Ghazali defines sufism as the desire for and practice towards attaining a "heart empty of all save G-d and adorned with the constant remembrance of G-d" (p. 51). The practices Ghazali uses to attain this are seclusion, solitude, and spiritual exercise and combat. The latter can be further broken down into the purification of the soul, the cultivation of virtues, and the cleansing of the heart (p. 55-6). Unfortunately, Ghazali does not elaborate on how exactly to cleanse the heart, but does cite a few books he read on sufi theology.
Ghazali describes sufis as "masters of states" (p. 52), explaining that mastery of various states enables a person to perceive various realms. The senses are all distinct states, and so, for example, the sense of hearing enables a man to perceive sounds and tones. However, hearing does not allow a man to understand what is and is not sensible, and so discernment is another state. Ghazali remarks that intellect is the highest state before prophecy, and while it is intellect that many men have attained, it is prophecy towards which the sufis aspire. Prophecy is what is used to understand acts of worship, such as why some services are longer than others (p. 66). Ghazali makes no claims of being a prophet or having attained any level of the state of prophecy, but recognizes its existence and its superior nature and understanding.
The sufi Way described by Ghazali leads to near-constant revelations and visions, of "angels and the spirits of prophets and hear voices coming from them and learn useful things from them" (p. 57). With this description, Ghazali seems to posit an intermediary stage between intellect and prophecy. He then puts forth further stages that cannot be described with words, and in which the practitioner attains a closeness to G-d, the end which Ghazali describes as "being completely lost in G-d" (p. 57).
These stages can only be attained through what Ghazali terms "fruitional experience" which differs from learned knowledge. He claims that the philosophers have only knowledge, which is theoretical, and that they have not actually experienced that which they claim to know. As such, without that experience, they cannot truly know it. Further, his direct complaint against the philosophers is that they do not cede that there are possibilities beyond their knowledge. Specifically, he questions, "Why, then, can there not be in the revealed ordinances certain properties of healing and purifying hearts, which are beyond the grasp of wisdom based on reason, nay more, that can be discerned only by the eye of prophecy?" (p. 75). Ghazali is offended that the philosophers do not even admit the possibility of higher states beyond "wisdom based on reason."
As to the relation of sufism to mysticism: a mystic is dictionary-defined as one who, through contemplation and self-surrender, seeks union or self-absorption into the deity or the absolute. Compared to Ghazali's definition of a sufi, one who seeks to be "completely lost in G-d," a sufi and a mystic are not terribly far apart. Ghazali mentions that there are some who would go so far as to say that sufis seek a "union" or "indwelling" with G-d, but as Ghazali points out, that is incompatible with Islamic theology of the deity, wherein G-d is unknowable and completely one; the idea of G-d consisting of a union between a man and G-d himself is completely at odds with Islamic theology and badly reminiscent of the Christian Trinity, which is soundly renounced throughout the Qur'an. However, a sufi does seek closeness to G-d, as close as one can get without heresy, and the practices Ghazali describes are indeed contemplation and self-surrender, per the definition of a mystic, and as such a sufi could constitute an Islamic mystic.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
5. Cotton
Caliph al-Ma'mun
al-Ma'mun clearly considered religious authority to be concurrent with political authority; he "specifically declared himself the imam al-huda, "the rightly guided leader"" (p. 67). His self-declaration as an imam shows that he considered himself to be a religious leader, although he was not himself terribly learned in hadith or fiqh or other proving grounds of religious knowledge. He is instead often described as partial to poetry and verse. And indeed, he was able to successfully carry out an inquisition and get most religious leaders to agree with him on his opinion regarding a matter of theology. It could be argued that he was simply using his political power to grab religious power, but I would argue that he did so successfully, if not ethically. The end result is still religious leaders conceding to his authority on a theological matter. However, while he may have considered himself a religious leader, and was able to get others to agree while he was alive, general opinion, in his biographies, apparently did not agree. Cooperson describes how his "early biographers depict him as a king, not a "knower" and an heir to the Prophet" (p. 67).
