The Sufis, Introduction by Robert Graves
THE NATURE AND CHARACTER OF SUFISM
The Sufis are described as an ancient spiritual freemasonry with untraceable origins. They are not a Moslem sect but are at home in all religions, viewing Sufism as the secret teaching within every faith. While Islam is considered the "shell" of Sufism, its followers were commanded by the Prophet Mohammed to respect all "People of a Book." Sufis are bound by no specific dogma, have no regular places of worship, sacred cities, or monastic organizations. They dislike inclusive names, and "Sufi" is just a nickname; they refer to themselves as "we friends" and recognize one another by natural gifts, habits, and qualities of thought rather than by any formal hierarchy.
The Sufi ideal is to be "in the world, but not of it," meaning to be free from ambition, greed, intellectual pride, and blind obedience to custom. They respect religious rituals for fostering social harmony but seek to broaden doctrinal bases and interpret myths in a higher sense; for example, angels are seen as representations of man's higher faculties. An individual is offered a "secret garden" for understanding but is not required to become a monk or hermit.
THE PATH OF LOVE AND CONSCIOUS EVOLUTION
The earliest known theory of conscious evolution originates with the Sufis, but it applies to the individual rather than the race. The journey from childhood to adulthood is just one stage in developing higher powers, with the dynamic force being love, not asceticism or intellect. Enlightenment comes through a poetic love, a perfect devotion to a Muse. The great Spanish Arab Sufi, Ibn El-Arabi, expressed this devotion in his poetry, writing: "I follow the religion of Love." This love theme later influenced the ecstatic cult of the Virgin Mary, particularly in European regions that fell under Sufic influence.
SECRET LANGUAGE AND SYMBOLISM
Sufi poets were the primary disseminators of Sufi thought and used a secret language of metaphor and verbal ciphers, often based on Semitic consonantal roots, to protect their ideas from vulgarization and accusations of heresy. The popular Thousand and One Nights, for instance, is Sufic in content, and its Arabic title is a code phrase meaning "Mother of Records."
This way of thought is compared to the Druidic reverence for mistletoe. Mistletoe is a plant that is not a tree but grafts itself onto other trees, staying green when the host is dormant. This serves as a perfect emblem for Sufic thought, which is not planted like a formal religion but is engrafted onto existing ones, keeping its vitality when they become rigid with formalism. The driving force of its growth is a high and rare form of love.
INFLUENCE ON THE WEST
The noblest Islamic art and architecture are Sufic in origin. Sufis also practice healing, especially for psychosomatic disorders, viewing it as a natural duty of love. After the Saracen conquests, Spain and Sicily became centers of Sufic thought, and Northern scholars flocked there to translate Sufi literature, not orthodox Islamic doctrine. The songs of the troubadours, whose name derives from the Arabic root TRB ("lutanist"), are of Saracen origin.
Symbolism was used even by European royalty allied with Sufis. King James of Aragon's emblem of a bat is a rebus for "the Conqueror" in Arabic (from the root KH-F-SH), but for his Sufi allies, it also symbolized being awake to spiritual reality while others are asleep to it. Similarly, the coronation robe of King Roger II of Sicily contains intricate Sufic symbolism involving a palm tree (representing the Sufi path, or tariqat), a tiger (representing unimpaired honor), and a camel (representing mere elegance).
PRACTICALITY, UNIVERSALITY, AND FREEMASONRY
Sufis have always insisted on the practicality of their viewpoint, using fables and legends to illustrate prudent human behavior. They accept Jesus as an inspired prophet but believe any person can attain a quasi-divinity, as there is "no god but God." The supernatural traditions of the Koran are seen as metaphorical. Sufi stories have deeply influenced European literature; the legend of Wilhelm Tell appears in Attar's Parliament of the Birds, and Cervantes acknowledged an Arabic source for Don Quixote, which follows the tales of the legendary Sufi teacher Sidi Kishar.
Thinkers like Raymond Lully and Roger Bacon were heavily influenced by Sufism. Bacon studied in Saracen Spain and learned of the illuminist school of Córdoba. The term "Black Arts," associated with him, is a play on two Arabic words, one meaning "black" (FHM) and the other "wise" (FHHM). Furthermore, Freemasonry itself began as a Sufi society, brought to England in the 10th century. Its core metaphor is the "reedification" or rebuilding of spiritual man from his ruined state, and its traditional builders, "Boaz" and "Solomon," were actually Sufi architects who built the Dome of the Rock.
PURPOSE OF THE BOOK
The author, Idries Shah Sayed, is a Grand Sheikh of the Sufi Tariqa, descended in the senior male line from the prophet Mohammed. He was persuaded by Robert Graves to write this book to provide accurate information for the many "natural Sufis" in the West who are unaware that their way of thinking is part of a shared, ancient tradition. The book is not for intellectuals but for those who will recognize its message as being addressed to them personally.
Concise Summary
The Sufis are an ancient, universal spiritual freemasonry, not a religious sect, whose secret teaching of individual evolution through love is found within all faiths; their ideas, often veiled in symbolism and metaphor, have profoundly influenced Western culture, literature, and even societies like Freemasonry.
SECTION 2: Author's Preface
The Sufis, Author's Preface
BEYOND ACADEMIC STUDY
While acknowledging the heroic work of scholars in making Sufi material available, this book affirms a core Sufi principle: the Way of the Sufis cannot be truly understood through intellect or book learning alone. It is a path that requires the physical presence of a Sufi teacher and a real teaching situation. Attempting to study Sufism without being a "working Sufi" is to approach it without its most essential factor.
THE LIMITS OF RATIONALISM
Sufism, the "secret tradition," cannot be accessed using the assumptions of the rational and "scientific" world. Its truths about extraphysical facts must be sought through a different way of thinking. Sufi literature and preparatory teachings are designed to bridge the gap between the world of intellect and the world of Sufi experience. If no such bridge were possible, the book would be worthless.
A LIVING, TRANSMUTED TEACHING
Sufism is presented as a nutrient for society, meant to be transmuted and integrated, not to subsist in an unaltered form or leave behind mechanical rituals. The teaching is transmitted through the human exemplar—the teacher. The outer shell of rituals and books that observers can see is secondary; the true vitality lies in the human transmission of baraka (blessedness). A Sufi school is a natural organism that comes into being to flourish and then disappear, not to leave static, anthropologically interesting survivals.
PURPOSE AND SCOPE OF THE BOOK
This book focuses on the diffusion of Sufic thought from the seventh century onward, but this is for illustrative purposes only. The goal is not scholastic—accumulating information and making deductions—but rather to develop a line of communication with ultimate knowledge. Sufism is engaged with this ultimate knowledge, not with combining individual facts or theorizing.
SUFISM'S RELATION TO OTHER TRADITIONS
Sufism is described as "Eastern" only because it retains beliefs, like the importance of the human exemplar, that have fallen into disuse in the West. It is "occult" and "mystical" only because it follows a path different from that of authoritarian and dogmatic organizations. It claims a real source of knowledge that transcends the temporary, logical phase of human thought.
EXPERIENCE VERSUS EXPERIMENT
The Franciscan monk Roger Bacon, a pioneer of the scientific method, learned from the Sufis that there is a profound difference between collecting information and knowing things through actual experience. In his Opus Maius, he states that argument alone does not provide certainty; only experience can. However, Western science took this concept in the limited sense of "experiment," where the observer remains outside the experience. From the Sufi viewpoint, this partial tradition has prevented science from approaching knowledge "by means of itself," through full participation and inner experience.
SECTION 3: The Islanders-A Fable
The Sufis, Chapter 1: The Islanders—A Fable
THE ORIGINAL HOMELAND AND THE FORCED EXILE
Fables often contain truth, allowing people to absorb ideas that their ordinary patterns of thinking might otherwise prevent them from digesting. Sufi teachers have long used them to present a picture of life that is more in harmony with their feelings than intellectual exercises can provide. This is a Sufi fable, adapted for our time, about the human situation.
Once, in a distant land, there lived an ideal community we can call the El Ar people. They lived without fear as we know it, possessing purposefulness and a fuller means of self-expression instead of uncertainty and vacillation. Their lives were richer not because of the stresses and tensions that modern humanity considers essential to progress, but because better elements replaced these things. They had real lives, not the semi-lives of today, existing in a slightly different mode where our current perceptions would be seen as crude, makeshift versions of the real ones they possessed.
Their leader discovered that their country was to become uninhabitable for a vast period, perhaps twenty thousand years. He planned their escape, realizing their descendants could return home only after many trials. He found them a place of refuge on an island, only roughly similar to their homeland. Because of the different climate and situation, the immigrants had to undergo a transformation, making them physically and mentally adapted to the new circumstances. Finer perceptions were replaced by coarser ones, much as a manual laborer's hand toughens in response to his work.
To lessen the pain of comparing their old and new states, they were made to forget the past almost entirely. Only a shadowy recollection remained, just sufficient to be awakened when the time came. The system was complex but well-arranged. The very organs they needed for survival and enjoyment on the island were repurposed from their original, more constructive functions. These original faculties were placed in abeyance, linked to that shadowy memory in preparation for their eventual reactivation.
THE REVOLUTION OF EASE
Slowly and painfully, the immigrants adjusted to the island's conditions. The island's resources, combined with effort and a specific form of guidance, would allow people to escape to a succession of further islands, gradually reacclimatizing on their way back to their original home. This responsibility for "evolution" was vested in a few individuals who could sustain it, specialists who guarded the "special science"—the knowledge and application of maritime skills required for the transition. The escape required an instructor, raw materials, people, effort, and understanding. Given these, people could learn to swim and build ships.
For a time, the process continued satisfactorily, with the instructors making it clear that a certain preparation was necessary. Then, a man who had been found lacking in the necessary qualities rebelled. He observed that the effort to escape placed a heavy burden on people, yet they were disposed to believe what they were told about the escape operation. He realized he could gain power and take revenge on those who, he felt, had undervalued him by a simple exploitation of these facts. He would offer to take away the burden by affirming that there was no burden at all.
He announced that there was no need for mankind to integrate and train the mind in the prescribed way, for the human mind was already stable and consistent. He declared, "I say, not only do you not need to be a craftsman—you do not need a ship at all!" An islander, he preached, only needed to observe a few simple rules and exercise the common sense born into everyone to attain anything upon the island, their rightful home. Having gained much interest, the tonguester "proved" his message by challenging the instructors: "If there is any reality in ships and swimming, show us ships which have made the journey, and swimmers who have come back!"
This was a challenge the instructors could not meet, based on a fallacy the bemused herd could not see. Ships never returned from the other land, and swimmers who did come back had undergone a fresh adaptation that made them invisible to the crowd. The mob, demanding proof, was told that shipbuilding is an art and a craft, a total activity with an impalpable element called baraka—"the Subtlety"—which could not be examined piecemeal. "Art, craft, total, baraka, nonsense!" shouted the revolutionaries, who then hanged as many shipbuilding craftsmen as they could find.
A SOCIETY BUILT ON ILLUSION
The new gospel was welcomed as a liberation. Man felt he had discovered his own maturity and was released from responsibility. This simple and comforting concept soon swamped most other ways of thinking, until it was considered a basic, rational fact. "Rational" came to mean anyone who harmonized with this general theory, and opposing ideas were easily dismissed as irrational and therefore bad. The individual, even if plagued by doubts, had to suppress them to be thought rational.
Evidence for this new rationality abounded, provided one did not think beyond the life of the island. The society, based on a combination of reason and emotion, seemed to provide a plausible completeness when viewed only through its own lens. Compromise became the trademark of this temporary balance; for instance, cannibalism was permitted on rational grounds—the human body was edible, edibility is a characteristic of food, therefore the human body is food—but was then controlled in the interests of society.
The consequences of their assumptions were used to "prove" the assumptions themselves, creating a pseudo-certainty. This process was captured in their Great Universal Encyclopaedia. The entry for "SHIP" described it as an imaginary vehicle, noting that shipbuilding was a crime and "shipbuilding mania" was a form of mental escapism. The entry for "SWIMMING" called it an unpleasant and grotesque ritual based on a desire for domination, a cult that had recently taken the form of epidemic mania. The words "displeasing" and "unpleasant" were used for anything that conflicted with the new gospel, which was itself known as "Please"—an idea that people should please themselves, within the general need to please the State.
It is hardly surprising that the very thought of leaving the island eventually filled most people with terror. The island was not a prison, but an invisible cage, more effective than any with obvious bars. As the society grew more complex, its literature became rich with works explaining the nation's values and allegorical fiction portraying how terrible life might have been otherwise.
THE HIDDEN PATH AND ITS OBSTACLES
From time to time, instructors and captains tried to help the whole community escape, sometimes sacrificing themselves to reestablish a climate where the concealed shipbuilders could work. Yet all these efforts were interpreted by island historians and sociologists only with reference to their own closed society. These scholars studied with genuine dedication what seemed to be true, asking "What more can we do?" or "What else can we do?" while failing to realize that their ability to formulate the right questions was flawed.
Though thought and speech were free, they were of little use without the development of understanding, which was not pursued. The navigators had to constantly adapt their methods to the changing community, making their reality even more baffling to those who tried to study it from the island's perspective. Amid the confusion, even the memory of a potential escape could become an obstacle. The vague, stirring consciousness of this potential was not discriminating, and eager would-be escapers often settled for any kind of substitute.
A concept of navigation is useless without orientation, but these eager people had been trained to believe they already had it—that they were already mature. They hated anyone who suggested they might need preparation. Bizarre versions of swimming and shipbuilding, offered by mere hucksters, often crowded out any possibility of real progress.
DIVERSIONS AND THE CONTAINMENT OF DOUBT
The admirable and necessary approach known as science, essential in its proper fields, eventually outran its real meaning. The "scientific" approach was stretched until it covered all ideas, and things that could not be brought within its bounds became known as "unscientific," another convenient synonym for "bad." Words were unknowingly taken prisoner and enslaved.
In the absence of a suitable attitude, the islanders absorbed themselves in finding substitutes for the fulfillment that was their original purpose. They pursued mainly emotional commitments, cults, money, or social prominence. Some worshiped certain things and felt superior to others; some, by repudiating what they saw as worship, believed they had no idols and could safely sneer at the rest. The island became littered with the self-perpetuating debris of these cults, providing a mine of material for academics and intellectuals, giving a comforting sense of variety.
Magnificent facilities for indulging limited "satisfactions"—palaces, museums, universities, stadiums—proliferated, and the people prided themselves on these endowments, believing them to be linked to ultimate truth, though they could not say how. In a way unknown to almost everyone, shipbuilding was connected to some dimensions of this activity. Meanwhile, clandestinely, the ships raised their sails and the swimmers continued to teach. A strange but logical industry grew up, devoted to satirizing the system under which they lived. This activity, in plays, books, and films, absorbed doubts by laughing at them. People felt that by giving their doubts temporary expression, they could assuage or exorcise them, mistaking satire for meaningful allegory.
THE FINAL CHOICE
The dedicated swimmers and shipbuilders were not filled with dismay; they had originated in the same community and had indissoluble bonds with it and its destiny. But they often had to preserve themselves from their fellow citizens, who might try to "save" them or kill them for equally sublime reasons. Many sought their help but could not find them, because hardly anyone knew what a swimmer really was, what he was doing, or where he could be found.
Still, here and there a candidate would present himself to a swimming instructor. A stereotyped conversation would often take place. The candidate would say, "I want to learn to swim," but would then insist, "I only have to take my ton of cabbage." When the instructor asked what cabbage, the reply was, "The food which I will need on the other island." The instructor would explain that there is better food there, but the candidate, unable to be sure, would insist, "I must take my cabbage." The instructor would patiently state, "You cannot swim, for one thing, with a ton of cabbage." The candidate would then leave, saying, "Then I cannot go. You call it a load. I call it my essential nutrition," intending to find an instructor who understood his needs.
The fable is not ended, for there are still people on the island. The Sufis use various ciphers to convey their meaning. If you rearrange the name of the original community—El Ar—it spells "Real." And perhaps you had already noticed that the name adopted by the revolutionaries—"Please"—rearranges to form the word "Asleep."
Concise Summary
This allegorical fable portrays humanity as an exiled community that has forgotten its true, higher-potential origin (“Real”) and has embraced a comfortable, limited existence (“Asleep”), rejecting the difficult path of return while a few hidden guides continue their work against a backdrop of societal illusion.
The Sufis, Chapter 2: The Travelers and the Grapes
THE METHOD OF HIDDEN MEANING
Sufis traditionally esteem Aesop as a teacher of wisdom, but they note that the overt meaning of his fables often conceals a deeper truth. In the story of a young mole who wrongly claims he can see, his mother tests him with frankincense, which he calls a stone. She replies that he is not only blind but has also lost his sense of smell. To understand this fable, one must know the Sufi method of embedding meanings in literature through wordplay on Semitic roots. In Arabic, the word for "mole" (khuld) is written with the same consonants as the words for "eternity," "paradise," "mind," and "soul."
Thus, the story is not about an impostor but about the human mind. The mother (the origin of thought) presents frankincense (impalpable experience) to the mind. Because the individual is focused on "sight" (trying to develop faculties in the wrong order), he loses the powers he should already have. The reference to a stone recalls the Sufi tradition that "Moses [a guide] made a stone as fragrant as musk," symbolizing how a guiding thought can transform the inert into something vital. The fable teaches that the human being, instead of searching within for his development, follows external illusions that cripple him. This method of embedding a map for human development within the very structure of language is a key to understanding much of the world’s literature, where the literary form acts as a canal, still carrying the water of truth even if it is not recognized as such.
THE CHARACTER OF THE SUFI
The Sufi is the complete and perfected man, who through love, work, and harmony has attained mastership. As the 17th-century scholar Sirajudin noted, the Sufi adapts to his surroundings: "among roses, be a rose, among thorns, be a thorn." They are poets and lovers, and depending on the context and the observer, may appear as soldiers, physicians, or mystics. To understand them requires an intuitive intelligence, one not held down by the logical mind.
Rumi, one of the greatest masters, describes the Sufi as being: "Drunk without wine; sated without food; distraught; a king beneath a humble cloak; a treasure within a ruin." The Sufi is wise through universal truth, not from a book, and is "beyond atheism and faith alike." This hidden nature makes Sufism difficult for outsiders to grasp, as its secret "protects itself. It is found only in the spirit and the practice of the Work." The Sufi can be anyone—your neighbor, rich or poor, a recluse or a public figure. It is estimated that between twenty and forty million people are affiliated with Sufi schools today.
THE LIMITATIONS OF OUTSIDE OBSERVATION
An investigation into Sufism cannot be made entirely from the outside, because it includes participation, training, and experience. Innumerable books have been written by Sufis, but these are often designed for specific circumstances, may seem contradictory, or contain meanings other than the superficial one. As Professor Nicholson observed, their writings "seldom impart their real significance except to those who possess the key to the cipher."
This book itself employs the Sufic method of "scatter," by which an impact is made through multiple, consciously arranged activities. Just as a child first learns letters but then reads whole words, the student of Sufism must move through stages of understanding, leaving behind what was useful only at an earlier point. This approach is fundamentally different from that of conventionally metaphysical people who say, "It is all so indescribable, but I just feel what you mean." Sufis are engaged in a specialized effort to awaken a certain field of consciousness; their way is not one of airy-fairiness but contains "hard" as well as "soft" realities, discord as well as harmony. When the "bite" disappears from a situation, so does the Sufic element.
THE UNITY OF ESSENCE: A PARABLE
The fundamental urge toward mystical experience is shared by all humanity, though it is often misunderstood. A Sufi teacher, the Agha, once illustrated this with a story of four traveling companions—a Persian, a Turk, an Arab, and a Greek—who were arguing over how to spend their only coin. The Persian wanted to buy angur; the Turk, uzum; the Arab, inab; and the Greek, stafil. A passing linguist offered to satisfy all their desires. He took the coin, went to a fruit seller, and returned with a bunch of grapes.
"This is my angur," said the Persian. "But this is what I call uzum," said the Turk. "You have brought me inab," said the Arab. "No!" said the Greek, "this in my language is stafil." They realized their conflict was due only to misunderstanding one another's languages. The Agha explained that the travelers are ordinary people, and the linguist is the Sufi. People know they need something, but they give it different names—religion, ambition—and struggle against each other. The Sufi is the one who knows what they really mean and can show them the underlying unity of their desire. In this parable, the grapes symbolize ordinary religion, while wine—the product of the grape—is the real essence, or mysticism. The Sufi first helps the formal religionist see the fundamental identity of all faiths so that the greater teaching of the "wine" can be imparted.
THE ADAPTIVE AND UNIVERSAL NATURE OF THE PATH
To succeed in this, a person must follow methods devised by earlier masters, techniques designed to slip through the complex conditioning imposed by one's environment. These methods are intuitive and adapt to the needs of different societies and times. Thus, the Sufi life can be lived at any time and in any place; it is not an "Eastern system," but a universal one.
Mankind, according to Sufis, is infinitely perfectable through attunement with the whole of existence. This requires a balance between physical and spiritual life, so systems that teach withdrawal from the world are seen as unbalanced. The path involves progressive stages of development, corresponding to the transmutation of the "Seven Selves" (Nafs). The modern Sufi trend spread widely with the expansion of Islam, which provided a suitable framework for uniting the ancient centers of mystical teaching in Egypt, Palestine, Syria, and Central Asia under one rule. To these centers traveled Arab mystics, anciently known as the Near Ones (muqarribun), who believed in the essential unity of the inner teachings of all faiths.
EVOLUTIONARY DESTINY AND DIVERSE METHODS
As a result of these contacts, each ancient center of secret teaching became a Sufi stronghold, and the gap between the lore of Christians, Zoroastrians, Hebrews, Hindus, and Buddhists was bridged. This "confluence of essences," as Sufis call it, is a process of contacting the universal Sufic stream within every culture. Formal religion is for the Sufi a shell to be penetrated; having gone beyond it, he understands its real meaning and "returns to the world" to guide others. All religion is subject to development, and for the Sufi, this evolution is both within himself and in his relationship with all creation. As Rumi emphasizes: "I died as inert matter and became a plant... I died as an animal, and became a man. So why should I fear...? I shall die as a man, to rise in 'angelic' form."
This evolutionary role explains the seeming inconsistencies in Sufi conduct. Masters stressed renunciation when society was becoming overly materialistic, and poetry where entertainment prevailed. The common historical view that Sufism developed new ideas sequentially is a misunderstanding. According to Sufis, all elements were always present; different aspects were simply stressed at different times, with certain individuals chosen as exemplars for the needs of their community.
Concise Summary
Sufism is a universal and adaptive path whose teachings are often veiled in coded language and parables, like the story of the travelers and the grapes, which illustrates how the Sufi reveals the underlying unity of humanity's spiritual quest.
The Sufis, Chapter 3: The Elephant in the Dark
PARTIAL UNDERSTANDING
A man thrown blindfolded into water can feel its effect but cannot know what it is until the blindfold is removed; so too is the human understanding of total reality limited. Most people, the Sufis say, do not know what religion essentially is, arguing like a believer in a flat earth with one who holds it is cylindrical—neither has any real experience of the whole. The totality of life cannot be understood through everyday methods alone, as the human mind tends to generalize from partial evidence. Sufis, however, believe they can experience something more complete.
This problem is illustrated by a traditional story. An elephant was stabled in the dark in a town where none had been seen before. Four citizens went to investigate. One touched its trunk and thought it was a hosepipe; another felt an ear and concluded it was a fan. The third felt a leg and likened it to a living pillar, while the fourth touched its back and was convinced it was a throne. None could form a complete picture, and each could only describe the part he felt in terms of things he already knew, resulting in confusion.
THE LIMITATIONS OF SCHOLARSHIP
A person trying to understand Sufism by consulting reference books will encounter this very "elephant in the dark" mentality. Scholars have attributed Sufism's origins to a wide array of influences: Christian aberration, Hindu Vedanta, shamanism, Neoplatonism, or Gnosticism. One finds it a Persian sect, while another sees its source in the Qur’an itself. As Professor Nicholson noted, the numerous definitions of Sufism mainly show that "Sufism is undefinable." To those who have experienced it, however, it is clear that Sufism contains within itself the myriad threads that appear in these other systems, like "numberless waves... all from the same sea."
