Bensalem Himmich - The Theocrat

When only the senior missionaries and al-Hakim bi-Amr Illah were still left in the secret wing of the Dar al-Hikma, the latter broke his stolid silence. His followers went over to him and sat in front of him, listening like children to what he had to say.

“Among my most loyal devotees, Hamza, al-Druzi, al-Akhram. and al-Tamimi, there is no priority or preference as far as I am concerned. Whether some of you choose to deify me or others claim that Adam’s soul is transferred to me by way of ‘Ali’s soul, you will only find me adopting whoever among you comes closest to action and success.

“Those of you who deify me and are granted success I will clothe in splendid robes, and mount in my precession on a saddled horse. I will bless him in secret and offer him welcome. However, if anyone advocates my divinity in vain, unaided by strength or will, then eradicate all traces of his droppings from my court, spare my people his false claims, and rid me of his folly. Leave it to al-Kirmani to refute his preachings and to guarantee him misery and hellfire.”

Al-Hakim continued his thoughts. “My devotees,” he said, “if you wish to advocate my deification, start in the mountains of Syria. That is virgin territory, and people there are quick to commit themselves to causes. But, apart from that region, it will be difficult to convince people of my divinity; instead it may provoke much discord among them!

“My devotees, I have this desire to hover god-like over the details of people’s daily lives and to stay above their petty affairs! But there are so many of them, and they are so corrupt! They have hampered my impetuosity and soiled the clear sky of my disdainful retreat. Today I find them tiresome. I immerse myself in a world where they have transformed the surface into muddy swamps; all its charms are now iron bars.”

Al-Hakim gave a yawn. “My devotees,” he chanted, “plant me and give me roots! Talk about me as the books of the prophets do in the Bible. In calling people to me, urge them to make me unique, to weave all around me the threads of their wanderings in dark realms of absence and return. For all those people who stretch out their necks to me in prayer and glorification, I am indeed one who sees.

“My devotees, call to me those who are barefoot and naked. Chain their hearts to my garments. Anyone who dies in my cause will enter paradise in all its glory, strolling through all its parts and relishing what he loves and desires.”

A prolonged silence now came over al-Hakim. He looked completely exhausted and feverish. Al-Druzi hurried over, used a cloth moistened with rosewater to wipe his forehead, and then returned to his place.

“Any deity,” al-Hakim resumed, “who renounces his absence, disappearance, and total transcendence is no deity, but merely an idol or totem. Anyone who comes and talks to people, gets close to them and involves himself” in their mundane squabbles is no deity either, but simply a wizened old woman. Such a person deserves to be defamed and stoned.

“So, my devotees, do not emphasize my deification to excess while I am still alive, ruling the people, determining their fates in this world and the next, and keeping a watchful eye on their every move. Once I have gone, once I have disappeared, urge people to weave from the ashes of my extinction whatever fancies and delusions appeal to them in the firmaments of absence and divinity.”

Al-Hakim’s fever steadily intensified, and he kept feeling boiling hot and then shivering with cold. He began to lose touch, but in his lucid moments he could still talk: “l’m like a deity with broken limbs, the kind that you can only find in pieces in rocky fields or desert sands. Oh, my devotees, how often I pass by, and so do my own funeral and wedding! How often in the wake of night I will vanish from my subjects, and all so that the sea may remain!

“These then are my words and my teeth, both collapsing inside my mouth. It will be for those who come after me to kindle the fire in my locations and corners and to toss my commands and covenant into the recesses of oblivion, all so that the sea will remain.

“O servants of God! Be like the sea, vast and giving. It is promise and menace, thunder in quest of soul’s repose and happy outset. At every moment ask the sea for opinions, not the dead. …”

Al-Hakim continued to mumble some unintelligible words, but then lay down on the ground shivering with fever, He asked for some paper so he could record his last will and testament. The devotees rushed over to cover him with blankets. They refused his request and decided instead to move him back to the palace and hand him over to his private doctor. That is what they did. Each one of them then left to begin the process of interpreting the sayings and visions of al-Hakim that they had just heard and then of making a selection based on their own instincts and the provision of proofs, all with the goal of gathering souls to the cause.

The desert region of Barqa was inured to a life of poverty and hardship, with sparse, sandy terrain stretching away to the south. The tribal oases were sparse and widely scattered — Jafra, Awjila, Jaghbub, and others. Palms only produced dates. Grass only grew thanks to the scant off-flow from a watercourse fed by springs and inaccessible subterranean wells (something that only happened on average every other winter). The tribes of the region, among them the Banu Qurra, had learned to endure this hard existence. With considerable fortitude they would withstand the lethal desert sand storms and the unbearable lack of sustenance, not to mention the destructive attacks launched against them by Fatimid armies. The Banu Qurra only managed to survive and parry the blows of fate because of periodically successful raids launched against their tribal neighbors, the Luwata, Mizana, and Zanata; the spoils from these raids enabled them to eke out the leanest of livings. Each member of the tribe was used to enduring a life of hardship. Peace would only come in the form of a blend of risks and precautions. One conflict was barely over before another started; that was the pattern that furnished their only lifestyle and solutions. However many motives and causes may have been involved — attack, revenge, or defense, war was always war, a universal law governing humanity. In all this war was the only victor!

One day in the month of Muharram in A.H. 395 a strange-looking man in Sufi garb appeared at the Banu Qurra oasis. I le was grasping a thick stick and carried a coffeepot on his back that he used to wash himself before praying. He used to pray, go into seclusion, and meditate a great deal. People described him as a man in his thirties, tall and thin, with olive-brown complexion, a flowing beard, and prominent eyebrows. His expression suggested vigor, seriousness, and piety. During the first days of his stay in the tribe’s guesthouse he was much honored and respected, but he only spoke in gestures and signs. When he did compose sentences, it was only to curse all tyrants, beg for mercy on his forebears, and ask for God’s forgiveness. For a long time the tribe remained puzzled by their guest’s identity, origin, and purpose, but then their shaykh, named Abu al-Mahasin, chose a quiet, moonlit night to sit down with his guest and join him in his ruminations and protestations. It took a great deal of patience and much effort, but eventually the shaykh managed to get his guest to talk and give him some information. As morning was almost breaking, he emerged with praises and thanksgiving and spoke to his tribesmen as follows.