zoroastrian in attar's tahdkirah al-awliya

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The Zoroastrian in ‘At˙t˙ar’s Tadkiratu’l-Awliya’

HARRY S. NEALE

Abstract

Zoroastrians are present in many early works of Persian Islamic literature. The works of

the twelfth-century poet from Khurasan, Farıd al-Dın ‘At˙t˙ar, are no exception. In his

masterpiece of classical Sufi hagiography, Tadkiratu’l-awliy a’ , Zoroastrians, almost

always referred to as gabr , play a role that differs from that which one usually encountersin early Persian Sufi hagiographies. In ‘At

˙t˙ar’s hagiography, Zoroastrians are generally

portrayed as sources of spiritual guidance, rather than exemplifying the more common

motif of Zoroastrians as unbelievers. This article will offer some possible reasons for the

predominance of Zoroastrians in Tadkiratu’l-awliy a’ , rather than Christians or Jews. The

ideas of the Russian Formalist, Viktor Shklovsky, concerning what he calls enstrange-

ment, offer one way of approaching the unique role that Zoroastrians play in his

hagiography. In addition to exploring Shklovsky’s ideas as a means to understanding the

role of Zoroastrians, this article will present an overview of Zoroastrians in medieval

Khurasan and vestiges of Zoroastrian ideas in Islamic Persian culture.

‘Al-h˙

ikmatu d˙allatu’l-mu’mini fa-t

˙lubha wa-law k anat ‘inda al-k afir’—H

˙adıt1

The Life of Saqıq-i Balkhı

A merchant from Balkh by the name of Saqıq (d. 194/810) journeys to Turkistan in

order to buy and sell goods. On his way to Turkistan, he passes by a Buddhist temple

and, curiosity getting the better of him, decides to have a look at it. He enters the temple

and sees a worshipper bowing down before an image of the Buddha, all the while

lamenting. Saqıq asks him why he is wasting his time praying to an idol when there is a

creator who is living, all-knowing and all-powerful whom he ought to be worshipping.

The Buddhist replies that if what Saqıq says is true, then why does he seek his daily bread

by journeying to distant lands when his lord will make sure that he has what he needs in

his hometown. Saqıq, a Muslim, marvels that an idol worshipper should have such

insight regarding the affairs of a stranger and the Islamic concept of Reliance on God

(tawakkul ).2 He realizes the truth of what the Buddhist has said and departs forthwith for

Balkh. While on his way home, Saqıq is joined on the road by a Zoroastrian who asks

him what it is he does. When Saqıq tells him that he is a merchant, the Zoroastrian

advises him that if he has not been destined to receive something, he may seek until

Harry S. Neale, 840 Geary Street, Apartment 24, San Francisco, CA 94109, USA.

E-mail: [email protected]

Middle Eastern Literatures, Vol. 12, No. 2, August 2009

ISSN 1475-262X print/ISSN 1475-2638 online/09/020137-20 Ó 2009 Taylor & Francis

DOI: 10.1080/14752620902951140



doomsday and will never attain it and that whatever has been deemed his share will come

to him without his seeking it. Upon hearing these words, Saqıq undergoes a spiritual

awakening and ceases to be concerned about the affairs of this earthly life.3

What is surprising about this anecdote? It occurs in one of the best-known Sufi

hagiographies in the Persian tongue and was composed by one of the most celebratedmystic poets of the Persian-speaking world, Farıd al-Dın ‘At

˙t˙ar. Why are a Buddhist and

a Zoroastrian acting as sources of spiritual guidance to an important figure in the history

of early Persian Sufism?

This anecdote is the first to be narrated by ‘At˙t˙ar in the Life of Saqıq-i Balkhı. ‘At

˙t˙ar

undoubtedly wished to stress the importance of tawakkul to Sufism in the character of

Saqıq-i Balkhı. In the first few sentences of the introduction to the Life of Saqıq-i Balkhı,

the role of tawakkul is stressed: ‘. . . And all his life he walked the path of tawakkul . . . ’4

The anecdote narrated above is unique in Tadkiratu’l-awliy a’ for its use of both a

Zoroastrian and an idol-worshipper as sources of spiritual guidance.5 The choice of such

figures for the conveyance of a Sufi concept as important as tawakkul is seemingly ironic

in that Reliance on God presupposes the Islamic concept of tawh˙ıd (oneness). In Islam,

God has neither partners nor progeny and no foe that is equal to Him. The Quranic

S urat al-ikhl as˙

makes clear the Islamic concept of God: Qul huwa All ahu ah˙

ad / All ahu al-

s˙

amad / lam yalid wa-lam y ulad / wa-lam yakun lahu kufuwan ah˙

ad (‘Say: He is God the

One / God the everlasting / He begot not nor was He begotten / and there is none like

Him’).6 The choice, then, of an idol-worshipper and a Zoroastrian is clearly not

haphazard as both follow a creed that conceives of God in a manner that precludes any

claim of oneness and is therefore the opposite of tawh˙ıd .7 An idol-worshipper chooses

one god among many to whom he prays, while the Zoroastrian follows a faith that is

essentially dualistic in that Zoroastrian cosmogony conceives of two beings: the one

God, Ohrmazd, whom the Zoroastrian worships, and the Hostile Spirit, Ahriman, whomthe Zoroastrian execrates as the enemy of God and his creation. Both are uncreated

beings, the first being the origin of all that is good and the second of all that is bad. 8 In

this way, the auditor or reader is compelled, by the juxtaposition of an idol-worshipper

and a Zoroastrian with the concept of tawakkul , to give more thought to the outcome of

the events related in the anecdote and, most importantly, to ponder the deeper meaning

of Reliance on God.

This compelling of the audience to wonder at and ponder the deeper meaning of what

has occurred in a given story is achieved by the process of what the Russian Formalist,

Viktor Shklovsky termed ‘enstrangement’, which he described thus: ‘. . . The technique

of art is to make objects ‘‘unfamiliar’’, to make forms difficult, to increase the difficulty and length of perception because the process of perception is an aesthetic end in itself

and must be prolonged.’9 If the sources of initiatic awakening were instead two great

shaykhs, or even Christian monks, the auditor or reader would have little cause to pay

special attention to the lesson that Saqıq-i Balkhı is vouchsafed concerning the essence of

tawakkul .10 The presence of an idol worshipper and a Zoroastrian, however, gives the

audience reason to pause, thereby prolonging the effect of the anecdote. It must be

remembered that until literacy and print became widespread among civilized cultures,

most people experienced texts as performances; to wit, they were read out loud. Even

individual reading was accomplished by reading aloud to oneself. As Mojaddedi points

out, ‘the majority of the component segments of the [Sufi] biographies seem to have

been produced originally in an oral teaching situation . . . such a context for the

generation and transmission . . . facilitated the frequent inclusion of variant utterances

138 H. S. Neale



and the recurrence of anecdotal topoi, as well as confusion in many instances over the

identity of the individual to whom the dicta and deeds should be attributed.’11 Thus it is

possible that the pre-modern audience of Tadkiratu’l-awliy a’ experienced its many

stories of God’s Friends as auditors rather than readers.12

Introduction

Classical Persian literature abounds with references to Zoroastrians and their pre-Islamic

faith.13 Whether in reference to a glorious, pre-Islamic Iranian past as narrated by

Firdawsı (d. 411/1020) in his epic poem, the S ˇ ah N ama, or as the innkeeper and vintner

who deals in illicit wine, the presence of Zoroastrians and Zoroastrianism in classical

Persian literature is a familiar one. The literature of Persian Sufism, an important and

highly influential branch of classical Persian literature, is no exception. In both Sufi

poetry and prose, Zoroastrians play a modest, albeit significant, role, usually as

allegorical figures or as paradigmatic unbelievers. In particular, Persian Sufi

hagiographies contain many references to Zoroastrians.

In most Persian Sufi hagiographies, the Zoroastrian is either the unbeliever who

refuses to foreswear the old faith and embrace Islam or who becomes a Muslim after

witnessing a miracle (kar amat ) that has been vouchsafed one of God’s friends.14 This is

most clearly articulated in the hagiography, Firdaws al-mursid ıya f ı asr ar al-s˙

amad ıya,

which relates the life and deeds of the Sufi shaykh, Abu Ish˙aq al-K azarunı (d. 426/1034).

Much of this early hagiographical work glorifies the triumph of the Shaykh and his

followers over the local Zoroastrians and later their jihad against the Byzantines,

emphasizing both their martial and spiritual deeds. Conversely, ‘At˙t˙ar’s Tadkiratu’l-

awliy a’ presents the Zoroastrian ( gabr ) as a source of spiritual guidance who teaches

important Sufi concepts to whomever of God’s Friends he encounters. This role isunique to Tadkiratu’l-awliy a’ and to ‘At

˙t˙ar’s oeuvre in general.

