بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم
الحمد لله رب العالمين والصلاة والسلام على رسوله الكريم وسيد المرسلين وعلى آله وصحبه أجمعي
The term dīn is not understood in our Tradition as the term “religion” is throughout Western religious history, but rather carries four primary significations: (1) indebtedness; (2) submissiveness; (3) judicious power; (4) natural inclination or tendency.1
The verb dāna, derived from the term dīn, conveys the meaning of being indebted. A dāʾin, that is to say, one in debt, finds himself subjected to the ordinances governing debts and to the creditor himself. Such, naturally, involves judgments—ones that are carried out in organized societies and cities, denoted by mudun or madāʾin. The existence of a set of laws must presuppose a manner of acting consistently with what is reflected therein, thus embracing a mode of acting that is considered natural in relation to them. Such signifies the final implication derived from the term dīn: one’s natural tendency, or fiṭrah.2
As the fiṭrah yearns to submit to its Creator, man finds his Soul harmonious in a state of submission. However, it is not only a matter of man’s natural tendency to submit to God ﷻ as it is a matter of loving him, and love, in this form, yields both the desire for ascension towards Him, and submission to His Commandments. It is an element of the fiṭrah that it loves God ﷻ; it wishes to see its Beloved content with it, and despises discontentment on His part. It is the highest virtue for the attainment of happiness in this worldly life, and happiness may in no means be divested of virtue, as it is virtue and its pursuit that yields spiritual happiness.1 To be just is to act with wisdom, wherein wisdom entails knowledge of the proper place of a certain thing, and man is just to himself when he realizes his own status before God ﷻ and submits his soul to Him through devotion and immersion. It is in such a state that the meaning of love is clarified.
The phenomenal world is a theater of manifestation of the Divine Names, with all things manifesting some Divine Attribute or aspect. A man and a woman thus bring forth their own symbolisms, thereby manifesting, through nature and action, might, nobility, and beauty. Such is where union and unification present themselves in the image. It is love for the other that grants one a certain level and quality of fulfillment not attainable via other means, as it is a woman in the case of a man, or a man in the case of a woman, who fulfills the paired order by which God ﷻ created all things—a notion portrayed in language as well. The Arabs are known to have called their women ḥinnah, referring to what—or whom—the heart craves, thus indicating a degree of emptiness that takes hold when it is away from its beloved.3 A poet speaks of his homeland, but as al-Yūsī cites him, his affair may be taken both in terms of his longing for his homeland or his beloved, as has also been done. He composes,
A thousand abodes the youth may know upon the earth,
Yet he forever longs for his first home.
The heart longs for one’s home, and home appears to be in the arms of the beloved, or even the land to which the heart is attached—even in the latter case, the affair of love is ever-present. The concept is reflected as well in the very names of Laylā and Majnūn, their stories being an allusion and an elaboration of the notions deeply embedded therein. Wine, for example, was known to the Arabs by the name of Umm Laylā4 (lit. “the mother of Laylā”), for its induction of a state of ecstasy, and it is not a matter of coincidence that ‘wine’ (khamr) itself is one of the names that love carries. Ibn al-Qayyim lists a plethora of others—hawā, ṣabwah, sadam, ḥuzn, kamad, istikānah, ḥuraq, and suhd, among others—all of which fundamentally revolve around yearning, suffering, and burning, portraying that the term, lexically, is inseparable from the emotions experienced by lovers upon separation.4
It is not only in the Arabic language that love appears in such a ripe manner, but its reflection in the Qurʾān itself is evident. The Book of God ﷻ describes spouses—who are going to be construed as lovers, in this case, due to the clear allusion to love between them—as ‘garments’ for one another. The term has been interpreted by some to refer to the residence of the heart, in that the object of love resides in the heart of the lover, as al-Ṭabarī writes.5 It is on a similar note that it is suggested that the term libāsan (garments) has been employed to refer to embracement, through which the lovers become one, both physically and what transcends the physical realm,6 and it is on the same note that in the case of Ibn ʿArabī and other Ṣūfīs erotic imagery may be found, referring to copulation. In this frame, acts do not only have a physical or a superficial framework, but is imbued with metaphysical importance as well, and besides reports of rewards or sins being associated with what is being performed, there are cases, as mentioned by Ibn al-Qayyim, of some Ṣūfīs attaining illumination as well during the act.7 Al-Ghazālī’s refusal to condemn sexual desire or anger stems from similar ideas, as they are merely aspects of human nature, and man’s nature itself is not deserving of condemnation—and this is with the acknowledgement on the part of some that love is a “disease,” as was held by Ibn al-Qayyim, although he arrived at the conclusion after having seen the negative aspects yielded thereby without having experienced it himself. The occurrence of love as a disease is not missed in poetry either, and appears in the works of the Nabaṭī ʿAbd-Allāh ibn Sbayyil, who writes, “I put my mouth to her sweet lips and took a draft, and felt my heart come home from long absence”—quite seemingly in response to his own words:
My beauty, let me steal a kiss, just a little one,
To revive a delirious heart overcome by thirst.
