The Epistemic Status of Mystical Experience in Ibn ʻArabī’s Legal Reasoning

Abstract

Arguably the most influential Sufi thinker in Islam, Muḥyī l-Dīn Ibn ʻArabī (d. 638/1240), views revelatory knowledge and mystical experience, what he terms ‘spiritual unveiling’ (kashf), as a form of continuing divine revelation that is bequeathed to the spiritual elite or saints (awliyā’). As the self-proclaimed ‘Seal of Saints’ (Khātam al-awliyā’), who is the mystical heir to the wisdom of Muḥammad, the ‘Seal of Prophets’ (Khātam al-anbiyā’), Ibn ʻArabī has a unique method of deriving legal rulings. Not only does he emphasise the inner aspect (bāṭin) of all rituals and forms of worship, like many of his sufi counterparts; he, rather uniquely, extracts legal rulings from mystical experience. This study investigates the importance of revelatory experience and spiritual unveiling in the thought of Ibn ʻArabī and his followers. It then looks at what role these play in Ibn ʻArabī’s jurisprudence and, specifically, how he determines that hands should be raised (rafʻ al-yadayn) during formal prayer (ṣalāt) because he was commanded to by the Prophet Muḥammad in a mystical vision. By considering this issue, the deeper question of the epistemic status of mystical experience for Ibn ʻArabī, and the intricate interplay between mystical experience and textual evidence in his thought is explored.

1. Introduction

Many scholars are of the opinion that Muḥyī l-Dīn ibn ʻArabī (d. 638/1240) can legitimately contest the mantle of the foremost mystical thinker in Islam (ʻAfifī 1939; Izutsu 1983; Corbin 2008; Landau 2008). Part of the reason for his abiding influence is that, while some regard him as a saint, others regard him as a heretic who went too far in arrogating the right to interpret sacred texts capriciously (al-Suyūṭī n.d.; Ghurāb 1981; Chodkiewicz 1993a; 1993b; Johansen 1996, p. 108; Corbin 1997; Hirtenstein 1999, pp. 24–25; Knysh 1999; Abū Zayd 2002, p. 135). Of course, the accusation that he predicated exegesis of the Qur’an and prophetic traditions on personal inclination in his two most important works, al-Futūḥāt al-makkiyya and Fuṣūṣ al-ḥikam, was robustly denied by Ibn ʻArabī (Schimmel [1975] 1978, 265; Ibn ʻArabī 2002, p. 47) and his disciples.

Ṣadr al-Dīn al-Qūnawī (d. 673/1274) was Ibn ʻArabī’s direct disciple and the first to write a brief commentary on the Fuṣūṣ (Dagli 2016, p. 5). He was then followed by his foremost student, Mu’ayyid al-Dīn al-Jandī (d. 700/1300?) (Ḥājjī Khalīfa 1941, vol. 2, p.1261; Baghdādī 1941, vol. 2, p. 484; Kaḥḥāla 1993, p. 943), who remained in his company for ten years (al-Jandī 1982, p. 12), and who wrote a more detailed commentary at his teacher’s behest (al-Jāmī 1858, pp. 648–50; Todd 2014, p. 25). Al-Jandī’s commentary is ‘generally considered the formative work in … [the] genre’ (Todd 2014, p. 23). Al-Jandī’s student, ʻAbd al-Razzāq al-Qashānī, also wrote a commentary on the Fuṣūṣ, which was more technical than its predecessor (Lala 2019), as did his student, Dāwūd al-Qayṣarī (d. 751/1350) (Rustom 2005, pp. 51–64). This constitutes the unbroken chain of commentaries from the earliest commentators of the Fuṣūṣ. Other commentators who exerted a profound influence on the tradition include the philosophical commentator of the Fuṣūṣ, ʻAlā’ al-Dīn ʻAlī ibn Aḥmad al-Mahā’imī (d. 835/1432), who was immensely important for the dissemination of Ibn ʻArabī’s ideas in the Indian subcontinent (Chittick 2007, p. 520). And arguably the most influential propagator of Ibn ʻArabī’s thought, Nūr al-Dīn al-Jāmī (d. 898/1492) (Chittick 1992, p. 227). The other notable later commentator of the Fuṣūṣ was ʻAbd al-Ghanī al-Nābulusī (d. 1143/1731), who has been described as one of the foremost early modern thinkers in Islam (Akkach 2012; Sukkar 2014, p. 142).

All these thinkers agree that Ibn ʻArabī received the Futūḥāt and the Fuṣūṣ in revelatory experiences, which is why this study begins by detailing Ibn ʻArabī’s revelatory experiences in his own words and what these early exegetes made of them. It will then explain how these thinkers accepted the authority of revelatory experience in their own works whilst simultaneously justifying them as the fruit of intense labour. Subsequent to this, the bases of Islamic law will be interrogated and the role of revelatory experience in them. This is due to the fact that Ibn ʻArabī does not stop at relying on his revelatory experiences and spiritual unveiling (kashf) for matters of philosophical theology, he even extends their authority to issues of jurisprudence (fiqh). Finally, the mechanics of spiritual revelation in Ibn ʻArabī’s jurisprudence will be illustrated through the issue of raising hands in prayer (rafʻ al-yadayn).

2. Methodology

This study will make ample use of the primary texts to interrogate Ibn ʻArabī’s own assessment of his revelatory experiences and what his earliest exegetes thought of them. Through this approach, the thinkers will be allowed to ‘speak for themselves’, which circumvents the pitfalls of erroneous analyses and personal biases as the work of Toshihiko Izutsu has demonstrated (Albayrak 2012, pp. 77–78). The same approach of going back to the texts will be employed to exhibit how the early exegetes of Ibn ʻArabī’s works sought to strike a delicate balance between legitimising spiritual authority in their own writings whilst also attributing them to rigorous training. After this, a brief survey of the bases of Islamic law will be adduced as well as the role of spiritual inspiration in legal matters, as presented by jurists who accepted them. This will offer a broad overview of the nexus of spiritual inspiration and Islamic jurisprudence before proceeding to analysis of Ibn ʻArabī’s implementation of it in the matter of raising hands in prayer (rafʻ al-yadayn). In order to scrutinise Ibn ʻArabī’s use of revelatory experience in this matter, the same approach of meticulously following Ibn ʻArabī’s logic through close textual analysis adopted by Ronald Nettler (2003) in Sufi Metaphysics and Qurʾānic Prophets will be employed. This will allow Ibn ʻArabī’s legal methodology to emerge organically as well as revealing his legal objectives without the need to resort to potentially biased secondary sources.1

3. Revelatory Experience and Spiritual Authority in Philosophical Theology

Ibn ʻArabī claimed that his two most enduringly popular works, the Futūḥāt and the Fuṣūṣ were not his works at all. While the former was dictated to him ‘by God through the angel of inspiration’ (Schimmel [1975] 1978, p. 265), the latter was given to him by the Prophet Muḥammad in a dream, as Ibn ʻArabī discloses in his introduction to the Fuṣūṣ:

Surely I saw the Messenger of God, peace be upon him, during glad tidings (mubashshira) that I was shown in the last ten days of the month of Muḥarram of the year 627 AH in the protected city (maḥrūsa) of Damascus. In his hand, peace be upon him, was a book. He said to me, ‘This is the book, Fuṣūṣ al-ḥikam, take it, and disseminate it among people so they profit from it’. So I replied, ‘We hear and obey God and His Messenger, and those in charge of us (ūli l-amr minnā)’. I thus realised his wish, made sure my intention was sincere, and exerted all my effort exclusively to propagating this book, just as the Messenger of God, peace be upon him, had outlined it to me (kamā ḥaddath lī), without adding or taking anything from it.

(Ibn ʻArabī 2002, p. 47)

Ibn ʻArabī’s proclamation that he took the book the Prophet Muḥammad gave him without adding anything to it or omitting anything accommodates the possibilities that he transmitted it verbatim or that he expressed it in his own way (Austin 1980, pp. 17–18). Even though some scholars take this to mean that the Prophet Muḥammad dictated (imlā’) the Fuṣūṣ to Ibn ʻArabī and he faithfully transcribed it (Ṭuʻaymah 1985, pp. 221–22), most commentators of the Fuṣūṣ hold the opposing view. Indeed, his subsequent statement that he wishes to be ‘an interpreter’ (mutarjim) and not ‘someone who judges’ (mutaḥakkim) the text (Ibn ʻArabī 2002, p. 47) adds credence to the assertion that he implicitly accepted the text would necessarily pass through the filter of his own comprehension and language.

The interpreters of the Fuṣūṣ understood from this that the transmission from the Prophet Muḥammad to Ibn ʻArabī was not the same as that which Ibn ʻArabī employed for the dissemination of the Fuṣūṣ to people. One of the most eloquent and important promulgators of Ibn ʻArabī’s mystical outlook, al-Jāmī (Rizvi 2006, pp. 58–87), explains in his commentary of this passage that, by ‘interpreter’, Ibn ʻArabī meant that ‘God, be He exalted, wanted it [the Fuṣūṣ] to be propagated in my language (ʻalā lisānī)’, and God did not want Ibn ʻArabī to be ‘someone who judges’ the text, ‘by capriciously incorporating additions and omissions’ (al-Jāmī 2009, p. 46). Al-Mahā’imī states explicitly that the Fuṣūṣ had to percolate through Ibn ʻArabī’s own intellectual lattice because the Prophet Muḥammad ‘cast’ (ilqā’) it into his heart and gave it to him through ‘spiritual effusion’ (nafath) (al-Mahā’imī 2007, p. 66).

However, commentators agree that, even though the presentation of the Fuṣūṣ may not be a verbatim transcription from the Prophet Muḥammad, Ibn ʻArabī was still ‘inspired’ to disseminate the correct meaning of the text. Writer of one of the most popular Arabic commentaries of the Fuṣūṣ, and widely regarded as the most influential propagator of Ibn ʻArabī’s thought during the Ottoman period, al-Qayṣarī (Rustom 2005, pp. 51–64), declares that it was the Prophet Muḥammad who gave Ibn ʻArabī the Fuṣūṣ, but it was ‘God [who] inspired (alhama) him with the meanings and the wisdom that was contained within the book’ (al-Qayṣarī 1955, p. 315; Peacock 2019, p. 19). This is seconded by the Ḥanafī follower of Ibn ʻArabī, Muṣṭafā ibn Sulaymān Bālīzādeh (d. 1069/1659), who claims that Ibn ʻArabī was inspired by God in every aspect of the exposition of the Fuṣūṣ (Bālīzādeh 2002, p. 14).

