Sufi Journeys

excerpt from Alone in Arabian Nights, by Sirdar Ikbal Ali Shah (1969 revision)

Have you noticed that people who belong to cults and religions, systems and programmes, constantly foist them upon you? That, or else they are being mysterious about them.

Point one: the Sufis are not a cult, so... you will have noticed , I have not said much about the Sufis in [this book]. If you are not at all interested in them or their way of life, now is your chance to stop reading this book....

Others may note that almost anything which they may have read (especially in learned books) about the Sufis is very inaccurate.. .

In the West especially, people.... have amalgamated bits and pieces of Sufi ideas and observances into their own religious and other systems: this is an activity which is totally wrong if results are to be expected.

In contemporary terms, the Sufis can be seen as people who, initially, work against the evils of coercive organized religion and restrictive cults; then try to help expand the
understanding of those who are interested: strictly according to the potential of the people and the times.

This latter contention is.. unacceptable to the vast majority of people, who cannot feel happy with it at all... because they always need the reassurance of tradition and of the
familiar. If they don't know what to reject, they may deify it.

If the Sufi is teaching by means of modern concepts, the traditionalists are appalled. The modern-minded ones, by contrast, will recoil from what are to them old-fashioned ideas. In Sufic terms, such people do not really exist as far as their potential for development is concerned.

I made my journeys at the behest of the Sufis, in order to bring some of these conceptions to individuals and to communities throughout the Middle Eastern countries visited.

Some were interested, some were excited. Mostly, they were appalled.

Perhaps it was I who benefited most.

You can probably imagine the consternation, even the utter dislike, on the part of groups of friends, companions , earnest seekers of the truth, when told that the groups'  composition was useless because, according to Sufi experience, self-collected learning classes could not harmonise.

And, of course, there was a vicious circle situation when they demanded to be shown what that precise experience was...

Most associations of people ... have their own power structure, with some in authority, and some gaining their satisfactions by being controlled or influenced by those in authority.

Just picture such a grouping.... when a beardless youth, albeit with the best credentials, appears in their midst, contradicting what they accept as the very cement of their organization!

And there is more.... Can you imagine telling almost anyone that excitement, physical activity of certain accepted kinds, some music even, run counter to their best interest?

Or that self-selected study is useless since it is like asking a drug addict to nominate his own poison?

Or that 'idolatry', 'intoxication' and 'addiction' can exist in the most supposedly holy or materialistic people, more powerfully than if they had a clay idol, a bottle of spirits or a  hypodermic of heroin?

'...Get the hell out of here!' That is the message I was often invited to take back to my principals; even when we were only responding to a cry for help.

Above all, the bugbear of the Sufis is not, as one might imagine, to struggle against materialism. It is to handle two very powerful distortions in the customary thinking of
people everywhere.

The first of these is to accumulate ideas, especially from the East, in the belief that these must be of some value, when many of the most popular ones frankly originate from fraudulent or now irrelevant, inoperative sources, however ancient.

The second is to imagine that, because there is no such thing, for the most part, in mystico-religion or philosophy in the West, an understanding beyond normal human knowledge cannot exist.

It is this last-named barrier which proved, and still proves, most difficult...

... if that which is called spiritual elsewhere, is only emotional excitement, the Sufis cannot use this to communcate with, since it does not carry information, let alone enlightenment.

And all of this is not to mention the vast stock of 'ideas' which are buffering ones: put into circulation over the centuries by Sufis in order to prevent 'psychic burglars' from causing trouble...

General Principles (II)

THE GENERAL PRINCIPLES OF SUFISM (cont'd.)

by

SIRDAR IKBAL ALI SHAH

Originally published in Hibbert Journal. 20 (1921-1922)  pp 524-35;
revised version published in Sufi Thought and Action, assembled by Idries Shah (1990)
 

We must here lay stress upon the great central

doctrine of Sufism that the human soul is one in

essence with the Divine. The difference is one of

degree and not of kind. However much men may differ

from Divinity, they are, after all, particles of

the Divine Being, broken lights of God, as Tennyson

so beautifully says, and will ultimately be reabsorbed

in the Great Cause which projected them into

the darksome regions of the earth-plane. God is universal.
He interpenetrates all matter, all substance. Perfect

in His truth, goodness,and beauty, they who love Him

alone know the real fullness of love. Mere physical

love is an illusion, a seeming, a snare to the feet

and an enemy in the path.

