SOURCE: E. H. Whinfield, in an introduction to Masnavi I Ma'Navi: The Spiritual Couplets of Maulana Jalalu-'d-din Muhammad I Rumi, edited and translated by E. H. Whinfield, Trubner & Co., 1887, pp. xiii-xxxii.

[In the excerpt that follows. Whinfield analyzes the influence of the Koran and Sufism on Rumi's Masnavi, noting that Rumi took these sources and "fused them into a system by the cardinal principal of 'Love.'"]

The Masnavi is described by the Author in his Arabic Preface as follows:—

Thus saith the feeble servant, in need of the mercy of God, whose name be extolled, Muhammad, son of Muhammad, son of Husain, of Balkh, of whom may God accept it,—' have exerted myself to enlarge this book of poetry in rhymed couplets, which contains strange and rare narratives, beautiful sayings, and recondite indications; a path for the devout, and a garden for the pious; short in its expressions, numerous in its applications.… It contains the roots of the roots of the roots of the Faith, and treats of the mysteries of Union and sure Knowledge.'¹

In modern language the Masnavi may be called the "Divina Commedia," or the "Paradise Lost" of Islám a summary of religious thought, a "Théodicée," justifying the way of Allah to man, and a standard of religious feeling. In India it is regarded as a very weighty document of the Faith, second only to the Koran and the Traditions; in Turkey, according to Khaja 'Aini, one of the 'Ulama, it is esteemed "the amulet of the soul;" and Sir J. Malcolm and Mr. Hughes, in spite of its Sunni bias, call it the Bible of Persia.

The central idea of the poem is that the only true basis of spiritual religion is love, and that all seeming faith and piety which do not grow from love profit nothing. And this is illustrated by what Cardinal Newman calls the "Mystical or Sacramental" view of the Universe, i.e., the religious insight which sees in the visible Universe only outward signs of the spiritual realities within it, and especially in human beauty a type of the Divine perfections.²

I.

The poet's data were the Koran and the Traditions, the speculations of the Scholastic Theologiaus, and lastly, the Mysticism of the Sufis.

To begin with the Koran:—Allah is the Jehovah of the Pentateuch—The One God, the Maker of heaven and earth, the Eternal, the Most High, who sitteth above the heavens ('arsh), a Great King above all gods. Of all the Divine attributes that which Muhammad realised most strongly was Power. He pictures Allah as a mighty Oriental Sultan, who at his arbitrary will exalts some to honour, and abases others to disgrace³—a God of mercy and of vengeance; of goodness and of severity; very gracious to his faithful servants, but a terrible chastiser of all who offend him. Muhammad had not attained to that sense of the intimate relation between God and the soul,—that recognition of the Fatherhood of God,—which inspires some of the Psalms. His dominant thought is, "How irresistible is the power of God!—how terrible a thing it is to fall into His hands!—and how absolute the need for "fear of God, and for complete resignation to His will."

Muhammad said of himself, "A messenger has only to deliver his message," and his message related to practice, not speculation. He accepted without question the old Judaic view of the Divine Nature and the simple morality of the Patriarchs and of King Solomon. As time went on, men found in the Koran dogmas as to the Divine Nature, as to Predestination, as to the Origin of evil, and so on, but in reality these were only the "after-thoughts of theology." The language of the Koran is popular, and not meant to bear the strain of analysis. Some of its expressions, for instance, seem to make for Predestination, while others are equally strong for Free Will.⁴ Two sayings are ascribed to Muhammad which, whether genuine or not, certainly express his general attitude towards speculative questions:—"Think on the mercies of God, not on the Essence of God;" and, "Tarry not with them that discuss Predestination." He had, however, some presentiment of what would come to pass after his death, for he said, "My people shall be divided into three-and-seventy sects, of which all save one shall have their portion in the fire."

It was inevitable that knowledge should widen, and that widened knowledge should breed speculation, for "knowledge is a goad to them that have it." Neither the sinister prediction of the Prophet, nor the trenchant sentence of 'Omar, nor the anathema of the Canonist Ash-Shafi'i could hinder the faithful from philosophising. In the first century of the Flight they were brought into contact with the speculations of the Christian sects, with the theosophy of the Neoplatonists and Gnostics, and with the old Persian learning of Balkh and Khorásán, and by the end of the third century portions of Plato, of Aristotle, "the parent of heresies," and of the Alexandrian commentators had been translated into Arabic. The Mu'tazilites and Mutakallamín at once carried philosophy into divinity, and, in the light of this new learning, debated all the trite topics of theology.