In fact, Fitzroy Morrissey writes that for al-Qūnawī, who was not only Ibn ʻArabī’s adopted son and spiritual heir, but also the only person whom he gave a license (ijāza) to transmit all his works, including the Fuṣūṣ (Todd 2014, p. 17), ‘to say that Ibn ʻArabī was given the Fuṣūṣ by the Prophet in a vision is to say that Ibn ʻArabī reached “the Muhammadian station”’ in which he received a ‘mystical, quasi-revelatory experience of God Himself’ (Morrissey 2020, p. 771). This claim is supported, as Morrissey notes (Morrissey 2020, p. 789), by Ibn ʻArabī’s own assertion that he ‘cast down [in the pages of the Fuṣūṣ] only what was cast in to my heart (yulqī ilayya), and I revealed in these lines only what was revealed (yunzil/ yunazzil)2 to me’ (Ibn ʻArabī 2002, p. 48). While the latter term is commonly associated with divine revelation in the Qur’an,3 the interpreters of the former term also associate it with revelation.

If al-Jāmī is a little ambiguous in his commentary that this term means Ibn ʻArabī was given the Fuṣūṣ from ‘the secrets of the prophets, peace be upon them’ (al-Jāmī 2009, p. 46), al-Mahā’imī is far clearer when he claims that it was bestowed on the Sufi from ‘the divine plane’ (al-ḥaḍra al-ilāhiyya) (al-Mahā’imī 2007, p. 67).4 Bālīzādeh even contrasts this kind of ‘divine inspiration’ (al-ilhām al-raḥmānī) with ‘satanic inspiration’ (al-ilqā’ al-shayṭānī) (Bālīzādeh 2002, p. 14).5 It is, nevertheless, al-Qayṣarī who makes the distinction between these two facets—revelation of the secrets of the prophets, and revelation from the divine plane—explicit, when he elaborates that even though the revelation of the Fuṣūṣ to Ibn ʻArabī was from ‘the plane of divine unity’ (ḥaḍrat al-dhāt al-aḥadiyya),6 it was the secrets of the prophets from ‘the plane of Muḥammad’ (al-ḥaḍra al-Muḥammadiyya) (al-Qayṣarī 1955, p. 316). This means that even though Ibn ʻArabī did receive revelation from God, the content of the revelation was different to the content received by the Prophet Muḥammad because what the Prophet received was directly from the plane of divine unity, whereas what Ibn ʻArabī received was through the mediation of the plane of Muḥammad. It was thus an exposition of the revelation that Muḥammad was given and not ‘new’ revelation. Ibn ʻArabī was evidently aware that the ‘revelation’ he received had to be distinguished from the revelation of the prophets, which is why he moves quickly to differentiate between the Fuṣūṣ and prophetic revelation with the proclamation: ‘I am not a prophet or messenger, but I am an heir (wārith) …’ (Ibn ʻArabī 2002, p. 48).

Morrissey mentions that the earliest followers of Ibn ʻArabī, al-Qūnawī, and his disciple, al-Jandī, whose commentary of the Fuṣūṣ and views on existence left an indelible effect on the tradition (Dagli 2016, pp. 95–104), openly speak of their own ‘analogous “revelatory” experience to his’ (Morrissey 2020, p. 771) because ‘in order to understand the meanings contained in the book, one needs to attain the same kind of “revelatory” mystical experience as Ibn ʻArabī has attained’ (Morrissey 2020, p. 773).7 This means that their relationship to Ibn ʻArabī is the same as his to the Prophet Muḥammad, each inheriting the spiritual legacy of his predecessor. Yet, Morrissey believes that as the tradition developed, future generations of exegetes seemed less willing to acknowledge their own revelatory experience ‘or to cite analogous examples of visions of the Prophet and Ibn ʻArabī, and more of an inclination to “intellectualise” Ibn ʻArabian thought’ (Morrissey 2020, p. 792). While this certainly seems to be the case for ʻAbd al-Razzāq al-Qāshānī (d. 736/1335?) who, in recent studies, has been shown to be as important in the dissemination of Ibn ʻArabī’s ideas as he has been in the intellectualisation of them (Lala 2019, p. 192). This lurch towards intellectualisation, which has clear overtones of apologetics (Morrissey 2020, p. 793), and is intended to broaden the appeal of Ibn ʻArabī’s brand of mysticism (Lala 2019), does not completely dissociate itself from the revelatory authority of interpretation.

Even al-Qāshānī writes that Ibn ʻArabī’s vision was an ‘exalted inspiration’ (ilqā’ subbūḥī) (al-Qāshānī 1892, p. 7). ‘Subbūḥ’ is a term commonly employed for God alone as it denotes ‘being far removed from, or free from, everything evil’ (Lane 2003, vol. 4, p. 1291). It was also ‘spiritual effusion’ (nafath rūḥī) from God, continues al-Qāshānī, as if to affirm its divine origin (al-Qāshānī 1892, p. 7). But this form of revelatory experience is not reserved for Ibn ʻArabī alone, al-Qāshānī elaborates elsewhere that God speaks to the ‘spiritual elites (ʻārifūn) from the world of secrets and obscurity (ʻālam al-asrār wa-l-ghuyūb) (al-Qāshānī 1995, p. 105). He adduces textual proof for this from Q26:193–94 in which God declares that ‘The Trustworthy Spirit (al-Rūḥ al-amīn)8 has revealed it to your heart’, even though the singular pronoun (qalbik, ‘your heart’) clearly refers to the Prophet Muḥammad. Al-Qāshānī elaborates that ‘the Trustworthy Spirit’ is a synonym for the universe and all things in it, through which God reveals His secrets to the gnostics (al-Qāshānī 1995, pp. 105–6).9 He thus draws a direct parallel between the revelation of the Prophet Muḥammad and that of the spiritual elites. Nor is he alone.

In his commentary of this passage, al-Qayṣarī invokes the prophetic tradition (ḥadīth): ‘The prophets do not bequeath gold and silver coins (dīnār wa-dirham), but they bequeath knowledge, so whoever takes from it, has surely taken a great fortune (ḥaẓẓ wāfir)’ (Ibn Mājah n.d., vol. 1, p. 81; al-Tirmidhī 1975, vol. 5, p. 48; al-Baghawī 1983, vol. 1, p. 276; Ibn Abī Shayba 1997, vol. 1, p. 55; al-Dārimī 2000, vol. 1, p. 361; Ibn Ḥanbal 2001, vol. 36, p. 45; al-Bayhaqī 2003, vol. 3, p. 222; Abū Dāwūd 2009, vol. 5, p. 485; al-Bazzār 1988–2009, vol. 10, p. 80). He writes,

So the knowledge of the saints … is not earned (ghayr muktasab), nor does it benefit from transmitted sources (naql). Rather, it is taken directly from God, the source of lights (maʻdin al-anwār), the fountainhead of secrets (manbaʻ al-asrār). Therefore, what comes to them by way of transmission from the things they explain merely attests to what they already know. And that which comes to them by way of intellectual proofs (al-dalā’il al-ʻaqliyya) is a means of instructing those who are veiled [from such knowledge] (al-maḥjūbūn), and is a way to put them at ease—a mercy from God for them. Since not everyone is capable of receiving spiritual unveiling (kashf) and spiritual witnessing (shuhūd), and their preparedness (istiʻdād)10 is not able to attain the secrets of existence (asrār al-wujūd). So for them is a portion of prophethood and messengerhood through the decree of inheritance, not directly (bi-l-aṣāla), just as for independent practitioners of Islamic law (mujtahidūn) from the exoteric scholars (ʻulamā’ fī l-ẓāhir) is a portion of religious law. This is why they continue to reveal meanings from the unseen (al-maʻānī al-ghaybiyya) and divine secrets.

(al-Qayṣarī 1955, p. 318)

There are many important points to note from this illuminating passage. Al-Qayṣarī explains the knowledge that the saints have is not through study but is bestowed directly from God. This is something Ibn ʻArabī himself repeatedly avers as he approvingly cites the ‘ecstatic’ mystic, Abū Yazīd al-Bisṭāmī (d. 261/874?) (Mukti 2000, pp. 11–32), who said, ‘All of you took your knowledge like a dead person (receiving it) from another dead person. But we took our knowledge from the Living One who never dies’ (Morris 2019). The revelatory experience through which the saints receive knowledge is not restricted to Ibn ʻArabī but is an ongoing process, according to al-Qayṣarī, through which the religion is propagated and, more importantly, repristinated, which is why ‘they continue to reveal meanings from the unseen (al-maʻānī al-ghaybiyya) and divine secrets’.

Since the knowledge comes directly from God, ‘the source of lights (maʻdin al-anwār), the fountainhead of secrets (manbaʻ al-asrār)’, in their revelatory experience, it is untainted by faulty interpretation and human error. This does not mean that transmitted sources, like the Qur’an and the traditions of the Prophet, have no place. Quite the contrary. Al-Qayṣarī explains that revelation corroborates the saints’ revelatory experiences. Lest there should be confusion that revelation is relegated to a supporting role, al-Qayṣarī explains that the saints are the inheritors of the prophets and the messengers. Therefore, their revelatory experience and the knowledge they acquire therefrom, is subordinate to the revelation of the prophets and messengers. This is their ‘portion of prophethood and messengerhood’, which they get through inheritance and ‘not directly (bi-l-aṣāla)’ from God. There is, then, the same dichotomy mentioned above between the reception of the knowledge, which is directly from God in the saints own revelatory experience, and the content of the knowledge, which is subordinate to the revelation of the prophets and must conform to their revelation.

Al-Qayṣarī also affirms the legitimacy of ‘intellectual proofs (al-dalā’il al-ʻaqliyya)’, but whereas the revelatory experience of saints stands alone, even if the content is subordinate and must conform to the revelation of the prophets, intellectual proofs perform only a predominantly supporting role.11 They have essentially two functions: It allows the saints to express and explain their revelatory experiences in rational terms so that people who have not had such experiences would be able to comprehend the knowledge of the saints. This seems to be al-Qayṣarī’s way of explaining and legitimising the increasing intellectualisation of Ibn ʻArabī’s thought (Morris 1987, pp. 5–6; Todd 2014; Lala 2019; Morrissey 2020). In addition, intellectual proofs have a protective purpose and are ‘a way to put them at ease’, by insulating the saints against accusations of heresy from people who have no comprehension of their knowledge.