The great mirror in which the Divine splendour

reflects itself is nature. From the beginning of things,

ay, from the first, it has been the task of the Supreme

Goodness to diffuse happiness among those fitted to

receive it. Thousands ignore it, mistaking the pomps

and pleasures of earth for joy, rejecting the greater

bliss to their hands.

In many faiths we hear of a covenant betwixt God

and man. This is also the Sufi creed. That covenant

has been broken by the sin of the creature against his

Creator. Only when man once more finds reunion with God

shall he be restored to his ancient privileges of full

and unalloyed fellowship with the Divine. This alone

is true happiness. The pursuit of the material is a

vain thing. As Longfellow says:

"Things are not what they seem."

Nature, the earth, that which we see, feel, and hear,

are but the subjective visions of God, suggested to

our minds by the great Artist. Mind or Spirit alone

is immanent. The fleeting phantoms thrown by the

phantasmagoria of matter we must beware of. We must

attach ourselves to none of their manifestations.

God alone is the one real existence, the only great

Reality. He exists in us and we in Him. The visions

He grants us, the pictures He casts upon the screen of

our imaginations, we may use as a means of approach to

the Eternal Beauty, to the consideration of the Divine.

They are what Wordsworth calls "Intimations of Immortality."

As a great Frenchman once said, we weep when we listen to

beautiful music, our eyes fill with tears on looking at

a great picture or noble statue. A wonderful prospect

in nature affects us in like manner. Wherefore? We weep

because we feel that these things are but shadows of the

real, the imperishable beauty which we have lost, and

which we will not regain until we are once more made

one with God. That Frenchman would have found in Sufism

the complement, the ideal, of his philosophy.

The microcosmos, or small world, said the great

Paracelsus, one of the most learned Europeans of the

sixteenth century, who had travelled widely in the East,

was but the reflection of the macrocosmos or great world

above - the spiritual world, which mirrored itself in

the plane below. To him the illusory and phantasmal nature

of the sphere in which we dwell w'as very plain. Indeed,

no European mystic of old could possibly have found anything

at which he could have demurred in the tenets of

Sufism. In my opinion, Western as well as Oriental

mysticism is heavily indebted to the Sufi philosophy,

and those who believe in one must naturally believe in both.

It requires a mind of the first rank to recognise

the great scheme of God at first sight. Few minds succeed

in doing so. With most persons, long experience is needed

ere they appreciate the marvellous arch-plan of the

Almighty. To a mind naturally pure and angelic

this wondrous cosmic symphony is apparent from the

first. It was so to Mohammed, to Boehme, to Swedenborg,

to Blake. What is man, after all, but the cloak of the

soul? When we say that a man is "naturally bad," we

allude to the state of his inherited mind, not to his

soul. The garment may be ragged, dross may cover the

gold, but it is there all the same. Our bodies are

of the earth and such as our fathers leave us. Our

souls are of God. O man! is there aught that, possessing

the friendship of God, thou canst not compass? Doth not

thy soul strain to Him as the mountains strain unto

the sun and the waters of the sea unto the moon?

Verily thou dost move forth in the light of His

strength, in the unquenchable brilliance of His boundless

majesty, as a great star, lit by the beams of a

still greater sun, launches forth into the millionlamped

avenues of the night. As a ship is moved by

the bright waves of the morning, so art thou urged by

the breath of His spirit. Verily thou art of God as a

child is of its father. What then hast thou to fear,

O son of such a Father?

