera à la fois acerbe et féconde. Des infiltrations manichéennes dans le soufisme sont possibles ; la désignation fréquente de saints soufis comme des siddîqîn peut continuer un usage manichéen. Il n'y a pas lieu, en revanche, de tirer de conclusions précises du fait que des soufis ont été accusés, ici ou là, d'être zindîk. A cette époque, ce terme désigne certes avant tout les manichéens, mais aussi, par extension, tous ceux qui sont, de quelque façon que ce soit, suspects à l'orthodoxie islamique ; l'accusation est on ne peut plus ambiguë.

D'autres sectes gnostiques doivent subsister : les mandéens de nos jours en offrent un échantillon. Certaines de ces sectes se rattachent plus ou moins au christianisme. Des judéo-chrétiens doivent survivre en bordure du désert arabe. Les juifs sont disséminés à travers tout le territoire et forment des communautés importantes en Iraq, en Perse, en Égypte et en Syrie.

C'est pourtant le christianisme qui occupe la place la plus importante. Les controverses christologiques du V^e siècle ont brisé l'unité de l'Église officielle. L'Église de Perse est nestorienne, celles d'Arménie et d'Égypte, la plus grande partie de celle de la Syrie byzantine, celle d'Éthiopie, sont, au contraire, monophysites. Persécutés par les empereurs, les monophysites accueilleront les Arabes comme libérateurs ; un essai de compromis, presque contemporain de la conquête, n'aboutira pas à sauver la situation, mais amènera la naissance d'une troisième Église syriaque, l'Église maronite. Face aux monophysites et aux nestoriens, les partisans du concile de Chalcédoine sont beaucoup moins nombreux. Étroitement unis à la Grande Église de Constantinople, ils sont connus sous le nom de melkites, « les impériaux ».

Ces différences dogmatiques ont pour nous ici beaucoup moins d'importance que certains phénomènes, certains traits de structure qui sont communs aux trois Églises en question : le monachisme et l'ascétisme extrêmement puissants et vigoureux, aussi bien en Égypte que dans les pays de langue syriaque, et à l'intérieur de ce monachisme, certains mouvements et courants de pensée hétérodoxes qui présentent des analogies frappantes avec certains courants soufis ; je pense en premier lieu à l'origénisme et au messalianisme.

Le monachisme syriaque se distingue de son homologue égyptien par plusieurs traits notables. A l'époque la plus ancienne, nous avons affaire à une organisation d'ascètes libres, vivant parmi les autres, et ne se distinguant d'eux que par des pratiques ascétiques, supplémentaires et, notamment, par la continence absolue. Ces ascètes, benai qeyâmâ « fils du covenant », vivent en mariage spirituel avec des vierges ascètes. Plus tard, lorsque aura prévalu une organisation ecclésiastique analogue à celle des communautés grecques, l'institution des benai qeyâmâ disparaîtra, mais non sans laisser de traces. La phase suivante du monachisme syriaque est formée, comme en Égypte, par l'anachorétisme ; finalement, le cénobitisme prévaut, comme ailleurs.

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L'ascétisme syriaque se signale par des mortifications exceptionnellement rudes ; les performances des stylites sont connues, et elles ne sont pas isolées. Dans des cas limites, le mépris de la chair pouvait aller jusqu'à la mort volontaire dans les flammes. La pauvreté était considérée comme une vertu, et l'ascète parfait abandonnait tout ce qu'il possédait pour se confier entièrement à Dieu. La vie errante en était le corollaire fréquent.

Ne possédant rien, n'ayant pas où poser sa tête, sale, vêtu de loques, le moine errant était un pneumatique. Alors que son apparence extérieure semblait devoir l'exposer au mépris de tous, il atteignait des états mystiques élevés et, notamment, contemplait des visions spirituelles.

Un des phénomènes caractéristiques de cette mystique est l'apparition d'ascètes qui, par leur comportement extérieur, font tout pour s'attirer le blâme de leurs semblables. Ils se comportent de façon que les autres les croient les pires des hommes : leur coeur est pur et ils ont tout abandonné pour Dieu, même leur réputation.

On connaît la captivante histoire que rapporte, au milieu du VI^e siècle de notre ère, le monophysite Jean d'Éphèse dans le chapitre 52 de ses Vies des saints orientaux. Le narrateur, Jean d'Amide, a vu dans sa ville deux jeunes gens qui se comportaient comme des bouffons, plaisantaient avec tout le monde et recevaient des coups. Le garçon portait le costume d'un mime, la fille celui d'une courtisane. Les grands de la ville voulaient l'enfermer dans un lupanar, car personne ne savait où les deux jeunes gens passaient la nuit. Le garçon déclara alors que la fille était sa

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femme et la sauva ainsi ; une dame pieuse voulut s'occuper d'elle, mais n'arriva pas à percer le secret du couple. Or, Jean se mit à les observer et finit par les voir prier la nuit. Après lui avoir fait jurer de ne trahir à personne leur véritable état, ils lui confièrent leur secret. Ils s'appelaient Théophile et Marie et appartenaient à de nobles familles d'Antioche. Lorsque Théophile eut quinze ans, son père lui ordonna un jour d'aller à la campagne. Il se rendit à l'écurie pour prendre quelques chevaux. Il vit alors des rayons de lumière qui sortaient de l'écurie. Il s'approcha et regarda à travers le trou de la porte : un pauvre homme se tenait debout sur le fumier et priait, les mains tendues vers le ciel. Des rayons de lumière sortaient de sa bouche et de ses doigts. Théophile se jeta aux genoux de l'inconnu et lui demanda de lui confier son secret. C'était un Romain, nommé Procope, d'une famille de notables. Avant que son père le mariât, il avait tout abandonné et commencé une vie errante qui l'avait amené jusqu'en Orient. Si Théophile a vu des rayons de lumière émaner de lui, c'est que Dieu veut son salut. Avant un an, ses parents et ceux de Marie mourront. Ils abandonneront la fortune qu'ils auront reçue en héritage, se consacreront uniquement à Dieu et adopteront un déguisement sous lequel personne ne pourra les reconnaître. Aussi longtemps qu'ils le garderont, ils pourront gagner de grands mérites et vivre une vie spirituelle. D'autre part, aussi longtemps qu'il ne lui témoignera aucune marque de respect, et qu'il le laissera tel qu'il est, au milieu du fumier, Théophile pourra le voir ; sinon, il s'en ira et il ne le reverra jamais. Tout se passa comme l'avait dit Procope ; après la mort

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de leurs parents, Théophile et Marie abandonnèrent tout, se consacrèrent entièrement à Dieu et se déguisèrent en bouffons. C'est ainsi que, priant en secret, gardant une chasteté absolue, ils s'exposent toute la journée au blâme et au mépris des hommes. Théophile répète ici à son interlocuteur la mise en garde que Procope lui avait adressée : aussi longtemps qu'il ne leur témoignera aucune marque de respect, qu'il ne les traitera pas, en public, autrement que les autres, il pourra les revoir. Sinon, ils disparaîtront et il ne les reverra jamais.

Pour la préhistoire de la mystique islamique, ce récit est intéressant à plusieurs égards. Retenons-en deux. Des saints vivent parmi les hommes, inconnus et méprisés. Personne ne les reconnaît comme tels, ils ne se révèlent qu'à des élus, destinés à mener la même vie qu'eux et à atteindre la même perfection. C'est, à l'état embryonnaire, la conception qui sera à la base de la représentation soufie d'une hiérarchie invisible d'Amis de Dieu qui passent leur vie ignorés de tout le monde, mais sans lesquels le monde ne pourrait exister.

Le second aspect est étroitement lié au premier. C'est l'idée de la sitûtâ, « mépris », « blâme » : non seulement le saint parfait doit mener une vie qui ne permette pas aux autres de deviner son état, mais il se fait même insulter, passe pour un fou (satê), se considère comme le pire de tous et agit en conséquence. Ce sera le principe même des malâmatîya islamiques.

Un des documents les plus curieux de la littérature mystique syriaque, les plus controversés aussi, le Livre des degrés (Ketâbâ de-masqâtâ), donne une justi-

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fication doctrinale de ce comportement. En bref, il s'agit d'une imitation parfaite du Christ. Le parfait a tout abandonné, il n'a pas où poser sa tête. Il s'est confié entièrement à Dieu et vit dans la chasteté absolue. Il se considère comme le pire des hommes, se mêle à tout le monde, est « tout avec tous », sans juger personne. Ayant renoncé à tout, il ne pense qu'à Dieu. L'Esprit Saint, le Paraclet, vient habiter en lui et il retrouve la perfection qu'a possédée Adam avant sa chute.

Cette perfection n'est pas le fait de tous les chrétiens dont le Ketâbâ demasqâtâ distingue deux catégories les justes (kênê ou zaddîqê) et les parfaits (gemîrê). L'Écriture contient deux sortes de prescriptions : celle de la justice et celle de la perfection. Les faibles, qui sont comme des enfants, doivent suivre les premières, qui sont pour eux comme le lait maternel. Ils pardonneront à leurs ennemis, donneront des aumônes, prendront une seule femme, éviteront le contact des méchants et observeront certaines prescriptions alimentaires. C'est la loi seconde, celle qui fut donnée à Adam après sa chute. Mais les parfaits vivront une vie purement spirituelle. Ils aimeront tout le monde, ami ou ennemi, entreront partout et seront « tout avec tous ». Ayant tout abandonné, ils ne donneront pas d'aumônes visibles — puisqu'ils ne possèdent rien —, mangeront tous les aliments et observeront une chasteté absolue. La loi de la justice suffit pour le salut posthume ; mais seule l'observation de celle de la perfection permet d'obtenir l'inhabitation de l'Esprit Saint et d'atteindre, après la mort, un degré plus élevé.

Une conception métaphysique spécifique est à

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l'arrière-plan de cette distinction. Dieu a créé deux mondes, le monde visible et le monde invisible ; le premier n'est que le symbole du second. Il y a de même deux églises : l'église visible et l'église spirituelle invisible. La première, qui est comme une éducatrice, est le symbole de la seconde. Ses rites, ses sacrements, sont l'image de sacrements spirituels : le baptême visible est nécessaire, mais il n'est que l'image du baptême spirituel qui seul confère la perfection et dont le résultat est la venue du Paraclet. Les parfaits tiennent d'ailleurs fermement à l'église visible et à son ministère : elle est comme un chemin qu'il faut nécessairement emprunter, mais qui ne suffit pas.

Les rapports qu'établit le Livre des degrés entre le monde visible et le monde invisible, entre les sacrements de l'Église catholique et les sacrements spirituels, sont, compte tenu des différences de climat religieux, exactement superposables à ceux que le soufisme et les sectes shiites extrémistes reconnaissent entre le zâhir et le bâtin, entre la lettre de la Loi et la vérité profonde des choses.

On sait que le Ketâbâ de-masqâtâ passe en général pour refléter les doctrines des messaliens. Ce nom syriaque — auquel correspond le nom grec d'euchites — désigne la secte d'après la pratique qui paraît la plus caractéristique, la prière perpétuelle, qui seule, au dire des hérésiographes, permettait de chasser du coeur de l'homme le démon qui y habite à la suite du péché originel. Il s'agit d'un mouvement ascétique, répandu dans tout le Proche-Orient mais plus particulièrement en Syrie et en Mésopotamie, entre le IV^e et le IX^e siècle de notre ère. Condamnés par le

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concile d' Éphèse (431), les messaliens ne nous sont connus que par les notices de leurs adversaires, ainsi que, probablement, par deux documents : les Homélies du pseudo-Macaire (que l'on restitue maintenant au messalien Syméon de Mésopotamie) et le Livre des degrés. La divergence la plus importante entre ces écrits et les notices des hérésiographes porte sur l'appréciation du rôle de l'Église visible et de ses sacrements. Alors que le Livre des degrés l'exalte et insiste sur la nécessité de la pratique extérieure, les messaliens, selon leurs adversaires, mépriseraient l'Église et estimeraient que la pratique de ses sacrements ne peut ni nuire ni profiter ; ils assisteraient en conséquence aux cérémonies de l'Église, mais sans leur attacher d'importance. Cette affirmation peut n'être qu'une déformation malveillante de la première. D'autre part, le messalianisme n'a sans doute jamais formé une secte organisée ; il s'agissait bien plutôt d'un courant d'idées parmi les moines. Des nuances de pensée, des divergences d'attitude sont possibles. Certains messaliens ont pu estimer que la vie sacramentelle de l'Église constituait une propédeutique nécessaire à la vie spirituelle ; d'autres, qu'elle était dénuée de toute valeur intrinsèque.

Cette attitude continue, en fait, celle que le christianisme paulinien a adoptée envers la loi de Moïse. Seulement, les prescriptions de l'Ancien Testament et les sacrements de l'Église tels le baptême et l'Eucharistie sont mis sur le même plan. La confusion a été d'autant plus facile que — le Livre des degrés en fait foi — le christianisme syriaque avait dû garder, aux premiers siècles, une partie des pres-

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criptions et des coutumes juives, notamment dans le domaine alimentaire. Il importe de souligner ici l'importance des paroles de saint Paul sur l'insuffisance des oeuvres que n'accompagne pas la charité : le Ketâbâ de-masqâtâ appelle en effet la loi de la perfection également « la loi de la charité (hubâ) ».

Le prolongement islamique est le seul qui nous intéresse ici. Très tôt, la distinction de deux catégories d'Amis de Dieu commence à s'imposer. Un des plus anciens théoriciens du soufisme, Muhammad ibn ‘Alî al-Tirmidhî (mort en 285 h.), connaît deux sortes d'awliyâ : le walî selon le sidq Allâh, « justice ou loi de Dieu », et le walî selon la minnah, l'action de grâce. Le premier observe scrupuleusement et laborieusement la Loi révélée, ce qui lui permet d'échapper à la damnation et d'avoir une place au paradis. Le second ne désire que Dieu. Il pratique, certes, les obligations de la Loi, mais il est libre et, dès cette vie, transcende sa condition individuelle : le Trône du Seigneur s'installe dans son coeur et il jouit de la contemplation. C'est à son propos que Tirmidhî commente le célèbre hadîth selon lequel Dieu devient la vue, l'ouïe, la main, le coeur de ceux qu'il aime et qui se sont rapprochés de lui.

Or, un reproche fait aux messaliens est qu'ils prétendaient voir Dieu de leurs yeux. Le Livre des degrés permet de nuancer : lorsque l'Esprit Saint est installé dans l'âme du parfait, il voit Dieu dans son coeur comme dans un miroir. Pour arriver à cet état, il faut s'y préparer par la prière, le jeûne, les pratiques ascétiques. Mais la perfection n'est pas automatiquement assurée, Dieu seul la donne : on peut parfois

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passer des dizaines d'années à pratiquer l'ascèse sans jamais atteindre la perfection.

D'autres témoignages parlent d'apparitions, de photismes ; le phénomène n'est pas limité au messalianisme, mais ce dernier semble lui attacher beaucoup de prix. En réfutant les messaliens, Diadoque de Photicée essaie de réduire la portée de ces manifestations. On leur reproche de rechercher des visions, d'en faire le but même de la vie mystique, de croire que la prière perpétuelle seule amène infailliblement les états mystiques. Le reproche est injustifié si l'on se rapporte au Livre des degrés ou aux Homélies du pseudo-Macaire ; mais un reproche identique sera formulé à l'encontre des soufis, celui de rechercher l'extase pour elle-même et de la provoquer artificiellement et notamment par la pratique du dhikr, « souvenir » ou « mention » de Dieu, la répétition inlassable d'un nom de Dieu.

Ce qu'était la prière perpétuelle des messaliens, nous l'ignorons. Nous savons, par contre, qu'une pratique analogue à celle du dhikr musulman était (ou plutôt est) courante chez les mystiques chrétiens orientaux : la prière monologistos, le souvenir de Dieu (mnêmê Theou) ou de Jésus. Elle est connue plusieurs siècles avant la naissance de l'islam : Nil, Cassien, Diadoque de Photicée, Jean Climaque, les hésychastes en portent témoignage. Mais la liaison de ces pratiques avec des exercices respiratoires n'est positivement attestée, aussi bien chez les moines chrétiens que chez les soufis, qu'à une époque beaucoup plus tardive, où des influences venues d'Extrême-Orient sont possibles en islam, d'où elles ont pu rayonner sur le christianisme byzantin. Ces

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techniques s'insèrent dans des contextes théologiques différents de part et d'autre ; la pratique de la « mention » du nom divin est justifiée par des références scripturaires propres à chacune des deux religions. Le but du dhikr est de purifier l'âme, de la vider entièrement de la pensée de tout ce qui n'est pas Dieu ; sa pratique est accompagnée de visions de lumières et d'autres phénomènes semblables — dont la description est analogue chez les hésychastes et les soufis —, mais ni chez les uns ni chez les autres il ne s'agit d'un moyen court, d'une technique amenant infailliblement et en vertu de ses qualités intrinsèques jusqu'à l'union à Dieu, ainsi que le leur reprochent leurs adversaires. Ce reproche sera repoussé aussi bien par Grégoire Palamas que par les théoriciens soufis.

Un dernier point commun entre les messaliens et les soufis, mais dont il est très difficile de connaître quelque chose de précis, la danse. Une danse sacrée paraît avoir été pratiquée par des messaliens dont l'un des noms était celui de Choreutes. Selon Théodoret de Cyr, au V^e siècle, ils se réunissaient pour sauter, en se vantant de sauter par-dessus les démons. Saint Jean de Damas connaît une secte d'Hicètes qui se réunissent dans des monastères, récitent des hymnes et dansent. Une danse en règle est attestée pour les méléciens d'Égypte, mais il ne s'agit pas là de messaliens. Faut-il y voir le modèle des séances de sama’ si répandues parmi les derviches musulmans et dont les exemples classiques sont la danse des Mawlawîya (« derviches tourneurs ») et celle des ‘Isawîya (« Aïssaoua ») du Maroc ?

Quoi qu'il en soit de ce dernier point, les quelques ressemblances entre les conceptions messaliennes et soufies nous paraissent dignes d'intérêt. C'est notamment la distinction des deux classes établie par le Livre des degrés qui est proche de celle que nous fera connaître le mysticisme islamique ; et, tout comme dans l'écrit syriaque, la classe des parfaits sera caractérisée par leur sitûtâ, les plus parfaits des Amis de Dieu étant ceux qui acceptent la malâma, le blâme. La distinction entre une Église visible et une Église invisible est directement liée à cette classification ; mais, dans le Ketâbâ de-masqâtâ, elle n'implique pas une interprétation ésotérique de l'Écriture, réservée aux parfaits. Cette interprétation sera très répandue en islam, comme elle l'avait été dans la littérature patristique. Si donc connexion historique il y a, ce n'est pas le messalianisme qu'il faut nécessairement invoquer comme intermédiaire.

Cette méthode d'exégèse de l'écriture fut pratiquée avec le plus d'ampleur par les néoplatonistes chrétiens d'Alexandrie, Clément et Origène. Solidaire d'une philosophie mystique, elle se répandit dans le monachisme chrétien d'Égypte et du Proche-Orient. Dans l'islam, elle fut pratiquée aussi bien par les soufis que par les différents courants shiites, en particulier les ismaéliens. Le Coran lui-même fournit quelques précédents : les histoires des prophètes anciens n'y sont pas rapportées par intérêt historique, mais comme préfigurations de la carrière de Muhammad, de ses épreuves et du châtiment de ses ennemis. La plus ancienne exégèse ésotérique du Coran, notamment chez les ismaéliens, suit d'assez près les mêmes lignes que la typologie patristique. Les soufis, eux, chercheront à fonder leur spiritualité

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sur une exégèse mystique des versets coraniques, les rapportant aux événements intérieurs de l'âme. La typologie ne sera pas oubliée ; tout comme, depuis Philon jusqu'à Grégoire de Nysse, les mystiques chrétiens et juifs ont vu dans la vie de Moïse le symbole de l'itinéraire de l'âme vers Dieu, les soufis considéreront la vie, la carrière et l'oeuvre de différents prophètes comme des manifestations de différents attributs divins, attributs dont la somme se reflète dans l'image de l'Homme Parfait, l'Homme Intégral, en qui Dieu se contemple comme dans un miroir.

Le but de l'ascèse est, chez les moines chrétiens, la gnose, cette connaissance supérieure et intuitive qui conduit à l'union avec Dieu où qui équivaut à celle-ci. Cette gnose n'est pas nécessairement hétérodoxe et c'est sans doute beaucoup plus à la gnose au sens où l'entendent les moines égyptiens qu'à la gnose « classique » que se rattache le concept soufi de la ma’rifa qui, pareillement, doit résulter d'une ascèse rigoureuse.

Ascèse et visions, mystique intellectualiste et gnose, disparition de l'homme dans l'Un indifférencié au terme de l'ascension, ces concepts jouent un grand rôle dans la doctrine de l'origéniste Évagre le Pontique dont l'influence fut grande. Bien que condamnées, ses doctrines furent pour une bonne part conservées, en partie en grec, mais beaucoup plus en traduction syriaque et arménienne. Ceci concerne notamment son principal ouvrage, les Centuries gnostiques, dont la version intégrale vient seulement d'être retrouvée et publiée, mais qui ont agi surtout sous une forme remaniée. D'autres ouvrages d'Évagre ont été également répandus dans l'Orient syriaque et des fragments de son Antirrhétique ont été retrouvés en sogdien. Ce dernier fait est particulièrement important, puisqu'il montre que l'influence origéniste s'est exercée au-delà même des frontières orientales des territoires qui devaient devenir le centre de la civilisation islamique dans sa période formative.

Chez les Syriens occidentaux, le représentant le plus connu de la mystique hétérodoxe fut Étienne bar Sudailê, auteur présumé du Livre d'Hiérothée chez qui l'influence origéniste est très sensible. L'ascension de l'âme, à travers l'identification avec le Christ souffrant, aboutit chez lui à une complète identification avec l'intellect universel. A travers le Dieu Premier, cette identification vise la Déité indifférenciée et supérieure à tout.

Origénisme et messalianisme se rejoignent dans la dernière grande floraison de la mystique nestorienne, au l^er siècle de l'islam, dont les rapports avec la mystique musulmane devraient être examinés de plus près. Les deux mouvements vivent longtemps en symbiose. Peu à peu, la direction des échanges s'intervertit : elle ira désormais de l'islam vers le christianisme. Ce dernier perd progressivement sa prépondérance numérique et intellectuelle. Au IV^e ou V^e siècle de l'hégire, des chrétiens se mettront à l'école des musulmans. A l'époque mongole, le dernier grand nom de la littérature syriaque, le maphrien jacobite Grégoire Barhebraeus, dans ses écrits mystiques, s'inspirera directement de Ghazali.

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NOTE BIBLIOGRAPHIQUE [excellente et complète, ici omise]

CHAPITRE II LES ORIGINES

Plus qu'une doctrine, l'islam est une règle de vie. La vie quotidienne d'un musulman est marquée par une série d'obligations strictes dont l'accomplissement scrupuleux lui garantit le salut dans l'autre monde et le désigne comme membre de la communauté islamique : profession de foi ; prière, cinq fois par jour, la face tournée en direction de la Kaaba ; jeûne du mois de ramadan ; aumône légale ; pèlerinage de La Mecque.

Cette discipline forme le cadre de la vie d'un musulman. Loin d'être vide de sacré, celle-ci en est pleine. Contrairement à ce qu'on dit très souvent, l'islam n'est pas un déisme rationnel, un pur monothéisme sans clergé ni sacrements. Pour le croyant, il est une loi révélée qui doit être acceptée dans sa substance et dans sa forme, sans qu'il en demande le pourquoi, bi-lâ kaifa. Il l'assume telle qu'elle est et se soumet à la volonté inscrutable de Dieu qui l'a donnée : il est un muslim. Ce caractère gratuit de l'islam, l'absence d'explication rationnelle de ses prescriptions, rassure le fidèle : sa religion vient d'un Dieu qui fait ce qu'il veut, dont la volonté n'a pas

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à être sondée, qui fait naître et mourir, dont, tout vient et à qui tout aboutit.

Vécue par le croyant, cette discipline contient en elle-même un germe de la vie mystique. Si déjà la vie du simple fidèle est remplie du sacré, combien plus le sera celle des hommes qui ont choisi de se consacrer exclusivement au service de Dieu, qui, en plus de l'accomplissement des obligations communes, s'imposent des pratiques surrérogatoires et dont Dieu est la seule et unique pensée ! Déjà le Coran mentionne des pratiques louables qui ne sont pas prescrites à tout le monde. Les prières nocturnes ont dû jouer un grand rôle dans la communauté primitive de Médine ; elles ne sont pas devenues obligatoires, mais leur caractère d'oeuvres pies a toujours été reconnu. Ces veillées nocturnes, tahajjud, seront pratiquées avec prédilection par les mystiques.

La prière rituelle elle-même recèle des virtualités dont les mystiques n'ont pas manqué de tirer profit. Elle comporte bien un minimum de récitation du Coran : la Fâtiha et trois versets d'une autre sourate ; mais il n'y a pas de maximum, et le croyant pieux peut réciter autant de texte sacré qu'il le peut. A cela s'ajoute la pratique fréquente, dès les premiers temps de l'islam, de la lecture en commun du Coran en dehors même de la prière. Lire et réciter le Coran est, par excellence, une oeuvre pie et le mérite en est grand : quelle prière saurait être comparée à la récitation de la parole de Dieu ?

Pour le croyant, le Coran est la parole de Dieu -- non pas un livre inspiré comme la Bible, où l'on peut discuter de la validité de tel ou tel passage, admettre ou contester l'attribution de tel livre à tel auteur sacré, distinguer des genres littéraires et limiter éventuellement la portée des récits historiques sans pour autant manquer de foi. Le Coran est la parole de Dieu, il faut le prendre tel qu'il est, en entier, sans distinction, même si l'on admet ensuite que certains de ses versets en abrogent d'autres, précédemment révélés.

C'est, pour l'immense majorité de la communauté musulmane, une parole incréée. Les mu’tazilites resteront à peu près isolés dans leur tentative d'affirmer le contraire, et l'échec de la mihna abbaside pour imposer par la force le dogme du Coran créé sonna le glas de cette école. Pour les as’arites, l'épithète d'incréé s'appliquera en propre au prototype céleste du Coran, à la Mère du Livre (umm al-kitâb), consignée sur la Tablette bien gardée (Law al-mahfûz), dont le Coran arabe est une traduction en langage humain comme l'ont été, avant lui, la Bible, le Psautier et l'Évangile. La position moyenne sera celle qui estimera que le texte du Livre est incréé, mais que sa récitation ne l'est pas : « Ce qui est écrit, appris par coeur ou récité est incréé, le fait d'écrire, d'apprendre par coeur, de réciter est créé. » Mais les plus intransigeants parmi les hanbalites iront plus loin : « Est incréé tout ce qui se trouve entre les deux reliures », et toute récitation du Coran est elle-même incréée. Le croyant qui récite le livre sacré accomplit une action incréée de Dieu — ce qui montre que, dès le départ, le problème de l'unicité de l'être ne se pose pas en islam de la même façon que dans le christianisme.

On ne lit pas le Coran comme on lit la Bible. Le but de la lecture n'est pas de saisir le sens d'un récit

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en tant que tel, d'apprendre une histoire. Les récits sur les prophètes d'autrefois qu'il contient ne veulent pas être des récits historiques. Rapportés dans un but homilétique évident, ce sont des paraboles où les péripéties des anciens prophètes permettent de dégager une image type de l'expérience prophétique, image qui permet de tirer un enseignement toujours valable et qui peut être appliqué à la carrière de Muhammad. Même ici, il ne s'agit pas de narration continue : ce sont de brefs éclairs, des rappels d'événements apparemment connus, des allusions discrètes. Lues et hautement estimées, les Vies des Prophètes, même celle du Prophète de l'islam, n'ont jamais acquis une valeur canonique. Les traditions prophétiques, non plus, ne sont pas des récits. On y trouve bien, souvent, le rappel des circonstances qui ont amené le Prophète à dire telle ou telle chose, la mention des personnages qui étaient présents, mais l'intérêt est concentré sur la sentence prononcée par le Prophète et qui porte sur tel point litigieux de la loi ou de la doctrine ; l'événement décrit a la valeur d'un précédent, les personnages nommés garantissent le caractère authentique de la tradition. On n'attache pas d'importance à l'anecdote racontée en elle-même.

Le discontinu caractérise le style des sourates coraniques. L'attention du croyant ne s'attache pas à une sourate comme unité formelle et fermée, mais à des versets isolés qui expriment, avec une force et une vigueur exceptionnelles, les thèmes de base de la prédication coranique¹⁴. Les répétitions, les formules stéréotypées fatiguent celui qui lit le Coran d'un jet ; elles permettent au croyant de mieux fixer dans son esprit les vérités de sa foi, et les lui imposent avec beaucoup de force. Composée d'éléments discontinus, révélée par les éclairs solitaires des versets, l'image coranique de Dieu s'est imposée au musulman. En récitant l'écriture sacrée, en l'apprenant par coeur et en méditant sur ses versets, celui-ci croit revivre, en partie, l'expérience du Prophète au moment de la révélation.

Même sans recourir à une exégèse symbolique, à la recherche du sens spirituel caché, différent du sens littéral apparent, un passage admet des explications divergentes selon les circonstances et la situation où il est récité. D'autre part, entre plusieurs interprétations possibles, un homme choisira celle qui correspond le mieux à sa sensibilité et, très souvent, il aura recours au texte sacré non pour s'en inspirer, mais pour justifier ses propres idées.

Compte tenu de ces faits, il n'est pas douteux que le mysticisme islamique, le soufisme, ne soit issu d'une méditation intense du Coran. Ce sont les thèmes coraniques qui l'ont formé et qui lui ont donné le cadre. Parmi ces thèmes, en premier lieu, l'image de Dieu, à jamais ineffaçable : Dieu tout-puissant, qui fait ce qu'il veut. Rien ne lui ressemble, et son essence ne peut être saisie. Il a créé le monde de rien, et le monde périra : tout périra, sauf sa face. Tout ce qui est sur terre passera, la face de Dieu, Puissant et Majestueux, restera. Il a fait naître l'homme, le fera mourir et le ressuscitera une autre fois. Au son de la trompette, les morts surgiront et seront jugés. Ce jour-là, rien ne sera d'aucune utilité à l'homme, ni les biens ni les enfants, il sera seul à la face de son Juge. Car ce jour-là, à qui appartiendra le pouvoir ? A Dieu, l'unique, le Tout-Puissant. Ceux qui ont

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établi un autre dieu à côté de Dieu seront jetés dans la Géhenne, et la Géhenne gémira : « En avez-vous encore ? » Il ne leur servira à rien de dire qu'ils n'avaient pas su. Car, le jour où fut créé Adam, Dieu tira de ses reins la semence de tous ses descendants pour leur poser la question: « Ne suis-je pas votre Seigneur ? » (a-lastu bi-rabbikum). Ils répondirent : « Si ». Ils sont ainsi tous engagés par ce Covenant primordial, et leurs excuses n'ont pas de sens. Mais, d'autre part, s'ils n'ont pas cru, c'est que Dieu les a induits en erreur et a scellé leurs coeurs avec de la cire. Il est Celui qui guide et Celui qui laisse errer. Il est également plein de miséricorde. A ceux qui l'ont craint, qui se sont présentés le coeur contrit, Il dira d'entrer en paix au Paradis ; ils y auront tout ce qu'ils désirent, et Dieu leur en réserve plus encore (mazîd).

Soumis à la réflexion rationnelle, le Coran présente un certain nombre d'apories, notamment en ce qui concerne le problème de la prédestination et du libre arbitre, de la toute-puissance divine et de la responsabilité de l'homme. Inlassablement, le Coran affirme cette dernière ; mais ailleurs, tout aussi fréquemment, il déclare que rien ne se passe sans la volonté de Dieu, que l'obstination même des pécheurs vient de Dieu. Dans une expérience religieuse authentique, le sentiment de la dépendance absolue de la divinité coexiste avec celui de la responsabilité morale des actes, et ils n'apparaissent pas comme contradictoires ; il est plus difficile de les concilier dans une réflexion théologique construite selon des critères rationnels. Les différentes écoles islamiques adopteront des solutions différentes, ce qui ne manquera pas d'exercer une influence sur l'orientation des écoles mystiques. Les ascètes des premiers siècles de l'hégire vivent dans la crainte perpétuelle du jugement divin. A la même époque, les mutazilites soulignent le libre arbitre humain, la justice absolue de Dieu qui ne peut faire ce qui est injuste. L'homme est donc pleinement responsable de ses actes et assume cette responsabilité avec gravité ; mais il ne peut jamais savoir s'il a satisfait la volonté divine, si ses fautes ne l'emportent pas sur ses mérites, s'il n'est pas voué à la damnation éternelle. Plus tard, on sera plus confiant. Ach’arites et hanbalites souligneront la puissance absolue de Dieu, créateur des actes humains. Cette doctrine a inspiré une attitude d'abandon confiant à la volonté divine joint à la certitude du salut futur par le fait même de l'appartenance à la communauté élue. Tandis que la première conception favorisait une métaphysique dualiste où Dieu et la créature étaient radicalement différents, la seconde pousse vers des solutions monistes. C'est là bien entendu, une simplification ; en réalité, le développement fut bien plus complexe et plus nuancé.

L'accomplissement ponctuel des prescriptions religieuses suffit à sauver un homme du feu de l'enfer. Le mystique, lui, n'aspire qu'à Dieu. Cette aspiration s'exprime très souvent à l'aide d'une image coranique que nous venons de mentionner, celle du « jour du surcroît », yaum al-mazîd : pour ses proches, Dieu a plus que les joies du Paradis. L'essence divine se révélera ce jour-là à Ses élus, elle les saluera et les conduira hors du paradis commun. Répandu dès les premiers siècles de l'islam, chanté notamment par

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Dhû'l-Nûn l'Égyptien et Muhâsibî, ce thème s'enrichira et se transformera avec le temps. Le plus souvent, il sera question de la taverne mystique où l'Aimé apparaît sous les traits d'un jeune échanson, ce qui donnera aux poètes arabes et persans une occasion de chanter l'amour pour l'homme beau, reflet de la beauté divine. D'autres fois, l'image primitive sera préservée plus fidèlement. Le cas le plus notable est celui de la danse des Mevlevis, les célèbres « derviches tourneurs ».

Une autre image d'origine coranique qui aura la prédilection des soufis est celle du Covenant primordial. L'extase mystique devient le rappel ou plutôt la réactualisation de cet événement. Sorti du sommeil dans lequel l'a plongé sa condition charnelle, le derviche se rappelle ses origines véritables et renouvelle son adhésion à Son Seigneur. Ici encore, l'image a eu son prolongement « liturgique » : l'action de la musique sur l'homme, telle qu'elle se manifeste notamment dans les séances de samâ' , est expliquée par le souvenir de cet événement. Toute voix est censée reproduire le premier appel et susciter, dans l'âme, les mêmes résonances. Le derviche entre en extase mû par le désir de retrouver sa condition initiale, de contempler la beauté divine. Ce rappel lui fait faire des mouvements, l'amène à danser. Le samâ' n'est point un moyen artificiel de provoquer l'extase, mais un rite qui permet de réactualiser un état antérieur au temps. Il n'est pas étonnant que le samâ' soit interprété également comme évoquant la parole créatrice, Kun ! (Sois !), par laquelle toutes choses sont venues à l'existence.

La réflexion des soufis s'emparera de l'image et la développera. Le jour du Covenant, les hommes n'étaient pas encore nés. Quel était alors leur mode d'existence ? Comment ont-ils pu témoigner ? La vieille représentation de la préexistence des âmes s'insinue dans l'esprit. Plus nuancé, un Junaid parlera de l'existence des hommes en Dieu. N'ayant pas encore d'existence autonome, ils n'étaient que l'objet de la science de Dieu. Celui-ci le fit exister, leur posa la question, attesta pour eux. Pourtant, cet état premier était un genre d'existence plus vrai et meilleur que celui que les hommes ont acquis par la création. Au bout de son cheminement, le mystique le retrouvera. S'étant dépouillé de son humanité, il ne vivra que par Dieu et en Dieu.

Ainsi, la réflexion sur un verset coranique ouvre la voie aux idées néo-platoniciennes. Cela ne veut pas dire que la doctrine soufie sera une copie de cette philosophie, mais seulement que des problèmes posés par la méditation du Livre seront très souvent formulés en termes empruntés au néo-platonisme et les solutions adoptées analogues aux siennes. Il est difficile de faire le départ entre l'apport étranger et la réflexion sur les données coraniques et de tracer les limites exactes entre les deux dans chaque cas particulier. Comme dans l'exemple étudié, il y a souvent rencontre des thèmes et des images et il paraît plus indiqué de parler de symbiose que d'influence. En tout cas, certains domaines resteront toujours plus réfractaires ; même lorsqu'elle est définie en termes philosophiques, l'image de la Divinité restera toujours profondément coranique.

Le soufisme est né dans une atmosphère de profonde imprégnation coranique. Mais d'autres mou-

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vements islamiques -- tel le hanbalisme -- en étaient également sortis, sans que pour cela ils aient évolué dans un sens analogue. A l'appel initial du texte sacré, certains individus réagissaient d'une façon spéciale qui était conforme à leurs aspirations profondes.

L'imitation du Prophète, l'obligation de suivre sa sunna en toute circonstance, est un trait caractéristique de l'islam. Les soufis, surtout dans les premiers siècles, se distinguent par une observation particulièrement scrupuleuse de la sunna ; ils insistent sur certains aspects de l'expérience du Prophète, sa pauvreté initiale, les longues persécutions qu'il a subies dans sa ville natale, la soif du divin qu'il éprouvait en s'isolant dans les montagnes de Hirâ, sa rencontre avec Gabriel qui lui révéla sa vocation prophétique et lui dicta les premières paroles du Coran, ses jeûnes, ses prières, son combat. Mais l'épisode de la vie de Muhammad qui a sans doute le plus influencé les mystiques fut celui de son voyage nocturne : une nuit il fut ravi de la Mosquée Sacrée à la Mosquée Très-Lointaine, de La Mecque à Jérusalem, et de là au ciel. On trouva des allusions à ce voyage dans deux sourates du Coran, 17, 1 : « Gloire à Celui qui transporta la nuit Son serviteur de la Mosquée Sacrée à la Mosquée Très-Éloignée... » et plus encore dans les premiers versets de la sourate 53 qui décrivent une vision du Prophète. Monté au septième ciel, ce dernier s'approcha de la Divinité « de deux arcs ou moins » (qâba qausaini au adnâ), et il l'a vue « près du Lotus de la Limite (sidrat al-muntahâ), à côté duquel se trouve le jardin al-Ma' wa ». Les récits de cette ascension nocturne (al-mi`râg), très nombreux, formeront la piété musulmane. Pour les mystiques, l'ascension du Prophète constitue le modèle de leur propre expérience extatique. Elle marque en même temps ses limites ; l'essence divine reste inaccessible, le qâba qausain est le maximum de ce qu'un homme peut atteindre, car personne ne saurait dépasser le Prophète.

A d'autres égards encore, l'imitation de Muhammad informe la mystique musulmane. Bien que la femme ne jouisse pas d'une haute opinion et que sa fréquentation soit considérée comme occasion de péchés, très peu nombreux seront les soufis qui pratiqueront le célibat, et moins encore ceux qui le prêcheront pour les autres. Comme tout musulman, le mystique doit se marier et contribuer ainsi au renforcement de la communauté. Le soufi n'est pas un moine, il vit au milieu de ses semblables et partage leur vie, leurs joies et leurs peines.

Or, c'est comme un ascétisme que commence le mysticisme islamique. Il s'agit d'une piété pratique qui ne s'embarrasse pas encore de spéculations métaphysiques, qui prêche la primauté de l'intention sur l'acte, qui met l'accent sur la pureté intérieure, la contrition, la crainte de Dieu. La note dominante est pessimiste. Un homme ne sait jamais comment il affrontera le jugement divin, il ignore s'il n'est pas voué à la damnation éternelle. Cette vie périssable est sans valeur, chaque jour nous rapproche de la mort. Il ne faut pas s'attacher à ce monde-ci, Dieu lui-même le déteste ; il n'a de valeur que comme préparation à l'au-delà, mais on ne peut jamais être sûr que la foi et les oeuvres accomplies nous préservent de la colère divine. On ne doit pas rire, pleurer convient

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davantage au pénitent. Renoncer aux biens de ce monde est recommandé, non comme un but en soi, mais parce que leur usage détourne de l'amour de l'autre monde.

Parmi les compagnons du Prophète on cite quelques cas d'ascètes, tels Abu Dharr al-Ghiffârî ou ‘Imrâm b. al-Husain al-Khuzâ’î. Ce n'est cependant pas sur eux qu'insiste la tradition hagiographique. Elle parle d'un groupe de dévots désignés comme ahl al-suffa « les gens de la banquette » qui se seraient adonnés à des pratiques ascétiques et à des exercices surérogatoires à la mosquée de Médine ; et elle mentionne avec prédilection la légende de ‘Uwais al-Qaranî, qui est très importante pour la compréhension de certaines tendances du mysticisme islamique et sur laquelle nous reviendrons. Les hagiographes aiment à revenir également sur la piété des quatre premiers califes qui, notamment Abd Bakr et ‘Ali, auraient joué un grand rôle dans la transmission de la science mystique.

Dans la seconde moitié du I^er siècle de l'hégire, le nombre d'ascètes croît, non seulement à Médine, en Syrie ou en Irak, mais aussi dans le Khurâsân qui forme alors la marche orientale de l'empire des califes. Parmi ces ascètes, quelques noms se détachent de la masse, en premier lieu celui de Hasan de Basra, en qui les soufis verront plus tard leur patriarche.

Né en 21 de l'hégire, probablement à Médine, il passe la plus grande partie de sa vie à Basra, où il meurt en 110. Sa personnalité eut une influence considérable dans tous les domaines de la pensée islamique. Prêchant l'imminence de la mort et du jugement, la nécessité de conformer les actions et les paroles, les pensées et les actes, il insiste sur l'importance de l'examen de conscience et sur le devoir de correction fraternelle. Correction fraternelle mais non insurrection armée : il refuse de prendre parti dans les querelles intestines qui, de son vivant, déchirent la communauté islamique. Dans la question si importante de la prédestination et du libre arbitre, il occupe une position intermédiaire, et les partisans des deux solutions le revendiqueront. Il est ascète, mais ne préconise pas l'abstinence sexuelle et sa cuisine non plus n'est pas dépourvue d'attrait. Le juste gain est considéré par lui comme légitime, et l'argent n'est pas répudié : seulement il entend se contenter, pour sa part, de l'indispensable, et distribuer le reste.

Tous ces traits resteront caractéristiques du mysticisme islamique. Le soufi vit dans le siècle, son existence n'a de sens que parce qu'il appelle les autres à Dieu et les fait bénéficier de son intimité avec Dieu.

Mentionnons quelques autres ascètes des premiers siècles : ‘Abd al-Wâhid ibn Zaid, organisateur et fondateur du cloître d'Abâdân ; Ibrâhim ibn Adham, prince de Balkh, dont le récit de la conversion est influencé par la légende du Bouddha ; la grande sainte Rabi'a al-’Adawîya, et Abû Sulaimân al-Dârânî. Les tendances au renoncement, l'attachement scrupuleux à la Loi, se combinent chez ces ascètes avec un sens très profond de la pureté intérieure et un amour passionné de Dieu.

La Loi islamique considère un certain nombre d'aliments comme impurs : la viande du porc, le sang, etc. Ces interdits sont observés par les soufis ; ils en ajoutent d'autres, qui ne sont pas sans rappeler

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des usages courants parmi les anciens chrétiens. Toute nourriture acquise d'une façon illicite est impure ; tout ce qui est acheté avec de l'argent gagné dans des jeux de hasard, par la rapine, par le mensonge, est impropre à la consommation. On ne mange pas ce qui n'a pas été donné de bon coeur, et très souvent on considérera comme impur tout ce qui vient des puissants de ce monde, émirs et rois, parce que leurs biens sont acquis de façon illicite, que leur pouvoir est usurpé et qu'ils sont des « tyrans ». A la limite, tout aliment acheté au marché est suspect, on n'a confiance que dans la nourriture qu'on a préparée soi-même. La nourriture licite a une vertu propre, sa consommation rapproche le fidèle de Dieu. Au contraire, les aliments impurs rendent l'homme plus animal, l'abaissent et l'induisent au péché.

Voici quelques exemples de cette attitude, empruntés à la littérature soufie plus récente, mais tout à fait conformes à la tradition.

Dans les débuts de sa carrière, le Khwâga Bahâ' al-Dîn Naqsband (XIV^e siècle) fut reçu, un soir, par le roi de Hérat. Ce dernier avait pris des précautions pour que la nourriture servie fût rituellement pure. Le saint homme n'y toucha point : c'était un repas offert par un roi, donc irrémédiablement impur.

Son contemporain, ‘Alî-i Hamadânî, tomba en extase dans les débuts de sa carrière. Son état mystique fut tellement fort qu'il fallut le lier pour qu'il se tînt tranquille. Finalement, on acheta de la nourriture au marché: elle n'était plus absolument pure et sa consommation par le mystique interrompit son extase et le ramena à son état normal.

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Le moindre manquement à la pureté a ainsi pour effet d'éloigner l'homme de Dieu et de le réduire à son niveau humain. De ce point de vue, le dernier récit cité est comparable à cet autre que l'on rapporte d'un cheikh anonyme. Un jour, après des années d'exercices ascétiques et d'efforts, ce dernier atteignait la lumière sans borne et sans limite qui remplit le monde et constitue sa véritable essence. Il resta stupéfié et terrassé, et ne put ni manger ni dormir. Il ne sut comment retrouver son état normal. Un ami lui conseilla de soulever, dans un champ, un brin de paille sans la permission du propriétaire. Le cheikh le fit, la lumière disparut et il revint à lui.

L'amour de Dieu est une des notes dominantes de cette mystique. C'est aussi un de ses traits qui scandalisent le plus les docteurs. Étant donné la transcendance absolue de Dieu et son incommensurabilité avec les créatures, il leur paraît scandaleux d'envisager leurs rapports en termes érotiques. Toute la mystique postérieure emploiera un vocabulaire érotique et parlera de Dieu comme du Bien-Aimé et des mystiques comme de ses amants. La poésie soufie popularisera ces images qui constitueront un thème de prédilection de poètes persans, turcs ou urdu. Bien que, dans les premiers siècles, on soit encore loin de cette rhétorique, certains aspects de cet amour sont, par contre, déjà présents.

De cet amour, Dieu est le seul et l'unique objet. On le désire pour lui-même, indépendamment de la récompense qu'il peut donner. On connaît les paroles célèbres de Rabi’a sur les deux amours, l'amour qui implique son propre bonheur — par la jouissance de Dieu — et celui qui est vraiment digne de Lui, où

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elle-même n'a plus de part. Des idées analogues se trouvent formulées dans un hadîth : « Ce monde-ci est interdit, aux hommes de l'autre monde ; et l'autre monde est interdit aux hommes de ce monde-ci ; et ils sont tous les deux interdits aux hommes de Dieu Très-Haut. » Ni jouissance des biens de ce monde, ni de ceux de l'autre, mais dévotion exclusive pour Dieu. Même malgré lui, voire contre son ordre.

Abû Sulaimân al-Dârânî dit : « Mon Seigneur ! Si Tu m'as réclamé mes pensées secrètes, je t'ai réclamé Ton Unicité ; et si Tu m'as réclamé mes péchés, je T'ai réclamé Ta générosité ; et si Tu m'a mis parmi les gens de l'enfer, j'ai proclamé aux gens de l'enfer mon amour pour Toi. »

L'amant mystique se sent rejeté par son Bien-Aimé, mais il continue à lui témoigner son amour. Un peu plus tard, cette attitude se cristallisera dans un symbole qu'affecteront les plus grands parmi les soufis, depuis al-Hallâg jusqu'à Ibn ‘Arabi : la réhabilitation d'Iblîs.

On connaît la version coranique du récit de la chute des anges. Ayant créé Adam, Dieu exige des anges qu'ils se prosternent devant lui. Iblîs n'obéit pas, est rejeté et devient démon. Mais pourquoi Iblîs ne s'est-il pas prosterné ? Les mystiques savent la réponse : il refusa d'adorer un être créé¹⁵. Contre l'ordre formel de Dieu, il témoigna de l'unité divine. Dans sa réjection, il reste le parfait monothéiste. Il a enfreint un ordre de Dieu, non sa volonté. Il reste le modèle de l'amant de Dieu.

Certains en ajoutent un autre : le Pharaon de l'exode. En refusant d'obéir à Moïse, celui-ci n'a fait que récuser un intermédiaire créé entre Dieu et lui-même.

Ces sommets de spéculation sont rarement atteints dans les deux premiers siècles. Plus fréquente est encore l'attitude classique qui oppose ce monde-ci et l'autre, l'infinie majesté divine et le peu de valeur de l'homme, l'obligation pour celui-ci d'accomplir les devoirs prescrits sans s'attendre à une récompense, Dieu est souverain, il agit comme il veut et donne ce qu'il veut et à qui il veut. Ahmad b. ‘Asîm al-Antakî dit : « Estime grandement le peu de subsistance que Dieu t'a donné, pour que tes remerciements soient purifiés ; et estime comme peu de choses les nombreux actes d'obéissance envers Dieu que tu pratiques en meurtrissant ton âme et l'exposant au pardon. »

L'accomplissement des devoirs et des actions surérogatoires rapproche l'homme de Dieu ; c'est même la seule voie qui conduise vers lui. Dans un hadîth qudsi célèbre, attesté pour la première fois au III^e siècle de l'hégire, mais sans doute plus ancien, Dieu dit : « En vérité, les hommes ne se rapprochent de moi que par des oeuvres semblables à celles qui leur ont été prescrites. Et le serviteur ne cesse pas de se rapprocher de moi par des oeuvres surérogatoires jusqu'à ce que je l'ai pris en affection. Et lorsque je l'ai pris en affection, je suis devenu sa vue, son ouïe, sa main et sa langue : c'est par moi qu'il entend, c'est par moi qu'il voit, c'est par moi qu'il touche, c'est par moi qu'il parle. » Par des oeuvres de dévotion, l'homme se rapproche ainsi de Dieu. A un moment, il rencontre l'amour de Dieu qui vient au-devant de lui. Il perd alors ses qualités humaines, Dieu remplit tout son être et il n'existe plus qu'en Dieu.

Le mépris de ce monde entraîne celui de la science

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profane, voire de toute science qui ne soit pas celle de Dieu. Antakî affirme : « En vérité, j'ai étudié les sciences, j'ai éprouvé les principes, j'ai goûté la pensée, j'ai absorbé la théorie, je me suis efforcé de retenir en mémoire, je me suis plongé dans la sagesse, j'ai appris l'art sermonnaire, j'ai coordonné la parole avec la pensée, j'ai fait correspondre l'expression et le sentiment, mais je n'ai trouvé aucune science plus riche en connaissance, plus guérisseuse pour la poitrine, plus pieuse dans ses intentions, plus vivifiante pour le coeur, plus attirante au bien et plus répugnante au mal, plus dominante au coeur et plus nécessaire au serviteur que la science de la connaissance (ma'rifa) de l'Adoré, de la profession de son Unité (tawhid), de la foi et la certitude de son au-delà, afin que s'établissent sûrement la crainte de son chûtiment et l'espoir de sa récompense, la reconnaissance pour ses faveurs, la pensée qui n'a pas de fins, et l'inspiration qui n'a pas de bornes. Par des arguments rationnels, on apprend la résolution, et la force de la résolution arrive à dominer les passions. Mais on pénètre les vérités profondes des traditions par effort, compréhension et réflexion. Alors la certitude est acquise, tandis que les actions sont assurées ; sinon, les actes sont sujets au doute. N'est pas roi celui qui obéit a la passion et offre le royaume de ce monde ; est roi celui qui domine la passion et demande pardon du royaume de ce monde. »

Ainsi le refus de la science profane, la reconnaissance de sa vanité, débouche sur l'exaltation de la seule science utile, de la ma’rifa du Créateur. Cette mar’ifa — gnose — est celle des réalités ultimes ; y arriver, connaître les haqâ iq, influe sur le comportement du mystique. Il n'erre plus, sait à quoi s'en tenir et agit avec certitude.

La gnose peut être tout simplement une connaissance plus exacte et plus sûre de la doctrine islamique, voire de la Loi révélée. Elle peut aussi cacher un savoir ésotérique, « gnostique » au sens de la gnose classique. En fait, la spéculation soufie se développe ici autour du thème central de la doctrine islamique, du tawhîd « profession de l'Unicité divine » et aboutit parfois à des conclusions fort éloignées de celles des oulémas. Pour les deux premiers siècles de l'islam, nous ne savons pas grand-chose sur le contenu de ces spéculations ; il nous suffit de constater que, tout comme chez les moines chrétiens, la pratique ascétique est accompagnée de l'acquisition de la gnose qui en constitue l'aboutissement ; et que cette gnose est en quelque sorte équivalente à la reconnaissance amoureuse de Dieu.

Nous sommes mieux renseignés sur les spéculations d'un autre milieu, celui des différents mouvements chiites. Né comme un mouvement politique d'allégeance à la famille du Prophète, plus spécialement à son cousin 'Alî et sa fille Fatima ainsi qu'à leurs descendants, le chiisme évolue rapidement dans un sens religieux ; ou plutôt, le religieux et le politique y sont dès le début inextricablement mêlés. La lignée principale des imans 'alides a renoncé à l'action armée. Jusqu'à l'extinction de la lignée, ses représentants vivent, tout d'abord à Médine, ensuite comme prisonniers d'honneur des califes abbasides à Bagdad et à Samarra, se vouant exclusivement à une activité religieuse. La tradition nous les montre entourés

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de disciples, interprétant la révélation et la loi, se désintéressant du pouvoir politique, mais d'autant plus jaloux de leurs prérogatives religieuses. Preuves de Dieu sur terre, ils se transmettent, de génération en génération, un savoir ésotérique qu'ils ne communiquent qu'à des initiés, et jamais en entier. Ils passent leur existence inconnus de la grande masse. Pourtant, pour être sauvé, il faut les connaître. Car « celui qui est mort sans connaître l'imam de son temps est mort païen ». Leurs partisans, leur sî`a ne constituent qu'une petite minorité parmi les croyants ; mais c'est une élite. Selon certaines sectes extrémistes, les prophètes, les imams et leurs partisans ont été créés d'une autre substance que le reste des hommes ; mais une tradition qui l'affirme se retrouve dans le recueil duodécimain de Kulainî. Plus généralement, les chiites se considèrent comme une élite, la khâssa, par opposition à la grande masse des musulmans, la ‘âmma.

Détenteur de la science ésotérique, intermédiaire nécessaire entre les hommes et la divinité, maître d'un groupe de disciples, l'imam est désigné aussi par le terme de walî « ami » (de Dieu), de wasi « héritier » (du Prophète). A une époque plus tardive, les mêmes termes se trouvent appliqués aux maîtres soufis. Eux aussi transmettent à leurs disciples un savoir ésotérique ; c'est grâce à l'enseignement du cheikh que le soufi parvient à Dieu, et sa personne lui sert d'intermédiaire obligatoire. On discute alors pour savoir qui est le véritable héritier du Prophète : l'imam, l'ouléma, le cheikh soufi. Chaque parti affirme que c'est à lui que s'applique le hadîth : « Les oulémas de ma communauté sont comme les prophètes des fils d'Israël » et « les oulémas sont les héritiers des prophètes ». Ces discussions mettent en jeu un problème vital auquel doit faire face la communauté islamique. Dans le passé, Dieu a toujours suscité des prophètes qui, soit apportaient à l'humanité une nouvelle révélation, soit l'appelaient à Dieu. Désormais, l'ère de la prophétie étant close, il s'agit de savoir qui doit guider l'humanité vers Dieu. La majorité se fie à l'interprétation de la loi révélée par les savants et la croit suffisante, car « ma communauté ne sera jamais d'accord sur une erreur ». Mais, argumentent les chiites, les oulémas peuvent se tromper et les versets du Coran sont souvent ambigus. Il faut donc un guide infaillible, et ce guide est désigné par Dieu, il est son ami. Non seulement il interprète la révélation, mais il rapproche les hommes de Dieu. Le cheikh soufi, lui aussi, appelle les hommes à Dieu ; non seulement il se prononce sur la conformité de leurs actions avec la lettre de la loi, mais aussi sonde leurs coeurs et leurs pensées. Tout comme les chiites, les soufis se distinguent de la grande masse, de la ‘amma. Comme eux, ils possèdent un savoir ésotérique ; comme leurs imams, ils sont des awliyâ, des Amis de Dieu. Seulement, ce privilège ne leur est pas venu par voie d'héritage, ni en vertu de leur appartenance à une certaine famille. La gnose leur fut, certes, transmise, par leurs maîtres ; mais aussi et surtout ils l'ont acquise par une inspiration directe, distincte de l'inspiration prophétique, et également légitime¹⁶.

Soufisme et chiisme résolvent ainsi, chacun à sa manière, un problème posé par la doctrine islamique elle-même ; l'un et l'autre permettent à leurs adhé-

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rents de vivre, à l'intérieur d'un groupe restreint, une vie religieuse plus intense que celle de la masse des croyants. Ces analogies de structure ne suffisent pas à prouver, entre les deux mouvements, une connexion historique autre que leur appartenance commune à la communauté islamique. Mais des faits plus précis permettent d'aller un peu plus loin, sans que le problème se laisse entièrement résoudre.

A une époque plus récente, il est vrai, toutes les congrégations soufies revendiquent ‘Ali comme ancêtre spirituel et lui attribuent notamment l'origine de leur science ésotérique. Selon l'une des versions de la chaîne initiatique classique, ‘Ali transmit son froc à Hasan al-Basrî ; selon l'autre, le froc et la science ésotérique furent transmis dans la ligne des imams valides jusqu'au huitième d'entre eux, ‘Alî al-Ridhâ.... La tradition peut s'expliquer de deux façons : ou bien elle atteste des liens réels entre chiites et soufis au moment où elle fait son apparition ; ou, au contraire, il s'agit d'un exemple de cette « défense sunnite » dont le soufisme donnera plusieurs exemples au cours de son histoire. En se plaçant sous le patronage de la famille du Prophète, unanimement vénérée par les musulmans, en affirmant posséder une science ésotérique dérivée de ‘Alî, on retirait aux chiites une partie de leur force et l'on intégrait, sous une forme atténuée, celles de leurs doctrines qu'il était possible de concilier avec l'appartenance à la majorité. Les deux explications ne s'excluent d'ailleurs pas ; la différence est dans l'intention, non dans le fait de la présence d'éléments chiites. Il est en tout cas caractéristique que la tradition en question apparaisse à une époque où la puissance politique de différents courants chiites est à son sommet : les Bouyides sont à Bagdad, les Fatimides au Caire.

Un dernier fait : le cas d'al-Hallâg. On sait que le célèbre mystique fut condamné, pour ses prétentions à la divinité et que l'accusation fut formulée par les chiites. Un juge chiite siégea d'ailleurs au tribunal. Antérieurement, il avait fréquenté des milieux ismaéliens et qarmates et avait même été considéré par certains comme un missionnaire qarmate. A Qum, centre chiite depuis toujours, il se serait prétendu envoyé par l'imam caché et aurait montré une lettre qu'il tenait de lui, provoquant ainsi la fureur des oulémas imamites. Rien de tout cela n'est très précis, mais il y a le fait indéniable de la fréquentation de différents milieux chiites. Et il ne faut pas oublier qu'al-Hallâg est l'un des premiers auteurs soufis dont les écrits présentent un caractère gnostique évident. On y trouve notamment des spéculations sur la valeur mystique des lettres de l'alphabet, spéculations très répandues dans les milieux chiites depuis au moins le temps du vieil hérétique Mugîra b. Sa 'îd au temps de l'imam Muhammad Bâqir et qui, à l'époque même d'al-Hallâg, étaient couramment pratiquées par les ismaéliens.

Quoi qu'il en soit, au III^e siècle, la jonction est faite entre les spéculations gnostiques et les pratiques ascétiques. Ce siècle voit les grands classiques du soufisme, Dhu'l-Nun l'Égyptien, Hârith al-Muhâsibî, Abû Yazid Bistâmi, ‘Ali b. Muhammad al-Tirmidhî, Junaid et Hallâg.

NOTE BIBLIOGRAPHIQUE [omise]

CHAPITRE III L'ESSOR

La tradition soufie et, après elle, l'orientalisme européen, considèrent le III^e et le IV^e siècle de l'hégire comme l'âge d'or du soufisme. Le développement ultérieur n'est souvent considéré que comme une sorte de décadence dont le développement de la théorie de la wahdat al-wujûd « l'unicité de l'être » serait un des symptômes. En agissant ainsi, les orientalistes acceptent, d'une part, l'image idéale dressée par les soufis eux-mêmes qui, d'accord avec toute la vision musulmane du monde, voient l'âge d'or dans le passé ; d'autre part — et cela vaut notamment pour leur attitude envers la wahdat al-wujûd — ils obéissent à un réflexe plus ou moins inconscient qui leur fait considérer comme décadence tout ce qui s'écarte des normes et des schémas auxquels l'orthodoxie chrétienne nous a habitués. Il est possible également de renverser la question en demandant si la mystique de l'école d' Ibn ‘Arabi ne représente pas un progrès sur celle des ascètes de Bagdad, en ce sens qu'elle prend conscience des virtualités propres à l'islam et les développe. Nous refusant de prendre parti, nous considérons comme les grands siècles du soufisme

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toute la période qui va du III^e au VIII^e siècle de l'hégire ; ce qui ne veut pas dire qu'à une époque plus tardive il n'y ait pas eu de développements intéressants. Mais les grandes options sont désormais prises et les attitudes fondamentales varieront peu.

Un des maîtres les plus anciens du soufisme au III^e siècle de l'hégire est Dhû'l-Nûn l'Égyptien, mort en 246 h. Considéré par la tradition comme magicien et alchimiste, il aurait appris les hiéroglyphes et étudié les livres hermétiques. De ses écrits alchimiques, il ne subsiste plus rien ; quant à ses écrits mystiques, on n'en a que des extraits, préservés par des historiens du soufisme, notamment par Abû Nu‘aim. Dans un poème d'une exquise beauté, il chante l'amour divin avec des accents passionnés. Dans un autre fragment, en prose celui-ci, il décrit les joies du sama’ au Paradis, description basée sur le thème coranique du yaum al-mazîd. C'est sans doute l'attestation la plus ancienne de l'interprétation du sama’ en termes eschatologiques, interprétation qui devait faire fortune. Dhû 'l-Nûn est, en effet, un des théoriciens les plus anciens du sama’ . I1 passe aussi pour avoir, sinon introduit, au moins précisé la notion de la ma‘rifa dans le soufisme.

Nous sommes beaucoup mieux renseignés sur son contemporain Hârith al-Muhâsibî, mort en 243 h., un des plus anciens représentants de l'école mystique de Bagdad, dont plusieurs écrits sont parvenus jusqu'à nous. Lui aussi chanta le yaum al-mazîd dans son Kitâb al-tawakhum, et son traité sur l'amour s'attache à définir les problèmes que pose l'amour divin. Mais c'est surtout comme théoricien de l'examen de conscience — à quoi se réfère son surnom et où il continue la tradition de Hasan Basrî — qu'il passera à la postérité ; c'est à ce problème qu'est consacré son ouvrage principal, le Kitâb al-ri’âya li-huqûq Allâh. Cet ouvrage définit, entre autres, le comportement et la règle de vie qui s'imposent au mystique et qui produisent dans son âme une série d'états qui constituent autant d'étapes sur la voie menant à Dieu.

Passons rapidement sur des soufis comme Ibn Karrâm, Yahyâ ibn Mu’âdh al-Râzî, Sahl Tustarî pour nous arrêter sur quelques cas qui permettent d'étudier de plus près certains grands problèmes de la mystique musulmane. Le premier est Abû Yazid Bistâmî.

Paysan rude et inculte, observant scrupuleusement les prescriptions de la loi religieuse, Bayâzid Bistâmî pratiqua une ascèse austère. Descendant d'un mage, il eut comme maître dans le tawhîd un Abû ‘Alî Sindî à qui il apprit en échange les quelques sourates du Coran récitées dans la prière rituelle. Certains orientalistes en ont conclu qu'il s'agissait d'un converti et que les secrets du tawhîd qu'il aurait appris à son disciple étaient ceux du Védânta. Ces essais ne résistent pas à la critique, même si l'expérience mystique de Bistâmî peut rappeler, par certains côtés, celle de quelques mystiques indiens. Mais il est foncièrement musulman et attache beaucoup d'importance à l'accomplissement des devoirs, tout en insistant sur la pureté intérieure sans laquelle ces actes restent sans valeur.

On demanda à Abû Yazîd : « Les hommes disent que la profession de foi « il n'y a pas de dieu sauf Dieu » est la clef du paradis. » Il répondit : « Ils disent la vérité ;

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mais une clef sans serrure n'ouvre rien ; et les serrures du « Il n'y a pas de dieu sauf Dieu » sont au nombre de quatre : Une langue pure de mensonge et de distraction ; un coeur pur de ruse et de trahison ; un ventre pur de toute nourriture illicite ou douteuse ; des actions pures de passion et d'innovation. »

Ces actes de piété ne sont pourtant rien à côté de la majesté de Dieu, dont rien ne peut donner aucune idée.

Abû Yazîd disait : « Les hommes se repentent de leurs péchés et moi, je me repens de mes paroles « Il n'y a pas de dieu sauf Dieu », car je parle avec des sens et des lettres ; or, Dieu est en dehors des sens et des lettres. »

Face à Dieu, les hommes et leurs actions ne valent rien.

Abû Yazîd dit : « Si, depuis Adam jusqu'au jour de la résurrection, Tu as pardonné (leurs péchés à tous les hommes), Tu as pardonné à une poignée de terre. Si, depuis Adam jusqu'au jour de la résurrection, tu fais brûler dans le feu (tous les hommes), tu fais brûler une poignée de terre. »

L'homme doit se confier entièrement à Dieu.

Abû Yazîd dit : « Pour ce qui est de l'abandon confiant en Dieu, qu'il te suffise : de ne voir personne d'autre que Lui qui t'aide ; de ne voir d'autre trésorier pour ta subsistance que Lui ; de n'avoir aucun autre témoin de tes actes que Lui. »

Et c'est à Dieu, et à Dieu seul, qu'Abû Yazîd demande de le guider.

On demanda à Abû Yazîd : « Comment es-tu arrivé là où tu es arrivé ? » Il dit : « Je fis plusieurs choses ; la première est : J'ai pris comme maître Dieu — Gloire à Lui ! — et je me suis dit : Si ton Seigneur ne te suffit pas, qui d'autre que Lui te suffira dans les Cieux et sur terre ? Puis j'ai occupé ma langue par Sa mention et mon corps par son service. Toutes les fois qu'un membre de mon corps n'en pouvait plus, je me tournais vers un autre. C'est alors qu'il me fut dit : « Abû Yazîd ! Abû Yazîd ! »

Humilité, compassion universelle et dépouillement de la personnalité : il n'y a pas d'autre voie pour arriver à Dieu:

Abû Yazîd dit : « Je vis le Seigneur de la Puissance en rêve et lui demandai : « Quel est le chemin qui mène vers Toi ? » Il me dit : « Dépouille-toi de ton toi et élève-toi ! »

Le chemin est long et difficile, ses sommets sont impossibles à atteindre:

On raconte qu'Abû Yazîd dit : « Je me suis plongé dans les océans des connaissances mystiques jusqu'à ce que j'arrive à celui de Muhammad. Je vis entre lui et moi un millier de degrés ; et si je m'en rapprochais d'un seul, je brûlerais. »

Pourtant, dans l'ivresse de l'extase, il croit avoir atteint des sommets, se dit Dieu, voire supérieur à lui. Il s'exclame alors : « Gloire à moi, combien grande est ma puissance ! », en employant à propos lui-même une expression qu'il n'est licite d'employer que pour Dieu.

Abû Yazîd est, historiquement, le premier mystique musulman chez qui des exclamations de ce genre soient attestées, et chez qui elles paraissent les plus spontanées. L'attitude qui s'y reflète n'est qu'en apparence opposée à celle dont témoignent les paroles que nous avons citées tout à l'heure. Au point de départ, le mystique s'est dépouillé de son propre moi ; une fois

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entré en extase, il est rempli de Dieu et les exclamations qu'il profère n'expriment plus sa propre individualité.

La valeur du récit suivant, souvent cité, est à peu près la même:

On raconte qu'Abû Yazîd dit : « Il m'éleva un jour et me plaça devant Lui », et dit : « O Abû Yazîd ! Mes créatures veulent te voir. » Je dis alors: « Orne-moi de Ton unicité, habille-moi de Ton individualité, élève-moi à Ton unité, afin que, me voyant, tes créatures disent : « Nous t'avons vu. Et ce sera Toi, et moi je n'y serai pas. »

Les partisans de l'idée de l'influence védântine sur Bistâmî ont fait de ce passage un de leurs arguments favoris ; l'expression « et ce sera toi » (watakûnu anta dhâka) serait une traduction de l'affirmation bien connue des Upanishad, « toi tu es cela » (tat tvam asi). Il suffit pourtant de comparer les contextes pour constater que la démarche dans les deux cas est exactement inverse. Alors que dans le chapitre célèbre de la Chandogya Upanisad, Uddalaka Aruni s'adresse à son fils Svetaketu pour lui expliquer que, sous des dehors variés, la réalité de toutes choses est la même, que lui-même, Svetaketu, « est cela », Bistâmî dit à Dieu que, lorsque les créatures le regarderont, lui, Bistâmî, il aura disparu et il n'y aura plus que Dieu. D'un côté, l'extension de la personnalité du mystique jusqu'à ce qu'elle coïncide avec l'essence de toutes les choses ; de l'autre, son oblitération complète et sa disparition en Dieu¹⁷.

Dans l'ivresse de l'extase, le mystique croit avoir atteint Dieu et réalisé l'union avec Lui. Mais pénétrant plus loin, il finit par comprendre que ce n'était qu'une illusion.

On raconte également qu'il dit : « Dès que j'allai vers son unicité, je devins un oiseau dont le corps était en unité et les ailes en éternité. Et je ne cessai de voler dans le ciel de la qualité pendant dix ans jusqu'à ce que je l'aie survolé cent millions de fois. Et je ne cessai de voler jusqu'à ce que je fusse arrivé sur l'esplanade de la Prééternité et là je vis l'Arbre de l'Unité. » — Il décrit alors le terrain où était planté cet arbre, ses racines, son tronc, ses branches, ses feuilles et ses fruits. Il dit alors : « Je regardai et je vis que tout cela n'était que tromperie. »

L'image est coranique, non védântine. Ce n'est pas la réalité du monde phénoménal qui est niée, mais celle de l'expérience mystique¹⁸. Bâyazîd a cru atteindre le but, il comprend qu'il s'est trompé.

Avec Bistâmî, nous n'en sommes pas encore aux interprétations métaphysiques de l'expérience mystique. Il reste que c'est avec lui que le problème commence à se poser avec acuité ainsi que ceux de la nature de l'être et des rapports entre l'existence de Dieu et celle de Ses créatures.

Une des constantes de l'expérience mystique semble être le sentiment que rien d'autre que Dieu n'a d'existence réelle. Selon un mystique byzantin comme Syméon le Nouveau Théologien, ce sentiment-là est à la base de la vie mystique. Dans l'islam, les conditions du développement de ce sentiment paraissent, dès le départ, beaucoup plus favorables que dans le christianisme ; et le problème ne s'y pose pas dans les mêmes termes, on ne le soulignera jamais assez.

Il est inutile de rappeler l'absolue transcendance du Dieu du Coran : elle n'a jamais été mise en doute.

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Mais ce n'est pas elle qui constitue le trait dominant de l'image islamique de Dieu ; c'est sa toute-puissance¹⁹. C'est autour de ce problème, qui est aussi celui de la prédestination et du libre arbitre, qu'ont lieu les discussions les plus acharnées des théologiens des premiers siècles. La solution qui finit par prévaloir, et vers laquelle s'oriente dès le début le sentiment de la majorité, accentue cette toute-puissance au point d'attribuer directement à Dieu la création des actes de Ses créatures. Dans ces conditions, la profession de foi islamique « il n'y a pas de dieu sauf Dieu », en vient à signifier, entre autres choses, « il n'y a pas d'agent sauf Dieu ». Ceci accentue à son tour le sentiment du caractère illusoire de l'existence humaine et prépare un terrain favorable aux spéculations, dérivées de l'expérience mystique, à propos du Covenant primordial et de la réflexion hellénisante sur l'Être nécessaire.

Tout ce qui existe, ou bien existe ab aeterno, ou bien a un début dans le temps. Dans le second cas, l'être qui a une origine dans le temps postule nécessairement un être éternel. Ce dernier est un être nécessaire ; l'autre n'est que possible. Or, l'Être nécessaire existe nécessairement, l'être possible peut exister ou non, et son existence provient de l'Être nécessaire. L'Être nécessaire, qui ne saurait qu'être unique, est alors identifié au Dieu du Coran. Dieu seul a une existence nécessaire, les créatures n'existent que grâce à lui et n'ont d'existence que par lui. Mais celui qui n'existe que par un autre, autant dire qu'il n'existe pas, plus exactement qu'il n'a pas d'existence propre. La profession de foi équivaudra, ici, à « il n'y a pas d'être sauf Dieu ».

La terminologie philosophique arabe n'est pas exactement superposable à la terminologie à laquelle nous a habitués la scolastique chrétienne, qui a développé certains thèmes transmis par les philosophes arabes dans un sens différent. Ainsi la distinction entre l'être, l'essence et l'existence, basée sur la distinction entre l'Être nécessaire et l'être possible, ne se retrouve pas sous cette forme chez les penseurs musulmans qui nous intéressent. Le terme wujûd ²⁰ désigne tantôt l'un tantôt l'autre ; il n'est pas dérivé d'une racine signifiant à proprement parler « être », ce qui lui confère une orientation spéciale. étymologiquement, wujûd est le substantif verbal de wajada « trouver » et signifie aussi bien « le fait de trouver » que « le fait de se trouver ». Dans la première acception, le terme est couramment employé par le soufisme en connexion avec deux autres, dérivés de la même racine, tawâjud et wajd. Le premier désigne l'effort pour provoquer l'état du wajd et, équivaut très souvent a la danse par laquelle on cherche à entrer en extase ; quant au wajd, il est la recherche nostalgique de Dieu, le désir de sa rencontre. C'est cette dernière qui est désignée par le mot wujûd.

En ce qui concerne le wujûd, il intervient lorsqu'on a dépassé le wajd ; et le wujûd de Dieu n'a lieu qu'après l'extinction de la nature humaine, car il n'y a pas de persistance possible pour la nature humaine lorsque apparaît la puissance de la réalité. C'est ce qu'entend dire Abû 'l-Hasan al-Nûri : « Depuis vingt ans je me trouve entre le wajd et la perte (faqd) », c'est-à-dire « lorsque je trouve mon Seigneur, je perds mon coeur ; et lorsque je trouve mon coeur, je perds mon Seigneur ».²¹ C'est à quoi pense également al-Junaid en

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disant : « La science du tawhîd élimine son wujûd et son wujûd élimine sa science. » A ce sujet on récite :

Mon wujûd est que je disparaisse devant le wujûd par la part de la contemplation (suhûd) qui m'apparaît. »

Le tawâjud est le début, le wujûd l'aboutissement, tandis que le wajd est l'intermédiaire entre le point de départ et l'aboutissement. J'entendis dire le maître Abû ‘Alî al-Daqqâq : « Le tawâjud exige de l'homme l'application, le wajd l'absorption, le wujûd la disparition. C'est comme quand quelqu'un contemple la mer, y entre, s'y noie. L'ordre est ici : tout d'abord résolution, ensuite pénétration, ensuite contemplation (suhûd), ensuite wujûd , ensuite extinction, et c'est selon la quantité de wujûd que l'on possède qu'on acquiert l'extinction. Celui qui possède le wujûd , est soit (en état de) sobriété (sahw), soit dans celui d'absorption (mahw). L'état de sobriété, c'est sa persistance en Dieu ; celui d'absorption, sa disparition en Dieu. Ces deux états se suivent toujours l'un l'autre. Lorsque c'est la sobriété qui l'emporte en lui, c'est Dieu qui remue en lui et qui s'exprime par lui. Le Prophète dit en parlant de Dieu : « Et c'est par moi qu'il entend et c'est par moi qu'il voit » (Qusairî, Risâla, éd. Le Caire, 1367/1948, p. 34 s. ; cf. Gisû Dirâz, Sahr-i Risâla-i qusairîya, p. 285 et suiv.).

Intentionnellement, nous avons laissé le terme wujûd tel quel sans le traduire. D'une façon générale, il est impossible de rendre dans une langue occidentale le jeu des racines arabes sans trahir les nuances qu'elles recèlent. C'est ainsi que, dans le vers cité, suhûd veut bien dire « expérience » ou « contemplation » ; mais par son autre sens, celui de « présence », il s'oppose aux mots « que je disparaisse » (an aghiba) du premier hémistiche ; donc : il faut que je disparaisse par ma présence (qui est en même temps une perception). De cette polyvalence sémantique, wujûd

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offre un autre exemple. C'est bien le fait de « trouver » Dieu, mais aussi celui de « se trouver », d' « être présent », d' « être ».

D'une façon analogue, lorsqu'on dit que le wujûd de Dieu apparaît après l'extinction de la nature humaine (ou inversement), il ne s'agit pas seulement de l' « expérience » que le mystique a de lui, mais aussi de sa présence. Au bout du chemin mystique, seul Dieu est présent. Le saint peut alors disparaître complètement en Dieu : c'est l'état du fanâ ' ; il peut aussi, à d'autres moments, « subsister » par Dieu : c'est l'état du baqa '. Mais dans les deux cas, c'est Dieu qui agit en lui.

Le concept de wujûd est ainsi un concept beaucoup plus dynamique que ceux que nous désignons par les termes « être », ou « existence ». La wahdat al-wujûd n'est pas simplement l'unicité de l'être, mais aussi celle de son existenciation et de sa perception : wujûd est quasi synonyme de suhûd.²²

Un des premiers théoriciens de l'expérience mystique, et notamment de celle de Bistâmî, a été Abû'l-Qâsim al-Junaid, le vénérable maître de l'école soufie de Bagdad, une des autorités les plus estimées du soufisme. Descendant d'une famille originaire de Nihâvand, dans l'Ouest de la Perse, mais établie depuis quelque temps à Bagdad, Junaid fut élevé, après la mort de son père, par son oncle Sarî al-Saqatî, qui fut également son premier initiateur à la vie mystique. Il commença pourtant par étudier la tradition et le droit, et attachera toujours beaucoup d'importance à cette formation. Plus tard, il fit un apprentissage systématique du soufisme, auprès de maîtres comme Ma‘rûf Karkhî ou Hârith al-Muhâsibî.

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A son tour, il devint le maître de nombreux mystiques tels qu'Abû Bakr al-Siblî, Ga'far al-Khuldî, Abû Alî al-Rûdhbârî, Husain b. Mansûr al-Hallâj ; parmi ses amis, il faut citer d'autres noms célèbres dans les annales du soufisme, Ibn 'Atâ, Ruwaim, Abû ‘l-Husain al Nûri, etc.

Les écrits de Junaid que nous possédons sont de la plus haute importance pour le développement de la théosophie soufie ; c'est un des cas les plus anciens où celle-ci nous apparaît, et elle apparaît toute formée.

Son caractère ésotérique est évident. Souvent, l'auteur dit qu'il ne lui est pas possible de dire plus sur un sujet ou met en garde ses correspondants devant la divulgation de secrets qu'il leur confie : discipline d'arcane, interdiction de dire certaines choses à des esprits qui n'y sont pas préparés, pudeur du mystique à décrire ses expériences les plus élevées. Le secret ésotérique n'implique pas nécessairement que les doctrines que l'on professe soient en contradiction avec l'orthodoxie, ni que l'on joue double jeu : il y a plutôt la crainte que des esprits incapables d'assimiler certaines vérités ne les considèrent comme hétérodoxes.

Le point de départ de la spéculation de Junaid est la profession de foi islamique, le tawhîd : « Il n'y a pas de dieu sauf Dieu. » Selon les individus, ce tawhîd revêt des formes différentes. Celui des gens du commun affirme bien l'unicité de Dieu et son caractère incomparable, mais implique encore l'espoir ou la peur dont l'objet n'est pas Dieu. Celui des hommes qui connaissent bien la science ésotérique implique en outre l'accomplissement extérieur des actions prescrites et l'omission des actions interdites, tout en restant dominé par l'espoir et par la crainte. Le premier type du tawhîd de l'élite implique l'observation extérieure et intérieure des commandements, la disparition complète de la crainte et de l'espoir dont l'objet ne serait pas Dieu, tout cela découlant de la prise de conscience de la présence de Dieu.

La deuxième catégorie du tawhîd de l'élite est que la personne (de l'homme) se trouve face à face avec Dieu sans qu'il y ait de tiers entre eux ; les interventions de Son commandement se déversent sur lui, dans les rivières des ordres de Sa puissance, dans l'abîme des océans de Son Unité ; de sorte que son individualité disparaît, de même que l'appel que Dieu lui a adressé et la réponse qu'il Lui a donnée, dans les réalités profondes du wujûd de Son Unicité, dans la réalité de Sa proximité ; ses sens et ses mouvements l'ont abandonné afin que Dieu s'établisse en lui en ce qu'Il a voulu pour lui²³. Le sens de cela est que le serviteur a fini par rejoindre son point de départ, qu'il est devenu tel qu'il était avant qu'il ne fût. Ce qui l'indique, ce sont les paroles du Puissant et Majestueux : « Lorsque ton Seigneur tira des reins des fils d'Adam leur descendance et les fit témoigner sur eux-mêmes : « Ne ‘suis-je point votre Seigneur ?’, ils dirent : ‘Si.’ » Mais qui était, et comment était-il avant qu'il ne fût ? Personne d'autre a-t-il répondu que les esprits purs, légers et saints en qui étaient présentes la puissance pénétrante et la volonté complète ? Il est maintenant parce qu'il était avant qu'il ne fût. Telle est la réalité suprême du tawhîd professé par celui qui atteste l'Unique après s'être dépouillé de son individualité (Rasâ'il al-Junaid, éd. Abdel-Kader, 56 s.).

Le Covenant primordial se place ainsi au centre de la spéculation. C'est la réflexion sur lui qui permet de donner des réponses aussi bien aux problèmes ontologiques qu'à celui de l'union mystique. La

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première question qui se pose est celle du statut ontologique des hommes lors du Covenant. On trouve une réponse plus élaborée dans le Kitâb al-Mithâq le Livre du Covenant. Après avoir constaté qu'il existe une élite de serviteurs de Dieu, que Dieu a distingués par son amitié et à qui il a conféré des grâces, Junaid continue :

Il leur donna libre accès aux abîmes des mystères de la malakût ; leur seul refuge est vers Lui, leur seul point de repos en Lui. Ce sont eux qu'Il fit exister devant Lui dans l'être prééternel chez Lui et dans (Son) Unité auprès de Lui. Lorsqu'Il les appela et qu'ils répondirent précipitamment, ce fut par une grâce qui leur venait de Lui et par une faveur. Il y répondit pour eux en leur conférant existence, et ils étaient un appel venant de Lui. Il se fit connaître Lui-même d'eux pendant qu'ils n'étaient que le dessein qu'Il avait conçu en Lui-même ; Il les transposa par Sa volonté et les posa comme des semences qu'Il produisit en tant que créatures selon Son dessein. Et Il en fit la semence d'Adam — salut sur Lui ! Le Puissant et le Majestueux dit : « Lorsque ton Seigneur tira des reins des fils d'Adam leur descendance et les fit témoigner sur eux-mêmes : « Ne suis-je point votre Seigneur ? », ils dirent : « Si ». » Dieu fit ici savoir qu'Il s'adressait à eux alors qu'ils n'existaient qu'en tant qu'Il les existenciait (illa bi-wujûdi-hi la-hum, litt. qu'en tant qu'Il les trouvait). Ils percevaient alors Dieu sans qu'ils se perçussent eux-mêmes, tandis que Dieu était en vérité présent d'une façon qui demeure inconnue à tout autre que Lui et que personne d'autre ne saurait trouver. En les « trouvant », embrassant, contemplant, Il les créa à l'état d'extinction (fanâ') . Tels qu'ils étaient dans la prééternité de la prééternité, tels ils existent, éteints à l'état de leur extinction, perdurants à l'état de leur persistance. Les attributs seigneuriaux, les vestiges prééternels et les signes perdurables les ont absorbés. Il fit transparaître cela en eux lorsqu'Il voulut leur extinction afin que dure leur persistance là-bas, pour leur révéler, dans la science des choses cachées, Son propre mystère, et pour leur faire voir les abîmes cachés de Sa science et les réunir avec Lui-même. Ensuite, Il les sépara (de Lui) et les rendit absents dans leur union et présents dans leur séparation ; leur absence devint la cause de leur présence et leur présence la cause de leur absence. Il les ravit par des signes qu'Il leur fit apparaître, en les rendant présents ; et Il les en priva en les rendant absents. Il parfit leur extinction dans l'état de leur persistance et leur persistance dans l'état de leur extinction. Les choses les absorbent lorsque Sa volonté se déverse sur eux selon ce qu'Il a voulu, conformément à son attribut sublime qu'Il ne partage avec personne. Cette (leur) existence est l'existence la plus complète, la plus fondamentale, la plus sublime et la plus apte à recevoir la violence, le triomphe et la domination véritable qui se déversent sur eux venant de Lui, de sorte que leur trace dispraît, que leurs signes s'évanouissent et que leur exis-tence s'en va. Il n'y a pas alors d'attributs humains, ni d'existence qui puisse être connue, ni de vestiges perceptibles ; car tout cela constitue des voiles qui cachent aux esprits ce qui leur appartient de prééternité (ibid., p. 41 et suiv.).

La place nous manque pour citer davantage, mais ce passage donne une idée de la doctrine de Junaid. La spéculation sur le Covenant se situe sur deux plans logiquement distincts : celui de l'événement « historique », dont l'interprétation engage le statut ontologique de l'homme, voire une philosophie de l'être ; celui, plus restreint, de l'expérience mystique.

L'état primitif de l'esprit humain est celui qu'il possédait le jour du Covenant, où il n'était qu'une idée en Dieu et n'avait pas d'existence propre. Ce genre d'existence était pourtant plus parfait que celui qu'il possède actuellement, et ses délices incomparables. Détaché de l'Unité divine, il devient

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présent au monde ; détaché du monde, il est présent à Dieu. Il oscille ainsi entre ces deux états qui sont celui de son absorption en Dieu et de sa persistance par Dieu.

Cette oscillation entre les deux états explique l'union mystique. Ayant atteint le sommet du tawhîd, le mystique retrouve l'état qui fut le sien lors du Covenant primordial ; mais l'état d'extinction ne dure pas, Dieu ramène le saint à l'état de sobriété et le rend au monde. Ce processus est comparable à ce qui se passe depuis le Covenant quand Dieu, après avoir conclu un pacte avec les hommes qui n'existent qu'en Lui, les crée dans le monde et les y fait agir. La seule différence semble être que, désormais, le mystique est conscient de toutes ces réalités et que, tout en ayant retrouvé son individualité, il vit dans l'intimité de Dieu. Tour à tour, il se trouve à l'état du fanâ ' et à celui du baqa ' et c'est le rythme de cette alternance qui caractérise le degré qu'il a atteint. Elle n'empêche pas son action dans le monde, bien plutôt elle la rend possible ; et c'est seulement ainsi qu'il peut « appeler » les autres hommes à Dieu.

Il convient de souligner ici certains aspects de la doctrine étudiée. Les esprits humains ont une existence intermittente, ou plutôt leur mode d'existence change, tantôt ils existent en Dieu, tantôt se trouvent séparés de lui. Dans les deux cas, leur être, leur wujûd, vient de lui ; mais jamais ils ne deviennent Dieu ni ne s'identifient à lui. Ils se dépouillent de leurs qualités humaines, n'ont plus d'existence autre que celle de Dieu, existent dans son Unité, mais ils ne sont pas Dieu. Contrairement à la mystique hellénistique et chrétienne, le but que se propose la mystique musulmane n'est pas une déification, mais le dépouillement des attributs humains et l'assomption des attributs divins²⁴.

C'est à la lumière de ces faits qu'il faut comprendre la coexistence, chez le même auteur, de deux attitudes qui paraissent à première vue contradictoires : l'affirmation de l'unicité de l'être et la répudiation de toute idée d'union substantielle (ittihad) dans l'expérience mystique. Les deux découlent simplement et logiquement du monothéisme intransigeant qui est celui de l'Islam ; les spéculations de Junaid sont un des exemples les plus anciens de leur formulation.

Nous comprenons aussi pourquoi, pour Junaid, l'expérience mystique d'un Bistâmî ne l'a pas mené bien loin. Selon le maître de Bagdad, Abû Yazîd s'est enivré des premiers feux de l'extase où tout avait disparu sauf son propre moi, et c'est cela qu'il a pris pour l'union avec Dieu.

Tels que nous les voyons aujourd'hui, les écrits de Junaid présentent la théosophie soufie arrivée à sa maturité. Solidement fondée sur les données coraniques, elle reste fidèle à l'inspiration profonde de l'islam, à sa représentation d'un Dieu Unique et Tout-Puissant, à ses images et à ses symboles. Une certaine influence néo-platonicienne se fait peut-être sentir, beaucoup plus d'ailleurs dans la description de l'union mystique que dans l'interprétation métaphysique. Les éléments proprement gnostiques, par contre, semblent totalement absents.

Spéculations métaphysiques, imagerie gnostique, réflexions cabalistiques sur les lettres de l'alphabet jouent, par contre, un rôle de tout premier plan dans

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les écrits du disciple le plus fameux de Junaid, Husain ibn Mansûr al-Hallâj.

Son cas est une cause célèbre. Renié par les soufis, condamné pour hérésie, mort d'une mort ignominieuse, il devient, plus tard, l'expression la plus pure de l'amour de Dieu dont il fut le martyr. Son gibet, notamment dans la poésie persane, turque et indienne, est le symbole même de l'union mystique.

Il n'est pas facile de le juger. Dans les écrits qui sont parvenus jusqu'à nous, on sent le souffle passionné avec lequel il propose des doctrines sensiblement analogues à celles de Junaid, sous un revêtement gnostique plus apparent, en usant d'un vocabulaire proche de celui des ismaéliens. La forme sous laquelle il présente sa collection de traditions, où les chaînes des transmetteurs habituelles sont remplacées par celles des entités métaphysiques, témoigne à tout le moins de sa volonté de confirmer des prescriptions religieuses par une inspiration directe. Quant aux traditions concernant Hallâj, il y a eu certainement des retouches, et non pas seulement pour rendre ses paroles plus acceptables ; on peut se demander, notamment, dans quelle mesure sont authentiques les allusions que font au supplice qui l'attend des propos qui lui sont attribués.

Né en 244 de l'hégire à Baidhâ. dans le Fars, Hallâj fut élevé à Wâsit en Irak. Son premier maître en soufisme fut Sahl Tustarî, à Ahwâz. Plus tard, à Bagdad, il devint le disciple de Gunaid²⁵. Il fréquenta ainsi les soufis pendant une vingtaine d'années ; mais cette fréquentation se termina par une rupture. Horrifié par ses audaces, Gunaid finit par le répudier. Hallâg partit alors pour prêcher sa doctrine et répandre l'islam dans les pays les plus lointains, l'Inde, le Turkestan ; il parcourut la Perse, alla jusqu'à Jérusalem et fit trois fois le pèlerinage de La Mecque. Revenu à Bagdad, il se mit à prêcher en public, et sa prédication rencontra des résistances. Emprisonné en 301 de l'hégire, accusé d'être un dâ’i qarmate, il fut détenu pendant neuf ans ; finalement, en 309, eut lieu un second procès, sous l'inculpation d'usurpation de la divinité. Il fut condamné et mis à mort. Son cadavre fut brûlé et ses cendres jetées dans le Tigre.

La doctrine de Hallâg ne diffère pas sensiblement de celle de Gunaid, mais il la prêche avec beaucoup plus de passion, ouvertement, sans les précautions dont s'entoure le maître. Dans un passage célèbre, il se présente comme le signe de Dieu et s'écrie en extase Anâ'l-haqq « Je suis la Vérité », c'est-à-dire « Je suis Dieu ». Certaines expressions laissent voir qu'il enseignait effectivement l'incarnation de l'Esprit Saint dans l'âme purifiée du mystique dont les actions devenaient des actions divines. Un hérésiographe rapporte à son sujet :

Il dit : « Celui qui dompte son âme par des actes d'obéissance et s'abstient de donner libre cours aux jouissances et aux passions, s'élève au rang des Très-Proches; il ne cesse alors de se purifier et traverse les degrés de purification jusqu'à ce qu'il soit dépouillé de la nature humaine. Lorsque rien d'humain n'est resté en lui, alors s'infuse en lui l'Esprit de Dieu qui s'était infusé en Jésus, fils de Marie. Il ne désire plus rien d'autre que ce que Dieu a voulu, et toutes ses actions sont des actions de Dieu Très-Haut » (Bakdâdi, Farq bain al-firaq, Le Caire, 1367/1948, 158 s.).