At the end of the passage, al-Qayṣarī appears to divide the revelation of the prophets, that constitutes the religion in its entirety, into the spiritual or inner aspect, which is the inheritance of the saints, and the formal aspect of religious law, which is given to ‘independent practitioners of Islamic law (mujtahidūn) from the exoteric scholars (ʻulamā’ fī l-ẓāhir)’. These ‘independent scholars’ derive legal maxims directly from the transmitted sources of the Qur’an and prophetic traditions (Ibn ʻĀbidīn n.d.); in that sense, they inherit the formal application of religious knowledge. This seems a somewhat half-hearted attempt to preserve the enterprise of exoteric scholars, for if the saints derive their knowledge directly from God in their revelatory experience, they are not dependent on the exoteric scholars, as we shall see in the next section. Al-Qayṣarī here is legitimising the practice of jurisprudence whilst relegating it to secondary status behind the knowledge of the saints. This means that, whilst it is legitimate, and the scholars who practice it have a share of the inheritance from the prophets in the formal aspect of the religion, it is nevertheless incomplete and secondary to the knowledge of the saints because that revelatory knowledge is complete and is supported by the deliverances of transmission and intellectual enterprise, of which jurisprudence is but one.

The idea that the revelatory experience of the saints is a continual process that accommodates perpetual interaction between God and humankind, and a constant reinterpretation of transmitted texts, is not new. Harry Wolfson believes that Philo (d. 50 CE) was the first to introduce this concept. He believed that the inner meaning of the sacred texts was revealed to the saints. This ‘Unwritten Law’ was purveyed through the Holy Spirit in ‘a new kind of revelation, a progressive revelation’ that allowed perpetual repristination of the religion (Wolfson 1961, p. 5). Gershom Scholem explains that this is a phenomenon that is intrinsic to the esoteric movements in all Abrahamic religions. All these religious traditions regard the saints as providing an essential link between the prophets of old and the common folk of their respective eras. He explains:

Revelation, for instance, is to the mystic not only a definite historical occurrence which, at a given moment in history, puts an end to any further direct relation between mankind and God. With no thought of denying Revelation as a fact of history, the mystic still conceives the source of religious knowledge and experience which bursts forth from his own heart as being of equal importance for the conception of religious truth. In other words, instead of the one act of Revelation, there is a constant repetition of this act. This new Revelation, to himself or to his spiritual master, the mystic tries to link up with the sacred texts of the old; hence the new interpretation given to the canonical texts and sacred books of the great religions.

(Scholem 1995, p. 28)

Scholem underscores that the content of the revelatory experience of the saints is subordinate to the revelation of the prophets, and performs no more than an exegetical function. This, as has been illustrated, is concordant with what al-Qayṣarī asserts. Other later proponents of Ibn ʻArabī’s thought also agree, and extol the unique revelatory knowledge of the saints.

One of these, al-Nābulusī (d. 1143/1731), author of a highly influential commentary on the Fuṣūṣ (Lane 2001), explains that the spiritual authority of Ibn ʻArabī is not restricted to him or the few select saints before him because sainthood is not an individual rank but a tier that persists. In his commentary of the passage in which Ibn ʻArabī declares that he is not a prophet of a messenger, al-Nābulusī writes,

This is because there are four ranks (marātib), and they are domains (dawā’ir), with some being more specialised than others. So the first is the rank of faith (īmān) and submission (islām), and that is the largest domain that encapsulates the rest of the domains. The second is the degree of sainthood (wilāya), and it is the middle domain. The third is the degree of prophethood (nubuwwa), and the fourth is the degree of messengerhood (risāla).12 So all of them are from the first rank, and the second rank is above the first because of sainthood, and the third is above the second because of prophethood, and the fourth is above the third because of messengerhood. So a messenger is [also] a prophet, a saint, and a believer. And a prophet is [also] a saint and a believer. And a saint is just a believer, not a prophet or a messenger. Thus the saint and the prophet share sainthood, which is the knowledge that the prophets, peace be upon them, bequeath.

(al-Nābulusī 1886, p. 13)

Al-Nābulusī confirms that the revelatory experience of the saints is a rank that is above the basic rank of faith, yet it does not meet the rank of the prophets. He reiterates this point in his commentary on the chapter of Shīth (Seth) where he says that revelation

Is only for the prophets, peace be upon them, and those inheritors from the nation (umma) who have a share of this rank, but they do not have it to the special degree that the prophets, peace be upon them, have it due to their rank of prophethood.

(al-Nābulusī 1886, pp. 59–60)

The inheritors from this nation, then, who are the saints that inherit knowledge from the prophets, also have revelatory experiences, but the content of their revelation is subordinate to, and thus must conform to, the revelation of the prophets. Al-Nābulusī, in the same way as al-Qayṣarī before him, affirms the subsistence of sainthood and the revelatory experience that comes from it. Indeed, he even states that his light emanates from the light of Ibn ʻArabī (Sukkar 2014, p. 144), thereby connecting his spiritual insight to that of Ibn ʻArabī.

In his introduction to the Fuṣūṣ, al-Jāmī unambiguously explains that there are different types of revelation: The formal revelation that is transmitted verbatim to humankind by the prophets, like the Qur’an from the Prophet Muḥammad, and the revelation received by the prophets and saints, which are not verbatim transmissions. He explains that while the former has ceased with the Prophet Muḥammad the latter has not. Indeed, he declares that ‘God will seal (sa-yakhtam) with them [ i.e., His ringstones (fuṣūṣ) and texts (nuṣūṣ) of wisdom] “absolute sainthood” (al-wilāya al-muṭlaqa) for whomever is most worthy of it from His saints’ (al-Jāmī 2009, p. 39). Two things are worthy of note in al-Jāmī’s assertion: (1) The door of sainthood is not closed, and (2) saints receive revelation as well as prophets, even though the content of their revelation is not like the prophets’ formal revelation.

Elsewhere, al-Jāmī delineates specific states of gnosis that are traversed by these saints and spiritual elites. The first is the longing for God only and nothing besides Him, which fuels the primary perplexity (ḥayra)13 that sets the aspirant on the spiritual path. The second is the perception of the cosmos as a phenomenal manifestation of the divine Names of God. This affords the intermediate gnostic cognisance of the connection between the One and the many. The final stage is the ultimate realisation that phenomenal multiplicity dissolves into divine unity (al-Jāmī 2005, pp. 180–81). Implicit in this designation is al-Jāmī’s own journey towards this ultimate state, and the spiritual authority that comes along with it. It is also significant that the impetus for the spiritual journey, and its ultimate destination, are both metaphysical perplexities that are divorced from intellectual endeavour.

As the foregoing elucidates, the followers of Ibn ʻArabī, in the wake of al-Qūnāwī and al-Jandī, still extolled the superiority of spiritual knowledge, and they granted it ultimate authority. Nevertheless, due to the move towards intellectualisation aimed at broadening Ibn ʻArabī’s appeal and defending his thought (Lala 2019), which is manifestly an intellectual enterprise, the rational approach had to be justified. This is why the authors move away from meticulously describing their revelatory experiences and instead state their primary aim of clarifying the difficult aspects of and recondite terms within the Fuṣūṣ, which is predicated on their intellectual endeavours. Al-Qāshānī, thus, says that his purpose is to ‘explain the arcane terms of the book’ (al-Qāshānī 1892, p. 3). He was able to do this because, prior to progressing to the mystical sciences, he had already mastered the intellectual ones to the extent that he could not be surpassed (Chittick 2007, p. 518).

His student, al-Qayṣarī, too, talks about revealing the secrets that are bestowed upon Ibn ʻArabī in his revelatory experiences (al-Qayṣarī 1955, p. 5), even though he also claims that God revealed for him the lights of His secrets (al-Qayṣarī 1955, p. 4). But, despite this, he presents a technical commentary because the ‘the knowledge of these secrets is predicated on knowing the foundations and principles [of religion]’ (al-Qayṣarī 1955, p. 4). Again, al-Qayṣarī is known to have read the exoteric sciences before he progressed to the mystical ones. Zayn al-Dīn al-Munāwī (d. 1031/1621) writes that al-Qayṣarī completely committed himself to the study of traditional Islamic sciences after which he progressed to the intellectual sciences until he ‘distinguished himself’ (bara‘a) in them, and only after this did he advance to the mystical ones (al-Munāwī 1989, p. 4:284).

Al-Mahā’imī mounts a spirited and lengthy defence of Ibn ʻArabī at the beginning of his commentary of the Fuṣūṣ based on rational argumentation (al-Mahā’imī 2007, pp. 13–51). He writes that Ibn ʻArabī was well-versed in the exoteric sciences, including Qur’anic exegesis (tafsīr), prophetic traditions (ḥadīth), jurisprudence (fiqh), principles of jurisprudence (uṣūl), theology (kalam), and other sciences (al-Mahā’imī 2007, p. 45). Since al-Mahā’imī was a polymath and master of the exoteric sciences himself, but specialised in Qur’anic exegesis (al-Mahā’imī 2008, p. 6; Zubair and Rehman 2019, p. 109), he seems to have had an affinity with Ibn ʻArabī on this basis. He mentions repeatedly that even though Ibn ʻArabī was a master of all exoteric sciences (al-Mahā’imī 2007, pp. 13–51), and wrote around 500 works on these disciplines (al-Mahā’imī 2007, p. 41),14 he wrote a commentary of approximately half the Qur’an (up to Q18:65) which ran to an astonishing ninety-nine volumes (al-Mahā’imī 2007, p. 40). This was in addition to a shorter commentary that he penned which was eight volumes, as well as other exegetical works on specific chapters of the Qur’an (al-Mahā’imī 2007, p. 40).

Al-Mahā’imī uses Ibn ʻArabī’s extraordinary productivity as another proof of his sainthood, exclaiming that such a scholarly output ‘is not from human endeavour (al-kasb al-insānī), rather it is an exalted gift and a divine boon (al-wahb al-rabbānī)’ (al-Mahā’imī 2007, p. 40). He derides Ibn ʻArabī’s critics saying that ‘it does not behove the exotericists who do not understand any of it [his mystical works to pass judgement]. This is because [comprehending them] is exclusive to those whom God, the Exalted, has chosen from among the sincere (al-ṣiddīqūn)’ (al-Mahā’imī 2007, p. 43). It is clear that although al-Mahā’imī has intensely studied Ibn ʻArabī’s oeuvre, he predicates ultimate authority for comprehension of his works on his own spiritual insight.