Ibn Ḥazm elucidates this well, writing, “As for the lover, his soul is indeed free and aware of where that other is that shared with it in ancient proximity; his soul is ever seeking for the other, striving after it, searching it out, yearning to encounter it again, drawing it to itself it might be as a magnet draws the iron.”8
Al-Qushayrī dedicates a section in his Risāla to a discussion on love as it pertains to God ﷻ, although its implications similarly apply in the case of a man’s mortal beloved:9
“God [ﷻ] then adds to the description of the lovers, saying they are “humble before the believers,” since they sacrifice their hearts for the Beloved without animosity, and sacrifice their spirits to protect the Beloved, without holding back even a tiny sliver for their own comfort. He then says of them, “They strive in the path of God [ﷻ], and they do not fear the blamer’s blame,” since they strive within themselves to carry out all religious injunctions, strive in their hearts to curb wishes and desires, strive in their spirits to eliminate attachments, and strive in their inner hearts to stand straight and firm in contemplation at all times. He then says, “They do not fear the blamer’s blame,” since they pay no attention to the company of friends, nor seek personal fortune, nor feel the burden of fate or fortune, while never swerving from the path of fidelity.”
Death is only the natural course of life, and the lover, with his knowledge thereof, forever bears it in mind when imagining the end of his love—or the end that is to come in this life, rather. Many of the poems in the chaste love, or ʿudhrī genre, are discussed along these lines, showcasing the degree of unification attained by the lovers, so much so that a life without the other, or even death, appears painful. Kuthayyir advises,
My friends, this was the encampment of ʿAzzah.
Stop and touch the earth which touched her skin,
Remain spending the night where she stayed.
Do not doubt that God will forgive your sins,
If you pray where she prayed.10
The beloved becomes the object of all curiosity and affection, as does what may be connected to her—her homeland, her preferences, irrespective of how minor, or her habits. Majnūn says,
I pass by [Laylā’s] places,
Kissing this wall and that wall.
Longing for her who lived in these places—
Not the places themselves.
The depth of despondency is directly contingent upon the strength of love. Even ʿAlī ibn Abī Ṭālib, a man renowned for his fortitude, could not resist disintegration and failing to see life as though it had more to offer than bleakness upon the loss of his beloved—evident from his words during her burial:
Why is it that I halt at the grave of the one who has passed—
The grave of my beloved who no longer returns my greetings?
O, my love, why do you not answer me?
Have you forgotten the intimacy we once shared?
The beloved said, “How may I respond when I am shackled to the earth?
The dirt has eaten away at my beauty, and I have forgotten you—
It has veiled me from my family and those I love.
So I wish you peace and sever the bond by which we were once bound.
What then may be said about men who lacked the same resilience? It is not only the grief that assumes the reins of oppression, but the very object that had shown them that there is bliss to be found in life—the object through which the world could finally, after longevities of darkness, be seen in the litany of colors that granted it its magnificence—has now disappeared, taking away therewith the lovers’ purpose and any semblance of life that their hearts may have contained. In the words of Majnūn:
As if the mountain-roads were a circle of rings around me—
Never increasing or decreasing in length.
Jamīl composes,
My heart was tied to hers before our creation—
After we were seeds and in the cradle.
It grew, as grew our slumbers and awakenings.
Shattered not was the Covenant upon our passing,
but was honored in every moment,
Even as we entered the darkness of our tombs.
Qays demonstrates the immortality of his love:
Our love will survive every event,
And will visit us in the darkness of the grave.
ʿUrwah anticipates the day he will meet ʿAfrāʾ:
I love the Day of Judgment, for I have been told—
I shall meet her there.