Effectivement, certains de ses disciples affirmaient que Dieu se manifestait à toute époque sous la forme

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d'un homme, et qu'à leur époque Hallâg était cette manifestation. II est permis de douter que telle fut l'idée du maître lui-même ; mais l'apparition de cette secte montre bien les dangers que faisait courir la prédication de Hallâg à l'unité de la communauté islamique, unité que menaçaient à la même époque le mouvement ismaélien et les insurrections qarmates. C'est pour cela qu'il fut condamné. Les soufis diront plus tard : pour avoir trahi la discipline d'arcane — ce qui est la même chose, envisagée d'un point de vue différent.

La répression eut vite raison des Hallâgîya en tant que secte autonome, mais les soufis, dont la majorité l'avaient renié de son vivant, ne tardèrent pas à le prendre pour l'exemple le plus parfait du pur amour. Les rares écrits qui restent de lui seront cités et utilisés ; son cri Anâ'l-haqq, son gibet s'imposeront comme symboles ; des versets isolés de ses poèmes, plus rarement des qasîda entières, seront récités. Un des fragments les plus connus est :

« Je suis celui que j'aime, et celui que j'aime est moi. Nous sommes deux esprits infus en un seul corps. Si tu me vois, tu le vois ; et si tu le vois, tu me vois. » (Le Divan d'al-Hallâg, éd. Massignon, M 57.)

Ce fragment contient une allusion à l'incarnation, ce qui ne sera plus admis après Hallâg. D'autres présentent des accents qui paraîtront plus acceptables, notamment lorsque le mystique affirme l'identité profonde de son être avec celui de Dieu :

« O secret de mon secret, tu es si ténu que tu demeures caché à l'imagination de tout, vivant.

Manifeste ou caché tu te révèles dans toute chose à toute chose,

De sorte que, si je m'excuse devant toi, c'est ignorance,

énormité de doute, exagération de verbiage.

O réunion du tout, tu n'es pas autre que moi,

et mon excuse ne s'adresse, alors, qu'à moi-même. » (Ibid., M 68.)

Un autre fragment propose une métaphore qui sera développée par des mystiques postérieurs et dont Ghazali fera le point de départ de son Miskât al-anwâr :

‘Pour les lumières de la lumière de la religion parmi les [créatures il y a des lumières, Pour le secret, il y a des secrets dans le secret de ceux [qui le cachent, Pour l'existence, il y a parmi les existences celle d'un Existenciateur… » (Ibid., M 22.)

D'autres fragments attestent la prise de conscience de son élection, de son union avec Dieu. Mais tout aussi souvent il parle de son extrême humilité, de son désir d'être méprisé, de mourir, d'être tué :

« Tuez-moi, ô mes amis, car c'est dans mon meurtre qu'est ma vie,

Ma mort est dans ma vie, et ma vie est dans ma mort.

En vérité, selon moi la disparition de mon essence est une des faveurs insignes

Et ma persistance tel que je suis est un des pires péchés… (Ibid., Qasida 10.)

Dans un récit, nous voyons Hallâg appeler les musulmans à le tuer et affirmer qu'il n'y a pas pour eux de tache plus urgente que de le faire. Ailleurs, un habitant de Basra, ennemi convaincu du mystique, lui demande la guérison de son frère, gravement

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malade. Hallâg consent à condition que le demandeur continue à s'opposer à lui, à le taxer encore davantage d'infidèle, à travailler à le faire tuer. Ces récits ne sont pas isolés, et nous comprenons pourquoi le mystique peut proclamer que les deux damnés, Pharaon et Iblîs, sont ses maîtres.

Toute proportion gardée, l'attitude adoptée par Hallâg dans l'histoire de l'habitant de Basra est analogue à celle de Théophile et Marie dans le récit de Jean d'Éphèse que nous avons résumée en parlant du phénomène de la sitûtâ dans le mysticisme chrétien d'expression syriaque, phénomène que nous retrouvons dans le mysticisme musulman sous le nom de malâma « blâme » : Hallâg est un malâmatî.

L'attitude malâmatî est plus ancienne que l'islam, nous l'avons vu ; elle est pourtant justifiée par des références coraniques et le nom même de malâma est compris comme une allusion aux deux versets du Livre, 5, 57 et 75, 2. Dans le premier, il est question de « ceux qui combattent dans la voie de Dieu et ne craignent pas que quelqu'un les blâme (la yakhâfûna lawmata lâ'imin) » ; dans le second, il est question de « l'âme qui blâme » (al-nafs al-lawwâma). Dans la psychologie des mystiques, cette âme blâmante est la première étape de purification de l'âme qui, en elle-même, est ordonnatrice du mal. Ils s'efforcent, en conséquence, de la dompter, de la détourner de ses passions et de la purifier. Les malâmatîya se distinguent ici par le zèle tout particulier qu'ils mettent à blâmer leur âme, à se blâmer eux-mêmes. C'est qu'ils ne craignent pas le blâme des autres, et même le provoquent. L'idée de base est ici d'éviter toute ostentation dans l'accomplissement des actes de piété,

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de cacher l'état mystique qu'on a atteint, de ne pas paraître différent des autres, en un mot, de combattre toute hypocrisie et tout pharisaïsme.

Ces tendances malâmatî sont diffuses dans le soufisme dès le début. Au III^e siècle de l'hégire, elles donnent cependant naissance à un mouvement spécifique, opposé à celui des soufis. Leur centre est à Nichâpour dans le Khurâsan, leurs chefs sont des mystiques comme Al Hafs Haddâd et Hamdûn Qassâr. Nous les connaissons grâce à l'écrit que leur a consacré l'historien du soufisme, Abû ‘Abd al-Rahman al-Sulamî, mort en 421 de l'hégire. Voici comment il les caractérise. Après avoir décrit deux classes des hommes de Dieu, les oulémas et les soufis il poursuit :

La troisième classe est formée par ceux qu'on appelle les malâmatîya. Dieu Très-Haut a orné leur intérieur de grâces de différentes espèces, comme proximité, approche, union ; et ils ont éprouvé avec certitude, dans le secret de leur secret, la signification de la réunion, car aucun état n'est plus capable de les en séparer. Après qu'ils ont été fixés avec certitude en des degrés élevés, tels que réunion, proximité, intimité et union, Dieu s'est gardé de les révéler aux créatures, auxquelles il n'a révélé d'eux que leur comportement extérieur qui paraît être séparation : sciences exotériques, observance soigneuse des commandements de la Loi et des bienséances de différentes sortes, entretien des rapports sociaux. Mais ils ont conservé l'état qu'ils avaient acquis par rapport à Dieu dans l'association de la réunion et de la proximité. Et l'état le plus élevé consiste précisément en ce que l'intérieur ne se reflète pas dans le comportement extérieur. Cet état ressemble à celui du Prophète lorsque, élevé au degré le plus haut de la proximité, Il « fut à deux tirs d'arc ou moins », puis que retournant parmi les hommes, il parla avec eux des choses exté-

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rieures, sans que l'état de proximité et d'intimité qu'Il possédait influençât en quoi que ce fût son comportement extérieur. Par contre, l'état de ceux que nous avons décrits auparavant est comparable à celui de Moïse, en ce que personne ne pouvait le regarder, son visage après qu'il eût parlé avec Dieu Très-Haut ; ce qui rappelle l'état des soufis qui constituent la deuxième classe que nous avons décrite tout à l'heure : les lumières de leurs secrets apparaissent, visibles, sur eux. Aux novices qui les fréquentent, les malâmatîya enseignent les choses que l'on peut voir en eux-mêmes : l'application à accomplir ses devoirs, l'observation des sunan à tous les instants, la conformité des actions aux usages, extérieurement et intérieurement, dans toutes les circonstances. Ils ne leur inculquent pas de prétendre à des miracles et à des charismes, de les révéler ou de s'y fier, mais ils leur enseignent à réformer leur comportement et à poursuivre leurs efforts. Le novice est alors reçu dans leur voie et on lui apprend leurs usages. Lorsqu'ils s'aperçoivent qu'il exalte une de ses actions ou un de ses états, ils lui remontrent ses manquements et lui apprennent à se débarrasser de ce manquement, afin qu'ils n'exaltent aucune de leurs actions et qu'ils ne se fient à aucune. Et lorsqu'un de leurs novices prétend avoir atteint un état ou un degré, ils le déprécient à ses yeux, aussi longtemps que la sincérité de sa vocation et la manifestation des états en lui ne sont pas assurées. Ils lui enseignent le comportement qui est le leur, à savoir cacher leurs états et observer ostensiblement les usages relatifs aux commandements et aux interdictions… (Risâlât al-malâmatîya, éd. Afifi, p. 87 s.)

La définition suivante, empruntée à l'un des maîtres de malâmatîya, Abû Hafs, insiste sur d'autres aspects de leur pratique :

C'est un groupe d'hommes qui s'attachent, avec Dieu Très-Haut, à préserver leurs « moments » et à protéger leurs secrets, et se blâment eux-mêmes chaque fois qu'il leur arrive de laisser paraître quelque chose de leur proximité (à Dieu) et leurs actes d'obéissance. Ils montrent aux hommes les turpitudes de leur état, mais leur cachent leurs vertus, et les hommes les blâment pour leur comportement extérieur ; ils se blâment pour ce qu'ils savent de leur état intérieur, mais Dieu les honore en leur révélant des secrets, en leur faisant connaître des choses cachées, en leur assurant la clairvoyance parmi les hommes et en leur manifestant des miracles. Ils cachent ce qu'ils ont reçu de Dieu et ne montrent que ce qui venait d'eux-mêmes au début, à savoir le blâme de leur âme et le combat contre elle. Ils révèlent ce qui les isole, afin que les hommes les abandonnent et que s'établisse en sécurité leur rapport avec Dieu. Telle est la voie des gens du blâme (ibid., 89).

Les malâmatîya se montrent pires qu'ils ne sont, ils font même montre d'impiété, mais ce n'est qu'une apparence. Il se s'agit pour eux que de combattre l'hypocrisie :

Une partie des Amis de Dieu parmi les plus grands, comme le cheikh Yûsuf b. Husain Râzi, ont choisi la voie du blâme pour éviter l'hypocrisie. Une fois, un commerçant de Nichâpur avait une jolie esclave. Il l'envoya dans la maison du cheikh Abû'Uthmân Hîrî pour une affaire honnête. Involontairement, le regard de celui-ci se porta sur la belle et ses pensées en furent occupées. Lorsqu'il devint visible que son esprit était troublé, il soumit le cas à son maître Abû Hafs Haddâd. Celui-ci lui dit : « Va à Ray, et rends-toi auprès de Yûsuf b. al-Husain Râzî. » Abû 'Uthmân se rendit donc à Ray et s'enquit de la maison de Yûsuf ; tous ceux à qui il posait la question le blâmaient et se scandalisaient en disant : « Qu'est-ce que peut bien chercher un homme si vertueux chez un tel pécheur et hérétique? » Sans l'avoir vu, il s'en retourna honteux à Nichâpur et raconta ce qui était arrivé. Le cheikh lui dit de nouveau : « Il faut que tu ailles voir Yûsuf ! » Ne pouvant faire autrement, il repartit pour Ray. Il

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ne fit pas attention aux injures des hommes et, en s'informant ici et là, il arriva à un endroit où il n'y avait que des ruines. A I'extrémité des ruines, il trouva la maison (de Yûsuf). Il entra et salua. Yûsuf se leva, reçut Abú ‘Uthmân, lui témoigna du respect et de l'estime, lui ouvrit la porte des connaissances mystiques et des vérités profondes, et lui exposa des états sublimes et des degrés élevés. Cependant un jeune garçon de grande beauté était assis près de lui, tandis qu'une cruche (à vin) était posée à côté. Après que Yûsuf l'eut renseigné sur les degrés sublimes, Abû ‘Uthman lui demanda : « Alors que tu possèdes de telles perfections, que signifie cela ? » Yûsuf dit : « Un tyran apparut dans ce royaume et transforma cet endroit en ruines. Pour ce qui est de la maison que j'habite, elle me vient par héritage. Le garçon est mon propre fils, tandis que la cruche contient de l'eau. » Abd ‘Uthman regarda ; c'était bien de l'eau. Il dit : « J'ai reconnu qu'il n'y a là rien de contraire à la Loi. Mais pourquoi vous exposez-vous aux calomnies ? » Il dit : « Afin que les hommes ne me considèrent pas comme ascète pieux et fidèle, qu'une fille ne jette pas de dévolu sur moi et que je ne m'attache pas à elle. » Abu ‘Uthman entendit ces paroles qui décrivaient son propre cas, se jeta par terre et se mit à pleurer. Il sut que faire montre de ses vertus n'était pas agréé, et comment il fallait vivre, qu'il avait été envoyé à Ray pour apprendre la juste mesure, se séparer des hommes, ne pas vendre sa qualité d'ascète, et s'efforcer d'être humble, conformément à ce qu'a dit le Maître de l'Amitié ( ‘Ali) : « Sois pour Dieu le meilleur des hommes, sois pour toi-même le pire des hommes, sois pour les hommes comme l'un d'entre eux. » Les plus grands parmi les Amis de Dieu se sont efforcés de cacher leur état et ont soustrait aux regards des hommes leurs dévotions surérogatoires ; tandis que les imposteurs et les hypocrites perdent leur religion en faisant montre de leurs vertus et en s'efforçant de plaire aux gens du commun...(NURBAKHS, Risâla-i ma ‘âs-i sâlikîn, ms. Esad Ef. 3702, ff. 58 b-59 a.)

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Ces malâmatîya du III^e siècle de l'hégire paraissent respectueux de la Loi islamique dont ils observent scrupuleusement les prescriptions ; ils ignorent, en revanche, certaines pratiques spécifiquement soufies : séances du samâ ', du dhikr public, construction des cloîtres, port du costume spécial. Contrairement aux soufis, qui portent un costume de laine (sûf) grossière, les malâmatî portent le même costume que le milieu où ils évoluent, revêtant tout au plus un froc rapiécé, la muraqqa’a. Ce comportement fut celui de Hallâj, ce qui est un indice de plus de ses connexions malâmatî.

Faisant montre d'impiété, injuriés, méprisés des hommes, les vrais Amis de Dieu sont toujours face à face avec lui et ne le quittent pas un instant. L'attitude qu'ils adoptent n'est pourtant pas sans danger. Faire montre d'impiété peut devenir un but en soi, ce qui mène tout droit à l'antinomianisme. De là, la décadence d'un certain malamatisme, ou plutôt l'apparition d'un type de qalandar qui se signalera par ses excentricités. Mais ce n'était pas la seule évolution possible : l'attitude des anciens malâmatîya sera fidèlement préservée par un ordre aussi respectable que celui des Naqsbandiya, tandis que le fait qu'un mystique tel qu'Ibn ‘Arabi ait adopté leur nom pour désigner le courant soufi auquel il appartenait mérite toute notre attention.

Le malâmatî n'est qu'un cas spécial d'une représentation complexe et largement répandue du saint caché et méconnu, qui vit à l'écart du monde, mais dont le monde ne pourrait se passer. Cela aussi, nous l'avons constaté dans le récit de Jean d'Éphèse à l'état embryonnaire. Dans le soufisme, la doctrine

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d'une hiérarchie des saints invisibles sans laquelle le monde ne saurait subsister est largement acceptée. Il existe toujours des awliyâ, « amis (de Dieu », sg. walî), qui se distinguent de la masse des hommes par des charismes spéciaux. Leur fonction n'est pas la même que celle des prophètes. Alors que ces derniers appelaient les hommes à Dieu, soit en proposant une Loi nouvelle — c'est le cas des ‘ulû 'l- ‘azm, Adam, Noé, Abraham, Moïse et Jésus —, soit en luttant pour l'observation d'une loi déjà existante, les awliyâ se consacrent exclusivement à leur perfection intérieure. Désormais, le cycle de la prophétie est fini, le Prophète de l'islam a été le Sceau des Prophètes et la Loi qui lui fut révélée la dernière. Les oulémas veillent à son application, l'enseignent aux hommes et, en cette qualité, sont les héritiers des Prophètes.

Or, selon une théorie répandue dans les milieux soufis, la prophétie possède une double face : la nubuwwa, « prophétie » proprement dite, et la walâya. La seconde est tournée vers Dieu, dont le prophète reçoit l'influx ; la première est tournée vers les hommes à qui il le transmet. Tout prophète est également walî, mais tout walî n'est pas prophète.

A partir de ces données, on discute sur les mérites respectifs des prophètes et des awliyâ. Rares sont ceux qui admettent expressément la supériorité des seconds ; parfois on distingue : la walâya est supérieure à la nubuwwa, mais c'est par sa walâya que le Prophète de l'islam était supérieur à tous les autres. D'autres, comme ‘Alâ' al-Dawla Simnânî, au VIII^e siècle de l'hégire, apporteront des distinctions encore plus subtiles, en se basant, sur les deux vocalisations possibles du terme, walâya et wilâya, la première étant réservée aux prophètes, la seconde aux autres awliyâ.

Un cas spécial de la doctrine de la walâya est l'imamologie chiite. Les chiites considèrent leurs imams comme de véritables awliyâ. Guidés par l'inspiration divine, les imams interprètent infailliblement le Coran et en révèlent le sens caché. Selon un hadith célèbre, Muhammad a combattu pour la révélation (tanzîl) du Coran, ‘Alî pour son sens ésotérique (ta’wîl). Les imams chiites mènent une vie retirée, le dernier est caché. Pourtant, sans lui, le monde s'écroulerait. Il est toujours là, il est le Maître de l'époque. Un jour, il reviendra, et alors le sens caché de toutes choses apparaîtra et les réalités ultimes pourront être enseignées à tout le monde. Pour l'instant, ce n'est qu'un savoir ésotérique qu'il ne faut pas trahir, et les adeptes eux-mêmes ont la permission, voire l'obligation, de ne pas s'avouer tels devant les non-initiés et les adversaires. Telle est la justification théorique de la pratique de la taqîya, le devoir de renier extérieurement ses convictions lorsqu'il y a danger de mort. Il s'agit, en fait, d'une variante de l'attitude malâmatî.

L'imam caché des chiites trouve son pendant dans la doctrine soufie d'un pôle, qutb, qui se trouve à la tête d'une hiérarchie invisible d'awliyâ et qui doit toujours exister, car autrement le monde s'écroulerait Lorsqu'un qutb meurt, il est immédiatement remplacé par le walî qui occupait, sous lui, l'échelon hiérarchique le plus élevé, tandis que la place de ce dernier est prise par un autre, etc. Ne voulant pas analyser ici la structure de cette hiérarchie compliquée des abdâl, des awlâd, etc., structure qui n'est

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pas constante chez les divers auteurs, nous nous bornerons à citer quelques passages de Simnânî :

Ils ont la même nature humaine que nous, ils mangent, boivent, font des excréments, urinent, tombent malades et se soignent, ils vendent et achètent et se procurent sur les marchés les choses dont ils ont besoin, à cette différence près que, lorsqu'un d'eux est entré dans leur cercle, il quitte ses femmes et ses enfants et ne revient plus... Un de leurs charismes propres est de disparaître à volonté aux yeux des hommes. Ils entrent dans les mosquées et prient derrière les imams des musulmans de quelque rite qu'ils soient, à cela près qu'ils aiment accomplir la prière en groupe au début du temps prescrit. Un de mes compagnons entra dans leur cercle ; il s'appelait Zarrinkamar, je l'ai appelé ‘Abd al-Karîm. Il resta dans leur cercle environ dix ans, avant de mourir, après 720. Leurs tombes sont au ras du sol, et personne d'autre qu'eux-mêmes ne les connaît. Ils ont des vicaires parmi les hommes, ils les connaissent, mais les vicaires ne les connaissent pas. Au temps du Prophète, Hilâl fut un des sept vicaires. Hadhîfa b. al-Yaman transmettait leur salut au Prophète et à eux le salut du Prophète. Il leur fut ordonné de suivre le Prophète et d'accepter sa Loi sans qu'il les connût dans le monde sensible. A toute époque, ils ne fréquentent qu'un seul homme parmi ceux qui vivent dans le monde sensible. Lorsque cet homme unique meurt, ils en fréquentent un autre, sur l'ordre de Dieu. A l'époque de Junaid, Mimsâd al-Dinavarî fut cet homme unique (qu'ils fréquentaient). Quant au pôle, c'était, à l'époque du Prophète, ‘Usam al-Qarnî, oncle paternel de ‘Uwais. Quant au qutb dont Dieu a honoré notre époque, il est le dix-neuvième depuis l'époque du Prophète… (Safwat al- ‘urwa, ms. Laleli 1432, f. 120 b-121 b.)

Le prototype du qutb est, pour Ihn ‘Arabi, Salmân Fârsî l'étranger, accueilli dans la famille du Prophète

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dont il partage les privilèges grâce à une adoption spirituelle. Pour Simnânî, c'est un oncle de ‘Uwais Qaranî, cet ascète du Yémen dont le parfum de sainteté était parvenu jusqu'au Prophète, qui ne l'a jamais vu : ayant une mère âgée, il ne voulait pas la quitter et il gagnait leur subsistance à tous deux en gardant des chameaux. Le Prophète lui légua son manteau, qu'il reçut en effet de la main de ‘Umar et de ‘Alî. Les gens du Yémen ignoraient sa sainteté et lorsque les deux califes envoyèrent des hommes le chercher, on parut étonné par l'intérêt dont était objet un homme aussi insignifiant. Uwais est donc malâmatî, et cette qualité s'exprime dans la tradition selon laquelle, le jour de la résurrection, au moment où ‘Uwais sera sur le point de monter au paradis, Dieu créera soixante-dix mille anges ayant la même apparence que lui, afin qu'il ne soit pas reconnu. Car, selon un hadîth qudsi célèbre, « Mes Amis sont sous mes tentes, personne d'autre que moi ne les connaît ».

Mais l'importance que les traditions relatives à ‘Uwais présentent pour la physionomie spirituelle du soufisme est ailleurs. Ce Yéménite, qui n'a jamais vu le Prophète, n'en est pas moins devenu un musulman parfait. On appellera ‘uwaisî des mystiques qui n'auront pas de maître vivant et recevront leur initiation en esprit d'un saint mort depuis longtemps ou d'un saint qu'ils n'auront jamais vu. Nous rencontrons des ‘uwaisî surtout dans des chaînes initiatiques qui se rattachent d'une façon ou d'une autre au malâmatisme, telle la chaîne initiatique des Naqsbandiya où, après Salmân, nous trouvons Abd Yazîd Bistâmî, instruit en esprit par l'imam Ga`far, Abû'l-Qâsim Kharraqâni instruit en esprit par Bis-

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tâmî, Naqsband lui-même instruit en esprit par ‘Abd al-Khâliq Ghugduwânî.

Les aspects malâmatî n'épuisent pas l'image de awliyâ. Ceux-ci sont bien des Amis de Dieu, Ses proches, des initiés ; mais, bien qu'ils « n'appellent » pas les hommes à Dieu, ils ont leurs adeptes qu'ils guident, perfectionnent et initient. Les soufis se considèrent comme étant ces awliyâ et les maîtres soufis forment toujours de nouveaux adeptes. Mentionnons ici un cas isolé où cet état des choses se reflète dans la terminologie. Dans un traité écrit en persan, ‘Ammar Bidlîsî (fin VI^e siècle h.) distingue entre un walî, qui est un mystique arrivé au but, mais qui ne s'occupe pas de la formation des autres, et un walî muwallî qui s'occupe activement du progrès des autres.

La hiérarchie invisible des qutb et des abdâl est communément admise dans le soufisme ; plus rare est la représentation du « Sceau des awliyâ ». Tout comme la prophétie a un Sceau — Muhammad, la walâya en a un, dont l'avènement est en général considéré comme futur. Très souvent, ce Sceau de la walâya est identifié avec le Mahdi dont l'avènement est attendu pour la fin des temps. Le Mahdi est très souvent — mais pas toujours — l'imam caché des duodécimains ; de temps à autre, des soufis ont prétendu être le Mahdi, ce qui aboutissait chaque fois à la formation de sectes autonomes. Tel était le cas, au IX^e siècle de l'hégire, du Sayyid Muhammad Nûrbakhs en Iran et, au siècle suivant, celui du Sayyid Muhammad Jaunpûri dans l'Inde. D'autres identifient le Sceau de la walâya avec Jésus qui, selon une tradition bien connue, doit descendre un jour sur le minaret de la mosquée de Damas. Ibn ‘Arabi dédouble le personnage et distingue entre le Sceau de la walâya absolue et le Sceau de la walâya muhammadienne. Il ne manque pas, d'autre part, d'auteurs — tel ‘Alâ' al-Dawla Simnânî — qui intériorisent toute la tradition et, voient dans l'avènement du Mahdi le symbole de la sanctification intérieure de l'homme.

Le premier auteur qui ait proposé la doctrine du Sceau de la walâya semble avoir été, au III^e siècle de l'hégire, Muhammad ibn ‘Alî Hakim Tirmidhî, que nous avons déjà rencontré en parlant de la distinction des deux classes de serviteurs de Dieu, ceux du sidq et ceux de la minna, distinction apparentée à celle proposée par les théoriciens du malâmatisme (elle apparaît aussi chez Gunaid, qui distingue entre le sidq et l'ikhlâs). Tirmidhî semble en effet proche des malâmatîya, qui subirent avec le temps l'influence de certaines de ses idées, et cette influence se perpétuera chez les Naqsbandiya. L'ouvrage principal de Tirmidhî, Khalam al-walâya, a, d'autre part, influencé profondément Ibn ‘Arabi.

NOTE BIBLIOGRAPHIQUE [omise]

CHAPITRE IV LA MATURITÉ

Au début du IV^e siècle de l'hégire, le soufisme a atteint sa maturité. Ses pratiques sont plus ou moins fixées, sa doctrine ébauchée. Le temps est venu du travail en profondeur, de l'élargissement des bases, de l'expansion à l'intérieur du monde islamique, de l'activité missionnaire au dehors.

Ce IV^e siècle de l'islam est celui où l'influence chiite est la plus forte, et où le califat abbaside, réduit à l'impuissance, est près de succomber.

Le soufisme est appelé à jouer un rôle de tout premier plan dans cet antagonisme, mais ce n'est pas un rôle confortable. Partageant les sentiments pro-’alides avec la grande majorité des musulmans, les soufis seront accusés, à certaines époques et dans certains pays, d'être des agents chiites. Le procès de Hallâj est un bon exemple de ces risques. Nous avons déjà mentionné le cas des soufis qui, tout le long de l'histoire de l'islam, se sont proclamés Mahdi, et c'est un développement qui, dans les conditions particulières des congrégations soufies demeure toujours possible. Le mahdisme a forcément un aspect politique et des mystiques fonderont des états

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d'inspiration chiite : tel cet Etat des Sarbadar, au VIIIe siècle de l'hégire, dans le Khurâsân, et surtout celui des Safavides, un bon siècle plus tard : chefs d'un ordre religieux sunnite, les descendants de Safî al-Dîn Ardabîlî obtiennent l'adhésion de tribus turkmènes chiites d'Anatolie, se proclament descendants du Prophète, passent au chiisme et finissent par établir un état chiite en Iran. A partir de ce moment, des soufis de tendance chiite pourront de nouveau être soupçonnés de propagande politique et persécutés comme émissaires safavides : nombreux seront les mystiques turcs qui, au X^e et au XI^e siècle de l'hégire, paieront de leur vie leurs convictions religieuses.

Mais, la plupart du temps, les soufis n'ont pas d'aspiration politique ; leur attachement à la famille de ‘Alî est sentimental et se concilie avec des convictions sunnites sincères ; de plus le chiisme organisé se montre beaucoup plus défavorable aux mystiques que le sunnisme. Un des reproches les plus fréquents adressés par les oulémas chiites aux soufis est, précisément, leur appartenance au sunnisme.

C'est que, tout en professant des idées voisines de celles que propageaient les différentes sectes chiites, les soufis leur donnaient une forme sunnite, compatible avec l'appartenance à la communauté majoritaire dont ils ne voulaient pas se séparer. A des esprits tourmentés, les cercles des mystiques ouvraient une possibilité de vivre une vie spirituelle intense et exaltée, mais qui ne débouchait pas, comme les associations secrètes des ismaéliens, sur une perspective politique et la rupture avec la grande masse des croyants. Dans ces conditions, les congrégations soufies jouaient un rôle de défense sunnite, canalisant au profit de la communauté des ferments spirituels qui, autrement, auraient pu contribuer à sa dislocation. Certains gouvernements surent tirer parti de cette situation. Au moment de la restauration sunnite, dans la deuxième moitié du V^e siècle de l'hégire, le danger principal était constitué par la propagande ismaélienne. Le grand vizir seldjoukide, Nizâm al-Mulk, favorisa alors la fondation aussi bien des madrasa, écoles pour théologiens, que celle des cloîtres soufis. La doctrine ach‘arite, enseignée à la Nizâmiya de Bagdad comme à celle de Nichâpûr, était un instrument efficace pour s'opposer à la diffusion de la théosophie ismaélienne propagée du Caire. Les cheikhs soufis enseignaient, pour leur part, une doctrine ésotérique et initiatique de structure voisine, mais avec des intentions opposées, de celle que colportaient les missionnaires d'Alamût. Des phénomènes analogues se reproduiront plus tard, sous les Mamelouks en Égypte et en Syrie, sous les Ottomans en Anatolie.

Ce rôle de défense sunnite n'empêcha pas des oulémas d'attaquer les derviches, de leur reprocher leur impiété, leurs doctrines incompatibles avec les principes de l'islam tel qu'ils le concevaient. Il s'agit de deux familles spirituelles différentes, dont la coexistence et l'antagonisme paraissent caractéristiques de la civilisation islamique. Mais cet antagonisme n'implique pas que le soufisme ait eu besoin d'être réconcilié avec l'orthodoxie musulmane. Il aurait fallu pour cela qu'il en fût sorti, qu'il se fût développé en dehors de cette orthodoxie et contre elle, ce qui ne fut jamais le cas. A toute époque, il y eut des soufis qui étaient

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en même temps juristes : le cas de Junaid est bien connu, et il ne fut pas le seul. Leurs doctrines ne sont pas exclusives de la Loi, elles s'y ajoutent. Les pratiques particulières aux mystiques n'occupent qu'une place relativement restreinte dans leur vie ; pour le reste, ils partagent les peines et les labeurs des autres croyants.

Les manuels du soufisme sont ainsi de deux sortes. Certains se limitent à décrire ce qui est particulier à ses adeptes, à exposer leurs doctrines et leurs expériences ; d'autres, plus ambitieux, se proposent d'embrasser toute la vie du mystique, ce qui lui est commun avec les autres musulmans et ce qui lui est particulier. Nous trouvons ainsi, dans ces ouvrages, une discussion détaillée des devoirs religieux dans les mêmes termes que dans les ouvrages de jurisprudence classiques, mais avec un effort d'intériorisation plus grand ; un exposé de différentes vertus, présentées comme des états ou des stations mystiques ; enfin, une présentation des pratiques particulières aux soufis tels le dhikr ou le sama’. Une troisième classe d'écrits soufis est constituée par des recueils de sentences des grands maîtres, accompagnées ou non de données biographiques. Certains de ces ouvrages ont pour objet la vie et les paroles d'un seul mystique ; d'autres embrassent toute l'histoire du soufisme, à commencer par les quatre premiers califes et les autres compagnons du Prophète.

Les deux siècles qui suivent la mort de Hallaj voient l'apparition des plus anciens manuels soufis qui nous soient parvenus. C'est une époque d'intense activité intellectuelle où, arrivé à sa maturité, le soufisme dresse l'inventaire de son acquis et essaie de définir sa place. Mentionnons, en premier lieu, le Kitâb al-luma’ d'Abû Nasr al-Sarrak de Tûs, une source de premier ordre pour la connaissance du soufisme originel. Plus lu, et ayant exercé une in-fluence beaucoup plus durable, est le Qût al-qulûb d'Abu Tâlib al-Makkî. L'auteur appartenait à l'école théologique des Salîmîya, dont il rapporte les thèses ; sur certains points, il suit Ahmad ibn Hanbal pour lequel il éprouvait une grande estime. Traitant de tous les points de la pratique religieuse, l'écrit constitue en quelque sorte le modèle de l' Ihya ‘ulûm al-dîn de Ghazali, qui l'admirait. Les mystiques postérieurs le liront beaucoup, et pour d'aucuns, comme pour ‘Alâ' al-Dawla Simnânî, le livre de Makkî servira d'initiation dans le soufisme.

L'ouvrage d'Abû Bakr al-Kalâbâdî, Kitâb al-ta`arruf li-madhhab ahl al-lasawwuf, également du IVe siècle, a un caractère différent. D'inspiration hanafite, le livre traite brièvement de différents points de la doctrine islamique, de pratiques soufies et de leurs usages. Presque aussitôt, l'écrit fut objet d'un commentaire, écrit en persan par Abu Ibrahim Mustamlî Bûkhârî, qui est une véritable somme de renseignements sur l'ancien soufisme, malheureusements presque inexplorée.

Parmi les écrits du V^e siècle de l'hégire, il faut mentionner deux recueils des logias des soufis, les Tabaqât al-sû fîya d'Abu ‘Abdurrahman al-Sulamî et la Ilyat al-awliyâ d'Abû Nu ‘aim al-Isfahânî. Le dernier est sans doute le plus important, vu la masse de renseignements qu'il transmet, non seulement des paroles isolées des maîtres du passé, mais aussi des éléments de leur biographie, voire des passages étendus de leurs écrits.

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Les Tabaqât de Sulamî sont de dimensions et de propos plus modestes que la Hilya. De chaque mystique dont il est question, on trouve une vingtaine de dits, avec la chaîne de leurs transmetteurs.

Des notices biographiques se trouvent également dans deux autres manuels du soufisme du V^e siècle. Le premier en est le Kasf al-mahûb de Hugwiri, le plus ancien manuel soufi en persan. Originaire de Ghazna en Afghanistan, son auteur est mort à Lahore où il avait été emmené en captivité : à son époque, l'islam a déjà pris pied dans le bassin de l'Indus et la langue persane devenait la langue religieuse des musulmans du sous-continent. La caractéristique principale de l'ouvrage semble être la description systématique de plusieurs sectes ou écoles de soufis qui existaient du temps de Hugwiri et qui se distinguaient par des doctrines et des pratiques propres. Mais il y a là, de toute évidence, un excès de systématisation ; les doctrines spécifiques attribuées aux différentes écoles sont souvent simplement des points de doctrine auxquels leurs maîtres avaient prêté une attention particulière. D'autres fois, cependant, il s'agit de différences réelles d'attitude spirituelle : aunaid et ses adhérents apprécient davantage la sobriété (sahw), Bâyazîd Bistamî l'ivresse (sukr). Il serait intéressant d'étudier si et comment ces différentes attitudes se sont perpétuées dans les congrégations de date plus récente.

L'autre ouvrage qui nous intéresse ici est le Traité d'Abû'l-Qâsim al-Qusairî. Théologien ach ‘arite et jurisconsulte, Qusairî représente un soufisme modéré et orthodoxe, accentuant plutôt son côté ascétique que son côté gnostique, préoccupé avant tout de la réforme des moeurs. Le biographe du grand soufi persan, Abd Sa ‘id b. Abi l-Khair, son contemporain, nous le montre réticent envers certaines pratiques soufies telles que le samâ ’. Il met en garde contre la surestimation de l'importance des visions. Il est pourtant le premier qui donne une description approfondie du dhikr et des expériences suprasensibles qui l'accompagnent.

Disciple de Sulamî, Qusairî est ach'arite. De son temps, cette école théologique s'impose de plus en plus, notamment parmi les chaféites qui constituent alors la majorité de la population de la Perse. Les sultans seldjoukides, originaires de la Transoxiane, sont hanafites. Leur vizir, Nizâm al-Mulk, un Persan, est chaféite ; les écoles qu'il fonde sont chaféites en droit, ach’arites en théologie. Et chaféite et ach'arite sera le maître le plus célèbre qui y ait enseigné, la « Preuve de l'Islam », Abû Hamîd Muhammad al-Ghazâlî.

Originaire de Tûs, comme Qusairî, Ghazâlî connaissait non seulement la théologie et le droit, mais aussi la philosophie et la mystique. Il resta pourtant avant tout un faqîh soucieux de défendre l'intégrité du credo sunnite, même si, après une crise spirituelle, il abandonna son enseignement à la Nizâmîya de Bagdad pour vivre dans une retraite d'une dizaine d'années. C'est à ce moment-là qu'il se serait tourné vers le soufisme.

Son oeuvre est riche et variée. Elle se situe au confluent des principaux courants intellectuels de l'époque, la théologie scolastique (ou kalâm), la philosophie néo-platonisante de Farâbî et d'Avicenne,

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le soufisme, mais surtout la théosophie ismaélienne qui, avec Hasan Sabbâh et la fondation de l'État nizârî d'Alamût, posait un problème actuel et terriblement menaçant. C'est cette menace qui détermine l'orientation de l'oeuvre de Ghazâlî. Il s'oppose ouvertement au batinisme des ismaéliens ; il combat également les philosophes, auxquels il reproche notamment leur thèse sur l'éternité du monde ; il comprend pourtant que la dialectique des théologiens scholastiques est incapable de s'opposer efficacement à la propagande ismaélienne auprès de ceux pour qui l'essentiel de la religion ne réside pas dans la forme apparente des rites et des obligations religieuses, mais dans leur sens ésotérique, leur bâtin, que seul est capable de dévoiler — infailliblement — l'imam de la Maison du Prophète, en l'occurrence le calife fatimide d'Égypte. En empruntant aux ismaéliens leur méthode, Ghazâlî explique le sens caché des rites, leurs mystères. Seulement, ce faisant, il n'invoque pas l'autorité de l'imam fatimide ; son guide à lui, le critère de l'infaillibilité des thèses défendues, est le Prophète, et le credo qu'il défend est le credo sunnite tel qu'il a été formulé dans l'école ach’arite. L'expérience mystique, la voie des soufis, permet d'obtenir ici la certitude. La doctrine de Ghazâlî est ici parallèle à la politique de Nizâm al-Mulk. Finalement, pour exposer ses vues, le maître adopte la terminologie, parfois les théories et les idées, des philosophes néo-platonisants qu'il combat : telle la distinction entre les mondes du mulk, de la malakût et de la gabarût, et leurs correspondants sur le plan psychologique.

Le principal ouvrage de Ghazâlî est, on le sait, l'Ihlyâ ‘ulûm al-dîn. Conçu sur le modèle des ouvrages de jurisprudence, l'écrit embrasse la totalité des sciences religieuses éclairées d'un point de vue qui s'approche de celui des soufis. Sans être à proprement parler un écrit soufi, l'ouvrage devait exercer sur les mystiques une influence durable et profonde. Une autre partie de l'oeuvre de Ghazâlî est plus nettement orientée dans le sens soufi. Citons, en premier lieu, la Miskât al-anwâr, un de ses derniers ouvrages, qui développe une métaphysique de la lumière et expose en termes clairs une doctrine de la wahdat al-wujûd, comparable à celle qui s'épanouira plus tard dans les écrits d' Ibn ‘Arabi et de son école. Après avoir analysé le phénomène de la lumière matérielle et de la lumière spirituelle, Ghazâlî constate que toutes les sources de lumière connues doivent leur lumière, directement ou indirectement, au soleil, qui est la seule véritable source de lumière ; on ne devrait même pas appeler « lumière » autre chose que celle de sa source ultime. Les choses sont comparables en ce qui concerne la lumière spirituelle, dont la source est Dieu.

Ayant compris que la lumière se rapporte à la manifestation et à la révélation, ainsi qu'à leurs degrés, sache maintenant qu'il n'y a pas de ténèbres pires que celles du néant, car elles obscurcissent, et ceci parce qu'une chose n'apparaît pas aux yeux si elle ne devient pas existante (mawgûdan) pour la vue, même si elle existe pour elle-même ; une chose qui n'existerait ni pour autrui ni pour elle-même, comment ne serait-elle pas la pire des ténèbres ? Au contraire, l'existence (wujûd) est la lumière ; et, de même qu'une chose qui n'apparaît pas en elle-même, n'apparaît pas à autrui, l'existence en elle-même est également de deux catégories : celle dont l'existence vient de sa propre essence

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et celle dont l'existence vient d'autrui. Celle dont l'existence vient d'autrui, son existence est empruntée et ne subsiste pas par elle-même ; et même, si tu considères son essence en tant que telle, elle est pur néant, tandis que son existence vient de sa relation avec autrui. Ce n'est pas une existence réelle, ainsi que tu as pu l'apprendre de la parabole des vêtements et des richesses empruntés. L'Existant vrai est Dieu Très-Haut, de même que la Lumière vraie est Dieu Très-Haut, la Réalité des Réalités. De là, les gnostiques avancent et accomplissent leur ascension depuis les abîmes de la métaphore jusqu'au sommet de la réalité : par la contemplation révélatrice, ils voient que rien n'est dans l'existence sauf Dieu, et que « toute chose périra sauf Sa Face » ; car tout ce qui est destiné à périr à un moment quelconque, a déjà péri dans la prééternité et la postéternité ; et ceci ne peut être imaginé autrement. Mais, si toute chose autre que Lui est pur néant tant que l'on considère son essence en tant que telle, mais apparaît comme existante, si l'on considère l'aspect par lequel l'existence lui est conférée à partir du Premier Réel, non dans son essence, mais par l'aspect par lequel elle est tournée vers son Existenciateur, alors tout existant est un aspect de Dieu. Toute chose a deux aspects : un aspect par rapport à elle-même, et un aspect par rapport à son Seigneur. Par rapport à elle-même, elle est néant, et par rapport à Dieu, elle est existence. Mais si rien n'existe sauf Dieu et Sa face, et si « toute chose périt sauf Sa Face », prééternellement et postéternellement, ils (les gnostiques) n'ont pas besoin de l'avènement de la résurrection pour entendre la voix du Créateur disant : « A qui est le royaume aujourd'hui ? A Dieu l'Unique, le Tout-Puissant » ; mais cette voix reste constamment présente dans leurs oreilles. Et ils ne comprennent pas Ses paroles, « Dieu est plus grand », comme signifiant qu'Il est plus grand qu'autre chose. Dieu a bien besoin qu'on dise qu'Il est plus grand qu'autre chose, si rien d'autre n'existe que Lui ! ... D'autre part, c'est un non-sens que de dire qu'Il est plus grand que son aspect. La locution veut dire qu'Il est plus grand, qu'on L'appelle plus grand dans le sens d'une comparaison ou d'une relation, plus grand aussi que le sommet de Sa grandeur tel que se l'imagine un autre que Lui, prophète ou ange...

Après s'être élevés au ciel de la Réalité, les gnostiques sont d'accord qu'ils ne voient dans l'existence qu'Une seule Réalité ; cependant, pour certains d'entre eux, cet état est savoir et gnose, tandis que pour d'autres il est expérience. La pluralité disparaît pour eux entièrement et ils sont noyés dans la pure Singularité. Leurs intellects sont ensorcellés et c'est comme s'ils en perdaient la parole. Il ne reste plus en eux de place pour le souvenir d'autre chose que de Lui, ni pour la pensée d'eux-mêmes ; il ne reste plus en eux que Dieu. Ils s'enivrent d'une ivresse qui échappe à la puissance de leurs intellects. L'un d'eux dit alors : « Je suis la Vérité » ; tel autre : « Gloire à moi, que mon rang est élevé ! » ; tel autre : « Il n'y a rien d'autre sous mon manteau que Dieu. » Mais les paroles d'amants en état d'ivresse restent secrètes et ne sont pas imitées. Lorsque l'ivresse les a abandonnés, et qu'ils ont recouvert l'usage de leur raison qui est la balance de Dieu sur Sa terre, ils savent que ce n'était pas l'union véritable, mais quelque chose qui ressemblait à l'union, et que leurs paroles étaient comparables à celles d'un amoureux quand l'amour l'emporte :

Je suis celui que j'aime et celui que j'aime est moi

Nous sommes deux esprits et habitons un seul corps.

C'est à peu près comme lorsqu'un homme bute sur un miroir et y regarde dedans, sans savoir que c'est un miroir. Il croit que la forme qu'il voit dans le miroir est le miroir lui-même ; ou comme lorsqu'un homme voit une coupe remplie de vin et croit que la couleur du vin est celle de la coupe. Lorsqu'il s'habitue à cette illusion, il s'y perd au point de dire :

Transparente est la coupe et clair est le vin,

Ils se ressemblent et ont la même forme,

C'est comme s'il y avait le vin et pas de verre,

Ou comme s'il y avait le verre et pas de vin.

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Or, ce sont deux choses différentes si l'on dit : « Le vin est la coupe », ou si l'on dit : « Comme s'il était la coupe. » L'état en question est appelé, par rapport à celui qui le subit, « annihilation », voire « annihilation de l'annihilation », car il est annihilé de lui-même et il est annihilé de l'annihilation. Dans cet état, il ne se sent pas lui-même, ni ne sent qu'il ne se sent pas lui-même ; car s'il sentait qu'il ne se sent pas lui-même, il se sentirait lui-même. Par rapport à celui qui le subit, cet état est appelé en langage métaphorique « union » (ittihâd), et dans le langage de la réalité « affirmation de l'unité » (tawhîd). Derrière ces réalités, il y a des mystères sur lesquels il n'est pas permis de s'étendre. (Miskât al-anwâr, Le Caire, 1322, 17 ss.)

L'avant-dernière phrase fournit la clef du passage. La discussion se déroule en réalité sur deux plans distincts, celui de la réalité et celui de la métaphore. Sur le premier, Dieu est seul à exister, parce qu'Il est la seule réalité qui ne change ni ne passe, la seule qui existe d'elle-même éternellement. Tout ce qui a un commencement dans le temps, aura également une fin ; tout ce qui change, périra ; tout ce qui est créé n'a pas d'existence par lui-même, son existence, qui vient de Dieu, est métaphorique ; et l' « existence », wujûd, c'est notamment la possibilité d'être perçu par quelqu'un. Le début du passage que nous venons de citer l'affirme clairement ; surtout si nous tenons compte du fait que mawjûd li-nafsihi et mawjûd li-jairi-hi, resp. « existant pour soi-même » et « pour autrui » signifient « se trouvant pour » ou « trouvé par » : les choses existent en tant que trouvées, perçues par Dieu : seule leur face tournée vers Dieu est réelle, le reste est pur néant. Ce qui ne veut pas dire que tout est Dieu, ni que, métaphoriquement, une sorte d'existence ne puisse être attribuée aux créatures. Dans l'expérience des mystiques, ceux-ci pensent s'être unis à Dieu, ce qui n'est qu'illusion ; en vérité, ils reconnaissent alors que seul Dieu existe, et c'est cela le véritable tawhîd. Car, selon Junaid, « le tawhîd c'est la séparation de l'éternel et du contingent ».²⁶

Une autre thèse de la Miskât accentue le caractère sunnite de la doctrine: la prééminence conférée au prophète Muhammad. Tous les prophètes et tous les oulémas doivent leur lumière à la sienne, car il est la lampe brillante qui éclaire les créatures et leur transmet l'influx divin. Cette thèse est directement opposée aux doctrines ismaéliennes où la Raison universelle et l'Ame universelle sont représentées par le Prophète et l'Imam et où, en pratique, notamment chez les ismaéliens d'Alamût, le second tend à l'emporter sur le premier.

L'époque de Ghazâlî voit des mystiques éminents. Son propre frère Ahmad est soufi au sens propre du terme. Théoricien du samâ ’ — mais son frère l'est aussi — il chante l'amour divin en de court aphorismes passionnés. La postérité se souviendra de lui surtout comme d'un grand amoureux et racontera des anecdotes sur ses amours avec de jeunes garçons — ce que ses propres écrits sont loin de confirmer. A côté de lui, il faut signaler son jeune élève, ‘Ain Al-Qudhât Hamadânî, mort à la suite d'intrigues obscures, et qui a laissé une oeuvre considérable, entre autres un recueil de lettres sur des sujets mystiques.

Un peu plus tard, nous trouvons, à Bagdad, ‘Abd al-Qadir Jilânî, fondateur du plus ancien ordre

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des derviches, qui sut concilier la ferveur mystique avec la doctrine hanbalite la plus stricte.

La métaphysique de la lumière fut développée, dans la deuxième moitié du VI^e siècle de l'hégire, par Sihab al-Dîn Yahyâ Suhrawardi, le saikh al-isrâq. Proposant une philosophie illuminative, il l'opposa, en tant que philosophie orientale, à l'aristotélisme d'Avicenne. Se réclamant à la fois des sages de la Grèce, Platon compris, et des anciens prophètes iraniens, Suhrawardi développe une interprétation angélologique des idées platoniciennes et intègre, dans le cadre des hiérarchies angéliques, certains éléments empruntés à la religion de l'ancien Iran. L'année de sa mort, 587 de l'hégire, tombe déjà à l'intérieur d'une nouvelle époque d'or du soufisme. Un autre Suhrawardi — Sihâb al-Dîn ‘Umar — déploie une activité intense à Bagdad. Théoricien du soufisme modéré, strictement conforme aux règles de la Loi islamique, il formule ses thèses dans le manuel, resté classique, ‘Awârif al-ma’ ‘ârif. Lié au dernier calife abbaside de Bagdad qui ait joué un rôle politique important, al-Nâsir li-dîn-allâh, il participa à la réorganisation, entreprise par celui-ci, des associations de la futuwwa, ce pacte d'honneur des corporations artisanales dont al-Nâsir voulut faire le fondement de l'unité des pays islamiques, pacte qui s'imprègne d'esprit soufi et qui, à son tour, influence les congrégations des mystiques. Sur un autre plan, ‘Umar Suhrawardi continue les traditions de l'école de Bagdad ; c'est ainsi que, contrairement à Sulamî, il place les soufis plus haut que les malâmatî. Finalement, c'est de lui et de son oncle Nagîb al-Dîn que se réclame l'ordre des Suhrawardîya, encore aujourd'hui très répandu, notamment aux Indes. Une de ses branches, les Khalwatîya, se répandra plus tard dans les états ottomans ; une autre, les Safawîya, finira par adopter le chiisme et fondera un Etat chiite en Iran au Xe siècle de l'hégire.

C'est également aux Suhrawardîya que se rattache le grand mystique de Chiraz, Rûzbihân Baqlî, auteur de plusieurs ouvrages sur l'amour divin et l'amour profane, dont l'étude permet de comprendre l'oeuvre du plus grand poète lyrique de la Perse, Hâfiz.

Puisque nous sommes en Iran, mentionnons un autre mystique iranien célèbre de cette époque, Nagm al-Dîn Kubrâ. Originaire de Khiva, dans le Khwârizm, au sud de la mer d'Aral, Kubrâ voyagea beaucoup à travers le monde islamique. Il étudia tout d'abord le droit chaféite, puis se tourna vers le soufisme. Il forma de nombreux élèves (Magd al-Dîn Bagdâdî, Magd al-Dîn Dâya Râzî, Sa’d al-Dîn Hamû'î, ‘Aziz Nasafî...), noyau de la congrégation des Kubrawîya qui s'épanouira aux siècles suivants et dont les restes subsistent encore. Il laissa également une oeuvre écrite importante. Pour la première fois, semble-t-il, dans l'histoire du soufisme, il analyse la perception des phénomènes suprasensibles de la khalwa pratiquée par les soufis, la vision des lumières de couleurs différentes, des apparitions, etc. Cette analyse sera toujours pratiquée dans son école ; ‘Alâ'al-Dawla Simnânî, un siècle après Kubrâ, en fera un système où les différentes couleurs seront mises en rapport non seulement avec les sens intérieurs, de plus en plus profonds de l'homme, mais

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aussi, symboliquement, avec les sept prophètes législateurs. Aujourd'hui encore, chez les Dhahabîya de Chiraz, l'intérêt pour l'expérience visionnaire paraît plus grand que chez les adhérents des autres ordres des derviches.

Le maître dont la personnalité dominera désormais le soufisme et qui a donné la formulation classique à la doctrine de la wahdat al-wujûd, Muhyî al-Dîn Ibn al-’Arabi, était un contemporain de Kubrâ. Descendant de la tribu arabe des Tayy, Ibn ‘Arabi naquit à Murcie, en Espagne, en 560 de l'hégire et passa la première moitié de son existence en Andalousie et dans le Maghreb. C'est là qu'il conçut sa doctrine, et les écrits qu'il produisit a cette époque la montrent déjà formée. Il est possible qu'il ait subi l'influence de l'école d'Ibn Masarra que les sources désignent comme un bâtinî, mais dont les idées sont mal connues. En tout cas, Ibn ‘Arabi n'est pas ismaélien. En attribuant au prophète Muhammad — ou plutôt à la Réalité muhammedienne, al-haqîqa al-muhammadîya — le rôle du Logos, il s'oppose, comme Ghazâlî, aux spéculations sur l'imam infaillible et impeccable. En droit, il adopte le rite zâhirite, le plus littéraliste qui soit. Maintes pages de ses écrits sont consacrées à la discussion de problèmes de casuistique juridique et il souligne, contrairement aux ismaéliens d'Alamût qui sont en train de proclamer la « Grande Résurrection », que le zâhir et le bâtin, l'ésotérique et l'exotérique, doivent être observés simultanément.

A 38 ans, Ibn ‘Arabi quitte définitivement le Maghreb et commence son voyage en Orient, voyage qui le mènera jusqu'à La Mecque, à Konya — à cette époque capitale du sultanat seldjoukide de Rûm et centre culturel important — et à Damas, où il mourra en 638 de l'hégire. Son tombeau s'y trouve toujours, dans un faubourg du nord de la ville, sur les pentes du Qassioun, objet de pèlerinages et lieu de rassemblement des derviches. C'est en Orient que voient le jour ses principaux ouvrages, l'énorme al-Futûhât al-makkîya (Les révélations mecquoises), les Fusûs al-hikam, exposé systématique de sa cosmologie et de sa prophétologie, le Targuman al-aswâq, recueil de poèmes abstrus qui ne sont compréhensibles que grâce au commentaire dont l'auteur les a accompagnés ; d'autres encore, dont la liste comprend plusieurs centaines de titres.

Les Fusûs al-hikam sont l'ouvrage d'Ibn ‘Arabi qui a été le plus lu, le plus commenté, le plus attaqué aussi. Parmi ses commentaires, les plus connus sont ceux de Kamâl al-Dîn ‘Abd al-Razzâq Kâsânî, de Dâwûd Qaisari, de Bali Efendi, de ‘Abd al-Gani al-Nablûsî, en arabe ; de ‘Alî Hamadânî, en persan ; de Jâmî, en arabe et en persan. Même des adversaires, comme ‘Alâ' al-Dawla Simnânî s'y sont essayés, en donnant au moins un commentaire partiel des passages moins compromettants.

L'écrit est divisé en 27 chapitres dont chacun traite d'un « verbe » prophétique ; chaque prophète correspond ici à un Nom de Dieu par lequel celui-ci se manifeste et agit. Le choix de ces Noms est dicté par certains détails ou certaines allusions des récits coraniques relatifs à ces prophètes. Le propos de l'auteur n'a rien d'historique, les prophètes dont il parle ne sont que des archétypes dont chacun représente un aspect de la manifestation de Dieu. Chaque

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chapitre décrit ainsi un aspect divin dans la mesure où il se reflète dans le monde. Les verbes prophétiques se retrouvent tous dans le verbe mohammédien, al-haqîqa al-muhammadîya, qui est le moyen par lequel Dieu agit dans le monde. Tous les prophètes en sont la manifestation ; la manifestation la plus parfaite est le prophète Muhammad, qui en est le Sceau. Les awliyâ y ont part également, ils ont également un Sceau sur la réalité duquel Ibn ‘Arabi ne se prononce pas d'une façon non équivoque, se bornant à distinguer entre le Sceau de la walâya muhammadienne et celui de la walâya absolue.

Les êtres autres que Dieu n'ont d'existence que relative, n'existent que par Dieu. Ils sont des manifestations des Noms divins ; chaque créature même les anges en représente un, seul l'homme les manifeste tous : « Dieu créa l'homme à son image. » Telle est la signification du récit coranique où Dieu ordonna aux anges de se prosterner devant Adam, parce que ce dernier savait ce qu'ils ne savaient pas.

L'Homme Parfait est la manifestation parfaite de Dieu qui se regarde en lui comme dans un miroir. Il est la cause efficiente de la création, car, selon un hadith qudsi, Dieu dit : « J'étais un trésor caché et j'ai voulu être connu ; c'est pourquoi j'ai créé le monde pour être connu en lui. » En conséquence, le monde existe aussi longtemps que l'Homme Parfait est en lui.

La création s'opère ab aeterno, selon un processus émanationniste compliqué ; le mystique remonte les mêmes degrés et retrouve son Seigneur, le Nom divin avec lequel il est en rapport particulier ; comme l'homme est une image de Dieu, il se saisit

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comme tel au bout de l'expérience mystique et connaît ainsi Dieu : « Celui qui se connaît lui-même connaît son Seigneur » — et le connaît conformément au degré qui lui est propre.

La créature est la manifestation de Dieu, Dieu est l'essence de la créature, l'absolu dont elle dérive. Il ne faudrait pas voir ici du panthéisme, car, dans leur existence actuelle, les créatures ne sont pas identiques à Dieu, mais seulement le reflet de ses attributs.

La thèse que tout ce qui existe reflète les attributs de Dieu a une autre conséquence : elle fournit une base théorique à l'un des traits les plus attrayants du soufisme, sa tolérance pour les autres religions. Déjà, dans un fragment célèbre, Hallâg disait qu'il ne fallait pas faire de distinction entre les religions, que leur diversité masquait l'unité de leur origine et de leur but. Ibn ‘Arabi dit de même que, puisque toutes les créatures sont des manifestations de Dieu, les hommes ne peuvent adorer que Lui, quoi qu'ils adorent. Deux siècles plus tard, ‘Abd al-Karim Jîlî tâchera même de définir à quel aspect de la Divinité se réfèrent les religions qu'il connaît, voire celles des matérialistes et les athées. Sur le terrain pratique, l'attitude des mystiques envers les minorités religieuses, l'aide fraternelle qu'ils leur ont parfois apportée en des moments difficiles, contrastera souvent avec l'intransigeance des oulémas.

Il ne faut pas ici parler d'indifférence religieuse, ni de tendances syncrétistes. Le schéma de Jîlî est un schéma hiérarchique, les différentes religions se trouvant rattachées à des aspects de plus en plus profonds de la Divinité, et la même remarque vaut

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pour Ibn ‘Arabi. Un Simnânî n'hésite pas a faire appel à un moine bouddhiste pour lui demander de l'aider à former un de ses disciples ; il considère pourtant que les expériences les plus élevées sont réservées aux musulmans et que nul ne peut y avoir accès sans embrasser l'islam.

Ces différentes thèses doivent être replacées dans un contexte plus large, celui de la révélation religieuse telle que la conçoivent le Coran et la tradition islamique. Le point de départ est la représentation coranique des ahl al-kitâb, chrétiens, juifs, Sabéens, mages, dont les religions contiennent chacune une part de la vérité, mais qui ont eu le tort de croire que leur prophète était le dernier, et de déformer son message. Les théologiens et les hérésiographes élargissent le champ de vision et rattachent toutes les autres religions qu'ils connaissent à un prophète connu : Adam, Noé, Abraham, etc. Pour s'exprimer d'une façon originale, la tolérance soufie n'a pas d'autre signification : chaque religion contient une part de vérité, ce qui ne veut pas dire que toutes les religions se valent.

Conçue dans le Maghreb almohade d'où les dernières traces d'influence fatimide venaient d'être extirpées, développée dans la Syrie ayyoubide où le danger ismaélien était toujours présent et où une partie de la côte était encore aux mains des Croisés, la théosophie d'Ibn `Arabi servait la cause sunnite. Elle pouvait cependant prêter à des malentendus, A certains esprits, la théorie de la wahdat al-wujûd, telle qu'elle se reflétait dans les thèses du mystique andalou, paraissait contredire la transcendance divine ; la tolérance soufie pouvait passer pour de l'indifférentisme religieux ; le caractère ésotérique de la doctrine évoquait enfin des associations fâcheuses avec l'ésotérisme ismaélien ; l'emploi, de part et d'autre, d'un vocabulaire philosophique d'origine hellénistique accentuait ce rapprochement et rendait le tout encore plus suspect. Mais, quoi qu'il en fût, Ibn ‘Arabi n'eut jamais à souffrir de persécution de son vivant. Les attaques, violentes, viendront plus tard.

Ses adversaires se recrutent dans des milieux fort différents. On comprend fort aisément la violence d'un Ibn Taimîya, hanbalite vivant dans la Syrie mamelouke : les croisés venaient d'être entièrement éliminés, les ismaéliens soumis. Mais les Mongols, hier encore païens, menaçaient toujours, et des oulémas chiites vivaient sous leur protection, tandis que, dans les États mamelouks eux-mêmes, la puissance économique des Coptes chrétiens était encore considérable. Ces circonstances ne prédisposaient guère à la tolérance. Ibn Taimîya condamnera Ibn ‘Arabi comme infidèle et proclamera sa doctrine contraire à l'islam. Plus intéressant, plus important peut-être est le fait que des mystiques s'élèveront également contre les thèses du maître andalou et combattront son influence. Un des plus notables est ‘Alâ' al-Dawla Simnânî, contemporain d'Ibn Taimîya.

Originaire d'une famille de notables de Simnân, dans le Nord de la Perse, Simnânî entre à 15 ans au service du souverain mongol de la Perse, Argun, un bouddhiste. A sa cour, il côtoie des adhérents de diverses religions, des moines bouddhistes, des juifs, sans doute aussi des chrétiens. Argun est en guerre contre le premier des Mongols qui ait embrassé

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l'islam, Ahmad Takudar. Lors de la bataille décisive, Simnânî a une crise ; il abandonne le service du roi, se retire dans sa ville natale et, après avoir beaucoup réfléchi, opte pour l'orthodoxie sunnite et s'attache au soufisme. Il devient disciple d'un kubrawî, Nûr al-Dîn ‘Abd al-Rahman Isfarâ'înî ; devenu maître à son tour, il fonde le cloître de Sûfiâbâd qui sera le centre de l'ordre pendant un bon siècle.

La doctrine de Simnânî intègre des éléments de provenances diverses : la psychologie des visions de Kubrâ, la théorie des sens intérieurs de son maître Isfarâ'înî, ses entretiens avec les adhérents des autres religions, son opposition au chiisme confessionnel. Sur ce dernier plan, il intègre des éléments chiites dans sa conception du soufisme, concevant ce dernier comme une sorte de chiisme sunnite. Il est également opposé aux idées d'Ibn ‘Arabi. Le témoignage le plus net de son opposition est fourni par sa correspondance avec ‘Abd al-Razzâq Kâsânî, le célèbre commentateur des Fusûs al-hikam.

A une lettre que Kâsânî lui avait adressée et dans laquelle il défendait les idées d'Ibn ‘Arabi avec des arguments puisés dans le Coran et dans la tradition, Simnânî répond que la première chose qui compte est l'observation scrupuleuse de la Loi ; si celle-ci fait défaut, on est exposé aux pires dangers. Tant qu'il était au service de son maître, il n'a jamais entendu parler des Fusûs ; plus tard, il trouva par hasard ce livre qui commença par lui inspirer de l'enthousiasme. Il se rendit pourtant bientôt compte de son caractère néfaste et mensonger. Pour quelques versets douteux, on écarte le témoignage de versets bien plus nombreux qui disent exactement le contraire, en affirmant l'altérité absolue de Dieu et des créatures, et sa transcendance. Ce qui est plus important encore, l'expérience mystique montre que l'état d'union est passager, illusoire, et que c'est après l'ivresse de l'extase que la vérité se révèle au mystique : l'état suprême de l'expérience mystique n'est pas le tawhîd, mais bien la ‘ubûdîya, « le servage »²⁷.

Une nouvelle théorie de l'expérience mystique commence ainsi à se dessiner. Malgré les apparences, elle n'est pas identique à la théorie de la sobriété de Junaid. Cette dernière laissait intact le problème ontologique, l'existence du mystique, pendant l'extase et hors de l'extase, était de la même nature que celle des hommes au temps du Covenant primordial : son wujûd était celui de Dieu. Mais chez Simnânî, dont la théorie est expressément dirigée contre Ibn ‘Arabi, wujûd est compris comme « existence » ; l'altérité de Dieu et de la créature se trouve ainsi soulignée avec beaucoup plus de force.

Dans l'immédiat, les vues de Simnânî ne semblent pas avoir rencontré beaucoup de succès. Lui-même, d'ailleurs, n'était pas exempt de l'influence d'Ibn ‘Arabi : n'avait-il pas commenté au moins en partie, les Fusûs (ce commentaire n'a pas encore été étudié) et écrit des gloses sur les Futûhât ? En tout cas, ses successeurs dans l'ordre dont il fait partie furent plutôt accueillants aux doctrines d'Ibn ‘Arabi, alors qu'ailleurs une réticence plus grande se manifesta. Dans l'Occident musulman la confrérie des Sâdhilîya, en Orient celle des Naqsbandîya feindront de l'ignorer : Il faudra attendre trois siècles pour qu'un mystique influent reprenne ses idées et leur donne une forme définitive : Ahmad Fârûqî Sarhindi, le « Rénovateur

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du second millénaire », qui réagira contre la tentative du syncrétisme religieux de l'empereur Akbar.

Né en 971, mort en 1023 de l'hégire, Sarhindi fut initié, dès son enfance, à plusieurs congrégations soufies : la çistîya, la suhrawardîya, la kubrawîya, la qadirîya et la sattârîya. L'événement décisif de sa vie fut pourtant sa rencontre avec le Khwâga Bâqî bi-'llah qui, disciple de maîtres naqsbandi de la Transoxiane, introduisit cette « voie » dans l'Inde. Initié au naqsbandisme, Sarhindi donne à cette tarîqa la préférence sur les autres. Cela est de toute première importance ; car, chez les Nagsbandi, la métaphysique d'Ibn ‘Arabi n'a jamais pu s'acclimater et, déjà chez leurs représentants, les plus anciens, on trouve des affirmations allant dans le sens de leur refus. Défenseur de l'orthodoxie sunnite, Sarhindi adopta ce point de vue et développa sa doctrine de la wahdat al-suhûd, opposée à la wahdat al-wujûd de l'école d'Ibn ‘Arabi et ‘Abd al-Karim Jîlî.

Comme Simnânî, Sarhindi dit être arrivé à sa conception par expérience mystique. Il distingue deux sortes de tawhîd, suhûdî et wujûdî. Ce dernier est une perception intellectuelle de l'unité de l'être, ou plutôt de la non-existence de toute chose autre que Dieu ; c'est une théorie qui ne résulte pas directement ni n'est toujours accompagnée d'une expérience; elle se situe donc au niveau le moins élevé de la certitude telle que la conçoivent les soufis ; le ‘ilm al-yaqîn « savoir de la certitude ». Le tawhîd suhûdî , au contraire, exige une expérience : celle de l'union mystique où l'homme se voit identique à Dieu ; il se situe ainsi sur le plan du ‘ain al-yaqîn, « vue de la certitude ». Mais c'est un état passager qui n'implique aucunement l'unité ontologique de l'homme et de Dieu. En avançant dans la voie mystique, on acquiert la certitude qu'ils sont distincts et l'on parvient ainsi au degré suprême, le haqq al-yaqîn « réalité de la certitude ».

A cette interprétation de l'union mystique correspond une métaphysique originale qui exclut toute possibilité de la wahdat al-wujûd. Sans doute, Sarhindi est trop ancré dans la tradition pour ne pas admettre que Dieu seul est l'Être nécessaire, wâjib al-wujûd. Mais il interprète ce donné en termes nouveaux. Alors que les anciennes écoles affirmaient que le wujûd des créatures vient de Dieu et que, par conséquent, il est identique à celui de Dieu, notre cheikh dit que, tandis que les créatures existent par le wujûd de Dieu, celui-ci existe par sa propre essence (dhât), non par le wujûd d'un autre ; existant nécessairement, Il n'a pas besoin de wujûd. La valeur ancienne de wujûd « le fait d'être trouvé » donc « être perçu » est ici patente : pour exister, les créatures ont besoin d'être perçues par Dieu qui, existant de Soi-même, n'a pas besoin d'être perçu par qui que ce soit. Comparée à la théorie courante, cette analyse en diffère par des nuances ; mais elle permet beaucoup mieux de sauvegarder la transcendance et l'altérité absolues de Dieu.²⁸

Défenseur de l'orthodoxie sunnite — il combattit également le chiisme — Sarhindi resta connu à la postérité sous la désignation du Rénovateur du second millénaire, Mujaddid-i alf-i thâni. Ses lettres, réunies par ses disciples sous le titre des Maktûbat-i Imam-i Rabbâni, jouissent d'un immense prestige dans tout

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l'Orient islamique. L'original persan fut lithographié à plusieurs reprises aux Indes ; les versions turque et arabe ont été imprimées respectivement à Istanbul et au Caire. Il y a quelques années, un recueil de morceaux choisis publié en Turquie désignait l'ouvrage comme l'écrit religieux le plus important après le Coran et les hadith. Aux Indes même, son influence fut durable et contribua beaucoup au repli de la communauté islamique sur elle-même, depuis Awrangzeb, qui s'opposa par les armes à son frère Dârâ Sikôh, partisan d'un rapprochement avec l'hindouisme jusqu'aux fondateurs du Pakistan moderne. Sur le plan de la théorie soufie, des Naqsbandi indiens proposèrent différentes modifications ; la tentative la plus notable devait être celle du célèbre mystique Sâh Walîyullah de Delhi, un des précurseurs du réformisme islamique moderne, qui entendait concilier Ibn ‘Arabi et Sarhindi.

La place nous manque pour évoquer ici, ne serait-ce que brièvement, les principaux soufis ayant vécu entre l'époque d'Ibn ‘Arabi et celle de Sarhindi. Quelques noms suffiront.²⁹

Parmi les disciples directs d'Ibn ‘Arabi, mentionnons en premier lieu Sadr al-Dîn Qonyawi, son gendre, un des premiers commentateurs des Fusûs. Son enseignement inspira à son tour un des plus fameux poètes mystiques persans, Fakhr al-Din ‘Irâqî, chantre passionné de l'amour divin. A la même époque, la ville de Konya abrite d'autres mystiques de marque : Sa‘d al-Din Hamû'î, Nakm al-Dîn Dâya — ce dernier fuyant l'invasion mongole — et, surtout celui dont le nom demeurera associé pour jamais à la ville, Jalâl al-Dîn Muhammad Rûmi.

Fils d'un ouléma distingué, Bahâ' al-Dîn Walad, lui-même mystique, Rûmî naquit à Balkh, l'ancienne Bactres, dans le Nord de l'Afghanistan actuel. Son père quitta sa patrie pour mener une vie errante dans les différents pays de l'Orient islamique. Il finit par se fixer à Konya ; Jalâl al-Din avait alors 21 ans. Un groupe de mystiques se forma autour de Bahâ'al-Dîn. Nous ne sommes pas très bien renseignés sur les pratiques et les doctrines de ce groupe. Il n'aurait pas pratiqué le samâ’ ni la danse, mais certains indices permettent de penser que la thèse de la Beauté de Dieu se reflétant dans le monde y était déjà enseignée. Après la mort de Bahâ' al-Dîn, son disciple Burhân al-Dîn Tirmidhî prit la tête du groupe ; quelques années plus tard, Jalâl al-Dîn lui succéda. Au début, les pratiques et les doctrines restèrent les mêmes qu'au temps de son père, jusqu'au jour où apparut à Konya un personnage mystérieux, Sams al-Dîn Tabrizî. Derviche errant, d'origine inconnue, Sams-i Tabriz était un soufi « ivre » et représentait un autre type de soufisme que le savant Bahâ' al-Dîn Walad. Cette rencontre changea la vie de Jalâl al-Dîn. Saisi d'une passion violente pour Sams, Mawlânâ Jalál al-Dîn fut complètement subjugué. Il aurait adopté la forme d'extase mystique que celui-ci pratiquait ; enivré, il se serait mis à danser au moindre bruit rythmique. Ces récits des biographes appellent assurément une certaine réserve. Ce qui est sûr, c'est que désormais, le sama' devint le centre de la vie spirituelle de l'ordre ; c'est pour le sama' que furent composés les ghazals que son attachement passionné pour Sams inspira à Mawlânâ. Ces ghazals furent même publiés sous le nom du

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premier, sans que personne ait jamais douté de l'identité véritable de leur auteur : le disciple s'est identifié avec le maître : selon la doctrine constante des mystiques, le cheikh est pour le novice la voie qu'il doit emprunter pour parvenir à Dieu.

Certains, dans l'entourage de Rûmî, prirent ombrage de l'influence que Sams exerçait sur lui. Un beau jour, le derviche de Tabriz disparut ; on apprit qu'il s'était réfugié à Damas et Mawlânâ partit le chercher. Au bout d'un certain temps, Sams disparut une seconde fois, et pour de bon. On soupçonna un des fils de Jalâl al-Dîn de l'avoir fait assassiner, mais la vérité ne fut jamais établie.

Tandis que le divan des poèmes lyriques de Rûmî lui fut inspiré par Sams-i Tabriz, son autre oeuvre majeure, le Mathnawî, fut conçue sous l'influence de la passion que le maître éprouva plus tard pour un autre derviche, Husâm al-Dîn de Konya. La partie la plus connue du poème est son prologue, où le son du roseau éveille en l'homme la nostalgie de son origine et la passion d'amour qui révèle ses secrets. En six livres, des histoires se suivent dans un ordre qui n'obéit à aucun principe autre que celui d'association occasionnelle. Ces histoires ont une valeur symbolique évidente et leur ensemble constitue une somme du soufisme : on l'avait appelé « le Coran en persan ». Alors que les ghazals ont été composés pour être récités dans les séances du samâ ’, le Mathnawî se veut didactique : l'art du poète, qui est ici à son sommet, consiste à suggérer, en présentant des symboles, la réalité profonde des choses.

Mawlânâ Jalâl al-Dîn mourut en 672 de l'hégire ; son fils, Sultan Walad, lui succéda à la tête du groupe

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des soufis qui s'était formé autour de lui. Il lui donna la forme d'un ordre organisé, avec des coutumes bien définies. Des séances de samâ’, réglées selon un scénario immuable dans tous les détails, constituent la principale cérémonie en commun des Mevlevis, appelés « derviches tourneurs » par les voyageurs occidentaux. Jusqu'à la suppression des confréries par la République turque, leur centre se trouvait à Konya où, à côté du mausolée de Mawlânâ et de Sultan Walad, résidait le grand maître de l'ordre, le Celebi, qui était toujours un de leurs descendants. Des Mevlevis jouèrent un rôle important dans la vie politique, religieuse et culturelle de l'Empire ottoman.

L'oeuvre poétique de Rûmî constitue un des sommets de la poésie mystique persane. Dans le genre de l'épopée mystique, il avait eu comme prédécesseurs Sanâ’î, au VIe siècle de l'hégire, et, un peu plus tard, Farid ad-Dîn ‘Attâr. Le premier est l'auteur d'un poème intitulé Hadiqât al-haqâ'iq et de quelques autres moins importants ; au second, un nombre impressionnant d'oeuvres sont attribués par la tradition. Ces poèmes se divisent en trois groupes qui diffèrent par la forme et par le contenu. Le premier comprend des pièces sûrement authentiques, Matiq al-tair, Ilahi-nâma, Asrâr-nâma et Musibat-nama. Dans un récit-cadre, important surtout dans le premier, sont réunis de petits récits portant sur les différents problèmes du soufisme et de la vie mystique. Un deuxième groupe comprend des épopées mystiques telles que Ustur-nâma, Hailâj-nâma et Jawhar al-dhât, où Hallaj et son gibet deviennent le symbole de l'amour divin et de l'union mystique. L'authenticité de ces poèmes est douteuse, mais non pas exclue : les

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mêmes idées se retrouvent dans le divan lyrique, incontesté, et déjà Jalâl al-Dîn Rûmî, qui aurait rencontré ‘Attâr dans sa jeunesse, disait que l'esprit de Hallâj s'était incarné en lui. Le troisième groupe comprend quelques poèmes ultra-chiites dont l'attribution à ‘Attar est sûrement fausse. A côté de cette oeuvre poétique, ‘Attar a laissé des ouvrages en prose, au premier rang desquels il faut mentionner la Tadhkirat al-awliyâ, recueil de vies de saints qui a joui d'une immense popularité et a été traduit deux fois au moins en turc.

A partir de cette époque, peu nombreux sont les poètes persans qui n'ont pas reçu une empreinte soufie ; inversement, peu nombreux sont les mystiques de renom qui ne s'essayent pas à écrire en vers. Quiconque a tant soit peu fréquenté les milieux soufis, sait avec quelle facilité les derviches improvisent les poèmes pour toute circonstance, séance du dhikr ou célébration d'une fête. Et, en dehors même de ces séances organisées, ils aiment à se rencontrer pour lire des extraits du Coran, discuter des haqâ'iq et réciter des poésies mystiques.

Mentionnons ici, parmi les poètes soufis les plus notables, Qâsim al-Anwâr, au début du IX^e siècle de l'hégire ; son contemporain, Sah Ni'matullah Walî, dont se réclament la plupart des congrégations chiites; le « dernier classique persan », `Abd al-Rabman Jami, dans la seconde moitié du même siècle ; le génial poète indien Bedil au XIIe siècle, qui composa des odes non seulement en persan, mais aussi en plusieurs dialectes indiens ; enfin, un siècle à peu près plus tard Nûr ‘Alî Sâh qui, venu du Deccan, réimplanta le soufisme dans plusieurs régions de la Perse et, presque de nos jours, Safî ‘Ali Sâh qui composa même en vers un commentaire du Coran.

A côté de cette poésie persane, il ne faut pas oublier la poésie soufie de langue arabe où nous ne mentionnerons qu'un nom, celui de ‘Umar Ibn al-Farid, un Égyptien contemporain d'Ibn ‘Arabi dont les qasîda, de style difficile et volontairement obscur, ont été commentées d'un bout à l'autre du monde islamique.

Il existe une poésie soufie, peu connue en Occident, en sindhi, en panjabi, en ourdou, en bengali et en malais ; dans les langues iraniennes autres que le persan, le kurde, le gurani, le pachto. Mais soulignons surtout l'importance et la richesse de la littérature soufie en turc. Déjà au vie siècle de l'hégire, un des premiers mystiques turcs, Ahmad Yesewi, compose un recueil de courts poèmes en turc oriental, très apprécié à travers toute l'Asie centrale. En Anatolie, les plus anciens poètes d'expression turque sont déjà mystiques. Presque au début, quelques dizaines d'années après Mawlana Jalal al-Dîn, apparaît un génie, Yunus Emré, à qui se rattache une tradition populaire opposée à celle des Mevlevis de Konya, plus savante et plus fidèle à la langue persane ou, en tout cas, à la forme métrique arabo-persane.

Mentionnons encore quelques noms, dans l'une ou l'autre de ces traditions : au IX^e siècle de l'hégire, Nesîmî, écorché vif à Alep pour ses idées hurûfies ; un demi-siècle plus tard, Khatâ'î, c'est-à-dire Sah Isma’il Safavi, le fondateur de l'État chiite iranien, dont les poèmes, expression de ses sentiments chiites extrémistes, sont restés extrêmement populaires en Anatolie ; un demi-siècle plus tard encore, Pîr

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Sultân Abdâl, mis à mort à Sivas comme émissaire safavide, dont les poèmes expriment une immense nostalgie de justice et l'amour passionné de la Divinité qui lui apparaît sous le triple nom de Allah, de Muhammad et de ‘Alî ; au même moment, les deux poètes classiques, Fuzulî de Bagdad et Lami’î ; au XI^e siècle, le cheikh Khalwatî Niyâzî Misrî. Et, pour en venir à notre propre époque, nous ne pouvons ne pas mentionner Ismail Emré, « le nouveau Yunus Emré » qui, simple employé des chemins de fer, est connu pour ses improvisations mystiques.

Parmi les autres mystiques de l'époque qui s'étend de la mort d'Ibn ‘Arabi à l'activité de Sarhindi, un des plus notables est ‘Abd al-Karim Jîlî qui vécut au début du IX^e siècle de l'hégire, sans doute au Yémen. Sa vie est très peu connue. Il paraît avoir été un descendant de ‘Abd al-Qâdir Jîlânî et en tout cas appartenait à l'ordre des Qadiriya. Son principal ouvrage, Al-Nâmûs al-a’zam, n'a pas encore fait l'objet d'une étude critique et est très peu connu en Europe. Son livre le plus célèbre est Al-Insân al-kâmil où, après avoir esquissé une métaphysique apparentée à celle d'Ibn ‘Arabi, mais indépendante de la sienne, il développe la conception de l'Homme Parfait.

D'autres soufis sont plus connus comme organisateurs et missionnaires que comme théoriciens originaux.

Baha'al-Din Naqsband vécut au VIII^e siècle de l'hégire, à Bukhara. Partant de traditions anciennes, sans doute courantes dans certains milieux de la Transoxiane et remontant en dernière analyse aux malâmatîya du Khurasan, il devint le fondateur d'une congrégation dont le signe distinctif principal est le dhikr secret et dont les doctrines et les pratiques ne s'écartent de l'usage du commun des croyants que par un plus haut degré de spiritualisation. Dans les états ottomans, les Naqsbandîya furent relativement bien reçus par les milieux d'oulémas ; la résistance à la métaphysique d'Ibn ‘Arabi fut grande dans leurs rangs et, nous l'avons vu, c'est à leur tradition que se rattache Sarhindi.

‘Alî Hamadânî représente un soufisme assez différent. Initié à l'ordre kubrawî, il se fait de sa dignité et de son importance une opinion exagérée. Pour ses disciples, il devient ainsi « le second ‘Alî » et une manifestation de l'Homme Parfait. Descendant du Prophète, initié à la futuwwa qui, à cette époque, est fortement imprégnée d'idées chiites, il contribue à l'évolution de son ordre dans un sens chiite, voire à la naissance d'une secte plus ou moins autonome. Deux générations après lui, dans le premier quart du IXe siècle, le kubrawî Muhammad Nurbakhs se proclamera effectivement le Mahdi et l'imam attendu.

C'est encore entre l'Iran et l'Inde que s'exerce l'activité d'un troisième contemporain, Sâh Ni’matullah Walî. Descendant d'une famille du Fars, Ni’matullah naquit à Alep. Après avoir reçu sa formation dans les écoles de Chiraz, il fit un pèlerinage à La Mecque où il rencontra le célèbre soufi et faqih chaféite, ‘Abdallah Yâfi’î dont il devint le disciple. Par Yâfi’i, Ni’matullah se rattache à la tradition occidentale, au soufisme andalou et maghrébin, adhérant fermement aux idées d'Ibn ‘Arabi, ainsi qu'en témoignent ses nombreux écrits. Ayant achevé son apprentissage à La Mecque, Ni’matullah se transporte en

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Transoxiane, aux environs de Samarcande. Là, sur les montagnes environnantes, il s'adonne aux exercices ascétiques et gagne l'adhésion de nombreux nomades. Timûr prend ombrage de son influence et l'expulse du pays. Le mystique gagne Hérat, puis Milan, près de Kerman, où il fonde un cloître. C'est là que se trouve encore aujourd'hui, avec son mausolée, le centre de l'ordre qui se réclame de lui. D'une façon peu claire, Ni’matullah gagna l'adhésion du souverain bahmanide du Deccan, Ahmad Sâh, en sorte que sa « voie » se propagea également aux Indes. Divisées en plusieurs branches qui n'ont pas plus de cent cinquante ans d'existence, les Gunâbâdî, les Dhû'l-riyâsatainî, les Safî- ‘Ali-sâhî notamment, les Ni'matullahîya sont actuellement chiites et constituent la congrégation la plus importante de la Perse ; mais, en attendant que des recherches aient fait la lumière sur sa personnalité, l'attitude personnelle du fondateur en matière confessionnelle est peu claire.

L'histoire du soufisme ne se termine pas avec le siècle qui a vu Jili, Naqsband, Hamadânî et Ni'matullah ; ni avec le siècle suivant où faisant pendant à Jâmî déjà mentionné, l'Égyptien ‘Abd al-Wahhab Sa'rânî donne, pour le monde arabe, une série de manuels, compilations, certes, mais qui serviront de base à des générations de soufis, et où, en Iran même, 'Abd al-Razzâq Lahîjî fournit, dans son commentaire du poème de Mabmûd Sabîstarî, Gulsan-i raz, une somme du soufisme d'inspiration plus ou moins chiite ; ni avec celui où vit Sarhindi. Seulement, son visage change et acquiert les traits qu'il gardera presque jusqu'à nos jours. Le principal en est le rôle important qu'y jouent dorénavant les congrégations.

Celles-ci se sont formées, à partir du VI^e siècle de l'hégire, autour de maîtres célèbres. La plus ancienne est celle des Qâdirîya ; une des plus récentes, qui n'a pas deux siècles d'existence, est celle des Sanûsiya dont nous avons vu les chefs, de nos jours, monter sur le trône de Libye. Le processus de formation est toujours le même : des disciples se rassemblent autour d'un maître à forte personnalité qui leur enseigne une discipline particulière, une forme de dhikr spéciale, des doctrines plus ou moins originales. Après sa mort, son enseignement est transmis oralement ou consigné par écrit, dans l'une des innombrables Vies de soufis que connaissent toutes les littératures du monde islamique. La maison-mère de l'ordre se trouve très souvent au mausolée même du fondateur, où réside son successeur ; mais la structure de l'ordre n'est pas toujours rigide et la centralisation est même plutôt exceptionnelle.

Ces ordres diffèrent entre eux par leur doctrine, par leur discipline, par leurs pratiques. Chacun représente une « voie » menant à Dieu, d'où leur nom de tarîqa (pl. turuq). L'adepte est formé et, le moment venu, initié : on lui révèle alors la silsila, la chaîne initiatique, succession ininterrompue des maîtres depuis le temps du Prophète.

A partir du X^e siècle de l'hégire, on peut être initié à plusieurs silsila. Aussi bien aux Indes que dans les États ottomans, la coutume d'affiliation multiple se développe. On collectionne les diplômes, les igaza des cheikhs des différentes turuq, comme on collectionne ceux des oulémas avec qui on a lu les diffé-

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rents ouvrages de jurisprudence. Il s'agit d'acquérir la connaissance de plusieurs méthodes d'approche vers Dieu, avant de choisir la plus appropriée. Un même cheikh, d'ailleurs, peut enseigner selon plusieurs méthodes et initier ses disciples à plusieurs congrégations à la fois. Il existe même une possibilité d'affiliation globale, d'admission simultanée dans deux ou trois tarîqa. Nous avons déjà vu le cas de Sarhindi, affilié à six congrégations au moins. A son époque et dans son milieu, cela n'avait rien d'exceptionnel.

Dans l'Iran safavide, au contraire, l'affiliation multiple a toujours été très mal vue et l'on voit même apparaître, à l'inverse, des spirituels qui, malgré leurs tendances mystiques, refusent l'affiliation au mouvement soufi ; l'exemple le plus notable a été fourni par quelques personnalités de l'école philosophique d'Isfahan, notamment par Mullâ Muhsin Faidh Kâsânî.

Mais, même dominé par la pratique d'affiliation multiple, le soufisme maniéré de l'Empire ottoman a produit quelques personnalités marquantes. La plus connue sans doute est, au XII^e siècle de l'hégire, celle du mystique syrien `Abd al-Gani al-Nablûsî. Né et mort à Damas, Nablûsî beaucoup voyagé, et a laissé une relation de ses voyages. Affilié à la fois aux Mevlevîya, aux Qâdirîya et aux Naqsbandîya, il a écrit des traités sur ces congrégations. Mais il est surtout connu comme commentateur d'Ibn ‘Arabi et d'Ibn al-Farid. On a de lui également plusieurs petits écrits où il prend position sur certains points du droit et de la doctrine. Nous ne mentionnerons que son Idah al-magsûd fi ma' nâ wahdat al-wujûd. Il commence par constater que, parmi les gens de Dieu, il y a deux catégories, les oulémas et les mystiques.

Les premiers basent leur science sur le raisonnement et l'étude des livres écrits, les seconds sur la découverte mystique et les exercices ascétiques ; les premiers ont pour objectif l'accomplissement des devoirs religieux, les seconds l'obtention de la contemplation de Dieu. D'où certains malentendus entre les deux groupes. Nablûsî s'élève avec force contre la représentation selon laquelle la wahdat al-wujûd signifierait que Dieu est l'essence des créatures et les créatures l'essence de Dieu ; il maintient leur distinction absolue :

... Ce que signifie le wujûd par Iequel tout existant existe, éternellement ou dans le temps, est plus facile à établir : il signifie que l'existant possible ne peut absolument pas se passer de l'Etre éternel ; et que son wujûd est celui de cet Etre. Certes, l'essence et la forme de l'être possible sont distinctes de celles de l'être éternel, ce sont bien deux (êtres) distincts, mais le wujûd par lequel ils existent tous les deux est unique ; en ce qui concerne l'Etre éternel, il Lui vient de Son essence ; en ce qui concerne l'être créé dans le temps, il lui vient d'un autre. L'Eternel existe par un wujûd qui est la quintessence de son essence (‘ain dhâlih), le temporel par un wujûd qui est la quintessence de l'essence de l'Eternel. Mais l'Eternel n'est pas la quintessence de l'Essence du temporel, et le temporel n'est pas la quintessence de l'essence de l'Eternel, chacun d'eux est distinct de l'autre en ce qui concerne son essence et ses attributs, même s'ils ont en commun de se manifester par un wujûd unique et de persister par lui. Or, si le wujûd unique appartient à l'Eternel par Sa propre essence et au temporel par l'Eternel et non par sa propre essence, ce wujûd unique est, chez l'Eternel, un wujûd absolu selon une modalité on ne peut plus grande, et, chez le temporel, un wujûd

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conditionné, selon une modalité qui convient au temporel, inférieure A la première selon une infériorité due au temporel, non A l'Eternel. (Cité d'après le ms. 2266 de la bibliothèque des Awgâf d'Alep, copié en 1119 de l'hégire. L'original fut composé le vendredi 12 a'ban 1091 h.)

Telle est la conception de la wahdat al-wujûd que professe Nablûsî et pour laquelle il invoque le patronage des maîtres comme Ibn Arabi, Ibn Sab’in, Ibn al-Farid et Abd al Karim Jîlî. Malgré quelques différences surtout terminologiques elle n'est pas tellement éloignée de celle que proposa, un siècle plus tôt, Ahmad Farûqî Sarhindi. Car, en défendant la pureté du message islamique, le soufisme a pu formuler sa métaphysique en des termes variables selon les cas, surtout lorsqu'il s'agissait de prendre ses distances à l'égard de mouvements inspirés par les religions étrangères ; mais le fond de la doctrine restait toujours le même, à savoir l'exaltation de la puissance absolue de Dieu, un amour ardent pour Dieu, la contemplation de Dieu en toutes choses. Jamais il n'a tourné au panthéisme, et la mystique musulmane est toujours restée fidèle à son inspiration coranique. Et, par-delà le Coran, à travers des formulations philosophiques d'allure néo-platonicienne, elle a toujours défendu la distinction établie par Parménide entre la Voie de la Vérité et celle de l'Opinion, entre le domaine de la Réalité et celui de la Métaphore. Car, pour le soufisme comme pour Goethe, alles Vergängliche ist nur ein Gleichnis, « tout ce qui passe n'est que ressemblance ».

NOTE BIBLIOGRAPHIQUE [omise]

§

Je fais suivre cet exposé du spécialiste des Hommes du blâme disparu trop tôt - unique par la profondeur rendant compte d’un vécu mystique certainement partagé - par deux textes de nature purement historique. L’anglais Arberry nous sert de bref contrepoint au récit précédent par son approche classique externe (une parmi d’autres possibles) ; la lecture peut en être reportée. L’Indien Rizvi couvre avec précision l’histoire des spirituels Naqsbandis depuis leur pénétration en Inde au seizième siècle. Deux chapitres sont extraits d’une œuvre rare par sa qualité et qui demeure concrètement d’accès malaisé.

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Mysticism (A.J.Arberry)

CHAPTER 6 ³⁰

‘Religious mysticism,' wrote W. R. Inge in his classic Christian mysticism, ‘may be defined as the attempt to realize the presence of the living God in the soul and in nature, or, more generally, as the attempt to realize, in thought and feeling, the immanence of the temporal in the eternal, and of the eternal in the temporal.' Many other definitions of mysticism have been formulated, and some of these have been re-examined with critical acumen by Professor R. C. Zaehner in his Mysticism sacred and profane. It is worth recalling that the mystics of Islam were equally at a loss to reach a precise and satisfactory description of the undescribable; Professor R. A. Nicholson once collected a very large list of definitions of Sufism by practising Sûfis./1 If mysticism in general is beyond accurate and concise definition, the particular variety of mysticism known as Sufism may perhaps be described briefly as the attempt of individual Muslims to realize in their personal experience the living presence of Allah.
The Christian mystic in his quest for union with God relies first upon the person of Jesus Christ who, being of the Godhead, is Himself both the object of worship, the supreme model, and the goal of attainment. Next he studies the nature of God and His purpose in the world as revealed in the Holy Scriptures. For examples of mystical endeavour he turns to the lives of the saints and the writings of the mystics. Finally he seeks to prepare himself for the gift of Divine grace by observing the sacraments and acts of public worship, by the assiduous practice of self-denial, and by private meditation and other recommended forms of spiritual exercise. The Muslim mystic has no Christ-figure to mediate and intercede between himself and Allah. The person of Muhammad, it is true, idealized in time as the Perfect Man, came partly to supply that want; but Muhammad was never accorded divine honours. For the Sûfi, the Logos was God revealed in His speech (the Qur'an) and His act (the created world); so the Qur'an was the focus of his faith and meditation, the physical universe the arena in which he observed God in action. Like his Christian brother, he could follow his prescribed discipline of public ritual and private devotion. The early saints of
/1 R. A. Nicholson, 'A Historical Enquiry concerning the Origin and Development of Sufism', in JRAS (1906), 303-48.
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Islam furnished him with abundant example, the supreme model being the founder of the faith. Later on, many manuals were written for the instruction of the mystic, and convents were founded to promote the communal life of austerity and the service of God.
The formative period of Sufism extended over the first three centuries of the Muslim era. The term tasawwûf (i.e., Sufism) was derived from sûf (wool); the Sûfi by wearing coarse woollen garments, according to some accounts in emulation of Christian practice,/1 proclaimed his renunciation of the world. Asceticism and quietism characterized the first phase of this movement, which was essentially a reaction against the wealth and luxury that, flooding in from the conquered provinces of Byzantium and Persia, threatened to overwhelm Islam and to destroy its primitive simplicity and other-worldliness. An eloquent spokesman of this protest was Hasan al-Basri (d. 120/728), a man equally famous in the history of Muslim theology, for he is reputed a founder of the Mu`tazili school. Enjoying the confidence of the godly ‘Umar II, he set the fashion, followed by later Sûfis to their great personal risk, of blunt preaching against corruption in high places before the caliph himself. Others through the second/eighth century registered their disapproval by going apart from their fellows : in conscious imitation of the Christian anchorites still scattered through the Levant, they took refuge in caves and deserts where they devoted themselves wholly to the life of self-denial. Such were the men described by a woman ascetic of Syria./2

Their every purpose is with God united, 
Their high ambitions mount to Him alone;
Their troth is to the Lord and Master plighted—
O noble quest, for the Eternal One!