Al-Nābulusī, in the same vein as his predecessors, writes in the introduction of his commentary that he aimed to clarify the complex parts of the Fuṣūṣ because without it the work and obscure commentaries on it could only benefit the people of ‘spiritual tasting’ (ahl al-adhwāq) (al-Nābulusī 1886, p. 2). Unsurprisingly, al-Nābulusī also started out early and vigorously studied the exoteric sciences, such as Qur’an and prophetic traditions, before he moved on to mysticism (Sukkar 2014, p. 138). Al-Jāmī goes as far as to write in the introduction of his commentary that he really wanted to study the Fuṣūṣ but ‘I could not find a teacher’ who would ‘explain its difficult terms, nor a guide’ (al-Jāmī 2009, p. 39). So he set about studying it in isolation, reading it many times (al-Jāmī 2009, p. 39). He was able to do this because, like other commentators, he had a solid grounding in the exoteric sciences of prophetic traditions, and Arabic language and grammar (al-Jāmī 2003, p. 5).

What emerges is in the ‘mainstream’ commentary tradition, as opposed to the Shaṭṭārī mystical tradition (Morrissey 2020, pp. 792–93), the commentators walk a fine line between legitimising the work of Ibn ʻArabī through their careful technical approach, and their rigorous exoteric education which is the basis of that; and their spiritual authority that emanates from their rank as part of the spiritual elite. This is because a move towards intellectualisation of the Fuṣūṣ must needs interrogate the intellectual credentials of its proponents. Yet we see that time and again these credentials are secondary to the spiritual rank that the exegetes of the Fuṣūṣ possess. This tension, between advertising the role intellectual enterprise plays, but then relegating it to secondary status behind spiritual authority, is conspicuously seen in al-Qayṣarī’s introduction in which he speaks of presenting a technical commentary about the linguistic complexities of the Fuṣūṣ even though ‘God revealed for him the lights of His secrets’. Or in the introduction of al-Nābulusī, who also acknowledges that his is a technical commentary whilst simultaneously asserting that the only reason he felt compelled to write it was so people other than those of ‘spiritual tasting’ would comprehend it. This intimates that (a) he was of the people of ‘spiritual tasting’ who understood it, and (b) the people of ‘spiritual tasting’, due to their spiritual authority, had a special comprehension of the Fuṣūṣ.

Josef van Ess explains that human appeal had to be to spiritual authority when dealing with the nature of God and His relationship with the cosmos (as the Fuṣūṣ does) since it has to transcend the uncertainties and probabilistic approach of jurisprudence (Van Ess 2006, p. 175). The followers of Ibn ʻArabī invoke the ultimate authority of spiritual unveiling even as they acknowledge that their approach is intellectual. What the next section shows is that Ibn ʻArabī extends this spiritual authority to cover even jurisprudential issues. As mentioned previously, the intellectual approach, especially predicated on a thorough grounding in the exoteric sciences, had an unmistakable apologetic function. George Makdisi explains that scholars of works like these converted it to ‘juridical theology’ in order to make it in ‘in conformity with the nomocracy of Islam’ (Makdisi 1990). In addition, the visible allusions to the mastery Ibn ʻArabī’s followers had of exoteric sciences before they studied mysticism is, again, an evident means of parrying accusations of heterodoxy and a way of legitimising their commentaries of the Fuṣūṣ to the uninitiated. Makdisi notes that the mystical thought of any Sufi who had not mastered all the foundational exoteric sciences was considered ‘suspect’ on that basis (Makdisi 1981, p. 84). This line of attack is pre-empted by the followers of Ibn ʻArabī’s thought.

The foregoing shows that Ibn ʻArabī and his followers affirm that ultimate authority in philosophical theology comes from spiritual unveiling. Whether they openly attribute this to their own revelatory experience, like al-Qūnawī and al-Jandī, or they make more nuanced references to their spiritual insight, like al-Qāshānī, al-Qayṣarī, al-Mahā’imī, al-Jāmī, and al-Nābulusī. Where Ibn ʻArabī differs from most of his followers, however, is in his application of spiritual insight for matters of jurisprudence. For while his followers, despite their affirmation of the ultimate authority of spiritual insight, do not extract legal rulings from it, and, indeed, many were prominent adherents of and specialists in established legal schools,15 Ibn ʻArabī extends his spiritual authority to issues (masā’il) of legal practice.

4. Bases of Islamic Law

4.1. Qur’an and the Example of the Prophet Muḥammad (sunna)

Ibn ʻArabī was an independent practitioner of Islamic law (mujtahid) who used his spiritual unveiling to extract the true meanings of the Qur’an and example of the Prophet Muḥammad (sunna) (Ghurāb 1981, p. 7). Such was his adherence to the literal letter of the sacred texts (Sands 2006, p. 41) that he was assumed by many to be an adherent of the hyperliteralistic Zahirite school of jurisprudence. Ibn ʻArabī, nevertheless, denied that he was a Zahirite (Ghurāb 1981, pp. 7–8; Ibn ʻArabī 1996, p. 48). Part of the reason for this misapprehension was that, in addition to taking a very literal approach to the law, what Morris calls Ibn ʻArabī’s ‘consistent and thorough “literality” … with which the Shaykh treats the profuse descriptions given by the Qurʾan and ḥadīth’ (Morris 1987, p. 9), Ibn ʻArabī also restricted the intellectual derivations of the principles of jurisprudence (uṣūl al-fiqh).

The sources from which Islamic legal rulings are obtained are the Qur’an and the example of the Prophet Muḥammad (sunna); the latter is the source from which the majority of rulings are obtained. There are then the sources ‘through which the law may be derived’ (Hallaq 2005, p. 1). These are the consensus (ijmāʻ) and analogical reasoning qiyās). Naturally, ‘primacy of place within the hierarchy of all these sources is given to the Quran, followed by the Sunna’ (Hallaq 2005, p. 1). There is no difference of opinion about the sources from which legal rulings are derived; the same, however, is not the case for the sources through which they may be derived. The reason for this is that these involve human reasoning, and how much of a role this should be afforded in legal theory is much contested.

4.2. Consensus (ijmāʻ)

Consensus, assert legal theoreticians, is a case in which there is agreement that is determined ‘retrospectively, on a technical legal ruling, thereby rendering it as conclusive and as epistemologically certain as any verse of the Quran and the Sunna of the Prophet’ (Hallaq 2005, p. 1). There is, nevertheless, debate about the members who make up the consensus, as well as what constitutes a consensus. It is traditionally defined as ‘the unanimous agreement of the mujtahidūn [independent legal evaluators] of the Muslim community of any period following the demise of the Prophet Muḥammad on any matter’ (Kamali 2011, p. 230). However, there are considerable problems in establishing a consensus, as Mohammad Kamali notes,

The gap between the theory and practice of ijmāʻ is reflected in the difficulty that many jurists have acknowledged to exist in implementing its theoretical requirements. The absolute terms of the classical definition of ijmāʻ have hardly been fulfilled by conclusive factual evidence that would eliminate all levels of ikhtilāf [disagreement]. Ijmāʻ has often been claimed for rulings on which only a majority consensus had existed.

(Kamali 2011, p. 229)

Due to the impossibly high bar of complete agreement amongst legal theoreticians, the original definition of unanimous agreement was replaced with majority agreement. For there could only be unanimous agreement, argued the celebrated legal theorist and eponym of one of the four major legal schools, Muḥammad ibn Idrīs al-Shāfiʻī (d. 204/820), on the five pillars of Islam and on matters about which the Qur’an and example of the Prophet Muḥammad were explicit and conclusive (Kamali 2011, pp. 228–29). Ibn ʻArabī restricts the remit of consensus by reverting it to its original definition of unanimity. Any disagreement would thus invalidate a consensus opinion (Morris 1990, pp. 54–55). Moreover, Ibn ʻArabī constrains establishment of consensus even further by restricting the agreement of the members who would constitute a consensus to just the Companions of the prophet Muḥammad (Ṣaḥāba), instead of all independent evaluators of law (mujtahidūn). Finally, as if to underscore the impossibility of reaching such a consensus, he makes It a stipulation that all Companions must register their explicit agreement on a certain issue in order for a consensus to be established. The silence of any Companions would mean that there is no consensus (Morris 1990, pp. 54–55). In essence, with these stipulations, Ibn ʻArabī demands the same level of epistemological certainty from consensus as we get from the Qur’an and example of the Prophet Muḥammad since it is held to be on a par with these two sources.

4.3. Analogical Reasoning (qiyās)

The fourth basis of Islamic legal theory is analogical reasoning in which an original ruling (aṣl) is applied to a new case (farʻ) on the basis of the reason for the ruling (ʻilla) (Hallaq 2005, p. 83). This is clearly the domain in which human rationality can most freely be applied as different reasons for rulings may be determined by various scholars. Legal theoreticians classify this as a mere application of law to new scenarios that were not present in the time of the Prophet Muḥammad, as Kamali notes,

Since it is essentially an extension of the existing law, the jurists do not admit that extending the law by the process of analogy amounts to establishing a new law. Qiyās is a means of rediscovering, and perhaps of developing existing law.

(Kamali 2011, p. 265)

Ibn ʻArabī vehemently criticises the overreach of analogical reasoning in order to extract numerous rulings that the religion has purposefully remained silent about, thereby making religious duties more onerous on people (Morris 1990, p. 52; al-Badrī 2016, p. 132). What is more egregious, for Ibn ʻArabī, is that this is done on the basis of uncertain legal reasoning, and then given the same rank as rulings obtained directly from the Qur’an and example of the Prophet Muḥammad (Morris 1990, p. 52; al-Badrī 2016, p. 132). Ibn ʻArabī recognises the legitimacy of analogical reasoning, and, indeed, employs it himself, but only in necessary and very limited cases (and usually in order to derive a more lenient ruling) whilst acknowledging its probabilistic nature (Morris 1990, p. 52; al-Badrī 2016, pp. 130–34). Analogical reasoning is a last resort and, due to its probabilistic intellectual basis, is not operative when the certainty of divine unveiling is present (al-Badrī 2016, pp. 129–30).

