The noted jurisprudent, polymath, political scientist, and theologian Ali Ibn Muhammad Ibn Habib (علي إبن محمد إبن حبيب) was a native of Basra, Iraq, and lived from about A.D. 974 to 1058.  He is more commonly known by the name Al-Mawardi (الماوردي).

There is a touching and revelatory anecdote told about him (II.224) that appears in Ibn Khallikan’s short biographical sketch of his life.  It is said that during his life, Al-Mawardi refused to publish any of his works.  He stored them in a safe place, and when he became advanced in years, he called to his side a trusted aide.  To him he said, “You know my works and where they may be found.  I withheld them from publication during my lifetime because, even though I was conscientious in everything I did, I feared to be seen as actuated only by financial motives.  So listen to what I am about to tell you, and do not disobey my instructions.  When you sense that I am nearing the point of death, I want you to take my hand in yours.  If I squeeze your hand in mine, then I have decided that my works are unfit to be seen by history.  In that case, you should take them all and throw them in the River Tigris.  But if I leave my hand open, then it is because I have concluded that my efforts were not in vain, and that my works are worthy of posterity.”  

When death approached for Al-Mawardi, his assistant did as he had been instructed.  The great man’s hand remained open, the works were published, and his literary legacy was assured. To me this is a tale of great significance.  It demonstrates how even the best writers often find themselves tormented by self-doubt and uncertainty.  One would think that a lifetime of effort might instill a sense of security and confidence.  Sometimes this is so, and sometimes it is not. 

To achieve something of significance in this world is not an easy task, as much as we would like to believe otherwise.  I think we often underestimate just how much labor is required to take something from the conception stage to the completion stage.  And this is why, when a man is engaged in some worthy enterprise, he should never allow his spirit to falter or waver.  Consider these verses by the poet Al-Jurjani:

They told me to employ humility as a step to wealth,

But they knew not that abasement is as bad as poverty.

There are two things which prohibit me from riches:

My honest pride and fortune’s unkindness.

When I am told that wealth is within my reach,

I look and perceive that, before I attain it,

I must pass through stations worse than poverty itself.

[Trans. by De Slane, Biog. Dict. II.222]

It is not easy to make one’s way in the world!  And it never has been, in fact.  Yet I find much comfort in the words of the old poets.  Al-Jurjani continues with more verses along these lines, which read:

They told me to roam through the earth, and that

The means of livelihood are always ample.

I replied:  They are ample, but to reach them is difficult.

If I have not in the world a generous patron to assist me

Or a profession to support me, where shall I find a means of livelihood?

And of course this is very true.  If one were to listen to these “life coaches” that festoon the social media platforms, one might get the impression that a wave of a magic wand, or a snap of the fingers, is enough to set a man on the path to success.  Success comes only after a great many years of continuous, uninterrupted effort.  There is a somewhat amusing anecdote that we may interpret as illustrating this truth.  I will relate it now.  It is found in Ibn Khallikan’s biography (II.237) of the famous grammarian and philologist Al-Kisai’i (الكسائي).

Two scholars, Al-Farra and Muhammad Ibn Al-Hasan, were once discussing a point of law.  Al-Hasan asked Al-Farra if “the sentence of divorce joined to the condition of possession” was legally valid.  What does this odd formulation mean?  It refers to the (apparently unusual) situation where a man says to a woman who is not his wife:  “If I marry you, you are divorced” or “Every woman I marry is divorced.”  We are told that, in one school of Islamic jurisprudence (the Hanafi), a divorce in such a situation is legally valid, and it is triggered by the condition precedent of marriage.  Under another legal school, however (the Shafi), such a statement would not be legally valid. 

Al-Kisa’i also believed that such a formulation would be invalid.  He based his opinion on the fundamental idea that the consequence cannot come before the preceding condition.  This concept is also enshrined in an Arabic proverb, which Al-Kisa’i doubtless had heard before.  The proverb reads: 

سبق مطره سيله

And this means, “the rain precedes its torrent.”  It is a poetic way of saying that, before we can see the results of something, we must first endure the experience of that something.  One cannot have the result without first enduring the condition precedent. This is a saying that has validity far beyond the limited realm of marital law; it can be applied to every aspect of our lives.  The torrent will not come until the rain has come—and drenched us for a while.  The means of livelihood are ample, as the poet Al-Jurjani says, but to reach them is difficult.   

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