“Amazing indeed!” ‘Abd al-Rahman replied with a smile. “But why don’t you remember any other stories about Ibn Battuta’s journey that might serve a more beneficial function in your religious and secular life?”
“Are there any such stories?”
“There certainly are, provided you can forget about stories about nudity and eating human flesh. I’ll tell you one, so that you can take note. It’s the one Ibn Battuta tells at the court of Sultan Abu ‘Inan, the one in which he describes the generosity that the king of India, Muhammad Shah ibn Taghlaq, shows to his people, something quite extraordinary. Whenever he went on a journey, he used to compute the number of inhabitants of Delhi and give them all half a year’s pay from his private funds. Upon his return he would order catapults to be set up in fields so that sacks of dirhams and dinars could be tossed to the poor and needy.”
“An amazing tale indeed! Not least because it shows quite how preposterous the whole concept of India was in the Maghribi context. But Master, how was this story received by the sultan’s coterie?”
“With a good deal of nodding and winking. Actually, people were twiddling their fingers at their temples, and there was a fair amount of guffawing and raucous laughter as well.”
“The entire court is mean and despicable. It thrives on corruption and bribery! How else could such people respond to a tale of such generosity than with sarcasm and disbelief? But what is your feeling about this story, Master? It’s one that involves profound reflection, no doubt.”
“I’ve checked on it, then weighed it in the balance. I’d say that it’s probably more likely to be true than false.”
“What about Sultan Abu Inan? Did he stay cross-legged on his throne as usual, or did he fidget and lose his temper?”
For a moment ‘Abd al-Rahman looked somewhat uneasy and stared at the ground.
“If you don’t want your response written down,” al-Hihi hastened to add, “then there’s no harm just telling me, and it will remain a secret.”
“You’re rubbing salt in the wound, Hammu!” ‘Abd al-Rahman replied. “The Commander of the Faithful neither disapproved of the story nor punished its teller. No, he pondered its implications humbly, as though he realized the gap between what his eyes could habitually see and what his hands used to dispense. Or perhaps he envied the king of India and realized that he was unable to imitate such behavior. But let’s stop talking about such distractions and return to dictation.”
“I’m listening, and my hand is ready to traverse the page from right to left, till dawn if you so desire.”
“Well then, busy your pen with this correction: It has always been my genuine desire to explore in depth the knowledge of realities and the materiality of objects and to observe the laws of change and transformation. In the process, however, I’ve stumbled so often and failed to get beneath the surface.”
“You mean. Master, that someone of your caliber can stumble and be superficial?”
“Don’t interrupt me, Hammu. Note down that, at all events, I’m a child of my own era, even though I can easily dodge and leap about in time. Yes, a child of my own era; in other words, of its benefits — how tragically few they are! — and of its faults as well, and sadly how many they are, particularly when we look at the extent of political disintegration and lack of willpower.
“On the subject of faults, to which I’ll devote a passage, many’s the time when, faced with sheer reality, I’ve allowed emotion to sway my intellect and blind my perception. Just to give an example, I went too far in my defense of the ‘Abbasi caliphs against the charge of drunkenness, immorality, and fornication, when it would have been better for me to say nothing or else leave the judgment in such matters to God the All Knowing. That’s particularly the case since I developed the theory that such lapses in behavior are a natural product of civilizations that rely on pomp and splendor — that being precisely the case with the ‘Abbasi caliphs. Another example is when I waded into the topic of differences among Christian sects over the birth of Jesus (on him be peace). It was as though I were writing as a Muslim from the earliest days of conquest rather than someone who has witnessed the loss of al-Andalus at the hands of overwhelming Christian force. There’s a passage in my Introduction to History (how I wish I could take it out!) where I accuse all these sects of unbelief. Here’s what I say: On this matter there is nothing to discuss or debate. The resolution involves either conversion to Islam, the poll tax, or death.’