They do not quarrel over this world's pleasure—
Honours, and children, rich and costly gowns, 
All greed and appetite! They do not treasure
The life of ease and joy that dwells in towns.

Facing the far and faint horizon yonder
They seek the Infinite, with purpose strong;
They ever tread where desert runnels wander,
And high on towering mountain-tops they throng.

Still others, and they the great majority, sought to solve their personal problem by earning a bare subsistence in honest and lawful toil in the
1 See A. J. Arberry, Sufism (London, 1950), 34-5; L. Massignon, Essai sur les origines du lexique technique de la mystique musulmane, (Paris, 1922), 131.
2 Quoted in al-Kalâbâdhi, Kitâb al-Ta`arruf (Cairo, 1934), 10.
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practise of useful crafts, otherwise keeping to their humble apartments and occupying their days and nights with the service of God.
The ascetic movement spread from Medina to Kufa and Basra, to Damascus and newly founded Baghdad, to the distant provinces of Khurâsan and Sind. Presently two principal centres of Sufism developed; in the capital city of Islam, and in north-eastern Persia. A pioneer in the latter region was Ibrahim b. Adham, reputed prince of Balkh, who gave up his kingdom in answer to the heavenly challenge, and wandered abroad; he hired himself out as a jobbing gardener in Syria, and achieved the martyr's crown about 160/776 fighting against Byzantium. Contemporary with him were the learned traditionist Sufyan al-Thawri of Kûfa (d. 161/778) who founded a short-lived school of jurisprudence, and suffered persecution because he refused public office; and the famous woman-saint Rabi`a of Basra (d. 185/801), a lifelong virgin by conviction who preached the new doctrine of Divine love./1

Two ways I love Thee: selfishly,
And next, as worthy is of Thee.
'Tis selfish love that I do naught
Save think on Thee with every thought.
'Tis purest love when Thou dost raise
The veil to my adoring gaze.
Not mine the praise in that or this :
Thine is the praise in both, I wis.
The transition from simple asceticism to a complex theory of the mystical discipline, and thereafter to a highly developed theosophy, took place during the third/ninth century. The exact course of this transformation cannot now be traced with confidence, since our knowledge of the leading figures in the first phase depends upon secondary sources. Shaqiq of Balkh (d. 194/81 o), for instance, is said to have been the first to define trust in God (tawakkul) as a mystical state (hâl). This statement rests on a relatively late authority,/2 and presumes that in his time the distinction had already been drawn between station (maqâm) and state (hâl). This differentiation, which belongs to a mature and elaborate theory of the mystic's progress towards his goal of passing away in God (fana'), defines ‘station' as a degree attained by personal effort, whereas ‘state' represents an advance contingent upon grace.
1 Translation by R. A. Nicholson, A literary history of the Arabs (Cambridge, 1941), 234. For another version see D. S. Margoliouth, The early development of Mohammedanism (London, 1914), 175.
9 Sibt Ibn al-Jawzi (d. 654/1257), quoted by Massignon, Essai, 228.
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'The states are gifts, the stations are earnings' is how the classic theorist of Sufism, al-Qushayri (d. 46 5 /1072) put the matter. In the sayings attributed to Shaqiq the technical term ma`rifa also occurs ; this word was used by the Sufis to denote mystical knowledge of God, as distinct from formal knowledge (`ilm) derived from revelation and reason and shared by all thoughtful believers; it is generally translated `gnosis'. Another respectable fifth/eleventh-century source puts this key word already into the mouth of 'Abd Allah b. al-Mubarak of Merv (d. 181/797), otherwise known as a Traditionist who collected sayings of the Prophet on the theme of self-denial (zuhd). Yet the name commonly associated with the introduction into Sûfi doctrine of the idea of gnosis is Dhu'l-Nun al-Misri (d. 2.46/861), a more substantial figure for all that much legend of alchemy and unriddling of the hieroglyphs and thaumaturgy has gathered around his powerful personality.
In the life of Dhu'l-Nun, whose grave is still to be seen near the Pyramids, three streams of the Sufi movement ran together. Visited in Egypt by mystics from Persia, he was summoned to Baghdad to answer charges of heresy, and thus had close personal contact with the two principal schools of theosophy. Supposed, after gnostic fashion, to be in possession of the secret of the Greatest Name of God, in his litanies and poems he exhibits a convincing awareness of the presence of God in the world and within the mystic's soul.
« O God, I never hearken to the voices of the beasts or the rustle of the trees, the splashing of waters or the song of the birds, the whistling of the wind or the rumble of thunder, but I sense in them a testimony to Thy unity, and a proof of Thy incomparableness ; that Thou art the All-prevailing, the All-knowing, the All-wise, the All-just, the All-true, and that in Thee is neither overthrow nor ignorance nor folly nor injustice nor lying. O God, I acknowledge Thee in the proof of Thy handiwork and the evidence of Thy acts : grant me, O God, to seek Thy satisfaction with my satisfaction, and the delight of a Father in His child, remembering Thee in my love for Thee, with serene tranquillity and firm resolve. »
Dhu'l-Nûn's arraignment before the Caliph al-Mutawakkil, relentless champion of strict orthodoxy in its war against the ‘rationalizing' Mu`tazila, was symptomatic of the alarm which the growing boldness and popularity of Safi preaching had awakened in the hearts of professional divines. The Egyptian gnostic was but one of many Sûfis who faced persecution during this period, culminating in the public scandal and cruel execution of al-IIallâj (d. 309/922). More shocking to con-
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servative opinion than Dhu'l-Nun's poetical utterances was the unrestrained language of Abu Yazid (Bayazid) al-Bistami (d. 261/875), protagonist of the Khurasanian school of `intoxicated' mysticism. Whether under Indian influence (as Horten and Zaehner have argued) or independently reaching Vedantist conclusions, Abu Yazid claimed actually to have achieved union with God. ‘Subhâni! m a`zama sha'ni!' (` Glory be to me ! how great is my majesty! ') : this ejaculation of ecstasy, explained away by Sufi apologists as God speaking through the annihilated mystic, sounded to less sympathetic ears very like a claim to divinity. Meditating on the popular story of the Prophet's ascension (mi`râj) to the seventh heaven, Abu Yazid experienced a like rapture of the spirit and set a precedent which other Sufis aspired to follow.
« When He brought me to the brink of the Divine Unity, I divorced myself and betook myself to my Lord, calling upon Him to succour me. `Master,' I cried, `I beseech Thee as one to whom nothing else remains.' When He recognized the sincerity of my prayer, and how I had despaired of myself, the first token that came to me proving that He had answered this prayer was that He caused me to forget myself utterly, and to forget all creatures and all dominions. So I was stripped of all cares, and remained without any care. Then I went on traversing one kingdom after another; whenever I came to them I said to them, `Stand, and let me pass.' So I would make them stand and I would pass until I reached them all. So He drew me near, appointing for me a way to Him nearer than soul to body. Then He said, `Abù Yazid, all of them are My creatures, except thee.' I replied, `So I am Thou, and Thou art I, and I am Thou.' »
The founder of the Baghdad school of speculative mysticism was al-Harith b. Asad al-Muhasibi (d. 243/837). Born at Basra in 165/781, he moved to the capital early in life and became an accomplished student of Traditions, by then a very flourishing science. His readiness to accept as authentic sayings of the Prophet favourable to Sufi ideas brought upon him the wrath of Ahmad b. Hanbal, formidable inceptor of the conservative Hanbali school of jurisprudence, and for a time he had to flee back to his native city. Presently however he returned to Baghdad, and enlisted a following of disciples to whom he imparted his doctrines in a series of books, most famous of which is al-Ri`aya li-huqûq Allah (‘The observance of God's rights'). This work laid the foundations of the ‘science' of mysticism; attentively studied, it served as a model for later writers. Al-Muhasibi supported his theses with frequent references to the Qur'an and the Traditions, after the manner of the orthodox lawyer and theologian. In another book, the Kitâb
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al-nasa'ib (‘Book of counsels'), he describes his desperate search for the way of salvation out of the seventy-odd sects into which Islam had been split; the’ saved' proved to be the Sufis, whose company he accordingly joined.
« Then the merciful God gave me to know a people in whom I found my godfearing guides, models of piety, that preferred the world to come above this world. They ever counselled patience in hardship and adversity, acquiescence in fate, and gratitude for blessings received; they sought to win men to a love of God, reminding them of His goodness and kindness and urging them to repentance unto Him. These men have elaborated the nature of religious conduct, and have prescribed rules for piety, which are past my power to follow. I therefore knew that religious conduct and true piety are a sea wherein the like of me must needs drown, and which such as I can never explore. Then God opened unto me a knowledge in which both proof was clear and decision shone, and I had hopes that whoever should draw near to this knowledge and adopt it for his own would be saved. I therefore saw that it was necessary for me to adopt this knowledge, and to practise its ordinances ; I believed in it in my heart, and embraced it in my mind, and made it the foundation of my faith. Upon this I have built my actions, in it moved in all my doings. »
With these words al-Muhasibi accepted the challenge flung down by the orthodox, claiming the Sufis to be the truly orthodox; at the same time he opened the door to that grand reconciliation between theology and mysticism which ensued a century and more after him. He had defended the Sufi cause by using the same weapons as its most rigorous opponents, the powerful coalition of Traditionists and lawyers. His disciple al-Junayd (d. 289/910) resumed the argument and fought it out with the second most influential group, the scholastic theologians. The central problem agitating the minds of the religious learned in this century of decision was to elucidate a comprehensive doctrine of the cardinal dogma of Islam, the Divine Unity (tawhid). This topic was treated by al-Junayd in a series of subtly-composed epistles (Rasâ'il) written to or for his fellow-Sufis, and collected after his death. He summed up his findings in a famous definition which came to be accepted as authoritative by most Sufis, and commanded the approval of even so strict a Hanbali as Ibn Taymiyya (d. 728/1328): ifrad al Qadim 'an al-muhdath (‘the separation of the Eternal from what was originated in time'). This formula involved, on the human side, the central point of Sufi theory, that the mystic may hope, by God's grace crowning his own exertions, ultimately to reach a state of self-naughting that he passes away (in fana') from his human attributes and survives eternally
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(in baqâ') united with God. In this stage ‘the servant of God returns to his first state, that he is as he was before he existed'. It has been well pointed out/1 that this idea of a pre-existence of the human soul seems to echo neo-Platonic ideas, specifically as expressed by Plotinus in Enneads vi, 4. 14: ‘Before we had our becoming here, we existed There, men other than now; we were pure souls ... Now we are become a dual thing, no longer that which we were at first, dormant, and in a sense no longer present.' If in fact al-Junayd here leaned on what had been already translated of the Greek philosophers, he concealed the borrowing well, citing in proof of his startling theory the celebrated ‘Covenant' (mithâq) verse of Qur'an, 7. 171.

And when thy Lord took from the Children of Adam,
from their loins, their seed, and made them testify 
touching themselves, 'Am I not your Lord,'
They said, 'Yes, we testify.'

Al-Junayd gathered around him a large circle of men of like purpose, mostly learned artisans, and the discussions which enlivened those regular meetings for instruction and meditation bore abundant fruit. One of the leading personalities was Abu Said al-Kharraz, author of the surviving Kitâb al-sidq (‘Book of truthfulness'), credited by al-Hujwiri (d. c. 467/1075) with the invention of the doctrine of fana' and baqâ' which loomed so large in his master's teaching. Some of al-Junayd's followers were inspired by what they heard and witnessed to become poets of the mystical life; the handful of their verses saved from the shipwreck of time is a tantalizing reminder of the much more that is lost. Such a one was Abu'l-Husayn al-Nûri, so named because he saw the Divine Light (nûr).

O God, I fear Thee: not because
I dread the wrath to come; for how
Can such affright, when never was
A friend more excellent than Thou?

Thou knowest well the heart's design,
The secret purpose of the mind;
And I adore Thee, Light Divine,
Lest lesser lights should make me blind.

Poetry now became an important element in the discipline as well as the literature of Sufism. One of the exercises found most effective in
/1 Ali Abdel Kader, `The Doctrine of al-Junayd', in The Islamic Quarterly, 1954), 167-77. 
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stimulating ecstasy was to listen to the recitation of verses, sometimes to musical accompaniment. The practice of ‘audition' (sama') reminiscent of the use of music in Christian liturgies, and even dancing, gave rise to fierce controversy which raged for many centuries; the Hanbalis in particular were loud in condemning so dangerous an innovation. One was dealing not merely with metaphysical poetry, which though strange and novel could hardly be denounced on moral grounds. To al-Junayd himself we owe some verses of this character.

Now I have known, O lord,
What lies within my heart;
In secret, from the world apart,
My tongue has talked with my Adored.

So in a manner we
United are, and One;
Yet otherwise disunion
Is our estate eternally.

Though from my gaze profound 
Deep awe has hid Thy face,
In wondrous and ecstatic grace
I feel Thee touch my inmost ground.

In like manner another unknown poet-mystic of the Baghdad circle spoke of the transforming union.

When truth its light Both show,
I lose myself in reverence,
And am as one who never travelled thence
To life below.

When I am absented
From self in Him, and Him attain,
Attainment's self thereafter proveth vain
And self is dead.

In union divine
With Him, Him only I do see;
I dwell alone, and that felicity
No more is mine.

This mystic union
From self bath separated me:
Now witness concentration's mystery
Of two made one.

If the verses recited at Sûfi concerts had been confined to such compositions, few would have cavilled. The scandal arose from the use
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of profane literature—the love-poems of an 'Umar b. Abi Rabi'a, the bacchanalian effusions of an Abu Nuwas—chanted by a handsome youth whose beauty was taken as a focus of concentration, being an example of the handiwork of the Divine Artist. This convention, no doubt innocent enough in its inception, gave rise to suspicion of grave misconduct; it also engendered the rich and fine literature of the Persian ghazal.
Whilst the Baghdad circle was thus contributing massively to the development of a metaphysic of mysticism, no less important advances were continuing to be made in Persia. Sahl b. 'Abd Allah al-Tustari (d. 283/896), to whom is accredited the first Sufi commentary on the Qur'an, evolved a doctrine of letters and light which later influenced the Spanish school from Ibn Masarra to Ibn al-`Arabi. Abu 'Abd Allah al-Tirmidhi (fl. 285/898) in a long series of books and pamphlets, many of which are extant, elaborated a kind of mystic psychology which was taken up by al-Ghazali and incorporated into his system; he also enunciated a novel doctrine of sainthood and prophecy which reappeared in the writings of Ibn al-`Arabi. Meanwhile al-Hallaj, born about 244/858 in the province of Fars, wandered through a large part of the Muslim world, reaching as far as India and the borders of China, preaching a form of union with God which outraged the orthodox, and shocked many of his fellow-Sûfis; condemned as an ‘incarnationist' and a blasphemer, he was gibbeted in Baghdad in 309/922.
« If ye do not recognize God, at least recognize His signs. I am that sign, I am the Creative Truth, because through the Truth I am a truth eternally. My friends and teachers are Iblis and Pharaoh. Iblis was threatened with Hell-fire, yet he did not recant. Pharaoh was drowned in the sea, yet he did not recant, for he would not acknowledge anything between him and God. And I, though I am killed and crucified, and though my hands and feet are cut off—I do not recant. »
The foregoing extract from his Kitâb al-tawâsin places in its context the notorious phrase Ana'l--Haqq (‘I am the Creative Truth') which the adversaries of al-Hallaj fastened on as a claim to personal apotheosis. The legend of his death invites comparison with the Christian story of the Crucifixion, which may well have been in his mind as his torturers made ready to slay him./1
/1 This and the preceding citation are from versions made by R. A. Nicholson, The idea of personality in Sufism (Cambridge, 1923), 32; `Mysticism', in T. Arnold and A. Guillaume (edd.), The legacy of Islam (Oxford, 1931), 217.
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« When he was brought to be crucified and saw the cross and the nails, he turned to the people and uttered a prayer, ending with the words : 'And these Thy servants who are gathered to slay me, in zeal for Thy religion and in desire to win Thy favour, forgive them, O Lord, and have mercy upon them; for verily if Thou hadst revealed to them that which Thou hast revealed to me, they would not have done what they have done; and if Thou hadst hidden from me that which Thou hast hidden from them, I should not have suffered this tribulation. Glory unto Thee in whatsoever Thou doest, and glory unto Thee in whatsoever Thou willest.' »
The brutal martyrdom of al-Hallaj startled into circumspection all but the most God-intoxicated Sûfis, who thereafter strove for a way of reconciliation. The mystics of the fourth/tenth century in the main returned to a safer pattern of behaviour and public utterance. The long life of Ibn Khafif, who died in Shiraz in 371/982, was a model of scrupulous piety and a careful regard for orthodoxy. A number of scholars now judged the time ripe to sum up the doctrine and practices of the Sufis as embodied in the school of al-Junayd, and to argue that these were in harmony with the Sunni code and creed. Abu Nasr al-Sarraj (d. 378/988)  in his Kitâb al-luma (‘Book of flashes'), and Abû Tâlib al-Makki (d. 3 86/996) in his Qût al-qulûb (‘Food for the hearts') produced lengthy and learned treatises which in their sedulous advocacy of moderation went far to allay the suspicions of all but the most conservative theologians. In a shorter work, the Kitâb al-ta'arruf li-madhhab ahl al-tasawwuf (` The doctrine of the Sufis') Abu Bakr al-Kalabadhi (d. c. 385/995),  who also wrote a commentary on Traditions, prefaced his description of Sûfi mystical theory with an account of their theology which corresponds closely to, and even quotes from, a Hanbali creed published in his own lifetime. Then Abû 'Abd al-Rahman al-Sulami (d. 412/1021), a busy author who wrote an extensive Sufi exegesis of the Qur'an and many lesser works, compiled in his Tabaqât al-Sûfiyya (‘Classes of Sûfis') the first comprehensive register of Muslim mystics. This pioneering book, aimed at proving the right of the Sûfis to be accorded the same serious treatment as Traditionists, theologians, lawyers, poets, grammarians and the rest of classified notables, was followed shortly afterwards by the encyclopaedic Ililyat al-awliyâ' (‘Ornament of the saints') put together by that learned biographer Abû Nu'aym al-Isfahan (d. 430/1038) and published in ten large volumes. Then in 437/ 1045 Abu'l-Qasim al-Qushayri (d. 465/1074), who also wrote a Sûfi commentary on the Qur'an and numerous other books, promul-
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gated his famous Risâla (‘Epistle') which set the seal on the work of rehabilitation and was accepted as the classical exposition of orthodox Sufism. Not many years later Hujwiri composed his Kashf al-mahjûb (‘Uncovering of the veiled'), the first treatise on Sufism in the Persian language. To round off this summary account of the century of consolidation, we may note the names of two of the greatest figures in medieval Islam : the Persians, 'Abd Allah al-Ansari (d. 481/1088) and Abû Hamid al-Ghazali (d. 505 / 1111).
By the end of the fifth/eleventh century a broad measure of agreement had been reached on the meaning of Sufism and the details of Sûfi experience and theory. Sufism was very far from pretending to be an independent sect of Islam, a separatist movement such as those which had broken to fragments the legendary monolithic communion of the early years of the faith. The great teachers of those times were no Luthers or Wesleys, founding breakaway churches. Islam was in dire need of reform and revival, but the Sûfis elected to reform and revive from within; they even succeeded in overriding the embattled frontiers between Sunna and Shia. The last obstacle in the path of complete assimilation was swept aside by the gigantic labours of al-Ghazali, that most eminent theologian and jurist, who demolished the philosophers and philosophizing Isma`ilis, and completed a reconciliation between orthodoxy and mysticism which immensely strengthened both to withstand the battery of adverse circumstance soon to be loosed against the very existence of Islam. His masterpiece of irenic propaganda, the Ihyâ' `ulûm al-din, proved to be more than what its title claimed, a `revivification of the religious sciences'; it led to a revival of the religion itself.
As has been stated, the classic description of Sufism, studied as a textbook in the medieval colleges and commented upon by many eminent scholars, was the Risâla of al-Qushayri. Addressed in the form of an epistle general to all Sûfis throughout the lands of Islam, the book opens with an eloquent exposition of a familiar theme, lamenting the decay of true religion and calling for a return to true faith and sincere practice. After summarizing the tenets of the Sufis, with special emphasis on their doctrine of tawhid (unitarianism), al-Qushayri lists the leaders of the movement beginning with Ibrahim b. Adham and ending with al-Rûdhbari (d. 369/980). (It is noteworthy that in compiling this catalogue he follows closely the classification established by al-Sulami; both writers exclude from the register such early figures as Hasan
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al-Basri and Malik b. Dinar, admitted to the Sûfi canon by Abu Nu'aym and Hujwiri.)
Next, al-Qushayri offers to explain the technical terms current amongst the Sûfis ; such are waqt (mystical moment), maqâm (station), hâl (state), qabd (contraction) and bast (expansion), jam' (concentration) and farq (separation), fanâ' (passing-away) and baqâ' (continuance), ghayba (absence) and hudûr (presence), sabw (sobriety) and sukr (intoxication), qurb (propinquity) and bu'd (remoteness). In defining these terms al-Qushayri was following in the footsteps of al-Sarraj, and anticipating the technical dictionaries of al-Kashani, al-Jurjani and al-Tahanawi.
[omission de nombreuses listes]
[...]
The pattern of the mystic's progress invented by 'Abd Allah al-Ansari in his celebrated Manâzil al-sa'irin (` Stages of the travellers') is still more formal and elaborate than that of any of his predecessors. Accounted the most eminent Hanbali scholar of his generation, al-Ansâri published, in the Herati dialect of Persian, biographies of the Sufis based upon the work of al-Sulami, and this compilation served in its turn as the foundation of the Nafahât al-uns (‘Exhalations of intimacy') by the great poet Jami. To the classical Persian language he contributed exquisite sentences in rhyming prose in the form of Mûnâjât (‘Litanies'), whilst his lectures on the Qur'an were worked up by a pupil into a massive commentary. Quoting a saying of Abu Bakr al-Kattani (d. 322/934) that ‘between God and the servant there are one thousand stations (maqâm) of light and darkness', al-Ansâri announces that in the interest of brevity he will reduce that total drastically. Dividing scholastically the Path into ten sections, he subdivides each section into ten chapters. The following list shows the first and last parts of this methodical and subtle
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tabulation; each topic is introduced with a quotation from the Qur'an, further analysed, and supported by appropriate definitions.
[...]
In 488/1095 Abu Hamid al-Ghazali, accounted by many the greatest Ash`ari theologian since al-Ash`ari and the greatest Shafi`i lawyer since al-Shafi`i, at the very height of his powers and fame suddenly resigned from his chair of divinity in the Nizâmiyya academy in Baghdad and went into retirement. Dissatisfied with the intellectual and legalistic approach to religion, disgusted with the hair-splitting sophistries of the philosophers and the scholastics, he took up the life of a wandering dervish searching for that personal experience of God which alone could resolve his doubts and confusions. He afterwards told the story of his conversion to Sufism in a book, al-Munqidh min al-dalâl (Deliverance from error'), which ranks amongst the greatest works of religious literature./1
« Then I turned my attention to the Way of the Sufis. I knew that it could not be traversed to the end without both doctrine and practice, and that the gist of the doctrine lies in overcoming the appetites of the flesh and getting rid of its evil dispositions and vile qualities, so that the heart may be cleared of all but God; and the means of clearing it is dhikr Allah, i.e. commemoration of God and concentration of every thought upon Him. Now, the doctrine was easier to me than the practice, so I began by learning their doctrine from the books and sayings of their Shaykhs, until I acquired as much of their Way as it is possible to acquire by learning and hearing, and saw plainly that what is most peculiar to them cannot be learned, but can only be reached by immediate experience and ecstasy and inward transformation.... I became convinced that I had now acquired all the knowledge of Sufism that could possibly be obtained by means of study; as for the rest, there was no way of coming to it except by leading the mystical life. I looked on myself as I then was. Worldly interests encompassed me on every side. Even my work as a teacher-the best thing I was engaged in-seemed unimportant and useless in view of the life hereafter. When I considered the intention of my teaching, I perceived that instead of doing it for God's sake alone I had no motive but the desire for glory and reputation. I realized that I stood on the edge of a precipice and would fall into Hell-fire unless I set about to mend my ways.... Conscious of my helplessness and having surrendered my will entirely, I took refuge with God as a man in sore trouble who has no resource left. God answered my prayer and made it easy for me to turn my back on reputation and wealth and wife and children and friends. »
/1 The following passage is quoted from R. A. Nicholson, Idea of personality, 39-40.
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After an interval of self-discipline and meditation al-Ghazali took up once more his always fluent pen. He applied himself energetically to putting on paper a complete system of belief and practice which embraced all that had been formulated by the moderate Sûfis and incorporated with this the revered teachings of the Fathers of Islam. This great task was accomplished in the Ibya' ‘ulûm al-din, later re-presented on a smaller scale for Persian readers in the Kimiyâ-yi sa`adat (`Alchemy of happiness'). These two large works, composed in easy and attractive style, were intended for the edification of the general public. In his last years al-Ghazali addressed himself to a more select circle of inner initiates, taking into his purview the neo-Platonic doctrine of emanation, thus paving the way for the so-called pantheism of Ibn al-Farid and Ibn al-`Arabi. The startling conception of the Idea of Muhammad (al-haqiqat al-Mubammadiyya) as the `light of lights' (al-nûr al-Muhammad'), present already in the suspect writings of al-Hallaj and probably deriving from Shi`i and ultimately from Gnostic sources, now came into the main stream of Sûfi doctrine.
« By ruling that the desire for Lordship, that is, the divine omnipotence, is inherent in man by nature because he is the image of God, Ghazali smoothed the path for all the pathological excesses that were later to bring Sufism into disrepute ... It is a matter of regret that Ghazali should have put the whole weight of his authority in the scale of the monistic brand of Sufism that had invaded the movement in the person of Abu Yazid; and it is a matter of surprise that a man who, when all is said and done, boasted of an intelligence well above the ordinary, should have shown himself so credulously naïve in his approach to the very questionable practices of the accredited Sufis. After Ghazali, with but few exceptions, the mystical stream—in Persia at least where little effort was made at systematization—got lost in the sands of religious syncretism in which monism, pantheism, and theism were inextricably mingled; yet this doctrinal confusion, so maddening to the intellect, produced a poetic flowering that has seldom been equalled. »/1
The sixth/twelfth century saw the beginnings of the full development of an institution which thereafter dominated the Sûfi movement and mediated its mass appeal—the tariqa or dervish order. Earlier, somewhat ephemeral `schools' of Sufi teaching had gathered around the leading figures; now the need was felt to perpetuate particular traditions of discipline, the communal life and the shared ritual. Already al-Sulami had compiled rules of companionship (âdâb al-subba) which al-Qushayri and his successors revised. The relationship between spiritual instructor
/1 R. C. Zaehner, Hindu and Muslim mysticism (London, 1960), 171,179-80.
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(shaykh, pir) and neophyte (murid, shâgird) acquired an ecclesiastical aura of authority and infallibility; ceremonies of initiation were devised involving the investiture of a distinguishing robe (khirqa) and the bestowal of letters-patent attesting true spiritual descent (silsila). Convents (ribât, khanqâh) to serve as residences and centres of instruction were founded and attracted endowments, much after the pattern of the colleges (madrasa, dar) of theology and religious jurisprudence.
The oldest of the still surviving orders is the Qadiriyya, so named after its founder 'Abd al-Qadir al-Jilâni (471-561/1078-I166). Like al-Ansâri, 'Abd al-Qâdir was primarily a strict and learned Hanbali and his chief work, al-Ghunya li-talibi tariq al-haqq (` Sufficiency for the seekers after the path of truth'), is composed in the form of a regular Hanbali textbook, except that it concludes with a section on the Sûfi way of life. The ribât in Baghdad in which he taught passed after his death under the control of his sons, and became the centre of a vigorous propaganda which carried the legend of 'Abd al-Qadir as far afield as Morocco and the East Indies. The saying put into his mouth, 'My foot is on the neck of every saint of God,' was taken to justify his elevation to the rank of a universal mediator with rights of worship not far short of the Divine. To this day his tomb in Baghdad, converted by Sultan Süleyman in 941/1535 into a spectacular shrine, attracts multitudes of pilgrims; its keeper is a direct descendant of the saint.
« The Qadiri order is on the whole amongst the most tolerant and progressive orders, not far removed from orthodoxy, distinguished by philanthropy, piety, and humility, and averse to fanaticism, whether religious or political. It seems unlikely that the founder instituted any rigid system of devotional exercises, and these in fact differ in the various congregations. A typical dhikr is the following, to be recited after the daily prayers : 'I ask pardon of the mighty God; Glorified be God; May God bless our Master Mohammed and his household and Companions; There is no God but Allah,' each phrase repeated a hundred times. » /1
Numerous sub-orders developed out of the Qadiriyya, some of which became independent; the most notable is the Rifa`iyya, founded by `Abd al-Qadir's nephew, Ahmad al-Rifa`i (d. 578/1183), and widely distributed through Turkey, Syria and Egypt. ` This order was distinguished by a more fanatical outlook and more extreme practices of self-mortification, as well as extravagant thaumaturgical exercises, such as glass-eating, fire-walking, and playing with serpents, which have
/1 H. A. R. Gibb, Mohammedanism (London, 1949), 155-6.
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been imputed to the influence of primitive Shamanism during the Mongol occupation of `Iraq in the thirteenth century./1
A second order was presently established in Baghdad by Shihab al-Din al-Suhrawardi (539-632/1144-1234), nephew of a Sûfi rector of the Nizamiyya academy and himself an accomplished Shafi`i scholar, a pupil of 'Abd al-Qadir; his best-known work is the `Awârif al-ma`ârif (` Benefits of gnoses'), commonly printed on the margins of al-Ghazali's Ihya'. The Suhrawardiyya was carried to India by Baha' al-Din al-Mûltâni. Shortly afterwards Nür al-Din al-Shadhili, born probably near Ceuta in 593/1396  and a pupil of the Maghribi Safi, Ibn Mashish, instituted his own Shadhiliyya community, whose conservative doctrine and orthodox ritual spread rapidly through North Africa, Arabia and Syria. A little later the Mawlawi (Mevlevi) order of Whirling Dervishes sprang up in Konya under the leadership of the great poet Jalal al-Din Rûmi, its characteristic circling dance symbolising the endless quest for the Divine Beloved. Thereafter the orders and sub-orders proliferated with great speed, so that Massignon was able to catalogue no fewer than 175 separate 31named tariqas, many of them having numerous branches./2
The lives of three men of exceptional genius spanned the century 560-672/1165-1273,  and cast their shadows over the whole world of Islam. The eldest of the trio, Muliyi al-Din b. al-'Arabi, was born at Murcia in southern Spain in 560/3165,  studied in Seville and Ceuta, and was initiated into Sufism in Tunis. In 598/1202 he began a long journey eastwards which took him to Mecca, where he resided for a while, through `Iraq, Anatolia and Syria; he finally settled in Damascus, where he died in 638/3240. One of the most fertile minds and fluent pens in Islam, Ibn al-'Arabi drew upon every available resource—Sunni, Shi`i, Ismaili, Sûfi, Neoplatonic, Gnostic, Hermetic—to build up a comprehensive system which he expounded in well over three hundred books and pamphlets and a large quantity of poetry. His two chief works are al-Futûhât al-Makkiyya (` Meccan revelations'), a monument of his Meccan days printed in four huge volumes and running to 560 closely packed sections, and the Fusûs al-hikam (` Bezels of wisdom'), a product of his Damascus period. His doctrines have been summarized as follows./3
(I) God is absolute Being, and is the sole source of all existence; in Him alone Being and Existence are one and inseparable.
/1 Ibid., 156. 	/2 The list is printed in EI 1, IV, 668-72.
/3  Summarized from A. E. Affifi, The mystical philosophy of Muhyid Din-ibnul Arabi (Cambridge, 1939).
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(2) The universe possesses relative being, either actual or potential; it is both eternal-existent and temporal-non-existent; eternal-existent as being in God's knowledge, and temporal-non-existent as being external to God.
(3) God is both Transcendent and Immanent, transcendence and immanence being two fundamental aspects of Reality as man knows it.
(4) Being, apart from God, exists by virtue of God's Will, acting in accordance with the laws proper to the things thus existent; His agents are the Divine Names, or universal concepts.
(5) Before coming into existence, things of the phenomenal world were latent in the Mind of God as fixed prototypes (a’yân thâbita), and were thus one with the Divine Essence and Consciousness; these prototypes are intermediaries between the One as absolute Reality and the phenomenal world.
(6) There is no such thing as union with God in the sense of becoming one with God, but there is the realization of the already existing fact that the mystic is one with God.
(7) The creative, animating and rational principle of the universe, or the First Intellect, is the Reality (Idea) of Muhammad, also called the Reality of Realities (haqiqat al-haqâ'iq) ; this principle finds its fullest manifestation in the Perfect Man (al-insân al-kâmil).
(8) Each prophet is a logos of God; the Logos is Muhammad, the `head' of the hierarchy of prophets. All these individual logoi are united in the Reality of Muhammad.
(9) The Perfect Man is a miniature of Reality; he is the microcosm, in whom are reflected all the perfect attributes of the macrocosm. Just as the Reality of Muhammad was the creative principle of the universe, so the Perfect Man was the cause of the universe, being the epiphany of God's desire to be known; for only the Perfect Man knows God, loves God, and is loved by God. For Man alone the world was made.
The second of this trio of great mystics, Ibn al-Fârid, was born in Cairo in 586/1181 and died there in 632/1235; his tomb in the Muqattam hills is a quiet and beautiful shrine. Unlike Ibn al-'Arabi, Ibn al-Fârid was no traveller, his only journey being the Mecca Pilgrimage. For him that rite was a physical counterpart of the spiritual quest, union with the Spirit of Muhammad, intermediary between God and the world. He expressed this yearning and its ultimate realization in a series of mannered odes, full of the imagery of love and intoxication, culminating in the longest ode in Arabic literature, the Nazm al-sulûk (`Poem of the way').
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In a famous passage the poet compares this world of phenomena with the projections of a shadow-play.

And be thou not all heedless of the play :
The sport of playthings is the earnestness
Of a right earnest soul. Beware: turn not
Thy back on every tinselled form or state
Illogical: for in illusion's sleep
The shadow-phantom's spectre brings to thee
That the translucent curtains do reveal.
Thou seest forms of things in every garb
Displayed before thee from behind the veil
Of ambiguity : the opposites
In them united for a purpose wise :
Their shapes appear in each and every guise :
Silent, they utter speech : though still, they move :
Themselves unluminous, they scatter light .. .
Thou seest how the birds among the boughs
Delight thee with their cooing, when they chant
Their mournful notes to win thy sympathy,
And marvellest at their voices and their words
Expressing uninterpretable speech.
Then on the land the tawny camels race
Benighted through the wilderness ; at sea
The tossed ships run amid the billows deep.
Thou gazest on twain armies—now on land,
Anon at sea—in huge battalions
Clad all in mail of steel for valour's sake
And fenced about with points of swords and spears.
The troops of the land-army—some are knights
Upon their chargers, some stout infantry;
The heroes of the sea-force—some bestride
The decks of ships, some swarm the lance-like masts.
Some violently smite with gleaming swords,
Some thrust with spears strong, tawny, quivering;
Some `neath the arrows' volley drown in fire,
Some burn in water of the flaming flares.
This troop thou seest offering their lives
In reckless onslaught, that with broken ranks
Fleeing humiliated in the rout.
And thou beholdest the great catapult
Set up and fired, to smash the fortresses
And stubborn strongholds. Likewise thou mayest gaze
On phantom shapes with disembodied souls
Cowering darkly in their dim domain,
Apparelled in strange forms that disaccord
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Most wildly with the homely guise of men;
For none would call the Jinnis homely folk.
And fishermen cast in the stream their nets
With busy hands, and swiftly bring forth fish;
And cunning fowlers spread their gins, that birds
A-hunger may be trapped there by a grain.
Ravening monsters of the ocean wreck
The fragile ships; the jungle-lions seize
Their slinking prey; birds swoop on other birds
Out of the heavens; in a wilderness
Beasts hunt for other beasts. And thou mayest glimpse
Still other shapes that I have overpassed
To mention, not relying save upon
The best exemplars. Take a single time
For thy consideration—no great while—
And thou shalt find all that appears to thee
And whatsoever thou dost contemplate
The act of one alone, but in the veils
Of occultation wrapt : when he removes
The curtain, thou beholdest none but him,
And in the shapes confusion no more reigns.

Jalâl al-Din Rami, the third of this trinity of mystical giants, was born at Balkh in 604/1207, son of a man who was himself a master Sûfi. The father, Bahâ' al-Din Walad, left a record of his meditations in a book called Ma`e rif (` Gnoses') which contains many striking descriptions of occult experiences.
« I said, `God is greater!' I saw that all corrupt thoughts, and every thought but the thought of God, all were put to rout. The idea occurred to me that until a certain form enters the mind, sincerity of worship does not appear; until the word `God' is uttered, there is no turning from corruption to wellbeing; until I conceive the image of God's attributes, and gaze upon the attributes of the creature, ecstasy and tenderness and true adoration do not manifest. Then you might say that the Adored is imaged in form; and that God has so created the utterance `God' and the names of His attributes, that when these are sensibly expressed men at once enter into worship. God, it seems has made the declaration of His unity to be the means of the cutting off of all hesitations, whereas He has made the ascription of partners to Him to be the cause of bewilderment. He has likewise made all words and thoughts to be as it were pivots.
Beholding this I said, ` Come, let me efface from my gaze all that is perishing and vincible, that when I look I may be able to see only the Victor, the Eternal. I desire that, as much as I efface, my gaze may become fixed on God's attributes as Victor and Eternal, and the true perfection of God.' As much as I effaced,
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I found myself to be the prisoner of things vincible, things created in time. It was as if God was turning about the things created in time; and in the midst of this I saw that I was upon God's shoulder. I looked again, and saw that not only I, but heaven too, and the skies, earth and the empyrean, all were upon God's shoulder : whither would He cast us ? »
Baha' al-Din fled westwards when the Mongol hordes stormed into Persia, and after long wanderings finally settled in Konya. There Jalal al-Din Rûmi spent the rest of his life, apart from a visit to Damascus, dying in 672/1273. When he came to write poetry, which he did reluctantly under the overwhelming compulsion of mystical rapture, he poured out his soul in a vast collection of odes and quatrains, naming his Diwân after his beloved mystagogue, the wandering dervish Shams al-Din of Tabriz. He also compiled a famous directory of Sûfi discipline and doctrine in the Mathnawi, six volumes of didactic verse relieved with brilliantly written illustrative anecdotes. Rumi freely acknowledged his debt to two poets who had already composed Persian epics on the Sufi way, Sana'i and Farid al-Din `Attar; the latter he had met as a boy in Nishapur. `Attar indeed contributed massively to the exposition of Sufism in a series of long poems, most celebrated of which is the Mantiq al-tayr, based upon a brief allegory composed by Abu Hamid al-Ghazali or his brother Ahmad, and epitomized by Edward Fitz-Gerald in his Bird-Parliament.
The doctrine expounded by Rumi differs little from that of 'Ibn al-`Arabi, but their objectives were widely at variance. `The Andalusian always writes with a fixed philosophical purpose, which may be defined as the logical development of a single all-embracing concept, and much of his thought expresses itself in a dialectic bristling with technicalities. Rûmi has no such aim. As E. H. Whinfield said, his mysticism is not `doctrinal' in the Catholic sense but `experimental'. He appeals to the heart more than to the head, scorns the logic of the schools, and nowhere does he embody in philosophical language even the elements of a system. The words used by Dante in reference to the Divina Commedia would serve excellently as a description of the Mathnawi: `the poem belongs to the moral or ethical branch of philosophy, its quality is not speculative but practical, and its ultimate end is to lead into the state of felicity those now enduring the miserable life of man'. The Mathnawi for the most part shows Rumi as the perfect spiritual guide engaged in making others perfect and furnishing novice and adept alike with matter suitable to their needs. Assuming the general monistic theory
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to be well known to his readers, he gives them a panoramic view of the Sûfi gnosis (direct intuition of God) and kindles their enthusiasm by depicting the rapture of those who `break through to the Oneness' and see all mysteries revealed'./1
An illustration of Rumi's technique is his treatment of the Christian theme of the Annunciation, based upon Qur'an, 19. 16-18.

And mention in the Book Mary
when she withdrew from her people
to an eastern place,
and she took a veil apart from them;
then We sent unto her Our Spirit
that presented himself to her
a man without fault.
She said, `I take refuge in
the All-merciful from thee!
If thou fearest God …'

Mary, being privately in her chamber, beheld a life-augmenting, heart-ravishing form : the Trusty Spirit rose up before her from the face of the earth, bright as the moon and the sun. Beauty without a veil rose up from the earth, even like as the sun rising in splendour from the East. Trembling overcame Mary's limbs, for she was naked and feared corruption. Mary became un-selfed, and in her selflessness she cried, ‘I will leap into the Divine protection.'
For she of the pure bosom was wont to take herself in flight to the Unseen. Seeing this world to be a kingdom without permanence, prudently she made a fortress of the Presence of God, to the end that in the hour of death she might have a stronghold which the Adversary would find no way to assail. No better fortress she saw than the protection of God; she chose a camping-place nigh to that castle.
That Proof of the Divine bounty cried out to her, ` I am the trusty messenger of the Presence. Be not afraid of me. Turn not your head away from the lordly ones of the majesty, do not withdraw yourself from such goodly confidants.'
As he spoke, a candle-wick of pure light spiralled up from his lips straight to the star Arcturus.
You are fleeing from my being into not-being. In not-being I am king and standard-bearer; verily, my house and home are in not-being, only my graven form is before Our Lady. Mary, look well, for I am a form hard to apprehend; I am both a new moon and a fantasy in the heart. I am of the light of the Lord, like the true dawn, for no night encompasses my day. Daughter of `Imran, cry not to God for refuge against me, for I have descended from the refuge of God. The refuge of God has been my origin and sustenance, the light of that refuge which was before ever word was spoken. You are taking refuge from me with God; yet in pre-eternity I am the portrait of that Refuge.
/1 R. A. Nicholson, Rûmi, poet and mystic (London), 24-5.
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I am the refuge that oft-times has been your deliverance; you are taking refuge, and I myself am that refuge. There is no bane worse than ignorance: you are with the Friend, and know not how to love. You suppose the Friend to be a stranger; you have bestowed the name of sorrow upon joy. »
By the end of the seventh/thirteenth century the creative phase of Sufism, as a reconciler of philosophy with theology and of both with personal religion, had been completed. Little remained on the intellectual level but to refine points of doctrine; two names may be singled out, those of 'Abd al-Karim al-Jili (d. 832/1428) and Jâmi (d. 898/1492. The former, following in the footsteps of Ibn al-`Arabi, perfected the concept of the Perfect Man in a treatise so entitled (al-Insân al-kâmil)./1
« The Perfect Man is the Qutb (axis) on which the spheres of existence revolve from first to last, and since things came into being he is one for ever and ever. He hath various guises and appears in diverse bodily tabernacles : in respect of some of these his name is given to him, while in respect of others it is not given to him. His own original name is Mohammed, his name of honour Abu'l-Qâsim, his description 'Abdullah, and his title Shamsu'ddín. In every age he bears a name suitable to his guise in that age. I once met him in the form of my Shaykh, Sharafu'ddin Ismâ`íl al-Jabartí, but I did not know that he (the Shaykh) was the Prophet, although I knew that he (the Prophet) was the Shaykh. This was one of the visions in which I beheld him at Zabid in A.H. 796. The real meaning of this matter is that the Prophet has the power of assuming every form. When the adept sees him in that form of Mohammed which he wore during his life, he names him by that name, but when he sees him in another form and knows him to be Mohammed, he names him by the name of the form in which he appears. The name Mohammed is not applied except to the Idea of Mohammed. »
The identification of Muhammad with the Perfect Man encouraged a cult of the Prophet which took shape in such works as the Dalâ'il al-khayrât (‘Indications of virtues’) of the Moroccan al-Jazûli (d. 870/1465), a collection of litanies and encomia which became the standard prayer-book and rivalled in popularity the famedQasidat al-burda (` Ode of the mantle') of the Egyptian poet al-Bûsiri (d. 696/1297) ; finely calligraphed and illuminated copies of both were prized as much for their baraka (magical blessing) as their artistic merit. Meanwhile the trinitarian theme of Lover, Love and Beloved, first given formal treatment by Ahmad al-Ghazâli (d. 517/1123) and developed by `Ayn al-Qudât Hamadâni (d. 52.5/1131)  and the poet Fakhr al-Din `Iraqi (d. 688/1289),  was taken
/1 R. A. Nicholson, Studies in Islamic mysticism (Cambridge, 1921), 105.
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up again and given metaphysical form by Jâmi in his Lawâ’ih (` Effulgences')./1
The Absolute does not exist without the relative, and the relative is not formulated without the Absolute; but the relative stands in need of the Absolute, while the Absolute has no need of the relative. Consequently the necessary connection of the two is mutual, but the need is on one side only, as in the case of the motion of a hand holding a key, and that of the key thus held.

O Thou whose sacred precincts none may see, 
Unseen Thou makest all things seen to be; 
Thou and we are not separate, yet still 
Thou hast no need of us, but we of Thee.

It is in regard to His essence that the Absolute has no need of the relative. In other respects the manifestation of the names of His Divinity and the realization of the relations of His Sovereignty are clearly impossible otherwise than by use of the relative.

In me Thy beauty love and longing wrought:
Did I not seek Thee how could'st Thou be sought ?
My love is as a mirror in the which
Thy beauty into evidence is brought.

Nay, what is more, it is the ` Truth ' who is Himself at once the lover and the beloved, the seeker and the sought. He is loved and sought in His character of the ` One who is all ' ; and He is lover and seeker when viewed as the sum of all particulars and plurality.
The following extract from the beginning of the Lawâ'ib of `Ayn al-Qudat further illustrates the meditation on the great mystery of creation, first enunciated in a Tradition beloved of the Sûfis, `I was a hidden treasure and desired to be known, so I created the creation in order that I might be known.'
« Spirit and Love came into existence both at one time, being manifested out of the same Creator. Spirit discovered itself to be intermingled with Love, and Love proved to be in suspense upon Spirit. Inasmuch as it was the property of Spirit to be in suspense upon Love, and Love out of its subtlety was intermingled with Spirit, by virtue of that suspense and intermingling union supervened between them. I do not know whether Love became the attribute and Spirit the essence, or Love became the essence and Spirit the attribute; however the matter may have been, the result was that the two became one.
« When the radiance of the beauty of the Beloved first manifested out of the Divine Heart, Love began to converse with Spirit. Inasmuch as the one was related to air and the other to fire, the air kindled the fire while the fire consumed the air, so that the fire became the victor and the air received the vanquished;
/1 E. H. Whinfield(ed. and tr.), Lawâ'ib(London, 1907), 36-7.
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and God pronounced over Being the words, It spares not, neither leaves alone (Qur'ân, 74. 28). Love, which had been the victor, encountering the rays of the lights of the Beloved became vanquished. For this reason it is impossible to know whether Love conforms more with the Lover or with the Beloved, because Love rules over the Lover, whereas Love is a prisoner in the clutches of the Beloved's omnipotence.

Thy love is now the ruler of my soul,
And helplessly I wait on Thy command;
A prisoner in Thy omnipotent hand,
I do not see what cure may make me whole.

Most Persian poetry (apart from political panegyric) from the fifth/ eleventh century onwards was impregnated with the ideas and imagery of Sufism. Jâmi, last of the classical poets, being a convinced Sufi, a member indeed of the Naqshbandi order, in his voluminous writings in prose and verse rehearsed again and again the legends of the mystics and the mystical meaning of the legends. His Nafahat al-uns brought hagiography down to his own times and teachers; in his graceful idylls, the Salamân wa-Absâl, the Laylâ wa-Majnûn, the Yûsuf wa-Zulaykhâ, he interpreted stories religious and profane as variations of the same unchanging theme, the agonizing quest of the Lover for the Beloved. This same topic continued to inspire Persian poets down to the nineteenth century, as in verses ascribed to the Bâbi heroine, Qurrat al-`Ayn./1

« The thralls of yearning love constrain in the bonds of pain and calamity
These broken-hearted lovers of thine to yield their lives in their zeal for Thee.
Though with sword in hand my Darling stand with intent to slay, though I sinless be,
If it pleases Him, this tyrant's whim, I am well content with his tyranny. »

Even into the twentieth century the more intellectual bent of the Arab tradition of Sufism found expression in the writings of an Algerian mystic, Shaykh Ahmad al-`Alawi (d. 193 4). /2

I am Essentially One, Single, Unencroachable
By the least object. Leave I any crevice,
Any space vacant that to another might go ?
For the Inside am I of the Essence in Itself
And the Outside of the Quality, Diffuse Concentration.
`Thither' is there none whither I am not turning.
Doth other than Me exist, empty of My Attribute ?
My Essence is the Essence of Being, now,
/1 Translation by E. G. Browne, see A Persian Anthology, 70-71..
/2 Martin Lings, A Moslem saint of the twentieth century (London, 1961), 203.
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Always. My Infinity is not limited by the least
Grain of mustard. Where can the creature
Find room to intrude on the Truth's Infinite ?
Where other than It, when All is Full ?
Union and separation are thus in Principle the same,
And to behold creation is to behold the Truth,
If creation be interpreted as it truly is.

Indeed, the history of creation from beginning to end was summed up long ago in a couple of stanzas by Rûmi, epitomizing the whole intricate but essentially simple Sûfi doctrine.

Happy was I
In the pearl's heart to lie;
Till, lashed by life's hurricane,
Like a tossed wave I ran.
The secret of the sea
I uttered thunderously;
Like a spent cloud on the shore
I slept, and stirred no more.

Sufism (S.A.A. Rizvi)

Chapter One ³²

Sufism represents the inward or esoteric side of Islam; it may, for the sake of convenience, be described as the mystical dimension of Islam. As depicted by Walter T. Stace, mysticism is not to be understood in the sense of the occult or telepathy, and he excludes even visions and voices from the list of mystical phenomena. ‘A fully developed mystical experience’, says Stace, `involves the apprehension of an ultimate non-sensuous unity in all things, a oneness or a One to which neither the sense nor the reason can penetrate. In other words, it entirely transcends our sensory-intellectual consciousness./1
Mystical experience is not necessarily a religious phenomenon. Although it may give mystic feelings of peace, joy and ecstasy independent of a religious framework, followers of different religions can operate mystically within the laws of their own creed. Thus we have Hindu mysticism, Jewish mysticism, Christian mysticism, Islamic mysticism and Buddhist mysticism, although, of course, the Buddha of the Pali canon of the Hinayana repudiated the concept of self.33 To religious mystics, their experiences involve an intuitive or spiritual awareness of God which transcend empirical experience; the Reality which mystics seek to understand is apprehended through their whole being. Reality, although indescribable, is expressed by symbols. A hymn in the Rigveda reminds that: 'They call Him Indra, Mitra, Varuna, Agni, and even the fleet-winged celestial bird Garuda. The One Reality, the learned speak of in many ways./2
From time immemorial, the concern of the religious mystic had been the quest for Reality, but all genuine mystics found their experiences inexpressible and indescribable. The following parable34, indicating how a man can only form a partial and distorted view of God, is often repeated by sufis. It is related from the Hadigatu'l-Hagiga by the great sufi poet from Ghazna, Abu'l Majd Majdud Sana'i, who died about 1130-31 :
< 35

'Not far from Ghur once stood a city tall

Whose denizens were sightless one and all.

/1 W.T. Stace, The teachings of the mystics, New York, 1960, pp. 14-5.

/2 Rigveda, I, p. 64.

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A certain Sultan once, when passing nigh,

Had pitched his camp upon the plain hard by,

Wherein, to prove his splendour, rank and state,

Was kept an elephant most huge and great.

Then in the townsmen's minds arose desire

To know the nature of this creature dire.

Blind delegates by blind electorate

Were therefore chosen to investigate

The beast, and each, by feeling trunk or limb,

Strove to acquire an image clear of him.

Thus each conceived a visionary whole,

And to the phantom clung with heart and soul.

When to the city they were come again,

The eager townsmen flocked to them amain.

Each one of them—wrong and misguided all—

Was eager his impressions to recall.

Asked to describe the creature's size and shape,

They spoke, while round about them, all agape,

Stamping impatiently, their comrades swarm

To hear about the monster's shape and form:

Now, for his knowledge each inquiring wight

Must trust to touch, being devoid of sight,

So he who'd only felt the creature's ear,

On being asked, "How doth its heart appear?"

"Mighty and terrible," at once replied,

"Like to a carpet, hard and flat and wide!"

Then he who on its trunk had laid his hand

Broke in: "Nay : nay! I better understand!

'Tis like a water-pipe, I tell you true,

Hollow, yet deadly and destructive too";

While he who'd had but leisure to explore

The sturdy limbs which the great beast upbore,

Exclaimed, "No, no! To all men be it known

'Tis like a column tapered to a cone!"

Each had but known one part, and no man all;

Hence into deadly error each did fall.

No way to know the all man's heart can find:

Can knowledge e'er accompany the blind?

Fancies and phantoms vain as these, alack!

What else can you expect from fool in sack?

Naught of Almighty God can creatures learn,

Nor e'en the wise such mysteries discern." >

/1 Hadigatu'I-Haqiqa, excerpt tr. by E.G. Browne, A literary history of Persia, II, Cambridge, 1964, pp. 319-20.

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Sufism is not, therefore, a rigid system. According to one outstanding sufi, the paths by which its followers seek God : 'are in number as the souls of men.' Asceticism, purification, love and gnosis assist sufis in finding the Universal Self. These are merely the means to an end, and not the end itself.
A modern scholar says: ‘Muhammad Mohammed * 36 was a sufi when on his way to becoming a prophet.’ /1.  Sufis believe that Muhammad was indeed a sufi throughout his whole life, and an early chapter on the divine revelation imparted to him, addressed him this way :

`O thou wrapped in thy raiment!

Keep vigil the night long, save a little -

A half thereof, or abate a little thereof

Or add (a little) thereto - and chant the Qur'an in measure

For We shall charge thee with a word of weight.

Lo! the vigil of the night is (a time) when

impression is more keen and speech more certain.

Lo! thou hast by day a chain of business.

So remember the name of thy Lord and devote

thyself with a complete devotion—

Lord of the East and the West; there is no God

save Him; so choose thou Him alone for thy defender—

And bear with patience what they utter, and

part from them with a fair leave-taking.

Leave Me to deal with the deniers, lords of

ease and comfort (in this life); and do thou

respite them awhile.'/2

Again in another chapter Muhammad is reminded :

'So wait patiently (O Muhammad) for thy Lord's decree, for surely thou art in Our sight ; and hymn the praise of thy Lord when thou uprisest,

And in the night-time also hymn His praise, and at the setting of the stars.’/3

Again Muhammad is also told how rivalry for worldly success impedes a pursuit of the religious life.

/1 D.B. Macdonald, Development of Muslim theology, jurisprudence and constitutional theory, New York, 1903, p. 227.

/2 Qur'an, LXXIII, I-I1, tr., by M.M Pickthall, The meaning of the glorious Koran, NewYork.

3/ Qur'an, LII, 48-9.

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‘Rivalry in worldly increase distracteth you

Until ye come to the graves.

Nay, but ye will come to know!

Nay, but ye will come to know!

Nay, would that ye knew (now) with a sure knowledge!

For ye will behold hell-fire.

Aye, ye will behold it with sure vision.

Then, on that day, ye will be asked concerning

pleasure.’ / 1

In September 622, the Prophet migrated from Mecca to Medina plunged himself into organizing his community and into fighting wars against his religious opponents. However, all sources unanimously relate that he himself continued to lead an exceedingly austere and ascetic life. He considered his own pursuit of faqr, that is, a life of poverty and resignation to God's will, a source of personal pride. Among Muhammad's companions at this time were a number of people who dwelt in the Medina mosque practising poverty and self-mortification. They were called Ahl al-Sulfa or Ashab-i Suffa (The People of the Verandah). Islam made prayers, five times a day, and fasting for the whole of Ramazan, the ninth month of the Islamic calendar, obligatory. However, the Ahl al-Suffa and many other followers of Muhammad, observed incessant prayer and fasting, as did the Prophet himself. The Qur'anic chapter entitled Al-Bara'at (Immunity) or Al-Tauha (Repentance) was revealed in the Ninth Hijri or 630 AD. and contained a declaration of immunity from obligations for the idolatrous tribes which had repeatedly violated their treaties. Moreover, it drew attention to the duties of Muslims to avoid hoarding wealth.

'Oh ye who believe! Lo ! many of the (Jewish) rabbis and the (Christian) monks devour the wealth of mankind wantonly and debar (men) from the way of Allah. They who hoard up gold and silver and spend it not in the way of Allah, unto them give tidings (O Muhammad) of a painful doom.

On the day when it will (all) be heated in the fire of hell, and their foreheads and their flanks of their backs will be branded therewith (and it will be said unto them) : Here is that which ye hoarded for yourselves. Now taste of what ye used to hoard.'?/2

The decade following the death of Muhammad on 8 June, 632, saw the Arab town dwellers and Bedouins, whom he had united into one community (umma), become the masters of Syria, Iraq, Iran, Egypt, Tripoli

/1 Qur'an, CII, 1-8. /2 Qur'an, IX, 34-5.

22	 
and parts of the African peninsula. They were now not only exposed to the evils of material prosperity, but to new ideas of the ancient civilized world. These made varying impacts upon the companions of Muhammad. Some amassed immense fortunes. But members of the group known as Ahl al-Suffa and a few others continued to lead lives immersed in poverty and asceticism. Most prominent of these was Abu Zar al-Ghifari (died in 652 or 653). His revolutionary outspokenness led him into court exile during the reign of `Usman (644-56), the third Caliph.
Abu Darda `Uwaymar bin Zaid, one of the Ahl al-Suffa, used to say that ‘one hour of reflection was better than forty nights of prayer, and that one particle of righteousness, combined with godliness and assured faith, was preferable to unlimited ritual observance.’/1.
The reign of the third Caliph saw the beginning of internal tensions ; while `Ali bin Abi Talib's reign in 656-61 was torn with civil wars. `Ali transferred his capital from Medina to Kufa and was there assassinated. Mu`awiyya (661-80), who fought incessantly against `Ali, founded the hereditary Umayyad Caliphate (661-750) with Damascus as its capital, superseding both Medina and Kufa.
The refusal of `Ali's son, Husain, to accept Mu`awiyya's son, Yazid I (680-83), as Caliph involved Husain in a war of self-annihilation: He and his followers, numbering less than a hundred, were forced into battle at Karbala, in Iraq, against a large army led by Yazid's governor there. As a result of this battle, Husain and his followers were massacred on 10 Muharram 61/10 October 680. A party under `Ali had previously emerged believing that their leader's right to succeed Muhammad had been usurped by the first three Caliphs. The death of Husain and the persecution of his successors by the Umayyads made their followers even more determined in their opposition to the Umayyad Caliphs. This group came to be called Shi`as or Shi`is, that is, followers of the House of `Ali. The majority of Muslims who did not question the order of succession of the first four Caliphs became known as Sunnis.
Differences between Sunnis and Shi`is sharpened under the 'Abbasids (750-1258). The latter had replaced the Umayyads on the pretext of restoring the rights of the House of `Ali but in reality they were inveterate enemies of the Shi'is. Both sects developed their own theologies and legal schools. Sunni religious law, Fiqh, was founded by four outstanding jurists, all of whom established independent schools of jurisprudence. The followers of Abu Hanifa who died in 767 are Hanafis and those of Malik bin Anas (d. 795) are called Malikis. Al-Shafi`i who died in 820 founded a Shafi'i school and Ahmad bin Hanbal whose death occurred in 855 was the founder of the Hanbalite school. The ninth century saw the compilation of various collections of traditions of the Prophet Muhammad. Six different works, known as the six canonical books, are the rock on which Sunni traditions, or Hadis, of Muhammad are based.

/1 Margaret Smith, An early mystic of Baghdad, London, 1935, p. 63.

23
The Shi'is do not follow either the four Sunni schools of jurisprudence or the six canonical Hadis books, but the laws and traditions ascribed to their own Imams.
The development of diverse traditions of laws and Hadis by Sunnis and Shi`is in the first three centuries of Islam synchronized with further divisions amongst Sunnis themselves on philosophical questions. The Murjites taught that the judgement of every true believer who committed a grievous sin would be deferred until the Resurrection. Kalam (literally meaning speech, or scholastic theology) is an attempt to answer the question of the relation between divine decrees and human actions. Their earliest manifestations were seen in the Qadariyya and the Jabariyya schools. The Jabariyyas taught that God's immutable and eternal decree left no scope for free will, thus rejecting the absolutism of predestination. The Mu`tazilas followed the Qadariyyas and their adherence to reasoning enabled them to obtain a resounding victory over the dualist Manichaeans and Nestorian Christians. They believed that God was omniscient through His essence, rather than His knowledge. The eternity of God was the unique property of His Own essence and if there existed divine attributes added to God's essence His unity would he impaired. Righteousness was duly rewarded and evil punished; man himself was the author of his action, both good and evil. A man who killed another man by throwing a stone was the cause of the latter's death. S. Pines believes that the Mu'tazilite theory is very different from all Greek atomistic doctrines and sees in it an `undeniable similarity between various important points of the Kalam doctrine and the Indian (Nyaya-Vaisheshika and Buddhist) atomistic doctrines.’ /1
Under the Umayyads the development of the Mu`tazilite was slow, but their greatest supporter was the 'Abbasid Caliph al-Ma'mun. He instituted an inquisitorial tribunal for the trial and conviction of those who denied the Mutazilite dogma of 'the creation (khalq) of the Qur'an' in opposition to the orthodox view that the Qur'an was the identical reproduction of a celestial original.
Abu'l Hasan al-Ash'ari (b. 873-74, d. 935-36) began his career as a Mutazilite. Later he renounced the dogma of his masters and laid the foundations of orthodox Kalam, arguing rationally along the pattern laid down by his former teachers. W.M. Watt explains the differences between the two ways of thinking as follows:
'1. He (al-Ash'ari) held that God had eternal attributes such as knowledge, sight, speech, and that it was by these that he was knowing, seeing, speaking, whereas the Mu`tazila said that God had no attributes distinct from His essence.
2. The Mu`tazila said that Qur'anic expressions such as God's hand and face, must be interpreted to mean 'grace,' `essence' and so on.

/1P.M. Holt et. al., ed, The Cambridge history of Islam, 11, Cambridge, 1970, p. 793.

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Al-Ash`ari, whilst agreeing that nothing corporeal was meant, held that they were real attributes whose precise nature was unknown. He took God's sitting on the throne in a similar way.
3. Against the view of the Mu`tazila that the Qur'an was created, al-Ash`ari maintained that it was God's speech, an eternal attribute, and therefore untreated.
4. In opposition to the view of the Mu`tazila that God could not literally be seen, since that would imply that He is corporeal and limited, al-Ash`ari held that the vision of God in the world to come is a reality, though we cannot understand the manner of it.
5. In contrast to the emphasis of the Mu`tazila on the reality of choice in human activity, al-Ash`ari insisted on God's omnipotence; everything, good and evil, is willed by God, and He creates the acts of men by creating in men the power to do each act. (The doctrine of "acquisition" or kasb which was in later times characteristic of the Ash`ariyya, is commonly attributed to al-Ash`ari himself, but, though he was familiar with the concept, he does not appear to have held the doctrine himself.)
6. While the Mu`tazila with their doctrine of al-manzila bayn al-manzilatayn held that any Muslim guilty of a serious sin was neither believer nor unbeliever, al-Ash`ari insisted that he remained a believer, but was liable to punishment in the Fire.
7. Al-Ash`ari maintained the reality of various eschatological features, the Basin, the Bridge, the Balance and intercession by Muhammad, which were denied or rationally interpreted by the Mu`tazila./1.
Both the Mu`tazila and the Ash`ari depended on Aristotelian logic to counter and discredit the beliefs of their respective opponents. However, the legacy of Near Eastern Hellenism, semi-orientalized by Aramaic and Christian influences, which had survived in Alexandria, Antioch and Gondeshapur, was inherited by the Falasifa or Muslim philosophers. The intellectual mysticism of Plotinus, and the doctrines of Hermetic origin, also made a deep impact upon them. The corpus of Greek literature translated under the `Abbasids solved the difficulties of suitable terminology and went a long way towards producing philosophers such as al-Kindi (d. c. 850), Razi (865-925), Farabi (d. 950) and Ibn Sina or Avicenna (980-1037).
Political expansion, sectarian controversies, theological and philosophical developments, all synchronized with the evolution of sufism. This word was not originally used to describe the movement begun by the companions of the Prophet Muhammad. They were better known by the distinguished title, Sahaba, or companions of the Prophet Muhammad. Their second generation was called Tabi'un, that is, those

/1 Encyclopaedia of Islam (new edition), I, p. 694.

who had seen one or more of the associates of Muhammad, while the third generation was the Taba' Tabi `un, followers of those who had seen one or more of the Tabi `un. They deemed the rule of the first four Caliphs `pious', which merely implied that the political activities of the Umayyads or the `Abbasids were of no concern to them. They had no use for sectarian controversies between the Sunnis and the Shi'is. The first Caliph Abu Bakr (632-34) was a paragon of voluntary poverty to the sufis and taught them to renounce all their material goods for Islam. /1 The patched gown or muragga` of the second Caliph 'Umar (634-44) was a symbol of his self-denial; his life exemplified the fact that spiritualists outwardly were a part of mankind, but inwardly their hearts clung to God, constantly returning to Him. Their worldly activities failed to divert them from God, for the spiritualist never loved the world./2 The life of the third Caliph, `Usman (644-56), was the best of all possible examples in resignation during a crisis./3 But the fourth Caliph, 'Ali (656-61), was regarded by sufis as their Shaikh (leader or teacher) in both the theory and practice of sufism. The former consisted of principles and the latter rested entirely on endurance of affliction. `Ali was a model for sufis 'in respect to the truths of outward expressions and the subtleties of inward meanings, the stripping of one's self of all property either of this world or of the next, and consideration of divine providence.'/4
A contemporary of Muhammad and the Righteous Caliphs was the ascetic Uways al-Qarani37. The Prophet had never met him, but forecast that 'Umar and `Ali would visit him some time. After Muhammad's death, Umar and `Ali sought out Uways in Qaran, an oasis habitation in the Najd desert. They conveyed to him the Prophet's greetings. According to Uways, safety lay in solitude for 'the heart of the solitary one was free from thoughts of others.' /5 Under no circumstances did he wish for anything from men. As long as the devil had captured a man's heart, and sensual passions continued to fill his breast, any thought of the present or future worlds came to him in a way which made him aware of mankind, and he was therefore fettered to it. True isolation was the only means of achieving intimacy with God, and those who managed to attain it were then unaffected by human contact.
Towards the end of his life, Uways left his lonely desert life and went to Kufa. He was involved in the battle of Siffin, between June and July 657, fighting for `Ali against Mu'awiyya, where he became a casualty. From the eleventh century onwards, sufis who did not obtain initiation from a particular preceptor called themselves Uwaysis.
After `Ali's martyrdom, his son Hasan (b. 624-25) abdicated as Caliph and retired to Medina where he was poisoned in 669-70. Hasan was long remembered by sufis for his utter lack of concern for adulation or criticism

/l 'Ali bin 'Usman al-Jullabi al-Hujwiri, The Kashf al-Malzjuh, tr. by R.A. Nicholson, London, 1936, pp. 70-1.

/2ibid, p. 72. /3ibid, pp. 73-4. /4ibid, p. 74. /5ibid.

26	 
and when abused would listen politely. He believed strongly in the adoption of the middle course, that is, between free-will and predestination. To mystics Hasan's brother Husain had sacrificed his life for God. Following the example of Husain's son, Zayn al-`Abidin (d. 712), sufis became dedicated to long hours spent in prayer and they considered his prayer books the epitome of devotional literature. In the spirit of his father, Zayn al-`Abidín's son, al-Baqir (d. 731), would cry 

O my God and my Lord, night has come, and the power of monarchs has ceased, and the stars are shining in the sky, and all mankind are asleep and silent, and the Banu Umayya (the Umayyads) have gone to rest and shut their doors and set guards to watch over them; and those who desired anything from them have forgotten their business. Thou, O God, art the Living, the Lasting, the Seeing, the Knowing. Sleep and slumber cannot overtake Thee. He who does not acknowledge that Thou art such as I have described is unworthy of Thy bounty. O Thou whom nothing withholds from any other thing, whose eternity is not impaired by Day and Night, whose doors of Mercy are open to all who call upon Thee, and whose entire treasures are lavished on those who praise Thee : Thou dost never turn away the beggar, and no creature in earth or heaven can prevent the true believer who implores Thee from gaining access to Thy court. O Lord, when I remember death and the grave and the reckoning, how can I take joy in this world? Therefore, since I acknowledge Thee to be One, I beseech Thee to give me peace in the hour of death, without torment, and pleasure in the hour of reckoning, without punish-ment./1 ³⁸

The greatest scholar among `Ali's descendants was Ja`far al-Sadiq (born 699-700 or 702-03). The Shi'is regard only those Ahadis (the plural of Hadis) which Ja`far transmitted as authentic. However, the Sunnis also regard Ja`far as an authority on all problems of Fiqh. Abu Hanifa, Malik bin Anas and the founder of Mu`tazalite Kalam, Wasil bin 'Ata, heard the traditions of the Prophet Muhammad from Ja`far directly. Jabir bin Hayyan, the founder of Arabic alchemy, was one of Ja`far's disciples. Sufis found his writings a most valuable guide. One of his popular sayings was: `Whoever knows God turns his back on everything else.'  Ja`far was killed in 765. With his death Medina began to lose its importance as the guiding light behind developments in the esoteric doctrines of Islam. The growth of the four schools of Sunni jurisprudence, and the crystallization of the Shi'i school, based on the teachings of Imam Ja`far al-Sadiq's, the Ja`fariyya or Imamiyya school of law, forced sufis to become dependant on the Sunni school of jurisprudence for rules

/1 ''Ali bin 'Unman al-Jullabi al-IIujH iri, The Kash'. al-Aft:Nub, tr. by R.A. Nicholson, London, 1936, p. 78.

27
regarding external prayers and religious worship. Of course, in reality the sufi system itself transcended such legal differences.
Medina and Mecca remained the two holy places of Islam. Immigrants from other parts of the Islamic world also increased their importance. However in the first century of Islam many new centres of Muslim culture came into existence. Two such places were Basra and Kufa.
The first, in Lower-Mesopotamia, on the Shatt al-Arab estuary was founded by the Arabs in 638, on the site of the Iranian settlement known as Vahishtabaz Ardasher. In the beginning it was a military camp controlling the route from the Persian Gulf, Iraq and Iran, but soon it developed into an important cultural centre of classical Islamic civilization. Basra's pride was Hasan al-Basri (642-728). Born in Medina into the Tabi `un class, after the attic of Siffin he settled in Basra. Hasan Basri was too young to become the disciple of `Ali bin Abi Talib (656-61), yet the sufi orders trace their spiritual descent through him from Muhammad and `Ali. Anecdotes describing Hasan's conversion to sufism present him as reasonably mature at the time, and as a jewel merchant trading with Byzantium. Hasan's discipleship with `Ali and his conversion by him, would appear to be pious myths composed by later writers. Both medieval and modern scholars have challenged their authenticity. According to the sufi tradition, however, Hasan became 'Ali's disciple through some indescribable spiritual experience.
What is more precisely known is that Hasan-al-Basri was both an outstanding scholar and an eloquent speaker. The Tafsir, an exegesis on the Qur'an, said to have been compiled by him did not survive. Only fragments of his sermons and risalas or epistles to the Umayyad Caliphs, 'Abdul Malik (685-705) and 'Umar II (717-20), remain, as well as some other excerpts from his writings.
Hasan's bold criticism of the repressive religio-political policies of Hajjaj bin Yusuf, the Umayyad governor of Iraq, compelled him to go into hiding in 705, where he was forced to remain until Hajjaj's death in 714. However, in general Hasan did not approve of rebellion against, or the removal of, vicious governors. He pleaded that ‘violent actions of tyrants were a punishment sent by God which could not be opposed by the sword but must be endured with patience.’ Hasan condemned the possession of riches and of all worldly attachments. According to him, muna/igs µ(hypocrites) subject to the values of world were sinners without any concern for their faith. Sinners were fully responsible for their actions, Hasan believed. His letter to Caliph 'Abdul Malik indicates that he was a Qadariyya. Preaching asceticism in his sermons, he succinctly expressed his ideas this way : 'Make this world into a bridge over which you cross but on which you do not build! and 'Repolish these hearts (the seats of religious feeling), for they very quickly grow rusty,/1 and in this verse :

/1 Encyclopaedia of Islam (new edition), III, p. 374.

28	

'Not he who dies and is at rest is dead,

He only is dead who is dead while yet alive.’/1

The following conversation was recorded in the Kashf al-Mahjub 39 between a Bedouin and Hasan on the idea of sabr (patience). This, too, reveals Hasan's deep asceticism. Hasan remarked:
"Patience is of two sorts: firstly, patience in misfortune and affliction; and secondly, patience to refrain from the things which God has commanded us to renounce and has forbidden us to pursue." The Bedouin said: "Thou art an ascetic; I never saw anyone more ascetic than thou art." "O Bedouin !", cried Hasan, "my asceticism is nothing but desire, and my patience is nothing but lack of fortitude." The Bedouin begged him to explain this saying, "for (he said) Thou hast shaken my belief." Hasan replied: "My patience is misfortune and my submission proclaims my fear of Hell-fire, and this is lack of fortitude (jaza); and my asceticism in this world is desire for the next world, and this is the quintessence of desire. How excellent is he who takes no thought of his own interest ! so his patience is for God's sake, not for the saving of himself from Hell ; and his asceticism is for God's sake, not for the purpose of bringing himself into Paradise. This is the mark of true sincerity." And it is related that he said : "Association with the wicked produces suspicion of the good."/2
By Hasan's time the wearing of wool (suf) had become fashionable among Muslim ascetics but Hasan Basri reminded them : 'He who wears wool out of humility towards God increases the illumination of his insight and his heart, but he who wears it out of pride and arrogance will be thrust down to Hell with the devils.' /3
The wearing of wool was, according to sufis, a legacy of the prophets and the Christian apostles and ascetics. A modern Irani scholar rightly points, out that the word, sufi, for a wearer of a woollen garment is incorrect from the point of view of Arabic grammar. The word was invented by some Irani on the pattern of the grammar of his own language and assimilated into Arabic./4
The impact of Hasan's teaching, both in relation to intellectual and spiritual movements, was far-reaching. Wasil bin 'Ata', the founder of the Mu`tazila movement, was his disciple. Abu Talib Makki, the author of Qut al-Qulub, an early work on sufism in Arabic, considered Hasan an Imam, or leader, in sufi doctrines, and that all mystics walked in his

/1 An early mystic of Baghdad, p. 69.

/2 Nicholson, p. 86.

/3 An early mystic of Baghdad, pp. 68-9.

/4 Jalalu'd-Din Huma'i, Misbahu'l-Hidaya, Tehran, nd (2nd edition), pp. 81-2. Huma'i discusses in detail the source of the word 'sufi' in the introduction to his book ; see, pp. 63-85.

29
footsteps, drawing their inspiration from him./1 'Ali and Hasan Basri fulfilled the same role for members of the Futuwwa orders. These were chivalric groups who fought against injustice and its source wherever it was found. From the time of the eighth century, both movements, the Futuwwa and the sufi, drew closer together in mutual assistance and respect./2
Of the many spiritualists gathered around Hasan Basri, the most gifted was Habib ibn Muhammad, an Iranian or 'Ajmi, who had settled at Basra. Prior to being Hasan's disciple, Habib had been a usurer, known for his evil habits. The preceptor and his disciple became so close that they even shared the same cell for a period after the former had sheltered with Habib while hiding from the governor of Iraq. The following passage from Hujwiri's Kashf al-Mahjub, relates the significance of sincerity and devotion in prayers, rather than language and form :

'One evening Hasan of Basra passed by the door of his cell. Habib had uttered the call to prayer and was standing, engaged in devotion. Hasan came in, but would not pray under his leadership, because Habib was unable to speak Arabic fluently or recite the Qur'an correctly. The same night, Hasan dreamed that he saw God and said to Him : "O Lord, wherein does Thy good pleasure consist?" and that God answered : "O Hasan, you found My good pleasure, but did not know its value : if. . . you had said your prayers after Habib, and if the rightness of his intention had restrained you from taking offence at his pronunciation, I should have been well pleased with you."/3

Malik bin Dinar (d. c.127/744), another important disciple of Hasan of Basra, had led an evil life before converting to sufism. He emphasized that sincerity bore the same relation to an action as the spirit did to the body; as the body without the spirit was lifeless, so an action without sincerity was also insubstantial.
Humbly Malik declared himself unfit to wear wool because according to him it was the mark of purity (safa). Of knowledge, Malik said:
'When the servant acquires knowledge in order to do good works ... his knowledge increases; but if he acquires it for any other purpose

/1 Qui al-Qulub, Cairo, I, 1310/1891-93. p. 149.

/2 For Hasan Basri's life, see Abu Nu'aim, Hi/yat al-Auliya', Cairo, II, 1932-38, pp. 131-81; Ibn al-Jawzi: al-Hasan al-Basri, Cairo, 1931; al-Yafe`i, Mir at al-fawn, 1, Hyderabad, 133739/1918-20, pp. 229-32; Ibn Hajar, Tâhzib al-Tahzib, 11, Hyderabad, 1325-27/1907-09. pp. 263-70: Nicholson, pp. 86-7; L. Massignon, Essai sur les origines du lexique technique de la mystique musulmane, Paris, 1922, pp. 152-79; H. Ritter, 'Studien zur Geschichte der islamischen Frommigkeit. 1. Hasan el-Basari' in Der Islam, XXI, 1933, pp. 1-83; A.J. Arberry, Muslim saints and mystics, London, 1966, pp. 20-5.

/3 Nicholson, p. 88. For Habib's life see Abu Nu'aim, VI, pp. 149-55; Ibn Hajar, II, p. 189; Arberry, pp. 32-8.

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than to do good, he increases in wickedness and arrogance and contempt for the common folk.' /1
Basra sufism would never have reached the heights it did without the female saint, Rabi'a bint Ismail al-`Adwiya. Born into poverty, after the death of her parents Rabi`a was sold into slavery as a child, having been seized by a man in the street and sold for six dirhams./2 Her boundless love of, and devotion to God and her numerous, highly intense ecstatic experiences made her one of the greatest of all Islamic mystics. The date of her birth is unknown, but she appears to have died in 135/752 or 185/ 801. The sufi poet Faridu'd-Din `Attar (d. c.1220) apparently gained access to a lost work on Rabi`a. This not only enabled him to write a detailed biography of her but also to formulate several stories on her life, which became the subject of some of his poetical works, such as the Musibat-Nama and the Ilahi-Nama.
Rabi'a attained an exalted spiritual status through prayer and continual fasting. She remained celibate throughout her life. Many hagiologies say that sufis, Hasan Basri, Malik Dinar, Sufyan Sauri and Shaqiq Balkhi visited her frequently in her lonely hermitage and also at times when she withdrew to the wilderness. In the mountains, deer, mountain goats, ibexes and asses would surround her, and then flee at the sight of others, including sufis. A broken pitcher, out of which she drank and made ritual ablutions, an old reed mat, and a brick which she occasionally used as a pillow, were her only belongings. Rabi`a lived the life of a hermit. Ever since she had known God, she once said, she had turned her back on His creatures; she felt ashamed to ask for anything from the world's Creator, let alone human beings. On one occasion Rabi'a was taunted by some men that no woman had ever been a prophet. They were greeted with the retort that egoism and self worship had also been characteristics of men, and that at least no woman had ever been a hermaphrodite.
Neither the desire for paradise nor the fear of hell should be the incentive for prayers or love of God. Here below Rabi`a distinguishes between a selfish and disinterested love of God :

'In two ways have I loved Thee: selfishly,

And with a love that worthy is of Thee.

In selfish love my joy in Thee I find,

While to all else, and others, I am blind.

But in that love which seeks Thee worthily,

The veil is raised that I may look on Thee.

Yet is the praise in that or this not mine,

In this and that the praise is wholly Thine./3

/1 An early mystic of Baghdad, pp. 69-70. For Malik's life, see Abu Nu`aim, 11, pp. 357-89; al-Yafe`i,1, pp. 269-70; Ibn Hajar, X, pp. 14-5; Nicholson, pp. 89-90; Arberry, pp. 26-31.

/2 A coin worth less than a penny.

/3 Margaret Smith, Rabi'a, the mystic, Cambridge, 1925, p. 104.

This prayer epitomized Rabi'a's unique understanding of divine love. Her conception and expression of this idea is regarded as an important milestone in the development of sufism, just as the acceptance of an unselfish love of God became a crucial part of the journey of the individual sufi. Rabi'a's prayers included the following:

`O God, if I worship Thee for fear of Hell, burn me in Hell, and if I worship Thee in hope of Paradise, exclude me from Paradise; but if I worship Thee for Thy `own sake, grudge me not Thy everlasting beauty.

O God, my whole occupation and all my desire in this world, of all worldly things, is to remember Thee, and in the world to come, of all things of the world to come, is to meet Thee. This is on my side, as I have stated; now do Thou whatsoever Thou wilt.» /1.

Like Basra, Kufa originally was an Arab military cantonment in Iraq which had been founded immediately after the conquest of Mesopotamia. This was at the same time Basra was being constructed that is about 17/638. In Kufa lived Abu Hashim, the first spiritualist to be known as a sufi. He urged that inner transformation should be the goal of all mystics. Before his death at the end of the eighth century, a khanqah (sufi monastry) was founded in Ramla, near Jerusalem, by a Christian dignitary./2
Perhaps the greatest admirer of Abu Hashim was his fellow countryman, Sufyan Sawri. It was through the ideas of Abu Hashim, Sufyan believed, that sufis were able to experience the true essence of their discipline. Many of Hashim's sayings tend to indicate that he considered pride and vanity the greatest of all obstacles towards following the sufi path. ‘It is far easier to dig a mountain with a needle than to cleanse the heart of arrogance and vanity’, Abu Hashim is believed to have remarked. Another occasion, after a qazi emerged from the house, of a vizier he said tearfully : 'May God protect people from knowledge which does not benefit anyone else./3
Abu `Abdu'llah Sufyan ibn Said al Sawri, another leading sufi of that period, was born at Kufa in 97/715-16. Although he acquired a good knowledge of Hadis and law, he chose to become an ascetic. As he did openly disapprove of the political situation in Kufa at the time, he was forced to escape to Mecca in 158/774-75 and like Hasan of Basra before

/1 Arberry, p. 51.

/2 The story goes that the Christian dignitary encountered two dervishes who amicably chatted together, shared their food and then went their separate ways although they had never seen each other before. Impressed by the warmth between them the Christian later learned that there was no resting place for such dervishes so he built a khangah for them. `Abdu'llah Ansari, Tabaqat al-Sufiyya, Kabul, 1962, pp. 9-10.

/3'Abdu'r Rahman Jami, Nafahatu'l-Uns, Tehran, 1337/1918-19, pp. 31-32.

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him was obliged to hide from the state persecution. Later Sufyan left for Basra where he died in 161/777-78. As well as being a sufi, Sufyan had been a jurist, and a school of jurisprudence which he founded survived for about two centuries.
Sufyan's compassion encompassed the animal as well as the human world. Rather than eating bread himself he would give it to a dog, explaining:

'If I give bread to the dog... he keeps watch over me all through the night so that I can pray. If I give it to my wife and child, they hold me back from my devotions.’/1.

Once, deeply moved by the pitiful cries of a caged bird awaiting sale in a bazaar, Sufyan bought it only to set it free. The bird, however, refused to leave him and became his lifelong companion, watching while he prayed during the night. After Sufyan's death, the bird suicided by dashing itself on the ground near its liberator's grave. A voice from the tomb was heard to say that God the Most High had forgiven the sufi because of his compassion for the creatures which were His./2
Mecca, Medina, Basra and Kufa were undoubtedly the earliest centres of Islam's contemplative and ascetic life. This does not mean that sufism developed in isolation and other mystic ideas and ascetic practices had no impact at all. The deep Christian influence in the early development of sufism is undeniable; Jesus was a model of self-denial and of the saintly life. That sufis tended to see Jesus in the light of their own traditions does not lessen the significance of the impact of the Nestorian and Jacobite churches on the movement.
The second two important regions where sufism blossomed were Iran and Khurasan. These countries had been conquered in the first century after the birth of Islam and a large number of their inhabitants embraced the new religion for varying reasons. However the difficulties of communication failed to place remote regions of Iran and Khurasan in the orbit of either of the distant rival Islamic capitals of the Umayyads in Damascus or the 'Abbasids in Baghdad. Azarbaijan, Gilan, Tabaristan and Gorgan remained centres for a number of new religio-political movements, as did Khurasan, a land of indefinite boundaries. By 1000 All, when the celebrated Irani scholar, Abu'l-Rayhan Muhammad bin Ahmad al-Biruni (b. 973, died after 1050) wrote his monumental study of comparative religion, Al-Asar al-Bagiyya `an it Qurun al-Khaliyya, Buddhism had died out in the Khurasan region and only a mere handful

/1 Arberry, p. 131.

/2 For Sufyan's life see Abu Nu'aim, VI, p. 356 to VII, p. 143: AI-Khatib, Tarikh Baghdad, IX, Cairo, 1931, pp. 151-74; Ihn Khallikan, Walayat al-A".van, 11, no. 252. Cairo, 1948: Al-Yafe'i, 1, pp. 345-47; al-Zahabi, Ta_kirat al-Hu/Th_, 1, Hyderabad, 1914-15, pp. 190-93; Ibn Hajar, IV, pp. 111-15: Arberry, pp. 129-32.µ

33
of Buddhist monuments remained between Khurasan and India. However, during the eighth and tenth centuries some Buddhist works were still available in this region. Abu'l-Abbas Iran Shahri, one of al-Biruni's authorities, drew on a treatise of Buddhism written by an author called Zurkan. Aspects of Hinduism were also studied in Khurasan and Iran. Judaism, Christianity and the Zoroastrianism of the Magi priesthood were also practised throughout these areas. The most interesting was the eclectic religion, Manichaeism, which had deeply penetrated Khurasan and survived as far as eastern and northern India.
The transformation of these above-mentioned areas into strongholds of sufism did not occur in isolation. Early sufi movements often contained converts from other religious communities, such as those of Zoroastrianism, Christianity, Judaism and so on. These members often imbued sufism with their ancestral philosophies. In order to better understand sufi developments from the eighth to the end of the tenth centuries AD our study has been divided into four regions: 1. Khurasan and Transoxiana; 2. Other parts of Iran; 3. Syria and Egypt; and 4. Baghdad.

Khurasan and Transoxiana

Khurasan, 'the Eastern Land,' in ancient Iran, included all the Arab provinces from Bastam to the Indian mountains and the country of the upper Oxus towards the Pamir. In this region Balkh, the ancient Bactria of the Achaemenid empire, was very important. Before Arab conquests, it was famous for its Zoroastrian temples, but the city's pride was the Buddhist cloister, the Nawbahar. This was raided by Arabs in 653 and conquered in 663-64. Firm Muslim control was established only after the conquests of Qutayba bin Muslim in 715. In 736 Khurasan's capital was transferred from Marw to Balkh.
The earliest known sufi of Balkh was Ibrahim bin Adham40. According to sufi legends he was a prince who renounced his throne to lead the life of an ascetic. Al-Kalabazi relates that : ' ... he (Ibrahim) went out to hunt for pleasure, and a voice called him, saying: "Not for this was thou created, and not to this was thou commanded." Twice the voice called him; and on the third occasion the call carne from the pommel of his saddle. Then he said: "I will not disobey God henceforth, so long as my Lord protects me from sin."/1 When translated from Arabic to Persian and from Persian to Malay and Javanese, the legend of Ibrahim became increasingly fanciful. Goldziher was the first scholar to point out the similarity of this story with the Buddha's conversion, however, such an interpretation has been questioned by Louis Massignon./2 The circumstances of Ibrahim's conversion are indeed different to the Buddha's; the former renounced the world on the impetus of what he believed to be a

/1 A.J. Arberry, The doctrine of the Sufis, Cambridge, 1935, p. 108.

/2 Journal Royal Asiatic Society, 1904, pp. 132-33, L. Massignon, p. 63; Encyclopaedia of Islam (new edition), III, p. 986.

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voice from God, the latter sought enlightenment because of contact with old age, disease and death.
Earlier Arabic sources tend to indicate that Ibrahim was born about 112/730 in the Arab community settlement in Balkh. Some time before 137/754 he migrated from Khurasan to Syria and lived in that region. He died in c. 161/777-78. According to `Attar, he made a pilgrimage to Mecca where he lived for some time. He was married and left a child in Balkh, but advocated celibacy for mystics. A dervish who married, said Ibrahim, could be compared with someone embarking on a sea voyage—when children were born, he drowned./1
Although Ibrahim worked as a labourer, proceeds from his toil were given to the poor, while he himself went hungry. When travelling he would sell whatever he had with him to provide some comfort for his companions. He was sparing in his own consumption of food, but believed that the partaking of nourishment, which was lawfully earned, was more meritorious than prayer and fasting. To Ibrahim the world should be enjoyed by worldly people and the rewards of the Unseen should be reaped by souls which thirsted for it. For himself, he wanted only to remember God, and in the next world, to see Him ./2
Abu ‘Ali Shaqiq bin Ibrahim al-Azali was another great Balkh sufi. He had acquired an advanced religious education and earned his own livelihood. This prompted Shaqiq to adopt asceticism. Another story relating to Shaqiq was that when there was a fearful famine in Balkh, a young slave appeared at the bazaar, joyful and content. When asked why he was happy when so much sadness. abounded, he replied that his own welfare did not concern him for his master was wealthy. Deeply touched by the faith expressed in this story, Shaqiq exclaimed :
‘O Lord God, this youth rejoices so much in having a master who owns a single village, but Thou art the King of kings, and Thou hast promised to give us our daily bread; and nevertheless we have filled our hearts with all this sorrow because we are engrossed with worldly things.’/3
When he became an ascetic, Shaqiq acknowledged this youth as his preceptor, but it was the example of Ibrahim bin Adham which seems to have prompted him to embrace mysticism. As a lecturer, his most significant contribution to sufi philosophy was on the subject of tawakkul, or resignation to the divine will. Through this he attracted many students and Shaqiq appears to have excelled even Ibrahim bin Adham at his

/1 Arberry, pp. 66-70.

/2 For his life see Al-Sulami, Tahagat al-Sufiyya, Leiden, 1960, pp. 13-22; Abu Nu'aim, VII, p. 367 to VIII, p. 58; Qushairi, Al-Risalat al-Qushairiyya, Cairo, 1959, p. 8, µcil-Yafe'i, I, p. 349; Ibn Hajar, I, pp. 102-03; Ibn al-'Imad, 1, pp. 255-56; NU, p. 41-3; Nicholson, pp. 103-05; Arberry, pp. 62-79.

/3 Nicholson, p. 112.

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interpretation of this idea. If one received something from God, he should be thankful, said Shaqiq, if nothing was forthcoming, he should be patient, in the same manner as dogs behave towards their masters. For himself, Shaqiq would distribute anything he received. Renunciation was manifested by the ascetic through action and by the devotee through the tongue. Commenting on the religious people of his time, Shaqiq says:

'When the learned man is covetous ... , whom can the ignorant man imitate? And when the poor man (faqir) is famed for his poverty, and is desirous of this world ... whom can the covetous man find to imitate, in order to escape from his greed? When the shepherd is the wolf, who will care for the sheep?' /1

According to Hujwiri, Shaqiq wrote a number of books on Sufism but none are in existence.
Shaqiq performed a pilgrimage and also visited Baghdad. The following conversation between the `Abbasid Caliph, Harun al-Rashid (786-809), and Shaqiq is a very significant exposition of the sufi expectation of a ruler :

"Are you Shaqiq the Ascetic?" Harun demanded when he came into his presence.

"I am Shaqiq," he replied, "but not the Ascetic."