The world's literature on Sufism, though large, has mostly been translated by Western scholars who have not experienced it from the inside, making many of their works incoherent without a Sufi’s commentary. This warping tendency has led theologians to be roused to wrath, as when Professor W. R. Inge attacked Sufis for using erotic language, suggesting they were attempting to give a "sacramental or symbolic character to the indulgence of their passions." Such a literal interpretation reveals an ignorance of the mechanism of the arts; as Evelyn Underhill noted, it is like thinking Blake was mad because he said he touched the sky with his finger.
THE NATURE OF SUFI REALITY
The Sufi tradition asserts that it is a leaven within all human society. It cannot be systematized for academic study because its very diversity and adaptability prevent it from becoming static. According to Sufis, "Sufism is an adventure in living, a necessary adventure," carried out within every community and at every time. This link between the material and the metaphysical is fundamental. A Sufi understands that if a confused and incomplete person becomes a professional success, he simply remains a confused and incomplete person.
While modern psychology learns as it goes along, Sufism is a system that has already learned how to transform the mind into an instrument for carrying humanity a stage further. Indeed, many supposedly modern psychological concepts, such as Freud's sexual arguments and Jung's archetypal theory, were articulated by Sufi masters like Ghazali and Ibn El-Arabi centuries ago. As Jung himself admitted, Western psychoanalysis is "only a beginner's attempt compared to what is an immemorial art in the East."
CONSCIOUS EVOLUTION
Sufis believe that humanity is evolving toward a certain destiny, and that for the last ten thousand years, this evolution can be conscious. The sporadic bursts of telepathy or prophetic power that ordinary people experience are seen by the Sufi as the first stirrings of a new complex of organs developing in response to this need. Our future depends upon this more rarefied evolution, which can be likened to "learning how to swim."
These organs are developed by the Sufi method. The attainment of "stages" in this system is marked by an unmistakable, though ineffable, experience. This experience activates the organ in question and provides the strength to continue the climb; it is the "fixative substance" that makes the development permanent. This is the true meaning of mystical experience, which otherwise is merely a sublime sensation without direction. Beyond these formal terms, the only valid thing is the Sufic watchword: "He who tastes not, knows not."
Concise Summary
Sufism cannot be understood through partial, external observation, as illustrated by the fable of the blind men and the elephant; scholars and theologians each grasp only a piece of the whole. The Sufi path is an internal, practical system of conscious evolution toward a higher human destiny, which must be experienced directly rather than studied from the outside.
The Sufis, Chapter 4: The Subtleties of Mulla Nasrudin
THE PURPOSE OF THE NASRUDIN TALES
Mulla (Master) Nasrudin is a classical figure devised by dervishes to make certain states of mind clear. The Nasrudin stories, known throughout the Middle East, are a strange achievement in metaphysics. Superficially, they are jokes, but it is inherent in a Nasrudin story that it can be understood at many depths: there is the joke, the moral, and the extra element that brings a potential mystic further toward realization. Since Sufism is lived as well as perceived, the tales bridge the gap between mundane life and a transmutation of consciousness.
Their humorous appeal has ensured their survival, but their primary purpose is to make the Sufi attitude toward life available. The legend of Nasrudin states that humor is a vehicle that can slip through the patterns of thought imposed by habit and design. The timeless, un-characterizable figure of Nasrudin is intentional; the message, not the man, is what matters. This has not stopped scholars from trying to pin him down, with one comically trying to "reverse" the numbers on his supposed tombstone to find his date of death. In fact, the numbers form a code word, ShaWaF, meaning "to cause someone to see."
CHALLENGING CONDITIONED THOUGHT
The Nasrudin tales emphasize practical activity over the formal intellect. When a pedant on a sinking ferry declares half of Nasrudin's life wasted for not knowing grammar, Nasrudin asks if the scholar can swim. When the scholar says no, Nasrudin replies, "Then all your life is wasted—we are sinking!" The stories also challenge rigid belief in cause and effect. After a man falls from a roof onto Nasrudin, breaking his neck while the man is unharmed, Nasrudin infers, "Avoid belief in inevitability... He fell—but my neck is broken!"
Because people are trapped in patterns of thinking, they often miss what is most obvious. Nasrudin, acting as a smuggler, daily crossed a frontier with his donkey's panniers full of straw. Though guards searched him and the straw meticulously every day, he grew richer. Years later, a retired guard asked him what he had been smuggling. "Donkeys," said Nasrudin. The story shows that the mystical goal is often nearer and simpler than people assume.
THE NATURE OF TRUTH AND PERCEPTION
The tales show that what people call truth is relative to their situation. A king, wishing to make his subjects truthful, decreed that anyone entering the city must answer a question truthfully or be hanged. Nasrudin was asked, "Where are you going?" He replied, "I am going to be hanged on those gallows." This created a paradox for the guards: if they hang him for lying, his statement becomes true; if they let him pass, his statement was a lie. The point is that one must practice real truth before relative, man-made truth can be properly used.
Standards of good and bad are also shown to be based on subjective criteria. After a terrifying bear hunt with a king, someone asked Nasrudin how it went. "Marvelously," he said. When asked how many bears he saw, he replied, "None." He explained, "When you are hunting bears, and when you are me, seeing no bears at all is a marvelous experience." Spiritual teachings that are repeated without being refreshed from the source also lose their dynamic. When a succession of visitors arrive, each claiming to be a friend of a friend who had brought him a duck, all expecting a meal, Nasrudin finally serves the last guest a bowl of hot water. He explains, "That is the soup of the soup of the soup of the duck."
SEEKING ENLIGHTENMENT
People often do not know where to look for enlightenment. A neighbor found Nasrudin on his knees searching for a key. After helping for a while, he asked where the key was dropped. "At home," said Nasrudin. "Then why are you looking here?" "There is more light here," he replied. This famous Sufi commentary on seeking exotic sources for truth illustrates that people look where it is easiest, not where the answer lies.
Many Nasrudin stories exist in a format designed for participation and recitation, exercising the mind in a way that parables, which lack regenerative force, cannot. When a disciple asks for a practical example of allegory, like an apple from Paradise, Nasrudin hands him one. The disciple objects, "But this apple is bad on one side—surely a heavenly apple would be perfect." Nasrudin replies, "...but as far as you are able to judge it, situated as we are in this abode of corruption, and with your present faculties, this is as near to a heavenly apple as you will ever get." The story builds up the inner consciousness, preparing it for experiences that cannot be reached until a bridge is created.
THE INNER MEANING OF THE JOKES
The legend of Nasrudin explains that the Sufi master Hussein snatched him from the "Old Villain"—the crude system of thought in which most people live. Hussein imparted his baraka (Sufi power) to Nasrudin, transforming his stories into works of art that are infinitely complex. This baraka ensures that even a simple jest carries a teaching that grows when pondered. Nasrudin is a mirror in which one sees oneself. The mystical effect of seven Nasrudin tales, studied in succession, is believed to be enough to prepare an individual for enlightenment.
The assumption that being alive means one is perceptive is denied by Sufism. A person may be clinically alive but perceptively dead. Nasrudin illustrates this when his wife tells him that if his limbs were cold, he would be dead. Later, cutting wood in the winter, his hands and feet grow cold. "I am undoubtedly dead," he thinks, and lies down on the grass. When wolves attack his donkey, he thinks, "if I had been alive I would not have allowed you to take liberties with my donkey."
THE PATH OF SELF-DEVELOPMENT
The preparation of the Sufi mind requires self-work. Nasrudin goes into a shop and asks for leather, and nails, and dye. "Why don't you make yourself a pair of boots?" the shopkeeper asks. This provides the starting point for the would-be seeker: to do something for himself under guidance. The quest, however, cannot be carried out in unacceptable company. After thoughtlessly inviting friends home for a meal he cannot provide, Nasrudin hides upstairs. When his wife tells the guests he is not home, they protest that they saw him enter. Nasrudin leans out the window and shouts, "I could have gone out again by the back door, couldn't I?" This emphasizes the falsity of the belief that man has a stable consciousness; at the mercy of impacts, his behavior varies constantly.
Many tales highlight that people who expect mystical attainment on their own terms exclude themselves from the start. A woman asks Nasrudin, a magistrate, to forbid her son from eating too much sugar. Nasrudin tells her to return in a week, and then again the week after. Finally, he tells the youth, "I forbid you to eat more than such and such a quantity of sugar every day." The mother asks why it took so long. "Because, madam," he replies, "I had to see whether I myself could cut down on the use of sugar, before ordering anyone else to do it." Sufi teaching can only be done by a Sufi, not by a theoretician.
THE INTERCONNECTEDNESS OF REALITY
Life's events are not isolated; they are prompted by many stimuli and have unseen consequences. One night, Nasrudin saw a troop of horsemen and, fearing they would rob him, leaped over a wall into a graveyard. The travelers, innocent of any such motive, became curious and followed him. "Can we help you?" they asked. "It is more complicated than you assume," he said. "You see, I am here because of you; and you, you are here because of me." It is the mystic who "returns" to the formal world after literal experience of the interdependence of all things.
Sufi time conception is an interrelation—a continuum—not a linear progression where future rewards are given for past actions. In a famous story, Nasrudin visits a Turkish bath. Dressed in rags, he is treated poorly but leaves a gold coin. The next day he returns, magnificently attired, and is treated with great deference. When he leaves, he hands the keepers the smallest copper coin. "This," he said, "was for the attendance last time. The gold coin was for your treatment of me this time."
THE WAY OF THE SUFI
The Nasrudin tales cannot be read as a system of philosophy intended to persuade. By its very construction, Sufism cannot be preached. It relies upon the composite impact—the "scatter" dissemination. The would-be Sufi may be prepared by Nasrudin, but to "mature," he will have to engage in the practical work and benefit from the actual presence of a master. Anything else is referred to by the pithy term, "Trying to transmit a kiss by personal messenger." It is a kiss, sure enough; but it is not what was intended.
The tale is like a peach: it has beauty, nutrition, and hidden depths—the kernel. A person may be emotionally stirred by the exterior, but this is only the form. You can eat the peach and taste a further delight—its nutritional value. You can then crack the stone to find a delicious kernel within. This is the hidden depth. To someone whose perception is sharpened, more than one dimension of a story becomes apparent, awakening the innate capacity for understanding. The Sufi, for instance, sees in the story of Nasrudin riding his donkey back to front that he is able to observe his pupils while they are still sensitive to public opinion. Since he has been along that path before, he does not need to face forward. He is teaching by doing and being, not by words.
Concise Summary
The tales of Mulla Nasrudin are a metaphysical system disguised as humor, designed to bypass conditioned thinking and prepare the mind for Sufi realization through multiple layers of meaning. They challenge ordinary assumptions about logic, truth, and reality, illustrating the practical, experiential, and often paradoxical nature of the Sufi path of conscious development.
The Sufis, Chapter 5: Sheikh Saadi of Shiraz
SAADI'S LIFE AND INFLUENCE
The Gulistan (Rose Garden) and Bustan (Orchard) by Sheikh Saadi of Shiraz (1184–1291) are two classics of Sufism that provide the moral and ethical foundation for its study throughout the East. At times a wandering dervish, Saadi was captured by the Crusaders and made to dig ditches until he was ransomed. He visited the great centers of learning and wrote poetry and literature that has not been surpassed.
Educated in Baghdad at the great college founded by Nizam, the friend of Omar Khayyam, Saadi was closely associated with Sheikh Shahabudin Suhrawardi, founder of the Suhrawardi School, and Najmuddin Kubra, the "Pillar of the Age." Saadi’s influence upon European literature is considerable; his writings were a source for the Gesta Romanorum, a book that in turn was the source for many Western legends and allegories.
THE INNER MEANING OF THE DIDACTIC TALE
Though Saadi’s influence has been traced in Western literature, the interior meaning of his work is hardly known through his literary interpreters. A typical commentator, noting that in Saadi "the didactic subordinates the mystic," shows a lack of understanding of his multifunctional tales. As Professor Codrington perceived, "The allegory in the Gulistan is particular to Sufis. They cannot give their secrets to those who are unprepared... so they have developed a special terminology to convey these secrets to initiates."
Saadi's teaching about self-examination aims not only at the ordinary need to practice what one preaches, but at a much earlier stage, before one can even understand a teacher's admonitions. He illustrates this in a story of traveling with devout companions when a boy began to sing in such a way that the camel of a scoffer of mysticism began to dance and then ran off into the desert. "Good Sir," said Saadi to the scoffer, "you remain unmoved, but that song has affected even an animal."
THE PRINCIPLE OF RIGHT TIME AND PLACE
Saadi teaches that one must be receptive to correction and that a candidate for Sufi studies must first understand the place of retirement, remarking, "Fettered feet in the presence of friends is better than living in a garden with strangers." Withdrawal from the world is only for certain circumstances, not a lifelong pursuit.
The importance of time and place in Sufi exercises is another matter Saadi emphasizes. While ordinary intellectuals may believe that thought varies in quality, they are insensitive to the Sufi cognition that thought also varies in effectiveness according to circumstance. On certain "occasions," the human mind can escape the machine within which it revolves. He gives an example of a dervish who entered a house where literary men were engaged in intellectual pleasantries. Invited to contribute, the dervish offered a single couplet: "Like a bachelor before the women's bathhouse door, I face the table, hungry for food." The couplet meant not only that it was a time for food, but also that intellectual prattling was merely a setting for real understanding.
THE NECESSITY OF CAPACITY AND SINCERITY
Those who are impatient to learn Sufism before they are truly fitted for it are often reprimanded in Saadi’s stories. He asks in a familiar phrase, "How can the sleeper arouse the sleeper?" While it is true that one’s actions should accord with one’s words, it is also true that the observer must be in a position to assess those actions. A conference of the wise, he writes, is like the bazaar of the clothsellers: from the bazaar, you can take nothing without paying money; from the wise, "you can only carry away that for which you have the capacity."
The selfishness of the would-be disciple is another subject that is stressed. A balance has to be struck between wanting something for oneself and wanting it for the community. When a wise man is asked about the Brethren of Sincerity, a secret society of savants, he replies, "Even the least among them honors the wishes of his companions above his own. As the wise say: ‘A man engrossed in himself is neither brother nor kinsman.’"
PREPARATORY TEACHING AND THE HAZARD OF UNTIMELY REVELATION
The Gulistan, as a book of moral uplift, has an invaluable effect on literate young people by establishing a basic Sufic potential in their minds. Saadi is read and enjoyed for his thoughts and entertainment value; later, if the reader becomes affiliated with a Sufi school, the inner dimensions of the tales can be revealed, giving the student something upon which to build.
Secrets revealed prematurely can cause more harm than good, as an unprepared recipient can misuse the power of which the Sufis are guardians. Saadi explains this in a story about a man who married his ugly daughter to a blind man. When a doctor offered to restore the man’s sight, the father refused, for fear that his son-in-law would then divorce his daughter. "The husband of an ugly woman," Saadi concludes, "is best blind."
ON GENEROSITY, CONTENTMENT, AND INHERENT DIGNITY
Generosity and liberality, when applied energetically and correctly, are important factors in preparing a candidate for Sufihood. The manner of giving and its effect on the individual determine the progress of the Sufi. In an aphorism, a person asked a sage whether it was better to be valorous or liberal. The sage answered, "He who is liberal does not have to be valorous."
Saadi also warns against following any attractive creed outside one’s own while in a period of trial. He tells of dervishes who, at an extremity of hunger, wanted to accept food from a known evil man famed for his liberality. Saadi advises them in a poem: "The lion does not eat the dog’s leavings / Though he die of hunger in his lair. / Resign your bodies to starvation: / Do not beg the base for favors." The real Sufi has something within which cannot be reduced in value. Saadi illustrates this theme of where real dignity resides in a tale of a king who, hunting in the wilderness, decided to sleep in a peasant’s hovel. The courtiers insisted that the monarch’s dignity would suffer, but the peasant said, "It is not your Majesty who will lose; but I who will gain in dignity from being so honored." The peasant received a robe of honor.
Concise Summary
Through his didactic and multifunctional classics, the Gulistan and the Bustan, Sheikh Saadi of Shiraz provided preparatory material for the Sufi path, embedding deeper meanings about self-examination, sincerity, and right timing within tales of ethics and morality.
The Sufis, Fariduddin Attar, the Chemist
ATTAR'S LIFE AND INFLUENCE
Fariduddin Attar (d. c. 1229), the great Sufi illuminate known as "the Chemist," taught that one should not abandon something simply because others have misused it. Born near Nishapur, he inherited a pharmacy, but his life was transformed by an encounter with a wandering Sufi whose simple words on the burden of worldly possessions prompted Attar to renounce his work and join a Sufi community. He went on to write 114 works, most famously the allegorical epic The Parliament of the Birds, a forerunner of Pilgrim’s Progress.
In his old age, Attar met and blessed the young Jalaluddin Rumi, who would later refer to Attar as his own soul. Attar was killed during the Mongol invasion, his last act a teaching on his own true worth. His romance writings deeply influenced Western literature, including the Roman de la Rose, and his symbolism has striking parallels with chivalric orders like the Order of the Garter.
THE SUFI QUEST IN THE PARLIAMENT OF THE BIRDS
The Parliament of the Birds describes the Sufi journey, in which the birds (representing humanity) are led by the hoopoe (the Sufi teacher) on a quest to find their king, the Simurgh. Each bird offers an excuse for not making the journey, which the hoopoe refutes with an illustrative tale. The journey requires traversing seven valleys: Quest, Love, Intuitive Knowledge, Detachment, Unification, Astonishment, and finally, Death—the valley where the individual consciousness merges with the whole.
Through the character of the nightingale, who is so infatuated with the external beauty of the Rose that he cannot undertake the greater journey, Attar exposes the limitations of ecstatics who remain attached to rapture. For the Sufi, love is not an indulgence but a purifying fire that transmutes the individual into a "Perfected Man."
THE HIDDEN MEANING IN ATTAR'S NAME
Like many Sufi masters, Attar’s name is a cipher containing an initiatory meaning. When his name is decoded using the Abjad numerical system, it yields the three-letter root FTR. This root forms a mosaic of concepts central to the Sufi experience: to cleave or create (as God does); a mushroom (symbolizing that which forces its way upward); breaking a fast; natural disposition; and hasty, unpremeditated action. This encoding also distinguishes between true and counterfeit mystical experience. While the FTR root connects to mushrooms, it is not the hallucinogenic kind, which is associated with a different Arabic root (GHRB) connoting strangeness and madness, emphasizing that authentic illumination is not induced by chemical means.
Concise Summary
Fariduddin Attar, a pivotal Sufi master, conveyed the allegorical journey of human consciousness toward unity in his epic The Parliament of the Birds, using symbolism that influenced both Rumi and the West while concealing a deeper meaning, even in his own name, about the nature of true spiritual experience.
The Sufis, Our Master Jalaluddin Rumi
RUMI'S LIFE AND INFLUENCE
Maulana Jalaluddin Rumi (b. 1207), founder of the Whirling Dervishes, is one of history’s greatest mystical poets. Born in Afghanistan, he lived and taught in Asia Minor, and his Persian works are so revered they are called "The Qur’an in the Pehlevi tongue." His influence on the West has been immense, traceable in the works of writers from Chaucer to Dr. Johnson. Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, for instance, contains narrative elements from Rumi’s Mathnawi and structural parallels to the work of Rumi’s own teacher, Attar.
Rumi’s father, a nobleman and Sufi, fled Central Asia with his young son ahead of the Mongol invasion. In Nishapur, they met Attar, who blessed the child and foretold his destiny. After years of wandering, the family settled in Konia (Rum), where Jalaluddin succeeded his father. His life was profoundly altered by the appearance of the mysterious dervish Shams of Tabriz, who inspired much of Rumi’s greatest poetry before vanishing as mysteriously as he had arrived. This encounter catalyzed Rumi’s method of teaching through artistic channels—poetry, music, and dance.
THE SUFI VIEW OF RELIGION AND THE PATH
Rumi’s masterwork, the Mathnawi, is a vast collection of poems, fables, and dialogues created to infuse the Sufi message into the mind. His method was to jolt the conditioned intellect, stressing that formal religion as commonly understood is incorrect. He taught that the self-righteousness of the pious (the "Veil of Light") is a greater barrier to truth than vice (the "Veil of Darkness"). True religion, he insisted, is a matter of personal experience, not dogma. The concepts of God, angels, and scripture are but similes for a reality that has no parallel in the ordinary world.
The Sufi way requires a guide. Reason, Rumi taught, is essential for finding the right teacher, but once he is found, the seeker must proceed with faith, like a patient trusting a physician. The teacher’s function is to help the disciple see things as they truly are, as a whole, rather than through the fragmented lens of ordinary perception.
THE NATURE OF MYSTICAL EXPERIENCE
For Rumi, love is the central force that carries humanity to its fulfillment. However, this love is a serious matter that grows in tandem with enlightenment; the full fire of illumination cannot be sustained all at once. The teacher guides the disciple through stages of development, recognizing that mystical experience is not something given, but something that happens to a person. False teachers, who focus on appearances and keep disciples dependent, are a constant danger. The true seeker must learn to look for the water, not the pitcher; the wine, not the color of the glass.
The Sufi’s inner journey involves realizing that ordinary life is only a part of a greater, multi-dimensional reality. The human yearning for something more is the natural instrument for attaining truth, a desire often misplaced onto secondary objectives. By developing a balanced consciousness, the Sufi harmonizes with the "comprehensive action" of all life. Although he is celebrated as one of Persia’s greatest poets, Rumi saw poetry as a secondary product, a bridge to convey a reality that was ultimately beyond words. He explained that he offered poetry to his visitors because it was the only form of nutrition they could accept. By insisting on the subsidiary role of his own art, he demonstrated the Sufi principle of never allowing anything—even the most sublime creation—to become an idol or a barrier to the ultimate truth.
Concise Summary
Jalaluddin Rumi, a towering figure in mystical literature, taught that Sufism is an experiential path of love that transcends the limitations of formal religion and intellect, using poetry, music, and dance to guide the seeker toward a direct perception of a higher, unified reality.
The Sufis, Ibn el-Arabi: The Greatest Sheikh
IBN EL-ARABI'S LIFE AND MISSION
Ibn el-Arabi (b. 1164), born in the Saracen city of Murcia in Spain, is known as "the Greatest Master" for his profound metaphysical influence on both the Muslim and Christian worlds. A descendant of the legendary Hatim el-Tai, he received the finest education of his time yet spent his free time among the Sufis. His mission, encoded in his names, was to "scatter" and "revivify" the Sufi faith.
His work cannot be interpreted from a single, fixed position. It is designed with multiple layers of meaning to engage people from various cultural backgrounds, often using startling statements like, "The sight of God in woman is the most perfect of all." To the Sufi, a single word can hold numerous valid significances simultaneously, a multiplicity that the ordinary mind, which sees only simple allegory, cannot grasp. His poetry deliberately shifts its themes to break the mind’s automatic associative patterns; he is a teacher, not an entertainer.
THE SUFI CONCEPT OF THE PERFECTED MAN
For Ibn el-Arabi, as for all Sufis, Muhammad represents the Perfected Man. However, he distinguished between the historical person and the eternal, universal "Reality of Muhammad." This Reality is an essential principle identified with all true prophets, including Jesus—a concept not of reincarnation, but of a single inner truth appearing in different forms appropriate to the time and place. This teaching was transmitted through both his writings and his personal psychic experiences, including those guided by the Spanish woman Sufi Fatima b. Waliyya.
CONFLICT WITH ORTHODOXY
Like many Sufis, Ibn el-Arabi lived as a conformist in his outer religion while being an esotericist in his inner life, seeing a continuous progression from formal faith to inner enlightenment. His intellectual powers were superior to those of his orthodox contemporaries, yet he used them to show that intellectuality is merely a prelude to something higher. This position threatened the established theologians, who condemned him as a heretic. Even so, many respected scholars secretly admired him, with one calling him the "Magnetic Pole of the Age" in private while appearing to condemn him in public, explaining that one must speak to formalists in terms they understand.
