SAINTS AND MIRACLES
Let us suppose that the average Moslem could read English, and that
we placed in his hands one of those admirable volumes published by
the Society for Psychical Research. In order to sympathise with his
feelings on such an occasion, we have only to imagine what our own
would be if a scientific friend invited us to study a treatise setting
forth the evidence in favour of telegraphy and recording well-attested
instances of telegraphic communication. The Moslem would probably see
in the telegraph some kind of spirit--an _afreet_ or _jinnī_. Telepathy
and similar occult phenomena he takes for granted as self-evident
facts. It would never occur to him to investigate them. There is
something in the constitution of his mind that makes it impervious to
the idea that the supernatural may be subject to law. He believes,
because he cannot help believing, in the reality of an unseen world
which ‘lies about us,’ not in our infancy alone, but always and
everywhere; a world from which we are in no wise excluded, accessible
and in some measure revealed to all, though free and open intercourse
with it is a privilege enjoyed by few. Many are called but few chosen.
“Spirits every night from the body’s snare
Thou freest, and makest the tablets clean.[11]
Spirits are set free every night from this cage,
Independent, neither ruled nor ruling.
At night prisoners forget their prison,
At night kings forget their power:
No sorrow, no brooding over gain and loss,
No thought of this person or that person.
This is the state of the gnostic, even when he is awake;
God hath said, ‘Thou wouldst deem them awake while they slept.’[12]
He is asleep, day and night, to the affairs of the world,
Like a pen in the controlling hand of the Lord.”
[11] By erasing all the sensuous impressions which form a veil between
the soul and the world of reality.
[12] Kor. =18.= 17.
The Sūfīs have always declared and believed themselves to be God’s
chosen people. The Koran refers in several places to His elect.
According to the author of the _Kitāb al-Lumaʿ_, this title belongs,
firstly, to the prophets, elect in virtue of their sinlessness,
their inspiration, and their apostolic mission; and secondly, to
certain Moslems, elect in virtue of their sincere devotion and
self-mortification and firm attachment to the eternal realities:
in a word, the saints. While the Sūfīs are the elect of the Moslem
community, the saints are the elect of the Sūfīs.
The Mohammedan saint is commonly known as a _walī_ (plural, _awliyā_).
This word is used in various senses derived from its root-meaning
of ‘nearness’; _e.g._ next of kin, patron, protector, friend. It is
applied in the Koran to God as the protector of the Faithful, to angels
or idols who are supposed to protect their worshippers, and to men who
are regarded as being specially under divine protection. Mohammed twits
the Jews with professing to be _protégés_ of God (_awliyā lillāh_).
Notwithstanding its somewhat equivocal associations, the term was
taken over by the Sūfīs and became the ordinary designation of persons
whose holiness brings them near to God, and who receive from Him, as
tokens of His peculiar favour, miraculous gifts (_karāmāt_, χαρίσματα);
they are His friends, on whom “no fear shall come and they shall not
grieve”;[13] any injury done to them is an act of hostility against Him.
[13] Kor. =10.= 63.
The inspiration of the Islamic saints, though verbally distinguished
from that of the prophets and inferior in degree, is of the same kind.
In consequence of their intimate relation to God, the veil shrouding
the supernatural, or, as a Moslem would say, the unseen world, from
their perceptions is withdrawn at intervals, and in their fits of
ecstasy they rise to the prophetic level. Neither deep learning in
divinity, nor devotion to good works, nor asceticism, nor moral purity
makes the Mohammedan a saint; he may have all or none of these things,
but the only indispensable qualification is that ecstasy and rapture
which is the outward sign of ‘passing-away’ from the phenomenal self.
Any one thus enraptured (_majdhūb_) is a _walī_,[14] and when such
persons are recognised through their power of working miracles, they
are venerated as saints not only after death but also during their
lives. Often, however, they live and die in obscurity. Hujwīrī tells
us that amongst the saints “there are four thousand who are concealed
and do not know one another and are not aware of the excellence of
their state, being in all circumstances hidden from themselves and from
mankind.”
[14] _Waliyyat_, if the saint is a woman.
