or buried hoards he had discovered, which constitute buried treasure. There is no doubt that such treasure exists.”

That man later died. He had been a preacher at a congregational mosque, yet fewer than ten Muslims, including his neighbours, attended his funeral. He practised sorcery and sīmiyā (an occult art), and used to buy many scholarly books. I therefore attended the sale of his books. The auctioneer began calling out “books of the craft”—meaning books on alchemy—which were numerous. Its practitioners call it “the science of the noble stone” and “the science of wisdom,” describing it in various terms.

The official overseeing the sale was a military officer, and members of the administration were present. I told the official in charge, “It is not lawful to sell these books. People buy them and put their contents into practice; then the authorities call them ‘counterfeiters’ and cut off their hands. By selling these books, you will have enabled them to do that.” I instructed the auctioneer to throw them into a pool there, and they were left in it until the water ruined them and their contents were no longer legible.

Another point that makes this clear is that alchemy has never been practised by anyone enjoying an honourable reputation among the Muslim community: neither a scholar whose guidance is followed, nor a shaykh regarded as an example, nor a just king, nor a conscientious minister. Rather, it is practised by misguided shaykhs devoted to falsehood, such as Ibn Sab‘īn and his like, or the Banū ‘Ubayd, or by a tyrannical king or a wicked man. Although its true nature may be unclear to some people of intelligence and religious commitment, most of them eventually recognize it, and they do not