With such a hope before us - before every one of us,

if we accept it - we must turn our souls from vanity,

from all that is not of God, striving to approximate to

His perfection and discover the secret of our kinship

with Him, until at last we reach the happy consummation

of union with the Divine. The Sufi doctrine tells us

that at the moment of the creation of each creature

a divine voice was heard asking the question, "Art

thou not with God? Art thou not bound by solemn

covenant with thy Creator?" and each created spirit

replied "Yes," as it stood in the presence of the

Almighty Himself. Hence it is that the mystic words,

Alastu, "Art thou not," and Bala, "Yes," occur so

frequently in Sufi poetry. For example, Rumi began

his celebrated Masnawi, which I have ventured to

render into English verse, as follows:-

THE FLUTE

"Oh! hear the flute's sad tale again:

Of Separations I complain;

E'er since it was my fate to be

Thus cut off from my parent tree,

Sweet moan I've made with pensive sigh,

While men and women join my cry.

Man's life is like this hollow rod;

One end is in the lips of God,

And from the other sweet notes fall

That to the mind the spirit call,

And join us with the All in All."

A regular vocabulary of the terms employed by the

Sufis in their mystical poetry exists. Wine, for

example, signifies devotion; sleep, meditation on the

divine perfection; perfume, the hope of the divine

afflatus. Zephyrs signify the gift of godly grace, and

kisses the transports of devotion and piety. But the

terms of significance are often inverted, in order that

they may not be comprehended by the profane. Thus

idolaters, free-thinkers, and revellers are the

terms employed to indicate those whose faith is of

the purest description. The idol they adore is the

Creator Himself; the tavern is the place of prayer;

and the wine drunk therein is the holy beverage of

love, with which they become inebriated. The keeper

of the tavern is the hierophant, or spiritual leader. ,-

The term beauty is used to denote the perfection

of

God, and love-locks and tresses the infinitude of

His glory. Down on the cheeks is symbolic of the

multitudinous spirits which serve Him. Inebriation

and dallian-ce typify that abstraction of soul which

shows contempt of mundane affairs.

The following extract from Sufi poetry will serve

to illustrate the use of many of these mystical terms.

At first sight it would appear to be inspired by the

spirit of amorous and bacchanalian frenzy, but when

translated into its true terms it reveals itself as of

the veritable essence of mysticism.

"Yesterday, half inebriated, I passed by the quarter where

the wine-sellers dwell,

To seek out the daughter of an Infidel, who is a vendor of wine.

At the end of the street, a damsel, with a fairy.'s cheek,

advanced before me,

Who, pagan-like, wore her tresses dishevelled over her

shoulders like the sacerdotal thread.

I said, '0 thou, to the arch of whose eyebrows the new moon

is a shame!

What quarter is this, and where is thy place of abode?'

'Cast,' she replied, 'thy rosary on the ground, and lay the

thread of paganism thy shoulder upon;

Cast stones at the glass of piety; and from an o'erflowing

goblet quaff the wine.

After that draw near me, that I may whisper one word in thine ear;

For thou wilt accomplish thy journey, if thou hearken to my words.

1

Abandoning my heart altogether, and in ecstasy rapt, I followed her.

Till I came to a place where, alike, reason and religion forsook me.

At a distance, I beheld a Company, all inebriated and beside

themselves,

Who came all frenzied, and boiling with ardour from wine of love;

Without lutes, cymbals, or viols; yet all full of mirth and melody

Without wine, or goblet, or flask; yet all drinking unceasingly.

When the thread of restraint slipped away from my hand,

I desired to ask her one question, but she said unto me 'Silence.

This is no square temple whose gate thou canst precipitately attain;

This is no mosque which thou canst reach with tumult, but without

knowledge.

This is the banquet-house of Infidels, and all within are

intoxicated;

All, from eternity's dawn to the day of doom, in astonishment lost!

Depart, then, from the cloister and towards the tavern bend

thy steps.

Cast away the cloak of the Dervish, and don thou the

libertine's robe.'

I obeyed: and if thou desire with me the same hue and colour

to acquire,

Imitate me, and both this and the next world sell for a drop

of pure wine."

One of the most celebrated exponents of Sufi doctrine

is Jami, the author of the Laila and Majnun. His name is

venerated throughout Central Asia as one of the champions of

the faith. In his belief, when the Creator pours the effulgence

of His Holy Spirit upon the creature, such a one himself

becomes divine. So closely, indeed, is he identified

with the great Source of all good, that he finds the

power has been conferred upon him of sharing the

regulation and direction of other beings. With the

created beings whom he governs he is connected by a

powerful bond of sympathy, so strong, indeed, that in

a mystical sense they are spoken of as his limbs, as

parts of his body; nor can they suffer and endure

anything that he must not endure and suffer as well,

through a process of psychical sympathy.

