As for the members of my household, they are people of the pen—writing and letters. I myself endured poverty, earning a living by copying manuscripts for hire while maintaining chastity and piety. I never elbowed a jurist for a seat in a study-circle, nor did I covet any of the academic ranks that cut one off from real benefit. I was harmed by my own companions to the point that blood was sought, and I was persecuted under the Niẓām administration with summonses and imprisonment.

In Ibn al-Athīr’s History ⦗1⦘ it is related: “In his youth he had embraced the Muʿtazilite school under Ibn al-Walīd, whereupon the Ḥanbalīs wanted to kill him. He therefore sought refuge at Bāb al-Marātib for several years, after which he publicly repented.” ⦗2⦘

Ibn ʿAqil says in al-Funūn: “For the masses, the safest course in matters of creed is to leave the Qur’anic verses on their apparent meaning, because they feel at ease with affirmation; once we erase that from their hearts, their reverence disappears.

“Their slipping into anthropomorphism is thus preferable to us over their plunging into unqualified transcendence: anthropomorphism immerses them in affirmation, so they fear and hope, whereas pure transcendence casts them into negation, and in negation there is neither hope nor fear. Whoever reflects on the Sacred Law will see that it immerses those who are legally accountable in anthropomorphism by means of outward expressions whose surface sense allows nothing else—such as the Bedouin’s question, ‘Does our Lord laugh?’ The Prophet ﷺ replied, ‘Yes.’ ⦗3⦘ He did not frown at the man’s words but left him with what had occurred to him.”