The saints form an invisible hierarchy, on which the order of the
world is thought to depend. Its supreme head is entitled the _Qutb_
(Axis). He is the most eminent Sūfī of his age, and presides over the
meetings regularly held by this august parliament, whose members are
not hampered in their attendance by the inconvenient fictions of
time and space, but come together from all parts of the earth in the
twinkling of an eye, traversing seas and mountains and deserts as
easily as common mortals step across a road. Below the _Qutb_ stand
various classes and grades of sanctity. Hujwīrī enumerates them, in
ascending series, as follows: three hundred _Akhyār_ (Good), forty
_Abdāl_ (Substitutes), seven _Abrār_ (Pious), four _Awtād_ (Supports),
and three _Nuqabā_ (Overseers).
“All these know one another and cannot act save by mutual
consent. It is the task of the _Awtād_ to go round the whole world
every night, and if there should be any place on which their eyes
have not fallen, next day some flaw will appear in that place,
and they must then inform the _Qutb_ in order that he may direct
his attention to the weak spot and that by his blessing the
imperfection may be remedied.”
We are studying in this book the mystical life of the individual
Moslem, and it is necessary to keep the subject within the narrowest
bounds. Otherwise, I should have liked to dwell on the external and
historical organisation of Sūfism as a school for saints, and to
describe the process of evolution through which the _walī_ privately
conversing with a small circle of friends became, first, a teacher
and spiritual guide gathering disciples around him during his
lifetime, and finally the head of a perpetual religious order which
bore his name. The earliest of these great fraternities date from
the twelfth century. In addition to their own members--the so-called
‘dervishes’--each order has a large number of lay brethren attached
to it, so that their influence pervades all ranks of Moslem society.
They are “independent and self-developing. There is rivalry between
them; but no one rules over the other. In faith and practice each goes
its own way, limited only by the universal conscience of Islam. Thus
strange doctrines and grave moral defects easily develop unheeded,
but freedom is saved.”[15] Of course, the typical _walī_ is incapable
of founding an order, but Islam has produced no less frequently
than Christendom men who combine intense spiritual illumination
with creative energy and aptitude for affairs on a grand scale. The
Mohammedan notion of the saint as a person possessed by God allows a
very wide application of the term: in popular usage it extends from the
greatest Sūfī theosophists, like Jalāluddīn Rūmī and Ibn al-ʿArabī,
down to those who have gained sanctity only by losing sanity--victims
of epilepsy and hysteria, half-witted idiots and harmless lunatics.
[15] D. B. Macdonald, _The Religious Life and Attitude in Islam_, p.
164.
Both Qushayrī[16] and Hujwīrī discuss the question whether a saint can
be conscious of his saintship, and answer it in the affirmative. Their
opponents argue that consciousness of saintship involves assurance of
salvation, which is impossible, since no one can know with certainty
that he shall be among the saved on the Day of Judgment. In reply it
was urged that God may miraculously assure the saint of his predestined
salvation, while maintaining him in a state of spiritual soundness and
preserving him from disobedience. The saint is not immaculate, as the
prophets are, but the divine protection which he enjoys is a guarantee
that he will not persevere in evil courses, though he may temporarily
be led astray. According to the view generally held, saintship depends
on faith, not on conduct, so that no sin except infidelity can cause
it to be forfeited. This perilous theory, which opens the door to
antinomianism, was mitigated by the emphasis laid on fulfilment of the
religious law. The following anecdote of Bāyazīd al-Bistāmī shows the
official attitude of all the leading Sūfīs who are cited as authorities
in the Moslem text-books.
[16] Author of a famous work designed to close the breach between
Sūfism and Islam. He died in 1074 A.D.
“I was told (he said) that a saint of God was living in
such-and-such a town, and I set out to visit him. When I entered
the mosque, he came forth from his chamber and spat on the floor.
I turned back without saluting him, saying to myself, ‘A saint
must keep the religious law in order that God may keep him in his
spiritual state. Had this man been a saint, his respect for the law
would have prevented him from spitting on the floor, or God would
have saved him from marring the grace vouchsafed to him.’”