One of the many mistaken objections to this

portion of Sufi belief is that it implies that saintship

is almost one and the same thing as deification.

This is not so. At the basis of Sufi philosophy will

be found the fundamental axiom that no mortal can be

as a god. The union of the creature with God is not

an apatheosis of man, but a return of a portion of the

Divine Spirit to its original fount and nucleus.

The result of the union of man and God is annihilation

of the merely human part of man and the withdrawal of

his spiritual part to that place whence it emanated.

On the annihilation of self, man realises that his

own real and imperishable ego is one with the essence

of God. In this union, so great is the influence of

the Eternal Spirit that man's human judgment - that

which we might describe as his logical faculty, his

understanding - is entirely quenched and destroyed by

it; "even as error passeth away on the appearance of

truth," in like manner his ability to discriminate

between the perishable and the imperishable is rendered

negligible. This feeling of oneness with deity

it was which urged the sage Mansur Hallaj to ejaculate

in a fit of ecstasy, "I am Truth"; meaning thereby,

"I am God." But in the eyes of the orthodox this

statement appeared blasphemous, and in making it Mansur

forfeited his life - so little are those who grope

in the purlieus and courts of the outer temple able

to appreciate the wisdom and the speech of those who

dwell in the inner sanctuaries.

The presentation of the idea of the origin of

evil - the question of dualism - has been the cause of

much learned contention among erudite Sufis. Many have

argued that evil cannot exist in face of the fact that

God is wholly good and all things are from Him. One

Sufi poet has said:

"The writer of our destiny is a fair and truthful writer,

And never did He write that which is evil."

Evil is, therefore, a thing entirely human, due

to the frailty of man, to the perversion of the human will

and the circumstances by which humanity is surrounded -

the material environment which man believes to be real,

and which serves to distort his vision. It has no part in

the being of God. It follows that all the so-called spiritual

powers of evil, those principalities of the air and

demons of the abyss, the existence of which

so many

religious philosophies admit, and even expressly urge,

are nothing but figments of the human mind, misled by

the phantasmagoria, the unrealities, by which man is

surrounded.

 

Underlying the gorgeous imagery and lofty

mysticism of Sufi poetry, then, whether it be that

of Persia or of the Middle East, there dwells a deep

significance

of hidden instruction, which he who

seeks may find - shall find, if he be eager enough,

ardent enough. In vain we search elsewhere for a

system so satisfying to the soul, so full - when all

is understood - of the higher, the more spiritual

reasoning. We will not find it in the teachings of

ancient Athens, in the wonderful philosophy of old

Egypt, or in that child of both, the Neo-Platonism

of Alexandria.. To. these sources the expression of

Sufism undoubtedly owes much, as we have seen. But

it has refined them, has excogitated for itself a

manner

of thought beside which they seem almost

elementary, and a symbolism and mystic teaching of

much greater scope and loftiness. As I have indicated,

there can be little doubt that it powerfully affected

European mysticism, especially through Paracelsus

and Boehme. It is, indeed, the true allegory of the

inner life - its erotic imagery, its glorification

of the grape, are but veils which seek to hide the

great truths of existence, as the language of alchemy

sought to preserve its discoveries from the vulgar.

Sufi poetry speaks of a love which is not carnal,

and of an inebriation produced by no material vine.

These are the ecstasies and transports of divine

affection. If it be mysterious, shall the bread of

life be given to fools, shall pearls be cast before

swine? No! Let the wise seek till they find. That is

the last word of all mysticism, Oriental and

Occidental - meditation upon it is the one true way

to exaltation.

General Principles (I)

THE GENERAL PRINCIPLES OF SUFISM

by SIRDAR IKBAL ALI SHAH
from Hibbert Journal. 20 (1921-1922) pp 524-35, revised.

