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The Zoroastrian in ‘Attār's Tadkiratu'l-Awliyā’Harry S. NealePublished online: 14 Aug 2009.
To cite this article: Harry S. Neale (2009): The Zoroastrian in ‘Attār's Tadkiratu'l-Awliyā’ , MiddleEastern Literatures: incorporating Edebiyat, 12:2, 137-156
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The Zoroastrian in ‘At˙t˙�ar’s Tadkiratu’l-Awliy�a’
HARRY S. NEALE
Abstract
Zoroastrians are present in many early works of Persian Islamic literature. The works of
the twelfth-century poet from Khurasan, Far�ıd al-D�ın ‘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 encounters
in 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
˙lubh�a wa-law k�anat ‘inda al-k�afir’—H
˙ad�ıt1
The Life of Saq�ıq-i Balkh�ı
A merchant from Balkh by the name of Saq�ıq (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. Saq�ıq 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 Saq�ıq 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. Saq�ıq, 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, Saq�ıq is joined on the road by a Zoroastrian who asks
him what it is he does. When Saq�ıq 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 � 2009 Taylor & Francis
DOI: 10.1080/14752620902951140
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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, Saq�ıq 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 celebrated
mystic poets of the Persian-speaking world, Far�ıd al-D�ın ‘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 Saq�ıq-i Balkh�ı. ‘At
˙t˙�ar
undoubtedly wished to stress the importance of tawakkul to Sufism in the character of
Saq�ıq-i Balkh�ı. In the first few sentences of the introduction to the Life of Saq�ıq-i Balkh�ı,
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, whom
the 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 Saq�ıq-i Balkh�ı 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
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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
Firdaws�ı (d. 411/1020) in his epic poem, the S�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, Ab�u Ish˙�aq al-K�azar�un�ı (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 is
unique 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 will
offer 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. Hujw�ır�ı’s Kasf al-mah˙j�ub, al-Qusayr�ı’s Ris�ala, and al-Daylam�ı’s
S�ırat-i Ibn-i Khaf�ıf-i S�ır�az�ı, among others). In the above-mentioned works, the
The Zoroastrian in ‘At˙t˙�ar’s Tadkiratu’l-Awliy�a’ 139
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Zoroastrian figure plays a negligible role. Hujw�ır�ı 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-D�ın-i S�ır�az�ı’s (d. 789/1388) Persian translation of Daylam�ı’s S�ırat-i saykh-i
Kab�ır-i Ab�u ‘Abd All�ah-i Ibn-i Khaf�ıf-i S�ır�az�ı (the Arabic original having been lost), a Sufi
shaykh, Ab�u’l-Ady�an, engages in an argument about fire with a Zoroastrian who
maintains that fire acts on its own initiative.16 Ab�u’l-Ady�an tells him that fire works only
by God’s bidding.17 The Zoroastrian, unconvinced, demands that he prove this
assertion. Ab�u’l-Ady�an agrees, upon which the townsfolk kindle a mighty fire and spread
the burning coals for him to walk upon. Ab�u’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 maq�am�at-i saykh Ab�ı
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, Ab�u 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 Ab�u Sa‘�ıd’s miraculous
foresight:
And H˙
asan also said, may God’s mercy be upon him, that ‘In Nishapur, our
shaykh, Ab�u 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 sah�ada so that I may repeat it
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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 Sufis
is an unexpected boon to the latter that stems from Ab�u 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, Ab�u 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. Ab�u 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. Ab�u 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 Ab�u 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�am�at 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 Ab�u 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 Ab�u 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-awliy�a’
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˙t˙�ar 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 Zoroastrian in ‘At˙t˙�ar’s Tadkiratu’l-Awliy�a’ 141
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The Life of D�u al-N�un al-Mis˙r�ı
The first occurrence of a Zoroastrian as a source of spiritual guidance is found in the Life
of D�u al-N�un al-Mis˙r�ı (d. 246/861), in which the subject (i.e. D�u al-N�un) relates the
following anecdote:
It is related that D�u al-N�un 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 D�u al-N�un! Do you see that He accepted it and that that seed bore fruit,
and that He brought me to His own abode?’ Said D�u al-N�un: 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 D�u al-N�un! 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 D�u al-N�un 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 n�urin, yahd�ı ll�ahu li-n�urih�ı 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 D�u al-N�un 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.
