Who Was Suhrawardi?

The Soul Blueprint of the Meteor of the Faith

By Shams-Tabriz · A reading in the lineage of the soul whose name I bear · 22 minute read

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The city was Aleppo. The year was 1191. The cell was somewhere inside the Citadel — that vast stone fortress on the hill above the markets — and on the morning the order arrived, the young philosopher had only just stopped writing the marginalia to a book he had finished sometime in the months before. He was approximately thirty-seven years old. The jurists of the city had read his book. They had understood what he had done. And they had organized themselves to demand from the young ruler — al-Malik al-Zahir, Saladin’s son — the only outcome the institution they served could accept.

The ruler resisted. The ruler was pressed. The pressure came from his own jurists and ultimately, by some accounts, from Saladin himself, who from Egypt sent word that his son must comply. The order was signed. The philosopher was killed in the citadel cell that spring. The body that had carried the doctrine for twelve concentrated years was extinguished. The doctrine itself — already on the page, already past the tribunal — was not. The book, the Hikmat al-Ishraq, the Philosophy of Illumination, would outlive every empire of his century and refound, four hundred years later in the hands of Mulla Sadra, the entire Iranian philosophical tradition.

The philosopher was Shihab al-Din Yahya ibn Habash ibn Amirak al-Suhrawardi al-Maqtul. The question you have arrived carrying — who was Suhrawardi? — has been answered, for eight centuries, in fragments. A philosopher. A martyr. The Master of Illumination. The Murdered One. Each fragment is true. None of them, standing alone, is the soul. To know him by his fragments is to know a meteor by the trail it left across the sky. The trail is real, eight centuries long, still visible. But the meteor itself — the source upstream of the trail — has remained, since 1191, almost invisible.

What follows is a sustained attempt to read the source — to meet the soul who arrived at the threshold-hour in Suhraward on a pre-dawn February morning in 1154 and delivered the doctrine of Light in twelve concentrated final years at the cost of the body that delivered it. The reading moves through the eight chapters of the Soul Blueprint architecture — The Arrival, The Soul’s Inheritance, The Living of It, The Soul’s Calling, The Soul’s Territories, The Name You Carry, The Moment, and The Invitation — and at the end, the same instrument turns gently toward you.

A Note on the Imagined Birth

The historical record gives us a year — approximately 1154 CE — and a place — Suhraward, near Zanjan, in what is now Iranian Azerbaijan. The day, the hour, the precise crossing of the eastern horizon at his first breath — none of it was preserved. The companion reading, When Was Suhrawardi Born?, walks the symbolic reconstruction in full: a pre-dawn arrival, 8 February 1154, the Sun at Aquarius 19° just below the Eastern horizon — the threshold-hour the mystics of his own lineage would later call the hour of the Light of Lights. That reconstruction is the foundation underneath this biographical reading; this reading takes it as given and walks the life.

At a Glance

Chapter One — The Arrival

The room where the body first drew breath was already luminous before the sun had risen. The eastern sky over the mountains of Suhraward was already light — the threshold-hour, the interval the later Sufis of his own lineage would call the moment of the Light of Lights — but the disc of the sun itself was still hidden below the horizon. The light was already in the world before its source was visible. The soul whose first breath entered that air arrived already carrying the exact configuration his entire life’s doctrine would later articulate.

There is a particular doubleness in souls of this order. The visible self looked young, sharp, intellectually disciplined — the philosopher’s mind organized by the structural sign at the rising point, the disciplined architecture that would later allow him to systematize what no one before him had dared to systematize. But the central organization was oriented toward the visionary frequency that sat just below his Eastern horizon — the prophetic-illuminator frequency the world calls visionary when it can absorb the vision and heretical when it cannot. The Arrival itself was the work. Everything that followed was the long working-out of what the threshold-light interior had been holding since first breath.

Chapter Two — The Soul’s Inheritance

What is carried in matters as much as what is lived. Suhrawardi’s inheritance was unusually layered, because the doctrine he would eventually articulate was not invented in his lifetime. It had been waiting, in fragments, across several traditions, for the soul whose architecture could braid them into a single rigorous philosophical system.