Many _walīs_, however, regard the law as a curb that is indeed
necessary so long as one remains in the disciplinary stage, but may be
discarded by the saint. Such a person, they declare, stands on a higher
plane than ordinary men, and is not to be condemned for actions which
outwardly seem irreligious. While the older Sūfīs insist that a _walī_
who breaks the law is thereby shown to be an impostor, the popular
belief in the saints and the rapid growth of saint-worship tended to
aggrandise the _walī_ at the expense of the law, and to foster the
conviction that a divinely gifted man can do no wrong, or at least that
his actions must not be judged by appearances. The classical instance
of this _jus divinum_ vested in the friends of God is the story of
Moses and Khadir, which is related in the Koran (18. 64-80). Khadir
or Khizr--the Koran does not mention him by name--is a mysterious
sage endowed with immortality, who is said to enter into conversation
with wandering Sūfīs and impart to them his God-given knowledge. Moses
desired to accompany him on a journey that he might profit by his
teaching, and Khadir consented, only stipulating that Moses should ask
no questions of him.
“So they both went on, till they embarked in a boat and he
(Khadir) staved it in. ‘What!’ cried Moses, ‘hast thou staved it in
that thou mayst drown its crew? Verily, a strange thing hast thou
done.’
“He said, ‘Did not I tell thee that thou couldst no way have
patience with me?’
“Then they went on until they met a youth, and he slew him.
Said Moses, ‘Hast thou slain him who is free from guilt of blood?
Surely now thou hast wrought an unheard-of thing!’”
After Moses had broken his promise of silence for the third time,
Khadir resolved to leave him.
“But first,” he said, “I will tell thee the meaning of that
with which thou couldst not have patience. As to the boat, it
belonged to poor men, toilers on the sea, and I was minded to
damage it, for in their rear was a king who seized on every boat
by force. And as to the youth, his parents were believers, and I
feared lest he should trouble them by error and unbelief.”
The Sūfīs are fond of quoting this unimpeachable testimony that the
_walī_ is above human criticism, and that his hand, as Jalāluddīn
asserts, is even as the hand of God. Most Moslems admit the claim to be
valid in so far as they shrink from applying conventional standards of
morality to holy men. I have explained its metaphysical justification
in an earlier chapter.
A miracle performed by a saint is termed _karāmāt_, _i.e._ a ‘favour’
which God bestows upon him, whereas a miracle performed by a prophet is
called _muʿjizat_, _i.e._ an act which cannot be imitated by any one.
The distinction originated in controversy, and was used to answer those
who held the miraculous powers of the saints to be a grave encroachment
on the prerogative of the Prophet. Sūfī apologists, while confessing
that both kinds of miracle are substantially the same, take pains to
differentiate the characteristics of each; they declare, moreover, that
the saints are the Prophet’s witnesses, and that all their miracles
(like ‘a drop trickling from a full skin of honey’) are in reality
derived from him. This is the orthodox view and is supported by those
Mohammedan mystics who acknowledge the Law as well as the Truth,
though in some cases it may have amounted to little more than a pious
opinion. We have often noticed the difficulty in which the Sūfīs find
themselves when they try to make a logical compromise with Islam. But
the word ‘logic’ is very misleading in this connexion. The beginning
of wisdom, for European students of Oriental religion, lies in the
discovery that incongruous beliefs--I mean, of course, beliefs which
_our_ minds cannot harmonise--dwell peacefully together in the Oriental
brain; that their owner is quite unconscious of their incongruity; and
that, as a rule, he is absolutely sincere. Contradictions which seem
glaring to us do not trouble him at all.
The thaumaturgic element in ancient Sūfism was not so important as it
afterwards became in the fully developed saint-worship associated with
the Dervish Orders. “A saint would be none the less a saint,” says
Qushayrī, “if no miracles were wrought by him in this world.” In early
Mohammedan _Vitæ Sanctorum_ it is not uncommon to meet with sayings to
the effect that miraculous powers are comparatively of small account.
It was finely said by Sahl ibn ʿAbdallah that the greatest miracle
is the substitution of a good quality for a bad one; and the _Kitāb
al-Lumaʿ_ gives many examples of holy men who disliked miracles and
regarded them as a temptation. “During my novitiate,” said Bāyazīd,
“God used to bring before me wonders and miracles, but I paid no
heed to them; and when He saw that I did so, He gave me the means of
attaining to knowledge of Himself.” Junayd observed that reliance on
miracles is one of the ‘veils’ which hinder the elect from penetrating
to the inmost shrine of the Truth. This was too high doctrine for the
great mass of Moslems, and in the end the vulgar idea of saintship
triumphed over the mystical and theosophical conception. All such
warnings and scruples were swept aside by the same irresistible
instinct which rendered vain the solemn asseverations of Mohammed that
there was nothing supernatural about him, and which transformed the
human Prophet of history into an omnipotent hierophant and magician.
