Thursday, December 27, 2012

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...

Wednesday, December 26, 2012

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.

Tuesday, December 25, 2012

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.