Parallel to this stream of scholasticism there ran another stream of mystical theosophy,—derived in part from Plato, "the Attic Moses," but mainly from Christianity, as presented in the "spiritual Gospel" of St. John, and as expounded by the Christian Platonists and Gnostics. This second stream was Sufiism.

The Dabistan records an opinion that the creed of the Sufis is the same as that of the Platonists (Ishráqin),⁵ and in the Sufi writings we are constantly confronted by the "fair humanities of old philosophy,"—the two worlds of "ideas" and of sensible objects, the One and the Many, the figment of "Not-being," the generation of opposites from opposites, the Alexandrian gnosis of the Logos, of Ecstasy and of Intuition, and the doctrine of the Phædrus that human beauty is the bridge of communication between the world of sense and the world of ideas, leading man by the stimulus of love to the "Great Ocean of the Beautiful."

The influence of Christianity on Sufiism is more marked still. M. Garcin de Tassy calls Islám "une grande aberration Chrétienne," but he would have been nearer the mark if he had limited this description to Sufiism. In the Masnavi, for instance, we not only find notices of the chief events in the Gospel history, but also sentences and phrases which are obviously only free renderings of Gospel texts.⁶ The cardinal Sufi terms, "The Truth," "The Way," "Universal Reason" (Logos),"Universal Soul" (Pneuma), "Grace" (Faiz), and "Love," are almost certainly of Christian extraction, and the main Sufi doctrine of eternal life after annihilation (Baga ba'd ul Fana) is a reflection, though only a blurred reflection, of the Christian death to sin and life to righteousness.

II.

Such, in brief outline, were the poet's data, and he fused them into a system by the cardinal principle of "Love," which is, in fact, no other than the "Love," the "Charity," the "New commandment," the "more excelent way," of St. John and St. Paul.

The substantial identity of the Love (‧Ishq or Erós) of the Masnavi with the Love (Agapé) of the New Testament is obscured by the figurative language of the poem. Now-a-days we have lost the key to all this symbolism, though it would have been quite intelligible to St. Bernard, St. Theresa, or St. Thomas á Kempís. This sensuous imagery was first used by that fervid Copt Origen, in his commentary on the Song of Songs,—a book which, by the way, the Rabbis were half inclined to exclude from the Canon,—and even Origen himself, in his cooler moments, felt misgivings as to its propriety.⁷ Hence we can hardly be surprised at finding modern divines, like Hughes and Tholuck,⁸ stoutly denying that Christian "Love of God" has anything in common with the mystical love of the Sufis. But no unbiassed person can read the Masnavi without being forced to admit the intended identity of the two. And, what is more, we cannot pronounce its sensuous symbolism, however objectionable, to be an unpardonable sin without at the same time condemning our own "Mystical Theology" and uncanonizing not a few of our own saints.

The poet repeats again and again, in language that would almost satisfy Dean Mansel or Mr. Herbert Spencer, that man is utterly unable to form adequate conceptions of the Absolute, and that all symbols derived from the world of sense are more or less misleading;⁹ but he justifies their use by the necessities of human thought and by the example of the Koran. And, casting about among sensible objects to find a type of heavenly love, he finds nothing better than earthly love. Beauty "stands upon the threshold of the mystical world," and the phenomena of earthly love, excited by the thrill of human beauty,—the frenzy of Majnun, disclosing to him a beauty in Laila which was hidden from strangers,—the passion of Zulaikha for Yusuf, making her reckless of disgrace,—sublime self-devotion, like that of Heloise to the worthless Abélard,— lifelong reverence, like that paid by Dante to Beatrice,— phenomena such as these seemed to him the most appropriate types of love to God attainable by human faculties.

According to him love is the "astrolabe of heavenly mysteries," the "eye-salve which opens the eyes to spiritual beauty," the touch of emotion which changes the service of slaves into the devotion of children, the key to spiritual knowledge (ma'rifat or gnosis), and the only true basis of genuine practical religion.

First as to knowledge:—The poet, like St. Paul, condemns the "oppositions of knowledge (gnosis) falsely so called,"¹⁰ but at the same time he has a very definite gnosis of his own. His main purpose is to display the merciful attributes,—to bring out the Fatherhood of God,—and to explain away the terrible attributes and the mystery of evil. Hence he approaches all speculative questions, not on their metaphysical, but on their ethical side, i.e., through his principle of love. The more a man loves, the deeper he penetrates the purposes of God.

