The Autobiography of ‘Abd al-Laṭīf al-Baghdādī

(1162–1231)

Introduction

Muwaffaq al-Dīn Abū Muḥammad ‘Abd al-Laṭīf ibn Yūsuf al-Baghdādī was a man of great learning who became well known for his expertise in many fields: grammar, lexicography, law, natural sciences, alchemy, philosophy, and, most notably, medicine. He was born in Baghdad in 1162 and died there in 1231 after an absence of forty-five years during which he traveled widely in the Islamic world. He had a succession of patrons and came into contact with a number of prominent military leaders, scholars, philosophers, and physicians, including Saladin, Maimonides, ‘Imād al-Dīn al-Kātib al-Iṣfahānī (Saladin's personal secretary and a fellow autobiographer), and Ibn Sanā’ al-Mulk.^[1]

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The sīra, or life narrative, of ‘Abd al-Laṭīf seems to have formed part of a larger work, no longer extant, entitled simply ta’rīkh (history or diary), which he wrote for his son.^[2] Although it does not seem to have survived in toto, the sīra was used by Ibn Abī Uṣaybi‘a (d. 1270) in compiling his biographical dictionary of physicians. Similar to the autobiography of Ibn al- ‘Adīm as recorded by Yāqūt, the autobiography of ‘Abd al-Laṭīf survives as a composite of first-person extracts from his original text, interwoven with paraphrases and additional firsthand knowledge supplied by Ibn Abī Uṣaybi‘a, for ‘Abd al-Laṭīf was a close friend of his grandfather and a teacher of both his father and paternal uncle. In spite of conforming somewhat to the standard curriculum vitae model, it is clear from these fragments and those preserved in other works that ‘Abd al-Laṭīf's sīra was replete with insights and judgments about the places he lived and visited, the people he encountered, and the intellectual currents of his day. He notes, for example, that many of the best scholars of his era, including himself, were unduly preoccupied with alchemy (which he finally denounces toward the end of his autobiography); that were it not for the ineptitude of the attending physician, Saladin's death might have been averted; and that Maimonides, though extremely knowledgeable, was misguided and overly concerned about currying favor with his “worldly lords.”

‘Abd al-Laṭīf is a towering figure in the intellectual and scientific history of the Islamic Middle Ages. His autobiography, besides providing glimpses into the ingredients that make a scholar, is a record of the triumph of knowledge and learning even in times of turmoil, upheaval, and shifting alliances. The translation below contains most of the first-person passages preserved in the entry on ‘Abd al-Laṭīf in Ibn Abī Uṣaybi‘a's compendium.

Bibliography

Missing

Selections from the Autograph Notes of ‘Abd al-Laṭīf al-Baghdādī
[‘Uyūn, pp. 683–96]

 

[Ibn Abī Uṣaybi‘a writes]:

The learned master Muwaffaq al-Dīn Abū Muḥammad ‘Abd al-Laṭīf ibn Yūsuf ibn Muḥammad ibn ‘Alī ibn Abī Sa‘d, known as Ibn Labbād. Town of family origin: Mosul. Birthplace: Baghdad.

Renowned for his polymathy and blessed with moral excellence, he was eloquent and prolific. He was distinguished in grammar and lexicography, and very knowledgeable in speculative theology and medicine. He devoted a great deal of attention to the craft of medicine when he was in Damascus and became famous as a result of this. A group of students and student physicians used to visit him frequently in order to study medical texts under his direction.

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[Here follows a passage by Ibn Abī Uṣaybi‘a on ‘Abd al-Laṭīf's father and paternal uncle, their education, and their writings.]

He was a friend of my grandfather's: a strong friendship had developed between them when we lived in Egypt. My father and my uncle both studied the literary arts under his direction. My uncle also studied the books of Aristotle with him. ‘Abd al-Laṭīf himself was much interested in the works of Aristotle and their import. He came to Damascus from Egypt and stayed there for some time; his students learned a great deal from him. I saw him when he was living in Damascus the last time he was there: a thin, elderly man, of medium height, sweet voiced and expressive, whose writing was more eloquent than his tongue. Perhaps it was because he thought so highly of himself that he said inappropriate things—may God show him mercy! He found the men of learning of his time, and those of earlier times too, deficient in their scholarship, and he greatly disparaged many of the Persian scholars and their works, especially the Master, Avicenna, and others of his caliber.