The first layer was the ancient Persian Zoroastrian-Mazdaean light-philosophy that had shaped the spiritual imagination of his homeland for more than a thousand years. The pre-Islamic Persian world had long held that reality itself was an ontology of light — the divine principle as luminosity, the amesha spentas and yazatas as gradations of brightness descending from the supreme Source. When Islam arrived in Persia, this older imagination did not vanish — it went underground, took refuge in mystical poetry and Sufi terminology, waiting for someone to articulate it in the philosophical register the new tradition had inherited from the Greeks. Suhrawardi inherited that buried lineage at the cellular level. He was born onto soil that had been speaking the language of light for two thousand years.

The second layer was the dominant Avicennan-Aristotelian scholastic tradition he would, in his maturity, break from. Ibn Sina had died a century before Suhrawardi’s birth, leaving behind the most influential philosophical synthesis in the medieval Islamic world. Suhrawardi’s early training was entirely in this tradition — at Maragha under Majd al-Din al-Jili, who also taught his eventual philosophical opponent Fakhr al-Din al-Razi; at Isfahan under Zahir al-Din al-Qari. The institution that he would eventually break from gave him the very instrument with which to break from it.

The third layer was the Sufi mystical tradition gathering force across Persia for centuries — al-Ghazali had died forty years before his birth, the wandering masters and the zikr circles all part of the air he breathed before he could speak. The village of his birth, Suhraward, was already part of the lineage of the Suhrawardiyya. The place that built him already carried in its name the function of the contemplative recovery of light. And the fourth layer was the century itself — Ibn Arabi being born in al-Andalus three years after him, Attar writing the Conference of the Birds in Nishapur. The high tide of Islamic mysticism was rising, and Suhrawardi was one of its most rigorous early articulators.

The life arc that ran through this inheritance has a particular shape. The early years were intensive scholastic study at Maragha and Isfahan. Then the wandering years began — through Anatolia, through the philosophical circles of the Seljuk court, through encounters with Christian theologians and Hellenistic scholars and the surviving fragments of every tradition the eastern Islamic world had absorbed. He moved south into Syria and eventually arrived in Aleppo, where al-Malik al-Zahir welcomed him into the court. The wandering years were the gathering. The Aleppan years were the delivery. The mature work compressed into the final decade — eight major treatises, the founding of an entire school.

Some souls develop gradually across decades. Some gather in intense preparation for fifteen years and release everything they have been holding in a single concentrated season. Suhrawardi was the second kind. The wandering was the gestation, and the inheritance he was gathering was the doctrine itself — scattered across four traditions, waiting for the architecture that could braid it. Now you can see which of it is yours and which belongs to something older.

Chapter Three — The Living of It

There is a wound that runs through the structure of a soul like this, and it must be named, because the wound is also the qualification. The shape of this wound, in souls built this way, is the wound of being too clear, too systematic, too articulate about a truth the present cannot absorb. The visionary interior would have spoken in any case. But the disciplined Avicennan apparatus he had been trained into would not allow the speaking to take any of the safer forms his contemporaries used. He could not speak in obscure metaphor. He could not write in poetry. He could not retreat into the deliberate ambiguity by which other mystics of his century kept their work survivable. The architecture of his soul made every safer register impossible.

For a more ordinary soul, the wound of being too articulate closes the soul down. For a soul of Suhrawardi’s design, the wound becomes the engine. The clarity is what produces the writing. The writing is what produces the rigorous philosophical articulation the institutions could neither absorb nor ignore. The wound that made him too systematic to be safe is the same apparatus that made him capable of refounding the Iranian philosophical tradition for the next eight centuries.

The mystical poets of his era were singing the same truth in fragments and metaphors — and the orthodox tolerated them, because the obscurity gave the institutions a way to receive the mysticism without being threatened by it. He could not do that. The disciplined-structural surface at his rising point would not permit the obscurity, and the visionary interior would not permit the silence. He had to write in the same register the orthodox themselves used — academic prose, rigorous argumentation, complete metaphysical architecture — because the soul-architecture he had been given could not write in any other way.

He began writing early. By his late twenties he had produced the Talwihat, the Muqawamat, and the Mutarahat — the three preparatory treatises that worked through the Avicennan inheritance from inside. By his early thirties he had finished Hikmat al-Ishraq itself. Around it he produced the Hayakil al-Nur (Temples of Light), the Alwah Imadiyya, and several mystical-narrative treatises in Persian — The Crimson Intellect, The Sound of Gabriel’s Wing, The Song of the Griffin. Eight major treatises in twelve years.