Imam 'Ali al-Rida
Many biographical sources explored by Cooperson confirm al-Rida's belief that he was the inheritor of the Imamate. Various criteria are discussed as to who can succeed the previous Imam; important criteria are the ability to answer religious questions (having knowledge, 'ilm), descendance from and designation by the previous Imam, and washing the previous Imam's corpse. However, even these major requirements can be fuzzy. Regarding 'ilm, Cooperson writes that in Shiite thought, 'ilm worthy of an Imam "came to encompass knowledge of everything, including the past, the future, and the secret thoughts of men" (p. 105). With this definition, it would be impossible for anyone to claim the Imamate; indeed Cooperson notes that al-Rida rejected this extensive definition of 'ilm, himself favoring a traditional definition. Regarding the washing of the previous Imam's corpse, this requirement was also artfully skirted. al-Rida was not in the same city as his father when he died, and therefore could not have washed his corpse; to get around this, it was said that al-Rida had magical powers, and one story relates how he was invisible while washing the corpse, and this is why there were not eyewitnesses (p. 81).
As for political power, Cooperson notes that Shiite religious authorities were not supporters of the Caliphate, and that to many, al-Rida's association with political power was not conducive with his status as Imam; it "upset every preconceived notion of how caliphs and Imams were supposed to behave" (p. 73). Further, his appointment "upset the longstanding arrangement by which the Imam held himself aloof from an office he was not permitted to occupy" (p. 105). Clearly, there was a distinction in Shiite circles between political and religious authority; the two were not supposed to mix.
Ahmed ibn Hanbal
ibn Hanbal believed that religious authority stemmed from knowledge, 'ilm, but he strictly limited 'ilm to two realms: Qur'an and sunna, the latter being transmitted in the form of hadith. ibn Hanbal believed that it was the duty of the hadith scholars, himself included, "'to guide the errant, warn against perdition, revive the dead with the Book of G-d, and use the Prophet's sunna to save the ignorant and damned'" (p. 108); in his mind, the hadith scholars were the one who had rightful "heirship to the Prophet" (p. 117). His rejection of the caliph's theological viewpoint was an extension of this belief that the caliph was simply a political figure, and as such had no claim to religious authority.
ibn Hanbal's views on authority wavered between disapproval and obedience. ibn Hanbal was an ascetic, who rejected anything he deemed "illegitimate" according to sunna; according to ibn Hanbal, "caliphal wealth was illegitimate" (p. 114) and thus state trappings were disapproved. However, ibn Hanbal also cited hadith which stated that "Muslims should submit to the authority of their leaders" so long as those leaders do not command disobedience to G-d, and even then, the disobedience should not extend to taking up arms (p. 125). Political authority rested solidly with the caliphate, but that authority did not extend to theology.
Bishr al-Hafi
al-Hafi, like ibn Hanbal, relied on sunna for religious guidance and "kept aloof from the state" (p. 155). However, unlike ibn Hanbal, he was critical of hadith and instead "devot[ed] himself to pious renunciation" (p. 155). He denied the religious authority of those who only learned hadith, yet did not "practice what they teach" (p. 168); for al-Hafi, authority came from experience. This is bolstered by his actions during the mihna; Cooperson relates that al-Hafi said that ibn Hanbal "is a worthier heir of the Prophet [than al-Hafi]" (p. 182) due to his willingness to be jailed and flogged for his beliefs. This statement also sheds light on al-Hafi's views on political authority; clearly, if he sides with ibn Hanbal, he disagrees with the caliph that the political office entitles him to religious authority as well. This is explained by al-Hafi's asceticism more generally, in that he was attempting to emulate the "renunciation ascribed to the Prophet and his Companions [which] suggested a preoccupation with the next world rather than the present one" (p. 154). If al-Hafi looked mainly toward the world to come, then he would simply fail to take an interest in the present world, to which the caliphate and all forms of political authority staunchly belong.
