The Logic of Analogy and the Role of the Sufi Shaykh in Post-Marinid Morocco Author(s): Vincent J.

Cornell Reviewed work(s): Source: International Journal of Middle East Studies, Vol. 15, No. 1 (Feb., 1983), pp. 67-93 Published by: Cambridge University Press Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/162927 . Accessed: 19/03/2012 09:24
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Int. J. Middle East Stud. 15 (1983), 67-93 Printed in the United States of America

Vincent J. Cornell

THE SUFI

LOGIC SHAYKH

OF ANALOGY

AND THE

ROLE

OF THE

IN POST-MARINID

MOROCCO

In spite of the fact that it has been a favorite subject of scholars for more than seventy years, the religious history of Morocco, especially concerning the period before the French protectorate, remains at best incompletely studied and at worst completely misunderstood. This does not mean, however, that theories and indeed dogmatic assumptions have not been advanced, most notably in the study of what has been termed "popular religion," that exotic blend of "orthodox" scholasticism and "heterodox" praxis that has made "Moroccan Islam" so interesting. While more modern works such as that of Eickelman' have included critical examinations of the works of French and other colonialist scholars and have pointed out certain social or political prejudices that served to distort many of their conclusions, most contemporary studies remain based upon the data compiled by these same supposedly discredited and out-of-date colonialists, while neglecting a reexamination of the primary and secondary Moroccan sources essential to the provision of a factual basis for any historical reconstruction of earlier periods. This has resulted in the rather paradoxical situation of critics unconsciously perpetuating some of the same faulty assumptions that have provided the foundations for the theories they have criticized. In the field of anthropology two works, Islam Observed by Clifford Geertz2 and Saints of the Atlas by Ernest Gellner,3 have provided the points of departure for most modern studies of Islam in Morocco and have served to establish a reputation for significant scholarship in the scientific study of religion as a whole. In Islam Observed Geertz attempts to compare what he sees as the typically Moroccan mode of religious belief with that of Indonesia, making a welcome attempt at illustrating the diversity of forms found in what has often been regarded as a monolithic system. In reducing these forms to significant cultural symbols, however, he dangerously oversimplifies what he observes (especially in regard to the situation in Morocco) and basing many of his conclusions on those of earlier French scholars and on an uncritical implied acceptance of the theories of Ibn Khalduin put in the context of Weberian sociology, sees in Moroccan society a sort of dialectical battleground between opposing ideologies. On one side of the conflict stand the cultured and sophisticated cities like Fez, Marrakech, or Tetuan, with a religious ethos supposedly leaning toward an "aggressive
? 1983 Cambridge University Press 0020-7438/83/010067-27

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Vincent J. Cornell

fundamentalism" and "an active attempt to impose a seamless orthodoxy on the entire population."4 Standing against the cities are the tribes, both Berber and Arab, which supposedly share a common "siyyid complex" centered on the
saint-"a quasi-mythological figure ... at once a sharif ... and what the

Moroccans call the mul bled- the 'owner'-in a spiritual sense, of the land."5 Further following the logic of dialectics, Geertz attempts to blend the two ideologies into a specifically Moroccan conception of Islam and concludes that "Islam in Barbary was-and to a fair extent still is-basically the Islam of saint worship and moral severity, magical power and aggressive piety."6 Gellner's Saints of the Atlas expands on a similar theme, also with help from Weber, to distinguish two distinct types of Moroccan religion. The type he calls "urban religion" is seen to stress: Scriptureand literacy Puritanismand the absence of graven images Strict monotheism Minimalizationof hierarchyand spiritualequality Abstentionfrom ritual excess A tendencytoward moderationand sobriety A stress on rules rather than emotion.7 "Rural religion," on the other hand, is seen to stress: Personalizationof religion and anthropolatry Ritual indulgence Proliferationof images and symbols of the sacred Religious pluralism Local incarnationsof the sacred Hierarchyand mediation.8 Gellner summarizes his model of the social aspect of religion by saying, "The town constitutes a society which needs and produces a doctor, whilst the tribe needs and produces the saint."9 While on a superficial level there is no reason to dispute Gellner's description of forms of rural religious practice in nineteenth- and twentieth-century Morocco, even a cursory skimming of Moroccan tarjama literature on the lives of "saints" would quickly reveal the inaccuracies in the above model of rural and urban modes of religious belief. Besides pointing out the necessity of consulting written sources in any study of literate societies, the conceptual dissonance between the models proposed by such Western social scientists and what the Moroccans have written about themselves also points out the necessity of reevaluating the assumptions upon which they are based. At what point, for example, does an anthropologist's restructuring of native conceptions of reality in Western terms lose touch with objective accuracy? Can we automatically assume that popular descriptions of the "miracles" of saints or the presentation of a spiritual master as the "axis of his age" are objectively false or conceptually unsophisticated? Can we make the generalization, as Geertz did, that such miracles are hallucinatory contrivances manipulated by clever individuals in their search for personal power??1

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When one attempts to clarify the exact role of awliya (sing. wall--the ambiguous but significant Arabic term for which nearly everyone since Westermarck has substituted "saint") in Moroccan society, he must first understand that many contemporary popular practices and beliefs are the products of a long historical process leading back many hundreds of years, and that their proliferation centers on a period (fifteenth century A.D./ninth century A.H.)characterized by what a number of scholars, Geertz and Eickelman included, have called the "Maraboutic Crisis." This was a time, allegedly, in which "local holy men, or marabouts, descendants of the Prophet, leaders of sufi brotherhoods, or simply vivid individuals who had contrived to make something happen-appeared all over the landscape to launch private bids for power."" These hommes fetiches are seen to have created a "proliferation of jealous, insular, intensely competitive hagiogracies, called maraboutic states."12 A study of Moroccan histories of this period reveals the inaccuracy of Geertz's description and indicates, quite to the contrary, that such "saintly states" were more the exception than the rule, except for one or two significant cases.3 In spite of the fact that, as will be shown below, overt political activity on the part of "marabouts" (another partial misnomer for wall) appears to have been rare, it is nonetheless undeniable that they did have a substantial impact on the course of events and established a position of prominence in the social life of Morocco which was to last until the modern era. The position of this article, as an attempt to find some of the reasons for this prominence and some of the "hows" and "whys" of the phenomenon of sanctity in Morocco, will be that holiness is symbolic (a point recognized by Geertz himself), but instead of merely applying previously formed Western ideas to specific non-Western situations, the thousand-year-old tradition of sufism in the Muslim West will be used to describe its own manifestation-illustrated, not replaced, by concepts and models of logic that have provided a foundation for the field of symbolic anthropology. To illustrate the applicability of a model based on tradition, an eighteenthcentury account of the life of the qutb Muhammad Ibn Sulayman al-JazulTwill be used as both a historic and didactic document that reveals the central role of the wall in Morocco as the symbolic embodiment of the sum of religious ethics. The activity of such an individual in the political arena will be seen not as directed toward the gain of personal power as an end in itself but rather as an attempt to reestablish ethical norms in a society slipping into chaos. This attempt at "ethnohistory," then, will comprise three distinct but concurrent levels of analysis: 1. Historically, the prevailing political and social conflicts in the western Maghrib of the ninth and tenth Islamic centuries will be discussed in order to portray the environment in which the subject of this study operated. 2. Philosophically, the concept of analogous relationships in Islamic thought will be discussed and illustrated by recourse to Peirce's semiotics, which will serve to provide a bridge leading to an understanding of concepts not often found in Western philosophical logic. 3. Finally, aspects of al-Jazull's sufism will be examined in light of their

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Vincent J. Cornell

symbolism, to illustrate the role of the wall, not as a fetiche, but as a human metaphor for what are perceived to be transcendent realities.
MOROCCO AT THE END OF THE MARINID ERA

If a writer of the period were inclined toward seeing a state as an organism, he would likely have pictured the remains of the Marinid state-what we call fifteenth- and sixteenth-century Morocco-as a dying, disease-ridden leviathan attacked by sharks. The formidable empire of the past, which had set cultural standards throughout the Maghrib, had grown dissipated, weak, and ineffective. In the words of an anonymous chronicler of the twelfth/seventeenth century, when the people of the Maghrib looked back on their history they saw that their rulers had no desire to raise armies and were unable to cross the straits of Gibraltar to spread the word of Islam or to help their fellow Muslims resist in al-Andalus.'4 Their good deeds ceased to be recounted and "loss and evil befell them and their decline in the eyes of the people [an-nas] began."15 Their rulers began to "busy themselves with abandon in [the pursuit of] pleasures and disregard for affairs of importance."'6 They were dispersed in many regions and, complacent in a long tradition of obedience, secluded themselves from their subjects and exercised a laissez-faire stewardship, while allowing their empire to degenerate into what was basically a confederation of tribe-client relationships made up of alliances of chiefs and lords of towns only nominally recognizing the authority of the sultan in Fez.'7 Much of the country had been reduced to nomadism because constant internal warfare had made farming precarious. Urban centers were strongly fortified and many towns, once large, had fallen to the level of villages. The Arab tribes of the northwest, the Riyah, Khulut, Sufyan, and Harith, were often torn in their allegiances; when economically motivated, they paid tribute to the Portuguese, who had begun to settle the coast, and when their tribal chauvinism (to borrow an idea from Ibn Khalduin)overcame them, they reaffirmed their previous ties to their Islamic rulers.18 The city of Marrakech had for more than a century been a semiindependent principality ruled by the Hintata family of the High Atlas. In the Middle Atlas and Tadla regions 'urf (the rule of custom) prevailed over sharT'a, while the tribes played the politics of segmentarism so thoroughly described by Gellner and others. Dukkala was a fiefdom ruled by the BanTFarhuin, and in the High Atlas mountains themselves, feuding and banditry was the order of the day. Jacques Berque's recently published description of the situation in northern Morocco a century and a half later could still serve to describe an individual's view of life in these earlier times: It was a life of fear ... of perpetualmenace, comprisingaccidents of hunting or horsemanship, fights in the country,or murderby bandits-not to mentiontyphusor the Thesenatural even the most short-sighted plansprecarious. plague,all of whichrendered and civil risks (history gives testimonyof them) multipliedthe intensityof passionsreligiouspassionin regardto othersand also bloody and warlikeardor,rapacityand the taste for adventure.'9

