Chapter c · oncerning their different grades in the reality of Audition.

You must know that each Ṣúfí has a particular grade in audition and that the feelings which he gains therefrom are proportionate to his grade. Thus, whatever is heard by penitents augments their contrition and remorse; whatever is heard by longing lovers increases their longing for vision; whatever is heard by those who have certain faith confirms their certainty; whatever is heard by novices verifies their elucidation (of matters which perplex them); whatever is heard by lovers impels them to cut off all worldly connexions; and whatever is heard by the spiritually poor forms a foundation for hopelessness. Audition is like the sun, which shines on all things but affects 407them differently according to their degree: it burns or illumines or dissolves or nurtures. All the classes that I have mentioned are included in the three following grades: beginners (mubtadiyán), middlemen (mutawassiṭán), and adepts (kámilán). I will now insert a section treating of the state of each of these three grades in regard to audition, that you may understand this matter more easily.

Section.

Audition is an influence (wárid) proceeding from God, and inasmuch as this body is moulded of folly and diversion the temperament of the beginner is nowise capable of (enduring) the word of God, but is overpoweringly impressed by the descent of that spiritual reality, so that some lose their senses in audition and some die, and there is no one whose temperament retains its equilibrium. It is well known that in the hospitals of Rúm they have invented a wonderful thing which they call angalyún;^[195] the Greeks call anything that is very marvellous by this name, e.g. the Gospel and the books (waḍ`) of Mání (Manes). The word signifies “promulgation of a decree” (iẕhár-i ḥukm). This angalyún resembles a stringed musical instrument (rúdí az rúdha). The sick are brought to it two days in the week and are forced to listen, while it is being played on, for a length of time proportionate to the malady from which they suffer; then they are taken away. If it is desired to kill anyone, he is kept there for a longer period, until he dies. Everyone’s term of life is really written (in the tablets of destiny), but death is caused indirectly by various circumstances. Physicians and others may listen continually to the angalyún without being affected in any way, because it is consonant with their temperaments. I have seen in India a worm which appeared in a deadly poison and lived by it, because that poison was its whole being. In a town of Turkistán, on the frontiers of Islam, I saw a burning mountain, from the rocks of which sal-ammoniac fumes (nawshádur) were 408boiling forth;^[196] and in the midst of that fire was a mouse, which died when it came out of the glowing heat. My object in citing these examples is to show that all the agitation of beginners, when the Divine influence descends upon them, is due to the fact that their bodies are opposed to it; but when it becomes continual the beginner receives it quietly. At first the Apostle could not bear the vision of Gabriel, but in the end he used to be distressed if Gabriel ever failed to come, even for a brief space. Similarly, the stories which I have related above show that beginners are agitated and that adepts are tranquil in audition. Junayd had a disciple who was wont to be greatly agitated in audition, so that the other dervishes were distracted. They complained to Junayd, and he told the disciple that he would not associate with him if he displayed such agitation in future. “I watched that dervish,” says Abú Muḥammad Jurayrí, “during audition: he kept his lips shut and was silent until every pore in his body opened; then he lost consciousness, and remained in that state for a whole day. I know not whether his audition or his reverence for his spiritual director was more perfect.” It is related that a man cried out during audition. His spiritual director bade him be quiet. He laid his head on his knee, and when they looked he was dead. I heard Shaykh Abú Muslim Fáris b. Ghálib al-Fárisí say that some one laid his hand on the head of a dervish who was agitated during audition and told him to sit down: he sat down and died on the spot. Raqqí^[197] relates that Darráj^[198] said: “While Ibn al-Qúṭí^[199] and I were walking on the bank of the Tigris between Baṣra and Ubulla, we came to a pavilion and saw a handsome man seated on the roof, and beside him a girl who was singing this verse:—

409‘My love was bestowed on thee in the way of God;

Thou changest every day: it would beseem thee better not to do this.’

A young man with a jug and a patched frock was standing beneath the pavilion. He exclaimed: ‘O damsel, for God’s sake chant that verse again, for I have only a moment to live; let me hear it and die!’ The girl repeated her song, whereupon the youth uttered a cry and gave up his soul. The owner of the girl said to her, ‘Thou art free,’ and came down from the roof and busied himself with preparations for the young man’s funeral. When he was buried all the people of Baṣra said prayers over him. Then the girl’s master rose and said: ‘O people of Baṣra, I, who am so-and-so, the son of so-and-so, have devoted all my wealth to pious works and have set free my slaves.’ With these words he departed, and no one ever learned what became of him.” The moral of this tale is that the novice should be transported by audition to such an extent that his audition shall deliver the wicked from their wickedness. But in the present age some persons attend meetings where the wicked listen to music, yet they say, “We are listening to God;” and the wicked join with them in this audition and are encouraged in their wickedness, so that both parties are destroyed. Junayd was asked: “May we go to a church for the purpose of admonishing ourselves and beholding the indignity of their unbelief and giving thanks for the gift of Islam?” He replied: “If you can go to a church and bring some of the worshippers back with you to the Court of God, then go, but not otherwise.” When an anchorite goes into a tavern, the tavern becomes his cell, and when a haunter of taverns goes into a cell, that cell becomes his tavern. An eminent Shaykh relates that when he was walking in Baghdád with a dervish, he heard a singer chanting—

