Utilities of the soul

You must know that no mortal craftsman can practice their craft without utilities or implements. They need to have at least one. Between utilities and implements, there is this difference: The former include the hand and fingers, the foot, the head, the eye and all members of the human body, while "implement" refers to externalities like the carpenter's axe, the smith's hammer, the tailor's needle, the writer's pen, the shoemaker's awl, the barber's razor, and all such things used in the technical trades.

You must also know that the implements and materials of all craftsmen vary according to their trade, and that their actions differ accordingly. Each performs their own characteristic movements and types of action. The carpenter is an example of this: With an axe he planes things in a downward motion; with a saw he saws them in a back-and-forth motion; and with an auger he drills them in an elliptical right-to-left motion while the auger goes round and round. In this way, the motions performed in the practice of any craft reduce to seven: one that is circular, and six that are linear. This was divinely ordained, for the heavenly bodies have also seven types of movement, as discussed in our Epistle on Heaven and Earth: one that is circular, as originally intended, and six that are accidental; and the movements of sublunar entities follow this pattern. The former are causes, and the latter are effects bearing the traces of those causes. This is how the sages say that secondary matters tell of primary ones, in quite the way that games played by children tell of the trades practiced by their fathers, mothers, and teachers.

Brother, you must also know that in order to practice a trade, every mortal craftsman needs at least one moving member, such as the hand, the foot, the back, the shoulder, or the knee. Generally speaking, a "member" is a part of the body with which the soul can perform one action or several actions in counterpoise to some other part of the body. The members of the body are utilities of the soul, and serve the soul as tools, as we have discussed in our other Epistles.

From the Epistle on the Practical Crafts by the Brethren of Purity

Coverings

The word mi’zar can signify a pair of trunks. This meaning is specified by Lane, who says that mīzar and mi’zar are currently used in Egypt to designate "a pair of drawers."
    In Maliki law, it is stated that "No man shall enter the bathhouse without a mi’zar" (thus in the Epistle of Ibn Abi Zayd). In al-Nuwayri's Ultimate Ambition we find that al-Hakim bi-Amr Allah forbade anyone to enter the bathhouse without one, and this is reported by al-Maqrizi as well. And in Ibn Iyas, we read in a report of the year 824 AH/1421 CE that "When they went to wash the corpse of al-Malik al-Mu’ayyad, they could not find [in the sultan's domicile] the smallest ewer to douse his body with, and no towel to dry his beard until one of the washers of his corpse gave up his own handkerchief. And there was no mi’zar to shield his privates until they took one off a neighborhood mourner—a coarse black wrap of Upper Egyptian make. Praise to the One who glorifies and brings low!"
     Freytag defines mi’zara only as [the brief cloak called in Latin] a pallium, but it also designates a cloth that covers one's private parts and lower body. In his Travels, Ibn Battuta tells of "a beautiful shrine at Burj Bureh [modern Brijpur?] inhabited by a handsome, clean-living holy man called Muhammad the Naked, because he goes dressed in nothing but a waistcloth covering his navel, with the rest of his body exposed. This man is a pupil of the righteous saint Muhammad the Naked who dwelt in the Qurafa cemetery of Cairo—one of God's saints who went robed in nothing but a mi’zara [appearing as tannūra "kilt" in most manuscripts of the Travels], which is a waistwrap that hangs down from the midriff."
     Mi’zar can signify a cloak as well. In Ibn Iyas, we read in a report of the year 822/1419 that "the Sultan [al-Mu’ayyad] wore a white woolen tunic. On his head was a small turban with trailing fringes, and he draped a mi’zar of white wool over his shoulders in the Sufi fashion." And in [the tale of Muhammad ibn ‘Ali the Jeweler, a.k.a. "The Strange Caliph" from] A Thousand and One Nights: "He threw a black mi’zar over them, and from beneath it they began to watch."
     Among the garments of the monks of St. Anthony "on the slopes of Mt. Colzim," Vanslep describes the mezerre: "a great cloak of black material lined with white, sometimes called melótēs in Coptic, and sometimes bírros. It is like the cloaks of the Jesuits, only it has no collar, and except when traveling, they seldom wear it." [As mentioned above,] mi’zara is defined as pallium in Freytag's Lexicon, and Vansleb may had this form in mind when writing mezerre; similar though these words are, mi’zar is not at this time used to name that garment in Egypt.
     Lastly, the mi’zar can be a covering for the head. In his Travels, Ibn Battuta describes a particular form of mourning observed at Idhaj after the crown prince's death: "I happened that day upon a strange scene. The place was packed on every side with judges, orators, and nobles seated with bowed heads along the walls of the royal gallery, some of them weeping and others merely pretending to. Over their clothes, they wore rough, sacklike robes of raw cotton turned inside out, and every man's head was covered with rag or a black mi’zar. To those who kept this up for forty days, the sultan gifted a new set of clothes."
     It is in this sense that mi’zar entered Spanish as almaizar, defined by Covarrubias [the same] in his Treaury of the Castillian or Spanish Language as "a mantle-like veil or toque worn by Moorish women. It is made of fine silk, with colorful borders and fringes at either end." He continues: "Diego de Urrea says this garment is called in Arabic an izār, explaining al- as the definite article, and ma- as the marker of the instrumental noun: al + ma + izar = almaizar 'covering,' which the Moors wrap around their heads, leaving the fringes to hang down over their shoulders." Throughout early Spanish literature, almaizar and almaizal refer equally to head coverings for women and men.
     Mi’zar has also entered Italian: large panels of printed cloth with which women wrap their heads are called in Genoa mezzari. As for mi’zār (with long alif), that's one form I don't believe I've ever come across in Arabic.