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The Life of B�ayaz�ıd-i Bist˙�am�ı
In ‘At˙t˙�ar’s Life of B�ayaz�ıd-i Bist
˙�am�ı (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 device
in this short anecdote:
It is related that a crowd said to a gabr: ‘Become a Muslim!’ [The Zoroastrian]
answered: ‘If Islam be that which B�ayaz�ıd 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, Ab�u 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
˙aq�ıqat) as mere form (rasm�e mujarrad).29
The rather pessimistic utterance of the Zoroastrian, an unbeliever, quoted above in the
Life of B�ayaz�ıd, 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 ‘Abdull�ah al-Mub�arak
In the Life of ‘Abdull�ah al-Mub�arak (d. 180/797), a Zoroastrian comforts ‘Abdull�ah
during his state of affliction:
. . . Once a hardship came upon ‘Abdull�ah. 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.’ Abdull�ah said: ‘Write down this speech for it is a wise saying.’30
The Zoroastrian in ‘At˙t˙�ar’s Tadkiratu’l-Awliy�a’ 143
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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 ‘Abdull�ah of
the virtue of forbearance when faced with hardship. The fact that ‘Abdull�ah bids his
followers write down (and thereby preserve) the words of the gabr, presumably as a Sufi
dictum, indicates the importance of what he has said.31
The Life of Ah˙mad-i H
˙arb-i N�ıs�ap�ur�ı
The Zoroastrian’s role in the Life of Ah˙mad-i H
˙arb-i N�ıs�ap�ur�ı (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, Bahr�am,
have been stolen. He goes to console him only to hear the following sanguine remarks:
. . . Bahr�am 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 Bahr�am’s tending of his sacred
fire by exhorting him to test its fidelity:
Then the Shaykh said: ‘O Bahr�am! Why do you worship fire?’ [Bahr�am]
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
Bahr�am’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 God
create 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, Bahr�am 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, Bahr�am, imparts an important
lesson in forbearance and gratitude to Ah˙mad, and, by way of the latter, who bids his
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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 that
may 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 Tustar�ı (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
Tustar�ı 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 S�ad-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 S�ad-dil Gabr. The Shaykh said: ‘Seat S�ad-
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 S�ad-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 people
foregathered. S�ad-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
S�ad-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 sah�ada]. . . Then he said: ‘The
Shaykh said: ‘This one [S�ad-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:] ‘S�ad-dil has sundered the outer girdle, if you wish to behold
me at the Resurrection, it behooves you all to sunder your inner girdles.’ This
he said and an upheaval rose from that crowd and wondrous spiritual states
occurred.34
S�ad-dil’s sundering of his outer girdle (zunn�ar-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 Sabistar�ı, ‘Ir�aq�ı, etc.—although in later Persian Sufi symbolism, the zunn�ar is
usually girded about one’s waist (zunn�ar bastan) as a symbol of service and devotion).