“If it be true, it is the best of all objects of desire,

And if not, we have lived a pleasant life in it.”

The dervish uttered a cry and died. Abú `Alí Rúdbárí says: 410“I saw a dervish listening attentively to the voice of a singer. I too inclined my ear, for I wished to know what he was chanting. The words, which he sang in mournful accents, were these:—

‘I humbly stretch my hand to him who gives food liberally.’

Then the dervish uttered a loud cry and fell. When we came near him we found that he was dead.” A certain man says: “I was walking on a mountain road with Ibráhím Khawwáṣ. A sudden thrill of emotion seized my heart, and I chanted—

‘All men are sure that I am in love,

But they know not whom I love.

There is in Man no beauty

That is not surpassed in beauty by a beautiful voice.’

Ibráhím begged me to repeat the verses, and I did so. In sympathetic ecstasy (tawájud) he danced a few steps on the stony ground. I observed that his feet sank into the rock as though it were wax. Then he fell in a swoon. On coming to himself he said to me: ‘I have been in Paradise, and you were unaware.’“ I once saw with my own eyes a dervish walking in meditation among the mountains of Ádharbáyaján and rapidly singing to himself these verses, with many tears and moans:—

”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.”

On hearing these verses he changed countenance and sat down for a while, leaning his back against a crag, and gave up his soul.

411Section.

Some of the Ṣúfí Shaykhs have objected to the hearing of odes and poems and to the recitation of the Koran in such a way that its words are intoned with undue emphasis, and they have warned their disciples against these practices and have themselves eschewed them and have displayed the utmost zeal in this matter. Of such objectors there are several classes, and each class has a different reason. Some have found traditions declaring the practices in question to be unlawful and have followed the pious Moslems of old in condemning them. They cite, for example, the Apostle’s rebuke to Shírín, the handmaid of Ḥassán b. Thábit, whom he forbade to sing; and `Umar’s flogging the Companions who used to hear music; and `Alí’s finding fault with Mu`áwiya for keeping singing-girls, and his not allowing Ḥasan to look at the Abyssinian woman who used to sing and his calling her “the Devil’s mate”. They say, moreover, that their chief argument for the objectionableness of music is the fact that the Moslem community, both now and in past times, are generally agreed in regarding it with disapproval. Some go so far as to pronounce it absolutely unlawful, quoting Abu ´l-Ḥárith Bunání, who relates as follows: “I was very assiduous in audition. One night a certain person came to my cell and told me that a number of seekers of God had assembled and were desirous to see me. I went out with him and soon arrived at the place. They received me with extraordinary marks of honour. An old man, round whom they had formed a circle, said to me: ‘With thy leave, some poetry will be recited.’ I assented, whereupon one of them began to chant verses which the poets had composed on the subject of separation (from the beloved). They all rose in sympathetic ecstasy, uttering melodious cries and making exquisite gestures, while I remained lost in amazement at their behaviour. They continued in this enthusiasm until near daybreak, then the old man said, ‘O Shaykh, art not thou curious to learn who am I and who are my companions?’ I answered that the reverence which I felt towards him prevented me from asking that 412question. ‘I myself,’ said he, ‘was once `Azrá`íl and am now Iblís, and all the rest are my children. Two benefits accrue to me from such concerts as this: firstly, I bewail my own separation (from God) and remember the days of my prosperity, and secondly, I lead holy men astray and cast them into error.’ From that time (said the narrator) I have never had the least desire to practise audition.”

I, `Alí b. `Uthmán al-Jullábí, have heard the Shaykh and Imám Abu ´l-`Abbás al-Ashqání relate that one day, being in an assembly where audition was going on, he saw naked demons dancing among the members of the party and breathing upon them, so that they waxed hot.