From A Detailed Dictionary of Terms for Arab Dress (Amsterdam, 1845)
by Reinhart Dozy

Deviation and aversion, cont'd

Abū ‘Ubayd: Aza’a, ka‘‘a, and kabana [an anagram of nakaba treated earlier] all signify a "turn away" from something. Ḍaba‘a ["stretch forth"] means to "prefer" and "incline towards" a thing, as when a group inclines toward peace, while qaraḍa ["cut"] means to "avoid" a place, as in the verse [by Dhu 'l-Rumma, meter: ṭawīl]:

     [My gaze followed] the women's caravan flanked by horsemen
          on the right, as they skirted the interior of Mushrif on their left.

And i‘tataba is to "recede" from something, as in the verse [from the Hāshimiyyāt of al-Kumayt, meter: ṭawīl]:

      That yearning has receded from my heart.
          To the subject of this poem it is now attracted.

     Ibn Durayd: Ḍāfa is to "lean" toward something. Abū ‘Ubayd: Aḍāfa is for when you lean one thing against another so to bolster it. As for ṣāfa, the author of Kitāb al-‘Ayn says it means to "turn away"; its verbal nouns are ṣayf, maṣīf, and ṣayfūfa.
      Abū ‘Ubayd: Ṣāra, verbal noun ṣawr, is to "cause a bend" in something, while ṣawira, verbal noun ṣawar, is to "bend" intransitively. Anything affected this way can be described as aṣwar. Ṣāra is also to "deflect" something—this was mentioned earlier—and the derived form aṣāra means the same.
      Ibn al-Sikkit: Ashamma is to "deviate" from the direction in which one is moving. I heard al-Kilābī say: Ashamma is to "veer" to the right and left of one's direction.
      Abū ‘Ubayd: One's ‘alaz is one's "inclination" and one's "goal," from the verb ‘aliza [whose better-attested meaning is "to writhe in pain"].
      Abū Zayd: Janaḥa, voweled as yajnaḥu and yajnuḥu in the present tense, means to "lean" toward something, as does the derived form ijtanaḥa; ajnaḥa means to cause something or someone else to lean.
      Abū ‘Ubayd: Jāra yajūru, verbal noun jawran, is to "deviate"; transitive form ajāra is to cause someone else to deviate. Abū Zayd: Jāra may be used of anyone that leans. The author of Kitāb al-‘Ayn: ‘Aṣafa is [to "deviate"] from a route, the same as jāra.
      Ibn Durayd: Nāta, verbal nouns nawt and nayt, means to "sag." ‘Anad is "disinclination" toward something, and so is ‘and; their root verb is ‘anada ya‘nudu. A path that is ‘ānid is a deviant one. A riding camel described as ‘unūd, pl. ‘unud and ‘und, is one that runs wide of the path, due to her strength and high spirits.
      The author of Kitāb al-‘Ayn: Laḥj is a "leaning." Iltaḥaja is to "lean" intransitively, and alḥaja is the causative form. Ru’ba [or his father al-‘Ajjāj] said (meter: rajaz):

     ...or tongues tilt against us when they speak

—meaning that they incline away from praise, and speak ill of him.
      Ibn Durayd: Arghala and arghana mean to "lean." Zāgha, verbal nouns zawgh, zaygh, and zayaghān, is to "deviate from the path." Tazāyagha [a reciprocal form meaning "to lean toward each other"] is more correct than tazāwagha.
      Abū Zayd: Rāgha is to "wheel" on someone, whether to confer with them or attack them; in Qur’ān, [it says that Abraham] "wheeled upon [the idols of his people] and smacked them with his right hand."
      Ibn Durayd: ‘Āja, verbal nouns ‘awj and ‘iyāja, and its derived forms in‘āja and i‘wajja are all synonymous with ‘aṭafa ["to turn toward or against"]. Al-Aṣma‘ī: Tajānafa is to "divagate" from something.
      Ibn Durayd: Khanfasa means to "have a strong aversion" to something and to "despise" it; an obnoxious character cast out from society is what you call a khunfus.