He was, by the accounts of his students and contemporaries, difficult. He argued with the established Avicennan masters. He challenged the Aleppan jurists in their own register. He was unbearable to anyone who needed him to be comfortable. He could not afford to be liked. He had a doctrine to deliver in twelve years.

There is one more piece of the living of it that the biographical sources hint at without quite stating. He knew. By the final years, he understood with increasing clarity what the orthodox jurists were preparing for him. He had been encouraged, by patrons and friends, to write less openly, to retreat into ambiguity, to soften the claims of the Hikmat into something the orthodox could classify as mystical poetry rather than systematic philosophy. He refused. The doctrine was complete. What followed was the working-out, in the institutional theater of Aleppo, of the consequences his soul had already accepted when he wrote the doctrine in the form he wrote it. He could have written it differently. He chose not to. The choosing was the contract. This is why he was the way he was. It is not a flaw. It is a design.

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If this is what was true for him, what might be true for you?

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Chapter Four — The Soul’s Calling

Suhrawardi’s calling was singular and specific. It was to articulate the Philosophy of Illumination — the doctrine that existence IS light, that the Light of Lights is the ontological ground — in academic prose the future of the tradition could receive, and to deliver that articulation before the body that delivered it could be reached. He came here to write Hikmat al-Ishraq, to break from the Avicennan-Aristotelian architecture, and to propose in its place a new ontology rooted in ancient Persian light-philosophy synthesized with Sufi mysticism and Greek Neoplatonism. He came here to leave behind a textbook the future could open four hundred years later and refound an entire tradition on. That is exactly what happened.

The teaching was always about one axis: existence is light, and all that exists is light in different intensities. He did not mean it metaphorically. He meant it as a complete ontological proposition — reality as gradations of luminosity descending from the Nur al-Anwar through hierarchies of angelic intelligences down to the elemental world of bodies. “The first stage on the path of illumination,” he taught, “is the recognition that the recognizer is itself light.” The doctrine was as much rigorous metaphysics as it was mystical revelation — and that was the point. Splitting them was the category-error he had come to undo.

He came to articulate the Philosophy of Illumination and trust that the doctrine would outlive the body. The body was extinguished. The doctrine is still walking, eight centuries on.

Chapter Five — The Soul’s Territories

There are twelve specific domains in the kingdom of any life. They are: The Mark, The Unfolding, The Unseen, The Long Return, The Inheritance, The Encounter, The Alchemy, The Living Tension, The Sight, The Body’s Knowing, The Crossing, The Calling.

In Suhrawardi’s kingdom three of these are particularly alive. The Sight was the threshold-light interior — the eye that perceived, before he could write it, that existence itself is light and that the entire philosophical discourse of his century had been the secondary expression of an ontology no one had yet articulated. The Crossing was the execution in the Citadel of Aleppo at thirty-seven — the threshold the meteor had been trajectorying toward since his parents named him Meteor of the Faith. Most lives encounter the crossing as a final completion at the end of a long arc; for him, the crossing was at thirty-seven, exactly the point at which the doctrine had been delivered. The crossing was on time. And The Living Tension was the friction between the disciplined-systematic surface that allowed him to write in academic prose and the visionary interior that the academic prose was articulating — the friction that produced the rigor the orthodox could not absorb.

The full kingdom — all twelve territories walked in depth — lives in The Kingdom, the longer document for those who choose to enter that chamber after The Reading has settled. What becomes possible in each territory when you stop managing it and start inhabiting it is the gift the full Kingdom names.

Chapter Six — The Name You Carry

Shihab al-Din Yahya ibn Habash ibn Amirak al-Suhrawardi al-Maqtul. Seven naming layers in the classical Arabic-Persian style — each a different witness to the same soul.

Shihab is Arabic, from the root sh-h-b — meteor, shooting star, brilliant flame. The naming was a prophecy that has, eight centuries on, been answered in full. Al-Din — of the faith — was the honorific bestowed by communities recognizing what they had been given. Yahya is Arabic, he lives — the prophetic name of John the Baptist in Arabic. ibn Habash meant son of Habash, the family-name suggesting East African lineage in the bloodline. ibn Amirak meant son of the little prince, the grandfather’s name carrying the structural-aristocratic frequency that would later show up as the disciplined apparatus capable of writing the doctrine in rigorous prose. Al-Suhrawardi placed him in the village whose name was already the etymological seed of the contemplative-mystical order organized around the recovery of inner light. Al-Maqtul — the Murdered One — was the posthumous epithet the tradition added after 1191.