THE "INTERPRETER OF DESIRES" AND ITS MEANING
The greatest controversy surrounded his collection of love poems, the Interpreter of Desires. Written in Mecca, the poems were inspired by Nizam, the beautiful and devout daughter of a Persian Sufi chief. In her, Ibn el-Arabi saw a reflection of divine reality, and his odes celebrate both the perfection of the maiden and, on a deeper level, the path of the mystic.
Theologians in Aleppo, unable to see beyond the surface, accused him of being a mere erotic poet. In response, Ibn el-Arabi wrote a brilliant commentary on his own work, explaining its imagery in a way that satisfied the most orthodox scholars. For the Sufis, however, a third meaning was clear: he was demonstrating that both human love and orthodox religion, while valid in their own dimensions, served to veil an even deeper inner truth. This is the essence of his famous creed: "My heart is capable of every form... Love is the creed I hold." For the Sufi, this "love" is not the familiar emotion but the comprehensive reality of Sufism itself, of which ordinary love is but a small and limited part.
Concise Summary
The Spanish master Ibn el-Arabi, through his multi-layered poetry and teachings, scattered Sufi lore by showing that human love and formal religion are valid but partial reflections of a deeper, universal truth, a secret doctrine of the "Perfected Man" that transcends any single creed.
The Sufis, El-Ghazali of Persia
GHAZALI'S HISTORICAL CONTEXT AND IMPACT
At a time when the Islamic world was in intellectual crisis, unable to reconcile Greek philosophy with the Qur’an, Muhammad el-Ghazali (1058–1111) emerged. An orphaned Persian raised by Sufis, he would become known as the "Authority of Islam." He achieved the remarkable feat of saving Muslim theology from decay by grounding it in the "mystico-psychological" method of the Sufis, thereby reconciling scholasticism with inner experience.
His influence extended far beyond Islam. Within fifty years, his books were shaping Jewish and Christian thought, profoundly affecting figures like Thomas Aquinas and Ramón Marti. His ideas created what can be seen as both the intellectual Dominican and the intuitive Franciscan streams within Christian mysticism. He wrote on the need to stimulate an inner consciousness, not merely provide information, a revolutionary concept for the scholastics of his time.
HIS JOURNEY FROM SCHOLASTICISM TO SUFISM
Despite his immense intellectual powers—he was appointed a professor in Baghdad at thirty-three—Ghazali found that canon law and formal learning were insufficient bases for reality. He fell into a deep skepticism, resigned his prestigious post, and spent twelve years as a wandering dervish, returning to his Sufi roots to find the answers that scholasticism could not provide.
He came to realize that the Sufis were "not men of words, but of inner perception," and that what he had learned from books was only a fraction of the truth. He understood that the ecstatic experiences many mystics consider the goal were in fact "only the beginning." His quest was to overcome his "Commanding Self"—the ego and its craving for applause—which he saw as a barrier to real understanding. This battle is illustrated in his Alchemy of Happiness, which teaches that one’s selfishness must be seen in its true light before any spiritual refinement can occur.
THE MULTIPLE LAYERS OF HIS WORK
Like other Sufi masters, Ghazali was accused of teaching one thing publicly and another in private. This was true in that he viewed active Sufism as a specialized path for those with the capacity for it, while orthodox religion served as the framework for the masses. The Perfected Man, he taught, must live in different dimensions simultaneously, operating within three frameworks of belief: that of his surroundings, that which he teaches students according to their capacity, and that of his own inner experience.
His name, "el-Ghazali" (the Spinner), is itself a cipher, alluding to the Sufic "work" (spinning) upon oneself, the path of Love (ghazal), and the continuity of the inner doctrine. His writings contain multiple layers: philosophical material for theologians, metaphysical works like the Niche for Lights, enciphered secrets, and an experiential teaching transmitted orally. The key to his deepest work cannot be written down; it must be experienced.
SUFI PSYCHOLOGY AND THE NATURE OF THE SELF
Ghazali taught that the human mind, in its unrefined state, is an "unholy mixture of a pig, a dog, a devil and a saint" and cannot attain deep understanding. The Sufi path is a process of refinement. He explained that man exists on several planes of perception, and that the self (nafs) is not a single entity but has various modes of operation depending on its function—Commanding, Accusatory, or Peaceful.
His book Minhaj el-Abidin allegorizes the spiritual quest as a journey through seven valleys, a theme later used by both Chaucer and Bunyan. He taught that human happiness itself undergoes successive refinements as one's state of being evolves. The ultimate happiness, far beyond familiar pleasures, is the contemplation of Being itself, an experience accessible even in this life to the true seeker.
Concise Summary
The great Persian scholar and mystic El-Ghazali rescued Islamic theology by grounding it in Sufi experientialism, charting a path from the limits of the intellect to a direct, inner knowledge based on the alchemical transmutation of the self and a multi-layered understanding of reality.
The Sufis, Omar Khayyam
THE MISINTERPRETATION OF KHAYYAM
The quatrains of Omar Khayyam are world-famous, yet their author is profoundly misunderstood. The popular image of Khayyam as an epicurean skeptic is largely an invention of his translators, particularly Edward FitzGerald. Khayyam himself was not simply a poet but an exemplar of a specific school of Sufi philosophy, and to understand his work requires understanding its Sufic context.
FitzGerald's celebrated translation, while a masterpiece of English poetry, often completely inverts Khayyam's meaning. One quatrain, for example, has Omar appearing to mock the Sufis, yet the Persian original contains no such sentiment. Instead, it uses precise Sufi technical terms to describe the heart becoming a "Key to the Treasury of Pearls of mystical meaning." FitzGerald himself had absorbed a great deal of Sufi thought from other poets, and this unconsciously seeped into his version of the Rubaiyat, creating a hybrid work that maintained a Sufic impact in the West, even if accidentally.
THE SUFI CONTEXT AND FUNCTION OF THE RUBAIYAT
From the Sufi point of view, the endless scholarly debate over which of Khayyam's quatrains are "genuine" is irrelevant. As an exponent of a school, his work is part of a continuous stream of teaching, not just the product of an individual. His verses have multiple functions: they can be read for their surface meaning, recited to induce special states of consciousness, or decoded to reveal initiatory material. FitzGerald missed the subtle yet crucial Sufi teaching about the state of consciousness that lies beyond metaphorical drunkenness—a saturation point where ecstatic experience is transcended by a higher, more stable perception.
Khayyam's poetry serves as a diagnostic tool and a training instrument. A Sufi master might ask a would-be disciple to study Khayyam to assess his potential: one person may be stimulated to think in new ways, another may react with dogmatic rejection, while a third may sense a deeper mystery. The purpose is not to arrive at a single "correct" interpretation but to use the poetry as a complex impact to train the student's mind. The scholastic obsession with tracing sources is useless in this context. The famous tale of Khayyam and the donkey that refused to enter a college until the poet recognized its soul as that of a former teacher was not about reincarnation; it was a comprehensive, demonstrative experience for his disciples, whose meaning is lost if fragmented by literal analysis. The name Khayyam itself is a cipher, decoding to Ghaqi—"Squanderer of Goods," a term for one who casts aside worldly attachments that prevent true perception. As he himself wrote, targeting all mechanical thinkers: "O ignorant ones—the Road is neither this nor that!"
Concise Summary
Omar Khayyam was a Sufi teacher whose poetry is a multi-layered initiatory tool designed to challenge fixed ideas and provoke a deeper understanding of reality, a purpose almost entirely obscured by popular, literalist translations like FitzGerald's.
The Sufis, The Secret Language: I. The Coalmen
THE ABJAD SYSTEM AND SUFI CIPHERS
To understand much of Sufi literature, one must have a knowledge of the "secret language." This is not merely a cipher to hide information; it is a method designed to connect mundane thinking with a greater, multi-dimensional reality. The poet Nizami hinted at it when he wrote, "Under the poet’s tongue lies the key to the Treasury." The basic system is the Abjad scheme, a substitution cipher where each letter of the Semitic alphabet corresponds to a numerical value.
This system is used to encode names, dates, and key concepts. The very word "Sufi," when its letters are converted to numbers and then re-formed into a new root word, yields FUQ, meaning "Above, transcending." The name of the poet "Attar" (the Chemist) decodes to the root RF, which means "the fluttering of a bird"—a direct allusion to his masterpiece, The Parliament of the Birds—as well as "to flash with light," a reference to intuition.
THE COALMEN AND OTHER SUFI DERIVATIVES
Beyond numerical substitution, the secret language employs homonyms and plays on words to conceal and convey meaning, allowing many mysterious Western societies to be traced back to their Sufi origins. The Italian secret society known as the Carbonari ("the charcoal burners") is a derivative of a Sufi circle called the Fehmia ("the Perceivers"). This connection is hidden in the Arabic language, where the word for "understand" (FeHM) is a homonym for the word for "Coalman" (FeHM). The Carbonari's rituals, their secret name for their lodges (baracca, a play on the Sufi word baraka), and their myth of origin in "Scotland" (a code name for Saracen Spain) all point to a direct Sufi lineage. This coding is also found in famous sayings. The injunction, "Seek knowledge, even as far as China," is a coded message; in Arabic and Persian, "China" decodes to concepts related to mind concentration and the scrutinizing of hidden things.
Concise Summary
The Sufis employ a "secret language" based on numerical ciphers (Abjad) and wordplay to encode deeper meanings into names and literature, a method which reveals the Sufi origins of mysterious Western societies like the Carbonari.
The Sufis, The Secret Language: II. The Builders
SUFISM AS THE PARENT OF FREEMASONRY
Sir Richard Burton, himself a Sufi, asserted that Sufism was "the Eastern parent of Freemasonry." An examination of the rituals of a Sufi society known as the Builders (al-Banna, the Arabic word for Mason) reveals parallels so numerous that the connection is undeniable. The central Masonic password, composed of the letters A, B, L, is the key word of the Sufi Builders. In Arabic, the root ABL describes the very characteristics of the school: hierophancy, gathering together, stages on the Path, and the heart or mind. The three letters also symbolize three Sufi meditation postures, represented by the Masonic set square, the level, and a rope.
SYMBOLS, NUMBERS, AND SECRET MEANINGS
The esoteric language extends to numbers. The number thirty-three, significant in Masonry, represents the first third of the Sufi training system. The mysterious "G" at the center of the Masonic star is a rendering of the Arabic letter Q, which has a numerical value of one hundred and represents the secret hundredth name of God. When this letter Q is combined with the Builders' root word, it creates new terms like QALB, the Sufi word for the heart and the center of contemplation. Even the six-pointed star, commonly known as the Star of David, is used by the Builders as a cipher whose points and triangles yield the number 786, the numerical value of the Islamic invocation, Bismillah ar-Rahman, ar-Rahim.
THE TEMPLE AND THE MASON'S MARK
The Masonic legend of the building of Solomon's Temple is a reinterpretation of a Sufi allegory. For the Builders, "Solomon" was the ninth-century Sufi master Maaruf Karkhi, a disciple of Daud (David) of Tai. The great martyr of their tradition was not Hiram Abiff but the tenth-century Sufi Mansur el-Hallaj. The Temple itself was the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem, built by the Saracens on a Sufi design and the same structure from which the Knights Templar took their name. This secret language is even visible in the "Mason's mark" found on many medieval buildings. It is a coded message indicating the path to secret knowledge and a stylized representation of the Arabic word hoo, a sacred dervish chant.
Concise Summary
Key symbols, rituals, and legends of Freemasonry are shown to have direct parallels in the secret language of a Sufi order known as the Builders, revealing Sufism as a likely origin for the craft's core initiatory traditions.
The Sufis, The Secret Language: III. The Philosopher’s Stone
THE DUAL NATURE OF ALCHEMY
Alchemy was introduced to the medieval West through translations from Arabic, and a debate has raged over its true nature ever since: was it a literal attempt to create gold, or a symbolic system for spiritual development? The confusion arises because "alchemists" were several different kinds of people. While some were engaged in early chemistry, the core of the "Art" was a spiritual system that used the terminology of metallurgy as a rich allegory for human transformation.
The father of alchemy as we know it was the eighth-century master Jabir Ibn el-Hayyan (Geber), who was explicitly surnamed "el-Sufi." He introduced the foundational doctrine of the three essential elements: sulphur, mercury, and salt. Sufi masters like Rumi and Ghazali consistently refer to their own spiritual work as "alchemy."
DECODING ALCHEMICAL TERMS
The secret of alchemy is unlocked by retranslating its key terms back into Arabic and understanding their Sufic significance. The "Great Work" is the purification of the human essence. The "Philosopher's Stone" is a code for the hidden (hijr), powerful essence (dhat) within man, which can transmute the "base metal" of the ordinary self into the "gold" of the perfected being. This is the "Azoth" of the West, a term derived from the Arabic el-dhat. The three elements are also part of this code. They are not the common substances but are homonyms for spiritual qualities: "sulphur" (kibrit) for "nobility" (kibirat), "salt" (milh) for "goodness and learning" (milh), and "mercury" (zibaq) for the power "to open a lock" and break through barriers.
THE "GREAT WORK" AS A SUFI UNDERTAKING
For the Sufi, the "Great Work" was a practical undertaking, a framework for self-development. A seeker might be given a seemingly impossible alchemical problem to solve; the true purpose was not the external goal, but the inner transformation of the individual through years of faithful effort. As a Sufi allegory teaches, sons who dig a field seeking buried gold find none, but in the process they till the soil and become rich through honest labor. The work itself produces gains far greater than those originally sought. The alchemical tradition that spread in the West was not a static repetition of ancient lore but was constantly renewed by figures like Roger Bacon, Raymond Lully, and Paracelsus, who had been in direct contact with Sufi schools. They knew that the art was internal. Magic, alchemy, Rosicrucianism, and Freemasonry all shared a common origin in the Sufic objective: the conscious development of humanity.
Concise Summary
Alchemy is revealed to be a primary vehicle for Sufi teachings, using the language of chemical processes as a rich allegory for the spiritual transmutation of the human soul, a secret understood by Western masters like Bacon, Lully, and Paracelsus who had direct contact with its Sufi source.Mysteries In The West: I. Strange Rites
THE OBSERVER'S MISINTERPRETATION OF RITUAL
The meaning of a ritual is lost on an observer who lacks knowledge of its context and purpose. A description of a modern football game, if written by an uninformed anthropologist, would sound like a bizarre and savage rite, full of strange movements, inexplicable emotional outbursts, and totemic worship. An outside observer cannot understand what is actually happening or why. In the same way, the religious rites of others can seem strange and incomprehensible, as when an account of a dervish dhikr ceremony describes the swaying men and rhythmic chanting from a purely external perspective, capturing the atmosphere but missing the internal activity that is the ceremony’s entire purpose.
THE WITCH CULT AND ITS SUFI CONNECTIONS
An examination of the witch cult of Western Europe from a Sufi perspective reveals deep connections that are otherwise invisible. While "witch" is often traced to an old word for "wise," the Spanish word for witch, bruja, which appeared during the time of Saracen rule, provides a more specific key. This word is linked to the Arabic root BRSH, a term used by a dervish group known as the maskhara ("revellers"). By analyzing the cluster of meanings in this Arabic root, a composite picture of the cult emerges. The root BRSH connects to hallucinogenic plants like thorn apple (BaRSH), the witches' symbolic broom (MiBRSHA), and practices of marking the skin and wearing motley garb. This linguistic map provides a startlingly accurate description of the traditional European witch.
DECODING "WITCH" TERMINOLOGY
The secret language of the Sufis unlocks other mysterious words from witch lore, revealing their Arabic origins. The ritual knife, the "Athame," comes from the Arabic adh-dhame (a bloodletter). The "Sabat" is not derived from the Hebrew Sabbath but from the Arabic Az-ZABAT ("the forceful occasion"). The leader of the coven, often called "Robin," is a rendering of the Semitic Rabba ("lord"). The term "coven" itself likely comes not from "convene" but from kafan, the Arabic word for the shroud worn over the heads of the Revellers during their dances. Even the infamous witches' ointment can be understood through this lens. The notorious ingredient of "unbaptised babies" is likely an allegory for the human-shaped mandrake root, a plant that could be considered a "tiny, unbaptised human."
THE ANIZA TRIBE AND THE "OLD RELIGION"
The medieval form of this cult can be traced to a specific source: the great Aniza Bedouin tribe of Arabia, whose ancestral clan is the Fakir, a term for dervishes. The cult of the Revellers was associated with the eighth-century Sufi poet Abu el-Atahiyya. His followers used symbols from his Aniza tribe to commemorate him: the goat (Anz, from Aniza), with a torch between its horns symbolizing illumination from the intellect of the teacher; and the tribe's brand, which became the "goosefoot" mark for their meeting places. A group from his school is believed to have migrated to Arab-ruled Spain, where their tribal rituals fused with existing European traditions.
The term "old religion," used by witches to claim prehistoric origins, is a standard Sufi phrase for their own "antique faith." This is encoded in the Arabic root QDM (ancient), which also yields words for precedence, footstep, chief, and the future. This single root contains a complex of Sufi ideas: a tradition that is both ancient and progressive, that proceeds step-by-step, and that has a leader who represents a higher reality.
Concise Summary
The rituals and terminology of the medieval European witch cult, often seen as a remnant of a pagan "old religion," are shown to have deep and specific roots in the secret language, tribal symbols, and practices of Sufi dervishes from the Aniza tribe, transmitted to the West through Saracen Spain.
Mysteries In The West: II. The Chivalric Circle
THE SUFI ORIGINS OF THE ORDER OF THE GARTER
Around the year 1200, a group of Sufis formed an association based on the ideal of chivalry. Their robes were the hooded blue wool of the Sufis, and their colors were blue and gold, symbolizing the divine essence (gold) within the sea of being (blue). Their basic unit was the halka (Circle), their patron saint was Khidr (the Green One), and their groups were composed of thirteen men.
About 150 years later, the Order of the Garter was founded in England. It, too, was divided into groups of thirteen. Its colors were blue and gold, its robes were wool and hooded, and its aims were chivalric. Its patron saint was St. George, who is equated in the East with the mysterious Khidr. The order's name itself points to a Sufi origin: in Arabic, "garter" (ribat) is the same word used for the Sufi mystical tie or bond and is interchangeable in Sufi parlance with halka, their word for a circle.
SYMBOLISM OF COLORS, NUMBERS, AND MOTTO
The Sufi group's use of the number thirteen was a cipher for the unity of faiths, particularly Islam and Christianity. The Arabic word for "Unity" (ahad) is spelled with three letters whose numerical values in the Abjad system total thirteen. The famous Garter motto, Honi soit qui mal y pense ("Dishonoured be he who thinks evil of it"), is likely a phonetic transposition of a rhyming Persian Sufi phrase about a Saki, or cupbearer, a central figure in Sufi love poetry. The entire symbolic framework of the Sufi group—green, the sea, chivalry, chieftainship, gold, and wine—is contained within the single Arabic root KHDR, the root of Khidr's name.
CULTURAL TRANSMISSIONS AND SUFI JOURNEYS
The era of the Garter's founding saw a significant influx of Saracenic culture into England. Morris dancing, for example, is of Moorish origin and was likely brought from Spain by John of Gaunt, Chaucer’s patron. The hobbyhorse and other figures in these dances are direct relics of the costumed, story-telling dervish poets of the East. Historical records confirm that Sufi teaching journeys to the West were taking place during this period, carried out by wandering Qalandar and Chishti dervishes who brought their music, dances, and rituals to Europe, leaving an indelible, though often mysterious, mark on its culture.
Concise Summary
The chivalric Order of the Garter is revealed to have striking parallels with a Sufi order dedicated to Khidr (St. George), with its name, motto, colors, and structure all appearing to be direct transpositions of Sufi symbols and linguistic codes transmitted from the Saracen world.
Mysteries In The West: III. The Head of Wisdom
THE BAPHOMET OF THE TEMPLARS
When the Knights Templar were suppressed, they were famously accused of worshipping an idol in the form of a head, which they called the Baphomet. This name was long thought to be a corruption of "Mahomet," but is likely derived from the Arabic abufihamat, meaning "father of understanding." This provides the key to the mystery. In Sufi terminology, the "head of knowledge" (ras el-fahmat) refers to the refined and transmuted consciousness of the perfected man. The Arabic root of the word "understanding" (FHM) is also a homonym for "black" or "coal." The Baphomet, therefore, was not an idol but a symbol of this transmuted consciousness, the "Head of Wisdom."
DECODING THE "HEAD OF WISDOM"
This symbolism is visible elsewhere. The "Moor's head" or black head found in European heraldry is a coded substitute for this same concept. The shield of Hugues de Payen, the founder of the Templars, bore three black heads on a field of gold, symbolizing the "three heads of black wisdom."
The recurring medieval legend of a marvelous talking brazen head, said to have been made by such figures as Pope Gerbert and Albertus Magnus, is another layer of this Sufi cipher. The men accused of making these heads were all deeply versed in Arabic and Sufi philosophy. In Arabic, the word for "brass" (SuFR) is a rhyming homonym for "gold" (SuFR). The "head of brass" is a coded reference to the "head of gold" (sari-tilai), a Sufi phrase for an individual whose inner consciousness has been alchemically transmuted. The dervish expression, "I am making a head," which refers to engaging in certain transformative Sufi exercises, was likely taken literally by uninitiated outsiders, giving rise to the fantastic legend of an artificial, talking artifact.
Concise Summary
The mysterious "Baphomet" head worshipped by the Templars and the legendary "brazen head" of medieval lore are revealed to be coded symbols derived from the Sufi secret language, representing the "Head of Wisdom"—the transmuted consciousness of the perfected human being.
Mysteries In The West: IV. Francis of Assisi
FRANCIS'S TROUBADOUR ROOTS AND SUFI CONNECTIONS
St. Francis of Assisi (b. 1182) is known as a troubadour who experienced a religious conversion, but the origins of the troubadour tradition itself lie with Saracen Sufi poets. An examination of Francis’s life reveals that his path was deeply interwoven with Sufi ideas. His poetry strongly resembles that of the Sufi master Rumi, and a puzzling story from his life shows a direct parallel to the practices of Rumi's Whirling Dervishes. When asked by a disciple which road to take, Francis commanded him to "turn round and round as children do" until he fell; the direction he then faced was the path they followed.
When seeking the Pope’s approval for his new order, Francis used a parable with distinctly Saracen, not Christian, imagery. He told of a king who married a poor woman from the desert and had sons who bore his image. This allegory perfectly matches the Sufi tradition of being esoteric Christians from the desert, children of a "poor woman" (representing Hagar, the mother of the Arabs) and sons of the King (God). Initially dismissed, the Pope was swayed by a dream in which he saw a palm tree—a primary Sufi symbol—grow at his feet, realizing it signified the poor man he had driven away.
THE "LESSER BRETHREN" AND JOURNEYS TO THE EAST
The Franciscans were named the Minor or "Lesser Brethren." This title is significant because a major Sufi order of the time, founded by Najmuddin Kubra ("the Greater"), was known as the "Greater Brethren." Najmuddin was famous for his extraordinary influence over animals, an ability for which St. Francis is also legendary. Furthermore, Francis’s famous dictum, "What every one is in the eyes of God, that he is no more," is a direct echo of a saying by Najmuddin.
Convinced he was seeking the source of his troubadour inspiration, Francis made several "aimless journeys" to the East. He traveled through Saracen Spain and later went to the Crusades in Egypt, not to fight, but to visit the Sultan Malik el-Kamil. He was received with great honor. Upon returning, his first act was to try to dissuade the Crusaders from attacking the Saracens. It was after this journey that he composed his celebrated "Song of the Sun," a poem whose central imagery strongly parallels the "Sun" poetry of Rumi. The Franciscan Order itself was structured more like a dervish organization, from its hooded woollen cloak to its inclusion of laymen and its central tenet that followers should not be concerned with their own personal salvation—a Sufi view that sees such concern as vanity.
Concise Summary
St. Francis of Assisi is presented not merely as a Christian saint but as an initiate of the Sufi tradition, whose troubadour background, unique parables, and the very structure and teachings of his Franciscan order all point to a direct transmission of dervish mysticism into medieval Europe.
Mysteries In The West: V. The Secret Doctrine
THE INCOMPLETE TRANSMISSION OF SARACEN LEARNING
The West is an heir to medieval Arab philosophy, but it inherited an incomplete tradition. While the Saracens possessed both a scholastic, book-based method and a living, experiential path guided by a master, the West primarily imported the former. The personal element of the teacher was largely dropped in favor of institutionalization. The West eagerly consumed the "canned pineapples" of Saracen science and art, but lacked the knowledge of how to cultivate the tree on which they grew.