The popular demand for miracles far exceeded the supply, but where the
_walīs_ failed, a vivid and credulous imagination came to their rescue
and represented them, not as they were, but as they ought to be. Year
by year the _Legend of the Saints_ grew more glorious and wonderful
as it continued to draw fresh tribute from the unfathomable ocean of
Oriental romance. The pretensions made by the _walīs_, or on their
behalf, steadily increased, and the stories told of them were ever
becoming more fantastic and extravagant. I will devote the remainder
of this chapter to a sketch of the _walī_ as he appears in the vast
medieval literature on the subject.
The Moslem saint does not say that he has wrought a miracle; he says,
“a miracle was granted or manifested to me.” According to one view,
he may be fully conscious at the time, but many Sūfīs hold that such
‘manifestation’ cannot take place except in ecstasy, when the saint is
entirely under divine control. His own personality is then in abeyance,
and those who interfere with him oppose the Almighty Power which
speaks with his lips and smites with his hand. Jalāluddīn (who uses
incidentally the rather double-edged analogy of a man possessed by a
peri[17]) relates the following anecdote concerning Bāyazīd of Bistām,
a celebrated Persian saint who several times declared in ecstatic
frenzy that he was no other than God.
[17] One of the spirits called collectively Jinn.
After coming to himself on one of these occasions and learning what
blasphemous language he had uttered, Bāyazīd ordered his disciples to
stab him with their knives if he should offend again. Let me quote the
sequel, from Mr. Whinfield’s abridged translation of the _Masnavī_ (p.
196):
“The torrent of madness bore away his reason
And he spoke more impiously than before:
‘Within my vesture is naught but God,
Whether you seek Him on earth or in heaven.’
His disciples all became mad with horror,
And struck with their knives at his holy body.
Each one who aimed at the body of the Sheykh--
His stroke was reversed and wounded the striker.
No stroke took effect on that man of spiritual gifts,
But the disciples were wounded and drowned in blood.”
Here is the poet’s conclusion:
“Ah! you who smite with your sword him beside himself,
You smite yourself therewith. Beware!
For he that is beside himself is annihilated and safe;
Yea, he dwells in security for ever.
His form is vanished, he is a mere mirror;
Nothing is seen in him but the reflexion of another.
If you spit at it, you spit at your own face,
And if you hit that mirror, you hit yourself.
If you see an ugly face in it, ’tis your own,
And if you see a Jesus there, you are its mother Mary.
He is neither this nor that--he is void of form;
’Tis your own form which is reflected back to you.”
The life of Abu ’l-Hasan Khurqānī, another Persian Sūfī who died in
1033 A.D., gives us a complete picture of the Oriental pantheist,
and exhibits the mingled arrogance and sublimity of the character as
clearly as could be desired. Since the original text covers fifty
pages, I can translate only a small portion of it here.
“Once the Sheykh said, ‘This night a great many persons (he
mentioned the exact number) have been wounded by brigands in
such-and-such a desert.’ On making inquiry, they found that his
statement was perfectly true. Strange to relate, on the same night
his son’s head was cut off and laid upon the threshold of his
house, yet he knew nothing of it. His wife, who disbelieved in him,
cried, ‘What think you of a man who can tell things which happen
many leagues away, but does not know that his own son’s head has
been cut off and is lying at his very door?’ ‘Yes,’ the Sheykh
answered, ‘when I saw that, the veil had been lifted, but when my
son was killed, it had been let down again.’”
“One day Abu ’l-Hasan Khurqānī clenched his fist and extended
the little finger and said, ‘Here is the _qibla_,[18] if any one
desires to become a Sūfī.’ These words were reported to the Grand
Sheykh, who, deeming the co-existence of two _qiblas_ an insult to
the divine Unity, exclaimed, ‘Since a second _qibla_ has appeared,
I will cancel the former one.’ After that, no pilgrims were able to
reach Mecca. Some perished on the way, others fell into the hands
of robbers, or were prevented by various causes from accomplishing
their journey. Next year a certain dervish said to the Grand
Sheykh, ‘What sense is there in keeping the folk away from the
House of God?’ Thereupon the Grand Sheykh made a sign, and the road
became open once more. The dervish asked, ‘Whose fault is it that
all these people have perished?’ The Grand Sheykh replied, ‘When
elephants jostle each other, who cares if a few wretched birds are
crushed to death?’”