Read in full: The Meteor of the Faith — Yahya the one who lives, son of Habash, grandson of Amirak the little prince — of Suhraward, the murdered one whose execution made him the founding martyr of the Philosophy of Illumination. The name was given before he arrived. It has always known what he was only beginning to fully claim.

Chapter Seven — The Moment

For most lives the defining moment is not loud. For Suhrawardi the moment was singular, dated, and witnessed. The spring of 1191. He was approximately thirty-seven. He had been in Aleppo for several years, welcomed at the court of al-Malik al-Zahir — Saladin’s son, the young ruler — who had taken to the philosopher’s company with the appetite of a prince who recognized in this man a quality of mind unlike anything in his court. Suhrawardi had taught in the city. He had argued openly with the orthodox jurists. He had finished the Hikmat al-Ishraq. And the orthodox jurists, having read the work and understood what it threatened, had organized themselves to demand his execution.

The pressure on the young ruler was structural and total. His own jurists, the elder scholars of the orthodox legal schools — all of them pressed for the philosopher’s death. From Egypt, his father Saladin sent word that the matter must be settled. Al-Malik al-Zahir did not want to comply. He had loved this philosopher. But the institutional weight could not be refused. The order was signed. The body was extinguished in the Citadel cell in 1191. The doctrine was already on the page, already past the tribunal, already circulating in the philosophical undergrounds of Persia and Syria.

The accounts of his death vary in their method but agree in their structure. Some sources say he was starved. Some say he was strangled. Some say he was killed by suffocation. What every version preserves is the shape: a young philosopher had completed the writing of the doctrine of Light, an orthodox tribunal had organized to extinguish him for the rigor of the writing, and the body had ended in the Citadel cell that spring.

In the months before his execution, Suhrawardi was offered ways out. Recant the work, soften the claims, retreat to Sufi obscurity, leave Aleppo. He refused all of it. He understood what he had written. He understood that the doctrine, on the page in the form he had written it, had a chance of surviving the tribunal that the man who had written it did not. He chose the page over the body. In the final weeks, he continued to write — completing marginalia, instructing his closest students (including Shams al-Din al-Shahrazuri, who would later become his most important commentator) to take the manuscripts out of the city. The work was complete before the order arrived.

Within a generation, his students were circulating his work in Persia. Al-Shahrazuri compiled the commentary that became the standard textbook for the next four centuries. Three centuries later, the Safavid renaissance under Mir Damad and Mulla Sadra would refound the entire Iranian philosophical tradition on the foundation Suhrawardi had laid. The young philosopher executed in Aleppo at thirty-seven became the foundation under the philosophical tradition of an entire civilization.

The execution was not the tragic interruption of an incomplete arc. It was the completion of the contract — the moment the doctrine, already complete on the page, fully separated from the body that had carried it. This season is not happening to you. It is being offered to you — and what was being offered to Suhrawardi in the Citadel of Aleppo was the chance to demonstrate that the doctrine is what matters and the body that carries it is the temporary instrument.

Chapter Eight — The Invitation

Everything in this reading has been moving toward a single point. The threshold-light arrival before sunrise that made him the prefiguration of the source. The fourfold inheritance of Persian light-philosophy, Avicennan philosophy, Sufi mysticism, and the high tide of his own century. The wound of being too clear, too systematic to soften into the safe obscure-mystical register, which became the engine of the rigor that produced the writing. The catalytic vocation that needed twelve concentrated years to articulate the entire Philosophy of Illumination in academic prose. The territories of sight and crossing and living tension. The name that was already the entire trajectory: Meteor of the Faith, the one who lives, the murdered one. The execution in the Citadel of Aleppo at thirty-seven that was not interruption but culmination. These are not seven separate truths about Shihab al-Din Yahya ibn Habash ibn Amirak al-Suhrawardi al-Maqtul. They are one truth, named from seven different angles. And they all converge here.

What was being asked of him was precise. Not find your purpose. Not grow into your gifts. Something far more particular, and far more weighted. To articulate the Philosophy of Illumination in rigorous academic prose the future of the tradition could receive, to deliver that articulation in the register the orthodox themselves used so the doctrine could not be safely filed away as decorative mysticism, and to trust that the doctrine on the page would survive the body’s extinguishment. That was the entire ask. One singular, weighted, irreversible Yes — completed in twelve concentrated years, at the cost of the body that completed it.

