V. The Declining Years and Death Rabi’a’s Illnesses and Death

Rabi’a, like so many of the saints, lived to ripe old age, and must have been nearly ninety when she died. Some of the authorities quoted by her biographers apparently knew her only in her old age, when she was feeble in body and yet so clear in mind that she was still the guide and spiritual director of the many souls who came to seek counsel of her. The author of the “Siyar al-Salihāt” says that when she heard others speak of death she shivered and her fingers trembled, and others say that if she heard the mention of fire, or even the crackling of it, she became unconscious. An overwhelming dread of judgment after death and the constant fear of Hell was characteristic of the early Sufis, as we have already noted, and especially of the school of Hasan al-Başrī. The most that he felt could be hoped for was an alleviation of the punishment for the believer, in that the period of torment in Hell would be shortened, and here seems to be in embryo the doctrine of purgatory for those who were true Muslims, and yet had fallen short and sinned. It is plain that the early Sufis had a strong sense of the moral turpitude of sin and the idea that it might mean separation from God — for the Sufi the greatest of all deprivations — in the next world. The Christian doctrine that sincere repentance cannot fail to win forgiveness, together with the Christian doctrines of Atonement and Redemption, had not entered into the Sufi conception of the relation between God and His servant. We are told^1,2,3 of Sha’wana the ascetic that she said at the time of her death, “I cannot bear to meet with God”, and when asked why, she said, “Because of the multitude of my sins”. The same feeling led to a different result with ‘Ubayda bint Abi Kilāb, who is said to have spent forty years in weeping, until her sight was lost. She was asked, “What do you desire?” She said, “Death”, and when those with her asked “Why?” she replied, “Because every new day that dawns I fear lest I should commit some sin which would mean my loss on the Day of Resurrection”. Yet to some of the Sufis the longing to be with their Lord was stronger than their fear of judgment. AlJunayd was told that the Sufi Abū Sa’id al-Kharrāz was in great ecstasy at the time of his death. “Is it to be wondered at?” said al-Junayd, “his soul has taken flight full of longing (to see God)”. Fatima, sister of the Sufi Abū ‘Ali al-Rūdhabārī, said that when her brother was at the point of death he opened his eyes and said, “Here are the gates of heaven opened and here is Paradise adorned and here is one saying, ‘O Abū ‘Alī, thou hast reached the highest rank ’”. As we shall see from the account of her teaching, it is hardly conceivable that Rabi’a was amongst those who were afraid of death, which to her represented Union with her Beloved, above and beyond the temporary experience of union which was all that could be attained in this life. Her faith soared to heights above those to which Hasan attained or al-Fudayl, of whom it was said that “sadness left the world when al-Fudayl left it”; hers was a confident and radiant faith founded on her intimate knowledge of — and communion with — her Lord. She would have said with ‘Abd al-‘Azīz,^4,5,6,7,8 “Death is a bridge whereby the lover is joined to the Beloved”. As regards the effect upon her of the mention of fire, this element seems to have been chiefly associated with Hell and with evil in the minds of the early Sufis, and a later Sufi, Rūmi, contrasts Fire with Light, as evil with good, the defiled with the pure, that which perishes with that which is immortal. Al-Hujwīrī also contrasts the “fire of wrath” and the “light of mercy”. On the other hand the Persian writers constantly speak of the “fire ” of love and its consuming power. ‘Attār speaks of Rabi’a as” that woman on fire with love “, and in this sense fire is regarded as a pure and holy element, causing suffering yet purging of dross. AlKalābādhī, using the term in such a sense, says,” He is burnt who feels the fire, but he who is fire, how shall he be burnt? “i.e. he who is still under bondage to self and his sins, must feel the wrath of God, but he who is on fire with love to God, what fear has he of judgment? Again al-Ghazālī says of the longing of the mystic that it is” the fire of God which He has kindled in the hearts of His saints, that thereby may be burned away what exists in them of vain fancies and desires and purposes and needs “. This is the sense in which the Spanish mystic, St John of the Cross, says,” Love has set the soul on fire and transmuted it into love, has annihilated it and destroyed it as to all that is not love “. Rabi’a, consumed by love and desire for God, might be compared with St Catherine of Genoa, who felt the consuming fire of her love to God so hot within her that she was dried up by it and her body was burning^{9,10,11,12,13,14,15} to the touch, and fire for her had a significance equal to that felt by Rabi’a, who swooned from her strong emotion at its mention. Yet this emotion was more probably ecstasy than fear, to Rabi’a her Lord was “the One God Who is the Fire of Pain and the Light of Joy to souls, according as they resist Him or will Him, either here or hereafter”. In Rabi’a “the fire of her all-conquering love” demanded “eternal union with an eternal flame”, and the mention of Death made her tremble, not with apprehension, but with infinite joy. In one respect, certainly, Rabi’a was like her great successor, in that her health was frail, perhaps as the result of her ceaseless asceticisms, perhaps because of the hardships of her youth. We hear constantly of her illnesses and her sufferings from weakness. As with St Catherine, too, her illness sometimes had its source in spiritual rather than physical disturbance. We are