al-Ma'mun clearly considered religious authority to be concurrent with political authority; he "specifically declared himself the imam al-huda, "the rightly guided leader"" (p. 67). His self-declaration as an imam shows that he considered himself to be a religious leader, although he was not himself terribly learned in hadith or fiqh or other proving grounds of religious knowledge. He is instead often described as partial to poetry and verse. And indeed, he was able to successfully carry out an inquisition and get most religious leaders to agree with him on his opinion regarding a matter of theology. It could be argued that he was simply using his political power to grab religious power, but I would argue that he did so successfully, if not ethically. The end result is still religious leaders conceding to his authority on a theological matter. However, while he may have considered himself a religious leader, and was able to get others to agree while he was alive, general opinion, in his biographies, apparently did not agree. Cooperson describes how his "early biographers depict him as a king, not a "knower" and an heir to the Prophet" (p. 67).
Imam 'Ali al-Rida
Many biographical sources explored by Cooperson confirm al-Rida's belief that he was the inheritor of the Imamate. Various criteria are discussed as to who can succeed the previous Imam; important criteria are the ability to answer religious questions (having knowledge, 'ilm), descendance from and designation by the previous Imam, and washing the previous Imam's corpse. However, even these major requirements can be fuzzy. Regarding 'ilm, Cooperson writes that in Shiite thought, 'ilm worthy of an Imam "came to encompass knowledge of everything, including the past, the future, and the secret thoughts of men" (p. 105). With this definition, it would be impossible for anyone to claim the Imamate; indeed Cooperson notes that al-Rida rejected this extensive definition of 'ilm, himself favoring a traditional definition. Regarding the washing of the previous Imam's corpse, this requirement was also artfully skirted. al-Rida was not in the same city as his father when he died, and therefore could not have washed his corpse; to get around this, it was said that al-Rida had magical powers, and one story relates how he was invisible while washing the corpse, and this is why there were not eyewitnesses (p. 81).
As for political power, Cooperson notes that Shiite religious authorities were not supporters of the Caliphate, and that to many, al-Rida's association with political power was not conducive with his status as Imam; it "upset every preconceived notion of how caliphs and Imams were supposed to behave" (p. 73). Further, his appointment "upset the longstanding arrangement by which the Imam held himself aloof from an office he was not permitted to occupy" (p. 105). Clearly, there was a distinction in Shiite circles between political and religious authority; the two were not supposed to mix.
Ahmed ibn Hanbal
ibn Hanbal believed that religious authority stemmed from knowledge, 'ilm, but he strictly limited 'ilm to two realms: Qur'an and sunna, the latter being transmitted in the form of hadith. ibn Hanbal believed that it was the duty of the hadith scholars, himself included, "'to guide the errant, warn against perdition, revive the dead with the Book of G-d, and use the Prophet's sunna to save the ignorant and damned'" (p. 108); in his mind, the hadith scholars were the one who had rightful "heirship to the Prophet" (p. 117). His rejection of the caliph's theological viewpoint was an extension of this belief that the caliph was simply a political figure, and as such had no claim to religious authority.
ibn Hanbal's views on authority wavered between disapproval and obedience. ibn Hanbal was an ascetic, who rejected anything he deemed "illegitimate" according to sunna; according to ibn Hanbal, "caliphal wealth was illegitimate" (p. 114) and thus state trappings were disapproved. However, ibn Hanbal also cited hadith which stated that "Muslims should submit to the authority of their leaders" so long as those leaders do not command disobedience to G-d, and even then, the disobedience should not extend to taking up arms (p. 125). Political authority rested solidly with the caliphate, but that authority did not extend to theology.