"He that is purified by love is pure; and he that

is absorbed in the Beloved and hath abandoned all else

is a Sufi."

Of the many mystical doctrines to which our mother

the East has given birth, none is more beautiful in its

appeal than the way of the Sufi, nor does any point to

a goal of more exalted spiritual ambition. He who is

versed in its tenets and practice has outsoared the

shadow of doubt and the possibility of error. He is

face to face with the Divine. Many esoteric systems

lay claim to such a consummation, but none with more

justice than Sufism; for the disciplinary and preparatory

measures it entails are of a kind to induce in the

devotee an understanding that the ultimate goal to

which he aspires will be triumphantly achieved.

Sufism as an organised Islamic school dates from

the latter part of the eleventh century, and its

projection through esotericist groups was founded by

a branch of that sect community in Islam known as

Ismaelis headed by Hassan Sabah, who, driven from Cairo

by the persecution of the orthodox, spread a modified form

of the Ismaeli doctrine throughout Syria and Persia. He

was, indeed, a member of the great and mystical Western

Lodge of the Ismaelis at Cairo, the early history of which

is one of romantic and absorbing interest. It comprised both

men and women, who met in separate assemblies, and it was

presided over by a Dai al Doat, or chief missionary, who was

usually a person of importance in the State. The

assemblies, called Societies of Wisdom, were held

twice a week, and at these gatherings all the members

were clad in robes of spotless white. This organisation

was under the especial patronage of the Caliph (successor

of the Prophet), to whom the lectures read within its

walls were invariably submitted; and it was in the reign

of the Caliph Hakem-bi-emr-illah that steps were first

taken to enlarge its scope and institute what might be

called a forward movement for the dissemination of its

particular principles.

So that it should not lack suitable surroundings,

the Caliph erected a stately edifice known as the Dar al

hikmat, or House of Wisdom. Within its walls a magnificent

library was installed, and writing materials and

mathematical instruments were supplied for the use of

all. Professors of law, mathematics, rhetoric, and .

medicine were appointed to instruct the faithful in the

sciences. The annual income assigned to this establishment

by the munificence of the Caliph was two hundred and

seventy thousand ducats, worth some $150 million.

A regular course of instruction in mystic lore was given

to the devotees, and nine degrees had to be passed through

before they were regarded as masters of the mysterious

knowledge gained within the walls of the House of Wisdom.

It was in the seventh of these stages that the doctrines

of Sufism were more particularly taught, projected beyond

ordinary education.

But Hassan, a man of great natural force and

enlightenment, saw clearly that the plan of the society

of Cairo was in some respects defective. His novel views

did not, however, meet with the approval of the other

leaders; and he retired to Persia, where he remodelled

the course of instruction, reducing the number of

initiatory degrees to seven, and instituting a much

more rigorous system of discipline. Around the figure

of Hassan cluster many legends and traditions, most

of which have been highly coloured by the passage of

time. The Ismaeli School deteriorated when it became

a personality-cult. It still survives as a minor sect.

(The Ismaeli faith, according to Sufi authories, has had

no Sufic content for the past three centuries, though some

of its Chiefs had from time to time sought Sufi recognition.)

We may now seek for some general definition of the

doctrine, such as will make clear to us its purpose and

significance - the message it holds for the mystic and

for humanity in general. It exhibits a close connection

with the Neo-Platonism of Alexandria, with which it

certainly had affinities, in that it regards man as a

spark of the divine essence, a "broken light" from the

great Sun of our being, the most central and excellent

radiance from which all things emanate. The soul of man

is seen as being in exile from its Creator, who is not

only the author of its being, but also its spiritual

home. The human body is the cage or prison-house of the

soul, and life on earth is regarded as banishment from

God. Ere this ostracism from the Divine took place, full

communion with the Creator was enjoyed.

Each soul has formerly seen the face of Truth in

its most real aspect, for what we regard as truth in the

earth-sphere is but the shadow of that which shines above,

perfect, immaculate - a mere reminiscence of the glories

of a heavenly existence. To regain this lost felicity

is the task of the Sufi, who, by a delicate process of

mental and moral training, restores the soul from its

exile, and leads it onward from stage to stage, until at

last it reaches the goal of perfect knowledge, Truth and

Peace - reunion with the Divine.