The following excerpt from Sabistar�ı’s Gulsan-i r�az is illustrative of the symbolic role of
the zunn�ar in later Persian Sufi poetry:
Naz˙ar kardam bid�ıdam as
˙l-i �ın k�ar nis�an-i khidmat �amad ‘aqd-i zunn�ar . . . Mar�a
dar dil ham�e �ayad kaz �ın k�ar bibandam bar miy�an-i kh�es zunn�ar.35
The Zoroastrian in ‘At˙t˙�ar’s Tadkiratu’l-Awliy�a’ 145
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(I looked and beheld the essence of this matter / it is a symbol of service to tie
the zunn�ar
. . . It continues to come to my heart from this matter / I bound about my waist
the zunn�ar)
In casting off his outer girdle, S�ad-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
˙all�aj (d. 309/913):
Wuj�uduh�u b�ı wa-wuj�ud�ı bih�ı wa-was˙fuhu fa-hwa lah�u w�as
˙if�u
Lawl�ahu lam a‘rif ras�ad�ı wa-law- l�aya la-m�a k�ana lah�u ‘�arif�u
Fa-kullu ma‘nan f�ıhi ma‘nan lah�u fa-qul li-man kh�alafan�ı kh�alif�u
Laysa siw�a l-rah˙m�ani y�a qawman�a say’un lah�u arw�ah
˙un�a 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 he
represents, 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 S�ad-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 ‘At˙t˙�ar’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-‘Az�ız al-Am�ır’s (d. 65/685) setting out for
Bust and Kabul to do battle with the hosts of the Zunb�ıl, the ruler of what is now eastern and
southern Afghanistan, an encounter occurs with a Zoroastrian who counsels ‘Abd al-‘Az�ız in
a manner that prefigures the role of Zoroastrians in Tadkiratu’l-awliy�a’:
[‘Abd al-‘Az�ız] went by way of the wilderness. The Zunb�ıl had gathered a host
of Turks, and they fought a hard battle so that the Muslims were downcast and
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wished to flee from the might and fury of their foes. ‘Umar b. San al-‘Ari was a
stouthearted and well-known man and was with ‘Abd al-‘Az�ız in a certain
place. He made an attack and the Zunbil was routed . . . and the Muslims
gained many spoils . . . [‘Abd al-‘Az�ız] was victorious and came to S�ıst�an, 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-‘Az�ız] said:
‘The dihq�ans 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-‘Az�ız] said: ‘Speak further!’
‘The dihq�ans 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 dihq�ans 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 dihq�an 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 Firdaws�ı’s epic S�ah
N�ama, composed in the early 5th/11th century. Throughout the S�ah N�ama, reference is
made to a certain dihq�an as keeper of a ‘book’ written in Middle Persian, whence it is
claimed the majority of the epic’s material was derived:39
Yak�e pahlav�an b�ud dihq�an naz�ad / dil�er u buzurg u khiradmand u r�ad
Piz�uhanda-yi r�uzg�ar-i nukhust / gudasta sukhanh�a hama b�az just
Zi har kisvar�e mawbad�e s�alkhward / biy�avard u �ın n�ama-r�a gird kard
(An heroic man there was, sprung from the dihq�an
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�ah N�ama of the traditions and lore of the
dihq�ans as a whole (e.g. ‘In the words of the dihq�an there is a tale / to which I have added
from other stories of old/ ba guft�ar-i dihq�an yak�e d�ast�an / bipayvandam az gufta-yi
b�ast�an’).41 The appearance of the dihq�an 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-‘Az�ız 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 Firdaws�ı’s S�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 Firdaws�ı, albeit in order to upbraid him for his glorification of
The Zoroastrian in ‘At˙t˙�ar’s Tadkiratu’l-Awliy�a’ 147
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Zoroastrians and pre-Islamic Persian culture: ‘Thus he said that Firdaws�ı spoke much /
in praise of the lowly Zoroastrian, �cun�ın guft �u k�ı Firdaws�ı bas�e guft / hama ba madh˙-i gabr-i
n�akas�e guft.’43 Bearing in mind the above examples of the wise Zoroastrian or dihq�an 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-speaking
world, 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 Afr�asiy�ab (i.e. old Samarkand) and
Panjikant. 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 ‘At˙t˙�ar’s best-
known matnav�ı, 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 Q�af, where they find the s�ımurg, 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 s�ımurg 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
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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 s�ıra 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 ‘S�ah
N�ama’ 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 Matnav�ı-yi ma‘nav�ı of Jal�alu’l-D�ın-i Balkh�ı R�um�ı
(d. 672/1273). It is possible that the following lines harbour a Zoroastrian influence:
Dar muhandis b�ın khay�al-i kh�ana-�e dar dilas �c�un dar zam�ın�e d�ana-�e
An khay�al az andar�un �ayad ber�un �c�un zam�ın k�ı z�ayad az tukhm dar�un
Har khay�al�e k�u kunad dar dil vat˙an roz-i mah
˙sar s
˙�urat�e khw�ahad sudan
C�un khay�al-i �an muhandis dar d˙am�ır �c�un nab�at andar zam�ın-i d�anag�ır
Makhlas˙am z�ın har d�u mah
˙sar qis
˙s˙a-�est mu’min�anr�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 within
Every 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] the
Zoroastrian idea of the witness in Heaven who meets the deceased soul . . .’53
Even R�um�ı’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�ah N�ama and probably
in the Matnav�ı, the original meaning of the word is meant. In the Matnav�ı, a Zoroastrian
refers to B�ayaz�ıd thus: ‘I hold that [B�ayaz�ıd] is above all others / he is quite pure, splendid,
and possessed of farr (d�aram �ım�an k�an zi jumla bartar ast / bas lat˙�ıf u b�a fur�ug u b�a far
ast)’.55 The early meaning of the word farr is more appropriate as B�ayaz�ıd is presented as
Saykh-i ‘�alam,56 ‘Shaykh of the world’, a title that has obvious kingly connotations.