[18] The _qibla_ is the point to which Moslems turn their faces when
praying, _i.e._ the Kaʿba.
“Some persons who were setting forth on a journey begged
Khurqānī to teach them a prayer that would keep them safe from the
perils of the road. He said, ‘If any misfortune should befall you,
mention my name.’ This answer was not agreeable to them; they set
off, however, and while travelling were attacked by brigands. One
of the party mentioned the saint’s name and immediately became
invisible, to the great astonishment of the brigands, who could
not find either his camel or his bales of merchandise; the others
lost all their clothes and goods. On returning home, they asked the
Sheykh to explain the mystery. ‘We all invoked God,’ they said,
‘and without success; but the one man who invoked you vanished from
before the eyes of the robbers.’ ‘You invoke God formally,’ said
the Sheykh, ‘whereas I invoke Him really. Hence, if you invoke me
and I then invoke God on your behalf, your prayers are granted; but
it is useless for you to invoke God formally and by rote.’”
“One night, while he was praying, he heard a voice cry, ‘Ha!
Abu ’l-Hasan! Dost thou wish Me to tell the people what I know of
thee, that they may stone thee to death?’ ‘O Lord God,’ he replied,
‘dost Thou wish me to tell the people what I know of Thy mercy and
what I perceive of Thy grace, that none of them may ever again bow
to Thee in prayer?’ The voice answered, ‘Keep thy secret, and I
will keep Mine.’”
“He said, ‘O God, do not send to me the Angel of Death, for I
will not give up my soul to him. How should I restore it to him,
from whom I did not receive it? I received my soul from Thee, and I
will not give it up to any one but Thee.’”
“He said, ‘After I shall have passed away, the Angel of Death
will come to one of my descendants and set about taking his soul,
and will deal hardly with him. Then will I raise my hands from the
tomb and shed the grace of God upon his lips.’”
“He said, ‘If I bade the empyrean move, it would obey, and if
I told the sun to stop, it would cease from rolling on its course.’”
“He said, ‘I am not a devotee nor an ascetic nor a theologian
nor a Sūfī. O God, Thou art One, and through Thy Oneness I am One.’”
“He said, ‘The skull of my head is the empyrean, and my feet
are under the earth, and my two hands are East and West.’”
“He said, ‘If any one does not believe that I shall stand up at
the Resurrection and that he shall not enter Paradise until I lead
him forward, let him not come here to salute me.’”
“He said, ‘Since God brought me forth from myself, Paradise
is in quest of me and Hell is in fear of me; and if Paradise and
Hell were to pass by this place where I am, both would become
annihilated in me, together with all the people whom they contain.’”
“He said, ‘I was lying on my back, asleep. From a corner of
the Throne of God something trickled into my mouth, and I felt a
sweetness in my inward being.’”
“He said, ‘If a few drops of that which is under the skin of
a saint should come forth between his lips, all the creatures of
heaven and earth would fall into panic.’”
“He said, ‘Through prayer the saints are able to stop the fish
from swimming in the sea and to make the earth tremble, so that
people think it is an earthquake.’”
“He said, ‘If the love of God in the hearts of His friends were
made manifest, it would fill the world with flood and fire.’”
“He said, ‘He that lives with God hath seen all things visible,
and heard all things audible, and done all that is to be done, and
known all that is to be known.’”
“He said, ‘All things are contained in me, but there is no room
for myself in me.’”
“He said, ‘Miracles are only the first of the thousand stages
of the Way to God.’”
“He said, ‘Do not seek until thou art sought, for when thou
findest that which thou seekest, it will resemble thee.’”
“He said, ‘Thou must daily die a thousand deaths and come to
life again, that thou mayst win the life immortal.’”
“He said, ‘When thou givest to God thy nothingness, He gives to
thee His All.’”