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Such was the corrupted body of Marinid Morocco as the "sharks" began to close in. Forces of the Crusade and the Reconquista struck in the fifteenth century of the Christian era. Tetuan was the first to fall in 1401, sacked by the Castilians, and its inhabitants sold into slavery. It remained a ruined ghost town for more than fifty years. Spanish and Portuguese corsairs disrupted commerce. Sebta (Ceuta) fell to the Portuguese in 1415, while the Marinid Sultan remained in Fez, lost in his pleasurable pursuits.20 Al-Qasr as-SaghTr fell next in 1458, followed by Aslla in 1471, with five thousand people, including the sultan's son, taken captive. Tangier fell a few months later, followed by the last Muslim state in Spain, Granada, in January of 1492.21Within a few years after the building of the Portuguese settlement of Mazagan (now al-JadTda) in 1502, all the towns along the Moroccan coast except for Sale lay in Christian hands. Because of the weakness of central authority, the cities were left to themselves to repel the Christian invasion. Tetuan (repopulated by Andalusian refugees under the Granadan commander al-Mandarl) and the new town of Shafshawan (ruled by the shurafa' of Jabal 'Alam under the family of Ban! Rashld) limited penetration in the Jebala region and the Rif mountains. Habt (the region of the northern coastal plains) was defended under the family of the Ban! al-'Aris in al-Qasr al-Kitama (now al-Qsar al-Kabir). The valley of the river Sous in the south, with the Anti-Atlas and the southern coastal regions, heretofore made up of loosely federated tribes of settled Berbers, became unified under the authority of the SharTf of Tagmadert in the valley of the river Draa. One can assume that only the overextension of the Portuguese in their worldwide empire and the involvement of their kings in religious affairs to the detriment of those of state prevented the collapse of the Marinid state at this time and allowed an effective resistance to be formed. But whatever fortuitous circumstances may have occurred, time was provided so that a Moroccan revival could be born in the precarious border regions.
CHANGING IDEOLOGIES

The fact that post-Marinid Morocco was' going through a profound social reorganization is strikingly illustrated by the histories of the two dynasties that shared the period. The earlier of these dynasties, that of the Ban! Wattas, represented the final chapter of Berber rule in the Far Maghrib. A branch of the Ban! WasTnZanata, cousins to the Marinids, whose name they adopted, they arrived in Morocco during the late Almohad period.22 Fictitiously claiming descent from Yusuf ibn Tashf[n, the great Almoravid ruler, they seem to have had a propensity for political activity, often on the losing side. Eventually this clan or large family was absorbed into the Ban! Marin through intermarriage and settled in the Sanhaja region of the Rif mountains, from which they provided officials for the court in Fez. Up to their succession they were known mostly for their court intrigues, which almost resulted in their annihilation when the last Marinid sultan, 'Abd al-Haqq,

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Vincent J. Cornell

ordered the massacre of the entire family. Only a few, led by Muhammad ashShaykh, were able to escape and made their way to AsTla.23 Fortunately for the survivors, this act of the sultan infuriated the people of Fez, who had revered the last great WattasTvizier, Abui Zakariyya, as a valiant muj&hidin the war against Christian penetration. Biding his time, Muhammad ash-Shaykh simply waited for the right moment, which came when the Marinid sultan, leaving taxation in the hands of two unscrupulous Jewish brothers, imposed the kharij tax upon the descendants of the Prophet living in Fez and allowed the proceeds to go to the support of Jews rather than Muslims. Fez revolted, the sultan was publicly butchered by the mob, and the naqTbal-ashraf was installed as the new ruler.24 Muhammad ash-Shaykh, proclaiming himself the rightful heir (via moral virtue and blood) to the Marinid throne, rallied the Arab tribes of Habt around himself, conquered Fez, and established his state in the central and northern parts of the country. It is inaccurate to claim that the BanTWattas was a true dynasty, in that they chose to ignore their separate identity and considered themselves a natural continuation of the line of Marinid sultans, a fact attested to by the name of their first sultan himself-Muhammad ash-Shaykh al-WattasT al-MarinT. It is also clear that their politics were tribally based. Auguste Cour, in a cogent analysis of the period, saw significance in their use of the term "shaykh" in referring to the sultan (he claims that it is the first known instance of its use in court in the Far Maghrib) as alluding to the fact that each Wattasid sultan was primus inter pares, a patron and protector of the tribes that supported him rather than an absolute ruler.25 Not able to enjoy the support of the great confederations of Berber tribes that supported previous Marinid rulers, the Wattasids secured allegiance to themselves
through the use of marriage alliances and the granting of land-use rights (iqta')

as insurance for payment of services rendered. Capped by a corps of appointed officials (the 'ayan) drawn from the elite of major cities, this system became popularly known as the makhzan, and was to last in similar form through the nineteenth century of our era.26 Yet while the Wattasids ruled a state organized along the lines of tribal politics, they sowed the seeds of an important innovation that was to mature under their successors. Again according to Cour, the fact that the word shaykh rather than its Berber counterpart amghar was used signaled the rise of the dominance of Arab culture in Morocco, a point further illustrated by the fact that Arab and not Berber tribes often provided the main support for this Berber regime.27 Even the Rifians in the north, among whom the Wattasids kept their home castle of Tazita, were only marginally reliable, and were more inclined to support the shurafa' of Jabal 'Alam, busy with the jihad in the region of Shafshawan. One might, however, take Cour's conclusion farther and claim that rather than asserting the reality of Arab cultural supremacy, the Wattasids, as Berbers supported by Arabs, were attempting to rise above ethnic identification as a source of legitimacy-even more dramatically illustrated in the case of their successors, the Saadians, who were Arabs initially supported by Berbers.

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The BanTZaydan, or "Saadians," a name given to the shurafa' of Tagmadert by later generations and rivals for power (who tried to deny their Hasanid descent by claiming that they came from the family of Hallma, the Prophet's wet-nurse), came closer than the Wattasids to being the "vivid individuals" that Geertz describes in the work quoted above. It is important to stress, however, that they were not "marabouts, " "saints," or leaders of religious brotherhoods, but instead were fuqaha ', or minor religious scholars, whose descent gave them a certain spiritual authority in the villages of the Draa Valley in southern Morocco. According to tradition28 they were recruited from Yanbui' on the Arabian Peninsula by SusT Berbers, who wanted some hereditary baraka, or grace, to protect their groves of date palms. One can assume, from accounts of the period and practices followed to this day, that their duties involved religious instruction, solving minor disputes, practicing traditional medicine (using herbal remedies and religious charms) and employing their baraka and the science of hikma (spiritual wisdom) to predict or forestall a variety of events. While they shared certain common beliefs with the Sufis of their time, people like the shurafa' of Tagmadert often did not share their mystical tradition nor had tombs installed over their graves as places of pilgrimage, but instead represented a popular, rural image of fifteenth-century Islamic "orthodoxy." Exoteric scholars respected up to this day in the Muslim world wrote serious works on presently condemned practices such as fortune-telling, curing by charms, and geomancy, and one can discover in a work by an eighteenth-century Moroccan scholar that the man who set the times for prayer at the Qarawiyyin Mosque in Fez also served, semiofficially, as an astrologer.29 After consulting all extant primary sources, the Moroccan historian an-Nasiri concludes that the Sharifian movement began when Abui 'Abd Allah of Tagmadert, during a visit to Medina, dreamed of two lions entering a tower with a crowd of people close behind. Taking his vision to a Sufi shaykh he was told that his two sons would have an important future in his country.30Upon returning to Sous he began to broadcast the vision among his people, who believed him, according to an-Nasiri, because of his reputation for honesty, and adopted the Mahdist title "al-Qa'im bi Amrillah." It is interesting to note that he received no opposition at this time from either "marabouts" or leaders of brotherhoods. Indeed, the chief among them in the Abu 'Abd Allah Muhammad ibn Mubarak al-AqqawT, at Sous, the wall STdT that time engaged in ransoming prisoners from the Portuguese, refused power himself when it was offered to him, telling his petitioners instead to rally behind the "muezzin" of the Draa.31 After meeting with the leaders of the MasmuidaBerbers at TidsTnear the town of Tarudant, Abu 'Abd Allah al-Qa'im agreed to lead the jihad against the Portuguese at Agadir and other towns along the southern coast. He then sent his two sons, Ahmad al-'Araj (The Lame) and Mahammad Amghar (later changed to ash-Shaykh), to Fez, where they established themselves as teachers of religion and literature and exhorted the sultan to raise a full jihad in the south.32 Completely occupied with affairs in the north, the sultan, Abfi 'Abd Allah al-Burtugall (named because he had previously been held as a hostage in