As an example of the Sufi doctrine of the immanence

of God in creation,an ancient manuscript tells us how

the Creation proceeds directly from God.

"The Creation," it says, "derives its existence

from the splendour of God; and as at dawn the sun illuminates

the earth, and the absence of its light is

darkness, in a like manner all would be non-existent

if there were no celestial radiance of the Creator diffused

in the universe. As the light of the sun bears

a relation to the temporal or the perceptible side of

life, so does the splendour of God to the celestial

or hidden phase of existence."

And what words could be more eloquently illustrative

of the belief that the present life is banishment

of the soul from God, than those of a great Asian

Sufi, who on his death-bed wrote the following lines:-

"Tell my friends when bewailing that they disbelieve

and discredit the Truth.

You will find my mould lying, but know it is not I.

I roam far, far away, in the Sphere of Immortality.

This was once my house, my covering, but not my home.

It was the cage: the bird has flown.

It was the shell: the pearl has gone.

I leave you toiling and distraught. I see you struggling

as I journey on.

Grieve not if one is missing from amongst you.

Friends, let the house perish, let the shell decay.

Break the cage, destroy the garment, I am far away.

Call this not my death. It is the life of life, for

which I wearied and longed."

There are now four stages through which the Initiate

must pass on his way to perfection and reunion with the

Divine Essence; four veils that must be lifted ere his

vision is purged of the grimness of the earth-sphere

and he is granted the final wonder and bliss of coming

face to face with Truth Eternal.

The first of these stages is known as Nasut, or

Humanity. The essential of proper observance in this

phase, and the mere approach or avenue to the temple of

Sufism, is the faithful observance of the tenets of

Islam, its laws and ceremonies. This preliminary course

is regarded as a necessary discipline for the weaker

brethren, and as a wholesome restraint upon those who

may be constitutionally unfitted to attain the heights

of divine contemplation. Latitude in matters of

discipline in the earlier stages frequently leads to

evils which cease to trouble more powerful intellects

and devouter souls as they gain the higher levels, so

that in a later phase the trammels of ritual observance

and symbolic recognition can be cast aside and aspiration

remain unfettered.

The second stage is called Tariqat, or the manner

of attaining what is known as Jubrut or Potentiality or

Capacity. Here the neophyte dispenses with his guide

and becomes a Sufi. It is frequently asserted that in

this stage the pilgrim may, if he chooses, lay aside

all the external forms of religion, its rites and

observances, and exchange mere worship for the delights

of contemplation. But more than one of the masters

contests this view, refusing to recognise the freedom

of the novice from religious forms, no matter to what

degree of advancement he may have attained. There

remains, however, a certain school, the members of

which, though admitting that purity can be acquired

in the first instance through the constant practice

of orthodox austerities alone, assert that it cannot

permanently be retained unless mere forms be transcended

and outgrown.

The third stage, Araff, signifies that a condition

of assured knowledge or inspiration has been reached,

which occultists might call a condition of adeptship,

or Buddhists Arahatship. The eyes of the pilgrim have

become opened; he has gained possession of supernatural

and inward knowledge, and is the equal of angels. Edgar

Allan Poe alludes in one of his most wonderful poems,

"Al Aaraaf," to a mystical star, which he calls by this

name, and which he speaks of as a plane higher than this

world and not nearly so material.

"Oh! nothing earthly, save the ray

(Thrown back from flowers) of Beauty's eye,

As in these gardens where the day

Springs from the gems of Circassy.

Adorn you, world, afar, afar,

The wandering star."

Lastly - but this is remote and to be gained by

the exalted in purity and holiness alone - is the stage

of Haqiqat, or Truth, perfect and supreme, for the union

of the soul with Divinity is now complete. It is to be

won only by long-continued meditation, constant prayer,

and complete severance from all things gross and earthly,

for the man must be annihilated ere the saint can exist.