From the Mukhaṣṣaṣ of Ibn Sīdah

Wierd Horror (sic)

  

    Dry-point etching, 5" x 7"

No secrets left

                 Nothing remains in doubt after
                     my assay of every enigma,
                 from what Hermes said at the beginning
                     to what Heraclius said at the end,
                 to the riddles couched by Galen
                     in twisting dodges,
                 and the primordial traditions
                     upheld by sacred revelation,
                 and the encryptions of Jabir, who
                     practiced what the ancients did.
                 For all they held back, I vindicate them.
                     For all they put forth, I have commentary.
                 From all the materials I have gathered,
                     I have clarified and broadcast every secret
                 in my Keys, the book loaded with wisdom
                     that springs the lock jammed shut,
                 and its concomitant Lamps
                     of brilliant flame,
                 like nothing produced by anyone
                     before my time or after.
                 Nothing less than the epitome
                     of every long-studied science
                         is what my verses hold.

By Mu’ayyad al-Din al-Husayn ibn ‘Ali al-Tughra’i (meter: mutaqārib)

Ahmad of the Seventh Day II.2

[‘Abd Allah continued:]

"When I die," the laborer said, "wash for me the woolen robe and wrap that I have on, and sell my shovel. That'll be enough [for my burial clothes and the price of my interment]. But the robe has a pocket, and when you undo the seam you'll find a ring. Take the ring and await the day the caliph Harun al-Rashid rides by. On that day, you must make yourself conspicuous. Call out to him, and show him the ring, and surrender it to him when he bids you approach. But none of this until I'm dead and buried."

I agreed to his terms, and after he died I carried out all his instructions. Then I waited for the caliph to appear. When that day came, I staked out a place along his route, and as he rode by I shouted, "Commander of the Faithful! I am entrusted with something that belongs to you," and flashed the ring at him. At his command, I was seized and borne along to the palace, where he sent away every one of his guardians and retainers and asked my name. "‘Abd Allah ibn al-Faraj," I said.
      "Where did you get this ring?" he asked. I told him my story of the young man, and the caliph burst into tears that moved me to pity. I waited for him to take notice of me again, and then I asked, "What relation was he to the Commander of the Faithful?"
      "He was my son," the caliph said. I asked him, "How did he get into this condition?"
      "He was born to me before I became caliph," Harun said. "He grew up strong and healthy, and studied Qur'an and religious science, but when the Caliphate was thrust on me, he fled, taking with him no reminder of the world around me. He never lost reverence for his mother, though, and I pressed this ring on her, a ruby ring of great price, and told her: 'Give this to him, and ask him to keep it handy. Perhaps it will be of use in his hour of need.'
      "After that," he continued, "his mother died, and from that time to this I know nothing about him but what what you've told me." Then he said, "Take me to his grave after night falls."
      Night fell, and he came out alone with me from the palace, and walked until we were at the grave. The caliph sat down and wept strenuously until the dawn. When the sky began to lighten, we rose and returned to the palace, where he set a date with me to visit the grave again after a number of days. And I returned with him on the appointed night, and escorted him back to the palace afterward.

‘Abd Allah ibn al-Faraj said: I had no idea that he was Harun al-Rashid's son, until the caliph told me so himself.

       

So goes Ibn Abi 'l-Tayyib's version—a fine report, in my estimation, though the first version is better authenticated, with an unbroken chain of transmission by trustworthy narrators.
      Popular storytellers have lengthened this account into an episodic tale. In their version, Ahmad is Harun's son by Zubayda [rather than the secret marriage of Harun's youth. This is how they say Ahmad turned his back on palace life and became an ascetic:] He went out hunting, only to encounter Salih al-Murri and hear him preaching, and then Ahmad's horse stumbled, and fell to the ground... But all of that is drivel. I report only what has been authenticated, and God gets the final say.

From Characters of Integrity by Ibn al-Jawzi; cf. the Book of Strangers
of al-Ajurri

No art of memory

Memory is not an art, nor could it ever be. The arts are Memory's gift to us, but memory itself cannot be taught or attained by any art. It is an advantage that some receive from nature, or the luck of their immortal soul. Without it, humanity would have no connection to eternality, and nothing we learn could ever be taught, if Memory did not dwell within us.

Whether Memory should be called the Mother of Time or its Child, I leave to the poets, who can say what they want. But no one among the truly wise would be dumb enough to throw away their good standing by [claiming to train the memory through mystic arts, and] posing like a juggler in front of little kids—the kind of thing that gives actual pedagogy a bad name.

So how did the students of Dionysius of Miletus all have such prodigious memories? The answer is that his lectures were so enjoyable that his listeners craved to hear them again, and Dionysius, in awareness of his own charisma, was obliged to repeat them many times. They became stamped in the minds of his brightest students, who declaimed them to each other until all had memorized through practice what memory alone could not supply. This is how they came to be called the "Mnemonic School," and were credited with turning memory into an art. It's also why people say the declamations of Dionysius are a piecemeal corpus, augmented in different places by different individuals where Dionysius himself had been succint.

From Lives of the Sophists by Flavius Philostratus