Others, again, refuse to practise audition on the ground that, if they indulged in it, their disciples would conform with them and thereby run a grave risk of falling into mischief and of returning from penitence to sin and of having their passions violently roused and their virtue corrupted. It is related that Junayd said to a recently converted disciple: “If you wish to keep your religion safe and to maintain your penitence, do not indulge, while you are young, in the audition which the Ṣúfís practise; and when you grow old, do not let yourself be the cause of guilt in others.”

Others say that there are two classes of auditors: those who are frivolous (láhí) and those who are divine (iláhí). The former are in the very centre of mischief and do not shrink from it, while the latter keep themselves remote from mischief by means of self-mortification and austerities and spiritual renunciation of all created things. “Since we” (so say the persons of whom I am now speaking) “belong to neither of these two classes, it is better for us to abstain from audition and to occupy ourselves with something that is suitable to our state.”

Others say: “Inasmuch as audition is dangerous to the vulgar and their belief is disturbed by our taking part in it, and inasmuch as they are unable to attain to our degree therein and incur guilt through us, we have pity on the vulgar and give 413sincere advice to the elect and from altruistic motives decline to indulge in audition.” This is a laudable course of action.

Others say: “The Apostle has said, ‘It contributes to the excellence of a man’s Islam if he leaves alone that which does not concern him.’ Accordingly, we renounce audition as being unnecessary, for it is a waste of time to busy one’s self with irrelevant things, and time is precious between lovers and the Beloved.”

Others of the elect argue that audition is hearsay and its pleasure consists in gratification of a desire, and this is mere child’s play. What value has hearsay when one is face to face? The act of real worth is contemplation (of God).

Such, in brief, are the principles of audition.

Chapter on Wajd and Wujúd and Tawájud.

Wajd and wujúd are verbal nouns, the former meaning “grief” and the latter “finding”. These terms are used by Ṣúfís to denote two states which manifest themselves in audition: one state is connected with grief, and the other with gaining the object of desire. The real sense of “grief” is “loss of the Beloved and failure to gain the object of desire”, while the real sense of “finding” is “attainment of the desired object”. The difference between ḥazan (sorrow) and wajd is this, that the term ḥazan is applied to a selfish grief, whereas the term wajd is applied to grief for another in the way of love, albeit the relation of otherness belongs only to the seeker of God, for God Himself is never other than He is. It is impossible to explain the nature of wajd, because wajd is pain in actual vision, and pain (alam) cannot be described by pen (qalam). Wajd is a mystery between the seeker and the Sought, which only a revelation can expound. Nor is it possible to indicate the nature of wujúd, because wujúd is a thrill of emotion in contemplation of God, and emotion (ṭarab) cannot be reached by investigation (ṭalab). Wujúd is a grace bestowed by the Beloved on the lover, a grace of which no symbol can suggest the real nature. In my opinion, wajd is a painful affection of 414the heart, arising either from jest or earnest, either from sadness or gladness; and wujúd is the removal of a grief from the heart and the discovery of the object that was its cause. He who feels wajd is either agitated by ardent longing in the state of occultation (ḥijáb), or calmed by contemplation in the state of revelation (kashf). The Shaykhs hold different views on the question whether wajd or wujúd is more perfect. Some argue that, wujúd being characteristic of novices (murídán), and wajd of gnostics (`árifán), and gnostics being more exalted in degree than novices, it follows that wajd is higher and more perfect than wujúd; for (they say) everything that is capable of being found is apprehensible, and apprehensibility is characteristic of that which is homogeneous with something else: it involves finiteness, whereas God is infinite; therefore, what a man finds is naught but a feeling (mashrabí), but what he has not found, and in despair has ceased to seek, is the Truth of which the only finder is God. Some, again, declare that wajd is the glowing passion of novices, while wujúd is a gift bestowed on lovers, and, since lovers are more exalted than novices, quiet enjoyment of the gift must be more perfect than passionate seeking. This problem cannot be solved without a story, which I will now relate. One day Shiblí came in rapturous ecstasy to Junayd. Seeing that Junayd was sorrowful, he asked what ailed him. Junayd said, “He who seeks shall find.” Shiblí cried, “No; he who finds shall seek.” This anecdote has been discussed by the Shaykhs, because Junayd was referring to wajd and Shibli to wujúd. I think Junayd’s view is authoritative, for, when a man knows that his object of worship is not of the same genus as himself, his grief has no end. This topic has been handled in the present work. The Shaykhs agree that the power of knowledge should be greater than the power of wajd, since, if wajd be more powerful, the person affected by it is in a dangerous position, whereas one in whom knowledge preponderates is secure. It behoves the seeker in all circumstances to be a follower of knowledge and of the religious law, for when he is overcome by wajd he is deprived 415of discrimination (khiṭáb), and is not liable to recompense for good actions or punishment for evil, and is exempt from honour and disgrace alike: therefore he is in the predicament of madmen, not in that of the saints and favourites of God. A person in whom knowledge (`ilm) preponderates over feeling (ḥál) remains in the bosom of the Divine commands and prohibitions, and is always praised and rewarded in the palace of glory; but a person in whom feeling preponderates over knowledge is outside of the ordinances, and dwells, having lost the faculty of discrimination, in his own imperfection. This is precisely the meaning of Junayd’s words. There are two ways: one of knowledge and one of action. Action without knowledge, although it may be good, is ignorant and imperfect, but knowledge, even if it be unaccompanied by action, is glorious and noble. Hence Abú Yazíd said, “The unbelief of the magnanimous is nobler than the Islam of the covetous;” and Junayd said, “Shiblí is intoxicated; if he became sober he would be an Imám from whom people would benefit.” It is a well-known story that Junayd and Muḥammad^[200] b. Masrúq and Abu ´l-`Abbás b. `Aṭá were together, and the singer (qawwál) was chanting a verse. Junayd remained calm while his two friends fell into a forced ecstasy (tawájud), and on their asking him why he did not participate in the audition (samá`) he recited the word of God: “Thou shall think them (the mountains) motionless, but they shall pass like the clouds” (Kor. xxvii, 90). Tawájud is “taking pains to produce wajd”, by representing to one’s mind, for example, the bounties and evidences of God, and thinking of union (ittiṣál) and wishing for the practices of holy men. Some do this tawájud in a formal manner, and imitate them by outward motions and methodical dancing and grace of gesture: such tawájud is absolutely unlawful. Others do it in a spiritual manner, with the desire of attaining to their condition and degree. The Apostle said, “He who makes himself like unto a people is one of them,” and he said, “When ye recite the Koran, weep, or if ye weep not, then endeavour to 416weep.” This tradition proclaims that tawájud is permissible. Hence that spiritual director said: “I will go a thousand leagues in falsehood, that one step of the journey may be true.”

