Sufism

There has been from the earliest ages of Islám a movement which exists to this day. It is a kind of mysticism, known as sufism. It has been especially prevalent among the Persians. It is a re-action from the burden of a rigid law, and a wearisome ritual. It has now existed for a thousand years, and if it has the element of progress in it, if it is the salt of Islám some fruit should now be seen. But what is sufism ? The term Súfí is most probably derived from the Arabic word Súf, "wool," of which material the garments worn by Eastern ascetics used to be generally made. Some persons, however, derive it from the Persian, Súf, "pure," or the Greek σοφια, "wisdom." Tasawwuf, or sufism, is the abstract form of the word, and is, according to Sir W. Jones, and other learned orientalists, a figurative mode, borrowed mainly from the Indian philosophers of the Vedanta school, of expressing the fervour of devotion.

The chief idea is that the souls of men differ in degree, but not in kind, from the Divine Spirit, of which they are emanations, and to which they will ultimately return. The Spirit of God is in all He has made, and it in Him. He alone is perfect love, beauty, etc.—hence love to him is the only real thing; all else is illusion. Sa'dí says: "I swear by the truth of God, that when He showed me His glory all else was illusion." This present life is one of separation from the beloved. The beauties of nature, music, and art revive in men the divine idea, and recall their affections from wandering from Him to other objects. These sublime affections men must cherish, and by abstraction concentrate their thoughts on God, and so approximate to His essence, and finally reach the highest stage of bliss—absorption into the Eternal. The true end and object of human life is to lose all consciousness of individual existence—to sink "in the ocean of Divine Life, as a breaking bubble is merged into the stream on the surface of which it has for a moment risen."

Súfís, who all accept Islám as a divinely established religion, suppose that long before the creation of the world a contract was made by the Supreme Soul with the assembled world of spirits, who are parts of it. Each spirit was addressed separately, thus: "Art thou not with thy Lord?" that is, bound to him by a solemn contract. To this they all answered with one voice, "Yes."

Another account says that the seed of theosophy (m'arifat) was placed in the ground in the time of Adam; that the plant came forth in the days of Noah, was in flower when Abraham was alive and produced fruit before Moses passed away. The grapes of this noble plant were ripe in the time of Jesus, but it was not till the age of Muhammad that pure wine was made from them. Then those intoxicated with it, having attained to the highest degree of the knowledge of God, could forget their own personality and say:—"Praise to me, is there any greater than myself? I am the Truth."

The following verse of the Qurán is quoted by Súfís in support of their favourite dogma—the attaining to the knowledge of God: "When God said to the angels, 'I am about to place a viceregent on the earth,' they said: 'Wilt Thou place therein one who shall commit abomination and shed blood? Nay; we celebrate Thy praise and holiness.' God answered them, 'Verily I know that ye wot not of.'" (Súra ii. 28.) It is said that this verse proves that, though the great mass of mankind would commit abomination, some would receive the divine light and attain to a knowledge of God. A Tradition states that David said: "'Oh Lord! why hast Thou created mankind?' God replied, 'I am a hidden treasure, and I would fain become known.'" The business of the mystic is to find this treasure, to attain to the Divine light and the true knowledge of God.

The earlier Muhammadan mystics sought to impart life to a rigid and formal ritual, and though the seeds of Pantheism were planted in their system from the first, they maintained that they were orthodox. "Our system of doctrine," says Al-Junaid, "is firmly bound up with the dogmas of the faith, the Qurán and the Traditions." There was a moral earnestness about many of these men which frequently restrained the arm of unrighteous power, and their sayings, often full of beauty, show that they had the power of appreciating the spiritual side of life. Some of these sentences are worthy of any age. "As neither meat nor drink," says one, "profit the diseased body, so no warning avails to touch the heart full of the love of this world." "The work of a holy man doth not consist in this, that he eats grain, and clothes himself in wool, but in the knowledge of God and submission to His will." "Thou deservest not the name of a learned man till thy heart is emptied of the love of this world." "Hide thy good deeds as closely as thou wouldst hide thy sins." A famous mystic was brought into the presence of the Khalíf Hárún-ur-Rashíd who said to him: "How great is thy abnegation?" He replied, "Thine is greater." "How so?" said the Khalíf. "Because I make abnegation of this world, and thou makest abnegation of the next." The same man also said: "The display of devotional works to please men is hypocrisy, and acts of devotion done to please men are acts of polytheism."

