We learn he had a very
favourite disciple called Shaikh Ibrahim.
The Gulshan i Rāz
was introduced into Europe by two travellers
in 1700. Later, copies of the poem were found in several European libraries.
In 1821 Dr. Tholuck, of Berlin, published
extracts, and in 1825 a German translation of part of the poem appeared in
another of his books. Afterwards a verse translation and the Persian text was
published by Von Hammer Purgstall in Berlin
and Vienna.
The Gulshan i Rāz
was translated into English and published, with the Persian text and extracts
from Hammer's edition and Lajihi's notes, by Mr. Whinfield in 1880.
Readers of Sūfī
poetry for the first time are liable to be amazed, perhaps even repelled, by
the extravagant language, by the familiarity with the Deity, by the apparent
disregard of all human and Divine laws. But on further examination the wonder
of the Sūfīs' love for their Beloved shines out with a clear intensity,
a beautiful luminous brightness.
They are in love with The
One, and their love
takes the form of exquisite
songs of praise and wonder:
"I heard entranced; my
spirit rushed to meet
Love's welcome order, for the voice was sweet."
Vaughan says:
"Oriental mysticism
has become famous by its poets, and into poetry it has thrown all its force and
fire."
"The Sūfīs . .
. have one sole and simple task, to make
Their hearts a stainless mirror for their God."
Love is the
Sūfīs' theme, Divine, Eternal Love, and into this sea of Love
they cast themselves headlong.
Rūmī sings:
"Moths, burnt by the
torch of the Beloved's face,
Are the lovers who linger in the sanctuary."
"If we are called madmen or drunkards,
’Tis because of the Cupbearer and the Cup."
"Because my mouth has eaten of His sweetmeats
In a clear vision I can see Him face to face."
In reading the enraptured
poetry of the Sūfīs, it should be borne in mind that, though the
symbols of earthly love and
beauty are freely used, yet the real meaning is concealed. No doubt this was
originally done to keep secret their mystic love, lest the profane should
scoff. But as time went on certain words began to have a recognized meaning
amongst themselves. For instance:
EMBRACES and KISSES are
raptures of love.
SLEEP is contemplation,
PERFUME the wish for Divine favour.
IDOLATERS mean men of the
pure faith, not infidels.
WINE, which was forbidden
by Mahomet to his followers, was used as a word-symbol by the Sūfīs
to denote spiritual knowledge, and the WINE-SELLER means the spiritual guide.
A TAVERN is a place where
the wine of Divine love inebriates the pilgrim.
INTOXICATION means
religious ecstasy, MIRTH the joy in the love of the Deity.
BEAUTY means the glory of
the Beloved.
CURLS and TRESSES mean
plurality veiling the face of Unity from its lovers.
The CHEEK means Divine
essence of names and qualities.
The DOWN is the world of
pure spirits which is nearest to Divinity.
The MOLE on the cheek is
the point of indivisible Unity.
The TORCH is the light
kindled in the heart by the Beloved.
We thus see that to the
Sūfī the love between man and woman is a shadowed picture of the love
between the soul and God, and just as a lover will dream of his beloved,
singing her praises, and thirsting for a sight of her face, so do the
Sūfīs eternally dream of their God, ever contemplating His
attributes, and consumed with a burning desire for His presence.
The history of mysticism
contains many impassioned love songs to the Absolute, but in Sūfī
poetry there is a peculiar richness, a depth, a colour which fascinates and
charms so many of us.
Sūfī poetry
abounds in allegories and love romances, the stories of Laylā and
Majnūm, Yūsuf and Zulaikā, Salāmān and Absāl, in
which it is easy to read the hidden meaning of passion for the Absolute.
Various are the love themes of the Sūfīs; we hear songs of: the
nightingale in love with the rose, the moth fluttering round the light of the
candle, the moaning dove who has lost her mate, the snow melting in the desert
and mounting as vapour to the sky, of a dark night in the desert through which
a frenzied
camel madly plunges, of a
reed torn from its bed and made into a flute whose plaintive music fills the
eyes with tears. 1
The Sūfīs'
conception of the Beloved is essentially personal, though there is nothing to
show that they worshipped Him as a person, or assigned to Him a form.
