traversed in studying religious and speculative branches of knowledge,
had given me a firm faith in three things—God, Inspiration, and the Last
Judgment. These three fundamental articles of belief were confirmed
in me, not merely by definite arguments, but by a chain of causes,
circumstances, and proofs which it is impossible to recount. I saw that
one can only hope for salvation by devotion and the conquest of one’s
passions, a procedure which presupposes renouncement and detachment
from this world of falsehood in order to turn towards eternity and
meditation on God. Finally, I saw that the only condition of success was
to sacrifice honours and riches and to sever the ties and attachments of
worldly life.
Coming seriously to consider my state, I found myself bound down on all
sides by these trammels. Examining my actions, the most fair-seeming
of which were my lecturing and professorial occupations, I found to my
surprise that I was engrossed in several studies of little value, and
profitless as regards my salvation. I probed the motives of my teaching
and found that, in place of being sincerely consecrated to God, it was
only actuated by a vain desire of honour and reputation. I perceived
that I was on the edge of an abyss, and that without an immediate
conversion I should be doomed to eternal fire. In these reflections
I spent a long time. Still a prey to uncertainty, one day I decided
to leave Bagdad and to give up everything; the next day I gave up my
resolution. I advanced one step and immediately relapsed. In the morning
I was sincerely resolved only to occupy myself with the future life;
in the evening a crowd of carnal thoughts assailed and dispersed my
resolutions. On the one side the world kept me bound to my post in the
chains of covetousness, on the other side the voice of religion cried to
me, “Up! Up! thy life is nearing its end, and thou hast a long journey to
make. All thy pretended knowledge is nought but falsehood and fantasy.
If thou dost not think now of thy salvation, when wilt thou think of it?
If thou dost not break thy chains to-day, when wilt thou break them?”
Then my resolve was strengthened, I wished to give up all and flee; but
the Tempter, returning to the attack, said, “You are suffering from a
transitory feeling; don’t give way to it, for it will soon pass. If you
obey it, if you give up this fine position, this honourable post exempt
from trouble and rivalry, this seat of authority safe from attack, you
will regret it later on without being able to recover it.”
Thus I remained, torn asunder by the opposite forces of earthly passions
and religious aspirations, for about six months from the month Rajab
of the year A.D. 1096. At the close of them my will yielded and I gave
myself up to destiny. God caused an impediment to chain my tongue and
prevented me from lecturing. Vainly I desired, in the interest of my
pupils, to go on with my teaching, but my mouth became dumb. The silence
to which I was condemned cast me into a violent despair; my stomach
became weak; I lost all appetite; I could neither swallow a morsel of
bread nor drink a drop of water.
The enfeeblement of my physical powers was such that the doctors,
despairing of saving me, said, “The mischief is in the heart, and has
communicated itself to the whole organism; there is no hope unless the
cause of his grievous sadness be arrested.”
Finally, conscious of my weakness and the prostration of my soul, I took
refuge in God as a man at the end of himself and without resources. “He
who hears the wretched when they cry” (_Koran_, xxvii. 63) deigned to
hear me; He made easy to me the sacrifice of honours, wealth, and family.
I gave out publicly that I intended to make the pilgrimage to Mecca,
while I secretly resolved to go to Syria, not wishing that the Caliph
(may God magnify him) or my friends should know my intention of settling
in that country. I made all kinds of clever excuses for leaving Bagdad
with the fixed intention of not returning thither. The Imāms of Irak
criticised me with one accord. Not one of them could admit that this
sacrifice had a religious motive, because they considered my position
as the highest attainable in the religious community. “Behold how far
their knowledge goes!” (_Koran_, liii. 31). All kinds of explanations of
my conduct were forthcoming. Those who were outside the limits of Irak
attributed it to the fear with which the Government inspired me. Those
who were on the spot and saw how the authorities wished to detain me,
their displeasure at my resolution and my refusal of their request, said
to themselves, “It is a calamity which one can only impute to a fate
which has befallen the Faithful and Learning!”