I have copied the following verbatim from a manuscript, in his own hand, of the autobiography [sīra] he composed.

I was born in 557 [1162 [C.E.] in a house that belonged to my grandfather on Falūdhaj Lane, and was raised and instructed under the care of Shaykh Abū al-Najīb. I knew neither pleasure nor leisure, and spent most of my time learning ḥadīth. Certificates of ḥadīth audition were obtained for me from professors in Baghdad, Khurasan, Syria, and Egypt. One day my father [proudly] declared: “I have given you the opportunity to learn ḥadīth directly from the top scholars of Baghdad and I have even had you included in the chains of transmission of the older Masters.” I was learning calligraphic writing at that time and also memorizing the Qur’ān, the Faṣīḥ [a treatise on Arabic linguistics by Tha‘lab, d. 904], the Maqāmāt [picaresque tales by al-Ḥarīrī, d. 1122], the collected poems of al-Mutanabbī, an epitome on jurisprudence, another on grammar, and other works of this kind.

When I was old enough, my father took me to Kamāl al-Dīn ‘Abd al-Raḥmān al-Anbārī, who was, in those days, the Master of Masters in Baghdad. He was an old classmate of my father's from their days at the Niִzāmiyya law college, where they had studied law together. It was under his direction that I was to study the introduction to the Faṣīḥ, but I couldn't understand one bit of his continuous and considerable jabbering, even though his students seem pleased enough with it. So he said, “I avoid teaching younger boys and instead pass them on to my protégé al-Wajīh al-Wāsiṭī to study under his direction. If and when their situation improves, I then allow them to study with me.”

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Al-Wajīh, a blind man from a wealthy and virtuous family, was employed by some of the children of the Chief Master.^[3] He welcomed me with open arms and taught me all day long, showing me kindness in many ways. I attended his study circle at the Ẓafariyya mosque, and he would teach me the commentaries and discuss them with me. Then he would read my lesson and favor me with his own comments. We would then leave the mosque and he would even help me memorize on the road home. When we reached his house, he would take out the books he himself was studying and I would memorize with him and help him memorize as well. We would then go to Kamāl al-Dīn, to whom he would recite and who would then comment on the lesson, while I listened. I trained in this way until I surpassed al-Wajīh in both memorization and comprehension, for I used to spend most of the night memorizing and reviewing. We continued in this way for a long time, with me affiliated to both the Master and the Master's Master. My memorizing got better, my recall improved, my understanding grew, my insights became more acute, and my mind became keener and more reliable.

The first thing I memorized was the Luma‘ [a grammar by Ibn Jinnī, d. 1002], which I completed in eight months. I listened to a commentary on most of it, read by another, every day, and returned home to peruse the commentaries of al-Thamānīnī, al-Sharīf ‘Umar ibn Ḥamza, Ibn Barhān, and any others I could find. I explained the Luma‘ to those pupils who preferred my instruction till I reached the point where I began to use up a whole notebook on each chapter without even completing a fraction of what I had to say.

 

[Here follows a description of ‘Abd al-Laṭīf's studies including references to more than twenty specific works, the time it took to memorize each, and the teacher with whom he studied that work, as well as more general references to various authors and disciplines.]

In the year 585 [1189], when there no longer remained in Baghdad anyone to win my heart or to satisfy my desires, or to help me resolve what was perplexing me, I went on to Mosul. I was disappointed there, but I did chance upon al-Kamāl Ibn Yūnus, who was an expert in mathematics and law, but only partially learned in the remaining fields of science. His love of alchemy and its practice had so drowned his intellect and his time that he dismissed and disdained everything else.