Chapter on Dancing, etc.

You must know that dancing (raqṣ) has no foundation either in the religious law (of Islam) or in the path (of Ṣúfiism), because all reasonable men agree that it is a diversion when it is in earnest, and an impropriety (laghwí) when it is in jest. None of the Shaykhs has commended it or exceeded due bounds therein, and all the traditions cited in its favour by anthropomorphists (ahl-i ḥashw) are worthless. But since ecstatic movements and the practices of those who endeavour to induce ecstasy (ahl-i tawájud) resemble it, some frivolous imitators have indulged in it immoderately and have made it a religion. I have met with a number of common people who adopted Ṣúfiism in the belief that it is this (dancing) and nothing more. Others have condemned it altogether. In short, all foot-play (páy-bází) is bad in law and reason, by whomsoever it is practised, and the best of mankind cannot possibly practise it; but when the heart throbs with exhilaration and rapture becomes intense and the agitation of ecstasy is manifested and conventional forms are gone, that agitation (iḍtiráb) is neither dancing nor foot-play nor bodily indulgence, but a dissolution of the soul. Those who call it “dancing” are utterly wrong. It is a state that cannot be explained in words: “without experience no knowledge.”

Looking at youths (aḥdáth). Looking at youths and associating with them are forbidden practices, and anyone who declares this to be allowable is an unbeliever. The traditions brought forward in this matter are vain and foolish. I have seen ignorant persons who suspected the Ṣúfís of the crime in question and regarded them with abhorrence, and I observed that some have made it a religious rule (madhhabí). All the Ṣúfí Shaykhs, however, have recognized the wickedness of such practices, which the adherents of incarnation (ḥulúliyán)—may 417God curse them!—have left as a stigma on the saints of God and the aspirants to Ṣúfiism. But God knows best what is the truth.

Chapter on the Rending of Garments (fi ´l-kharq).