This partial transmission led to a fragmentation of knowledge, and its inner, unifying sense was lost. Those who persisted in thinking Sufistically—in an integrated, experiential way—were branded as occultists. The West took what it needed for its own development and then, through the Crusades and later propaganda, slammed the door on the Saracen world, stigmatizing it as diabolical.
THE HIDDEN SUFI CURRENT
Despite the slammed door, a hidden current of Sufi teaching persisted in the West. It surfaced in mysterious figures like Brother Anselm of Turmeda, who was both a Christian saint in Majorca and the Sufi Abdullah el Tarjuman ("the Translator"), and in the work of the expelled Jesuit, Father Juan Andres, who detailed the Arab-Sufi origins of Western culture long before modern scholars had the evidence. He had tapped into a living, secret vein of knowledge. The names of the great "occult illuminati" of Europe—Raymond Lully, Roger Bacon, Paracelsus, and Albertus Magnus—are a roster of those who transmitted this secret doctrine.
The modern rediscovery of this doctrine began with the Spanish Arabist Miguel Asín y Palacios. He unearthed the work of the ninth-century Spanish Sufi Ibn Masarrah and his illuminist school, and found it to be the direct source for the allegories of Dante, the philosophy of Roger Bacon, the mysticism of St. John of the Cross, and the Jewish Cabala. This school taught that there has always been a single, continuous stream of inner wisdom, a secret doctrine passed down from the most ancient masters. The recognition of this living stream is slowly causing the pendulum of Western thought to swing back, as seekers begin to realize that the scattered seeds of Sufi ideas planted in Europe centuries ago are part of their own deepest heritage.
Concise Summary
The Western world received a rich but incomplete transmission of Saracen learning, adopting its intellectual forms while largely ignoring the essential role of the living Sufi teacher. This resulted in a "secret doctrine," a hidden current of Sufi illuminist thought that profoundly shaped Western mysticism, philosophy, and esoteric traditions.
The Sufis, The Higher Law
SIR RICHARD BURTON'S "THE KASIDAH"
One of the most remarkable productions of Western Sufic literature is The Kasidah ("Lay of the Higher Law"), a long poem written by the explorer and initiate Sir Richard Burton. Published under the pseudonym of "Haji Abdu al-Yazdi," the work is a powerful and authentic expression of Sufi thought, composed before Burton had even read FitzGerald’s translation of Omar Khayyam; their similarity stems from their shared Sufi source. The "Higher Law" which Burton expounds is a reconstructive philosophy. It asserts that self-cultivation with due regard for others is the sole object of life, that affections and pity are man’s highest enjoyments, and that one must suspend judgment and be suspicious of "Facts, the idlest of superstitions."
A SUFI CRITIQUE OF RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY
The Kasidah is a sweeping critique of human belief systems from a Sufi perspective. It follows a seeker who leaves the pilgrim caravan of ordinary humanity to travel the Sufi road, systematically dismantling the comforting illusions of religion, philosophy, and science. The poem assails the shallow pessimism of the ego-bound poet, the grim confidence of the ascetic, and the man-made gods of every faith—from the Jewish Jehovah, a "Man of War," to the Christian "riddle-god, whose one is three and three is one."
Burton affirms the Sufi teaching that good and evil are relative concepts and that all faith is both false and true, because truth is like a shattered mirror, with each person believing his tiny fragment is the whole. The true path is not to seek answers to "Why," but to understand "How."
THE SUFI PATH AND ITS LEGACY
Burton's poem, like the works of other Western Sufis, provided a bridge for the modern mind to access these ideas. Another such work was The Mystic Rose from the Garden of the King, an allegorical romance by the diplomat Sir Fairfax Cartwright. Published under a pseudonym, the book recounts the inner experiences of life in a Sufi school and uses traditional Sufi allegories, like the "Tale of the Sands," to illustrate the necessity of the teacher and the surrender of the ego. In the tale, a stream cannot cross a desert until it allows itself to be absorbed and carried by the wind, losing its familiar form to preserve its essential nature. The stream at first resists, fearing the loss of its individuality, but the desert sands explain that this is the only way, and that the way is "written in the Sands."
Concise Summary
Sir Richard Burton's powerful poem The Kasidah stands as a major work of Western Sufism, offering a radical critique of conventional religion and philosophy while pointing toward a "Higher Law" of self-development, a theme also explored in other allegorical works.
The Sufis, The Book of the Dervishes
THE ROLE OF THE SHEIKH, OR GUIDE
The standard dervish textbook is the Awarif el-Maarif ("Gifts of Knowledge") by the thirteenth-century master Sheikh Shahabudin Suhrawardi. This work outlines the framework of dervish thought, beginning with the character of the Sheikh, or Guide. For the disciple, finding a true Guide is the first real step on the Path. The Guide's function is to "remove the rust" from the disciple's mind, making objective reality accessible to him.
A true Guide must be free from any subjective desire for leadership. He must possess the perception to assess a disciple's capacity and provide him with the specific training he needs. He must remain detached from the disciple’s property, accepting material things only for the common good. His speech must be pure and objective, and he gives criticism in disguised or allegorical form. Most importantly, the Guide must keep the disciple’s inner development a secret, knowing that anticipation of spiritual states can block the path to them.
THE DUTIES OF THE DISCIPLE
The disciple, in turn, must place complete and obedient faith in his Guide, aligning his own will with that of the teacher. He must be an attentive observer, referring his dreams to the Sheikh for diagnosis of his inner state. He speaks to his teacher with respect and at a convenient time. Critically, he must conceal the miracles or special capacities of the teacher that he might witness, but must reveal his own inner experiences truthfully to the Sheikh.
LIFE IN A DERVISH COMMUNITY
Dervish communities are composed of dwellers and travelers. The dwellers are often divided into three groups according to their stage of development: the People of Service are beginners who perform external duties; the People of Society are engaged in mutual activities to build their inner bond; and the People of Retirement are the most senior, spending much of their time in contemplation. Travel, both physical and metaphorical, is an important part of dervish activity. The "dance" and music of the dervishes are also specialized tools, to be used only under a master’s direction. The patched mantle, or khirqa, is a central symbol used to confer authority and transmit baraka (impalpable grace) from a teacher to his successor.
THE DOCTRINES OF KNOWLEDGE AND THE HUMAN ESSENCE
The book explains that the highest form of knowledge is "deep knowledge" (maarifat), a direct perception of reality achieved through "certitude" (yakina), a science based on direct experience, not speculation. All dervish teaching is based on the concept of the human essence (dhat). The central dictum is: "He who knows his essential self, knows his God." This essence is obscured by ten "blameable qualities" or veils, including desire, hypocrisy, and greed. Unlike modern psychology which aims to restore a social norm, the Sufi aims to remove these veils to propel the individual forward in his evolution. The allegories of scripture are interpreted by dervishes as symbols for these deep psychological and mystical processes.
Concise Summary
The "Gifts of Knowledge" outlines the structure of the dervish path, detailing the essential and reciprocal relationship between the spiritual Guide and the disciple, the stages of life within a dervish community, and the core doctrines of knowledge, certitude, and the refinement of the human essence.
The Sufis, The Dervish Orders
THE NATURE OF SUFI ORDERS
Most Sufis belong to a Tariqa (a Way), which Westerners call an "Order." Unlike a Christian monastic order, a Sufi Way is not a fixed, self-perpetuating institution. As a living, evolutionary entity, its form, rules, and rituals are determined by the needs of the "work" as guided by a living master. An Order may exist as a physical monastery, or it may be an invisible organism of individuals and activities spread across the globe. The eleventh-century master Ali el-Hujwiri, in his classic work The Revelation of the Veiled, provided the first public account of Sufism and its orders, which also contained, for the initiate, concealed information on the Sufi secret language.
THE ACTIVATION OF THE "SUBTLETIES" (LATAIFA)
The central work of the dervish orders is the "activation of the subtleties" (lataif). The lataif are incipient organs of spiritual perception, and their awakening is what constitutes the development of a "new man." There are five main centers, each with a corresponding color and a theoretical location in the body which serves as a focus for concentration exercises: Heart (yellow, left side); Spirit (red, right side); Secret (white, solar plexus); Mysterious (black, forehead); and Deeply Hidden (green, center of chest).
The awakening of these centers must be part of a comprehensive, balanced development supervised by a master. If a latifa activates accidentally or out of sequence, the result can be dangerous, leading to an unbalanced mind, exaggerated self-importance, and the emergence of false teachers who mistake a partial psychic ability for full enlightenment.
THE ROLE OF THE TEACHER AND THE FOUR JOURNEYS
The teacher’s role is to guide the disciple so that the subtleties awaken harmoniously. This is achieved through a process called tajalli (irradiation or illumination). The true mystical experience (hal) is not the goal itself, but a gift that allows the Sufi to establish a permanent stage of objective knowledge (makam). The complete Sufi path is described as Four Journeys. The first is the attainment of fana (unification with objective reality). The second is baqa (permanency), in which the Sufi stabilizes this knowledge and becomes a teacher. In the third journey, this teacher becomes a universal guide. In the final, fourth journey, the Perfect Man guides others through the transition of physical death to the next stage of being.
Concise Summary
The Dervish Orders are not fixed institutions but evolutionary schools designed to guide seekers through a comprehensive and balanced development, centered on the master’s activation of the student's latent organs of spiritual perception, a process that leads the individual through successive journeys toward becoming a Perfected Man.
The Sufis, Seeker After Knowledge
THE INTELLECTUAL SEEKER
A young, intellectual Westerner arrives at the circle of a Sufi teacher in India. He recounts his long journey: years spent studying mysticism in books, followed by travels across the East, visiting and rejecting numerous teachers. He found formal religions too dogmatic, Zen out of touch, and other cults too focused on personality worship. He now seeks something practical from this Sufi master.
THE PROBLEM OF PRECONCEIVED IDEAS
The Sheikh immediately challenges the young man's entire approach. He explains that the seeker is judging everything based on a set of preconceived ideas, which is the very thing preventing his progress. "You have set yourself a task: to find spiritual truth," the Sheikh says, but "you have sought this truth in the wrong directions, and interpreted its manifestations in the wrong way." The seeker has been using the tools of carpentry for watchmaking. He assumes he can judge what is a "fundamental" truth, yet his intellectual framework is precisely what blinds him to it. The Sheikh explains that every event has a deeper reality and infinite ramifications that the ordinary mind does not perceive.
THE CRUTCH OF THE INTELLECT
The visitor understands the logic of this, but confesses he cannot experience it and is unwilling to discard his previous knowledge. In response, the Sheikh tells him an allegory about a society of cripples who became so dependent on their crutches that they forgot how to walk. They eventually "proved" that crutches were necessary by pointing to people who could not walk without them, and they called those who could walk on their own deluded. The seeker objects that the analogy is not perfect. "Does any analogy fit completely?" the Sheikh replies. "You know that scientific laws are only relatively true, and yet you seek complete truth through relative methods?"
The lesson of the encounter is that the intellect must be brought into its right perspective before real learning can begin. The extremes of both the Western intellectual approach—the demand to judge everything for oneself—and the supposed Eastern approach—the desire to submit completely—are useless for the Sufi path. A balance must be found, learned not from books, but from the direct observation of the living teacher.
Concise Summary
This chapter, through a dialogue between a Sufi master and an intellectual Western seeker, illustrates the central Sufi teaching that spiritual knowledge cannot be attained through preconceived ideas or the formal intellect, but requires the surrender of false certainty and the guidance of a living teacher.
The Sufis, The Creed of Love
THE NATURE OF SUFI LOVE
Sufism is often called the creed of love, a theme captured in Rumi’s parable of the lover who knocks at the Beloved’s door. He is first turned away for saying, “It is I,” but is admitted only when he returns and answers, “It is Thee.” For the Sufi, however, love is not an end in itself, nor is human love the highest potential of a human being. It is, rather, a reflection of and a vehicle for a greater truth. This comprehensive ideal began to deteriorate in the West as it was translated into new languages, losing its original Sufi context.
THE TROUBADOURS AND THEIR SUFI ORIGINS
The West’s tradition of romantic love, expressed through the troubadours, has its origins in Saracen Spain. Historians confirm that the troubadours of southern France were direct imitators of Arab singers in sentiment, form, and style. The very word “troubadour” is a European rendering of an Arabic technical term. It is not derived from the romance word for “finding,” but from the Arabic roots TRB (music, song) and RBB (the viol, an instrument used by Sufi minstrels). A third, related root yields Rabbat (“lady, mistress, female idol”). This cluster of words provides a complete picture of a Sufi school. The troubadours were a group of teachers for whom the love theme was one part of a larger whole; they were “lovers” and “masters,” played the viol, and spoke of divinity in female terms, just as the great Spanish Sufi Ibn el-Arabi did.
THE FUNCTION OF LOVE IN SUFISM
As this tradition spread into Europe, its many facets were forgotten. The West accepted the outward forms—the love poetry, the music, the celebration of life—but the inner sense and the essential role of the living teacher were largely lost. The purpose of the Sufi poet-lover is not merely to be absorbed in the truth he perceives. He is transformed by it, and as a consequence gains a social function: to return to the world and inject back into the stream of life the direction humanity needs to fulfill its evolutionary destiny. Love is a common denominator for all of humanity. The Sufi, having penetrated its secrets, returns to the world to convey the steps of the Path.
Concise Summary
The Western tradition of romantic love, epitomized by the troubadours, is revealed to be a direct but partial transmission of the Sufi “creed of love,” a complex system of thought in which love serves as a vehicle for human transformation and the realization of a higher truth.
The Sufis, Miracles and Magic
THE SUFI VIEW AND FUNCTION OF MIRACLES
The Sufi view of miracles is entirely functional. When the great master Bahaudin Naqshband was asked about his miracles, he explained that there is a "food of impressions" which only the elect can perceive and direct. Miracles are a part of this extra nutriment; their function is to provoke a variety of reactions in people—confusion, skepticism, fear, or excitement—according to each individual's inner state. The miracle is thus an instrument of both influence and assessment.
For the Sufi, all miracles are a form of coincidence, a series of events happening in a specific relationship that appears to defy the laws of space and time. Because their nature is inseparable from their complex effects, they cannot be fully explained. The important thing is the effect, not the cause. The ordinary observer is hampered because he seeks to explain phenomena in terms he already understands, instead of extending his own perceptions to meet them. Being lost in crude wonder at marvels prevents one from understanding their true function within the developmental pattern of human life.
MAGIC AS A DETERIORATED SUFIC SYSTEM
Magic, like miracles, is seen by the Sufis as having a functional and developmental aspect. Much of Sufi lore was transmitted through the vehicle of magic, using its terminology to convey allegorical teachings. From the Sufi perspective, however, magic is generally a deterioration of a complete Sufic system. It is a fragment of a methodology, pursued without the essential contact with the system’s overall evolutionary destiny. Magic works by heightening emotion to create a "spark" that connects to a greater force. The Sufi, by contrast, does not seek to explode this emotional force but to organize it into a stable fuel for the continuous operation of "being and knowing."
THE BRETHREN OF SINCERITY AND THE CABALA
This hidden transmission is evident in the history of secret societies. The Ikhwan El Safa (Brethren of Sincerity) was a tenth-century secret Sufi group in Basra that published an encyclopedia of all known science and philosophy. Their aim was to make learning available as a prelude to inner knowledge. Their teachings were brought to Spain by the astronomer El Majriti and from there influenced the whole of the West. Their impact was most profound on the Jewish mystical system of the Cabala. According to the Jewish Encyclopaedia, the Brethren of Sincerity originated the system of divine elements that became the basis of the Cabala. Jewish mysticism in the eighth century was revived under the direct influence of Sufism, and the great Jewish philosopher Solomon Ibn Gabirol (Avicebron) was a follower of the Spanish Sufi Ibn Masarrah.
Concise Summary
Sufism reframes miracles and magic not as supernatural events but as functional phenomena within a larger, evolutionary process. Magic is seen as a deteriorated fragment of the complete Sufi system, whose own teachings, transmitted through secret societies like the Brethren of Sincerity, became the direct source for the Jewish mystical tradition of the Cabala.
The Sufis, The Teacher, the Teaching, the Taught
THE NECESSITY OF THE TEACHER
The common assumption that one can travel the mystic Path alone is, for the Sufi, a dangerous error born from a misplaced sense of self-reliance. An individual who seeks guidance from an expert in any other field does not feel he has lost his freedom, yet in spiritual matters, he resists. The would-be Sufi is like an untrained hawk who believes the hawkmaster wants to cage him, not realizing that he is being offered a fuller and more meaningful life. A teacher is essential because the seeker does not know the Way and cannot mature in solitude. The Sufi path is not a solitary endeavor but a complex interaction between three things: the teacher, the learner, and the community. As Rumi says: “Science is learned by words; art by practice; detachment by companionship.”
THE NATURE OF THE SUFI TEACHER
The function of the Sufi teacher is far more complex than that of an ordinary instructor. His task is not to teach what can be taught, but to facilitate what must be "caught," like a passion. His primary function is in being. There is no division between his public and private personality; he is not an actor playing a part. This does not mean he is static. The image of the aloof, unchanging, perpetually calm master is an externalist fantasy. For the Sufi, qualities like detachment are only one part of a dynamic interchange; a person who is always detached has simply overdeveloped one faculty at the expense of his organic wholeness. The true teacher's stage of illumination is visible, for the most part, only to those who are themselves enlightened.
THE TEACHING, THE LEARNER, AND THE SCHOOL
The teacher's method may seem destructive, but it is "essentially reconstructive," like pulling down a house to find the treasure buried beneath it. The process requires the student to abandon his preconceived ideas and his assumption that he has the capacity to judge spiritual truths. The teacher's role is to open the student's mind so that he may become accessible to his own destiny. There is an immense variety of Sufi teachers and schools because they are part of an organic process. A teacher might be a silent wanderer in a patchwork coat—the origin of the Harlequin—or an ordinary person with a pot of ink. A Sufi cannot teach until he has received the "Robe of Permission" from his own mentor. The entire process—the teacher, the teaching, and the taught—is a single, indivisible phenomenon that can only be understood through participation.
Concise Summary
The Sufi path is an indivisible unity of the teacher, the teaching, and the taught, where the living, multifaceted example of the master is essential for guiding the student beyond the limits of his own conditioned mind toward a direct, transformative experience of reality.
The Sufis, The Far East
SUFI INFLUENCE ON HINDU MYSTICISM
The mystical stream of humanity is essentially one, and what often appear to be independent traditions in the Far East are revealed to have deep connections with Sufism. Scholars have shown that the great religious movements in South India from the ninth to the twelfth centuries, including the love-mysticism of the bhakti type, were strongly influenced by Sufi teachings. Key concepts such as an increasing emphasis on monotheism, emotional worship, self-surrender, and adoration of the teacher (guru bhakti) were incorporated into medieval Hinduism precisely in the areas and during the times of Sufi settlement.
Great Hindu reformers like Kabir and Dadu were steeped in Sufi lore. The Sikh religion was founded by Guru Nanak, who freely admitted his debt to Sufism; the very name "Sikh" means "Seeker," a standard term for a Sufi traveler. Even the father of the poet Rabindranath Tagore, Maharshi Devendranath Tagore, attained a beatific vision after studying not Hindu scriptures, but the poetry of the Sufi master Hafiz.
THE SUFI SYNTHESIS AND ZEN BUDDHISM
The seventeenth-century Mogul prince Dara Shikoh, following a long tradition of Sufi inquiry, undertook a comparative study of Hindu, Islamic, Jewish, and Christian scriptures, concluding that the esoteric tradition within them all was identical to the Sufi one. This illustrates the three levels of contact: at the highest level, a unity of mystical aim; at the lowest, a clash between rigid formalists; and in the middle, a continuous and fruitful interchange.
A similar connection exists with Zen Buddhism. Historically, Zen appeared in Japan at a time of strong Sufi impetus in India and originated in South China, a region with Muslim settlements for centuries. The similarities in terminology, allegories, and the activities of masters are considerable. From a Sufi viewpoint, Zen's method of direct transmission and sudden "impact" is strikingly similar to their own. A letter by the Zen teacher Yengo, explaining the nature of Zen, reads almost exactly like a Sufi text: "It is presented right to your face... Look into your own being and seek it not through others." While this could point to a direct transmission, the Sufi belief is that the basis for the teaching is inherent in the human mind everywhere, and any contact simply serves to rekindle it.
Concise Summary
The great mystical traditions of the Far East, including Hindu bhakti movements, Sikhism, and Zen Buddhism, are shown to have been profoundly shaped by Sufi thought and practice, demonstrating the universal and adaptive nature of the single, underlying stream of human mystical development.
The Sufis, Appendix I: Esoteric Interpretation of the Qur’an
A SUFI READING OF A QUR'ANIC CHAPTER
For the classical Sufis, the Qur’an is an encoded document containing their teachings, with numerous levels of meaning that correspond to the reader's capacity for understanding. This multi-layered approach is what made dialogue possible between people of nominally different faiths.
A primary example is Chapter 112, the "Chapter of the Unity." A literal translation reads: "Say... ‘He, Allah, is Unity! Allah the Eternal. Fathering nobody, and not himself engendered—And absolutely nothing is like him!’" Conventionally, this is seen by Muslims as a declaration of faith and by Christians as an attack on the doctrine of Christ's divinity, creating a psychological conflict. The Sufis, however, never accepted this limited interpretation. The great master Ghazali explains that the chapter was revealed in response to a question from Bedouin Arabs: "To what may we compare Allah?" The answer, therefore, is that Allah cannot be compared to anything familiar to humanity. "Allah" is the word used to denote the final objectivity, a uniqueness beyond time, number, or any sense of propagation known to man. It was on this more profound level that a common ground was laid between thinking people of all faiths.
Concise Summary
The Qur'an, for the Sufi, is a multi-layered text whose esoteric meaning transcends dogmatic conflict; Chapter 112, for example, is not an attack on other faiths but a statement on the incomparable nature of ultimate reality.
The Sufis, Appendix II: The Rapidness
THE SHATTARI METHOD
One of the most attractive aspects of Sufism for the impatient is "The Rapidness," or the Shattari Method. This technique for accelerated Sufi development traditionally emanates from the Naqshbandi Order of Central Asia. It was brought to India in the fifteenth century by Sheikh Abdullah Shattar, who would travel between monasteries and challenge their leaders to share in his method. The Shattari Order became powerful and influenced several Mogul emperors, but it ceased to be a major public entity in the nineteenth century, degenerating into a self-perpetuating organization. The Shattari Methods, though widely sought after, remain in the custody of their parent school, the Naqshbandi Order.
Concise Summary
The Shattari Method is a legendary Sufi technique for rapid spiritual development, historically associated with the Naqshbandi Order, which remains the custodian of its secrets.
Ebook.