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Portugal) gave the two brothers carte blanche to carry on the jihad in the Sous. This was the opening they needed that enabled them to transform moral authority into military authority, opened the gates of Marrakech to them without a fight, and after they had helped to force the Portuguese out of their coastal possessions, to create a tidal wave of mass sentiment (in itself a revolutionary occurrence) that made Mawlay Mahammad ash-Shaykh ashSharif al-Hasani al-Dara?' at-TagmadertT the ruler of a revitalized Morocco The Sharifian ideology of rule, maintained to this day by the present dynasty of 'Alawl kings, was the most important innovation legitimized by the Saadians, who were not its originators but the fortunate beneficiaries of an already wellestablished popular tradition. The popularization of this concept can apparently be traced to the increased activity of Sufis in rural areas, who had adopted it, in turn, from the tightly organized communities of shurafa' throughout the country. After the fall of the Idrisid Dynasty by the eleventh century A.D., the shurafa' remained influential in Morocco, especially in the city of Fez, occupying a social position just below that of the rulers, and were included, in the period covered here, with the fuqaha' (religious scholars), the ashyakh (leaders of different regional groups found within the city), and the Cayan (appointed officials) among the significant citizens of the capital.33 By the advent of the rule of the Ban! Wattas, the shurafa' had proliferated throughout Morocco, either by birth or migration, to the point where they held considerable influence in the Jebala region and the Rif mountains (the who make up cAlamiyyfun),the oasis of Tafilalt (the Filaliyyuin or 'AlawTyyufn, the present ruling dynasty), and the Draa valley (the Ban! Zaydan). As we have seen, two of these families eventually ruled Morocco, and two were prominent in the revival of nationalism through their involvement with the jihad. It was the IdrTsidshurafa' of Fez, however, who commanded the greatest respect, due to their primacy of place and well-established lineage. These families, ranked according to strength of lineage and their time of arrival in the Far Maghrib, eventually comprised a privileged quasi-caste in local society, supported by substantial funds from the religious waqf, and were grouped under a leader, or naqTb, usually from the family of al-CAmran?,who arbitrated between different factions, maintained genealogical records, acted as a judge, and served as a sort of ombudsman to the ruling family. It was this naqib who briefly took power prior to the sultanate of Muhammad ash-Shaykh al-WattasT.34 Their most influential position, however, was in the field of education, where evidence suggests that they had considerable control over the curriculum of alQarawlyyin University and the various madaris, or state-supported schools of religious instruction. Many of the students of these schools came from the country, and as we shall see in the case of al-JazfilT, proved instrumental in disseminating the belief that the shurafa' had a moral right to oversee the affairs of the country. The position of the shurafa. was further enhanced in the ninth/fifteenth century by the "miraculous" rediscovery35 of the tomb of Mawlay IdrTs II, founder of Fez. This seemingly nationalistic and self-serving act, which resulted in the creation of a cult built not around a "saint" in the pure sense but around a religio-political figure (of pure Arab father and Berber mother), so effectively

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served to increase the prestige of the shurafa' that prominent descendants of the Prophet began to appear on numerous family trees, taken as eponyms by families that wished to climb the social ladder. Such was the social environment in Morocco at the end of the Marinid period. Tribal loyalty was beginning to give way somewhat to a national consciousness in the face of an outside threat, a popular idea of the legitimacy of rule was beginning to form, and the country as a whole, sensing the corruption and inertia of established authority, began to feel the need for a popular rallying point of spiritual identity. In the field of politics this identity was provided by the shurafa', who, when they were able to take power, formalized the makhzan system created by their predecessors, but extended the concept by making use of an ideology reminiscent of "divine right"-thus attempting to make themselves the symbols, not only of a regime or type of government, but also of a protonational ethos.
WHO WERE MOROCCAN SUFIS?

In the study of historical events it is incumbent upon the researcher to give up the sterile exercise of interpreting the interpretations of others and make an effort to examine what exists in the nature of primary data. In the case of fifteenth- and sixteenth-century Morocco this task is rendered easier by the availability of data collected by the French in the early years of their protectorate. Their investigations turned up a number of examples of khabar (informative) literature on the lives of awliya', of which three stand out as particularly significant. The latest and most detailed of these works is Mumattic al-Asmdi' by Muhammad al-MahdTal-Fias,36 an account of the lives of the principal Shadhili shaykhs of the tenth and eleventh Islamic centuries. Drawn from other works that appeared prior to its compilation in the eighteenth century, the MumattTcis especially valuable in that it offers detailed accounts of the speeches and activities of these spiritual masters which provide revealing insights into their lives and their doctrines. The second source, Niashiral-MathinT by Muhammad al-Qadirl,37 is a rather superficial account of the lives of numerous awliya' and scholars in the eleventh Islamic century (sixteenth and seventeenth centuries A.D.). The third source basic to this study is Dawhat al-Niishir by Ibn 'Askar, the only comprehensive source of information on the lives of awliya' written in the period being discussed.38 All of these books were quite thoroughly studied by French scholars, who used them to form some of the theories that remain popular to this day. It appears, however, that in their concentration upon the lives of those individuals for whom anecdotes were numerous they may have missed important points. In attempting to answer the question of what a Sufi of fifteenth- or sixteenthcentury Morocco really was, it is not enough only to study the lives of luminaries. The boundaries or parameters of one's definition must be established by a thorough examination of all the data at hand. Such an examination was accomplished in the present case by making a survey of the Sufis or awliya' mentioned in the above three works, then organizing them into categories

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relevant to the problems of modern scholarship. A summary of the findings of this survey follows: Origins By a margin of more than 2 to 1, the average sufi of Wattasid and early Saadian Morocco can be found to be from an urban area. By an even greater margin he can be found to have received a significant part of his religious instruction in a town or a city, often Fez or Marrakech. Education By a margin of 15 to 1 the average Sufi was literate, and was often mentioned as a reputable scholar. Lineage For most of the fifteenth century, by a margin of 12 to 1, the average Sufi was not related by birth to the Prophet Muhammad. The percentage of shurafa' increases in literature dealing with the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, but even then they are outnumbered by more than 2 to 1. Reputation By a margin of 5 to 1 for the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries and even more for later periods, awliya' are mentioned as upholders of the orthodox Islamic tradition and especially the MalklT shar'ca. Even more significantly, those who were criticized in the literature were attacked more for political activity than for religious innovation. Affiliation By 4 to I the Sufis mentioned in the Moroccan literature became introduced to doctrine through membership in a zacwiya, or religious lodge, whether or not they established one themselves. This percentage increases greatly around the beginning of the seventeenth century, possibly because of the acceptance of the Jazilite interpretation of ShadhilT doctrine by the Saadian rulers. Relations with political authority By a margin of 4 to 1 relations with the court tended to be either neutral (the majority) or friendly. Of the minority of Sufis mentioned as having earned the enmity of rulers, the greatest number earned their standing because of political activity. All Sufis mentioned as being politically active were founders of zawaya. From the results of the above survey, it can be assumed that the "average" Sufi (shaykh, "marabout," murTd,or whatever he may have called himself) in Morocco during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries was: 1. From an urban area-a finding in direct contradiction to the commonly held belief that Moroccan sainthood was a purely rural phenomenon. 2. An upholder and defender of Islamic law and the sunna-a contradiction of Gellner's supposed dichotomy between "doctor" and "saint." 3. Literate and often an established scholar-indicating that for this period, at least, many "doctors" were also "saints" and vice versa. 4. Not a descendant of the Prophet-contradicting one of the foundations of Geertz's thesis and indicating that he may have described a popular fiction rather than a rule.

