between him and some of his fellow Hanbalīs who affirmed figurative language. He wrote in his Funūn:

“The question arose: Is there figurative language? A Hanbalī argued that there is, observing that some names can be denied of those to whom they are applied—for example, calling a courageous man a lion, or a learned man and a generous man of boundless giving and liberality a sea. . . . (1)

“We may say of such a person that he is neither a sea nor a lion. Yet we cannot properly say of the particular beast or of the sea that it is not a lion or not a sea. Thus, where a name can properly be denied, we know that it is borrowed, just as we say of someone who borrows another’s property that he does not own it, whereas we cannot properly say of its owner that he does not own it.”

He continued:

“A Hanbalī scholar of legal theory objected, saying: ‘I do not concede the premise on which you rely. What matters is not the outward form, but the distinguishing characteristic. The term “animal” includes both the beast of prey and the human being. When we say “beast of prey” or “lion,” this is because of its boldness, ferocity, and drawing itself up to attack. These qualities exist in both human and bestial forms, and their correspondence lies in their actual nature. This is like the blackness of ink and the blackness of pitch: neither differs from the other in the meaning for which it is called black. This is their actual nature, which is a gift that draws sight together—the dilation of the pupil. Likewise, expansiveness is common to expansive generosity and knowledge and to an expanse of water. Each is therefore called a sea because of the meaning they share: actual expansiveness. Moreover, one cannot claim that the name is borrowed in either case unless it is established that one was named before the other—especially according to the principle of those who say that speech