"Counsel me," Harun commanded.

... Shaqiq proceeded. "Almighty God has set you in the place of Abu Bakr the Trusty, and requires trustiness from you as from him. He has set you in the place of 'Umar the Discriminator, and requires from you as from him discrimination between truth and falsehood. He has set you in the place of `Usman of the Two Lights, and requires from you as from him modesty and nobility. He has set you in the place of `Ali the Well-Approved, and requires from you as from him knowledge and justice ... "God has a lodging place called Hell," Shaqiq said, "He has appointed you its doorkeeper, and has equipped you with three things—wealth, sword and whip. "With these three things," He commands, "keep the people away from Hell. If any man comes to you in need, do not grudge him money. If any man opposes God's commandment, school him with this whip. If any man slays another, lawfully exact retaliation on him with this sword." If you do not these things, you will be the leader of those that enter Hell !" ... "You are the fountain, and your agents are the rivulets," said Shaqiq. "If the fountain is bright, it is not impaired by the darkness of the rivulets. But if the fountain is dark, what hope is there that the rivulets will be bright?"

/1 An early mystic of Baghdad p. 75.

36	 

" ... Suppose you are thirsting in the desert, so that you are about to perish," Shaqiq went on. "If in that moment you come upon a draught of water, how much will you be willing to give for it?" "As much as the man demands," said Harun.

"And if he will not sell save for half your kingdom ?"

"I would give that," Harun replied.

"And suppose you drink the water and then it will not come out of you, so that you are in danger of perishing," Shaqiq pursued. "Then someone tells you, `I will cure you, but I demand half your kingdom.' What would you do?"

"I would give it," Harun replied.

"Then why do you vaunt yourself of a kingdom," said Shaqiq, "the value of which is one draught of water which you drink, and then it comes out of you?"

Harun wept, and sent Shaqiq away with all honour.' /1

After Shaqiq's death as a martyr fighting in the holy wars/2 (jihad) in 194/810 between the Muslims and the heathen Turks, Abu `Abdu'r-Rahman Hatim bin Unwan al-Asamm (the Deaf) followed in the footsteps of his preceptor, Shaqiq, on the path of asceticism and was the author of a number of works on ethics. He believed :

'Lust is of three kinds—lust in eating, lust in speaking, and lust in looking. Guard thy food by trust in God, thy tongue by telling the truth, and thine eye by taking example (`ibrat). Real trust in God proceeds from right knowledge, for those who know Him aright have confidence that He will give them their daily bread, and they speak and look with right knowledge, so that their food and drink is only love, and their speech is only ecstasy, and their looking is only contemplation. Accordingly, when they know aright they eat what is lawful, and when they speak aright they utter praise (of God), and when they look aright they behold Him, because no food is lawful except what He has given and permits to be eaten, and no praise is rightly offered to anyone in the eighteen thousand worlds except to Him, and it is not allowable to look on anything in the universe except His beauty and majesty. It is not lust when thou receivest food from Him and eatest by His leave, or when thou speakest of Him by His leave, or when thou seest His actions by His leave. On the other hand, it is lust when of thy own will thou eatest even lawful food, or of thy own will thou speakest even praise of Him, or of thy own will thou lookest even for the purpose of seeking guidance.'/3

/l Arberry, pp. 136-37.

/2-For Shaqiq's life see Sulami, pp. 54-9; Qushairi, p. 14; Yafe'i, I, p. 495; Ibn al-'Imad, 1, p. 341; Nicholson, pp. 111-12; Arberry, pp. 133-37.

/3 Nicholson, p. 115.

37
Hatim al-Asamm visited Baghdad and died at Washjard near Tirmiz in 237/851-52.
Abu Hamid Ahmad ibn Khazruya, also from Balkh, was one of its leading citizens. Married to the daughter of the local governor, after adopting the career of a sufi he became associated with Hatim al-Asamm and Abu Yazid of Bastam. Abu Hamid Ahmad was a strong believer in repression of carnal desires. To remain a stranger to the people of the town he wore the clothes of a soldier. This following quotation from the Kashf al-Mahjub is from amongst Ahmad's more important sayings:

'The way is manifest and the truth is clear, and the shepherd has uttered his call ; after this if anyone loses himself, is it through his own blindness, that is, it is wrong to seek the way, since the way to God is like the blazing sun ; do thou seek thyself, for when thou hast found thyself thou art come to thy journey's end, inasmuch as God is too manifest to admit of His being sought." '/2

Abu Hamid Ahmad died in 240/854 at the age of ninety-five./3

The early trends of sufism in Balkh synchronized with spectacular developments in Marw. Among sufi luminaries in that region none could excel Abu `Ali Fuzayl ibn Iyaz al-Talgani. Born in Samarqand, in his youth he had been neither a scholar nor a wealthy merchant, but a brigand operating between Marw and Abiward. However, Fuzayl was a gallant and discriminating bandit, he robbed neither women nor the poor. The story of his conversion depicts it as sudden, dramatic and is perhaps apocryphal. A pious merchant was travelling in Marw region accompanied, not in the traditional manner by a hired, protective escort, but by a professional reader of the Qur'an. As the caravan reached Fuzayl's ambush, the reader was loudly reciting the following verse :

'Is not the time yet come unto those who believe, that their hearts should humbly submit to the admonition of God?'/4

This apparently moved Fuzayl to abandon his former life and reimburse his previous victims. Initially, he went to Kufa where he studied Hadis and became a disciple of Sufyan al-Sawri. Ultimately he settled in Mecca, spending all his time in prayer and fasting. It was with great reluctance that he allowed Harun al-Rashid, the Caliph, to visit him. When he finally came, Fuzayl urged him to rule with justice and reminded him that on the Resurrection Day God would question him concerning every single Muslim under his protection, and would exact justice for each of

/1 For his life see Sulami, pp. 80-7; Abu Nu'aim, VIII, pp. 73-84; Qushairi. p. 17; Ibn al-Imad, II, pp. 87-8; Nicholson, p. 1 15 ; Arberry, pp. 150-52.

/2 Nicholson, p. 121.

/3 For notes on his biography see Sulami, pp. 93-7; Abu Nu'aim, X, pp. 42-3; Qushairi, p. 17; Nicholson, pp. 119-21; Arberry, pp. 173-78.

/4 Qur'an, LVI, 16.

38	 
them. If one night an old woman had gone to sleep in her house without provisions of any kind, at the Last Judgement she would pluck the Caliph's gown and give evidence against him.' Fuzayl died in Mecca /2 in 187/803.
Among Marw's other leading sufi saints, was Abu `Abd u'r Rahman 'Abdu'llah ibn al-Mubarak al-Hanzali. Born in 118/736---37 of a Turkic father and an Iranian mother, al-Hanzali became a very rich merchant, but he also studied under many teachers in Marw and elsewhere. One story about him is as follows:

'He was in love with a girl, and one night in winter he stationed himself at the foot of the wall of her house, while she came on to the roof, and they both stayed gazing at each other until daybreak. When `Abdu'llah heard the call to morning prayers he thought it was time for evening prayers; and only when the sun began to shine did he discover that he had spent the whole night in rapturous contemplation of his beloved. He took warning by this, and said to himself: "Shame on thee ... Dost thou stand on foot all night for thine own pleasure, and yet become furious when the Imam reads a long chapter of the Qur'an?" /3

Al-Hanzali built two hospices (ribats) at Marw, one for trad i t i o n i st s and the other for jurisprudents. In alternate years he would perform a hajj, and go to war, and during the third year, he would engage in commerce, distributing his profits to the poor. A conversation between al-Hanzali and a Christian monk tells something of sufi discipline:

'I saw a Christian monk (rahib), who was emaciated by sell-mortification and bent double by fear of God. I asked him to tell me the way to God. He answered, "If you knew God, you would know the way to Him." Then he said, "I worship Him although I do not know him whereas you disobey Him although you know Him," that is, "knowledge entails fear, yet I see that you are confident ; and infidelity entails ignorance, yet I feel fear within myself." I laid this to heart, and it restrained me from many ill deeds.'/4

Al-Hanzali died at Hit on the Euphrates in 181/797. Of the several books he wrote, one on asceticism has survived./5
Abu Nasr Bishr ibn al al-Haris al-Hafi was another prominent sufi in

/1 Nicholson, p. 100.

/2 For notes on his biography see Sulami, pp. 7-12; Abu Nu'aim, VIII, pp. 84-139; Qushairi, p. 9; al-Yafe'i, 1, pp. 415 17; Ibn Hajar, VIII, pp. 294-97; Nicholson, pp. 97-100; Arberry, pp. 52-61.

/3 Nicholson, p. 96.

/4 ibid, pp. 96-7.

/5 For notes on his biography see A1-Nu'aim, VIII, pp. 162 90, Ibn Hajar, V, pp. 382-87; Ibn al-`Imad, I, pp. 295-97, Nicholson, pp. 95-7; Arberry, pp. 124-28.

39
Marw. In his youth he was an alcoholic. Once while staggering along the road, he picked up a piece of paper on which was written: 'In the name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate.' Bishr deposited it reverently in his house. The same night God visited him in a dream, extending His approval. This prompted Bishr to turn to asceticism. He became an associate of Fuzayl and a disciple of his own maternal uncle. Bishr's renunciation of the world involved complete destitution and this included walking barefooted. During his lifetime, Bishr reminded all those who wished to be both honoured in this world and exalted in the next to shun three things: asking a boon of anyone, speaking ill of anyone and accepting an invitation for food from anyone. He distinguished three types of. poor:
1. those who neither begged nor accepted anything, yet received everything they asked for from God;
2. those who did not beg but accepted what they were given; and
3. those who held out for as long as they could, but then begged.
Poverty, according to Bishr, was to be borne with patience and charity. The highest spiritual merit was earned by doing service to mankind. He accordingly advised pilgrims to Mecca to give their money to an orphan or to a poor man and thus earn more religious merit and spiritual satisfaction. To him pilgrimage was the jihad of women.
Although Bishr did not himself marry, he never preached against family life./1 Retiring to Baghdad, Bíshr/2 died in 227/841-42.
An indelible mark was left on the people of Marw by Abu'l-'Abbas Qasim bin al-Mandi al-Sayyari. Although he died there in 342/953-54, for centuries his tomb at Marw was visited by devotees. According to him unification with God involved the complete absence of any other thoughts but God. His explanation of the doctrine of jama' (union) and tafriqa (separation) deeply influenced later sufis. According to al-Sayyari: ‘Union is that which He unites by His attributes and separation is that which He separates by His acts.’ This involved a cessation of human effort and an affirmation of the divine will to the exclusion of all personal initiative. Jama` did not involve the mingling (imtizaj) of God with created beings or God-made objects (Ittihad) with His own works or His becoming incarnate (hall) in things./3
Nakhshab, in the province of Sughd, or ancient Sogdiana, between the Oxus and Jaxartes, was the home of the eighth century adventurer known as al-Muganna`, the Veiled Prophet of Khurasan. Moreover, it

/1 Encyclopaedia of Islam (new edition). I, pp. 1244-246.

/2 For notes on his biography see Abu Nu'aim, VIII, pp. 336-60; Qushairi, pp. 11 2; al-Yafe`i, II. pp. 92-4; Ibn Hajar, I, pp. 444-45; Ibn al-'1mad, pp. 60-62; Nicholson, pp. 105-06; Arberry, pp. 80-6.

/3Nicholson, pp. 157-58,251-60.

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was an important centre of sufism. Abu Turab Askar bin al-Husain al-Nasafi of Nakshab was an associate of Hatim-i Asamm. According to him a dervish did not choose his own food or dress, for his nourishment was ecstasy and his clothing was piety. Abu Turabl died in 245/859-60.
Close to Nakhshab was Tirmiz,/2 north of the passage of the Oxus leading from Balkh. Tirmiz was the greatest emporium of goods coming from the north to Khurasan. The most eminent saint of Tirmiz was Abu `Abdu'llah Muhammad ibn `Ali bin al-Husain al-Hakim al-Tirmizi. The impact of Tirmizi own's theories on saints and sainthood which extended from Ghazali of Tus to Ibn al-Arabi of Spain is some indication of the scope of his influence. Tirmizi was the associate of sufis such as Abu Turab Nakhshabi and Ahmad ibn Khazruya, an outstanding scholar of Hadis, Fiqh and Qura'nic exegesis. Among his works the most famous are the Khatm al-Awliya' (Seal of Saints), the Kitab al-Nahj (Book of the Highway), the Nawadir al-Usul (Choice Principles), the Kitab al-Tawhid (Book of the Unification) and the Kitab 'Azab al-Qabr (Book of the Torment of the Grave).
Ibrahim al-Geyoushi, a modern authority on Tirmizi, asserts, that two themes which recur in all Tirmizi's writings are : 'a detailed elucidation of the ways to sainthood, and the description of the struggle between the desire of the carnal soul and the longing of the heart.' `His conception of sainthood and saints, their "degrees" (of rank as well as perfection) which constitute a fully developed hierarchy, their `seal', and their relationship, with the prophets are, as laid down in the Khatm al-Awliya' `The Seal of the Saints' basic for sufi thought.'/3 Thus Tirmizi divides sainthood into two categories : (a) general, as common to and exhibited by all believers; and (b) special, whereby the saints achieve trustworthiness in the eyes of God. The latter category is further divided into two. The Awliya' Haqq-Allah literally (Saints of Duty towards God) are engaged in an unending struggle against the carnal soul until they are illuminated by God's light and receive grace. At the same time they retain this light as a guide along the way, while He absorbs the spirit of closeness in the wider sphere of Tawhid. Those who attain the second stage are known as Wali-Allah (Saints of God). Scrupulous observance of the rules, perseverance and patience in obedience lead to the attainment of the status of Wali-Allah.
In short, purity, goodness, spiritual wealth, strength, and immunity from evil are the sine qua non of this stage. Tirmizi quotes the following Hadis to support his theory :

'The best way for My servant to draw near to Me is through regularity

/1 NU, pp. 51-2; Nicholson, pp. 121-22.

/2 Guy Le Strange, The lands of the eastern Caliphate, London, 1966, pp. 439-43, 469-72. 3M.I. Al-Geyoushi', 'Al-Tirmidhi's theory of Saints and Sainthood, Islamic Quarterly, XV; no. 1, London, January-March, 1971, p. 18.

41

in his religious duties, and continual striving for My proximity by works of supererogation until I grant him My love. When I love him I will be his hearing, his sight, his tongue, his hand, his leg, and his heart. None of these limbs can do anything but by my guidance."

To Tirmizi the highest rungs on the ladder of sainthood are al-budala,/2 al-siddiqin (or al-umana),/3 ai-muhaddasun,/4 and Khatm al-Awliya', in order of increasing precedence. The last rung is for one who was the seal of the saints, just as the Prophet Muhammad was the seal of the prophets. The rightful place of the Khatm al-Awliya' was before God in the Kingdom of Oneness./5 Tirmizi clearly acknowledges the superiority of the prophets over the saints : 'the prophets were saints of God before they became prophets; hence they possess both qualities, prophethood and sainthood. Nobody is their equal.'/6 All eminent saints are conscious of the quality of sainthood inherent in themselves. 'The purified heart of a pious man in which there is no sin, nor aggression, nor ill-will, nor spite,' says Tirmizi `leads to sainthood.' Saints understand both the future and what is hidden from ordinary men, and Tirmizi is inclined to ascribe miraculous powers unreservedly to those who are outstanding. He says :

`It is possible for saints to work miracles. The occurrence of miracles inspires in others the belief in the genuineness of the sainthood. When a miracle becomes manifest it is a sign of true sainthood. The miracle is both the proof of this genuineness and its result, for it is the saint's genuineness that enables him to work miracles.'?

According to Tirmizi the conduct of prophets and saints is immaculate. He sees no reason preventing saints from equalling, and even surpassing the early Caliphs, Abu Bakr and 'Umar. Tirmizi expresses the idea in the following way :

'Who can prevent the mercy of God from prevailing over people even in these modern times? Nobody can check it, for it is continuous. Do they think that there is no siddiq, no mugarrab, no me jtaba, no mustafa nowadays? Is it not known that the Mahdi ⁸ will come

/1 M.I. A1-Geyoushi', 'Al-Tirmidhi's theory of Saints and Sainthood', Islamic Quarterly, XV, no. 1, London, January-March, 1971, p. 21.

/2 They are forty in number and surround the divine throne.

/3 The honest or trusted ones. They have offered their souls to God, and He has rewarded them with His light; they also number forty.

/4 These are the sadat al-awliya', `masters of the saints'.

/5 ibid, pp. 23-5. /6 ibid, p. 26. /7 ibid, p. 33.

/8 Literally, guided or rightly guided, but according to Sunni traditions, he is the leader who is expected to rise before judgement day. Ibn Khaldun gives all the important traditions on the subject and adds: ‘It has been well known (and generally accepted) by all Muslims in every epoch, that at the end of time a man from the family (of the Prophet) will without fail make his appearance, one who will strengthen the religion and make justice triumph. The Muslims will follow him, and he will gain domination over the Muslim realm. He will he called the Mahdi. Following him, the Antichrist will appear, together with all the subsequent signs of the hour (the day of judgement), as established in (the sound tradition of) the Sahib. After (the Mahdi), 'Isa (Jesus) will descend and kill the Antichrist. Or Jesus will descend together with the Mahdi and help him kill (the Antichrist), and have him as the leader in his prayers.' Ibn Khaldun, The Muyaddimah, English translation by F. Rosenthal, New York, 1958, pp. 156-200. For the Mandavi movement in India see S.A.A. Rizvi, Muslim revivalist movements in northern India, pp. 68-134.

42	 

towards the end of the world? Is it not said that the Seal of Saints will also come, and 'will bear witness on the Day of Judgement that all the saints are recipients of the mercy of God?/l

Tirmizi, however, reminds all saints that knowledge of the nature of lordship (rububiyya) depends on possessing the proper principles of servantship (`ubudiyya); ‘Anyone who is ignorant of the nature of servantship ...is yet more ignorant of the nature of lordship...’
Tirmizi's teachings brought him into conflict with the authorities of his own town; he retired to Nishapur where he died some time after /2 285/898.
Nishapur was the leading trade centre of Khurasan and featured a daily traffic of caravans. Sacked by the Ghuzz Turks in the middle of the twelfth century, and again by the Mongols in the middle of the thirteenth, its economic recovery was meteoric.
The struggle between the Shi`is and the Sunnis, particularly the dominant Karrami Sunnis, was an interesting feature of the religious, political and social history of Nishapur. But the most colourful aspects of life in the town were those connected with the sufi movement.
The most outstanding of the early generations of sufis in Nishapur was Abu Hafs 'Amr bin Salama al-Haddad. By profession a blacksmith, he was converted to sufism through an encounter with a Jew. Abu Hafs `Amr visited Baghdad where he is said to have amazed his fellow sufis with his eloquent Arabic. He died in his home town in 265/879. /3
The founder of a unique path in sufism was Abu Salih Hamdun bin Ahmad bin `Umara al-Qassar, also of Nishapur. He was an eminent theologian and jurist. He died in 271/884-85.
The path of Hamdun was that of malamat (blame). He affirmed that malamat was the abandonment of all concern for one's welfare. If the worshipper intentionally abandoned the source or his own well-being and embarked on a path of permanent misfortune, renouncing all pleasure, God's glory might be revealed to him, and the more he became

/1 ‘Al-Tirmidhi's Theory of Saints and Sainthood, p. 37.

/2 For a note on his biography see Sulami. pp. 212-15; Abu Nu'aim, X, pp. 233-35; Qushairi, p. 24; Massignon, pp. 256-64; Nicholson, pp. 141-42, 210-41 ; Arberry, pp. 243-49.

/3 For notes on his biography see Sulami. pp. 105-13; Abu Nu'aim, V. pp. 229-30; Qushairi, p. 18; Nicholson, pp. 123-35; Arberry, pp. 192-98.

43
separated from mankind, the more he was united with God. Blame had a great effect in making love sincere. Hujwiri sums it up like this:

'In true love there is nothing sweeter than blame, because blame of the Beloved makes no impression on the lover's heart: he heeds not what strangers say, for his heart is ever faithful to the object of his love.'

"'Tis sweet to be reviled for passion's sake."/1

Among the sufis of Nishapur Abu ‘Usman Said bin Isma'il al-Hiri also rose to a considerable degree of importance. He originally came from Rayy, and at some time had lived with both Yahya ibn Mu`az al-Razi and Shah Shuja’ of Kirman. Al-Hiri's associations with Yahya perfected in him the ‘station' of hope, those with Shah Shuja’ inculcated in him jealousy, but his discipleship under Abu Hafs' perfected him in affection. He died at Nishapur in 298/910-11. /2
Abu Zakariya' Yahya ibn Mu'az al-Razi whose original home was at Rayy (near Tehran) finally chose Balkh for his activities as a sufi preacher. Having acquired considerable wealth from trading, he wished to return to Rayy. After losing everything in a robbery he settled in Nishapur. He was a poet and is reported to have written many books although none have survived. Yahya died in Nishapur in 258/871-72. /3
Of all the Khurasan sufis, the most well-known is Abu Yazid41 Tayfur ibn `Isa ibn Surushan of Bastam (Bistam), better known as Bayazid. His grandfather had been a Zoroastrian and his father a leading citizen of Bastam. After completing a formal religious education, he took to wandering from country to country while continuing ascetic pursuits such as indulging in continuous vigils and hunger fasts. It is said that he met one hundred and thirteen spiritual teachers during his thirty years of roaming. This would, however, seem to be based on legend, for according to his most authentic biographers, Abu Yazid spent most of his time in Bastam, where he died in 261/874 or 264/877-78. Only for a short period was he forced to hide because of the enmity of orthodox elements in Bastam.
Junaid of Baghdad believed that Abu Yazid ranked greatest among the sufis as did Gabriel amongst the angels.
Abu Yazid himself believed that God had delivered him out of the darkness of the carnal soul and the foulness of a fleshy nature. Bayazid believed that when God perceived that his qualities had been annihilated in His own attributes, He bestowed on him the name of His own presence

/1 Nicholson, pp. 67,125-26; NU, p. 60.

/2 Sulami, pp. 159-65; Abu Nu'aim, X, pp. 244-66; Qushairi, p. 21; Nicholson, pp. 132-33; Arberry, pp. 231-35.

/3 Al-Khatib, XV, pp. 208-12; Abu Nu'aim, X, pp. 51-70; Qushairi, p. 17; Nicholson, pp. 122-23; Arberry, pp. 179-82; Massignon, pp. 238-41.

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and addressed him with His own Selfhood. Singleness became manifest ; duality vanished. Ritter sums up Abu Yizid's teachings as follows :
'Abu Yazid was, in contrast .. with the later sufis Abu Ishaq al-Kaziruni and Abu Said bin Abi'l Khayr, a wholly introvert sufi. He did not exercise, as they did, a social activity (khidmat al fugara'), yet was ready to save humanity, by vicarious suffering, from hell .. . The "numinous" sense is extremely highly developed in him, together with a sense of horror and awe before the Deity, in whose presence he always felt himself an unbeliever, just about to lay aside the girdle of the magians (zunnar). His passionate aspiration is aimed at absolutely freeing himself through systematic work upon himself ("I was the smith of my own self" : haddad nafui), of all obstacles separating him from God (hujub), with the object of "attaining to Him." He describes this process in extremely interesting autobiographical sayings with partly grandiose images. The "world" (dunya), "flight from the world" (zuhd), "worship of God" (`ibadat), miracles (karamat), zikr, even the mystic stages (maqamat) are for him no more than so many barriers holding him from God. When he has finally shed his "I" in fana' "as snakes their skin" and reached the desired stage, his changed self-consciousness is expressed in those famous hybrid utterances (shatahat) which so scandalized and shocked his contemporaries: "Subhani! Ma a `zama sha'ni"—"Glory be to me! How great is My Majesty!"; ‘"Thy obedience to nie is greater than my obedience to Thee"; "I am the throne and the footstool"; "I am the Well-preserved Tablet"; "I saw the Ka`ba walking round me" ; and so on. In meditation he made flights into the supersensible world; these earned him the censure that he claimed to have experienced a mi'raj in the same way as the Prophet. He was in the course of them decorated by God with His Singleness (wandaniyya) and clothed with His `I-ness' (ananiyya), but shrank from showing himself in that state to men; or flew with the wings of everlastingness (daymumiyya) through the air of 'no-quality' (la-kayfiyya) to the ground of eternity (aza/iyya) and saw the tree on 'One-ness' (ahadiyya), to realise that "all that was illusion" or that it "was himself" who was all that, etc. In such utterances he appears to have reached the ultimate problem of all mysticism.’/1
Abu Yazid's theory of fana' or the total destruction of the empirical self in God is not the only point of similarity between his teachings and those of the Upanishads. His advocacy of understanding of the controlled use of breath was also Indian. Some hagiologists suggest that Bayazid learnt the doctrine of fana' from his teacher Abu `Ali Sindi. Among modern scholars Nicholson and R.C. Zaehner support this theory, while

/1 Encyclopaedia of Islam (new edition), I, pp. 162-T-63.

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Arberry rejects it. The latter provides evidence to prove that Sind was a village in Khurasan and not the province of Sind in modern Pakistan. The controversy is insignificant because ancient Indian thought and ideas on mysticism had continually aroused interest in the Khurasanian region and these naturally fused with Bayazid's expression of his own mystical experiences./1

Other parts of Iran

There were other areas of Iran which, like Khurasan and Transoxiana, were also famous for their sufis. We have already mentioned some dervishes from Rayy, who settled in Nishapur. Amongst the Rayy sufis was Abu Ya'qub Yusuf ibn al-Husain who obtained an education in Arabia and Egypt but returned to preach in his home town where he remained until he died in 304/916-17. It seems apparent that the people of Rayy had little interest in esoteric doctrines and Yusuf's lectures generally failed to attract an audience./2
Kirman, in the Fars region, came to be distinguished in the history of sufism because of Abu'l Fawaris Shah ibn Shuja’, said to have been a scion of a princely family. He was the author of several books on sufism, none of which have survived. Hujwiri records an interesting sentence Abu'l Fawaris is reported to have expressed, and makes the following comment :

The eminent have eminence until they see it, and the saints have saintship until they see it," that is, whoever regards his eminence loses its reality, and whoever regards his saintship loses its reality./3

At Shiraz, also in Iran, Abu 'Abdu'llah Muhammad ibn Khafif ibn Isfakshad was born in 270/882. Like Abu'l Fawaris he was of royal blood, but for him the prayer carpet was infinitely preferable to the coronet. Not only was he well connected, but 'Abdu'llah's fame as a mystic made him exceedingly eligible as a marriage prospect to the daughters of kings and nobles. Marriage to him was considered a great prize because of the blessing accruing from it. 'Abdu'llah did not choose one wife but many, and is said to have contracted four hundred marriages. These were not consummated and were generally later annulled. Two or three of his wives, however, would rotate in performing service for their husband, but only one, a vizier's daughter, is recorded as having endeared herself to

/1 Al-Sahlaji, Kitab ai-Nur edited by A. Badawi, Cairo, 1949; Sulami, pp. 60-64; Abu Nu'aim, X, pp. 33-40; Qushairi, p. 14; Nicholson, pp. 106-08, 184-88; Massignon, pp. 24356 ; Arberry, pp. 100-23 ; R.C. Zaehner, Hindu and Muslim mysticism, London. 1960, pp. 93134,198-218 ; A.J. Arberry, Revelation and reason in Islam. London, 1957, pp. 90-103.

/2 Sulami, pp. 175-82: Abu Nu'aim, X, pp. 238-42; al-Khatib, XIV. pp. 314-19; Qushairi, p. 24; Nicholson, p. 136; Arberry, pp. 185-91.

/3 Nicholson, p. 138. For his biography see Sulami. pp. 192-94; Arberry, pp. 183-91.

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`Abdu'llah. She described her relations with the Shaikh as follows:

'When the Shaikh wedded me and I was informed that he would visit me that night, I prepared a fine repast and adorned myself assiduously. As soon as he came and the food was brought in, he called me to him and looked for a while first at me and then at the food. Then he took my hand and drew it into his sleeve. From his breast to his navel there were fifteen knots (`aqd) growing out of his belly. He said, "Ask me what these are," so I asked him and he replied, "They are knots made by the tribulation and anguish of my abstinence in renouncing a face like this and viands like these." He said no more, but departed; and that is all my intimacy with him."' /1

`Abdu'llah made pilgrimages to Mecca at least six times, and visited Egypt and Asia Minor, finally dying at Shiraz in 371/982. He was the author of many books in which he constantly discussed the two doctrines of ghaybat (absence) and huzur (presence).

‘Presence’ is "presence of the heart," as a proof of intuitive faith (yaqin), so that what is hidden from it has the same force as what is visible to it. "Absence" is "absence of the heart from all things except God" to such an extent that it becomes absent from itself and absent even from its absence, so that it no longer regards itself; and the sign of this state is withdrawal from all formal authority (hukm-i rusum), as when a prophet is divinely preserved from what is unlawful. Accordingly, absence from one's self is presence with God, and vice versa./2

From Tustar, or Ahwaz, in Khuzistan rose the celebrated sufi, Abu `Abdu'llah Muhammad Sahl ibn `Abdu'llah al-Tustari. He was born in c.200/815 and studied first with Sufyan al-Sawri and later with Zu'n-Nun Misri. Although a withdrawn ascetic, persecution by the orthodox forced Sahl to take refuge in Basra.
It was in Basra that Sahl formulated his ideas on the course of one concerned with the mystic path. Unlike other sufis who believed that mortification was needed to redress the vices of the lower soul, Sahl saw self-punishment in the positive terms of leading directly to union with God. Orthodox divines accused him of combining the Law (Sharia) and Truth (Hagiga) but to Sahl they were never divided. In this passage from the Kashf al-Mahjub he says:

/1 Nicholson, pp. 248-49.

/2 ibid, p. 248; A.M. Schimmel Tari, Ibn al-Khafrf, Ankara, 1955; Abu Nu'aim, X, pp. 385-87; Qushairi, p. 31; Nicholson, pp. 158, 247-51; Arberry, pp. 257-63.

47

`Inasmuch as God has joined the Law to the Truth, it is impossible that His saints should separate them. If they be separated, one must inevitably be rejected and the other accepted. Rejection of the Law is heresy, and rejection of the Truth is infidelity and polytheism. Any (proper) separation between them is made, not to establish a difference of meaning, but to affirm the Truth, as when it is said: "The words, there is no God save Allah, are Truth, and the words, Muhammad is the Apostle of Allah, are Law." No one can separate the one from the other without impairing his faith, and it is vain to wish to do so. In short, the Law is a branch of the Truth : knowledge of God is Truth, and obedience to His command is Law.' /1

Like Rabi`a, Sahl had a special affinity with animals. According to tradition, wild beasts and lions would come from the forests to his house where he would feed them. Sahl died in Basra in 282/896. /2.

Egypt and Syria

The prominence which Egyptian sufism obtained was due mainly to the contribution of Abu'l-Faiz Sauban ibn Ibrahim al-Misri, or Zu'n-Nun. A native of Ikhmim in Upper Egypt, he was born about 180/796. He made a study of medicine and alchemy and may have been influenced by Hellenistic ideas. Zu'n-Nun travelled extensively in Arabia and Syria. In 214/829 he was accused of heresy, arrested and sent to Baghdad. After examination the Caliph had him released and permitted him to return to Egypt. He died at Jiza in 246/860-61.
The controversy around Zu'n-Nun stemmed from his conception of the mystic states (ahwal) and the stations (maqamat) of the mystic way; he was the first to attempt a detailed explanation of these two ideas. Considering self to be the chief obstacle to all spiritual progress, Zu'n-Nun advocated sincerity in the search for righteousness, and that solitude alone led to success in this quest. He was the first to teach the real nature of gnosis (ma `rifa) and described it as:

` ... knowledge of the attributes of the Unity, and this belongs to the saints, those who contemplate the Face of God within their hearts, so that God reveals Himself to them in a way in which He is not revealed to any others in the world. "The gnostics are not themselves, but in so far as they exist at all they exist in God.⁴²" '

Zu'n-Nun's explanation of gnosis has been interpreted in the following way :

/1 Nicholson, pp. 139-40.

/2 Sulami, pp. 199-205; Abu Nu'aim, pp. 189-212; Qushairi, p. 15; Nicholson, pp. 139-40, 195-210; L. Massignon, pp. 264-70; Arberry, pp. 153-60.

48	 

'The gnostic needs no state, he needs only his Lord in all states. Gnosis he associates with ecstasy (wajd), the bewilderment of discovery. (Zu'n-Nun) used the word hubb for love to God, which means, he says, to love what God loves and to hate what God hates. But the love of God must not exclude love to man, for love to mankind is the foundation of righteousness. He is one of the first to use the imagery of the wine of love and the cup poured out for the lover to drink.'/1

The description of the saints which Zu'n-Nun imparted to the `Abbasid, Caliph Mutawakkil (847-61), is preserved by his admirer al-Muhasibi in the following words :

`... they are those whom God invested with the radiance of His love and adorned with the fair mantle of His grace, upon whose heads He set the crown of His joy, and He put love towards them into the hearts of His creatures. Then He brought them forth, having entrusted to their hearts the treasures of the Invisible, which depend upon union with the Beloved ... He gave them knowledge of the places where the means of healing is to be found ... and to them He gave assurance of an answer to their prayers, and He said: "Oh My saints, if there come to you one sick through separation from Me, heal him, or a fugitive from Me, seek him out ... or afraid of Me, then reassure him ... O My saints, I have reasoned with you, and to you I have addressed Myself, towards you has been My desire and from you have I sought the fulfilment (of my Will), for upon you has My choice been laid, and you have I predestined for My work ... to be Mine elect. Not those who are proud do I seek to be My servants, nor do I desire the service of the covetous. To you have I given the most precious of rewards, the fairest of gifts, the greatest of graces. I am the Searcher of hearts, He Who knows the mysteries of the Invisible ... I am the Goal of your desire, I Who read the secrets of the heart. Let not the voice of any that is mighty, save Myself, make you fear, nor any sovereign by Myself. . . He who has shown you enmity is My enemy, and to him who was friendly towards you have I shewn friendship. Ye are My saints and ye are My beloved. Ye are Mine and I am yours.'/2

Syria was notable not only for its prophets but also for its saints. Abu Sulaiman 'Abdu'r-Rahman bin Atiyya al-Darani, a sufi who remained for some time in Basra, later retired to Daraya, near Damascus, where he

/1 Encyclopaedia of Islam (new edition), II, p. 242.

/2 An early mystic of Baghdad, pp. 81-2; For notes on his biography, see Sulami, pp. 23-32; al-Khatib, VIII, pp. 393-97; Qushairi, p. 9; lbn Asakar, Tarikh Demashq, Damascus, 132932 1911-13. Nicholson, pp. 100-03; Massignon, pp. 184-91; Arberry, pp. 87-99.

	49
died in 215/830. To him, both hope and fear were indispensable to one who sought God. Nothing, either in this world nor the next, was of sufficient importance to keep man from his God. Abu Sulaiman `Abdu'r-Rahman believed :

'When hope predominates over fear, one's "time" is spoilt, because "time » is the preservation of one's state (hal), which is preserved only so long as one is possessed by fear. If, on the other hand, fear predominates over hope, belief in Unity (Tawhid) is lost, inasmuch as excessive fear springs from despair, and despair of God is polytheism (shirk). Accordingly, the maintenance of belief in Unity consists in right hope, and the maintenance of "time" in right fear, and both are maintained when hope and fear are equal. Maintenance of belief in Unity makes one a believer (mu'min), while maintenance of "time" makes one pious (muti). Hope is connected entirely with contemplation (mushahadat), in which is involved a firm conviction (i`tiqad); and fear is connected entirely with purgation (mujahadat), in which is involved an anxious uncertainty (iztirab).' /1

Baghdad

Baghdad, the `Abbasid capital in Iraq, situated on the Khurasan road, was a junction of caravan routes. There foundations of sufism were laid amidst hectic orthodox, intellectual and sectarian developments. From the ninth century onwards translations of Greek, old Persian and Sanskrit literature were accompanied by those of Syriac (ancient Syrian or western Aramaic) works by Christian mystics into Arabic. Of these the most notable was the translation of Mystic Treatises written by Isaac of Nineveh in the seventh century. Syriac works by mystics such as Aphraates, the monk, who lived in Iran during the fourth century, Ephraim, the Syrian, also of the fourth century, Simon of Taibutheh, an East Syrian who died in 680, and Abraham bar Dashandad, an East Syrian, who lived sometime around 720 and 730, were also known to sufis in Baghdad.
It was an Irani, however, who founded the Baghdad school of Islamic mystics. He was Abu Mahfuz Ma'ruf ibn Firuz al-Karkhi. Although Ma`ruf was born of Christian parents, he reportedly embraced Islam through the influence of the eighth Shi`i Imam `Ali al-Riza. This story must be apocryphal for 'Ali al-Riza, who was born in Medina in 148/765, was summoned to Marw by Caliph al-Ma'mun (813-33.) in 201/816 and was killed at Tus, two years later in 818. Long before the arrival of 'Ali al-Riza in Iran, Ma'ruf had settled in Baghdad, where he died in 200/81516. It is unlikely that the latter would have gone to Medina in order to

/1 Nicholson, pp. 112-13; For biographical notes on Abu Sulaiman see Sulami, pp. 68-79; Qushairi, p. 16.

50	 
embrace Islam. According to one source, Ma`ruf completed his education in mystic and ascetic discipline under Abu Sulaiman Dawud ibn Nusair al-Ta'i of Kufa who died between 160/777 and 165/782. During Harun al-Rashid's reign, Ma`ruf lived in the Karkh quarters of Baghdad, hence he was subsequently called Karkhi.
The two elements of Haqq (Truth) and Sidq (Truthfulness) predominate in Ma`ruf's teaching. When asked for his last testament, Ma`ruf said that his shirt might be taken from his back and given in alms so that he could leave the world naked as he had emerged from his mother's womb. After his death, Jews, Christians and Muslims all claimed Ma`ruf as their own, but only Muslims were able to lift his bier from the ground before his burial. The following anecdote also confirms Ma`ruf's religious tolerance:

`It was reported that whenever food was presented to Ma`ruf as a gift he always accepted and ate it. Someone said to him : "Your brother Bishr bin al-Haris always refused such food," and Ma`ruf replied: "Abstaining causes my brother's hands to be tied, whilst Gnosis causes my hands to be stretched forth. I am only a guest in the house of my Lord. . . when He feeds me, I eat; when he does not, I have to be patient. I have neither objection nor choice."' /1

Ma`ruf's pupil, Abu'l-Hasan Sari43 ibn al-Mughallis al-Saqti, rose to be most prominent Baghdadi sufi. Among his main opponents was the celebrated jurist, Ahmad ibn Hanbal (780-855), the founder of the puritanically orthodox Sunni school of jurisprudence, called Hanbali. Originally Sari had been a merchant of spices and seasonings. During his lifetime he witnessed the reigns of several Caliphs and the rise and fall of several significant intellectual and sectarian movements. In 253/867-68 he died at the ripe old age of ninety-eight.
According to the Tabagat al-Sufiyya, Sari was the 'first in Baghdad to teach unification (Tawhid) through the path of mysticism, the first to teach the knowledge of Reality, and he was also the leader of the Baghdadis in the use of symbolic utterances (isharat).' A great teacher, he chose the Socratic method of instruction through the posing of thought-provoking questions. Sari's influence converted the Baghdad school of sufism into a group known as the Masters of Unification (Arbab al-Tawhid). Their theories were based on academic knowledge and their approach to mysticism was intellectual.
Sufism, Sari said, meant to a sufi the following three things :

... that the light of his gnosis did not extinguish the light of his

/1 Quw al-Qulub, IV, p. 61; quoted by A.H. Abdel-Kader, The life, personality and writings of Al-Junayd, London, 1962, p. 15; for biographical details about Ma`ruf see Sulami, pp. 74-9; Abu Nu'aim, VIII, pp. 360-68; Qushairi, p. 10; Nicholson, pp. 113-15; Arberry, pp. 161-65.

51

abstinence (wara’ ), that his inward speculations did not make him opposed to the outward conduct taught by the Qur'an and the Sunna, and that the favours of God bestowed on him did not lead him to tear aside the veil from what God had made unlawful to him./1

Sari also reminded his fellow sufis that the very start of gnosis depended on the withdrawal of the soul that it might be alone with God. Junaid describes one of Sari's dreams in which he saw God speaking to him in these words:

`O Sari, I created mankind, and all of them claimed to love Me. Then I created the world, and nine-tenths of them deserted Me, and there remained one-tenth. Then I created Paradise, and nine-tenths again deserted Me, and one-tenth of the tenth remained with Me. And I imposed upon them one particle of affliction, and nine-tenths of those who were left deserted Me, and I said to those who remained, "Ye did not desire the world, nor seek after Paradise, nor flee from misfortune; what then do ye desire and what is it that ye seek?" They replied, "It is Thou Thyself that we desire, and if Thou dost afflict us, yet will we not abandon our love and devotion to Thee." And I said to them, "I am He who imposes upon you affliction and terrors which even the mountains cannot abide. Will ye have patience for such affliction?" They said, ``Yea, verily, if Thou art the One Who afflicts; do what Thou wilt with us." These are indeed My servants and My true lovers.'/2

Among the associates of Sari and Zu'n-Nun, probably the most talented was Abu Sa`id Ahmad ibn `Isa al-Kharraz of Baghdad. Kharraz was a cobbler by trade. He acquired great fame because of his books, some of which have survived. In his writings he gave a clear and convincing definition of fana' (annihilation or the passing away of human attributes) and baqa' (subsistence or existence in God). Bayazid's statements regarding fana' emanated from a state of mystic intoxication but Kharraz's arguments were made in the most temperate language.
To mystics and spiritualists, fana' meant different things. One view was that of the Nestorians who held that Mary, through self-mortification, annihilated all human qualities. Divine subsistence then became attached to her, so that she existed in God's life, and Jesus was the result of this union44. Originally human elements were not attached to Jesus because his existence arose from an understanding of the subsistence of God. Consequently, Jesus, His mother and God exist through one subsistence, which is both eternal and one of God's attributes. Kharraz,

/1 Qushairi, p. 10; extract translated in An early mystic of Baghdad, p. 39.

/2 An early mystic of Baghdad, p. 40; For biographical details see Sulami, pp. 41-8; Abu Nu'aim, X, pp. 116-26; Qushairi, pp. 10-11; Nicholson, pp. 110-11; Arberry, pp. 166-72.

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however, held that fana' is annihilation of the consciousness of manhood (`ubudiyya), and baqa' (subsistence) is subsistence in the contemplation of God (Ilahiyya). Hujwiri comments :

`In annihilation there is no love or hate, and in subsistence there is no consciousness of union or separation. Some wrongly imagine that annihilation signifies loss of essence and destruction of personality, and that subsistence indicates the subsistence of God in Man ; both these notions are absurd." ⁴⁵

Kharraz's book, the Kitab al-Sidq (Book of Truthfulness) has been published with an English translation by A.J. Arberry. Starting with the idea of Sidq or Truthfulness, Kharraz continues by describing the `stations,' or stages in the sufi path : fear, hope, trust, love, shame, longing, intimacy, all which lead to the goal of unity with God. He concludes:

`Know, then, that those who have attained unto God, and are near to Him, who have in truth tasted the love of God, and obtained their portion from their King, their qualities are : godliness, abstinence, patience, sincerity, truthfulness, trust, confidence, love, yearning, intimacy, all fine characteristics, all the characteristics of theirs which cannot be described, together with that piety and generosity which they have made their abode. All this is with them, dwelling in their natures, hidden in their souls : nothing else find they good, for this is their food and their habitude.'/2

The date of Kharraz's death is uncertain, but it appears to have been sometime between 279/892 and 286/899. /3
Amongst Sari's friends and visitors, another prominent personality was Abu `Abdu'llah al-Haris ibn Asad al-Muhasibi46. Born at Basra in 165/781-82, Muhasibi migrated to Baghdad early in his life. There he managed to acquire a perfect understanding of Hadis and of other theological subjects; he also obtained a good grounding in scholasticism (Kalam) and used the dialectic methods and terminology of the Mu`tazila to refute Mu`tazili doctrines and Shi`i beliefs. His involvement in discussions on matters which were taboo to the orthodox branded him a renegade in their eyes and he became a target of persecution to Ibn Hanbal and his followers. Muhasibi's life became so endangered that he fled to Baghdad. So secretly had his existence been kept that when he died in 243/857 only four people attended the funeral. Although the study of Muhasibi's writings was banned, succeeding generations of

/1 Nicholson, p. 243.

/2 A.J. Arberry, The book of truthfulness, Oxford, 1937, pp. 61-2. [ ]

/3 For biographical details see Sulami, pp. 223-28; Abu Nu'aim, X, pp. 246-49; Qushairi, p. 28; Massignon, pp. 270-73; Nicholson, pp. 143, 241-46; Arberry, pp. 218-20.

53
sufis recognized his deep contribution to their movement, and continued to study his works, most of which have survived. Ghazali was a firm admirer of the ideas of Muhasibi and considered him outstanding for his contribution to the study of human behaviour, in his recognition of both the inherent weakness of the soul and the evil of human action.
As a sufi Muhasibi was given the title al-Muhasibi, because of his practice of frequent self-examination while involved in the recollection of God. According to him strict abstinence (wara’) leading to godliness (taqwa’) was possible only through self examination. Contentment and patience were the significant marks of fine character. Margaret Smith writes :

'By relentless and unceasing self-examination he (Muhasibi) had come to know his own soul and its besetting sins; by self-discipline he had learnt to be master of his soul, to cope with its temptations and to get the better of its tendency to sin, and so, by his own unceasing striving, aided by the grace of God, without which his own efforts would have been in vain, to attain to self-purification and a state in which he had ceased to depend upon himself or the creatures, and had given himself entirely into the hands of God, merging his own personal will in the divine will, becoming empty of self in order that his soul might be open to the revelation and indwelling of God. Through the way of Purgation he had attained to Illumination and thence to the Unitive life, lived with and in God.'/1

Muhasibi advised sufis to approach God in a spirit of shame for their lack of gratitude, concern for their shortcomings, real hope in His mercy and joy at the thought of Him. Everything which was good, either relating to thought or action, emanated from divine grace. Repeatedly he reminded sufis that the heart was the essence of the self, which, like a mirror, served its purpose only when brightly polished. Divine grace was a supernatural light illuminating the heart in the awakened state of the devotee, which was destroyed by neglect. A true ascetic should consider himself a stranger in this world and fight against temptations, avarice, envy, jealousy and backbiting to display religiosity and spiritual superiority. He quoted a phrase attributed to Christ : ‘If one of you fasts, let him anoint his head and comb his hair and put collyrium on his eyes.'/2
Repentance was the first step, believed Muhasibi, towards spiritual progress. This should be accompanied by the seeking of forgiveness for sins and by the atonement of injuries inflicted to others. Personal prayer or munajat, according to Muhasibi, was the finest means to get near to God. He believed :

/1 An early mystic of Baghdad, p. 26.

/2 ibid, p. 135.

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'... approach God with obedient hearts, wherein is knowledge of the greatness of God Most High ... feeling same before Him, and let that which is His due be given unto Him ... and come near to Him with intense love towards Him, loving what He loves and abhorring what He abhors, and come unto Him with a realisation of His good gifts and His grace ... Therefore approach God with fear lest His favours towards you should cease, and with keen shame lest you fall short in gratitude to Him. And draw near to God Most High with deep fear of Him and real hope in Him, and joy in the recollection of Him ... And approach him with assured faith and dependence upon Him, and confidence in Him ... with gravity of µmien, with downcast eyes and humility ... and approach God with the desire to amend your life ... Draw near unto Him, choosing humility rather than exaltation, and preferring hardship for the sake of God rather than an easy life, and poverty to wealth and its acquirement ... And approach Him with the continuous remembrance of death and the resurrection and the bridge of Sirat,' which must be crossed. All these things are to be earnestly desired by all who came before God to make entreaty of Him.'/2

The most brilliant disciple and a close friend of Haris Muhasibi was Sari's nephew, Abu'l-Qasim al Junaid Ibn Muhammad al-Khazzaz al-Nihawandi. Some of Muhasibi’s treatises contain detailed answers to questions Junaid put to his master. Junaid's father was a glass merchant. His son acquired a thorough knowledge of Fiqh and Hadis. (Junaid) refers of himself that when he left his uncle, Sari asked him to whose assembly he would go, and he replied : "To Haris al-Muhasibi." Sari then said : "Yes, go and acquire his doctrine ('ilm) and his method of self-training (adab), but leave his splitting of words in speculation (tashgiq li'l-kalam) and his refutation of the Mu`tazilites alone." "And when I had turned my back," adds Junaid, "I heard Sari say, May God make you a traditionist who is a sufi and not a sufi who is a traditionist"—that is, that knowledge of the traditions and the Sunna should come first, and then by practising asceticism and devotion he might advance in knowledge of sufism and become a sufi gnostic, but that the reverse process of trying to attain to the higher degrees of sufism without being well grounded in orthodox theology was dangerous.'/3 Junaid died in Baghdad in 298/910.
Of Junaid's works only his treatises, his Rasa'il (Epistles) and a series

/1 The bridge across hell, according to the Hadis, is thinner than a hair and sharper than a sword's edge.

/2 An early mystic of Baghdad, pp. 205-06; from Wasaya by Muhasibi. For biographical details see Sulami, pp. 49-53; Abu Nu'aim, X, pp. 73-109; al-Khatib, VIII, pp. 211-16; Qushairi, pp. 12-13; Nicholson, pp. 108-09, 176-83; Massignon, pp. 210-25; Arberry, pp. 143-45.

/3 An early mystic of Baghdad, p. 27, quoted from Al-Makki's Qut al-Qulub, I, p. 158.

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of letters have survived. Together with Muhasibi, Junaid was the founder of the sober (sahw) school of sufism and posterity gave to him such titles of praise as Saiyid al-Ta'ifa (Lord of the Sect), Ta'us al-Fugara' (Peacock of the Dervishes) and Shaikh al-Masha'ikh (Director of the Directors).
Junaid's own mystical awareness and self-concentration enabled him to draw the attention of his fellow sufis to the doctrine of Tawhid or Divine Unification in a most cautious manner. Although he considered Tawhid as utterly inexpressible and indefinable, he explained it by using misaq and fana' as examples. Misaq refers to the following verse in the Qur'an :

'And (remember) when thy Lord brought forth from the Children of Adam, from their reins, their seed, and made them testify of themselves, (saying) : Am I not your Lord? They said : Yea, verily. We testify. (That was) lest ye should say at the Day of Resurrection : Lo ! of this we were unaware.'/1

Junaid interpreted this verse in the light of the Neo-Platonic doctrine of the pre-existence of the soul. Abdel-Kader (Abdul Qadir) says :

'If we try to sum up this theory and to describe this (the) highest state of Unification which the worshipper can attain, we find that the worshipper returns to his primordial state where he has been before he was created. That is, he departs from his worldly existence, his normal human existence does not continue and hence he exists in God and is completely absorbed in Him. It is thus that the muwahhid can attain the real Tawhid. As long as he preserves his individuality he cannot attain this full state of Tawhid, as the continued persistence of his individuality means that something other than God is still present.'/2

So when God creates a human being, His intention is to make him again fully One with Himself. This state explains Junaid's definition of sufism which draws attention to the fact that : `Tasawwuf is that God should make you die from yourself and should make you live in Him. ' The successive steps which lead to Unification involve fana' in the following manner:
1. The obliteration of attributes, characteristics and natural qualities in your motives when you carry out your religious duties, making great efforts and doing the opposite of what you may desire, and compelling yourself to do the things which you do not wish to do.
2. The obliteration of your pursuit after pleasures and even the sensa-

/1 Qur'an, VII, 172.

/2 Personality and writings of al-Junayd, p. 79.

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tion of pleasure in obedience to God's behests—so that you are exclusively His, without any intermediary means of contact.
3. The obliteration of the consciousness of having attained the vision of God at the final stage of ecstasy when God's victory over you is complete. At this stage you are obliterated and have eternal life with God, and you exist only in the existence of God because you have been obliterated. Your physical being continues but your individuality has departed.’/1
Baqa', abiding or continuing in God, is the same state as fana' and the words are interchangeable. There is no implication that the worshipper in this state can become identical with God (ittihad); nor does it imply that by abandoning his own qualities, a soul can become part of God's attributes. Unification means 'the passing away of man's will in God's wíll,' or in other words the loss of human will, which `characterizes the worldly individuality47, being possessed by God and returning into the life of his eternal self in God.' Junaid continues by saying :

'The soul accepts the spiritual burden with its implication of suffering, seeks for its cure, and is preoccupied with that divine revelation vouchsafed to it. Consequently, it is able to look on the remote with the eye of propinquity, to be closer to God because a veil has been removed and it is no longer completely concealed.' `Though the soul has Bala' (suffering), it is not rejected. How can it be hidden from God by a veil when it is, as it were, a captive bound before Him? God has allowed the suppression of the individuality when man has Bala'. The soul no longer arrogates a degree of importance to its individuality but is amply satisfied with God's love and nearness. "Such, then, is the infinite duration of this newly found spiritual life and the intensity of the stage of Bala' that the suppression of the individuality is completely submerged by the lightning flash of God's regard. As a result, the soul derives spiritual pleasures from Bala' and is delighted with its Bala' with God, because it can enjoy propinquity with God and the wound of Bala' is soothed. The soul is not bent down under the burden of Bala' nor does it chafe at its spiritual load. Their experience makes heroes of them—because of the secrets revealed to them they stay conquered by God, awaiting His commands that Allah may designate what shall be done."/2

To Junaid, Unification was the highest state of enlightenment; it was a fresh kind of knowledge he called ma'rifa. It was revealed to devotees who had reached the state of Tawhid and were termed 'arifs. According to Junaid the 'arif was not the seeker but the muwahhid (one endowed

/1 Personality and writings of al-Junayd, p. 81; quoted from Qushairi.

/2 ibid, pp. 85-6.

57
with the knowledge of Unification) to whom God in His grace had revealed Himself. However, an `arif was not some supernatural being. Junaid said:

'The `arif could not be an arif until he is like earth upon which the pious and impious walk; and like the clouds that are spread over everything; and like the rains that descend upon all places quite without any likes and dislikes.

What Junaid had expressed cautiously and soberly was now to be phrased in ecstatic, radical terms by his younger contemporary, Abu'l-Maghis al-Husain bin Mansur  al-Hallaj, the tragic, ill-fated figure who was to become the great martyr of medieval Sufism. Hallaj was born about 244/857-58 at Tur, in Fars, to the north-west of al-Bayza. His father was a wool carder, who later settled in the textile centre of Wasit./2 Hallaj was educated at Wasit and Basra. He came into contact with Junaid at Baghdad and then made a hajj to Mecca. After his return Hallaj wandered preaching through Khurasan dressed in a soldier's uniform, instead of the traditional woollen cloak of a sufi. By this time Hallaj had gathered about four hundred disciples who accompanied him on his travels. After a second pilgrimage, he wandered through India and Turkistan, where he acquainted himself with Buddhism and Manichaeism. About 290/903 he again went to Mecca, this time wearing only an Indian loin-cloth round his waist and a piece of patched and motley cloth thrown around his shoulders.
After this, his final pilgrimage, Hallaj remained in Baghdad. There he uttered his famous theopathic cry : Ana'l-Haqq (I am [God] the Truth). Orthodox opinion was sharply divided as to what discipline should be meted out to one who uttered such alleged profanities, however, they were forced to tread warily—the number of Hallaj's supporters at the Caliph's court was by no means meagre. His enemies denounced him for claiming mystical union with God and for causing moral instability among the people. Hallaj's disciples and friends explained that mystic inspiration was beyond the jurisdiction of an earthly court. However, the scramble for power between viziers of opposing sects finally led to Hallaj's imprisonment in 301/913. Current upheavals in politics postponed retribution being exacted for some years.
While in prison, Hallaj wrote his famous work, Ta Sin al-Anal, a meditation on the case of Iblis (the Devil) whose monotheism, Hallaj believed,

/1 Personality and writings of al-Junayd, p. 102. For biographical details see Sulami, pp. 141-150; Abu Nu`aim, X, pp. 255-87; Qushairi, pp. 20-1; al-Yafe'i, II, pp. 231-36; al-Subki', 11, pp. 80-3; Nicholson, pp. 128-30, 185-89; L. Massignon, pp. 273-78; R.C. Zaehner, Hindu and Muslim mysticism, pp. 135-53, 218-34; Arberry, pp. 199-213.

/2 Before the foundation of Baghdad, it was an important city in Iraq and originally occupied both banks of the Tigris. It lay equidistant from Kufa, Basra and Ahwaz.

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prevented him from prostrating before Adam. He also wrote a book on the ascension (mi’raj) of Muhammad. Imprisoned for nine years, the accusations against Hallaj assumed various forms. A statement of his reminding Muslims to, `... proceed seven times around the Ka`ba of one's heart,' was interpreted as meaning that he was a Qaramati Isma`ili attempting to destroy the Ka`ba in Mecca. The basis of the case against Hallaj which finally secured his condemnation was that he rejected the transcendence of God and preached infusion theories or incarnation (hulul). Ultimately on 29 Zu'l-Qa'da 309/1 April 922 Hallaj was hung on a gibbet after various revolting and merciless tortures had been inflicted.
Modern scholars have had access to Hallaj's works. Among those books which have been published about him are the Akhbar al-Hallaj (translated into French by Louis Massignon and entitled The Passion d'al-Hallaj), the Kitab al-Tawasin, a collection of eleven short treatises including the Ta Sin al-Azal and Hallaj's Arabic Diwan or collected poems.
Hallaj's concept of Anal-Haqq does not imply that human nature (nasut) is identical or interchangeable with the Divine (Lahut) ; to take a less elaborate simile—water does not become wine, when they are mixed. The following lines by Hallaj are most expressive :

`I am He whom I love, and He whom I love is I.

We are two spirits dwelling⁴⁸ in one body,

If thou seest me, thou seest Him;

And if thou seest Him, thou seest us both.'

Elsewhere Hallaj writes: 'We are two spirits fused together (halalna) in a single body.' This, however, also does not prove his belief in hulul. Hallaj's concept is identical with that of the leading Christian mystic, St. John of the Cross: 'Two natures (God and man) in a single spirit and love of God !' —Actually Hallaj meant that his `I' was 'acted upon' by divine grace. Nicholson explains it this way49 :

`According to Hallaj, the essence of God's essence is Love. Before the creation God loved Himself in absolute unity and through love revealed Himself to Himself alone. Then, desiring to behold that love-in-aloneness, that love without otherness and duality, as an external object, He brought forth from non-existence an image of Himself, endowed with all His attributes and names. This divine image is Adam, in and by whom God is manifest—divinity objectified in humanity.'/1

/1 R.A. Nicholson, Studies in Islamic mysticism, Cambridge, 1967, p. 80; For biographical details see Sulami, pp. 308-13; al-Khatib, VIII, pp. 112-41, Ibn Khallikan, I, no. 181; al-Yafe'i, 11, pp. 253-61; Nicholson, pp. 150-52; Arberry, pp. 264 71; R.A. Nicholson, The idea of personality in Sufism, Cambridge, 1923, pp. 25-37.

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Hallaj's views were repudiated by Junaid but the latter did not dissociate himself from either Abu Yazid or Shibli who expressed their mystical experiences in a similar way. Abu Bakr Dulaf bin Jandar al-Shibli was of Khurasanian origin but had been born in Baghdad or Samarra. The son of a high-ranking court official, he had served as governor of Damawand, about fifty miles north-east of Tehran. Having had various intense spiritual experiences, Shibli resigned his position and became one of Junaid's disciples, immediately embarking on an intense course of self-mortification. This included begging in the streets of Baghdad. Later Shibli returned to Damawand where he went from house to house attempting to make amends to those he may have dissatisfied while governor. Returning to Baghdad, Junaid again urged Shibli to beg and also to perform menial services for his master's companions. All this was done so that not a vestige of the former governor's pomp and pride remained.
Of Shibli's own pronouncements, we know, he insisted people should pronounce God's name only with a background of true experience and understanding. Overpowered by mystic ecstasy, Shibli would cry out publicly : `God.' Junaid reproached him saying :

‘ « We utter these words in grottos ... now you have come and declare them in the market-place. » « I am speaking and I am listening, » Shibli replied. "In both worlds who is there but I? Nay rather, these are words proceeding from God to God, and Shibli is not there at all." "If that is the case, you have dispensation," Junaid said.’

According to Shibli, only when God uprooted all the lust from a man's heart, was the bodily eye safe from its own hidden dangers. God must replace lust with a desire for Himself; until then the spiritual eye might be hindered from other than Him alone.
For some time Shibli was committed to a mental asylum because of his ideas, however, no stronger action was taken against him. He died in 334/946 at the age of eighty seven./1 The following references to Shibli, during the period of his confinement, which were related by 'Attar, give some insight into Shibli's own rationalization of his behaviour, which others interpreted as madness:

'When Shibli was confined in chains a group of his companions one day went to visit him. "Who are you?," he cried. "Your friends," they told him. He at once began to throw stones at them, and they all fled. "Liars!" he shouted., "Do friends run away from their friend because of a few stones? This proves that you are friends of yourselves, not of me !" Once Shibli was observed running with a burning coal in his hand. '`Where are you going?" they asked. "I

/1 Arberry, p. 282. -

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am running to set fire to the Ka`ba," he answered, "so that men may henceforward care only for the Lord of the Ka`ba." On another occasion he was holding in his hand a piece of wood alight at both ends. "What are you going to do?" he was asked. "I am going to set Hell on fire with one end and Paradise with the other," he replied, "so that men may concern themselves only with God.' "/1

By the time Shibli died, sufism had completed its formative stage. The goal of the sufi path was God alone, and anything that hindered one from the object of this quest was rejected. Sufis applied an esoteric meaning to verses in the Qur'an which related to repentance, abstinence, renunciation, poverty, patience, trust in God, satisfaction, fear, hope etc. The main aim of their lives was to rid themselves of hypocrisy and lust—to them, latent forms of polytheism. Thus a division grew up between the `ulama,' who administered the Shari'a, and the mystics, who they denounced as ignorant of the law. In turn, sufis criticized the 'ulama' as externalists and formalists who were unaware of the real spirit of the Shari'a. To the sufis, the study of the esoteric was : 'the science of the actions of the interior which depended on an interior organ namely, the heart (al-galb).' To externalists, the heart was only a physical organ of flesh and blood, but to the sufis it was a spiritual organ. An illuminated heart was a mirror in which every divine quality was reflected. Ma'rifa or the gnosis of Hellenistic theosophy was based on a light of divine grace that flashed into the heart. The wearing of woollen garments and patched frocks, a knowledge of the mystical allegories, anecdotes and technical expressions or hypocritical prayers, and fasting, did not lead to mystic illumination. Only when the individual self was lost, the doors to mystic illumination were opened and the Universal Self was found. All true sufis denounced anti nomianism and libertinism. Nevertheless, their language describing divine love unavoidably involved the use of erotic symbolism which was tinged with sensuality. Sufi ethics of love inculcated in mystics and enraptured contemplation resulting in expressions known as shatahat (hybrid utterances). These expressions were not, however, a normal aspect of sufi life; they emanated from what was called sukr (a state of intoxication). In contrast to this was the controlled and disciplined side of sufi life, known as sahw (sobriety). Later the states of sukr and sahw were recognized as two different schools of sufism; the former represented by Bayazid and Hallaj and the latter by Muhasibi and Junaid. What sufis of both schools tended to believe was that, as a rain drop was not annihilated in the ocean, although it ceased to exist individually, similarly the sufi soul in the unitive state was indistinguishable from the Universal Divine50.

/1 Arberry, p. 281; Biographical notes are to be found in Sulami, pp. 346-55; Sarraj, Kitab al-Luma', London, 1963, pp. 395-406; Qushairi, p. 27; Ibn Khallikan, II, no. 215; Nicholson, pp. 155-56; Arberry, pp. 277-86; Ibn al-'Imad, II, p. 338.

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The asceticism and renunciation of the mystics did not cut them off from Muslim society anywhere in the Islamic world. Their example radiated to all sections of the community. Their humane treatment of animals and birds, especially to dogs, regarded as unclean by orthodox Muslims, was noteworthy and it tended to affect their attitude towards all human beings, including non-Muslims and members of the so-called heterodox sects. In general, sufis avoided the courts of their rulers and the company of the governing classes. However, they did not hesitate to remind the élite, whenever the opportunity arose, that the common Muslims had been divinely entrusted to their care.
During the first two centuries of Islam, sufi discipleship had become better organized. Followers gathered around al-Hakim in Tirmiz, Abu'l-Abbas Sayyar in Marw, Qassar in Nishapur, Bayazid in Bastam, Khafif in Shiraz, Sahl in Tustar, and around Kharraz, Muhasibi, Junaid and Nuri in Baghdad./1 This gave rise to the development of sufi sects. Each sect evolved its own framework of mystic practices under the guidance of its director (Shaikh, Pir or Murshid). Their forms of recollection (zikr) and meditation differed; their ideologies were often irreconcilable but there was no hostility among sufis who adhered to the basic framework of the Sharia.
A sect of sufis which was imbued with Hindu, Chinese and Tibetan beliefs of the eternity of the spirit shocked the majority of sufis who believed in the Islamic concept of the spirit./2 The former were known as Hululis. Discussing the theory of the eternity of the spirit, Hujwiri related that Sunnis also believed that the spirit was non-eternal (muhdas), that it existed prior to the formation of the body, but that it could not be transferred from one body to another. God was eternal but His creatures had a finite existence. Therefore it was impossible that the eternal should be mingled with its opposite and fused with it. Hujwiri reminds us that Hululis and other followers of metempsychosis who believed that the spirit was an eternal characteristic of God, stressed that he could never become an attribute of His creatures. Hujwiri added :

'The spirit is created and is under God's command. Anyone who holds another belief is in flagrant error and cannot distinguish what is non-eternal from what is eternal. No saint, if his saintship be sound, can possibly be ignorant of the attributes of God.’/3

/1 According to Hujwiri the sufi sects named after the above Masters were approved ones. He gives a detailed description of each in the Kashf al-Mahjub; Nicholson, pp. 176-260.

/2 When the Quraish idolaters, prompted by the Jews, asked the Prophet Muhammad to explain the nature and essence of the spirit, God in a revelation denied the eternity of the spirit saying. 'The spirit belongs to that which (that is, the creation of which) my Lord command' (Qur'an, XVII, 87). The Muslims believe that the spirit is a substance, rather than an attribute. It is a subtle body, which comes and goes at God's command. To Muslims it is not eternal (gadim). Nicholson, pp. 261-63.

/3 Nicholson, pp. 263-64.

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The orthodox sufis dissociated themselves from the doctrine of hulul which was to become the most convenient and dangerous weapon in the `ulama' armoury with which to denounce and suppress sufism. The movement's esoteric and ascetic practices and its members' indulgence in music and dancing also provided the theologians with opportunities to crush sufi activities. However, the transformation of sufism into an organised religious movement during the eleventh and twelfth centuries was coupled with the appearance of sufi texts in which the major ideas of mysticism were argued, codified and substantiated. This helped enormously to give the movement a firmer, more legitimate foundation on which to develop.

Sufi Literature

In previous pages we have referred to a number of sufi authors. Generally their works were composed for specialists. From the middle of the tenth century onwards, many scholars of Fiqh and Hadis brought their academic training to bear on the study of sufism and wrote texts related to sufi theories and ideas in an attempt to clarify misunderstandings. They were essentially scholars who were also trained in sufism.
One of the earliest of these authors was Abu Said Ahmad ibn Muhammad ibn Ziyad ibn Bishr ibn al-'Arabi. He had been born in Basra, but moved to Mecca, where he remained until his death in 341/ 952-53. Ibn al-Arabi was Junaid's disciple and for about thirty years a Hadis teacher in Mecca. This scholastic training helped ibn al-Arabi in his later work, the Tabaqat al-Nussak. Although this text has not survived, extracts indicate that the author laid a firm foundation for the later sufi literary tradition.
Abu Muhammad Ja`far ibn Nusayr ibn al-Qasim al-Khawass al-Baghdadi al-Khuldi, who died in 348/959-60, was also trained in Hadis. He wrote the Hikayat al-Awliya' (Anecdotes of the Saints), a compendium of mystical subtleties. The work itself has not survived, but the Kitab al-Luma'fi al-Tasawwuf by his pupil, Abu Nasr `Abdu'llah ibn Ali al-Sarraj al-Tusi (d. 378/988-89) still exists and has been critically edited. Abu Sai'd's disciple, Abu Talib Muhammad ibn `Ali 'Atiya al-Makki (d. 386/996-97) wrote the Kitab Qut al-Qulub fi Mu`amalat al-Mahbub, an authoritative description of sufism.
Al-Makki's contemporary, Abu Bakr Muhammad ibn Ishaq al-Kalabazi had great literary gifts. His book, Kitab al-Ta'ruf li Mazhab al-Tasawwuf, is a lucid description of sufi discipline. The author was a native of Bukhara who wrote in Arabic. He died in 388/998-99. His major work, however, was immediately translated into Persian by another Bukhara scholar, Mustamli, who himself died in 434/1042-43.
The earliest known source of biographical details is the Tabaqat al-Sufiyya by `Abdu'r Rahman Muhammad al-Sulami51 of Nishapur. He died in 412/1021-22. Based on stories contained in this work, ‘Abdu'llah
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al-Ansari al-Harawi, who will be discussed separately, delivered lectures on the life and teachings of earlier sufis and on the basis of Ansari's lectures, a new work in Persian emerged, also entitled Tabaqat al-Sufiyya. Sulami's Tabaqat laid the foundations of a genre of biographical literature which classified the sufis of one generation, or three or four decades, under separate chapters, calling them tabaqat (classes). Sulami's models were the biographical dictionaries of narrators or transmitters of the traditions of the Prophet, such as the Kitab al-Tabaqat al-Kabir. Sulami's Haq'iq al-Tafsir gives an important insight into the sufi understanding of Qur'anic teaching. The Hilyat al-Awliya' wa Tabaqat al-Asfiya', by Hafiz Abu Nu'aim Ahmad ibn `Abdu'llah, who died in 430/1038-39, is a remarkable collection of sufi traditions and stories.
A most authoritative study of sufism itself is, the Risala of Abu'l-Qasim Abdu'l-Karim ibn Hawazin al-Qushairi of Nishapur, who died in 465/1072. The work is an effort to express the orthodox nature of sufism, and was undertaken between 437 and 438/1045 and 1046. Qushairi's Risala is an excellent summary of earlier sufi literature written in Arabic. The significance of the work prompted Qushairi's disciple, Abu `Ali Hasan bin Ahmad 'Usmani to translate it into Persian before Qushairi's death in 465/1072. Qushairi wrote other treatises on different subjects of interest to sufis and a commentary on the Qur'an.
Extensive studies equipped Qushairi to define sufi terms authoritatively and at the same time to make them acceptable to a sizable section of later readers. Differentiating between Shari'a and Haqiqa, he writes :

'The Shari'a is concerned with the observance of the outward manifestations of religion [i.e., rites and acts of devotion ('ibadat) and duties (mu'amalat)]; whilst Haqiqa (Reality) concerns inward vision of divine power (mushahadat ar-Rububiyya). Every rite not informed by the spirit of Reality is valueless, and every spirit of Reality not restrained by the Law is incomplete. The Law exists to regulate mankind, whilst the Reality makes us know the dispositions of God. The Law exists for the service of God, whilst the Reality exists for contemplation of Him. The Law exists for obeying what He had ordained, whilst the Reality concerns witnessing and understanding the order He has decreed : the one is outer, the other inner. I heard the learned Abu `Ali ad-Daqqaq say, "The phrase Iyyaka na`budu (Thee we serve) is for sustaining the Law, whilst lyyaka nasta`inl (Thy help we ask) is for affirming the Reality." Know that the Law is the Reality because God ordained it, and the Reality is also the Law because it is the knowledge of God likewise ordained by Him.'/2

/1 The two phrases occur in chapter one. Al-Fatrha, 'The Opening', is regarded as the essence of the Qur'an. It is an essential part of all Muslim prayers.

2/ Qushairi, p. 46; extract translated by J.S. Trimingham, The Sufi orders in Islam, Oxford, 1973, p. 142.

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Another prolific sufi author was Abu'l-Hasan `Ali bin `Usman bin `Ali al-Ghaznawi al-Jullabi al-Hujwiri. Of his many works only his greatest, the Kashf al-Mahjub, has survived.
The most outstanding sufi author, however, was Abu Hamid Muhammad bin Muhammad Ghazali (450/1058-505/1111), from Tus near Mashhad. Educated at Tus, Gurgan and Nishapur, sometime before 1091 Ghazali underwent a period of deep scepticism which prompted him to search for a more meaningful way of life. From 1091 to 1095 he was a professor at the Nizamiyya seminary in Baghdad, which had originally been founded by the Saljûq vizier, Nizamu'l-Mulk Tusi (b. c. 1018, died 1092). Political reasons, as well as his personal aversion to the legal wranglings of the `ulama', forced Ghazali to resign in 1095. From that time until 1106, he lived in Syria. During this period Ghazali also travelled to Mecca, visited Alexandria briefly and went to Tus. All this time he lived like a sufi.
Ghazali's greatest work, the Ihya' al-'Ulum al-Din (Revival of the Religious Sciences), was the literary offspring of these years. In 1106, he accepted the post of lecturer at another Nizamiyya seminary, this time in Nishapur. Now he was both an `alim and a sufi, with a growing conviction that he was personally destined to lead a revival in Islam of its earlier pristine purity (mujaddid). Before his death, Ghazali once more retired to the life of a sufi in his own khanqah at Tus. But the principal mission of his later years was to reconcile the life of the madrasa, or seminary, to that of the khanqah or monastery.
Following his period of scepticism, Ghazali studied the Arabic Neo-platonism of al-Farabi (d. 339/950) and Ibn Sina (370/980-428/1037), and wrote a work on their philosophy called the Maqasid al-Falasifa. In 488/1095 he compiled a detailed criticism of the philosophical theories which he considered either inconsistent with their authors' claims or irreconcilable with Sunni beliefs. He called it the Tahafut al-Falasifa (Incoherence of the Philosophers). Ghazali, however, did not neglect Aristotelian logic and wrote two books justifying its use for religious purposes.
The Ihya' al-' Ulum is a detailed examination of `ibadat (worship), `adat (social customs), muhlikat (vices or character faults) and munjiyat (virtues leading to salvation). Ghazali himself abridged the Ihya al-'Ulum in a Persian edition, and added some new material in order to give further impact to his teachings. The new work, was given the title, the Kimiya'-i Sa'adat (Alchemy of Felicity). Ghazali's other writings on sufism include Mishkat al-Anwar (Niche of Lights) and the Bidayat al-Hidaya (Beginning of Guidance).
To Ghazali the mystic path included both intellectual and contemplative activities. He acquired a background to the former by reading the works of Haris al-Muhasibi and Abu Talib al-Makki, and also through the various anecdotes about Abu Yazid Bastami and Shibli. Convinced
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that mysticism could not be approached through the mind alone, Ghazali advocated immediate experience (zawq, literally `tasting') attained through ecstasy and a moral rejuvenation. Ghazali's own ascetic exercises opened for him the door to mysticism. He describes the mystic path, or Tariqa this way:

` ... purity which is the first condition of it (the way). . . is the purification of the heart completely from what is other than God ... the key to it, which ... corresponds to the opening act of adoration in prayer, is the sinking of the heart completely in the recollection of God; and the end of it is complete absorption (fana') in God. ... this is the end. ..to those first steps which almost come within the sphere of choice and personal responsibility .. .

With this first stage of the 'way' there begin the revelations and visions. (They) ... behold angels and the spirits of the prophets; .. . Later a higher stage is reached ... they come to stages in the 'way' which it is hard to describe in language ... In general what they manage to achieve is nearness to God ... He who has attained the mystic state need do no more than say :

Of the things I do not remember, what was, was;

Think it good ; do not ask an account of it.' /1

Through his own experiences with the mystic path, Ghazali claimed to have achieved the true and unique nature of revelation. This, according to him, was not correctly understood by either scholastic theologians or philosophers.
Ghazali emphasized that heaven and earth were created through God's will as embodied in His command : 'Be.' He is both transcendent and immanent, but He is not the Absolute of philosophers but the personal God of the Muslims. Singleminded sincerity in prayers by the annihilation of everything else in the heart created a situation in which God's love preceded that of His servant; the latter's qualities were transformed and he became God-like. Ghazali reminded the worshipper :

`God differs from (earthly) kings for all His unique majesty and greatness, in inspiring His creatures to ask and make their plea to Him, and He differs from the sultans (of this world) in opening the door and lifting the veil and giving leave to His servants to enter into confidential intercourse ... and He does not limit Himself to permission, but He shews His kindness by inspiring desire for this and calling (His servant) to Him. And others, kings who are but

/1 Al-Ghazali, al Munqiz min az-zalal, `Deliverance from Error', tr., by W.M. Watt, The faith and practice of al-Ghazali, London, 1963, pp. 60-1.

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creatures, do not freely grant a private audience except after the offer of gifts and bribery.'/1

Ghazali's comments on the beliefs of Abu Yazid and Hallaj are a significant reminder to mystics that the words of passionate lovers in the state of ecstasy should not be spoken but remain concealed.
Ghazali's principal contribution to sufism was in the great emphasis he laid on the observance of the outward form of religious activities. The consummation of sufism, according to him, was impossible if associated with a neglect of formal observance. At the same time he insisted that an understanding of the religio-social ethics of Islam necessitated an adherence to its spiritual aspects.
Ghazali condemned different forms of pride, vanity, self-conceit, self-deception, envy, jealousy, anger, malice, love of wealth and status. But like al-Muhasibi, it was hypocrisy, which he considered to be a form of polytheism, that was singled out for his most scathing attack. Repentance involved an expiation for past evil and a simultaneous examination of one's inner life. The virtue of patience was also highly recommended by Ghazali; worship of God did not merely include praise of Him but the correct use of what had been endowed by Him.

Sufi poetry and political changes in Iran

It was the prose works of tenth and eleventh century sufis which had the greatest effect in fashioning sufism into an orthodox mould. However, the sensitivity and euphony of transcendental love, as it led to annihilation, found its greatest expression through poetry, particularly that written in Persian.
The ruba'is (quatrains) ascribed to Shaikh Abu Said bin Abi'l-Khair were, in fact, the great poetical legacy of his predecessors. It was remarkable that such a body of sufi poetical works were available to Shaikh Abu Said, which he in turn recited in lectures and bequeathed after his death to future generations. Not only in his literary role but also in his reorganization of khanqah life did the Shaikh prove himself a pioneer.
Abu Said bin Abi'l-Khair's rise to prominence augured well for sufism. His own prestige helped to firmly establish the popularity of sufism amidst the new political and orthodox religious movements of the eleventh century in Iran and Central Asia. This was the era of the decline of the political power of the `Abbasids and the ascendancy of semi-independent and independent monarchies from amongst Turkic dynasties of Iranian origin.
The earliest ruler to establish an independent kingdom was Tahir bin al-Husain. He founded the Tahirid dynasty in Khurasan which ruled from 205/821 to 259/873. The Tahirids were of Iranian descent and

1/Al-Ghazali, lhya al-'Ulum al-Din', extract in An early mystic of Baghdad, p. 276.

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orthodox Sunnis and their support came mainly from Iranian and Arab military sections and the landed classes. The longest surviving dynasty, although it finally lost independence and was replaced, was the Saffarid. Founded in Sistan in 253/867, by Ya`quub bin Lays al-Saffar, a coppersmith, it expanded throughout modern Afghanistan to Kabul, close to the very fringes of the Indian sub-continent. In turn, the dynasty yielded to the suzerainty of the Samanids, the Ghaznawids and the Mongols, the latter continued to rule the Sistan region until 885/1480.
Between 204/819 and 395/1005, the Samanids ruled Khurasan and Transoxiana with their capital at Bukhara. By the end of the tenth century the Turkic Qarakhanids and the Ghaznawids had smashed their power and the river Oxus became the boundary line between the two powers. The Qarakhanids ruled in Transoxiana and eastern Turkistan between 382/992 and 607/1211. Ghaznawid power was established by Sebuktigin (366/977-387/997) whose career began as a governor of the Samanids. Yamain al-Dawla Mahmud (388/998-421/1030) established Ghaznawid rule over Khurasan, Afghanistan and the Panjab. Before his death, Mahmud was able to conquer parts of western Iran, including Rayy and Hamadan. His son, Mas`ud (1030-40), lost Khurasan and Khwarazm to the Saljuqs, and in turn the Ghurids of Central Afghanistan crushed the Ghaznawids. The first return blow of the Ghurids was delivered by `Ala'u'd-Din who defeated Bahram Shah (1118-52) in two hotly contested battles. As a result Bahram Shah was forced to flee to the Panjab. The devastation and plunder of Ghazna by `Ala'u'd-Din's troops prompted his nickname, Jahan Suz (Incendiary of the World). Under Ghiyas'ud-Din Muhammad of Ghur (558/1163-599/1203) and his brother Shihabu'd-Din (later Mu'izzu'd-Din Muhammad 599/1203-602/1206) the Ghurid empire, expanded to Bengal in eastern India. The Ghurids weakened the power of the Khwarazm-Shah of Khiva and made serious inroads into the Khurasan region. The Ghurids' enduring achievement was the conquest of northern India.
The Saljuqs, who expelled the Ghaznawids from the Khurasan region, were Turkic tribes from the Steppes north of the Caspian and Aral seas. In 429/1038 their leader, Tughril, (1038-63) in his capital Nishapur, proclaimed himself Sultan of Khurasan, at the same time becoming a staunch supporter of Sunni orthodoxy. Under the Saljuqs, the Perso-Islamic pattern of politics in this area crystallized. Its intellectual and political champion was the great vizier, Nizamu'l-Mulk Tusi. The Saljuq government was run by an Iranian bureaucracy and the army by Turkic slave commanders. A number of orthodox intellectuals, including Ghazali, popularized the idea of the interdependence of Muslim kingship and Sunni orthodoxy. According to Ghazali, God sent prophets to lead His people back to Him. Kingship was, in turn designed to prevent aggressive behaviour between people. Monarchs, he wrote, were entrusted with the material well-being of God's servants. Their unique
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position endowed them with a special kind of divine light (Tarr).
Under Chingiz, the rise of the Mongols marked the end of Turkic power in Transoxiana. In 1221 the last Khwarazm-Shah, Jalalu'd-Din, was driven by Chingiz across the Indus, and in 1256 the Il-khanid branch of the Mongols seized Baghdad, assassinating the last `Abbasid, al-Musta`sim, two years later. The capital of the newly-established Il-khanid empire was Tabriz. However, the Mamluk Turks of Egypt managed to halt the Mongol advance on Syria, at the same time destroying the prevailing myth of Mongol invincibility.
Rawandi, a Saljuq historian in Anatolia and Turkey, wrote of a supernatural power which spoke from the Meccan Ka'ba to Abu Hanifa, the founder of the Hanafi school of Fiqh, promising him that as long as the sword remained in the hands of the Turks, the Hanafis would not perish./1
The political upheavals from the tenth to the thirteenth centuries reinforced sufi beliefs in the transitory nature of the world and the necessity to remain both apart and independent from it. By contrast, the `ulama,' dependent on the state economically, became embroiled in political activities. Sufis were now in a position to remain independent from the government for merchants and craft guilds assumed positions as their patrons. The intimate relationship between guilds and sufi khanqahs can be seen in stories connected with the life of Abu Said bin Abi'l-Khair.
Having dealt with the major political changes between the tenth and thirteenth centuries in order to give a background to the sufi movement, we shall now return to a description of sufi poetry, khanqahs and the movement's leading figures. To illustrate the life of mystics in this period, four sufi poets will be discussed briefly.
Abu Said52 Fazlu'llah bin Abi'l-Khair, the great Iranian sufi and a transmitter of Persian poetry, was born on 1 Muharram 357/7 December 967 in Mayhana, the present Me'ana, between Abiward and Sarakhs, in Khurasan. His father, Babu Bu'l-Khair, was a druggist as well as a sufi. Although there were numerous ribats (hospices) and khanqahs scattered throughout Khurasan, many sufis in Mayhana, Abu Sa`id's father included, preferred to live, and hold sama' rituals, in their own houses. At the request of his mother, as a boy, Abu Said was taken to the house of a sufi where a sama ` party was being held. There the following quatrain, sung by a qawwal or musician, made a deep and lasting impression on him :

`God gives the dervish love—and love is woe ;

By dying near and dear to Him they grow.

The generous youth will freely yield his life,

The man of God cares naught for worldly show./2

/1 Rabat al-Sudur, London, 1921, pp. 13, 17.

/2 R.A. Nicholson, Studies in Islamic mysticism, Cambridge, 1967, p. 3_

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Abu Sa`id obtained a religious education at Mayhana, Marw and Sarakhs. Although he learnt Fiqh, Qur'anic exegesis and Hadis, he remained profoundly devoted to Sufism. Abu'l-Qasim Bishr-i Yasin of Mayhana was his first guide in mysticism and filled him with a strong belief in the disinterested love of God. He requested his pupil to learn by heart the following Hadis:

'God said to me on the night of my Ascension, O Muhammad ! as for those who would draw nigh to Me, their best means ... is by performance of the obligations which I have laid upon them. My servant continually seeks to win My favour by works of supererogation until I love him; and when I love him, I am to him an ear and an eye and a hand and a helper : through Me he hears, and through Me he sees, and through Me he takes.'

Bishr also suggested that Abu Said recite the following quatrain, in order to be able to converse with God :

`Without Thee, O Beloved, I cannot rest;

Thy goodness towards me I cannot reckon.

Tho' every hair on my body becomes a tongue,

A thousandth part of the thanks due to Thee I cannot tell.'/1

After Bishr died in 380/990, Abu Said continued training under Abu'l-Fazl Muhammad bin Hasan al-Sarakhsi at Sarakhs. His teacher's influence made Abu Said abandon his formal education. Abu'l-Fazl recorded that Abu Said obtained a khirqa (a cloak which marked sufi initiation) from the celebrated mystic writer, al-Sulami. He also received another khirqa, this time from an Amul sufi, Abu'l-`Abbas al-Qassab.
Abu Said spent about seven years living as a hermit and later practised ascetic exercises in a ribat-i kuhan, an old deserted ribat. His father's description of Abu Said's penance is valuable as it describes a unique spiritual practice.

'My son ... walked on until he reached the rihat-i kuhan. He entered it and shut the gate behind him, while I went up on the roof. I saw him go into a chapel which was in the ribat, and close the door. Looking through the chapel window, I waited to see what would happen. There was a stick lying on the floor, and it had a rope fastened to it. He took up the stick and tied the end of the rope to his foot. Then, laying the stick across the top of a pit that was at the corner of the chapel, he slung himself into the pit head downwards, and began to recite the Qur'an. He remained in that posture until

/1 R.A. Nicholson, Studies in Islamic mysticism, Cambridge, 1967, p. 5.

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daybreak, when, having recited the whole Qur'an, he raised himself from the pit, replaced the stick where he had found it, opened the door, came out of the chapel, and commenced to perform his ablution in the middle of the ríbat. I descended from the roof, hastened home, and slept until he came in.'/1

The following passage is Abu Sa'id's own summary of his self-mortifications :

'When I was a novice, I bound myself to do eighteen things : I fasted continually; I abstained from unlawful food; I practised recollection (zikr) uninterruptedly; I kept awake at night; I never reclined on the ground; I never slept but in a sitting posture; I sat facing the Ka`ba; I never leaned against anything; I never looked at a handsome youth or at women whom it would have been unlawful for me to see unveiled; I did not beg; I was content and resigned to God's will; I always sat in the mosque and did not go into the market, because the Prophet said that the market is the filthiest of places and the mosque the cleanest. In all my acts I was a follower of the Prophet. Every four-and-twenty hours I completed a recitation of the Qur'an. In my seeing I was blind, in my hearing deaf, in my speaking dumb. For a whole year I conversed, with no one. People called me a lunatic, and I allowed them to give me that name, relying on the Tradition that a man's faith is not made perfect until he is supposed to be mad. I performed everything that I had read or heard of as having been done or commanded by the Prophet.'/2

Every available means to crush the instinct of his nafs or lower self was adopted by Abu Said. In order to achieve self-abasement, he performed various services to the poor such as bring them water, and helping them in heavy labouring. For the dervishes, he would clean their cells, lavatories and privies. Feeling that begging was the most difficult and humbling task of all, Abu Said would ask for food for his fellow sufis. Through this experience he came to believe that the shortest way to God was in extending material comfort to his fellow Muslims./3
Around 415/1024, Abu Said settled in Nishapur. There he became a sufi preacher attracting large audiences. On one occasion, the number of sufis in his khanqah was estimated as eighty travellers and forty permanent residents. Abu Sa`id's stay in Nishapur upset the Karramis/4

/1 R.A. Nicholson, Studies in Islamic mysticism, Cambridge, 1967, pp. 13-4.

/2 ibid, p. 15.

/3 Muhammad bin Munawwar, Asraru't-Tan'hid, Tehran, 2^nd edition, 1348/1969, pp. 34-7.

/4 A Sunni sect which was very popular in Khurasan around 370/980-81. The Karrami leader, Muhammad bin Ibrahim Símjur, prompted Mahmud of Ghazna to persecute a large number of the lsma'ili Shi'is. Their main centre was in Nishapur.

and other theologians, including the Shi`is, who wrote to Mahmud of Ghazna with the following complaint:
`A certain man has come hither from Mayhana and pretends to be a sufi. He preaches sermons but does not quote the Traditions of the Prophet. He holds sumptuous feasts and music is played by his orders, whilst the young men dance and eat sweetmeats and roasted fowls and all kinds of fruit. He declares that he is an ascetic, but this is neither asceticism nor sufism. Multitudes have joined him and are being led astray. Unless measures be taken to repair it, the mischief will soon become universal.'/1
The Sultan ordered leading Shafi'i and Hanafi `ulama' to make a thorough investigation of Abu Said and, if guilty, to punish him according to the Shari'a. This tended to disturb the equanimity of the Nishapur sufis, but not the Shaikh's. Through his telepathic powers, he was aware of the proposed inquiry. A sumptuous feast was duly ordered and the Shaikh's indifference to worldly authorities, coupled by his supernatural powers, succeeded in stunning his opponents. Feeling trapped, the `ulama' decided to drop their case against Shaikh Abu Said. However, the latter's extravagant spending and entertainments involving music and dancing, which were often attended by young boys, shocked many sufis. Among them was al-Qushairi, the author of the Risala, who had spent his whole life attempting to reconcile orthodoxy and the sufi movement. The Shaikh's biographers however, mention a number of stories in which the two sufis were reconciled through Abu Said's use of telepathy.
The personal life of the Shaikh also amazed many in Nishapur. Sometimes he wore wool, sometimes silk. Once Abu Said shocked his audience

The founder of the sect was Abu 'Abdu'llah Muhammad bin Karram of Sistan who died in Jerusalem in c. 255/869. The following were the chief tenets of the Karramiya : ' ... the Divine Being is a Substance (jawhar), for which some of his followers substituted Body (jism), though without human members, and in contact (mumassa, for which the euphemism Mulaqat was substituted) with the Throne, which is located in space. This was apparently a deduction from the Qur'anic 'ala'l-'arshi 'stawa (VII, 55; X, 3; XIII, 2; XX, 5; etc.), and, indeed, the rest of his theology would seem to have been an endeavour to work the Qur'anic texts into certain parts of the Aristotelian philosophy, notably the distinction between substance and accident, and that between dynamis and energeia. Thus his followers could maintain that God was `speaking' before He spoke, and could be worshipped before there were any worshippers. The doctrine of the eternity of the world was reconciled with the Qur'anic creation by some subtle expedients; God, he held, was subject to certain Accidents, such as willing, perceiving, speaking, coming in contact ; over such accidents He has power, but not over the world and the objects therein which were created not by His Will, but by the word kun. Thus, it would seem, the tense in kun fa-yaku uu could have its proper meaning. H.A.R. Gibb and J.H. Krames, Shorter encyclopaedia of Islam, Leiden, 1961, p. 223.

1/ Studies in Islamic mysticism, p. 29.

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by declaring, like Hallaj’: 'there is none other than God in this robe.' At the same time, according to his biographer, Abu Said pushed his forefinger through his cloak.
The anecdotes of Abu Sa'id's luxurious feasts, in which thousands of candles were burnt during the day, give some indication of the amounts both available, and offered, to sufis by merchants and other devotees at that time. Often former traders and other wealthy disciples, before becoming ascetics, would give all their possessions to a khanqah of their choice. Sometimes Shaikh Abu Said would send his servant, Hasan Mu'addib to raise money for his extravagances from his disciples, and on occasions, from his enemies. He contracted huge debts which were invariably paid by visiting merchant caravans. However, the Shaikh was opposed to a fixed source of income—nothing was accumulated for future use and everything was given away or used the same day it was received. Moreover, the Shaikh took care that his neighbours, and often people from the town, shared the pleasures of his entertainment.
In Nishapur, Ibn Sina (Avicenna), the philosopher, came into contact with the Shaikh. They had many lengthy conversations and some of their exchanges are preserved in the form of correspondence. Ibn Sina's mystic approach to the soul was the subject of a long odes and was a recurring point of dispute between the two.
Sometime before 425/1033-34, Shaikh Abu Sa'id left Nishapur intending to make a hajj. Upon reaching Kharqan, he was dissuaded by the sufi Abu'l-Hasan Kharqani. Abu Said then travelled to Bastam, Damghan and Rayy, finally returning to Mayhana. He spent the rest of his life there, dying on 4 Sha'ban 440/12 January 1049.
Before the Shaikh's death, the Saljuqs had conquered Khurasan. He managed to maintain amicable relations with Tughril (429/1038-455/ 1063) and was reported as having prophesied that Nizamu'l-Mulk would become a great vizier. Here is an interesting story related by Abu Said about Mahmud of Ghazna.

