Bensalem Himmich - The Theocrat

“I see myself grasping the last thread, projecting birds into the heavens to shoot down, banging on doors and asking who it is that is banging.

“The sun never shines on me, but in order to despair of my own despair and restore fire to my hidden places, I roam the country. And I will come …

“By the right I have to govern and reject! I will come again, my face aglow, from hidden realms and ultimate refuges; I will come from the markets of existence and places of this world, all in order to inform the morning and you. And so, my devotees, open your hearts and embrace me; lift up your hands and support me.

“I am the one that time has brought you.

“The factors of chance and lineage, they alone intercede for me.

“I am the child of that circumstance which seeks a place in existence and fate.

“I have it in me to oppose the wind through destruction and erection in the realms of architecture and stone.

“You can write what you will about me. My tents have need of the ropes of your love and hatred, just as the earth needs sun and rain.”

Al-Hakim went back and sat in the violet oil again. The young secretary joined him and continued recording his master’s words. As al-Hakim careered ahead at one moment and then slowed down out of sheer exhaustion, his tone of voice kept rising, then falling.

“Show me,” he said, “the kind of power I need, when people are cither asleep or distracted; and all the while the march of time works its unseen machinations to procure my end.

“I blacken the whiteness of days. I sense myself leaving the realms of existence and entering the clutches of mystery, secluding myself on the pathways of resolve and entrenchment.

“Politics is all toil. Nothing amazes me more than those who are hell-bent on acquiring yet more power.

“I am tired of it all, not because my intuition has run dry or the ulcer hasn’t healed, but rather because, at the best of times, my own share of its lofty intent and the flesh of my own fancies are entwined together in a common temptation.

“All I want from politics is to proceed on my way, leaving behind me heads in a state of contemplation and reflection or else frivolity and distraction. If success eludes me, then a pox on power, and perdition to all types of ruin by sword and pen.

“Every century has its own disaster.

“For this quarter-century I am that disaster.

“So transport me, the one who sits above you, beneath Cancer in the signs of the zodiac.

“Once in a while all I can perceive are darkness and blocked paths. My thoughts contort and enfold themselves on their own foundations, leading only to what is coincidental and profoundly wanting. It is then I realize that my soul is in dire need of the stars and supreme athleticism.

“The human body is all naked corruption, and the soul incites to evil. So where is the refuge to be found, and whence the escape?

“I stare long and hard into the bogs of nothingness, computing the number of bodies floating in its firmament. Eventually they fade away and I feel exhausted, or else I revert to my own navel and reside there with eyes closed and ears chained shut,

“However in both circumstances, even though I try every trick to distance my overwhelmingly powerful ego, my life is still filled with the clanging of bells which keep dancing around me and threatening me with their poison and their lethal extensions. I spend hours searching for the most effective ideas that will thwart their manifestation.

“Exempt me then from all discourse, save that which is both lively and instantaneous, that whereby utterance legitimizes the roaring of my blood.

“Let me search in the archives of the possible and impossible for something to dizzy the vision and roll the eyes, something to bring ideas carved out of earth and fire, to turn hair white and baffle minds and intellects.

“On this dark night by the light of this low-burning candle, I wonder, can you even conceive of the black notions floating in my mind, some like stinging insects, others like killer reptiles?

“By my donkey, Qamar. Did you but realize some of these dire things, you would head for exile in droves, or else you would dig yourselves in amid the thickets of silence and fatigue.

“For that very reason I intend to keep them suppressed and to strive to keep them apart from the realm of events. That is not out of a sense of pity or sympathy for you, but rather because I’m afraid that I may turn into a shepherd with no flock or God’s own sword that for harvest has only wind and dust.

“In the space between myself and confession I amuse myself by dipping my hands in the blood of some of my slaves or by staring at boys’ genitals. One after the other I ask them: Show me your moon. In that way I can distinguish those who will die from others who will be saved.

“There are times when I find myself overpowered by the desire to allow natural disaster to happen. The answer I give is: Just for today and no longer I give you this earth and the people in it. So launch your attack, toy with its laws and rituals; send a deluge to create it and formulate it afresh.