But towards the close of the second century of the Hijra, this earlier mysticism developed into sufism. Then Al-Halláj taught in Baghdád thus: "I am the Truth. There is nought in Paradise but God. I am He whom I love, and He whom I love is I; we are two souls dwelling in one body. When thou seest me, thou seest Him; and when thou seest Him thou seest me." This roused the opposition of the orthodox divines by whom Al-Halláj was condemned to be worthy of death. He was then by order of the Khalíf flogged, tortured and finally beheaded. Thus died one of the early martyrs of sufism, but it grew in spite of bitter persecution.

In order to understand the esoteric teaching of Súfíistic poetry, it is necessary to remember that the perceptive sense is the traveller, the knowledge of God the goal, the doctrines of this ascent, or upward progress is the Tarikat, or the road. The extinction of self is necessary before any progress can be made on that road. A Súfí poet writes:—

Sa'dí in the Bustán says: "Art thou a friend of God? Speak not of self, for to speak of God and of self is infidelity." Shaikh Abu'l-Faiz, a great poet and a friend of the Emperor Akbar, from whom he received the honourable title of Málik-ush-Shu'ará—Master of the Poets, says: "Those who have not closed the door on existence and non-existence reap no advantage from the calm of this world and of the world to come." Khusrau, another well-known poet says:—

The fact is, that Persian poetry is almost entirely Súfíistic. It is difficult for the uninitiated to arrive at the esoteric meaning of these writings. Kitmán, or the art of hiding from the profane religious beliefs, often contrary to the revealed law, has always been a special quality of the East. Pantheistic doctrines are largely inculcated. Thus:—

The poet then describes his fruitless search for rest and peace in Christianity, Hinduism, and the religion of the Parsee. Even Islám gave him no satisfaction, for—

These are the words of the greatest authority among the Súfís, the famous Maulána Jelál-ud-dín Rúmí, founder of the order of the Mauláví Darwíshes. He also relates the following story: "One knocked at the door of the beloved, and a voice from within said: 'Who is there?' Then he answered, 'It is I.' The voice replied, 'This house will not hold me and thee!' So the door remained shut. The lover retired to a wilderness, and spent some time in solitude, fasting, and prayer. One year elapsed, when he again returned, and knocked at the door. 'Who is there?' said the voice. The lover answered, 'It is thou.' Then the door was opened."

The great object of life, then, being to escape from the hindrances to pure love and to a return to the divine essence, the Tálib, or seeker, attaches himself to a Murshid, or teacher. If he prosecutes his studies according to Súfíistic methods he now often enters one of the many orders of Darwíshes. After due preparation under his Murshid, he is allowed to enter on the road. He then becomes a Sálik, or traveller, whose business henceforth is súlúk that is, devotion to one idea—the knowledge of God. In this road there are eight stages. (1) Service. Here he must serve God and obey the Law for he is still in bondage. (2) Love. It is supposed that now the Divine influence has so attracted his soul that he really loves God. (3) Seclusion. Love having expelled all worldly desires, he arrives at this stage, and passes his time in meditation on the deeper doctrines of sufism regarding the Divine nature. (4) Knowledge. The meditation in the preceding stage, and the investigation of the metaphysical theories concerning God, His nature, His attributes and the like make him an 'Árif—one who knows. (5) Ecstasy. The mental excitement caused by such continued meditation on abstruse subjects produces a kind of frenzy, which is looked upon as a mark of direct illumination of the heart from God. It is known as Hál—the state; or Wajd—ecstasy. Arrival at this stage is highly valued, for it is the certain entrance to the next. (6) Haqiqat—the Truth. Now to the traveller is revealed the true nature of God, now he learns the reality of that which he has been for so long seeking. This admits him to the highest stage in his journey, as far as this life is concerned. (7) That stage is Wasl—union with God.

He cannot, in this life, go beyond that, and very few reach that exalted stage. Thus arose a "system of Pantheism, which represents joy and sorrow, good and evil, pleasure and pain as manifestations of one changeless essence." Religion, as made known by an outward revelation, is, to the few who reach this stage, a thing of the past. Even its restraints are not needed. The soul that is united to God can do no evil. The poet Khusrau says: "Love is the object of my worship, what need have I of Islám?"

Death ensues and with it the last stage is reached. (8) It is Faná—extinction. The seeker after all his search, the traveller after all his wearisome journey passes behind the veil and finds—nothing! As the traveller proceeds from stage to stage, the restraints of an objective revelation and of an outward system are less and less heeded. "The religion of the mystic consists in his immediate communication with God, and when once this has been established, the value of ecclesiastical forms, and of the historical part of religion, becomes doubtful." What law can bind the soul in union with God, what outward system impose any trammels on one who, in the "Ecstasy," has received from Him, who is the Truth, the direct revelation of His own glorious nature? Moral laws and ceremonial observances have only an allegorical signification. Creeds are but fetters cunningly devised to limit the flight of the soul; all that is objective in religion is a restraint to the reason of the initiated.