'A high official of Mahmud saw the Sultan in a dream and asked after his health. Mahmud answered: "There is no place for any sultan here. I am nothing here. The Sultan is God the Most High—. Everything said in the world was wrong." The officer asked Mahmud to tell him of the treatment meted out to him (from God). Mahmud replied : "I am a prisoner here and have to account for every minor thing that happened during my life. The treasury was enjoyed by someone else, grief and lamentation have befallen me." /2

/1 E.G. Browne, A literary history of Persia, II, Cambridge, 1964, pp. 110-11 ; Irij Afshar ed. Halat wa Sukhanan Shaikh Abu Said Abu'l-Khair Mihni, Tehran, 1349, Iranian era/ 1970, pp. 113-21.

/2 Asraru't-Tawhid, p. 268.

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This story was used by the Shaikh to illustrate his own attitude towards wealth, that is, that it should be used for philanthropic purposes only. When a disciple performed an act of kindness to a dervish, he observed that it was better than a hundred genuflexions during prayers; if he gave him a mouthful of food, it was more praiseworthy than an entire night spent praying. The Shaikh believed God's men were not confined to mosques alone, they were in taverns, too. He described it this way:

'The true saint goes in and out amongst the people and eats and sleeps with them and buys and sells in the market and marries and takes part in social intercourse and never forgets God for a single moment.'/1

The following are among some of Shaikh Abu Said's definitions on sufism:

`Sufism is two things: to look in one direction and to live in one way. Sufism is a name attached to its object; when it reaches its ultimate perfection, it is God ... (the end of sufism is that, for the sufi, nothing should exist except God).

The sufi is he who is pleased with all that God does, in order that God may be pleased with all that he does.

Sufism is patience under God's commanding and forbidding, and acquiescence and resignation in the events determined by divine providence. Sufism is the will of the Creator concerning His creatures when no creature exists.

To be a sufi is to cease from taking trouble (takalluf); and there is no greater trouble for thee than thine own self (tu'i-yi tu), for when thou art occupied with thyself, thou remainest away from God.

Even this, sufism, is polytheism (shirk).

... (it) consists in guarding the soul from what is other than God ; and there is nothing other than God.'/2

Unimpressed by miraculous feats of certain sufis, Abu Sa'id compared those who claimed to walk on water with frogs and waterfowls, and those who claimed to fly through the air with flies and insects, all of whom were similarly mobile./3 To him the first stage of sufi discipline was self mortification and the last, contemplation. When the unveiling was completed, ascetic practices and religious forms would not be necessary, for sufis lived in a state of permanent communion with God. There was no hell but selfhood, no paradise but selflessness53.
Shaikh Abu Sa`id's efforts to re-organize sufi life were far-reaching. To him sympathy and compassion, rather than punishment, were the

/1 Studies in Islamic mysticism, p. 55.

/2 ibid, pp. 49-50. /3 ibid, p. 67.

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most effective means to correct errors in disciples. He also popularized a high regard for spiritual directors and a belief in the power of their intercession on behalf of followers and friends.

Whoever has seen me and has done good work for my family and disciples will be under the shadow of my intercession hereafter. I have prayed God to forgive my neighbours on the left, on the right, in front and behind, and He has forgiven them for my sake ... My neighbours are Balkh and Marw and Nishapur and Herat. I am not speaking of those who live here (Mayhana). . I need not say a word on behalf of those around me. If any one has mounted an ass and passed by the end of this street, or has passed my house or will pass it, or if the light of my candle falls on him, the least thing that God will do with him is that He will have mercy upon him.’/1

In order to regularize behaviour in different khanqahs, Shaikh Abu Said outlined the following rules of discipline:

1. Let them (the inmates) keep their garments clean and themselves always pure.

2. Let them not sit in the mosque or in any holy place for the sake of gossiping.

3. In the first instance let them perform their prayers in common.

4. Let them pray much at night.

5. At dawn let them ask forgiveness of God and call unto Him.

6. In the morning let them read as much of the Qur'an as they can, and let them not talk until the sun has risen.

7. Between evening prayers and bedtime prayers let them occupy themselves with repeating some litany (Wirdi-u-zikri).

8. Let them welcome the poor and needy and all who join their company, and let them bear patiently the trouble of (waiting upon) them.

9. Let them not eat anything save in participation with one another.

10. Let them not absent themselves without receiving permission from one another.'/2

Large numbers of visitors came to the Shaikh's khanqah until 548/1153 when the invasion of the Ghuzz Turkic tribes completely devastated the region. Many of the Shaikh's own family were massacred by their conquerors.
One of Shaikh Abu Sa`id's ten most eminent disciples, Baba Said Dust Dada, founded a khanqah in Baghdad. After being assigned the area of Baghdad as his spiritual domain, Dust Dada arrived there from

/1 Studies in Islamic mysticism, pp. 64-5. /2 ibid, p. 46.

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Mayhana. He applied to the Caliph, al-Qa'im, (422/1031-467/1075), for land to build a khanqah on the banks of the Tigris, across the river in an uninhabited region. After receiving permission, a plot of about 200 square yards was selected by Dust Dada and he began collecting in a small bag, building material from dilapidated buildings nearby. Meanwhile a caravan of merchants and sufis arrived in Baghdad and at his request, camped on the land. Dust Dada would take his zanbil /l into the town to beg food, and then offered it to the campers. At prayer times he would lead. Impressed with his charity and self-sacrifice, members of the caravan returned his hospitality by giving him a considerable amount of money. After their departure, Dust Dada proceeded to build a khanqah with a big covered platform, a jama `at-khana (assembly hall), kitchen and lavatory. Other buildings in the complex were a large arcaded mosque and a number of cells. When the caravan returned, Dust Dada again invited its members to his khanqah. They were amazed to find so many elegant buildings erected in such a short time. As before, the Shaikh begged food for his guests, and they again repaid him liberally. This enabled him to complete the khanqah by adding a hammam (bath), more rooms and assembly halls. Later Dust Dada erected a bazaar of shops and a caravanserai in front of the khanqah's gateway.
This is the first detailed description of a khanqah complex which is available at the present time, however, all khanqahs were not built on such a grand scale; a few cells and a jama'at-khana, plus a mosque and a lavatory, were generally their main components. The fame of Dust Dada's khanqah attracted many sufis, and most of the people of Baghdad became his disciples. The Caliph, accompanied by his chief officials, also visited the khanqah where he was greatly impressed by the sight of more than fifty sufis praying in the jama’ at-khana. It appears that after Dust Dada had made the Caliph his disciple, the latter entrusted the welfare of the all Baghdadi Muslims to him. This increased Dust Dada's popularity with the local people, and many requested him to act as a go-between when requesting favours from the Caliph, who built himself a palace near the khanqah complex. Dust Dada became known as the Shaikh al-Shuyukh, or chief sufi, of Baghdad. So great was his prestige that he was revered like a Caliph./2
Although Dust Dada's influence was profound, it was also fleeting. The emergence of other sufi orders in Baghdad eclipsed the fame of his successors. The story of Dust Dada is significant, however, as it serves to illustrate the interrelation between khanqahs, caravans, merchants and sufis.
Among early Persian sufi poets whose biographical details and writings

/1 Literally a basket made of palm leaves, technically a bag hung across the shoulder to collect food obtained by begging locally. The custom is obviously of Buddhist origin.

/2 Asraru't-Tawhid, pp. 362-67.

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appear reasonably authentic was Baba Tahir54. The major part of his life was spent in the area between Hamadan and Luristan. This region was ruled by the Shi`i Buwayhids /l or Buyids. In 447/1055 when the Saljuq conqueror, Sultan Tughril, entered Hamadan, Baba Tahir was still alive, and is reported to have encountered Tughril, reproaching him saying: 'Oh Turk, how are you going to act towards the Muslims?'/2 In his verses Baba Tahir referred to himself as a wandering dervish (darwish-i qalandar), with no roof over his head, sleeping with a stone for a pillow, constantly harassed by spiritual anxieties.
From his writings Baba Tahir appears to be deeply in sympathy with the realities of life. He admitted that his eyes and heart found it difficult to detach themselves from the things of the world and that his soul was restless.
He cried out :

'Art thou a lion, a panther, Oh my Heart,

thou who are continually struggling with me.

If thou fallest into my hands, I shall spill t

hy blood to see what colour thou art...'

One of Baba Tahir's mystic works, consisting of his Arabic maxims, al-Kalimat al-Qisar (Brief Sayings), has been published. The subjects he deals with are knowledge ('ilm), gnosis (ma`rifa), inspiration and penetration (ilham and firasa), reason and the soul (`aql and nafs), this world and beyond (dunya and `ugba), the musical performance (sama'), recollection (zikr), sincerity and spiritual retreat (ikhlas and i’tikaf). Later authors wrote several Arabic and Persian commentaries on the aphorisms contained in this work. V. Minorsky selected the following examples as an illustration of Baba Tahir's beliefs :

Real knowledge is the intuition after the knowledge of certainty has been acquired ... Ecstasy (wajd) is the loss (of the knowledge) of existing things and is the existence of lost things.'

'He who has been the witness of predestination (coming) from God remains without movement and without volition.'

'He whom ignorance has slain has never lived, he whom the zikr has killed will never die.'/3

/1 The rise of this dynasty synchronized with the establishment of the Samanids in Khurasan ; They first ruled in the Iranian plateau and then in Iraq. The founders of the dynasty came from the Daylamite region of the highlands of Gilan. From 320/932 to 454/1062, they ruled in Iran and Iraq, owing nominal allegiance to the 'Abbasid Caliphs. Mahmud of Ghazna weakened the Buwayhids, but their power was later revived. It was, however, the Saljuq, Tughril, 1038-63, who occupied Baghdad in 447/1055, and claimed to have liberated the Caliph from the overlordship of the Shi'i 'heretics.'

/2 Rawandi, Rahatu's-Sudur, London, 1921, p. 99.

/3 Encyclopaedia of Islam (new edition), 1, p. 841.

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However, the sufi poet whose impact was the greatest during the eleventh century was Khwaja Abu Ismail `Abdu'llah Ansari of Herat. He was born in the Herat citadel on 2 Sha`ban 396/4 May 1006 and died in the same city on 22 Zu'l-hijja 481/8 March 1089. His tomb in Gazirgah, about three miles north-east of Herat was first rebuilt by the Timurid ruler, Shah Rukh, (807/1405-850/1447) about 829/1425 and later was further embellished by other Timurid princes.
Herat, a city on the Hari Rud, in what is now western Afghanistan, then formed part of Khurasan, having submitted to the Arab governor of Khurasan in the middle of the seventh century AD. Strategically located on the trade routes between the Mediterranean Sea and India and China, Herat proved a natural source from which the fame of its leading sufi was to spread widely. Ansari was a trained theologian but after his conversion to sufism, disputes with the 'ulama' resulted in several attempts on his life. Finally his prestige and popularity helped to prevent further attacks. A large number of disciples were attracted to his lectures and he became known as Shaikhu'l-Islam (Leader of the Muslims). He was also known simply as the Pir, or spiritual director, of Herat.
Ansari's works both in prose and poetry, are of great significance amongst sufi literary works. His Manazil al-Sa'irin is more original than Qushairi's Risala. Ansari's Tabaqat al-Sufiyya was a rejuvenated work on Sulami's earlier book on which it was based. Jami's Nafahatu'l-Uns (Whispers of Confidence) was to later incorporate the whole of Harawi's Tabaqat al-Sufiyya and to up-date it. Ansari's short tracts on sufism represented a peak in the expression of sufi asceticism. In these tracts his style was unique; he joined short sentences of rhymed prose, interspersing them with verses, mostly of his own composition. Ansari's Munajat or Invocations, the greatest masterpiece written in Persian, features a conversation between God and a soul. Indeed it is unique in mystic literature. E.G. Browne's translation of a small section from the Munajat is as follows :

O God! Two pieces of iron are taken from one spot, one becomes a horse-shoe and one a king's mirror. O God! Since Thou hadst the Fire of Separation, why didst Thou raise up the Fire of Hell? O God! I fancied that I knew Thee, but now I have cast my fancies into the water. O God! I am helpless and dizzy; I neither know what I have, nor have what I know!'

Here are two quatrains, which have been attributed to Ansari:

'Great shame it is to deem of high degree

Thyself, or over others reckon thee;

Strive to be like the pupil of thine eye--

To see all else, but not thyself to see.'

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'I need no wine nor cup: I'm drunk with Thee;

Thy quarry I, from other snares set free:

In Ka`ba and Pagoda Thee I seek:

Ka`ba, Pagoda, what are these to me?'/1

The following extracts from Jogendra Singh's translation of Ansari's Munajat shows the typical ideas which were crystallizing in the sufi movement during the eleventh century:

'Know that the Prophet built an external Ka`ba

Of Clay and water,

And an inner Ka`ba in life and heart.

The outer Ka`ba was built by Abraham,

The Holy;

The inner is sanctified by the glory of

God Himself.'

'On the path of God

Two places of worship mark the stages.

The material temple,

And the temple of the heart.

Make your best endeavour

To worship at the temple of the heart.'

`Fasting only means the saving of bread,

Formal prayer is the business

Of old men and women,

Pilgrimage is a pleasure of the world.

Conquer the heart,

Its subjection is conquest indeed.'

`If thou canst walk on water

Thou art no better than a straw.

If thou canst fly in air

Thou art no better than a fly.

Conquer thy heart

That thou mayest become somebody.'

'One man spends seventy years in learning

And fails to kindle the light.

Another, all his life learns nothing

And hears one word

And is consumed by that word.'

79

'On this path argument is of no avail;

Seek, and thou mayest find the truth.'

`Helpless in childhood,

Intoxicated in youth,

And decrepit in old age;

Then, O helpless one, when couldst thou

Worship God?"

During the twelfth and thirteenth centuries sufi poetry reached its highest peak in the form of masnawis or narrative poems. The three greatest exponents of this style were the sufi poets Sana'i, 'Attar and Rumi (or Maulawi).
Of these, Abu'l-Majd Majdud Sana'i55, was born in Ghazna, or Balkh in the fifth/eleventh century and believed to have died in Ghazna in 525/ 1130-31. Browne, however, has suggested he died later, around 1150. Early in his career Sana'i was a court poet, competing with a galaxy of other Persian poets who wrote panegyrics to the Ghaznawid sultans. After some time, he relinquished his post, retiring to the life of a dervish.
As a means of expressing his feelings on meditation and the contemplative life, Sana'i used ghazals or couplets. His best-known epic is the Hadigatu'l-Hagiga wa Shari'atu't-Tariqa (The Garden of Truth and Law of the Way), from which a parable was quoted in the beginning of this chapter. Through anecdotes and allegories, Sana'i traced sufi theories on God, Muhammad, reason, gnosis, a carefree trust in God, heaven, philosophy and love. At the same time he related some of his own experiences.
The following extract from a ghazal by Sana'i illustrates the sufi way of expressing love of the Divine.

'That heart which stands aloof from pain and woe

No seal of signature of Love can show :

Thy Love, thy Love I chose, and as for wealth,

If wealth be not my portion, be it so!

For wealth, I ween, pertaineth to the World;

Ne'er can the World and Love together go!

So long as Thou dost dwell within my heart

Ne'er can my heart become the thrall of Woe.'/2

Although Sana'i's work, The Garden of Truth and Law of the Way, was dedicated to Sultan Bahram Shah of Ghazna (1118-52), the author was not hoping for temporal rewards from his ruler. Perso-Islamic

/1 A literary history of Persia, II, p. 70.

/1 The Persian mystics, pp. 35-6.

/2 Literary history of Persia, II, p. 322.

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political theory had made the role of Sultan an indispensable factor in the preservation of social stability and the freedom of Islamic practices. Sana'i was therefore not in a position to ignore his earthly ruler.
Faridu'd-Din Abu Hamid Muhammad `Attar, the second great sufi poet, was originally a pharmacist and medical-practitioner. His dates are the subject of heated disputes amongst scholars. It would seem that he was born in 537/1142-43, either in Nishapur or its neighbourhood, that he lived mostly in Nishapur and that he died there in 617/1220, the year the Mongols invaded the town.
`Attar was a prolific writer. Modern scholars have shown that during this period there were two writers called `Attar in Nishapur, and a large number of works ascribed to Faridu'd-Din `Attar were in fact written by the other `Attar. However, the books which have authoritatively been ascribed to Faridu'd-Din are also extensive. The most important of these are a collection of masnawis, a diwan of ghazals and his famous compilation of the biographies of various leading sufis, entitled the Tazkiratu'l-Auliya', `Attar's ghazals are highly ecstatic in flavour.
The anecdotes in `Attar's masnawis were intended to call attention to mystical ideas on the acquisition of self knowledge and the attainment of fana'. One of his most famous masnawis, the Mantiqu't-Tayr (Conference of Birds), deals with the quest of a flock of birds for a mythical entity, the Simurgh or `Phoenix.' The birds symbolize sufi pilgrims, while the Simurgh is God or the Truth. Under the guidance of a leader, the birds embark on a perilous journey. Their path is blocked by seven dangerous valleys : Quest, Love, Mystic-Knowledge, Detachment, Unification, Bewilderment and Fulfilment in Annihilation. Of the many different species, only thirty birds reach their goal. The survivors discover the Simurgh, at the same time finding themselves and becoming emerged with the divine Simurgh through annihilation. The end of `Attar's Masnawi describes the sufi conception of annihilation in God (fana' fi'llah). In Browne's translation it reads this way :

`Through trouble and shame the souls of these birds were reduced

to utter Annihilation, while their bodies became dust.

Being thus utterly purified of all, they all received Life

from the Light of the (Divine) Presence.

Once again they became servants with souls renewed ;

once again in another way were they overwhelmed with astonishment.

Their ancient deeds and undeeds were cleansed away

and annihilated from their bosoms.

The Sun of Propinquity shone forth from them;

the souls of all of them were illuminated by its rays.

Through the reflection of the faces of these thirty birds (si-murgh) of

the world they then beheld the countenance of the Simurgh.

When they looked, that was the Simurgh:

without doubt that Simurgh was those thirty birds (si-murgh).

All were bewildered with amazement, not knowing

whether they were this or that.

They perceived themselves to be naught else but the Simurgh,

while the Simurgh was naught else than the thirty birds (si-murgh).

When they looked towards the Simurgh,

it was indeed the Simurgh which was there;

While when they looked towards themselves

they were si-murgh (thirty birds), and that was the Simurgh;

And if they looked at both together,

both were the Simurgh, neither more nor less.

This one was that, and that one this;

the like of this hath no one heard in the world.

All of them were plunged in amazement,

and continued thinking without thought.

Since they understood naught of any matter,

without speech they made enquiry of the Presence.

They besought the disclosure of this deep mystery,

and demanded the solution of we-ness and thou-ness.

Without speech came the answer from that Presence,

saying: 'This Sun-like Presence is a Mirror.'

Whosoever enters it sees himself in It,

in It he sees body and soul, soul and body.

Since ye came hither thirty birds (si-murgh),

ye appeared as thirty in this Mirror.

Should forty or fifty birds come,

they too would discover themselves.

Though many more had been added to your numbers,

ye yourselves see, and it is yourself you have looked on.'/1

In the Masnawi of Jalalu'd-Din Rumi, mystic poetry was to reach its greatest heights. The third of the outstanding sufi poets, like the others, Sana'i and `Attar, Rumi was both a mystic and a poet. He was also known by the name Maulana or Mevlana. Jalalu'd-Din Rumi was born at Balkh in Rabi` I 604/September 1207, his father Baha'u'd-Din Walad, was a preacher who, in 614/1217 was forced to emigrate from Balkh because of friction with Khwarazm-Shah. The reasons for this were probably both political and religious. In 626/1228, the family settled in Quniya. Baha'u'd-Din died there three years later.
To further his education, Jalalu'd-Din visited Aleppo and Damascus, but his main interest was sufism. In 642/1244 Shamsu'd-Din Muhammad Tabrizi, the wandering dervish, visited Quniya. Jalalu'd-Din fell deeply in love with Shamsu'd-Din, finding in him the perfect image of the

/1 A literary history of Persia, II, pp. 514-15.

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Divine Beloved, and took him into his home. There Jalalu'd-Din's love was channelled into the spiritual satisfaction of writing poetry, and his new-found obsession unwittingly resulted in the large-scale neglect of his own disciples. Learning of a conspiracy by these disciples to have him killed, Shamsu'd-Din fled to Damascus in 643/1246. He was brought back to Quniya, however, by Sultan Walad, Jalalu'd-Din's son, and in 645/1247 was secretly murdered by Jalalu'd-Din's disciples and members of his family, his body later being thrown down a well. Grief-stricken at his loved one's absence, and ignorant of his death, Jalalu'd-Din went twice to Damascus. After a fruitless search, he poured his loss and anguish into ecstatic poetry, in which he finally managed to re-discover both his lost Beloved and his own peace of mind. Jalalu'd-Din Rumi died in Quniya in Jumada II, 672/December, 1273.
During his lifetime, Rumi invented the famous whirling dance through which dervishes could achieve ecstasy. This was accompanied by lamenting reed pipes and beating drums. The order he founded was known as the Mevlevi or the Mawlawiyya, and its outstanding feature was its dancing dervishes. The order became significant in Turkey; in 1332 when Ibn Battuta visited Quniya he found it flourishing under the name, Jalaliyya./l The devotion of members of the order to music and dancing is responsible for their being known in Europe as 'whirling dervishes.'
Jalalu'd-Din's Diwan contains ghazals and ruba`is. A large number of ghazals have the name Shams or Shams-i Tabriz as their takhallus or nom de plume. The dominant theme in the Diwan is the ecstatic love of God. But Jalalu'd-Din's real masterpiece was his Masnawi, which was divided into six books and contains about 26,660 couplets. It was begun after urgings from the Mawlana's favourite disciple, Husamu'd-Din Chelebi. The verses were dictated by Jalalu'd-Din whenever he was in the grip of ecstasy—sometimes while he was dancing, sometimes while he was sitting or walking. On occasions he would dictate all night.
There is no clear structure in the Masnawi. The stories are interspersed with mystical ideals and sufi didactics. Overall, the diction is spontaneous and informal, yet the tales betray a serious note. A story of God's rebuke to Moses for his indignation at the rough idiom invoked by a lowly shepherd during prayer may give some insight into the spirit contained in Rumi's great work.

'A revelation came to Moses from God—

"Thou hast parted My servant from Me."

Didst thou come (as a prophet) to unite or

didst thou come to sever?

So far as thou canst, do not set foot in separation ;

of all things the most hateful to Me is divorce.

/1 Travels of Ibn Battuta, tr. by H.A.R. Gibb, 11, London, 1962, p. 431.

I have bestowed on every one a (special) way of acting;

I have given to everyone a (peculiar) form of expression.

In regard to him it is (worthy of) praise, and

in regard to him honey, and in regard to thee poison.

I am independent of all purity and impurity,

of all slothfulness and alacrity (in worshipping Me).

I did not ordain (divine worship) that I might make any profit ;

nay, but that I might do a kindness to (My) servants.

In the Hindoos the idiom of Hind (India) is praiseworthy;

in the Sindians the idiom of Sind is praiseworthy.

I am not sanctified by their glorification (of Me) ;

'tis they that become sanctified and pearl-scattering

(pure and radiant).

I look not at the tongue and the speech;

I look at the inward (spirit) and the state (of feeling)./1

The Silsilas

The twelfth century saw the crystallization of the new silsilas, or orders, as chains of lineages through which different sufis could be traced. The establishment of silsilas placed sufism on a firm and organized basis, and at the same time, was an attempt to make the movement more meaningful to individual sufis. It connected them with a spiritual hierarchy, thus giving sufis greater respectability and a stronger base of defence against the onslaught of the orthodox.
The founders of the silsilas in the twelfth century linked themselves with Muhammad through either 'Ali or Abu Bakr, but generally through the former. In spite of some serious differences over the question of orthodoxy, the main emphasis of the silsilas was on continual meditation of the verses of the Qur'an and on different names of Allah. Gradually many sufi sayings were intermingled with the traditions of Muhammad.
Influences, such as Neo-Platonism, the monastic tradition of Buddhism and Christianity, and Vedantist and Yogic philosophy were all Islamized by members of silsilas in such a way as to make them virtually unidentifiable. Moreover, sufis in these orders transformed mystical exercises, which they used to achieve union with God, into an organized framework. There were many innovations, all aimed towards making the Tariqa or path of sufism, more effective to its followers. Each silsila devised its own method or school of guidance as well as its own rituals and ceremonies. Later generations were to follow these rules rigidly.
Although the charisma of the early founders of the silsilas and an adherence to strict discipline, helped to curb charlatanism and anti-

/1 R.A. Nicholson (translator), The Mathnawi of Jalal ud-din Rami, II, London, 1926, pp. 311-12.

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nomian tendencies, the sufi movement in all parts of the Islamic world tended to become a legalistic system, obsessed with authoritarianism. Only within conventional forms could personal and individual enlightenment be expressed. Poetry alone offered an outlet for the expression of individualistic mystical experiences.
From the twelfth to the end of the fourteenth centuries, the sufi silsilas served in Iran as a bulwark against the pessimism aroused by the onslaught of the Ghuzz and the Mongols. They re-orientated religious life away from strict and often meaningless formalities. However their passivity and serenity did not become inertia. Only in their later degenerate state were some silsilas extravagant and demoralized. The members of the degenerate silsilas instituted saint worship, which precipitated a high degree of gullibility regarding the miraculous powers of different saints. The repetition of zikr became artificial; music and stylized dances, designed to produce ecstasy, were reduced to entertainment. Sufism became a popular cult, its poetic inspiration lost creativity and the mystical concept of love became sexual. However, at times these aspects of sufism were rejuvenated by far-sighted and genuinely spiritual directors. The history of the silsilas is thus marked by the perennial rise and fall of true spirituality.
The most popular silsilas in the East were based in Baghdad, Iran, Khurasan and Transoxiana. Many important founders of orders in Baghdad were Iranis who had been greatly influenced by the Baghdadi system of mystic legalism. These men absorbed the main features of the earlier sufi schools of sufism, at the same time relegating them into the background through the development of new frameworks of their own.
The founder of the Qadiriyya silsila was Shaikh 'Abdu'l-Qadir Jilani56. 'Abdu'l-Qadir was born in 470/1077-78 in the village of Jilan, south of the Caspian Sea. His father Abi Salih Jangi Dust was also an Irani. When eighteen years of age, 'Abdu'l-Qadir migrated to Baghdad. There he studied law, Hadis, and philology under a number of eminent scholars. His interest in sufism was sparked off by Abu'l-Khair Hammad al-Dabbas who died in 523/1129, however, he obtained his khirga from al-Mukharrimi.
Before appearing as a public preacher at Baghdad in 521/1127, Shaikh 'Abdu'l-Qadir spent about twenty-five years as a wandering dervish, the last eleven, in complete seclusion. After this, Shaikh 'Abdu'l-Qadir succeeded al-Mukharrimi as head of a seminary in Baghdad. He became highly popular as a theologian, rather than as a sufi. He himself managed to combine the life of the madrasa with that of the khangah. At fifty-one he married. The rest of his life Shaikh 'Abdu'l-Qadir divided between Baghdad and Jil, a small town between Baghdad and Wasit.
The collections of the Shaikh's sermons, al Fath al-Rabbani, comprising sixty-two of them and the Futuh al-Ghaib, containing seventy-eight
85
sermons, are well known to Islamic readers. His writings present Shaikh `Abdu'l-Qadir as a sober preacher who avoided sufi terminology and moralized in simple, coherent language. He strongly condemned the materialistic life of his contemporaries, urging them to develop a balanced personality by adhering to both their material and spiritual well-being. A jihad fought against self-will was, to Shaikh `Abdu'l-Qadir, far superior to that waged with the sword. Through this struggle the idolatry of the self and the worship of created things (the hidden shirk) could be vanquished. Developing the idea of crushing desire, in a sermon Shaikh `Abdu'l-Qadir advised his audience that seekers of God had to be indifferent towards even the life hereafter and to cultivate pleasure only in the thought of annihilation and abiding poverty in this life./1 In further sermons he said that good and evil were two fruits emerging from two branches of a single tree. One of the branches yielded sweet fruit and the other bitter; it would be wise therefore for people to move to areas where the sweet fruit were to be found.
Like Shaikh Abu Said, Shaikh `Abdu'l-Qadir believed that the ideal sufi was not a recluse but a man involved in the world, giving example to others. Obedience to religious law was the first stage of a spiritual development leading to piety. The state of reality, equivalent to that of saintliness (wilaya), was the second stage. At such a stage the saint protected himself from all sins including those which were hidden and obeyed his inner voice. The third stage was that of resignation, in which the saint completely surrendered to God. The fourth and final stage was fana' which was achieved, Shaikh `Abdul-Qadir believed in the form of a pure union, accompanied by knowledge./2
The expansion of the Qadiriyya order was very slow; in many part of the Islamic world, the legends associated with Shaikh `Abdu'l-Qadir played an important role in its development. His eminence was enshrined in the belief that he was superior to everyone of God's saints./3 The legendary life of Shaikh `Abdu'l-Qadir is filled with incomprehensible miracles and supernatural feats. He is alleged td have crushed mountains, dried up oceans and raised the dead to life. It is claimed that a large number of Jews and Christians embraced Islam through the influence of his spiritual prowess. Magical and esoteric teachings were also associated with Shaikh `Abdu'l-Qadir Jilani and such practices form an integral part of the beliefs of the Javanese Qadiris who, even today, perform supernatural feats accompanied by beating drums57. Whatever his alleged

/1 Mehmmed Ali Aini and E.J. Simore Munir, Abd-AI-Kadir Gilani, Paris, 1967, pp. 20-35: D.S. Margoliouth, Contributions to the biography of 'Abd al-Kadir, after al-Zahabi's work, JRAS, 1907, pp. 267-316.

/2`Abd al-Qadir, Futuh al-Ghaib, with a Persian commentary by Shaikh 'Abdu'l-Haqq, Lucknow, 1881; Discourses, pp. 17-8, 40, 46.

/3 He is reported to have said: 'My foot is on the neck of every saint of God.'

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supramundane powers, Shaikh `Abdu'l-Qadir died an earthly death in 561/1166./1
Towards the end of the eleventh century, Abu Hamid bin Muhammad al Ghazali Tusi's brother, Ahmad al-Ghazali; was in Baghdad making his mark as a sufi teacher. In '488/1095 Shaikh Ahmad succeeded his brother as a professor at the Nizamiyya seminary in Baghdad, but unlike his brother, Shaikh Ahmad's overwhelming concern was for a life of mysticism. Initiated into sufism in Tus by Abu `Ali al-Farmazi, Ahmad al-Ghazali's sermons attracted large audiences. These were compiled into a two-volume work, of which only extracts survive. Like the martyr Hallaj, Shaikh Ahmad, defended the monotheism of Iblis. Later in his life he migrated to Qazwin where he died in 520/1126./2
Among Ahmad's disciples, the best known was Shaikh Ziya'u'd-Din Abu'n-N ib as-Suhrawardi. He was born in 490/1097 at Suhraward, to the west of Sultaniya, in the province of al-Jibal (the Mountains). The Greeks called this province, stretching from the Mesopotamian plains on the west to the great desert of Iran, Media. From the ninth century, the province became known as Iraq `Ajami or Iranian Iraq, as distinct from the Iraq of the Arabs in Lower Mesopotamia. In Suhrawardi's youth, the fame of Shaikh Ahmad al-Ghazali prompted him to migrate to Baghdad to become his disciple. At a ruined site on the bank of the Tigris, Abu'n-Najib built a khanqah. He wrote a work in Arabic, the Adab al-Muridin, which a number of Indian sufis later translated into Persian. Shaikh Abu'n-Najib died in 563/1168./3
Among the contemporaries of Shaikh Abu'n-Najib, and a disciple of Shaikh Ahmad al-Ghazali, was the sufi martyr, Abu'l-Ma'ali `Abdu'llah ibn Abi Bakr Muhammad ibn `Ali ibn al-Hasan ibn al-Miyanji, better known as `Ainu'l-Quzat of Hamadan. Born in 492/1098, 'Ainu'l-Quzat's family were originally natives of Miyana in Azerbaijan, a town between Maragha and Tabriz. His grandfather seems to have migrated to Hamadan, in central Iran, and both `Ainu'l-Quzat's grandfather and father were highly educated and held posts as qazis. In his youth, `Ainu'l-Quzat exchanged his life of affluence for that of a sufi engaged in writing mystical poetry and prose. Ahmad al-Ghazali became `Ainu'l-Quzat's teacher, and they exchanged correspondence until the former's death in 520/1126.
Both Ahmad al-Ghazali and `Ainu'l-Quzat belonged to the Junaid school of sufism. Contrary to the Junaid's tradition of sahw (sobriety),

/1 G.W.J. Drewes, De mirakelen van Abdoelkadir Djaelani, door G.W.J. Drewes, and I'octbatjaraka, Bandoeng, 1938; A summary of contents, in places amounting to almost a complete translation of the Javanese version of Hikayat Abdul-Qadir Jilani which is based on al-Yafe'i's Arabic Khulasat al-Mafakhir.

/2 For his biography see al-Subki, Al-Tabayat al-Sufiyya, Cairo, 1324/1906-07, IV, 54; 11m K1uallikan, IV, p. 54.

/3 Ibn Khallikan, I, pp. 535-36; Subki, IV, pp. 256-57; NU, p. 417.

	87
however, they were both given to sukr (mystic intoxication). `Ainu'l-Quzat excelled his preceptor and became a totally rapt mystic. His writings aroused orthodox fury and he was thrown into prison in Baghdad by the Saljuqid vizier of Iran, al-Dargazini. There `Ainu'l-Quzat wrote a short treatise in his own defence, which has been translated into English by A.J. Arberry and called Apologia. He argued that his doctrine of fana' was neither pantheism nor incarnationism (hulul) as it merely involved the passing away of the contingent being into God's Being. He affirmed that his writings were not different to those of earlier sufis but were founded on those of the orthodox Abu Hamid al-Ghazali. His arguments, however, failed to save his life. On 6-7 Jumada II, 525/6-7 May 1131, `Ainu'l-Quzat was martyred at the age of thirty-three.
During his lifetime a large number of disciples had gathered around `Ainu'l-Quzat, but the order he founded did not long survive. His works, however, were regarded as the epitome of sufi truth, the most popular being the Tamhidat (Introduction). Following are some challenging passages, translated by A.J. Arberry :

'That mad lover whom you call Iblis in this world—do you not know by what name he is called in the divine world? If you know his name, by calling him by that name you know yourself an unbeliever. Alas, what do you hear? This mad one loved God. Do you know what came as the touchstone of his love? One, affliction and oppression ; two, reproach and humiliation. They said, "You lay claim to love Us. There must be a token." They offered him the touchstone of affliction and oppression, of reproach and humiliation. He accepted. Immediately these two touchstones bore witness that the token of love is truthfulness. Will you never understand what I am saying? In love there must be cruelty, and there must be fidelity, so that the lover may be ripened by the kindness and oppression of the Beloved ; else he will remain immature, and nothing will come from him.’/1

The founder of the Suhrawardiyya order, however, was Shaikh Abu'n-Najib's nephew, Shaikh Shihabu'd-Din Abu Hafs al-Suhrawardi. This order spread throughout many parts of the Islamic world and became one of the two most significant orders of  in India.
Shaikh Shihabu'd-Din Suhrawardi was born in Rajab 539/January 1145. He learnt theology from Shaikh `Abdu'l-Qadir Jilani and a number of other prominent theologians, but was initiated into sufism by his uncle. As a youth Shihabu'd-Din encountered vigorous opposition from the greatest Hanbali theologian in Baghdad, Abdu'r-Rahman ibn al-Jawzi (510/1126-597/1200), who was also an interpreter of Fidh and a defender of Hadis. This prolific author and preacher enjoyed the total support of

/1 A.J. Arberry, A Sufi martyr, London, 1969, p. 100.

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many of the successive `Abbasid Caliphs and was given by them what amounted virtually to inquisitorial powers. Ibn al-Jawzi /1 accused Shaikh `Abdu'l-Qadir Jilani of furthering the cause of philosophy and heresy. Of his works Naqd al- Ilm wa'l- `ulama' and Talbis Iblis, translated as 'The Devil's Delusion' by Margoliouth, not only condemned non-Sunni sects but attacked a large number of Sunni jurisconsults, traditionalists and sufis including Abu Talib al-Makki, Qushairi and Ghazali.
Caliph al-Nasir (575/1179-622/1225) reversed the policy of blind support for Ibn al-Jawzi, and this resulted in a new middle-of-the road policy as outlined by Shaikh Shihabu'd-Din Suhrawardi. The Caliph despatched the Shaikh as his ambassador to the courts of the `Ayyubid al-Malik al-`Adil I Saifu'd-Din (596/1200-615/1218) in Egypt, of the Khwarazm-Shah, `Ala'u'd-Din Muhammad (596/1200-617/1220) and of the Saljuq ruler of Quniya, `Ala'u'd-Din Kay-Qubaz I (616/1219-634/ 1237). Al-Nasir also built an extensive khanqah for Shaikh Shihabu'd-Din and his family, which included additions such as a bath-house and a garden.
The Shaikh's travels also included journeys to prominent sufi centres in Iran, Khurasan, Transoxiana, Syria and Turkey. He made several pilgrimages to Mecca, and died in 632/1234-35.2
During his lifetime the Shaikh wrote several books. The most popular was the Awarifu'l-Ma'arif. This work marks a watershed in the reconciliation of sufism with orthodoxy. To later generations of sufis it became the most closely studied text on sufism. `Izzu'd-Din Mahmud bin `Ali of Kashan (d. 753/1352-53) wrote a book called the Misbahu 'l-Hidaya wa Miftahu'l-Kifaya in Persian based on the Awarifu'l-Ma`arif, which he rearranged slightly and to which he added some new material.
In the `Awarifu'l-Ma'arif, Suhrawardi corrects Sarraj who had tried to prove that the word `sufi' was used in pre-Islamic Arabic./3 According to Suhrawardi the word was the product of a period of political change and unrest. On etymological grounds he rejects the idea that the word was derived from suffa but accepts the fact that the life of Muhammad's companions at the Medina mosque, 'the People of the Verandah,' resembled those of later sufis. He makes an interesting reference to a class of Khurasan sufis who lived in caves and were called Shikaftiyyah (from the word shikaft, cave). His description implies that that particular mode of life was based on the life-pattern of a section of Buddhist monks./4 Derivation of the word sufi from suf (wool), meaning those who wore a woollen garment was, according to him, affirmed by the Prophet.

/1 For his works see Mu'allafat Iba ul-Jawzi by 'Abdu'l-Hamid al-'Aluji, Baghdad, 1385/1965; Brockelmann, I, 656-66 and Supplement, 1, 914-20

/2 For his biography see Ibn Khallikan, II, no. 95; NU, p. 472; Jalalu'd-Din Huma'i, Mishahu'l-Hidaya, pp. 28-32

/3 al-Sarraj, Kitab al-Luma', London, 1963, p. 22.

/4 Shihabu'd-Din Suhrawardi, `Awari al-Ma'arif, on the margin of Ihya al-'Ulum, 1, Cairo, 1957, pp. 326-36.

89
Using Qur'anic verses to support his theory, Suhrawardi shows that knowledge, not in the legalistic exoteric sense, but in the spiritual esoteric sense, is the basis of sufism. He applies the Qur'anic term of Al Rasikhun fi al-Ilm (Those Firmly Rooted in Knowledge) to those whose hearts have a total perception of the Truth. This knowledge cannot be learnt in school but is a legacy from the prophets and can be acquired only from them. To Suhrawardi, sufis were divided into two categories: the first were those whose mystical insight was framed around their own spiritual perception; the second consisted of those whose supernatural enlightenment was the result of their own self-mortification./1 He quoted Junaid saying that what leads to sufism is not reason and intellectual discussion but hunger, renunciation and abstention from even that which was lawful.
In the `Awarifu'l-Ma`arif, however, Shaikh Shihabu'd-Din reminded sufis that the mystic Tariqa was not identical to either faqr (poverty) or zuhd (asceticism), although these could lead to fana'. To him an obsessive opposition to wealth was a sign of weakness, amounting to a dependence on causation and an attachment to the anticipation of reward. A true sufi did not differentiate between poverty and wealth and was concerned with neither fear nor the need for recompense./2 58
Like other orthodox sufis, the Shaikh considered people misguided who believed that gnosis absolved them from a need to obey Shari'a. The law and Haqiqa (Reality) were interdependent. Similarly Shaikh Shihabu'd-Din Suhrawardi condemned sufis who, following the analogy of the divine and human aspects of Christ's personality, believed in the doctrine of incarnation (hulul). Sufis who spoke of submerging themselves into the ocean of Divine Unity, said the Shaikh, were misdirected. Precedence should be given to fulfilling the divine will.
Discussing the Qur'anic verse: 'They will ask thee concerning the Spirit. Say : The Spirit is by command of my Lord, and of knowledge ye have been vouchsafed but little,'/3 Suhrawardi said that the spirit is neither eternal nor subsistent, but created and an attribute of God. The animal spirit of man was connected with the digestive organism of the body but the heavenly spirit belonged to the world of command. When it overpowered the baser spirit it transmuted the second nature of the latter and the two were fused; human beings were then able to receive divine inspiration./4
According to the`Awarifu'l-Ma'arif, all immoral activities emanated from the lower self (nafs), and reason and patience controlled its natural impulses such as rage and lust. The desire for evil (ammara), repentance

/1 Shihabu'd-Din Suhrawardi, 'Awarif al-Ma'arif, on the margin of 1/iva (1/-'Glum, IV, Cairo, 1957, pp. 202-68.

/2 ibid, II, pp. 356-59.

/3 Qur'an, XVII, 85.

/4 'Awarifu'l Ma'arif, 1V, pp. 255-65.

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(lawwama) and satisfaction (mutma`ina) represented three different stages in the development and gradual purification of the nafs.
The heart (galb), Suhrawardi believed was different to the rest of the human body although it was a part of it. The heart of a true believer (mu'min) was like a pure soul and was illuminated by a shining light; but the heart of the unbeliever, said the Shaikh, was dark and made of a lowly substance. The heart of the hypocrite was shrouded in a veil, and a many-faceted heart was one which was inclined towards both good and evil./1
Reason, to Suhrawardi, was an innate human talent which prompted man to acquire different kinds of knowledge. It was supplemented and supported by Shari’a. Spiritual perception helped man to adopt a middle-of-the road policy and obtain knowledge of the heavenly spheres (malakut). Thus one could acquire an understanding of the world of matter and space, as well as of the earthly world and the Unseen. If reason was not supported and supplemented by the light of Islamic law, man could prosper in the world, but not obtain blessings from the spiritual world.
Only true mystics, believed Suhrawardi, were able to discriminate between experiences emanating from the lower soul, from God, from Satan and from the angels. One dependant on an impure source for their existence was always a victim of evil influences; it was, therefore, a sufi's duty to foster a balanced detachment from the material world, to mortify the flesh and to constantly observe ascetic practices./2
State (hal) and stage (maqam) were two technical terms of sufism which should not be confused, said the Shaikh. State involved a changing psychological condition, while stage was relatively permanent. For example, in the beginning a novice adopted an attitude of meditation. This however, was not a permanent feature of his mystic journey but a state of hal. When an attitude of contemplation became an enduring feature the neophyte reached the second stage. He then passed to the third stage which was observation (mushahada). This enabled him to understand the secrets of the spiritual world. Both divine grace and personal effort played complementary roles in progress towards the true mystic state./3
Suhrawardi made a detailed criticism of fana' and baqa' thus clarifying the prevailing confusion amongst sufis. The first stage of fana' was an obvious one. In it the mystic felt he possessed no freedom of action or choice as everything emanated from God. The second was the stage of real annihilation involving a perception of receiving illumination from the divine attribute and His Essence. At this stage the divine command dominated him to such a degree that no evil influence could affect him.

/1 Awarifu'l Ma'arif, 1V, pp. 266-69.

/2 ibid, pp. 197-250.

/3 ibid, pp. 281-98.

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It was not essential that in the state of fana', mystics lost all consciousness. With the acquisition of the state of baqa' (abiding in God) a sufi regained his power of action; he could then perform duties for the earthly and the spiritual worlds with equanimity. Persistent self-examination, introversion, contemplation, patience, submission to God's will and an attitude of complete detachment enabled a mystic to practise self-mortification. In reality this process was one of self-purification, and a second birth from the womb of the spirit to the kingdom of a newly-awakened spirit.'
The most important section of the `Awarifu'l-Ma`arif by Shaikh Shihabu'd-Din Suhrawardi was a detailed discussion of sufi ethics and the mystic ways of life. This section was a marked improvement over related chapters in Hujwiri's Kashf al-Mahjub; Suhrawardi could make an outstanding contribution on this very important subject for by the twelfth century khanqah life was at its highest peak.
Suhrawardi admitted that the establishment of khanqahs was an innovation, but saw in them the germs of the suffa life at the time of Muhammad. He believed that the advantages of established khanqahs were great59. Firstly, they offered board and lodging to sufis who were often without financial resources of any kind. Secondly, the corporate life of a khanqah provided an opportunity for individual members who shared a close relationship to exchange views and experiences. Finally, the propinquity of life in a khanqah provided for a healthy rivalry between sufis in the perfection of their morals and conduct. Like Hujwiri, Suhrawardi divided the people of khanqahs into two : residents and travellers. According to the Shaikh, the latter, generally wandering dervishes, should reach the khanqah before afternoon prayers, and if late, should spend the night in a mosque. A warm welcome to the visitor should be extended by the residents and the best food offered to them by the khanqah steward. The travellers should not be pestered with questions, although resident sufis should themselves answer all queries. If a dervish entered who was ignorant of khanqah customs and the traditions of sufi life, he should not be expelled.
Khanqah residents were of three types. The first group contained members of the novice or servant class who were assigned to such duties as waiting on others, which enabled them to become acquainted with the company of mystics and to be initiated in humility. Service enabled novices to rise to the second group of mystics who learnt the social ethics of sufism. Members of the third category were aged sufis, generally living in seclusion, who were entirely dedicated to prayers and meditation. In a khanqah, the young should live communally in the lama'at-khana, allowing older sufis to reside privately in cells. According to Shaikh Shihabu'd-Din there were two sources of income for a khanqah—endowments and begging.

/1 'Awarifu'l Ma'arif, IV, pp. 455-65.

[figure:] Sufi Sama from the M'alalisw'l-`Ushshaq' by Sultan Husain written in 908/1502-03. Miniature from Bodleian MS. dated 959/1552, Ouseley Add 24, f. 119 R.

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The head of the khanqah was the Shaikh, the others were the ikhwan or brethren. Inmates should co-operate and take food communally. Differences between sufis should be overcome and there should be no hypocrisy in relationships, for a true mystic constantly sought a pure heart, undarkened by malice./1
Shaikh Suhrawardi believed the periodic retirement of sufis to retreats to be a later innovation, but considered the custom of great assistance in self-examination and meditation. He divided recluses into three : the weakest, who broke their fasts every evening; the above average sufi who took nourishment on alternate nights and the strongest, who ate only on the third./2
Shaikh Shihabu'd-Din admitted that the wearing of the khirqa or sufi robe was also an accretion, but saw it as a symbol of the radical aspect of sufi life. According to him, it identified the wearer as one who was outside the mainstream of life, who did not indulge in fine raiment and rich food. As sufism was founded on a belief in the transmission of wilaya or saintship, the granting of a khirqa was significant for it was a sign that the recipient had, according to his pir, reached a satisfactory religious standard.
The granting of a khirqa was categorized by Shaikh Shihabu'd-Din as: one awarded in recognition of a disciple's personal spiritual achievement or one given by a Shaikh to a person seeking the blessings which surrounded it. There was no necessity for those in the second group to be sufi disciples, but they should at least observe the Shari'a and keep company with sufis. After the receipt of a khirqa the blessings accrued from it might lead to a total acceptance of the mystic path./3
On the controversial subject of sama', the Shaikh was lengthy. Conflicting views of sama' (literally, 'audition'), from different sufis were detailed by him in the'Awarifu'l-Ma'arif. Overall, the Shaikh supported the practice, but prescribed its performance under strict rules, to prevent a degeneration into the use of music and dancing to promote licentiousness./4 However, the Shaikh was unable to excel Hujwiri's unique means of defending sama' who says:

'In short, all foot-play (pay-haze) is bad in law and reason, by whomsoever it is practised, and the best of mankind cannot possibly practise it; but when the heart throbs with exhilaration and rapture becomes intense and the agitation of ecstasy is manifested and

/1 Awarfu'l Ma'arif; 1V, pp. 80-99.

/2 ibid, pp. 310-32.

/3 'Awarif ul Ma'arif, II, pp. 42-62.

/4 ibid, pp. 220-79. For some important views on the subject see Qushairi, Al-Rasa'il al-Qushairirya, Karachi, 1964, pp. 50-65; D.B. Macdonald, 'Emotional religion in Islam as affected by music and singing,' JRAS, 1901, pp. 195-252,705-48; 1902, pp. 1-28.

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conventional forms are gone, that agitation (iztirab) is neither dancing nor foot-play nor bodily indulgence, but a dissolution of the soul. Those who call it "dancing" are utterly wrong. It is a state that cannot be explained in words: "without experience no knowledge."/1

The fame of Shaikh Shihabu'd-Din was matched only by that of Abu'l-Jannab Ahmad bin 'Umar al-Khiwaqi, better known as Najmu'd-Din Kubra60. A galaxy of sufis surrounded him as disciples and a number of branches of his order, the Kubrawiyya, spread to Baghdad, Khurasan and India. The two Indian branches were the Firdawsiyya and the Hamadaniyya; the Baghdadi branch was the Nuriyya and the Khurasani branches were the Rukniyya, the Ightishashiyya and the Nurbakhshiyya. Shaikh Abu'l-Jannab Ahmad has aptly been called 'the Carver of Saints' (Shaikh-i Wali Tarash)./2
Shaikh Najmu'd-Din Kubra was born in Khwarazm in 540/1145-46. In his youth he left Khwarazm for Hamadan to study Hadis, a traditional pursuit for one who planned to become an 'alim. Later he went to Tabriz and Alexandria also to study Hadis but there he had a spiritual experience which led him to adopt sufism. Shaikh Najmu'd-Din went to Khuzistan and became the disciple of Shaikh Isma'il Qasri (d. 589/1193). On his preceptor's advice, Najmu'd-Din later entered into the discipleship of Shaikh `Ammar ibn Yasir al-Bidlisi (died about 597/1200-01), a friend of Abu'n-Najib Suhrawardi. Shaikh Kubra then went to Cairo, completing his final course in sufi discipline under Shaikh Ruzbihan al-Wazzan of Kazirun (d. 584/1188) and married Ruzbihan's daughter.
The genealogy of Shaikh Kubra's pirs begins with `Ali and his disciple Kumail bin Ziyad, and ends with Shaikh Ismail Qasri. It is noteworthy that his pirs were either companions of Abu'n-Najib Suhrawardi or his disciples.
Kubra finally settled in Khwarazm where he built a khanqah. Among his disciples there, the most eminent were Majdu'd-Din Baghdadi, (died either in 606/1209-10 or in 616/1219-20), -`Attar's pir, Sa`dud'd-Din Hamawi (d. 650/1253), the author of several works on sufism, Najmu'd-Din Daya (d. 654/1256), who wrote the famous sufi book, the Mirsadu'l 'Ibad (Watch Tower of God's Servants). A unique personality among Kubra's disciples was Saifu'd-Din Bakharzi, who will be dealt with more fully in Chapter Three.

/1 Nicholson, p. 416. / 2NU, p. 419.

In 618/1221, the Mongol invasion of Khwarazm took a great toll of life, including that of Shaikh Kubra. Jami gives the following graphic account of his death :

'When the Tartar heathen reached Khwarazm, the Shaikh assembled

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his disciples, whose number exceeded sixty. Sultan Muhammad Khwarazm-Shah had fled, but the Tartar heathen supposed him to be still in Khwarazm, whither consequently they marched. The Shaikh summoned certain of his disciples, such as Shaikh Sa`du'd-Din Hamawi, Raziu'd-Din `Ali Lala and others, and said, "Arise quickly and depart to your own countries, for a Fire is kindled from the East which consumes nearly to the West ... Some of his disciples said, "How would it be if your Holiness were to pray that perhaps this (catastrophe) may be averted from the lands of Islam .. "Nay," replied the Shaikh, "this is a thing irrevocably predetermined which prayer cannot avert." Then his disciples besought him, saying, "The beasts are ready prepared for the journey: if your Holiness also would join us and depart into Khurasan, it would not be amiss." "Nay," replied the Shaikh, "here shall I die a martyr, for it is not permitted to me to go forth." So his disciples departed into Khurasan.

So when the heathen entered the city, the Shaikh called together such of his disciples as remained, and said, "Arise in God's Name, and let us fight in God's Cause." Then he entered his house, put on his khirqa ... girded up his loins, filled the upper part of his khirqa, which was open in front, with stones on both sides, took a spear in his hand, and came forth. And when he came face to face with the heathen, he continued to cast stones at them till he had no stones left. The heathen fired volleys of arrows at him, and an arrow pierced his breast. He plucked it out and cast it away, and therewith passed away his spirit. They say that at the moment of his martyrdom he had grasped the pigtail of one of the heathen, which after his death could not be removed from his hand, until at last they were obliged to cut it off.' /1

Najmu'd-Din Kubra would often repeat such sayings of famous sufis as: 'The ways of God are as numerous as the number of breaths of his creatures.' He wrote several works in Arabic and Persian. Al-Usul al-`Ashra, in Arabic, outlines the ten guiding rules of sufism: repentance, renunciation, trust in God, resignation, seclusion, recollection, concentration on God, patience and contemplation; the final stage, (riza), implies the abandonment of self and the seeking of all happiness in anything emanating from the Beloved. The Si fatu'1-Adab, written in Persian, contains rules for the sufi neophyte. The Minhaju's-Salikin (An Open Road for Travellers on the Sufi Path), in Arabic, is an advanced sufi manual.
Kubra's poems on 'Ali and his descendants are both eloquent and touching, however, they fail to prove the author was a Shi`i. A large number of sufi poets, particularly Iranians, enthusiastically eulogised about

1 A literary history of Persia, 11, pp. 492-93.

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the greatness of `Ali and his progeny; at the same time remaining Sunnis. Molé's conclusion that Shaikh Najmu'd-Din tended to create a type of Sunnite-Shiism has no real basis) The works of most sufis were imbued with similar sentiments and many Indian mystics whose Sunnism was never doubted, credulously adored the Saiyids and their offspring61.
A significant sufi order named the Silsila-i Khwajgan, which thrived mainly in Transoxiana and later in India in its re-organized form, was known as the Naqshbandiyya62. It traced its origin from Khwaja Abu Ya`qub Yusuf al-Hamadani (d. Muharram 535/August 1140). The Khwaja obtained his early education at Baghdad and lived at Marw and Herat, dying in Marw. Of his four disciples, Khwaja `Abdu'l-Khaliq bin `Abdu'l-Jamil, who came from Ghujduwan, modern Gizduvan, a large village in the north-eastern part of the oasis of Bukhara, was the true originator of the unique features of the Silsila-i Khwajgan.
Shaikh Ghujduwani63 wrote works both in Persian prose and poetry and compiled several treatises. A collection of his sayings, the Masaliku'l-Arifin, advocated that his disciples should acquire a precise learning of the Qur'an, Hadis and Fiqh. It urged dervishes to dissociate themselves from both ignorant sufis and those who promiscuously indulged in mixed company. Peace in the heart and a control of the eyesight would help in the pursuit of celibacy. Married life involved the sufi in everyday problems and exposed him to the threat of loss of faith. Mystics should not necessarily avoid sama' but any over-indulgence should be abandoned./2 64
The writings of Shaikh Ghujduwani were founded on the Shari`a but his eight principles of sufi life and the rituals he advocated were largely based on yogic practices, current in the Bukhara region. The Shaikh's disciples however, were convinced that he had learnt these practices from Khizr. The Rashhat Ainu'l-Havat describes them in detail. A summary is contained below:

'1. Hosh dar darn (awareness while breathing). Sufis should not inhale or exhale absent-mindedly; every breath should be associated with an awareness of the divine presence.

2. Nazar bar gadam (watching the steps). Whenever a sufi walks he should be watchful of his steps, while not permitting his sight to distract him from his goal—awareness of the divine presence.

3. Safar dar watan (journey to one's homeland). This involves a journey from human to angelic attributes. Thus the abandonment of human vices leads to the virtues of angels. The essence of this

/1 M. Molé⁶⁵, 'Les Kubrawiya entre sunnisme et shiisme aux huitième et neuvième siècles de l'hégire', Revue des études Islamiques, 1961, pp. 61-142. See also his article, 'Traités mineurs de Nagm al-din Kubra,' Annules Islamologiques, IV, Cairo, 1963, pp. 1-78.

/2 Masaliku'I-Arifin, India Office Manuscript, Delhi, Persian, 1108, if. lb-2b.

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demand is the purification and polishing of the heart, achieved through unceasing effort during the early stages of mystical training.

4. Khalwat dar anjuman (solitude in an assembly) implies that the outward activities of a sufi in the world do not undermine his inward meditation of God. A sufi may wander into a bazaar but so engrossed in zikr should he be that not a single voice is heard by him. Each voice and conversation should be like zikr, and his own speech should also echo in his ears in the same way as a recitation of the name of God.

5. Yad-kard (remembrance) is related to both oral and mental zikr. The easiest way of performing zikr is as follows. The sufi controls his breath from below the navel, shuts his lips tightly and fastens his tongue to his palate to prevent suffocation. He then diverts the spiritual heart into a union with the physical heart which is pineal in shape, and zikr is begun. It takes the following form. The uttering of la (no) involves a process whereby the word is lifted from the navel to the brain ; Ilaha (God) is expressed, at the same time as the right shoulder is jerked sharply and il Allah (but Allah) is uttered as if the heart of flesh has been soundly struck. This process produces a spiritual heart which ontologically circulates throughout the body. The negation involved in the word (la) represents the fact that the world is transitory and the affirmation of il'Allah symbolizes the eternal nature of God. A trainee should be perpetually occupied with this form of zikr for it to achieve a lasting imprint on his heart of the Unity of God.

6. Baz-gasht (restraint). Each time one who performs zikr utters `al-kalimat al-tayyiba, /1 he should add: "Oh God! Thou art my Goal and I seek Thy satisfaction." This phrase would expel all thoughts, both good and evil, from the heart, thus purifying zikr.

7. Nigah-dasht (watchfulness). This helps to prevent the intrusion of evil thoughts during contemplation.

8. Yad-dasht (recollection) is a state of intuitive perception involving a permanent awareness of the divine presence. /2

Khwaja Ghujduwani, who devised these practices was succeeded by four khalifas, all from Bukhara. But it was 'Arif Riwgari (died 657/1259-60), who was the chief link with Muhammad ibn Muhammad Baha'u'd-Din an-Naqshband, in the following way.
'Arif Riwgari—Mahmud Anjir Faghnawi (d. 643/1245 or 670/1271-72)—'Azizan'Ali ar-Ramtini (d. 705/1306 or 721/1321-22)—Muhammad Baba as-Samasi (d. 740/1340 or 755/1354)—Saiyid Amir Kulal al-Bukhari (d. 772/1371), Khwaja Baha'u'd-Din Naqshband.

/1 The Islamic confession of faith.

2/ Rashhat 'Ainu'l-Havai, Kanpur, 1911, pp. 20-5.

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Khwaja Baha'u'd-Din66 was born in Muharram 718/March 1318. With Saiyid Kulal, Baha'u'd-Din is said to have obtained training from the spirit of Khwaja 'Abdu'l-Khaliq Ghujduwani. To the latter's eight principles of sufi discipline Shaikh Baha'u'd-Din added three more:

1. Wuquf-i Zamani (temporal pause) is the constant self-examination by a sufi on the way his time is spent. This leads to a perception of forgetfulness and an insight into a real understanding of the divine presence.

2. Wuquf-i 'Adadi (numerated pause) is the prevention of thought-anarchy through a process of counting the number of times zikr in the heart is repeated. The mystic completes one round of zikr between three and twenty-one recitations in the one breath; however, if there is no spiritual change after a second round of twenty-one zikrs this implies there has been no real impact. 'Negation' expressed in zikr should expel all human vices and `affirmation' should result in a perception of the divine presence.

3. Wuquf-i Qalbi (heart pause). This has two meanings: the first is identical to the explanation of Yad-dasht, but the second, implies that during zikr the heart of flesh should be in no way negligent. To Khwaja Baha'u'd-Din, control of the breath and the counting of zikr were not indispensable but he insisted that the Wuquf-i Qalbi was imperative. According to Khwaja Baha'u'd-Din, this was the essence of sufi discipline. /1

Jami believed that Khwaja Baha'u'd-Din emphasized that the Silsila-i Khwajgan or the Naqshbandis should not practise spoken zikr, seclusion and sama' but concentrate mainly on Khalwat dar anjuman, that is, being outwardly busy in worldly acts, but inwardly meditating on God./2 67
Khwaja Baha'u'd-Din died on 3 Rabi` I, 791/1 March 1389. A large group of scholars and mystics spread his order into Transoxiana and India. The name Silsila-i Khwajgan gradually became obsolete and the order became known as the Naqshbandiyya.

The organisation and rituals of Silsilas

Hujwiri saw in sufi saints a vehicle by which 'the Truth and the proof of Muhammad's veracity' could be continued. Drawing upon Tirmizi's thesis of sainthood, he outlined the hierarchy of saints in the following way:

`(God) has made the Saints the governors of the universe; they have become entirely devoted to His business, and have ceased to follow their sensual affections. Through the blessing of their advent the

/1 Rashhat Ainu'l-Havai, Kanpur, 1911, pp. 26-7.

/2 NU, p. 386.

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rain falls from heaven, and through the purity of their lives the plants spring up from the earth, and through their spiritual influence the Muslims gain victories over the unbelievers. Among them there are four thousand who are concealed and do not know one another and are not aware of the excellence of their state, but in all circumstances are hidden from themselves and from mankind. Traditions have come down to this effect, and the sayings of the Saints—proclaim the truth thereof, and I myself—God be praised !—have had ocular experience (khabar-i `iyan) of this matter. But of those who have power to loose and to bind and are the officers of the Divine court there are three hundred, called Akhyar, and forty, called Abdul, and seven, called Abrar, and four, called Awtad, and three, called Nuqaba, and one, called Qutb or Ghaws. All these know one another and cannot act save by mutual consent.'/1

The silsila system guaranteed the transmission of mystical knowledge acquired by founders of the order to further generations of sufis through their successors or khalifas. The 'ulama' accused the sufis of deifying their spiritual teachers (Shaikhs, pirs or murshids) but the sufis saw their Shaikhs as being illuminated by the light of Muhammad which had existed even before his birth and was the sole cause of creation.68
The various silsilas did not develop in an atmosphere of rivalry and hostility towards each other. No attempt was made to develop a central silsila for the entire Islamic world and all sufi Shaikhs believed their own spiritual influence should be confined to a limited territory69. This conviction also sprang from the current practice whereby governors of different territories respected the independence of other administrations.
In his own spiritual territory or wilaya the pir looked after the material, as well as the spiritual needs, of his disciples and also attempted to assist others who asked for his help. The political upheavals and crises of the eleventh and twelfth centuries, precipitated by the Ghuzz and Mongol invasions in Khurasan and Iran, had undermined the authority of the Turkic Sultans and this in turn had led to an increase in the importance of the sufi silsilas. As there was no official avenue through which grievances of the common people could be registered, the only alternative was to seek assistance from members of sufi orders.
As has already been seen, merchants were the leading financial supporters of the sufi movement and in return the khanqahs offered them both hospitality and protection. Gifts from rich men, government officials, princes and rulers were also welcomed, but sufi literature indicates that eminent sufis themselves did not crave offerings. The unsolicited gift (futuh) from devotees was their only source of income and a popular belief in the efficacy of sufi prayers for the fulfilment of both

/1 Nicholson, pp. 213--14.

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worldly and non-worldly ambitions provided for the continual flow of gifts. Begging was also resorted to in the initial stages in the development of a new khanqah, but affluent khanqahs also insisted that neophyte sufis go to town begging70. Firstly this custom was intended to produce humility, and secondly to strengthen the feeling among sufis that they were the lowliest of all God's creatures. Many eminent sufis worked as petty traders, artisans or cultivators, to enable them to remain part of the community, rather than becoming inhabitants of ivory towers. Instances of sufis waging holy wars are not unknown, but the historical records indicate that jihad on these occasions was intended to repel enemy invasions, such as those from the heathen Turks or Mongols. Sufis kept themselves aloof from both the administrative machinery and imperialist wars of the government. However, the mystic tawakkul (trust in God) did not imply a turning away from society.
Disciple initiation was a complex phenomenon. Some pirs carefully examined the talents and potential of those who approached them for initiation; others admitted disciples indiscriminately to their silsilas. Each order followed its own special methods of training and formulas for zikr and contemplation. No uniform pattern was evolved. Progress depended on the capacity of the novice; some completed their initiation into sufi life after a short period, others underwent a lengthy period of training. According to Hujwiri, sufi Shaikhs prescribed a probationary period to novices of three years before instructing them in the real secrets of the Path (Tariqa). The first year of sufi apprenticeship was devoted to serving the people; the second, to the service of God and the third to guarding the heart. Service was intended to fill the trainee with humility so that others would be considered at the expense of himself. The serving of God necessitated a severance from all self-motivation related to both worlds./1
The Tariqa was an arduous journey involving numerous risks and impediments. It could be traversed only under the strict supervision of Shaikhs or pirs who had themselves traversed all the hills and dales of the Path, and had survived the rapture of the 'states,' perceived the nature of actions, and experienced the severity of 'Divine Majesty' and the clemency of 'Divine Beauty.'
There were many reasons for practising spiritual exercises under the guidance of qualified person. Firstly, the Tariqa involved a journey to different spiritual stations; these included repentance (tawba), conversion (inabat), renunciation (zuhd) and trust in God (tawakkul). The stages were reached through self mortification, performing zikr, and contemplation, and these all needed constant supervision by a Shaikh. Secondly, during a mystic journey certain conditions such as qabz (contraction), bast (dilation) and illumination, descended into the heart from God

/1 Nicholson, p. 54.

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through divine grace. Only a perfect pir understood the significance of these states and was able to discriminate between a true illumination and the appearance of one, which in reality was a delusion emanating from the devil. Thirdly, the sufi journey of a novice from the intellectual perception of God to an emotional involvement with Him was a personal experience, a mystery to be shared only with a perfect guide. These experiences could be revealed only to one's pir.
There were some exceptions to this rule among sufis who claimed they were disciples of Khazir (or Khizr). A mysterious figure who appeared in Islamic legends, there was some controversy as to whether Khizr was a prophet. Generally it was believed he had drunk the fountain of life, had been rendered immortal and that he was a contemporary of every age. Some commentators on verses 59 to 81 of Chapter 18 of the Qur'an represent Khizr /1 as the guide of Moses who revealed to him the secret, mystical truth that transcended the Shari`a, which Moses himself was commissioned to introduce. It was little wonder that sufis believed he was a unique guide in their pursuit of the truth and in their efforts to reach Reality. Belief in Khizr's immortality made him a supernatural being who was involved in the assisting of sufis of well-known orders. In legends Khizr saved men in desperate situations. His name was invoked in times of danger especially by merchants and travellers. The continued association of the sufi movement with the legend of Khizr was so great that almost all eminent sufis are said to have met or encountered this mysterious figure at some time in their careers. Some sufis were said to be his constant companions, others were believed to have had a casual acquaintance with him.
Mujahida, or self-mortification performed under the guidance of a pir, strictly adhered to the Shari'a and was designed to achieve purification of the soul. The nafs or souls of ordinary human beings were unregenerate

1 Khizr or Khazir, 'The green man'. The outline of the story is as follows, 'Musa, ' Moses' goes on a journey with his servant fata, the goal of which is the majma` al-bahrain. But when they reach this place, they find that as a result of the influence of Satan they have forgotten the fish which they were taking with them. The fish had found its way into the water and had swum away. While looking for the fish the two travellers meet a servant of God. Musa says that he will follow him if he will teach him the right path rushd. They come to an arrangement but the servant of God tells Musa at the beginning that he will not understand his doings, that he must not ask for explanations and as a result will not be able to bear with him. They set out on the journey ... during which the servant of God does a number of apparently outrageous things which causes Musa to lose patience so that he cannot refrain from asking for an explanation; whereupon the servant of God replies: "Did I not tell you that you would be lacking in patience with me?" He finally leaves Musa and on departing gives him the explanation of his actions, which had their good reasons.' H.A.R. Gibb and J.H. Kramer, Shorter encyclopaedia of Islam, p. 232.

According to some traditions Khizr was the companion of Alexander the Great who made a desperate effort to search for the spring of life. Some Arabic sources connect Khizr with the sea and some to the vegetable kingdom. In India Khwaja Khizr is recognized as a river God or a spirit of wells and streams.

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(al-ammara); obedience to the Shari’a and persistent zikr enabled sufis to subdue both the unregenerate soul and the blameworthy soul (lawwama). This led the soul to the third stage in which it became inspired (al-mulhama). Although this stage represented a high level, prayers and zikr were imperative in order to produce a further stage of tranquillity (mutma`inna). The fifth stage was that of a contented soul in which the soul renounced everything except God. The soul of a sufi entering the sixth stage was called marziyya, the approved one, for here the mystics fashioned into one who was both merciful and benevolent to all and this in turn strengthened the bond of love between the Creator and his creatures. The seventh and final stage in the soul's long journey resulted in the creation of a faultless soul (al-kamila) and was achieved by only the most perfect of sufis.
Zikr,/1 which can be translated as `recollection' or 'remembrance,' was essentially a spiritual exercise designed to expel everything which separated the earthly individual from the Divine. Through it sufis were able to experience God's presence in every corner of their being. According to one sufi:

'The first stage of zikr is to forget self, and the last stage is the effacement of the worshipper in the act of worship, without consciousness of worship, and such absorption in the object of worship as precludes return to the subject thereof.'/2

Zikr was performed both communally and in seclusion. The former enabled senior disciples to supervise the progress of their juniors. The zikr-i khafi, recollection performed either mentally or in a low voice, was recommended by the Naqshbandis; the Qadiriyya and the Chishtiyya generally performed zikr-i jali, which was recited aloud. Both forms of zikr involved control of the breath and over inhalation and exhalation. The formulas for zikr differed from one order to another, but generally they involved the recitation of different syllables of the kalima or some of the many names of God.
Zikr popularized the use of the tasbih or rosary, consisting of 99 or 100 beads. Some orders used rosaries of 301 beads, but ones of 1000 beads were not unknown./3

/1 Zikr is founded on the following verses in the Qur'an: "He (God) is first. He is last. The Manifest, and the Hidden, and Who knoweth all things." "He (God) is with you wheresoever ye be." "We (God) are closer to him (man) than his neck-vein." "Whichever way ye turn, there is the face of God." "God encompasseth all things." "All on earth shall pass away, but the face of thy God shall abide resplendent with majesty and glory." T.P. Hughes, A dictionary of Islam, London, 1935, pp. 703-04.

/2 R.A. Nicholson, The mystics of Islam, London, 1963, p. 48.

/3 ' "The introduction of the rosary into Christendom is ascribed by Pope Pius V, in a Bull, AD 1596, to Dominic, the founder of the Black Friars, AD 1221, and it is related that Paul of Pherma, an Egyptian ascetic of the fourth century, being ordered to recite 300 prayers,collected as many pebbles which he kept in his bosom, and threw out one by one at every prayer, which shows that the rosary was probably not in use at that period.... It seems probable that the Muslims borrowed the rosary from the Buddhists, and that the Crusaders copied their Muslim opponents and introduced it into Christendom."' A Dictionary of Islam, p. 546.

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Zikr was followed by meditation to allow the individual thoughts of sufis to emerge. Generally dervishes meditated on some particular verse of the Qur'an, and at the same time an image of the pir was recalled to mind.
Through baiy`a or formal initiation, disciples were inextricably spiritually linked to their pirs. In order to solemnize the occasion, the pir would place his hand on the disciple's head, or alternately, the ritual involved the grasping of each other's hands. A distinguished disciple, or one particularly favoured by the Shaikh, was invested by him with a khirqa. This was not necessarily made of wool but invariably was patched. At the ceremony the Shaikh imparted to his disciple secret instructions commensurate with the latter's abilities and transmitted to him special blessings. According to Hujwiri, the wearing of the muraqqa or khirqa was practised by Muhammad and his companions. Another tradition says that after the Prophet's return from his mi`raj or ascension, Muhammad invested `Ali with a cloak which he had been instructed by God to give to one who answered a particular question. Investiture of the khirqa increased the religious responsibilities of the disciple and he was expected to prove himself worthy of the honour. Hujwiri gives the following allegorical interpretation of the cloak's significance:

`Its collar is annihilation of intercourse (with men), its two sleeves are observance (hifz) and continence (`ismat), its two gussets are poverty and purity, its belt is persistence in contemplation, its hem (kursi) is tranquillity in (God's) presence, and its fringe is settlement in the abode of union. '/1

Some distinguished disciples who had been endowed with khirqas were also sent by their Shaikhs to act as deputies or khalifas at different places during their lifetimes. They were given a licence or diploma called an ijaza or khilafat-nama, authorizing recipients to disseminate the principles and practices of their respective orders. Each khilafat-nama was formally signed and sealed by the Shaikh and witnessed by one or two of his important disciples.
Before a Shaikh's death, he would nominate his spiritual heir and bequeath to him his prayer carpet or skin called a sajjada, his subha, his staff and personal khirqa. The heir's title was Sajjada-Nashin, in Arabic, Shaikh as-Sajjada. Succession was not necessarily hereditary or a decision of the Shaikh, in some orders after a Shaikh's death a khalifa would be elected.

/1 Nicholson, p. 56.

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Generally, Shaikhs were buried inside their khanqahs or close-by. Eventually rulers or important nobles, devoted to a particular Shaikh, erected imposing tombs on the graves of their patron saints. Even the humblest of these burial sites became institutions of far-reaching significance. By the eleventh century, khanqahs had become centres for the spiritual élite. However, the tombs were also for the people, both Muslim and non-Muslim, many of whom travelled vast distances to reach them71. Pilgrims sought the intercession of the Shaikh's spirit for the fulfilment of their own ambitions, both religious and mundane. Naturally, the most enthusiastic disseminators of miraculous powers attached to the tombs were those whose wishes were attained, but the empty-handed cursed their own lot, rather than questioning the genuine sanctity of the saints. Such activity at the tombs led to an identification between the common man and the silsila, and this was often associated with a genuine feeling of respect for the Shaikh.
Gradually the veneration of tombs degenerated into an excess of superstitious practices. The belief spread that the spirit of the saints resided in their graves and could be invoked for private use. Fictitious graves were also constructed and worshipped ; a curious story is related by J.P. Brown in which an ass's grave was believed to radiate blessings to a group of villages in Anatolia./1
Great celebrations were held to commemorate the chief landmarks in the life of a Shaikh. Then, as now, the most popular date marked the anniversary of the death of great Indian sufis. This was known as the `urs or wedding, for the death of a mystic denoted the return of his soul to the supernatural source from which it had been separated during its earthly existence72. This belief was strengthened by the philosophy of Ibn al-`Arabi in his most significant concept, the Wandat al-Wujud or the Tawhid-i Wujudi, that is, the Unity of Being.

Wandat al-Wujud

The twelfth century was a watershed in the history of sufism. This was brought about by the introduction and widespread acceptance of the theory of Wandat al-Wujud. Ibn al-`Arabi did not, in fact, devise the concept himself but he managed to reconcile  varying sufi views on Reality and re-orientated them in such a way as to form a sound basis for future developments in ideas on mysticism. Ibn al-`Arabi was immortalized by the title, Shaikh al-Akbar, 'the Greatest Shaikh.'
Born at Murcia in the south-east of Spain on 27 Ramazan 560,`7 August 1165 into the ancient Arab tribe of Tayy, Ibn al-'Arabi was a precocious child. At an early age he had a vision which changed the course of his life. Adopting sufism, Ibn al-'Arabi served under many different Shaikhs, at the same time continuing to claim that his gnosis

/1 J.P. Brown, The Dervishes, ed. H.A. Rose, London. 1968, pp. 307-22.

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was based on direct inspiration. His father was a friend of the celebrated philosopher, Ibn Rushd or Averroes (1126-98). As a youth, Ibn al-`Arabi impressed Averroes by the perception of his own divine inspiration.
In 590/1194 Ibn al-`Arabi went to Tunis and the following year to Fez. In 597/1200 he visited the Almohad capital of Marrakesh, then he went to Mecca. In 601/1204 he left for Baghdad where he remained for six years before visiting Quniya. In 611/1214 he re-visited Mecca where he compiled a commentary on a collection of his Arabic poems, Tarjuman al-Ashwaq (Interpretation of Love). These had been written during his first pilgrimage and his commentary explained their esoteric meaning. The following year, Ibn al-`Arabi left Mecca and spent the next nine years at such places as Siwas, and Malalya in Anatolia. Finally in 629/1232, he settled at Damascus, living there until his death on 28 Rabi' 11 638/16 November 1240.
Ibn al-`Arabi was a truly prolific author. Although he wrote excellent mystical poetry in Arabic, his great works, al-Futuhat al-Makkiyya (Meccan Victories or Discourses) and the Fusus al-Hikam (Bezels of Wisdom) are philosophical. Ibn al-`Arabi claimed that Fusus had been revealed to him in a single dream. Both works in fact are a summary of the Islamic esoteric heritage.
Not only was Ibn al-`Arabi a great sufi in his own right, he was also a link between eastern and western sufism. His writings are extremely difficult to understand. The symbols and metaphors he used in an effort to explain his own system of sufism shocked the orthodox. Thanks to the efforts of his commentators, writing both in Arabic and Persian, the impact of the works of Ibn al-`Arabi and his own influence as a sufi, penetrated deeply both into current and later sufi thought.
Among his disciples, Sadru'd-Din Al-Qunawi, who was initiated at Quniya in 607/1210, helped to popularize Ibn al-`Arabi's works in Anatolia through the method of lecturing. Jalalu'd-Din Rumi was also greatly impressed by his ideas. 'Iraqi, who will be discussed in Chapter Three, introduced Ibn al-'Arabi to Indian sufis. Of the many Persian commentators on Ibn al-'Arabi, none could excel Maulana Nuru'd-Din 'Abdu'r-Rahman Jami of Herat (817/1414-898/1492). A descendant of 'Abdu'l-Qadir Jilani, 'Abdul-Karim al-Jili (767/1365-832/1428), who lived for some time in Yaman, later travelling through India in 790/1388, wrote about thirty books on Ibn al-'Arabi's philosophy, including a commentary on the Futuhat. His most important work was al-Insan al-Kamil (The Perfect Man) which sought to develop, and occasionally to modify, the doctrines of Ibn al-'Arabi.
The concept of the Wandat al-Wujud (Unity of Being) expounded by Ibn al-'Arabi was founded on a primordial belief in the ultimate nature of Unity which reduced to nothing, ideas of the existence of entities 'other than God.'73 According to Ibn al-`Arabi, the Absolute Being was in-
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separable from the Absolute Existent and was the ultimate source of all existence. The belief that this concept was a form of pantheism has now been discarded. Louis Massignon translated it as 'existential monism' ; Affifi also does not approve of the term pantheism, but does not reject it completely, calling it instead `Islamic pantheism.' T. Burckhardt, another authority on Ibn al-`Arabi, unequivocally refutes the use of the word in connection with Wandat al- Wijud and says:

`Pantheism only conceives of the relationship between the Divine Principle and things from the one point of view of substantial or existential continuity, and this is an error explicitly rejected by every traditional doctrine. If there were such a continuity by virtue of which God and the manifested universe could be compared as a branch can be compared with the trunk from which it sprang, then this continuity, or, (what amounts to the same thing), the substance common to the two terms, would either be determined by some superior principle which differentiated it or would itself be superior to the two terms which it bound together and, in a sense, included: God would then not be God. Now it might be said that God is himself this continuity, or this Unity, but in that case it would not be conceived of as outside Him, so that He is in reality beyond compare and therefore distinct from everything manifested, but without the possibility of anything being 'outside' or 'beside' Him<sup>74</sup>. Now, as Muhi'u'd-Din ibn `Arabi says in his "Epistle on Unity," the Risalat al-Ahadiyah : " ...None grasps Him save He Himself. None knows Him but He Himself... He knows Himself by Himself. . . Other-than-He cannot grasp Him. His impenetrable veil is His own Oneness. Other-than-He does not cloak Him. His veil is His very existence. He is veiled by His oneness in a manner that cannot be explained. Other-than-He does not see Him ; whether prophet, envoy or perfected saint or angel near unto Him."   /1

Henry Corbin takes even stronger exception to a monistic interpretation being applied to Ibn al-`Arabi's philosophy and brand of mysticism. He says:

`It is perhaps because our age-old Christological habits prevent us from conceiving (of) a union other than hypostatic that so many Western writers have characterized Ibn `Arabi as a 'monist.' They overlook the fact that such fundamentally docetic thinking is hardly compatible with what Western philosophy has defined as 'monism.''

/1 T. Burckhardt, An introduction to Suji doctrine, tr. by D.M. Matheson. Lahore. 1963, pp. 23-4.

/2 H. Corbin, Creative imagination in the Sufism of Ibn 'Arabi, tr. R. Manhem. London, 1969, p. 209.

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The Islamic doctrine of Tawhid or the affirmation of God's Oneness or Unity is founded on a belief that there is no other God than Allah, who is also the Unique one, the Creator and the Lord of Judgement. The orthodox differed sharply from their opponents over relations between the divine essence and its attributes, but to the falasifa, or Muslim philosophers, God is a Being: `necessary and perfect, supreme intelligence and supreme love, producing the world by a mode of necessary and deliberate emanation.' Sufis of Hallaj's school advocated that : 'in His essence, love, 'ishq, is the Essence of the essence.' They did not advocate a philosophical basis for God. Ghazali's attempt, however, to reconcile current theories, prepared the ground for Ibn al-Arabi's theory of the Unity of Being. His God was not the transcendental God of the orthodox but the Absolute Being who manifested Himself in every form of existence75, and in the highest degree in the form of the Perfect Man. According to Ibn al-`Arabi, the One and the many are two aspects of `One'; Affifi interprets his concept this way :

'The One reveals Himself in the many ... as an object is revealed in different mirrors, each mirror reflecting an image determined by its nature and its capacity as a recipient. Or it is like a source of light from which an infinite number of lights are derived. Or like a substance which penetrates and permeates the forms of existing objects : thus, giving them their meaning and being. Or it is like a mighty sea on the surface of which we observe countless waves for ever appearing and disappearing. The eternal drama of existence is nothing but this ever-renewed creation (al-khalq al jadid) which is in reality a perpetual process of self-revelation.’ /1

Ibn al-'Arabi identified the Absolute with zat or essence and interpreted it as Absolute Being (wujud al-mutlaq), calling it the source and cause of all existence. The symbol of mirrors was used to remind the person who was the recipient of divine self-manifestation that he was not seeing God directly but rather a reflection of the divine light. Like all eminent sufis, Ibn al-'Arabi emphasized: 'He who knows himself knows the Lord.' The Absolute in His hidden aspect was a mystery and a darkness whose secrets could, under no circumstances, be unveiled. It was only the self-revealing aspect of the Absolute which human beings could understand.
A new orientation to the theological terms tanzih and tashbih were given by Ibn al-Arabi. To the 'ulama,' tanzih meant divine transcendence and tashbih, anthropomorphism. But to Ibn al-'Arabi tanzih referred to the aspect of completeness in the Absolute and tashbih stood for His limitedness (taqayyud). To him there was no antagonism between the two and a true knowledge of the Absolute was necessitated by their

/1 M.M. Sharif ed., A history of Muslim philosophy, 1, p. 413.

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fusion. As long as an idolater was aware he was worshipping God, idolatry could be tolerated for this tended to make tanzih and tashbih complimentary. If an idol worshipper imagined that a piece of stone or wood was God, he ignored tanzih. An awareness of the fact that the Form of the Absolute ran through the entire world of Being amounted to a harmonious connection between tanzih and tashbih./1
Ibn al-Arabi used the term, emanation, in a sense which differed from Plotinus, who believed it to be : 'one thing over-flowing from the Absolute One, then another from the first thing, etc. in the form of a chain.' But to Ibn al-`Arabi emanation meant that: 'one and the same Reality variously determines and delimits itself and appears immediately in the forms of different things.'/2 His theory of self-manifestation of the Absolute, however, did not contradict the Islamic theory of creation. It was founded on sufi cosmogony which described the motive for creation this way: `I was a hidden Treasure, I yearned to be known. That is why I produced creatures, in order to be known in them'. The Divine Being is a Creator because He wished to know Himself in beings who know Him. Thus 'the Creation is essentially the revelation of the Divine Being, first to Himself, a luminescence occurring within Him; it is a theophany (tajalli-ilahi).' To Ibn al-Arabi, creation ex nihilo or an absolute beginning from nothing was an idea without meaning76./3 To him the world continued being created anew every moment, and all movements sought to reach the Absolute One. Fana' symbolized the passing away of all forms and baqa' was a perpetuation in the Divine Being.
Ibn al-Arabi drew upon both semantics and Hadis to support his idea that the entire creative process was dominated by feminine elements. Reality was both mother and father; in it were enshrined activity as well as passivity. The perception of beauty as the `theophany' par excellence was natural/4: 'God is a beautiful being who loves beauty.'
Ibn al-Arabi attached a high importance to the cosmic significance of man. He believed that the universe was a 'Big Man' created by God in order to see himself, while Man was a small universe, a well-polished mirror reflecting objects as they really were. In man were found all the attributes which the universe embodied, while a Perfect Man was the epitome of all understanding and the vicegerency of God on earth./5 According to Ibn al-'Arabi, the Perfect Man was the 'First Epiphany of God,' sometimes he was identified with the Logos and sometimes with the spirit-giving principle imminent in the universe. His arguments were based on the Jewish tradition that God created Adam in his own image

/1 Fusus al-Hikam, A. Affifi, Cairo, 1946, pp. 68-72.

/2 T. lzutsu, A comparative study of the key philosophical concepts in Sufism and Taoism, I, Tokyo, 1966, p. 145.

/3 H. Corbin, Creative imagination in the Sufism of Ihn 'Arabi, pp. 186-95.

/4 Fusus al-Hikam, p. 82.

/5 ibid, pp. 48-9.

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but also made full use of the sufi theories of Haqiqa al-Muhammadiyya and Nur al-Muhammadiyya. Thus in relation to the Absolute, Muhammad was both a `servant' and `passive,' but in relation to the world he was `lord' and `active.' The Perfect Man having `actualized in himself the Absolute' was permeated by the Absolute. What distinguished the Absolute from created beings were certain attributes contained in the former, such as the necessity for existence (wujub al-wujud) and eternity./1
Ibn al-`Arabi discredited reason and blamed it for covering man with an opaque veil of `ego.'77 This drove man further from the Absolute making him inferior to animals, plants and minerals, which did not have any ego. It was by dispelling reason that man ascended from his lowly position and the light of the Absolute illuminated him. Using the example of a coloured glass, Ibn al-`Arabi said that as the same light passed through different coloured glasses many shades of light appeared, so also the Absolute was manifested diversely in men of varying capacities. The saints (Wali) who had died to their own ego were Perfect Men, for Wali was a name of God and indicated that saints were an aspect of the Absolute. After Muhammad, prophethood, or the process of lawgiving, ceased, but the state of Wali never ceased to exist. The concept of the Khatam al-Walaya (the seal of sainthood) in Ibn al-`Arabi's world-view meant the end of a cycle of saints; he believed that a cycle embodying the heritage of Muhammad and the Messiah ended with himself. Saints coming in subsequent centuries were to inherit the legacy of Ibn al-`Arabi's ideas regarding sainthood.
Mystical union, to Ibn al-`Arabi, did not amount to `becoming' one with God, rather it was the realization of an already existing union. Like all sufis, he believed that 'ilm (knowledge) belonged to the intellect and ma`rifa (intuitive knowledge) to the soul. He advised sufis to remove the veils woven through sin which separated the soul and God, thus enabling the former to radiate esoteric knowledge, the ray of divine light. Great tolerance, human compassion and fellowship were indispensable features of a spiritual life; these were also the chief means by which mystics could comprehend oneness with the Reality which was the One and All.
The religious and moral implications of Ibn al-'Arabi's teachings had a great impact on theologians in the Islamic world, from the twelfth century onwards. Although he believed in the supremacy of Islam as a world religion, Ibn al-'Arabi advocated that the Divine existed and was worshipped in all religions, and that God was worshipped in Love, His highest manifestation. He declared :

' M y heart has become the receptacle of every `form' ;

It is a pasture for gazelles (i.e. objects of love) and

/1 Fusus al-Hikam, pp. 53-4.

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a convent for Christian monks.

And a temple for idols, and the pilgrim's Ka'ba,

and the tablets of the Torah (Jewish Law)

and the Book of the Qur'an.

I follow the religion of love; whichever way its camels take,

for this is my religion and my faith.»

Sufism in India

The Arab sea traders operating between the Malabar coast and Ceylon first introduced Islam to that region of the sub-continent. The belief that the conquest of Sind at the time of the Umayyad Caliph al-Walid I (705-15) originated as a punitive expedition against the ruling Raja Dahir, after his pirates had seized some Muslims on a hajj to Mecca, is a myth. In reality, the conquest of Transoxiana and Sind was initiated by Hajjaj, Walid's governor in Iraq, and was one aspect of his expansionist policy. In 710 Muhammad bin Qasim al-Saqafi began his advance through Makran and Baluchistan with the conquest of Sind between 711 and 712; the following year he extended his influence as far as Multan in the southern Panjab. Similarly, Qutayba bin Muslim, another enterprising general, conquered Transoxiana between 705 and 715. Balkh, Bukhara, Samargand, Khwarazm and Farghana became Arab colonies.
The great spread of sufism in Transoxiana and Khurasan has been dealt with previously, however, no such developments in Sind are recorded. Early Arab conquerors settled their families in large numbers in the various towns of Sind. Conversion of the local population occurred due to several reasons. Many Brahmans holding high government offices embraced Islam in order to retain their positions. A large number of Buddhists who had acted as fifth columnists against their Hindu rulers and were extremely hostile to Brahman domination, converted to the faith of their conquerors. Muhammad bin Qasim is believed to have induced several chieftains to accept Islam/2 and for reasons of expediency some responded favourably. The Raja of Asifan, in the Panjab, is said to have converted to Islam after persuasion from some Muslim merchants,/3 who as a class had always been enthusiastic proselytizers of Islam. The Qur'an was also said to have been translated into local regional dialects. Hindu and Buddhist scholars from Sind were sent to the `Abbasid court. In the eighth century Abu Ma'shar/4 Najih (d. 170/ 787) a scholar of Hadis, and the poet Abu'l-'Ata/5 (died after 158/774) were leading literary figures from Sind.

/1 Tajuman al-Ashwaq, quoted by Affifi, A history of Muslim philosophy, I, p. 144. '

/2 Muhammad 'Ali bin Hamid bin Abu Bakr Kufi, Chach Nama, Delhi, 1939, pp. 104-06, 116, 119-21, 156, 288-90.

/3 Abu'l-'Abbas Ahmad al-Baladhuri, Futuh al-Buldan, Leiden, 1866, p. 446.

/4 Encyclopaedia of Islam (new edition), I. p. 140.

/5 ibid, p. 140.

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Lack of information about sufis in Sind may be ascribed to two factors. Firstly, land communications between Khurasan, Transoxiana and Sind were slow and arduous. Secondly, the blossoming of sufism during the tenth century had synchronized with the rise of the Ismaili Fatimid Caliphate from 909 to 1171. Between 977 and 985, Multan had become a dependency of the Fatimids of Egypt. Mansura, the capital of Sind, ruled by the Sumira dynasty had also accepted the over-lordship of the Egyptian Caliphs. Therefore sufism, which subscribed to Sunni Islam, was naturally cut, from close relations with other areas of Central Asia, also within the Sunni fold.
The Isma`ilis were a sect of Shiis who believed that the descendants of Imam Ja`far al-Sadiq's son, Ismail, who died in 765, five years before his father's death were the true Imams. They interpreted the Qur'an symbolically and allegorically, emphasizing that the inner meaning (batin) of the Qur'an should be given preference to its literal meaning. They called their interpretation ta'wil (esoteric exegesis) and believed that it had been revealed only to the khass (élite). This gave rise to a hierarchical order of teachers ranging from the Imam to the simple believer. The batin was not to be revealed to the uninitiated. In order to avert the danger of persecution from orthodox Sunnis they used what the Shi`is called taqiya (religious concealment) in order to escape persecution. They were enthusiastic missionaries who unhesitatingly modified their esoteric system to suit their converts. According to fourteenth and fifteenth century legends, Isma`íli propagandists evolved a belief for Hindu converts that `Ali was the tenth incarnation of Vishnu, that Adam was another aspect of Siva and that Muhammad was in fact Brahma./1 This is, however, not necessarily representative of early Ismaili approaches to proselytization.
Between 1004 and 1011 the invasions of Mahmud of Ghazna dealt a strong blow to Ismaili power in Multan, however their impact was transitory. In 1025, laden with booty obtained from the plunder of Somnath, Mahmud's armies passed through Mansura en route to Ghazna but, harassed by local Jats, had no time to launch a further attack on the Ismailis. The Isma`ilis continued to flourish in Mansura and Multan. A hundred and fifty years later in 1175 Mu'izzu'd-Din Muhammad bin Sam seized Multan, establishing firm control and Sunni rule over the southern part of the Panjab.
The Sumira dynasty continued to rule the Lower Sind until the middle of the fourteenth century. After the end of the twelfth century, the Upper Sind came under the domination of Sunni rule. It would seem, however, that by the middle of the eleventh century, sufism had penetrated into the areas surrounding Multan.
The first sufi to settle in the region was Shaikh Safiu'd-Din Kaziruni.