This article will endeavour to provide a deeper understanding of the Zoroastrian figure

as employed by ‘At˙t˙ar. Some of the ideas of Shklovsky regarding the function of imagery

in literature offer a helpful approach to understanding ‘At˙t˙ar’s use of the Zoroastrian

figure in Tadkiratu’l-awliy a’ . This article will also show how ‘At˙t˙ar’s choice of the

Zoroastrian character as source of spiritual guidance may have been a deliberate

enstranging device rather than being the outgrowth of ecumenical views.

As a preliminary step in this undertaking, a survey of the figure of the Zoroastrian in

Persian Sufi literature is in order. Following this, the historical precedents of

Zoroastrians as sources of guidance to Muslims in Iran will be discussed. This willoffer some possible historical reasons for the development of the Zoroastrian figure in

‘At˙t˙ar’s oeuvre. Finally, the region, Khurasan, where ‘At

˙t˙ar lived and wrote must also be

considered as another possible stimulus for this unique literary figure of the Zoroastrian.

An analysis of certain aspects of its history, both before and after the coming of Islam to

the region, will also be undertaken.

The Rise of Sufism in Khurasan and Central Asia

The great Sufi florescence in Iran and Central Asia began in the 5th/11th century. This is

attested by the many Persian Sufi classics that were composed in this region, in both

Persian and Arabic (e.g. Hujwırı’s Kasf al-mah˙

j ub, al-Qusayrı’s Risala, and al-Daylamı’s

S ırat-i Ibn-i Khaf ıf-i S ˇ ır azı, among others). In the above-mentioned works, the

The Zoroastrian in ‘At ˙t ˙ar’s Tadkiratu’l-Awliy a’ 139



Zoroastrian figure plays a negligible role. Hujwırı mentions only once the Zoroastrians

and their belief in Ohrmazd and Ahriman in conjunction with other faiths and their

fundamental creeds.15

In Rukn al-Dın-i Sırazı’s (d. 789/1388) Persian translation of Daylamı’s S ırat-i saykh-i

Kabır-i Ab

u ‘Abd All

ah-i Ibn-i Khaf

ıf-i S

ˇ ır azı (the Arabic original having been lost), a Sufi

shaykh, Abu’l-Ady an, engages in an argument about fire with a Zoroastrian who

maintains that fire acts on its own initiative.16 Abu’l-Ady an tells him that fire works only

by God’s bidding.17 The Zoroastrian, unconvinced, demands that he prove this

assertion. Abu’l-Ady an agrees, upon which the townsfolk kindle a mighty fire and spread

the burning coals for him to walk upon. Abu’l-Ady an walks upon the burning embers

and then prostrates himself in prayer without being burned. Upon witnessing this

miraculous deed, the Zoroastrian forswears his faith and embraces Islam.18 This

anecdote does bear a likeness to the kinds of anecdotes in ‘At˙t˙ar’s Tadkiratu’l-awliy a’

that present Zoroastrians as unbelievers. It must be borne in mind, however, that as it is

from a later Persian translation it may be an interpolation of the translator and thus does

not necessarily furnish evidence of an 11th-century appearance of a Zoroastrian

character in Persian Sufi literature. It does show, however, that, at least by the time of the

Persian translation, the Zoroastrian as literary paradigm of a willing unbeliever had

become a convention in Persian Sufi hagiography.

Persian Sufism continued its grand literary outpouring in the 6th/12th century,

resulting in a number of important hagiographical works. Contemporary with ‘At˙t˙ar’s

Tadkiratu’l-awliy a’ was Ibn al-Munawwar’s Asr ar al-tawh˙ıd f ı maqamat-i saykh Abı

Sa‘ ıd . Composed during the late 6th/12th century, Asr ar al-tawh˙ıd presents the life

and deeds of one of Khurasan’s greatest shaykhs as compiled and narrated by his

great-great-grandson, Ibn al-Munawwar (d. 598/1202). Asr ar al-tawh

˙

ıd differs from

Tadkiratu’l-awliy a’ in that it concentrates on the life of one notable Sufi. It does,however, bear some likeness to ‘At

˙t˙ar’s hagiography in its lively narrative style, replete

with colourful anecdotes and miraculous events, which successfully presents the

subject as an authentic, multifaceted character albeit a grand figure among God’s

Friends.

Zoroastrians in Asr ar al-Tawh˙ ıd

The figure of the Zoroastrian appears four different times in Ibn al-Munawwar’s work,

twice in poetry as well as anecdotes. The word gabr appears in two quatrains uttered by

the subject of the hagiography, Abu Sa‘

ıd b. Ab

ı’l-Khayr (d. 440/1049), in which it

represents unbelief and polytheism (sirk).19 In the first of the two anecdotes that are

related in Asr ar al-tawh˙ıd , the gabr becomes a Muslim because of Abu Sa‘ıd’s miraculous

foresight:

And H˙

asan also said, may God’s mercy be upon him, that ‘In Nishapur, our

shaykh, Abu Sa‘ıd, may God sanctify his dear soul, said to me: ‘Go out of the

door and come back on the right. Whoever comes before you, hold your hand

before him and say: ‘Whatever you have, bring it forth!’’ At the shaykh’s

bidding, I left and went forth. I beheld a gabr , went down to him, and held my

hand before him. I kept my heart fast with God. The gabr said: ‘Firstly, I shall

become a Muslim. Lead me before the shaykh.’ I led him before the shaykh. He

said: ‘O shaykh, propose Islam! (i.e. recite the sahada so that I may repeat it

140 H. S. Neale



after you)’ He converted and placed all that he had in the path of God and put

it at the Sufis’ disposal.’20

This anecdote also furnishes an excellent example of the motif of tawakkul in that the

gabr’s conversion to Islam and his subsequent bestowal of his wealth upon the Sufisis an unexpected boon to the latter that stems from Abu Sa‘ıd’s complete Reliance

on God.

In the second anecdote, a Zoroastrian physician is called to tend to the shaykh who has

fallen ill. Before the gabr can check his pulse, Abu Sa‘ıd bids one of his followers clip the

physician’s nails and trim his moustache, instructing him to wrap the hair and nail

clippings in a piece of paper which he should then give to the physician. The physician

wonders at this odd command but allows it to be done, after which he takes the shaykh’s

hand in order to feel his pulse. Abu Sa‘ıd removes his hand and grasps that of the

physician, and holds it for an hour, after which he releases it. The doctor stands up to go

and glances back from the door. Abu Sa‘ıd calls to him and the gabr comes back to him

and becomes a Muslim, as do all of his kin. The reason given for this is ‘The blessing of

our shaykh’s glance.’21

These two anecdotes show the power of Abu Sa‘ıd to effect the conversion of an

unbeliever as well as foresight; to wit, he knows the physician in the second anecdote is

about to become a Muslim, which is why he bids his nails and hair be trimmed. These

phenomena are two of the many kinds of kar amat vouchsafed God’s Friends in Sufi lore.

The Zoroastrian figure in these anecdotes, while not portrayed in an entirely negative

light, is certainly in error and is unable to come to the truth of Islam without the

intervention of Abu Sa‘ıd. Thus, in no way does the figure of the Zoroastrian, as

encountered in Asr ar al-tawh

˙

ıd , play the role of a guide or source of spiritual guidance;

rather, he is nothing more than a storytelling prop with which to bolster Abu Sa‘ıd’s holy status. In no way would these two Zoroastrian characters surprise the audience of Asr ar

al-tawh˙ıd creating a state of enstrangement.

Zoroastrians in ‘At˙t˙ar’s Tadkiratu’l-awliya’

Of the eight anecdotes in Tadkiratu’l-awliy a’ involving Zoroastrians, six present

Zoroastrians as sources of spiritual guidance who teach important Sufi concepts to

God’s Friends. As noted previously, this use of the Zoroastrian figure in Persian Sufi

literature appears to be the unique innovation of ‘At˙t˙ar. Although examples of the

Zoroastrian as unbeliever are found in the works of his predecessors, it is ‘At tar who

creates a second, and potentially more intriguing, role for him.

The use of a non-Muslim figure as conveyor of mystical precepts is not uncommon in

early Sufi literature. Schimmel remarks that ‘. . . A meeting with a Christian ascetic or

with a wise monk is a fictional element in Sufi legends of early times: such a person

usually explains some mystical truth to the seeker . . .’22 This is precisely what occurs in

Tadkiratu’l-awliy a’ with the Zoroastrian taking the place of the Christian, a substitution

that was not only deliberate on ‘At˙t˙ar’s part but innovative as well in its strong

enstranging effect.

A thorough examination of the anecdotes in Tadkiratu’l-awliy a’ in which Zoroastrians

function as sources of spiritual guidance will follow. By examining these anecdotes it will

become clear how ‘At˙t˙ar’s use of the unexpected leads his reader or audience to a deeper

experience of his stories as unique artistic and edifying creations.