“How is it that my terrifying dreams spin in circles? Ever since I took up the mantle of rule by the order of God, I have been afflicted by dreadful nightmares. They beset me every single night as I try to fall asleep. Just to give a single example from among many, I see myself stabbed and falling to the ground, just like ‘Ali and al-Husayn; I see myself as a severed head rolling like al-Husayn’s head; I see myself failing and calling out for help, but no one moves an inch. Such is the pain and shock that I wake up and discover, much to my delight, that the whole thing was just a nightmare. But no sooner do I go back to sleep than the ravening hordes of conspiracy and extermination overwhelm me yet again, but without ever slaying me or robbing me of my consciousness. The entire dream may repeat itself in cycles, each one more horrific than the last. So picture me at the moment when I wake up, with every wrinkle on my face mirroring the varieties of terror and anxiety.

“How can I keep this face concealed from my own people? How can I walk among them without lighting my path and enveloping myself with the weapons of oppression and deceit?

“I am one of those people who, whenever they cry, weep in a veritable flood of hot tears. I cannot begin to describe it. If I tried, I would do no better than Sufi poets when they try to depict tears. So look up what people have said previously about distress and tearful eyes.

“Why do I weep? The basic reason is that I can find no alternative to violence as a way of keeping my people and authorities on the straight path; also that all my actions and adventures in the political realm are merely a drop in a bottomless ocean.

“There are secrets that I can only divulge on the day when I am close to death. So wait till I am on my deathbed, and then I will provide you with information that will expose me and dash my honor and reputation.”

Dawn was on the point of appearing when al-Hakim’s expression showed clear signs of exhaustion and insomnia. He stood up, looked at the young scribe’s genitals, and put on his cloak. Then he left the balcony where he had been drinking and headed for his quarters in the palace. Hardly had he gone before the devotees descended on the young scribe, snatched the papers from his hands, and rushed to transcribe their contents in order to contemplate and interpret them for themselves and thereafter to utilize their findings among the circle of initiates as a mode of access to interpretation and occult wisdom.

2. A Session in Quest of Surprise

An amusing tale from the time of al-Hakim tells how a judge in Egypt was named “head-butter.” The reason was that he had a cap with two cow horns on it that he used to keep beside him. Whenever two litigants came to his court and one of them tried to bully the other, the judge would don his cap with the two horns, move out, and start butting the litigant who was bullying the other one. All this made the judge very famous. Al-Hakim got to hear about this and sent for the judge. When he came into al-Hakim’s presence, the caliph asked him what he thought he was doing to earn such a bad reputation among the people. The judge responded, “O Commander of the Faithful, I would be delighted if one day you came to my court, sat behind a curtain, and simply listened to what I have to endure from the common people. Either you’ll see my point of view, or else you can punish me as you see fit.” Al-Hakim told him he would come the next day to see what he meant. Next morning, al-Hakim did indeed go to the judge’s court and took a seat behind a curtain. Two litigants came before the judge; one claimed a hundred dinars from the other and claimed that the other man had acknowledged the debt. The judge then ordered the second party to pay what he owed, but the latter responded that he was having difficulties at that moment and asked the court to order payment in installments. “What do you have to say to that?” the judge asked the plaintiff. “Make him pay ten dinars a month,” he replied. “I can’t do that,” the defendant replied. “How about five dinars?” the judge asked, to which the defendant again said that he could not manage that much. “Two dinars,” the judge suggested, and again the defendant said it was impossible. “One dinar,” said the judge, with the same result. Eventually the judge got down to just ten dinars a month, and still the defendant claimed it was impossible. The judge now asked the defendant how much he could afford to pay in order to satisfy the plaintiff. He replied that he could only afford three dinars a year, but only on condition that my opponent in this case is put in jail so he’ll never receive the amount in any case. At this point al-Hakim ran out of patience and came out from behind the curtain. “For heaven’s sake, butt this fiendish wretch,” he said. “If you don’t, then I will.” Al-Hakim was actually more stupid than the judge. The end.