Being pantheists, they probably
believed that He was the One Light shining in myriad forms through the whole
universe, One essence remaining the same.
"Every moment the robber
Beauty rises in a different shape, ravishes the soul and disappears.
Every instant the Loved One assumes a new garment, now of old, now of youth.
Now He plunged into the heart of the substance of the potter's clay--the Spirit
plunged like a diver.
Anon He rose from the depths of mud that is moulded and baked,
Then he appeared in the world." 2
And Jāmī
declares:
"In neighbour, friend,
companion, Him we see,
In beggar's rags or robes of royalty,
In Union's cell or in distraction haunts,
There's none but He, by God, there's none but He." 3
The Sūfīs
realized that it is impossible in spatial terms to describe that which is even
beyond pure spirit.
Plotinus has told us in a
beautiful passage that a
"We must not be
surprised that that which excites the keenest of longings is without any form,
even spiritual form, since the soul itself, when inflamed with love for it,
puts off all the form which it had, even that which belongs to the spiritual
world." 1
The inability to describe
to the uninitiated the secret love of the mystic for the Unknowable is made the
subject of an exquisite poem by the Indian poet Tagore:
"I boasted among men
that I had known you. They see your picture in all works of mine. They come and
ask me who is he? I know not how to answer them. I say, 'Indeed, I cannot
tell.' They blame me and they go away in scorn. And you sit there smiling. I
put my tales of you into lasting songs. The secret gushes out from my heart.
They come and ask me, 'Tell me all your meaning.' I know not how to answer
them. I say, 'Ah, who knows what they mean.' They smile and go away in utter
scorn. And you sit there smiling." 2
The Sūfīs
believed that the phenomenal world is the Unreal, that the reason men are blind
to the existence of the Real world, which is the Spiritual, is because there
are veils and mists separating the soul from God.
This world appears Real to
the man who cannot use his spiritual eye and view the Beyond. Having no
discernment of the Unseen, he does not believe in its existence.
But whosoever becomes aware
of the Divine Light shining in the heart, and who realises the love of God in
the soul, is able to pass from the Unreal to the Real; he will see:
"Gold wherever we go, and
pearls
Wherever we turn, and silver in the waste."
So exquisite is the vision
of the All-Beautiful that whoever has had this vision instantly becomes
enamoured, and leaves the world of shadows and change to contemplate the One.
He will not rest until he
has purified his life, cast aside everything that may be a hindrance in his
path, and he will spend his whole life in communion with God, at the same time
pouring out
in love-songs and praise
all the worship and adoration of his soul.
"By God, sun never rose
or set but Thou wert
My heart's desire and my dream.
And I never sat conversing with any people
But Thou wert the subject of my conversation
In the midst of my comrades.
And I never mentioned Thee in joy or sorrow
But love for Thee was mingled with my breath.
And I never resolved to drink water, when I was athirst,
But I saw an image of Thee in the cup.
And were I able to come I would have visited Thee,
Crawling on my face or walking on my head."
When the Sūfī has
passed to the Real World he is able to see earthly existence in its true light:
"I am lost to myself and
unconscious,
And my attributes are annihilated.
To-day I am lost to all things:
Naught remains but a forced expression."
Passing through a world of
shadows he fixes his eye on Eternity; the happenings of the universe appear to
him unworthy of exultation, grief, or sorrow.
Earthly love seems
worthless, insipid, and dull, compared to his flaming devotion for the
Unchangeable.
He has one desire, one aim,
one goal--to reach the bliss which he has briefly touched in rare moments of
ecstasy and rapture.
To find the far-off mystic
city which
"Mystery shrouds . . .
now from mortal eyes,
Save when upon some lone lost wanderer's sight
Its diamond turrets like a day-dream rise."