The Zoroastrian in ‘At˙t˙�ar’s Tadkiratu’l-Awliy�a’ 149
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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, Sih�abu’l-D�ın Suhraward�ı (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
Suhraward�ı 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˙
�ub�a tree and where is it found?’ ‘The T˙
�ub�a 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˙
�ub�a 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 s�ımurg’ said he,
‘has its nest on the top of the tree. At dawn, the s�ımurg 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 s�ımurg cared for Z�al and that
Rustam slew Isfandy�ar on its behalf.’ ‘Yes,’ said the Shaykh, ‘That is true.’58
It is worth noting that, although Suhraward�ı has combined figures from pre-Islamic
Persian mythology with the Islamic tree of T˙
�ub�a that grows in paradise, the task of the
s�ımurg has changed little from that of the Avestan Sa�ena (see note 48).
Zoroastrians under the Seljuks: The Siy�asat N�ama
It 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 Sunn�ı 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˙m�ud, 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
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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 century63 with mass conversions in the countryside only
beginning to happen in the 3rd/9th and 4th/10th centuries,64 and continuing until the
7th/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 matnav�ıs (e.g. the disparaging remarks concerning Firdaws�ı in the Asr�ar N�ama
discussed earlier). He also relates a h˙ad�ıt in the Life of H
˙�arit-i Muh
˙�asib�ı (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)’—and my father was a Magian and I am a Muslim.’68
In the closing pages of the Asr�ar N�ama, Firdaws�ı 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.
The Zoroastrian in ‘At˙t˙�ar’s Tadkiratu’l-Awliy�a’ 151
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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 sole
explanation 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 matnav�ıs 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 Saq�ıq-i Balkh�ı, 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. Ibl�ıs, Khid˙r, Junayd, and H�ar�un al-Ras�ıd), 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 and
deeply 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 within
a 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 Saq�ıq-i Balkh�ı. Far�ıd al-D�ın ‘At˙t˙�ar, Tadkiratu’l-’awliy�a’, ed. Isti‘l�am�ı
(Tehran: Intis�ar�at-i Zaw�ar, 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-Qusayr�ı, Tarjuma-yi ris�ala-yi qusayr�ıya, ed. B. Fur�uz�anfar [Tehran: Bung�ah-i Tarjuma u Nasr-i
Kit�ab, 1967], chapter 20) and hagiographies as well as in the poetry of Sufism. It might even be said
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that tawakkul is the leitmotif of ‘At˙t˙�ar’s Tadkiratu’l-awliy�a’ as illustrations of it occur again and again
throughout it. For in-depth treatment of tawakkul in Sufism, see Benedikt Reinert, Die Lehre vom
tawakkul in der klassischen Sufik (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1968).
3. Far�ıd al-D�ın ‘At˙t˙�ar, Tadkiratu’l-awliy�a, ed. M. Isti‘l�am�ı (Tehran: Intis�ar�at-i Zavv�ar, 2003), 201–2.
4. Ibid., 201; ‘. . . Va hama-yi ‘umr dar tavakkul raft . . .’
5. In all likelihood, this ‘idol worshipper’ (butparast), a common enough figure in early Persian poetry,
harks back to Buddhism, which had a number of important centres in the eastern Iranian world (e.g.