What was being released, when he sat down to write the Talwihat and continued through to the Hikmat al-Ishraq itself, was the long apprenticeship of gathering — the Maragha years of scholastic training, the Isfahan years of advanced Avicennan philosophy, the wandering years through Anatolia and Syria. These were not being released as failures. They were being released as completions. They had built him into the instrument that could braid four traditions into a single rigorous philosophical architecture in twelve years — what a less-prepared soul could not have done in a lifetime.

What was being called toward, in their place, was a different form of presence entirely. The willingness to write the doctrine in the form the institutions themselves used — academic prose, rigorous argumentation, the same register the orthodox jurists wrote their legal opinions in — so that the doctrine could not be dismissed as decorative ornamentation. The willingness to be too clear. The willingness to refuse every offered softening, every safer ambiguity, every retreat into the obscure-mystical register that would have spared the body. The willingness to inhabit the name Meteor of the Faith by becoming, in fact, the meteor: brief, brilliant, sky-crossing, extinguished before touching the ground that would have made him ordinary. The willingness, finally and hardest, to trust that the doctrine would outlive the body — to not soften the writing into safer registers that might have spared him, to trust that the future would refound the tradition on what he had written even though he would not be alive to see it.

What became available when he said Yes was a form of immortality the world rarely sees. Twelve concentrated years of writing. Eight major treatises. The founding of an entire school. The doctrine of Light passed forward to Mulla Sadra to refound the entire Iranian philosophical tradition; the lineage of Illuminationist philosophy still being studied, eight centuries on, in the seminaries of Qom and the philosophical departments of Tehran. Proof — written into the spiritual and philosophical literature of an entire civilization — that a soul can deliver its entire contract in twelve years and that the body’s extinguishment, when the institutional weight of the time cannot tolerate the rigor of the saying, is not absence but completion.

He was not late. He was exactly where the soul-clock said he should be. The thirty-seven years were not too few. They were the only time the doctrine could have been delivered. The mission had been inscribed at the threshold of his first breath in Suhraward on a pre-dawn February morning eight hundred and seventy years ago. What was being asked of him, he walked. Fully. Without hesitation once the door appeared. And what he walked is still walking — through Mulla Sadra, through every philosopher who has built on the Illuminationist foundation since. The naming has been done. The walking has been completed. The light is still its own light, eight centuries on.

This Is Not Coincidence

The Sun arriving just below the Eastern horizon at his imagined birth — the threshold-hour, the light in the sky before the disc has crossed the horizon — describes a soul whose vocation was to articulate the doctrine that the Light is real before its Source becomes visible.

The Pythagorean numerology of his title-name independently names the same quality — Master 11 hidden inside Shihab, the prophetic illuminator, and Master 22 hidden inside al-Din, the master-builder. Two Masters dissolving into Title-name Destiny 6 — the devoted servant of the Light.

And his name, Shihab al-Din, etymologically means the Meteor of the Faith — the brilliant flame that crosses the sky, illuminating briefly, before it is extinguished.

Three entirely different languages. One truth. He came here to be the meteor — to bring the Doctrine of Light and to be extinguished for it.

A second convergence.

The Aquarius Sun in friction with the structural-disciplined Capricorn Ascendant describes a soul whose visionary interior had to speak through a disciplined-systematic surface.

The Pythagorean numerology of his birth name independently names the same quality — Birth-name Destiny 8, the Foundational Architect.

And the village of his birth, Suhraward, was already the etymological seed of the suhrawardiyya — the contemplative-mystical order organized around the recovery of the inner light.

Three entirely different languages. One truth. He came here to architect the doctrine that would outlast the body that built it.

This is not coincidence. This is what three independent systems do when they are all telling the truth about the same soul.

A Blessing — For You, The One Who Has Read This Far

Dear one who has found your way to this article — dear soul whose own questions about meaning and arrival and purpose drew you across the eight hundred and thirty years and the eight chapters of this reading — this blessing is written for you.

The light is still in the sky. Eight centuries after his execution, the doctrine has not been extinguished. It has only moved past the tribunal that thought it could be stopped. And the same light — in a different form, in the particular shape it took on the morning your own first breath entered the room — has been alive in you the whole time. You did not arrive empty. You arrived carrying a Blueprint, and you have been carrying it, knowingly or not, every day of the life you have so far lived.

