such elegies have been preserved. Abū l-ʿAlāʾ also took a lively interest in the intricate politics of his own time and place (involving several dynasties and realms, such as the Ḥamdānids, Būyids, Mirdāsids, Fāṭimids, and the infidel Byzantines); an interest that is apparent from references in his poetry and from some of his letters and prose works. Probably the most interesting work in this respect is his Risālat al-Ṣāhil wa-l-shāḥij (The Epistle of the Neigher and the Brayer), a lengthy work in which the main characters are animals, notably a horse and a mule. Speaking animals had been familiar to the Arabs since the famous collection of animal fables, Kalīlah wa-Dimnah, was translated from the Pahlavi into Arabic by Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ (d. ca. 139/756),20 but Abū l-ʿAlāʾ’s book, composed around the year 144/1021, does not contain fables; it is a commentary on contemporary politics involving the Mirdāsid and Fāṭimid dynasties and the Byzantines. It also discusses matters such as taxation. At the same time, like other works of his, it is full of digressions on highly technical matters in the fields of grammar, lexicography, poetics, prosody, and rhyme.
Abū l-ʿAlāʾ ranks as one of the great poets in Arabic literary history. Unlike most poets of the first rank he also excelled as a prose writer. In addition to the present work and the Epistle of the Neigher and the Brayer, mention should be made of a controversial work of his: al-Fuṣūl wa-l-ghāyāt (Paragraphs and Periods). It is composed in an exceptionally difficult idiom (the author regularly interrupts his text with a commentary and explanation of obscure words and expressions), but once one has grasped the sense the work is, at first sight, not shocking: it is a series of homiletic, sermon-like texts, containing praise of God, which call for piety, asceticism, and submission to Fate. The controversy that arose about the book is on account of its style and its form, together with the suspicion that the author’s intention was to outdo the Qurʾan. It is composed in an intricate form of rhymed prose, with rhymes interwoven on two text levels: short range within the various sections or paragraphs (fuṣūl), and long range, because the last words (“ends”, ghāyāt) of successive sections also rhyme in an alphabetic series. It uses many idioms that have a Qurʾanic flavor. Altogether, it is not surprising that some thought that its author intended to surpass the Qurʾan, an attitude clearly blasphemous to orthodox Muslims, who believe that the style of the Qurʾan, God’s literal words, is inimitable and unsurpassable. When someone rhetorically asked how al-Fuṣūl wa-l-ghāyāt could possibly be compared to the Surahs and āyāt (“verses”) of the Qurʾan, Abū l-ʿAlāʾ reputedly replied, “Wait until it has been polished by tongues for four hundred years; then see how it is,”21 an answer that would not endear him to the pious.
Although he has been called “the poet among philosophers and the philosopher among poets,” it does not do him justice to consider him a philosopher. It is probably wrong to see a consistent world view in his works. He is a humanist who generally hates humanity and loves animals, a Muslim who expresses many unorthodox thoughts (such as his frequently expressed doubts about a bodily resurrection), a rationalist, a skeptic, and a stoic, a precursor of Arthur Schopenhauer. But above all he is a witty and erudite man of letters, a satirist and moralist, with an incredible command of the Arabic language.
Among his other works that have been preserved is a treatise on morphology (Risālat al-Malāʾikah); a “prosimetrical” work, Mulqā l-sabīl, in which each section consists of a very short ethical paragraph in prose followed by a versification; a collection of letters in ornate style; and commentaries on the collected poetry by famous Abbasid poets: Abū Tammām, al-Buḥturī, and al-Mutanabbī. Many other works listed in the ancient sources are no longer extant.