Pious Muslíms are dominated by the same vivid sense of the presence and action of God that inspires the Psalms. God, they say, is all in all, the "Only Real Agent," who is "working every day." We might say in modern language that God is conceived by them as ever renewing all the matter and all the force in the universe. If He withdrew His sustaining presence, the whole would relapse into its original nothingness. Not a leaf sprouts on a tree, not a sparrow falls to the ground, not a thought occurs to the mind, without God's impulsion. And this impulsion is exercised, not in accordance with uniform "laws of nature," but by an arbitrary fiat pronounced in each individual case. It is plain that this view of God's action on the world must bring Muslíms face to face with the problem of evil in a vivid way that we Europeans, with our "laws of nature," can hardly realise. On this view it is hard to see how any actions can be done except those which are done, and how therefore man can be justly held responsible for actions so utterly beyond his control.¹¹ Dean Mansel seems to think it a mark of special heretical pravity to dwell on the problem of evil,¹² but when pious minds are thus brought face to face with it, and realise the awful nature of the question, it is, surely, impossible for them to shirk it.

To this question "knowledge" (ma 'rifat or gnosis) is the poet's answer. And the key to this gnosis is love,— such love as guides a lover to divine the cause of his mistress's cruelty, or an affectionate child the reasons of its father's severity. The child of God, reading with the commentary of love the twin Books of Revelation and Reason,—its Father's word and its own feeble sense,—becomes clairvoyant through love, and attains to knowledge or "gnosis" of God. This gnosis, which bears some likeness to that given in the first chapter of St. John, may be summarised as follows:—

God said, "I desired to manifest forth my glory, and I created the worlds in order to manifest it." "The first thing created was Reason" (Agl or Logos),¹³ first unspoken Thought, then the spoken Word. From the Logos proceeded or emanated the "Universal Soul" (Ján i kull or Pneuma), which, like the Logos, contained the fulness of the Godhead,—the sum of all the divine "names," attributes, or "ideas" ('Ayán i Sabita).¹⁴ The light of these divine "ideas" then shone upon the darkness of "Not-being," and each atom of Not-being reflected one of them,¹⁵—heaven and the angels, for instance, reflecting the attributes of mercy, and hell and the devils the terrible attributes.¹⁶ And so on with all the creatures of the visible universe. Last of all came forth the soul of man, which reflected all the attributes, merciful as well as terrible. Man is thus a "Microcosm" or recapitulation of the whole universe. On one side he is luminous with the light of the merciful attributes, but on the other he is black with the darkness of the terrible attributes, also reflected in his essential "Not-being." He is thus "created half to rise and half to fall;" but he, of his own accord, accepted the "deposit" of this double nature, involving power to refuse the evil and choose the good. All the phenomena of the universe, man included, have no real existence of their own, but are every moment renewed by the constant outpouring, through the channel of the Logos, of reflections from the One Noumenon, and, when the divine purposes are accomplished, the whole phantasmagoria of phenomenal existence will vanish away, and "God will be heir of all."

Thus the "Knower" or Gnostic ('Arif) penetrates the divine scheme, and is able to admit the divine Power without impugning the divine Goodness. A skilful painter is of necessity able to paint ugly pictures as well as fair ones. Hence the "Knower" does not, like the Magians, set up over against the good Ormuzd an evil Ahriman to account for the origin of evil, but recognises that God created all things, even including what seems to us evil.¹⁷ But what we call evil has in reality no real existence of its own, being merely, as St. Augustine said, a "negation,"—a departure from the Only Self-existent Being. Here the poet first takes "Not-being" in its literal sense of "Nothing," and then, misled by the old notion that all words must have things answering to them,¹⁸ as Something,—as Nothing in relation to God, but as a very pernicious Something in relation to man. In the next place the poet points out that much of what we call evil is only relative,—what is evil for one being good for another,—nay more, that evil itself is often turned into good for the good. Further, he insists on the probationary design of much so-called evil. As Bishop Butler says, life is a state of probation, and probation involves the existence of evil lusts and pains to prove us. How, the poet asks, could there be self-control without evil passions to be controlled, or patience without the pressure of afflictions to be borne? Much evil, again, is medicinal,—the jail serves as the mosque of the criminal, because it makes him cry to God, just as fasting and discipline are the school of the illregulated passions. Lastly, much evil has a punitive purpose. "He who grieves the Logos must look for tribulation in the world."