Majnūn proclaims,
O if only we could live together,
And if we die my bones lie beside her bones.
She becomes his meaning, and therefore the lover does all to enrich, beautify, and commit that which grants her joy, as within the confines of true love, the lover attains happiness through sacrifice rather than confiscation. Jamīl mourns,
I am pleased with the little things accorded to me by Buthaynah.
They are so insignificant—
That if they were known by the man [who spies us],
He would not be annoyed with my love.
I am pleased when she says ‘no’ or ‘I cannot’; when she makes me live on promises—
Promises hoped for, but always disappointing.
I am pleased with a quick glance at her,
With spending a whole year without our meeting—
Neither at the beginning nor at the end.
The strife that man will be willing to undergo for any particular thing will be contingent upon his love for it. The Prophet said, “Actions are by intentions, and every man shall have that which he intended [to attain]. Should one emigrate for the sake of God ﷻ and His Messenger, his emigration will be for God ﷻ and His Messenger, and whoever emigrates for the sake of the dunyā or to marry a woman will likewise have emigrated for what he sought.” Emigration itself is an initiative that requires strife. (It is indeed under cruel circumstances that God ﷻ’s Emissary ﷺ had been forced to undertake it.) And if we are to use the terms interchangeably and synonymously—‘emigration’ and ‘strife,’ that is—the ḥadīth itself would seem to portray the love we may have for a certain thing over another, for one may indeed ascribe greater importance to his beloved than God ﷻ, or to some material gain over his beloved, thus, in both cases, thwarting the attainment of the purest and the highest form of love, and being led astray by an unrefined form thereof.
Regardless, for those who have attained the state of love, regardless of its purity and depth, while it may appear to be elementary for observers to make effortless assertions regarding how the victim of love may escape the pangs of his love-stricken heart, this approach of his would be faulty, and fundamentally arise from a state of ignorance. Even if we should entertain the notion that the speakers have in fact been in the position of the audience, we cannot forget that our experiences and stances are not only based on the nature of an event itself, but are tied in with our resilience, sensitivity, knowledge, wisdom, and prior experiences that have shaped our perceptions.
The importance is manifold in this regard as it is particularly love that defies external comprehension. A sufficiently strong understanding of the state cannot be gathered through a mere retreat to relevant literature, but, rather, on the contrary, little will he find helpful until he immerses himself in the state, as it is not a mere matter of knowledge that formulates in the mind, but a matter of experience that affects both the mind and the heart. Its sanctity may not be undermined by conflating it with infatuation, as the latter pertains to the eyes’ mere fondness for a particular characteristic or an individual, without any sharing of the delight or the pain experienced by the object of infatuation, while love is a matter of the heart. Contrarily, infatuation dissipates when the object appears to be the source of pain, hurt, or even annoyance.
Love is a state—the purest conceivable one.11 While it may be difficult to formulate a definition that encompasses all the aspects—essential or accidental—one definition in particular implicitly comprises the existing facets: that love is the heart’s delight in finding the beloved. It is a state in which two hearts, in union, transcend mere materialistic conceptions, although the entailments of their union may be externally perceptible and experienced in the forms of bliss and delight, and their separation in yearning, boiling, and stirring as they, in their thirst and passionate longing, crave union. It does not attain a perfect form through stagnancy, but must rather grow through reciprocation and suffering. Abū al-Ṭayyib al-Mutanabbī muses,
And there is no separation between lovers,
Except that desires find a path to their souls.
ʿAbd-Allāh ibn Sbayyil laments,
Instruct me, please, in the mysteries of passion:
You are steeped in its pleasure and rigor;
Of the malady man keeps within him,
He yearns to be treated but it only consumes him more.
While it is possible for one to love another unrequitedly, what unrequited love yields, alongside the pain experienced on the part of the lover, is zeal, and what it places in the path of the lover is an obstruction that thwarts the attainment of the highest form of love. Jamīl writes,
May God cast motes into Buthayna’s eyes,
May He blacken her brilliant teeth!
Similar thoughts may be found in the verses of Ibn Sbayyil:
She’ll sprinkle my heart before it wastes away
Or is it her plan to let me die because of her?
She is merciless—may His Mercy elude her kin:
Her red-hot iron, Lord, tortures me to death.