The widescale application of consensus to include majority decisions of scholars instead of the unanimous agreement of the Companions, and the rampant use of analogical reasoning to derive rulings that were left unmentioned by design has the cumulative effect, Ibn ʻArabī believes, of despiritualising religion from its original intentions, which was largely to serve as a religion with general parameters that was individualistic in the minutia (Winkel 1997, pp. 44, 82; Lala 2022). Ibn ʻArabī rejects analogical reasoning in matters where spiritual unveiling provides rulings. This is because spiritual unveiling re-establishes the spirituality of the legal ruling, or as Ibn ʻArabī puts it: It allows crossing over from the outer (ẓāhir) legal imperative to the inner (bāṭin) divine wisdom (Winkel 1997, pp. 41–44; Lala 2022). His criticism of exoteric legal theorists is due to the basis of their analogical reasoning being completely devoid of the spiritual purpose of the original ruling, which makes their reasoning irremediably flawed (Winkel 1997, pp. 41–44). In addition, spiritual unveiling is not probabilistic in nature, as opposed to analogical reasoning. It is this spiritual certainty, based on revelatory experience gained at the Muḥammadan station, that Ibn ʻArabī contrasts with the despiritualised, probabilistic, exoteric jurisprudence of legal theorists (Morris 1990, pp. 45–55). Nevertheless, before scrutinising the role this plays in Ibn ʻArabī’s thought, we need to look at revelatory experience and spiritual authority as a source of law.

5. Revelatory Experience and Spiritual Authority in Jurisprudence (fiqh)

The Yemeni scholar, Muḥammad ibn ʻAlī al-Shawkānī (d. 1250/1834), broaches the topic of spiritual inspiration (ilhām) in his work on the principles of Islamic law, Irshād al-fuḥūl. He begins by noting that some Sufis and scholars allow it as a source of law, but the central question is: ‘Is it permissible to have conviction in it [only] and not on proof?’ (al-Shawkānī 1999, vol. 2, p. 199) He first mentions the renowned jurist, Badr al-Dīn al-Zarkashī (d. 794/1392), who remarked,

Surely a group from among the later scholars chose to depend on spiritual inspiration … so they said, ‘Spiritual inspiration is a notion of the Truth from the Truth (al-Ḥaqq)’.16 And they said, ‘From among its signs are that the heart is gladdened by it (yanshariḥ lah al-ṣadr), and it is not contradicted by someone else with a competing notion’.

(al-Shawkānī 1999, vol. 2, p. 199)

Al-Zarkashī mentions three hallmarks of true spiritual inspiration according to the Sufis: (1) It is connected to God in some way, (2) it alleviates the difficulty that the mystic was experiencing on account of the issue, and s/he feels relief and rejoices on account of it, and (3) the command of that inspiration would not be reversed by someone else’s contradictory inspiration. Al-Shawkānī then cites the polymath mystic, Abū ʻAlī al-Tamīmī (d. 580/1185), who legitimises the role of spiritual inspiration on the basis of three Qur’anic verses: Q8:29, ‘O you who believe, if you have taqwā, He will provide you with a way to distinguish [between truth and falsehood];’ Q65:2, ‘Whoever has taqwā, God will make a way for him;’ and Q2:282, ‘Have taqwā, and God will teach you’ (al-Shawkānī 1999, vol. 2, p. 199). In each of these three verses, spiritual inspiration of a kind that solves a problem, or guides to the correct course of action, or helps to see the right way is linked to having taqwā. This term, and various derivations of it, feature over 250 times in the Qur’an, and it has been classified by Fazlur Rahman as one of the most important concepts in the Qur’an (Esposito 2003, pp. 314–15). Although it is generally translated as fear of God, Izutsu explains that it is a particular kind of fear that does not conform to the general denotation (Izutsu 2002, pp. 195–202). Al-Shawkānī concludes that because spiritual inspiration is connected to this unique fear of God, only those who satisfy this criterion are eligible to receive it. He thus apprises the reader that

these kinds of religious knowledge are attained only by servants [of God] if their souls are pure and their hearts have surrendered to God, the Exalted, by forsaking those things that are prohibited, and by obeying what has been commanded.

(al-Shawkānī 1999, vol. 2, p. 199)

He then cites the Sufi master, Shihāb al-Dīn al-Suhrawardī (d. 632/1234), who argues for the legitimacy of spiritual inspiration based on two incidents mentioned in the Qur’an. The first is when Moses is born and God declares ‘We inspired the mother of Moses, saying, “Suckle him and when you fear for him, then cast him in the river, and do not worry nor grieve for We will return him to you and make him of the messengers.”’ (Q28:7). The second is when God inspires bees to live in the mountains and trees, etc. (Q16:68). These ‘revelations’ (waḥy), we are told, ‘are nothing but spiritual inspiration’ (ilhām) (al-Shawkānī 1999, vol. 2, pp. 199–200). In both cases, God inspires His creation to the right course of action.

Al-Shawkānī then moves from Qur’anic proofs for the legitimacy of spiritual inspiration to prophetic ones. He mentions the tradition of the Prophet Muḥammad in which he states that his companion and the man who would become the second caliph, ʻUmar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb (d. 24/644), was inspired. He then recited the verse in which God swears by ‘the soul and He who perfected it. Then He inspired it (alhama-hā) with what is wrong for it and what is right for it’ (Q91:6–7). Al-Shawkānī notes that the Prophet Muḥammad has thus explicitly informed us that spiritual inspiration is something that ‘God bestows upon whomever He wills from among His servants’, including from this nation (al-Shawkānī 1999, vol. 2, p. 200). In order to limit the number of potential candidates, however, he then cites the enormously influential mystic, Abū Ḥāmid al-Ghazālī (d. 505/1111), who says,

Consulting the heart is only [acceptable] when the jurist consult has allowed it. As for when he has forbidden it, it is obligatory to refrain from it. Then, also, we do not say that this is [appropriate] for every heart, for many a heart is neurotic (muwaswas) and prohibits everything, and many a heart is indulgent (mutasāhil) and rushes off to do everything, so these two [types of] hearts are not given consideration. Only the heart of the scholar that is imbued with the subtle meanings of situations (daqā’iq al-aḥwāl) by God is given consideration.

(al-Shawkānī 1999, vol. 2, p. 201)

The first condition that has to be met for the spiritual inspiration to be deemed legitimate, says al-Ghazālī, is that it cannot oppose established laws or what the jurist consult pronounces as permissible or impermissible. Even if this hurdle is cleared, all hearts are still not capable of receiving spiritual inspiration because some people are extremely neurotic and would end up prohibiting everything, whilst others would go to the other extreme and deem everything to be permissible. Only the scholar who has knowledge of the inner dimension of the religion, which al-Ghazālī alludes to with the phrase ‘subtle meanings of situations (daqā’iq al-aḥwāl)’, and who is given this knowledge by God Himself, is empowered to receive spiritual inspiration. Ibn ʻArabī abides by all these stipulations, never contravening established laws in his analyses, and always predicating spiritual unveiling on preparedness (istiʻdād) that is only bestowed on the spiritual elite (see above).

To further curtail the application of spiritual inspiration, al-Shawkānī writes that it cannot be the sole source of a legal ruling (al-Shawkānī 1999, vol. 2, p. 201). Ibn ʻArabī’s careful use of textual evidence and revelatory experience on the issue of raising hands in prayer (rafʻ al-yadayn) shows that he adheres to this maxim (see Section 7). In addition, the spiritual inspiration received by Ibn ʻArabī was through a command issued by the Prophet Muḥammad himself, which has serious implications for the weight attached to it. As Morrissey (2020) notes, there was reticence about dismissing Ibn ʻArabī’s vision because it was of the Prophet Muḥammad. Al-Shawkānī treats the vision of the Prophet Muḥammad as a special subcategory of spiritual inspiration. He writes,

A group of scholars mentioned … that it is a legally binding proof (ḥujja) and one has to abide by it. And it has been said that it is not a legally binding proof and a religious command cannot be proven thereby, even though a vision of the Prophet, peace be upon him, is veridical and Satan cannot take on his form. This is because someone who is sleeping is not able to assume [the responsibility] of remembering what he was told. And it is said that he should act on it, as long as it does not contradict established law.

(al-Shawkānī 1999, vol. 2, p. 202)

Al-Shawkānī gives both sides of the argument. Those who argue for acting on a command issued by the Prophet Muḥammad in a dream do so based on the tradition: ‘Whoever sees me in a dream, … it is as though he has seen me whilst awake, for Satan cannot take on my form’ (al-Bukhārī 1983, vol. 9, p. 33; Muslim ibn al-Ḥajjāj n.d., vol. 4, p. 1775; Abū Dāwūd 2009, vol. 7, p. 371; Ibn Mājah n.d., vol. 2, p. 1284; Abū Yaʻlā 1984, vol. 6, p. 41; al-Bazzār 1988–2009, vol. 17, p. 299; Ibn Ḥanbal 2001, vol. 6, p. 347; Ibn Rāhwayh 1991, vol. 1, p. 287; al-Tirmidhī 1975, vol. 4, p. 535; al-Ṭayālisī 1999, vol. 4, p. 170; Ibn Ḥibbān 1988, vol. 13, p. 417).17 Those who disagree, do so because a person is not liable for things s/he sees in a dream, nor is s/he responsible for remembering them accurately. Crucially, none of the scholars call into question the vision of the Prophet Muḥammad itself due to this rigorously authenticated (ṣaḥīḥ) tradition. Al-Shawkānī, whilst also maintaining that the vision of the Prophet Muḥammad is real, raises a further issue:

It is quite obvious that religious law which God has prescribed for us through the words of our Prophet, peace be upon him, has been completed by God, the Mighty, the Exalted, as He said [in the Qur’an], ‘Today I have perfected your religion for you’ [Q5:3]. And no proof has come to us which indicates that seeing him after his death, peace be upon him—if he says something or does something—is legally binding evidence and proof. Indeed, God took him after he completed what He prescribed for this nation through his words, and there is no need for anything else for this nation when it comes to matters of religion. And surely the [prophetic] mission has come to an end regarding propagating religious laws … So by this you know that even if he takes hold of someone who is sleeping, nothing he sees him, peace be upon him, saying or doing, is a legally binding proof for him, still less for anyone else in this nation.