You're about to hear an audiobook version of a detailed summary of the book 'The Sufis' by Idries Shah, with an introduction by Robert Graves. [pause 1s] This work contains an introduction, a preface, numerous chapters, and appendices, exploring the nature, history, and profound influence of Sufism on world culture. [pause 1s] Let's begin with the Introduction by Robert Graves. [pause 2s]
We begin with the nature and character of Sufism. [pause 1s]
The Sufis are described as an ancient spiritual freemasonry with untraceable origins. They are not a Moslem sect but are at home in all religions, viewing Sufism as the secret teaching within every faith. While Islam is considered the "shell" of Sufism, its followers were commanded by the Prophet Mohammed to respect all "People of a Book." Sufis are bound by no specific dogma, have no regular places of worship, sacred cities, or monastic organizations. They dislike inclusive names, and "Sufi" is just a nickname; they refer to themselves as "we friends" and recognize one another by natural gifts, habits, and qualities of thought rather than by any formal hierarchy. [pause 1s]
The Sufi ideal is to be "in the world, but not of it," meaning to be free from ambition, greed, intellectual pride, and blind obedience to custom. They respect religious rituals for fostering social harmony but seek to broaden doctrinal bases and interpret myths in a higher sense; for example, angels are seen as representations of man's higher faculties. An individual is offered a "secret garden" for understanding but is not required to become a monk or hermit. [pause 1s]
Next, we explore the path of love and conscious evolution. [pause 1s]
The earliest known theory of conscious evolution originates with the Sufis, but it applies to the individual rather than the race. The journey from childhood to adulthood is just one stage in developing higher powers, with the dynamic force being love, not asceticism or intellect. Enlightenment comes through a poetic love, a perfect devotion to a Muse. The great Spanish Arab Sufi, Ibn el Arabi, expressed this devotion in his poetry, writing, quote: "I follow the religion of Love," end quote. This love theme later influenced the ecstatic cult of the Virgin Mary, particularly in European regions that fell under Sufic influence. [pause 1s]
Now, we will discuss secret language and symbolism. [pause 1s]
Sufi poets were the primary disseminators of Sufi thought and used a secret language of metaphor and verbal ciphers, often based on Semitic consonantal roots, to protect their ideas from vulgarization and accusations of heresy. The popular Thousand and One Nights, for instance, is Sufic in content, and its Arabic title is a code phrase meaning "Mother of Records." [pause 1s]
This way of thought is compared to the Druidic reverence for mistletoe. Mistletoe is a plant that is not a tree but grafts itself onto other trees, staying green when the host is dormant. This serves as a perfect emblem for Sufic thought, which is not planted like a formal religion but is engrafted onto existing ones, keeping its vitality when they become rigid with formalism. The driving force of its growth is a high and rare form of love. [pause 1s]
Moving on to the influence of Sufism on the West. [pause 1s]
The noblest Islamic art and architecture are Sufic in origin. Sufis also practice healing, especially for psychosomatic disorders, viewing it as a natural duty of love. After the Saracen conquests, Spain and Sicily became centers of Sufic thought, and Northern scholars flocked there to translate Sufi literature, not orthodox Islamic doctrine. The songs of the troubadours, whose name derives from the Arabic root TRB ("lutanist"), are of Saracen origin. [pause 1s]
Symbolism was used even by European royalty allied with Sufis. King James of Aragon's emblem of a bat is a rebus for "the Conqueror" in Arabic, from the root K H F SH, but for his Sufi allies, it also symbolized being awake to spiritual reality while others are asleep to it. Similarly, the coronation robe of King Roger the Second of Sicily contains intricate Sufic symbolism involving a palm tree, representing the Sufi path, or tariqat, a tiger, representing unimpaired honor, and a camel, representing mere elegance. [pause 1s]
Let's examine the practicality, universality, and connection to Freemasonry. [pause 1s]
Sufis have always insisted on the practicality of their viewpoint, using fables and legends to illustrate prudent human behavior. They accept Jesus as an inspired prophet but believe any person can attain a quasi-divinity, as there is "no god but God." The supernatural traditions of the Koran are seen as metaphorical. Sufi stories have deeply influenced European literature; the legend of Wilhelm Tell appears in Attar's Parliament of the Birds, and Cervantes acknowledged an Arabic source for Don Quixote, which follows the tales of the legendary Sufi teacher Sidi Kishar. [pause 1s]
Thinkers like Raymond Lully and Roger Bacon were heavily influenced by Sufism. Bacon studied in Saracen Spain and learned of the illuminist school of Córdoba. The term "Black Arts," associated with him, is a play on two Arabic words, one meaning "black" and the other "wise." Furthermore, Freemasonry itself began as a Sufi society, brought to England in the tenth century. Its core metaphor is the "reedification" or rebuilding of spiritual man from his ruined state, and its traditional builders, "Boaz" and "Solomon," were actually Sufi architects who built the Dome of the Rock. [pause 1s]
Finally, the purpose of the book. [pause 1s]
The author, Idries Shah Sayed, is a Grand Sheikh of the Sufi Tariqa, descended in the senior male line from the prophet Mohammed. He was persuaded by Robert Graves to write this book to provide accurate information for the many "natural Sufis" in the West who are unaware that their way of thinking is part of a shared, ancient tradition. The book is not for intellectuals but for those who will recognize its message as being addressed to them personally. [pause 2s]
That concludes the introduction by Robert Graves. Now, we turn to Section two, the Author's Preface. [pause 2s]
The author begins with a discussion on moving beyond academic study. [pause 1s]
While acknowledging the heroic work of scholars in making Sufi material available, this book affirms a core Sufi principle: the Way of the Sufis cannot be truly understood through intellect or book learning alone. It is a path that requires the physical presence of a Sufi teacher and a real teaching situation. Attempting to study Sufism without being a "working Sufi" is to approach it without its most essential factor. [pause 1s]
Next, the limits of rationalism. [pause 1s]
Sufism, the "secret tradition," cannot be accessed using the assumptions of the rational and "scientific" world. Its truths about extraphysical facts must be sought through a different way of thinking. Sufi literature and preparatory teachings are designed to bridge the gap between the world of intellect and the world of Sufi experience. If no such bridge were possible, the book would be worthless. [pause 1s]
The preface continues, describing a living, transmuted teaching. [pause 1s]
Sufism is presented as a nutrient for society, meant to be transmuted and integrated, not to subsist in an unaltered form or leave behind mechanical rituals. The teaching is transmitted through the human exemplar—the teacher. The outer shell of rituals and books that observers can see is secondary; the true vitality lies in the human transmission of baraka, or blessedness. A Sufi school is a natural organism that comes into being to flourish and then disappear, not to leave static, anthropologically interesting survivals. [pause 1s]
Now, on the purpose and scope of the book. [pause 1s]
This book focuses on the diffusion of Sufic thought from the seventh century onward, but this is for illustrative purposes only. The goal is not scholastic—accumulating information and making deductions—but rather to develop a line of communication with ultimate knowledge. Sufism is engaged with this ultimate knowledge, not with combining individual facts or theorizing. [pause 1s]
The author then explains Sufism's relation to other traditions. [pause 1s]
Sufism is described as "Eastern" only because it retains beliefs, like the importance of the human exemplar, that have fallen into disuse in the West. It is "occult" and "mystical" only because it follows a path different from that of authoritarian and dogmatic organizations. It claims a real source of knowledge that transcends the temporary, logical phase of human thought. [pause 1s]
Finally, the preface distinguishes between experience versus experiment. [pause 1s]
The Franciscan monk Roger Bacon, a pioneer of the scientific method, learned from the Sufis that there is a profound difference between collecting information and knowing things through actual experience. In his Opus Maius, he states that argument alone does not provide certainty; only experience can. However, Western science took this concept in the limited sense of "experiment," where the observer remains outside the experience. From the Sufi viewpoint, this partial tradition has prevented science from approaching knowledge "by means of itself," through full participation and inner experience. [pause 2s]
This concludes the Author's Preface. We now move to Section three, which is Chapter one, titled, The Islanders—A Fable. [pause 2s]
The chapter begins by describing the original homeland and the forced exile. [pause 1s]
Fables often contain truth, allowing people to absorb ideas that their ordinary patterns of thinking might otherwise prevent them from digesting. Sufi teachers have long used them to present a picture of life that is more in harmony with their feelings than intellectual exercises can provide. This is a Sufi fable, adapted for our time, about the human situation. [pause 1s]
Once, in a distant land, there lived an ideal community we can call the El Ar people. They lived without fear as we know it, possessing purposefulness and a fuller means of self-expression instead of uncertainty and vacillation. Their lives were richer not because of the stresses and tensions that modern humanity considers essential to progress, but because better elements replaced these things. They had real lives, not the semi-lives of today, existing in a slightly different mode where our current perceptions would be seen as crude, makeshift versions of the real ones they possessed. [pause 1s]
Their leader discovered that their country was to become uninhabitable for a vast period, perhaps twenty thousand years. He planned their escape, realizing their descendants could return home only after many trials. He found them a place of refuge on an island, only roughly similar to their homeland. Because of the different climate and situation, the immigrants had to undergo a transformation, making them physically and mentally adapted to the new circumstances. Finer perceptions were replaced by coarser ones, much as a manual laborer's hand toughens in response to his work. [pause 1s]
To lessen the pain of comparing their old and new states, they were made to forget the past almost entirely. Only a shadowy recollection remained, just sufficient to be awakened when the time came. The system was complex but well-arranged. The very organs they needed for survival and enjoyment on the island were repurposed from their original, more constructive functions. These original faculties were placed in abeyance, linked to that shadowy memory in preparation for their eventual reactivation. [pause 1s]
The fable continues with the revolution of ease. [pause 1s]
Slowly and painfully, the immigrants adjusted to the island's conditions. The island's resources, combined with effort and a specific form of guidance, would allow people to escape to a succession of further islands, gradually reacclimatizing on their way back to their original home. This responsibility for "evolution" was vested in a few individuals who could sustain it, specialists who guarded the "special science"—the knowledge and application of maritime skills required for the transition. The escape required an instructor, raw materials, people, effort, and understanding. Given these, people could learn to swim and build ships. [pause 1s]
For a time, the process continued satisfactorily, with the instructors making it clear that a certain preparation was necessary. Then, a man who had been found lacking in the necessary qualities rebelled. He observed that the effort to escape placed a heavy burden on people, yet they were disposed to believe what they were told about the escape operation. He realized he could gain power and take revenge on those who, he felt, had undervalued him by a simple exploitation of these facts. He would offer to take away the burden by affirming that there was no burden at all. [pause 1s]
He announced that there was no need for mankind to integrate and train the mind in the prescribed way, for the human mind was already stable and consistent. He declared, quote, "I say, not only do you not need to be a craftsman—you do not need a ship at all!", end quote. An islander, he preached, only needed to observe a few simple rules and exercise the common sense born into everyone to attain anything upon the island, their rightful home. Having gained much interest, the tonguester "proved" his message by challenging the instructors: quote, "If there is any reality in ships and swimming, show us ships which have made the journey, and swimmers who have come back!", end quote. [pause 1s]
This was a challenge the instructors could not meet, based on a fallacy the bemused herd could not see. Ships never returned from the other land, and swimmers who did come back had undergone a fresh adaptation that made them invisible to the crowd. The mob, demanding proof, was told that shipbuilding is an art and a craft, a total activity with an impalpable element called baraka—"the Subtlety"—which could not be examined piecemeal. "Art, craft, total, baraka, nonsense!" shouted the revolutionaries, who then hanged as many shipbuilding craftsmen as they could find. [pause 1s]
Next, the fable describes a society built on illusion. [pause 1s]
The new gospel was welcomed as a liberation. Man felt he had discovered his own maturity and was released from responsibility. This simple and comforting concept soon swamped most other ways of thinking, until it was considered a basic, rational fact. "Rational" came to mean anyone who harmonized with this general theory, and opposing ideas were easily dismissed as irrational and therefore bad. The individual, even if plagued by doubts, had to suppress them to be thought rational. [pause 1s]
Evidence for this new rationality abounded, provided one did not think beyond the life of the island. The society, based on a combination of reason and emotion, seemed to provide a plausible completeness when viewed only through its own lens. Compromise became the trademark of this temporary balance; for instance, cannibalism was permitted on rational grounds—the human body was edible, edibility is a characteristic of food, therefore the human body is food—but was then controlled in the interests of society. [pause 1s]
The consequences of their assumptions were used to "prove" the assumptions themselves, creating a pseudo-certainty. This process was captured in their Great Universal Encyclopaedia. The entry for "SHIP" described it as an imaginary vehicle, noting that shipbuilding was a crime and "shipbuilding mania" was a form of mental escapism. The entry for "SWIMMING" called it an unpleasant and grotesque ritual based on a desire for domination, a cult that had recently taken the form of epidemic mania. The words "displeasing" and "unpleasant" were used for anything that conflicted with the new gospel, which was itself known as "Please"—an idea that people should please themselves, within the general need to please the State. [pause 1s]
It is hardly surprising that the very thought of leaving the island eventually filled most people with terror. The island was not a prison, but an invisible cage, more effective than any with obvious bars. As the society grew more complex, its literature became rich with works explaining the nation's values and allegorical fiction portraying how terrible life might have been otherwise. [pause 1s]
Now, we learn of the hidden path and its obstacles. [pause 1s]
From time to time, instructors and captains tried to help the whole community escape, sometimes sacrificing themselves to reestablish a climate where the concealed shipbuilders could work. Yet all these efforts were interpreted by island historians and sociologists only with reference to their own closed society. These scholars studied with genuine dedication what seemed to be true, asking "What more can we do?" or "What else can we do?" while failing to realize that their ability to formulate the right questions was flawed. [pause 1s]
Though thought and speech were free, they were of little use without the development of understanding, which was not pursued. The navigators had to constantly adapt their methods to the changing community, making their reality even more baffling to those who tried to study it from the island's perspective. Amid the confusion, even the memory of a potential escape could become an obstacle. The vague, stirring consciousness of this potential was not discriminating, and eager would-be escapers often settled for any kind of substitute. [pause 1s]
A concept of navigation is useless without orientation, but these eager people had been trained to believe they already had it—that they were already mature. They hated anyone who suggested they might need preparation. Bizarre versions of swimming and shipbuilding, offered by mere hucksters, often crowded out any possibility of real progress. [pause 1s]
Let's explore the diversions and the containment of doubt. [pause 1s]
The admirable and necessary approach known as science, essential in its proper fields, eventually outran its real meaning. The "scientific" approach was stretched until it covered all ideas, and things that could not be brought within its bounds became known as "unscientific," another convenient synonym for "bad." Words were unknowingly taken prisoner and enslaved. [pause 1s]
In the absence of a suitable attitude, the islanders absorbed themselves in finding substitutes for the fulfillment that was their original purpose. They pursued mainly emotional commitments, cults, money, or social prominence. Some worshiped certain things and felt superior to others; some, by repudiating what they saw as worship, believed they had no idols and could safely sneer at the rest. The island became littered with the self-perpetuating debris of these cults, providing a mine of material for academics and intellectuals, giving a comforting sense of variety. [pause 1s]
Magnificent facilities for indulging limited "satisfactions"—palaces, museums, universities, stadiums—proliferated, and the people prided themselves on these endowments, believing them to be linked to ultimate truth, though they could not say how. In a way unknown to almost everyone, shipbuilding was connected to some dimensions of this activity. Meanwhile, clandestinely, the ships raised their sails and the swimmers continued to teach. A strange but logical industry grew up, devoted to satirizing the system under which they lived. This activity, in plays, books, and films, absorbed doubts by laughing at them. People felt that by giving their doubts temporary expression, they could assuage or exorcise them, mistaking satire for meaningful allegory. [pause 1s]
The fable concludes with the final choice. [pause 1s]
The dedicated swimmers and shipbuilders were not filled with dismay; they had originated in the same community and had indissoluble bonds with it and its destiny. But they often had to preserve themselves from their fellow citizens, who might try to "save" them or kill them for equally sublime reasons. Many sought their help but could not find them, because hardly anyone knew what a swimmer really was, what he was doing, or where he could be found. [pause 1s]
Still, here and there a candidate would present himself to a swimming instructor. A stereotyped conversation would often take place. The candidate would say, "I want to learn to swim," but would then insist, "I only have to take my ton of cabbage." When the instructor asked what cabbage, the reply was, "The food which I will need on the other island." The instructor would explain that there is better food there, but the candidate, unable to be sure, would insist, "I must take my cabbage." The instructor would patiently state, "You cannot swim, for one thing, with a ton of cabbage." The candidate would then leave, saying, "Then I cannot go. You call it a load. I call it my essential nutrition," intending to find an instructor who understood his needs. [pause 1s]
The fable is not ended, for there are still people on the island. The Sufis use various ciphers to convey their meaning. If you rearrange the name of the original community—El Ar—it spells "Real." And perhaps you had already noticed that the name adopted by the revolutionaries—"Please"—rearranges to form the word "Asleep." [pause 2s]
That concludes the allegorical fable of the Islanders, which portrays humanity as an exiled community that has forgotten its true origin and embraced a limited existence. [pause 2s] Now we move to Chapter two, titled, The Travelers and the Grapes. [pause 2s]
This chapter begins by explaining the method of hidden meaning. [pause 1s]
Sufis traditionally esteem Aesop as a teacher of wisdom, but they note that the overt meaning of his fables often conceals a deeper truth. In the story of a young mole who wrongly claims he can see, his mother tests him with frankincense, which he calls a stone. She replies that he is not only blind but has also lost his sense of smell. To understand this fable, one must know the Sufi method of embedding meanings in literature through wordplay on Semitic roots. In Arabic, the word for "mole," khuld, is written with the same consonants as the words for "eternity," "paradise," "mind," and "soul." [pause 1s]
Thus, the story is not about an impostor but about the human mind. The mother, the origin of thought, presents frankincense, or impalpable experience, to the mind. Because the individual is focused on "sight," trying to develop faculties in the wrong order, he loses the powers he should already have. The reference to a stone recalls the Sufi tradition that "Moses, a guide, made a stone as fragrant as musk," symbolizing how a guiding thought can transform the inert into something vital. The fable teaches that the human being, instead of searching within for his development, follows external illusions that cripple him. This method of embedding a map for human development within the very structure of language is a key to understanding much of the world’s literature, where the literary form acts as a canal, still carrying the water of truth even if it is not recognized as such. [pause 1s]
Next, we learn about the character of the Sufi. [pause 1s]
The Sufi is the complete and perfected man, who through love, work, and harmony has attained mastership. As the seventeenth-century scholar Sirajudin noted, the Sufi adapts to his surroundings, quote: "among roses, be a rose, among thorns, be a thorn," end quote. They are poets and lovers, and depending on the context and the observer, may appear as soldiers, physicians, or mystics. To understand them requires an intuitive intelligence, one not held down by the logical mind. [pause 1s]
Rumi, one of the greatest masters, describes the Sufi as being, quote: "Drunk without wine; sated without food; distraught; a king beneath a humble cloak; a treasure within a ruin," end quote. The Sufi is wise through universal truth, not from a book, and is "beyond atheism and faith alike." This hidden nature makes Sufism difficult for outsiders to grasp, as its secret "protects itself. It is found only in the spirit and the practice of the Work." The Sufi can be anyone—your neighbor, rich or poor, a recluse or a public figure. It is estimated that between twenty and forty million people are affiliated with Sufi schools today. [pause 1s]
The author then discusses the limitations of outside observation. [pause 1s]
An investigation into Sufism cannot be made entirely from the outside, because it includes participation, training, and experience. Innumerable books have been written by Sufis, but these are often designed for specific circumstances, may seem contradictory, or contain meanings other than the superficial one. As Professor Nicholson observed, their writings "seldom impart their real significance except to those who possess the key to the cipher." [pause 1s]
This book itself employs the Sufic method of "scatter," by which an impact is made through multiple, consciously arranged activities. Just as a child first learns letters but then reads whole words, the student of Sufism must move through stages of understanding, leaving behind what was useful only at an earlier point. This approach is fundamentally different from that of conventionally metaphysical people who say, "It is all so indescribable, but I just feel what you mean." Sufis are engaged in a specialized effort to awaken a certain field of consciousness; their way is not one of airy-fairiness but contains "hard" as well as "soft" realities, discord as well as harmony. When the "bite" disappears from a situation, so does the Sufic element. [pause 1s]
A parable is presented on the unity of essence. [pause 1s]
The fundamental urge toward mystical experience is shared by all humanity, though it is often misunderstood. A Sufi teacher, the Agha, once illustrated this with a story of four traveling companions—a Persian, a Turk, an Arab, and a Greek—who were arguing over how to spend their only coin. The Persian wanted to buy angur; the Turk, uzum; the Arab, inab; and the Greek, stafil. A passing linguist offered to satisfy all their desires. He took the coin, went to a fruit seller, and returned with a bunch of grapes. [pause 1s]
"This is my angur," said the Persian. "But this is what I call uzum," said the Turk. "You have brought me inab," said the Arab. "No!" said the Greek, "this in my language is stafil." They realized their conflict was due only to misunderstanding one another's languages. The Agha explained that the travelers are ordinary people, and the linguist is the Sufi. People know they need something, but they give it different names—religion, ambition—and struggle against each other. The Sufi is the one who knows what they really mean and can show them the underlying unity of their desire. In this parable, the grapes symbolize ordinary religion, while wine—the product of the grape—is the real essence, or mysticism. The Sufi first helps the formal religionist see the fundamental identity of all faiths so that the greater teaching of the "wine" can be imparted. [pause 1s]
Now, on the adaptive and universal nature of the path. [pause 1s]
To succeed in this, a person must follow methods devised by earlier masters, techniques designed to slip through the complex conditioning imposed by one's environment. These methods are intuitive and adapt to the needs of different societies and times. Thus, the Sufi life can be lived at any time and in any place; it is not an "Eastern system," but a universal one. [pause 1s]
Mankind, according to Sufis, is infinitely perfectable through attunement with the whole of existence. This requires a balance between physical and spiritual life, so systems that teach withdrawal from the world are seen as unbalanced. The path involves progressive stages of development, corresponding to the transmutation of the "Seven Selves" or Nafs. The modern Sufi trend spread widely with the expansion of Islam, which provided a suitable framework for uniting the ancient centers of mystical teaching in Egypt, Palestine, Syria, and Central Asia under one rule. To these centers traveled Arab mystics, anciently known as the Near Ones, or muqarribun, who believed in the essential unity of the inner teachings of all faiths. [pause 1s]
Finally, the chapter discusses evolutionary destiny and diverse methods. [pause 1s]
As a result of these contacts, each ancient center of secret teaching became a Sufi stronghold, and the gap between the lore of Christians, Zoroastrians, Hebrews, Hindus, and Buddhists was bridged. This "confluence of essences," as Sufis call it, is a process of contacting the universal Sufic stream within every culture. Formal religion is for the Sufi a shell to be penetrated; having gone beyond it, he understands its real meaning and "returns to the world" to guide others. All religion is subject to development, and for the Sufi, this evolution is both within himself and in his relationship with all creation. As Rumi emphasizes, quote: "I died as inert matter and became a plant... I died as an animal, and became a man. So why should I fear...? I shall die as a man, to rise in 'angelic' form," end quote. [pause 1s]
This evolutionary role explains the seeming inconsistencies in Sufi conduct. Masters stressed renunciation when society was becoming overly materialistic, and poetry where entertainment prevailed. The common historical view that Sufism developed new ideas sequentially is a misunderstanding. According to Sufis, all elements were always present; different aspects were simply stressed at different times, with certain individuals chosen as exemplars for the needs of their community. [pause 2s]