The Life of Du al-Nun al-Mis˙

r ı

The first occurrence of a Zoroastrian as a source of spiritual guidance is found in the Life

of Du al-Nun al-Mis˙rı (d. 246/861), in which the subject (i.e. Du al-Nun) relates the

following anecdote:

It is related that Du al-Nun said: I was journeying and came to a field covered

in snow. I beheld a gabr who was scattering millet seed. Said I: ‘O gabr ! Why

are you scattering seeds? He said: ‘Today, there are no seeds for the birds. I am

scattering millet that they may eat and thus God—may He be exalted—might

show me mercy.’ I replied: ‘The seeds which a stranger (i.e. an unbeliever)

scatters do not bear fruit.’ He said: ‘If He does not accept [my deed], the Lord

will see that which I have done and that is enough for me.’ I went on the Hajj

and saw that gabr , lover-like, in circumambulation. When he saw me, he said:

‘O Du al-Nun! Do you see that He accepted it and that that seed bore fruit,

and that He brought me to His own abode?’ Said Du al-Nun: I rejoiced [upon

hearing these tidings] and said: ‘O Lord! For a handful of millet, You sell a

gabr of two-score years cheaply.’ A voice spoke saying: ‘God-may He be

exalted—whomever He calls, He does so without cause and whomever He

sends away He does so without cause. O Du al-Nun! Be not concerned, for the

works of Him who acts whenever He wills may not be understood by your

reason.23

In this anecdote, the Zoroastrian unwittingly teaches Du al-Nun two important Sufi

concepts: the selflessness of the Lover (the mystic) and the inscrutable nature of the

Beloved (God). Whether or not his act of kindness towards the birds be accepted by God, he performs it out of selfless devotion to Him. The inscrutable nature of the

Beloved that is illustrated by God’s acceptance of the gabr ’s single selfless deed and his

subsequent conveyance to God’s abode (i.e. the Ka‘ba) may be interpreted thus:

That man’s finite mind cannot comprehend the acts of God and he therefore

ought not to question what may seem to him to be an absurd or unjust act. 24

Many Quranic verses conclude with the formula or a variation thereof: Wa-

ll ahu bi-kulli say’in ‘al ım, ‘God in all things is most knowing’25 upon which the

Islamic idea of God’s omniscience is based. The gabr’s acceptance by God for a

simple act of kindness also recalls verse 35 of S uratu’l-n

ur in the

Quran: . . . N urun ‘al a nurin, yahd ı ll ahu li-nurihı man yas a’ , ‘Light upon light,

God leads to His light whom He will . . .’

One may even interpret the entire anecdote with reference to the two lights in this

Quranic verse: that the Zoroastrian has spoken wise words to Du al-Nun is an indication

of the inherent goodness of his fit

˙

ra (primordial nature), which may be interpreted as the

second light, his being brought into contact with one of God’s friends may be interpreted

as the first light, which is the light of revelation that is superimposed on the light

contained within the gabr .

In this and similar anecdotes there is essentially an exchange underway that is

orchestrated by God: an edifying lesson for the Sufi; conversion to Islam for the

Zoroastrian.

142 H. S. Neale



The Life of Bayazıd-i Bist˙amı

In ‘At˙t˙ar’s Life of Bayazıd-i Bist

˙amı (d. 260/874), there is a brief appearance of the

Zoroastrian as a source of spiritual guidance to an unspecified group of Muslims. The

enstranging effect of the Zoroastrian as a source of spiritual guidance is a powerful devicein this short anecdote:

It is related that a crowd said to a gabr : ‘Become a Muslim!’ [The Zoroastrian]

answered: ‘If Islam be that which Bayazıd practices, I have not the mettle and

cannot do it. And if Islam be that which you practice, then I have not the

inclination.’26

This humorous anecdote is both a strong criticism of the deficiency of many believers as

well as a reminder that the Friends of God may always be referred to as exemplars of true

Islamic practice. This echoes an oft-repeated adage of the Sufis; to wit, ‘Sufism was a

reality without a name. Now it is a name without a reality.’27 In his foreword to

Tadkiratu’l-awliy a’ ‘At˙t˙ar himself expresses his dismay with the state of faith in his era, a

common trope in Sufi literature, and cites it as one of his reasons for composing his

hagiography:

Another reason was that when I saw that the time was come when good is evil

(al-khayru sarrun) and that the worst of folk have forgotten the best of folk, I

wrought a memoir (tadkira’ _) . . .28

Likewise, Ibn al-Munawwar in his foreword to Asr ar al-tawh

˙

ıd gives the following as his

reason for composing the hagiography of his great-great-grandfather, Abu Sa‘ıd (d. 440/ 1049):

. . . And many of Islam’s folk have become content with Islam as a name and

the Path and the Truth (t

˙

ar ıqat va h˙

aqıqat ) as mere form (rasme mujarrad ).29

The rather pessimistic utterance of the Zoroastrian, an unbeliever, quoted above in the

Life of Bayazıd, makes the humorous aspect of the anecdote all the more ironic and

astonishing. That a Zoroastrian, a follower of a dualistic creed, should be the bearer of

such a harshly critical message would have been entirely unexpected to Tadkiratu’l-

awliy a’ s audience, compelling them to reflect upon their own deeds vis-a-vis their faith.

The figure of the Zoroastrian as outside critic also lends a certain amount of objectivity

to the pronouncement.

The Life of ‘Abdullah al-Mubarak

In the Life of ‘Abdullah al-Mubarak (d. 180/797), a Zoroastrian comforts ‘Abdullah

during his state of affliction:

. . . Once a hardship came upon ‘Abdullah. Many folk went to comfort him. A

gabr also went to him and said: ‘The wise man is he who when a hardship comes

upon him, he does on the first day that which the ignorant man will do after the

third day.’ Abdullah said: ‘Write down this speech for it is a wise saying.’30




This anecdote, although simple and not as developed as some of those discussed above,

mirrors exactly that which Schimmel (see above) mentions regarding the Christian as

bearer of wisdom in early Sufi hagiography. Here, the Zoroastrian reminds ‘Abdullah of

the virtue of forbearance when faced with hardship. The fact that ‘Abdullah bids his

followers write down (and thereby preserve) the words of the gabr , presumably as a Sufidictum, indicates the importance of what he has said.31

The Life of Ah˙

mad-i H˙

arb-i Nısapur ı

The Zoroastrian’s role in the Life of Ah˙

mad-i H˙

arb-i Nısapurı (d. 234/849) is twofold:

that of a paradigm and teacher of forbearance (s˙

abr ); and that of an unbeliever

who accepts Islam at the hand of a Sufi saint. The first role occurs in an anecdote

in which Ah˙

mad-i H˙

arb hears that the goods of his Zoroastrian neighbour, Bahram,

have been stolen. He goes to console him only to hear the following sanguine remarks:

. . . Bahram said: ‘But in this [robbery] there are three things for which I must

be thankful: the first is that it was others who took from me and not I from

others. The second is that they carried off half of my goods and the other half

remains to us. The third is that I have my faith and the world comes and goes.’

Ah˙

mad was greatly pleased with these words and said: ‘write down [these

words] for the scent of true knowledge issues from this speech.’32

Immediately following this incident, Ah˙

mad challenges Bahram’s tending of his sacred

fire by exhorting him to test its fidelity:

Then the Shaykh said: ‘O Bahram! Why do you worship fire?’ [Bahram]answered: ‘So that tomorrow it will not burn me and be unfaithful to me. I

have given it much fuel that it will bear me to God—may He be exalted.’

The Shaykh then said: ‘You have made a great mistake, for fire is weak,

ignorant, and faithless. . . that which is ignorant is that which distinguishes

not between musk and filth and burns both not knowing which one is better.

Furthermore, you have worshipped it for seventy years and I have never

worshipped it. Come! Let us both place our hands in the fire that you may

see that it burns us both and has no regard for your faith.’ This speech smote

Bahram’s heart and he said: ‘I will ask you four questions, if you answer

rightly, I will become a Muslim.’ ‘Ask’, said the Shaykh. ‘Why did Godcreate men and when He created them why did He give them their daily

bread and since He gave them their daily bread, why does He make them die

and . . . then make them rise again?’ Said the Shaykh: ‘He created that He

might be known as the Creator. He gave them their daily bread that they

might know him as the Provider. He makes them die that they might know

him as the Almighty. He makes them live again that they might know him as

the All-powerful.’33

Thanks to the answers Ah˙

mad gives him, Bahram becomes a Muslim. This is another

example in Tadkiratu’l-awliy a’ where such a reciprocal relationship (i.e. between a

Zoroastrian and one of God’s Friends) occurs. The gabr , Bahram, imparts an important

lesson in forbearance and gratitude to Ah˙

mad, and, by way of the latter, who bids his

144 H. S. Neale



followers write down what the former has said, contributes to Sufi lore and dicta. The

Friend of God, Ah˙

mad-i H˙

arb, in turn teaches the wise Zoroastrian the error of his belief

and thereby helps lead him to accept Islam. These two anecdotes suggest that the

Zoroastrians’ important role in these tales as teachers of Sufi truths and dicta to God’s

Friends possibly reflects a degree of coexistence of the old faith with that of the new thatmay have existed in certain areas of the Persian-speaking world.