So, again, with the question of "compulsion" or pre-destination:—God is the "Only Real Agent," and, in His inscrutable wisdom He undoubtedly fashions some to be vessels of wrath, such as were Iblis, Cain, Nimrod, Pharaoh,¹⁹ and Abu Jahl; but, as we can see only a small part of the divine scheme, we must be wary of judging in these cases. Adam was rebuked for scorning Iblis, and it may be that Iblis will one day be turned again into an angel of light. So it is said that Pharaoh was a doer of God's will equally with Moses, and was wont at night to bewail the "compulsion" which made him oppose that faithful servant of God. But the "Knower," while refusing to judge others, will not be backward in judging himself. He will admit the ability to choose good and refuse evil, which his own consciousness testifies to as existing in himself. He will not, like Iblis, throw the responsibility for his sins upon the Creator, but rather he will cry with Adam, "O Lord, we have blackened our own faces!" Finally, when man's will is altogether identified with God's will, and he finds his chief pleasure in doing God's will, the whole opposition and distinction between "compulsion" and free will is annihilated, just as rain-drops falling into oyster-shells become pearls.

Much of the phraseology used by the poet to express his doctrine of the indwelling and inworking of Allah in the universe approaches that used by the Pantheists, and it has become a commonplace of European criticism to say that this Sufi doctrine is mere Pantheism. M. Garcin de Tassy, for instance, has the usual tirade against "ces funestes doctrines." But in reality the two doctrines are entirely distinct.²⁰ Pantheism "makes everything God except God Himself,"— i.e., explains away a Personal God by identifying Him with the universe. The Sufi poet, on the other hand, makes everything naught except God, and gives life to this dead "Not-being," the universe, by representing it as instinct with the "deeply interfused" presence of the Personal God. And, as we have seen, he is directly at issue with the Pantheists in insisting on the free will of man and his responsibility for his actions.

The key to all this gnosis, as already stated, is Love. "The eye sees only what it brings with it to see," and till the inner eye is made clairvoyant by love of God, it is blind to the deep things of the Spirit, even as cold-hearted strangers were blind to the charms of Laila. Then comes the question, Does this grace of love come from the lover or the Beloved,—from man or from God? The poet's theory requires the latter; but, like St. Augustine, he is forced to attribute something to the "opus operantis". God's grace, he seems to say, is the sole efficient cause of love, and the resultant "inner sense which sees all things as they really are;"²¹ but yet a certain pious aspiration is required on man's part to attract the grace. He says man must strive to obtain this grace of love and intuition. He must not rest content with the "hearing of the ear,"²² or with merely "naming the names of God," but must press on till he gains the "eye of certainty,"— the actual intuition of spiritual realities.

With the "mighty spell" of love the poet conjures away all difficulties. Thus, take the question of the evidences of religion:—There are some minds, illuminated by the "dry light" of reason, which are irresistibly impelled to prove all things. Such a sober and candid mind, for instance, as that of Bishop Butler cannot rest in what seems to it mere "enthusiasm." Bishop Butler, like his master Locke, cannot help proportioning his beliefs to the evidence for them. Even for the glory of God he cannot exaggerate the evidence, and, where he finds only probableevidence, he will not pretend to demonstrable certitude. And it may be noted by the way, that our poet himself does not disdain to use the argument from probability in addressing the worldly, though he insists that his own faith rests on far deeper foundations. In addressing the worldly, however, he says, "Even in your trade you act on probability. You despatch goods by sea at the risk of shipwreck, for if you decline the risk you can gain no livelihood. And so you ought to act with the great venture of faith." But for himself the poet cannot rest on mere probability. He must have "indefectible certitude,"—a firm conviction independent of varying moods and shifting probabilities,—a very "passion of belief." A true lover, he says, is ashamed to demand proofs of his mistress, and prides himself on trusting her in spite of appearances telling against her.²³ He has an evidence in his heart which makes him turn away from all external evidences with disgust. This was just the feeling with which the Evangelical School regarded the "Probabilities" of Butler and the "Evidences" of Paley. And so we read in Cardinal Newman's "Apologia"²⁴ that Mr. Keble "ascribed the firmness of assent which we give to religious doctrines, not to the probabilities which introduced it, but to the living power of faith and love which accepted it." Just so the Masnavi teaches that it is love which generates intuition and belief.²⁵ Love absorbs a man's whole being and makes him indifferent to the cavils of cold reason; just as Zaid, smarting with the pain of the blow, was unable to attend to the hair-splitting distinctions of his assailant.