That concludes our exploration of the parable of the travelers and the grapes, which illustrates how the Sufi reveals the underlying unity of humanity's spiritual quest. [pause 2s] We now turn to Chapter three, titled, The Elephant in the Dark. [pause 2s]
The chapter begins by discussing partial understanding. [pause 1s]
A man thrown blindfolded into water can feel its effect but cannot know what it is until the blindfold is removed; so too is the human understanding of total reality limited. Most people, the Sufis say, do not know what religion essentially is, arguing like a believer in a flat earth with one who holds it is cylindrical—neither has any real experience of the whole. The totality of life cannot be understood through everyday methods alone, as the human mind tends to generalize from partial evidence. Sufis, however, believe they can experience something more complete. [pause 1s]
This problem is illustrated by a traditional story. An elephant was stabled in the dark in a town where none had been seen before. Four citizens went to investigate. One touched its trunk and thought it was a hosepipe; another felt an ear and concluded it was a fan. The third felt a leg and likened it to a living pillar, while the fourth touched its back and was convinced it was a throne. None could form a complete picture, and each could only describe the part he felt in terms of things he already knew, resulting in confusion. [pause 1s]
Next, the limitations of scholarship. [pause 1s]
A person trying to understand Sufism by consulting reference books will encounter this very "elephant in the dark" mentality. Scholars have attributed Sufism's origins to a wide array of influences: Christian aberration, Hindu Vedanta, shamanism, Neoplatonism, or Gnosticism. One finds it a Persian sect, while another sees its source in the Qur’an itself. As Professor Nicholson noted, the numerous definitions of Sufism mainly show that "Sufism is undefinable." To those who have experienced it, however, it is clear that Sufism contains within itself the myriad threads that appear in these other systems, like "numberless waves... all from the same sea." [pause 1s]
The world's literature on Sufism, though large, has mostly been translated by Western scholars who have not experienced it from the inside, making many of their works incoherent without a Sufi’s commentary. This warping tendency has led theologians to be roused to wrath, as when Professor W. R. Inge attacked Sufis for using erotic language, suggesting they were attempting to give a, quote, "sacramental or symbolic character to the indulgence of their passions," end quote. Such a literal interpretation reveals an ignorance of the mechanism of the arts; as Evelyn Underhill noted, it is like thinking Blake was mad because he said he touched the sky with his finger. [pause 1s]
Let's now consider the nature of Sufi reality. [pause 1s]
The Sufi tradition asserts that it is a leaven within all human society. It cannot be systematized for academic study because its very diversity and adaptability prevent it from becoming static. According to Sufis, "Sufism is an adventure in living, a necessary adventure," carried out within every community and at every time. This link between the material and the metaphysical is fundamental. A Sufi understands that if a confused and incomplete person becomes a professional success, he simply remains a confused and incomplete person. [pause 1s]
While modern psychology learns as it goes along, Sufism is a system that has already learned how to transform the mind into an instrument for carrying humanity a stage further. Indeed, many supposedly modern psychological concepts, such as Freud's sexual arguments and Jung's archetypal theory, were articulated by Sufi masters like Ghazali and Ibn el Arabi centuries ago. As Jung himself admitted, Western psychoanalysis is "only a beginner's attempt compared to what is an immemorial art in the East." [pause 1s]
Finally, the chapter discusses conscious evolution. [pause 1s]
Sufis believe that humanity is evolving toward a certain destiny, and that for the last ten thousand years, this evolution can be conscious. The sporadic bursts of telepathy or prophetic power that ordinary people experience are seen by the Sufi as the first stirrings of a new complex of organs developing in response to this need. Our future depends upon this more rarefied evolution, which can be likened to "learning how to swim." [pause 1s]
These organs are developed by the Sufi method. The attainment of "stages" in this system is marked by an unmistakable, though ineffable, experience. This experience activates the organ in question and provides the strength to continue the climb; it is the "fixative substance" that makes the development permanent. This is the true meaning of mystical experience, which otherwise is merely a sublime sensation without direction. Beyond these formal terms, the only valid thing is the Sufic watchword, quote: "He who tastes not, knows not," end quote. [pause 2s]
That concludes the chapter on the Elephant in the Dark, which illustrates that the Sufi path must be experienced directly rather than studied from the outside. [pause 2s] Now, we turn to Chapter four, The Subtleties of Mulla Nasrudin. [pause 2s]
We begin with the purpose of the Nasrudin tales. [pause 1s]
Mulla, or Master, Nasrudin is a classical figure devised by dervishes to make certain states of mind clear. The Nasrudin stories, known throughout the Middle East, are a strange achievement in metaphysics. Superficially, they are jokes, but it is inherent in a Nasrudin story that it can be understood at many depths: there is the joke, the moral, and the extra element that brings a potential mystic further toward realization. Since Sufism is lived as well as perceived, the tales bridge the gap between mundane life and a transmutation of consciousness. [pause 1s]
Their humorous appeal has ensured their survival, but their primary purpose is to make the Sufi attitude toward life available. The legend of Nasrudin states that humor is a vehicle that can slip through the patterns of thought imposed by habit and design. The timeless, un-characterizable figure of Nasrudin is intentional; the message, not the man, is what matters. This has not stopped scholars from trying to pin him down, with one comically trying to "reverse" the numbers on his supposed tombstone to find his date of death. In fact, the numbers form a code word, ShaWaF, meaning "to cause someone to see." [pause 1s]
The tales are designed for challenging conditioned thought. [pause 1s]
The Nasrudin tales emphasize practical activity over the formal intellect. When a pedant on a sinking ferry declares half of Nasrudin's life wasted for not knowing grammar, Nasrudin asks if the scholar can swim. When the scholar says no, Nasrudin replies, quote, "Then all your life is wasted—we are sinking!", end quote. The stories also challenge rigid belief in cause and effect. After a man falls from a roof onto Nasrudin, breaking his neck while the man is unharmed, Nasrudin infers, quote, "Avoid belief in inevitability... He fell—but my neck is broken!", end quote. [pause 1s]
Because people are trapped in patterns of thinking, they often miss what is most obvious. Nasrudin, acting as a smuggler, daily crossed a frontier with his donkey's panniers full of straw. Though guards searched him and the straw meticulously every day, he grew richer. Years later, a retired guard asked him what he had been smuggling. "Donkeys," said Nasrudin. The story shows that the mystical goal is often nearer and simpler than people assume. [pause 1s]
Next, the nature of truth and perception. [pause 1s]
The tales show that what people call truth is relative to their situation. A king, wishing to make his subjects truthful, decreed that anyone entering the city must answer a question truthfully or be hanged. Nasrudin was asked, "Where are you going?" He replied, "I am going to be hanged on those gallows." This created a paradox for the guards: if they hang him for lying, his statement becomes true; if they let him pass, his statement was a lie. The point is that one must practice real truth before relative, man-made truth can be properly used. [pause 1s]
Standards of good and bad are also shown to be based on subjective criteria. After a terrifying bear hunt with a king, someone asked Nasrudin how it went. "Marvelously," he said. When asked how many bears he saw, he replied, "None." He explained, quote, "When you are hunting bears, and when you are me, seeing no bears at all is a marvelous experience," end quote. Spiritual teachings that are repeated without being refreshed from the source also lose their dynamic. When a succession of visitors arrive, each claiming to be a friend of a friend who had brought him a duck, all expecting a meal, Nasrudin finally serves the last guest a bowl of hot water. He explains, "That is the soup of the soup of the soup of the duck." [pause 1s]
The tales also address seeking enlightenment. [pause 1s]
People often do not know where to look for enlightenment. A neighbor found Nasrudin on his knees searching for a key. After helping for a while, he asked where the key was dropped. "At home," said Nasrudin. "Then why are you looking here?" "There is more light here," he replied. This famous Sufi commentary on seeking exotic sources for truth illustrates that people look where it is easiest, not where the answer lies. [pause 1s]
Many Nasrudin stories exist in a format designed for participation and recitation, exercising the mind in a way that parables, which lack regenerative force, cannot. When a disciple asks for a practical example of allegory, like an apple from Paradise, Nasrudin hands him one. The disciple objects, "But this apple is bad on one side—surely a heavenly apple would be perfect." Nasrudin replies, quote, "...but as far as you are able to judge it, situated as we are in this abode of corruption, and with your present faculties, this is as near to a heavenly apple as you will ever get," end quote. The story builds up the inner consciousness, preparing it for experiences that cannot be reached until a bridge is created. [pause 1s]
Now we will explore the inner meaning of the jokes. [pause 1s]
The legend of Nasrudin explains that the Sufi master Hussein snatched him from the "Old Villain"—the crude system of thought in which most people live. Hussein imparted his baraka, or Sufi power, to Nasrudin, transforming his stories into works of art that are infinitely complex. This baraka ensures that even a simple jest carries a teaching that grows when pondered. Nasrudin is a mirror in which one sees oneself. The mystical effect of seven Nasrudin tales, studied in succession, is believed to be enough to prepare an individual for enlightenment. [pause 1s]
The assumption that being alive means one is perceptive is denied by Sufism. A person may be clinically alive but perceptively dead. Nasrudin illustrates this when his wife tells him that if his limbs were cold, he would be dead. Later, cutting wood in the winter, his hands and feet grow cold. "I am undoubtedly dead," he thinks, and lies down on the grass. When wolves attack his donkey, he thinks, quote, "if I had been alive I would not have allowed you to take liberties with my donkey," end quote. [pause 1s]
The tales also discuss the path of self-development. [pause 1s]
The preparation of the Sufi mind requires self-work. Nasrudin goes into a shop and asks for leather, and nails, and dye. "Why don't you make yourself a pair of boots?" the shopkeeper asks. This provides the starting point for the would-be seeker: to do something for himself under guidance. The quest, however, cannot be carried out in unacceptable company. After thoughtlessly inviting friends home for a meal he cannot provide, Nasrudin hides upstairs. When his wife tells the guests he is not home, they protest that they saw him enter. Nasrudin leans out the window and shouts, "I could have gone out again by the back door, couldn't I?" This emphasizes the falsity of the belief that man has a stable consciousness; at the mercy of impacts, his behavior varies constantly. [pause 1s]
Many tales highlight that people who expect mystical attainment on their own terms exclude themselves from the start. A woman asks Nasrudin, a magistrate, to forbid her son from eating too much sugar. Nasrudin tells her to return in a week, and then again the week after. Finally, he tells the youth, "I forbid you to eat more than such and such a quantity of sugar every day." The mother asks why it took so long. "Because, madam," he replies, "I had to see whether I myself could cut down on the use of sugar, before ordering anyone else to do it." Sufi teaching can only be done by a Sufi, not by a theoretician. [pause 1s]
Next, the interconnectedness of reality. [pause 1s]
Life's events are not isolated; they are prompted by many stimuli and have unseen consequences. One night, Nasrudin saw a troop of horsemen and, fearing they would rob him, leaped over a wall into a graveyard. The travelers, innocent of any such motive, became curious and followed him. "Can we help you?" they asked. "It is more complicated than you assume," he said. "You see, I am here because of you; and you, you are here because of me." It is the mystic who "returns" to the formal world after literal experience of the interdependence of all things. [pause 1s]
Sufi time conception is an interrelation—a continuum—not a linear progression where future rewards are given for past actions. In a famous story, Nasrudin visits a Turkish bath. Dressed in rags, he is treated poorly but leaves a gold coin. The next day he returns, magnificently attired, and is treated with great deference. When he leaves, he hands the keepers the smallest copper coin. "This," he said, "was for the attendance last time. The gold coin was for your treatment of me this time." [pause 1s]
Finally, the way of the Sufi. [pause 1s]
The Nasrudin tales cannot be read as a system of philosophy intended to persuade. By its very construction, Sufism cannot be preached. It relies upon the composite impact—the "scatter" dissemination. The would-be Sufi may be prepared by Nasrudin, but to "mature," he will have to engage in the practical work and benefit from the actual presence of a master. Anything else is referred to by the pithy term, "Trying to transmit a kiss by personal messenger." It is a kiss, sure enough; but it is not what was intended. [pause 1s]
The tale is like a peach: it has beauty, nutrition, and hidden depths—the kernel. A person may be emotionally stirred by the exterior, but this is only the form. You can eat the peach and taste a further delight—its nutritional value. You can then crack the stone to find a delicious kernel within. This is the hidden depth. To someone whose perception is sharpened, more than one dimension of a story becomes apparent, awakening the innate capacity for understanding. The Sufi, for instance, sees in the story of Nasrudin riding his donkey back to front that he is able to observe his pupils while they are still sensitive to public opinion. Since he has been along that path before, he does not need to face forward. He is teaching by doing and being, not by words. [pause 2s]
That concludes our exploration of the tales of Mulla Nasrudin, which challenge ordinary assumptions and illustrate the practical and paradoxical nature of the Sufi path. [pause 2s] We now proceed to Chapter five, Sheikh Saadi of Shiraz. [pause 2s]
We begin with Saadi's life and influence. [pause 1s]
The Gulistan, or Rose Garden, and Bustan, or Orchard, by Sheikh Saadi of Shiraz, who lived from eleven eighty-four to twelve ninety-one, are two classics of Sufism that provide the moral and ethical foundation for its study throughout the East. At times a wandering dervish, Saadi was captured by the Crusaders and made to dig ditches until he was ransomed. He visited the great centers of learning and wrote poetry and literature that has not been surpassed. [pause 1s]
Educated in Baghdad at the great college founded by Nizam, the friend of Omar Khayyam, Saadi was closely associated with Sheikh Shahabudin Suhrawardi, founder of the Suhrawardi School, and Najmuddin Kubra, the "Pillar of the Age." Saadi’s influence upon European literature is considerable; his writings were a source for the Gesta Romanorum, a book that in turn was the source for many Western legends and allegories. [pause 1s]
Next, the inner meaning of the didactic tale. [pause 1s]
Though Saadi’s influence has been traced in Western literature, the interior meaning of his work is hardly known through his literary interpreters. A typical commentator, noting that in Saadi "the didactic subordinates the mystic," shows a lack of understanding of his multifunctional tales. As Professor Codrington perceived, quote, "The allegory in the Gulistan is particular to Sufis. They cannot give their secrets to those who are unprepared... so they have developed a special terminology to convey these secrets to initiates," end quote. [pause 1s]
Saadi's teaching about self-examination aims not only at the ordinary need to practice what one preaches, but at a much earlier stage, before one can even understand a teacher's admonitions. He illustrates this in a story of traveling with devout companions when a boy began to sing in such a way that the camel of a scoffer of mysticism began to dance and then ran off into the desert. "Good Sir," said Saadi to the scoffer, "you remain unmoved, but that song has affected even an animal." [pause 1s]
The chapter continues with the principle of right time and place. [pause 1s]
Saadi teaches that one must be receptive to correction and that a candidate for Sufi studies must first understand the place of retirement, remarking, "Fettered feet in the presence of friends is better than living in a garden with strangers." Withdrawal from the world is only for certain circumstances, not a lifelong pursuit. [pause 1s]
The importance of time and place in Sufi exercises is another matter Saadi emphasizes. While ordinary intellectuals may believe that thought varies in quality, they are insensitive to the Sufi cognition that thought also varies in effectiveness according to circumstance. On certain "occasions," the human mind can escape the machine within which it revolves. He gives an example of a dervish who entered a house where literary men were engaged in intellectual pleasantries. Invited to contribute, the dervish offered a single couplet, quote: "Like a bachelor before the women's bathhouse door, I face the table, hungry for food," end quote. The couplet meant not only that it was a time for food, but also that intellectual prattling was merely a setting for real understanding. [pause 1s]
Now, on the necessity of capacity and sincerity. [pause 1s]
Those who are impatient to learn Sufism before they are truly fitted for it are often reprimanded in Saadi’s stories. He asks in a familiar phrase, "How can the sleeper arouse the sleeper?" While it is true that one’s actions should accord with one’s words, it is also true that the observer must be in a position to assess those actions. A conference of the wise, he writes, is like the bazaar of the clothsellers: from the bazaar, you can take nothing without paying money; from the wise, "you can only carry away that for which you have the capacity." [pause 1s]
The selfishness of the would-be disciple is another subject that is stressed. A balance has to be struck between wanting something for oneself and wanting it for the community. When a wise man is asked about the Brethren of Sincerity, a secret society of savants, he replies, quote, "Even the least among them honors the wishes of his companions above his own. As the wise say: ‘A man engrossed in himself is neither brother nor kinsman.’", end quote. [pause 1s]
Let's discuss preparatory teaching and the hazard of untimely revelation. [pause 1s]
The Gulistan, as a book of moral uplift, has an invaluable effect on literate young people by establishing a basic Sufic potential in their minds. Saadi is read and enjoyed for his thoughts and entertainment value; later, if the reader becomes affiliated with a Sufi school, the inner dimensions of the tales can be revealed, giving the student something upon which to build. [pause 1s]
Secrets revealed prematurely can cause more harm than good, as an unprepared recipient can misuse the power of which the Sufis are guardians. Saadi explains this in a story about a man who married his ugly daughter to a blind man. When a doctor offered to restore the man’s sight, the father refused, for fear that his son-in-law would then divorce his daughter. "The husband of an ugly woman," Saadi concludes, "is best blind." [pause 1s]
Finally, the chapter addresses generosity, contentment, and inherent dignity. [pause 1s]
Generosity and liberality, when applied energetically and correctly, are important factors in preparing a candidate for Sufihood. The manner of giving and its effect on the individual determine the progress of the Sufi. In an aphorism, a person asked a sage whether it was better to be valorous or liberal. The sage answered, "He who is liberal does not have to be valorous." [pause 1s]
Saadi also warns against following any attractive creed outside one’s own while in a period of trial. He tells of dervishes who, at an extremity of hunger, wanted to accept food from a known evil man famed for his liberality. Saadi advises them in a poem, quote: "The lion does not eat the dog’s leavings / Though he die of hunger in his lair. / Resign your bodies to starvation: / Do not beg the base for favors," end quote. The real Sufi has something within which cannot be reduced in value. Saadi illustrates this theme of where real dignity resides in a tale of a king who, hunting in the wilderness, decided to sleep in a peasant’s hovel. The courtiers insisted that the monarch’s dignity would suffer, but the peasant said, "It is not your Majesty who will lose; but I who will gain in dignity from being so honored." The peasant received a robe of honor. [pause 2s]
That concludes the chapter on Sheikh Saadi of Shiraz, whose classic works provide preparatory material for the Sufi path, embedding deeper meanings within tales of ethics and morality. [pause 2s] We now continue with a chapter on Fariduddin Attar, the Chemist. [pause 2s]
Let's begin with Attar's life and influence. [pause 1s]
Fariduddin Attar, who died around twelve twenty-nine, was the great Sufi illuminate known as "the Chemist." He taught that one should not abandon something simply because others have misused it. Born near Nishapur, he inherited a pharmacy, but his life was transformed by an encounter with a wandering Sufi whose simple words on the burden of worldly possessions prompted Attar to renounce his work and join a Sufi community. He went on to write one hundred fourteen works, most famously the allegorical epic The Parliament of the Birds, a forerunner of Pilgrim’s Progress. [pause 1s]
In his old age, Attar met and blessed the young Jalaluddin Rumi, who would later refer to Attar as his own soul. Attar was killed during the Mongol invasion, his last act a teaching on his own true worth. His romance writings deeply influenced Western literature, including the Roman de la Rose, and his symbolism has striking parallels with chivalric orders like the Order of the Garter. [pause 1s]
Next, the Sufi quest in The Parliament of the Birds. [pause 1s]
The Parliament of the Birds describes the Sufi journey, in which the birds, representing humanity, are led by the hoopoe, the Sufi teacher, on a quest to find their king, the Simurgh. Each bird offers an excuse for not making the journey, which the hoopoe refutes with an illustrative tale. The journey requires traversing seven valleys: Quest, Love, Intuitive Knowledge, Detachment, Unification, Astonishment, and finally, Death—the valley where the individual consciousness merges with the whole. [pause 1s]
Through the character of the nightingale, who is so infatuated with the external beauty of the Rose that he cannot undertake the greater journey, Attar exposes the limitations of ecstatics who remain attached to rapture. For the Sufi, love is not an indulgence but a purifying fire that transmutes the individual into a "Perfected Man." [pause 1s]
Finally, the hidden meaning in Attar's name. [pause 1s]
Like many Sufi masters, Attar’s name is a cipher containing an initiatory meaning. When his name is decoded using the Abjad numerical system, it yields the three-letter root F T R. This root forms a mosaic of concepts central to the Sufi experience: to cleave or create, as God does; a mushroom, symbolizing that which forces its way upward; breaking a fast; natural disposition; and hasty, unpremeditated action. This encoding also distinguishes between true and counterfeit mystical experience. While the F T R root connects to mushrooms, it is not the hallucinogenic kind, which is associated with a different Arabic root, G H R B, connoting strangeness and madness, emphasizing that authentic illumination is not induced by chemical means. [pause 2s]
That concludes our look at Fariduddin Attar, who conveyed the allegorical journey of human consciousness in his great epic, The Parliament of the Birds. [pause 2s] Next, we explore the life and teachings of Our Master Jalaluddin Rumi. [pause 2s]
We begin with Rumi's life and influence. [pause 1s]
Maulana Jalaluddin Rumi, born in twelve oh seven, founder of the Whirling Dervishes, is one of history’s greatest mystical poets. Born in Afghanistan, he lived and taught in Asia Minor, and his Persian works are so revered they are called "The Qur’an in the Pehlevi tongue." His influence on the West has been immense, traceable in the works of writers from Chaucer to Dr. Johnson. Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, for instance, contains narrative elements from Rumi’s Mathnawi and structural parallels to the work of Rumi’s own teacher, Attar. [pause 1s]
Rumi’s father, a nobleman and Sufi, fled Central Asia with his young son ahead of the Mongol invasion. In Nishapur, they met Attar, who blessed the child and foretold his destiny. After years of wandering, the family settled in Konia, or Rum, where Jalaluddin succeeded his father. His life was profoundly altered by the appearance of the mysterious dervish Shams of Tabriz, who inspired much of Rumi’s greatest poetry before vanishing as mysteriously as he had arrived. This encounter catalyzed Rumi’s method of teaching through artistic channels—poetry, music, and dance. [pause 1s]
Next, the Sufi view of religion and the path. [pause 1s]
Rumi’s masterwork, the Mathnawi, is a vast collection of poems, fables, and dialogues created to infuse the Sufi message into the mind. His method was to jolt the conditioned intellect, stressing that formal religion as commonly understood is incorrect. He taught that the self-righteousness of the pious, the "Veil of Light," is a greater barrier to truth than vice, the "Veil of Darkness." True religion, he insisted, is a matter of personal experience, not dogma. The concepts of God, angels, and scripture are but similes for a reality that has no parallel in the ordinary world. [pause 1s]
The Sufi way requires a guide. Reason, Rumi taught, is essential for finding the right teacher, but once he is found, the seeker must proceed with faith, like a patient trusting a physician. The teacher’s function is to help the disciple see things as they truly are, as a whole, rather than through the fragmented lens of ordinary perception. [pause 1s]
Finally, the nature of mystical experience. [pause 1s]
For Rumi, love is the central force that carries humanity to its fulfillment. However, this love is a serious matter that grows in tandem with enlightenment; the full fire of illumination cannot be sustained all at once. The teacher guides the disciple through stages of development, recognizing that mystical experience is not something given, but something that happens to a person. False teachers, who focus on appearances and keep disciples dependent, are a constant danger. The true seeker must learn to look for the water, not the pitcher; the wine, not the color of the glass. [pause 1s]
The Sufi’s inner journey involves realizing that ordinary life is only a part of a greater, multi-dimensional reality. The human yearning for something more is the natural instrument for attaining truth, a desire often misplaced onto secondary objectives. By developing a balanced consciousness, the Sufi harmonizes with the "comprehensive action" of all life. Although he is celebrated as one of Persia’s greatest poets, Rumi saw poetry as a secondary product, a bridge to convey a reality that was ultimately beyond words. He explained that he offered poetry to his visitors because it was the only form of nutrition they could accept. By insisting on the subsidiary role of his own art, he demonstrated the Sufi principle of never allowing anything—even the most sublime creation—to become an idol or a barrier to the ultimate truth. [pause 2s]
This concludes the chapter on Jalaluddin Rumi, who taught an experiential path of love that transcends the limitations of formal religion and intellect. [pause 2s] We now turn to a chapter on Ibn el Arabi, The Greatest Sheikh. [pause 2s]