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5. An initiated member of an organized zawiya-again in contradiction to Geertz's "vivid individual" idea. The literature of the period clearly shows that many awliya', whom modern scholars would call "marabouts," were either sent by their shaykhs to the regions they were to occupy for purposes of teaching or spreading doctrine, or simply returned to their native regions for the same purpose. 6. Basically neutral in regard to established authority-stressing the overtly nonpolitical nature of most Sufis. The corollary that politically involved Sufis were members of established zawiyas seems to demolish any possible consideration of the existence of true "maraboutic states," with the exception of that created by the zawiya of Dila' in the seventeenth century. There is no intention here to claim that the tribally based zawiya described by anthropologists did not exist, or that no Sufi was involved in political activity, especially later in the modern period, or that a Sharifian lineage was not considered important in certain cases, or that it was not ascribed to awliya' by the uninitiated and illiterate masses. It is claimed, however, that Gellner's theory of urban and rural religious types is unsupported by the data, and that descent from the family of the Prophet, while indeed becoming in later times a certain popular yardstick for holiness, was not the product of a specifically Moroccan Sufi ideology or of Moroccan conceptions of the nature of religion. It may have been adopted by many Sufis as an expedient, but was in no way fundamental to the concept of sanctity per se.39 Having established, then, the parameters of Sufi participation in Moroccan society during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, our discussion can now move to the nature of the phenomenon of sanctity itself.
THE USE OF ANALOGY IN SUFI DOCTRINE

May God glorifyhim who showedus the straightway ... our Prophet,our intercessor [sic] near God, Muhammadben 'Abd Allah! May He glorify his ancestors,ornaments of His throne of which only He knows their number! May God be favorabletowardthe saints,theirsuccessors,who by theirwordsand acts have transmittedthe principles of the religion, and who, by the exactness of their transmission, have preserved them from all alteration; those who give Wisdom [la science] which transmittedfrom generationto generationis a sure guide, without whichno one is everable to say that they haveaddedor retracted anything,and who have put in their books the Wisdom that they have carriedin themselves.40 This invocation, similar to others of the period, opens the book Dawhat anNashir by Abu 'Abd Allah SayyidT Muhammad ibn Misbah ash-Sharif alHasanT,more commonly known as Ibn 'Askar. Written around A.D. 1576, it is one of the most important sources of information about Moroccan Sufism and perhaps the only extant primary source dealing exhaustively with the awliya' of the ninth and tenth Islamic centuries.4' The book is particularly valuable because its author was both Sufi and 'ilim (or "doctor" and "saint" in Gellner's words), whose mother was a famous Sufi

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herself, and whose ancestors, the 'Alami shurafi' of northern Morocco, included 'Abd as-Salam ibn Mashish, the shaykh al-fath and inspiration of Abi' 1-Hasan ash-ShadhilT. During his spiritual apprenticeship on the Sufi path, Ibn 'Askar met, studied with, and received diplomas from the most famous religious authorities of his day, both in their capacities as official instructors of religion and science (as at the QarawTyyin)and in their unofficial capacities as spiritual guides (shaykhs). The margin notes included in the French translation of his work, presumably lessons taken from his various teachers, provide revealing incidental glimpses of the Sufi doctrine of his day. While the question of the definition of Sufism is certainly one of the most overworked in the western study of Islam, one's answer to it remains important, in that it provides the rationale for all subsequent interpretations, whether of doctrine, holiness, or any other manifestation of the Sufi phenomenon. In light of the continuing confusion it is surprising that Western scholars have not often relied on a consensus found in many Islamic works, of which some have been translated into Western languages. Taking the assumption here that the Sufis themselves are best qualified to authoritatively state their own doctrine, a common definition of the foundations of tasawwuf will be used here, based on principles shared by a number of writers in the ShadhilT Sufi tradition.42 This formulation sees Islam as having a three-faceted nature, whose basic form is presented in the Declaration of Faith (shahada). The first part of the shahada, "There is no deity but God," defines the first facet-the term Tman-which is seen as the realization of the fundamental reality of existence-God in His omnipotence and omnipresence. The second part of the shahada, "Muhammad is the Messenger of God," defines the facet of islam itself-the submission of an individual being to Reality in word, deed, and even personal existence, in that man is seen both as a creation of the Divine and as a manifestation of some of His attributes. One could therefore say that, on a societal level, the first facet, Tman,represents acceptance of the norms of the religion, while the second facet, islam, represents the practice of these norms and attitudes as defined by the sunna (practice) of the Prophet and the structure of accepted Islamic law, or shari'a. It is in the third facet of religion, ihsdn or perfection of behavior, that Sufism enters. If Tman, in traditional terms, is to believe in the miraculous, uncreated message of the Qur'an and a corresponding orientation toward Reality, and if islam comprises external behavior in conjunction with this belief, then the perfection of ihsan can be seen to derive from their synthesis, the complete embodiment of faith and practice in human life. This is exactly what Ibn 'Askar
refers to when he speaks in the above passage of "the saints . . . who by their

words and acts have transmitted the principles of the religion, and who ... have
preserved them from all alteration . . . and have put in their books the wisdom

that they have carried in themselves [italics mine]." The significance of this traditionally based definition is that it defines the role of the Sufi (the adept, not the person casually associated with a tarTqa) symbolically-transhistorically and transsocially-and does not limit the use of the term to those people belonging to established zawiyas. Such an interpretation

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can be borne out by the study of any number of the vast body of biographies from all parts of the Muslim world, which reveal that Sufis often were individuals following very idiosyncratic paths. Significant to the present study, however, is that the above interpretation implies that the perfected Sufi (the shaykh or wall), through his embodiment of "theory" and practice, may become the imam or murshid (guide) for those of his generation. He becomes, in other words, a spiritual successor or khaltfa of the Prophet, and may partake of a certain amount of prophetic inspiration and grace. These concepts can be expressed in terms amenable to Western logic by recourse to the work of Charles Sanders Peirce, a late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century American philosopher and logician whose work has become seminal to the modern study of symbolism. In a series of articles written between 1877 and 1910, he set forth a theory of logic as semiotic-a system based on a formal doctrine of signs.43 In such a doctrine all thought and communication is seen to be built upon an intricate web of shared perceptions, an idea later made famous in social psychology by the work of George Herbert Mead.44This matrix of learned and shared perceptions was seen by Peirce to be most clearly represented in the field of mathematics and was often presented in terms of algebraic equations and the symbols of Boolean logic (known today as set theory). Peirce saw the sign as the smallest, or most primary logical concept, and called it a representamen-"something which stands to somebody for something in some respect or capacity."45The referent of the sign is called its object, and the particular relationship between a sign and its object is seen to be dependent upon a previously accepted concept or set of concepts called the interpretant of the sign. The above relationship can be illustrated in Islamic symbology, taking as an example the commonly used phrase referring to the Prophet Muhammad as the Badr ad-Din or "full moon of the faith," meaning that he reflects the light of the Divine Essence onto a darkened world much as the moon reflects the light of the sun. In Peirce's language of signs the word "moon" would be a linguistic symbol, or a certain type of sign, with the Prophet as its "object." The commonly understood concept of "reflection" or transmission, which ties the two words together in meaning, is what Peirce refers to when he speaks of the "interpretant" of the sign. Further concepts associated with reflection, such as intercession or purity, would be called by Peirce the "ground" or "idea" of the sign. While the above example refers to a symbolic relationship, a sign does not necessarily have to be a symbol. Peirce saw every sign operating as well on one of three possible levels of abstraction, which he called firstness, secondness, and thirdness.46 The level of firstness, or "positive qualitative possibility," refers to a situation of identity between a sign and its object, the kind of relationship existing between a portrait and its subject or the mathematical expression x = y. Such a sign is termed, understandably, an icon.47 The level of secondness, or the "being of actual fact," refers to a situation in which the sign, qualitatively different from its object, "shares" something in

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common with it, or leads one automatically to think of the object when perceiving the sign. Street signs, such as "Stop," "Dead End," or "One Way," are examples of this relationship. It is called secondness because the perception of the relation involves a two-step process-"first x, then y." Such a sign with the quality of secondness, a pointer to something else, is called an index.48 The level of thirdness, consequently, is seen to involve a three-stage process of cognition, such as in the use of the phrase, "moon of the faith," above. Such a sign acts through a replica of itself or an alternate sign, called its interpretant, to refer to one of many possible objects. The fact that an intermediary is involved in the relation "First x, then y, so z," gives rise to the term "thirdness."Its sign is called a symbol, and it is expressed mathematically as x - z.49 The point of this discussion of Peirce's logic is not to maintain that it is a perfect, or even the best model for cognition, but instead to demonstrate that Western concepts or terms do exist that can satisfactorily describe non-Western logic without resorting to dogmatic positivism or a denial of objective reality when dealing with alien symbols. The great difference between Islamic mysticism and modern science lies in the fact that science, especially those branches that call themselves behavioral, bases its conclusions on a concept of observability or measurability to determine the nature of reality. To use a famous Sufi phrase, it is "in the world and of the world." Sufism, on the other hand, operates on the presumption of partial identity or observability, using a logic based on symbolism to elucidate concepts and realities out of the reach of sensory faculties. Such a system of reasoning has been accurately termed by anthropologist Jacques Maquet the "logic of analogy," as opposed to the "logic of identity," mentioned above.50 As the Sufis say of themselves, they are "in the world but not of the world." If one remembers that mystical identity is by way of analogy, levels of understanding and subtlety, rather than by way of sensory perception, the nature of the relationship between the Absolute, religion, and man, often confused by Western scholars when applied to observed ritual or practice, can be more readily understood. Peirce's method, which draws its concepts largely from the field of linguistics, can usefully be employed to illustrate the relationship between religion and the Absolute in terms very similar to those employed by Sufi writers. Using the vocabulary of Peirce's semiotics, one can say that, since the goal of the sufi path is "union" (tawhTd), or "encounter" (liqa') with the Absolute, the source of the search, God Himself as Absolute Reality, has something of a "firstness," or identity inherent in it. This same concept was recognized by sufis as well, and can be found in phrases like "Allah the One," or in the dogmatic refusal of muslims to use anything other than abstract linguistic symbols when describing the Divine Essence or its attributes (a purely iconic conception of strict monotheism). Religion, in that it points the way or orients an individual like a weathervane toward the Absolute, has in its turn the idea of "secondness" inherent in its conception, reflected in the Arabic terms tarTqa(way) or sTra(road, way), which imply an orientation toward a single destination or goal. To Peirce, this would