At last I left Bagdad, giving up all my fortune. Only, as lands and
property in Irak can afford an endowment for pious purposes, I obtained a
legal authorisation to preserve as much as was necessary for my support
and that of my children; for there is surely nothing more lawful in the
world than that a learned man should provide sufficient to support his
family. I then betook myself to Syria, where I remained for two years,
which I devoted to retirement, meditation, and devout exercises. I only
thought of self-improvement and discipline and of purification of the
heart by prayer in going through the forms of devotion which the Sufis
had taught me. I used to live a solitary life in the Mosque of Damascus,
and was in the habit of spending my days on the minaret after closing the
door behind me.
From thence I proceeded to Jerusalem, and every day secluded myself in
the Sanctuary of the Rock.[2] After that I felt a desire to accomplish
the Pilgrimage, and to receive a full effusion of grace by visiting
Mecca, Medina, and the Tomb of the Prophet. After visiting the shrine of
the Friend of God (Abraham), I went to the Hedjāz. Finally, the longings
of my heart and the prayers of my children brought me back to my country,
although I was so firmly resolved at first never to revisit it. At any
rate I meant, if I did return, to live there solitary and in religious
meditation; but events, family cares, and vicissitudes of life changed
my resolutions and troubled my meditative calm. However irregular the
intervals which I could give to devotional ecstasy, my confidence in it
did not diminish; and the more I was diverted by hindrances, the more
steadfastly I returned to it.
Ten years passed in this manner. During my successive periods of
meditation there were revealed to me things impossible to recount. All
that I shall say for the edification of the reader is this: I learnt
from a sure source that the Sufis are the true pioneers on the path of
God; that there is nothing more beautiful than their life, nor more
praiseworthy than their rule of conduct, nor purer than their morality.
The intelligence of thinkers, the wisdom of philosophers, the knowledge
of the most learned doctors of the law would in vain combine their
efforts in order to modify or improve their doctrine and morals; it would
be impossible. With the Sufis, repose and movement, exterior or interior,
are illumined with the light which proceeds from the Central Radiance of
Inspiration. And what other light could shine on the face of the earth?
In a word, what can one criticise in them? To purge the heart of all
that does not belong to God is the first step in their cathartic method.
The drawing up of the heart by prayer is the keystone of it, as the cry
“Allahu Akbar” (God is great) is the keystone of prayer, and the last
stage is the being lost in God. I say the last stage, with reference to
what may be reached by an effort of will; but, to tell the truth, it is
only the first stage in the life of contemplation, the vestibule by which
the initiated enter.
From the time that they set out on this path, revelations commence for
them. They come to see in the waking state angels and souls of prophets;
they hear their voices and wise counsels. By means of this contemplation
of heavenly forms and images they rise by degrees to heights which human
language cannot reach, which one cannot even indicate without falling
into great and inevitable errors. The degree of proximity to Deity which
they attain is regarded by some as intermixture of being (_haloul_),
by others as identification (_ittihād_), by others as intimate union
(_wasl_). But all these expressions are wrong, as we have explained in
our work entitled _The Chief Aim_. Those who have reached that stage
should confine themselves to repeating the verse—
What I experience I shall not try to say;
Call me happy, but ask me no more.
In short, he who does not arrive at the intuition of these truths by
means of ecstasy, knows only the _name_ of inspiration. The miracles
wrought by the saints are, in fact, merely the earliest forms of
prophetic manifestation. Such was the state of the Apostle of God when,
before receiving his commission, he retired to Mount Hira to give himself
up to such intensity of prayer and meditation that the Arabs said:
“Muhammed is become enamoured of God.”
This state, then, can be revealed to the initiated in ecstasy, and to him
who is incapable of ecstasy, by obedience and attention, on condition
that he frequents the society of Sufis till he arrives, so to speak,
at an imitative initiation. Such is the faith which one can obtain by
remaining among them, and intercourse with them is never painful.
