Islam and Christian-Muslim Relations, Vol. 14, No. 4, October 2003

Rumi and the Universality of his Message

MUHAMMAD ESTE’LAMI

This article evaluates the universal message of Rumi to offer it as a hopeful alternative to the ignorance and lack of spirituality in modern times. Drawing upon Rumi’s writings of the thirteenth century, it advocates an understanding that there is something beyond religion and scholarly learning that can open our eyes to the reality beyond this existence; for Rumi we must climb a spiritual ladder of love. Furthermore, Rumi envisioned a universal faith, embodying all religions, because he understood that the cause of every religious conflict is ignorance. The article implies that religiosity consists in something other than outward religions. Real belief is apparent only on the inside of a person, which is not visible. Therefore, through Rumi, the article makes it clear that the religion of love involves loving the eternal and invisible source of existence.

ABSTRACT

To most Muslim, Christian, or Jewish believers, any reference to universality and pluralism in religion might be considered as a sign of infidelity or unbelief. Nevertheless, the first references to the universality and pluralism quoted in Islamic philosophical and Sufi sources are taken from the Qur’a¯n itself, and go so far as to imply that at least both the Jewish and Christian religions are respected by and fully acceptable to Muslims. A translation of verse 256 of the second su¯ra of the Qur’a¯n (Al-Baqara) reads: ‘There is no compulsion in religion, the right way is henceforth distinct from error, and he who rejects the false way and believes in Allah, has grasped a strong handhold which will never break …’. In this verse, belief is not only Muslim belief, and Alla¯h is not a God reserved exclusively for the Islamic faith. In comparing the usages of the two words mu’min and muslim in the Qur’a¯n, one arrives at a very interesting result. The word mu’min (believer, faithful) is used 230 times in all 114 chapters, in all its forms (singular and plural, masculine and feminine). The word muslim, in its different forms is only used 42 times.1 In many cases, mu’min is used to refer only to one who believes in God (man a¯mana bi-alla¯h), be he/she a Muslim, a Christian, or a Jew. There is no specification that it applies exclusively to the Muslim. This will be understandable if we realize that the soul of a human being, when he/she tries to know God, is involved in an internal passion of excitement, which may result in some type of enlightenment. In such a case, a person feels that he/she may see his/her Creator through insight, or see Him, as Rumi said,2 with the eyes of the heart, or by some other means, which is not biological or physiological. Such enlightenment may come to a human being without his/her necessarily being a Muslim. That spiritual change, or rebirth, which is called waqi!a or waqi!a-ya mardan (something happens to a man of God), has produced extraordinary legends in our Sufi sources, especially in biographical works like Asrar ut-tawhid and Tazkirat al-awliya’. In many of these legends, this waqi!a affects a man who is not a Muslim or even a faithful Christian or ISSN 0959-6410 print/ISSN 1469-9311 online/03/040429-06  2003 CSIC and CMCU DOI: 10.1080/0959641032000127588

