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The Masters
of Seville
After Abu Madyan, the teacher whom Ibn Arabi probably mentions
most frequently in the Futuhat is Abu l-Abbas al-Uryabi.
Clearly the times he spent in the company of this illiterate peasant
from Ulya in the Algarve had a profound effect upon him. It is also
significant that among the recommendations (wasaya) of Ibn
Arabi which Ismail b. Sawdakin transcribed in his Kitab wasa’il
al-sa’il, several derive from Abu l-Abbas al-Uryabi. So,
for example, the following prayer which Ibn Arabi was to make his
own: ‘Oh Lord, nourish me not with love but with the desire
for love’ (Rabbi urzuqni shahwat al-hubb la l-hubb).
This influence—which is especially evident in Ibn Arabi’s
initial attachment to the practice of dhikr using the divine
Name ‘Allah’ alone—is hardly surprising. For a
start, Uryabi was his murshid al-awwal, his first teacher:
a relationship which is always of special significance in Sufism.
Secondly—and this is probably the most decisive factor of
all—Uryabi was governed by the state of ubudiyya, or
total servitude. ‘My master Abu l-Abbas al-Uryabi, who was
the first teacher whom I served and received graces from, had one
foot planted firmly in this domain—the domain of servitude.’
Now in Ibn Arabi’s eyes the state of ubudiyya surpasses
all others. It is the state every disciple must aspire to and the
goal of spiritual realisation, because it represents the return
to the original state: to the ontological nothingness of the creature
or created being. Whoever has realised ubudiyya or servitude
has stripped himself of rububiyya, of the ‘Lordship’
which really belongs to God alone but which ordinary men in their
arrogance claim for themselves. According to Ibn Arabi the state
of such a person is comparable to a stone that falls where it is
thrown; he is literally abd Allah, the slave of God. In a
sense it can be said that Ibn Arabi’s entire teaching as embodied
in his writings has as its sole aim to guide his ‘spiritual
children’ (we will see in due course why the term ‘children’,
rather than ‘sons’, has to be used) towards that state
of servitude to which Uryabi had guided him. ‘Be a pure servant!
(kun abdan mahdan) … That is what I was
advised by my shaikh and master Abu Abbas al-Uryabi.’ It will
emerge later that the only people who realise the state of ubadiyya
fully are the malamiyya, the ‘People of Blame’.
Finally, there is the fact that Shaikh Uryabi was in a sense responsible
for the first meeting between Ibn Arabi and Khadir, that mysterious
interlocutor of Moses: the master of the ‘masterless’,
he who is the supreme possessor of the ilm laduni, the
‘knowledge inherent in God’.’ This initial meeting
took place in Seville when Ibn Arabi was still a youth, and it was
to be the first in a series of interventions by Khadir in his spiritual
destiny which would culminate in his double investiture with the
khirqa khadiriyya, the ‘initiatic mantle’ transmitting
the baraka of Khadir: firstly at Seville in 592 and
then at Mosul in 601.
Before telling the story of this first encounter with Khadir, it
is worth pointing out that Muhyi l-Din was only around twenty years
old when he met Uryabi. The following episode occurred at the start
of this companionship, as he himself says (fi bidayati amri).
His youthfulness excuses—or at least explains—the
lack of adab or propriety which, on his own admission, he
showed. He still had a great deal to learn about the rules of proper
behaviour which normally govern the relationship between disciple
and master. ‘A difference of opinion arose between me and
my master Abu l-Abbas al-Uryabi, regarding the identity of a person
whose coming the Prophet had announced. He [Shaikh Uryabi] said
to me, “The reference is to so-and-so, son of so-and-so”,
and he mentioned someone whom I knew by name: I had never seen the
person but I had met his cousin. I expressed scepticism and refused
to accept what the shaikh said about this individual, because I
had an infallible perception (basira) regarding the
man in question. As it happens, there can be no doubting the fact
that later the shaikh changed his opinion. But he suffered inwardly
[as a result of my attitude], although I was unaware of this because
at the time I was only in my early stages. I left him to return
home. On the way I was accosted by someone whom I did not know.
First of all this person greeted me, with a great deal of love and
affection in his gesture. Then he said to me: “Accept what
Shaikh Abu l-Abbas says about so-and-so!” I understood what
he was asking. I immediately returned to the shaikh to let him know
what had happened to me. When I appeared before him he said to me:
“Oh Abu ‘Abd Allah, is it going to be necessary for
Khadir to come to you every time you hesitate to admit what I say,
and tell you: ‘Accept what so-and-so says’? And how
is that going to happen each time you refuse to accept my opinion?”
I replied: “The door of repentance is open”. He said:
“The repentance is accepted”.’
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