Pantheistic in creed, and too often Antinomian in practice, sufism possesses no regenerative power in Islám. "It is not a substantive religion such as shapes the life of races or of nations, it is a state of opinion." No Muslim State makes a national profession of sufism.

In spite of all its dogmatic utterances, in spite of much that is sublime in its idea of the search after light and truth, sufism ends in utter negation of all separate existence. The pantheism of the Súfís, this esoteric doctrine of Islám, as a moral doctrine leads to the same conclusions as materialism, "the negation of human liberty, the indifference to actions and the legitimacy of all temporal enjoyments."

The result of sufism has been the establishment of a large number of religious orders known as Darwíshes.These men are looked upon with disfavour by the orthodox; but they flourish nevertheless, and in Turkey at the present day have great influence. There are in Constantinople two hundred Takiahs, or monasteries. The Darwíshes are not organized with such regularity, nor subject to discipline so severe as that of the Christian Monastic orders; but they surpass them in number. Each order has its own special mysteries and practices by which its members think they can obtain a knowledge of the secrets of the invisible world. They are also called Faqírs—poor men, not, however, always in the sense of being in temporal want, but as being poor in the sight of God. As a matter of fact the Darwíshes of many of the orders do not beg, and many of the Takiahs are richly endowed. They are divided into two great classes, the Ba Shara' (with the Law) Darwíshes; and the Be Shara' (without the Law). The former prefer to rule their conduct according to the law of Islám and are called the Sálik—travellers on the path (taríqat) to heaven; the latter though they call themselves Muslims do not conform to the law, and are called Azád (free), or Majzúb (abstracted), a term which signifies their renunciation of all worldly cares and pursuits.

The Sálik Darwíshes are those who perform the Zikrs. What little hope there is of these professedly religious men working any reform in Islám will be seen from the following account of their doctrines.

1. God only exists,—He is in all things, and all things are in Him. "Verily we are from God, and to Him shall we return." (Súra ii. 151.)

2. All visible and invisible beings are an emanation from Him, and are not really distinct from Him. Creation is only a pastime with God.

3. Paradise and Hell, and all the dogmas of positive religions, are only so many allegories, the spirit of which is only known to the Sufí.

4. Religions are matters of indifference; they, however, serve as a means of reaching to realities. Some, for this purpose, are more advantageous than others. Among which is the Musalmán religion, of which the doctrine of the Súfís is the philosophy.

5. There is not any real difference between good and evil, for all is reduced to unity, and God is the real author of the acts of mankind.

6. It is God who fixes the will of man. Man, therefore, is not free in his actions.

7. The soul existed before the body, and is now confined within it as in a cage. At death the soul returns to the Divinity from which it emanated.

8. The principal occupation of the Súfí is to meditate on the unity, and so to attain to spiritual perfection—unification with God.

9. Without the grace of God no one can attain to this unity; but God does not refuse His aid to those who are in the right path.

The power of a Sheikh, a spiritual leader, is very great. The following account of the admission of a Novice, called Tawakkul Beg, into an Order, and of the severe tests applied, will be of some interest. Tawakkul Beg says:—"Having been introduced by Akhúnd Moollá Muhammad to Sheikh Moolla Sháh, my heart, through frequent intercourse with him, was filled with such a burning desire to arrive at a true knowledge of the mystical science that I found no sleep by night, nor rest by day. When the initiation commenced, I passed the whole night without sleep, and repeated innumerable times the Súrat-ul-Ikhlás:—

Whosoever repeats this Súra one hundred times can accomplish all his vows. I desired that the Sheikh should bestow on me his love. No sooner had I finished my task than the heart of the Sheikh became full of sympathy for me. On the following night I was conducted to his presence. During the whole of that night he concentrated his thoughts on me, whilst I gave myself up to inward meditation. Three nights passed in this way. On the fourth night the Sheikh said:—'Let Moollá Senghim and Sálih Beg, who are very susceptible to ecstatic emotions, apply their spiritual energies to Tawakkul Beg.'