Balkh and Bamiyan in present-day Afghanistan, Adjina Tepe in present-day Tajikistan, Tirmiz near
the Amu Darya river in Uzbekistan) and at least some presence in Merv (present-day Turkmenistan)
where remains of a Buddhist stupa have been uncovered. Indeed, the Persian word but for ‘idol’ was
derived from the Soghdian pwt, which in turn was borrowed from the Indic word buddha. The
survival of the place name Nawbah�ar in Iran, where it occurs a number of times, especially near the
old road to Balkh that extends through western Khurasan into Afghanistan, is probably a Persianized
form of the Sanskrit navavih�ara, which designated a Buddhist monastery, and suggests that
Buddhism may have extended further west than traditionally believed (see Richard W. Bulliet, ‘Naw
Bahar and the Survival of Iranian Buddhism’, Iran 14 (1976): 140–5.) A.S. Melikian-Chirvani has
shown that the stock references to ‘comely idols’ (but-i z�eb�a), and so on, were inspired by encounters
with Buddhist temples, many of which would have still retained in the early Islamic period their
brightly painted murals depicting the life of the Buddha and Bodhisattvas; see A.S. Melikian-
Chirvani, ‘B�azt�abh�a-yi adab�ı-y�ı �ay�ın-i budd�a dar �Ir�an isl�am�ı’, Iran Nameh VIII, no. 2 (1990): 277.
6. Qur’�an, 112.
7. It is no surprise that Buddhists were generally referred to as ‘idol-worshippers’ and Zoroastrians as
‘fire worshippers’, given the paucity of accurate information possessed by Muslims during this period
regarding these two particular faiths. Buddha is not a god but rather a man who, having achieved
enlightenment, is a guide and ideal for other men to follow. Fire among the Zoroastrians is a symbol
of divine purity and is not worshipped. With the notable exception of al-B�ır�un�ı, who undertook a
serious study of Indian religion in his Ta’r�ıkh al-hind (the History of India) even going so far as to
learn Sanskrit, very little effort was made by Muslims to understand faiths other than Christianity and
Judaism. See al-B�ır�un�ı, Ta’r�ıkh al-hind / Alberuni’s India, ed. E. Sachau (London: Trubner & Co.,
1887).
8. Mary Boyce, Zoroastrians: Their Religious Beliefs and Practices (London: Routledge, 1979), 20.
9. L.T. Lemon and M.J. Reis, trans., Russian Formal Criticism: Four Essays, (Lincoln: University of
Nebraska Press, 1965), 12.
10. A Christian monk as source of spiritual guidance, although strange, is nowhere near as surprising as a
Zoroastrian in that Christianity is at least undoubtedly recognized by Islam as having a legitimate
social existence as a religion that has a claim to scriptural and prophetic origins. Although the
Zoroastrians are mentioned once in the Qur’�an (XXII, 17), their status as Ahl al-kit�ab (People of the
Book)—to wit, those with a claim to scriptural and prophetic origins (which does not, however,
include a validation of their religions by Islam)—has been more or less accepted. A h˙
ad�ıt is related
concerning the conquest of Bahrain by the Muslim army: among the many Persians living on the
island, the Muslims found Zoroastrians and asked the Prophet how they should be dealt with. The
Prophet said: ‘Deal with them as you deal with people of the book’; that is, they should be tolerated
and taxed as non-Muslims.
11. Jawid A. Mojaddedi, The Biographical Tradition in Sufism: The T˙
abaq�at Genre from al-Sulam�ı to J�am�ı
(Richmond: Curzon, 2001), 179. Although ‘At˙t˙�ar’s hagiography is unquestionably a literate work,
elements of what Mojaddedi discusses are present; for example, the recurrence of the topos of the fish
who bring something to a friend of God in his hour of need.
12. For a full treatment of pre-modern literacy, see Walter Ong, Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing
of the Word (London: Routledge, 2002). Alessandro Bausani discusses this phenomenon and how it
relates specifically to ‘At˙t˙�ar’s Tadkiratu’l-awliy�a’ in Alessandro Bausani, ‘Considerazioni sulla
Tadhkiratu’l-Awliya’ di ‘At˙t˙�ar’, in Il ‘Pazzo Sacro’ nell’Islam (Milan: Luni Editrice, 2000), 237.
‘. . . tali opere erano fatte per essere lette con calma, non con gli occhi e intellettualisticamente come si fa oggi,
bensi con la voce, a voce alta e al completo.’