But even when we are deprived of the advantage of their society, we can
comprehend the possibility of this state (revelation by means of ecstasy)
by a chain of manifest proofs. We have explained this in the treatise
entitled _Marvels of the Heart_, which forms part of our work, _The
Revival of the Religious Sciences_. The certitude derived from proofs
is called “knowledge”; passing into the state we describe is called
“transport”; believing the experience of others and oral transmission is
“faith.” Such are the three degrees of knowledge, as it is written, “The
Lord will raise to different ranks those among you who have believed and
those who have received knowledge from Him” (_Koran_, lviii. 12).
But behind those who believe comes a crowd of ignorant people who deny
the reality of Sufism, hear discourses on it with incredulous irony, and
treat as charlatans those who profess it. To this ignorant crowd the
verse applies: “There are those among them who come to listen to thee,
and when they leave thee, ask of those who have received knowledge, ‘What
has he just said?’ These are they whose hearts God has sealed up with
blindness and who only follow their passions.”
Among the number of convictions which I owe to the practice of the Sufi
rule is the knowledge of the true nature of inspiration. This knowledge
is of such great importance that I proceed to expound it in detail.
THE REALITY OF INSPIRATION: ITS IMPORTANCE FOR THE HUMAN RACE
The substance of man at the moment of its creation is a simple monad,
devoid of knowledge of the worlds subject to the Creator, worlds whose
infinite number is only known to Him, as the Koran says: “Only thy Lord
knoweth the number of His armies.”
Man arrives at this knowledge by the aid of his perceptions; each of his
senses is given him that he may comprehend the world of created things,
and by the term “world” we understand the different species of creatures.
The first sense revealed to man is touch, by means of which he perceives
a certain group of qualities—heat, cold, moist, dry. The sense of touch
does not perceive colours and forms, which are for it as though they did
not exist. Next comes the sense of sight, which makes him acquainted with
colours and forms; that is to say, with that which occupies the highest
rank in the world of sensation. The sense of hearing succeeds, and then
the senses of smell and taste.
When the human being can elevate himself above the world of sense,
towards the age of seven, he receives the faculty of discrimination; he
enters then upon a new phase of existence and can experience, thanks to
this faculty, impressions, superior to those of the senses, which do not
occur in the sphere of sensation.
He then passes to another phase and receives reason, by which he discerns
things necessary, possible, and impossible; in a word, all the notions
which he could not combine in the former stages of his existence. But
beyond reason and at a higher level a new faculty of vision is bestowed
upon him, by which he perceives invisible things, the secrets of the
future and other concepts as inaccessible to reason as the concepts of
reason are inaccessible to mere discrimination and what is perceived
by discrimination to the senses. Just as the man possessed only of
discrimination rejects and denies the notions acquired by reason, so do
certain rationalists reject and deny the notion of inspiration. It is a
proof of their profound ignorance; for, instead of argument, they merely
deny inspiration as a sphere unknown and possessing no real existence. In
the same way, a man blind from birth, who knows neither by experience nor
by information what colours and forms are, neither knows nor understands
them when some one speaks of them to him for the first time.
God, wishing to render intelligible to men the idea of inspiration, has
given them a kind of glimpse of it in sleep. In fact, man perceives
while asleep the things of the invisible world either clearly manifest
or under the veil of allegory to be subsequently lifted by divination.
If, however, one was to say to a person who had never himself experienced
these dreams that, in a state of lethargy resembling death and during
the complete suspension of sight, hearing, and all the senses, a man can
see the things of the invisible world, this person would exclaim, and
seek to prove the impossibility of these visions by some such argument
as the following: “The sensitive faculties are the causes of perception.
Now, if one can perceive certain things when one is in full possession of
these faculties, how much more is their perception impossible when these
faculties are suspended.”
The falsity of such an argument is shown by evidence and experience. For
in the same way as reason constitutes a particular phase of existence
in which intellectual concepts are perceived which are hidden from the
senses, similarly, inspiration is a special state in which the inner eye
discovers, revealed by a celestial light, mysteries out of the reach of
reason. The doubts which are raised regarding inspiration relate (1)
to its possibility, (2) to its real and actual existence, (3) to its
manifestation in this or that person.