(al-Shawkānī 1999, 2:205)

Al-Shawkānī explains that, were there a need for the Prophet Muḥammad to appear in the dreams of believers and issue commands, it would mean that the religion was incomplete, which would contradict Q5:6. So because God has announced in the Qur’an that He has perfected the religion, a necessary corollary of this declaration is that no further legal rulings need to be issued and therefore even if someone sees the Prophet Muḥammad and he gives a direct command, it is not binding. Nevertheless, as the foregoing has amply shown, there is much disagreement on this issue. Ibn ʻArabī’s complex reaction to the command of the Prophet in his dream shows that he takes a highly nuanced approach to it, as we shall see. He agrees that the religion is complete, as attested by his constant reference to Qur’anic verses and prophetic traditions, but he nevertheless accommodates spiritual unveiling in his jurisprudence, as only it can offer certainty (yaqīn) and not probabilistic intellectual reasoning.18

6. Jurisprudential Spiritual Authority in Ibn ʻArabī’s Thought

Ibn ʻArabī explains that certainty (yaqīn) can only derive from spiritual unveiling, in contradistinction to the rulings generated by consensus and analogical reasoning, which is why he severely restricts the former and reserves the latter for extreme cases. Even if claims of certainty are made by exotericists in their interpretation of the Qur’an and the example of the Prophet Muḥammad, this is only the first level of certainty, or ‘knowledge-based certainty’ (ʻilm al-yaqīn) that is ‘intellectual and logical knowledge gained through [sacred] texts’ (al-Ḥakīm 1981, p. 1249). This means that, while Ibn ʻArabī validates the enterprise of acquiring knowledge from sacred texts, he restricts the level of certainty that may be derived from this because it is based on the intellect, which is innately limited. Based on the Qur’anic bifurcation of ‘knowledge-based certainty’ (ʻilm al-yaqīn) and ‘sight-based certainty’ (ʻayn al-yaqīn) (Qur’an, 102:5–7), Ibn ʻArabī delineates four levels of certainty.

While Qur’anic exegetes, like the Persian Shafi’ite jurist and commentator, Nāṣir al-Dīn al-Bayḍāwī (d. 719/1319), generally differentiate between the aforementioned two levels on the basis of the first being knowledge that is derived from the intellect, and the second being knowledge that is derived from sight, with the latter affording a higher level of certainty (al-Bayḍāwī 1997, vol. 5, p. 334); Ibn ʻArabī does not subscribe to this simple intellectualism/empiricism duality. He agrees that the first level is intellectual knowledge, which is the understanding of exoteric scholars of sacred texts. But this gives way to the higher second level, which is the ‘sight-based knowledge’ of the gnostics. This is knowledge that is only afforded the people of ‘spiritual witnessing’ (mushāhada). It is ‘spiritual empiricism’, says Ibn ʻArabī, to which the Qur’anic term ‘sight-based knowledge’ (ʻayn al-yaqīn) refers. He writes,

There is, nevertheless, a subtle meaning in ‘witnessing’ (ʻiyān), and that is why the one who spoke directly to God (al-Kalīm, i.e., Moses) asked for observation (muʻāyana). And this is ‘sight-based certainty’ (ʻayn al-yaqīn), which superior to ‘knowledge-based certainty’ (ʻilm al-yaqīn).

(Ibn ʻArabī 1948, p. 18)

Ibn ʻArabī refers to Q7:143 in which Moses petitions God to reveal Himself to him. The verse runs:

And when Moses came to the time and place appointed by Us and his Lord had spoken to him, he asked, ‘My Lord! Show [Yourself] to me, that I may look at You’. He replied, ‘You will not be able to bear seeing Me, but look at the mountain, if it stands still in its place, then you will be able to bear seeing Me’. So when his Lord revealed Himself to the mountain, He sent it crashing down, and Moses fell unconscious. When he came to, he declared, ‘Praise be to You! I repent to You, and I am the first of the believers’.

Ibn ʻArabī explains that the only reason Moses asked for God to show Himself to him, even though he was in direct communication with Him because God did not speak to him through the angel Gabriel, was because there is a subtle difference between knowing something with certainty and seeing it. Although Moses had no doubt about God; indeed, he was conversing directly with Him, he appreciated that seeing God was a higher level, and so made a request to see Him. This is the level of the ‘spiritual elites’ (ʻārifūn) who have the certainty of witnessing, as opposed to exoteric scholars, who only have the certainty of their interpretation of the sacred texts.

However, Ibn ʻArabī goes further and adds two more levels. After ‘sight-based certainty’, comes ‘Truth19-based certainty’ (Ḥaqq al-yaqīn). He clarifies the difference between this level and the first two in the following way:

If you ask: ‘What is “Truth-based certainty” (Ḥaqq al-yaqīn)?’ We would say, ‘[It is] what is acquired of knowledge by means of proof, but only after ‘sight-based certainty’. And if you ask: ‘What is “sight-based certainty?”’ We would say, ‘It is that which “spiritual witnessing” (mushāhada) and “spiritual unveiling” (kashf) bequeath at the beginning, but it comes after “knowledge-based certainty”’.

(Ibn ʻArabī 1999, 2:132)

‘Truth-based certainty’, Ibn ʻArabī explains, is also intellectual certainty, in the same way as ‘knowledge-based certainty;’ however, it provides a far higher level of certainty because it is only gained after ‘sight-based certainty’.

The final stage is ‘reality-based certainty’ (ḥaqīqat al-yaqīn) which is ‘seeing Him, be He exalted, in things’ (al-Ḥakīm 1981, p. 1249). This means it is seeing beyond the façade of phenomenality and having cognisance of the one reality behind it all. Al-Ḥakīm, in the course of her elucidation of this concept in Ibn ʻArabī’s thought, adduces the example of a gnostic ‘who witnesses himself in every celestial sphere because in every celestial body is a form, so he ponders over this form [and realises] that it has one soul, and it is the soul of Zayd, for instance. And this is witnessing God in the creation’ (al-Ḥakīm 1981, p. 1249). Ibn ʻArabī thus deems seeing the divine unity behind creational multiplicity as the highest level of certainty.

It is clear that the exotericists do not have the same authority as the spiritual elite, according to Ibn ʻArabī, because their limit is the first level of certainty which, although it does yield certainty, is far short of the certainty bestowed upon the spiritual elite. This is observed in Ibn ʻArabī’s approach to jurisprudence of which the issue of raising hands in prayer (rafʻ al-yadayn) is a paradigmatic example.

7. Revelatory Experience and Spiritual Authority in Resolving the Issue of Raising Hands in Prayer (rafʻ al-yadayn)

In the chapter dedicated to this issue, Ibn ʻArabī, in typical fashion, begins by citing the differences of opinion and the bases for them:

Scholars disagree about the issue of raising hands in formal prayer (ṣalāt), I mean, about its legal ruling, and about the positions and times they should be raised, and about the extent to which they should be raised, that is, what is the point to which they should be raised?

(Ibn ʻArabī 1999, vol. 1, p. 534)

Ibn ʻArabī sets out all the areas of difference vis à vis this issue in his opening statement:

• What is the ruling of raising hands?
• When and where should they be raised?
• How far should they be raised?

His approach is very meticulous and is reminiscent of a legal text, as Morris observes when he remarks that the ‘exoteric’ discussions in Ibn ʻArabī’s treatment of these issues ‘could have been taken almost verbatim from works on fiqh, kalām, etc., employing the vocabulary and types of reasoning ordinarily used in each of those religious disciplines’ (Morris 1990, p. 45).

Ibn ʻArabī proceeds by painstakingly citing the legal opinions on each of these points. First, he tackles the ruling of raising hands:

As for the legal ruling, there are those who say, ‘Raising hands is a practice of the Prophet Muḥammad (sunna) in prayer’. There are others who say, ‘It is obligatory (farḍ)’. And those who hold this view are split into groups: So there are those regard it as obligatory when saying ‘Allah is the Greatest’, (Allāh akbar) to begin the formal prayer (takbīr al-iḥrām) only.20 And there are others who regard it as obligatory when beginning the formal prayer, when bending down for the bow (rukūʻ), and when rising up from bowing. And there are others still who regard it as obligatory at these two times and positions, and also when prostrating (sujūd).

(Ibn ʻArabī 1999, vol. 1, p. 537)

Ibn ʻArabī’s systematic legal approach, as well as his deep knowledge of different schools of thought (madhāhib, sing. madhhab), is on full display in his analysis of the first point of difference. He then advances to the next one: When and where should they be raised? He writes,

As for the times and positions that hands should be raised, there are those who say [it should be done] when saying ‘Allah is the Greatest’ to begin the formal prayer, when bending down for the bow, and when rising up from bowing. There are others who say it should be done when going into prostration and rising from prostration, and that is based on the prophetic tradition transmitted by Wā’il ibn Ḥujr. And there are others still who say that it should be done when rising from the sitting position after two prayer cycles (rakʻatayn, sing. rakʻa) have been completed, and that is based on the tradition transmitted by Mālik ibn Ḥuwayrith from the Prophet, peace be upon him.

(Ibn ʻArabī 1999, vol. 1, p. 537)

Ibn ʻArabī showcases, not only his knowledge of the different opinions regarding this issue, but also the legal proofs for them. The view that hands should be raised when beginning the formal prayer, when bowing and rising from the bow, and when prostrating and rising from prostration, is based on the tradition transmitted by Wā’il ibn Ḥujr (d. 50/670?) who states,

I looked closely at the formal prayer of the Messenger of God, peace be upon him, to see how he prayed. (He said:) The Messenger of God, peace be upon him, stood up and faced the direction of the Kaʻba (qibla), he then said, ‘God is the greatest’ and raised his hands until they were parallel to his ears, then [after lowering them] he placed his right hand on his left. Whenever he wanted to bow, he raised them [his hands] in like manner, then he placed his hands on his knees. And whenever he raised his head from bowing, he raised them [his hands] in like manner. And whenever he prostrated, he placed his head in the place between his hands. He then sat and spread out his left foot, and placed his left hand on his left thigh, and he kept his right elbow aloft from his right thigh. He then closed his two fingers and made a circle with them, and I [the narrator i.e., ʻĀṣim ibn Kulayb] saw him [the authority i.e., Bishr ibn al-Mufaḍḍal] say, ‘Like this’, and Bishr made a circle with his thumb and middle finger, and signalled with his forefinger.

(Ibn Mājah n.d., vol. 1, p. 281; ʻAbd al-Razzāq 1983, vol. 2, p. 68; Ibn al-Jārūd 1988, vol. 1, p. 62; al-Dārimī 2000, vol. 2, p. 856; Ibn Ḥanbal 2001, vol. 31, p. 150; Abū Dāwūd 2009, vol. 2, pp. 45–46)21

These are the most numerous transmissions on Wā’il ibn Ḥujr’s authority. Yet it is clear that he does not mention raising hands before and after prostrating. Ibn ʻArabī, by only alluding to the transmissions that state the Prophet Muḥammad also raised his hands at these times (Ibn Mājah n.d., vol. 1, p. 286; Ibn Khuzayma 2003, vol. 1, p. 368), even though they are far fewer in number, shows that he is well-versed in the principles of prophetic tradition analysis which state that if more detail is provided from reliable sources (in this case that the Prophet Muḥammad also raised his hands before and after prostrating), they should be accepted (al-Ṭībī 1997, vol. 2, p. 456).