/1 T.W, Arnold, The preaching of Islam, Lahore, 1961, p. 215.

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The Shaikh was a native of Kazirun near Shiraz, in Iran. His uncle was Shaikh Abu Ishaq Kaziruni,/l who died in 426/1035. After appointing Safiu'd-Din his khalifa, according to tradition, Shaikh Abu Ishaq ordered him to mount a camel and travel in whatever direction the animal led him; he was then to remain where the camel finally halted. Although this happened to be in the middle of a desert, the Shaikh founded a town later called Uch./2 Although this story would appear mythical, it is typical of medieval tales relating to sufis.
In reality, it was the news of Sultan Mahmud's conquest of Multan which prompted sufis to advise their talented and adventurous disciples to settle in that region. A new, reasonably unpopulated area offered tranquillity to a contemplative:
No account of Shaikh Safiu'd-Din's activities at Uch remains. An anecdote, related to his disciples by Shaikh Nizamu'd-Din Auliya', gives an interesting account of the Shaikh's encounter with a yogi.
According to the story, a yogi visited Shaikh Safiu'd-Din at Uch and challenged him to a competitive performance of miracles. The tale continues that the yogi began an exhibition of supernatural powers by flying to the ceiling and returning safely to the ground. When it was his turn, Shaikh Safiu'd-Din prayed to God, begging Him for some miraculous power. Then, leaving the room, he flew to the west, the north and the south, returning to the room and the awestruck yogi. Although he himself could bodily rise in a perpendicular position as a result of powers achieved through his own spiritual exercises, the yogi admitted

/1 Abu Ishaq Kaziruni was recognized as the protector of travellers and both merchants and rulers gave huge gifts to his khanqah. Ibn Battuta gives the following graphic description of his influence.

"This Shaikh Abu Ishaq is highly venerated by the people of India and China. Travellers on the Sea of China make a practice when the wind turns against them and they fear pirates, of making vows to Abu Ishaq, and each one of them sets down in writing the obligation he has undertaken in his vow. Then when they come safely to land, the servitors of the hospice go on board the ship, take the inventory, and exact (the amount of) his vow from each person who has pledged himself. There is not a ship that comes from China or from India but has thousands of dinars in it (vowed to the saint), and the agents on behalf of the intendant of the hospice come to take delivery of that sum. There are some poor brethren who come to beg alms of the Shaikh; each of these receives a written order for some amount, sealed with the die into red wax and apply it to the order so that the mark of the stamp remains upon it, to this effect: `Whoso has in his possession (moneys dedicated under) a vow to Shaikh Abu Ishaq, let him give thereof to so-and-so so much,' the order being for a thousand or a hundred dirhams, or some intermediate or smaller sum, according to the standing of the poor brother concerned. Then, when the mendicant finds someone who has in his possession anything under vow, he takes from him and writes for him a receipt for the amount on the back of the order. The king of India (probably Muhammad bin Tughluq) once vowed ten thousand dinars to the Shaikh Abu Ishaq, and when the news of this reached the poor brethren of the hospice, one of them came to India, took delivery of the money, and went back with it to the hospice."

H.A.R. Gibb, tr., The travels of Ibn Battuta, II, Cambridge, 1962, pp. 320-21.

/2 Shaikh `Abdu'l-Haqq Muhaddis Dihlawi, Akhbaru'l-Akhyar, Delhi, 1332/1914, p. 205.

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that the Shaikh's performance emanated from divine grace and was therefore miraculous./1
The term ‘jogi' or `yogi' in sufi literature, is never precisely defined, however the yogis referred to in later anecdotes are the Nath Yogis or Siddhas who acquired supernatural powers through hatha-yoga. Possibly the yogi mentioned in this story was a Nath yogi.
As mentioned earlier, the annexation of the Panjab by Mahmud of Ghazna and its incorporation into his empire prompted many sufis to settle in the area. Abu'l-Fazl Muhammad bin al-Hasan Khattali, a disciple of Husri (d. 371/981-82) of the school of Junaid, ordered his disciple, Shaikh Husain Zinjani to move to the Panjab. Later Khattali asked a young disciple, Abu'l-Hasan `Ali bin `Usman bin `Ali al-Ghaznawi al-Jullabi al-Hujwiri, to follow Husain Zinjani. Hujwiri objected on the grounds that already an eminent sufi was there. His pir, however, ordered him to obey. Hujwiri reached Lahore after dark. In the morning Shaikh Husain Zinjani's coffin was carried out for burial—he had died during the night./2 Zinjani was buried in Chah Miran, which is now a suburb of Lahore. It would seem that Hujwiri probably reached Lahore in c. 1035, while Sultan Mas`ud I (1031-41) reigned in Ghazna.
As his name implies, Hujwiri78 was born in the Ghazna suburb, about 1009. He studied under several sufi masters, some of whom he names in his Kashf al-Mahjub were Abu'l-Qasim Gurgani, Khwaja Muzaffar, Abu'1-`Abbas Ahmad bin Muhammad al-Ashqani. However, Khattali of Syria was his main teacher. Even after settling in Lahore, Hujwiri kept in contact with sufis in Transoxiana, Khurasan and Syria. He made long trips at least twice during his lifetime, each for more than two years. When Khattali died in 1065, Hujwiri was by his side. After 1067, Hujwiri returned to Lahore, remaining there until his death. According to the tablet on his tomb, the saint died in 465/1072-73. Nicholson believed that Hujwiri died sometime between 465 and 469/1076-77.3 However, the Kashf al-Mahjub recorded Khwaja `Abdu'llah Ansari, who died in 1089, as amongst the contemporary saints. It would seem, therefore, that Hujwiri died some time after that date.
Later Muslims posthumously conferred on Shaikh Hujwiri the title, Data Ganj Bakhsh, 'Distributor of (Unlimited) Treasure'. His tomb has always been greatly venerated by sufis and Muslims alike. Among early mystics who undertook hard ascetic exercises in Lahore at the Shaikh's tomb was Khwaja Mui'nu'd-Din Chishti, the founder of the leading Indian order, the Chishtiyya.
Hujwiri was a writer of both poetry and prose. Of his works the follow-

/1 Amin Hasan Sijzi, Fawa'idu'l-Fu'ad, Bulandshahr, 1272/1855-56, pp. 57-8.

/2 ibid, p. 39.

/3 Nicholson, pp. 166-67, 169-70; Hujwiri's Travels: Azarbayjan, pp. 57 and 410; Bastam, p. 68; Damascus, Ramla and Baital-Jin in Syria, pp. 94, 167, 343; Tus and Uzkand, p. 234; Mayhana, p. 235; Marw, p. 401; Sai.aargand, p. 407; Nicholson's preface, pp. IX-XII.

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ing are mentioned in his masterpiece, the Kashf al-Mahjub (The Uncovering of Veils) :
'1. Minhaj al-Din, a work on sufi practices, containing a detailed account of the Ahl-i Suffa and a full biography of Husain bin Mansur al-Hallaj.
2. Asrar al-khiraq wa'l-ma'unat, a work on the patched garments worn by sufis.
3. The Kitab-i fana' wa baqa' written, the author relates, 'in the vanity and rashness of youth.'
4. A work of which no title is given, in which the sayings of al-Hallaj are explained.
5. The Kitab al-Bayan li-Ahl al-7yan, a work on the union with God.
6. The Bahr al-Qulub.
7. Al-Ri `ayat li-Huquq Allah on Divine Unity.
8. A work on faith of which the title is not specified.' /1
Hujwiri's Kashf al-Mahjuh is also the first known manual of sufism written in Persian. Composed towards the end of his life, the work draws upon the vast source material available in Arabic and is a most authoritative exposition of sufism according to Junaid's school. As noted by Nicholson, the most remarkable chapter in the Kashf al-Mahjub relates to the many doctrines held by different sects of sufis. Hujwiri however, is not merely a compiler79. Firstly, he explains the doctrines of various schools, then he relates and assesses them. His comments form the most authoritative classification of sufi thoughts and practices.
The Kashf al-Mahjub suggests that in the eleventh century a number of mystics and scholars who had settled in Lahore were strongly hostile to the views of its author. A scholar, who Hujwiri fails to name, an expert in Qur'anic commentaries, sharply disagreed with his interpretation of fana' and baqa.' According to the scholar, baqa' indicated God's subsistence in man. Some Lahore sufis believed that gnosis emanated from inspiration; Hujwiri disparagingly called this view `Brahmanical.' Moreover he accused some Muslims of accepting what he saw as the higher status of prophets. To Hujwiri's dissatisfaction they advocated that the saints were superior to prophets./2 These developments so distressed Hujwiri that he considered himself a `captive among uncongenial folk' in Lahore.'/3
It would appear that from its very inception, sufism in India developed conflicting trends mainly due to challenges from movements amongst local mystics. Sufi history in India is the story both of various challenges and responses, and also of the cross-fertilization of new ideas.

2. HISTORY in PERSIA, CENTRAL ASIA, INDIA

Cette section évoque le contexte au sein duquel les sûfis et hommes du blâme vécurent, dont des membres de la Naqsbandiyya pratiquant un dikr silencieux. L’histoire de cet univers complexe est négligée alors qu’elle concerne les deux grands empires centraux de l’Eurasie issus d’envahisseurs de l’Asie centrale, la Perse Safavide et l’Inde Moghole⁸⁰. Si l’on y joint l’empire Turc un peu mieux connu en Occident, c’est l’ensemble des terres d’Islam qui sont concernées – ensemble influent généralement mal connu ! D’où ce nécessaire chapitre rédigé en anglais, langue de sources précises disponibles⁸¹.

En y ajoutant aux confins du nord-ouest eurasien l’Europe chrétienne et à l’est au-delà des déserts et des montagnes la Chine bouddho-taoique, on couvre l’histoire de l’humanité pendant son second millénaire CE. Un instant au regard de l’histoire, l’Europe s’étendra aux Amériques avant de dominer la Terre.

Les empires centraux musulmans sont évoqués grâce à une fraction d’une Histoire de l’Islam éditée à Cambridge. Ils sont étonnamment ignorés dans les lectures d’une Histoire du Monde. Et ignorés presque totalement pour l’Asie centrale - les quatre « -stans » et l’Afghanistan - d’où surgirent pourtant les grands bousculeurs-destructeurs Gengis Khan et Tamerlan⁸².

La Perse et l’Inde ont surtout intéressé les historiens anglais. Nous ajoutons, traduite en français, l’introduction synthétique d’un historien-romancier écossais figurant en tête de l’histoire complexe indienne. Elle suffit à évoquer l’anarchie vécue après la chute de l’empire Moghol. Le dix-huitième siècle amorce la confiscation britannique, dernier « Empire des Indes ».

On justifie⁸³ cette ouverture ‘trop détaillée’ et souvent répétitive parce qu’elle permet des aperçus au niveau de biographies individuelles, d’où une micro histoire vivante plutôt qu’un résumé collectif inhumain sec. Elle expose la dure condition des spirituels placés entre le marteau d’ ulémas faisant régner la cha’ria et l’enclume d’une solide résistance indienne ou de sa dissolvante digestion.

Addition : Les routes de la soie de Peter Frankopan vient combler un « trou » historique. Je l’ai découvert après avoir établi le présent volume sans pouvoir le livrer en français lisible, ayant été obligé de recourir à des annexes d’Histoire de l’Empire britannique.

Ouvrage magistral. Aussi quelques extraits ouvrent cette section 2. History in Persia, Central Asia, India. Elles incitent à tout lire⁸⁴.

Les Hommes du blâme et les Naqsbandis sont issus du centre de civilisation mondial avant le seizième siècle. Puis s’inverse l’importance du centre continental vers la périphérie maritime – de l’Asie méconnue aujourd’hui disparue suite à la sécheresse et à la désertification vers l’Europe disposant des bateaux, de canons et de la boussole.

Le carrefour des civilisations⁸⁵

PREFACE

[...]

Aujourd'hui, on consacre beaucoup d'attention à mesurer l'impact vraisemblable d'une croissance rapide de l'économie chinoise ; on suppute qu'elle induira le quadruplement de la demande d'objets de luxe dans la prochaine décennie. Ou bien l'on étudie les mutations sociales de l'Inde où plus de gens disposent d'un téléphone mobile que d'une chasse d'eau. Or ni la Chine ni l'Inde, selon moi, n'offrent le meilleur point de vue pour considérer le passé du monde et son présent. En réalité, et pour des millénaires, ce fut la région sise entre Orient et Occident, reliant l'Europe au Pacifique, qui constitua l'axe de rotation du globe.

Ce milieu entre l'Est et l'Ouest, qui court en gros des rivages orientaux de la Méditerranée et de la mer Noire jusqu'à l'Himalaya, on jugera peut-être qu'il paraît peu prometteur pour regarder le monde. C'est une

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région qui abrite aujourd'hui des États évoquant l'exotique et le périphérique, tels le Kazakhstan et l'Ouzbékistan, le Kirghizistan et le Turkménistan, le Tadjikistan et les pays du Caucase ; on l'associe à des régimes instables, violents, qui menacent la sécurité internationale, à l'image de l'Afghanistan, de l'Iran, de l'Irak et de la Syrie, ou qui méconnaissent les meilleures pratiques de la démocratie, tels la Russie et l'Azerbaïdjan. Dans l'ensemble, c'est une région constituée d'États déstructurés ou en voie de destruction, dirigés par des dictateurs qui remportent les élections nationales avec d'incroyables majorités, dont les familles et les amis ont la haute main sur d'immenses conglomérats, possèdent d'innombrables biens et détiennent le pouvoir politique. Ce sont des lieux où les droits de l'homme sont bafoués, où la liberté d'expression, touchant les questions de foi, de conscience et de sexualité, est limitée, où le contrôle des médias décide de ce qui est rapporté ou pas par la presse.

Si de tels pays peuvent nous paraître sauvages, ce ne sont pas des trous perdus, d'obscurs terrains vagues. En réalité, le pont qui relie l'Est et l'Ouest est le carrefour même des civilisations. Loin d'être à la marge des affaires mondiales, ces pays se trouvent en leur centre - comme ils le sont depuis l'aube de l'histoire. C'est là que naquit la civilisation, là selon beaucoup que l'Homme fut créé - dans le jardin d'Éden, « planté par le Seigneur Dieu », doté de « toute espèce d'arbres séduisants à voir et bons à manger » dont on pensait généralement qu'il se situait dans les riches contrées entre le Tigre et l'Euphrate.

C'est sur ce pont unissant l'Est et l'Ouest que furent fondées les grandes métropoles il y a près de 5 000 ans, où les villes de Harappa et Mohenjo-daro, dans la vallée

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de l'Indus, furent les merveilles du monde antique, peuplées de dizaines de milliers d'habitants, aux rues surplombant un système d'égouts élaboré qu'on ne verrait pas en Europe avant des milliers d'années. D'autres grands centres de civilisation comme Babylone, Ninive, Uruk et Akkad en Mésopotamie étaient renommés pour leur faste et leur architecture novatrice. Entre-temps, un géographe chinois d'il y a plus de deux millénaires a noté que les habitants de la Bactriane, région traversée par l'Amou-Darya (l'Oxus) et englobant le nord de l'Afghanistan actuel, étaient des négociants et marchands légendaires ; sa capitale accueillait un marché d'une immense richesse, où les produits venaient de très loin pour repartir aussi loin.

C'est l'endroit où les grandes religions du monde ont pris vie, où le judaïsme, le christianisme, l'islam, le bouddhisme et l'hindouisme ont joué des coudes. C'est le chaudron où les groupes de langues ont rivalisé, où les langues indo-européennes, sémitiques et sino-tibétaines frétillaient à côté des altaïques, turques et caucasiennes. C'est là que de grands empires ont crû puis décru, là que les conséquences des affrontements culturels ou personnels se sont fait sentir à des milliers de kilomètres. En se tenant là, on découvre de nouvelles manières d'envisager le passé et un univers profondément interconnecté, où ce qui s'est produit sur tel continent a eu un impact sur tel autre, où les répliques des événements intervenus sur les steppes d'Asie centrale ont pu être perçues en Afrique du Nord, où les événements de Bagdad ont eu des échos en Scandinavie, où les découvertes des Amériques ont modifié les prix des denrées en Chine et induit une demande supplémentaire de chevaux sur les marchés de l'Inde septentrionale.

Ces vibrations se sont propagées sur un réseau qui s'évase dans toutes les directions, celui des routes parcourues par les pèlerins et les guerriers, les nomades

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et les marchands, où denrées et produits ont été achetés et vendus, les idées échangées, modifiées, enrichies. Elles ont transmis non seulement la prospérité, mais aussi la mort et la violence, la maladie et les fléaux. A la fin du XlXe siècle, ce réseau tentaculaire de relations a été baptisé du nom de Seidenstrassen, les routes de la soie, par un éminent géologue allemand, Ferdinand von Richthofen (l'oncle du « Baron Rouge », l'as de la Première Guerre mondiale). Ce nom leur est resté depuis lors.

Ces itinéraires constituent le système nerveux central du monde, reliant ensemble peuples et lieux, mais ils se trouvent sous la peau et sont invisibles à l'oeil nu. Tout comme l'anatomie explique la manière dont le corps fonctionne, c'est en comprenant ces connexions que nous comprenons la marche du monde. Pourtant, en dépit de son importance, cette partie de l'univers a été oubliée par l'histoire généralement enseignée. Cela résulte en partie de ce qu'on a appelé « l'orientalisme » — cette théorie véhémente, essentiellement négative de l'Orient, qui l'a tenu pour sous-développé et inférieur à l'Occident et donc indigne d'une étude sérieuse. Mais cela vient aussi de ce que le récit du passé est si prégnant, si bien installé qu'il ne peut plus accueillir une région qu'on a longtemps jugée périphérique à l'histoire de l'essor de l'Europe et de la société occidentale.

De nos jours, Jalalabad et Hérat en Afghanistan, Falloudja et Mossoul en Irak, Homs et Alep en Syrie paraissent synonymes de fondamentalisme religieux et de violence fanatique. Le présent a emporté le passé telle une avalanche : le temps n'est plus où le nom de Kaboul évoquait des visions de jardins plantés et entretenus par le grand Babur, fondateur de l'Empire moghol en Inde. Le Bagh-i Wafa (« Jardin de la Fidélité ») comportait un bassin entouré d'orangers et de grenadiers, outre un champ de trèfles, dont l'empereur était extrêmement fier. « C'est la plus belle partie du jardin, un superbe spectacle quand les oranges se colorent. Vraiment ce jardin est admirablement situé ! »

De même, les opinions modernes sur l'Iran ont obscurci les gloires de son histoire plus reculée, celle du pays qui le précéda, la Perse, naguère synonyme de bon goût en toutes choses, depuis le fruit servi au dîner jusqu'aux éblouissants portraits en miniature de ses artistes légendaires, en passant par le papier sur lequel écrivaient les érudits. Un ouvrage magnifiquement réfléchi de Simi Nishapuri, bibliothécaire de Mashhad dans l'est du pays, vers 1400, rapporte avec un luxe de détails les conseils d'un bibliophile qui partageait sa passion.

Quiconque envisage d'écrire, lui conseille-t-il solennellement, doit savoir que le meilleur papier de calligraphie se fabrique à Damas, Bagdad ou Samarcande. Le papier venu d'ailleurs « est en général rugueux, périssable et fait des pâtés ». Songez bien, prévient-il, qu'il vaut la peine de teinter légèrement le papier avant d'y écrire « car le blanc agresse les yeux et les plus beaux exemples de calligraphie observés emploient tous du papier teinté. »

Des endroits dont les noms sont quasi oubliés ont jadis dominé l'histoire, telle Merv, qu'un géographe du Xe siècle qualifie de « cité délicieuse, belle, brillante, étendue et agréable » et de « mère du monde » ; ou Ray, non loin de la moderne Téhéran, laquelle était si glorieuse aux yeux d'un autre écrivain à peu près contemporain, qu'elle pouvait être tenue pour la « mariée de la terre » et la « plus belle création du monde 12 ». Piquetant l'échine de l'Asie, ces villes s'enfilaient comme des perles, reliant le Pacifique à la Méditerranée.

Les centres urbains rivalisaient, l'émulation des dirigeants et des élites suscitait une architecture toujours

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plus ambitieuse et des monuments spectaculaires. Des bibliothèques, des lieux de culte, des églises et des observatoires à la taille et au rayonnement culturel immenses ponctuaient la région, reliant Constantinople à Damas, Ispahan, Samarcande, Kaboul et Kachgar. Des villes analogues accueillirent de brillants érudits qui donnèrent un grand élan à leurs disciplines. On ne se souvient aujourd'hui que d'une poignée d'entre eux - des hommes comme Ibn Sina, plus connu sous le nom d'Avicenne, al-Biruni et al-Khwarizmi - des géants dans le domaine de l'astronomie et de la médecine ; mais il y en avait beaucoup d'autres. Durant des siècles avant l'ère moderne actuelle, les centres d'excellence intellectuelle de ce monde, les Oxford et les Cambridge, les Harvard et les Yale ne se situèrent pas en Europe ou en Occident, mais à Bagdad et Balkh, Boukhara et Samarcande.

Il y avait une excellente raison pour que les cultures, les villes et les peuples jalonnant les routes de la soie se développent et prospèrent : tout en commerçant et échangeant des idées, ils apprenaient les uns des autres, s'empruntaient les uns aux autres, en suscitant davantage de progrès en philosophie, dans les sciences, les langues et les religions. Le progrès était essentiel, l'un des dirigeants du royaume de Zhao dans le nord-est de la Chine ne le savait que trop, à l'une des extrémités de l'Asie il y a plus de 2 000 ans. « Avoir le talent de suivre les modes d'hier, déclare le roi Wu-ling en 307 avant notre ère, ne suffit pas à améliorer le monde d'aujourd'hui 13. » Les dirigeants du passé comprenaient combien il importe de ne pas se laisser distancer.

La cape du progrès allait toutefois se déplacer au début des temps modernes, par suite de deux grandes expéditions maritimes qui intervinrent à la fin du xve siècle. Il suffit de six ans, dans les années 1490, pour jeter les fondations d'une perturbation majeure des systèmes

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d'échange établis depuis longtemps. D'abord, Christophe Colomb traversa l'Atlantique, ouvrant la voie à la connexion de deux grandes masses terrestres jusqu'alors inexplorées avec l'Europe et au-delà ; puis, à peine quelques années plus tard, Vasco de Gama réussit à contourner l'Afrique et à gagner l'Inde, traçant ainsi de nouveaux itinéraires. Ces découvertes changèrent les schémas d'interaction et de commerce en opérant un déplacement remarquable du centre de gravité politique comme économique du monde. Soudain, l'Europe occidentale cessait d'être une région écartée pour se trouver au centre d'un système croissant de communication, de transport et d'échanges commerciaux : d'un seul coup, elle devenait le nouvel intermédiaire entre Orient et Occident.

L'essor de l'Europe enclencha une féroce bataille de pouvoir — et pour le contrôle du passé. En même temps que les rivaux s'affrontaient, l'histoire était remodelée pour mettre en relief les événements, les thèmes et les idées utilisables dans les affrontements idéologiques parallèles à la lutte pour les ressources et la maîtrise des mers. On sculpta des bustes de grands politiciens et généraux revêtus de toges pour leur donner l'air de héros romains du passé ; on édifia de magnifiques bâtisses neuves dans le grand style classique en s'appropriant les gloires du monde antique comme si l'on en descendait directement. On tordit et l'on manipula l'histoire pour créer un récit péremptoire où l'essor de l'Occident n'était pas seulement naturel et inévitable, mais la suite logique de ce qui avait précédé.

[...]

Chapitre 5 LA ROUTE DE LA CONCORDE

Le génie stratégique et la subtilité tactique sur le champ de bataille avaient permis à Muhammad et ses disciples d'enchaîner une série de succès confondants. Le soutien de la tribu des Quraysh et celui de l'élite politique dominante à La Mecque avaient aussi été cruciaux, en leur donnant l'autorité pour persuader les tribus d'Arabie méridionale d'écouter et accepter le message de la nouvelle foi. Les occasions qui se présentèrent avec l'effondrement de la Perse arrivèrent elles aussi au bon moment. Mais deux autres raisons importantes aident à comprendre le triomphe. de l'islam au début du vile siècle : le soutien que lui fournirent les chrétiens et par-dessus tout les juifs.

Dans notre monde contemporain, où la religion semble être cause de conflits et de sang versé, il est facile d'oublier comment les grandes fois ont appris les unes des autres et ont emprunté les unes aux autres. Sous le regard d'aujourd'hui, christianisme et islam semblent diamétralement opposés, mais dans les premiers temps de coexistence, leurs rapports n'étaient pas tant pacifiques que chaleureux et encourageants. Plus encore, la relation de l'islam et du judaïsme offrait une compatibilité mutuelle encore plus frappante. Le soutien des juifs

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du Moyen-Orient fut vital pour la propagation de la parole de Muhammad.

Ricn que les sources de la première histoire islarnique soient complexe, il se dégage toutefois un thème remarquable et sans équivoque de la littérature de la période — qu'elle soit arabe, arménienne, syriaque, grecque ou hébraïque — comme des vestiges archéologiques. Muhammad et les siens se donnaient beaucoup de peine pour dissiper les craintes des juifs et des chrétiens à mesure que s'étendait leur mainmise.

Quand il s'était trouvé acculé à Yathrib en Arabie méridionale dans les années 620, solliciter l'aide des juifs avait été l'un des éléments clefs de sa stratégie. La ville et sa région baignaient dans le judaïsme et l'histoire juive, A peine un siècle plus tôt, un souverain juif fanatique de Himyar avait présidé à la persécution systématique de la minorité chrétienne, d'où la cristallisation d'un réseau d'alliances qui restait valide : la Perse s'était ralliée aux Himyarites contre l'union de Rome et de l'Éthiopie. Muhammad était très désireux de se concilier les Juifs d'Arabie méridionale, à commencer par les anciens de Yathrib.

Les Juifs influents de la ville, plus tard rebaptisée Médine, promirent leur soutien à Muhammad en échange d'une garantie de défense mutuelle. Ces engagements étaient couchés sur un document officiel qui affirmait que leur propre foi et leurs biens seraient respectés, maintenant et à jamais, par les musulmans. Il définissait également un accord mutuel entre le judaïsme et l'islam : les disciples des deux religions s'engageaient à se porter assistance au cas où ils seraient attaqués, l'un ou l'autre, par un tiers ; on ne ferait aucun mal aux juifs et l'on n'aiderait pas leurs ennemis. Les musulmans et les juifs coopéreraient, en se prodiguant « des avis et conseils sincères ». Que les révélations de Muhammad fussent non seulement conciliantes mais familières allait aussi

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dans le bon sens : il y avait beaucoup de points communs avec l'Ancien Testament, dont le moindre n'était pas la vénération pour les prophètes et Abraham en particulier, et l'on pouvait évidemment s'entendre avec ceux qui refusaient le statut messianique de Jésus. Outre que l'islam ne menaçait pas le judaïsme, plusieurs de ses dogmes semblaient s'y adapter parfaitement.

La nouvelle circula bientôt parmi les communautés juives que Muhammad et les siens étaient des alliés. Un texte extraordinaire écrit en Afrique du Nord à la fin des années 630 note combien les Juifs de Palestine se félicitaient des nouvelles des progrès arabes parce qu'elles annonçaient un relâchement du pouvoir romain - et donc chrétien - sur la région. Les spéculations allaient bon train : ce qui arrivait n'était-il pas l'accomplissement d'antiques prophéties ? « Ils disaient que le prophète était arrivé, avec les Sarrasins, et qu'il proclamait l'avènement de l'oint, du Christ qui devait venir. » Il s'agissait, conclurent certain juifs, de l'avènement du Messie - arrivant opportunément pour montrer que Jésus-Christ était un imposteur et que les derniers jours de l'humanité étaient venus. Tous n'étaient pas persuadés, cependant. Comme le dit un rabbin lettré, Muhammad était un faux prophète « car les prophètes ne viennent pas armés d'une épée ». Que d'autres textes nous apprennent que les Arabes furent accueillis en libérateurs du pouvoir romain par les juifs constitue une preuve importante de l'image positive de l'islam dans la région. Une source concernant la période, mais d'un siècle postérieur, rapporte comment un ange apparut au rabbin Siméon bar Yochai, tout troublé des souffrances causées par la reprise de Jérusalem par Héraclius et les baptêmes forcés et persécutions de juifs qui s'ensuivirent. « Comment savons-nous que (les musulmans) sont notre salut ? » aurait-il demandé.

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« Ne t'inquiète pas, le rassura l'ange, car Dieu aporte le royaume des (Arabes) uniquement dans le but de vous délivrer de cette (Rome) perverse. Conformément à Sa volonté, Il leur suscitera un prophète. Et Il leur

conquerra la terre, et ils viendront lui rendre sa grandeur. » Muhammad était tenu comme un moyen d'accomplir les espérances messianiques des juifs. Il s'agissait de contrées appartenant aux descendants d'Abraham - d'où une nécessaire solidarité entre Arabes et Juifs.

D'autres raisons, tactiques, invitaient à collaborer avec les armées d'invasion. À Hébron, par exemple, des juifs proposèrent de traiter avec les commandants arabes. « Garantissez-nous la sécurité afin que nous ayons un statut équivalent parmi vous » et donnez-nous « le droit de bâtir une synagogue devant l'entrée de la grotte de Makpéla » (où Abraham avait été enterré) ; en échange, affirmaient les dirigeants juifs, « nous vous montrerons où faire une porte d'accès » afin de contourner les impressionnantes défenses de la ville.

Avoir le soutien de la population locale était un facteur crucial dans le succès des Arabes en Palestine et en Syrie au début des années 630, comme on l'a vu. Des recherches récentes sur les sources grecques, syriaques et arabes ont montré que les Juifs se félicitent de l'arrivée des assaillants dans les premières relations. Cela n'est pas étonnant : si l'on écarte les additions ultérieures imagées comme les interprétations venimeuses (telles les affirmations que les musulmans étaient coupables d'une « hypocrisie satanique »), nous lisons que le commandant militaire qui conduisit l'armée dans Jérusalem entra dans la Ville sainte en humble costume de pèlerin, désireux d'adorer à côté de ceux dont les conceptions religieuses étaient apparemment tenues, sinon pour compatibles, du moins comme pas tout à fait dissemblables.

[...]

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Les efforts pour se concilier les chrétiens furent redoublés par une politique de protection et de respect des peuples du Livre, c'est-à-dire tant des juifs que des chrétiens. Le Coran fait clairement apparaître que les premiers musulmans se considéraient non comme des rivaux de ces deux religions, mais comme héritiers du même patrimoine : les révélations de Muhammad avaient d'abord été « révélées à Abraham et Ismaël, à

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Isaac et Jacob et aux tribus » ; Dieu avait confié le même message à Moïse comme à Jésus. « Nous ne distinguons entre aucun d'eux » dit le Coran. En d'autres termes, les prophètes du judaïsme et du christianisme étaient les mêmes que ceux de l'islam.

Rien d'étonnant, dès lors, à ce que le Coran fasse plus de soixante références au mot umma, utilisé non comme une étiquette ethnique mais dans le sens de « communauté de croyants ». A plusieurs reprises, le texte note tristement que l'humanité fut jadis une seule umma, avant que les différences ne séparent les gens. Le message implicite, c'est que Dieu veut qu'on oublie les différences. Les similitudes des grandes religions monothéistes sont mises en relief dans le Coran et les hadith — les recueils de commentaires, déclarations et actes du Prophète — alors que leurs différences sont systématiquement minorées. On ne peut ignorer l'insistance mise à traiter juifs et chrétiens tout à la fois avec respect et tolérance.

On sait que les sources touchant cette période sont difficiles à interpréter parce qu'elles sont compliquées et contradictoires, mais aussi parce que nombre d'entre elles lui sont très postérieures. Toutefois, les récents progrès de la paléographie, la découverte de liasses de textes jusqu'alors inconnus et des méthodes toujours plus subtiles d'analyse des matériaux écrits transforment les points de vue anciens sur cette période épique de l'histoire. Ainsi, tandis que la tradition islamique a longtemps considéré que Muhammad est mort en 632, l'érudition récente laisse penser que le Prophète a pu vivre au-delà. De multiples sources des VIIe et VIIIe siècles attestent qu'un prédicateur charismatique - dont on a récemment suggéré qu'il s'agissait de Muhammad lui-même - a dirigé les forces arabes et les a conduites jusqu'aux portes de Jérusalem.

[...]

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La subtilité du nouveau régime était aussi apparente dans les questions d'administration. Le numéraire romain eut encore cours durant des décennies après les conquêtes, parallèlement à une monnaie nouvelle frappée des symboles familiers, au titre garanti de longtemps ; de même, les systèmes juridiques restaient largement intacts. Les conquérants adoptèrent les normes en vigueur dans quantités de domaines, y compris pour ce qui touchait aux

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héritages, douaires, serments et mariage, ainsi que pour le jeûne. Dans bien des cas, on laissait en place gouverneurs et administrateurs dans les anciens territoires sassanides et romains. Il s'agissait de simple arithmétique : les conquérants, qu'ils fussent arabes ou pas, vrais croyants (muminun) ou ceux qui les avaient rejoints et s'étaient soumis à leur autorité (muslimun), formaient une minorité permanente, ce qui signifiait qu'une collaboration avec la communauté locale n'était pas tant un choix qu'une nécessité.

Cette stratégie résultait aussi de ce qu'à l'échelle internationale de plus grandes batailles devraient être menées après les succès en Perse, en Palestine, en Syrie ou en Égypte. Le combat devait se poursuivre contre les vestiges écroulés de l'Empire romain. Constantinople elle-même fut soumise à une pression constante tant que les dirigeants arabes caressèrent le projet d'en finir avec les Romains une fois pour toutes. Encore plus important, toutefois, il y avait la bataille pour l'âme de l'islam.

À l'image des querelles internes des débuts du christianisme, établir précisément le message reçu par Muhammad, la manière de le retranscrire et de le diffuser - et auprès de qui - , suscita mille graves préoccupations après sa mort. Les luttes étaient féroces : des quatre premiers successeurs du Prophète, en tant que son représentant, successeur ou « calife », trois furent assassinés. Il y eut des disputes furieuses sur l'interprétation de ses enseignements, des efforts désespérés pour gauchir ou s'approprier son legs. Ce fut pour tenter de fixer précisément ce qu'avait été le message de Muhammad que l'ordre fut donné, très probablement dans le dernier quart du VIIe siècle, de le rédiger dans un seul volume, le Coran.

L'antagonisme entre factions rivales eut pour effet de durcir l'attitude à l'égard des non-musulmans. Chaque groupe prétendant garder plus fidèlement les paroles du

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Prophète, et donc la volonté de Dieu, il n'était peut-être pas étonnant que leur attention se tournât bientôt vers les kafir, ceux qui ne croyaient pas.

Les dirigeants musulmans s'étaient montrés tolérants et même charmants avec les chrétiens ; ils avaient rebâti l'église d'Édesse après sa destruction du fait d'un tremblement de terre en 679. Mais à la fin du VIIe siècle, les choses se mirent à changer. On se soucia de prosélytisme, de prédication et de conversion à l'islam des populations locales -- tout en adoptant une attitude de plus en plus hostile à leur égard.

[...]

Les conquêtes musulmanes achevèrent de repousser l'Europe dans l'obscurité, tombée avec les invasions des Goths, des Huns et consorts deux siècles plus tôt. Ce qui restait de l'Empire romain - désormais guère plus que Constantinople et son arrière-pays — se racornit et chancela au bord de l'effondrement complet. Le commerce de la Méditerranée chrétienne, qui déjà s'étiolait à la veille des guerres avec la Perse, s'effondra. Des villes jadis dynamiques comme Athènes et Corinthe rétrécirent sévèrement, leurs populations déclinèrent, leurs centres se firent quasi déserts. A partir du VIIe siècle, les épaves de naufrages — bon indicateur du volume des échanges commerciaux — disparaissent presque complètement. Le commerce non local prit tout simplement fin.

Le contraste avec le monde musulman n'aurait pu être plus grand. Les coeurs économiques de l'Empire romain et de la Perse n'avaient pas seulement été conquis, ils étaient réunis. L'Égypte et la Mésopotamie étaient reliées pour former le centre d'un nouveau titan économique et politique qui s'étirait de l'Himalaya à l'Atlantique. Malgré les querelles idéologiques, les rivalités, les paroxysmes occasionnels d'instabilité dans le monde islamique - tel le renversement du califat existant en 750 par la dynastie des Abbassides -, le nouvel empire ruisselait d'idées, de biens et d'argent. C'était du reste la raison précise de la révolution abbasside : les villes d'Asie centrale avaient ouvert la voie au changement de régime. C'est là que prospérait la spéculation intellectuelle, là que les révoltes se finançaient. C'est là que se prenaie les décisions critiques dans la bataille pour l'âme de l'islam.

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De riches mécènes entreprirent également de financer l'une des ères d'érudition les plus fastes de l'histoire. De brillants personnages, dont plusieurs n'étaient pas musulmans, furent attirés à la cour de Bagdad et dans les centres d'excellence universitaires à travers l'Asie centrale, tels Boukhara, Merv, Gundishapur et Ghazni, ainsi que plus loin en Espagne islamique ou en Égypte, pour travailler sur un large éventail de disciplines, dont les mathématiques, la philosophie, la physique et la géographie.

Un grand nombre de textes furent recueillis et traduits, du grec, du perse, du syriaque vers l'arabe : ils allaient de manuels de médecine équestre ou de sciences vétérinaires à des ouvrages de philosophie grecque. Dévorés par les érudits, ils constituaient autant de points de départ de nouvelles recherches. L'éducation et le savoir devinrent un idéal culturel. Ainsi de la famille des Barmécides, à l'origine une famille bouddhiste de Balkh, qui acquit influence et pouvoir dans la Bagdad du IXe siècle, commanda avec énergie la traduction d'une grande diversité de textes à partir du sanskrit vers l'arabe et fit même installer un moulinà papier pour favoriser une plus large diffusion de copies.

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Ou il y eut la famille Bukhtishu, des chrétiens de Gundishapur en Perse, qui suscita des générations d'intellectuels, auteurs de traités de médecine et même sur le mal d'amour - en même temps qu'ils étaient des praticiens, dont certains auprès du calife lui-même. Les textes médicaux rédigés à cette période ont formé le socle de la médecine islamique durant des siècles. « Comment est le pouls d'une personne souffrant d'anxiété ? » demande la question d'une suite de questions-réponses utilisée dans l'Égypte médiévale ; la réponse (« imperceptible, léger, irrégulier ») dit l'auteur, pouvait être trouvée dans une encyclopédie du Xe siècle.

La pharmacopée - l'art du mélange et de la fabrication des potions - recensait les expériences entreprises avec des substances comme 1'andropogon schoenanthus, les graines de myrte, le cumin et le vinaigre, les graines de céleri et le nard. D'autres travaillaient sur l'optique, avec Ibn al-Haytham, érudit vivant en Égypte, auteur d'un traité novateur sur la manière dont sont reliés vision et cerveau et qui se penche aussi sur ce qui différencie la perception et la connaissance.

Il y avait encore Abu Rayhan al-Biruni, qui prouva que la Terre gravitait autour du Soleil et tournait sur un axe. Ou des érudits comme Abu Ali Hussein ibn Sina, plus connu en Occident sous le nom d'Avicenne, qui a écrit sur la logique, la théologie, les mathématiques, la médecine et la philosophie, à chaque fois avec une intelligence, une clarté et une intégrité impressionnantes. « J'ai lu la Métaphysique d'Aristote, écrit-il, sans pouvoir en comprendre le contenu [...] même après y être revenu et l'avoir lue quarante fois, jusqu'au moment où je l'ai eu mémorisée. » Il s'agit d'un livre, ajoute-t-il dans une note qui réconfortera les étudiants de ce difficile ouvrage, « qu'il est impossible de comprendre ». Mais se trouvant un jour devant l'étal d'un libraire au marché, il acheta

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un exemplaire d'une analyse de l'ouvrage d'Aristote [...] Les érudits étaient fiers, non seulement de rassembler des matériaux de toutes les régions du monde, de les étudier, mais aussi de les traduire. « Les ouvrages des Indiens sont rendus (en arabe), la sagesse des Grecs est traduite, et la littérature des Persans (nous) a été transmise (aussi) », note un auteur ; « de ce fait, certains ouvrages ont gagné en beauté ». Quel dommage, juge-t-il, que l'arabe soit une langue si élégante qu'il soit presque impossible de la traduire.

C'était un âge d'or, une époque où les hommes brillants comme al-Kindi repoussaient les limites de la philosophie et de la science. On vit aussi briller des femmes, telle la poétesse du Xe siècle connue sous le nom de Rabia Balkhi, dans l'Afghanistan d'aujourd'hui, et qui a donné son nom à l'hôpital d'obstétrique de Kaboul ; ou Mahsati Ganjavi qui écrivit elle aussi un persan éloquent, parfaitement structuré, et assez osé 90.

Tandis que le monde musulman s'enchantait de l'innovation, du progrès et des idées neuves, une grande partie de l'Europe chrétienne se recroquevillait dans

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l'obscurité, amputée par le manque de ressources et faute de curiosité. Saint Augustin n'avait-il pas été ouvertementt hostile au concept d'investigation et de recherche ? «Les hommes veulent savoir pour savoir, écrit-il avec mépris, bien que le savoir ne leur soit d'aucune valeur. » La curiosité, selon lui, n'était rien de plus qu'une maladie.

Ce dédain pour la science et l'érudition décontenançait les observateurs musulmans, pleins de respect pour Ptolémée et Euclide, pour Homère et Aristote. Certains ne doutaient pas de son origine. Jadis, écrit l'historien al-Masudi, les Grecs et les Romains de l'Antiquité avaient permis aux sciences de fleurir ; puis ils adoptèrent le christianisme. Ce faisant, ils « effacèrent les signes du (savoir), éliminèrent ses traces et détruisirent ses sentiers ». La science avait été vaincue par la foi. C'est presque le contraire exact du monde que nous voyons aujourd'hui : les fanatiques n'étaient pas les musulmans, mais les chrétiens ; ceux dont l'esprit était ouvert, curieux et généreux étaient situés en Orient - certainement pas en Europe. Comme dit un auteur, quand il s'est agi de parler des contrées non islamiques, « nous ne les avons pas insérées (dans notre livre) car nous ne voyons pas la moindre utilité à les décrire ». Il s'agissait de déserts intellectuels.

Ce tableau de Lumières et de sophistication culturelle se reflétait aussi dans la manière dont on traitait les religions et les cultures minoritaires. Dans l'Espagne musulmane, les influences wisigothiques s'intégraient à un style architectural où la population soumise pouvait retrouver une continuation du passé immédiat, sans rien par conséquent d'agressif ou de triomphaliste. Nous disposons aussi des lettres expédiées par Timothée, le patriarche de l'Église d'Orient installé à Bagdad à la fin des VIIIe et IXe siècles, lesquelles décrivent un monde où les hauts dignitaires chrétiens entretenaient des relations

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personnelles, positives et suivies, avec le calife et où la chrétienté put conserver une base d'où dépêcher des missions évangéliques en Inde, en Chine, au Tibet et sur les steppes - en rencontrant à l'évidence un succès considérable 95. Ce schéma existait aussi en Afrique du Nord, où les communautés chrétiennes et juives survécurent, et peut-être même s'épanouirent, bien après les conquêtes musulmanes.

[…]

Chapitre 9. LA ROUTE DE L’ENFER

Gengis Khan venait d'une importante famille au sein de l'union tribale. On lui avait prédit son destin dès sa naissance en découvrant qu'il « serrait dans la dès sa droite un caillot de snig de la taille d'un osselet". C'était le signe propice de gloires à venir. En dépit de la redoutable réparation acquise au Moyen Âge - elle perdure - il édifia lentement sa position et son pouvoir, en nouant des accords avcc des chefs tribaux, en choisissant habilement ses alliés. Il choisissait tout aussi bien ses ennemis, et surtout à merveille le moment où les attaquer. Il regroupa autour de lui ses fidèles les plus ardents, tant comme une garde personnelle que comme un cercle intime infrangible constitué de guerriers (nökürs) sur lesquels s'appuyer entièrement. C'était un système fondé sur le mérite : aptitudes et loyauté comptaient davantage que l'origine tribale ou la parenté partagée avec le chef. En échange d'un soutien entier, celui-ci distribuait des biens, du butin, une situation. Le génie de Gengis Khan fut de pouvoir prodiguer ces bienfaits assez largement pour s'assurer la loyauté - et de le faire avec une régularité de métronomes.

Il le dut à un programme quasi incessant de conquêtes. L'une après l'autre, les tribus se rangeaient sous sa bannière, par force ou par menace, jusqu'à ce qu'il fût devenu le maître incontesté des steppes mongoliennes à l'horizon 1206. Il s'intéressa ensuite à un cercle plus large de peuples, tels les Kirghizes, les Oïrats et les Ouïghours situés à I'ouest de la Chine, en Asie centrale, qui se soumirent en prêtant de solennels serments d'allégeance. L'enrôlement du dernier peuple fut particulièrement important, comme l'illustre le cadeau fait au chef ouïghour, Barshuq, d'une fille de Gengis après qu'il eut déclaré vouloir devenir son « cinquième fils". Les Ouïghours, en effet, disposaient de larges territoires dans le bassin du Tarim ; d'autre part, leur langue, leur alphabet

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et ce qu'un historien moderne appelle leurs litterati (lettrés) prenaient de plus en plus d'importance en Mongolie. Leur statut culturel élevé expliquait qu'on recrutât en masse leurs scribes, dont un certain « Tatar Tonga », qui devint le précepteur des fils de Gengis Khan.

Après quoi, le conquérant considéra des cibles plus ambitieuses. À partir de 1211, les Mongols lancèrent une série d'attaques sur la Chine, alors régie par la dynastie Jin, dont ils dévastèrent la capitale, Zhongdu, obligeant ses souverains à l'évacuer et à la refonder toujours plus au sud, non sans que les envahisseurs fissent un important butin. Leur expansion fut encore plus remarquable vers l'ouest. Le moment n'aurait pu être mieux choisi. L'autorité centrale du monde musulman s'était affaiblie au cours du XIIe siècle avec l'émergence d'un damier d'États aux tailles, aptitudes et stabilités diverses qui contestaient la primauté de Bagdad. De fait, le chef des Khwarismiens n'avait cessé d'éliminer ses rivaux immédiats, dans l'idée de s'étendre lui-même vers l'est, en Chine. La consolidation qui s'ensuivit eut simplement pour effet, après l'inévitable victoire des Mongols et la fuite du vaincu sur une île de la Caspienne où il mourut peu après, d'ouvrir grande la porte de l'Asie centrale aux envahisseurs : on leur avait frayé la route.

Les documents nous dressent un tableau saillant de la vile sauvagerie dans laquelle s'opéra l'assaut sur Khwarezm en 1219. Les envahisseurs, écrit un historien, « arrivèrent, ils sapèrent, brûlèrent, tuèrent, pillèrent et s'en furent ». J'aimerais n'être jamais né, dit un autre, car je n'aurais jamais eu à passer par de telles épreuves. Au moins l'Antéchrist musulman ne détruira-t-il que ses ennemis, poursuit-il ; les Mongols, par contre, « n'ont épargné personne. Ils ont tué les femmes, les hommes, les enfants, éventré les femmes grosses et massacré leur fruit à naître ».

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Les Mongols entretenaient soigneusement frayeurs, car en vérité Gengis Khan n'employait la violence que de manière sélective et délibérée. S'il mettait sac une ville, c'était pour en inciter d'autres à se soumettre aussi vite que paisiblement ; des exécutions d'une horreur théâtrale servaient à persuader d'autres souverains qu'il valait mieux négocier que résister. Nichapur est l'un des sites qui connut une dévastation complète. Tous les êtres vivants - depuis les femmes et les enfants, les vieillards jusqu'au bétail - furent massacrés, ordre étant donné que pas même les chiens et les chats fussent épargnés. On empila ensuite tous les cadavres pour faire d'énormes pyramides, atroces mises en garde quant aux conséquences qu'il y aurait à tenir tête aux Mongols. Cela suffit à convaincre les autres villes de déposer les armes et négocier : c'était une question de vie ou de mort.

Les nouvelles voyageaient vite sur le sort attendant ceux qui prenaient le temps de décider. On parlait partout, par exemple, de tel personnage de haut rang convoqué devant un seigneur de la guerre mongol récemment arrivé : on lui avait versé de l'argent fondu dans les yeux et les oreilles. On savait aussi que cette exécution s'était accompagnée d'une sentence : c'était le juste châtiment d'un homme « à qui sa conduite ignoble, ses actes barbares et ses cruels procédés avaient valu la réprobation de tous ». C'était un avertissement pour qui songeait à se mettre en travers des Mongols. On récompenserait la soumission paisible ; la résistance serait brutalement chàtiée.

L'usage de la force fait par Gengis Khan était technologiquement avancé et d'une stratégie élaborée. Faire un long siège de cibles fortifiées était cher et risqué à cause des besoins d'entretien d'une vaste armée de cavaliers : il lui fallait tant de pâtures que les alentours étaient vite épuisés. Aussi les techniciens militaires à même d'obtenir

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une victoire rapide étaient-ils fort estimés. À Nichapur en 1211, on nous apprend que 3 000 arbalètes géantes furent utilisées, ainsi que 3 000 catapultes et 700 balistes

projetant des objets enflammés. Plus tard, les Mongols se passionnèrent pour les techniques inventées par les Européens d'Occident : ils copièrent les plans de bombardes et d'engins de siège créés pour les croisés en Terre sainte et s'en servirent contre des cibles d'Extrêmee-Orient à la fin du XIIIe siècle. Qui contrôlait les routes de la soie avait accès à des informations et des idées qui pouvaient être reproduites et utilisées à des milliers de kilomètres.

Chose étrange si l'on songe â leur réputation, l'une des explications des succès stupéfiants des Mongols dans la Chine du début du XIIIe siècle, en Asie centrale et au-delà, tient dans le fait qu'ils n'étaient pas toujours considérés comme des oppresseurs. Et à juste titre : s'agissant des Khwarismiens, par exemple, la population locale avait reçu l'ordre de payer un an d'impôts à l'avance pour financer la construction de nouvelles fortifications autour de Samarcande, outre la solde des bataillons d'archers contre l'attaque mongole imminente. Infliger semblable pression fiscale aux foyers n'était pas la meilleure façon de se les attacher. Au contraire, les Mongols investissaient sans compter dans l'infrastructure de certaines de leurs nouvelles villes. Tel moine chinois ayant visité Samarcande peu après sa prise fut stupéfait d'y voir tant d'artisans venus de Chine et combien de travailleurs arrivaient des environs ou de plus loin pour aider à cultiver les champs et les vergers laissés en déshérence.

C'était un schéma qui se reproduisait régulièrement : l'argent se déversait dans des villes qui étaient reconstruites et redynamisées, en prêtant une attention particulière au développement des arts, de l'artisanat et de la

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production. La caricature du Mongol barbare et destructeur est loin de la réalité ; c'est le legs erroné des histoires écrites plus tard qui ont avant tout insisté sur la ruine et la dévastation. Cette vision gauchie du passé nous invite à nous rappeler que les dirigeants désireux de rester dans la postérité ont tout intérêt à enrôler des historiographes qui parleront en bien de leur ère ou de leur empire — chose que les Mongols manquèrent visiblement de faire.

Chapitre 12. LA ROUTE DE L’ARGENT

[...]

Les Moghols apportaient de nouvelles idées, des goûts styles inédits. La peinture de miniatures, longtemps prônée par les Mongols et les Timurides, était désormais doptée par les nouveaux souverains, qui réunirent les plus grands praticiens de tout l'empire pour créer une école dynamique d'arts plastiques. Les concours de lutte, courses de pigeons voyageurs, deux passe-temps ppréciés en Asie centrale, devinrent très populaires. L'innovation architecturale et paysagère était encore plus remarquable : l'influence des édifices et des sites

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inaugurés et parachevés à Samarcande se propagea dans tout l'empire. Les résultats sen voient encore aujourd'hui. Le superbe tombeau d'Humayun,à Delhi, n'est pas qu'un clrcí-d'oeuvre de conception timuride, réalisé par un architecte de Boukhara, mais le jalon d'une nouvelle ère de l'histoire indienne. De nouveaux styles de paysage étaient aussi introduits, qui transformaient davantage le bâti dans sa relation avec l'environnement, dans un registre empruntant beaucoup aux pratiques et theories d'Asie centrale. Lahore donna naissance à de nobles monuments, à des espaces ouverts soigneusement tracés. Grâce à leurs énormes ressources, poussés par la Fortune, les Moghols transformèrent l'empire à leur image. Ils le firent à une échelle inouïe.

La ville de Fatehpur Sikri, érigée dans la seconde moitié du XVIe siècle comme nouvelle capitale, incarne avec éclat les moyens apparemment illimités comme les ambitions impériales de l'optimiste maison régnante. Une succession raffinée de cours et de bâtiments de grès rouge y associe les styles et décorations de Perse et d'Asie centrale à ceux de l'Inde, pour créer une cour splendide où le souverain recevait les visiteurs sans qu'ils puissent douter un instant de son pouvoir.

Un monument célébrissime témoigne de l'immense fortune construite grâce aux fonds arrivant d'Europe, le mausolée édifié par Shah Jahan pour son épouse Mumtaz, au début du XVIIe siècle. En mémoire de sa mort, Shah Jahan fit distribuer quantités de nourriture et

d'argent aux pauvres. Une fois qu'un site d'inhumation convenable eut été choisi, l'équivalent de millions de dollars d'aujourd'hui fut consacré à l'édification d'un édifice sommé d'une coupole puis davantage encore à l'ajout d'une partition en or, à des coupoles décorées d'émaux de la meilleure qualité dans un festoiement d'or. On ajouta des pavillons « entourés de superbes dais » de part et d'autre du mausolée, lui-même serti dans un jardin tout autour. La fondation fut dotée d'un revenu prélevé sur les marchés voisins pour assurer son digne entretien dans l'avenir.

Pour beaucoup, le Taj Mahal est le monument le plus romantique du monde, l'illustration extraordinaire de l'amour conjugal. Il exprime quelque chose d'autre : le commerce international mondialisé qui enrichit à ce point le souverain moghol qu'il put imaginer rendre un hommage aussi extraordinaire à son épouse bien-aimée. 1l fut en mesure de l'achever grâce à un profond déplacement de l'axe du monde, car la gloire de l'Europe et de l'Inde se fit aux dépens des Amériques.

La somptueuse expression du chagrin de Shah Jahan après la mort de sa femme trouve un pendant dans celui qui s'était manifesté peu avant de l'autre côté de la terre.

L'Empire maya, lui aussi, était prospère avant l'arrivée des Européens. « II n'y avait pas de maladie, à l'époque ; ils ne souffraient pas des os ; ils n'avaient pas de grandes fièvres ; ils n'avaient pas la variole ; pas de douleurs gastriques pas de consomption. [...] En ce temps-là, la population se tenait droite. Mais alors les teules arrivèrent et tout s'effondra. Ils apportèrent la peur et vinrent flétrir les fleurs. » Ainsi s'exprimait un auteur peu après les événements. L'or et l'argent pillés en Amérique trouvèrent le chemin de l'Asie ; c'est par cette circulation de l'argent que le Taj Mahal put être construit.

Il n'est pas sans ironie de songer que l'une des splendeurs de l'Inde résultait des souffrances des « Indiens » de l'autre côté du monde. Les continents, désormais, étaient reliés les uns aux autres, reliés par des flots d'argent. Ils en incitèrent beaucoup à chercher fortune dans l'émigration ; à la fin du XVIe siècle, un Anglais passant à Ormuz dans le golfe Persique signale que la ville grouille de « Français, Flamands, Almains, Hongrois, Italiens, Grecs, Arméniens, Nazaranies, de Turcs et de Maures, de Juifs et de Gentils, de Persans [et de] Muscovites ». L'appel

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de l'Orient étaitpuissant. Il n'y avait pas que la pensée du profit commercial qui attirât de plus en plus d'Européens, mais la simple perspective d'un emploi bien payé.

Canonniers, pilotes, navigateurs, commandants de galères ou charpentiers navals étaient partout très demandés, en Perse, en Inde, dans la péninsule malaise et même au Japon. Ceux qui souhaitaient un nouveaudépart - déserteurs, criminels et indésirables -, dont le savoir-faire et l'expérience avaient du prix pour les souverains locaux, pouvaient saisir leur chance. Ceux qui s'en tiraient le mieux étaient capables de devenir des principicules indépendants, en quelque sorte, comme il advint dans la baie du Bengale et la mer des Moluques, où un Hollandais chanceux découvrit qu'il pouvait s'ébaudir « avec autant de femmes qu'il voulait », chanter et danser « tout le jour, quasi nu » et totalement enivré.

[...]

L’anarchie en Indes suivant la chute de l’empire Moghol ⁸⁶

INTRODUCTION

L'un des premiers mots indiens à entrer dans la langue anglaise fut loot, qui signifie « butin » en argot hindoustani. Selon l'Oxford English Dictionary, on l'entendait rarement hors des plaines de l'Inde du Nord avant la fin du XVIIIe siècle, où il est soudain devenu un terme courant en Grande-Bretagne. Pour comprendre comment et pourquoi il s'est enraciné et répandu dans une contrée si lointaine, il suffit de visiter Powis Castle dans les marches galloises.
Le dernier prince de sang gallois, au nom mémorable d'Owain Gruffydd ap Gwenwynwyn, fit construire au mue siècle cette forteresse escarpée ; elle le récompensait d'avoir cédé le pays de Galles à la monarchie anglaise. Mais les trésors spectaculaires que recèle le château datent d'une période bien plus récente de conquêtes et d'appropriation anglaises.
Powis Castle abrite en effet, salle après salle, un butin pillé en Inde par l'East India Company au xviiie siècle. Plus d'objets moghols sont exposés dans cette demeure de la campagne galloise que nulle part en Inde — même au National Museum de Delhi. Parmi ces richesses, des hookahs, sortes de narguilés en or incrusté d'acajou ; des spinelles du Badakhshan superbement gravées et des dagues ornées de pierres précieuses ; des rubis étincelants de couleur sang de pigeon et quantité d'émeraudes vert lézard. Des têtes de tigres, décorées, de saphirs et
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de topazes ; des accessoires de jade et d'ivoire ; des tentures de soie aux broderies représentant des fleurs de pavot et de lotus ; des statues de dieux hindous et des caparaçons d'éléphants. En bonne place trônent deux imposants trophées de guerre pris après la défaite et la mise à mort de leurs propriétaires : le palanquin que Siraj ud-Daula, nawab du Bengale, abandonna en fuyant le champ de bataille de Plassey, et la tente de campagne de Tipu Sultan, le Tigre de Mysore.
Ces trésors exercent une telle fascination sur le visiteur que, l'été dernier, j'ai failli ne pas voir l'immense tableau expliquant comment ce butin était arrivé jusque-là. Accroché au-dessus d'une porte, dans la pénombre d'un couloir donnant sur une cage d'escalier lambrissée de chêne, ce tableau n'est pas un chef-d'oeuvre, mais il mérite qu'on s'y arrête. Un frêle prince indien, dans un habit en tissu lamé d'or, siège sous un dais tendu de soie. A sa gauche plusieurs de ses officiers, armés de cimeterres et de lances ; à sa droite un groupe de gentlemen emperruqués de l'Angleterre georgienne. Le prince remet avec empressement un rouleau à l'un d'eux, ventripotent dans sa redingote rouge.
La scène se déroule en août 1765, date à laquelle le jeune empereur moghol Shah Alam, exilé de Delhi et vaincu par l'armée de l'East India Company (EIC), fut contraint d'accepter ce que l'on appellerait aujourd'hui une privatisation forcée. Le rouleau est un édit congédiant les collecteurs d'impôt moghols du Bengale, du Bihar et de l'Orissa pour les remplacer par des administrateurs anglais nommés par Robert Clive — le nouveau gouverneur du Bengale — et par les directeurs de l'EIC, que le document décrit comme « une puissante élite, noble entre toutes, d'illustres combattants, fidèles serviteurs et sincères défenseurs de nos intérêts, dignes de nos faveurs royales ». La collecte de l'impôt dans les territoires moghols fut dès lors sous-traitée à une puissante corporation multinationale — et menée sous la protection de l'armée privée de celle-ci.
Autorisée par sa charte fondatrice à « guerroyer », l'East India Company usait de la force pour arriver à ses fins depuis l'abordage et la capture, en 1602, d'un vaisseau portugais lors de son premier voyage. Elle contrôlait en outre, depuis les années 1630, de petits territoires voisins de ses comptoirs en Inde'. Ce fut toutefois en 1765 qu'elle cessa d'être, de
26 près ou de loin, une simple firme faisant le commerce des soieries et des épices, et opéra une transformation inhabituelle. En quelques mois, deux cent cinquante de ses administrateurs, protégés par une armée de vingt mille soldats indiens recrutés sur place, étaient devenus les véritables gouvernants des provinces mogholes les plus riches. Une corporation internationale se métamorphosait en un pouvoir colonial agressif.
En 1803, alors que son armée totalisait près de deux cent mille hommes, l'East India Company avait soumis ou annexé le sous-continent. Contre toute attente, elle y était parvenue en moins d'un demi-siècle. Les premières vraies conquêtes territoriales avaient commencé au Bengale en 1756 ; quarante-sept ans plus tard, l'emprise de la Compagnie s'étendait au nord jusqu'à Delhi, la capitale moghole, et la quasi-totalité de l'Inde au sud de cette ville était en réalité gouvernée par un conseil d'administration depuis la City de Londres. « Que reste-t-il de notre honneur, demanda un dignitaire moghol, quand il nous faut obéir aux ordres d'une poignée de marchands qui n'ont toujours pas appris à se laver le derrière/2? »
On parle encore de la conquête des Indes par les Britanniques, mais cette formule masque une réalité plus sinistre. Ce ne fut pas le gouvernement britannique qui entreprit d'annexer d'immenses parties du pays au milieu du xvtue siècle, mais une compagnie privée dangereusement incontrôlable dont le siège se trouvait dans un petit bureau londonien percé de cinq fenêtres, et dirigée en Inde par un prédateur violent, impitoyable et cyclothymique : Robert Clive. La transition de l'Inde vers le colonialisme s'opéra sous l'influence d'une société commerciale à but lucratif, qui n'était là que pour enrichir ses investisseurs.
À l'apogée de l'ère victorienne, au milieu du xIxe siècle, existait un fort sentiment de gêne quant à la façon trouble, brutale et mercantile dont les Britanniques avaient fondé le Raj. Les victoriens pensaient que l'histoire était façonnée par la politique des États-nations. Cela, et non les impératifs économiques de compagnies corrompues, constituait pour eux le facteur déterminant, le véritable moteur de l'évolution des affaires humaines. En outre, ils croyaient volontiers à la
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mission civilisatrice  de leur empire : un transfert bénéfique des connaissances, des chemins de fer et des pratiques culturelles de l'Occident vers l'Orient. D'où une amnésie calculée, délibérée, au sujet des pillages de l'East India Company, qui précédèrent la prise du pouvoir par les Britanniques en Inde.
Une seconde scène, celle-là commandée à William Rothenstein et peinte sur les murs de la Chambre des communes, prouve la subtile réécriture par les victoriens de l'histoire officielle du processus. Elle se trouve toujours à St Stephen's Hall, la salle de réception du Parlement de Westminster résonnante d'échos. Elle appartenait à un ensemble de fresques intitulé The Building of Britain — l'édification de la Grande-Bretagne. Chacune représente ce que la Commission des oeuvres d'art considérait alors comme les épisodes et tournants marquants de l'histoire britannique : victoire du roi Alfred sur les Danois en 877, union parlementaire de l'Angleterre et de l'Écosse en 1707, etc.
Au sein de cet ensemble, la fresque consacrée à l'Inde dépeint encore un prince moghol trônant sous un dais. C'est à nouveau un décor de cour, avec un cercle de serviteurs déférents et de joueurs de trompette, et un Anglais debout devant le prince. Mais cette fois le rapport de force est très différent.
Sir Thomas Roe, l'ambassadeur envoyé par Jacques Ier d'Angleterre à la cour des Moghols, se tient devant l'empereur Jahangir en 1614 — époque à laquelle l'Empire moghol était au sommet de sa richesse et de sa puissance. Jahangir avait reçu en héritage d'Akbar, son père, l'une des deux entités politiques les plus prospères au monde, l'autre étant la Chine des Ming. Ses territoires couvraient la majeure partie de l'Inde, la totalité du Pakistan et du Bangladesh actuels, et l'essentiel de l'Afghanistan. Il régnait sur une population cinq fois supérieure à celle de l'Empire ottoman — une centaine de millions de personnes — et ses sujets fabriquaient environ le quart des produits manufacturés sur la planète.
Akbar, le père de Jahangir, avait caressé l'idée de civiliser les immigrants européens en Inde, qu'il décrivait comme « une assemblée de barbares mais il abandonna ce projet apparemment irréalisable. Jahangir, qui avait le goût de l'exotisme et
  En français dans le texte. (Toutes les notes sont de l'auteur.)
des animaux sauvages, accueillit Sir Thomas Roe avec autant d'enthousiasme qu'il en avait manifesté à l'arrivée de la première dinde en Inde, et questionna méthodiquement l'ambassadeur sur les bizarreries de l'Europe. Pour la commission qui avait commandé les fresques de la Chambre des communes, cela marquait le début de l'engagement britannique en Inde : deux États-nations entraient pour la première fois en contact direct. Cependant, comme on le verra dans le premier chapitre de cet ouvrage, les relations de la Grande-Bretagne avec l'Inde commencèrent non par des échanges diplomatiques et des rencontres entre émissaires royaux ou impériaux, mais par une mission commerciale que conduisait William Hawkins, un capitaine alcoolique au service de l'East India Company qui, arrivé à Agra, accepta l'épouse offerte par l'empereur et se fit un plaisir de la ramener en Angleterre. La Commission des oeuvres d'art de la Chambre des communes a préféré oublier cette version.
L'EIC était à plus d'un titre un modèle d'efficacité commerciale : un siècle après sa naissance, son siège londonien ne disposait que de trente-cinq employés permanents. Cette modeste équipe réussit néanmoins une prise de contrôle historiquement sans équivalent : la conquête militaire, la soumission et le pillage d'immenses territoires de l'Asie du Sud. Cela reste certainement un acte de violence économique inégalé dans l'histoire mondiale.
Les historiens proposent quantité de raisons pour expliquer la réussite sidérante de la Compagnie : le morcellement de l'Inde moghole en minuscules Etats rivaux ; la supériorité que les innovations militaires de Frédéric le Grand avaient conférée aux compagnies européennes, de même que les innovations en matière de gouvernance, de fiscalité et de finances, qui permirent à l'East India Company de lever sans préavis des sommes considérables. Car derrière les uniformes écarlates, l'architecture palladienne des palais, la chasse au tigre et les bals du gouverneur se cachaient les livres de comptes des administrateurs, où étaient consignés les pertes et profits, et le cours fluctuant des actions de l'EIC à la Bourse de Londres.
Mais le facteur crucial fut sans doute le soutien dont bénéficiait la Compagnie de la part du Parlement britannique. Leur relation devint de plus en plus symbiotique au fil du
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XVIIIe siècle, jusqu'à se transformer en ce que l'on appellerait aujourd'hui un partenariat public-privé. De retour au pays, les nabobs comme Clive achetèrent grâce à leur fortune des sièges de parlementaires — les fameuses « circonscriptions pourries ». En contrepartie, le Parlement apportait le soutien de l'État : les navires et les soldats nécessaires quand les deux Compagnies, anglaise et française, retournaient leurs canons l'une contre l'autre.
Car l'East India Company avait toujours deux objectifs en vue : d'abord les territoires où elle commerçait, mais aussi le pays qui lui avait donné naissance, et dont ses avocats, lob-byistes et actionnaires élus au Parlement infléchissaient lentement la législation en sa faveur. D'ailleurs c'est peut-être elle qui inventa le lobbying. En 1693, moins d'un siècle après sa fondation, on découvrit qu'elle utilisait ses profits boursiers pour acheter les voix de certains élus, distribuant 1 200 livres par an aux ministres et députés influents. Au terme d'une enquête parlementaire sur ce premier scandale de lobbying au monde, la Compagnie fut reconnue coupable de corruption et de délit d'initiés, ce qui entraîna la destitution du lord président du conseil d'administration et l'emprisonnement du gouverneur de la Compagnie.
Bien que son capital commercial ait été en permanence à la disposition de l'État britannique, l'East India Company s'enorgueillissait d'être juridiquement distincte du gouvernement, quand cela l'arrangeait. Elle fit valoir avec force, et avec succès, que le document signé par Shah Alam en 1765 — connu sous le nom de Diwani — était sa propriété légale et non celle de la Couronne, malgré les sommes énormes dépensées par le gouvernement pour les opérations navales et militaires destinées à défendre les acquisitions de l'EIC en Inde. Mais les parlementaires qui avaient voté pour cette distinction juridique n'étaient pas vraiment neutres : près d'un quart d'entre eux détenaient des actions de la Compagnie, dont la valeur aurait chuté si la Couronne avait pris le relais. Pour la même raison, la nécessité de protéger la Compagnie de la concurrence extérieure devint un objectif majeur de la politique étrangère britannique.
La transaction dépeinte sur le tableau exposé au château de Powis devait avoir des conséquences catastrophiques.
Comme toutes les grandes corporations d'hier et d'aujourd'hui, l'EIC ne rendait de comptes qu'à ses actionnaires. Au détriment d'une juste gouvernance de la région ou du bien-ètre à long terme de la population, elle usa aussitôt de son pouvoir pour piller méthodiquement le Bengale et en transférer les richesses vers l'Occident
Déjà dévasté par la guerre, le Bengale fut peu après frappé par la famine de 1769, puis ruiné par le poids de l'impôt. Les agents de la Compagnie chargés de la collecte dépouillèrent la province — au prix de ce que l'on décrirait aujourd'hui comme de graves violations des droits humains. Le Bengale fut rapidement vidé de ses trésors au profit de la Grande-Bretagne, tandis que ses artisans et tisserands prospères étaient contraints par leurs nouveaux maîtres à se transformer « en autant d'esclaves ».
Une vaste proportion des richesses pillées au Bengale alla directement dans les poches de Clive. Il regagna la Grande-Bretagne à la tête d'une fortune alors estimée à 234 000 livres, qui faisait de lui le plus riche des self-made-men en Europe. En 1757, après la bataille de Plassey — une victoire due autant à la traîtrise, aux faux en écriture, aux banquiers et à la corruption qu'aux prouesses militaires —, il ajouta au trésor de guerre de l'EIC pas moins de 2,5 millions de livres  confisquées aux gouvernants vaincus du Bengale — des sommes sans précédent à l'époque. Cela se fit sans grande sophistication. Le contenu des coffres fut simplement chargé à bord de cent navires, et transporté au fil du Gange depuis le palais du nawab du Bengale à Murshidabad jusqu'au fort William, siège de la Compagnie à Calcutta. Une partie de ce butin servit plus tard à la reconstruction de Powis Castle.
Le tableau de Clive et de Shah Alam exposé à Powis Castle donne subtilement le change : le peintre, Benjamin West, n'avait jamais mis les pieds en Inde. A l'époque, déjà, un critique fit observer que la mosquée à l'arrière-plan présentait une ressemblance troublante avec « le vénérable dôme de notre cathédrale Saint-Paul ». En réalité, il n'y avait pas eu de cérémonie officielle. Le transfert s'était déroulé en prisé dans la tente de Clive, dressée peu avant sur l'esplanade de
  Soit 262,5 millions de livres actuelles.
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la forteresse moghole d'Allahabad conquise de fraîche date. Quant au trône de Shah Alam sous son dais tendu de soie, c'était en fait le fauteuil de Clive, hissé pour l'occasion sur la table où il prenait ses repas, recouverte d'un jeté de lit en chintz.
Les Britanniques officialisèrent ensuite le document en le baptisant traité d'Allahabad, bien que Clive en ait dicté les termes et qu'un Shah Alain terrifié se soit contenté d'approuver d'un geste. Selon Ghulam Hussain Khan, un historien moghol témoin de la scène : « Une entreprise de cette portée, qui eût en toute autre occasion requis l'envoi d'ambassadeurs avisés et de négociateurs compétents, ainsi que nombre de tractations et pourparlers avec les ministres, fut réglée en moins de temps qu'il n'en fallait d'ordinaire pour la vente d'un baudet, d'une bête de somme ou d'une tête de bétail/3. »
En peu de temps, l'EIC étendit son emprise sur le globe. Presque à elle seule, elle inversa le sens des échanges commerciaux qui, depuis l'Empire romain, avaient conduit à un afflux continuel d'argent occidental vers l'Orient. Assurant le transport par mer de l'opium vers la Chine, elle mena les guerres de l'Opium pour s'assurer une base arrière à Hong Kong et préserver son précieux monopole sur les stupéfiants.
Elle expédiait vers l'ouest du thé de Chine au Massachusetts, où une cargaison jetée à la mer dans le port de Boston déclencha la guerre d'Indépendance aux États-Unis. D'ailleurs, avant cette guerre, les Patriotes américains avaient pour principale crainte que le Parlement britannique n'autorise l'EIC à piller le continent comme elle avait pillé l'Inde. L'un d'entre eux, John Dickinson, qualifia en novembre 1773 le thé importé de Chine de « maudite Camelote » et déclara que l'éventuelle mainmise de la Compagnie sur les États-Unis équivaudrait à « se faire dévorer par les Rats ». Toujours selon lui, après s'être livrée au Bengale à « des Atrocités et des Extorsions sans précédent pour établir son Monopole », cette « Compagnie au bord de la banqueroute . avait désormais « élu l'Amérique comme nouveau Théâtre d'Opérations où exercer son talent pour la Rapine, l'Oppression et la Cruauté »/4.
En 1803, quand l'EIC conquit Delhi, la capitale moghole, et captura le monarque aveugle Shah Alam dans son palais en ruine, elk avait formé une milice privée forte d'environ
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deux cent mille hommes - deux fois plus que dans l'armée britannique - et disposait d'une puissance de feu supérieure à celle de n'importe quel État asiatique.
Une poignée d'hommes d'affaires venus d'une île lointaine au large de l'Europe régnait à présent sur l'Inde du Nord, de Delhi à l'ouest jusqu'à la province de l'Assam à l'est. La quasi-totalité de la côte orientale était aux mains de la Compagnie, ainsi que tous les points stratégiques de la côte occidentale entre le Gujarat et le cap Comorin. En un peu plus de quarante ans, l'EIC avait pris le contrôle de presque tout le sous-continent - entre cinquante et soixante millions d'habitants - et succédait à un empire où le moindre nawab ou gouverneur de province régnait sur de vastes territoires, plus importants par leur taille et leur population que les principaux pays européens.
Comme le reconnut l'un de ses administrateurs, la Compagnie était « un empire dans l'Empire », capable de faire la pluie et le beau tempss n'importe où en Orient. A ce stade, elle avait en outre créé une administration et une fonction publique efficaces, construit la majeure partie de la zone portuaire de Londres - connue aujourd'hui sous le nom de Docklands -, et générait près de la moitié des échanges commerciaux britanniques. Pas étonnant qu'elle se soit alors vantée d'être « la plus importante société marchande de l'Univers ».
Pourtant, comme certaines corporations multinationales de création plus récente, elle se révéla aussi puissante qu'étrangement vulnérable aux aléas économiques. Sept ans seulement après la signature du Diwani, alors que le cours des actions de la Compagnie avait doublé du jour au lendemain grâce à l'acquisition des richesses du Bengale, une chute brutale des revenus fonciers due aux pillages et à la famine provoqua l'éclatement de la bulle spéculative. L'EIC allait devoir rembourser à la Couronne 1,5 million de livres de dettes et 1 million de livres d'arriérés d'impôts87 . Sitôt cette information rendue publique, trente banques tombèrent dans toute l'Europe tels des dominos, donnant un coup d'arrêt aux échanges commerciaux.
Lors d'un épisode qui nous paraît aujourd'hui terriblement familier, la Compagnie dut faire amende honorable et demander au gouvernement un renflouement massif. Le 15 juillet 1772,
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ses administrateurs empruntèrent 400 000 livres à la banque d'Angleterre. Quinze jours plus tard, ils réclamèrent 300 000 livres supplémentaires. La banque ne leur accorda que 200 000 livres . Au mois d'août, les administrateurs informèrent le gouvernement qu'il leur faudrait en réalité la somme sans précédent d'un million de livres de l'époque. Un an plus tard, dans son rapport officiel, Edmund Burke redoutait que les problèmes financiers de la Compagnie ne risquent, « telle la roue d'une meule de pierre, d'entraîner [le gouvernement] dans des abîmes insondables... Pareille à une vipère, cette maudite Compagnie finira par causer la destruction du pays qui l'a portée en son sein. »
Mais l'EIC était vraiment trop énorme pour disparaître. Aussi l'année suivante, en 1773, l'ancêtre des multinationales prédatrices fut-elle sauvée par l'un des premiers méga-renflouements de l'histoire : un Etat-nation obtenait, contre le sauvetage d'une société en faillite, le droit de lui imposer des règles et un contrôle strict de ses pratiques.
§
Cet ouvrage ne vise pas à fournir une histoire complète de l'East India Company, et encore moins une analyse économique de ses activités marchandes. Il tente de répondre à la question de savoir comment une société commerciale, basée dans un immeuble de bureaux londonien, a pu remplacer entre 1756 et 1803 le puissant Empire moghol à la tête du sous-continent indien.
Il raconte comment la Compagnie vainquit ses principaux rivaux — les nawabs du Bengale et de l'Aoudh, Tipu Sultan et son sultanat de Mysore, ainsi que l'importante confédération marathe — pour prendre sous son aile l'empereur Shah Alam qui fut réduit, cinq décennies durant, à être le témoin impuissant de la conquête de l'Inde, et de l'ascension d'une humble société marchande jusqu'au statut de puissance impériale à part entière. La vie de Shah Alam forme d'ailleurs la trame du récit qui va suivre.
  Respectivement 42 millions, 31,5 millions et 21 millions de livres actuelles.
On admet aujourd'hui que, contrairement à ce qu'affirmaient dans leurs écrits les précédentes générations d'historiens, le xv[Ile siècle en Inde ne fut pas un « Moyen Âge ».
Le déclin politique de l'Empire moghol provoqua plutôt une relance économique dans d'autres parties du sous-continent, et de nombreuses recherches universitaires sont récemment venues approfondir notre compréhension sur ce points. Ces excellents travaux sur une relance dans les régions ne contredisent pas la réalité de l'anarchie qui désorganisa le coeur de l'Empire moghol, entre Delhi et Agra, pendant la majeure partie du xvme siècle. Comme l'écrivait alors Fakir Khair ud-Din Illahabadi : « ... le désordre et la corruption ne se cachaient plus, et le royaume des Indes, autrefois paisible, devint celui de l'Anarchie (dâr al-amn-i Hindûstân dâr al-fitan gasht) . La monarchie moghole perdit toute substance, elle n'était plus qu'un nom, que l'ombre d'elle-mêmes. »
Cette réalité de l'anarchie ayant été attestée non seulement par quelques aristocrates moghols inconsolables comme Fakir Khair ud-Din et Ghulam Hussain Khan, mais aussi par tous les voyageurs de l'époque, je crois que le processus révisionniste est allé un peu trop loin. De Law et Modave à Pollier et Franklin, presque tous les témoins de la situation en Inde à la fin du avilie siècle mentionnent à plusieurs reprises des massacres et un chaos ininterrompu à l'époque, ainsi que la difficulté de se déplacer dans le pays sans une escorte lourdement armée. Ils furent d'ailleurs les premiers à accréditer la thèse de la « Grande Anarchie ».
Les nombreuses guerres de l'East India Company et son pillage du Bengale, du Bihar et de l'Orissa, surtout entre les années 1750 et 1770, contribuèrent largement à ce climat troublé, et dans des régions très éloignées de Delhi. D'où le titre que j'ai donné à mon livre. L'équilibre est de toute évidence difficile à trouver entre l'histoire militaire d'une période tendue, chaotique et violente, et la consolidation à long terme de nouvelles structures politiques, économiques et sociales comme celles que Richard Barnett et Chris Bayly, mon vénérable professeur à Cambridge, se sont appliqués à mettre en lumière. Je crois que nul n'a encore découvert comment concilier ces différents niveaux d'action et d'analyse, mais cet ouvrage est une tentative pour résoudre la quadrature du cercle.

L’empire Perse

THE CENTRAL ISLAMIC LANDS [PERSIA and CENTRAL ASIA] ⁸⁸

CHAPTER 5 SAFAVID PERSIA ⁸⁹

Despite recent research, the origins of the Safavid family are still obscure. Such evidence as we have seems to suggest that the family hailed from Kurdistan. What does seem certain is that the Safavids were of native Iranian stock, and spoke Azari, the form of Turkish used in Azarbâyjân. Our lack of reliable information derives from the fact that the Safavids, after the establishment of the Safavid state, deliberately falsified the evidence of their own origins. Their fundamental object in claiming a Shi`i origin was to differentiate themselves from the Ottomans and to enable them to enlist the sympathies of all heterodox elements. To this end they systematically destroyed any evidence which indicated that Shaykh Safi al-Din Ishaq, the founder of the Safavid tariqa was not a Shi'i (he was probably a Sunni of the Shafi`i madhhab), and they fabricated evidence to prove that the Safavids were sayyids, that is, direct descendants of the Prophet. They constructed a dubious genealogy tracing the descent of the Safavid family from the seventh of the Twelver Imams, Mûsâ al-Kazim—a genealogy which is seduously followed by the later Safavid sources—and introduced into the text of a hagiological work on the life of Shaykh Safi al-Din ⁹⁰ , a number of anecdotes designed to validate the Safavid claim to be sayyids. Viewed dispassionately, the majority of these anecdotes appear ingenuous, not to say naïve.

The first member of the Safavid family of whom we have any historical knowledge is a certain Firûz-Shah, who was a wealthy landowner on the borders of Azarbayjan and Gilân, in north-west Persia, at the beginning of the fifth/eleventh century. Either he or his son moved to the region of Ardabil, a town in eastern Azarbayjan situated at an altitude of 5,000 feet on a plateau surrounded by high mountains, and Ardabil henceforth became the focal point of Safavid activity. Firûz-Shahand his descendants busied themselves with agricultural pursuits, and acquired a reputation for abundant piety and zealous religious observance, to such an extent that numbers of the local population were moved to declare themselves their murids or disciples.

In 650/1252-3 Safi al-Din, from whom the Safavid dynasty derived its

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name, was born./1 The youthful Safi al-Din, we are told, did not mix with other boys, but spent his time in prayer and fasting. He experienced visions. None of the local pirs (spiritual directors) could satisfy his spiritual needs, and at the age of twenty he went to Shiraz in search of a pir who had been recommended to him. On his arrival there, he found that this pir was dead, and he was advised that the only man in the world who could analyse his mystical state was the head of a local Sûfi order, a certain Shaykh Zâhid-i Gilani, whom he traced in 675/1276-7, after a protracted search, to a village near the Caspian Sea. At that time, Safi al-Din was twenty-five years of age, and Shaykh Zâhid sixty. As the latter grew older, he became increasingly dependent on Safi al-Din, who married Shaykh Zâhid's daughter, and gave his own daughter in marriage to Shaykh Zâhid's son. On Shaykh Zahid's death in 700/1301 at the age of eighty-five, Safi al-Din succeeded him as head of the Zâhidiyya, which from then on became known as the Safavid order, or Safaviyya, with its headquarters at Ardabil.

For the next century and a half, from 700/1301 to 850/1447, the Safavid shaykhs of Ardabil proceeded with great tenacity of purpose to extend their influence. The significant contribution of Safi al-Din to the rise of the Safavids is that he transformed a Sûfi order of purely local importance into a religious movement whose influence was felt not only within the borders of Persia, but also in Syria and eastern Anatolia. In these areas the religious propaganda (da’wa) of the Safavids won many converts among the Turcoman/2 tribes which later formed the élite of the Safavid fighting forces. The most important of these tribes were the Ustâjlû, Rûmlû, Shamlû, Dulgadir (Dhu'l-Qadr), Takkalii, Afshâr, and Qajâr.

The death of Safi al-Din in 735/1334 coincided with the break-up of the Mongol empire of the Il-Khans in Persia and the eastern Fertile Crescent. For nearly fifty years there was anarchy in Persia, and then for a further twenty years the successive waves of the Turco-Mongol (Tatar) forces led by Timûr swept across the country. During these disturbed times Safi al-Din's son and successor, Sadr al-Din Musa, not only managed on the whole to preserve the lands belonging to the Ardabil sanctuary from the exactions of local officials and military commanders, but also to enrich the sanctuary itself by the construction of the sacred enclosure

/1 The derivation of Safavid from Sûfi, a theory derived from contemporary Western accounts, which refer to the Safavid shah as the ‘Great Sophy', is erroneous.

/2 Turcoman should not be confused with Turkmân. Turcoman' is used as a generic term for the semi-nomadic tribes, of Turkish ethnic origin, which carried on a pastoral existence remote from the towns. Turkmân' is the proper name of one such tribe.

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of the Safavid family, comprising a mausoleum, a convent, and ancillary buildings. Sadr al-Din was held in great veneration by many of the Mongol nobility, some of whom declared themselves to be his disciples.

Under Khwaja `Ali (head of the Safavid order from 7941391-z to 830/1427), there was a movement away from the orthodox type of mystical belief and practice, and for the first time Safavid religious propaganda assumed a Shi'i flavour. The Safavid movement—for such it now was—began to gather momentum, and, under the leadership of Junayd (851-64/1447-60), its frankly revolutionary character became apparent. Junayd, unlike his predecessors, aspired to temporal power as well as spiritual authority. His followers were called on to fight for their beliefs. His political ambitions at once brought him into conflict with the ruling temporal power in Persia—the Kara-Koyunlu, or Black Sheep Turcomans. He was driven into exile, and eventually took refuge in Diyar Bakr at the court of Uzun Hasan, the ruler of the Ak-Koyunlu, or White Sheep Turcomans. Logically, the Shi`i Safavids should have had more in common with the Shi'i Kara-Koyunlu than with the Sunni Ak-Koyunlu, but at the time the dominant political power in Persia and the eastern Fertile Crescent was the Kara-Koyunlu state, and the Safavids and the Ak-Koyunlu sank their religious antipathy in a political alliance cemented by Junayd's marriage to Uzun Hasan's sister. In 863/1459 Junayd made an abortive attempt to recover Ardabil. The following year, on his way to attack the Circassians, he was attacked by the ruler of Shirvan, and killed.

Junayd's son, Haydar, became head of the Safavid order, and maintained the close alliance with the Ak-Koyunlu by marrying Uzun Hasan's daughter. Haydar devised the distinctive red Safavid headgear, with twelve gores or folds commemorating the twelve Shi'i Imams. As a result, Safavid troops were dubbed Qizilbâsh (Turkish : Kizil Bash, Red Head), a term later used pejoratively by the Ottomans. In 872/1467 the Ak-Koyunlu overthrew the Kara-Koyunlu empire, and became in their turn the target for Safavid political and military ambitions. The alliance, based on mutual political advantage, collapsed as soon as the Safavids constituted a political threat to the Ak-Koyunlu. In 893/1488, when Haydar, like his father before him, decided to blood his forces by an expedition against the Circassians, and en route attempted to avenge his father by attacking the ruler of Shirvan, the Ak-Koyunlu sent a detachment of troops to the aid of the latter, and these troops constituted the decisive factor in the defeat of the Safavid forces. Haydar himself was killed.

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It would not have been surprising if the Safavid revolutionary movement, having suffered for the second time in little over half a century the stunning blow of the death of its leader in battle, had collapsed at this point. That it did not do so, but on the contrary rapidly gathered strength to sweep aside all opposition, is a tribute to the thoroughness and effectiveness with which the Safavid propagandists, radiating from their base at Ardabil and penetrating deep into the Armenian highlands, Syria and Anatolia, had carried out their work. During the long period of preparation for the Safavid revolution, these propagandists periodically returned to Ardabil to draw new inspiration from their murshid or spiritual director, the head of the order.

Within a short time of the death of Haydar, a large number of Safavid followers had gathered at Ardabil to congratulate his son `Ali on his accession to the leadership of the order, and to urge him to avenge his father and grandfather. Thoroughly alarmed by this demonstration of Safavid power, the Ak-Koyunlu ruler, Ya`qûb, seized `Ali, his two brothers, Ibrahim and Ismail, and their mother, and imprisoned them in Fars for four and a half years (894-8/1489-93). In 898/1493 the Ak-Koyunlu prince, Rustam, released `Ali on condition that the Safavid forces fought for him against his cousin and rival for the throne. After defeating Rustam's cousin, `Ali returned to Ardabil in triumph.

Rustam realized too late that he had released the genie from the bottle. Events moved swiftly. At the end of 899/middle of 1494 Rustam re-arrested `Ali and took him to Khoy (Khwuy), but `Ali escaped and made for Ardabil. Rustam knew he had to stop him. ` Should `Ali once enter Ardabil', he said, which God forbid !—the deaths of ten thousand Turcomans [i.e., Ak-Koyunlu troops] would be of no avail.' `Ali, having a premonition of his coming death, nominated his younger brother Ismail as his successor, and sent him ahead to Ardabil in the care of seven picked men. `Ali was overtaken by Ak-Koyunlu forces, and killed. For the third time the Safavid revolutionary movement had lost its leader, and its new leader, Ismail, was only seven years old. Ismail eluded a house-to-house search instituted by the Ak-Koyunlu in Ardabil, and escaped to Gilan, finding sanctuary at Lahijan. Dynastic feuds prevented the Ak-Koyunlu from invading Gilan and seizing Ismail.

In Gilan, Ismail and his small band of dedicated Safavid supporters perfected their plans for overthrowing the Ak-Koyunlu empire. For five years (899-905/1494-9), Ismail maintained close contact with his

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followers in Azarbayjan, Syria, and Anatolia. At the end of that time, he decided to make his bid for power. In the summer of 905-6/ 15 00, 7,000 of his men assembled at Erzinjan, on the Euphrates, 200 miles west of Erzurum. After settling an old score with the ruler of Shirvân, Ismail marched on Azarbayjan, and in the spring of 906/1501 he routed an Ak-Koyunlu force of 30,000 men at the battle of Shariar near Nakhchivan. Although the rest of Persia was not brought under Safavid control for another ten years, this was the decisive battle of the revolution. In the summer of 906-7/1501 Ismail entered Tabriz, and proclaimed himself Shah Ismail I the first ruler of the new Safavid dynasty, as yet with authority over Azarbayjan only.

Isma`il's first action on his accession, the proclamation of the Shi`i form of Islam as the religion of the new state, was unquestionably the most significant act of his whole reign. By taking this step, he not only clearly differentiated the new state from the Ottoman empire, the major power in the Islamic world at the time, which otherwise might well have incorporated Persia in its dominions, but imparted to his subjects a sense of unity which permitted the rise of a national state in the modern sense of the term. Ever since the Arab conquest in the first/seventh century, Persia had been a geographical rather than a political entity. Either it had been part of a larger empire, or it had lacked any central governing authority, and had been divided piecemeal among a number of petty dynasties. With the exception of the territory lost during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries to Russia in the north-west and north-east, and to Afghanistan in the east, the boundaries of Persia today are substantially the same as in the later tenth/sixteenth century, and we may assert, therefore, that the rise of the modern state of Iran dates from the establishment of the Safavid state in 907/1501.

The imposition of Shi'ism on a country which, officially at least, was still predominantly Sunni, obviously could not be achieved without incurring opposition, or without a measure of persecution of those who refused to conform. Disobedience was punishable by death, and the threat of force was there from the beginning. As far as the ordinary people were concerned, the existence of this threat seems to have been sufficient. The ulamâ' were more stubborn. Some were put to death; many more fled to areas where Sunnism still prevailed—to the Timurid court at Herat and, after the conquest of Khurasan by the Safavids, to the Özbeg capital at Bukhara. It is extremely difficult to judge how far the ground may have been prepared for the change by the efforts of Safavid

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propagandists, by such factors as the transfer of large numbers of pro-Shi`i Turcomans from Azarbâyjan to Khurasan between 823/1420 and 870/1465, and by the activities of heterodox and antinomian groups. It is equally difficult to assess with any certainty to what extent the activities of the other Sufi orders in Persia may have helped the Safavids by the transmission of Shi`i ideas. In general, however, one can say that heterodox beliefs were, and are, endemic in Persia, and the transition to Shi'ism may not have been as abrupt and revolutionary as would appear at first sight.