The Life of Sahl-i Tustar ı

The final appearance of the Zoroastrian as a source of spiritual guidance is narrated in

the Life of Sahl-i Tustarı (d. 283/896). The role of the Zoroastrian in this Life is unique

in that he does not impart any important lessons to one of God’s Friends. Instead Sahl-i

Tustarı uses the Zoroastrian to teach a fundamental Sufi concept to his followers as well

as to the community of believers. In the anecdote, Sahl knows that death is nigh and that

he must appoint a successor to lead the community. When he chooses Sad-dil Gabr

(Happy-hearted gabr ), a Zoroastrian, to take his place, his followers are shocked and

believe him to be mad:

There was a gabr , whom they called Sad-dil Gabr. The Shaykh said: ‘Seat Sad-

dil in my stead!’ The people said: ‘The Shaykh must have lost his mind! A man

who has four hundred learned men of the religion as his followers bids a gabr

succeed him?’ ‘Cease your clamour, go and bring Sad-dil to me!’ [Bade the

Shaykh]. They brought him. When the Shaykh beheld him, he said: ‘When the

third day following my death has passed, after the afternoon prayer, ascend

the minbar and speak to the people and preach to them.’ The Shaykh said this

and passed away. The third day, following the afternoon prayer, the peopleforegathered. Sad-dil ascended the minbar and the people looked upon him

[saying:] ‘What is this affair?’ The gabr , with his gabr ’s hat and Zoroastrian

girdle about his waist, said: ‘The best of you has sent me to you and said: ‘O

Sad-dil! Has not the time come for you to cast off your Zoroastrian girdle?’

Now I cast it off.’ He brought forth a knife and sundered the Zoroastrian girdle

and cast away his gabr ’s hat and [uttered the sahada]. . . Then he said: ‘The

Shaykh said: ‘This one [Sad-dil] is your shaykh and master.’ Your shaykh has

counselled you and it is incumbent upon you to accept your shaykh’s counsel.’

[The Shaykh said:] ‘Sad-dil has sundered the outer girdle, if you wish to behold

me at the Resurrection, it behooves you all to sunder your inner girdles.’ Thishe said and an upheaval rose from that crowd and wondrous spiritual states

occurred.34

Sad-dil’s sundering of his outer girdle (zunnar-i z˙ahir ) is fraught with symbolism and

would later become an important motif in Persian Sufi prose and poetry (e.g. in the

works of Sabistarı, ‘Iraqı, etc.—although in later Persian Sufi symbolism, the zunnar is

usually girded about one’s waist (zunnar bastan) as a symbol of service and devotion).

The following excerpt from Sabistarı’s Gulsan-i r az is illustrative of the symbolic role of

the zunnar in later Persian Sufi poetry:

Naz˙

ar kardam bid ıdam as˙

l-i ın kar nis an-i khidmat amad ‘aqd-i zunnar . . . Mar a

dar dil hame ayad kaz ın kar bibandam bar miy an-i khes zunnar.35




(I looked and beheld the essence of this matter / it is a symbol of service to tie

the zunnar

. . . It continues to come to my heart from this matter / I bound about my waist

the zunnar )

In casting off his outer girdle, Sad-dil symbolizes the Sufi wayfarer who has realized the true

meaning of God’s oneness. He no longer thinks in dualistic terms such as ‘I’ and ‘You’, but

rather sees all things ultimately as God’s creation (i.e. as an emanation and aspect of God’s

oneness) and thus beholds himself in God and God in himself. The mystic’s realization of

this oneness is conveyed in the following poem attributed to Mans˙ur al-H

˙allaj (d. 309/913):

Wuj uduhu bı wa-wuj ud ı bihı wa-was˙ fuhu fa-hwa lahu was

˙if u

Lawl ahu lam a‘rif ras ad ı wa-law- l aya la-ma kana lahu ‘ arif u

Fa-kullu ma‘nan f ıhi ma‘nan lahu fa-qul li-man khalafanı khalif u

Laysa siwa l-rah˙

mani y a qawmana say’un lahu arwah˙

una ta’laf u.36

(His being is by me and my being is by Him

And as for His description, it is He who describes Himself

If not for Him I would not discern true guidance and if

Not for me He would have no knower

And every meaning in Him is His meaning

So say to whomever opposes me: Be opposed!

Only the Merciful O my folk

is a thing to which our spirits are joined.)

The figure of the Zoroastrian is especially effective in this regard as the faith, which herepresents, is, as outlined above, fundamentally dualistic. The girdle represents the

dualism of egoistic thinking, You, and I, which Zoroastrianism represents symbolically.

Another fundamental lesson that the Shaykh teaches his followers through Sad-dil is

the importance of unquestioning obedience to one’s shaykh, even when that which he

bids seems contrary to the principles of Sufism or Islam.

Zoroastrians in Early Works of Persian Epic and Historiography

The above examples show the importance of the Zoroastrian as a source of spiritual guidance

in ‘Attar’s Tadkiratu’l-awliy

a’. As was mentioned above, there appears to have been no Sufi

hagiography prior to or after ‘At˙t˙ar’s in which the Zoroastrian plays such an important and

positive role. A logical question would be whether there is an historical precedent for ‘At˙t˙ar’s

unique creation of the literary motif of the gabr as a source of spiritual guidance. There is

such a precedent in an early work of Persian historiography, T ar ıkh-i S ıst an, which was

composed by more than one author, all of whom are unknown, between the 5th/11th and

8th/14th centuries CE.37 In the story of ‘Abd al-‘Azız al-Amır’s (d. 65/685) setting out for

Bust and Kabul to do battle with the hosts of the Zunbıl, the ruler of what is now eastern and

southern Afghanistan, an encounter occurs with a Zoroastrian who counsels ‘Abd al-‘Azız in

a manner that prefigures the role of Zoroastrians in Tadkiratu’l-awliy a’ :

[‘Abd al-‘Azız] went by way of the wilderness. The Zunbıl had gathered a host

of Turks, and they fought a hard battle so that the Muslims were downcast and

146 H. S. Neale



wished to flee from the might and fury of their foes. ‘Umar b. S an al-‘Ari was a

stouthearted and well-known man and was with ‘Abd al-‘Azız in a certain

place. He made an attack and the Zunbil was routed . . . and the Muslims

gained many spoils . . . [‘Abd al-‘Azız] was victorious and came to Sıstan, and

he was a learned man who loved men of knowledge, so one day, Rustam b.Mihr-i Hurmuzd the Magian came and sat before him . . . [‘Abd al-‘Azız] said:

‘The dihqans are possessed of wise words, speak something of them to us.’

[Rustam] said: ‘The fool among men is he whose friend deceives him and is a

hypocrite in the worship of God. . . and seeks his own weal in harming others

and wishes to learn adab without effort.’ [‘Abd al-‘Azız] said: ‘Speak further!’

‘The dihqans have also said: ‘‘The waters of the stream are sweet until they

reach the river . . . the affairs of kingship and the king will always be right so

long as his viziers are righteous.’’’38

The Zoroastrian dihqans were the landholders of pre-Islamic Iran who continued to

exist as a class well into the early Islamic period. It was they who would have been the

final patrons of professional poets and storytellers who narrated the myths and legends of

pre-Islamic Iran. It is no wonder that the dihqan was idealized as a keeper of the wisdom

of old in the folk-culture of Persian-speaking lands long after the advent of Islam in

western and central Asia. An obvious example of this is found in Firdawsı’s epic S ˇ ah

N ama, composed in the early 5th/11th century. Throughout the S ˇ ah N ama, reference is

made to a certain dihqan as keeper of a ‘book’ written in Middle Persian, whence it is

claimed the majority of the epic’s material was derived:39

Yake pahlavan bud dihqan naz ad / dil er u buzurg u khiradmand u r ad

Piz uhanda-yi r uzg ar-i nukhust / gudasta sukhanha hama baz just Zi har kisvar e mawbad e salkhward / biy avard u ın nama-r a gird kard