“Those words, Hammu, are totally inappropriate for their time and context. They most closely resemble the kind of logic used by a pig-headed defeatist.
“I have undoubtedly stumbled and been too superficial in other areas too. In so doing, I have gone against my own principle, which demands that one reflect on events and judge them in accordance with sound rules so that they can be properly vetted. In all this I’ve failed to heed the advice of ‘Ali (may God honor his countenance): ‘When you hear some information, reflect carefully on its implications rather than simply reacting literally; after all, there are many purveyors of information, but very few critics.’
“Another area in which I have gone astray, Hammu, is in my dogged insistence on the importance of group solidarity by raising it to paradigm status. It allowed me to perceive some things, but it blinded me to others. The kinds of things that it did not allow me to realize were of a kind that no historian can afford to despise or ignore. By way of example, there is the matter of unsuccessful revolts, and revolutionaries and religious reformers whom I depicted in the most derogatory and insulting terms. By adopting such a posture I was on the side of the more powerful victor and keeping history confined to records written according to the logic of conquest and power. Left outside the picture were the masses of conquered peoples and those unsupported by the solidarity of a group.
“My worst offense involved some of what I had to say about pious Sufis. For that reason one is fully justified in characterizing my epistle, The Cure for the Petitioner, as naïve and worthless. It stands condemned for responding to the call of politicians to launch an attack on the spread of popular mysticism and Sufi hostels and to regulate the rules governing all Sufi devotees so that they would fall within the confines of Sunni educational practice. Anyone who wants to know why I have not referred to this work previously should realize that it’s because I’ve come to despise a study that resulted from an ill-conceived topic, one that is already steeped in a good deal of hyperbolic discourse. In fact, it was a problem that finally led me to legitimize violent means in dealing with authoritative Sufi texts. I issued a fatwa of which I am ashamed. Its text stated:
With regard to volumes that contain such fallacious beliefs and those copies that people possess — such as Bezels of Wisdom and Meccan Conquests by Ibn ‘Arabi, Temple of the Knower by Ibn Sab‘in, and Removal of Sandals by Ibn Qasiyy — such books and their like, whenever found, are to be consigned to the fire and washed with water so that any trace of writing disappears. This decree is issued in the public interest regarding religion by eradicating faulty beliefs. Those in authority are enjoined to burn such volumes so as to remove all public corruption as are all people who have the means to undertake such burning.
“Today my only desire is that anyone reading this decree should either burn it or wash it with water. Then all trace of it will vanish, and I’ll be rid of its sinful implications.
“I have also made a number of mistakes and wrong judgments in the realm of politics and its machinations. In the midst of so many clashing interests and complexities I can hardly blame myself for being a child of my generation, manipulating the strings of its contradictions just like everyone else and adopting the hue appropriate to local conditions and alignments. I have moved from one circumstance to another, either reconciling or estranging myself, all based on the demands of the situation or the sheer instinct for self-preservation. In the Maghrib, the entire era has been crippled by the rule of conspiracy and murder and rent asunder to such an extent that to escape the clutches of one ruler inevitably leads you into a trap set by another. The only thing that someone in my position can do is to acknowledge the situation for what it is and sail with the breeze. That involves responding to the orders of the rulers of the era by courting tribal chiefs and winning the allegiance of tribes, taking full advantage of the pilgrimage season or time spent out in the desert. No, it’s not these things that make me fault myself. Rather, it is the way I find myself fascinated by the thrills of power and craving those lofty positions that I have watched my inferiors in both knowledge and competence achieve through influence, graft, and highly developed conspiratorial skills. While I was at Abu ‘Inan’s court, I found it so easy to reach an agreement with his imprisoned guest, Abu ‘Abdallah, the deposed ruler of Bougie, the one that involved my helping him escape to his own country and then accepting the post of hajib there once things had settled down. (Note: In our country in the Maghrib, the word hajib implies exclusive control of the state and the process of mediation between the sultan and his people — a task that he performs alone.)