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mean that the way of religion would stand in an indexical relationship to its object of worship. Finally the individual within a religion takes on the property of "thirdness"in relation to his goal, in that it is only the "path" (religious observance) he takes which leads him to it. This spiritual path is trodden by manipulating (in the case of the sufi shaykh) or being manipulated by (in the case of the seeker) rituals and symbolic devotional attitudes in order to retrace the primal unfolding back to its origin. This activity is negatively expressed by Sufis as the state of fana', or annihilation of personal attributes (the relations of secondness or thirdness described above) seen to precede "arrival." The position of the individual as a "third" is reflected in the Arabic terms salik (traveler, seeker), 'abd (slave), faqTr (poor one), all of which imply the need for aid and intercession by means of another. The required other is of course the murshid (guide)-a further confirmation that to Sufis the believer is in a symbolically construed orientation to his goal.5' Because in Islam this return cannot take place objectively, in that God and man can never share an iconic, or physical, resemblance, but only one that is symbolic (a reflection of attributes), it must be taken by way of analogy. This can be done by referring to a relative "second" which points the way, in terms of symbolic behavior, to the Absolute "first." The primary index or "second" followed by all Muslims is the Qur'an, which is regarded as the eternal, uncreated message of God-a direct didactic revelation. To any Muslim then, the Qur'an, in spite of the fact that it came out of the mouth of the Prophet Muhammad, is not of him, but stands instead in a direct one-to-one relationship with the God to whom it points. Peirce would call it a "pure index," or a "dicent indexical sinsign," an object of direct experience for others providing information about its own object.52 If a Muslim cannot say that the Qur'an is of the Prophet, he may, however, say that the Prophet is of the Qur'an, in that he is by analogy the living embodiment and perfect follower of its message, the spotless mirror by which its "light" or inspiration is reflected. In relation to the Qur'an, then, the Prophet is a "third," and therefore a symbol or embodiment of Divine Grace. This is what Sufis refer to when they call him al-Insan al-Kamil, or "The Perfect Man." Peirce would say that in his lifetime a prophet becomes a "dicent symbol,"53 in that others associate him with general concepts and ideas (existential and experiential concepts) that among Muslims are elaborated in books of hadlth and sira-sayings and biographical accounts that are intended to lead others toward the center of prophetic awareness. On another level, however, a prophet can also be regarded as a "second." Inasmuch as he is seen to be relatively free of uniquely sullying attributes (the "empty glass" or "spotless mirror," to use common terms) a prophet is in a direct one-to-one relationship with the revelation that emanates from him. Such a concept is found behind the Greek word logos, and in Christian ideas of the "Son of God" and Buddhist notions about the divinity of Gautama. For Muslims this prophetic receptability is expressed in two of Muhammad's "names of honor"-Abu '1Qasim (the Distributor of Grace) and Shams ad-DTn(the Sun, or Illuminator of the Faith).

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Any prophet, therefore, analogically speaking, is his revelation; for he is known by it, associated with it, and defined by its content. He can consequently become, again analogically, his own "second" (a "book" in Sufi terminology) and can direct others to the Truth by his own nature and example, independent from the use of words. In the words of Peirce's semiotics, one could say that since the Qur'an to each Muslim is an index, containing in itself an orientation toward the Absolute through lesser symbols called words, the Prophet Muhammad can stand as both symbol and index. He is a symbol in that his life serves as an existential model of the Way, and an index in that his behavior alone serves as a guide, or pointer to the Truth for those who follow him. The evidence of Moroccan texts such as that quoted above, and the "survivals" (here this antiquated anthropological term seems to have some real validity) in the countryside of attitudes now divorced from their original meanings, indicates that the subtle relationship between the Prophet and his message perceived by the Sufis, now as foreign to "modern," westernized Muslims as it is to the "scientific" mind, was not a secret teaching understood by only an initiated few, but was, in fact, a rather widely (if imperfectly) understood concept on the popular level. Such a conclusion becomes even stronger when one considers that membership in a Sufi order was for many years a prerequisite for participation in many areas of Moroccan society.54 Essential to the Sufi conception of the nature of Reality is the belief that the wall or shaykh is related by analogy to the Prophet himself; much in the same way as the Prophet was described above as being related to "his" revelation. In Peirce's language, the Sufi shaykh, a "third" in relation to the Prophet, who is a "second" in regard to the Absolute, becomes, by analogous substitution, a "second" for his followers, and existentially or experientially takes the place of the Prophet in his own period. Such a man, necessarily the most important single Sufi in any generation, is commonly referred to as the Qutb, or Central Axis supporting this entire domain of perceived reality. The idea of the shaykh or wall as a symbol for the Prophet seems to have been first fully developed by the great Sufi philosopher MuhyT' ad-Din Ibn al-'ArabT in the book Fusuis al-Hikam, and was most thoroughly detailed by the thirteenth-century Sufi CAbdal-Karim al-JllT(or al-G1lani) in his book al-Insan al-Kamil,55 a work extremely important to later Sufi philosophy. Al-Jill's summary, toward the end of the book, of the relationship between "saint" and Prophet quite strikingly expresses in traditional language the analogical relationship described above, and further serves to illustrate the absurdity of ignoring the native written tradition of a literate region when studying the religious practices of its people:
Know that Allah has taught you that the Perfected Man [al-Insan al-Kamil] is the axis [al-qutb] around whom revolve the spheres of existence from his birth until his death. He has been one [in essence] as long as there has been existence [and will be so] until the End of Ends. He varies in appearance, appears in human bodies, and is not named by reference to another image [i.e., he appears in only one particular form in each generation]. His original name is Muhammad, his name of honor is Abu'l-Qasim, his description is 'Abd Allah, and his nickname is Shams ad-DTn. Other names belong to him with respect

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and in every age he has a name associatedwith his appearance in to other appearances, that age [here "names"refer to attributes]... The secretof this is that the Divine Commandenableshim to appearin any form;and the disciple,when he sees him in the imageof Muhammad Suratal-Muhammadiyya] [the If whichis upon him duringhis life, nameshim with this name[Muhammad]. he sees him in anotherimage and knows that he is Muhammad, will not call him by the name of he the other image ... Did you not see him when he appearedin the image of [the Sufi] Shiblt?Shibli said, "I bear witness that I am the Prophet of God." His disciplewas a man of insight,and knew him, so he said, "I bear witnessthat you
are the Prophet of God." ...

is in If it is revealedto you that the Realityof Muhammad a manifestation one image amongall the imagesof men, then you are compelledto considernamingthat imageafter the Reality of Muhammad,and you are obliged to pattern your behavior after the possessorof that image[the shaykh]in the sameway that you are obligedto patternyour behaviorafter Muhammad's [becausethe shaykh'sown behaviorso closely corresponds to the sunna and to the content of the Qur'an itself] ... in It is assumedthat his natureis manifested everyage in the imageof these forms[the theirattractiveness to [to shaykhs]in theirperfection exalt theirmissionand to strengthen
others]. They are his successors [khulafaJ] in appearance and he, in essence, is their

reality [my italics].56 After reading this passage it is easier to understand how the veneration of a wall as a symbol of a higher reality could easily have been confused with "saint worship" by Western scholars. It should also be clear from the above extract that the sometimes "groundless" claims of Prophetic descent made by Moroccan Sufis, and their inclusion by later generations in the ranks of the shurafa', could well have originally been a further symbolic way used by these Sufis of expressing a sophisticated spiritual relationship to an uneducated rural public who saw all nobility or laudable qualities to be defined by one's "origin" at birth.57 It must never be forgotten that Moroccan "sainthood" differs from its modern Catholic counterpart in that the transmission of baraka, or grace, is most effective only when the "saint" is alive. In spite of common assumptions to the contrary, it has seldom been the case that a man is venerated only after death; for, as implied in the above selection, what one might call the Mark of Sanctity (the Suirat al-Muhammadiyya) can only be fully perceived during the course of one's life. Two points of view, then, must always be taken into account by the researcher in any study of either "living" sainthood or the veneration of the tombs and memory of the dead. Wilaya, or sainthood, first arises in the context of the Sufi world view and becomes recognized in any individual initially by others in that environment. Only later does this reputation become recognized by the general public, who, over the course of time, may interpret it in terms uniquely their own. Sainthood, then, is most properly both a social-symbolic and a historical concept, and no single history of a wall's life is sufficient without its transhistorical complement. This perspective becomes even more vital in studies of periods such as the fifteenth or the sixteenth centuries, for information given in the primary sources indicates that the level of education of the Moroccan