To prove the possibility of inspiration is to prove that it belongs to a
category of branches of knowledge which cannot be attained by reason. It
is the same with medical science and astronomy. He who studies them is
obliged to recognise that they are derived solely from the revelation and
special grace of God. Some astronomical phenomena only occur once in a
thousand years; how then can we know them by experience?
We may say the same of inspiration, which is one of the branches of
intuitional knowledge. Further, the perception of things which are
beyond the attainment of reason is only one of the features peculiar to
inspiration, which possesses a great number of others. The characteristic
which we have mentioned is only, as it were, a drop of water in the
ocean, and we have mentioned it because people experience what is
analogous to it in dreams and in the sciences of medicine and astronomy.
These branches of knowledge belong to the domain of prophetic miracles,
and reason cannot attain to them.
As to the other characteristics of inspiration, they are only revealed
to adepts in Sufism and in a state of ecstatic transport. The little
that we know of the nature of inspiration we owe to the kind of likeness
to it which we find in sleep; without that we should be incapable of
comprehending it, and consequently of believing in it, for conviction
results from comprehension. The process of initiation into Sufism
exhibits this likeness to inspiration from the first. There is in it a
kind of ecstasy proportioned to the condition of the person initiated,
and a degree of certitude and conviction which cannot be attained by
reason. This single fact is sufficient to make us believe in inspiration.
We now come to deal with doubts relative to the inspiration of a
particular prophet. We shall not arrive at certitude on this point except
by ascertaining, either by ocular evidence or by reliable tradition, the
facts relating to that prophet. When we have ascertained the real nature
of inspiration and proceed to the serious study of the Koran and the
traditions, we shall then know certainly that Muhammed is the greatest
of prophets. After that we should fortify our conviction by verifying
the truth of his preaching and the salutary effect which it has upon the
soul. We should verify in experience the truth of sentences such as the
following: “He who makes his conduct accord with his knowledge receives
from God more knowledge”; or this, “God delivers to the oppressor him
who favours injustice”; or again, “Whosoever when rising in the morning
has only one anxiety (to please God), God will preserve him from all
anxiety in this world and the next.”
When we have verified these sayings in experience thousands of times,
we shall be in possession of a certitude on which doubt can obtain no
hold. Such is the path we must traverse in order to realise the truth
of inspiration. It is not a question of finding out whether a rod has
been changed into a serpent, or whether the moon has been split in
two.[3] If we regard miracles in isolation, without their countless
attendant circumstances, we shall be liable to confound them with magic
and falsehood, or to regard them as a means of leading men astray, as
it is written, “God misleads and directs as He chooses” (_Koran_, xxxv.
9); we shall find ourselves involved in all the difficulties which the
question of miracles raises. If, for instance, we believe that eloquence
of style is a proof of inspiration, it is possible that an eloquent style
composed with this object may inspire us with a false belief in the
inspiration of him who wields it. The supernatural should be only one of
the constituents which go to form our belief, without our placing too
much reliance on this or that detail. We should rather resemble a person
who, learning a fact from a group of people, cannot point to this or that
particular man as his informant, and who, not distinguishing between
them, cannot explain precisely how his conviction regarding the fact has
been formed.
Such are the characteristics of scientific certitude. As to the transport
which permits men to see the truth and, so to speak, to handle it, it is
only known to the Sufis. What I have just said regarding the true nature
of inspiration is sufficient for the aim which I have proposed to myself.
I may return to the subject later, if necessary.
I pass now to the causes of the decay of faith and show the means
of bringing back those who have erred and of preserving them from
the dangers which threaten them. To those who doubt because they are
tinctured with the doctrine of the Ta’limites, my treatise entitled _The
Just Balance_ affords a sufficient guide; therefore it is unnecessary to
return to the subject here.
As to the vain theories of the Ibahat, I have grouped them in seven
classes, and explained them in the work entitled _Alchemy of Happiness_.