13. The Persian word zartusht�ı is rarely, if ever, encountered in pre-modern texts, the most common
term being gabr. The Arabic maj�us is also, on occasion, employed. The etymology of the Persian gabr
(also gavr, gabrak, gabr�ı) has been debated. Thus far, three possible origins have been put forward:
(a) from Hebrew h˙
aver, meaning companion; (b) from the Pahlavi logogram gabr�a, the Aramaic word
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for ‘man’, read as mard in Middle Persian meaning ‘man’; and (c) from a corruption of the Arabic
k�afir (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 k�afir contains no sound
that does not exist in Persian and that therefore k�afir 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 explains
the phonological metamorphosis. Martin Schwartz has convincingly elucidated the transformation
of the Arabic k�afir into the Persian gabr: The sound that is represented in Persian with a k�af 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
k�afir 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�ah N�ama of Firdaws�ı 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 ma�Yo&, 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, ‘Madj�us’, in Encyclopaedia of Islam, vol. 5 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1965),
1110–18.
14. See anecdote of Ab�u’l-Ady�an and the Magian from S�ırat-i saykh-i kab�ır-i Ab�u ‘Abd Allah-i Ibn-i
Khaf�ıf-i S�ır�az�ı below. al-Daylam�ı, S�ırat-i Saykh-i Kab�ır-i Ab�u ‘Abd All�ah-i Khaf�ıf-i S�ır�az�ı, ed. A.
Schimmel (Tehran: Intis�ar�at-i B�abak, 1984).
15. Mah˙m�ud b. ‘Utm�an, Firdaws al-mur�ıd�ıya f�ı asr�ar al-s
˙amad�ıya, ed. F. Meier and I. Afs�ar (Tehran:
Kit�abkh�ana-i D�anis, 1954).
16. Al�ı al-Hujw�ır�ı, Kasf al-mah˙
j�ub, ed. V.A. Zhukovski (Tehran: Intis�ar�at-i T˙uh�ur�ı, 1380 [2001]), 360.
‘Va�ın khil�af ba m�a tanaviy�an kardand ba itb�at-i n�ur �u z˙ulmat va gabr�an ba itb�at-i yazd�an u ahr�ıman . . .’
Ba t˙ab‘-i kh�ud k�ar mekunad.
17. Atas ba idn-i khud�a-yi ta‘�al�a k�ar mekunad.
18. Ab�u’l-H˙
asan al-Daylam�ı, S�ırat-i saykh-i kab�ır-i Ab�u ‘Abd All�ah-i Ibn-i Khaf�ıf-i S�ır�az�ı, trans. Rukn al-
D�ın-i Yah˙y�a b. Junayd-i S�ır�az�ı, ed. Annemarie Schimmel (Tehran: Intis�ar�at-i B�abak, 1984), 179–80.
This story is also retold in J�am�ı’s ‘Life of Ab�u’l-Ady�an’ in Nafah˙
�atu’l-uns; see ‘Abd al-Rah˙m�an J�am�ı,
Nafah˙
�atu’l-uns min h˙
ad˙ar�ati’l-quds, ed. M. ‘Abid�ı (Tehran: Intis�ar�at-i It
˙t˙il�a‘�at, 1375 [1996]), 225.
19. Muh˙ammad b. al-Munawwar, Asr�ar al-tawh
˙�ıd f�ı maq�am�at-i saykh Ab�ı Sa‘�ıd, ed. M.R.S. Kadkan�ı
(Tehran: Intis�ar�at-i �ag�ah, 1366 [1987]), 76–77 and 132 (e.g. ‘az bahr-i but�ı gabr sav�ı ‘�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 Ab�u Nu‘�aym al-Is˙fah�an�ı’s H
˙ilyat al-awliy�a’ in the life of
Ah˙mad al-H
˙aw�ar�ı, in which the subject encounters a Christian monk and asks him concerning his life
and Christian scripture. See Ab�u Nu‘aym al-Is˙bah�an�ı, H
˙ilyat al-awliy�a’, vol. 10 (Beirut: D�ar al-Kit�ab
al-‘Arab�ı, 1967), 5.