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population, compared to European populations of the same period, was fairly high, in spite of Geertz's ethnocentric assumption to the contrary.5 The greatest significance of the above passage by al-Jill to the question of wilaya in Morocco lies in its inclusion of the term khalifa (successor) when describing the perfected Sufi. In later centuries this term became widely employed in the Maghrib to the point where khilafa (successorship) came to be defined as one of the ranks occupied by those who had "arrived" at the Essence. This definition of the term is clearly indicated by the Moroccan Sufi 'Abd ar-Rahman al-FasTin his Sharh HIizbal-Barr, or commentary on a long invocation by Abfi'lHasan ash-ShadhilT, when he states that "The existence of sufficiency and the confirmation of successorship [khilafa] lies in the gift of miracles and [one's] confirmation on earth according to the degree [of sanctity attained]."59 Another rather striking allusion to the above concept can be found in al-FasT's reference to the qutb as being the greatest of the "People of Leadership" (ahl al-imama); imama being a term with obvious political overtones.60 Such caliphal terminology provides circumstantial evidence that in Morocco at least, and possibly in other parts of the Muslim world in this post-medieval period, a de facto separation had occurred between realms of the sacred and the profane. Even though the Sharifian sultan of the sixteenth century, by virtue of the moral authority (supposedly) inherent in his descent, took on the old caliphal title of Amir al-Mu'minin (Commander of the Faithful) and became the official imam, or prayer leader for his subjects, there seems to have always have been the possibility of opposition from the other "caliphs" of the spirit, the shaykhs or awliyad, who were popularly seen to embody, following the logic of analogy described above, the moral virtues and principles of the Islamic faith within themselves. From the end of the Marinid period through the first two centuries of Sharifian rule, this potentiality for conflict gave rise to the creation, in the case of the greatest awliya' or aqtab, of a de facto khilafat ar-ruhaniyya, or "spiritual caliphate," which, using as its weapons the Divine Revelation and Command and the public veneration that accrued from it, was able through its propaganda to influence the actions of the khilafat as-siyasiyya or "political caliphate" of the sultan, despite the military force at his disposal. While Moroccan sources indicate that for the greater part of this period the two "caliphates" maintained generally neutral relations in regard to each other, in the few cases in which the "spiritual caliphs," assuming the responsibility for defining the popular Islamic will, began to adopt some of the characteristics (such as military force) of the "political caliphs," a situation very dangerous to the delicate balance between the two was created. It was this loss of balance of forces that created the situation seen by Geertz and others as the "maraboutic crisis" just before the onset of cAlawite rule. But in most of the period between the fifteenth and seventeenth centuries, the creation of "hagiogracies" like the zawiya of Dila' did not occur. Instead, the period witnessed a transformation of ideologies, which resulted in the rise of the Sharifian ideology as defined by the sultans of the Ban? Zaydan (Saadian) dynasty, who, as we saw above, attempted to more closely coordinate the ideals of moral and political authority by using the doctrine of the Jazuilite sufis to exalt their status and to create a Moroccan alternative to the Ottoman Empire. In spite of the later corruption of the

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Saadian rulers and the weakening of their dynasty after the reign of Ahmad al-Mansir adh-DhahabT, this ideology, which postulated the shurafa' as protectors of the Moroccan nation, survived to live again in the subsequent dynasty of 'Alawite sharifs, who reign to this day.
THE Qutb az-Zamin

AS A CATALYST FOR CHANGE

Few figures in any age have been able to achieve the prominence attained by Shaykh Abfi CAbdAllah Muhammad Ibn 'Abd ar-Rahman Ibn AbT Bakr Ibn Sulayman al-Jazuill as-Simlal in the Far Maghrib during the period before his death in 1465. By all measures this compelling and sometimes puzzling personality was the man of his age in true Hegelian sense, an Axis (qutb) in both the sociopolitical and religious dimensions, around whose presence orbited nearly all of the major Moroccan religious figures of his day. To him more than anyone else in his century does Maghribi mysticism owe its present character and from the popular extension of his teachings was drawn the Sharifian dynasties' ideology of rule. The elaborate introduction of MumattTc al-Asma', Muhammad al-FasT's biography of the principal shaykhs of al-JazulT's tariqa, sums up the local perception of the effect his life had on his country:
He was (God be pleased with him) one of the effective scholars, one of the guided imams, and of those who were noble in the sight of others and in religion ... He was an Axis [qutb] in all respects, a succor of useful aid, a falling rain, a merciful inheritance, and a divine imam. God established him in his time [on earth] as a grace for His servants and as a blessing and inspiration for his country ... He was overflowing in his aid, of great help to the people, and possessed that special, pure alchemy [al-kimiya] which changes natures and transforms the copper of lower souls into gold in the quickest time ... He helped great numbers of people with it, many important shaykhs came from his hands, and he revivified the land and the people with it. He renewed the tariqa after studying its remnants and the veiling of its inspiration, spreading by its means spiritual poverty, devotion to the remembrance of God, and prayers on the Prophet to the farthest reaches of the Maghrib. And there began to follow him from the farthest regions (to some of whom belong the most sublime mention) an assembly of seekers from his hands numbering 12,665, all of them gaining abundant blessings depending on their station and on their nearness to him. He gave his authorization to those of his companions who had learned from him. Then they separated and went throughout the country taking people to them [into the tariqa], and their followers multiplied and divided into branches which stretched into the farthest regions.61

One can immediately discern in the above passage the abbreviated description of a mass movement comprising thousands of people, led by a charismatic figure whose activities, simply by their symbolic nature and scope, must have had profound political implications, all in spite of the fact that al-JazfilTseems to have overtly done no more than any other great shaykh in the Sufi tradition. Few dates are provided in the MumattT' except for that of al-Jazuil's death. It is known from his name, however, that he was born in the village of Simlal in the region of Jazfila (often known as Gazfila), located in the Sous valley of

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southern Morocco, long a source of famous Sufi shaykhs. It is also mentioned that he traveled to Fez to pursue his studies instead of to Marrakech, the traditional center of learning for southern Morocco, since the latter was under constant threat by the Portuguese and their tribal allies.62 While at Fez, al-JaziilT apparently studied religion and grammar at the Madrasa as-SaffarTn, still to be seen today near the al-Qarawiyyin mosque, during which time he is supposed to have become acquainted with Ahmad Zarruq, later to be an influential shaykh in the Egyptian ShadhilTSufi tradition. It is also reported, based on stories originating with al-Jazill's father,63that the young scholar used to keep the door to his room in the madrasa locked at all times, which led others to believe that he kept a valuable treasure hidden inside. When his father, out of curiosity, had the door forced open, nothing but the word "death," repeatedly written on the walls, was found. According to al-FasT,64al-JazuilT'sprincipal shaykh was Abu 'Abd Allah Muhammad ash-SharTfBani Amghar, most probably the reigning shaykh of the ancient zawiya of BanTAmghar at TIt-n-Fitr ('Ayn al-Fitr), not far from the small city of Azemmour near present-day Casablanca. This association, if true, is highly significant, for it serves to link him with one of the oldest Maghribi Sufi orders. We are not told, however, exactly when Muhammad al-JazilT was supposed to have studied under the shaykh of the BanTAmghar. We do know that he visited Fez twice, so it is possible that his formal introduction to Sufism occurred during the hiatus between his visits. Upon his return to Fez the new Sufi (already quite spiritually advanced) set to work composing his internationally famous Dald'il al-Khayrat, with the help, it is said, of a QadirTSufi friend and extracts taken from books that he found in the library of al-QarawTyyTn University. This short book, still widely popular throughout the Muslim world, is not philosophical or discursive in nature, but is instead a collection of ahzab for each day of the week, in which prayers for the Prophet and his family figure predomexplains as his purpose for writing the inantly. In a short introduction65al-JaziulT reunification in one volume of the most effective invocations employed by the Prophet, his Companions, and past Sufi shaykhs. These statements are then supported by a collection of hadTthrelating to the special honor that should be reserved by Muslims for all the family of the Prophet and his descendants (the Ahl al-Bayt). This concentration upon the Prophet and his descendants was what gave the Tariqa al-Jazuliyya (sometimes also called ash-Sharfiyya) its greatest doctrinal innovation and its symbolic political content. While his doctrinal legacy remains important to ShadhilT Sufism in North Africa today, al-JazulT'spolitical legacy seems to have been more important in his own time. As his fame as a gnostic spread, he left Fez a second time and took the road toward his birthplace, stopping first at Tit-n-Fitr, perhaps in order to obtain his authorization to teach. He then slowly traveled south to AsfT in Dukkala, from which he was expelled by the local governor as a seditious influence. Finally, already accompanied by many disciples, he came to a permanent halt in the region of Shyadma, at the village of Afughal, some thirty kilometers from the present town of Essaouira and significantly located near the boundary between Moroccan and Portuguese zones of influence. It was here that