told how one day she was suffering and lamenting and her friends said to her, “ O venerable one of this world, we see no visible cause of illness and yet you are in pain and crying out “. She said: My sickness is from within my breast, so that all the physicians in the world are powerless to cure it, and the plaster for my wound is union with my Friend; (only so) shall I be soothed. Not to-morrow (i.e. not yet) shall I attain my purpose. But since pain is not affecting me, I appear to be in pain, I cannot do less than this. (I.e. the outward signs of my spiritual sickness should not be less than the outward signs of physical illness.) So also the Christian mystic: The soul that loves God lives more in the next life than in this, because it lives rather where it loves than where it dwells, and^16,17,18,19 therefore esteeming but lightly its present bodily life cries out: “Behold, the malady of love is incurable, except in Thy presence and before Thy face”. The reason why the malady of love admits of no other remedy than the presence and countenance of the Beloved is that the malady of love differs from every other sickness, and therefore requires a different remedy… love is not cured but by that which is in harmony with itself… There is no remedy for this pain except in the presence and vision of the Beloved. In what appears to have been her last illness, Rabi’a was said to have been visited by three of her friends, Hasan of Başra, Mālik Dīnār and Shaqiq Balkhi, and they, like the friends of Job, endeavoured to teach her the duty of resignation. Hasan said, “He is not sincere in his claim (to be a true servant of God), who is not patient under the chastisement of his Lord”. Rabi’a said, “I smell egotism in this speech”. So Shaqiq took up the thread and said, “He is not sincere in his claim who is not thankful for the chastisement of his Lord”. Rabi’a said, “Something better than this is needed”. Then Mālik Dinār tried, “He is not sincere in his claim who does not delight in the chastisement of his Lord”. Rabi’a said, “Even this is not good enough”. They said, “Do thou speak”, and she shewed her idea of the true resignation in her reply, “He is not sincere in his claim who does not forget the chastisement in the contemplation of his Lord ”. And ‘Attār commends her answer, saying,” It would not be surprising, since the women of Egypt in their contemplation of a creature were oblivious to the pain of their wounds; and therefore if anyone in the contemplation^20,21,22 of the Creator were in this state, it would not be strange “. One writer says that her shroud was always before her, in her place of worship. When the time of her departure from this world drew near, she called her servant, ‘Abda bint Abi Shuwal, and said to her,” O ‘Abda, do not inform anyone of my (approaching) death, but shroud me in this gown of mine, of hair “. So when she died, she was shrouded in that gown and in a woollen scarf which she used to wear. ‘Abda relates further how she saw Rabi’a in a dream, a year or so after her death, and she was wearing a robe of green silk embroidered with gold and a scarf of fine green silk brocade and never had ‘Abda seen anything in this world more beautiful, and she cried out,” O Rabi’a, what have you done with the shroud in which you were buried and the woollen scarf? “and Rabi’a answered her,” They were taken from me and I was clothed with what you see upon me and what I wore as a shroud was folded up and sealed and carried up to the angels, so that my garments might be complete on the Day of Resurrection “. ‘Abda said to her,” Were you working for this, in your earthly days? “She said,” What is this in comparison with the grace of God to His saints? “Her Persian biographer gives the following account of her death. He says: At her last moments many pious folk were sitting around her and she bade them,” Rise and go out; for a moment leave the way free for the messengers of God Most High ”. All rose and went out and when they had closed the door, they heard the voice of Rabi’a making her profession^23,24,25 of faith and they heard a voice saying, “O soul at rest, return to thy Lord, satisfied with Him, giving satisfaction to Him. So enter among My servants and enter into My Paradise”. There was no further sound heard, they returned and found that her soul had departed. As soon as she had rendered up her last breath, the doctors who were assembled had her body washed, recited over it the prayers for the dead and placed it in its last abode. The religious leaders said of her that Rabi’a came into this world and departed into the next and never was she wanting in reverence to her Lord, and never did she desire anything or say “Give me this or do this for me”, much less did she desire anything from any of His creatures. After her death, she was seen in a dream and the dreamer said to her, “Tell us of your state and how you escaped from Munkar and Nakīr”. She said, “Those beings came and said, ‘Who is your Lord? ‘I said, ‘Return and tell your Lord, Notwithstanding the thousands and thousands of Thy creatures, Thou hast not forgotten a weak old woman. I, who have only Thee in all the world, have never forgotten Thee, that Thou shouldest ask, Who is thy Lord?” “Rabi’a al-‘Adawiyya died in A.H. 185 (= A.D. 801) and was buried at Başra. It is said that Muhammad b. Aslam al-Tūsi and Na’mī Tartūsi both visited Rabi’a’s grave, and said,” O thou who didst boast that thou wouldst not bow thy head for the two worlds, hast thou reached that^26,27,28 exalted state? “and they heard a voice in reply,” I have reached that which I saw “. She had attained the goal of her quest, she was united at last and for ever, with her Friend, she beheld the Everlasting Beauty, and so we leave her, with the closing words of her faithful biographer,” May God have mercy upon her “.²⁹