“By God, I feel so much love that it seems as though the skies would be rent asunder, the stars fall and the mountains move away if I burdened them with it: such is my experience of love ” If I attributed this quotation to Rûmî or to Ruzbehân Baqlî, no one would be surprised: they are both unanimously acknowledged to be among the most illustrious representatives of the “way of love” which is at the heart of the mystical tradition of Islam. But it is from the Futûhât, the work whose “impassive and icy tone” Massignon denounced, that this cry from an inflamed heart issues. Massignon had read all of it; no doubt he knew this passage, but even if his sight rested on it for a few moments, he probably saw nothing more than a literary device. For him, Ibn Arabî was only a dry, haughty dialectician and nothing ever succeeded in persuading him to re-examine this opinion which he had held since his youth. Admittedly, the author of the Fusûsis also that of the Turjumân al-ashwâq; but is this collection of poems anything other than a hapax in the arid expanse of a gigantic corpus of abstractions? Corbin took pains to demonstrate that it was nothing of the sort. Was he understood? In any case, one can see that in recent works Ibn Arabî is always put forward as the representative of a kind of speculative mysticism within Islam which is contrasted with the kind of mysticism most famously exemplified by Rûmî. One of his translators, whom one might have hoped was better informed, recently accused him of “metaphysical imperialism”. An excellent American researcher, William Chittick, has devoted two scholarly monographs to Rumi and Ibn Arabî. It is significant that the first is entitled “The Sufi Path of Love” and the second “The Sufi Path of Knowledge”, respectively.Without denying that there are considerable differences of emphasis between the Mathnavî and the Futûhât, one can see in these dichotomies the echo of age-old controversies which are no strangers to the world of Latin Christianity. Which faculty plays the essential role in the itinerarium in deum? Is it the will, in which love originates, or the intellect, in which knowledge originates? Several decades ago, moreover, lively debates took place over the correct interpretation of a saying that Guillaume de Saint-Thierry had taken from Saint Gregory the Great: amor ipse intellectus est. Among specialists of the Flemish mysticism of the Rhineland – and initially among the very authors who made this powerful mediaeval movement famous – there are numerous controversies between the partisans of a fairly suspect “mysticism of the Essence” (Wesenmystik), and those of a more reassuring “Nuptial mysticism” (Braumystik). In the seventeenth century, the “abstract school” – that of Benoît de Canfield or the young Bérulle – raised many concerns. When the work of Eckhart surfaced at the end of the nineteenth century, after a long period underground, it provoked comments – initially among his Dominican brothers – which are astonishingly similar to those often reserved for Ibn Arabî.
Is there any point in comparing the Treatises and Sermons of Thuringien with the Canticle of the Sun or the writings of Angèle de Foligno? In Ibn Arabî’s case, his writings convince us that it is irrelevant to place the way of love and the way of knowledge in opposition. Moreover, his works should be read without any preconceived ideas; Massignon’s undisguised sympathy for Hallaj, whose “martyrdom”, to use his expression, strongly evokes the Passion is easily understandable as is, in a more general way, the sympathy of some Western specialists for Muslim mystics in whom they detect some spiritual affinities with the Judeo-Christian tradition. This should not make us forget that in the framework of the Islamic tradition, it is the Prophet Muhammad – and he alone – who constitutes the exemplum, the infallible model that the pilgrim of God should imitate to the highest degree. This axiom provides the basis and structure for Ibn Arabî’s hagiological doctrine; it also governs his spiritual journey.
Just after the sentence declaring that the cosmos could not bear the weight of his love lest it collapse, Ibn Arabî provides us with an illuminating comment, “Nevertheless,” he says, “God strengthened me in this experience of love through the strength that I have inherited from the ‘chief of lovers’ (an expression which, of course, refers to the Prophet of Islam)”. Another sentence from the same passage comes back to this aspect, which is clearly fundamental in Ibn Arabî’s eyes, of the experience of mystical love, “God has given me an excessive share of love, but He has also given me the ability to control it”. In other words, however powerful the grace of love that overcomes him may be, he still retains mastery of the “spiritual states” which it is likely to engender: he is therefore drunk with love, but nevertheless sober.