Jamīl, however, does not truly intend to curse Buthaynah, and nor does Ibn Sbayyil wish for his beloved to be deprived of God’s ﷻ Mercy. What underlies the words of the former is repulsion towards the notion of any man other than himself approaching Buthaynah, and those of the latter the pain borne from unreciprocated love, both effectively portraying the reality of their raging hearts.
The lovers are agonized, forced to face that their desired future has slithered through their fingers, and so they begin to chase a distant dream. Ibn Ḥazm cites an anecdote wherein he speaks to a man whose eyes were, after the oceans of tears he had shed, dried with weariness, and his life drenched by the waters of sorrow. He recognized that there was no prospect for embracing his love, and yet when he prayed, he did so for union rather than relief. When the Ibn Ḥazm, thus, asked God ﷻ to aid him, he was only met with displeasure, as it was not mere relief that the man sought, but relief through reciprocation in his affections.Often, what proves to be the product of such is anger, borne out of frustration upon the prospects long yearned for disappearing from their grasps.
There is a frequent struggle between the dictates of the mind and that of the heart, for should we consider the mind the tool responsible for applying pure reason, we see that it urges man towards pragmatism; knowledge thereof is also to some degree connected to the outer state of the heart, for the heart may also witness what has been lost. The inner state, however, yearns for the lost object, and it is such a dilemma that yields chaos. Ibn Sbayyil’s poem mirrors this concept:
The heart is a Sulṭān with despotic powers,
It rules at the pleasure of its whims;
The eye is the heart’s scout sent to check,
To-ing and fro-ing at the well from enemy to friend.
Love is an affliction in perpetual motion,
That offers no escape to the smartest game.
A lover may find it impossible to extinguish the fires that rage in his heart, or leave that which he holds on to for the sake of the future he envisions with his beloved, and allows the fires to spread as no other blessing as beautifully waters his heart, and grants his mind a purpose for which he may wish to exuberantly tread into the future. Nor will he, despite his raging heart, attain the most complete state of love, for the element of reciprocation, among lovers, must be present so that they may nurture their love, and along with it their hearts. While one’s experiences may grant them insight into life and prepare them for more difficult trials, it is suffering together that strengthens the lovers’ bond, for the cognition of blessings requires the cognition of loss.
Separation sheds light on this matter. Muḥammad ibn Umayyah writes,
Separation upon separation,
Each meeting without reunion.
As the riders dismount to convene,
Already the camels groan to leave.
My soul is in Syria, where you are—
Not in Iraq!
I crave you! If you saw my heart, you’d know—
How much I love you and burn for you!
Distance from our beloved is often what we need, despite it being not what we may inherently desire. It is what allows our hearts to yearn for those we love, enabling us to discern the blessed nature of our past states—to witness the significance of the gifts we had taken for granted, and to appreciate them once they are returned to us.12
In a state of bliss, man seldom contemplates upon his circumstances, whereas in a state of suffering, insofar as suffering pertains to loss, he can see the privilege with which he was once surrounded. Insān, the term for man in Arabic, is derived from the term nasiya, meaning to forget. Man is, by nature, a forgetful animal, and it is so that he may be reminded of his blessings and be relieved of hardships that life consists of alterations between ease and suffering. To suffer is not to be cursed, but to be gifted, for our cognition of the reality of the dunyā rests upon the extent to which we have experienced loss. Al-Yūsī writes,
“What tries and tests us is beneficial, as it trains and encourages the spirit to cope with calamities, to cushion their force, and provides comfort against their onslaught, and against the religious and worldly trials that occur. Trials educate the mind by familiarizing it with the vicissitudes of time and granting insight into the way of things.“
The pain one experiences upon loss is equivalent to his attachment, and it is this loss from which suffering arises. Accordingly, one may find himself more grieved at the loss of a seemingly minor object over that of an elaborate, ornate one, due to a specific attachment he has for the former. Man finds himself drowning in sorrow when he lacks a future to eagerly anticipate, and so he attaches himself to his past in a feeble attempt to survive the present. What has passed has passed, but when one robs the present of its reality, he robs himself of the opportunity to grow spiritually and intellectually beyond himself, thus stripping his life of any meaning, for he forgets that if there is any meaning in life at all, there must be a meaning in suffering.