It would be an almost endless task to enumerate and exemplify the
different classes of miracles which are related in the lives of the
Mohammedan saints--for instance, walking on water, flying in the air
(with or without a passenger), rain-making, appearing in various
places at the same time, healing by the breath, bringing the dead to
life, knowledge and prediction of future events, thought-reading,
telekinesis, paralysing or beheading an obnoxious person by a word or
gesture, conversing with animals or plants, turning earth into gold or
precious stones, producing food and drink, etc. To the Moslem, who has
no sense of natural law, all these ‘violations of custom,’ as he calls
them, seem equally credible. We, on the other hand, feel ourselves
obliged to distinguish phenomena which we regard as irrational and
impossible from those for which we can find some sort of ‘natural’
explanation. Modern theories of psychical influence, faith-healing,
telepathy, veridical hallucination, hypnotic suggestion and the like,
have thrown open to us a wide avenue of approach to this dark continent
in the Eastern mind. I will not, however, pursue the subject far at
present, full of interest as it is. In the higher Sūfī teaching the
miraculous powers of the saints play a more or less insignificant
part, and the excessive importance which they assume in the organised
mysticism of the Dervish Orders is one of the clearest marks of its
degeneracy.
The following passage, which I have slightly modified, gives a fair
summary of the hypnotic process through which a dervish attains to
union with God:
“The disciple must, mystically, always bear his Murshid
(spiritual director) in mind, and become mentally absorbed in
him through a constant meditation and contemplation of him. The
teacher must be his shield against all evil thoughts. The spirit
of the teacher follows him in all his efforts, and accompanies him
wherever he may be, quite as a guardian spirit. To such a degree is
this carried that he sees the master in all men and in all things,
just as a willing subject is under the influence of the magnetiser.
This condition is called ‘self-annihilation’ in the Murshid or
Sheykh. The latter finds, in his own visionary dreams, the degree
which the disciple has reached, and whether or not his spirit has
become bound to his own.
“At this stage the Sheykh passes him over to the spiritual
influence of the long-deceased Pīr or original founder of the
Order, and he sees the latter only by the spiritual aid of the
Sheykh. This is called ‘self-annihilation’ in the Pīr. He now
becomes so much a part of the Pīr as to possess all his spiritual
powers.
“The third grade leads him, also through the spiritual aid of
the Sheykh, up to the Prophet himself, whom he now sees in all
things. This state is called ‘self-annihilation’ in the Prophet.
“The fourth degree leads him even to God. He becomes united
with the Deity and sees Him in all things.”[19]
[19] J. P. Brown, _The Dervishes, or Oriental Spiritualism_ (1868), p.
298.
An excellent concrete illustration of the process here described will
be found in the well-known case of Tawakkul Beg, who passed through all
these experiences under the control of Mollā-Shāh. His account is too
long to quote in full; moreover, it has recently been translated by
Professor D. B. Macdonald in his _Religious Life and Attitude in Islam_
(pp. 197 ff.). I copy from this version one paragraph describing the
first of the four stages mentioned above.
“Thereupon he made me sit before him, my senses being as
though intoxicated, and ordered me to reproduce my own image
within myself; and, after having bandaged my eyes, he asked me to
concentrate all my mental faculties on my heart. I obeyed, and in
an instant, by the divine favour and by the spiritual assistance of
the Sheykh, my heart opened. I saw, then, that there was something
like an overturned cup within me. This having been set upright, a
sensation of unbounded happiness filled my being. I said to the
master, ‘This cell where I am seated before you--I see a faithful
reproduction of it within me, and it appears to me as though
another Tawakkul Beg were seated before another Mollā-Shāh.’ He
replied, ‘Very good! the first apparition which appears to thee is
the image of the master.’ He then ordered me to uncover my eyes;
and I saw him, with the physical organ of vision, seated before me.
He then made me bind my eyes again, and I perceived him with my
spiritual sight, seated similarly before me. Full of astonishment,
I cried out, ‘O Master! whether I look with my physical organs or
with my spiritual sight, always it is you that I see!’”
Here is a case of autohypnotism, witnessed and recorded by the poet
Jāmī:
“Mawlānā Saʿduddīn of Kāshghar, after a little concentration of
thought (_tawajjuh_), used to exhibit signs of unconsciousness. Any
one ignorant of this circumstance would have fancied that he was
falling asleep. When I first entered into companionship with him,
I happened one day to be seated before him in the congregational
mosque. According to his custom, he fell into a trance. I supposed
that he was going to sleep, and I said to him, ‘If you desire to
rest for a short time, you will not seem to me to be far off.’
He smiled and said, ‘Apparently you do not believe that this is
something different from sleep.’”