Bishr al-Hafi
al-Hafi, like ibn Hanbal, relied on sunna for religious guidance and "kept aloof from the state" (p. 155). However, unlike ibn Hanbal, he was critical of hadith and instead "devot[ed] himself to pious renunciation" (p. 155). He denied the religious authority of those who only learned hadith, yet did not "practice what they teach" (p. 168); for al-Hafi, authority came from experience. This is bolstered by his actions during the mihna; Cooperson relates that al-Hafi said that ibn Hanbal "is a worthier heir of the Prophet [than al-Hafi]" (p. 182) due to his willingness to be jailed and flogged for his beliefs. This statement also sheds light on al-Hafi's views on political authority; clearly, if he sides with ibn Hanbal, he disagrees with the caliph that the political office entitles him to religious authority as well. This is explained by al-Hafi's asceticism more generally, in that he was attempting to emulate the "renunciation ascribed to the Prophet and his Companions [which] suggested a preoccupation with the next world rather than the present one" (p. 154). If al-Hafi looked mainly toward the world to come, then he would simply fail to take an interest in the present world, to which the caliphate and all forms of political authority staunchly belong.
4. Paper
Why do we think that written documents connote greater security of information?
The main lesson to take from Kilito's book, The Author and His Doubles, seems to be that written documents are anything but secure. What is to stop an author from affixing his name to a work he did not compose? If the true author, the person who actually wrote the work, is still alive, he can denounce the plagiarism. Or, opposite, what is to stop an author from attributing his own writing to someone else altogether? If the someone else is alive, they can again say that they did not write this. But if the someone else is dead, then who is to say that they did not write it themselves.
But overall, why does it matter who really and truly wrote something? Kilito cannot remember the reason his French teacher gave to that question, yet he does believe that to know the author is a worthwhile endeavor. For what, then? In fiction writing, it cannot be necessary, because anyone can determine if a story is entertaining or worthwhile to read. In that case, the only useful thing in knowing the author is to obtain their other works, so the name is merely a reference to a certain category of books, namely those books that are written by X. The actual name and biography are inconsequential, because the only relevant information is that this person is good at writing stories.
In non-fiction writing, however, the author becomes more important, because the information contained within the book is no longer simply a story, and its purpose is no longer entertainment. Non-fiction writing purports to be true, and therefore opens up the possibility that it is lying. As such, the information in non-fiction writing needs to be judged as correct and useful, or not.
To judge information, it is necessary to know who the author is, simply because to judge the information on its own merit would require that every person have the ability to do so. Since this essentially means that every person would have to already know whether the information given was true or not, then the purpose of writing it down would be useless. Everything would be common knowledge, except that the human brain is probably not capable of containing such a vast amount of knowledge.
Authors become useful, then, when we need to judge a text's information without having the ability to judge it ourselves. We look to the author as an information guide, and so, instead of judging the information itself, we judge the author. If they were writing about physics, for example, we as readers would expect that the author was knowledgeable in physics, and so to know that this person was a tenured professor at a well-known and prestigious university would bolster their claims to knowledge and encourage the reader to judge them favorably. If judged favorably, the information is accepted; if judged to be unlearned, then the information the author transmits is rejected as well.
But again, what if one is not able to judge the authors? If one does not know their pedigree or their schooling, one can hardly be expected to know whether they are reliable in their information. This is where the Fihrist comes in. Of one poet , al-Nadim writes, "al-Khalidiyan edited his poetry at al-Mawsil, making it excellent: about three hundred leaves" (p. 373).
But if a book is put forth under a false author, then one does not have the correct biography with which to judge the contents. And so, the whole system is stopped, because if one author is attributed falsely, then who is to say that others are not also falsely attributed. There is no real mechanism to stop misattribution to or from an author who is not stil alive to protest. Just because it is printed does not mean it is true; falsehoods are still false when set in type. Nothing makes written words any more secure from fraud than speech. Absolutely nothing.
What it comes down to is trust in memory and trust in caretakers. With a work memorized by someone trustworthy, the work is only as secure as the person's memory. Should they forget any part, then the work is no longer secure. Even better would be to have the work memorized by two trustworthy individuals, who can check their memories against one another to ensure that neither is misrepresenting the work when recited. However, there could still arise an instance wherein neither one is certain about a particular passage.
