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.