Ibn ʻArabī says the opinion that, in addition to these times, hands should be raised after two prayer cycles are completed, is based on the prophetic tradition transmitted by Mālik ibn Ḥuwayrith (d. 74/693?). Ibn Ḥuwayrith says that he saw the formal prayer of the Prophet Muḥammad and he raised his hands ‘when he raised his head from bowing, when he prostrated, and when he raised his head from prostration, to the point that [his hands] were parallel to the tips of his ears’ (al-Nasa’ī 1986, vol. 2, p. 205; al-Ṭaḥāwī 1994a, vol. 15, p. 57; Ibn Ḥanbal 2001, vol. 24, p. 366). Again, these traditions are in the minority, and most of the narrations on the authority of Ibn Ḥuwayrith agree with Wā’il ibn Ḥujr and do not mention the Prophet Muḥammad’s raising his hands when he went into and emerged from prostration,22 let alone stating that he raised his hands after two prayer cycles. Yet Ibn ʻArabī believes that this was an addition provided by a reliable source and thus must be accepted.23

Having stated the spectrum of opinions on the first two areas of this issue and the legal bases for them, Ibn ʻArabī gives his own opinion, much like his exoteric counterparts among the jurists. However, whereas jurists mention their opinion and explain why they prefer it to others based on the proofs from the prophetic traditions,24 Ibn ʻArabī offers an entirely different basis for his opinion:

As for me, I saw the Messenger of God, peace be upon him, in a vision of glad tidings (mubashshira) and he commanded me to raise my hands when saying ‘Allah is the Greatest’ to begin the formal prayer, when I go to bow and when I get up from bowing.

(Ibn ʻArabī 1999, vol. 1, p. 537)

This short declaration illuminates many aspects of Ibn ʻArabī’s spiritual legalism. The first is that he adds his vision as a basis of the ruling in the same way as he did with the narrations of Wā’il ibn Ḥujr and Mālik ibn Ḥuwayrith. Second, Ibn ʻArabī uses the same term, ‘glad tidings’ (mubashshira), as he uses in the Fuṣūṣ when he claimed that he saw the Prophet Muḥammad and he gave the Fuṣūṣ to him. Morrissey writes that this term is used by al-Jandī to denote how God gives glad tidings to His friends in a revelatory experience that occurs whilst one is awake and ‘not in a dream’ (bi-ghayr al-ru’yā) (Morrissey 2020, p. 787). The difference between Ibn ʻArabī’s declaration in the Fusūṣ and here is that he explicitly states that he saw the Prophet Muḥammad in a ‘vision’ (ru’yā) and not whilst he was awake. Nevertheless, since ‘glad tidings’ have the general denotation of a veridical dream, coupled with the fact that a vision of the Prophet Muḥammad can only be of him (Morrissey 2020), Ibn ʻArabī does not question the command.

Since Ibn ʻArabī was only given the command to raise his hands at specific points of the formal prayer by the Prophet Muḥammad and he did not actually see him performing them, the command only answers one of the three areas he delineated: The ‘when’. It does not answer the ‘how’, or the ruling of raising hands. Ibn ʻArabī now turns his attention to these questions:

As for the extent to which hands should be raised, there are those who say ‘[They should be raised] up to the shoulders’. There are others who say, ‘[They should be raised] up to the ears. And there are others still who say, ‘[They should be raised] up to the chest’. And for the proponents of each opinion is a saying of the Prophet that has been transmitted. The most reliable of them is the one that states [they should be raised] up to the shoulders. And the tradition stating [they should be raised] up to the ears is more reliable than the one stating it should be up to the chest.

(Ibn ʻArabī 1999, vol. 1, p. 537)

Not only does Ibn ʻArabī provide the three points of view about the extent to which hands should be raised (up to the chest, shoulders, or ears), he even classifies the traditions in terms of reliability. He judges the traditions that advocate raising hands up to the shoulders to be most reliable, and those that direct raising them to the chest to be least reliable. This classification would make it seem like Ibn ʻArabī is of the opinion that hands should be raised to the shoulders, yet this is not what he advises because he says that each opinion is predicated on transmissions that the Prophet Muḥammad raised his hands to that point (Ibn ʻArabī 1999, vol. 1, p. 537). In light of this, he writes,

As for my juristic position regarding it, it is that his [Prophet Muḥammmad’s] act necessitates choice because the prophetic traditions that have been related show that he did it to different extents, so whichever one the worshipper adopts, it suffices him.

(Ibn ʻArabī 1999, vol. 1, p. 537)

This highlights one of the most abiding principles in Ibn ʻArabī’s legal thought: Leniency and choice. Ibn ʻArabī reasons that the Prophet Muḥammad purposefully raised his hands to different points so that it would allow laxity and choice for his followers. This allows individual interpretation and choice because ‘for Ibn ʻArabī differing individual interpretations of scripture (and ultimately, the full variety of intimate beliefs more generally) are a positive natural result of the profound divine intentions’ (Morris 1990, p. 55).

Latitude is a source of mercy that conforms to the general divine intentions, but it is particularly felt in formal prayer because Ibn ʻArabī believes formal prayer is mercy:

Know that … the name ‘ṣalāt’ … is attributed to God with the meaning of being comprehensive (shāmil), and being comprehensive means mercy (raḥma). So God has described Himself as the Merciful (al-Raḥīm), and He has described His servants as such …. Thus the Messenger of God, peace be upon him, said, ‘Surely God only has mercy on those from His servants who are merciful’.25 … And ṣalāt is attributed to humans with the meaning of mercy and supplication (duʻā’), and specific acts that are known through the law.

(Ibn ʻArabī 1999, vol. 1, p. 479)

Ibn ʻArabī explains that the primary denotation of formal prayer (ṣalāt) is mercy. This applies when the term is used for God, humans, even angels, animals, and other things (Ibn ʻArabī 1999, vol. 1, p. 479). It is only applied to formal prayer secondarily. This means that everything connected to formal prayer must have mercy associated with it, whether it be in the laxity that is allowed in its acts as compassion, or its execution in difficult circumstances. He gives the example of the prominent Companion of the Prophet Muḥammad, ʻAbd Allāh ibn ʻUmar (d. 73/693?), who never offered supererogatory (nafl) prayers whilst travelling, remarking with admiration:

So look at the legal thought of ʻAbd Allāh ibn ʻUmar, may God be pleased with him, when he realised that God wanted to lighten the load for his servants by lifting [the obligation of] half the formal prayer from them!26 He did not deem offering supererogatory prayers to be in conformity with the objective of God in that matter, so this is ‘spiritual legal comprehension’ (tafaqquh rūḥānī).

(Ibn ʻArabī 1999, vol. 1, p. 479)

Ibn ʻArabī commends Ibn ʻUmar for his ‘spiritual legal comprehension’ because he did not just understand the formal aspect of the law, he understood the inner divine intention in issuing it, which was one of mercy and leniency. This inner objective would be thwarted if he offered supererogatory prayers whilst he was travelling, which is why he refused to do so. He thus crossed over from the outer (ẓāhir) legal ruling to the inner (bāṭin) divine wisdom (Chodkiewicz 1983; Winkel 1997, pp. 41–44; Lala 2022), which is what constitutes ‘spiritual legal comprehension’. Leniency and choice, then, because it is a manifestation of the mercy that is the primary meaning of ṣalāt, reflects Ibn ʻArabī’s legal opinion on the extent to which hands should be raised. However, his recommendation is different: ‘It is more appropriate (awlā) to raise hands to the ears, but it behoves one to raise them to the chest, then parallel to the shoulders, and up to the ears, thereby combining all three positions’ (Ibn ʻArabī 1999, vol. 1, p. 537).

Ibn ʻArabī differentiates between the legal ruling, which is one of choice and leniency, and the optimal act, which is one that is comprehensive. Since it is possible to abide by all the actions of the Prophet Muḥammad by simply raising hands to the chest, then to the shoulders, and finally up to the ears, Ibn ʻArabī advises that this would be the best thing to do. The inner aspect of the law, therefore, necessitates choice and the ease that comes with that, which is a manifestation of the divine objective of mercy. However, Ibn ʻArabī is no antinomian. Quite the contrary. His recommendation is that all the actions of the Prophet Muḥammad should be followed if possible. And this is observed in Ibn ʻArabī’s practical life; even his most inveterate critics could not question his orthopraxic rigour (Johansen 1996, p. 108; Mayer 2008, pp. 258–87; De Cillis 2014, p. 169).

What is interesting is how consistently he applies this principle:

Likewise [is the case] for the positions and times [hands should be raised], which can be extended to include all of them: When saying ‘Allah is the Greatest’ to begin the formal prayer, when bending down for the bow and when rising up from bowing, when going into prostration and when rising up from prostrating, and when rising from the sitting position after two prayer cycles. [Raising hands at all these times and positions] is not detrimental [to traditions that do not mention those times and places] because they have been related [in other traditions].

(Ibn ʻArabī 1999, vol. 1, p. 537)

Ibn ʻArabī reiterates his recommendation that the optimal course of action is one that brings together all the acts of the Prophet Muḥammad. He thus advocates raising hands at each point when it has been related that the Prophet Muḥammad raised them. This means that, even though the Prophet Muḥammad only commanded him to raise his hands at the beginning of the formal prayer and when he went into and emerged from bowing, Ibn ʻArabī believes one should raise hands at other times, too. He clearly views this as following the direct command that was issued to him, as well as all the prophetic traditions that have been related. There is a seamless interplay between the knowledge emanating from his revelatory experience and his spiritual understanding of textual evidence from the prophetic traditions. The absolute certainty granted by his spiritual vision (Morris 1990, p. 57), correlates with, and, indeed, corroborates, the most numerous traditions on this issue which state that hands should be raised at the beginning of the formal prayer and at either side of bowing. Yet, this does not mean that other traditions should be rejected. Ibn ʻArabī staunchly defends acting on as many prophetic traditions as possible, and the legal comprehensiveness that issues therefrom. He writes,

And nothing has been related that this [i.e., raising hands at all the aforementioned times] would invalidate the formal prayer, so nothing has been related that would contradict that [hands should be raised at all the times the traditions mention]. And the purpose of the tradition, transmitted by Ibn Masʻūd and al-Barā’ ibn ʻĀzib, is that he [the Prophet Muḥammad], peace be upon him, raised his hands when saying ‘Allah is the Greatest’ to begin the formal prayer once only and he did not exceed this, that is to say, he raised his hands one time and he did not do it twice when beginning the formal prayer. And it is possible they meant by what they said that he [the Prophet Muḥammad] did not exceed this i.e., he did not raise them again in the rest of the formal prayer, but there is no explicit text [to support this claim]. Whereas the addition that he raised his hands when going into and rising from bowing is proven, as well as at other times. And the addition of an upright and trustworthy source is accepted, so it is more appropriate (awlā) to raise them at all the places that have been related.