If there is one question which has haunted Muslim, spiritual seekers since the fourth century of the Hegira, and more precisely since 24 dhu l-qa’da 309H/922, it is the idea of sukr, “spiritual intoxication”. On that day, Hallaj was executed in the public square in Baghdad. Although the legal proceedings which led to his being condemned to death were also – perhaps above all – a political affair, the fact still remains that for the Sufis of yesterday and today – and Ibn Arabî shares this point of view – Hallâj died because he shamelessly revealed inviolable secrets whilst intoxicated. Moreover, on the question of whether “sobriety” is preferable to “drunkenness” or vice versa, the majority of masters declare themselves in favour of the former while emphasizing that the summum for the spiritual adept is to combine the two, or rather, to realise the i’tidâl, the perfect “equilibrium” between these two poles. It will have been understood from the above quotations, that Ibn Arabî clearly adheres to this commonly held doctrine of the “golden mean” which one should never lose sight of when dealing with his spiritual biography. In fact, a scrutiny of his writings on this subject make it apparent that this notion of i’tidâl takes on the utmost importance in his doctrine on the experience of mystical love in its highest degree.
The Andalusian master has written about love on innumerable occasions, either in lyrical texts, or in discursive expositions. Not only the Turjumân al-ashwâqand much of the Diwân al-ma’ârif but also numerous passages from the Tajalliyât and the Tâj al-rasâ’il fall within the province of the former genre and testify, in terms which are often allusive, to the personal experience of the author in this domain. At the very least, these works show that the the Shaykh al-Akbar does not express himself like a doctrinarian but as a witness, shahîd. However, here I shall devote my attention to writings of the second kind, those which are strictly speaking doctrinal expositions. In addition to a series of chapters appearing in the section of the Futûhâtwhich is devoted to “spiritual states” (Fasl al-ahwâl) and deals with the themes of “sobriety”, “intoxication” and “satiety” in particular, four of the answers to Tirmidhî’s questionnaire reveal Ibn Arabî’s principal ideas on this subject. Important remarks also appear in the passages dealing with the idea of “beauty” (jamâl) which, as we shall see, modulates Ibn Arabî’s thought on Divine love from beginning to end. Finally, Chapter 178 of the Futûhât, entitled “On the knowledge of the station of love and its secrets”, develops the subject extensively and it is therefore on that chapter that my thoughts will be focused.
Moreover, this chapter has a distinctive characteristic which, even if it is of a stylistic nature, is nonetheless significant in relation to our theme: it is the chapter in the Futûhât which contains the most poetry. It goes without saying that the subject under discussion, love, is no stranger to being promoted by poetic language which, by freeing words from the constraints of organised, discursive reasoning, is able to express God’s ineffable desire.
And because it is precisely an experience which falls within the province of the inexpressible, to provide a hint, the Shaykh al-Akbar often resorts to the most universal image there is: that of the “beloved”, whose first name, for all that, varies at the whim of his pen.
“I have a Beloved whose name is that of all who have a name,” he declares in the Diwân al-ma’ârif. It is striking that this line of poetry opens the long section of this collection containing the innumerable odes where the author proclaims without reservation the passion which consumes him. There is, in addition, a term which, in various forms, haunts this long series of poems: hawâ’, “passionate love”, which the author of the Futûhâtdefines as “total annihilation of the will in the Beloved”.
Here, among hundreds, are a few examples:
I am the slave of passion and the slave of the Beloved. The fire of passion burns my heart And the One I love is in my mind. Passion has seized hold of the reins of my heart So wherever I turn my gaze Passion is facing me.
A further testimony to this fever of love is this passage from the Tanazzulât al-mawsiliyya:
All praise to God who made love (al-hawâ) a sanctuary towards which the hearts of all men whose spiritual education is complete make their way and a ka’ba around which the secrets of the chests of men of spiritual refinement revolve.
One has to acknowledge that the tone is neither stiff nor impassive. In fact, it is a tone recognizable to all as one inspired by burning love in those who, at every moment and in everything they see, recognize and contemplate the image of the Beloved.
But is such a love allowable when its object is the Almighty? Make no mistake about it, this is not a rhetorical question – far from it. Eminent fuqahâ’ have seriously discussed this. From Ibn Jawzî to the Wahhabite doctors, there have been many who have denounced this sacriligious pretension and maintained that the vocabulary of love can only be used in relation to created beings. Ibn Arabî, who is not at all unaware of these controversies, starts the long exposition in Chapter 178 with a reminder of the main Divine Sayings from the Quran and the hadîth which attribute the act of loving now to God, now to Man. Given at the outset, one after the other, these quotations do not merely serve to forestall possible critics by giving a scriptural basis to the treatise which follows: the order in which they are mentioned, together with the particular selection, are very revealing about the principles which govern the doctrine of love in Ibn Arabî and about his priorities. So, let us examine them.