We will start with Ibn el Arabi's life and mission. [pause 1s]
Ibn el Arabi, born in eleven sixty-four in the Saracen city of Murcia in Spain, is known as "the Greatest Master" for his profound metaphysical influence on both the Muslim and Christian worlds. A descendant of the legendary Hatim el-Tai, he received the finest education of his time yet spent his free time among the Sufis. His mission, encoded in his names, was to "scatter" and "revivify" the Sufi faith. [pause 1s]
His work cannot be interpreted from a single, fixed position. It is designed with multiple layers of meaning to engage people from various cultural backgrounds, often using startling statements like, quote, "The sight of God in woman is the most perfect of all," end quote. To the Sufi, a single word can hold numerous valid significances simultaneously, a multiplicity that the ordinary mind, which sees only simple allegory, cannot grasp. His poetry deliberately shifts its themes to break the mind’s automatic associative patterns; he is a teacher, not an entertainer. [pause 1s]
Next, the Sufi concept of the Perfected Man. [pause 1s]
For Ibn el Arabi, as for all Sufis, Muhammad represents the Perfected Man. However, he distinguished between the historical person and the eternal, universal "Reality of Muhammad." This Reality is an essential principle identified with all true prophets, including Jesus—a concept not of reincarnation, but of a single inner truth appearing in different forms appropriate to the time and place. This teaching was transmitted through both his writings and his personal psychic experiences, including those guided by the Spanish woman Sufi Fatima b. Waliyya. [pause 1s]
Now we consider his conflict with orthodoxy. [pause 1s]
Like many Sufis, Ibn el Arabi lived as a conformist in his outer religion while being an esotericist in his inner life, seeing a continuous progression from formal faith to inner enlightenment. His intellectual powers were superior to those of his orthodox contemporaries, yet he used them to show that intellectuality is merely a prelude to something higher. This position threatened the established theologians, who condemned him as a heretic. Even so, many respected scholars secretly admired him, with one calling him the "Magnetic Pole of the Age" in private while appearing to condemn him in public, explaining that one must speak to formalists in terms they understand. [pause 1s]
Finally, we examine the "Interpreter of Desires" and its meaning. [pause 1s]
The greatest controversy surrounded his collection of love poems, the Interpreter of Desires. Written in Mecca, the poems were inspired by Nizam, the beautiful and devout daughter of a Persian Sufi chief. In her, Ibn el Arabi saw a reflection of divine reality, and his odes celebrate both the perfection of the maiden and, on a deeper level, the path of the mystic. [pause 1s]
Theologians in Aleppo, unable to see beyond the surface, accused him of being a mere erotic poet. In response, Ibn el Arabi wrote a brilliant commentary on his own work, explaining its imagery in a way that satisfied the most orthodox scholars. For the Sufis, however, a third meaning was clear: he was demonstrating that both human love and orthodox religion, while valid in their own dimensions, served to veil an even deeper inner truth. This is the essence of his famous creed, quote: "My heart is capable of every form... Love is the creed I hold," end quote. For the Sufi, this "love" is not the familiar emotion but the comprehensive reality of Sufism itself, of which ordinary love is but a small and limited part. [pause 2s]
That concludes the chapter on Ibn el Arabi, who taught that human love and formal religion are partial reflections of a deeper, universal truth. [pause 2s] We now turn our attention to El Ghazali of Persia. [pause 2s]
We begin with Ghazali's historical context and impact. [pause 1s]
At a time when the Islamic world was in intellectual crisis, unable to reconcile Greek philosophy with the Qur’an, Muhammad el Ghazali, who lived from ten fifty-eight to eleven eleven, emerged. An orphaned Persian raised by Sufis, he would become known as the "Authority of Islam." He achieved the remarkable feat of saving Muslim theology from decay by grounding it in the "mystico-psychological" method of the Sufis, thereby reconciling scholasticism with inner experience. [pause 1s]
His influence extended far beyond Islam. Within fifty years, his books were shaping Jewish and Christian thought, profoundly affecting figures like Thomas Aquinas and Ramón Marti. His ideas created what can be seen as both the intellectual Dominican and the intuitive Franciscan streams within Christian mysticism. He wrote on the need to stimulate an inner consciousness, not merely provide information, a revolutionary concept for the scholastics of his time. [pause 1s]
Next, his journey from scholasticism to Sufism. [pause 1s]
Despite his immense intellectual powers—he was appointed a professor in Baghdad at thirty-three—Ghazali found that canon law and formal learning were insufficient bases for reality. He fell into a deep skepticism, resigned his prestigious post, and spent twelve years as a wandering dervish, returning to his Sufi roots to find the answers that scholasticism could not provide. [pause 1s]
He came to realize that the Sufis were "not men of words, but of inner perception," and that what he had learned from books was only a fraction of the truth. He understood that the ecstatic experiences many mystics consider the goal were in fact "only the beginning." His quest was to overcome his "Commanding Self"—the ego and its craving for applause—which he saw as a barrier to real understanding. This battle is illustrated in his Alchemy of Happiness, which teaches that one’s selfishness must be seen in its true light before any spiritual refinement can occur. [pause 1s]
Let's now consider the multiple layers of his work. [pause 1s]
Like other Sufi masters, Ghazali was accused of teaching one thing publicly and another in private. This was true in that he viewed active Sufism as a specialized path for those with the capacity for it, while orthodox religion served as the framework for the masses. The Perfected Man, he taught, must live in different dimensions simultaneously, operating within three frameworks of belief: that of his surroundings, that which he teaches students according to their capacity, and that of his own inner experience. [pause 1s]
His name, "el Ghazali," or the Spinner, is itself a cipher, alluding to the Sufic "work," or spinning, upon oneself, the path of Love, or ghazal, and the continuity of the inner doctrine. His writings contain multiple layers: philosophical material for theologians, metaphysical works like the Niche for Lights, enciphered secrets, and an experiential teaching transmitted orally. The key to his deepest work cannot be written down; it must be experienced. [pause 1s]
Finally, we'll examine Sufi psychology and the nature of the self. [pause 1s]
Ghazali taught that the human mind, in its unrefined state, is an "unholy mixture of a pig, a dog, a devil and a saint" and cannot attain deep understanding. The Sufi path is a process of refinement. He explained that man exists on several planes of perception, and that the self, or nafs, is not a single entity but has various modes of operation depending on its function—Commanding, Accusatory, or Peaceful. [pause 1s]
His book Minhaj el Abidin allegorizes the spiritual quest as a journey through seven valleys, a theme later used by both Chaucer and Bunyan. He taught that human happiness itself undergoes successive refinements as one's state of being evolves. The ultimate happiness, far beyond familiar pleasures, is the contemplation of Being itself, an experience accessible even in this life to the true seeker. [pause 2s]
That concludes our look at El Ghazali, who rescued Islamic theology by grounding it in Sufi experientialism and charting a path from the intellect to direct, inner knowledge. [pause 2s] Now, we turn to Omar Khayyam. [pause 2s]
We start with the misinterpretation of Khayyam. [pause 1s]
The quatrains of Omar Khayyam are world-famous, yet their author is profoundly misunderstood. The popular image of Khayyam as an epicurean skeptic is largely an invention of his translators, particularly Edward FitzGerald. Khayyam himself was not simply a poet but an exemplar of a specific school of Sufi philosophy, and to understand his work requires understanding its Sufic context. [pause 1s]
FitzGerald's celebrated translation, while a masterpiece of English poetry, often completely inverts Khayyam's meaning. One quatrain, for example, has Omar appearing to mock the Sufis, yet the Persian original contains no such sentiment. Instead, it uses precise Sufi technical terms to describe the heart becoming a "Key to the Treasury of Pearls of mystical meaning." FitzGerald himself had absorbed a great deal of Sufi thought from other poets, and this unconsciously seeped into his version of the Rubaiyat, creating a hybrid work that maintained a Sufic impact in the West, even if accidentally. [pause 1s]
Next, the Sufi context and function of the Rubaiyat. [pause 1s]
From the Sufi point of view, the endless scholarly debate over which of Khayyam's quatrains are "genuine" is irrelevant. As an exponent of a school, his work is part of a continuous stream of teaching, not just the product of an individual. His verses have multiple functions: they can be read for their surface meaning, recited to induce special states of consciousness, or decoded to reveal initiatory material. FitzGerald missed the subtle yet crucial Sufi teaching about the state of consciousness that lies beyond metaphorical drunkenness—a saturation point where ecstatic experience is transcended by a higher, more stable perception. [pause 1s]
Khayyam's poetry serves as a diagnostic tool and a training instrument. A Sufi master might ask a would-be disciple to study Khayyam to assess his potential: one person may be stimulated to think in new ways, another may react with dogmatic rejection, while a third may sense a deeper mystery. The purpose is not to arrive at a single "correct" interpretation but to use the poetry as a complex impact to train the student's mind. The scholastic obsession with tracing sources is useless in this context. The famous tale of Khayyam and the donkey that refused to enter a college until the poet recognized its soul as that of a former teacher was not about reincarnation; it was a comprehensive, demonstrative experience for his disciples, whose meaning is lost if fragmented by literal analysis. The name Khayyam itself is a cipher, decoding to Ghaqi—"Squanderer of Goods," a term for one who casts aside worldly attachments that prevent true perception. As he himself wrote, targeting all mechanical thinkers, quote: "O ignorant ones—the Road is neither this nor that!", end quote. [pause 2s]
That completes the chapter on Omar Khayyam, whose poetry is revealed as a multi-layered initiatory tool, a purpose almost entirely obscured by popular translations. [pause 2s] We now delve into a series of chapters on the Secret Language of the Sufis. First, Part one, The Coalmen. [pause 2s]
We begin with the Abjad system and Sufi ciphers. [pause 1s]
To understand much of Sufi literature, one must have a knowledge of the "secret language." This is not merely a cipher to hide information; it is a method designed to connect mundane thinking with a greater, multi-dimensional reality. The poet Nizami hinted at it when he wrote, quote, "Under the poet’s tongue lies the key to the Treasury," end quote. The basic system is the Abjad scheme, a substitution cipher where each letter of the Semitic alphabet corresponds to a numerical value. [pause 1s]
This system is used to encode names, dates, and key concepts. The very word "Sufi," when its letters are converted to numbers and then re-formed into a new root word, yields FUQ, meaning "Above, transcending." The name of the poet "Attar," the Chemist, decodes to the root R F, which means "the fluttering of a bird"—a direct allusion to his masterpiece, The Parliament of the Birds—as well as "to flash with light," a reference to intuition. [pause 1s]
Next, The Coalmen and other Sufi derivatives. [pause 1s]
Beyond numerical substitution, the secret language employs homonyms and plays on words to conceal and convey meaning, allowing many mysterious Western societies to be traced back to their Sufi origins. The Italian secret society known as the Carbonari, or "the charcoal burners," is a derivative of a Sufi circle called the Fehmia, or "the Perceivers." This connection is hidden in the Arabic language, where the word for "understand," FeHM, is a homonym for the word for "Coalman," also FeHM. The Carbonari's rituals, their secret name for their lodges, baracca, a play on the Sufi word baraka, and their myth of origin in "Scotland," a code name for Saracen Spain, all point to a direct Sufi lineage. This coding is also found in famous sayings. The injunction, "Seek knowledge, even as far as China," is a coded message; in Arabic and Persian, "China" decodes to concepts related to mind concentration and the scrutinizing of hidden things. [pause 2s]
Having discussed the Coalmen, we continue with Part two of the Secret Language, titled, The Builders. [pause 2s]
This section explores Sufism as the parent of Freemasonry. [pause 1s]
Sir Richard Burton, himself a Sufi, asserted that Sufism was "the Eastern parent of Freemasonry." An examination of the rituals of a Sufi society known as the Builders, or al-Banna, the Arabic word for Mason, reveals parallels so numerous that the connection is undeniable. The central Masonic password, composed of the letters A, B, L, is the key word of the Sufi Builders. In Arabic, the root ABL describes the very characteristics of the school: hierophancy, gathering together, stages on the Path, and the heart or mind. The three letters also symbolize three Sufi meditation postures, represented by the Masonic set square, the level, and a rope. [pause 1s]
Next, we look at symbols, numbers, and secret meanings. [pause 1s]
The esoteric language extends to numbers. The number thirty-three, significant in Masonry, represents the first third of the Sufi training system. The mysterious "G" at the center of the Masonic star is a rendering of the Arabic letter Q, which has a numerical value of one hundred and represents the secret hundredth name of God. When this letter Q is combined with the Builders' root word, it creates new terms like QALB, the Sufi word for the heart and the center of contemplation. Even the six-pointed star, commonly known as the Star of David, is used by the Builders as a cipher whose points and triangles yield the number seven hundred eighty-six, the numerical value of the Islamic invocation, Bismillah ar Rahman, ar Rahim. [pause 1s]
Finally, the Temple and the Mason's mark. [pause 1s]
The Masonic legend of the building of Solomon's Temple is a reinterpretation of a Sufi allegory. For the Builders, "Solomon" was the ninth-century Sufi master Maaruf Karkhi, a disciple of Daud, or David, of Tai. The great martyr of their tradition was not Hiram Abiff but the tenth-century Sufi Mansur el Hallaj. The Temple itself was the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem, built by the Saracens on a Sufi design and the same structure from which the Knights Templar took their name. This secret language is even visible in the "Mason's mark" found on many medieval buildings. It is a coded message indicating the path to secret knowledge and a stylized representation of the Arabic word hoo, a sacred dervish chant. [pause 2s]
This concludes our look at the Builders, revealing how key symbols, rituals, and legends of Freemasonry have direct parallels in the secret language of a Sufi order. [pause 2s] Now, we move to Part three of the Secret Language, The Philosopher’s Stone. [pause 2s]
We start with the dual nature of alchemy. [pause 1s]
Alchemy was introduced to the medieval West through translations from Arabic, and a debate has raged over its true nature ever since: was it a literal attempt to create gold, or a symbolic system for spiritual development? The confusion arises because "alchemists" were several different kinds of people. While some were engaged in early chemistry, the core of the "Art" was a spiritual system that used the terminology of metallurgy as a rich allegory for human transformation. [pause 1s]
The father of alchemy as we know it was the eighth-century master Jabir Ibn el Hayyan, or Geber, who was explicitly surnamed "el Sufi." He introduced the foundational doctrine of the three essential elements: sulphur, mercury, and salt. Sufi masters like Rumi and Ghazali consistently refer to their own spiritual work as "alchemy." [pause 1s]
Next, we move to decoding alchemical terms. [pause 1s]
The secret of alchemy is unlocked by retranslating its key terms back into Arabic and understanding their Sufic significance. The "Great Work" is the purification of the human essence. The "Philosopher's Stone" is a code for the hidden, or hijr, powerful essence, or dhat, within man, which can transmute the "base metal" of the ordinary self into the "gold" of the perfected being. This is the "Azoth" of the West, a term derived from the Arabic el-dhat. The three elements are also part of this code. They are not the common substances but are homonyms for spiritual qualities: "sulphur," or kibrit, for "nobility," or kibirat; "salt," or milh, for "goodness and learning," also milh; and "mercury," or zibaq, for the power "to open a lock" and break through barriers. [pause 1s]
Finally, the "Great Work" is presented as a Sufi undertaking. [pause 1s]
For the Sufi, the "Great Work" was a practical undertaking, a framework for self-development. A seeker might be given a seemingly impossible alchemical problem to solve; the true purpose was not the external goal, but the inner transformation of the individual through years of faithful effort. As a Sufi allegory teaches, sons who dig a field seeking buried gold find none, but in the process they till the soil and become rich through honest labor. The work itself produces gains far greater than those originally sought. The alchemical tradition that spread in the West was not a static repetition of ancient lore but was constantly renewed by figures like Roger Bacon, Raymond Lully, and Paracelsus, who had been in direct contact with Sufi schools. They knew that the art was internal. Magic, alchemy, Rosicrucianism, and Freemasonry all shared a common origin in the Sufic objective: the conscious development of humanity. [pause 2s]
That concludes the section on the Philosopher's Stone, revealing alchemy as a primary vehicle for Sufi teachings, using chemical language as an allegory for spiritual transmutation. [pause 2s] We now begin a series of chapters on Mysteries in the West. First, Part one, Strange Rites. [pause 2s]
This section begins with the observer's misinterpretation of ritual. [pause 1s]
The meaning of a ritual is lost on an observer who lacks knowledge of its context and purpose. A description of a modern football game, if written by an uninformed anthropologist, would sound like a bizarre and savage rite, full of strange movements, inexplicable emotional outbursts, and totemic worship. An outside observer cannot understand what is actually happening or why. In the same way, the religious rites of others can seem strange and incomprehensible, as when an account of a dervish dhikr ceremony describes the swaying men and rhythmic chanting from a purely external perspective, capturing the atmosphere but missing the internal activity that is the ceremony’s entire purpose. [pause 1s]
Next, the witch cult and its Sufi connections. [pause 1s]
An examination of the witch cult of Western Europe from a Sufi perspective reveals deep connections that are otherwise invisible. While "witch" is often traced to an old word for "wise," the Spanish word for witch, bruja, which appeared during the time of Saracen rule, provides a more specific key. This word is linked to the Arabic root BRSH, a term used by a dervish group known as the maskhara, or "revellers." By analyzing the cluster of meanings in this Arabic root, a composite picture of the cult emerges. The root BRSH connects to hallucinogenic plants like thorn apple, or BaRSH, the witches' symbolic broom, or MiBRSHA, and practices of marking the skin and wearing motley garb. This linguistic map provides a startlingly accurate description of the traditional European witch. [pause 1s]
The author continues by decoding "witch" terminology. [pause 1s]
The secret language of the Sufis unlocks other mysterious words from witch lore, revealing their Arabic origins. The ritual knife, the "Athame," comes from the Arabic adh-dhame, a bloodletter. The "Sabat" is not derived from the Hebrew Sabbath but from the Arabic Az-ZABAT, "the forceful occasion." The leader of the coven, often called "Robin," is a rendering of the Semitic Rabba, or "lord." The term "coven" itself likely comes not from "convene" but from kafan, the Arabic word for the shroud worn over the heads of the Revellers during their dances. Even the infamous witches' ointment can be understood through this lens. The notorious ingredient of "unbaptised babies" is likely an allegory for the human-shaped mandrake root, a plant that could be considered a "tiny, unbaptised human." [pause 1s]
Finally, the chapter discusses the Aniza tribe and the "Old Religion." [pause 1s]
The medieval form of this cult can be traced to a specific source: the great Aniza Bedouin tribe of Arabia, whose ancestral clan is the Fakir, a term for dervishes. The cult of the Revellers was associated with the eighth-century Sufi poet Abu el Atahiyya. His followers used symbols from his Aniza tribe to commemorate him: the goat, Anz from Aniza, with a torch between its horns symbolizing illumination from the intellect of the teacher; and the tribe's brand, which became the "goosefoot" mark for their meeting places. A group from his school is believed to have migrated to Arab-ruled Spain, where their tribal rituals fused with existing European traditions. [pause 1s]
The term "old religion," used by witches to claim prehistoric origins, is a standard Sufi phrase for their own "antique faith." This is encoded in the Arabic root QDM, ancient, which also yields words for precedence, footstep, chief, and the future. This single root contains a complex of Sufi ideas: a tradition that is both ancient and progressive, that proceeds step-by-step, and that has a leader who represents a higher reality. [pause 2s]
That concludes our look at the deep and specific roots of the medieval European witch cult in the secret language and practices of Sufi dervishes. [pause 2s] Now we move to Part two of Mysteries in the West, The Chivalric Circle. [pause 2s]
The section begins by exploring the Sufi origins of the Order of the Garter. [pause 1s]
Around the year twelve hundred, a group of Sufis formed an association based on the ideal of chivalry. Their robes were the hooded blue wool of the Sufis, and their colors were blue and gold, symbolizing the divine essence, gold, within the sea of being, blue. Their basic unit was the halka, or Circle, their patron saint was Khidr, the Green One, and their groups were composed of thirteen men. [pause 1s]
About one hundred fifty years later, the Order of the Garter was founded in England. It, too, was divided into groups of thirteen. Its colors were blue and gold, its robes were wool and hooded, and its aims were chivalric. Its patron saint was St. George, who is equated in the East with the mysterious Khidr. The order's name itself points to a Sufi origin: in Arabic, "garter," or ribat, is the same word used for the Sufi mystical tie or bond and is interchangeable in Sufi parlance with halka, their word for a circle. [pause 1s]
Next, the symbolism of colors, numbers, and motto. [pause 1s]
The Sufi group's use of the number thirteen was a cipher for the unity of faiths, particularly Islam and Christianity. The Arabic word for "Unity," ahad, is spelled with three letters whose numerical values in the Abjad system total thirteen. The famous Garter motto, "Honi soit qui mal y pense," or "Dishonoured be he who thinks evil of it," is likely a phonetic transposition of a rhyming Persian Sufi phrase about a Saki, or cupbearer, a central figure in Sufi love poetry. The entire symbolic framework of the Sufi group—green, the sea, chivalry, chieftainship, gold, and wine—is contained within the single Arabic root KHDR, the root of Khidr's name. [pause 1s]
Finally, the chapter discusses cultural transmissions and Sufi journeys. [pause 1s]
The era of the Garter's founding saw a significant influx of Saracenic culture into England. Morris dancing, for example, is of Moorish origin and was likely brought from Spain by John of Gaunt, Chaucer’s patron. The hobbyhorse and other figures in these dances are direct relics of the costumed, story-telling dervish poets of the East. Historical records confirm that Sufi teaching journeys to the West were taking place during this period, carried out by wandering Qalandar and Chishti dervishes who brought their music, dances, and rituals to Europe, leaving an indelible, though often mysterious, mark on its culture. [pause 2s]
This reveals the striking parallels between the chivalric Order of the Garter and a Sufi order dedicated to Khidr, with its name, motto, and structure appearing to be direct transpositions of Sufi symbols. [pause 2s] We now proceed to Part three of Mysteries in the West, The Head of Wisdom. [pause 2s]
This section starts with the Baphomet of the Templars. [pause 1s]
When the Knights Templar were suppressed, they were famously accused of worshipping an idol in the form of a head, which they called the Baphomet. This name was long thought to be a corruption of "Mahomet," but is likely derived from the Arabic abufihamat, meaning "father of understanding." This provides the key to the mystery. In Sufi terminology, the "head of knowledge," or ras el fahmat, refers to the refined and transmuted consciousness of the perfected man. The Arabic root of the word "understanding," FHM, is also a homonym for "black" or "coal." The Baphomet, therefore, was not an idol but a symbol of this transmuted consciousness, the "Head of Wisdom." [pause 1s]
Next, decoding the "Head of Wisdom." [pause 1s]
This symbolism is visible elsewhere. The "Moor's head" or black head found in European heraldry is a coded substitute for this same concept. The shield of Hugues de Payen, the founder of the Templars, bore three black heads on a field of gold, symbolizing the "three heads of black wisdom." [pause 1s]
The recurring medieval legend of a marvelous talking brazen head, said to have been made by such figures as Pope Gerbert and Albertus Magnus, is another layer of this Sufi cipher. The men accused of making these heads were all deeply versed in Arabic and Sufi philosophy. In Arabic, the word for "brass," SuFR, is a rhyming homonym for "gold," also SuFR. The "head of brass" is a coded reference to the "head of gold," or sari-tilai, a Sufi phrase for an individual whose inner consciousness has been alchemically transmuted. The dervish expression, "I am making a head," which refers to engaging in certain transformative Sufi exercises, was likely taken literally by uninitiated outsiders, giving rise to the fantastic legend of an artificial, talking artifact. [pause 2s]
Thus, the mysterious Baphomet head of the Templars is revealed to be a coded symbol representing the "Head of Wisdom"—the transmuted consciousness of the perfected human being. [pause 2s] Now we move to Part four of Mysteries in the West, Francis of Assisi. [pause 2s]
We begin with Francis's troubadour roots and Sufi connections. [pause 1s]
Saint Francis of Assisi, born in eleven eighty-two, is known as a troubadour who experienced a religious conversion, but the origins of the troubadour tradition itself lie with Saracen Sufi poets. An examination of Francis’s life reveals that his path was deeply interwoven with Sufi ideas. His poetry strongly resembles that of the Sufi master Rumi, and a puzzling story from his life shows a direct parallel to the practices of Rumi's Whirling Dervishes. When asked by a disciple which road to take, Francis commanded him to "turn round and round as children do" until he fell; the direction he then faced was the path they followed. [pause 1s]
When seeking the Pope’s approval for his new order, Francis used a parable with distinctly Saracen, not Christian, imagery. He told of a king who married a poor woman from the desert and had sons who bore his image. This allegory perfectly matches the Sufi tradition of being esoteric Christians from the desert, children of a "poor woman," representing Hagar, the mother of the Arabs, and sons of the King, or God. Initially dismissed, the Pope was swayed by a dream in which he saw a palm tree—a primary Sufi symbol—grow at his feet, realizing it signified the poor man he had driven away. [pause 1s]
Next, the section discusses the "Lesser Brethren" and journeys to the East. [pause 1s]
The Franciscans were named the Minor or "Lesser Brethren." This title is significant because a major Sufi order of the time, founded by Najmuddin Kubra, "the Greater," was known as the "Greater Brethren." Najmuddin was famous for his extraordinary influence over animals, an ability for which Saint Francis is also legendary. Furthermore, Francis’s famous dictum, "What every one is in the eyes of God, that he is no more," is a direct echo of a saying by Najmuddin. [pause 1s]