Not only is faith generated by love, but, what is more, faith generated by any other motive is worthless. Faith, like that of respectable conformists, growing from mere blind imitation and the contagion of custom, or like that of scholastic theologians, consisting in mere intellectual apprehension and repetition of orthodox dogmas (Jamá'at), to say nothing of the faith professed by conscious hypocrites, and by the devils "who believe and tremble,"—all these kinds of faith, summed up by the poet in the general term of "the yoke of custom" (Taqlid), profit nothing. To be of any value faith must be rooted and grounded in love, "the bond of perfectness."²⁶ The mere external righteousness generated by "Taqlid"—the mere matter-of-course adoption of the virtues of the age, the class, the sect,— is compared to a "veil of light" (virtue) which hides the Truth more entirely than the "veil of darkness" (vice). For "self-deluding goodness is of necessity unrepentant," while the avowed sinner is already self-condemned, and so advanced one step on the road to repentance.

Since there are so many kinds of spurious faith current in the world, the pious man must walk warily, and before copying the words and actions of those who seem to be religious, he must test and prove them. Sometimes he will find their professions contradicted by their practice; sometimes, especially in moments of unguarded anger, their "speech will betray them," and show their motive to be odium theologicum and not religious love. He must apply a sort of Socratic elenchus to their Shibboleths, and see if the root of the matter is in them. Even when he has found a genuine saint he must not run away with the notion that all he has to do is tocopy his outward conduct, but he must try to divine his inward motives and ruling principles, and strive earnestly to attain the disciplined affections, the concentrated will, the all-absorbing love of God, which are the characteristics of His true children.

God judges not as men judge, from outward conduct, but looks at the heart, the secret motives, and the "aspiration."²⁷ Hence the poet holds outward forms and rites to be matters of very minor importance. Islam is the "religion of Abraham"²⁸ (minus the priesthood)—a religion of new moons and fasts, of circumcision, of purifications, of holy war,²⁹ of precise postures in prayer, which, as Dr. Liddon recently pointed out, are the very postures described in the Psalms.³⁰ Naturally Muslíms get to rely on these forms too entirely,—to lose the sense of proportion in religious matters,—to fancy that a painful and scrupulous observance of forms will atone for the neglect of the weightier matters of the law,—the essential religious graces summed up by St. Paul under thename of Charity. Hence the poet was led to regard forms, generally speaking, as indifferent. In the parable of Moses and the Shepherd hepoints out that so long as a worshipper is inspired by love of God the words in which he expresses his devotion are quite immaterial. He says, "Fools exalt the Mosque, and ignore the true temple in the heart." He has even a good word for idolaters who act up to their lights. The old satire of Xenophanes, that if lions had a god they would represent him as a lion, would affect him not at all. He says it is not from any perverse preference that men buy counterfeit gold, but only because it seems to them genuine. Man is not saved by "naming the divine names" with orthodox accuracy,³¹ or by worshipping with "fair rites," but by heartfelt love and earnest endeavour to please God. In every nation he who loves God and does His will according to his lights is accepted of Him.

As regards religious practice, it must be borne in mind that the Masnavi is addressed to Sufis, and contains what may be called "counsels of perfection." Those who aimed at the more perfect way, as opposed to the moderate practice of average Muslíms, were first named "Companions," then "Followers" (Tabá'iún), and, in the third generation, "Ascetics" or "Devotees" (Záhid or "Abid).³² The name "Sufi" was first adopted by one Abu Háshim, a Syrian Ascetic, who died in 150 A.H., and the first convent (Khánaqáh) was built in his time at Ramla, in Syria.³³ After that the Tradition "There is no monkey in Islam" was entirely explained away, and there was no limit to the ascetic practices of the Sufis. The austere precepts of the Gospel as to forsaking family and position and wealth for religion's sake took firm hold of these fervid spirits, and were carried out with the same uncompromising ardour as that shown by the early Christian monks. Voluntary poverty, mortification, obedience, and renunciation of the world became the very essence of Sufi practice.