The first Quranic verse mentioned is the one which states: “Say: if you love God, follow me and God will love you.”(Q. 3:31) this can never be emphasized enough: the initiatic teaching of Ibn Arabî, however complex it may appear in some of its developments, however wide the field of knowledge it covers, in the final analysis comes down to this simple idea that it is in the most rigorous conformity to the “excellent model” that the Envoy of God represents and, consequently, in the most naked obedience to the Divine law to which he himself submitted, that theomorphis is achieved and perfected. That of all the verses of the book where love is mentioned, he gave primacy to the one which solemnly states that every desire to love God is subject to the sequela prophetae, strongly reminds us of this.
Next there is the famous verse from the Surat al-Mâ’ida(Q. 5:54) which has been copiously commented on by the masters of tasawwuf and which states; ” He will produce people whom He loves and who love Him.” Yuhibbuhum wa yuhibbûnahu: the order in which these two propositions are formulated is not immaterial since it implies that the love of the creatures for God is the result of the love which the Creator has for them and that it is therefore a consequence of it. With regard to the esoteric interpretation of this verse, it is worth noting that one already finds in Ghazâlî’s Ihyâ’ the idea, which is extensively developped by Ibn Arabî, that God, in His love for the creatures – which is expressed in the yuhibbuhum – in reality loves only Himself (lâ yuhibbu illa nafsahu), “in the sense,” writes Ghazâlî, “that there is nothing in existence but Him (laysa fî-l wujûd illa huwa).” The Shaykh al-Akbar also very logically deduces from this metaphysical statement, on which what was later called wahdat al-wujûd was based, that the creatures never love anything but God, whether they know it or not. What is more: “the entire universe loves Him!”
The many Quranic quotations which follow are those where the Revelation specifies the virtues whose practice assures the believer of being loved by his Lord and, conversely, the attributes liable to thwart this love. These are issues of a practical nature, therefore, which one would not expect to be of great interest to an author renowned as “a grammarian of esotericism”. Ibn Arabî, however, devotes a long exposition to them in the rest of the chapter. I would like to point out, in this regard, a remark which reveals the deeply prophet-centred nature of his teaching: he says that every virtue indicated by God as one that causes Him to love the person who is adorned with it, is only acquired by the believer through his assiduity in conforming to the Muhammadian model; it is at once the sign and the fruit of the sincerity of the Muhammedian sequela.
The two hadith qudsî-s which are mentioned next have provided a whole mystical literature in themselves, starting with Ibn Arabî’s work. The first – which does not appear in the canonical collections, but whose authenticity Ibn Arabî certifies by virtue of a revelation (kashf) answers the question about why the world was created: “I was a hidden treasure and I loved (ahbabtu) to be known; so I created the creatures and made Myself known to them; so they knew Me.” Several works, those of Corbin in particular, have shown that Akbarian cosmogenesis is nurtured entirely by this Divine saying. Ibn Arabî draws two main conclusions from it with regard to defining the role of love more specifically: that, on the one hand, on a macrocosmic level, Creation originates in Divine love and that, on the other hand, from an initiatic point of view, love and knowledge, which are key-terms in this hadîth – ahbabtu an u’raf – are distinct but inseparable and therefore there is no reason to contrast them.
The second hadîth, which is canonical, recalls the love that God has specifically for certain believers, “My servant does not approach Me with anything that I love more than the works I have prescribed for him. And he continues to approach Me with supererogatory works until I love him. Then, when I love him, I am his hearing with which he hears, his sight by which he sees, his hand with which he takes hold, his foot with which he walks.” Therefore, both the methods which enable Man to be loved by God in a personal way and the spiritual effectsof this love are set out here. In this case, Ibn Arabî is commenting on the second point, although very succintly since he merely relates the final part of the hadîth (“I am his hearing “) to another Divine Saying, this time from the Quran, which states, “You did not throw when you threw but God threw” (Q. 8:17) In his reply to the fourth question on love asked by Tirmidhî , Ibn Arabî declares in reference to this, “Thus, you are the one who loves and you are not the one who loves!” (anta muhibb lâ muhibb). This is a paradox which explains the two doctrinal perspectives which the Shaykh al-Akbar exhibits in his writings – and which sometimes, as here, intersect giving rise to an apparent contradiction in terms: the “horizontal” perspective where he displays his pedagogy, clearly taking into consideration the subjective viewpoint of the aspirant and the vertical perspective where his metaphysical doctrine, underpinned by the idea of wahdat al-wujûd, is born.
Translated from the French by Cecilia Twinch on behalf of the Muhyiddin Ibn Arabi Society for the Symposium at Worcester College, Oxford, May 4-6th 2002.