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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 Haz�ar h˙
ik�ayat-i s˙�uf�ıy�an. The version narrated in this collection is
likewise attributed to D�u al-N�un 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
‘At˙t˙�ar’sTadkiratu’l-awliy�a’. It was possibly inspired by a public reading of ‘At
˙t˙�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., Haz�ar h˙
ik�ayat-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 Matnav�ı, book V, line 3358; see
Jal�alu’l-D�ın-i Balkh�ı R�um�ı, Matnav�ı-i ma‘nav�ı, ed. ‘A. Sur�us (Tehran: Sirkat-i Intis�ar�at-i ‘Ilm�ı u
Farhang�ı, 1378 [1999]).
27. As related by ‘At˙t˙�ar in Tadkiratu’l-awliy�a’ as a dictum of Ab�u’ l-H
˙asan Busanj�ı: ‘[Tas
˙avvuf] imr�uz
ism�est va musamm�a pad�ıd na; va p�es az �ın haq�ıqat�e b�ud b�e 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 Ab�u H˙
�amid al- _Gaz�al�ı, Ih˙y�a’ ‘ul�um al-d�ın,
the two versions are so similar as to preclude any doubt that al-Ghaz�al�ı is the source of ‘At˙t˙�ar’s
anecdote. See Ab�u H˙
�amid al- _Gaz�al�ı, Ih˙
y�a’ ‘ul�um al-d�ın, vol. 4 (Cairo: Mu’assasat al-H˙
alab�ı wa-
Surak�a’ih, 1968), 166.
32. ‘At˙t˙�ar, Tadkiratu’l-awliy�a’, 253.
33. Ibid., 253–4.
34. Ibid., 278–9.
35. Mah˙m�ud Sabistar�ı, Gulsan-i r�az, ed. P. D�ak�an�ı (Tehran: Intis�ar�at-i Ilh�am Sabistarı,1376), 89–91.
36. Mans˙�ur al-H
˙all�aj, al-A‘m�al al-k�amila, ed. Q. M. ‘Abb�as (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. Bah�ar (Tehran: Kit�abkh�ana-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�ıs u R�am�ın, and
Cervantes’ apocryphal book by Cidi Hamete as source for the story of Don Quixote).
40. Ab�u’l-Qasem Ferdowsi, The Sh�ahn�ameh (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. Far�ıd al-Din ‘At˙t˙�ar, Asr�ar N�ama, ed. S. Gawhar�ın (Tehran: C�ap-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 (7th–12th Centuries) (London: Variorum Reprints, 1979), IX,
3–4.
46. Ibid.
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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: The
Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1986), 84–5. Although Mt. Q�af 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 s�ımur _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’ktıOvoB and in Avestan as sa�ena-. In the Avesta of Zarathushtra, the Sa�ena is a large bird
that dwells on an island where the ‘Tree of all Seeds’ grows. The flapping of the Sa�ena’s wings
scatters the seeds, distributing them throughout the world. Sena was combined with the Avestan
m@r@ga (bird), which in Middle Persian was senmurw, becoming s�ımur _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�um�ı, Matnav�ı-yi Ma‘nav�ı, 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. Sih�abu’l-D�ın Suhraward�ı, ‘Aql-i surkh (Tehran: Intis�ar�at-i mawl�a, 1982), 8–9.
59. Niz˙�am al-Mulk, Siyar al-mul�uk/Siy�asat N�ama, ed. H. Darke (Tehran: Bung�ah-i Tarjuma u Nasr-i
Kit�ab, 1962), 203.
60. Choksy, ‘Muslims and Zoroastrians’, 228.
61. Ibid., 174.
62. ‘Al�ı b. Zayd Bayhaq�ı Ibn Funduq, T�ar�ıkh-i Bayhaq, ed. A. Bahmaniyar (Tehran: Islamiyya, 1968),
253; and Ab�u Ish˙�aq Ibr�ahım b. Muh
˙ammad Is
˙t˙akhr�ı, Kit�ab al-mas�alik wa’l-mam�alik, 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. ‘At˙t˙�ar, Tadkiratu’l-awliy�a’, 234.
69. Although ‘At˙t˙�ar was not the first to compose matnav�ıs in which Sufi ideas are presented, this
distinction belonging to San�a’�ı of Ghazna (d. 525/1131), he may be credited with developing the
mystical matnav�ı in the form of a frame tale. With the exception of the Asr�ar N�ama, each of his
matnav�ıs is structured around a frame tale.
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