HANDS AT WORK 

Penelope at Mecca   

"Spider and Fly" (detail). A weaving from the pattern-book
of the author's great aunt Laura Todd Burnell (1913–1999)

Six weeks ago, I attended an Islamic art history conference at the University of York, and presented some research from the project I'm blogging here. A lot of my talk was about epic simile, which—much the way Homer likens battlefield exploits to humble trades like spinning and fishing and numerous agricultural tasks—is the main context for representations of craft production in early Arabic poetry. And in the Q&A, the question came up: Is this coincidence, or is it a sign of Homer's reception and influence in Arabia of the Late Antique?
      "I call it uncanny" was my first response, and this was inspired. The rest of my answer came out in a jumble that I'd like to reorganize here.

There is dynamism and pathos in repetitive manual labor, and through the magic of simile they are transferred to heroic gestae, playing on a social antithesis that anyone can appreciate. For these effects to be exploited in more than one literary tradition isn't cause for wonder, nor proof of influence. One example I love from Arabic poetry is the verse by Zuhayr (meter: basīṭ):

      They fan their horses out on every battlefield,
          like sparks thrown out at a blacksmith’s blow.

In the matter of textiles, one major difference between archaic Greek and Arabic tradition is the silence about domestic weaving that prevails in early Arabic poetry (as discussed in my previous installment). Meanwhile, the aristocratic heroines of Greek myth are consummate weavers, and this is too well known to call for examples.
      For contrast, let me mention a couple of reports gleaned by al-Suyuti from Ibn ‘Asakir's History of Damascus, in which noblewomen are found spinning in their homes. "You, a governor's wife, are spinning?" she's asked in one version (no. 4345 in al-Tabarani), to which the woman responds: "I heard my father say: The Prophet, God's blessings and peace be upon him, said: 'Lengthen your thread and increase your reward. It chases Satan away, and causes ruminative thoughts to dissipate' (wa-yudhhibu ḥadīth al-nafs)." The hadith is beautiful, the report is charming, and I bring them up in order to underline the corresponding lack of praise for weaving in classical Arabic tradition, where it is consistently derogated as the work of enslaved people. And that is not at all how it was in archaic Greece.
      Consider also this hadith: "Tailoring is excellent work for pious men, and spinning is excellent work for pious women." The craft that comes between spinning and tailoring is conspicuously left out. Although the hadith is judged noncanonical by most authorities, it is highly characteristic and symptomatic of tradition, where I wager that no aristocratic Arab woman can be found working at a loom.

Detail of a terracotta oil flask painted by the Amasis Painter,
ca. 550–530 BCE. Metropolitan Museum of Art

Now for the uncanny. There is a Quranic verse that proclaims the sanctity of treaties, and rules out their dissolution once they are made. This is Sūrat al-Naḥl (The Bee) 16:92, and in making this injunction it resorts to an allegory that seems to come from Homer's Odyssey. Here let me quote the translation of Muhammad Marmaduke Pickthall, slightly modified:

Be not like she who unravelleth her thread (ka-llatī naqaḍat ghazlahā), after she hath made it strong, to thin filaments, making your oaths a deceit between you because of one nation being more numerous than (another) nation. God only trieth you thereby, and He will explain to you on the Day of Resurrection that wherein ye differed.

As summarized by Ibn Kathir, there are two schools of commentary on the verse. One is that the woman in question is an ad hoc metaphor for anyone who would "unravel" an agreement after swearing to it, and Ibn Kathir takes this view. The other is that there was a madwoman at Mecca who used to undo her threads after having spun them tight (al-Farra’ says her name was Rayta), and that the Quran's first hearers would have recognized the verse's reference to this individual.
      As to the meaning of ghazl, Ibn Kathir has no comment, but Ibn al-Jawzi reports conflicting views. Majority opinion, he says, understands ghazl as nothing more than thread spun from cotton, wool, or hair. Then, there are those who take it for rope. And then he cites Ibn Qutayba's view that this woman would spin her thread, then weave it, and then unravel that weaving, reducing it to filaments. This is the interpretation one might have suspected all along—namely, that the madwoman's "thread" is a metonymy for her weaving, and that, rather than untwisting strands of thread, some woven thing is what she would unravel after having made it tight. Bringing us at last to Penelope's famous unweaving of the shroud on Ithaca, seemingly transplanted to Mecca of the seventh century CE.