(An heroic man there was, sprung from the dihqan

stouthearted and mighty, wise and generous

Inquiring after the days of yore

he also sought the words of old

From every land an aged Magian priest

brought he forth, and assembled this book.)40

Frequent mention is also made in the S ˇ ah N

ama of the traditions and lore of the

dihqans as a whole (e.g. ‘In the words of the dihqan there is a tale / to which I have added

from other stories of old/ ba guft ar-i dihqan yake d ast an / bipayvandam az gufta-yi

bast an’).41 The appearance of the dihqan as bearer of this wisdom in the T ar ıkh-i S ıst an is

a further indication of the continuing popularity of this motif in the11th century. The

historicity of the encounter between ‘Abd al-‘Azız al-‘Amir and the Magian Rustam is

unlikely; however, it does seem to reflect the state of coexistence that existed at that time

between Muslims and Zoroastrians in Sistan. This coexistence fostered ‘. . . the

transmission of religious learning from the Magi to Islamic clerics and administrators.’42

Although it is impossible to know whether ‘At˙t˙ar had access to the T ar ıkh-i S ıst an, it is

certain that he was familiar with Firdawsı’s S ˇ ah N ama as it was probably the best-known

work in the New Persian tongue at that time. Indeed, in one of ‘At˙t˙ar’s masnavis, the

Asr ar N ama, he mentions Firdawsı, albeit in order to upbraid him for his glorification of




Zoroastrians and pre-Islamic Persian culture: ‘Thus he said that Firdawsı spoke much /

in praise of the lowly Zoroastrian, cunın guft u kı Firdawsı base guft / hama ba madh˙

-i gabr-i

nakase guft .’43 Bearing in mind the above examples of the wise Zoroastrian or dihqan in

earlier Perso-Islamic literature as well as the likelihood that variations of this motif were

still common in the oral folk-culture of Khurasan and the eastern Persian-speakingworld, it is likely that these were part of the inspiration for ‘At

˙t˙ar’s Zoroastrian figure,

though not for his use of them as an enstranging device.

The Cultural and Historical Milieu of ‘At˙t˙ar: Khurasan and Central Asia

Another possible inspiration for ‘At˙t˙ar’s creation of a Zoroastrian figure as a source of

spiritual guidance may be sought in the region in which he lived: Nishapur in

Khurasan.44 During the early centuries of Islam in the Persian-speaking world, it was in

Khurasan and Central Asia that literature and learning flourished rather than in western

Iran. Among the reasons for this cultural and intellectual fecundity Frye cites two

phenomena that must have made important contributions: the material wealth and

religious diversity of the pre-Islamic Iranian cultures of Khurasan and Central Asia.

Eastern Iran and Central Asia were not simply ‘. . . provincial offshoots of Sasanian

culture and civilization.’45 The peoples of this region spoke Iranian languages, although

not necessarily Middle Persian, which was the language of the Sasanian Empire.

Although they were contemporaries of the Sasanians, these sundry Iranian folk were

creating flourishing cultures of their own, which were more or less beyond the pale of

western Iranian (i.e. Sasanian) influence and state Zoroastrianism (i.e. the official creed

of the Sasanian realm). Among these were the Iranian Buddhist culture of the Vakhsh

river valley in modern-day Tajikistan, the Khwarazmian city-states, and the Soghdian

civilization of Central Asia with its important cities of Afrasiy ab (i.e. old Samarkand) andPanjikant. Throughout this period (i.e. 2nd–7th centuries CE), Central Asia and

Khurasan, because of the Silk Road that traversed this region, were home to many

important faiths: Christianity, Buddhism, Judaism, Zoroastrianism, and Manichaeism.46

Conversely, in western Iran, any faith other than state Zoroastrianism was grudgingly

tolerated at best. While not suggesting that ‘At˙t˙ar held what might be considered an

ecumenical acceptance of faiths other than Islam, it is certainly possible that the

syncretism and multi-confessional environment of pre-Islamic Khurasan and Central

Asia as well as periods of coexistence between Zoroastrians and Muslims in the early

history of Islam in eastern Iran may have set a precedent for ‘At˙t˙ar’s surprising choice of

a Zoroastrian as a source of spiritual guidance.47

The enframing story of ‘Attar’s best-

known matnavı, Mant

˙

iq al-t

˙

ayr (Conference of the Birds) is centred around a group of birds

who decide to go in quest of a king to rule over the fowls of the world. The birds set out

on a journey that takes them to the Mountain of Qaf, where they find the sımurg ˇ , a

mythical bird that appears in both the pre-Islamic and Islamic art and literature of the

Iranian peoples. Both the mythological mountain and bird are pre-Islamic symbolic

figures derived from Zoroastrianism. These figures from Persian mythology could not

have been arcane lore known only to a few as they appear in other areas of local culture as

well, most notably as decorative motifs in architecture. The image of a sımurg ˇ has been

found in the shape of a plaster mould decorating a wall near the qibla in the excavation of

the Tepe madrasa in Nishapur. It would seem, then, that ‘At˙t˙ar and the artists who made

these moulds were acquainted with myths that were common knowledge among the

local populace.48

148 H. S. Neale



Choksy and Schimmel have both indicated that pre-Islamic Persian lore and

Zoroastrianism had a significant impact on early Islamic hagiography, Arabic literature,

and Sufism. The Islamization of Iran brought about exchanges and revisions of prophetic

hagiography, especially regarding birth narratives. Such an exchange may have brought

many Iranian foretellings of auspicious birth into early Islamic sıra literature, thereby

presenting stories of the prophet Muhammad’s life in a manner more familiar to

Zoroastrians.49 This assimilation of Zoroastrian motifs and legends by Muslims probably

aided the Islamization of Iran and Central Asia, and remained in the lore and narratives of

medieval Islamic culture in this region.50 By the Abbasid period, pre-Islamic Persian and

Zoroastrian concepts of kingship had entered Arabic literature by way of the Persian ‘Sah

Nama’ tradition (e.g. Ibn al-Muqaffa‘’s translation of the Khwat ay N amag from Middle

Persian into Arabic), especially influencing the concept of the ideal ruler and just king.51

The influence of Zoroastrianism on Persian Sufism is also apparent regarding certain

concepts and imagery in the celebrated Matnavı-yi ma‘navı of Jalalu’l-Dın-i Balkhı R umı

(d. 672/1273). It is possible that the following lines harbour a Zoroastrian influence:

Dar muhandis bın khay al-i khana-e dar dilas cun dar zamıne d ana-e

A n khay al az andar un ayad ber un cun zamın kı zayad az tukhm dar un

Har khay al e ku kunad dar dil vat

˙

an ro z-i mah˙

sar s˙urat e khwahad sudan

C ˇ un khay al-i an muhandis dar d ˙

amır cun nabat andar zamın-i d anag ır

Makhlas˙

am zın har d u mah˙

sar qis˙

s˙

a-est mu’minanr a dar bay anas h˙

issa-est.52

(Behold in the architect the vision of a home

in his heart like a seed in the ground

That vision from within comes out

like the earth that bears [fruit] from a seed withinEvery vision that dwells within the heart

will become a form on the Day of Resurrection

Like the vision within that architect

like a plant in the seed-receiving earth

My conclusion from these gatherings twain is a tale

there is a lesson for the believers in this statement.)

The imagery in these lines, as well as the idea of Death meeting man like a mirror,

showing either a comely or an ugly countenance depending upon whether in life he

wrought good or evil deeds, is, according to Schimmel, ‘. . . clearly inspired . . . [by] theZoroastrian idea of the witness in Heaven who meets the deceased soul . . .’53

Even R umı’s use of the Persian word farr (splendour, pomp) harks back to an ancient

Zoroastrian concept of divinely sanctioned kingship through its etymological develop-

ment from the Avestan xvar @ nah-, which signified ‘fortunate glory divinely dispensed.’

‘. . . a quality that dwells with kings, heroes and prophets, but departs if they are false to

asha . . . i.e. truth or righteousness in connection with the moral [world] . . . [and] order

where the concept refers to the physical world.’54 Certainly in the S ˇ ah N ama and probably

in the Matnavı, the original meaning of the word is meant. In the Matnavı, a Zoroastrian

refers to Bayazıd thus: ‘I hold that [Bayazıd] is above all others / he is quite pure, splendid,

and possessed of farr (d aram ıman kan zi jumla bartar ast / bas lat

˙

ıf u ba fur ug ˇ u ba far

ast )’.55 The early meaning of the word farr is more appropriate as Bayazıd is presented as

S ˇ aykh-i ‘ alam,56 ‘Shaykh of the world’, a title that has obvious kingly connotations.