Large numbers of students flocked to me, and a number of teaching posts were offered to me. I chose the second-story law college of Ibn Muhājir and the Dār al-Ḥadīth located beneath it. I remained in Mosul for a year in continuous and uninterrupted independent study, day and night. The people of Mosul claimed they had never seen anyone before with such an expansive and rapid memory and possessed of such grave demeanor. [ . . .]

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When I got to Damascus I came upon a large group of scholars, gathered together through the generous patronage of Saladin, consisting of notables of Baghdad and the whole region. Among them were Jamāl al-Dīn ‘Abd al-Laṭīf, son of my former teacher Abū al-Najīb; a group from the Chief Master's family; Ibn Ṭalḥa, the secretary; members of the house of Ibn Juhayr; Ibn al-‘Aṭṭār, the vizier who was later executed; and Ibn Hubayra, the vizier. I also met al-Kindī al-Baghdādī, the grammarian, with whom I had many debates. He was an intelligent, sharp-witted, and wealthy professor, with a certain amount of influence, but who was quite taken with himself and offensive to his company. We had many debates and God—may He be exalted—permitted me to surpass him on many topics. I soon left his side, and my neglect offended him, even more so than people were offended by him!

In Damascus I produced a number of works. [Here follows an annotated list of six works with brief descriptions.]

In Damascus I again came across Professor ‘Abd Allāh Ibn Nā’ilī who had taken up residence at the western minaret. Gathered round him was a group of followers obsessed with him. People were divided into two camps, one for him and one against. Al-Khaṭīb al-Dawla‘ī, a notable of standing and principle, was against him. It was not long, however, before Ibn Nā’ilī had himself in quite a mess, at which time his enemies prevailed. He would lecture defending alchemy and philosophy, and talk against him soon increased. I used to get together with him and he would ask me to describe certain procedures so that he could record them, procedures I thought contemptible and trivial, but to which he attached great importance and to which he gave himself over completely. I saw through him, though. He was not at all what I had expected. I was thoroughly unimpressed by him and his methods. When I debated science with him, I found that he only had scraps of knowledge. One day I said to him, “If you had devoted the time you have wasted in the pursuit of the Craft to some of the Islamic or rational sciences, you would today be without equal, waited on hand and foot. This alchemy nonsense simply does not have the answers you seek.”

I learned from his example and kept my distance from the evils of what befell him: “Contented is he who learns from others.” So I pulled myself away, but not entirely. He set off to see Saladin on the outskirts of Acre to complain about al-Dawla‘ī. He returned sick and was taken to hospital, where he then died. Al-Mu‘tamid, [Saladin's] marshal of Damascus, who was himself infatuated with alchemy, confiscated his books.

Then I myself set off on a journey, first to Jerusalem and then to the outskirts of Acre to see Saladin. I also met Bahā’ al-Dīn Ibn Shaddād, [Saladin's] military judge at the time. My fame had reached him in Mosul, so he was most pleased to meet me and was quite attentive. “Let's go and meet ‘Imād al-Dīn al-Kātib,” he suggested, so we did. His tent was near Bahā’ al-Dīn's.

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‘Imād al-Dīn was writing a letter to the chancery of al-‘Azīz in [the ornate] thuluth script, without so much as a rough draft! “This is a letter to your hometown,” he said, and then proceeded to test me on some matters of speculative theology. Then he said: “Come with us to see al-Qāḍī al-Fāḍil,” so we entered his presence. What I saw was a slight man, all skin and bones, simultaneously writing and dictating, the various shapes of the words playing upon his face and lips, mouthed from the force of his effort to produce them, as if he were writing with his whole body. Al-Qāḍī al-Fāḍil interrogated me about some of the Almighty's words: “Where is the apodosis of the particle `when/if' in the Qur’ānic verse—`Until, when they arrive there, its gates will be opened and its keepers will say . . .' [Q 39:71]? And where is the apodosis of `if' in the verse—`If there were a Qur’ān with which mountains were moved . . .[Q 13:31]?'” He asked me about many other matters and yet, in spite of this, never once interrupted the flow of his writing or of his dictation. “Return to Damascus,” he said, “and you will be provided for.” I said that I preferred Egypt, upon which he replied: “The sultan is anxious about the Franks' capture of Acre and the slaying of Muslims there. . .” “But it simply must be Egypt,” I insisted, so he wrote me a short note to his agent there.