For those whose faith has been undermined by philosophy, so far that they
deny the reality of inspiration, we have proved the truth and necessity
of it, seeking our proofs in the hidden properties of medicines and of
the heavenly bodies. It is for them that we have written this treatise,
and the reason for our seeking for proofs in the sciences of medicine
and of astronomy is because these sciences belong to the domain of
philosophy. All those branches of knowledge which our opponents boast
of—astronomy, medicine, physics, and divination—provide us with arguments
in favour of the Prophet.
As to those who, professing a lip-faith in the Prophet, adulterate
religion with philosophy, they really deny inspiration, since in their
view the Prophet is only a sage whom a superior destiny has appointed as
guide to men, and this view belies the true nature of inspiration. To
believe in the Prophet is to admit that there is above intelligence a
sphere in which are revealed to the inner vision truths beyond the grasp
of intelligence, just as things seen are not apprehended by the sense of
hearing, nor things understood by that of touch. If our opponent denies
the existence of such a higher region, we can prove to him, not only
its possibility, but its actuality. If, on the contrary, he admits its
existence, he recognises at the same time that there are in that sphere
things which reason cannot grasp; nay, which reason rejects as false and
absurd. Suppose, for instance, that the fact of dreams occurring in sleep
were not so common and notorious as it is, our wise men would not fail to
repudiate the assertion that the secrets of the invisible world can be
revealed while the senses are, so to speak, suspended.
Again, if it were to be said to one of them, “Is it possible that there
is in the world a thing as small as a grain, which being carried into a
city can destroy it and afterwards destroy itself so that nothing remains
either of the city or of itself?” “Certainly,” he would exclaim, “it is
impossible and ridiculous.” Such, however, is the effect of fire, which
would certainly be disputed by one who had not witnessed it with his own
eyes. Now, the refusal to believe in the mysteries of the other life is
of the same kind.
As to the fourth cause of the spread of unbelief—the decay of faith owing
to the bad example set by learned men—there are three ways of checking it.
(1) One can answer thus: “The learned man whom you accuse of disobeying
the divine law knows that he disobeys, as you do when you drink wine or
exact usury or allow yourself in evil-speaking, lying, and slander. You
know your sin and yield to it, not through ignorance, but because you
are mastered by concupiscence. The same is the case with the learned
man. How many believe in doctors who do not abstain from fruit and cold
water when strictly forbidden them by a doctor! That does not prove that
those things are not dangerous, or that their faith in the doctor was not
solidly established. Similar errors on the part of learned men are to be
imputed solely to their weakness.”
(2) Or again, one may say to a simple and ignorant man: “The learned man
reckons upon his knowledge as a viaticum for the next life. He believes
that his knowledge will save him and plead in his favour, and that his
intellectual superiority will entitle him to indulgence; lastly, that if
his knowledge increases his responsibility, it may also entitle him to
a higher degree of consideration. All that is possible; and even if the
learned man has neglected practice, he can at any rate produce proofs
of his knowledge. But you, poor, witless one, if, like him, you neglect
practice, destitute as you are of knowledge, you will perish without
anything to plead in your favour.”
(3) Or one may answer, and this reason is the true one: “The truly
learned man only sins through carelessness, and does not remain in a
state of impenitence. For real knowledge shows sin to be a deadly poison,
and the other world to be superior to this. Convinced of this truth, man
ought not to exchange the precious for the vile. But the knowledge of
which we speak is not derived from sources accessible to human diligence,
and that is why progress in mere worldly knowledge renders the sinner
more hardened in his revolt against God.
True knowledge, on the contrary, inspires in him who is initiate in it
more fear and more reverence, and raises a barrier of defence between
him and sin. He may slip and stumble, it is true, as is inevitable with
one encompassed by human infirmity, but these slips and stumbles will not
weaken his faith. The true Moslem succumbs occasionally to temptation,
but he repents and will not persevere obstinately in the path of error.
* * * * *