Within a period of ten years from the date of his accession at Tabriz, Ismail conquered the whole of Persia, and incorporated the eastern Fertile Crescent in the Safavid empire. The main stages in the consolidation of empire were : the defeat of the remaining Ak-Koyunlu forces near Hamadan (908/1503), which gave Ismail control of central and southern Persia; the subjugation of the Caspian provinces of Mazandaran and Gurgan, and the capture of Yazd (909/1504) ; the pacification of the western frontier, and the annexation of Diyar Bakr (911 - 13/1505-7) ; the capture of Baghdad and the conquest of south-west Persia (914/1508); the subjugation of Shirvân (915/1509-10) ; and the conquest of Khurâsân (916/1510), which had been overrun by the Özbegs of Transoxania three years before. Although the head of the Özbeg confederation, Muhammad Shaybani Khan, was killed, the Özbeg menace remained, and the Safavids never solved the problem of the defence of the eastern marches against these nomads. Only a year after the conquest of Khurasân, Ismail was drawn into an attack on Samarqand through the ambition of the Timurid prince Babur to recover his Transoxanian dominions. Safavid forces installed Bâbur at Samargand, but as soon as they returned home the Özbegs drove him out, inflicted a crushing defeat on a Safavid army in Ramadan 918/November 1512 just east of the Oxus, and swept on into Khurâsân, capturing Herat, Mashhad and Tus. Punitive expeditions despatched by Ismail restored the position along the eastern frontier, and there was an uneasy truce with the Özbegs for eight years.

Throughout the tenth/sixteenth century the Safavids had to fight on two fronts—against the Özbegs in the east, and against the Ottomans in the west. The outbreak of war with the Ottoman empire occurred in 920/1514. It had been precipitated by a series of acts of provocation committed by the Safavids, but the fundamental reason for the outbreak of war was the establishment of the Safavid state itself. The imposition

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of a militant form of Shi`ism in Persia constituted a political threat to the Ottoman empire, and this threat was the greater because in eastern Anatolia, within the borders of the Ottoman empire itself, were large numbers of Turcomans who were supporters of the Safavid cause. In 918/1512 Ismail had made a deliberate attempt to undermine Ottoman authority in this area. The Ottoman Sultan Selim I considered the danger so real that, before he invaded Persia, he put to death all the adherents of Shi`ism in Anatolia on whom he could lay hands.

On 2 Rajab 920/23 August 1514, the Ottoman and Safavid armies confronted each other at Chaldiran, in north-western Azarbayjan. Ismail had two commanders who possessed first-hand experience of Ottoman methods of warfare, but he chose to ignore their advice to attack at once before the Ottomans had completed the disposition of their forces. The Ottomans were therefore able to follow their usual practice of stationing their musketeers behind a barrier of gun-carriages which were linked by chains. On the gun-carriages were placed mortars. This formed an insuperable obstacle to any force which, like the Safavid army, was composed almost entirely of cavalry. The Safavid cavalry, led with desperate valour by Ismail in person, launched charge after charge against the Ottoman guns, but were driven back with heavy casualties. The failure of the Safavids to equip themselves with artillery and hand-guns is one of the puzzling features of the period. The claim of the Sherley brothers, two English gentlemen-adventurers, to have introduced firearms into Persia in the reign of Shah `Abbas the Great (996-1038/1588-1629) has now been proved to be quite without foundation. It is known that at least a hundred years before the time of `Abbas, the Ak-Koyunlu possessed a number of cannon, and there is no doubt at all that the Safavids could have developed the use of artillery and hand-guns had they chosen so to do. It has been suggested that the Safavids, like their contemporaries the Mamluks of Egypt and Syria, considered the use of firearms to be unchivalrous and unmanly. Whatever the reasons for Safavid neglect in this regard, it is clear that it was primarily Ottoman superiority in firearms which enabled them to inflict a signal defeat on the Safavids at Chaldiran. Among the Safavid dead were many high-rankingQizilbâsh officers. The Ottoman losses were not negligible, particularly on their left, where the Safavids had broken the Ottoman line, and the commander was killed. Selim occupied Tabriz, but eight days later, because his officers refused to winter in Persia, he withdrew from the Safavid capital.

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In terms of territory, the Safavids escaped with the loss of the province of Diyar Bakr, and of the regions of Mar'ash and Elbistan, over which in any event they exercised little more than nominal authority. Of much greater consequence was the psychological effect on Ismail himself, which had repercussions on his conduct of the affairs of state, on his relations with the Qizilbâsh, and on the balance between the Persian and Turcoman elements in the Safavid administration. Chaldiran destroyed Ismail's faith in his invincibility. To his Qizilbâsh Turkish followers, Ismail was both their temporal ruler and their spiritual director. But he was much more than that. He himself, addressing these often illiterate tribesmen in their own tongue, and using simple language, had fostered the belief that he was the manifestation of God himself. The Safavid state, in its early years, was in a real sense a theocracy. The contemporary accounts of Venetian merchants bear witness to the fanatical devotion of the Qizilbâsh to their leader, whom they considered immortal. This belief received a shock at Chaldiran. Ismail became a recluse, and attempted to drown his sorrows in drunken debauches. Much of his time was devoted to hunting. During the last ten years of his life, he never again led his troops into battle. Isma`il's loss of personal prestige meant a corresponding increase in the powers both of the Turcoman tribal chiefs and of the high-ranking Persian officials in the bureaucracy. As a result, serious internal stresses were set up, and within a year of Ismâ'i1's death on 19 Rajab 930/23 May 1524, civil war had broken out as rival groups of Qizilbâsh tribes fought for supremacy, restrained neither by allegiance to the shah as their temporal ruler, nor by reverence for his person as `the Shadow of God upon Earth'. Once the religious bond between Ismail and the Qizilbâsh had been broken, the authority of the ruler could only be maintained by a strong and effective personality. Tahmasp I, who at the age of ten succeeded his father on the throne of Persia in 93o/1524, did not at first have an opportunity to exercise any authority, because the Qizilbâsh military aristocracy assumed control of the state.

As already noted, the Safavid state at its inception had a theocratic form of government. There was no formal boundary between the religious and the political aspect of the state. Consequently the highest officer of state, termed wakil-i nafs-i nafis-i humâyûn, or vicegerent of the shah, represented the ruler in both his religious and his political capacity.

He was the shah's alter ego, and was responsible for the orderly arrangement of the affairs of religion and the state. The first holder of this office

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was a high-ranking Qizilbâsh officer of the Shâmlû tribe, one of the small group of trusted companions who had been with Ismail in Gilan and had planned the final stages of the Safavid revolution. Since the Qizil-bâsh constituted the backbone of the Safavid fighting forces, they considered it proper that the wakil should be drawn from their ranks. They also considered as their prerogative the post of amir al-umarâ', or commander-in-chief of the Qizilbâish tribal forces. To begin with, the same man seems to have held both these high offices. The qûrchibâshi, a high-ranking military officer whose function during the early Safavid period is extremely obscure, was also a Qizilbâsh chief.

The two remaining principal offices of state were filled by Persians. One was the office of wazir, traditionally in medieval Islamic states the first minister and head of the bureaucracy. In the early Safavid state, the importance of the wazir was greatly reduced by the creation of the office of wakil, and by the intervention of the amir al-umarâ' in political affairs. The other was the office of sadr, who was the head of the religious institution, and whose prime task after the establishment of the Safavid state was to impose doctrinal unity on Persia by the energetic propagation of Twelver Shi'ism—a task which was virtually completed by the death of Ismail I.

Within a short time, friction developed between the Turcoman and the Persian elements in the administration. This friction was aggravated by the lack of any clear definition of the function of the principal officers of state. This confusion of function and overlapping of authority derived in part from the circumstances which attended the rise to power of the Safavids, and in part from the predominantly military character of the early Safavid state. Even the sadr from time to time took part in military operations. Before the end of Isma`il's reign, there are clear signs of a movement away from the theocratic state, and towards a separation of religious and political powers. This was reflected in changes both in the scope and function, and in the relative importance of the principal offices of state. There was a tendency to lay less emphasis on the paramount position of the wakil as the vicegerent of the shah, representing both the temporal and religious authority of the latter, and to regard him rather as the head of the bureaucracy. In time, the title wakil itself fell into disuse. There was a decline in the power of the sadr. From time to time the sadrs made abortive attempts to regain some of their former influence in political affairs, but their activities were increasingly restricted to the administration of the

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waqfs, and the exercise of a general supervisory role over the religious institution.

One of the problems which face all leaders of successful revolutions is how best to deal with those who have been responsible for bringing them to power. The qualities which make people devoted members of a fanatical revolutionary movement are precisely those which make it difficult to absorb them into the post-revolutionary administrative system. The Safavid revolution was no exception. Only six years after his accession, Ismail was so apprehensive of the power of the Qkizilbâsh tribal chiefs that he dismissed the eminent Turcoman officer who held the post of wakil and replaced him by a Persian. Another Persian succeeded to this office in 915/1509-10. Qizilbâsh resentment at being excluded from a post which they regarded as their prerogative led to open friction between them and the wakil. Isma’il also took steps to curb the power of the amir al-umarâ'. The heavy casualties suffered by the Qizilbâsh at Chaldiran weakened their influence to some extent during the last decade of Isma`il's reign, but even so, a Qkizilbâsh chief governed the important province of Khurasan from 922-8/1516-22 with an insolent disregard of orders emanating from the shah and the central administration. As the belief of the Qizilbâsh in the shah as their spiritual director and the Shadow of God on Earth weakened, they reverted to their former tribal loyalties. Since in practice they no longer held the person of the shah in any special respect, whatever the official myth might be, it is not surprising that the youthful Shah Tahmasp was unable to exert his authority over them for at least a decade. In 937/1530-31 , during one incident in the civil war between rival factions of Qizilbâsh, a group of Turcomans even burst into the royal tent, and two arrows struc Qizilbâsh k the shah's crown.

The decade from 930/1524 to 940/1533 may be termed the interregnum. After an initial period of rule by a triumvirate of Qizilbâsh chiefs, drawn from the Rûmlû, Takkalû, and Ustajlû tribes, there was civil war between the Ustajlûs and the rest of the Qizilbâsh tribes in 932-3/1526-7; then followed a duumvirate of a Rûmlû and a Takkalû, a period of Takkalû hegemony (933-7/1527-30), and, finally, a period of Shamir' hegemony (937-40/153o-4). In 940/1533-4 Tahmâsp executed Husayn Khan Shâmlû, the head of the Shamlû tribe and the virtual ruler of the state. As this chief was the guardian of Tahmâsp's infant son, Muhammad Mirza, and a cousin of Tahmâsp himself, the shah's action had the greater effect. It indicated his intention of ruling from then on in

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fact as well as in name, and two further actions taken by the shah at this time underlined this resolve. Tahmasp refused to allow another Shamlü chieftain to take command of the tribe, but placed it under the direct command of his younger brother, Bahrâm Mirza ; and he appointed a Persian to fill the office of wakil. During the ten years of Qizilbâsh rule, this office had reverted to their exclusive control. Having thus gained the upper hand, Tahmasp managed to keep it for the next forty years, until in 982/1574 his failing health gave the Qkizilbâsh another opportunity to defy his authority.

Shah Tahmasp is something of an enigma. His reign of fifty-two years was longer than that of any other Safavid monarch. Yet his personal character seems to have made little impression on Western observers, and the picture left to us by the Carmelites and others is wholly unfavourable. Great emphasis is laid on his parsimony. It is even alleged that he sent his disused clothing to be sold in the bazaar. He is said to have alternated between extremes of asceticism and intemperance. He was capable of great cruelty. He was given to melancholy, and in his latter years was more or less a recluse. No source, Oriental or Western, credits him with any strength of character, or with any particular skill in the arts either of peace or of war. On the other hand, the fact that he asserted himself as de facto shah after ten years of unchallenged Qizilbâsh supremacy, postulates moral toughness and flexibility. The mere fact that the Safavid state survived a series of most determined onslaughts by its principal enemies, the Ottomans in the west and the Özbegs in the east, at a time when it was seriously weakened by internal faction, by the defection of large bodies of Qizilbâish troops to the Ottomans, and by the plots of the shah's brothers against the crown, argues that Tahmasp was not devoid either of courage or military ability. Between 930/1524 and 944/1538, for instance, the Özbegs launched five major invasions on Khurasân. In the west, the Ottoman Sultan Süleyman the Magnificent mounted four full-scale invasions of Azarbayjan. In 940/1533-4, to meet the first of these attacks, delivered by 90,000 men under the grand vezir Ibrahim Pasha, Tahmasp could raise only 7,000 men, and the loyalty of many of these was suspect. Further Ottoman invasions followed in 941/1534-5, 955/1548, and 961/1553. Baghdad was entered by the Ottomans in 941/1534. Tabriz was occupied on several occasions, and, because of its vulnerability to Ottoman attack, Tahmasp transferred the capital to Qazvin.

It is remarkable not that the Safavid state suffered certain losses of

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territory to the Ottomans, but that it was not overwhelmed. One explanation may be sought in the fact that the Ottomans in Azarbâyjân were operating at the end of a long and vulnerable line of communication. The Kurds in particular were past masters in the art of cutting off straggling units and raiding baggage trains. The severe winters and mountainous terrain of Azarbâyjân were allies of the Safavids. But when all due allowance has been made for these factors, it is clear that no small measure of credit must go to Tahmasp for his masterly use of Fabian tactics. Given the internal difficulties with which he was faced, he could wage only a defensive war. He therefore decided on a `scorched earth' policy. The frontier areas of Azarbâyjân were systematically laid waste. The further the Ottomans advanced into Persian territory, the more difficult their position became. There was a shortage of food for the troops, and their pack-animals died by the thousand. Eventually the Ottomans were forced to fall back. As they retreated, they were continually harassed by Safavid regular and irregular forces. The lessons of Châldiran had been well learnt, and at no time did Tahmasp commit his numerically far inferior forces to a pitched battle. Ismâ'il was a man of great personal bravery, and an inspiring leader. Tahmasp was neither, but he has not been given sufficient credit for the way in which he husbanded his meagre resources, and successfully resisted two such powerful enemies as the Ottomans under their greatest conqueror, Süleymân I, and the Özbegs under one of their greatest leaders, `Ubayd Allah Khan. Tahmâsp received loyal support from his brother Bahrâm Mirza who, until his untimely death in 956/1549 at the age of thirty-two, was a fearless, if sometimes impulsive, commander, very much in his father's mould. The treachery of Tahmasp's other two brothers, Sam Mirza, governor-general of Khurasân, who rebelled against the shah and intrigued with the Ottomans in 941-2/ 1534-6, and Algâs Mirzâ, governor of Shirvan, who rebelled and joined the third Ottoman invasion of Persia in 955/1548, was a source of great grief to Tahmasp. Tahmasp rendered a great service to the Safavid state by negotiating the peace of Amasya (962/1555), which inaugurated a period of over thirty years of peace with the Ottomans.

The control of the state by the Qizilbâsh chiefs between 930/1524 and 940/1533 was naturally reflected in the relative importance of the principal offices of state. The office of wakil, and that of amir al-umarâ', to which Ismail had appointed Persians in an effort to curb the power of the Qizilbâsh, reverted to the latter. Both offices were often held by the

same man. In such cases, the military and political aspect of the wakil's function was predominant. Indeed, the holding of military command was an essential part of the wakil's function as originally conceived.

There was, however, a lack of differentiation between the various administrative offices at this time; and the term wakil was also used in regard to the official who was the head of the bureaucracy, in other words, the official more properly known as the wazir. This has resulted in considerable confusion in the sources. After 940/1533, when the execution of Husayn Khan Shamlû ended for the time being the military control of the political institution by the Qizilbâsh chiefs, the amir al-umarâ', as an officer of the central administration, disappears from the scene. The title continued to be used by the military governors of important provinces. With the decline of the amir al-umarâ', the importance of the formerly subordinate qûrchibâshi increased. From about 945/1538-9 onwards, the sources indicate a steady extension of the authority of the qûrchibâshi in both political and military affairs. It is interesting to note that, over a period of forty years (955-95/1548-87), the majority of the officers appointed to the office of qûrchibâshi were from the Afshar tribe; moreover, a hereditary tendency became apparent. In appointments to the office of fadr, the hereditary tendency was even more marked, particularly during the latter part of Tahmasp's reign. The decline in the political and religious power of the sadr, already noticed during Ismâ`il's lifetime, became more marked during the reign of Tahmasp. After 932/1525-6, the obituary notices in the sources, instead of extolling the zeal of sadrs in propagating Shi`ism and in rooting out heresy, lay emphasis on their learning and scholarship. During the second half of the reign of Tahmasp, there is hardly any indication of political activity on the part of the sadrs. Their position as head of the religious institution was already being challenged by powerful theologians known as mujtahids. By the time of `Abbas the Great, the mujtahids had become the principal exponents of the Shi'i orthodoxy achieved through the efforts of the sadrs of the early Safavid period. In general, during the reign of Tahmasp the administrative system was still undergoing a process of change and evolution.

The reign of Shah `Abbas I the Great (996-103 8/I588-1629) is rightly considered not only to be the high-point of the Safavid empire, which thereafter began to decline, but also to mark the dividing-line between the early Safavid state, developing slowly and painfully out of its theocratic origins, and seeking, for the most part unsuccessfully, to

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reconcile these origins with the practical requirements of administering a large empire, and the later Safavid state, reorganized on entirely different lines by Shah `Abbas I. While this may be accepted as a generalization, it must be pointed out that the measures introduced by `Abbas were frequently the logical outcome of processes which had begun during the reign of Tahmasp and during the short and disturbed reigns of his successors Ismail II (984-5 /I576-7) and Sultan Muhammad Shah (985-95 /I578-8 7). For instance, one of `Abbas's most far-reaching measures, which transformed the whole structure of the Safavid state, was the creation of the corps of ghulams, or qullar (` slaves'). These ghulâms were Georgian prisoners, converts from Christianity, and the immediate purpose of the formation of this corps was to enable `Abbas to resist the Qizilbâsh, who had once again got out of hand and threatened to usurp the authority of the ruler as they had done at the accession of Tahmasp. `Abbas instituted a policy of appointing ghulâms to provincial governorates, and to high administrative posts in the central government, in place of Qizilbâsh chiefs. Within a short time these measures had the effect of radically altering the social and ethnic structure of the administrative system.

The supremacy of the Qiilbâsh in the Safavid state, however, was being challenged before the end of the reign of Tahmasp, and it was Tahmasp himself who introduced the new Georgian and Circassian elements who were responsible for this challenge. Hitherto there had been a relatively uncomplicated rivalry for the key positions between the Turkish (Turcoman) elements and the Persian elements, with the shah playing off the one against the other and achieving a fairly satisfactory working relationship. Periodic outbursts of violence indicated the depth of the hostility between the two groups, and, as we have seen, when Tahmasp came to the throne as a minor the balance of power was temporarily upset. Ultimately, Tahmasp managed to restore the balance and to maintain the working relationship for about forty years, but trouble was always only just below the surface, and in 982/I574, when Tahmasp fell sick, there was immediate dissension among the Qizilbâsh. The situation in 982/1574, however, was very different from that obtaining fifty years earlier, at the outbreak of the civil war between the Qizilbâsh tribes in 932/1526. In 982/1574 it as no longer a struggle to determine which tribe could outstrip its rivals in a state in which the Qizilbâsh tribes as a whole enjoyed a dominant and privileged position, but whether the Qizilbâsh tribes as a whole could maintain their privileged ?

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position against the threat from the new elements in Persian society, the Georgians and Circassians, whose remarkable energy and ability rapidly enabled them to exert an influence in the state out of all proportion to their numbers. This struggle was not decided before Tahmasp's death, or even during the reigns of his successors Ismâ'il II and Sultan Muhammad Shah.

The majority of the Georgians had been taken captive in the course of the four campaigns fought by Safavid forces in Georgia between 947/1540-I and 96I /I553-4. From each of these expeditions Tahmâsp brought back captives, mainly women and children. In the campaign of 961 /1534, the number of prisoners taken to Persia amounted to 30,000; among them were a number of Georgian nobles. By the end of Tahmasp's reign, the offspring of unions with these Georgian prisoners must have constituted a new and not inconsiderable element in the Safavid state. The influx of Georgian elements was not limited to prisoners. During Tahmasp's reign, a nobleman, closely related to the king of Georgia, who had been sent to the Safavid court as an ambassador, severed his connexion with his native land, and, together with all his retainers, entered Safavid service. He eventually became governor of a province in Shirvân. In 994/1585-6 another Georgian nobleman was the lâlâ, or guardian, of one of the Safavid princes. The post of lâlâ, like the offices of wakil and amir al-umarâ', had always been considered a Qizilbâsh prerogative. These are isolated instances, but, taken in conjunction with the other evidence, they are sufficient to indicate that serious breaches had been made in the Qizilbâsh position long before the accession of `Abbas.

The Georgian and Circassian women taken into the royal harem played a vital part in supporting the efforts of their compatriots to increase their influence in the Safavid state at the expense of the Qizilbâsh. These women became an important factor in political affairs. Dynastic quarrels and court intrigues, of a type not previously known in the Safavid state, flourished, as mothers of different nationalities pressed the claims of their respective offspring to the throne. The Safavid leaders Junayd and Haydar had married wives of Ak-Koyunlu Turcoman stock. Tasmasp's own mother was also a Turcoman. On the death of Isma'il, the issue of who was to succeed him was never in doubt; the point in dispute was which of the rival Qizilbâsh tribes should dominate the young Tahmasp. In 982/1574-5 and subsequent years, the question was rather, which of Tahmasp's sons would succeed him, one born of a Turcoman mother, or

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one born of a Georgian or a Circassian mother. The Qizilbâsh did not at once perceive the true nature of the threat to their position. To begin with, instead of presenting a united front against the Caucasian faction, various groups of Qizilbâsh weakened the whole Qizilbâsh position by supporting candidates of the Caucasians. In 982/1574-5 , for instance, certain Qizilbâsh chiefs intrigued in favour of Tahmasp's son Sulaymân, whose mother was the sister of a Circassian chief. By the following year (983/1575-6), the Qizilbâsh had split into two opposing factions, one supporting Tahmasp's son Ismâ`il, whose mother was a Turcoman, the other supporting Tahmasp's son Haydar, whose mother was a Georgian slave. Of the nine sons of Tahmasp who reached adolescence, seven were the offspring of Circassian or Georgian mothers. Only two were born of a Turcoman mother : Ismâ'il, who had been imprisoned for twenty years, and whose mind was known to be deranged by his long confinement; and Muhammad Khudâbanda, the eldest son and therefore the rightful heir to the throne, who was at first considered unfit to rule because of his poor eyesight. After the death of Tahmasp on 15 Safar 984/14 May 1576, the Georgian faction, supported by the Ustâjlû tribe, made an unsuccessful attempt to place Haydar on the throne. They were defeated by the other Qizilbâsh tribes, supported by the Circassian faction and a group of Kurdish troops. Haydar was killed. Next, the Rûmlû tribe and the Circassians attempted to enthrone a prince born of a Circassian slave, but this attempt, too, was frustrated. At this point the Qizilbâsh, perhaps impressed by the prowess of the troops led by two Georgians, who were both maternal uncles of Safavid princes, and by a Circassian chief, who was the maternal uncle of Tahmasp's daughter, at last realized that their own best interest lay in unity. 30,000 Qizilbâsh assembled and pledged their support to Ismâ`il, who was enthroned at Qazvin as Ismâ'il II on 27 Jumada I 984/22 August 1576, at the age of forty.

Ismâ'i1 II at once confirmed the worst fears of those who realized that his mind had been warped by his experiences. Unexpectedly released from prison and placed on the throne, his sole aim was to prevent himself from being ejected from his new position of power. To this end he began systematically to murder or blind all male members of the Safavid royal house who might conceivably become the centre of a conspiracy against him. Five sons of Tahmasp were put to death, together with four other Safavid princes. Ismâ'il also had put to death large numbers of Qizilbâsh officers, not only members of the Ustâjlû tribe which had supported his brother Haydar, but also many others

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whose only fault was that they had held important positions under his father. ‘The royal tents,' he said, ‘cannot be held up by old ropes.' The Qizilbash realized that the ruler to whom they had given their support, far from preserving their own privileged position in the state, was in fact undermining it by the execution of so many of their number. The Qizilbash, who naturally were staunch supporters of the Twelver form of Shi'ism which was the official religion of the Safavid state, also strongly resented Ismâ`il's apparent dislike of Shi'ism. The shah made no open profession of Sunnism, but some of the more fanatical Shi`i theologians found themselves excluded from court circles, and their books confiscated. The ritual cursing of the Caliphs Abu Bakr, `Umar and `Uthman in the mosques was banned. The Qizilbâsh therefore planned to assassinate the shah. Their task was made easier by Ismail's addiction to narcotics. With the connivance of the shah's sister, Pari Khan Khânum, poison was inserted in a mixture of opium and Indian hemp which Ismail and one of his intimate companions consumed. Ismâ'il II was found dead on 13 Ramadan 985 /24 November 1577 .

The Qizilbâsh had no alternative but to place on the throne the prince whom they had passed over at the death of Tahmâsp on the grounds that his poor eyesight disqualified him from kingship, namely, Muhammad Khudâbanda. All the other sons of Tahmasp had been murdered or blinded by Ismail II, and only an accident had saved Muhammad Khudâbanda and his three sons, Hamza, Abu Talib and `Abbas. `Abbas owed his life to the governor of Herat, `Ali Quli Khan Shâmlu, who had deliberately delayed putting the order into effect. Muhammad Khudâ-banda reached Qazvin on 5 Dhu'l-Hijja 985/13 February 1578, nearly three months after the death of Ismâ`ïl II, and was proclaimed ruler with the style Sultan Muhammad Shah. He was forty-seven years of age.

Apart from his physical disability, Sultan Muhammad Shah was ‘a man of quiet nature', who did not care much about worldy affairs. For eighteen months, the administration of the state was in the hands of his wife, Mand-i `Ulyâ, who is described as a jealous, ambitious, quick-tempered, obstinate and vindictive woman. Mand-i `Ulyâ was the daughter of a former local ruler in Mâzandarân, belonging to a dynasty which boasted of its descent from the fourth Shi'i Imam, Zayn al-'Abidin. She was hostile to the interests of the Okilbâsh, and promoted the interests of the Persian elements in the administration. The wazir, Mirzâ Salmón, who had been appointed by Ismail II, was confirmed in office by Sultan Muhammad Shah, and became Mand-i 'Ulya's right-

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hand man. All her actions were directed towards two ends : first, to secure the eventual succession of her favourite son, Hamza Mirzâ; second, to revenge herself on Mir Sultan Murad, who had murdered her father and had usurped her family's territory in Mâzandarân. To attain her first object, she put to death various persons whom she regarded as obstacles in her path. These included Pari Khân Khânum and her uncle (a Circassian chief), and Isma il's infant son. To prevent `Abbas, her stepson, from constituting a threat to her plans for Hamza, Mand-i `Ulyó sent courier after courier to Herat demanding that he be sent to Qazvin, but the governor, `Ali Quli Khan, refused to comply with her orders. To attain her second object, she sent three successive expeditions against Mirzâ Khan, who had succeeded his father, Mir Sultan Murad, as ruler of Mâzandarân. Mirza Khân resisted all efforts to capture him, and finally gave himself up only on the solemn promise of safe conduct. While on his way to the capital, Qazvin, with an escort of Qizilbâish chiefs, he was murdered by minions sent by Mand-i `Ulyâ who, in her determination to be avenged, refused to take cognizance of the promise of safeconduct. The indignation of the Qizilbâsh at this action was one of the factors which led them to request the shah to remove Mand-i `Ulyâ from her position of influence.

The Ottoman Sultan Murad III chose this moment (986/I578) to break the long peace with Persia, and to launch a major invasion under Mustafâ Pasha. The Crimean Tatars made common cause with the Ottomans. The Safavids suffered defeat after defeat. A large part of Georgia submitted to the Ottomans. The north-west frontier was stabilized by the prince, Hamza Mirza, and the wazir Mirzâ Salman, who captured `Adil Giray, the brother of the khan of the Crimea, in Shirvón, and led him in triumph to Qazvin. The Qizilbâsh found in `Adil Giray the pretext for the assassination of Mand-i `Ulyâ. Accusing her of a criminal liaison with the prisoner, a group of Qizilbâsh burst into the harem on Jumada 1987/26 July 15 79 and murdered her. `Adil Giray was also killed. The six principal conspirators represented all but one of the leading tribes, and in this way the Qizilbâish hoped to prevent retribution falling on any one tribe.

The death of Mand-i 'Ulya did not mean an increase in the authority of the shah, for the Qizilbâsh took over control of the state. At Qazvin, the Turkmân and Takkalû tribes held a dominant position. In Khurâsân, an Ustâjlû-Shâmlû coalition led by `Ali Quli Khan Shâmlii, the governor of Herat, and Murshid Quli Khân Ustâjlû, the governor of Khwâf and

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Bakharz, raised the standard of revolt, and swore allegiance to `Abbas, the ten-year old son of Sultan Muhammad Shah (Rabi' I 989/April—May 1581). The rebels made several attempts to extend the area of Khurasân under their control, and in particular tried unsuccessfully first to persuade by peaceful means and then to overthrow by force their chief opponent in Khurasan, the Turkmân chief Murtada Quli Khan Purnak, the governor of Mashhad.

In Shawwa 1990/November 1582 the royal army appeared in Khurasan. The Ustajlû leader, Murshid Quli Khan, declared his allegiance to Hamza Mirza, and received the royal pardon. The Shamlû leader was now isolated, and the royal army drove him back to Herat, and laid siege to that city (Rabi` II 991 /May 1583). The Qizilbâsh besieging forces showed no enthusiasm for their task. It is alleged that their chiefs were opposed to the whole idea of the Khurasan expedition, because they considered that the Ottoman threat was the more urgent. This was only an excuse. In reality this represents a recrudescence of Turcoman-Persian antipathy in its most violent form. More than anything else, the Qizilbâsh resented being placed under the command of a Persian, the wazir Mirza Salman. It was over seventy years since a Persian, or, to use the pejorative term favoured by the Qizilbâsh, a Tajik, had held such high military command. The fundamental dichotomy in the Safavid state between Turk and Persian was nevertheless as sharp as ever. Mirza Salman determined to enforce the shah's authority by executing certain Qizilbâsh chiefs. Before he could carry out his plan, he was himself seized by a group of Afshâr chiefs and put to death. There is a close parallel between this incident and that of 918/1512, when the Qizilbâsh defied the authority of the Persian makil. In the circumstances, all the shah could do was to conclude a truce with `Ali Quli on the basis of the status quo ante. On 15 Sha`ban 991/3 September 1583, the Shamlû leader reaffirmed his allegiance to the shah and to Hamza Mirza, and in return secured the dismissal of the hostile governor of Mashhad.

After the assassination of the powerful wazir Mirza Salman, the prince Hamza Mirza, then about nineteen years of age, played an increasing part in state affairs. Though a man of outstanding physical bravery, he was arrogant, impulsive, and hot-tempered. He lacked the maturity of judgment and diplomatic skill which the critical situation required. Moreover, he was a heavy drinker, and, by choosing a number of the younger Qizilbâsh officers as his drinking companions, he became embroiled in Qizilbâsh faction at Qazvin. He listened to

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those who wished to weaken the position of the Turkmân tribe, and he first dismissed from the governorship of Azarbayjan, and then put to death, the Turkmân leader, Amir Khan. Preoccupied with these internal troubles, Hamza was unable to prevent the occupation of Tabriz by Ottoman forces under `Osman Pasha on 27 Ramadan 993/22 September 1585. Shortly afterwards, the Turkmans and their allies, the Takkalûs, seized control of Qazvin and swore allegiance to Hamza's brother, Tahmasp. Hamza succeeded in dispersing the rebels and recovering his brother. The following year, while campaigning against the Ottomans in the Qarabagh region, Hamza was assassinated in mysterious circumstances (24 Dhu'l-Hijja 994/6 December 1586).

In a dramatic turn of events, Murshid Quli Khan Ustâjlû, who had already demonstrated his ability to trim his sails to the prevailing wind, seized control of Mashhad, and, in the ensuing clash with `Ali Quli Khan Shamlû (12 Rajab 993/10 July 1585), gained possession of the latter's trump card, namely, the young prince `Abbas, then about fourteen years of age. The Ustajlû chief pressed his advantage. He sent an envoy to Qazvin to sound the chiefs Qizilbâsh at the capital, where there had been an abortive attempt to place yet another of the shah's sons, Abu Talib, on the throne. The chiefs promised support, but hesitated to commit themselves irrevocably. In Muharram 996/ December 1587 a huge force of Özbegs under 'Abd Allah Khan poured across the frontier into Khurasan and laid siege to Herat. This invasion decided Murshid Quli Khan to risk a march on Qazvin. If he remained in Khurasan, he might well be overwhelmed by the Özbegs. When he reached Qazvin, a public demonstration in favour of `Abbas decided the wavering Qizilbâsh chiefs. On io Dhu'l-Qa`da 996/1 October 1588, Sultan Muhammad Shah, a pathetic figure in the grip of forces beyond his control, handed over the insignia of kingship to his son, who was crowned Shah `Abbas I. The latter was seventeen years old. Murshid Quli Khan, who had placed him on the throne, was the most powerful man in the kingdom, and received the title of wakil of the supreme diwân.

Thus ended the second and final period of Qizilbâsh domination of the Safavid state. The first period had lasted from 930/1524 to 940/1533, when Shah Tahmasp was too young to impose any effective control. The second period, also roughly a decade in duration, lasted from the assassination of Mand-i `Ulya to the abdication of Sultan Muhammad Shah in favour of `Abbas (987-96/1 579-88). Sultan Muhammad Shah, suffering from the eye affliction which eventually made him nearly blind,

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[Carte des la Perse et de pays voisins]

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and temperamentally unsuited to rule, was unable, even with the aid of his son Hamza, to keep the Qizilbâsh under control. The result in each case was the same. The Safavid state, torn by Qizilbdsh faction, was at the mercy of its traditional enemies, the Ottomans and the Özbegs. The citadel at Tabriz had been in the hands of an Ottoman garrison since 993/1585 , despite efforts to dislodge it. At Herat, `Ali Quli Khan Shamlû, after a heroic defence lasting nine months, was treacherously put to death when the Özbegs finally stormed the city in Rabi` 1997/ February 1589. His old rival, Murshid Quli Khan Ustajla, had deliberately delayed the departure of a relief force from Qazvin. The Özbegs advanced to lay siege to Mashhad and Sarakhs. `Abbas realized the impossibility of fighting on two fronts with the forces at his disposal, and in order to free his hands in the east he signed in 998/1589-90 a peace treaty which ceded large areas of Persian territory to the Ottomans. The regions of Azarbayjan, Qarabagh, Ganja, Qarajadagh, together with Georgia and parts of Luristan and Kurdistan, were to remain in Ottoman hands. Never before had the Ottomans made such inroads into Safavid territory. The acceptance of such a humiliating peace is an indication of the weakness of `Abbas's position at his accession.

`Abbas realized that he must lose no time in bringing the Qizilbâsh to heel. Any punitive measures, however, would limit his ability to take the field against Persia's external foes, because the Okilbiish troops were still the backbone of the Safavid army. He therefore at once formed the cavalry corps of ghulâms already referred to, drawn from the ranks of Georgian, Armenian and Circassian prisoners, or their descendants. Many of these prisoners had been brought to Persia during the reign of Shah Tahmasp. They were converts to Islam. This new corps, which was eventually brought up to a strength of 10,000 men by new recruitment, was paid direct from the royal treasury. The ghulâms thus owed their allegiance first and foremost to the person of the shah, and not to any tribal leader. The decision to pay this corps from the royal treasury immediately raised the problem of how the shah was to acquire the necessary funds. Hitherto, most of the Safavid empire had been held by the Qizilbâsh chiefs, who as provincial governors consumed the greater part of the revenue of their provinces. In return, they were obliged to maintain a stated number of troops at the disposal of the ruler, and to be ready to take the field in answer to his call. If these provincial governors also held a post in the central administration, as was frequently the case, they would remain at court and sub-assign the government of their province. These Qizilbâsh governors remitted to the central government only a small proportion of the taxes which they levied, and even then, these monies were not under the direct control of the ruler, but were administered by a special ministry of state lands (diwân-i mamdlik). The revenue needed by the shah for the expenses of the royal household was derived from crown lands, known as khâssa, the revenue from which was levied by the shah's comptrollers or intendants, and remitted to the royal treasury. Since `Abbas I increased the number of troops paid directly by himself, he must have also increased the extent of the crown lands at the expense of the state lands. This process was accelerated under his successors, and ultimately crown lands were extended to a degree which was detrimental to the health of the state. For whereas it was in the interests of a provincial governor to maintain his province in a flourishing condition and thereby to increase the amount of revenue which he enjoyed, the comptrollers who collected the revenue in the khâssa provinces were interested only in remitting the maximum amount of money to the royal treasury in order to satisfy the shah. This necessarily led to extortion and abuses of all kinds. The people were oppressed by officials who had no interest in the prosperity of the area from which they were collecting taxes.

`Abbas was quickly put to the test. His wakil, Murshid Quli Khan Ustajlû, was forewarned of a plot against his life in which members of nearly all the Qizilbâsh tribes were involved. The wakil fled to the court, pursued by the conspirators, who urged `Abbas to dismiss him and set up a council of amirs, similar to that which existed during the reign of Sultan Muhammad Shah, to govern the state. Had `Abbas shown any sign of weakness, he would have condemned himself to a subordinate role of the sort endured by his father. But he reacted with characteristic determination. He executed the ringleaders of the conspiracy, and, invoking the aid of ‘all who loved the shah' among the Qizilbâsh, he hunted down and put to death all those he suspected of complicity in the plot. A few escaped to Baghdad and took refuge with the Ottomans. The Qizilbâsh were given no time to recover. On 10 Ramadan 997/23 July 1589 `Abbas arranged the assassination of the too-powerful wakil, Murshid Quli Khan, and executed the leader of the Turkman tribe who had proclaimed his brother Tahmasp shah at Qazvin in 993 /1585. These summary displays of royal authority caused some detachments of Qizilbâsh to desert in fear of their lives. In 999/1590, `Abbas's sense of insecurity led him to blind his unfortunate father and

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brothers, all of whom had been kept under close guard since his accession.

Despite all his efforts, `Abbas was unable to restore order and build up his forces quickly enough to prevent the further deterioration of the position in eastern Persia. Mashhad in Khurasan had fallen to the Özbegs, and the province of Sistan had been overrun. Qandahar, which had been in Safavid hands since 943 /1537, was lost to the Mughal empire in 999/1590-1 . By 1000/ 1592. the eastern frontier of Persia was roughly where it had been a hundred years previously, at the accession of Ismail I. `Abbas took an army to Khurasan, but achieved nothing permanent because he still hesitated to commit his forces to a pitched battle. He continued to take disciplinary measures against the Qizilbâsh chiefs. Those who had been slow in joining the royal camp, or who had not sent their proper quota of troops, were dismissed from their governorships, which they could only regain on payment of a heavy fine. `Abbas could never rid himself of his distrust of the Qizilbâsh which had been engendered by the events of his boyhood. A Qizilbâsh chief, even if he had served the shah loyally, was liable to be executed without warning if the shah considered he had become too powerful. In 1007/ 1598, for instance, `Abbas executed Farhad Khan Qaramanlû, who, after years of hard and skilful fighting, had pacified the provinces of Gilan and Mazandaran, which were annexed to the Safavid empire in 1006/1 597.

The death of the formidable Özbeg leader 'Abd Allah II in 1006/early 1598, and of his son the following year, gave `Abbas his chance in the east. The Özbegs were engaged in dynastic struggles and the control of Transoxania ultimately passed to the Astrakhan khanate. The transfer of the capital from Qazvin to Isfahan in 1006/1597-8 indicates `Abbas's confidence that the eastern frontier would ultimately be made secure. In Muharram 1007/August 1 598 `Abbas completely defeated the Özbeg army and liberated Herat. By a series of alliances with the local Özbeg chiefs who held the frontier areas such as Mery and Balkh, `Abbas sought to achieve a lasting pacification of the eastern frontier. Although these chiefs occasionally departed from their allegiance, `Abbas's measures were sufficiently successful to enable him to suspend operations in the east in 1011/1602-3 , and to turn his attention to the arch-enemy in the west, the Ottomans. In 1014/1605-6 `Abbas inflicted a decisive defeat on the Ottomans near Tabriz, and reoccupied Nakhchivan and Erivan, Ganja and Tiflis. The Ottomans evacuated all

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forts south of the Aras river. By Rabi` II 1016/ July 1607 the last Ottoman soldier had been cleared from Persian territory as recognized by the peace of Amasya in 962/1555. Further desultory fighting on the north-west frontier was temporarily terminated by the peace of Sarab in I027/1618.

For the first ten years of his reign, until he defeated the Özbegs in 1007/1598-9, `Abbas was essentially conducting a holding operation on all fronts. By 1003/1595, however, the policy which `Abbas had introduced on his accession, of training ghulâms to counterbalance the influence of the Qizilbâsh, had begun to bear fruit, and `Abbas was able to appoint to the governorship of the important province of Fars a Georgian named Allahvardi Khan, who held the office of qullar-âqâsi, or commander of the ghulâms. Allahvardi Khan had already proved his devotion to the shah by being a party to the assassination of the wakil Murshid Quli Khan in 996/1589. For his services on that occasion, he was rewarded with the title of sultan and a small governorate near Isfahan. By his new appointment, he became the first ghulâm to attain equality of rank with the Qizilbâsh chiefs, and to have an equal voice with them in council. Implicit obedience to the shah, rather than membership of one of the Qizilbâsh tribes, was henceforth to be the criterion for royal favour. The number of ghulâms appointed to such posts steadily increased, until they filled some twenty per cent of the high administrative posts. Allahvardi Khan became the commander-in-chief of the Persian armed forces in 1007/1598, entrusted with the reorganization of the army along the lines suggested by Sir Robert Sherley, who had just arrived at the shah's court with his brother, Anthony, and a group of some twenty-five soldiers of fortune. As already mentioned, the Sherleys' claim to have introduced the Persians to artillery and hand-guns is entirely without foundation, but the advice of the Sherleys and their companions, particularly in the problems of training the new units and of casting cannon, was much appreciated by the shah, who appointed Sir Robert `Master General against the Turks'. In addition to the corps of ghulâms, now increased in strength to 10,000, three new regiments were formed : a personal body-guard for the shah, numbering 3,000, also composed of ghulâms; a regiment of musketeers, 12,000 strong, recruited mainly from the Persian peasantry; and a regiment of artillery, with 12,000 men and 500 guns. `Abbas thus had a standing army of about 37,000 men paid directly from the royal treasury, and owing allegiance only to him. The aversion of the Persians to the use of firearms, referred to earlier, was

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still strong. They particularly disliked artillery, because it hampered the free movement of their cavalry. In 1011/ 1602, in an action against the Özbegs near Balkh, the Safavids abandoned 300 of their new guns without having brought them into action. In general, the Safavids made good use of artillery in siege warfare, but never made any effective use of it in the field. `Abbas II 1052-77/1642-66) even went so far as to abolish the corps of artillery, and it was not reformed until the reign of Shah Sultan Husayn 1105-35/1694-1722).

The revolution in the social structure of the Safavid state effected by `Abbas I was naturally reflected in the principal offices of state. The title wakil, representing the outmoded concept of the vicegerent of a theocratic ruler, fell into disuse. The use of this title by Murshid Quli Khan Ustajla during the early years of `Abbas's reign was an attempt to revert to the original concept of the wakil. When `Abbas demonstrated that he did not intend to be subordinate to the Qizilbâsh chiefs, it was logical that he should allow this title to lapse. The principal spokesman of the Qizilbâsh in the highest counsels of state was now the qûrchibâshi, the commander of the qûrchis, the name by which the old Qizilbâsh tribal cavalry was henceforth most frequently known. The title amir al-umarâ', by which the commander-in-chief of the Qizilbâsh troops was formerly known, occurs only rarely. The head of the bureaucracy, the spokesman for the Persian elements, and in fact the most powerful official in the state, continued to be known as wazir, or by one of two new and more grandiose titles, i` timâd al-dawla or sadr-i a`zam—the latter being identical with the title of the Ottoman grand vezir. It should not be confused with the sadr, whose decline and eventual eclipse reflects the growing secularization of the Safavid state from the time of `Abbas I onwards. The commanders of two of the new regiments, the qullar-âqâsi and the tufangchi-âqâsi, respectively in command of the ghulâms and the musketeers, ranked among the five principal officers of state, and the new Georgian, Armenian and Circassian elements in the state were thus represented at the highest level. The remaining official, the ishik-aqâsi-bâshi, or major-domo, was usually a Qizilbâsh chief. `Abbas made quite certain that he would have an adequate reservoir of Caucasians from whom ghulâms could be recruited in whatever numbers were needed to offset the influence of the Qizilbâsh. In 1013/1604, 20,000 Armenians were enrolled in the ghulâms; in 1025/1616, 130,000 Georgians were taken prisoner. Under the guise of military necessity, `Abbas transferred large bodies of people from one area to another : in 1023/1614, 15,000

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Georgian families were moved from Kakheti to Mazandaran; and 3,000 Armenian families were taken from Julfa in Azarbayjan and settled in a suburb of Isfahân. Further, `Abbas tried to weaken the tribal bonds which were the source of Qizilbâsh strength, by transferring groups from one tribe to a district belonging to another.

During the reign of `Abbas I, there was an increase of diplomatic and commercial activity in Persia. The Dutch, the Portuguese and the English fought fiercely for commercial supremacy in the Persian Gulf. In 1031/1622 `Abbas was able to turn this rivalry to his advantage when he invoked the aid of the English to expel the Portuguese from the island of Hormuz. Spain, Portugal and England sent ambassadors to the Persian court. The French sent an ambassador, who was arrested by the Ottomans at Istanbul and forced to return to France. The envoy of Philip III of Spain made three visits to Isfahan between 1017/1608 and 1029/1618. The first accredited ambassador from England arrived at the Persian capital in Sha`bân-Ramadan 1036/May 1627, but his mission was a failure. Christian religious orders, such as the Carmelite, Augustinian, and Capuchin friars, were given permission to found convents at Isfahan and, after its recapture from the Ottomans in 1033/1623, at Baghdad.

To sum up, `Abbas's reign was one of solid achievement. Coming to the throne at a critical time, he established the Safavid state on a new basis by a series of far-reaching measures. Although these measures contained within them the seeds of future decay<sup>92</sup>, the measure of the achievement of `Abbas is that the Safavid empire continued to go forward for another century under the momentum which he imparted to it, despite the fact that for the greater part of this period it was in the hands of inept rulers. `Abbas made his capital, Isfahan, one of the beautiful cities of the world. Although Safavid architecture is in general not noted for its originality, `Abbas I, in the Masjid-i Shah (begun in 1020/1611) and the Masjid-i Shaykh Lutf Allah (begun in 1012/1603), was responsible for two of the undoubted masterpieces of Persian architecture. The energy which `Abbas expended on public works is demonstrated by the fact that at his death there were in Isfahan alone 162 mosques, 48 colleges, 1,802 caravanserais, and 273 baths. Outside Isfahan, `Abbas's principal architectural work was the reconstruction of the shrine of the Imam `Ali al-Rida at Mashhad. He made generous benefactions to this shrine and to that of the Safavid family at Ardabil. Unlike the Sasanids and the Achaemenids, the Safavid monarchs did not

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seek to impress posterity by the construction of grandiose palaces. Shah `Abbas's residences at Isfahan were on a modest scale. `Abbas himself much preferred his country retreats on the shores of the Caspian, Ashraf and Farahabad, which he built about 1021/1612-13, and where during the latter part of his reign he regularly spent the winter. Farababad in particular became virtually a second capital. To give access to these winter residences `Abbas constructed his famous causeway along the marshy Caspian littoral. For this purpose he had blocks of stone and marble brought from Baku. Farahabad was sacked by the Cossacks in 1078/1668; Ashraf was devastated successively by Turcomans, Afghans and Zands, and the main palace was destroyed by fire in the time of Nadir Shah.

During the Safavid period as a whole there was a remarkable flowering of the arts, and the reign of `Abbas marks its high point. Although Safavid metalwork cannot equal the production of the Seljuk and early Mongol period, in book painting and the illumination of manuscripts, in ceramics, in textiles, and in carpets and rugs, the Persian genius found its highest expression during the Safavid period. The sumptuous apparel and elaborate pavilions with rich hangings excited the admiration of travellers who visited the Persian court, and a taste for Persian luxury articles arose in Renaissance Europe and in Russia. The skilful use of complicated weaves, the combination of brilliant colours in varigated designs, and an apparently unfailing inventiveness in the use of arabesque and floral ornament, enabled the Persians to produce textiles of a unique richness and variety. The extension of royal patronage to the weavers raised carpet-weaving from the level of a cottage industry to the status of a fine art, and the renaissance of Persian pottery culminated in the reign of `Abbas I. Only, perhaps, in painting must pride of place be given to the productions of the reign of Tahmasp. In 928/1522 Shah Ismail brought the famous Timurid painter Bihzâd from Herat to Tabriz, and made him director of the royal library. His successors who worked for Shah Tahmasp at Tabriz formed a brilliant school, and some of the finest Persian manuscript illustrations date from this period.

Shah `Abbas the Great does not suffer by comparison with the other great rulers of the age—Elizabeth I, Charles V, Süleyman the Magnificent and the Mughal Emperor Akbar. In personal courage he recalls his great-grandfather Ismail I. What he achieved, he achieved by unremitting labour in the interests of the state. Not only did he personally direct and supervise the administration of the Safavid empire, but he

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kept in close touch with the common people by frequenting the markets and the tea-houses, concerned to learn of and root out corruption and oppression wherever it might be found. His zeal for justice was one of his great qualities. It is the more tragic, therefore, that his youth, spent in an atmosphere of treachery and insecurity, should have made him ruthless when there was a real or fancied threat to his own person or position. His harsh treatment of Qizilbâsh chiefs has already been mentioned. Historians have found it difficult to excuse his treatment of his own sons. 'Abbas seems to have been haunted by the memory of the way in which he had overthrown his own father, and constantly to have feared that one of his own sons would treat him in the same way. This fear caused him to lend too ready an ear to informers. The extraordinary lengths to which he went to segregate his sons from political and military leaders are well attested. To begin with, 'Abbas followed the traditional Safavid administrative pattern by appointing his sons to provincial governorates, and sending them to these in the charge of Qizilbâsh chiefs. Thus, his eldest son Muhammad Baqir, also known as Safi, was made governor of Khurâsân when 'Abbas marched westward to seize the throne from his father, and a year or so later his second son, Hasan, was appointed governor of Mashhad. But the revolt of the Qizilbâsh chief who was Hasan's guardian seems to have marked the turning-point in 'Abbas's relationship with his sons. Henceforth their only companions were the court eunuchs and their tutors. It became a capital crime to display undue friendship towards the princes. They left the capital only to accompany the shah on his campaigns ; 'Abbas feared that, if they remained in the capital during his absence, they might become the centre of a plot against him. In fairness to 'Abbas, it must be admitted that these fears were not without foundation. The Qizilbâsh revolt in favour of Masan was followed in 1023/1614-5 by an alleged conspiracy to kill the shah involving Muhammad Bâgir and certain Circassian elements at court. Whatever the truth was on this occasion, the execution of those Circassians on whom suspicion had fallen led the Circassian chiefs to come out openly in support of Muhammad Bâgir, and 'Abbas, now thoroughly alarmed, had his son assassinated in Muharram 1024/ February 1615. It is fairly certain that Muhammad Bâgir was the innocent victim of Circassian intrigue, and 'Abbas was filled with remorse at his action. Unhappily these events increased `Abbas's fears, and created in him a morbid fear of assassination. In 1030/1621 'Abbas fell ill.

His third son, Muhammad, also known as Khudâbanda after his grand-

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father, prematurely celebrated his death, and openly solicited support among the Qizilbâsh. On his recovery, 'Abbas ordered him to be blinded. As his second son, Hasan, and his fourth son, Ismail, had already died from natural causes, 'Abbas had only one son eligible to succeed him, his fifth son, Imam Quli Mirza, and he, too, was blinded in 1036/1626-7. Two years later, on 24 Jumada I 1038/19 January 1629, Shah 'Abbas died, at the age of fifty-eight, having reigned for over forty years.

As Shah 'Abbas had no son able to succeed him, his grandson Sam Mirzâ, was proclaimed ruler under the title of Shah Safi on 23 Jumada II, 1038/17 February 1629. Safi's reign marks the beginning of Safavid decline. It has already been pointed out that the formation by 'Abbas I of a standing army of ghulâms necessarily meant the expansion of crown lands at the expense of the ` state' provinces ruled by Qizilbâsh governors, in order to provide the royal treasury with sufficient funds to pay these new regiments. Safi's wazfr, Sârû Taqi, represented to him that, as the Safavid state was now relatively secure from its external enemies, to allow the greater part of Safavid territory to remain under Qizilbâsh government, contributing virtually nothing to the treasury, was unnecessarily to deprive the central government of revenue. The shah agreed, and the rich province of Fars which, by reason of its distance from the frontiers of Persia, was not immediately threatened by foreign invasion, was brought under the direct control of the shah, and was administered on his behalf by an overseer. Every increase in the extent of crown lands at the expense of ` state' lands meant a corresponding decrease in the strength of the Qizilbâsh forces.

This policy was carried to such lengths by Shah 'Abbas II (1052-77/ 1642-66) that the provinces of Qazvin, Gilân, Mâzandarân, Yazd, Kirmân, Khurâsân and Azarbayjân were all brought under the direct administration of the crown except in time of war, when governors were reappointed. The evil effects of this policy have already been stressed. Sound, if somewhat wasteful, administration was replaced by oppressive government which impaired the prosperity of the provinces. The country was weakened militarily, partly because the reduction in Qizilbâsh strength was not made good by a corresponding increase in the size of the ghulâm forces, and partly because in practice the ghulâms did not possess the fighting qualities of the old Qizilbâsh troops. In most respects, however, Shah 'Abbas II stood head and shoulders above all the later Safavid monarchs. He was a strong, capable, and energetic ruler, and during his lifetime the various conflicting forces in the Safavid

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state were kept in check. In 1057/1648 he recovered Qandahar from the Mughals, who had seized the city from Shah Safi some ten years earlier. In his passion for justice, and his unremitting concern for the welfare of the common people, he most resembled his great-grandfather, `Abbas the Great. After his death, the process of decline not only resumed, but accelerated.

The second important factor contributing to Safavid decline was the degeneration of the dynasty through the confinement of the royal princes in the harem. In the time of Ismail I and Tahmasp I, it was the custom for the heir-apparent to be appointed to the government of the important province of Khurasan. He was placed in the care of a lâlâ or guardian, a high-ranking Qizilbâsh chief, who carried on the actual business of government, and was also responsible for the training and welfare of his charge. The young prince thus received from an early age an education and training which fitted him to succeed to the throne in due course. His brothers were usually appointed to other important governorates, similarly in the charge of lâlâs. Of course this system had its dangers. The lalas might encourage their wards to rebel against the shah. But this danger was infinitely to be preferred to the dangers of keeping the princes in the harem, subject to the debilitating influence of harem life, and a prey to the intrigues and rivalries of the women of the harem and the court eunuchs. In place of a possible, but by no means inevitable, provincial revolt in favour of one of the princes during the lifetime of the shah, there was the virtual certainty of a struggle over the succession as the mothers of rival princes, and the court eunuchs, strove to place their own candidate on the throne. By the time of Shah Sulayman 1077-1105/1666-94), the eunuchs had usurped the authority of the shah. Sulayman was an alcoholic. The contemporary observer, Sir John Chardin, comments on the shah's astonishing ability to hold his liquor; no Swiss or German, he asserts, could compete with him. The shah was also a recluse. He is said to have remained in the harem for seven years without once emerging. His successor, Shah Sultan Husayn, was of a pious and kindly disposition, and was nicknamed `Mulla Husayn'. A probably apocryphal, but nevertheless significant, story alleges that Shah Sulayman did not nominate an heir, but said in effect to his officers of state, if they wanted peace and quiet, they should choose his son Husayn, but if they wanted a powerful ruler and expanding empire, they should elect his son `Abbas. The court eunuchs elected Husayn because they hoped to establish their ascendancy over

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such a mild and pliant monarch. Their hopes were fulfilled. Shah Sultan Husayn (1105-35/1694-1722) soon abandoned his austere way of life, and, like his father, took to drink and debauchery. He became so luxorious that the size and magnificence of his harem was a serious drain on the exchequer. Like his father Sulayman, he had no interest in state affairs, and the court and the harem had little difficulty in bending the shah to their will. The religious classes, led by the mujtahid Muhammad Bagir al-Majlisi, strove in vain to counteract their influence. Occasionally the forces of religion achieved a temporary success, as when 60,000 bottles of wine from the royal cellars were brought out and publicly smashed.

There was increasing corruption and inefficiency in provincial government. Insecurity on the roads, always a sign of the breakdown of the central administration, was widespread. The very officials responsible for the security of travellers were often those who looted them. The army was neglected, and the military weakness of the country was thrown into sharp relief in 1110/1698-9, when a band of Balûchi tribesmen raided Kirman, nearly reached Yazd, and threatened Bandar `Abbas. Shah Sultan Husayn turned to the Georgian Prince Giorgi XI, ruler of Kartli, who happened to be at the Persian court, for help in repelling these marauders. Giorgi was appointed governor of Kirman in 1110/1699, and held this post until 1115/1704. The Balûchis were defeated. This episode suggests first, that the shah felt that the Georgians were the only people on whose loyalty he could rely; second, that there was no commander, either among the Qizilbâsh or the ghulâm forces, capable of dealing with the crisis. Georgian influence at the Persian capital was at its height at this time. Giorgi's brother, Leon, and his nephew, Kay Khusraw, both held important posts in Isfahan. In 1117/1706 the shah left the capital and visited the two important Shi’i shrines in Persia, that of Fatima the daughter of the seventh Imam, at Qumm, and that of her brother, the Imam 'All al-Rida, at Mashhad. He took with him the harem, a retinue of courtiers, and an escort of 60,000. He was away for nearly a year, and the cost of this expedition not only drained the exchequer still further, but placed an intolerable burden of additional taxation on the provinces through which the shah passed. During the shah's absence from the capital, a revolt broke out in favour of his brother `Abbas. This was suppressed by a force of Georgian troops under Kay Khusraw.

In 1120/1709 the weakness of the eastern frontier was further demon-

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strated when the Ghalzay Afghans under Mir Vays seized Qandahar and assassinated Giorgi XI. Qandahar had been in Safavid hands since 1058/1648. Kay Khusraw, despatched from Isfahan, was unable to restore the situation. One reason for this was that Kay Khusraw, though he had nominally accepted Islam, was like so many Georgian renegades, still a Christian at heart, and he did not command the full support of the Qizilbâsh detachments in his army. Mir Vays ruled at Qandahar until his death in 1127/1715, and the following year his son Mahmûd assumed the leadership of the Ghalzay Afghans. On the northern sector of the eastern frontier, the Abdâli Afghans rebelled at Herat, laid siege to Mashhad, and defeated three successive,Qizilbâsh forces sent against them. The shah was so alarmed by the situation that he transferred his capital from Isfahan to Qazvin, ostensibly to organize a new force against the Afghans. He remained at Qazvin for three years, from winter 1131/1718-19 to spring 1133 /1721, but nothing was done. Mahmûd of the Ghalzay Afghans achieved what the shah could not, the subjection of the Abdâlis, and thereby substantially increased his own power. Shah Sultan Husayn recognized him as governor of Qandahar, and gave him the title of Husayn Quli (`the slave of Husayn') Khan. The irony of this title was doubtless not lost on the shah when Mahmûd occupied Kirmân for nine months in 1131-2/171 9 and, encouraged by the lack of opposition, launched a more serious attack in the autumn of 1133-4/1721. At Isfahan, there were divided counsels. Some advised the defence of the city, on the grounds that the Safavid troops available were no match for the Afghans in the open field. The only seasoned troops at hand were the tribal levies of the governor of Luristân, and a ghulâm detachment under the Georgian prince, Rustam. There was a hasty levy of untrained peasants and merchants in the Isfahan area. This scratch force, whose chances of success were vitiated even at this critical moment by dissension among its commanders, was routed by Mahmûd at Gulnâbâd, about eighteen miles east of Isfahan, on 3o Jumada I 1134/8 March 1722.

In the capital, the irresolute shah was in the hands of a traitorous pro-Afghan faction, but even so, Mahmûd's force was too weak to allow him to follow up his victory by storming the city, and the most he could achieve was the gradual extension of a cordon around it. Early in June, the troops of the governor of Luristân reached a point some forty miles north-west of the capital, and demanded the abdication of the shah in favour of his more energetic brother, `Abbas. The shah refused.

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The conspirators kept under close guard in the harem the shah's two elder sons, who had shown signs of courage and resolution, but the third son, Tahmasp, who was weak and ineffectual like his father, was passed through the Afghan lines on the night of 3-4 Ramadan/7-8 June. Even Tahmâsp might by his mere presence have constituted a rallying-point for loyalist troops, had he joined forces with the governor of Luristân. Instead, however, he went to Qazvin, and remained inactive. From Sha`ban—Ramadan/ June onwards, the people of Isfahan were subject to severe famine. They consumed cats, dogs, mice, and even human flesh. The streets were piled high with rotting corpses. On 1 Muharram I 135/12 October 1722 Shah Sultan Husayn surrendered unconditionally, after six months of siege. At least 80,000 people had died from starvation and disease, more than four times the number who fell in battle. Isfahan never recovered from its ordeal, and its population today, about 650,000, is perhaps one-half of its population in Safavid times⁹³. On 14 Muharram/25 October Mahmûd entered Isfahan, and assumed the crown of Persia. For over fifty years, during the reigns of Shah Sulaymân and Shah Sultan Husayn, the social, political and moral foundations of the Safavid state had been steadily undermined, and, at the last, the once-imposing edifice collapsed with ridiculous ease before a blow administered by a handful of Afghan tribesmen.

The Afghans, though the nominal rulers of Persia, never succeeded in making themselves masters of the whole country. For fourteen years, representatives of the Safavid house maintained a shadowy existence in various parts of northern Persia. On 30 Muharram 1135/10 November 1722, the ex-shah's son Tahmâsp proclaimed himself Shah Tahmâsp II at Qazvin. When the Afghans marched on Qazvin, he fled to Tabriz. A rising of the townspeople of Qazvin on 1 Rabi` I 1135/8 January 1723 drove the Afghans out of the city, and at Isfahan, Mahmûd, fearing a similar rising, slaughtered many high-ranking Persian officials and nobles, together with about 3,000,Qiziilbâsh guards. This panic-stricken action clearly demonstrates the precarious nature of the hold of the Afghans on Persia, but the modicum of leadership necessary to dislodge them did not exist. Shiraz held out against them for nine months, and Yazd repulsed them with heavy losses. In Rabi` I—Jumada 1113 7/February 1725 Mahmûd, alarmed still further by reports that Safi, another of the ex-shah's sons, had escaped from Isfahan, ordered a general massacre of all members of the Safavid royal house with the exception of the ex-shah and two young princes. At least eighteen persons perished.

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Two months later Mahmûd, who had shown increasing signs of madness, was overthrown by his cousin, Ashraf, who was proclaimed shah on 29 Dhu'l-Hijja 5137/26 April 1725.

The territory under Ashraf's control comprised central and southern Persia, the province of Sistan, and the western part of Khurasan. Ashraf inaugurated his reign first, by putting to death Mahmûd's guards, together with those officials and courtiers who had been Mahmûd's intimates and might conspire against himself; secondly, by executing those officers who had placed him on the throne; thirdly, by blinding his own brother. In the autumn of 1139/1726 the Ottomans,who had been at peace with Persia since the treaty of Zuhab in 1049/1639, resumed their invasions of Persia. This time, their avowed object was to reinstate the legitimate ruler of Persia. Ashraf retaliated by executing the ex-shah, Sultan Husayn. When the two armies met near Hamadan on 14 Rabi' 1188/20 November 1726, Ashraf disrupted the Ottoman army by emphasizing their common adherence to Sunni Islam, and by calling on them to unite against their common foe, the heretically Shi`i Safavids. So successful was his propaganda that some 20,000 Kurdish troops in the Ottoman army deserted to the Afghans, and the majority of the Ottoman army refused to attack. In Safar-Rabi` I 1140/October 1727 Ashraf negotiated peace, and recognized the whole of western and north-western Persia as Ottoman territory.

The soi-disant Tahmasp II, after a period in Mazandarân, had established himself at Astarabad in north-eastern Persia, where the powerful Qâjâr tribe gave him their support. In 1138/1726 he was joined by Nadir Khan Afshar, who gradually gained an ascendancy over Tahmasp, and eliminated rival chieftains whose ambitions clashed with his own. After hard fighting against Abdali Afghans in the Herat region (1139-41/ 1727-9) in a series of campaigns designed to protect his rear when he advanced south, Nadir marched on Isfahan. Ashraf decided to anticipate a possible pro-Safavid rising in the capital by the method used by his predecessor, namely, the massacre of large numbers of theologians and members of the nobility. The Afghan army was routed in a battle thirty-five miles north-west of Isfahan, and Nadir, entering the city on 24 Rabi` II 1142/16 November 1729, summoned Tahmasp to ascend the throne, which had been in the hands of Afghan usurpers for seven years. In December, Nadir defeated Ashraf near Shiraz. The Afghan leader fled, and the Afghan interlude was at an end. Nadir, however,

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had no intention of allowing a restoration of the Safavid dynasty on a permanent basis. He had professed his allegiance to the Safavid cause solely to enlist the support of pro-Safavid elements. In Rabi` I 1145 / August 1732 Nadir deposed Tahmasp II in favour of the latter's son 'Abbas, who was crowned as `Abbas III. `Abbas III was only an infant, and Nadir was the real ruler of the country. On 24 Shawwal 1148/8 March 1736 Nadir had himself crowned as Nadir Shah, and the Safavid dynasty, which since 1135 /1722 had existed in name only, now ceased to exist even in name.

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CHAPTER 6 PERSIA: THE BREAKDOWN OF SOCIETY

The seeds of the decline of the Safavid empire are already to be seen after the death of Shah `Abbas I, and when the Afghan invasion finally brought about its fall in 1135/1722 a period of disorder followed. Trade was interrupted and a general decline in civic and cultural life took place. This was not a new experience for Persia : earlier empires had disintegrated before the inroads of nomadic or semi-nomadic invaders. On this occasion, however, the invader did not succeed in establishing an empire as had, for example, the Seljuks, the Mongols and the Timurids.

Tahmasp, the son of Shah Sultan Husayn, the last Safavid ruler, who was besieged by the Afghans in Isfahan, sought the assistance severally of Peter the Great and the Ottoman sultan. The former captured Dar-band and Baku and concluded in 1723 a treaty with Tahmasp, who ceded to Russia all the Persian possessions on the Caspian Sea on condition Peter expelled the Afghans and put him (Tahmasp) on the Persian throne. In 1724, however, anticipating the disintegration of the Persian kingdom, the Russians and the Ottomans made an abortive treaty for the partition of Persia. In 1140/1727 the Ottomans forced Ashraf, who in 1137/ 1725 had succeeded Mahmild, the first Afghan ruler of Persia, to cede to them those provinces which they had occupied in return for an agreement to acknowledge him as shah.

In 1142/1729-30 Nadir Shah, whose original name was Nadir Quli, and who belonged to the Afshar tribe, one of the main Turcoman tribes upon which Safavid power had originally rested, expelled the Afghans. He became the de facto ruler of Persia but did not assume the crown until 1148/1736. Nadir's reign was not a reintegration of the Safavid empire : if a parallel is to be sought it is to be found rather with the empires of Mahmûd of Ghazna and Timûr; and like them Nadir is chiefly remembered for his Indian exploits.

After expelling the Afghans, Nadir recovered the provinces taken from Persia by the Ottomans and the Russians. Russia restored Lahijan, Gilan, and the Persian provinces up to the River Aras by the treaty of Rasht in 1144/1732; and Baku and Ganja by the treaty of Ganja in 1147/1735. Treaties delimiting the frontier were signed with the Otto-

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mans in 1146/1733 and 1159/1746 ; in 1160/1747 part of 'Iraq and Azar-bayjan was ceded. Nadir Shah invaded India in 1151/1739 and reached Delhi; in the following year he invaded Sind, and in 1153/1740 Bukhara and Khiva. In 1154/ 1741-2 he undertook a campaign against the Lesganis of Daghistan. Thereafter until 1158/1745 he was largely occupied in putting down internal rebellions, and in campaigns against the Ottomans.

There was a tendency during the reign of Nadir Shah towards a more direct administration and a strengthening of the central government, but no effective measures were taken to develop the resources of the country. The cost of his numerous military expeditions was heavy and much of the countryside was adversely affected by repeated levies and over-taxation.

In the religious field there was an attempt to heal the breach between Sunni and Shi`i Islam by the institution of a fifth madhhab, the Ja`fari madhhab. The purpose of this seems to have been political, Nadir hoping thereby to establish his claim to the leadership of the Islamic world against the Ottoman sultan and the Mughal emperor. The attempt failed. Shi`ism had become firmly established as the religion of the majority in most of the provinces of Persia under the Safavids; and the new rite which Nadir attempted to introduce had no widespread appeal and did not take root.

On Nadir's asassination in 1160/1747 his kingdom disintegrated. Abmad Shah Abdali took Herat and Qandahar; Karim Khan Zand, after struggles with the Bakhtiyari leader `Ali Mardan Khan, and Muhammad Hasan Qajâr, established himself as a ruler of Lar, Fars, `Iraq-i `Ajam, Azarbayjan and Mazandaran; only Khurasan remained to Nadir's grandson. Karim Khan (1163-93/1750-79) established some degree of order and security in those parts of Persia over which he ruled and enjoyed a reputation for good government. He did not assume the title of shah, claiming to rule as the deputy (wakil) of the Safavids, although there does not appear to have been, in fact, any movement in favour of a Safavid revival.

On the death of Karim Khan, southern Persia became the scene of widespread disorders, Aqâ Mubammad b. Mubammad Hasan Qajar escaped from Shiraz, where he had been held captive, and went to Gurgan, then the home of the Qajars. They, like the Afshars, were one of the Turcoman tribes which had supported the Safavid revolution. Shah `Abbas had settled a branch of them in Shahij ahan on the Özbeg frontier, and another in Astarabad on the Turcoman frontier.

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Aqâ Muhammad Khan, having assembled his followers, made himself master of Gurgân, Mazandarân, and Gilan by 1204/1789 ; he then extended his authority to Tabriz, Hamadan, Tehran and Isfahan, and in due course defeated Lutf `Ali Khan, the son of Karim Khan, outside Shiraz. He took Kirman in 1208/1794 and captured Lutf `Ali near Bam.

Although Aqa Muhammad Khan had by now defeated his main rival, eastern and north-eastern Persia were fragmented among a number of local rulers, and the Özbegs under Jani Beg held Bukhara. Leaving for the moment the eastern provinces, Aqa Muhammad Khan turned his attention to the restoration of Persian power in the north-west. Tehran became the new capital. There were various reasons for this, apart from the fact that new dynasties tended to choose new capitals. It was within easy reach of Gurgân whence the Qajars drew their main support, and of Sultâniyya, with its extensive spring pastures, where troops could be assembled and despatched to the north-west or north-east, the two most vulnerable areas. It was also in a central position in the northern provinces, which were the most fertile and the most heavily populated provinces of the empire.

After the fall of the Safavids, Georgia was disputed between the Ottomans, Persia and Russia. In 1762, after the disorders on the death of Nadir, east and west Georgia became united under Heraclius (Erekle) II. Between 1762-83 the Georgian kingdom became increasingly orientated towards Russia, and in 1783 Heraclius made an agreement with the Empress Catherine II, placing himself under Russian protection and renouncing all dependence on Persia or any other power. In 1795, Aqâ Muhammad reached Ardabil with the intention of reducing Georgia to the status it had held under the Safavids. Heraclius refused the demand that he should return to his position as a tributary of Persia. Aqâ Muhammad, who had already come into conflict with Russia when he had expelled a Russian settlement from Ashraf in 1195/1781, thereupon invaded Georgia and sacked Tiflis (1209/1795). In the following year he was crowned shah.

Aqâ Muhammad Khan then marched eastwards to reimpose Persian control over Khurasan, still nominally under the Afshars. Mashhad was taken without fighting in 1210/1796. Meanwhile, a Russian force marched against Persia in retaliation for the sack of Tiflis, but on the death of Catherine in 1796 it withdrew. Aqâ Muhammad, who had returned to Tehran from Khurasan in Rabi` 1211/September 1796, set out in the spring of the following year on a campaign against Russia. He

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crossed the Aras and took Shusha. While in camp he was murdered by two slaves who, although under sentence of death for some misdemeanour, had been left free. His nephew, Baba Khan, who at the time of his uncle's death was governor of Fars, succeeded under the name of Fath `Ali Shah (I 797-1834). Various attempts at rebellion were put down without difficulty.

With the Qâjârs (1794-1925) Persia entered upon a new period of her history. During their reign Persia was transformed from a medieval Islamic monarchy, with an administration following the traditional pattern which had prevailed in the eastern provinces of the former `Abbasid caliphate, into a constitutional monarchy having the outward forms of a representative parliamentary government. The crucial factor bringing about this change was the contact which developed between Persia and western Europe and Russia in the nineteenth century.

The state over which Fath `Ali Shah reigned had much in common with the earlier kingdoms of the Seljuks, the Il-Khans, the Timurids and the Safavids; and some of the problems to which the Qâjars had to seek a solution were not dissimilar to those faced by the preceding dynasties. Externally the Qajars, like the Safavids, were forced to undertake repeated expeditions to defend their frontiers against the Ottoman Turks on the one hand and the Özbegs and Turcomans on the other. Internally there was the problem of the integration of the tribal element into the state; and as centralization increased and the administration expanded, so the problem of paying the officials of the state became more acute. But in addition to the problems which had been to a greater or lesser extent faced by earlier dynasties, the Qâjars were subject also to new external pressures, which enormously complicated their other problems.

In the early nineteenth century Russia pressed down through the Caucasus threatening Persia with the loss of Azarbayjan, one of her most valuable provinces, and sought to establish a position which would enable her to dominate Tehran; and in the second half of the century Russia also bore down upon Persia from Central Asia, threatening Gurgan and Khurasan. Because the Russian advance was thought to threaten British possessions in India, Britain joined with Russia in rivalry to gain influence at the Persian court.

There are indications that the balance between the tribal and settled elements of the population—always precarious—was changing during

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the period of Safavid decline and in the ensuing period, and that there was an increase in the numbers and influence of the tribal groups. The leading members of society in the early years of Qâjar rule were the great tribal leaders as, indeed, had been the case in the early Safavid period. Under Nadir Shah favour had been shown to the Sunni tribes, the Turcomans and the Afghans. Under the Qajars, other than the Qâjârs themselves, the most powerful groups were the Bakhtiyâris, the Kurds, the Afshars, the Qara Guzlûs, the Qashqa'is and the Arabs of Fars ; the Turcomans were important and numerous, but only very imperfectly under Qajar rule. The power of the tribal leaders derived from the military forces which they were able to assemble, and which they were bound to provide when called upon to do so by the shah. Although the heads of the great tribes were appointed by the shah, he usually had no alternative but to appoint to these offices the natural leaders. In general, the central government was unable to administer the tribal areas directly.

The provinces were under governors, who were chosen for the most part from among the tribal leaders. Gradually, as the power of the latter, other than the Qajars, declined, the provinces were largely governed by Qajar princes. In 1799 a son of Fath `Ali, `Abbas Mirzâ, was made heir to the throne (vali `ahd) and given the governorship of Azarbayjan; while four other sons were appointed governors of Kirmanshah, Fars, Khurâsân and Mâzandarân respectively. Several other princes, who were too young to exercise the functions of government themselves, were in due course appointed to other provinces and sent to their governments with wazirs, who carried on the administration for them, much as had the atabegs for their wards in Seljuk times. In the case of the prince who himself carried on the government, the function of the wazir attached to him was, as in Safavid times, in some measure to watch over his actions on behalf of the central government. The provincial governors were not the paid servants of the state. All they were required to do was to remit to the central government a definite sum by way of provincial revenue annually together with a New Year present, and to provide troops when called upon by the shah to do so. Their exercise of the power delegated to them in their government was absolute.

The tax assessment was prepared by the office of the mustawfi in the capital and sent to the province. The taxes were of two kinds, ordinary or fixed, and extraordinary. The most important of the former was the

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land-tax. In most provinces it was from five to twenty per cent of the produce after the deduction of seed and certain other expenses, varying according to the method of irrigation. It was paid partly in cash and partly in kind. Often the landowners farmed the tax to prevent the interference of government officials. Different rates prevailed for rich, intensively cultivated land round the towns and for gardens. Other fixed taxes were the cattle-tax paid by nomads and taxes levied on real estate in the towns and duties on merchandise. Revenue from fines amounted to a considerable sum. Among the extraordinary taxes, New Year presents formed an important category. These, with presents of an ad hoc nature, given for example on appointment to office, and public requisitions for special purposes, were considerable. The provincial governors were entitled to collect over and above the ordinary and extraordinary taxes the cost of the expenses of the provincial administration. Taxes were frequently in arrears and their collection often necessitated military expeditions. Fath `Ali, at the time of his death, was on his way to collect arrears of revenue from Husayn `Ali Mirza, the governor of Fars.

Had the central government been strong, and had there been solidarity between the members of the Qâjar family, the system might have worked. Neither condition was achieved; and ambitious princes were encouraged to use the provincial resources at their disposal to rebel. Further, in the absence of financial control, the existence of the provincial courts imposed an added burden on the local population. Fath `Ali, although he established his succession to the throne with little difficulty, had to contend with various rebellions by relatives and others. His death was followed by struggles between rival claimants to the throne; and on the death of his successor, Muhammad Shah, in 1848 there were widespread disorders. It was the custom of the shah to declare one of his sons walli`ahd; and by convention the mother of the prince thus chosen was also a Qajar. But the declaration of the wali `ahd was often the occasion for bitter rivalry; Fath `Ali, indeed, delayed after the death of `Abbas Mirza (1833) in declaring Muhammad Mirza (`Abbas's son) wali `ahd, because he feared that this would give rise to civil war.

The nature of the military forces of the Qajars did not contribute to stability. As in earlier times, the army was largely formed by provincial contingents and irregular cavalry and infantry, with a small body of regular troops. There was no clear dividing line between the provincial governor, the tribal leader, the landowner, and the military

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commander. This facilitated rebellion and made the control of the shah almost always precarious. Aqa Muhammad Khan's total forces probably did not exceed 70-80,000 men and his revenues were so small that he could not maintain them for more than six or seven months of the year. Their principal arms were bows and arrows, clubs, lances, swords and daggers. The cavalry wore coats of mail and some used small shields. Fire-arms consisted of long muskets, mostly matchlocks. Artillery was seldom employed. Under Fath `Ali there was a considerable expansion in the numbers of the army. In the early years of the nineteenth century the royal body-guard was composed of some 3-4,000 men and the standing army of some 12,000 men, mostly recruited from the Qajar tribe and Mazandaran. The most numerous provincial contingents came from Azarbayjan and `Iraq-i `Ajam. Pay was often in arrears; and the fact that there was no proper provision for the pay of the troops was one of the factors which contributed to the seasonal nature of campaigns : the troops could not be maintained throughout the year. During campaigns they were expected to live on the country.

Although originally tribal leaders, like their predecessors the Safavids and the Afshars, the Qajars once having taken possession of the throne, became like them absolute monarchs. They took over the concept of the ruler as ‘the Shadow of God upon Earth'/1 and the pomp and circumstance of the royal court rapidly increased. Although the Qajars did not claim to be descendants of the `Alid Imams, as had the Safavids, they sought to impress their subjects with the high and almost sacred character of their power. Nevertheless, the shah was in theory accessible to the lowest of his subjects. At the same time, in spite of the pomp observed on official occasions, the background of the steppe was not far away : and much of the time of the ruler was spent in camp and on expeditions, the government, in such cases, being carried on in the camp.

The civil administration was based on the pattern of that of the Safavid empire, the origins of which are to be found in much earlier times. All officials were the shah's deputies. He was the sole executive. Officials had no real responsibility. They were elevated and degraded at his pleasure. Under Aqa Muhammad the administration was comparatively simple. There were two chief officials under the wazir, the muster-master (lashkarnivis) and the mustawfi, who was the head of the financial administration. His wazir, Hâjji Ibrahim, had served the Zands before

/1 Sec further A. K. S. Lambton, 'Quis custodiet custodes ? Some reflections on the Persian theory of government', in Studia Islamica, V (1956), 125-48; VI (1956), 125-46.

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the Qajars. During the reign of Fath `Ali the administration was expanded. The chief minister was known as the sadr-i a`zam. After him the three most important officials were the mustawfi al-mamâlik, the wazir-i lashkar, and the munshi al-mamâlik. The first had under him mustawfis for each province or group of provinces, whose duty it was to prepare the revenue assessment of the province or provinces under their charge, pass the accounts of the province, and verify and sanction drafts on the provincial revenue; the second was the chief muster-master, or minister of war, though his functions were mainly administrative and bureaucratic; he was not concerned with policy. The third was a kind of chief secretary. There were a host of other officials belonging to the court and to the central and local administration. Some officials, especially local officials, were paid by dues ; the high officials of the state, however, were mainly paid by drafts on the revenue.

The members of the bureaucracy at the beginning of the period held an inferior position in society to the tribal leaders and the landowning classes, who regarded them with slight contempt. They were often men of education and polish; and through them and their class the tradition of administration had been handed down over the centuries. Unlike the tribal leaders, they seldom practised martial exercises. As the administration became more complicated, the status of the higher ranks of the bureaucracy rose relative to the rest of society; and the distinction between the tribal and landowning classes on the one hand and the bureaucracy on the other became less sharp. Many members of the bureaucracy became large landowners themselves.

The high offices of state usually went to the great families, first among whom was the Qajar, and after them the foremost tribal families, and families who drew their power from their landed estates. Nepotism was marked; and a strong hereditary tendency, especially in the office of mustawfi (because of the skill and training required for this office), was to be seen. It was not, however, impossible, though it was difficult, for an able man irrespective of birth to obtain high office, and thus wealth. The perquisites of office were great; but so also were its dangers. A fall from favour was often followed by mulcting, exile, and sometimes death. Power which was measured by wealth gave security and so there was a general tendency to seek to accumulate wealth. This was expended by its holders to defend their interests; they also used it to enable them to live on a grand scale, both because open-handedness and hospitality were among the prized virtues of society, and because in this way they

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could attract clients, which meant an increase of power. Moreover, because of the fundamental insecurity of society, there was a tendency for the weak to attach themselves to some patron. The obligation to protect a dependant was generally acknowledged; and since an insult to a dependant was regarded as tantamount to an insult to his protector, attachment to the train of a powerful man was a way of achieving some degree of security.

Customary law was administered in the capital by the shah, and in the provinces by the provincial governor. Cases concerning the conduct of ministers or high officials, corruption or treason were judged by the shah in person. Local offences in the towns and bazaars came under the dârûgha, who was a kind of police officer. Matters of personal law were referred to the qâdi's court.

Besides the tribal leaders, the landowners and high military and civil officials, there were two other groups which played an important role in society : the religious classes and the merchants. The most important religious dignitaries were the mujtahids, whose studies and eminence were such as to permit them to give decisions in religious matters. They enjoyed a position of respect and in some measure provided a sanctuary for the oppressed. Appeals through a mujtahid to the shah or a provincial governor seldom went unheard. There was a head of the local religious establishment (shaykh al-Islam) and a leader of congregational prayer (imam jum`a) in the large cities ; they were nominated by the shah, and like the qâdis and many of the `ulamâ', received stipends from the shah, which limited their independence. There was a strong hereditary tendency in the religious offices and also some movement from the religious classes into the bureaucracy.

The merchants, in the absence of banks, played an important part in the provision and transmission of funds. They provided the liquid funds without which the ruling classes could not have lived as they did. The two were often in actual partnership. A provincial governor sometimes had to find a merchant to guarantee his remission of the provincial revenue to the central government. By marriage alliances, the acquisition of land and government service, the large merchants sometimes managed to become assimilated to the ruling classes. The bazaar merchants tended to be closely allied to the religious classes and it was a familiar phenomenon for the bazaar, often at the instigation of the `ulamâ', to close in protest at some action of the government.

The cities, on the whole, tended to be isolated from each other; and

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each to have its own particular ethos. Such contact as existed was mainly through the religious and merchant classes, who, together with the bureaucracy and the educated classes in general, felt themselves to belong to a common civilization expressed in terms of Perso-Islamic culture. But, although this gave a certain underlying unity and stability to society, it would be an exaggeration to claim that these various classes consciously or actively directed or controlled political events.

There was often a strong corporate sense among the craft guilds in the large cities and sometimes among the inhabitants of the different quarters. Factional strife was common. In some cities such as Isfahan, Yazd and Shiraz there were from time to time popular outbreaks against the extortion and oppression of the governors. But they were seldom sustained or organized.

Lastly there was the majority of the population formed by the peasants whose function was to pay taxes and to provide recruits for the army, and who had little or no influence on the course of political events. Their only remedy in the event of exploitation was flight or emigration.

The general tendency of Islamic political and religious thought on the whole made for conservatism. Intellectual effort was directed to an ever more perfect restatement of the familiar. This is clearly to be seen in politics, art, and literature. The whole movement of reform and change which had begun in western Europe and led to great technological advances was alien to the concepts and traditions of thought and government which prevailed in nineteenth-century Persia.⁹⁴

The rule of the shah was absolute. There was, however, no sound financial and military basis to his power : the weaknesses of the kingdom were manifold. The position of the ruling classes was fundamentally insecure : the power they exercised was either delegated by the shah and could thus be revoked at will and without cause, or was usurped. In general, the exercise of power by a minister was regarded with jealousy both by the shah and by other members of the ruling classes. Intrigue and insecurity prevailed on all sides. The balance between order and disorder was precarious. Rumours of wars, a defeat suffered in war by the government, or the death of the shah at once created uncertainty and fear in the big cities, and in the countryside any weakening of the government was likely to be followed by raiding by tribal groups and an interruption of travel and commerce.

It was partly these weaknesses which led to Persia's great dependence

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on Britain and Russia in the new circumstances of the nineteenth century when, because of her proximity to Georgia on the one hand and India on the other, she was drawn into the Eastern Question, and her relations with Europe assumed an importance and character different from her relations with her Asian neighbours.

Persia was separated from the Ottoman empire and Afghanistan by religious differences : she was Shi'i and they were Sunni, which prevented any rapprochement or common front. The issues between them were seen largely in terms of Shi i-Sunni strife. The war with the Ottomans was not renewed on the scale of Safavid times but there were frequent frontier wars and skirmishes accompanied by bitter sectarian hostility. The aims of both sides were, however, limited, and there was no real fear of a complete conquest or domination of the one by the other. The territory in dispute was frontier territory, notably Kurdistan, which had never been fully integrated into either empire. The memory of Safavid rule over Herat, and the brief period when Nadir Shah had regained possession of that city, remained, and led to several attempts to reestablish Persian rule. Perso-Turkish and Perso-Afghan relations were in due course also subordinated to Persia's relations with Russia and Great Britain. The intrusion of these two powers was accompanied by new techniques, new ideas, and an overwhelming power. It provoked religious hostility and eventually nationalism, which relations with the Ottomans had done only on the limited basis of Shi`i-Sunni strife.

British interest in Persia was dictated by her Indian commitments, and the policy she adopted towards Persia was directed to countering the actual and potential threats to India, which she believed to come at different times from Afghanistan, Napoleonic France and Russia. Her commercial interests played a minor role. In the years following the fall of the Safavids, trade with Persia, as stated above, declined. By the close of the eighteenth century, trade between the Persian Gulf and India was once more increasing, but had not regained its former importance. About 1830, the Trebizond-Tabriz route was opened, and by 1836 there had been some increase in trade, but it was still comparatively unimportant and there was difficulty in obtaining a suitable return in Persian goods. During the second half of the nineteenth century the volume of trade grew, and there was some investment by private companies in Persia, but trade considerations on the whole remained subordinate to political ones.

The basic assumption on which British policy rested was that it was in

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Britain's interest, in the light of the defence of India, to preserve an independent Persia. The policy which Britain adopted in Persia to defend her Indian interests varied with the circumstances of the time, but the aim in all cases was the same. Wellington, in a letter to Canning dated 21 November 1826, written when Persia was at war with Russia, wrote, `’We have a real interest in the preservation of the independence and integrity of the Persian monarchy.'/1 Rather less than a hundred years later Sir Arthur Hardinge in 1905 wrote that the maintenance of the integrity and independence of Persia was the main object of British diplomacy in Tehran./2 Broadly speaking, therefore, British policy was directed to strengthening the government of Persia, and favourable to internal reform, since it was hoped that this would contribute to the maintenance of Persian independence.

Russia was interested in Persia as a possible route to India and the Persian Gulf, and as an area in which, or from which, she could put pressure on Britain. She had no interest in a strong and independent Persia. Consequently she opposed Persian reform. The Russian threat to Persian independence in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries was persistent.

Militarily, the Russian and British positions in Persia were not comparable and the dilemma facing Britain was to avoid on the one hand a policy which would provoke a collision with Russia in circumstances which would inevitably be unfavourable and which would, therefore, hasten the coming of Persia under Russian domination, and, on the other, inaction which would almost certainly lead to Persia's complete submission to Russia. British statesmen did not want a common frontier with Russia and did not, therefore, want to exercise a protectorate, veiled or otherwise, in Persia; and, beginning in the reign of Fath `Ali Shah, there were repeated efforts by Britain to achieve an agreement with Russia on the preservation of the independence and integrity of Persia.

Both Russia and Britain, because of Persian maladministration, internal disorders, and financial weakness, intervened in Persian internal affairs, though their motives were different. Neither could contemplate with equanimity the prospect of civil war in Persia : Britain could not afford to see the wall `and or another Persian prince riding down to Tehran supported by Russian troops and the establishment of a puppet government,

/1 Quoted by J. W. Kaye, in Life and Correspondence of Major-General Sir John Malcolm, G.C.B. (London, 1856), ii, 453.

/2 British Documents on the Origins of the War 1898-1914, iv, 375.

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since it was believed that this would have meant the establishment of Russia on the frontiers of India; while Russia, though prepared to go to all lengths short of war to bring Persia under her control, also could not afford civil war for fear that this might lead to a British occupation of southern Persia which would block her eventual advance to the Indian Ocean.

British and Russian policy towards Persia was thus dictated, not by Persian considerations, but by their relations with each other; and the effect of their presence was to create a division between those who looked to Russia and those who looked to Britain. It also engendered feelings of resentment and humiliation in the Persian people. By hastening the breakdown of the traditional institutions of society, and by contributing to the spread of westernization, it ultimately led to the constitutional revolution of 1905-6, as a result of which Persia adopted, at least formally, parliamentary government. This was not an evolutionary process, but rather a break with the past.

In spite of the difference in the policy of the two powers towards Persia—a difference which many Persian statesmen recognized—Persia nevertheless felt herself threatened by both. Although she feared the military advance of Russia, she also feared the extension of British dominion over southern Persia by means of trade, if not by force of arms. The various occasions when discussions took place for the cession of Kharg (Karrack) or some other island in the Persian Gulf, lent colour to the suspicions of British intentions. Britain had in fact no wish to occupy southern Persia, but the threat to do so was her ultimate sanction against both Persia and Russia; and this was the main reason why Persia feared and resented British influence. The fact that on two occasions in the nineteenth century a military expedition was despatched to the Gulf to counter a Persian attack on Herat gave point to Persian fears. British policy towards Afghanistan, where Persia had irredentist designs, also brought Persia and Britain into conflict.

During the early years of the nineteenth century, Persia was courted by both France and Britain; and Fath `Ali Shah hoped to recover Persian territories lost to Russia by means of an alliance with one or other of them. France for her part used Persia at different periods as a means of embarrassing Russia and furthering her plans against England, while the latter hoped by an alliance with Persia to raise up a barrier to the advance of France towards India. The result of these policies were the Anglo-Persian treaty of 1801 (which was never ratified) and the short-lived

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Franco-Persian treaty of Finkenstein signed in 1807. Both Fatb 'All Shah and `Abbas Mirza recognized the imperative need for modern weapons and methods to enable Persia to resist the Russian advance through Georgia and the Caucasus. It was partly this which made them turn to Britain and France. Attempts at modernization were, therefore, made in the first instance in the military field in response to external pressure.

Some knowledge of European tactics was brought to the Persian army by Russian deserters and renegades, who took refuge in Persia; but the first reorganization of the Persian army was attempted by Frenchmen who came to `Abbas Mirza's camp bringing letters from Napoleon, and by the Gardane mission which reached Persia in 1807 as a result of the treaty of Finkenstein. Their stay was brief and did not achieve lasting results. They were followed by British officers who came to Persia as a result of the treaties signed in 1809,1812 and 1814. Their sojourn also was for the most part short and their influence on the military organization transitory. Various freelance officers, Frenchmen, Italians, Russians and others, found their way to Persia from about 1814 onwards and were to be found in the armies of `Abbas Mirza and other Qajar princes. Among the earliest Persian students who came to Europe were two Persian youths sent to England in 1815 to learn military engineering and surgery respectively. Military reform, however, in the absence of administrative and financial reform proved abortive; but it was the need for military reform which first aroused interest in European civilization and stimulated enquiry into modern scientific knowledge.

Hostilities with Russia in the Caucasus, which had been intermittent from about 1805, were resumed in 1811 ; and from this time onwards the Perso-Russian wars and their results dominated the reign of Fath `All Shah. In February 1812 the Persian army defeated the Russians at Qarâbagh. Russian forces were reinforced, crossed the Aras river, and defeated the Persians at Aslandûz (31 October/ 1 November). Hostilities continued intermittently for nearly a year. On 24 September 1813 a preliminary treaty was signed at Gulistan, by which Persia ceded to Russia the provinces of Georgia, Darband, Baku, Shirvan, Shaki, Ganja, Qarâbâgh, Mughan and part of Talish, and agreed thenceforth not to maintain a navy on the Caspian Sea. Russia agreed to aid `Abbas Mirza, the wali `and, to secure his succession to the Persian throne.