We shed tears upon loss, for what was lost had been beloved to us, or because it led to the loss of a state of ignorance that we had been attached to, for the state that we would subsequently enter is one that would show us the ultimate reality. There is nothing a lover would not do for the sake of his beloved—no trial that he would be unwilling to undergo or sea that he would not sail, and despite the zeal and the dedication that the lover may possess in his heart, grief is the price he must pay for love. As al-Ḥusayn ibn al-Ḍaḥḥāk lamented,
I swear, a beautiful breast caused my demise,
And forced a deep sigh from me.
Though I laughed from the pleasure it gave me.
It made me fall apart with grief.
Reflecting on his sister’s tears as she thought about having to let go of his hands once again, al-Yūsī composed,
Saddened by separation, she is saddened by love for me,
Passion aching in her ribs.
To the point where her eyes vie with the rain,
And the bed on which she reclines burns her sides.13
Marcel Kurpershoek writes, “With her push and pull, she attracts the lover and ensnares him in her web. The poet tries to keep his composure, but is powerless against the heart’s dictates. The heart itself is at the tender mercies of the beautiful lady—it is she who holds the heart’s strings,”14 as he elaborates upon Ibn Sbayyil’s verses:
She twists the rope, then unties the knot, at will:
I can’t make head or tail of it.
And so the heart is left in a state of constant rebellion, and the lover struggles, upon loss, to allow his reason to dominate, given its captivity in the hands of the beloved, and this is mirrored most heavily in the context of unrequited love as depicted by al-Shāfiʿī:
From the [greatest of] aches is that you love,
Whilst whom you love loves another.
But even if loss should truly manifest, it is better for man to pay with grief than not love at all. Grief is the culmination of love. To grieve deeply is to have loved fully. Man must open his heart to it rather than close it; embrace suffering rather than distract his heart from it, lest he exacerbate his condition and thwart growth and understanding; and not resemble those who allow their base selves to dominate, unaware that whatever escape they seek shall only be temporary and pull them deeper into the abyss of their own making, for while sorrow is a natural byproduct, suffering is a choice. Man chooses to suffer by tormenting himself with visions of what could have been. It is a part of the suffering man’s nature to treat his blessing as a curse, due to his conviction that the absence of the blessing would imply the absence of his suffering, forgetting that it would likewise imply the continuation of the suffering he had been relieved of, along with the loss of the delight he had received from the very blessing he laments, thus stealing whatever contentment he may have had the opportunity to attain.
It is not necessary that contentment must require the absence of pain and discomfort, for one may well be content while he suffers, for contentment lies in conviction of the truth,15 not merely as it pertains to God ﷻ’s Existence, but also regarding His Power and influence over all things, and His Exalted position in front of the believer. “It is the soundness of knowledge that reaches the heart, for when the heart encounters the reality of knowledge, it attains contentment.”16 While the believer may be immensely pained, he may not be discontented should he possess sound wisdom.
The world and everything therein are underlaid by dualities—it is by opposites that things may be defined. And so grief must accompany love, loss must follow blessings, and darkness must descend if it is to be known what light is. But all is a blessing bestowed by the Greatest of Bestowers and Providers, and in this manner what is beautiful and what is grievous may both be aspects of provision should they be utilized for the purposes they have been bestowed—for whether the blessings have been used for the sake of greater ends, or the grief has induced contemplation and reception of wisdom on the part of the afflicted. Love, similarly, is a provision bestowed upon certain hearts, to various degrees, ends, and towards certain things. Long for it as one may, he may simply not attain it in this life if he is not destined for it, but this is the moment where man must remind himself of the proper place of his affairs and his ultimate purpose of existence: in the absence of love, should duty elude him?
Duty ceases not to be any less important—towards one’s self, family, community, and, above all, God ﷻ—when love is absent, and in the presence of true love on the part of the honorable duty necessarily appears and is undertaken. If love towards a righteous spouse is a reflection of the love the Soul has for God ﷻ, it is implied still that the ultimate end is God ﷻ alone and to Him belongs all things and our very existence, as it is He who sustains all. And in the absence of the love one longs for with regard to a particular individual, hope therein is not what he loses as he awaits a time in which he is gifted therewith, but he walks forward with that hope in heart as he strives for the attainment of a station higher than what he could have attained otherwise. Greatness is yielded with the paths destined for man and carving those he is able to carve—not by walking one hardly meant to exist. Love is a gift, and certain gifts are given to some over others. Whilst this is the case with all things, even duty and what may be yielded thereby, its pursuit is a choice still. Man takes a step and leaves his affairs to his Lord ﷻ, with hope being the primary motivator carrying him forward towards the final end: God ﷻ.