It is a custom of the Ṣúfís to rend their garments, and they have commonly done this in great assemblies where eminent Shaykhs were present. I have met with some theologians who objected to this practice and said that it is not right to tear an intact garment to pieces, and that this is an evil. I reply that an evil of which the purpose is good must itself be good. Anyone may cut an intact garment to pieces and sew it together again, e.g. detach the sleeves and body (tana) and gusset (tiríz) and collar from one another, and then restore the garment to its original condition; and there is no difference between tearing a garment into five pieces and tearing it into a hundred pieces. Besides, every piece gladdens the heart of a believer, when he sews it on his patched frock, and brings about the satisfaction of his desire. Although the rending of garments has no foundation in Ṣúfiism and certainly ought not to be practised in audition by anyone whose senses are perfectly controlled—for, in that case, it is mere extravagance—nevertheless, if the auditor be so overpowered that his sense of discrimination is lost and he becomes unconscious, then he may be excused (for tearing his garment to pieces); and it is allowable that all the persons present should rend their garments in sympathy with him. There are three circumstances in which Ṣúfís rend their garments: firstly, when a dervish tears his own garment to pieces through rapture caused by audition; secondly, when a number of his friends tear his garment to pieces at the command of a spiritual director on the occasion of asking God to pardon an offence; and thirdly, when they do the same in the intoxication of ecstasy. The most difficult case is that of the garment thrown off or torn in audition. It may be injured or intact. If it be injured, it should either be sewed together and given back to its owner or bestowed on another dervish or 418torn to pieces, for the sake of gaining a blessing, and divided among the members of the party. If it be intact, we have to consider what was the intention of the dervish who cast it off. If he meant it for the singer, let the singer take it; and if he meant it for the members of the party, let them have it; and if he threw it off without any intention, the spiritual director must determine whether it shall be given to those present and divided among them, or be conferred on one of them, or handed to the singer. If the dervish meant it for the singer, his companions need not throw off their garments in sympathy, because the cast-off garment will not go to his fellows and he will have given it voluntarily or involuntarily without their participation. But if the garment was thrown off with the intention that it should fall to the members of the party, or without any intention, they should all throw off their garments in sympathy; and when they have done this, the spiritual director ought not to bestow the garment on the singer, but it is allowable that any lover of God among them should sacrifice something that belongs to him and return the garment to the dervishes, in order that it may be torn to pieces and distributed. If a garment drops off while its owner is in a state of rapture, the Shaykhs hold various opinions as to what ought to be done, but the majority say that it should be given to the singer, in accordance with the Apostolic tradition: “The spoils belong to the slayer;” and that not to give it to the singer is to violate the obligations imposed by Ṣúfiism. Others contend—and I prefer this view—that, just as some theologians are of opinion that the dress of a slain man should not be given to his slayer except by permission of the Imám, so, here, this garment should not be given to the singer except by command of the spiritual director. But if its owner should not wish the spiritual director to bestow it, let no one be angry with him.

Chapter on the Rules of Audition.

The rules of audition prescribe that it should not be practised until it comes (of its own accord), and that you must not make 419a habit of it, but practise it seldom, in order that you may not cease to hold it in reverence. It is necessary that a spiritual director should be present during the performance, and that the place should be cleared of common people, and that the singer should be a respectable person, and that the heart should be emptied of worldly thoughts, and that the disposition should not be inclined to amusement, and that every artificial effort (takalluf) should be put aside. You must not exceed the proper bounds until audition manifests its power, and when it has become powerful you must not repel it but must follow it as it requires: if it agitates, you must be agitated, and if it calms, you must be calm; and you must be able to distinguish a strong natural impulse from the ardour of ecstasy (wajd). The auditor must have enough perception to be capable of receiving the Divine influence and of doing justice to it. When its might is manifested on his heart he must not endeavour to repel it, and when its force is broken he must not endeavour to attract it. While he is in a state of emotion, he must neither expect anyone to help him nor refuse anyone’s help if it be offered. And he must not disturb anyone who is engaged in audition or interfere with him, or ponder what he means by the verse (to which he is listening),^[201] because such behaviour is very distressing and disappointing to the person who is trying (to hear). He must not say to the singer, “You chant sweetly;” and if he chants unmelodiously or distresses his hearer by reciting poetry unmetrically, he must not say to him, “Chant better!” or bear malice towards him, but he must be unconscious of the singer’s presence and commit him to God, who hears correctly. And if he have no part in the audition which is being enjoyed by others, it is not proper that he should look soberly on their intoxication, but he must keep quiet with his own “time” (waqt) and establish its dominion, that the blessings thereof may come to him. I, `Alí 420b. `Uthmán al-Jullábí, think it more desirable that beginners should not be allowed to attend musical concerts (samá`há), lest their natures become depraved. These concerts are extremely dangerous and corrupting, because women on the roofs or elsewhere look at the dervishes who are engaged in audition; and in consequence of this the auditors have great obstacles to encounter. Or it may happen that a young reprobate is one of the party, since some ignorant Ṣúfís have made a religion (madhhab) of all this and have flung truth to the winds. I ask pardon of God for my sins of this kind in the past, and I implore His help, that He may preserve me both outwardly and inwardly from contamination, and I enjoin the readers of this book to hold it in due regard and to pray that the author may believe to the end and be vouchsafed the vision of God (in Paradise).

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