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al-Jazuili began to be called shaykh and began to gather his thousands of followers. His biographer al-Fasi takes great care to inform us that he observed all the precepts and was full of devotion to the Qur'dn and the sunna of the Prophet.66 The above qualification is necessary because the doctrine of the Jazuiliyyawas highly personalistic and focused, as did all post-Ibn al-'ArabTtariqas to a certain extent, on the concept of the Perfect Man. In his particular interpretation alJazulTplainly equates this figure with the true khalifa, who in each generation partakes of the eternal essence of prophecy. His own identification with the Insan al-Kamil is plain in the following quotations: Nothing of me is with you except my body. As for me, I have gone to him [the Prophet] and have become one with him. I have been perfectedand I have arrived. and I saw the Prophet... and he said to me, "I am the Beautyof the Messengers you are the Beauty of the awliya'." As for what I taughtyou about the GuidedOne (Peace be upon him), he is nearto me and his authorityis in my hands. He who follows me is his follower,and he who does not follow me will neverbe his follower.I heardhim (Peace be upon him) say, "Youare the MahdT.Whoeverdesires to be happy must turn to you." It was said, "Oh My slave! I have exalted you in eternitywith My grace, and no one will attainyour favor [with Me]. Oh My slave! I have madeyou lord over the inhabitants of the East and the West, [those] who have lived before, and [those] who remain." "Oh My slave! If the angelshad writtena book, and the trees had been theirpens, and the seas their ink, they would havewrittenof your habitualstateswith the crudeness [and of lack of comprehension] a small child writing upon a slate."67 From the point of view of analogical reasoning, the relationships alluded to above relate closely to Peirce's definition of symbolism, the nature of which probably helped account for the doctrine's quick and complete acceptance by many social groups. The implicit equation of the shaykh and his disciples with the Prophet and his Companions was soon expanded to the societal level, which, as mentioned earlier, opened the door to the new assumptions about political legitimacy that were to prove so significant to Morocco in the near future. In a
remarkable passage al-Fasi quotes al-JazuilT as saying: ". . . the glorious person is

he who is glorified in his honor [sharaf] and in his lineage [nasab]. I am noble in lineage [Ana sharifan-nasab]. My ancestor is the Prophet of God. I am nearer to him than all of God's creation, and my blessednessis in eternity, washed in gold and
silver."68

This masterpiece of double entendre was popularly taken to signify the inherent superiority of descendants of the Prophet over all others in matters of legitimacy, and was the reason that the exaltation of Prophetic lineage became the most remembered aspect of the doctrine of the Jazuiliyya in the minds of the Moroccan public. This doctrine was reinforced in the Jazfiliyya wird by the frequent use of prayers for the Prophet Muhammad and his family, and formalized upon publication of Dala'il al-Khayrit. Later generations were to claim (incorrectly) that an exalted love for the Prophet and his family was the essential link between the tarTqasof al-Jazuil and Abi'l-Hasan ash-ShadhilT.69 The attempt to draw a resemblance between the two was carried even further by

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postulating a Hasanid lineage for the shaykh that was of somewhat dubious accuracy. As a political doctrine in the hands of some of al-Jazull's followers, the exaltation of lineage had the effect of eventually rendering all other bases of temporal authority irrelevant, and had the further effect of dooming the subsequent reign of the family of BanT Wattas almost before it began. Such a possible consequence may have been recognized by the Marinid rulers themselves, since the shaykh's death in 1465 has been popularly attributed to poisoning-very likely by order of the sultan, the Portuguese, or one of their allies. Such fears, if they did exist, would have been well founded, for, as we have seen, the tarTqaal-JazulTyya proved to be the spiritual support and source of propaganda for the first Sharifian dynasty. SidTMubarak, the man who directed the SusT Berbers to CAbd Allah al-Qa'im, was a disciple of al-JazulT, and accounts can be found70reporting that Mahammad ash-Shaykh, the first Saadian ruler of a reunited Morocco, often recited the invocations of the Jazuiliyya. It must be remembered, however, that such support of a tarTqafor a regime was limited, and lasted only as long as the Shaykh's successors felt that the Saadians upheld the principles with which they had allied themselves. As far as the perceived immorality and duplicity of the Saadian rulers was seen to increase, the passive support of the Sufi shaykhs became vocal resistance, and by the time of the interregnums of the early seventeenth century, we see a few of them in open revolt against the state. It was during this period only, not the full two hundred years that Geertz assumes, that certain "maraboutic states," such as Dila', were formed. What little hard evidence al-FasTgives concerning al-JazulT'sspiritual method indicates that it stressed religious fundamentals and was highly ethical in character. An attitude of repentance was regarded as essential for the murld, since it alone was seen as the key to restoring faith and discipline to a weak and dissipated humanity. The acquisition of true repentance (tawba) was seen as manifest in certain readily observable attitudes, including remorse, regret, selfreproach, self-abasement, humility, supplication to God, perseverence in dhikr, contentment with one's fate and a healthy (noncondemnatory) attitude toward others.71 Inimical to the Way were attitudes equated with social declinevindictiveness, envy, surprise at events decreed by God, hypocrisy, conceit, love of praise, and the love of power. One of the minor though symbolically important rules of the ta'ifa was that new adepts were required to shave their heads completely to show their repentance, following the tradition that the Prophet required shaving and circumcision to remove external signs of unbelief.72 Because, in al-JazulT'smind, the formally appointed men of religion were so unsuited to the task of teaching the Islamic message, it became incumbent upon the true Sufi shaykh (significantly the mushahid rather than the mujahid) to take upon himself the responsibility for educating the general public. The message of the tarTqa,therefore, was tailored for mass consumption and delivered in the form of rules or commandments, easily understood and memorized by a largely illiterate population. Once these rules and attitudes had been established in an and individual, he (or she) could now truly become one of the master's murTdTn, later would be empowered to spread these rules to as many of his personal acquaintances as possible.

The Logic of Analogy and the Role of the Sufi Shaykh A partial list of al-Jazuil's ethical regulations includes the following:73

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1. Follow the sunna of the Prophetin all aspectsof daily life (whichimpliesthe need for literacy as a means of access to the corpus of hadTth literature). 2. Oppose the enemies of God (both the Christiansattackingfrom the sea and the zindTqand hypocritewho underminethe communityfrom within). the 3. Maintaindhikrand prayersfor the Prophet(to reinforce properattitudetoward ultimateRealityand to maintainthe highestof aspirations constantlykeepingin mind by the Perfect Man). 4. Hate no one with faith, no matter how ignoranthe may be. 5. Do not neglect prayer. 6. Do not be overbearingor arrogant. 7. Do not exaggerate. 8. Do not love materialwealth. 9. Love the poor and be one of them (here the wordfaqTris used in its literalsense). 10. Learnonly those sciencesthat lead one towardGod (an admonitionagainstalchemy and counterfeiting-a common Moroccan reaction in the face of political decline). Like most Sufi ethical doctrines, the commandments of al-JazulTcan clearly be seen to be based on the Prophetic sunna taken from the accepted books of hadlth, and as such are acceptable to "exoteric" and "esoteric" scholars alike, the difference in interpretation between the two lying mainly in their choice of situations in which to apply them. The doctrinal equation of Islam with jihad, and the true Muslim with the tells his followers to "oppose the enemies of God," mujahid, as when al-JazuilT was a critical element of the shaykh's doctrine during his lifetime, and remained important for his followers until the Christian threat was removed after the battle of WadT al-Makhazin in 1578. The Sufis of Morocco, who had always been in close contact with their counterparts in al-Andalus, were intimately aware of the effects of the growing Christian hatred for the Muslims of Spain, and many writers of the period strongly attacked the Marinids for not defending them against persecution.74As Christian conquest led to the colonization of the coastal regions of Morocco, this concern for the survival of the faith became an alarm which served to ally the Sufis, as defenders and upholders of the Islamic way of life, with the local rulers (al-Mandar?, Ban! Rashid, BanT 'Aris, etc.), who were forced to defend their domains independently, without the assistance of the central power. There are many descriptions of Sufis in the literature cited above in which they are seen as recruiters for the jihad, mujahidin themselves, or go-betweens who secured the safety of local political and religious figures through ransom. As seen above, the widespread zeal for the jihad that they helped to foster served as the motive force that propelled the Saadians into power. The added contribution of the cult of the shurafa' symbolized by Moulay Idris combined with this zeal to unite all tribal and urban groups for a time in resistance to the invader under the SharTfs,the first symbol of truly "Moroccan" protonational authority and legitimacy. Implicit in the above commandments as well lies an unspoken concern about the disintegration of society and the loss of Islamic principles, which were seen to provide the limits within which orderly social life could operate. Such a concern seems to have been the reasons for Ibn 'Askar's75great pains taken to stress the