When I entered Cairo, I was met by his agent, Ibn Sanā’ al-Mulk. He was a most honorable man, of lofty status, powerful, whose commands were obeyed. He secured a renovated house for me, the defects all repaired, and supplied me with money and with a grain allowance. He then called in some government officials and introduced me as the guest of al-Qāḍī al-Fāḍil. I received gifts and kindnesses from people in every quarter. Every ten days or so a memorandum would come to the Egyptian chancery from al-Qāḍī al-Fāḍil outlining the requirements of state. In it would be a paragraph certifying the stipend earmarked for me. I taught and was resident at the mosque of the Chamberlain Lu’lu’—may he rest in peace.

My purpose in going to Egypt was to seek out three people: Yāsīn `the Magician,' Maimonides the Jew, and Abū al-Qāsim al-Shāri‘ī. As it turned out, all three came to me. Yāsīn I found to be absurd, a liar, and a conjuring cheat. He swore to al-Shāqānī's expertise in alchemy just as al-Shāqānī would swear to his. It was said of him that he could do things even the Prophet Moses was unable to do, that he could produce minted gold whenever he wished, of any quantity he wished, and of any minting he wished, and that he could turn the waters of the Nile into a tent in which he would then sit with his friends. He was most churlish.

When Maimonides came to see me, I found him to be tremendously learned, but overcome with the love of leadership and of service to worldly lords. One of his works was on medicine, based on the sixteen books of Galen and on five books by others. He took it upon himself not to alter a single word unless it was an “and” or a “so,” and, in point of fact, copied sections in their entirety. He also wrote a work for the Jews titled Kitāb al-Dalāla [Guide for the Perplexed] and cursed anyone who transcribed it into anything but Hebrew script.^[4] I looked through it and found it to be an evil book that corrupted the articles of Law and Faith with elements he thought would reform them.

One day, when I was in the mosque with a number of people gathered around me, a master in ragged clothing entered. His face shone and his appearance was pleasing. The people in the gathering were in awe of him and showed him reverence. I finished what I had to say, and when the lecture was over, the imam of the mosque came up to me and said, “Do you know this master? This is Abū al-Qāsim al-Shāri‘ī.” I embraced him and said, “It is you I seek!” I took him to my house where we had food and spoke at length. I found him to be as excellent as one could wish and a sight to behold. His conduct was that of the wise and learned, his bearing likewise. He took little pleasure from the world, not involving himself with anything that would distract him from moral excellence. He became my constant companion and I found him to be learned in the books of the Ancients and of Abū Naṣr al-Fārābī. I did not trust any of those authors because I used to think that Avicenna had gained access to all philosophy and stuffed it all into his own books! When we engaged in debate, I would surpass him in disputation and the use of language, and he would surpass me in producing proofs and in the strength of his arguments. I was inflexible in not submitting to his enticements and did not abandon my stubborn and passionate resistance to his theorizing. But he began to present me with work after work by al-Fārābī and by Alexander Themistius to tame my aversions and to soften the tenor of my intransigence, until I began to incline toward him, hesitant, unsure which step to take next.

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News spread that Saladin had concluded a treaty with the Franks and had returned to Jerusalem. I was driven by a need to see him, so I took what I could carry of the books of the Ancients and headed for Jerusalem. There I saw a great sovereign, generous, affectionate, and awesome to behold, who filled the hearts of those near and far with love. The members of his entourage emulated him, competing for acknowledgment. As the Almighty says: “And we shall remove from their hearts any lurking sense of injury” [Q 7:43]. The first night I entered his presence I found an assembly filled with men of learning, discussing numerous fields of knowledge. He listened attentively, contributed his opinion, and discussed how to build walls and dig trenches. He was well versed in this, and suggested innovations for every scheme. He was concerned about the rebuilding of Jerusalem's walls and about the digging of its trenches. He took this upon himself and personally carried stones on his shoulders. The majority of the populace, rich and poor, strong and weak alike, even ‘Imād al-Kātib and al-Qāḍī al-Fāḍil, followed his example. He devoted himself to this from before sunrise to noon, then he returned to his tent, had his meal and rested. He would carry stones all afternoon and return in the evening, then spend most of the night planning what he would do the next day. Saladin granted me a stipend of thirty dinars a month from the Friday mosque treasury and his sons gave me stipends, as well, so that my monthly income amounted to one hundred dinars.