The fire, Qalb or steps of Heart (Dil), Breath (Nafs),

the Rest of Soul (Sir), Head (Ikhfa), and Crown and the

Head (Khafi) have been climbed, and he who was a scholar

is now qualified to become a master.

In order that this condition or state of exalted

holiness may best be brought about, the life of the

hermit is temporarily resorted to; and many, to attain

it, retire into the gloomy solitude of the jungle or

seek the quiet of desert fastnesses, or dwell in caves

situated in the heart of almost inaccessible mountains.

This devotion and singleness of purpose is, indeed,

characteristic of Sufism. But such a life, spent in

prayer and meditation, conduces to the acquisition of

wisdom as well as moral exaltation, and many of the

most renowned Sufis have been men of the highest

erudition. Scholarship of the right kind is regarded

as predisposing a man for the life of the Sufi. The

philosophic temperament and the power of penetrating

into the mysteries of the Divine Nature are often found

in one and the same person.

A tendency towards studious things raises a man

above the level of the vulgar herd and prompts him to

seek the higher excellences of holiness. It has been so

in all times and in all faiths. Are not the ascetics of

all religions habitually studious? and whence, it may

be asked, has so much light been thrown on things

spiritual as from the cave of the mystic, or the desert

abode of the Sufi?

(Although, of course, the vanity and consequent desire

to oppose others often found in scholars and not overcome

will produce the very reverse of the Sufi.)

The poet, especially, is looked upon as the type

of man who may best develop into a Sufi of great sanctity.

Poetry, indeed, may lead to the very essence of Sufism.

The genius of the poet is akin to religious inspiration.

The long flights by which he penetrates to the highest

realms beyond the imagination are of the same nature

as those by which the mystic reaches the gates of the

Palace of Life and Wisdom. In the throes of his rapture,

the poet transports himself into the heavenly empyrean,

his wings bear him into that rare atmosphere where he

can see face to face with the Divine Cause and Origin

of all.

Sufism has a poetry all its own - a poetry regarded

by many, whether Sufis or not, as more soulful and higher

in ecstatic expression than that of any other religious

activity in the world. Again, the language of poetry -.

its metaphor, its swift and pulsing rhythm - is more akin

to the speech of the mystic than the grosser language

of the sons of earth. It is not restrained by convention

or the fetters of idiom. It soars supreme above

the faltering, stammering necessities of the earthspeech.

Hence in Central Asia, the true home of modern

Sufism, as elsewhere, we find Sufi devotion often expressed

through the cadences of poetry. Nor do the

services of poetry to Sufi mysticism end with its provision

of a more fitting medium of expression, for in

Sufi verse _the constant repetition of mystical allusion

and religious allegory serves to conceal from the

profane the hidden meaning of the experience - those deep

and awful truths which it is not well that the vulgar

should know,(for their perceptions would distort it)

and which, at all costs, must be guarded by the adept

from profanation.

That the inner significance of Sufi mysticism may

be the more closely shut off from possible dilution,

the language of eroticism and excess is frequently

employed in its strophes to conceal hidden meanings.

This has, perhaps naturally, resulted in a charge of

luxury being brought against the Sufi literature as

a whole. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Scandalised by the interpretation placed upon the

sacred writings by the ignorant, the Great Mughal Aurangzeb,

himself a Sufi of exalted degree and a moralist of the

strictest tendencies, decreed that the poems of Hafiz

and Jami should be perused only by those who were

sufficiently advanced in spiritual understanding

to appreciate the works of these poets at their

proper worth. The great mass of people in India

had misunderstood the metaphors and figures of the

Persian singers; and their songs, he learned, were

even regarded as provocative of immorality. Let it

be admitted, too, that even Eastern supposed mystics,

mere emotionalists, have misinterpreted the metaphorical

expressions in which these poems abound.

Speaking generally, it is the dark riddle of human

life which the Sufi poet veils beneath the metaphor

of physical love and the agony of parted lovers.

By such means he symbolises the banishment of the

human soul from its Eternal Lover. The pain of earthly

parting is merely a synonym for the deep anguish of

the spirit estranged from its Creator. The wine-cup,

again, and the language of debauch, are metaphors

which signify the rapture of the soul which is drunken

with the love of God.