They did so, whilst I passed the whole night in meditation, with my face turned toward Mecca. As the morning drew near, a little light came into my mind, but I could not distinguish form or colour. After the morning prayers, I was taken to the Sheikh who bade me inform him of my mental state. I replied that I had seen a light with my inward eye. On hearing this, the Sheikh became animated and said: 'Thy heart is dark, but the time is come when I will show myself clearly to thee.' He then ordered me to sit down in front of him, and to impress his features on my mind. Then having blindfolded me, he ordered me to concentrate all my thoughts upon him. I did so, and in an instant by the spiritual help of the Sheikh my heart opened. He asked me what I saw. I said that I saw another Tawakkul Beg and another Moollá Sháh. The bandage was then removed, and I saw the Sheikh in front of me. Again they covered my face, and again I saw him with my inward eye. Astonished, I cried; 'O master! whether I look with my bodily eye, or with my spiritual sight, it is always you I see.' I then saw a dazzling figure approach me. The Sheikh told me to say to the apparition, 'What is your name?' In my spirit I put the question, and the figure answered to my heart: 'I am 'Abd-ul-Qádir Jilání, I have already aided thee, thy heart is opened.' Much affected, I vowed that in honour of the saint, I would repeat the whole Qurán every Friday night.

Moollá Sháh then said: 'The spiritual world has been shown to thee in all its beauty.' I then rendered perfect obedience to the Sheikh. The following day I saw the Prophet, the chief Companions, and legions of saints and angels. After three months, I entered the cheerless region in which the figures appeared no more. During the whole of this time, the Sheikh continued to explain to me the mystery of the doctrine of the Unity and of the knowledge of God; but as yet he did not show me the absolute reality. It was not until a year had passed that I arrived at the true conception of unity. Then in words such as these I told the Sheikh of my inspiration. 'I look upon the body as only dust and water, I regard neither my heart nor my soul, alas! that in separation from Thee (God) so much of my life has passed. Thou wert I and I knew it not.' The Sheikh was delighted, and said that the truth of the union with God was now clearly revealed to me. Then addressing those who were present, he said: 'Tawakkul Beg learnt from me the doctrine of the Unity, his inward eye has been opened, the spheres of colours and of images have been shown to him. At length, he entered the colourless region. He has now attained to the Unity, doubt and scepticism henceforth have no power over him. No one sees the Unity with the outward eye, till the inward eye gains strength and power.'"

I cannot pass from this branch of the subject without making a few remarks on Omar Khayyám, the great Astronomer-Poet of Persia. He is sometimes confounded with the Súfís, for there is much in his poetry which is similar in tone to that of the Súfí writers. But his true position was that of a sceptic. He wrote little, but what he has written will live. As an astronomer he was a man of note. He died in the year 517 A.H. There are two things which may have caused his scepticism. To a man of his intelligence the hard and fast system of Islám was an intolerable burden. Then, his scientific spirit had little sympathy with mysticism, the earnest enthusiasts of which were too often followed by hollow impostors. It is true, that there was much in the spirit of some of the better Súfís that seemed to show a yearning for something higher than mere earthly good; above all, there was the recognition of a Higher Power. But with all this came spiritual pride, the world and its duties became a thing of evil, and the religious and the secular life were completely divorced, to the ruin of both. The Pantheism which soon pervaded the system left no room for man's will to act, for his conscience to guide. So the moral law become a dead letter. Irreligious men, to free themselves from the bondage and restraints of law, assumed the religious life. "Thus a movement, animated at first by a high and lofty purpose, has degenerated into a fruitful source of ill. The stream which ought to have expanded into a fertilising river has become a vast swamp, exhaling vapours charged with disease and death."

Omar Khayyám saw through the unreality of all this. In vain does he try, by an assumed air of gaiety, to hide from others the sadness which fills his heart, as all that is bright is seen passing away into oblivion.

Omar held to the earthly and the material. For him there was no spiritual world. Chance seemed to rule all the affairs of men. A pitiless destiny shaped out the course of each human being.

Neither from earth nor heaven could he find any answer to his cry. With sages and saints he discussed, and heard, "great argument, but evermore came out by the same door as in he went." He left the wise to talk, for one thing alone was certain, and all else was lies,—"the flower that once has blown for ever dies." Leaving men he turned to nature, but it was all the same.

Omar has with justice been compared to Lucretius. Both were materialists, both believed not in a future life. "Lucretius built a system for himself in his poem ... it has a professed practical aim—to explain the world's self-acting machine to the polytheist, and to disabuse him of all spiritual ideas." Omar builds up no system, he only shows forth his own doubts and difficulties, "he loves to balance antitheses of belief, and settle himself in the equipoise of the sceptic."

The fact that there is no hereafter gives Lucretius no pain, but Omar who, if only his reason could let him, would believe, records his utter despair in words of passionate bitterness. He is not glad that there is no help anywhere.And though he calls for the wine-cup, and listens to the voice within the tavern cry,

yet he also looks back to the time, when he consorted with those who professed to know, and could say: