With the First Jurist, a new element appears. To the line of Prophetic de-scent is now added a spiritual line, from the Sufi saint of Telemcen in Mo-rocco, Abñ Madyan Shuªayb (Cornell 1996, 1998). Abñ Madyan had sent his student ªAbd al-Raâmán al-Maqªad to Hadramawt to spread his teachings there. Al-Maqªad died in Mecca and did not fulfill his task. But before dying, he instructed ªAbd Alláh al-Maghribô to go to Hadramawt to meet with the First Jurist, the sayyid Muâammad b. ªAlô, son of the Principal of Mirbáì. Al-Maghribô was to invest the First Jurist with the cloak of Sufism (ilbás khirqat al-taíawwuf ) and serve him his appointment (taâkôm)as the representative of Abñ Madyan’s Sufi pathway.
The Hadrami historian al-Sháìirô notes that before Abñ Madyan’s mis-sion, the people of Hadramawt practiced a “general sufism” (taíawwuf ªámm; al-Sháìirô 1983: 253) of cleansing hearts and shunning worldly van-ities. With the First Jurist’s induction into Abñ Madyan’s pathway, Sufism in Hadramawt became organized, adopting the technical vocabulary of pathway (ìarôqa), appointment (taâkôm), license (ijáza), mantle (khirqa), litany (dhikr),and so on. Far from being an isolated backwater, Hadra-mawt participated in important contemporary developments in the wider Islamic world. In the thirteenth century, an elaborate theoretical discourse joined with institutional organization to shape the practice that became known to subsequent centuries as Sufism (Chodkiewicz 1993: 10). Ibn al-ªArabô, who died in 1240, just fifteen years before the First Jurist’s death (1255), set out a vision that was synthetic and systematic yet subtle. His technical vocabulary was adopted throughout the Islamic world, includ-ing in Hadramawt. For Ibn al-ªArabô, Abñ Madyan represented the com-plete fulfillment of spiritual potentiality—of what he understood saint-hood to be. While some spiritual seekers flee from the mundane world and others reach God, the full saint is one who, having attained such spir-itual heights, then returns to the mundane world to act within it. This path is modeled on the making of the prophet Muâammad, who went into retreat, received the revelations from God, and then returned to spread the message among his people. For Ibn al-ªArabô, the fully real-ized saint was a guide for humanity, a teacher ( ªálim) who is the inheri-tor (wárith) of the prophetic role (Chodkiewicz 1993: 171).
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The terms set by Abñ Madyan and Ibn al-ªArabô on the meaning of saint-hood inform Hadramis’ understanding. Ibn al-ªArabô’s notion of the saint as inheritor of the prophet Muâammad is broadly understood in genealog-ical terms, as descent. Abñ Madyan’s notion of the saint who combines knowledge and action ( ªilm wa-ªamal), who engages both religious and mun-dane worlds (dôn wa-dunyá), provides the theoretical underpinning for a tra-dition of social engagement that marks Hadrami Sufism. Within this tradi-tion, the ªAlawô sayyids, descendants of the Prophet, form a core and provide leadership that is not aloof but participates in society at large.
For these reasons, the First Jurist represents a new level of participa-tion in the local community of Tarim by the recently settled sayyids. The First Jurist was already a jurist when Abñ Madyan’s deputy arrived. Upon his investiture with Abñ Madyan’s cloak, he broke his sword over his knee, angering his teachers in the law, especially Shaykh ªAlô Bá Marwán. This action inaugurated the sayyid tradition of pacifist Sufism and is a major plank in sayyids’ self-identification as independent arbiters of the peace be-tween armed tribes. With this act, the sayyids were no longer partisans in local disputes. Unable to defend themselves by force of arms, they tied themselves irrevocably to the general good and began to work for its achievement. The totalizing (or “global” in Chodkiewicz’s terms) discourse of sainthood is the theoretical expression of this new role in society. To-gether with the Hadrami sayyids’ repudiation of arms, a global discourse enhanced their capacity for mobility across a landscape troubled by tribal rivalries, since they threatened no one. As such, their settling in Tarim was not a confinement but the beginnings of a new mode of mobility. This form of mobility carried with it specific notions of primacy in legal, spir-itual, and genealogical matters, which the First Jurist brought together.
The Hadrami version of a “cult of saints” resonates with recent argu-ments by Peter Brown (1981), Michel Chodkiewicz (1993), and Vincent Cornell (1998). While Brown focuses on Christian rather than Muslim saints, studies of both have been hobbled by a pervasive Humean dis-tinction between the popular polytheism of the unlettered masses and the textual monotheism of the learned elite (Hume 1976). This distinction became received wisdom in the social sciences under Robert Redfield’s banners of Little and Great traditions (Singer 1976), even though Redfield himself was concerned with their interconnections (Redfield 1967). Fol-lowing Brown’s lead, scholars of religion have begun to see a much stronger literate hand in saints’ cults than was previously supposed. The Sufi movements influenced by Ibn al-ªArabô are virtually integrated with saints’ cults, because the role of such guides is central to the language and
practices of such movements. Organized Sufism brings together literate and illiterate believers, elite and follower, and connects such movements to the world beyond local communities. In Islamic countries, saints’ cults were patronized by major states such as the Fatimids, Ayyubids, Mam-luks, Ottomans, and Mughals and became mass organizations, relative to the size of earlier groups. Sufism, in van Ess’s view, was incorporated into the establishment very early (van Ess 1999). While in Hadramawt the ªAlawô Way was free of state patronage because states were weak there, the situation was diªerent in the diaspora, as we saw in chapter 1.
For the Hadrami sayyids, the First Jurist represents a unique station in the temporal motion of their ancestral genealogy. He marks the point at which the transmission of religious piety in its organized Sufi form con-verged with patrilineal descent from the Prophet. The confluence makes him the identifiable starting point of the sayyids’ mission in Tarim and Hadramawt, and outward. From his time, the Hadrami sayyids were both a lineage and a distinct school of Sufism, a way distinct from other ways.11 He was a foundational figure for whom his ancestors in Hadramawt were material precursors, as it were. Subsequent to him, the intertwining of religious and genealogical statuses continued to play out in many ways.
The First Jurist is buried in Tarim, and when émigré Hadramis, especially sayyids, return to Tarim, he is the first ancestor they call upon. In ritual-ized visits to the graveyards of Tarim, pilgrims visit his grave first—hence the “First” in his appellation. He did not leave any writings behind.
Four generations past the First Jurist came his lineal descendant, ªAbd al-Raâmán al-Saqqáf (d. 1416). Al-Saqqáf stands at the beginning of a new phase in the history of the ªAlawô Way: the development of an institu-tional complex of Sufi practices. This complex comprises the suite of cul-tural forms that still characterize the Hadrami sayyids and their way. The suite includes identifiable clusters of ritual, geographical, and textual forms, each of which has ties to an individual originator.
ritual
ªAbd al-Raâmán al-Saqqáf is most famous today for the ritual of “pres-encing,” which is associated with his name. The Saqqáf Presencing
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11. Syed Naguib al-Attas, in his study of Sufism among the Malays, makes the point thus:
“In certain respects the ªAlawiyyah is diªerent from the rest. Its primary distinction is its sil-silahor spiritual genealogy, which is also of a biological nature. For the silsilah of the ªAlawiyyah Order is the family tree, and the T¥arôqahis more or less a family concern.” (al-Attas 1963: 32)
(âafrat al-Saqqáf )takes place every Monday and Thursday in Tarim at the mosque that also bears his name. Al-Saqqáf composed litanies (Rátib al-Saqqáf) which are used at the Saqqáf Presencing and introduced the use of flutes and tambourines to accompany its performance (al-Sháìirô 1983: 264). His descendants have directed it until today.
Al-Saqqáf ’s great-great-grandson, Aâmad b. Husayn al-ªAydarñs, brought singers and musicians specially from Egypt to form an ensem-ble of seven to accompany the Saqqáf Presencing. They settled in Tarim, and their descendants continue to fill these roles today. The musicians are known as the “servants of al-Saqqáf ” (akhdám al-Saqqáf ), and the posi-tions are hereditary in a few families; one of these families has the sur-name “the Egyptians” (Al Bá Miírô). The musicians receive no payment for accompanying the Saqqáf Presencing: they play “for the facing of God”
(li-wajh Alláh). Beyond their playing at presencings, they have performed invocations to God at the funerals of sayyids since the sixteenth century, and since the nineteenth century, they have played their instruments at the weddings of sayyids; for these services, they receive honoraria. They are in demand beyond Tarim and perform their services in towns at some distance.
place
ªAbd al-Raâmán’s son ªUmar al-Muâfár (d. 1430) is famous for his as-cetic rigors in isolated places. Stories of his actions abound in oral and written accounts, such as that of his spending a month at the tomb of the prophet Hñd consuming the while only one pound of dried fish (al-Hámid 1968: 749). During such retreats, he reportedly saw his an-cestor the prophet Muâammad regularly. Following in his footsteps, pilgrims today trek annually to the tomb of Hñd, beginning at a large rock above the river, known as ªUmar’s Rock, with two of the prostra-tions (rakªatayn) prescribed in normal and supererogatory Muslim prayers.12 The Hñd pilgrimage is the largest annual pilgrimage in Hadramawt. ªUmar’s stature associates him with another of the largest annual gatherings in the region as well. The al-Muâfár mosque in Tarim, which bears his name and which possesses a high minaret visible from over a mile, is the venue for the final prayers (khatm) of the fasting month of Ramafán. On this occasion, devotees come from towns
sur-12. Two prostrations are customary out of respect for a mosque; the place is thus treated as one.
rounding Tarim and overflow onto the streets performing their pros-trations. The prayers at this mosque close the holy month of Ramafán in Tarim and its vicinity.
ªAbd al-Raâmán al-Saqqáf and ªUmar al-Muâfár initiated ritual and spiritual practices that continue to be observed today. The association with them across the centuries and down the generations bestows an aura upon these practices: they are relics. The enactments of these virtual relics are indissolubly tied to places—ªUmar’s Rock, al-Saqqáf ’s Mosque—in com-plexes that cannot be fully reproduced elsewhere. Spiritual meaning is grounded in ritual locale.
A notion exists of an ultimate source of value, to which subsequent avatars stand in a relation of derivation by emanation: from God to the prophets to the prophet Muâammad and to his descendants. The latter are certainly mobile, and one can trace them with well-honed genealog-ical methods. The litanies and musgenealog-ical instruments too are portable, as texts and instruments. What is absolute and irreproducible here is the his-torical convergence of these streams in this one place, in one distinct com-plex. The graves, the mosques, the hills, and the rocks—these are the relics of an original convergence. Reproduction is possible, but only as a
re-G E O re-G R A P H Y 45
figure 8. Umar’s rock, the first station of pilgrimage to Hñd, under a new prayer platform, by the perpetual stream. Ablutions in foreground. Photo by the author.
duction: its value is less than that of the original. Replicas always relate to relics as satellites relate to their sources, and they always point back to their sources. The emergence of replicas of the relics itself signals the ad-vent of a structure of memory, in which reduction is a prime feature. The relation of diªerence between replica and relic frames the progress of time as a process of decline. With the passing of the generations, the exalta-tion of the ancestors intensifies (al-Sháìirô 1983: 255).
text
The coalescing of the institutional complex that is the sayyid Sufi way was accompanied by a major literary production: Garden of the Heart Essences, Apothecary for Incurable Maladies, a collection of biographies of Sufis of Tarim by ªAbd al-Raâmán al-Khaìôb, who died in 1451.13The author was a self-confessed enthusiast of the saints, who wrote because he feared that the saints, Sufis, and scholars of Tarim were in danger of being forgot-ten, “unbeknownst even as their graves were trodden underfoot.” The book comprises five hundred stories of preternatural acts and events in the lives of saints. The accounts are not didactic in the sense of fostering pious imitation. Rather, they are replete with awe-inspiring acts that are in fact inimitable. The sources of charisma are not apparent. He cites a report of the jurist Aâmad Ibn Hanbal, to whom a man commented dis-paragingly, “These sufis sit in the mosques without knowledge.” Ibn Han-bal replied, “My son, their sitting is their knowledge.”
Although al-Khaìôb was not a sayyid, his position in the development of the institutional complex was crucial. He was a student of ªAbd al-Raâmán al-Saqqáf and died three and a half decades after him. Unlike the many other books about the sayyids, al-Khaìôb’s book is not organ-ized genealogically. It contains a chapter on the blessings in the water, cemeteries, and hills of Tarim and one on the virtues of the house of the Prophet. The book groups its biographies of saints into four generations, the last being the nearest to the author’s own time. Abd Raâmán al-Saqqáf and his son ªUmar al-Muâfár, whom al-Khaìôb knew, were dom-inant figures in the last generation. In the earlier ones, the accounts and figures were more varied, including a number of non-sayyids. The rich accounts in al-Khaìôb’s book became a seminal source for subsequent bi-ographies and histories. To the ritual and geographical innovations of
al-13. The Arabic title is Bustán al-qulñb al-jawáhir wa-taryáq al-ªilal al-muªfalát (al-Khaìôb n.d.).
Saqqáf and al-Muâfár, al-Khaìôb’s stories added an abundant narrative vehicle that portrayed vividly the doings of the saints in the locale of Tarim, amongst its mosques, graves, hills, and gardens. The limpid qual-ity of its imagery gave its subjects a familiar immediacy, and it became known by another title, The Transparent Essence, Recounting the Marvels of the Sayyids of Tarim, and Their Contemporaries in It of the Greatest, Gnos-tic Saints.14
The Transparent Essencestands in a transitional position, looking back-ward and forback-ward at the same time. In its explicitly testamentary moti-vation, it makes a very local, oral world available, accessible, and repro-ducible to others removed in space and time. It launches that world into discourse. Through the book, the stories of the saints became detachable documents, and these documents became authorities upon which later authors drew for their own compositions. I explore the textual reincarna-tions of the hagiographies in the second part of this book, “Genealogi-cal Travel.” Here, we need to mark the inauguration of the textual form of the institutionalized Sufi complex, placing it beside its ritual and geo-graphical counterparts.
By the middle of the fifteenth century, the constitutive elements of the ªAlawô Way had been brought together in a complex that is recognizable today. This complex institutionalized a canon of saints, texts, rituals, spe-cial places, and genealogies. As a Sufi way, it has not been well under-stood, and Trimingham has characterized it as a limited “family way”
(Trimingham 1973: 3; also al-Attas 1963: 32). Viewed as a complex, how-ever, the ªAlawô Way is a malleable discourse that evolved over time, as it confronted new historical and cultural situations. As a complex, too, its beginnings can be approximated.