The Russian victories, together with the fact that `Abbas Mirza might one day owe the crown of Persia to Russian assistance, and the need for

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courting Russian favour with a view to the adjustment of the frontier, contributed to the establishment of Russian influence at Tabriz. The Persians, although they had experienced the power of Russian arms, were not yet fully convinced of the impossibility of defeating Russia. Although disappointed in the lack of support received from Britain in the Russian war and the British government's wish to limit its interests in Persia, the Persian government was seized of the importance of its connexion with the courts of St James and St Petersburg and sought to use their mutual jealousy and fear to strengthen its own position. Fath `Ali himself showed an astonishing confidence in, and attachment to, the British connexion, as well as tenacity in resisting Russian demands.

The Russian war had, however, considerably depleted the resources of the government and the defeat suffered by Persian arms at the hands of the Russians had an adverse effect on internal security. A number of disorders broke out; and an Afghan fomented a rebellion in Khurasan in 1813. This was put down and Herat taken, but it was not held. There were also repeated disorders on the Turkish frontier but war did not actually break out until 1821. It lasted until 1823 when it was concluded by the treaty of Erzurum.

Neither Russia nor Persia had intended the treaty of Gulistan to be permanent. The lack of precision in its wording over the demarcation of the frontier gave rise to repeated disputes. It was largely tribal territory, the inhabitants of which were accustomed to move freely across the ill-defined frontiers. By nature they were little disposed to submit to a central authority, and the maladministration and extortion of both the Russian and the Persian authorities heightened their reluctance. Eventually the governor-general of Georgia occupied Gokcheh, the principal disputed district, in 1825 with a military force. The war was resumed on 2 August 18 26.

Persia gained considerable initial success, recovering most of the territories ceded by the treaty of Gulistan. The Russian forces were then reinforced and inflicted a series of severe defeats on the Persian army. Abortive negotiations for peace took place. The war was resumed in the spring of 1827. The Russians advanced rapidly. By October the situation of the Persian army was desperate. Tabriz fell and various discontented leaders in Azarbayjan went over to the Russians. Negotiations for peace began in November and a treaty was signed on 21 February 1828 at Turkomanchay. By it Erivan and Nakhchivan were ceded to Russia and the cessions of territory made earlier by the treaty of

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Gulistân were confirmed. The shah agreed to pay an indemnity of 30 million silver roubles. Russia received the exclusive right to appoint consuls wherever the good of commerce required. The tsar engaged to recognize `Abbas Mirza as wall `and, and to consider him as the legitimate sovereign of Persia from the moment of his accession to the throne.

By a commercial treaty concluded on the same date it was laid down that Russian traders should enjoy in Persia all the privileges accorded to the subjects of the most favoured nation; goods passing from one country to the other were to be subject to a sole duty of five per cent. Extra-territorial privileges were granted to Russian subjects, which were in due course claimed by other foreign states for their nationals also. This agreement set the pattern for Persia's foreign trade, though it was not until the second half of the century that Russia dominated Persian trade. It also regulated the position of foreign merchants, and because of the protection which their diplomatic missions were able to give them, placed them on the whole in a favourable position vis-â-vis Persian merchants.

The treaty of Turkomanchay marked a major change in Persia's position towards Russia, and also in the position of Britain and Russia in Persia. Militarily Russia was unassailable. Under the treaty of 1814 Britain was bound to come to Persia's aid if she was attacked by a European power. Aid had not in fact been provided in 1826-7 on the alleged grounds that Persia had been the aggressor (though the documents do not bear this out), and after the war this obligation was cancelled. These circumstances suggested to Persia that Britain had disinterested herself in the fate of Persia, and when Persian appeals for the substitution of some guarantee or declaration of support for Persia's independence were not complied with, Persia fell increasingly under Russian influence.

Fath `Ali Shah had no wish to place himself in this position. But his resources had been wasted by the Russian wars, campaigns against the repeated inroads of the Özbegs and Turcomans, and internal rebellions. He could not rely on the support of the mass of the people, who, exposed to the arbitrary exactions of the government and its subordinate authorities, regarded the threat of foreign invasions with indifference. They could, it is true, be stirred, as they were when the religious leaders called for a jihâd, and forced Fath `Ali Shah to reopen the Russian war in 1826, and again when they were roused against the Russian envoy

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Grebayedov, who had come to Tehran in 1828 to clear up various differences arising out of the execution of the treaty of Turkomanchay and was killed in a sudden ebullition of popular frenzy in 1829. But these outbreaks were fleeting; and without substantial measures of military and administrative reform, which pre-supposed a thorough-going reform of the tax administration, there was no possibility of the Persian government gaining sustained and popular support, which would have enabled it to resist Russian encroachments. But reform was contrary to the whole outlook of society and the traditions of government. Further, the growing avarice of Fath `Ali Shah made him increasingly reluctant to expend those resources which remained to him on putting his army in better shape.

`Abbas Mirza, too, had no wish to give up his independence, but the instability of his temperament prevented him adopting an effective policy to counter Russian influence, and above all the article in the treaty of Turkomânchây guaranteeing his accession to the throne made him susceptible to Russian pressure. And as long as the indemnity due to Russia under the treaty was not fully paid Russia had a ready means of exerting pressure. In the prevailing uncertainty the ruling classes began to turn increasingly to Russia, some out of ambition and in the hope of furthering their own particular schemes, and others as an insurance.

The treasury was almost empty; and the army in a state of disorganization. The authority of the central government was disputed in the south and in Khurasan; and local rebellions had broken out in Yazd and Kirman. These were put down by `Abbas Mirza in 1830-1. After his return to Tehran he set out for Khurasan in November 1831 with the avowed intention of restoring the authority of the shah up to the Oxus. Having taken Khabûshan and Sarakhs, he asked Fath `Ali Shah for reinforcements to attack Herat, then under Kamran Mirza, the son of Mahmûd Shah. Fath `Ali agreed, but ordered `Abbas Mirza to return to Tehran and to leave his son, Muhammad Mirzâ, in command of the Herat force. In 1833 `Abbas Mirza again set out for Herat but died en route at Mashhad. Muhammad Mirzâ thereupon raised the siege of Herat and returned to Tehran. He was given his father's governments and military commands and set off for Azarbayjan. The Persian expedition against Herat aroused alarm in India. In an effort to regain influence at the Persian court, a supply of arms and a detachment of officers were sent from India. This attempt to reorganize the Persian army was even

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less successful than the first attempt, and the officers were withdrawn in 1836.

The death of `Abbas Mirza led to an important exchange of notes between the British and Russian governments which illustrates the weakness of Persia's position and the anxiety of Britain to prevent the outbreak of civil war and to secure agreement with Russia for the preservation of Persian independence. Fath `Ali Shah feared that a declaration of Muhammad Mirza as his successor would be the sign for civil war between his sons and other claimants to the throne. Azarbayjan had suffered from maladministration during the preceding four years and the treasury was empty; the pay of the army was four years in arrears; the Bakhtiyaris in the south were in open rebellion; the Mamassanis were plundering Fars; and the governor of Kirmanshah was threatening to seize Sulaymaniyya, which was likely to lead to war with Turkey. Russia, meanwhile, declared her readiness to acknowledge Muhammad Mirza, and made peremptory demands for the payment of the sum still due by way of indemnity, threatening to occupy Gilan if payment were delayed. On 20 June 1834 Muhammad Mirza was nominated wali and. An exchange of notes then took place between the British and Russian governments expressing their mutual desire to act together over the matter of the succession of Muhammad Mirza and in the maintenance not only of the internal tranquillity of Persia but also of her independence and integrity./1

Fath `Ali Shah died on 23 October 1834. The succession of Muhammad Mirza was immediately disputed by various Qajar princes, notably Husayn `Ali Mirza, governor of Fars. Muhammad Mirzâ was in Tabriz without the means of marching to the capital to assert his claim to the throne. His troops were almost in a state of mutiny for want of food, clothing and pay. The Russians offered troops, officers and stores to any amount required to put him on the throne. The British envoy meanwhile acted with vigour and came forward with the means to induce the troops to march; and on 10 November the army set out for the capital. On 16 November Muhammad Mirza left Tabriz accompanied by the British and Russian envoys (who, since Fath `Ali had entrusted the conduct of his foreign relations to `Abbas Mirza in 1810, normally resided at the court of the wali ‘ahd). Tehran was taken in

/1 The British government extracted a reiteration of this agreement with regard to Persian independence from the Russian government in 1838, 1865, 1873, 1874, and 1888; but it is questionable whether the Russians ever felt these pledges binding (see R. L. Greaves, Persia and the defence of India, 1884-1892 (London, 1959), 102).

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December and an expedition sent to the south, which defeated the attempt of Husayn 'All Mirza to seize the throne. The danger of the disintegration of the Persian monarchy was thus averted, but its weakness had been clearly revealed.

The early years of the reign of Muhammad Shah (1834-48) were marked by the growing weight of the Russian presence and a fear of Russia. There were renewed efforts by Britain to recover her position at the Persian court, but there was also a reluctance to give any specific undertaking to preserve Persian independence. This made Persia alarmed and suspicious, although there was at the same time another and conflicting trend, namely the belief that Britain's interests were so closely bound up with the existence of Persia as a barrier to India that Britain would in the last instance support Persia at whatever cost. The general effect was to lessen the urgency felt by the Persian government to strengthen its own resources by internal reform, or to resist Russian influence.

By 1835 Russia was showing a growing interest in the eastern shores of the Caspian Sea. The Persian government also, convinced at last that it could not recover the territories lost in the Russian wars, began to look again to the east. Muhammad Shah, in spite of the disorganization of his army, the almost complete paralysis of the financial administration and the troubles prevailing in the kingdom—the Balûchis were raiding Kirman, the Turcomans were making inroads into Khurasan, the Kurds were committing disorders in Azarbayjan, and disturbances had occurred in Isfahan in the autumn of 1835—determined to march to the east, put down the Turcomans, and resume operations against Herat; and in this he was encouraged by the Russian envoy.

It was, in fact, essential for Persia to assert her control over the Turcomans : if she failed to do so Russia would sooner or later take over effective control of the Turcoman steppe, as she later did. With regard to Herat there were Persian grievances : various undertakings given by the ruler of Herat, during the reign of Fath `Ali Shah, had not been fulfilled, and provocation had been offered by raiding-parties, who had captured Persian subjects and sold them into slavery.

Britain, because of growing Russian ascendancy over Persia, had meanwhile begun to reconsider her policy towards Afghanistan in relation to Persia and the defence of India. Accordingly she warned Persia that any schemes for extended conquest in Afghanistan would be looked upon with great dissatisfaction. A Persian attack on Herat

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eventually led to the withdrawal of the British mission in 1837 and the despatch of a small expedition to Kharg island, which forced the Persian army to retire from Herat.

Internal conditions were adversely affected by the Herat expedition, as they had been in the Russian wars. In 1839 there were renewed outbreaks of disorder in Isfahan and disturbances in Shiraz, Kirmanshah, Qumm and other towns. The levy of troops in Azarbayjan was also proving difficult and the financial situation was critical. There were an enormous number of government bills in the hands of the people which had not been paid. Army pay was, as usual, in arrears. Provincial revenues failed to come in. Bribery was widespread, and the purchase of offices was growing. Turco-Persian relations had also deteriorated. News of British reverses in Afghanistan in 1841, however, temporarily excited Persian hopes of renewed operations against Herat. These proved short-lived, partly because Persian appeals to Russia on this occasion received no response—there had been as a result of events in Europe an improvement in Anglo-Russian relations—and the British mission returned in October 1841.

Internal conditions continued to be disturbed; and because of the part played by Britain and Russia together in securing the accession of Muhammad Mirza, the tendency to blame the powers (and in particular Britain) for the woes of the country, which was to bedevil Persian political life for many years to come, first became noticeable. By this time a new weakness was attacking the Persian state : the dichotomy between the north and the south. The fact that Azarbayjan was normally the seat of the wali and and that when Muhammad Shah came to Tehran he was accompanied by a large number of Azarbayjani Turks, had already created a division between the Turkish and Persian elements of the population. This was now reinforced by Anglo-Russian rivalry, and by the fact that it had become clear that the north must be predominantly the sphere of Russian influence and the south of British. There was also a recurrent fear on the part of the Persian government that some Persian prince in exile—of whom, from the time of the accession of Muhammad Shah onwards, there were several—might return with the support of one or other of the powers and foment insurrection, or even set up a state in the north or the south, dominated by Russia or Britain respectively.

The position of the north and the south was not by any means equal. The most productive provinces were in the north, where was also the heaviest concentration of population; and Tabriz had by this time

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become the first commercial city of Persia. In the north Russia could bring military pressure to bear at any moment. Also the fear that the inhabitants might seek refuge in Russia acted in some measure as a restraint on the government in the northern provinces. Southern Persia, on the other hand, had not fully recovered from the ruin and decay brought by the disorders between the fall of the Safavids and the rise of the Qâjârs, and was subject to perennial disorders and misgovernment.

Persia's sensitiveness to intervention by the great powers was shown by the unfounded attribution of the revolt of Aqa Khan Mahallati in Kirmân to British intervention. He achieved considerable success in the spring of 1842 but was eventually defeated and retired to India. This episode, however, continued to trouble Anglo-Persian relations throughout the latter years of Muhammad Shah's reign.

The position of Persia vis-à-vis Russia and Britain is also illustrated by the question of protection, which, bound up with the question of asylum (bast), became a major cause of dispute during the reign of Muhammad Shah. Originally the two issues were independent. In the nineteenth century, because of the venality of the administration of justice, asylum was increasingly used to protest against injustice or supposed injustice. The frequency with which recourse was had to asylum from about the middle of the century onwards was a measure of the breakdown which was taking place, partly as the result of the intrusion of European influence, and partly because of the increasing weight of the despotism arising from the improved techniques of government which were not accompanied by any system of checks and controls. Asylum was almost the only refuge against the arbitrary exercise of power by the government. Muhammad Shah in 1843 sought, without success, to limit or abolish the practice of sanctuary. The usual places in which sanctuary was taken were mosques and shrines, the houses of religious dignitaries, and the royal stables. By 1850 a struggle had developed between the religious classes and the government relative to the right of asylum, and in 1858 Nasir al-Din Shah tried to abolish the practice. This attempt also failed.

With the establishment of foreign missions in Persia, a new aspect was given to asylum, which was also sought in their premises, and thus became associated with protection. It was not normally granted to common malefactors, but only to political figures who had fallen into disfavour and whose lives were in danger. Such a practice was detrimental to the independence of the Persian government; but experience

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had shown that the individual could place little reliance on a safe conduct granted him by his own government, and so, because of the weight of the British and Russian presence, the tendency grew to seek the protection of one or other mission, or both. British officials sought to limit its use, but were not entirely successful; and with the growing weakness of the Persian government vis-â-vis the two powers, the venality of the administration and increasing Russian intervention, there were numerous bitter exchanges over the exercise of protection.

One of the most notorious cases was that of Bahman Mirza, a fairly popular and successful governor of Azarbayjan, who, having fallen foul of the first minister, Hajji Mirza Aqasi (who dominated Muhammad Shah in the latter years of his reign, and whose exercise of power was alleged to be extremely venal), took sanctuary in the Russian mission in March 1848, and was subsequently given asylum in Russia. This event caused a great sensation in Persia and apprehension lest Bahman Mirza should, with Russian support, disturb the tranquillity of Azarbâyjân; or lest future disorders might give Russia an excuse for interference, and even lead her to seize the province to convert it into an independent principality ruled by Bahman Mirza under her protection.

By 1844 the practice of selling government offices had become more widespread. This was a sign of the complete financial breakdown of the state, comparable to that which had prevailed in Buyid times prior to the emergence of the land-assignment (iqta') as the dominant political and economic institution of the state; but on this occasion the new system which was eventually to emerge was a centralized government based on the model of western Europe. The governors had to reimburse themselves for the outlay they had made to gain their governments by impositions upon the local population, and with as little delay as possible since they were never sure of retaining their appointments. Deputations would come to the court, and the governor would sometimes be sacrificed to appease their complaints. Another would then be found who would buy his office in the same way, and the only advantage to the local people would be if they obtained a more merciful and lenient governor. Salaries were largely paid by assignments on the revenue, and the assignees, like the governors, and for the same reasons, were bent on obtaining as much as they could in the shortest possible time. By 1846 scarcely any provincial revenue was reaching Tehran. Payments by the government were made almost entirely in the form of bills, which were

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issued for an amount far in excess of the revenue. Consequently their value was nominal.

Various chiefs in Mazandarân were disaffected. Asaf al-Dawla, the governor of Khurâsân, had been dismissed and gone into exile in Turkey; his son, Sâlar al-Dawla, who had remained in the province, was in open rebellion. Evidence of a rather different kind of unrest was provided by the disorders committed by the followers of Sayyid `Ali Muhammad, who was known as the Bab, in different parts of Persia in 1848. He had declared himself in 1844 to be the long-awaited mahdi. Originally he was a disciple of Sayyid Kâzim of Rasht, the leader of the Shaykhis, an extreme Shi’i sect, who held the doctrine that there must exist at all times an intermediary between the twelfth Imam and his followers. The prototype of this intermediary was to be found in the four successive babs, or gates, through whom the twelfth Imam, during the period of his minor occultation, held communication with his partisans. The Bâbis, like the Ismâ`ilis, looked for the establishment of the kingdom of God upon earth, and like them had messianic and esoteric tendencies. The movement was regarded by the religious class with horror, and by the government as a threat to stability. The Bâb was arrested in 1847 and held in confinement.

Muhammad Shah died on 4 September 1848. Nâsir al-Din, the wali `ahd, who had become governor of Azarbâyjân after the fall of Bahman Mirza, had no money in his treasury to enable him to march on Tehran to establish his claim to the throne. The merchant community having been persuaded to make the necessary funds available, he arrived in Tehran on 20 October. Although he succeeded to the throne without actual fighting, the situation was far from promising. The treasury was empty, and revolts had broken out in Isfahan, Kirmân and Khurâsân. There were also serious risings by the Bâbis. The first was in Mâzandarân and lasted from December 1848 to July 1849. It was followed by a second in Zanjan (May—December 1850), and a third in Nayriz, during which the Bâb was brought out of prison and publicly executed.

During the long reign of Nâsir al-Din (1848-96) new trends began to emerge and new influences to be felt. The first attempt at change was again made in the military field. Nâsir al-Din's first minister, Mirzâ Taqi Khan, entitled the Amir Nizam, who had been wazir of Azarbâyjân since 1843, began to reorganize the army. He had been to Russia with the mission in 1830, which was sent to apologize for the murder of Grebayedov, and as Persian representative on the Turco-Persian frontier com-

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mission during the reign of Muhammad Shah had seen the introduction of the Tanzimat in the Ottoman empire. Existing battalions were brought up to strength and new battalions were formed. The number of troops permanently stationed in Tehran and Tabriz was increased. A major change was made in the manner of recruitment. Each town or village was required (unless exempted for some reason) to provide as part of its tax quota a number of soldiers, or in some cases a sum equivalent to the wages of so many soldiers. The task of the provincial governor and the local landowner was merely to expedite their despatch to the capital or the provincial capital. Military service thus became a charge on the land and not upon the holder of the land; and the army was no longer composed mainly of contingents furnished by the local governors and landowners, whose loyalty was to their own commanders and not to the state. In practice, however, the main change in the first instance was that the burden upon the peasantry was further increased by constant demands for recruits.

In 1851 a new college was opened, the Dar al-Funün, the purpose of which was to provide officers for the new army and officials for the new bureaucracy. Instructors were obtained from Europe. The college was, as it turned out, not of great use to the army since few of its pupils obtained employment in the army, but it played an important part in the general enlightenment, turning out hundreds of young men who had become possessed of some training in military and other modern sciences.

The Amir Nizam, who succeeded for a brief period in concentrating great power in his own hands, made vigorous efforts to abolish some of the abuses in the financial administration. Pensions and salaries were in some cases withdrawn, in others reduced. This led to great dissatisfaction among the upper and religious classes, especially in Azarbâyjan. The small allowances which had been given to the mullas and sayyids in the villages were also withdrawn. This too led to discontent.

The war against rebels in Khurâsân and the raiding of the caravan-routes in the south was meanwhile seriously affecting trade, and there were numerous bankruptcies among the mercantile community in Azarbâyjân in 1850. Crop-failures in three successive years in parts of the province further aggravated the situation and there was a large exodus from Urümiyya to Tiflis. The Shaqaqi Kurds were in open rebellion, and had not paid taxes for two years.

The concentration of power in the hands of the Amir Nizam and

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his efforts at financial reform gave rise to much opposition and eventually the shah lent his support to the intrigues against his minister, who was dismissed and murdered in 1851. The energies of his successor, Mirza Aqa Khan Ntüri, were largely occupied in defeating the machinations of numerous rivals and in a contest with the shah for the sole exercise of power.

Efforts at financial reform having proved abortive, misgovernment continued, and, as disorders in the provinces spread, the unpopularity of the government grew. One of the factors contributing to this was the practice of transacting government business through the agency of officials known as muhassils. This was not new, but the extent to which muhassils were being used was almost reminiscent of the government of the Il-Khans before the reforms of Ghazan. They were sent on every conceivable occasion for the execution of government orders, for the collection of taxes, the summoning of recruits, the recovery of debts and the collection of fines. Their functions were often exercised with the utmost brutality and their extortions were heavy. There was no security of life or property, and the peasants in particular were subjected to grinding tyranny.

The Babis, after the suppression of the revolts at the beginning of the reign of Nasir al-Din, had been quiet for a period, but in 1852 three of them made an attempt on the life of the shah. The severity with which the movement was put down after this appears to have destroyed its militancy, so that it subsequently existed mainly as a religious movement. It was subject to schism within its own ranks : in 1863 Mirza Husayn `Ali Baha' Allah declared himself to be the new leader manifested by God, and his followers came to be known as Baha'is. They rapidly outnumbered the Babis.

All hope had meanwhile not been given up of reincorporating Herat into the Persian dominions. After the death of its de facto ruler in 1851, an expedition was sent nominally to reduce the Turcomans, but in reality with the intention of occupying Herat. In October 1852, in spite of warnings by the British envoy that the British government could not be indifferent to a Persian occupation of Herat, Persian forces occupied the city. In January 1853, however, an engagement was signed by the Persian government to abstain from interference in the affairs of Herat and the Persian forces withdrew.

Shortly afterwards the Persian government undertook at the invitation of Russia to prepare military expeditions at Tabriz and Kirman-

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shah to move against the Ottomans. These expeditions came to nothing, and when Britain declared war on Russia in 1854, there was a brief revival in Persia of the hope that Britain would turn to Persia and help her to regain the territories lost to Russia, and that an Anglo-Persian force would be thrown into the Caucasus to co-operate with Shamil in Daghistan. No overtures were in fact made to Persia, and she remained neutral. Britain's alliance with the Ottoman empire did little to improve her relations with Persia. The fact that Britain was strengthening her relations with Afghanistan, Persia's other Sunni neighbour, and the signature of the treaty of Peshawar on 3o March 1855 with Dost Muhammad Khan also rankled with Persia, both because of the intention to strengthen Persia's eastern neighbour, and the mistrust which it indicated of Persian policy.

There had been various differences with Britain since the resumption of relations in 1841, and a certain coolness and misunderstanding. This, coupled with the internecine strife which prevailed in Afghanistan, and the opinion held by some Persian officials that the population of India would rise against the British if a Persian army appeared at Jalalabad, encouraged the Persian government to suppose that the time was ripe to reincorporate Herat into Persian dominions. The disputes with Britain culminated in 1856, and when Nasir al-Din Shah ordered the governor of Khurasan to march on Herat and occupy it, Britain declared war on Persia. A force was despatched to southern Persia. After a brief campaign, a treaty of peace was signed in Paris on 4 March 1857.

The war had been unpopular : compulsory levies had been made on the towns to provide for the expenses of the army, and in some cases resisted. Appeals by the mujtahids for a jihad for the most part went unheard. Serious disorders took place in Tabriz in 1857, and there were threats by the people that they would emigrate to Russia and return with Bahman Mirza at their head. Trade was interrupted; prices rose; the roads were infested with robbers ; and disorders were of almost daily occurrence in Tabriz and some of the other big towns.

Perhaps the most important result of the war was to strengthen the opinion, which was beginning to gain ground in some circles, that the main reason for the superior power of western European nations was their form of government. There had been by this time a great increase in contact with Europe through diplomacy, trade, travel and education, and for the first time thought began to be given not merely to the reform of abuses but to a reform of the actual system of government.

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Malkam Khan Nazim al-Dawla, a Persian Armenian educated in Paris, who later became Persian minister in London, drew attention in an essay written probably between 1858 and 1860, to the internal woes of Persia, the possible threat of encroachments by St Petersburg and Calcutta, and the technical advances being made in Europe, and urged administrative reform. In 1858 Nasir al-Din decided to abolish the post of sadr-i a`zam, or first minister, and to appoint a cabinet or council of ministers, each of whom would be directly responsible to him. They were not, however, given responsibility, collective or individual. Often, public business was transacted by the shah over their heads. In 1859 there was an abortive attempt to set up a council of state.

Some years later Persia was brought into direct telegraphic communication with Europe, as a link in the line connecting England with India. The first convention was signed in 1862. The opening of telegraphic communication profoundly affected internal conditions and marked an important step forward in the centralization of the government. On the one hand it enabled the government to make its control more effective in the provinces by a quicker transmission of news and orders, and on the other it brought the population into closer contact with the centre, thereby reducing the power of the local governors.

In 1871 there were further changes : a council of state composed of sixteen members was set up to carry on the affairs of government. In December of that year Mirzâ Husayn Khan Mushir al-Dawla, who had been appointed minister of war in September, was made sadr-i a`zam, the office being filled once more after some thirteen years. He began a thoroughgoing reform of the administration ; and in the spring a military council was instituted. The council of state was reorganized; and a number of ministries were set up under the presidency of the sadr-i a`zam, in December 1872. This council was probably modelled on the imperial council of Russia. It was a purely consultative body, convened sometimes to advise the shah beforehand, or more commonly to discuss the fulfilment of his orders already delivered. The shah continued to be the sole executive.

At the close of the Crimean War, foiled of her schemes in the Near East, Russia turned her attention to Central Asia. By 1863 she had subjugated the Kirghiz steppe. Tashkent fell in 1865, Khoj and (Khojent) in 1866, and Bukhara soon afterwards. In June 1866 it was announced that a secret understanding existed between Persia and Russia, by which the Russian government promised the shah that if he would not intrigue

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against Russia, she would do her utmost when she acquired the Jaxartes and Oxus valleys to enable him to obtain Herat. But when Russia landed troops at Krasnovodsk in 1869 with the intention of crossing the desert to Khiva, Persian anxiety was aroused. From Krasnovodsk the Russian forces began to exercise authority over all the country to the north of the Atrek, confining Persian jurisdiction to the south of the river. In 1873 they established a military post at Chikishlar near the mouth of the Atrek; and from then onwards they claimed the course of the Atrek to be the frontier.

It had by now become clear to Nasir al-Din and his minister, Mirza Husayn Khan, that it was from Russia that the fundamental threat to independence cam e, and that Persia could not resist the Russian advance unaided. On the other hand they did not wish to become the clients of Britain; and so they began to consider the possibility of interesting the great powers in the economic development of Persia, in the hope that they would, if they had a stake in the country, be interested in the maintenance of its independence. The difficulty was that at this time none of the great powers except Russia and Britain were interested in Persia. It was these considerations which led to the grant of a concession to a British subject, Baron Reuter, in 1872. It was extremely far-reaching, providing inter alia for railway and road construction, irrigation works and the establishment of a national bank. The Russians were furious. When the shah went to Europe the following year he found that there was much criticism of the concession, and on his return to Persia he cancelled it, under heavy pressure from the Russian government.

The fact that Nair al-Din was able to visit Europe in 1873 was a measure of the progress which had been achieved in the preceding years in establishing the control of the central government. Another important step in this respect was the organization of the Cossack Brigade. As a result of the shah's second visit to Europe in 1878 an Austrian and a Russian mission came to Persia to reorganize the cavalry. The Austrians left in 1881 but the Russian officers remained and raised the formation which came to be known as the Cossack Brigade. The first regiment was formed in 1879 and a second in 1880. Both were officered by Russians on short-term commissions. The arms and munitions of the brigade were supplied by the Russian government and the head of the brigade was under the orders of the Russian war office. The Cossack Brigade, which was the only efficient and reliable force in Persia, had a major role in maintaining

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the rule of the central government; it was later to play an important part in furthering Russian designs in Persia.

The efforts to strengthen the internal and external position of the Persian government by the introduction of changes to the forms of government, however, proved no more successful than the efforts at military reform during and after the Russian wars in the early years of the century. And the reasons were similar. The efficiency with which the orders of the government were executed was increased, but there was no change in the spirit of government, no transfer of responsibility and no involvement of the population in general in the affairs of the country. Discontent was not allayed.

The later years of Nâsir al-Din's reign were marked by increasing Russian pressure, matched by British efforts to persuade the Persian government to open up the country to trade, and to attack the corruption which was eating into the kingdom, in order to arrest the Russian advance. But these efforts were largely unavailing because Nâsir al-Din was becoming increasingly frightened of Russia, and more susceptible to Russian coercion.

In 1879, as a result of the Second Afghan War, Britain began negotiations with the shah concerning the possibility of Persia acquiring Herat and Sistân. For different reasons neither side pushed the negotiations, and they were suspended by the shah in 1880. In 1882 Russian encroachments to the east of the Caspian Sea, however, caused alarm in Persia, and when the Panjdeh crisis occurred in 1885, Nâsir al-Din asked Britain for a formal guarantee of protection against Russian aggression. The British government was not prepared to give this—there was no way in which British help could reach Persia—and so it merely urged Nâsir al-Din to improve the quality of his administration, and to establish better communications between the Persian Gulf and the north.

Russian intimidation continued, and in 1887 a secret agreement was signed by which the shah pledged himself not to give orders or permission for the construction of railways or waterways to foreign companies before consulting the Russian emperor. When in the following year a new British minister, Sir Henry Drummond Wolff, was sent to Persia, his instructions were to endeavour to preserve Persian integrity and to develop Persian resources. In pursuing these aims he sought to obtain Russian co-operation, both in the promotion of commerce and the encouragement of better government, hoping thereby to transform

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Persia into a stable buffer state. Russia, however, had no interest in such a policy and continued her intimidation.

At the beginning of 1888 the shah again negotiated with Britain for a definite pledge to resist Russia if she seized Persian territory; and in reply received an assurance of a general nature. The Russo-Persian secret agreement had not yet become public, and the advantage of railways, which would enable the Persian government to have recourse to external support in resisting attacks or pressure from the north, was again urged upon the shah.

On 22 May 1888, as a result of promptings by Wolff, Nâsir al-Din issued a decree giving security of life and property to all Persian subjects unless publicly condemned by a competent tribunal; the effect of this on the lives of the people was negligible. Wolff next turned his attention to the opening of the Kârûn river to navigation, a project which had first been promoted in 1874. On 30 October 1888 Nâsir al-Din issued a circular opening it to vessels of all nations. This news was received in Russia with fury. Throughout the negotiations the shah bargained for an assurance against Russian aggression from Britain, and received a written promise that earnest representations would be made in St Petersburg if Russia infringed Persia's sovereign rights.

Early in the following year, Baron Reuter was given permission to found a state bank, to be called the Imperial Bank of Persia, as compensation for the cancellation of his earlier concession. This, too, was opposed by Russia, but Reuter's claims were upheld by the sadr-i a'zam, Amin al-Sultan, partly because he saw the Reuter concession as a means of liberating Persia from the dictation of Russia. By March 1889, however, the shah had submitted once more to Russian pressure, and agreed to a delay of five years on all railway construction; and on 12 November 1889, as a result of further Russian threats, a Perso-Russian railway agreement was signed by which the Persian government agreed to an embargo for ten years on all railway construction. These negotiations mark a critical stage in Persia's relations with Russia and Britain. On the one hand they showed that Russia would not only not cooperate in the development of Persia but would oppose any attempt to open up the country; and on the other that Nâsir al-Din was not to be persuaded by Britain to take steps to defend his own position by developing the country.

Dissatisfaction inside Persia was meanwhile growing. In March 1890 a monopoly for the sale and export of tobacco and control over its

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production was acquired by a British subject. This became the occasion for the open expression of discontent on a wide scale. Russian hostility to the tobacco régie had been declared at the outset; and the opposition to the régie which rapidly developed was in the first instance instigated by Russia. Led by the religious classes and the merchants, it was rapidly transformed into a movement of protest against internal corruption and misgovernment on the one hand and foreign influence on the other. The motives of the religious classes, who became the leaders of the movement, were probably mixed. Some took part in the movement, because they were opposed to any attempt to open up the country, lest this should lead to a decline in their own influence over the people; others feared that Persia was falling under the influence of non-Muslims as had Egypt and India, and that the tobacco régie and the presence of Europeans working in it would lead to a weakening of Islam in Persia. The mullâs in their protests against the régie and Muslims abroad, notably Jamal al-Din al-Afghani, made much of the alleged danger to Islam; and it was probably largely the call to rally to the defence of Islam which moved the people to support the movement of protest. The merchants opposed the régie partly because they feared that their activities and profits would be curtailed.

The shah began to feel himself threatened on two sides : on the one hand by Russia who threatened intervention and on the other—and for the first time—by an internal popular movement. Disturbances spread in many of the major cities. A fatwâ was issued in the name of the chief mujtahid declaring that the use of tobacco was tantamount to war against the Imam of the Age. Smoking was abandoned in the capital and largely in the provinces also. The bazaars closed and opposition to the government grew. In December 1891, frightened by the extent of the popular movement and the possibility of Russian intervention if civil war broke out, the shah abolished the monopoly. The agitation died down immediately; but it had shown that the government could be forced by popular protest to alter its course. The payment of compensation to the concessionaires led to negotiations for a loan, an agreement for which was signed with the Imperial Bank of Persia on 14 May 1892, and secured on the receipts of the customs of the Persian Gulf.

Certain changes were meanwhile taking place in Persian society. Increased contact with Europe had begun to give rise to feelings of nationalism, although this was at first expressed in terms of Islam. The timidity of Nasir al-Din towards Russia and the intimidation of him by

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Russia were also contributory factors in the changing situation. Fear of Russia was not new : but Fath `Ali had steadfastly resisted Russian pressure; while Muhammad Shah and his minister, Hajji Mirza Aqasi, had also on various occasions shown themselves unwilling to submit. Neither had been publicly compromised by negotiations for the sale of Persian resources to foreigners, or by foreign travel. Their support for Islam and respect for the religious classes were not questioned by the population at large. This was not so with Nasir al-Din : in the early years of his reign there had been vigorous attempts to reduce the power of the religious classes. The changes in the forms of government and the increase in centralization during his reign were not accompanied by any change in the conception of power. All power was still wholly arbitrary. No potential centre of opposition could be tolerated, and so the religious classes were attacked; partly it is true, because some of them were obscurantist and opposed to change, but mainly because they were by tradition a refuge for the oppressed. Gradually the opinion spread that Persia was being threatened by foreigners, that the government was conniving at this, and that the country's weakness was due to the government's neglect of the Shari'a. Consequently the discontent against the government came to be expressed, not in terms of unorthodoxy as it had been in the past, but in terms of Islam, since the government was no longer regarded as Islamic, or as justified (even though unrighteous), because it preserved order and defended the frontiers of the country.

With the increased centralization and the growth in the strength of the regular army, although the tribal leaders and big landowners were still powerful and exercised locally many of the functions of government, they no longer dominated society in the capital as they had done at the beginning of the century. They were not greatly affected by the question of foreign monopolies or foreign intervention : in the north the Russians from time to time supported them against the central government; in the south, as long as they prevented disorder in the areas which they controlled, foreign concessionaires were prepared to treat with them. It is not without interest, in view of the dichotomy between north and south, that when eventually the constitution was attacked by Muhammad `Ali Shah in 1908-9, the tribes in Azarbayjân, broadly, favoured the despotism, while the Bakhtiyari supported the constitutional movement.

The bureaucracy continued to be drawn from much the same classes as before. It continued to serve the shah, and, because of the fundamental

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insecurity of its position, continued to show little initiative. Amin al-Sultan, like Mirza Tag' Khan and Mushir al-Dawla, attempted a policy of reform, but when his policy proved inconvenient to the shah, he was sacrificed; and at the end of his life he became a tool of the Russians, as had Hâjji Mirza Aqasi. All ministers merely held office at the whim of the shah, and were subject to dismissal and disgrace at his caprice. It was this, above all, that made Persian ministers and politicians turn to one or other of the great powers for support; though such support, if granted, merely served to perpetuate the situation they wished to avoid.

The merchants, because of the establishment of banks, were now less important in financing the government than they had been. Both they and the artisans and craftsmen, because of their alliance with the religious classes and because of foreign competition, were also becoming increasingly opposed to the government on the grounds that it was selling the country to foreigners.

There was meanwhile emerging in very general terms a demand for liberal reform, owing to a belief that the secret of Western superiority and progress, and the source of the greater material ease and security of life and property which prevailed in western Europe were to be sought in democracy. The propriety of the exercise by the shah of unfettered power was questioned; shame and disgust were felt at the corruption of the official classes; and also distress at the obscurantism and hypocrisy of the religious classes. And so gradually there came to be tentatively expressed a demand for equality before the law and a share in the government, or rather a demand to be consulted in the affairs of the country. This demand was not clearly formulated or accompanied by a definite programme. There was still no conception, except among a small minority, of a government which was not based on religion, or of two societies, one religious and the other temporal.

Although these intellectuals, for want of a better name, who tentatively put forward this demand for liberal reform were drawn from almost all classes, their background was largely that of the ruling classes. Some, such as Malkam Khan, had served the state in important positions; some of them had travelled or studied abroad; many of them belonged to the religious classes and had been influenced by modernist trends, which had reached them through contact with Muslims abroad or with their writings ; and some were merchants who had come into contact with modern thought through their commercial activities,

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especially in Istanbul, Calcutta and Baku. It was perhaps because they were drawn from a wide and varied background, and because the central body of them came from the religious classes, that they were later able, for a brief period from 1905 to 1909, to carry with them the middle and lower classes with their intuitive clinging to Shi`ism. Many of the religious classes were obscurantist, and they often made common cause with the official classes in exploiting the people, and in so far as they received stipends from the state, their independence was limited. But in spite of these factors, the religious classes enjoyed more respect than any others, and since their leaders acted as a shield for the people from the exactions of the government, it was to them that the people looked for protection and guidance; and the intuitive clinging of the people to Shi`ism made it almost inevitable that the mullas should be their natural leaders./1 Although the new movement became nationalist, its basis was thus still religious feeling. Its leaders demanded reform not revolution, and were in effect carrying out the old Muslim duty of enjoining that which is good and forbidding that which is evil. What they demanded was freedom from tyranny : their protest was against the arbitrary actions of the government, and the freedom they envisaged was seen strictly within the limits set by Islam and did not involve a revolutionary concept.

During the later years of Nasir al-Din's reign conditions further deteriorated : the government barely functioned, the administration of justice was a mockery; and the pay of the army and officials in general was in arrears. The shah, caring for nothing but money and sensuality, neglected affairs of state, which fell into the hands of corrupt officials. Public offices were put up to auction and extortion reached downwards through successive levels until eventually the poor paid the bill.

On 1 May 1896 Nâsir al-Din was assassinated by a follower of Sayyid Jamal al-Din al-Afghani. He was succeeded by his son, Muzaffar al-Din, whose reign was weaker than that of any of his predecessors. Although a rapid deterioration took place in Persia's external position, it was paradoxically partly the rival ambitions of Russia and Britain which saved the state from dissolution. Russian encroachments became more open and other governments and nationalities, attracted by a desire to share in the probable spoil, began to appear on the scene. Financial difficulties occurred almost immediately. There had been a large increase in the copper coinage during the last three or four years of Nâsir al-Din's

1 See further A. K. S. Lambton, `Persian Political Societies 1906-11 ', in St Antony's Papers, No. r6, Middle Eastern Affairs, No. 3 (London, 1963), 41-89.

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reign; this had caused much distress among the poorer classes and paralysed small trade. The withdrawal of the excess of copper coinage, which was ordered after Muzaffar al-Din's accession, was not accomplished until about 1899 and then only at considerable loss to the government. Attempts made by Nasir al-Mulk, who was appointed minister of finance in February 1898, to reorganize the finances had meanwhile met with resistance from officials, and proved abortive.

For a variety of reasons, some connected with internal conditions and others with the state of international affairs, Russian economic penetration increased at the turn of the century. An important instrument in bringing this about was the Russian Loan and Discount Bank founded in 1897, when the State Bank of St Petersburg advanced funds to buy up a bank set up by Lazar Poliakov under the concession granted some years earlier after the Imperial Bank of Persia was established.

In 1897 the Persian government had negotiated unsuccessfully in Europe for a loan, and negotiation for a British loan in the following year had also been abortive. In March 1899 the customs, upon which it was hoped to secure a foreign loan, were reorganized. Belgian officials were placed in charge of the customs at Kirmanshah and in Azarbayjan. They succeeded in increasing the customs revenue and their control was extended in the following year to the whole customs administration. On 30 January 1900 a loan from Russia was secured on the customs receipts, excepting those of Fars and the Gulf ports, a promise having been obtained by the British from the Persian government in October 1879 that the customs in southern Persia would not be placed under foreign supervision or control. Among the conditions for the loan were the stipulations that Persia might not borrow from foreign powers without consulting Russia, and that the loan contracted from the Imperial Bank of Persia in 1892 should be paid off. Further, the Persian government agreed in December 1899 during the negotiations to prolong the railway agreement for another ten years.

Muzaffar al-Din visited Europe in 1900 and 1902. The cost of these visits was met by the Russian loan of 1900 and a second loan was contracted in 1902. The conditions of the latter were more onerous than of the first. It was laid down that future loans could only be contracted from Russia. A concession for the construction of a road from Julfa to Tehran was also obtained, early concessions for road construction in the north having been held by Lazar Poliakov. In 1903 a Russo-Persian customs treaty, negotiated in 1901-2, became effective. Under its terms

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the five per cent ad valorem duty established by the treaty of Turkomânchây was replaced by specific imposts. As a result of the new tariff Russian trade with Persia greatly increased and British trade was adversely affected. The Russian hold on Persia was thus further tightened, though it was temporarily slightly eased by Russian defeats in the Russo-Japanese war.

Towards the end of Nasir al-Din's reign a number of secret or semi secret societies, formed by those who supported the movement for liberal reform, began to meet in Tehran and in some of the provincial cities. Their discussions were mainly confined to the desirability of the liberation of the people from the yoke of tyranny and the benefits which accrued from freedom, justice and education. An important part was played in the enlightenment of their members by Persian papers published abroad—there was no press in Persia at this time. Among those which exercised great influence were the Habl al-matin, first published in Calcutta in 1893, Akhtar, a weekly founded in Constantinople in 1875, and Qânûn, edited by Malkam Khan and first published in London in 1890. Arabic and French newspapers were also avidly read. After the assassination of Nasir al-Din the members of these societies advocated reform more openly and their membership spread especially among the middle ranks of the `ulamâ'. They still regarded their main function to be the awakening of the people to the evils of despotism and the benefits of freedom, and with this in mind they encouraged their members to found schools in which the new learning would be taught; and this some of them did.

By 1903 discontent against the government, which had been increased by the loans of 1900 and 1902 and the subservience of the sadr-i a`zam to Russia, had become more open. In the following year a general sense of urgency, and a belief that the Persian people were faced by a choice between freedom and independence on the one hand and a continuation of the despotism and enslavement to foreigners on the other, caused various groups, which had hitherto acted independently, to meet together. They agreed to work for the establishment of a code of laws, the rule of justice, and the overthrow of tyranny. Their main purpose, however, was still the dissemination of information. In February 1905 another group, mainly drawn from the religious classes, was set up. Its main concern was to restrain corruption and curtail foreign intervention in Persian affairs. Its members were convinced that the despotism and tyranny of the government on the one hand and the possibility of inter-

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vention by Britain and Russia on the other constituted a threat to Islam; they also believed that the ills of the country could only be cured by education. Like the movement of opposition to the tobacco régie, these various groups and societies also became both nationalist and Islamic. They played an important part in preparing the people for modernization, canalizing the growing discontent, and bringing the disaffected elements together

Discontent came to a head in April 1905 when the shah was on the point of leaving for his third visit to Europe. A group of merchants took refuge in Shah `Abd al-`Azim, a shrine outside Tehran. The immediate cause was their dissatisfaction with the customs administration and its Belgian director, M. Naus. A promise was given that the latter would be dismissed on the shah's return, and the merchants dispersed. In May 1905 one of the secret societies circulated an open address to the sadr-i `azam calling his attention to the decay and disorder in the country, protesting at the lack of security and corruption of officials, and demanding inter alia a code of justice and the setting up of a ministry of justice, administrative, military, and tax reforms, a cleaning up of the customs administration, the foundation of technical schools and factories, a proper exploitation of the mineral resources of the country, and a limitation on the powers of ministers, ministries, and mullâs according to the Shari`a. Various acts of tyranny and extortion by the government and its officials meanwhile fanned the discontent, producing a state of sullen resentment among the people at large and tension in the capital. Finally, a large number of murids, merchants, and members of the craft guilds took refuge in Shah 'Abd al-`Azim. Their demands included the dismissal of M. Naus and the governor of Tehran, and the setting up of a ministry of justice.

In January 1906 the shah gave orders for the establishment of a ministry of justice (`adlat-khâna-i dawlati) for the purpose of executing the decrees of the Shari`a throughout Persia, so that all the subjects of the country should be equal before the law. This temporarily satisfied those who had taken asylum, and they returned to the city. But no steps were taken to implement the promises given. Public opinion became increasingly stirred by denunciations of the despotism by the mullâs, and when an attempt was made to expel one of the leading preachers from the city, riots ensued. A large concourse of the religious classes, merchants, artisans and others took refuge in Qumm. The bazaars closed in Tehran, and in July large numbers of merchants and members

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of the craft guilds took refuge in the British legation. They demanded the dismissal of the sadr-i a`zam, the promulgation of a code of laws, and the recall of the religious leaders from Qumm. The shah finally yielded to their demands and on 5 August 1906 issued an imperial rescript setting up a National Consultative Assembly.

Thus the movement for change, which had begun in the early years of the nineteenth century among the ruling classes in response to external pressure, and became during the second half of the century a dual movement for reform against internal corruption and resistance to foreign encroachment, was finally transformed, by the intransigence of the government, into a nationalist and Islamic movement demanding constitutional reform. Once more the state, which had so often appeared to be on the point of dissolution, was saved—but this time by a popular movement demanding a law which was equated with the Shari`a, and calling for a government which was believed to be Islamic. In fact, the success of the popular movement marked the final breakdown of the traditional forms of government it thought it was restoring, and marked the opening of a new system which was ultimately virtually to transform society.

Central Asia from the sixteenth century to Russian conquest

CHAPTER 7 CENTRAL ASIA FROM THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY TO THE RUSSIAN CONQUESTS ⁹⁵

THE CHANGING SITUATION OF CENTRAL ASIA

After the formation of the three great Islamic empires of the Ottomans, the Safavids and the Mughals, the situation of Central Asia in the following centuries was determined. After the death of Muhammad Shaybani in 916/1510 and the expulsion of Babur from Transoxania and Samarqand in 918/1512, it was clearly impossible for the Turks of Central Asia to subjugate the Persian plateau again as they had done in previous centuries. In spite of prolonged molestation by the Turcomans —comparable with that of Poland and Lithuania by the Crimean Tatars in the same centuries—the Safavids were able to hold out and to make Persia into an independent state with its own unique character.

The border area consequently created between Persia and Central Asia on the Oxus and to the south became not only a political frontier but also in equal degree a religious frontier. Transoxania and the greater part of the eastern Persian settlement area—approximately what is now Afghanistan and Tajikistan—remained Sunni; Persia became Shi`i. Even though there was no complete barrier against the spread of Persian culture into Central Asia in the following centuries, the difference of faith obstructed its diffusion. Persian culture, moulded by native Sunni forces in India just as much as in Transoxania, in general developed independently and without direct connexions with the culture of the Persian plateau. It was no longer feasible simply to take over works of literature, still less of theology, from thence and to make them a model for local productions. Even though the Persian classical models continued to have an influence in this area, the vital exchange with continuing developments was in any case interrupted. There is certainly justification for seeing this as largely responsible for the subsequent marked decline of the Persian language in Transoxania, which allowed Turkish, henceforward so to speak the ‘Sunni language', to become the idiom of western Central Asia apart from the mountains of Tajikistan. This shift of language and the weakening of links with Persian culture brought the development of the country down, very gradually, from the high level that had been ensured by the common cultural development of the Middle Ages.

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Until the Turks were converted to Islam, which they began to be around 349/96o, the north-east frontier of its expansion area had lain in the neighbourhood of Samargand, in Farghana, and in the Afghan mountain country. The conversion of the Turks of Transoxania had not really opened its path to Central Asia, while the Kara-Khitay and the Mongols adhered to other religions. The Muslim Turks between the fourth/tenth and seventh/thirteenth centuries themselves had focused their attention almost entirely on Persia and the Near East, and spread out in that direction. It did not occur to them to advance their settlement area, and with it their faith, further eastwards into Central Asia.

It was not until the seventh/thirteenth century, when Islam prevailed among the Chaghatay Mongols, and found a not entirely amiable champion in the person of Timûr, that Mughulistan, including the Tarim basin, was progressively penetrated by the doctrine of the Qur'an. Some of the local rulers regarded themselves as its champions against their eastern neighbours. Thus from the eighth/fourteenth century onwards large stretches of Central Asia were won over to Islam; at that time it also gained an increasing number of adherents in China. The only effective barrier against Islam was the conversion of the tribes in Mongolia to Lamaist Buddhism : they went over to it decisively at the close of the tenth/sixteenth century. Until then the Turkish peoples and tribes of Central Asia had been, almost without exception, united under the sign of the Qur'an.

Thus, whilst Transoxania had been cut off from its old connexions in the south since the early tenth/sixteenth century, the situation in the east had not yet been stabilized. There was for the time being no cause for fear of attack by non-Islamic peoples ; the continuous extension of Islam made a Holy War (jihad) unnecessary there for the time being. The sources indeed tell us almost nothing about this highly significant change in the structure of Central Asia in the tenth/sixteenth century; even the political history of the time is inadequately presented in them.

About this period, an opponent was emerging in the north-west whose importance was far beyond that of Chingiz Khan or Timûr—namely Russia. At just this time the tsar was putting out his first feelers towards Persia, to find out whether the Safavids could be made his allies against Bukhara and also against the Ottoman Turks. The Central Asian peoples, prevented from developing outwards by their powerful neighbours, no longer had the strength to create a great empire, or the inward mental concentration necessary for outstanding cultural

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achievements. The following centuries were therefore a period of decline and decay.

Central Asia was thus isolated from the early tenth/sixteenth century. States that came into existence in this area could have no supra-regional importance unless they could be extended towards Persia, and thereby brought large parts of the central Islamic countries under their control, as did the Seljuks, the Khwarazm-Shahs, the Il-Khans and Timûr. But the Shaybanids, in spite of all their political power in the tenth/sixteenth century, were unable to make any incursion into the core of the Islamic heartlands, and therefore led an existence on the margin of world history. From the threshold of modern times Central Asian history becomes provincial history. This justifies us in giving no more than a rapid sketch of the following centuries.

KHÏVA, SIBIR AND THE ÖZBEGS

The repelling of Safavid interference in Transoxania in 916-18/1510-12 left the country very much disunited. After 918/1512 a scion of the Shaybanid house, Ilbars, came to power in Khwarazm, henceforward more frequently called by the name of its capital, Khiva; the old name eventually disappeared. Ilbars made it an outpost of the Sunni faith against the Shi`a and also a base for incursions into neighbouring Persian areas. His descendants held out against all attempts (for example by the Kalmuks) to subdue them in the tenth/sixteenth and eleventh/ seventeenth centuries, and the country continued to exist for centuries as an independent state.

The extreme north-west of this area, the khanate of Sibir (Siberia), also kept its independence after Kuchum, a scion of a collateral line, had superseded the ruling khan there after prolonged struggles (1563-9). From 1579 onwards he was engaged in warfare with the Russians, who were advancing across the Urals; he was driven back in 1581, but in 1584 he was able to gain a victory over the Cossack leader, Yermak, who fled and was drowned. He did not, however, stop the Russian advance. A Russian settlement was established in 1586 in Tümen and another in 1587 in Tobolsk. Kuchum was defeated on the Ob in 1598 and had to flee to the Nogays, where he was murdered two years later. His son Ishim Khan, in spite of collaboration with the Kalmuks, had no further success. The conquest of the khanate of Sibir by the Russians was the starting-point for their domination as far as the Pacific and also deep into Central Asia. This also had the effect that traffic between

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eastern Europe and eastern Asia moved over to Siberia in the next centuries and went through Russian territory; there was a considerable decline in the economic importance of Turkistan.

The other areas of Central Asia (apart from Khiva and the eastern approaches of the Urals), and above all the Özbeg settlement area, were united once more when the Shaybanid 'Abd Allah II succeeded, from 958/1551 onwards, in warding off his enemies by a vigorous defence of his main possessions along the Zarafshan. The most dangerous of his attackers was the Özbeg, Nawrüz Ahmad Khan (959-63/1551-6). From then on 'Abd Allah steadily increased his sphere of influence, even though his reign was not free from insurrections. In 964/1557 he conquered Bukhara, which he made his capital, then between 981/1573 and 991/1583 he took Balkh, Samarqand, Tashkent and Farghana. 'Abd Allah assumed the title of khan in 991/1583, after the death of his feeble-minded father, Iskandar, whom he had proclaimed ruler of the Özbegs in 968/1561, though he never actually reigned. As khan, 'Abd Allah continued to show consideration for the Islamic religious organization, to which he made generous gifts. The strongly centralist policy directed against the influence of the Özbeg chiefs was unchanged, even though they were allowed to retain their rich fiefs. Henceforward the administration and the coinage were reorganized; public buildings and the like were erected, often by purchased slaves. At the same time there was a series of military campaigns. These put him in possession of Kulab, Badakshan (where a branch of the Timurid line had held out), and Gilan. On the other hand he was only able to devastate Khiva and also Mashhad and the Tarim basin, without being able to hold on to them. The Persian Shah `Abbas the Great expelled the Özbegs again from their conquests in Khurasan (Herat and Astarabad) in 1007/1598. `Abd Allah II tried to outmanoeuvre `Abbas, the greatest adversary of his closing years, by means of an alliance with Sultan Murad III and Akbar, with whom he exchanged ambassadors in 1585.<sup>96</sup> His tactics were similar to those of `Abbas himself, who kept up contact with the Habsburgs in the hope of correlating the fight against the Ottomans in the west (Hungary) with that in the east, along the Zagros mountains and in Azarbayjan.

Round about 1000/1590 a renewed unification of Central Asia under the strong personality of 'Abd Allah II seemed within reach. Then the Özbeg ruler quarrelled with his only son, to whom he had made over Balkh in 990/1582 and who was now trying to become actual ruler--just

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as his father had done with Iskandar Khan. This involved father and son in a lengthy feud that allowed the Kazakhs to reach the very gates of Tashkent and Samargand, and dragged on until 'Abd Allah II died in 1006/1598 while on a punitive campaign against the intruders. His son proved an ineffective successor; he was removed after a few months. `Abd Allah's state fell asunder, and his descendants disappeared.

Thus the last attempt at unification in Transoxania foundered just at the moment when the Safavid empire was at its zenith under Shah `Abbas the Great. North-east Persia suffered in the next centuries from continual raids by Turkish nomads, but these were in fact no more than pinpricks. The Persian plateau was now spared any serious attacks from the usual source of trouble in the north-east. The two dangerous thrusts made almost simultaneously against Persia in the first half of the eighteenth century, the Afghan invasion and Peter the Great's attempt to seize Gilan, came from other directions.

THE TARIM BASIN UNDER THE LAST CHINGIZIDS AND JUNGAR SUPREMACY

Before continuing our consideration of the fate of Transoxania, we turn our attention to the south-east, to the last offshoot of the state of Mughulistan. In the eastern half of this state the Chaghatay dynasty established itself from the beginning of the sixteenth century. Two brothers, Mansûr and Said Khan, had succeeded in breaking the power of the dominant Dûghlat family. The two brothers now shared the territory in such a way that Said came into possession of their domains in the south-western part of the Tarim basin. Mansûr ruled over Semirech'ye, Yulduz and the Turf-an oasis. In mutual quiet and amity they succeeded in keeping off the Shaybanids and giving the country a long period of peace. The brothers were convinced Muslims and were rooted in an urban culture. They drove back the influence of nomadic elements and opened the way into the Tarim basin for the culture of Samargand and Bukhara, which had now gathered strength again. Here in the Tarim basin eastern Turkish (Chaghatay) had probably completely superseded the Indo-Germanic speech of earlier centuries, even though Muhammad Haydar Mirzâ. Dûghlat (c. 905-58 / 1500-51) wrote his well-known historical work Târikh-i Rashidi in Persian. There was no traceable Chinese influence in this area in the tenth/sixteenth century.

The two brother-princes also shared their military tasks. Mansûr turned his attention to the east, where it was still a question of fighting

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for the spread of Islam. In 919/1513 the oasis of Qomul (Ha-mi), which even earlier on had been the goal of Muslim rulers in this area, put itself under his sovereignty. In 923/1517 Mansûr chose this place as his capital and made it his base for further attacks on China. At various times he advanced as far as Tun-huang, Su-chou and Kan-chou (in Kan-su) ; thus Chinese chronicles mention him as well as native ones. Even if it was not granted to the people of eastern Turkistan to get these territories permanently under their rule, nevertheless the spread of Islam in just these western provinces of China may well have been furthered by numerous conversions that occurred at this period.

At the same time Sa`id Khan invaded the province of Ladakh, which was in those days united with Tibet. The historian Haydar Mirza, whom we have previously mentioned, was commander there in 937/1531; this indicates that there were still friendly relations at that time between the khan and the powerful Dûghlat clan. However, this state of affairs did not last—one might say, unfortunately for the country. `Abd al-Rashid, who succeeded his father Sa`id Khan in Kashgar in 939/1533, strove for greater independence and was no longer satisfied with the existing balance of power. Haydar therefore fled from his service and established himself in Kashmir in 948/1541.

This opened the way for a development that was to lead to an entirely new situation. The two Chaghatay brothers and their descendants were tied down by military factors in the south and the east, and this gave the Kazakhs free play to spread out in northern Mughulistan. The Ili and Kunges valleys passed into the possession of the Kazakhs. `Abd al-Rashid found himself restricted to Kashgar, which was inaccessible to the Kazakhs, it being impossible for them to get over the Tien-Shan range.

Secondly, there were new forces at work in the country itself, and their influence grew steadily after the death of Said Khan. Here, as everywhere in the Islamic countries, the reputed descendants of the Prophet and his Companions were held in high respect. They were especially revered in an orthodox Islamic area like the Tarim basin, where the high morale of the march-warriors (ghâzis) still existed. The descendants of Muhammad, together with those of the other Patriarchal Caliphs, formed clans, the leading members of which were called Khôjas.

These clans split into two parties, the Ak-Taghlik (‘of the White Mountain') and the Kara-Taghlik (‘of the Black Mountain'), with their centres of power at Kashgar and Yarkand respectively. Their importance

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was increased by the discord among the sons of Mansûr (d. 952/1545); the period of peaceful development in the Tarim basin was once again at an end. According to Chinese sources, Shah-Khan (952-c. 978/1545-c.1570) and Muhammad were at enmity with one another. With the help of the Oirats Muhammad was able to seize part of the Qomul oasis.

After 978/1570 he was fighting against a third brother. There is no clear information about the details of this development, for even Chinese sources are silent after the cessation of the threat from Qomul. We are only told of envoys sent by a Turkish khan from Turfân in 1654 and 1657, after the victory of the Manchu dynasty in 1644.

In the west of the country 'Abd al-Rashid had died in Kashgar in 1565 or 1570. His son 'Abd al-Karim (or 'Abd al-Latif) came to power soon after, and reigned until after 1593 ; he assigned Yarkand to his brother Muhammad as an appanage. He was evidently still ruling there in 1603 when the Portuguese Jesuit missionary, Benedict Goës, travelled across the country. The granting of this appanage certainly averted an open quarrel within the dynasty, but it also accelerated the break-up of the country, and helped to make the Khôja families its real lords. Consequently the Tarim basin, with its oasis-type individual settlements, steadily disintegrated again into city-states of the kind that had characterized it during the struggles of the Chinese and the Hiung-nu about the beginning of the Christian era, and that subsequently became famous as stations on the Silk Road. Not only Yarkand and Kashgar but also Ak-Su and Khotan became the centres of such Khôja clans. At the same time the Ak-Taghlik group kept up connexions with the Kazakhs. The latter were at that time split into three hordes, the Great or Older, the Middle, and the Little or Younger Horde ; they were settled north of the Aral and Caspian Seas and up to the rivers Irtysh and Tobol; they had meanwhile subjugated the Ili valley. The Kara-Taghlik on the other hand relied on the Kirghiz on the southern slopes of the Tien-Shan range.

Alongside them, the khans descended from Chaghatay were tolerated as they had no real power. When Khan Ismail tried to alter this state of affairs by an attempt to overthrow the Ak-Taghlik, the latter called in the Mongol tribe of the Jungars. Thus in 1089/1678 the Ak-Taghlik defeated Khan Ismail and at the same time the Kara-Taghlik of Yarkand. The leader of the Ak-Taghlik now established himself as khan in his rivals' former centre. Thereby the last descendant of Chaghatay (and consequently of Chingiz Khan) was eliminated from Muslim eastern

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Turkistan. At that time, however, there were still descendants of Chingiz ruling in Bukhara and—in the Giray branch—in the Crimea. Now the period of the `holy state' of the Khôjas began for the Tarim basin.

The holiness of this state was by no means impaired by its exposure to the entirely un-Islamic influence of the Buddhist-Lamaist Jungars. In connexion with the upheaval of 1089/1678, the Jungars had advanced into the neighbourhood of Kashgar, where they had arbitrarily set up members of the two rival Khôja groups as khans of the Tarim basin. From this area the ruler of the Jungars, the Lamaist Galdan (1671-97), with the moral support of the Tibetan Dalai Lama, attacked and occupied Semirech'ye, and also the oases of Turfân and Qomul, hitherto ruled by descendants of Chaghatay, who were now superseded. From 1688 onwards Galdan tried to encroach on the territories of other Mongol tribes, but was prevented from doing so by the intervention of the Chinese emperor. The Jungar leader eventually found himself driven to suicide.

Galdan's successor, his nephew Tsewang Rabdan (1697-1727), fought the Kazakhs in the north, and in 1723 won Tashkent and the town of Turkistan (Yasi) from them; he also fought the Chinese around Qomul and Turfân (1715-24) until he had occupied both oases. Tsewang Rabdan, who had as his military adviser a captured Swedish sergeant from the army of Charles XII, was able to maintain his supremacy over the Tarim basin unimpaired. His son and successor, Galdang Tsereng (1727-45), eventually divided the basin into four independent states, namely Kashgar, Ak-Su, Yarkand and Khotan. He was able to extend his influence westwards over the Kazakhs, but in 1732 he lost certain other, more northern, parts of his state to the Chinese. After the death of Galdang Tsereng there was an insurrection among the inhabitants of the Tarim basin. The division into four city-states was abolished; and, in consequence of internal quarrels among the Jungars, in 1753-4 and finally 1757, the Turks living there were able to shake off Jungar supremacy. This was, however, an empty victory, for after the subjection of the Jungars in Jungaria in 1755-8, the Chinese advanced with a strong army against the former Jungarian possession, the Tarim basin, which had in fact on various occasions already been subject to the Chinese in earlier centuries. In 1757-9 after bitter and fluctuating battles they conquered the country, and it was now transformed into the New Marches' (Sin-Kiang) of the Manchu empire.

The collapse of the last nomad empire in Central Asia had the effect

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that the Kirghiz and the Kazakhs, hitherto oppressed by the Jungars, and forced out into the oases, became active again. They regained possession respectively of Semirech'ye and of the northern part of the Tien-Shan range. The leading Kazakh groups of the Great Horde and Middle Horde turned towards the Chinese empire and paid tribute to it down to the middle of the nineteenth century, in order to ensure thereby the exchange of their horses and cattle for Chinese silk. This trade went on for decades to the mutual satisfaction of both parties. Chinese trading-stations were set up at several points in the Kazakh settlement area; Kazakh trading caravans penetrated Outer Mongolia and the Tarim basin. Ultimately, as Russian influence also spread more and more from Orenburg (founded 1735), the two Kazakh hordes finally submitted themselves around 1845. Their Chinese trade was now at an end.

COMMON FEATURES IN THE DEVELOPMENT OF INNER ASIA FROM 1600 ONWARDS

Between the sixteenth and nineteenth centuries, Transoxania and western Turkistan had no common political history, and we are forced to make a separate study of each of the various states that came into being. None the less, we must not forget the many common features that they possessed, and we shall also have to mention numerous mutual contacts between them.

There were some common traits that transcended political frontiers. There was, for instance, the strict Sunni orthodoxy which all the inhabitants acknowledged, Turks and Tajiks, settled peoples as well as nomads, peasants and courtiers, administrative officials and the rulers. It gave Central Asia its characteristic stamp down to the present time and, as we have seen, it differentiated the cultural development of this country from that of Persia (which was now Shi`i) more clearly than before. Even if one takes into account that the following centuries were not particularly fertile in new religious ideas, or in the development of any theology adapted to the changing circumstances of the times, none the less Sunni orthodoxy gave the population a firm support that enabled it to regain its tranquillity and re-discover its own personality after the many horrors it had experienced between the thirteenth and sixteenth centuries. The charitable activities constantly practised by Islam, not only in medreses and mosques but also by means of organized institutions like the Safi convents with their feeding of the poor and

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their educational work among young artisans and the like, also did much to make the material conditions of life more peaceful.

A religious spirit pervaded all public life, every class and tribe. One can therefore understand the practically unshakeable position of the ‘ulema' and ‘fuqaha', and the Sûfi orders, the strongest of which were the Naqshbandiyya and Kubrawiyya. For a ruler who relied on them and collaborated with them they were a very powerful support; they were, moreover, in close contact with the population as qâdis and their assistants, as administrators of various kinds and as imams among the nomads. Attempts to curb the power or restrict the influence of the ‘ulemâ' were always dangerous, even on occasions when there was undeniably some element of justification for them. Several khans came to grief through endeavours of this kind. Such events reverberate in the writings of the historians, who took up a correct Sunni attitude, and delivered their judgments on leading personalities from that standpoint—as indeed they were compelled to do, by reason of the contemporary social structure.

Theology was completely integrated into the general Sunni tradition and a supervisory body under a re' is (comparable with the sadr in Shi`i Persia) took care that correct doctrine was taught in these countries. Historical writing, having to depict a changing age, could not restrict itself to the repetition—or at best the reorganization—of what already existed. New states of affairs and new developments made reinterpretation necessary, however much the philosophical basis remained unchanged. Admittedly the historiography of this period has not yet been investigated in all its details; the student is here largely dependent on a number of Russian learned works which very often cannot be checked against their sources. In historical writing the decisive religious opposition to Persia made itself felt to the extent that contemporary Persian chronicles could no longer simply be considered as authoritative. Historical accounts written by natives of Central Asia stressed the spiritual opposition to Persia; the compulsion to view and judge historical events from their own standpoint caused a large increase in the number of these writings.

In these centuries the mental life of Central Asia was homogeneous. This was in accordance with sound Islamic tradition, for during the whole of the Middle Ages there had been free intercourse between artists and scholars and also merchants, to a much greater extent than in the West. This phenomenon now repeated itself on a smaller scale on the other side

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of the Oxus. The inclusion of the whole of Persia in the Shi`i orbit caused many Sunni scholars, and also many poets, to go to Transoxania in order to preserve their faith. In particular, personalities who had lived in Herat at the court of Husayn Baykara fled northwards and continued the Persian Sunni tradition of Herat among the Özbegs. The tenth/sixteenth and eleventh/seventeenth centuries were still rich in important figures who tried their hand at the traditional forms of the ghazal and the qasida in praise of the ruler. Any writer who did not accommodate himself to the framework of convention naturally could not reckon on gifts from the ruler. In the twelfth/eighteenth century the Indo-Persian poet Bahl from `Azimabad in north-western India (1054-1133/1644-1721) was much admired for his sceptical philosophy of life; he had imitators even in the nineteenth century. This is, by the way, an interesting cross-connexion between two areas of Sunni Persian culture, leaping over a homeland that had turned Shi`i.

The Persian literature of this period has not yet been definitely investigated, and we are also ill-informed about the details of works in the indigenous Turkish language—including various epics—such as were written especially at the court of Khokand. One of the Turcoman poets of this period is Makhdûm Quli (c. 1735-8o), who lived for a long time in Khiva; his poems have become popular and there have been various editions of them in recent years. Besides these original works there was also a not inconsiderable literature of translations from Persian into Turkish, for example of legends and also of historians such as Mirkhwand. The nineteenth century brought further stagnation : writing seemed restricted to mere imitations. Musical productions (songs, poetic declamations and instrumental music) were bound by tradition in the same degree as literature. They enjoyed great popularity with this people of music-lovers.

Considering the general state of development in Central Asia, it is not surprising that the school-system, intended mainly for boys, had hardly risen above the level of the Islamic Middle Ages. In the primary schools (sing., mekteb) children from six to fifteen years of age learned to read by rote from Arabic or Persian religious works, chiefly the Qur'an, which they understood hardly or not at all. The teaching was often done by the imams of neighbouring mosques, who were paid by the parents. Corporal punishment was frequent. Similar mektebs also existed in limited numbers among nomads ; among the Kazakhs there were relatively many Tatar teachers employed in this work.

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Above the mektebs—as was the case everywhere in the Islamic orbit—there were the medreses, mostly dependent on waqfs, and serving as theological colleges. These naturally had to impart a thorough knowledge of Arabic, but as far as teachers were available they also taught the fundamental operations of arithmetic. Medreses were almost entirely confined to the settled Özbegs and Tajiks. The pupil stayed at them for eight years—not infrequently even for fifteen or twenty years. He generally concluded his studies without any formal examination, but received from a respected khôja a diploma attesting his fitness to teach. The medreses also produced the judges and their assistants, also imams and future administrative officials—the last especially in Bukhara. Educational institutions of this kind in Khiva, together with Bukhara, had an especially high reputation. Students came to them even from India and Kashmir, from Russia and eastern Turkistan. Tradition has it that the total number of theological students round about 1790 was approximately 30,000.

The spatial situation of the states of Central Asia was also an important factor in the shaping of their common destiny. While the population of Transoxania became ever more settled, and at the same time the urban population of the Tarim basin found peace again and recovered its former self-confident attitude of mind, the whole borderland extending northwards and eastwards from the areas settled by Persians and Afghans passed entirely into the Islamic cultural sphere of a settled urban and rural population. The nomadic element, however, survived and continued to play a significant—and at times very important—role even in the nineteenth century, above all in Khokand. The nomads were none the less felt to be a disturbing element in the three khanates and their settling down was encouraged and welcomed, especially in Khiva. The khans also evolved methods of keeping order among the Turcomans, as well as the Kazakhs and Kirghiz pushing in from the north, by maintaining an intermediate class of tribal chiefs : the tribes were usually allowed to keep these after they had been subjected to a khan. There were indeed repeated insurrections, but they could usually be put down quickly. They were largely caused by internal discord among the nomads themselves and by the splitting up of their tribes. Khokand was the only area in which the nomads were for a time in political control.

As a natural consequence of this development the khanates of Central Asia became a bulwark against the advances of nomads like the Kazakhs

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and Kirghiz, or of Mongol tribes like the Jungars ; the first thrusts from the latter had in fact been parried by the Kazakhs and Kirghiz themselves. Although the khanates lost certain northern districts, they warded off a nomad inundation to the best of their ability, and thus also unintentionally defended the Persian settled area. Anyone who wanted to invade this would first have had to get control of the khanates on the Oxus and the Jaxartes. The Turcomans indeed remained a serious nuisance to neighbouring Persia and also at times to Khiva and Bukhârâ, but they were no longer a danger to the independence of Persia, especially at the period when the Safavid state was firmly established.

To appreciate fully the situation of the Central Asian khanates it is necessary to understand that the nomad peoples living in the north, the Kirghiz and the Kazakhs (in tsarist Russia known as Kara-Kirghiz and Kirghiz respectively) had in the sixteenth century generally kept their hold on Semirech'ye but had not, either then or in the seventeenth century, consolidated into any settled political order. Since 1533 the Kazakhs had been under increasing pressure from the Oirats, who were advancing south-westwards. Around 1570 the Oirats ruled the area between the Ili valley and upper Yenisei. Time and time again they put the Kazakhs in a desperate situation. It was understandable that the unrest among the northern nomads also made itself felt between the Oxus (Amu Darya) and the Jaxartes (Syr Darya) and to a certain extent influenced the dismembering of this region into individual states which occurred around 1600.

According to one hypothesis, the Kirghiz pushed forward from the Yenisei in the sixteenth century, occupied the northern part of what is now the Soviet Republic of Kirghizia and were able to defend it against the Kazakhs and the inhabitants of Mughulistân. In 1586—possibly once more under pressure from the Oirats—they tried to invade the Tarim basin and to advance towards Farghânâ. The Kara-Kalpaks first appear under that name in the sixteenth century. Around 1590 they were living on the lower Jaxartes. Prior to this they had evidently shared a nomadic life with the Nogais. By warding off the northern nomads the Central Asian khanates protected the Persian plateau, and by standing their ground they also safeguarded the traditional social organization of their own countries. This assigned the leading position to the ruling family but did not allow it to assert complete autocracy. The reason was that the leading clans and their biys (begs, beys) supplied the officers for the

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troops—who were almost always numerous—and consequently their influence, as well as that of the religious hierarchy, could hardly ever be completely eliminated. An energetic and autocratically inclined ruler had to take both factors into account. The fall of many a ruler was brought about by an attempt to eliminate one or the other of them.

Until the Russian conquest, the structure of this aristocracy of tribal princes and religious leaders was patriarchal. The peasants were personally free—there were also freedmen among them—and could rely on the landowners for aid in times of famine or in other distress. In such cases they received cattle, which they only had to restore to the donors if the latter were themselves in distress. If they were not in a position to do so, they might become slaves by reason of their indebtedness; but even then, although bound to the soil, they were not completely without rights. Road-building, as well as the constant and careful maintenance of irrigation and the construction of new canals, forced at least all the settled inhabitants to work in close co-operation under the supervision of the miârb or ak-sakal (‘whitebeard'), to enter into agreements for the apportionment of water, and to share the financial burdens of irrigation-works. When the shortage of land was aggravated by an increase in the population, state-land or the private property of the ruler was made available to enlarge the private property of the landowners and also the small farmers. Further, the founding of waqfs offered security against confiscation by the state, and at the same time the possibility of stabilizing conditions of tenure and assuring permanent provision for their administrators.

The land-tax (at that time called mâl vajihât, as in Safavid Persia) levied on farmland was widely paid in kind, though payment in money became increasingly frequent; for this there was a legally fixed rate of ten per cent, but often considerably higher rates (up to about twenty per cent) were deducted. No further details are known. Besides the land-tax there were also a number of other taxes, some of them inherited from older times, the nature of which is not always known, as well as turnover and property taxes on trade, commercial goods and cattle (zakât)—officially two and a half per cent, but often more. In addition taxes were levied on caravan traffic and horticultural establishments. At irregular intervals the khan claimed special contributions for himself or for the needs of the army.

The collecting of taxes was often done by means of tax-farms; this always meant additional contributions by those concerned. The tax-

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gatherer usually required a sheep as his own bonus, and demanded certain ‘presents' for the ruler. Besides these taxes there was the performance of corvées, for example in the constructions of roads and canals. There was also conscription for military service, which took a heavy toll of human lives in the frequent wars of the khanates among themselves, or against the nomads and Persia, and kept many country lads away from the soil for lengthy periods.

Great quantities of land accumulated not only in the hands of the dynasty but also in those of the biys (among the northern Kirghiz also called manap), of influential individuals and of the religious classes, together with the medreses and the Sufi convents. Their property might also consist of craft-establishments, caravanserai stud-farms or other profitable enterprises. The mutual interest in safeguarding landed property was one of the reasons for the generally very close cooperation between these two leading groups of the population. The amount of ploughed and grazing land owned by them was not infrequently increased by the ruler through assignments (soyurghâl, tiyûl) granted to influential families, or by the creation of new waqfs. Ground thus acquired could be sold, in practice even if not in theory, especially when it was free from taxes.

The cultivation of such extensive estates was effected by using tenant-farmers (who had to hand over up to half the harvest) and also slaves, i.e. prisoners taken in the khanates' frequent battles with one another and with their neighbours. A slave-market existed in Bukhârâ and was usually well supplied. In the nineteenth century the question of redeeming or liberating slaves frequently played a part in negotiations between the khanates and Persia or Russia. Persia, which was politically weak, was at that time usually refused any request for their liberation, simply because the slaves were indispensable for agriculture.

Besides agriculture and cattle-breeding as the nomads' main sources of income, industry and commerce were the economic backbone of the Central Asian states. Industry was carried on chiefly in the fields of lustre craftsmanship, miniature painting (in the style of Bihzâd), silk production and metal-working. Gold for this purpose came largely from Persia and Russia; silver came from China by way of Farghânâ. Manufacture of utility articles (such as pottery and the casting of cannon) was, however, still on a very primitive level. On the whole the craftsman's skill was steadily declining; remarkable nineteenth-century lustre decorations on mosques and medreses are found only in Khiva. It was

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only in the art of carpet-making that the ancient skill—even though subjected to tasteless variations—endured beyond the nineteenth century and the Russian annexation. In this field the Özbeg workshops have kept a leading position beside those of Persia, Afghanistan and Turkey, and they too have had a decisive influence on European and American taste. On the technological side there was the system of irrigation that has been regarded as a model and has become familiar, at any rate throughout the Soviet Union, under the name of the ‘Farghânâ method'.

Central Asian trade with its old far-reaching connexions was largely in the hands of the Sarts in Bukhârâ and Samarqand: these were linguistically turkicized merchants, mostly of Persian descent, though some part of them were of Soghdian origin. Mery and Tashkent (the latter increasingly from 1790 onwards) were also important as great trading cities. The exchange of goods continued in considerable volume during the eleventh/seventeenth and twelfth/eighteenth centuries, and included traffic with Russia. It was conducted from Kazan by way of the intermediate stations of Ufa and Bashkiria as before, and later also from Orenburg and Astrakhân with Mangishlak as an intermediate station. Other countries available to Transoxania for trade, by way of Farghânâ, were the Tarim basin, Persia, and to a limited extent India. Russian merchants had as yet no direct access to India, although a Russian envoy was received by the Awrangzêb in 1696.

The Central Asian khanates thus supplied the northern steppes and also Russia with the products of their native crafts and their weaving industry. In exchange for cottons and silks, Persian lambskins, carpets and occasionally also precious stones, Central Asia (and thereby also the more southerly countries) received cloth, satin, furs, hides, silver (also from China), falcons and wooden utility goods (pins, nails, dishes and also clubs). In addition it received metal goods, axes and firearms; these were intended for the court and often came as part of an exchange of presents. It has been suggested that the renewed minting of gold coins, for the first time since the Mongol period, may have been due to the importation of gold from Europe by way of Orenburg. The Tarim basin, and in transit also China and India, supplied mainly tea, porcelain goods and silver. However, the discovery of the sea-route to East Asia rendered the Silk Road increasingly superfluous, so that the volume of trade was not significantly greater than in the Middle Ages and in any case did not share in the universal upswing of this period.

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BUKHÂRÂ

In Bukhara, the heartland of its dominion, the Shaybanid dynasty did not perish completely; it continued at any rate in the female line. In 1007/1599 Baqi Muhammad, son of a Shaybanid princess (a sister of `Abd Allah II) and a Prince Jan from the dynasty of Astrakhan, succeeded in taking possession of his maternal grandfather's heritage in Transoxania. However, in the process parts of it—especially Tashkent and the town of Turkistan (Yasi)—were lost to the Kazakhs, and thereby remained shut off from Islamic urban civilization for a considerable period. After the death of 'Abd Allah II in 1006/1598 Khurasan finally came back to the Safavids. The members of the dynasty founded by Baqi Muhammad were called Janids after his father, or else Ashtar-khanids (from the Tatar name for Astrakhan) after their place of origin. For a long time this dynasty possessed the Balkh area south of the Oxus, and the heir to the throne (rarely the khan himself) resided there. Renewed extension of Bukharan power in a north-westerly direction had only temporary success, countered as it was by the Kazakhs thrusting in to the south. In the course of this struggle Khan Imam Quli (1020-53/ 1611-43) advanced as far as the mouth of the Jaxartes and for a time occupied Tashkent, where he caused a gruesome massacre. After the death of his energetic second successor `Abd al-`Aziz (1055-91/1645-80) a period of general disintegration set in, beginning with an insurrection in the Zarafshan valley. Around 1121/1710 the Farghana valley broke away from Bukharan domination and formed the state of Khokand. The importance of Bukhara and its dynasty for the cultivation of Sunni orthodoxy, elegant literature and the writing of history has already been indicated. Many of the details of this period, especially with regard to political events, have not yet been investigated. The constant struggle between the khans (for whose reigns we sometimes have no dates) and the influential Özbeg clans in the country ruled out any far-reaching external political ventures and led to a weakening of the central authority. The chiefs of the noble clans were becoming more and more independent—a development that calls to mind the increasing importance of the dere-beyis in Anatolia at the end of the eighteenth and the beginning of the nineteenth century. Nevertheless, and in spite of a deterioration of the coinage in 1709, agriculture (aided by new irrigation works) and trade developed favourably; Bukhara became the most important entrepôt for foodstuffs in all Central Asia.

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Bukharan merchants owned establishments in the Tarim basin and far over towards Siberia; there they worked hand in hand with Tatar merchants.

The establishment of an extremely powerful régime in Persia by the Sunni Nadir Shah caused the Janid ruler, Abu'l-Fayz (I 123-60/1711-47), to lose the area around Balkh. The many wars, internal disturbances and famines of this period led to a new migration to Farghana. After these troubles the Janids were increasingly under the influence of a dynasty of major-domos (ataliks), the Mangits. The Mangit dynasty superseded the Janids with Murad Ma`sûm Shah (1199-1215/1785-180o), who married a princess from the former line. Its first representative, Muhammad Rahim Bey (d. 1171/1758), had styled himself khan in 1167/1753, whereas later members of his house bore the title of emir. The social structure of the country and the distribution of land were preserved under the new dynasty. The influence of the religious classes increased rather than diminished; pupils streamed into the medreses from far and wide.

However, fraternal wars with the other khanates continued. Khan Haydar (I 800-26), who murdered many of his relatives at the beginning of his reign, and by these barbarous means prevented internal feuds, was able to ward off an attack from Khiva in 1804, and afterwards fought a long and obstinate battle against the khanate of Khokand. He then found himself in a really critical situation when an insurrection of the Özbeg Kitay-Kipchaks between Samarqand and Bukhârâ, brought about by the weight of taxation and forced enlistment, came on top of an advance by the Khiva troops up to the very gates of Bukhara in 1821. This insurrection went on until 1825 and was put down after complicated fighting. A second attempted insurrection, and a rising in Samarqand itself in the following year, were also unsuccessful.

Haydar had died in the meantime. He had squandered the state treasure, not only in his military ventures but also in great expenditure on the harem. His successor, Nasr Allah (1826-6o), made his way to power by murder, as Haydar had done before him; he is described by contemporary travellers as a cruel tyrant, aided and abetted by accomplices of a similar kind and mostly of obscure origin. He strengthened the army and developed the artillery; he waged wars against his neighbours, including Khokand, against which he made various thrusts from 1839 onwards without any ultimate success. From 1842 to 1846 he was at war with Khiva. He fought the town of Shahr-i Sabz throughout his life;

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it was conquered only in the year of his death. The constant battles exhausted the country's strength. Various parts of it—not only Shahr-i Sabz, but also what is now Afghan Turkistan, and also Balkh (which belonged to Bukhara from 1826 onwards)—were practically independent of the central government. Mery passed temporarily into Afghan hands, and in 1849 Afghanistan finally took over Balkh. Afghanistan now asserted itself with increasing vigour as a middle power and caused the Central Asian khanates to sink more and more into the background.

The British and the Russians were watching this kingdom; they now also turned their attention more and more to the Central Asian khanates, and sent their representatives to the court of the ruler of Bukhara. Nasr Allah's son and successor, Muzaffar al-Din (186o-85), however, did not allow the by no means disinterested attitude of his powerful neighbours to prevent him from continuing the internecine wars against the other rulers. He fought Khokand until 1866, made an abortive attack on Tashkent in 1865 and, while all this was going on, soon lost Shahr-i Sabz again.

From the middle of the nineteenth century the Russian empire, though not actually an immediate neighbour of the khanate of Bukhara, was none the less nearly adjacent to it on the north. Travellers at the beginning of the nineteenth century estimated the population of the khanate at two and a half to three millions⁹⁷, one half of them being farmers and the other half cattle-breeders; the town of Bukhara had about 70,000 inhabitants (three-quarters of them Persian-speaking) and Samargand had about 30,000. The khanate extended to Afghan Turkistan, Hisar (in what is now Tajikistan) as far as the western entry of the Farghana basin—where there was repeated fighting with Khokand for possession of Ura-Tübe and even Khoj and (Khojent)—and finally as far as the town of Turkistan. It lost Mery to Khiva around 1825.

Bukhara, exposed to progressive Russian advances from the north and repeatedly defeated, had to recognize a Russian protectorate in July 1868 and to relinquish a large part of its territory, including Samargand, which had already been occupied by General K. P. Kaufman (von Kauffmann) on 14 March 1868. The emir was, however, able, with Russian support, to get some compensation in the south of his country. The Russian domination allowed the country to retain its internal administration and its religious life; it was deprived of its freedom of action only in matters of foreign policy.

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KHOKAND

During the many struggles and disorders of the closing years of the seventeenth century the region around Khokand, with the Farghana basin as its heartland, had already become increasingly independent of Bukhara. The basin of the middle Jaxartes was protected by mountains : it was therefore less affected by the Jungars than the other territories in the north and west, and it became a place of refuge for the hard-pressed. Many of these brought a wealth of experience with them, and the racial composition of Farghana was fundamentally altered by this immigration. As early as the ninth/fifteenth century Turks and Sarts (i.e. Persians, Tajiks) had shared the region in such a manner that the latter were settled in the area around Margelan and Sokha and the former mainly in Andijan. Özbegs appeared at the beginning of the sixteenth century, and Kirghiz at its end. During the eighteenth century these races slowly but steadily took over the slopes of the Alai range and subsequently the mountain chains situated in the east and north-east of the country. Finally the Kipchaks had gained importance ; linguistically they belonged to the Özbegs, but their social structure was more closely related to that of the Kirghiz. In addition to these fragments of various races, the eighteenth century also saw the arrival of Sarts from Samargand and Bukhara, Özbegs from the areas that had suffered from the Jungars, and also parts of the Kara-Kalpaks and other Turkish tribes. Eventually Turkish and `Arab' fugitives moved in from the Tarim basin, when this was conquered by the Chinese after 1759.

It was apparent that most of these immigrants had no ties with the khanate of Bukhara, and they accepted without demur the political severance of the Farghana valley under Shah-Rukh (d. 1135/1722-3), a descendant of Abu'l-Khayr the Shaybanid. The dynasty that had thus come to power proved itself energetic, encouraged the extension of the towns, supported agriculture (especially the breeding of silkworms) by means of improvement and irrigation, and kept an eye on the ever-important transit trade, especially with eastern Turkistan. However, even though the influence of the Khôja families was gradually diminished, the power of the ruling house was for a long time severely restricted by the smallness of the state. After the subjection of eastern Turkistan by China in 1759, Khokand, shaken by various internal disorders, had to recognize Chinese suzerainty—at any rate nominally. Besides Khokand, there were also several other small states. In these

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there was clear evidence of the fact that the various elements of the Farghana valley population had as yet by no means fused with one another. It was only in the nineteenth century that a gradual rapprochement occurred, even between Özbegs and Tajiks. However, other tribes like the nomad Kipchaks preserved their organization during the nineteenth century—thus making it certain that they would have important influence—and avoided any contact with the Özbegs, although these were linguistically closely related to them. Khojand and the mountain valleys south-west of Khokand remained in the hands of the Persians, inhabited mainly by Tajik highlanders.

The political unification of the Farghana valley under the khan of Khokand was thus an achievement of the nineteenth century. It began after `Alim Khan (1799-1809 ; according to Nalivkin, 1808-16) had gained the victory over several antagonists. By supporting Ura-Tube and Jizak (at the south-west end of the Farghana valley) against Bukhara, he started the state's rise to power, and also prepared the way for the gradual decline of Bukhara. In contrast to Khokand, and also to Khiva, the khanate of Bukhara almost always suffered losses of territory in the nineteenth century.

The biys of Khokand, however, watched the rise of their khan with a certain amount of dissatisfaction. They were indeed well aware that an increase in his power would lessen their own influence. Hence they repeatedly refused to co-operate in the ruler's military ventures, and he was forced to recruit a new body of troops consisting of Tâjiks. When he had succeeded in doing this, the chiefs of the individual clans were in a less important position, and did not need the same consideration as before. Thus `Alim Khan could now set out to seek further conquests, in the first place to the north, where in 18o8 Tashkent with some 70,000 inhabitants fell into his hands; it was an important centre for trading traffic, especially in the direction of Orenburg. Hitherto the town had been under the de facto control of a Khôja aristocracy, but nominally it had belonged to Bukhara. The Kazakhs of this area wanted to avoid acknowledging a superior authority and attempted an insurrection, but 'Alin). Khan was able to suppress it in the bitter winter of 1808-9. However, he was murdered in -1809 (or 1816) ; according to the historians `in consequence of his cruelty and tyranny', but perhaps in reality because the Özbegs were jealous of his Tâjik army.

His brother and successor `Umar (1809 [or 1816]-1822), who assumed the title of amir al-mu'minin (‘commander of the faithful', the ancient

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title of the caliphs) is, however, highly praised by the historians. He held fast to traditional forces, the religious classes and the leaders of the dominant clans, and at the same time encouraged literature—which, however, could be nothing more than court poetry. The khan himself wrote some poetic works.

Renewed battles for Ura-Tübe and Jizak were indecisive, in spite of support from Shahr-i Sabz, and Bukhara took possession of Samarqand itself; meanwhile, in the spring of 1814, there was the successful capture of the town of Turkistan and its environs, which had nominally belonged to Bukhara but in reality had been independent under a Kazakh sultan. Now the Kazakh chieftains as far away as Semirech'ye also subjected themselves to the khan of Khokand. He allowed them to retain internal self-government under his supremacy, but from 1817 onwards sought to buttress his somewhat insecure position by establishing a number of strongholds. Around them there soon arose market settlements with mosques and medreses. From these bases it was possible in 1821 to suppress an insurrection by the Kazakhs to the north of Tashkent.

`Umar's son and successor, Muhammad `Ali (in shortened form, Madali) inherited the throne in 1822 at the age of twelve ; in 1831 he added to his father's conquests the southern highlands, where the Tajik population lived in patriarchal conditions as mountain-shepherds or gold-washers ; the menfolk had often gone down into the Farghanâ valley in the summer as seasonal workers. A number of native Tâjik princes were allowed to retain their positions. The growing tyranny of the ruler, who was noticeably devoting himself more and more to wine and the harem, and dissipating the strength of his country in fruitless attacks on the practically independent frontier fortresses of Jizak and Ura-Tube, had the effect that in 1839 the population led by the `ulemâ' called upon the Bukharans for aid. They took Khojand and forced Madali to acknowledge their supremacy. In a second advance they took Khokand itself in April 1842, and the much-hated khan was torn to pieces.

In the next year the Bukharan occupation troops were successfully expelled with the help of Kirghiz and Kazakhs, and both Khojand and Tashkent were retaken. However, Khokand did not regain internal peace, for now nomad elements—not only the Kirghiz but also especially the Kipchaks—got the upper hand over the war-weakened noble families. They deposed the new khan (who came from the old dynasty) and in 1845 transferred the actual control of Khokand to their

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own leader, Muslim-an Qul. In consequence the arable land—in any case barely adequate—was transformed into pastures that were common property of the nomad tribes. Farmers were required to pay for irrigation, and the nomads forced the natives to give up local girls as wives for members of the tribe without the customary payment of bride-money for them. All this, together with another fruitless attack on Ura-Tube, led in October 1851 to the expulsion of the nomads, the removal of their leader and the distribution of their pasture lands among the settled inhabitants. But Khan Khudâyar, who had only just gained effective power, was unable to hold out against his brother, Mallâ Beg, and was deposed by him in 1858. Consequently the Kipchaks were again predominant, and former pasture-lands were returned to them; this caused renewed and violent quarrels between the settled inhabitants and the nomads. All this happened during the approach of the Russians, who took Ak-Mesjid in 1853, and turned it into the fortress of Perovsk (named after the victorious general), and soon also had control of Tokmak and, for a time, of Pishpek.

There had been various disorders in recent years which it had been possible to suppress with the aid of the fortresses est