(Ibn ʻArabī 1999, vol. 1, p. 537)

Ibn ʻArabī claims, if there are any traditions that delineate the Prophet Muḥammad raised his hands at a certain point in his formal prayer, all of them should be followed since following a tradition that states the Prophet Muḥammad raised his hands when prostrating, for instance, does not contradict a tradition that affirms he raised them when bowing. It is thus possible to act on all the traditions. However, there are traditions that specify the Prophet Muḥammad only raised his hands to begin the formal prayer and did not repeat it. Ibn ʻArabī is aware of these traditions and even namechecks their authorities: The prominent Companion, ʻAbd Allāh ibn Masʻūd (d. 32/652), and the lesser known, al-Barā’ ibn ʻĀzib (d. 72/792?). These are the proofs used by the Ḥanafī school whose adherents only raise their hands at the beginning of the formal prayer (al-ʻAynī 2000, vol. 2, p. 253). The tradition transmitted by al-Barā’ ibn ʻĀzib runs:

When the Prophet of God, peace be upon him, said ‘God is the greatest’ to begin the formal prayer, he raised his hands to the point that his thumbs were close to his earlobes, then he did not repeat it.

(al-ʻAynī 2000, vol. 2, p. 253; Ibn Abī Shayba 1988, vol. 1, p. 213)27

The tradition Ibn ʻArabī refers to from ʻAbd Allāh ibn Masʻūd states that the Prophet Muḥammad ‘used to raise his hands when saying ‘God is the greatest’ the first time [to begin the formal prayer] then he did not repeat it’ (al-Ṭaḥāwī 1994b, vol. 1, p. 224).

Ibn ʻArabī has two responses to these traditions: (1) The claim that the Prophet Muḥammad did not repeat raising his hands refers to the beginning of the prayer. Therefore, the Prophet did not raise his hands twice at the beginning of the prayer, and (2) Even though it is possible that al-Barā’ and Ibn Masʻūd meant the Prophet Muḥammad did not raise his hands again during the rest of the prayer, this interpretation should be discarded because there is no corroborating evidence for this whereas there are many traditions that explicitly assert he raised his hands at other times, and the principle of prophetic transmission analysis dictates that all traditions that give more information from trustworthy sources are to be accepted, as mentioned previously. Ibn ʻArabī vacillates between a gnostic who relies on his revelatory experience and spiritual unveiling, and an accomplished legal theoretician who uses arguments grounded in established principles of law and textual analysis to propound his juristic position.

After giving his personal opinion on the latter two issues (i.e., to what extent hands should be raised, and at what times and places should they be raised), Ibn ʻArabī comes full circle and goes back to the area he first broached on this topic: What is the ruling for raising hands in prayer. Ibn ʻArabī has already stated that opinions on this vary between regarding raising hands as a practice of the Prophet Muḥammad, and believing it to be obligatory at various times and positions (Ibn ʻArabī 1999, vol. 1, p. 537). Now he is ready to show his hand:

He [the Prophet Muḥammad] said, ‘Pray as you see me pray’.28 And it is known that the formal prayer comprises obligatory acts and examples of the Prophet Muḥammad (sunan, sing. sunna), so it should not be understood from this prophetic tradition that the actions of formal prayer are all obligatory due to a consensus (ijmāʻ) opposing this meaning. Let us, therefore, offer our prayers and raise our hands, as shown by the lawgiver, without specifying whether it is obligatory or just an example of the Prophet Muḥammad.

(Ibn ʻArabī 1999, vol. 1, p. 537)

Ibn ʻArabī transcends the debate as to whether raising hands is obligatory or an example of the Prophet Muḥammad by looking at the basis of the rulings, which is the command of the Prophet to imitate his formal prayers. He explains that, in a sense, the legal ruling is irrelevant because the formal prayer should emulate the prayer of the Prophet Muḥammad. The legal classification of raising hands is unimportant because of the inner reality behind the act, which Ibn ʻArabī now moves to explain:

As for the estimation of the spiritual elite in this matter, [they say] raising hands allows receiving that which would be forfeited in its absence. So God says to him in order to teach him, ‘If you stand before Me, then stand whilst being indigent (faqīr), in need (muḥtāj), someone who does not own anything. And discard everything you do own and stand empty-handed, and leave it all behind your back, for I am in front of you. This is why he faces the direction of the Kaʻba (qibla) with his palms as he stands so that he knows that he does not have any of the things he previously possessed.

Then when he puts his hands down, the palms of his hands face the back where he discarded it [i.e., all his possessions]. God subsequently gives him, in every position of the formal prayer, what that act necessitates. … Such is the case for all the positions in which he knows that the Messenger of God, peace be upon him, raised his hands. And he raised them in terms of the power (ḥawl) and strength [that the hands signify], since they are the place of strength…. So he raised them to God, acknowledging that [true] might (iqtidār) is for You and not me, and that my hands are devoid of any might. Thus, whoever raises them to the chest considers (iʻtabar) that God is in his heart, and whoever raises them to his ears considers that God is above him.

(Ibn ʻArabī 1999, vol. 1, pp. 537–38)

The legal ruling of raising hands is immaterial because of what the inner meaning of the act signifies. Unlike the exotericists, the spiritual elite consider (iʻtabar), or, more accurately, ‘cross over’ (ʻubūr) (Lala 2022) from the physical act to the deeper meaning palpitating beneath it. Ibn ʻArabī again makes reference to the direct divine knowledge that the spiritual elite are bequeathed when God speaks to, and informs, the gnostic as to what the true purpose of raising hands is. A perspicuous connection is created between the revelatory experience of the gnostic and his spiritual unveiling in formal prayer, and the revelation of the Prophet Muḥammad when Ibn ʻArabī refers to the latter at the beginning of the chapters on formal prayer as ‘possessor of spiritual unveiling’ (ṣāḥib al-kashf) (Ibn ʻArabī 1999, vol. 1, p. 479). Since the spiritual elites are also people of spiritual unveiling and are informed directly by God, they not only possess the certainty that the exotericists are not afforded, they are also privy to the esoteric spiritual knowledge that only the Prophet Muḥammad possessed.

Ibn ʻArabī’s exposition of the deeper meaning of raising hands shows that he is not attacking the exotericists, nor is he critiquing ‘certain principles of fiqh’, as Morris observes, rather, he is effecting an ‘inner transformation’ (Morris 1990, p. 63). This transformation allows crossing over to the deeper meaning of raising hands in formal prayer. The act of raising hands evokes the inner reality of the worshipper’s true indigence and complete dependence on God. When the worshipper raises his empty hands, he evokes the mercy of God who ‘gives him, in every position of the formal prayer, what that act necessitates’. This is the inner wisdom behind Ibn ʻArabī’s view that hands should be raised at every point the Prophet Muḥammad has been reported to have raised them: The more they are raised, the more mercy from God they evoke. This brings the act within formal prayer to the primary denotation of formal prayer, which is mercy (Ibn ʻArabī 1999, vol. 1, p. 479). This mercy, as has been mentioned, manifests itself in the leniency and latitude given in the execution of formal prayer, and it is the hidden meaning behind each act within it, including raising hands. Empty hands are raised because hands are the symbol of human power and might, and when empty, they demonstrate one’s absolute impotence and dependence on God. Ibn ʻArabī intimates that this dependence is not only for all material things, but for existence itself, which is due to God’s ontological mercy (Nettler 1978, pp. 219–29; Ibn ʻArabī 2002, pp. 191–96).

Ibn ʻArabī concludes his disquisition by noting that the inner meaning of raising hands to the chest is the appreciation that God ‘is in his heart’, and raising them to the ears has the wisdom that the worshipper believes ‘God is above him’. This is why Ibn ʻArabī allows raising hands to the chest and the ears because he validates both these beliefs. His recommendation, nevertheless, is that all three acts be combined and hands be raised to the chest, then the shoulders and, finally, to the ears because ‘wherever you turn, there is the face of God’ (Qur’an, 2:115) and He is ‘with you, wherever you may be’ (Qur’an, 57:4). Ibn ʻArabī completes his spiritual analysis of raising hands by observing that they should be raised when bowing, prostrating and getting up after two cycles because it has the wisdom that ‘in every downward and upward motion … I have no power or strength in moving downwards or upwards, and that strength lies only with You; there is no god but You’ (Ibn ʻArabī 1999, vol. 1, p. 538). Raising empty hands, as a symbol of impotence and dependence on God, at different positions of formal prayer display that humankind cannot carry out even the most trivial tasks without God. This evokes the mercy of God who allows the worshipper to carry out these tasks, and it reminds the worshipper of the mercy of God in allowing him/her to carry out the tasks.

8. Conclusions

The foregoing exhibits the intricate dynamic between Ibn ʻArabī’s revelatory experience and spiritual unveiling, and his spiritual textual analysis of the Qur’an and the traditions of the Prophet Muḥammad in order to formulate his spiritual jurisprudence. At times, his analysis is redolent of thoroughgoing juristic texts; at others, he focusses entirely on the spiritual meaning behind the acts and dismisses the exoteric rulings. What is clear is that the interplay between his exoteric analysis of the texts and his spiritual unveiling is mutually corroborative and complementary, as shown by the Prophet Muḥammad’s command to Ibn ʻArabī in his vision, and his analyses of the prophetic traditions. On the one hand, the command in his vision was that he should raise his hands when beginning the formal prayer and on either side of the bow. On the other, there are traditions that state hands should also be raised on either side of the prostration and after two prayer cycles. Ibn ʻArabī sees no contradiction between these two sources and recommends raising hands at all of these times and positions. His general approach demonstrates remarkable leniency in juristic rulings in line with the spiritual wisdom being that of mercy. This is manifested in the latitude that he believes religion allows in rulings, and in the underlying spiritual wisdom for the acts, such as raising hands, which elicit divine mercy through exhibition of absolute dependence on God.