Why was Suhrawardi executed?

Others, like Ibn Sina and those who followed him, acknowledged prophethood while holding that the world was eternal. But they brought the prophet down to the level of a just ruler, and saw the whole of prophethood as little more than the unveiling, influence and visions that certain men might attain through spiritual discipline. 

They maintained that the prophet possessed three special faculties. In their understanding, the word of God was nothing but sounds arising within the prophet himself, while the angels were images and lights taking shape in the mind. Such powers, they believed, were not beyond the reach of ordinary men, provided they submitted themselves to spiritual discipline and purification. Prophethood, then, was no longer a divine election, but something that could be acquired.

And so it came to pass that those who followed this path, among them Suhrawardi al-Maqtul, Ibn Sabʿin al-Maghribi and others of their kind, began to aspire to prophethood, waiting for the day when someone would say to them: “Arise and warn!” - Ibn Taymiyya

Why was Suhrawardi put to death by the Ayyubids? And what are we to make of the accusation that he claimed to be a prophet?

Before proceeding, I should say something about the nature of my historical inquiries in general. I have never intended to present conjecture as certainty. Nor do I believe that certainty is within our reach when we turn to many particular episodes of the past, least of all those belonging to the premodern world. What I can offer, therefore, is an interpretation of the surviving texts: a reasoned speculation.

As far as I am aware, no complete English translation of the earliest accounts of Suhrawardi’s life and execution has yet been published, only some of them. Let us therefore begin at the beginning.

Bustan al Jami is the earliest known account of Suhrawardi's execution. Its author writes:

...Although Suhrawardi belonged to the Shafii school of law, his thought had come to be governed chiefly by philosophy and speculative theology.

In a disputation with several jurists at the citadel, they found themselves unable to answer his arguments. Their knowledge of the principles of jurisprudence was slight, and they could not engage him on that ground. They therefore took issue with something he had said.

“You have maintained that God is capable of creating (another) prophet,” they said. “But this is impossible.”

“What, then, is the meaning of divine power?” he replied. “Is not God capable of whatever He wills, with nothing to stand in His way?”

“Yes,” they answered.

“Then He is capable of all things.”

“Except the creation of a prophet,” they said. “That is impossible.”

“Is it impossible without qualification, or is it not?”

“You have committed unbelief,” they replied.

And so they set about bringing about his downfall...

The earliest account refers only to a relatively innocuous remark made by Suhrawardi. It seems unlikely that such a remark could have led to his execution. Nevertheless, the account is significant in that it introduces the question of prophethood into the narrative.

Another biographical account, written by the Kurdish Shahrazuri, a later follower of the Ishraqi tradition, is particularly valuable. It summarizes much of what would subsequently be written about Suhrawardi’s life:

As for practical philosophy, in this regard he was like the ancients of long ago, messianic in form, like a wandering dervish in attribute. He performed ascetic practices the people of this day and age would be incapable of equaling. He broke his fast but once a week, and his sustenance never exceeded fifty dirhems. If the ranks of philosophers be surveyed, a more ascetic or excellent person than him will scarcely be found.

Ibn Ragiqa says: "I was walking with Shihabuddin in the mosque at Mayyafariqin, and he was wearing a short blue quilted tunic. On his head was wound a cloth and on his feet were slippers. A friend of mine saw me and, approaching, asked, Why are you walking with this donkey-driver?' Watch what you say,' I replied, 'for this is the lord of the age, Shihabuddin of Suhraward! He expressed astonishment at this and walked away."

He paid no attention to the world, with which he was unconcerned; he gave little thought to food or dress and was not impressed by exalted position. Sometimes he wore a cloak and a long red skull-cap; sometimes he wore a patched frock with a cloth over his head; sometimes he dressed like the sufis. He was accustomed to fasting, nocturnal vigil, and meditation on the theosophical realms. He was unconcerned with cultivating people and rather maintained silence, occupied with himself. He loved the samá' and music; he performed miracles and extraordinary feats. I have heard the vulgar ulema and those who have not a clue to the sciences of reality say that he knew alchemy. Some of them even claim that he was a sorcerer, but all of this is fabulous invention and sheer ignorance of the stages of the Brethren of Abstraction, to the pinnacle of which he attained. (The Brethren of Abstraction have a stage wherein they are capable of materializing any form they desire, which stage was reached by Abu Yazid of Bistam, al-Husayn ibn Mansur al- Hallaj and others. I had believed in this stage for a long time before God enabled me to know it with perfect certainty.) Even though this is one of the mysteries that should be kept concealed, I have mentioned something of his condition.....