The reading you have just received was, in its outer form, a reading of his soul. But its inner form was a reading written for yours. Every line about him was also a quiet invitation to you — to remember that your own arrival was also planned, your own conditions also drawn, your own wound and gift and calling also encoded into the moment your own sky first opened above your own first breath. He was the meteor. You are not the meteor. But the same Light of Lights that named the trajectory of his thirty-seven years is the same Light from which your own trajectory descends.

May this reading be the beginning of the reading you finally receive of yourself. May the recognition that has been waiting, patiently, inside you be allowed at last to wake. May the light you carry — in whatever form it has taken inside the particular life you were given — rise.

— Shams-Tabriz, Bali

Begin.

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Frequently Asked Questions

Who was Suhrawardi? Shihab al-Din Yahya ibn Habash ibn Amirak al-Suhrawardi al-Maqtul was a Persian philosopher born approximately 1154 CE in Suhraward, in what is now Iranian Azerbaijan. He founded the Hikmat al-Ishraq — the Philosophy of Illumination — the doctrine that existence itself is light, that all reality is gradations of luminosity descending from the Light of Lights. He was executed in Aleppo in 1191 at approximately thirty-seven, under pressure from the orthodox jurists. The doctrine survived him entirely.

When did Suhrawardi live? Approximately 1154 – 1191 CE. He was born in Suhraward, near Zanjan, and was executed in the Citadel of Aleppo in 1191. The Soul Blueprint method offers a symbolic reconstruction of his birth — pre-dawn on 8 February 1154 — explained in full in When Was Suhrawardi Born?.

What did Suhrawardi teach? The Philosophy of Illumination — the doctrine that existence itself is light, that all reality is gradations of luminosity descending from the Nur al-Anwar. He synthesized ancient Persian Zoroastrian-Mazdaean light-philosophy with Greek Neoplatonism, Sufi mysticism, and the rigorous Avicennan philosophical apparatus of his own training. “The first stage on the path of illumination,” he taught, “is the recognition that the recognizer is itself light.”

Why was Suhrawardi executed? He was executed in Aleppo in 1191 by order of al-Malik al-Zahir under pressure from the orthodox jurists who had read his Hikmat al-Ishraq and found it heretical. They found it intolerable precisely because it was too systematic — articulated in academic prose, in the same register the institutions themselves used. The young ruler signed the order under institutional pressure that included a directive from Saladin himself.

What is the numerology of Suhrawardi? His title-name, Shihab al-Din al-Suhrawardi, reduces to Destiny 6 — the Devoted Servant of the Light. His birth name, Yahya ibn Habash ibn Amirak al-Suhrawardi, reduces to Destiny 8 — the Foundational Architect. The title-name carries two hidden Master Numbers: Master 11 in Shihab (the prophetic illuminator) and Master 22 in al-Din (the master-builder).

What sign was Suhrawardi? The Soul Blueprint reconstruction places him as an Aquarius Sun at 19° just below the Eastern horizon — the threshold-hour before sunrise, with Capricorn at the Ascendant. His life embodied the visionary-prophetic Aquarian frequency with complete coherence.

What is a Soul Blueprint? A Soul Blueprint is a personalized reading that integrates three independent traditions — Western natal astrology, Pythagorean numerology, and the etymology of the full birth name — into a single document written as a personal letter to the soul. The full Reading is $297; the Reading + The Kingdom is $497.

Related Readings

• What Is a Soul Blueprint? The Method, the Three Traditions →
• When Was Suhrawardi Born? — The Imagined Birth Reading →
• Destiny Number 6: The Devoted Heart, The Servant of the Light →
• Master Number 11 in Numerology: The Illuminator →
• Master Number 22 in Numerology: The Master Builder →

This reading was prepared in the lineage and methodology of the Soul Blueprint Method — Pythagorean numerology with master numbers preserved, Western archetypal and symbolic-reconstruction astrology, and a researched etymological reading of the full name across its source languages. Historical detail draws on the standard biographical record preserved in the Islamic philosophical tradition and in modern scholarship, including Henry Corbin’s foundational French-language studies of Suhrawardi and Hossein Ziai’s English-language scholarship on the Philosophy of Illumination.

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