Al-Maʿarrī lived at the end of what has been called “the Golden Age” of Arabic literature.22 Whether or not this qualification and this periodization are justified, he firmly belongs to the “classic” Arabic authors. But his reputation has always been mixed throughout the pre-modern period. “People have different opinions about Abū l-ʿAlāʾ,” says Yāqūt, “Some say that he was a heretic (zindīq) . . ., others say that he was a pious ascetic who subsisted on little and who imposed on himself a harsh regimen, being content with little and turning away from worldly matters.”23 Against the many admirers there are as many detractors. One of the latter, a certain Abū Ghālib ibn Nabhān, apparently had a dream shortly after al-Maʿarrī’s death:
Last night I had a dream in which I saw a blind man with two vipers on his shoulders, dangling down to his thighs. Each of them raised its mouth toward his face, biting off the flesh and devouring it. The man was yelling and crying for help. Shocked and frightened as I was by seeing the man in this state, I asked who he was. “This is al-Maʿarrī, the heretic (mulḥid),” was the reply.24
With this fancy about the afterlife of a presumed heretic we turn to the present work, al-Maʿarrī’s imaginations about life in heaven and hell, much of which is devoted to heresy. It also has several passages about snakes.
Risālat Ibn al-Qāriḥ and Risālat al-Ghufrān
Around the year 424/1033 Abū l-ʿAlāʾ received a long and somewhat rambling letter from a grammarian and Hadith scholar from Aleppo, called ʿAlī ibn Manṣūr ibn al-Qāriḥ, also known as Dawkhalah.25 The elderly writer, already in his seventies, obviously tries to ingratiate himself with the famous inhabitant of al-Maʿarrah. He complains at length of his infirmities and indigence, apologizes for his foibles, and attempts to impress the addressee in the customary ornate style, employing rhymed prose (sajʿ) with much display of erudition and orthodoxy, in the course of which he digresses with a discussion of a number of notorious heretics.26 One of the aims of the letter to Abū l-ʿAlāʾ, whom he praises volubly, is to exculpate himself of allegations, which he knows Abū l-ʿAlāʾ has heard about him: he had been accused of ingratitude toward a family that had patronized him, a family some of whose members had close links with al-Maʿarrī. Abū l-Ḥasan al-Maghribī (d. 400/1009–10) was a man of letters who became state secretary, serving under the Ḥamdānids in Aleppo and later under the Fāṭimids in Cairo. He made Ibn al-Qāriḥ the tutor of his children, in particular Abū l-Qāsim (d. 418/1027), who later became vizier. When the family fell into disgrace and several were executed at the orders of the notorious Fāṭimid caliph al-Ḥākim, Abū l-Qāsim was the only prominent member of his kin who escaped. Ibn al-Qāriḥ not only disassociated himself from his former patron but even composed invective poems lampooning him.27 One might expect that in his letter to Abū l-ʿAlāʾ, Ibn al-Qāriḥ would apologize for his vicious attacks on al-Maʿarrī’s friend. Instead, he goes to some length in trying to justify his views, by describing Abū l-Qāsim as a madman, and a very unpleasant one at that.
It is easy to imagine Abū l-ʿAlāʾ being not a little irritated by this rather incoherent and self-righteous appeal and the attacks on a friend. Apparently he took some time before replying, and when he did it was in the form of this strange book known as Risālat al-Ghufrān, The Epistle of Forgiveness. Formally it is a risālah, a letter, but it is longer than many a book, and like many Arabic “epistles” addressed to one person it is obviously meant to be read by many. Abū l-ʿAlāʾ does not openly refute or rebuke his correspondent; he remains as polite and respectful as Ibn al-Qāriḥ. Both epistles are brimful with pious wishes and blessings, parenthetically added whenever the other is addressed or mentioned (in the polite epistolary style of the time, the third person is used instead of direct address, to refer to the recipient). Abū l-ʿAlāʾ’s work opens with sections expressing his affection for Ibn al-Qāriḥ and praise of his letter, and the second part of al-Ghufrān opens with a discussion of hypocrisy, of which Ibn al-Qāriḥ is said to be wholly free. The reader will not be fooled, however: it is clear that all this is ironical. The very difficult preamble of Part One (usually omitted by translators)28 ostensibly expresses al-Maʿarrī’s affection for Ibn al-Qāriḥ, but it is an exercise in double entendre, where words, said to refer to the writer’s “heart,” are closely linked to words for “black” and “snake.” It is an odd way to open a friendly letter, and