He enjoyed living in Diyarbekir, and he resided for a time in Syria as well as Anatolia.

The reason for his execution, as we have heard, is that when he left Anatolia for Syria, he came to Aleppo, which was governed at that time by al-Malik al-Zahir, the son of Salahuddin Yusuf, the ruler of Egypt, the Yemen, and Syria. He loved the master and believed in him; but there was a group of ulema in Aleppo who used to gather to listen to what he had to say. Being frank in his discourses defending the beliefs of the philosophers, he showed how silly his opponents' opinions were, disputed with them, and humiliated them in public. In addition to this, there were the miraculous things he performed through the power of the holy spirit. Therefore, out of envy, they spoke of one mind in declaring him an infidel and liable to execution; they also attributed major crimes to him and said that he had claimed prophecy, although he was certainly innocent of that! (and God will reckon with the envious). They encouraged the sultan to have him executed, but he refused. Then they wrote to his father Salahuddin and said among other things that if he were allowed to live he would corrupt the faith. When [Salahuddin] wrote to [al-Malik al-Zahir] ordering him to have [Suhrawardi] executed, he did not act. Then he wrote a second time commanding him and even threatening to relieve him of the governorship of Aleppo if he did not comply. 

It appears to me that people are in disagreement as to how he was killed. Some claim that he was imprisoned and denied food; others say he starved himself until he died. Some say he was strangled with a cord, while others say he was put to death by the sword. It is said that [his body] was thrown down from the citadel and burned. In a vision that Shaykh Jamaluddin al- Hanbali had, the Prophet of God was seen gathering bones and placing them in holes (or, as is also said, in a sack) and saying, "These are the bones of Shihabuddin.' I have heard that some of his companions used to call him Abu'l-Futuh, and God knows best as to the veracity of this.

He was friendly with Fakhruddin al-Mardini, who lived in Mardin, and used to meet with him. Fakhr would say to his companions, "How clever this youth is! and how eloquent! In our time I have not found his equal, yet I fear that his excessive audacity and recklessness may prove his undoing."'

When he left us and headed eastwards for Aleppo, he held disputes with jurisprudents, none of whom could keep pace with him; and there was much vilification of him. Al-Malik al-Zahir summoned him along with some great jurisprudents and sophisticated scholars in order to hear debates between them. He deliberated much with them, and since he was excellently learned and knowledgeable, he fell in good stead with al-Zahir and became his intimate. Thereupon the fulminations against him increased, and judicial sessions were convened to declare him an infidel. The results were forwarded to Damascus to Salahuddin, and they said if he were allowed to live he would corrupt al-Malik's faith, and if he were banished he would corrupt any place he went. This is but some of what they said. Then [Salahuddin], armed with a rescript from the judge al- Fadil, sent to al-Zahir saying that this Shihab must be executed and under no circumstances merely exiled. When Shihabuddin realized the seriousness of the situation, he chose to be shut in a room and denied food and drink until he should meet his Lord. And this is what was done to him. Afterwards al-Zahir wrought vengeance upon [the perpetrators], whom he imprisoned and much of whose property he confiscated.

His age, according to some reports, was thirty-eight, although fifty is also mentioned. He was of moderate stature, wore a beard and had a ruddy complexion. He traveled much on foot. If we were to relate the miracles we have heard attributed to him, it would take too long and some of the ignorant would call it lies. His execution took place at the end of the year 586 [A.D.. 1190] or 588 [A.D. 1192). He belonged to the Shafite rite and was knowledgeable in fiqh, hadith, and legal principles.

He was extremely clever. I have heard that when he was asked about Fakhruddin al-Razi, he said, "His mind is not worthy of much praise." Fakhruddin was asked about him and said, "His mind blazes with acumen and natural talent."