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"orthodoxy" of the Sufis mentioned in his book and his readiness to condemn behavioral excesses. It also appears to be the reason why al-FasT,in his account of al-JazulT'sadoption of prayers for the Prophet Muhammad, mentions that he learned of their importance from a woman "of great authority and [spiritual] power in Fez, out of fear of [the evils of] custom [min khawf al-'cda])."76 From clues such as these one can make the educated guess that religious morality in the post-Marinid period had degenerated to a degree commensurate with the prevailing disintegration of political structures, and that the corruption of the last Marinid sultans in the face of gradual Christian conquest caused the religious elites of both city and country to cast about for some other unifying symbol. Al-JazilT, in continuing the time-honored tradition of great Moroccan religious leaders, who attempt to lead an errant populace back to the clarity and discipline found in the original Islamic message, provided via his behavior and apparent sanctity the necessary focus to which all levels of society could be oriented, making him visible in the surat al-Muhammadiyya to an unprecedented degree. His exaltation of the family of the Prophet, besides providing the ideology for the subsequent political activity of the shurafa', also contained the seeds of an Islamic revival based on the Prophetic sunha. This call to the sunna, as well as al-Jazuilis attempt to create a mirror image of the Medinan community of Companions centered about himself, can be recognized in the following exhortation transmitted by al-FasT: Oh Assembly of Muslims!Be among the communityof the Exalted One (Peace be upon him), and do not be among his enemiesby disputing[about the Truth],rejecting, towardGod has belonged cheating,or by treason.Assemblyof Muslims,your inclination to you as a gift from him [the Prophet]who guides you until the end of time, so praise him.77 A further analogy to the situation of the early Muslim community can be found in the fact that al-JazulT,like the Prophet before him, sent his followers out to all parts of the Maghrib to preach his message and to provide models of behavior to which all could relate, in the hopes of restoring the disintegrating social order. The success of all revivalist movements necessarily depends on the shared perceptions of large numbers of people. In the case of al-Jazaul the shared image was that of the shaykh of a tariqa in the stirat al-Muhammadiyya, in which his image and that of the Prophet were symbolically fused into one. This image, first identified by the adepts of his tariqa and later disseminated and reinforced by the praise and reverence for his teachings that they brought with them into the countryside on their missions of salvation, created the conditions necessary for al-Jazuil to be regarded as the Axis of His Age (al-Qutb az-Zaman) in the public consciousness, and made him into a powerful living symbol that directed his nation toward a unity based upon common faith at a time when the need was particularly intense. The symbolic association of al-Jazull with the image of the Prophet Muhammad did not die with him. Within weeks after his death it resurfaced in the true "fetishism" employed by his heretic successor 'Amr ibn Siyaf, who refused to

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allow the shaykh's burial, but instead carried his coffin about for years as an object of veneration during his attempt at insurrection in the Shyadma and Dukkala regions.78 The formal consolidation of the image of al-Jazfill occurred even later, after the rise of the Saadians, in the redesignation of his tariqa under the name "at-Tariqa al Jazuliyya ash-Sharifiyya," when the descendants of the Prophet living at that time equated their own essence with his message, firmly establishing his qutbanTyya as something transcending the limits of personal existence.
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA: LOS ANGELES NOTES 'Dale Eickelman, Moroccan Islam (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1976). 2Clifford Geertz, Islam Observed (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1971). 3Ernest Gellner, Saints of the Atlas (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1969). 4Geertz, Islam Observed, p. 16. 5lbid., p. 50. 6Ibid., p. 15. 7Gellner, Saints of the Atlas, p. 7. 8Ibid., p. 8. 9Ibid. '?Geertz, Islam Observed, p. 46. "Ibid. 12Ibid., p. 31. 3These authors' misunderstanding of the wall's role is all the more surprising when one considers that three major indigenous sources for Moroccan history, two of them contemporary with the "Maraboutic Crisis," have been translated into French. These contemporary sources are: Muhammad Ibn 'AlI Ibn Misbah Ibn 'Askar, Dawhat an-Nashir li Mahisin man Kina bi'l Maghrib min Mashayikh al-Qarn al-CAshir,Mission Scientifique du Maroc, Graulle trans. (Paris: Ernest Leroux, 1913), and Muhammad al-Qadiri, Nashir al-MathanT, Mission Scientifique du Maroc, Graulle and Maillard trans. (Paris: Ernest Leroux, 1913). An excellent nineteenth-century secondary source is Ahmad Ibn Khalid an-NasirTas-SalawT, Kitab al-lstiqsi' li Akhbar ad-Duwwal al-Maghrib al-Aqsd', Direction des Affairs Indig6nes, various translators (Paris: Librarie Ancienne Honore Champion, 1934). ad-Dawla as-Sa'adTyya ad-Dardi'yya at- TagmadertTyya, Institut des Hautes '4Anonymous, Ta'rTkh Etudes Marocaines, George Colin, Ed. (Rabat: Editions Felix Moncho, 1934). '5lbid., p. 2. 6lIbid. '7Auguste Cour, La Dynastie marocaine des Beni Wattas, (Algiers: Universite de Alger, 1920), pp. 28-45. '8Ibid., p. 46. '9Jacques Berque, L'lnterieur du Maghreb (Paris: Editions Gallimard, 1978). p. 150. 20Cour, La Dynastie marocaine, p. 42. 2'An-Nasiri, Kitab al-Istiqsa', "Les Merinides" (Archives Marocaines, vol. 33), p. 500. 22Mention of the arrival of the Ban! Wattas in the Rif mountains is given in 'Abd al-Haqq alBadisT,al-Maqsad ash-SharTf wa'l-Manza' al-Latff fT Dhikr Sulaha' ar-RTf,Archives Marocaines, vol. 26, George Colin, trans. (Paris: Librarie Ancienne Honor6 Champion, 1926), pp. 35, 37, 77, 113-114, 175. 23An-NasirT,Kitib al-Istiqsa', "Les Merinides," pp. 470-471. 24Ibid., pp. 473-477. 2SCour, La Dynastie marocaine, p. 93. 26Ibid., p. 108. 27Ibid., pp. 110-111.

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28An-NasirT,Kitab al-lstiqsai. "Les Saadiens," pp. 6-7. Nashir al-MathanL, pp. 236-237. 29A1-QadirT, 30An-NasirT,Kitab al-lstiqsa', "Les Saadiens," p. 12. 31Ibid., pp. 14-15. 32Ibid., pp. 16-17. "Anonymous, Ta'rTkh ad-Dawla as-Sa'adTyya, p. 6. 34Cour, La Dynastie marocaine, pp. 36-37. 35Berque, L'Interieur du Maghreb, p. 163. 36Muhammad al-MahdTal-FasT, Kitab MumattT' al-Asma' fT Dhikr al-JazulTwa at-Tabbac wa ma lahuma min al-Itba' (Fez; 1313/1893). 37Al-Qadir, Nashir al-MathanT. 38Ibn 'Askar, Dawhat an-Nashir. 39A similar conclusion was drawn by the anthropologist David Hart, who attempted to deal with the problem of definition by postulating the existence of "big imrabdhen" and "little imrabdhen" among the saintly families of the Rif (David Hart, The Aith Waryaghar of the Moroccan Rif [Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1976], pp. 190-191). 40Ibn 'Askar, Dawhat an-Nashir, pp. 11-12. 41E. L6vi-Provencal, Les Historiens des Chorfa (Paris: Emile Larose, 1922), pp. 231-234. 42Anexcellent introduction to mainstream ShadhilTdoctrine as interpreted in the twentieth century can be found in Fritjof Schuon, Understanding Islam (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1976). 43CharlesSanders Peirce in Justus Buchler, Ed., The Philosophy of Peirce (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1940), p. 98. 44See George Herbert Mead in Charles Morris, Ed., Mind, Self and Society (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1972). 45Buchler, Philosophy of Peirce, p. 99. 46Ibid., p. 75. 1Ibid., p. 102. 1Ibid., pp. 75, 102. 49Ibid., p. 102. 50Examples of Professor Maquet's ideas can be found in Jacques Maquet, "Meditation in Contemporary Sri Lanka: Idea and Practice," Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 7, 2 (1975), and "The World/Nonworld Dichotomy," in Agehananda Bharati, Ed., The Realm of the Extra-Human: Ideas and Actions (The Hague: Mouton, 1976). "One could also mention the famous Qur'anic phrase, Inna li'llahi wa inna ilayhi rani'u7n. 5Buchler, Philosophy of Peirce, p. 118. "Ibid., p. 117. 54CliffordGeertz, Hildred Geertz, and Lawrence Rosen, Meaning and Order in Moroccan Society (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979), pp. 154-162. al-Insan al-KimilfT Ma'arifat al-A wakhir wa'l-Aw'il (Cairo, 1316/1896). 55'Abdal-Karim al-JTlT, 56Ibid., book II, pp. 46-47. 57Geertzet al., Meaning and Order, pp. 92-101. "This assumption is implicit throughout Islam Observed. ar-Rahman Ibn Muhammad al-Fasi, Sharh Hizb al-Barr (Cairo: Maktaba al-KulYyyaal59CAbd Azharlyya, 1969), p. 112. 60Ibid., p. 119. al-Asma', pp. 3-4. 6'Muhammad al-FasT, MumattTC 62Ibid., p. 6. 63Ibid. 64Ibid., p. 7. 6Muhammad Ibn Sulayman al-JazulT, Dala'il al-Khayrat (Tunis: Al-Manar, 1964). 66Muhammad al-FasT, Mumattic al-Asma', p. 10. 67Ibid., pp. 4-6. 68Ibid., p. 5. 69Ibid., pp. 7-8. 70See al-Qadiri, Nashir al-MathnT, and an-NasirT, Kitab al-Istiqsa'. 7'Muhammad al-FasT, MumattT' al-Asma', pp. 22-23.

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72Ibid., p. 16. 731bid., p. 22. 74For example, see Anonymous, Ta'rTkh ad-Dawla as-Sa'adyya, p. 2. 75Introduction to Ibn 'Askar, Dawhat an-Nashir. 76Muhammad al-FasT, MumattTC al-Asmai, p. 7. 77Ibid., p. 5. 781bid.,p. 12. An-Nasiri, Kitab al-Istiqsa', "Les Merinides," pp. 507-511.

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