They described the state they sought to attain by these ascetic practices as "self-annihilation" (faná),—the death of passions and self-will and self-consciousness, which produces the spiritual resurrection to eternal life (baqá).³⁴ This "ecstasy" (Hál), and the raptures (Zauq and Muwájid) which attended it, were condemned as heresy (Bid'at),³⁵ but continued to be held by the Sufis notwithstanding. The poet says these ecstatic states must be experienced to be understood. The accounts given of them naturally vary. As Jeremy Taylor says, "When they suffer transportation beyond the burden and support of reason, they feel they know not what, and call it what they please."³⁶ Some describe faná as a sort of "thinking away self." Thus Lahiji says it is to "emerge from the limitations of self which veil man's real essence (God)."³⁷ Imám Ghazzáli describes faná as a "prayer of rapture." "In that state man is effaced from self, so that he is conscious neither of his body nor of outward things, nor of inward feelings. He is 'rapt' from all these, journeying first to his Lord, and then in his Lord; and if the thought that he is effaced from self occurs to him, that is a defect. The highest state is to be effaced from effacement."³⁸ Shabistari describes it as an approximation to the Light of lights, which blinds the mental eye with excess of light.³⁹ The poet, pursuing his favourite metaphor of human love, describes the state of "faná" as one in which "the flame of everlasting love doth burn ere it transforms,"⁴⁰—utterly consuming "self" ere it quickens the lover with the embrace of "union."

This doctrine of ecstasy is the really mischievous part of the poet's system. Like Ghazzáli,⁴¹ he was aware of its liability to abuse,⁴² and for ordinary persons he prescribes a sort of safeguard in the person of the "Spiritual Director" (Pir). When, however, he has to deal with what Cardinal Newman calls the "eccentricities of the saints,"—with the excesses of the "Pirs" themselves,—his theology blinds his moral judgment, and he does not dare to censure even such outrageous pretensions as those he relates of the saint Bayazid. He goes so far as to say that in the mouth of a saint even infidelity and blasphemy may be true piety.⁴³ Such are the pitfalls that lie in the road of all who regard religion as something beyond human criticism, and ignore Bishop Butler's dictum, that reason cannot abdicate its right of judging obvious immoralities in religious doctrines and persons.

Speaking generally, the poet's view of the saints is not unlike the old Catholic view. He represents them as the special favourites of heaven, endued with miraculous gifts (Karámát or Charismata).⁴⁴ Minds having a very vivid sense of God's presence and action, and a very weak sense, if any at all, of the uniformity of nature, come to regard miracles as almost part of the natural order of things. Hence the more ancient Sufis did not make much account of these miraculous gifts,⁴⁵ just as, according to Paley, the early Christian Apologists did not lay much stress on the evidentiary force of miracles.

A very remarkable doctrine is that of unrecognised saints. There are always on earth four thousand persons who are, so to speak, saints without knowing it. These are they who are born with a natural goodness, which lifts them without effort to a point that most labour to reach in vain,—loyal, gentle, unselfish souls, endowed with a natural intuition of good and a natural inclination to pursue it, the stay and comfort of those who enjoy the blessing of their society, and, when they have passed away, perhaps canonized in the hearts of one or two who loved them. Spontaneous goodness of this sort is not to be submitted to rules or forms. The inward inclination, not the outward ordinance, is the source of their goodness. "Against such there is no law." They have a standard of thought and character of their own, quite independent of the praise or blame of "men of externals."⁴⁶ Pure gold needs no mint-stamp to give it value.

It is hardly necessary to dwell on the virtues of the "new commandment,"—the love of man to man, which is the necessary complement of the love of man to God. The poet loses no opportunity of insisting on the paramount obligation of compassion, humility, toleration, patience, the peaceful temper,—in fact, all that beauty of holiness summed up by St. Paul under the name of Charity.

Space is wanting to describe others of the poet's doctrines. But attention may be called to his allegorizing method of interpreting the Koran. He held that each word of the Koran, "spiritually understood," had seven senses; and here he outdid Origen, who contented himself with ascribing only three senses to Scripture.⁴⁷ Also noteworthy is his view of the evolution of man out of inanimate matter, through the grades of the vegetive and animal souls, up to humanity, and the presage and augury thence derived that this ascending process will not cease at death, but will be carried on, and the "great aspiration of humanity" realised in a yet higher life to come. His doctrine of the final restitution of all who at the last judgment throw themselves unreservedly on the mercy of the Great Judge is also remarkable. This, as well as his doctrine of "Reserve," he probably took from the Christian Platonists.⁴⁸ Also noteworthy are his appreciation of the disputes of the Christian sects,⁴⁹ and his very unoriental view that woman is not a mere plaything, but a ray of the Deity.