I have heard that the master was asked, "Which of you is more learned, you or Avicenna?" He replied, "'We may be on a par, or I may be a little better than he is in the discursive, but I certainly surpass him in the revelatory and intuitive."

What, then, brought about Suhrawardi's execution? In my view, this question must be treated separately from whether he actually claimed prophethood. The precise details of Shahrazuri's account are perhaps less revealing than the social dynamics underlying the conflict. What reasons might Aleppo's religious establishment have had for treating an outsider with such hostility? To understand this, we must consider the nature of elite competition in the broader Islamicate world.

The arrival of outsiders in an established centre of power could threaten existing networks of patronage and privilege. Positions within religious institutions offered not only a regular income, but also opportunities for salary, influence at court, and the appointment of relatives. Family connections and patronage networks were therefore essential to preserving one's position. An ambitious newcomer could threaten much more than an individual's professional standing: he could challenge the interests of an entire network.

Suhrawardi, moreover, was not simply another newcomer from the east. During the twelfth century, rulers increasingly drew upon Iranian immigrants, partly owing to their established reputation and the expertise they brought to their service. More than half of the professors active in Aleppo during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries were reportedly of Iranian origin, with Kurds constituting the largest segment of this group. Such developments inevitably altered the composition of the city's learned establishment and generated resentment among those whose traditional positions were being challenged.

Suhrawardi, however, posed a somewhat different kind of challenge. He was not merely an eastern newcomer benefiting from the growing prominence of Iranian scholars; he was rapidly establishing a reputation of his own and attracting attention beyond the usual circles of scholarly patronage.

Other eastern newcomers may have found it more prudent to maintain a low profile and avoid antagonising the established elite. Suhrawardi, by contrast, appears to have possessed neither the inclination nor the temperament to do so. 

There is also the political context to consider. The Ayyubids were a relatively new power in the region and, as they consolidated their rule, had reason to accommodate the interests of the existing elites to some degree. This may help explain why the religious establishment's hostility towards Suhrawardi could have carried considerable political weight. Yet these social and political circumstances alone do not tell us what specific accusation or concern ultimately persuaded the Ayyubids to put him to death.

Shahrazuri offers one important clue: he relates that the jurists claimed that Suhrawardi, if left unchecked, would corrupt the young prince. What, precisely, did this mean? A plausible explanation lies in Suhrawardi's interest in the so called occult sciences. We know that he did not pursue these interests merely as abstract intellectual exercises, but also employed them in a political context, particularly in connection with the theory and legitimisation of royal kingship. His teachings did threaten more than the religious sensibilities of Aleppo's jurists. A common explanation is that the Ayyubids had Suhrawardi executed on account of their religious convictions. This interpretation sits badly with the young prince's subsequent revenge against those who had instigated the proceedings against Suhrawardi. It is difficult to reconcile the notion that the ruling family executed Suhrawardi out of religious feelings with the fact that, shortly afterwards, the prince punished those responsible for bringing about his trial. The political explanation better accounts for the course of events and the urgency with which they unfolded, particularly given that Suhrawardi's ideas had the potential to interfere with internal Ayyubid family politics. 

What, then, are we to make of the accusation that Suhrawardi began to aspire to prophethood? Accusations of this kind, such as the one made by Ibn Taymiyya, have often been dismissed as mere polemic. While such polemics certainly abound in Islamicate history, accusations of unbelief ought not to be so readily brushed aside. They deserve considerably more serious historical consideration than they have generally received in the bad joke that is Western Islamic Studies. In Suhrawardi's case, we are dealing with an unusually outspoken figure, and we are not left to rely solely on the accusations. His own writings contain extra-Quranic divine utterances and prescribe alternative religious rites that depart from established Islamic practice, including the veneration of the planets. Many other nominally Muslim figures in Islamicate history held beliefs that likewise departed from bare minimum Islam. The usual practice, however, was to couch such ideas in more moderate language, preferably cloaking them in an Islamic vocabulary that afforded a degree of plausible deniability. Suhrawardi was a rare exception given that he went so far as to write down "extra-Quranic divine material".