The following anecdote presents greater difficulties:
“Mawlānā Nizāmuddīn Khāmūsh relates that one day his master,
ʿAlāʾuddīn ʿAttār, started to visit the tomb of the celebrated
saint Mohammed ibn ʿAlī Hakīm, at Tirmidh. ‘I did not accompany
him,’ said Nizāmuddīn, ‘but stayed at home, and by concentrating
my mind (_tawajjuh_) I succeeded in bringing the spirituality of
the saint before me, so that when the master arrived at the tomb
he found it empty. He must have known the cause, for on his return
he set to work in order to bring me under his control. I, too,
concentrated my mind, but I found myself like a dove and the master
like a hawk flying in chase of me. Wherever I turned, he was always
close behind. At last, despairing of escape, I took refuge with the
spirituality of the Prophet (on whom be peace) and became effaced
in its infinite radiance. The master could not exercise any further
control. He fell ill in consequence of his chagrin, and no one
except myself knew the reason.’”
ʿAlāʾuddīn’s son, Khwāja Hasan ʿAttār, possessed such powers of
‘control’ that he could at will throw any one into the state of
trance and cause them to experience the ‘passing-away’ (_fanā_) to
which some mystics attain only on rare occasions and after prolonged
self-mortification. It is related that the disciples and visitors who
were admitted to the honour of kissing his hand always fell unconscious
to the ground.
Certain saints are believed to have the power of assuming whatever
shape they please. One of the most famous was Abū ʿAbdallah of Mosul,
better known by the name of Qadīb al-Bān. One day the Cadi of Mosul,
who regarded him as a detestable heretic, saw him in a street of the
town, approaching from the opposite direction. He resolved to seize
him and lay a charge against him before the governor, in order that
he might be punished. All at once he perceived that Qadīb al-Bān had
taken the form of a Kurd; and as the saint advanced towards him,
his appearance changed again, this time into an Arab of the desert.
Finally, on coming still nearer, he assumed the guise and dress of
a doctor of theology, and cried, “O Cadi! which Qadīb al-Bān will
you hale before the governor and punish?” The Cadi repented of his
hostility and became one of the saint’s disciples.
In conclusion, let me give two alleged instances of ‘the obedience of
inanimate objects,’ _i.e._ telekinesis:
“Whilst Dhu ’l-Nūn was conversing on this topic with some
friends, he said, ‘Here is a sofa. It will move round the room, if
I tell it to do so.’ No sooner had he uttered the word ‘move’ than
the sofa made a circuit of the room and returned to its place. One
of the spectators, a young man, burst into tears and gave up the
ghost. They laid him on that sofa and washed him for burial.”
“Avicenna paid a visit to Abu ’l-Hasan Khurqānī and immediately
plunged into a long and abstruse discussion. After a time the
saint, who was an illiterate person, felt tired, so he got up and
said, ‘Excuse me; I must go and mend the garden wall’; and off he
went, taking a hatchet with him. As soon as he had climbed on to
the top of the wall, the hatchet dropped from his hand. Avicenna
ran to pick it up, but before he reached it the hatchet rose of
itself and came back into the saint’s hand. Avicenna lost all his
self-command, and the enthusiastic belief in Sūfism which then took
possession of him continued until, at a later period of his life,
he abandoned mysticism for philosophy.”
I am well aware that in this chapter scanty justice has been done to
a great subject. The historian of Sūfism must acknowledge, however
deeply he may deplore, the fundamental position occupied by the
doctrine of saintship and the tremendous influence which it has exerted
in its practical results--grovelling submission to the authority of
an ecstatic class of men, dependence on their favour, pilgrimage to
their shrines, adoration of their relics, devotion of every mental and
spiritual faculty to their service. It may be dangerous to worship God
by one’s own inner light, but it is far more deadly to seek Him by the
inner light of another. Vicarious holiness has no compensations. This
truth is expressed by the mystical writers in many an eloquent passage,
but I will content myself with quoting a few lines from the life of
ʿAlāʾuddīn ʿAttār, the same saint who, as we have seen, vainly tried
to hypnotise his pupil in revenge for a disrespectful trick which the
latter had played on him. His biographer relates that he said, “It is
more right and worthy to dwell beside God than to dwell beside God’s
creatures,” and that the following verse was often on his blessed
tongue:
“How long will you worship at the tombs of holy men?
Busy yourself with the _works_ of holy men, and you are saved!”
(“_tu tā kay gūr-i mardān-rā parastī_
_bi-gird-i kār-i mardān gard u rastī._”)