I returned to Damascus and devoted myself eagerly to my studies and my lecturing in the Friday mosque. The more assiduously I studied the books of the Ancients the more my desire for them increased, whereas my desire for the books of Avicenna waned. I came to realize the falsity of alchemy and to know the truth of the matter with regard to its concoctions, its lying inventors, the falsehoods they spread, and their deluding motivations. I was thus saved from two great, terribly ruinous and humiliating errors. My thanks to the Almighty for this redoubled, for many have been destroyed by the books of Avicenna and by alchemy!

Saladin entered Damascus, accompanied the pilgrimage caravan out of the city to bid it farewell, returned, and contracted a fever. He was bled by a man without any skill, so his strength gave out and he died before the fourteenth. Upon his body people found such signs as are found on prophets. I have never seen a ruler whose death so saddened the people. This was because he was loved by pious and profligate alike, by Muslim and non-Muslim.

His sons and associates scattered to the four winds and tore the realm to bits. Most of them left for Egypt, because of its great fertility and the sheer extent of its dominion. I stayed in Damascus, which was then under the rule of al-Malik al-Afḍal, Saladin's oldest son, until al-Malik al-‘Azīz beseiged him with the help of the Egyptian army. But al-‘Azīz was unable to get what he wanted from his brother, al-Afḍal. He was late leaving for Marj al-Ṣafar because of a colic that had overcome him. I went to see him after he had gotten over it and he allowed me to travel with him, providing for my needs, and more besides, from the treasury.

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I stayed with Abū Qāsim [al-Shāri‘ī]; we were inseparable morning till night, until he passed away. When his illness grew worse, and his head cold turned to pneumonia, I advised him to take medication, but he recited the following:

	I do not chase away the birds from trees
	whose fruit I know from experience is bitter.

Then I asked him about his pain and he said:

	More pain cannot be caused
	than that of the wound of a dying man.

My daily routine at that time was as follows: I taught Islamic sciences in the al-Azhar mosque from the break of day until the fourth hour. Midday, those who wished to study medicine and other subjects would come to me. And then at the end of the day, I would return to the al-Azhar mosque and teach other students. At night I would do my own studying. I did this until the death of al-Malik al-‘Azīz. He was a generous young man, valorous, modest, and unable to say no. And he was, in spite of the tenderness of his years and being in the prime of his youth, wholly abstinent from worldly possessions and women.

[Ibn Abī Uṣaybi‘a completes his entry on ‘Abd al-Laṭīf al-Baghdādī in his own voice with the exception of one short passage that gives the precise dates for some of ‘Abd al-Laṭīf's travels. He notes that throughout these remaining years ‘Abd al-Laṭīf stayed in contact with Ibn Abī Uṣaybi‘a, sending him copies of each of his new books.

According to Ibn Abī ‘Uṣaybi‘, ‘Abd al-Laṭīf al-Baghdādī remained in Egypt until it was struck by a plague the likes of which he had never seen and about which he then wrote a book. In the political turmoil that ensued after Saladin's death, he left for Jerusalem, where he resided, taught, and wrote a number of books. He later traveled to Damascus, where he practiced as a physician and wrote his most famous books on medicine. Previous to this, Ibn Abī Uṣaybi‘a informs us, he had been known primarily as a grammarian. He then traveled to Aleppo and to Turkey, where he enjoyed the patronage of King ‘Alā’ al-Dīn Dāwūd ibn Bahrām of Erzinjān for a number of years. He traveled for several months in central Turkey, returned one last time to Aleppo, and finally died in Baghdad after an absence of forty-five years and was buried in his father's grave.]

Notes