Detail of the Penelope Painter's namesake wine cup (L-R: Telemachos and Penelope),
ca. 450–400 BCE. Chiusi, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 63.564

Is it possible that Quran echoes Odyssey at 16:92? I guess that depends on your definition of "echo." My definition would include Sūrat al-Kahf (The Cave) 18:60-63, where a bit from the end of the Gilgamesh epic appears in transmuted form. This is where Gilgamesh loses the sea-plant that restores youth, converted in Alexander Romance tradition into a story about testing the Fountain of Youth by dipping dried fish in it, in which form it was re-transmuted (probably via the Syriac Song of Alexander of Pseudo-Jacob of Serugh) into a tale of Moses in Sūrat al-Kahf. This is what I call a legit echo, with an intertextual trail to back it up.

To my knowledge, no such trail leads from the poems of Homer to the Quran. I've seen a couple attempts to read Quran and Prophetic biography in generic terms of epic (1, 2), and these are interesting thought-experiments with nothing to say about true intertext. It's clearly not impossible for Greek Epic Cycle material to have made it to Arabia—in the form of travelers' tales, say—and the legend of a woman who unravels by night what she weaves by day has what they call "legs." By that I mean it's memorable, portable, and adaptable, and that's as far as I'm willing to go in endorsing the Homeric echo of Sūrat al-Naḥl 16:92, i.e., not very. My word for it remains "uncanny."

For purposes of Hands at Work, the most important takeaway is the Quran's avoidance of words for weaving. Sūrat al-Naḥl 16:80 eulogizes tents and the raw material they are made of (wool from sheep and camels, and hair of goats), but actual weaving is nowhere mentioned. Not even the spider of Sūrat al-‘Ankabūt (The Spider) 29:41 is said to weave her house, but ittakhadhat baytan: she "takes" it. This seems to parallel ghazlahā "her thread" at 16:92, where nasjahā "her weaving" would be the Penelopeian meaning, and in the view of Ibn Qutayba (who was no slouch) the true one.

Ahmad of the Seventh Day I.3

[‘Abd Allah continued:]

The caliph returned to his seat, and they brought water to soothe his face. "How did you come to know him?" he asked me.
      I told him the whole story, and he went back to weeping. "That was my first-born son," he said. "My father al-Mahdi decreed my marriage to Zubayda, but my eye was caught by a woman of another class, and my heart was captured. We married in secret, and when she bore me a son I settled them in Basra. And one of the things I gave her was this ring. I told her, 'Stay hidden until you hear that I've been made caliph, then come to me.'
     "After I assumed the Caliphate, I inquired after my wife and son, and was told that both had died. I had no idea my son was still alive! Where," he asked me, "did you bury him?"
     "I interred him in the Cemetery of ‘Abd Allah ibn Malik, O Commander of the Faithful," I said.
     "I need your help," he said, "Wait for me after sundown outside the palace gate. I'll come down in disguise to visit his tomb." So I waited, and he came out in disguise with a crew of eunuchs. He put his hand in mine, and at a shout from him, the eunuchs retreated. I brought him to the tomb, where he wept away the night until the dawn, rubbing his head and beard against the slab and calling out, "My son! You have given guidance to your father!" And I wept with him, out of pity.
      And then he heard a voice. "I think I hear people talking," he said. "Yes," I said. "Morning has broken, O Commander of the Faithful, and the dawn rises."
     "I am giving the order that ten thousand dirhams be disbursed to you.," he said. "Inscribe your family members and loved ones among my own, as is your right for seeing to my son's burial. And when I die, I will tell my successor to keep up what's coming to you, as long as your progeny are alive."
      He took my hand again, and up to a short distance from the palace we walked hand in hand, to where the eunuchs were waiting. As the company entered the palace, the caliph said to me, "See to all I have told you, and wait for me here at sunrise. When I see you, I'll summon you up to talk some more."
     "If God wills," I said. And I never went back.