Do you not see how time destroys what it builds—
Taking what it gives, and corrupting what is gifts?
Whoever is pleased to [avert his gaze] from what displeases him,
He takes not what causes him loss.
Ignorance, albeit construed negatively, is innate to us, rife with its own wisdoms. It is because of our ignorance that we may hope, despite the grief that overtakes our hearts, for those who have witnessed the wisdoms behind their trials know that it is only gratefulness that their grief should birth. If loss is the price to be paid for wisdom, it is hardly high, for there is nothing greater than this lost property of the believer should it teach him that not a grain of his broken existence is detached from its Lord. It is with a broken heart that man witnesses the essence of reality: therein is no existence unsustained by God ﷻ and no true existence apart from Him. Should he make what is by nature evanescent, his life will cease to retain any meaning upon its dissipation. There is no love unaccompanied by grief, but should grief be the price man is to pay for love, man must still love for his heart knows that there is no greater beauty in life than what is found through it.
A poet summarizes the matter succinctly:
There are three things you cannot trust:
The oceans, power, and time.
All three are passing and indicate what is to pass. Man must never ascribe permanence to what is temporary, nor make it the purpose of his existence. Avoiding attachments is impossible—for love necessarily leads to their formation—but one must not live for the sake of his beloved, but with her, as ultimate fulfillment is not attained by directing one’s purpose towards his mortal beloved, but by directing it towards permanence with his temporary blessings. The world is a passing manifestation without constancy, and should one make what is transient the purpose of his life, his life will cease to retain both meaning and purpose upon its evanescence. Utter loneliness engulfs man when he denies or doubts God ﷻ, or repudiates the covenant that his Soul has formed with Him, as it is this covenant upon which his very identity is established. The ultimate and final attachment must, as such, be formed with the Eternal, for the one who attaches himself to Him shall never experience loss, be shown the wisdom behind His actions, or be disappointed by His rewards. Indeed, it is in His Presence that true contentment is attained.
And all is God’s ﷻ to command.
Photo by Clark Young on Unsplash
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References:
- Al-Aṭṭās, Prolegomena to the Metaphysics of Islām. [↩] [↩]
- One may consult either al-Aṭṭās’s Prolegomena or Islām and Secularism for a more detailed discussion on the term. [↩]
- Rawḍat al-Muḥibbīn. [↩]
- Laylā, in this context, represents intoxication. The term umm signifies that it is alcohol that begets intoxication as a mother begets her child. [↩] [↩]
- Tafsīr al-Ṭabarī. [↩]
- Tafsīr al-Rāzī. [↩]
- Ibn al-Qayyim, Madārij al-Sālikīn [↩]
- Ibn Ḥazm, The Ring of the Dove. [↩]
- Al-Qushayrī, Risāla. [↩]
- Jokha Alharthi, The Body in Arabic Love Poetry. [↩]
- ʿĀʾishah al-Bāʿūniyyah writes, “It is said that the term “love” (maḥabbah) indicates the purity of states, as in the expression “the dew (ḥabab) of teeth,” meaning they are pure white.” Refer to Principles of Ṣūfism for further details. [↩]
- It is as the Prophet ﷺ said: “Every affair of the believer is good. If something good happens to him, he is grateful to Allāh, and that is good for him, and if something bad happens, he is patient, and that, for him, is good.” [↩]
- Al-Muḥāḍarāt, Justin Stearns, NYU Press. [↩]
- Introduction to Arabian Romantic, a collection of ʿAbd-Allāh bin Sbayyil’s poetry. [↩]
- Al-Aṭṭās, Islām and Secularism. [↩]
- Ibn al-Qayyim, Madārij al-Sālikīn. [↩]
Chaudhury Nafee Ibne Sajed
Chaudhury Nafee Ibne Sajed is a Software Engineer/Data Scientist who has studied Computer Science at Stony Brook University. Possessing a particular interest in the Islamic Tradition and its Sciences, his subjects of focus range from Law, Legal Theory, Hadith, Sufism, Philosophy, and Metaphysics to History and Politics.
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