Convinced he was seeking the source of his troubadour inspiration, Francis made several "aimless journeys" to the East. He traveled through Saracen Spain and later went to the Crusades in Egypt, not to fight, but to visit the Sultan Malik el Kamil. He was received with great honor. Upon returning, his first act was to try to dissuade the Crusaders from attacking the Saracens. It was after this journey that he composed his celebrated "Song of the Sun," a poem whose central imagery strongly parallels the "Sun" poetry of Rumi. The Franciscan Order itself was structured more like a dervish organization, from its hooded woollen cloak to its inclusion of laymen and its central tenet that followers should not be concerned with their own personal salvation—a Sufi view that sees such concern as vanity. [pause 2s]
The chapter presents Saint Francis of Assisi not merely as a Christian saint but as an initiate of the Sufi tradition, with his background, parables, and order pointing to a direct transmission of dervish mysticism into medieval Europe. [pause 2s] Now to the final part of this series, Part five, The Secret Doctrine. [pause 2s]
This section begins with the incomplete transmission of Saracen learning. [pause 1s]
The West is an heir to medieval Arab philosophy, but it inherited an incomplete tradition. While the Saracens possessed both a scholastic, book-based method and a living, experiential path guided by a master, the West primarily imported the former. The personal element of the teacher was largely dropped in favor of institutionalization. The West eagerly consumed the "canned pineapples" of Saracen science and art, but lacked the knowledge of how to cultivate the tree on which they grew. [pause 1s]
This partial transmission led to a fragmentation of knowledge, and its inner, unifying sense was lost. Those who persisted in thinking Sufistically—in an integrated, experiential way—were branded as occultists. The West took what it needed for its own development and then, through the Crusades and later propaganda, slammed the door on the Saracen world, stigmatizing it as diabolical. [pause 1s]
Next, the hidden Sufi current. [pause 1s]
Despite the slammed door, a hidden current of Sufi teaching persisted in the West. It surfaced in mysterious figures like Brother Anselm of Turmeda, who was both a Christian saint in Majorca and the Sufi Abdullah el Tarjuman, "the Translator," and in the work of the expelled Jesuit, Father Juan Andres, who detailed the Arab-Sufi origins of Western culture long before modern scholars had the evidence. He had tapped into a living, secret vein of knowledge. The names of the great "occult illuminati" of Europe—Raymond Lully, Roger Bacon, Paracelsus, and Albertus Magnus—are a roster of those who transmitted this secret doctrine. [pause 1s]
The modern rediscovery of this doctrine began with the Spanish Arabist Miguel Asín y Palacios. He unearthed the work of the ninth-century Spanish Sufi Ibn Masarrah and his illuminist school, and found it to be the direct source for the allegories of Dante, the philosophy of Roger Bacon, the mysticism of Saint John of the Cross, and the Jewish Cabala. This school taught that there has always been a single, continuous stream of inner wisdom, a secret doctrine passed down from the most ancient masters. The recognition of this living stream is slowly causing the pendulum of Western thought to swing back, as seekers begin to realize that the scattered seeds of Sufi ideas planted in Europe centuries ago are part of their own deepest heritage. [pause 2s]
That concludes the chapter on the secret doctrine, explaining how a hidden current of Sufi thought profoundly shaped Western mysticism, philosophy, and esoteric traditions. [pause 2s] We now move to a chapter titled, The Higher Law. [pause 2s]
We start with Sir Richard Burton's "The Kasidah." [pause 1s]
One of the most remarkable productions of Western Sufic literature is The Kasidah, or "Lay of the Higher Law," a long poem written by the explorer and initiate Sir Richard Burton. Published under the pseudonym of "Haji Abdu al Yazdi," the work is a powerful and authentic expression of Sufi thought, composed before Burton had even read FitzGerald’s translation of Omar Khayyam; their similarity stems from their shared Sufi source. The "Higher Law" which Burton expounds is a reconstructive philosophy. It asserts that self-cultivation with due regard for others is the sole object of life, that affections and pity are man’s highest enjoyments, and that one must suspend judgment and be suspicious of "Facts, the idlest of superstitions." [pause 1s]
Next, a Sufi critique of religion and philosophy. [pause 1s]
The Kasidah is a sweeping critique of human belief systems from a Sufi perspective. It follows a seeker who leaves the pilgrim caravan of ordinary humanity to travel the Sufi road, systematically dismantling the comforting illusions of religion, philosophy, and science. The poem assails the shallow pessimism of the ego-bound poet, the grim confidence of the ascetic, and the man-made gods of every faith—from the Jewish Jehovah, a "Man of War," to the Christian "riddle-god, whose one is three and three is one." [pause 1s]
Burton affirms the Sufi teaching that good and evil are relative concepts and that all faith is both false and true, because truth is like a shattered mirror, with each person believing his tiny fragment is the whole. The true path is not to seek answers to "Why," but to understand "How." [pause 1s]
Finally, the chapter discusses the Sufi path and its legacy. [pause 1s]
Burton's poem, like the works of other Western Sufis, provided a bridge for the modern mind to access these ideas. Another such work was The Mystic Rose from the Garden of the King, an allegorical romance by the diplomat Sir Fairfax Cartwright. Published under a pseudonym, the book recounts the inner experiences of life in a Sufi school and uses traditional Sufi allegories, like the "Tale of the Sands," to illustrate the necessity of the teacher and the surrender of the ego. In the tale, a stream cannot cross a desert until it allows itself to be absorbed and carried by the wind, losing its familiar form to preserve its essential nature. The stream at first resists, fearing the loss of its individuality, but the desert sands explain that this is the only way, and that the way is "written in the Sands." [pause 2s]
That concludes the chapter on The Higher Law, focusing on Sir Richard Burton's poem as a major work of Western Sufism that points toward a path of self-development. [pause 2s] We now move to a chapter on The Book of the Dervishes. [pause 2s]
The chapter begins with the role of the Sheikh, or Guide. [pause 1s]
The standard dervish textbook is the Awarif el Maarif, or "Gifts of Knowledge," by the thirteenth-century master Sheikh Shahabudin Suhrawardi. This work outlines the framework of dervish thought, beginning with the character of the Sheikh, or Guide. For the disciple, finding a true Guide is the first real step on the Path. The Guide's function is to "remove the rust" from the disciple's mind, making objective reality accessible to him. [pause 1s]
A true Guide must be free from any subjective desire for leadership. He must possess the perception to assess a disciple's capacity and provide him with the specific training he needs. He must remain detached from the disciple’s property, accepting material things only for the common good. His speech must be pure and objective, and he gives criticism in disguised or allegorical form. Most importantly, the Guide must keep the disciple’s inner development a secret, knowing that anticipation of spiritual states can block the path to them. [pause 1s]
Next, the duties of the disciple. [pause 1s]
The disciple, in turn, must place complete and obedient faith in his Guide, aligning his own will with that of the teacher. He must be an attentive observer, referring his dreams to the Sheikh for diagnosis of his inner state. He speaks to his teacher with respect and at a convenient time. Critically, he must conceal the miracles or special capacities of the teacher that he might witness, but must reveal his own inner experiences truthfully to the Sheikh. [pause 1s]
Now, on life in a dervish community. [pause 1s]
Dervish communities are composed of dwellers and travelers. The dwellers are often divided into three groups according to their stage of development: the People of Service are beginners who perform external duties; the People of Society are engaged in mutual activities to build their inner bond; and the People of Retirement are the most senior, spending much of their time in contemplation. Travel, both physical and metaphorical, is an important part of dervish activity. The "dance" and music of the dervishes are also specialized tools, to be used only under a master’s direction. The patched mantle, or khirqa, is a central symbol used to confer authority and transmit baraka, or impalpable grace, from a teacher to his successor. [pause 1s]
Finally, the doctrines of knowledge and the human essence. [pause 1s]
The book explains that the highest form of knowledge is "deep knowledge," or maarifat, a direct perception of reality achieved through "certitude," or yakina, a science based on direct experience, not speculation. All dervish teaching is based on the concept of the human essence, or dhat. The central dictum is, quote: "He who knows his essential self, knows his God," end quote. This essence is obscured by ten "blameable qualities" or veils, including desire, hypocrisy, and greed. Unlike modern psychology which aims to restore a social norm, the Sufi aims to remove these veils to propel the individual forward in his evolution. The allegories of scripture are interpreted by dervishes as symbols for these deep psychological and mystical processes. [pause 2s]
That concludes the chapter outlining the structure of the dervish path, detailing the essential relationship between the Guide and the disciple, and the core doctrines of knowledge and the refinement of the human essence. [pause 2s] We now move to the chapter on The Dervish Orders. [pause 2s]
We begin with the nature of Sufi orders. [pause 1s]
Most Sufis belong to a Tariqa, a Way, which Westerners call an "Order." Unlike a Christian monastic order, a Sufi Way is not a fixed, self-perpetuating institution. As a living, evolutionary entity, its form, rules, and rituals are determined by the needs of the "work" as guided by a living master. An Order may exist as a physical monastery, or it may be an invisible organism of individuals and activities spread across the globe. The eleventh-century master Ali el Hujwiri, in his classic work The Revelation of the Veiled, provided the first public account of Sufism and its orders, which also contained, for the initiate, concealed information on the Sufi secret language. [pause 1s]
Next, the activation of the "subtleties," or lataifa. [pause 1s]
The central work of the dervish orders is the "activation of the subtleties," or lataif. The lataif are incipient organs of spiritual perception, and their awakening is what constitutes the development of a "new man." There are five main centers, each with a corresponding color and a theoretical location in the body which serves as a focus for concentration exercises: Heart is yellow, on the left side; Spirit is red, on the right side; Secret is white, at the solar plexus; Mysterious is black, at the forehead; and Deeply Hidden is green, at the center of the chest. [pause 1s]
The awakening of these centers must be part of a comprehensive, balanced development supervised by a master. If a latifa activates accidentally or out of sequence, the result can be dangerous, leading to an unbalanced mind, exaggerated self-importance, and the emergence of false teachers who mistake a partial psychic ability for full enlightenment. [pause 1s]
Finally, the chapter discusses the role of the teacher and the Four Journeys. [pause 1s]
The teacher’s role is to guide the disciple so that the subtleties awaken harmoniously. This is achieved through a process called tajalli, or irradiation or illumination. The true mystical experience, or hal, is not the goal itself, but a gift that allows the Sufi to establish a permanent stage of objective knowledge, or makam. The complete Sufi path is described as Four Journeys. The first is the attainment of fana, unification with objective reality. The second is baqa, permanency, in which the Sufi stabilizes this knowledge and becomes a teacher. In the third journey, this teacher becomes a universal guide. In the final, fourth journey, the Perfect Man guides others through the transition of physical death to the next stage of being. [pause 2s]
This chapter has explained that Dervish Orders are evolutionary schools designed to guide seekers through a balanced development, activating latent organs of spiritual perception. [pause 2s] Now we turn to a chapter titled, Seeker After Knowledge. [pause 2s]
The chapter opens with the intellectual seeker. [pause 1s]
A young, intellectual Westerner arrives at the circle of a Sufi teacher in India. He recounts his long journey: years spent studying mysticism in books, followed by travels across the East, visiting and rejecting numerous teachers. He found formal religions too dogmatic, Zen out of touch, and other cults too focused on personality worship. He now seeks something practical from this Sufi master. [pause 1s]
Next, the problem of preconceived ideas. [pause 1s]
The Sheikh immediately challenges the young man's entire approach. He explains that the seeker is judging everything based on a set of preconceived ideas, which is the very thing preventing his progress. "You have set yourself a task: to find spiritual truth," the Sheikh says, but "you have sought this truth in the wrong directions, and interpreted its manifestations in the wrong way." The seeker has been using the tools of carpentry for watchmaking. He assumes he can judge what is a "fundamental" truth, yet his intellectual framework is precisely what blinds him to it. The Sheikh explains that every event has a deeper reality and infinite ramifications that the ordinary mind does not perceive. [pause 1s]
Finally, the chapter discusses the crutch of the intellect. [pause 1s]
The visitor understands the logic of this, but confesses he cannot experience it and is unwilling to discard his previous knowledge. In response, the Sheikh tells him an allegory about a society of cripples who became so dependent on their crutches that they forgot how to walk. They eventually "proved" that crutches were necessary by pointing to people who could not walk without them, and they called those who could walk on their own deluded. The seeker objects that the analogy is not perfect. "Does any analogy fit completely?" the Sheikh replies. "You know that scientific laws are only relatively true, and yet you seek complete truth through relative methods?" [pause 1s]
The lesson of the encounter is that the intellect must be brought into its right perspective before real learning can begin. The extremes of both the Western intellectual approach—the demand to judge everything for oneself—and the supposed Eastern approach—the desire to submit completely—are useless for the Sufi path. A balance must be found, learned not from books, but from the direct observation of the living teacher. [pause 2s]
Through this dialogue, the chapter illustrates the central Sufi teaching that spiritual knowledge cannot be attained through preconceived ideas, but requires the guidance of a living teacher. [pause 2s] We now turn to a chapter on The Creed of Love. [pause 2s]
We begin with the nature of Sufi love. [pause 1s]
Sufism is often called the creed of love, a theme captured in Rumi’s parable of the lover who knocks at the Beloved’s door. He is first turned away for saying, “It is I,” but is admitted only when he returns and answers, “It is Thee.” For the Sufi, however, love is not an end in itself, nor is human love the highest potential of a human being. It is, rather, a reflection of and a vehicle for a greater truth. This comprehensive ideal began to deteriorate in the West as it was translated into new languages, losing its original Sufi context. [pause 1s]
Next, the troubadours and their Sufi origins. [pause 1s]
The West’s tradition of romantic love, expressed through the troubadours, has its origins in Saracen Spain. Historians confirm that the troubadours of southern France were direct imitators of Arab singers in sentiment, form, and style. The very word “troubadour” is a European rendering of an Arabic technical term. It is not derived from the romance word for “finding,” but from the Arabic roots T R B, for music or song, and R B B, for the viol, an instrument used by Sufi minstrels. A third, related root yields Rabbat, meaning “lady, mistress, female idol.” This cluster of words provides a complete picture of a Sufi school. The troubadours were a group of teachers for whom the love theme was one part of a larger whole; they were “lovers” and “masters,” played the viol, and spoke of divinity in female terms, just as the great Spanish Sufi Ibn el Arabi did. [pause 1s]
Finally, the function of love in Sufism. [pause 1s]
As this tradition spread into Europe, its many facets were forgotten. The West accepted the outward forms—the love poetry, the music, the celebration of life—but the inner sense and the essential role of the living teacher were largely lost. The purpose of the Sufi poet-lover is not merely to be absorbed in the truth he perceives. He is transformed by it, and as a consequence gains a social function: to return to the world and inject back into the stream of life the direction humanity needs to fulfill its evolutionary destiny. Love is a common denominator for all of humanity. The Sufi, having penetrated its secrets, returns to the world to convey the steps of the Path. [pause 2s]
This chapter reveals the Western tradition of romantic love to be a direct but partial transmission of the Sufi “creed of love,” a complex system where love serves as a vehicle for human transformation. [pause 2s] We now move to a chapter on Miracles and Magic. [pause 2s]
We start with the Sufi view and function of miracles. [pause 1s]
The Sufi view of miracles is entirely functional. When the great master Bahaudin Naqshband was asked about his miracles, he explained that there is a "food of impressions" which only the elect can perceive and direct. Miracles are a part of this extra nutriment; their function is to provoke a variety of reactions in people—confusion, skepticism, fear, or excitement—according to each individual's inner state. The miracle is thus an instrument of both influence and assessment. [pause 1s]
For the Sufi, all miracles are a form of coincidence, a series of events happening in a specific relationship that appears to defy the laws of space and time. Because their nature is inseparable from their complex effects, they cannot be fully explained. The important thing is the effect, not the cause. The ordinary observer is hampered because he seeks to explain phenomena in terms he already understands, instead of extending his own perceptions to meet them. Being lost in crude wonder at marvels prevents one from understanding their true function within the developmental pattern of human life. [pause 1s]
Next, magic as a deteriorated Sufic system. [pause 1s]
Magic, like miracles, is seen by the Sufis as having a functional and developmental aspect. Much of Sufi lore was transmitted through the vehicle of magic, using its terminology to convey allegorical teachings. From the Sufi perspective, however, magic is generally a deterioration of a complete Sufic system. It is a fragment of a methodology, pursued without the essential contact with the system’s overall evolutionary destiny. Magic works by heightening emotion to create a "spark" that connects to a greater force. The Sufi, by contrast, does not seek to explode this emotional force but to organize it into a stable fuel for the continuous operation of "being and knowing." [pause 1s]
Finally, the Brethren of Sincerity and the Cabala. [pause 1s]
This hidden transmission is evident in the history of secret societies. The Ikhwan El Safa, or Brethren of Sincerity, was a tenth-century secret Sufi group in Basra that published an encyclopedia of all known science and philosophy. Their aim was to make learning available as a prelude to inner knowledge. Their teachings were brought to Spain by the astronomer El Majriti and from there influenced the whole of the West. Their impact was most profound on the Jewish mystical system of the Cabala. According to the Jewish Encyclopaedia, the Brethren of Sincerity originated the system of divine elements that became the basis of the Cabala. Jewish mysticism in the eighth century was revived under the direct influence of Sufism, and the great Jewish philosopher Solomon Ibn Gabirol, or Avicebron, was a follower of the Spanish Sufi Ibn Masarrah. [pause 2s]
This chapter has reframed miracles and magic as functional phenomena, with magic being a deteriorated fragment of the complete Sufi system, whose teachings became the direct source for the Jewish Cabala. [pause 2s] We now turn to a chapter titled, The Teacher, the Teaching, the Taught. [pause 2s]
The chapter begins with the necessity of the teacher. [pause 1s]
The common assumption that one can travel the mystic Path alone is, for the Sufi, a dangerous error born from a misplaced sense of self-reliance. An individual who seeks guidance from an expert in any other field does not feel he has lost his freedom, yet in spiritual matters, he resists. The would-be Sufi is like an untrained hawk who believes the hawkmaster wants to cage him, not realizing that he is being offered a fuller and more meaningful life. A teacher is essential because the seeker does not know the Way and cannot mature in solitude. The Sufi path is not a solitary endeavor but a complex interaction between three things: the teacher, the learner, and the community. As Rumi says, quote: “Science is learned by words; art by practice; detachment by companionship,” end quote. [pause 1s]
Next, the nature of the Sufi teacher. [pause 1s]
The function of the Sufi teacher is far more complex than that of an ordinary instructor. His task is not to teach what can be taught, but to facilitate what must be "caught," like a passion. His primary function is in being. There is no division between his public and private personality; he is not an actor playing a part. This does not mean he is static. The image of the aloof, unchanging, perpetually calm master is an externalist fantasy. For the Sufi, qualities like detachment are only one part of a dynamic interchange; a person who is always detached has simply overdeveloped one faculty at the expense of his organic wholeness. The true teacher's stage of illumination is visible, for the most part, only to those who are themselves enlightened. [pause 1s]
Finally, the teaching, the learner, and the school. [pause 1s]
The teacher's method may seem destructive, but it is "essentially reconstructive," like pulling down a house to find the treasure buried beneath it. The process requires the student to abandon his preconceived ideas and his assumption that he has the capacity to judge spiritual truths. The teacher's role is to open the student's mind so that he may become accessible to his own destiny. There is an immense variety of Sufi teachers and schools because they are part of an organic process. A teacher might be a silent wanderer in a patchwork coat—the origin of the Harlequin—or an ordinary person with a pot of ink. A Sufi cannot teach until he has received the "Robe of Permission" from his own mentor. The entire process—the teacher, the teaching, and the taught—is a single, indivisible phenomenon that can only be understood through participation. [pause 2s]
This concludes the chapter on the indivisible unity of the teacher, the teaching, and the taught, where the living example of the master is essential for guiding the student toward a transformative experience. [pause 2s] Now we move to a chapter on The Far East. [pause 2s]
We begin with Sufi influence on Hindu mysticism. [pause 1s]
The mystical stream of humanity is essentially one, and what often appear to be independent traditions in the Far East are revealed to have deep connections with Sufism. Scholars have shown that the great religious movements in South India from the ninth to the twelfth centuries, including the love-mysticism of the bhakti type, were strongly influenced by Sufi teachings. Key concepts such as an increasing emphasis on monotheism, emotional worship, self-surrender, and adoration of the teacher, or guru bhakti, were incorporated into medieval Hinduism precisely in the areas and during the times of Sufi settlement. [pause 1s]
Great Hindu reformers like Kabir and Dadu were steeped in Sufi lore. The Sikh religion was founded by Guru Nanak, who freely admitted his debt to Sufism; the very name "Sikh" means "Seeker," a standard term for a Sufi traveler. Even the father of the poet Rabindranath Tagore, Maharshi Devendranath Tagore, attained a beatific vision after studying not Hindu scriptures, but the poetry of the Sufi master Hafiz. [pause 1s]
Next, the Sufi synthesis and Zen Buddhism. [pause 1s]
The seventeenth-century Mogul prince Dara Shikoh, following a long tradition of Sufi inquiry, undertook a comparative study of Hindu, Islamic, Jewish, and Christian scriptures, concluding that the esoteric tradition within them all was identical to the Sufi one. This illustrates the three levels of contact: at the highest level, a unity of mystical aim; at the lowest, a clash between rigid formalists; and in the middle, a continuous and fruitful interchange. [pause 1s]
A similar connection exists with Zen Buddhism. Historically, Zen appeared in Japan at a time of strong Sufi impetus in India and originated in South China, a region with Muslim settlements for centuries. The similarities in terminology, allegories, and the activities of masters are considerable. From a Sufi viewpoint, Zen's method of direct transmission and sudden "impact" is strikingly similar to their own. A letter by the Zen teacher Yengo, explaining the nature of Zen, reads almost exactly like a Sufi text, quote: "It is presented right to your face... Look into your own being and seek it not through others," end quote. While this could point to a direct transmission, the Sufi belief is that the basis for the teaching is inherent in the human mind everywhere, and any contact simply serves to rekindle it. [pause 2s]
That concludes our exploration of the great mystical traditions of the Far East, including Hindu bhakti movements, Sikhism, and Zen Buddhism, which have been profoundly shaped by Sufi thought and practice. [pause 2s] We now come to the appendices. First, Appendix one, Esoteric Interpretation of the Qur’an. [pause 2s]
This appendix presents a Sufi reading of a Qur'anic chapter. [pause 1s]
For the classical Sufis, the Qur’an is an encoded document containing their teachings, with numerous levels of meaning that correspond to the reader's capacity for understanding. This multi-layered approach is what made dialogue possible between people of nominally different faiths. [pause 1s]
A primary example is Chapter one hundred twelve, the "Chapter of the Unity." A literal translation reads, quote: "Say... ‘He, Allah, is Unity! Allah the Eternal. Fathering nobody, and not himself engendered—And absolutely nothing is like him!’", end quote. Conventionally, this is seen by Muslims as a declaration of faith and by Christians as an attack on the doctrine of Christ's divinity, creating a psychological conflict. The Sufis, however, never accepted this limited interpretation. The great master Ghazali explains that the chapter was revealed in response to a question from Bedouin Arabs: "To what may we compare Allah?" The answer, therefore, is that Allah cannot be compared to anything familiar to humanity. "Allah" is the word used to denote the final objectivity, a uniqueness beyond time, number, or any sense of propagation known to man. It was on this more profound level that a common ground was laid between thinking people of all faiths. [pause 2s]
This illustrates how the Qur'an, for the Sufi, is a multi-layered text whose esoteric meaning transcends dogmatic conflict. [pause 2s] Finally, we turn to Appendix two, The Rapidness. [pause 2s]
This appendix describes the Shattari Method. [pause 1s]
One of the most attractive aspects of Sufism for the impatient is "The Rapidness," or the Shattari Method. This technique for accelerated Sufi development traditionally emanates from the Naqshbandi Order of Central Asia. It was brought to India in the fifteenth century by Sheikh Abdullah Shattar, who would travel between monasteries and challenge their leaders to share in his method. The Shattari Order became powerful and influenced several Mogul emperors, but it ceased to be a major public entity in the nineteenth century, degenerating into a self-perpetuating organization. The Shattari Methods, though widely sought after, remain in the custody of their parent school, the Naqshbandi Order. [pause 2s]
This concludes the detailed summary of 'The Sufis' by Idries Shah.