       

Another chain of narrators has reported ‘Abd Allah's story to me with some variations, and it goes like this: [TO BE CONTINUED]

From Characteristic of Faultless People by Ibn al-Jawzi; cf. The Lamp that Sheds Its Brightness on the Caliphate of al-Mustadi’ by the same author

If in Abu Dhabi 2.0

Alexander the Sleepless XXII

Fifty years of struggle. Who is equal to narrating them down to the last detail? Who is graced with sufficient inspiration for the task? Faithless haters of the good will no doubt take me for a teller of impossible things, outlandish things, all out of proportion with human nature, because flesh is all they are. But the faithful, who believe as we in property as something held in common with our neighbors, will accept that we are telling the truth, for they also believe in our Lord who vowed: "The works I do, you will not only do yourselves, but greater works besides," when his disciples marveled at the withering of the fig tree. And again: "All things are possible for one who believes."

As for us, we recognize no higher proof than the correctness of the way of life perfected by our teacher. So let us finish our story here, where his life came to its close.

The Life of Alexander the Sleepless III.52

Niches

      

      

Al Jahili Fort (Al Ain, Abu Dhabi), 2024

Alexander the Sleepless XXI

They released Alexander, thinking that God's slave would be isolated, but he had Christ with him and was not alone. As if roused by one trumpet, all the brothers came together just as soon as he was free, and that same day the rule of their service to God was reinstated, and they carried it through as if as if nothing had happened—nay, exulting in it like finders of spiritual treasure, and still more brothers joined them in their progress in the Lord.

If you're ever of a mind to travel the whole world under heaven, you'll find disciples of this Blessed One blossoming in Roman and barbarian lands alike. For they founded the famous Monastery of the Sleepless Ones, and many great ones besides, each as conspicuous as the sun in heaven. And if I tried to number every single one of the noble athlete's virtues, "time would fail me," just as the blessed apostle Paul said.

The Life of Alexander the Sleepless III.51

Ahmad of the Seventh Day I.2

[‘Abd Allah continued:]

I awoke the next morning to hear the man calling my name. "How do you feel?" I asked him.
      "I'm about to die," he said. "Open up the purse that's in the sleeve of my cloak." I opened it and found a ring set with a red stone. "When I am dead and buried," he said, "take this ring to Harun, the Commander of the Faithful, and tell him: 'He whose ring this is warns you to beware! Don't let death find you in your inebriated state, or you'll regret it.'"

After I had seen to his burial, I inquired into what day Harun would appear outside the palace. I wrote an account of the case, presented myself before the Commander of the Faithful, and submitted it to him.
      And then began my sufferings, for once inside the palace, the caliph read my account and said, "Bring me the author of this tale!" And I was hustled inside the palace to face his wrath.
     "This is how you address me?" Harun said. "This is how you act?" Seeing his anger, I brought out the ring, and when he beheld it, he asked where it came from.
     "It was given me by a man who works in plaster," I said. "A plasterer," the caliph said. "A plasterer!" And he bid me come closer.
      I said, "The man sent me with instructions, O Commander of the Faithful." "Woe unto you!" he said. "Tell them to me."
     "O Commander of the Faithful," I said, "he told me to give you this ring and say: 'He whose ring this is sends you his greetings, and warns you to beware! Don't let death find you in your inebriated state, or you'll regret it.'"
      The caliph rose to his feet, and flung himself onto the carpet. "My son!" he cried, writhing about, "you've given guidance to your father!" And to myself I said, "It is as if the father were the son!" [To be continued.]

From The Lamp that Sheds Its Brightness on the Caliphate of al-Mustadi’ by Ibn al-Jawzi; cf. Ibn al-Jawzi's Characteristic of Faultless People