Notes

1. I avail myself of Mr. Redhouse's translation.
2. "While men of externals believe that there is nothing in existence but what is visible to sight, interior men hold that much is veiled from outward sight, which can only be seen through a near approach to God and a close communion with His omnipresent Spirit." Fasúsu'l Hikam.
3. Koran iii. 25.
4. Renan, Averroes, p. 160; Cp. Deutsch, Remains, p. 129.
5. Dabistan, by Shea and Troyer, iii. p. 281.
6. E.g., Some of the "Hadis."
7. Bigg's "Christian Platonists of Alexandria," p. 188. Bishop Lightfoot, too, is sometimes staggered by the Patristic use of Erós for Agapé. Ib., p. ix.
8. Hughes' "Notes on Muhammadanism," p. 233; Tholuck, "Blüthensammlung," p. 26. But see "Saufismus," p. 304.
9. See pp. 5, 31, 263.
10. I Tim. vi. 20.
11. Cp. Omar Khayyám, passim.
12. "Gnostic Heresies," p. 11.
13. Renan, "Averroes," p. 118. Tholuck admits the identity of the Logos with' Agl i kull, ("Ssufismus," pp. 274, 286), but apparently not that of Pneuma with Jan i kull (Ib., p. 233).
14. Jorjani in Notices et Ext. des MSS., x. 65.
15. "As the spirit of man becomes voice and voice words, so the Divine Spirit becomes substance, and substance spirits and bodies."—"Dabistan"(Calcutta ed.), p. 479.
16. See De Sacy, quoted in note to Shea and Troyer's "Dabistan," iii. 256.
17. Here the poet deserts his usual guides. Neither Plato ("Resp.," ii. p. 380) nor Christians would admit that God is the Author of Evil. The "Evil One" was created originally good.
18. See p. 52.
19. See "Dabistan," by Shea and Troyer, iii. 272, note.
20. Cp. Deutsch, Remains, p. 160.
21. See p. 324.
22. Cp. Job xlii. 5: "I heard of Thee by the hearing of the ear, but now mine eye seeth Thee."
23. Credo quia impossibile.
24. "Apologia," p. 19.
25. "Præstat Amor supplementum Sensuum defectui."
26. Col. iii. 14.
27. See Book VI.—Prologue.
28. See Koran iii. 89, and Deutsch, Remains, p. 129.
29. See Deuteronomy, chap. xx.
30. Psalm xcv. 6.
31. Jalalu-'d-Din once said that he agreed with all the seventy-three sects. Nafahatu-'l Uns, p. 532.
32. Qushairi, quoted in "Haji Khalfa," ii. 308.
33. Nafahatu-'l Uns (Lees' ed.), p. 34. Jami says thisconvent was built for the Sufis by a Christian nobleman who marvelled at their love for one another.
34. Possibly they were influenced by the Buddhist "Nirvana."
35. "Haji Khalfa," ii. 471. "Ibn Khalliqan," i. 365.
36. Quoted by Vaughan, "Hours with the Mystics," ii. 127.
37. Gulshan i Raz, p. 8, note. Cp. the passage from Dionysius the Pseudo Areopagite given there from Vaughan, i. 288.
38. Tholuck "Ssufismus," pp. 4, 105. See Vaughan, ii. 132, on Tauler.
39. Gulshan i Raz, 1. 120.
40. From "The Dream of Gerontius."
41. Sale's Koran, Prelim. Disc., p. 126.
42. He compares ecstasy to possession by a spirit— possibly an evil spirit. So Wesley said of the transports of religious excitement experienced, by his energumens that "Satan sometimes mimicked the work of Grace." Cp. Virgil's description of the ecstasy of the l'ythian priestess. Æn., vi. 77.
43. Cp. "Plus nobis profuit ad fidem Thomæ infidelitas quam fides credentium."
44. And also as objects of semi-adoration (dulia).
45. Ibn Khaldun, quoted in Notices et Ext. des MSS., xii. p. 304.
46. See pp. 129, 224, 227.
47. Bigg, "Christian Platonists," p. 136.
48. Ibid., pp 143, 292.
49. See p. 13. Mir Khwánd and Shahrastáni (Cureton's ed., p. 173), evidently following some Judaizing Christian authority, make St. Paul the first heresiarch.