In a written work, once the written text is verified, it can be stored. Written text cannot mutate itself and so it will preserve itself as long as environmental conditions allow. Of course there is always the possibility of a person editing it or changing it, but with proper care and subsequent storage, a copy can be made with no words changed and no confusion. The classic example of this is scriptures, which have been passed down in written form quite unchanged for centuries now. Unfortunately, both the Hebrew and Arabic scripts are not sufficient to fully express which words are meant in any given sentence, and it seems that this has caused problems in reading the Qur'an, at least, although any further analysis of this phenomenon is beyond my knowledge. Any discontinuity in scriptural transmission orally, before they were written down, is also beyond my knowledge.
3. Camels
Sizgorich transmits an idea from Somers, in which "it is frequently the case that individuals develop an understanding of their own place in the cosmos by imagining themselves as actors in an ongoing narrative" (24). Islam saw itself as a continuous tradition. It built upon earlier Judeo-Christian faith traditions in accepting their prophets and the believers as 'people of the Book,' placing themselves in the larger Judeo-Christian Biblical narrative.
Sizgorich: "texts of 'hybrid' lineage, part jahiliyya-style Bedouin war narrative, part pious tale in the late antique tradition"
writing about Islamic history with an assumption of total discontinuity ignores the context of the community. The revelation may have been completely discontinuous, an entirely unique and inimitable text, but the world into which that revelation was given had history already that interacted with and molded any community.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
2. Melvin Chapman existed.
Melvin Chapman existed. He was a real person. He was my grandfather. I know this because I know people who knew him. There is a lineage of reliable sources-- in fact, there are multiple reliable lineages, because I know many people who knew him personally. All of these people agree that he existed, and have many stories and characterizations that agree and corroborate one another. I know that none of them are mentally disabled or insane, and on the whole their memories are quite good. Also corroborating the memories are census records-- the names and ages and locations match with stories that I have been told. Thus, I believe in his existence although I have no memories of my own to attest to that. Melvin Chapman lived.
Objectively, I cannot prove this. It relies on the assumption that I myself am a reliable source to be trusted. I would like to believe that I am, but a skeptic would not take that at face value. As such, we have reached an impasse.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
1. Ibn Khaldun is civilized.
Ibn Khaldun's idea of civilization boils down to the idea of human social organization. This would mean that a non-civilization is a society that has no organization.
In the end, it is all just semantics. Call it civilization, call it society, but the context of the conversation informs the meaning. Use of the word civilization has heavy connotations relating to Greek Civilization and Roman Civilization and Civilizations in the classical sense. This, to me, supposes that a civilization necessitates having a philosophical tradition. This then extends to a value system defining a civilization. My background is in religious studies, therefore yes, I believe that religions can blossom into civilizations. Catholic civilization is defined by valuing the Pope and his rulings, Jewish civilization by valuing Torah learning, to simplify. But one can function in more than one civilization. Maimonides lived within Islamic civilization in Egypt, and most likely participated in that civilization, by paying taxes under the Islamic system and speaking and writing in Arabic. However, he also participated in Jewish civilization through his insights into Jewish law. However, one can expand the definition of a civilization beyond simply a religious definition. These civilizations are defined by their institutions.
The boundaries of what is and is not a civilization are fuzzy. The comparison that comes to mind is the difference between a language and a dialect; the famous saying is that a language is a dialect with an army and a navy. A dialect gets recognized as a language when it has the political will to enforce the designation. Perhaps a civilization is any political organization that is able to enforce the designation. However, this does not sit quite right because often a society does not get designated a civilization until it is long gone (think Maya and Aztec). Perhaps, then, a civilization only becomes so when it generates enough of a cultural impact to be remembered. If so, it hardly seems relevant to discuss current civilizations, because the designation cannot be allotted until the civilization is long gone and its impact can be quantified.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)