Yet another example of the use of Zoroastrian imagery in esoteric Persian literature is

to be found in the works of a contemporary of ‘At˙t˙ar, Sihabu’l-Dın Suhrawardı (d. 587/

1191), the Illuminist, in whose angelology, most of the angels bear Zoroastrian names

and many of their features hearken back to the pre-Islamic Zoroastrian tradition.57

Suhrawardı also made use of much symbolism from pre-Islamic Persian mythology in

his ‘Aql-i surkh (the Red Intellect). A few important themes and figures from Zoroastrian

and Persian mythology play a role in the following passage:

. . . I asked: ‘What is the T˙uba tree and where is it found?’ ‘The T

˙uba tree’, he

responded, ‘is a great tree, which all those who go to paradise behold. Between

these eleven mountains which we have discussed, there is a mountain upon

which is found the T˙uba tree.’ ‘Does it bear any fruit?’ ‘The fruit which you see

in the world is the fruit of that tree. . . if that tree did not exist,’ said he, ‘there

would be no fruit neither would there be trees nor herbs nor plants.’ ‘‘What’,

said I, ‘do fruit, trees, and herbs have to do with this tree?’ ‘The sımurg ˇ ’ said he,

‘has its nest on the top of the tree. At dawn, the sımurg ˇ rises and spreads its wings

over the earth. Because of its wings, the trees bear fruit and the earth brings forth

plants.’ Said I to the Shaykh: ‘I have heard that the sımurg ˇ cared for Zal and that

Rustam slew Isfandy ar on its behalf.’ ‘Yes,’ said the Shaykh, ‘That is true.’58

It is worth noting that, although Suhrawardı has combined figures from pre-Islamic

Persian mythology with the Islamic tree of T˙uba that grows in paradise, the task of the

sımurg ˇ has changed little from that of the Avestan Saena (see note 48).

Zoroastrians under the Seljuks: The Siy

asat N

amaIt appears that later Iranian Muslims and Muslim dynasties were generally intolerant of,

if not hostile towards, the dwindling Zoroastrian population, probably because of its

waning influence. This was especially true under the rule of the staunchly Sunnı Seljuk

Turks (429/1038–590/1194), who were known for their zeal in promoting the Islamic

faith. Niz˙am al-Mulk (d. 485/1092), advisor to the Seljuk rulers, wrote the following

harsh words in his Siy asat N ama regarding the situation of Zoroastrians and other

religious groups during the early Seljuk period: ‘During the time of Mah˙

mud, Mas‘ud,

Tughril, and Alp Arslan—may God have mercy on them—neither Zoroastrian, nor

Christian, nor heretic had the gall to go out in public nor to go before a grandee.’59 This

statement from the Siy asat N

ama may be somewhat hyperbolic. However, there is no

doubt that the Muslim state was able to, and often did, impose its will on the Zoroastrian

communities, particularly once the latter formed the majority of the population only in

rural areas.60 Muslims’ tolerance of Zoroastrians did exist in a few areas and under

certain ruling dynasties. For example, under the Shiite Buyids of western Iran (4th/10th

century) the destruction and or appropriation of fire temples and seminaries by Muslims

were forbidden.61 Where Zoroastrians remained influential, their religious sites

continued to function in the 5th/11th century in such towns as Tus, Bayhaq, and Nisa.62

‘At

˙

t

˙

ar’s Nishapur

In considering all of the possible historical and literary precedents for ‘At˙t˙ar’s choice of

the Zoroastrian as a source of spiritual guidance, the situation of the actual Zoroastrian

150 H. S. Neale



population of his era and that of the preceding centuries must also be examined. With

the exception of the eastern cities of Nishapur, Merv, Bukhara, and Samarkand, the

Muslims of Khurasan and Central Asia were outnumbered by Zoroastrians, Christians,

and Jews into the 4th/10th century 63 with mass conversions in the countryside only

beginning to happen in the 3rd/9th and 4th/10th centuries,64

and continuing until the7th/13th century.65 Thus, Muslims did not become the numerically dominant religious

community in this region until the late 6th/12th century CE, the same century in which

‘At˙t˙ar was born in the area of Nishapur (sometime between 513/1120 and 534/1140).66

Although ‘At˙t˙ar would have grown up around a largely Muslim population that did not

generally interact with those city-dwellers who followed other faiths, Zoroastrians,

Christians, and Jews, as well as some knowledge regarding their beliefs, would have been

familiar to him. During the Seljuk era, Nishapur was home to significant numbers of

non-Muslims, especially Christians and Jews.67 Although Christians and Jews do appear

in Tadkiratu’l-awliy a’ , the role that they play is nowhere near as important as that of the

Zoroastrians. The role of source of spiritual guidance is reserved exclusively for the

latter. This effectively counters the possible argument that ‘At˙t˙ar chose to use

Zoroastrians in his hagiography rather than Christians or Jews because the former were

more familiar to his Khurasanian audience. In fact, by the late 6th/12th century, Jews

and Christians would have been in greater abundance in the city of Nishapur than were

Zoroastrians.

‘At˙t˙ar’s View of Zoroastrianism

‘At˙t˙ar himself makes a number of negative comments regarding the Zoroastrian faith in

his matnavıs (e.g. the disparaging remarks concerning Firdawsı in the Asr ar N ama

discussed earlier). He also relates a h˙

ad ıt in the Life of H˙arit-i Muh

˙asibı (d. 243/857), in

which the Qadarites (i.e. Muslims who espoused the doctrine of absolute Free Will) are

compared with Zoroastrians:

It is related that H˙arit inherited three thousand dinars from his father. ‘Take it

to the treasury,’ said he, ‘that it may belong to the Sultan.’ ‘Why?’ Said he: ‘The

Prophet—upon whom be prayers and peace—has said: Those who cleave to the

doctrine of Free Will are the Magians of this umma (religious community).’

‘My father was a Qadarite and the Prophet—upon whom be prayers and

peace—has said: ‘The Muslim does not accept an inheritance from a Magian

(mug ˇ )’—and my father was a Magian and I am a Muslim.’68

In the closing pages of the Asr ar N ama, Firdawsı and the Zoroastrians he is accused of

praising are both criticized. This may at first seem paradoxical, but if one considers

carefully the context in which Zoroastrianism and Zoroastrians are inferior in ‘At˙t˙ar’s

oeuvre, it is immediately apparent that where the Magian faith is concerned vis-a-vis

Islam, it is, from ‘At˙t˙ar’s standpoint, inferior. It is only where an individual Zoroastrian

character appears as a source of spiritual guidance that his role is a positive one. Thus,

the curious figure of the Zoroastrian as source of spiritual guidance in Tadkiratu’l-awliy a’

is in no way a departure from the general attitude of Muslims toward the pre-Islamic

Iranian religion, nor is it a contradiction vis-a-vis the condemnation of Zoroastrianism

and Zoroastrians in general that appears in both Tadkiratu’l-awliy a’ and the rest of

‘At˙t˙ar’s oeuvre.




Conclusion

What, then, could have inspired ‘At˙t˙ar’s creation of a Zoroastrian as a channel of spiritual

guidance in Tadkiratu’l-awliy a’ ? These excurses into the demographics and history of the

eastern Iranian world prior to and during the 6th/12th century do not provide the soleexplanation for the Zoroastrian in Tadkiratu’l-awliy a’ . Such an historical overview does,

however, indicate that Khurasan did provide the fertile soil from which such a curious and

effective literary character might come forth, as indeed its vibrant and important Sufi

culture provided a milieu in which a poet such as ‘At˙t˙ar would redefine the literary vehicles

for the expression of Sufi doctrines in his splendid matnavıs and hagiography.69 As a

storyteller and himself a kind of source of spiritual guidance regarding the principles of

Sufism, ‘At˙t˙ar’s creative imagination as well as his spiritual insight wrought a figure both

interesting and effective. The anecdotes in which a Zoroastrian as a source of spiritual

guidance plays a role are among the most curious in Tadkiratu’l-awliy a’ . By virtue of their

unexpected behaviour and wisdom, the Zoroastrian characters contribute a surprising

twist to the anecdotes in which they appear. Here again, the concept of ‘enstrangement,’

mentioned above in conjunction with the anecdote in the Life of Saqıq-i Balkhı, is a

relevant and productive approach to the interpretation of the Zoroastrian as a source of

spiritual guidance in Tadkiratu’l-awliy a’ as a whole. Certainly, there are other recurrent

characters of central importance to the shaping of ‘At˙t˙ar’s hagiography as a collection of

stories with important lessons for the Sufi wayfarer and lay-believer alike. These other

characters (e.g. Iblıs, Khid˙

r, Junayd, and Harun al-Rasıd), although not necessarily

common to Persian Sufi hagiography (the last-mentioned in particular), are quite

common in medieval Islamic literature and therefore present less of a surprise to the

reader or auditor. However, with Zoroastrians as bearers and transmitters of fundamental

Sufi concepts in Tadkiratu’l-awliy a’ , the process of enstrangement comes into play anddeeply affects the reception of the anecdote. Another result of the wise Zoroastrian’s

enstranging effect is to reinforce one of the essential and recurrent motifs of Tadkiratu’l-

awliy a’ ; to wit, the seemingly inexplicable and unforeseen manner in which God’s will is

carried out. Throughout ‘At˙t˙ar’s hagiography, this concept is manifested in ways that

challenge the preconceived notions of the characters within the narratives and most likely

also surprised and challenged Tadkiratu’l-awliy a’’s audience, be it the Sufi wayfarer setting

out on the Path toward ma‘rifa or the layman reading or listening to the awe-inspiring

deeds of God’s Friends. The character of the Zoroastrian is one of the ways in which

Tadkiratu’l-awliy a’ must have stirred the hearts of listeners and readers so as to cause them

to ponder the mysteries of God’s will and the process of transformation that occurs withina believer when he realizes the deeper meaning of the essential aspects of his faith.