I have already said that
little is known of Shabistarī's life, but of his learning and knowledge of
Sūfiism there is ample evidence in this book; and though he does not charm
with the subtle fascination of Hafiz, though he has not the originality of
Rūmī or in style cannot compare with the elegance of Jāmī,
yet in plainness and directness of speech, and in earnestness of purpose, he
perhaps outweighs them all. He gives us a clear, bright vision in brilliant
sunshine of Virtue and Vice, Reality and Illusion, Wisdom and Ignorance.
We do not find ourselves in
the twilight of a faintly-coloured land where we sometimes wander, drawn hither
by the sweet voices of the Sūfīs, where, midst the delicate perfumes
of an Oriental garden, the lover is singing entrancing
love-songs, whether of
earthly passion or of Divine intoxication remains a matter of heated
controversy to this day.
Neither are we given such
daring advice as Jāmī gives when he sings:
"Drink deep of earthly
love, that so thy lip
May learn the wine of holier love to sip."
Mahmūd's vision of
Reality was direct and distinct, not the oblique view which is the vision of
some mystics, and from this Reality he is able to distinguish sharply between
the conflicting forces of Good and Evil.
He makes a passionate
appeal to humanity to seek for the Truth, to desire the substance and not the
mirage, to ignore the allurement and illusion of earthly love, and instead to
centre on the Beloved all the heart's adoration.
It is nearly seven hundred
years since Mahmūd planted his garden with roses of Love and Adoration, of
Reason and of spiritual Illumination. Since then many have wandered there,
lingering in the secret paths and plucking the scented
blossoms to carry back into
the world of shadows and unreality. What is the fadeless colour of these Roses?
What is their lasting grace of form, and what perfumed attar from them lingers
on through the ages?
The poem opens with the
statement of the sole existence of the One Real Being, and of the illusion of
this world's mirage. How is man to reach knowledge of God? By thought, for--
"Thought is passing from
the false to the true."
But reason and sense cannot
throw off the apparent reality of the phenomenal world. Reason looking at the
Light of Lights is blinded like a bat by the sun. It is then a consciousness
arises in the soul of its own nothingness. At this point (annihilation of the
self) it is possible for man to discern the light of the Spirit. In this world
are mirrored the various attributes of Being, and each atom of Not-Being reflects
some one Divine attribute:
"Each atom hides beneath
its veil
The soul-amazing beauty of the Beloved's face."
And these atoms are ever
longing to rejoin their source.
The journey to the Beloved
has only two stages: dying to self and uniting with the Truth.
When man's lower self is
dead, the real self remains and is above the dominion of the law.
These two stages--the
"journey to God" and the "journey down to God"--are a
circuit. He who has revolved round this circuit is a perfect man.
On being born into this
world man is possessed by evil passions, and if he gives way to them his soul
is lost. But in each soul there is an instinct for God and a longing for
holiness. If man will foster this instinct and develop this longing, a Divine
light will shine on him, and he, repenting, turns and journeys towards God;
casting away self, he will meet and be united with the Truth in spirit.
This is the holy state of
the saints and prophets.
But the man must not rest
in this Divine union. He must return to this world of unreality, and in the
downward journey must keep the ordinary laws and creeds of men.
This phenomenal existence,
i.e. Not-being, is an illusion which is typified by considering the unreality of
echoes and reflections and by pondering on past and future time, and on passing
events, which seem at the
moment of their existence to be real, but fading into the past become vague and
shadowy.
The dispositions acquired
by man in this life will in the next world be manifested in spiritual bodies;
each form will be appropriate to its past life. The material idea of Paradise and houris will then be known to be an idle
tale. No quality or distinction will remain for the perfect will. Then drink of
the cup of union with God.
Such is the hope of the
Sūfīs, but in this world the intoxication of the cup of union is
followed by the headache of separation.
All round his garden
Mahmūd has planted these roses of Reason, Belief, Knowledge, and Faith;
they are blooming everywhere, beautiful in their vivid colouring of Truth and
Purity. But it is in the centre that we find a Rose-tree of glory unequalled,
glowing with the blossoms of love's devotion; this is the tree which Mahmūd
planted with all his heart's adoration--the description of the perfect face of
the Beloved.