Notes

1. A h˙

ad ıt related in the Life of Saqıq-i Balkhı. Farıd al-Dın ‘At˙t˙ar, Tadkiratu’l-’awliy a’ , ed. Isti‘lamı

(Tehran: Intisarat-i Zawar, 1383), 234. ‘Wisdom is the lost property of the believer. Seek it even from

the unbeliever.’

2. From the Arabic root wakala, ‘to entrust something to someone’. The fifth form of this verb,

tawakkala ‘al a, means ‘to put oneself in God’s hands’; see Hans Wehr, Arabic–English Dictionary , ed.

J.M. Cowan (Ithaca, NY: Spoken Language Services, Inc., 1976), 1096. Tawakkul is one of the

fundamental principles of Sufism and is dealt with and explained in most of the major treatises (e.g.

al-Qusayrı, Tarjuma-yi risala-yi qusayr ıya, ed. B. Furuzanfar [Tehran: Bungah-i Tarjuma u Nasr-i

Kitab, 1967], chapter 20) and hagiographies as well as in the poetry of Sufism. It might even be said

152 H. S. Neale



for ‘man’, read as mard in Middle Persian meaning ‘man’; and (c) from a corruption of the Arabic

kafir (unbeliever). Bausani and Shaki both agree that the final proposed origin is the most likely. It

has been argued that this etymology is problematic in that the Arabic word kafir contains no sound

that does not exist in Persian and that therefore kafir would not have presented any difficulty

regarding pronunciation. Bausani believes the word was probably borrowed from Arabic soon after

the Arab Islamic conquest of Iran and that it would have come into Persian orally, which explainsthe phonological metamorphosis. Martin Schwartz has convincingly elucidated the transformation

of the Arabic kafir into the Persian gabr : The sound that is represented in Persian with a kaf and in

the Latin alphabet with a /k/ is slightly aspirated, as it generally is in English (e.g. ‘cat’). In Arabic,

however, this sound is tense with little or no aspiration. To a Persian ear, the Arabic /k/ would have

sounded more like a /g/ while the long / a/ would have sounded like the short closed /a/ in Persian. In

addition, there was, at a certain point, a fluctuation between a voiced and an unvoiced labial spirant,

which is why in early texts, for example, the Persian word for silk had three possible spellings (i.e.

abr esam, afr esam, avr esam). Bearing this in mind, it is not difficult to imagine a vacillation occurring

between the consonantal clusters /fr/ and /vr/ in the early Persian pronunciation of this important

Arabic word. Furthermore, a shift had occurred during the development of New Persian from

Middle Persian whereby Middle Persian words ending in the consonantal cluster /fr/ underwent

metathesis to become /rf/ (e.g. Middle Persian wafr , ‘snow’, is barf in New Persian). As one does not

encounter any words in New Persian that end with /fr/ it is therefore likely that the /fr/ of the Arabic

kafir was treated in the same manner when heard by speakers of New Persian. The term gabr for

Zoroastrian has been used since the beginning of New Persian literature (circa 10th century CE),

appearing in the S ˇ ah N ama of Firdawsı and remaining the common term until recently when the

word zartust ı began to replace it. The word has a negative connotation and is almost always

employed depreciatively. It is occasionally used to refer to unbelievers in general, but in the earlier

Persian texts the word refers exclusively to Zoroastrians. In ‘At˙t˙ar’s Tadkiratu’l-awliy a, the term

refers unequivocally to Zoroastrians as it is accompanied by references to fire worship and the kust ı

(Zoroastrian girdle). See Alessandro Bausani, ‘Gabr’, in Encyclopaedia of Islam, vol. 2 (Leiden: E.J.

Brill, 1965), 970–1; Mansour Shaki, ‘Gabr’, in Encyclopaedia Iranica, vol. 10 (New York: Bibliotheca

Persica, 2001), 239–40; and conversation with Martin Schwartz, UC Berkeley, 2 May 2006. The

word has also passed into Turkish as gavur , ‘unbeliever; obstinate, cruel’. The lesser-used Arabic

maj us appears in the Qur’an (XXII, 17), where it refers to the Zoroastrians. The term was originally derived from the Old Persian magus (whence Syriac m@ g usa, Greek maYo& , New Persian mu _ g ), which

referred to a priestly caste. The term adopted into Arabic became a generic word for all

Zoroastrians; see M. Morony, ‘Madjus’, in Encyclopaedia of Islam, vol. 5 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1965),

1110–18.

14. See anecdote of Abu’l-Ady an and the Magian from S ırat-i saykh-i kabır-i Abu ‘Abd Allah-i Ibn-i

Khaf ıf-i S ˇ ır azı below. al-Daylamı, S ırat-i S ˇ aykh-i Kabır-i Abu ‘Abd All ah-i Khaf ıf-i S ˇ ır azı, ed. A.

Schimmel (Tehran: Intisarat-i Babak, 1984).

15. Mah˙

mud b. ‘Utman, Firdaws al-mur ıd ıya f ı asr ar al-s˙

amad ıya, ed. F. Meier and I. Afsar (Tehran:

Kitabkhana-i Danis, 1954).

16. Alı al-Hujwırı, Kasf al-mah˙

j ub, ed. V.A. Zhukovski (Tehran: Intisarat-i T˙

uhurı, 1380 [2001]), 360.

‘Vaın khil af ba ma tanaviy an kardand ba itbat-i nur u z˙

ulmat va gabr an ba itbat-i yazd an u ahr ıman .. .’

Ba t ˙ ab‘-i kh

ud k

ar mekunad.17. A tas ba idn-i khud a-yi ta‘ al a kar mekunad.

18. Abu’l-H˙

asan al-Daylamı, S ırat-i saykh-i kabır-i Abu ‘Abd All ah-i Ibn-i Khaf ıf-i S ˇ ır azı, trans. Rukn al-

Dın-i Yah˙

y a b. Junayd-i Sırazı, ed. Annemarie Schimmel (Tehran: Intisarat-i Babak, 1984), 179–80.

This story is also retold in J amı’s ‘Life of Abu’l-Ady an’ in Nafah˙atu’l-uns; see ‘Abd al-Rah

˙man J amı,

Nafah˙atu’l-uns min h

˙ad

˙ar ati’l-quds, ed. M. ‘Abidı (Tehran: Intisarat-i It

˙t˙ila‘at, 1375 [1996]), 225.

19. Muh˙

ammad b. al-Munawwar, Asr ar al-tawh˙ıd f ı maqamat-i saykh Abı Sa‘ ıd , ed. M.R.S. Kadkanı

(Tehran: Intisarat-i agah, 1366 [1987]), 76–77 and 132 (e.g. ‘az bahr-i but ı gabr savı ‘ ar nabu...’).

20. Ibid., 111.

21. Ibid., 113–14.

22. Annemarie Schimmel, Mystical Dimensions of Islam (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press,

1975), 34. An example of this is found in Abu Nu‘aym al-Is˙fahanı’s H

˙ilyat al-awliy a’ in the life of

Ah

˙

mad al-H

˙

awarı, in which the subject encounters a Christian monk and asks him concerning his life

and Christian scripture. See Abu Nu‘aym al-Is˙bahanı, H

˙ilyat al-awliy a’ , vol. 10 (Beirut: Dar al-Kitab

al-‘Arabı, 1967), 5.

154 H. S. Neale



23. ‘At˙t˙ar, Tadkiratu’l-awliy a’ , 127. This anecdote also occurs in a collection of Sufi tales by an unknown

author, recently published as Hazar h˙

ikayat-i s˙uf ıy an. The version narrated in this collection is

likewise attributed to Du al-Nun and follows closely the version appearing in Tadkiratu’l-awliy a’ .

Although this manuscript dates from 1477–78 CE, its archaic style as well as the existence of other

copies dating from the 13th century indicate that it was composed within a century of

‘Attar’sTadkiratu’l-awliy

a’ . It was possibly inspired by a public reading of ‘Att

ar’s hagiography as

it adheres to the details and structure of his story but employs some different vocabulary. Mahmoud

Omidsalar and Iraj Afshar, eds., Hazar h˙

ikayat-i s˙uf ıy an, eds. (Tehran: Persian Manuscripts in

Facsimile, 2003), 103.

24. For example, the story of Khid˙

r (who is, incidentally, not named in the narrative) and Moses and the

latter’s upbraiding of the former for what seem to be cruel or senseless deeds (i.e. the scuttling of a

boat laden with passengers, the slaying of a young boy, and the mending of a leaning wall), only

because he does not understand God’s motives behind them (i.e. saving the boat through sabotage,

which belonged to righteous men, from an unjust king who was seizing boats by force, slaying a boy

who would grow up to be unrighteous and thereby grieve his godly parents, and mending a wall in a

town of folk who refused Khid˙

r and Moses hospitality in order that the sons of a godly man might

find their father’s legacy to them, a buried treasure, upon reaching maturity). Qur’an 18, 65–82.

25. Qur’an 24, 35.

26. ‘At˙t˙ar, Tadkiratu’l-awliy a’ , 152. This anecdote also occurs in Rumi’s Matnavı, book V, line 3358; see

Jalalu’l-Dın-i Balkhı R umı, Matnavı-i ma‘navı, ed. ‘A. Surus (Tehran: Sirkat-i Intisarat-i ‘Ilmı u

Farhangı, 1378 [1999]).

27. As related by ‘At˙t˙ar in Tadkiratu’l-awliy a’ as a dictum of Abu’ l-H

˙asan Busanjı: ‘[Tas

˙avvuf ] imr uz

ismest va musamma pad ıd na; va pes az ın haqıqat e bud be ism.’ Ibid., 456.

28. Ibid., 8.

29. Muh˙

ammad, Asr ar al-tawh˙ıd , 5.

30. ‘At˙t˙ar, Tadkiratu’l-awliy a’ , 189.

31. This anecdote appears in the 11th-century magnum opus of Abu H˙amid al- _Gazalı, Ih

˙y a’ ‘ul um al-d ın,

the two versions are so similar as to preclude any doubt that al-Ghazalı is the source of ‘At˙t˙ar’s

anecdote. See Abu H˙amid al- _Gazalı, Ih

˙y a’ ‘ul um al-d ın, vol. 4 (Cairo: Mu’assasat al-H

˙alabı wa-

Surak a’ih, 1968), 166.

32. ‘Attar, Tadkiratu’l-awliy a’ , 253.33. Ibid., 253–4.

34. Ibid., 278–9.

35. Mah˙

mud Sabistarı, Gulsan-i r az, ed. P. Dak anı (Tehran: Intisarat-i Ilham Sabistarı,1376), 89–91.

36. Mans˙ur al-H

˙allaj, al-A‘mal al-kamila, ed. Q. M. ‘Abbas (Beirut: Riad el-Rayyes, 2002).

37. Julie Scott Meisami, Persian Historiography to the End of the Twelfth Century (Edinburgh: Edinburgh

University Press, 1999), 108.

38. T ar ıkh-i S ıst an, ed. M. Bahar (Tehran: Kitabkhana-i Zavv ar, 1935), 105–6.

39. As Dick Davis notes in ‘The Problem of Ferdowsi’s Sources’, Journal of African and Oriental Studies

116, no. 1 (1996): 49: ‘The need to indicate authority (preferably ancient authority) for one’s

statements was a general medieval concern shared by Christian and Muslim authors alike.’ Examples

of this abound in European and Asian literature of the medieval period (e.g. Geoffrey of Monmouth’s

similar claim regarding the origin of his Historia Regum Britanniae, Gurg

an

ı’s V

ı s u R

am

ın, andCervantes’ apocryphal book by Cidi Hamete as source for the story of Don Quixote).

40. Abu’l-Qasem Ferdowsi, The Shahnameh (Book of Kings), ed. D. Khaleghi-Motlagh, vol. 1 (New

York: Bibliotheca Persica, 1988), 12.

41. Ibid.

42. Jamsheed Kairshas Choksy, ‘Muslims and Zoroastrians in Medieval Iran and Western Inner Asia:

Cultural Transition and Religious History’ (diss., Harvard University, 1991), 52.

43. Farıd al-Din ‘At˙t˙ar, Asr ar N ama, ed. S. Gawharın (Tehran: Cap-i Sarq, 1959), 189.

44. It should be borne in mind that by Khurasan is meant the Persian-speaking Islamic region of what is

now northeastern Iran, western Afghanistan, and eastern Turkmenistan. The principal cities of this

region during ‘At˙t˙ar’s era were Merv, Balkh, Herat, and Nishapur, all important centres of Perso-

Islamic culture and learning.

45. R.N. Frye, Islamic Iran and Central Asia (7 th–12th Centuries) (London: Variorum Reprints, 1979), IX,

3–4.

46. Ibid.




47. In no way should we make the mistake of conflating this state of coexistence with such postmodern

concepts as ‘multiculturalism’ and ‘celebrating diversity’. Although the various religious commu-

nities of pre-modern Asia, North Africa, and Europe were often able to live in the same towns and

interact to a certain extent, they were certainly neither ‘celebrating’ one another’s culture nor

downplaying their fundamental differences in an ecumenical rapprochement.

48. Charles W. Wilkinson, Nishapur: Some Early Islamic Buildings and Their Decoration (New York: TheMetropolitan Museum of Art, 1986), 84–5. Although Mt. Qaf is generally associated with Persian

mythology, it does not appear in any pre-Islamic texts—though it may have been inspired by the

mountain of Hara, which is central to Zoroastrian cosmology. The sımur _ g , on the other hand, has

been a part of Zoroastrian tradition since the composition of the Gathas (c. 1200 BCE). The origins

of this mythical bird can be traced to the PIE word for a bird of prey occurring in Sanskrit as syena-,

in Greek as ı’ktıO

voB and in Avestan as saena-. In the Avesta of Zarathushtra, the Saena is a large bird

that dwells on an island where the ‘Tree of all Seeds’ grows. The flapping of the Saena’s wings

scatters the seeds, distributing them throughout the world. Sena was combined with the Avestan

m@ r @ g ˇ a (bird), which in Middle Persian was senmurw, becoming sımur _ g in New Persian (mur _ g being a

northern Iranian form rather than having developed from the Middle Persian murw). Conversation

with Martin Schwartz, UC Berkeley, 2 May 2006.

49. Choksy, ‘Muslims and Zoroastrians’, 95–8. Although one could also argue that the theme of

auspicious birth for heroes, prophets, founders of dynasties, and so forth, is a universal one.

50. Ibid., 114.

51. Schimmel, Mystical Dimensions, 33–4.

52. R umı, Matnavı-yi Ma‘navı, book V, 789, lines 1791–5.

53. Schimmel, Mystical Dimensions, 107. See also Annemarie Schimmel, The Triumphal Son: A Study of

the Works of Jal aloddin Rumi (London: East–West Publications, 1980), 196 and 261.

54. Boyce, Zoroastrians, 8 and 10.

55. Rumi, Masnavi-i ma’navi , book V, 862, line 3361.

56. Ibid., line 3358.

57. Henry Corbin, En Islam iranien, vol. 2 (Paris: Gallimard, 1971), 111.

58. Sihabu’l-Dın Suhrawardı, ‘Aql-i surkh (Tehran: Intisarat-i mawla, 1982), 8–9.

59. Niz

˙

am al-Mulk, Siyar al-mul uk/ Siy asat N ama, ed. H. Darke (Tehran: Bungah-i Tarjuma u Nasr-i

Kitab, 1962), 203.60. Choksy, ‘Muslims and Zoroastrians’, 228.

61. Ibid., 174.

62. ‘Alı b. Zayd Bayhaqı Ibn Funduq, T ar ıkh-i Bayhaq, ed. A. Bahmaniyar (Tehran: Islamiyya, 1968),

253; and Abu Ish˙aq Ibrahım b. Muh

˙ammad Is

˙t˙akhrı, Kit ab al-masalik wa’l-mamalik, ed. M.J. de

Goeje (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1967), 264–5.

63. Ibid., 165.

64. Frye, Islamic Iran and Central Asia, 2–3.

65. Choksy, ‘Muslims and Zoroastrians’, 185.

66. Ibid., 165.

67. A.K.S. Lambton, ‘The Internal Structure of the Seljuk Empire,’ in The Cambridge History of Iran, vol.

5, ed. R.N. Frye (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975), 274–5.

68. ‘Att

ar, Tadkiratu’l-awliy

a’ , 234.69. Although ‘At

˙t˙ar was not the first to compose matnavıs in which Sufi ideas are presented, this

distinction belonging to Sana’ı of Ghazna (d. 525/1131), he may be credited with developing the

mystical matnavı in the form of a frame tale. With the exception of the Asr ar N ama, each of his

matnavıs is structured around a frame tale.

156 H. S. Neale

zoroastrian in attar's tahdkirah al-awliya

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