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Jew. Fudayl b. ‘Ayad, a famous Sufi master from the second century AH, had been a thief, a plunderer. Another famous master, Ibrahim b. Adham, was originally a governor of Balkh. Zu al-Nun of Egypt was well known as a zindı¯q, an atheist, before his wa¯qi!a. Ma!ruf Karkhi from Baghdad was born to Christian parents, but in his early childhood, all of a sudden, denied any belief in the Trinity and acknowledged the oneness of Alla¯h.3 More examples in Islamic Sufi literature, and many more in Persian Sufi literature, testify that such a spiritual change was not exclusive to Muslims. For this reason, many great masters of Persian Sufism have been very open-minded and friendly towards other religious traditions. As a result, al-Hallaj, Abu Yazid al-Bastami, Abu Sa!id b. Abi al-Khayr, and Mawlana Jalaluddin Rumi were very highly admired by them, sometimes to the extent that they were even suggested to be associated with these religious traditions. Religious insight and the spiritual search for a safe haven are a part of faith in all religions. It implies dependence upon an invisible power who supports the faithful whenever and wherever they need. I would assert that even idol worshippers do not simply worship a material object. They imagine an invisible power in that piece of wood or stone. Idolater and theist both believe in that invisible or inexplicable existence for which they may have no definition or explanation accessible to the ordinary person. This is exactly what Baha’uddin !Ameli (Shaykh Baha’i) means in his well known poem: You are the aim, Ka!ba or Pagoda (house of idols) both are excuses.4 Sometimes we find Abu Sa!id b. Abi al-Khayr, the famous Sufi master of Nayshabur, being highly praised by Christians, or we read about Rumi’s attitude to the Christians and Jews of Kunya, who welcomed him as their religious leader. It seems to me that Rumi and Abu Sa!id both believed that it was necessary in their time to intellectualize Islam and Sufism and make them more attractive to their disciples. In Asrar ut-tawhid we read a legend of Imam Muhammad Juwayni, a friend of Abu Sa!id, who was anxious to guide a Christian or a Jew to become a Muslim. In fact, his accountant was a Jew. For many years Juwayni had tried to entice him to convert, promising a higher salary and full financial guarantee for life, but his accountant had said to him: ‘I am sorry, I do not sell my faith for worldly benefits’. Perhaps you can tell me: who is a better Muslim? Imam Juwayni or his Jewish accountant?5 Fariduddin !Attar’s Mantiq ut-tayr (The Conference of the Birds) is one of the most popular and important works of Persian Sufi poetry. One section of it is devoted to the story of the shaykh San!an—or Sam!an—a mystic and religious leader. One night in a dream Shaykh San!an sees himself bowing to an idol in Rum (Byzantium). Afterwards, in the company of some disciples, he travels to Byzantium to discover the mystery behind his dream. There he falls in love with a beautiful Christian woman, abandons his faith, forfeits his sainthood, and becomes a humble servant to that woman. But later, when some Byzantine monks become aware of his background, they develop an interest in his teachings, and finally his beloved becomes a disciple of his Islamic and Sufi circle. Then the Shaykh, accompanied by his new friends, returns successfully to his previous life.6 In analyzing this narrative, many scholars talk about a period of irreligiousness, but Fariduddin !Attar, as may be observed in his eight works of poetry and prose, usually sends hidden messages to his readers through stories and parables in which the events may be unexpected, and the comments may seem to be blasphemous or irrational. The implicit message of Shaykh San!an is that a spiritual ladder has many rungs, among which there may be skepticism or even denial of divine realities. A devotee may not in

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fact reach the rung of certainty without at some time setting his/her foot on the step of doubt. A worldly love may be necessary to the purpose of destroying and rebuilding the personality of a Sufi traveler, as we read in Rumi’s Mathnawi: Whether love be from this side or that side, worldly Or heavenly, in the end it leads us yonder.7 Rumi’s spiritual ladder is Love, which constitutes one answer to the unlimited number of questions. Love is the astrolabe of God’s mysteries,8 the motive of every visible and invisible movement in the universe. Rumi offers many, many definitions of love. He interprets a qur’a¯nic verse as saying that God loves His creatures and they all love Him too (Q. 5!54), but in his short preface to the second volume of his Mathnawi he says: ‘It is enough to say He loves them. We do not need to say His creatures love him too, because both sides are decreed by Him.’ Some thousands of verses in Rumi’s Divan-e Shams-e Tabrizi (or Divan-e Kabir) and in the Mathnawi define this love. Nevertheless Rumi’s final words are: Whatsoever I say in exposition or explanation of love, When I come to love itself, I am ashamed of my explanation.9 Climbing the steps of this spiritual ladder, Rumi attains the realm of inspired wisdom, an esoteric knowledge, which is inspired by God into the heart of a mystic. Such a wisdom or knowledge is called !ilm-e ladunni or !ilm-e min ladunn, expressions which are used for it in the Qur‘a¯n (18!65). That inspiration enables Rumi to change himself, his style of life and teaching, his behavior, and his appearance too. Guided by Barhanuddin Muhaqqiq, and especially influenced by Shamsuddin-e Tabrizi, he realizes that scholastic knowledge is unable to open our inner eyes to invisible existence.10 He believes that music is an inseparable part of life and sama! is a fruitful activity of Sufi education. In his poetry, the imagery of music and dance is used more frequently than in any other poet before him.11 In the early verses of the Mathnawi, the reed (or nay), separated from the reed-bed, is nobody but Rumi himself, and in many other verses he repeats the same imagery: We are as a harp, you are playing us; We are as a flute, and this is your voice breathed into us.12 Among the most interesting images in Divan-e Shams, and also in the Mathnawi, are those related to religious rituals, prayers, and services. When a Muslim dies, the burial ceremony includes a special prayer in which the phrase Alla¯hu akbar must be uttered four times. In Persian poetry that chahar takbir, or the same utterance, means the relinquishment of something, or despairing of someone’s life. But, in Rumi’s imagery, the utterance of Alla¯hu akbar means despairing of the carnal soul and worldly desires and benefits.13 Moreover, in performing compulsory prayers, a Muslim should stand facing in the direction of the city of Mecca (called the qibla). But Rumi in a satirical passage of his Mathnawi says that the qibla is not the same for everybody. To one who is a slave to his belly the qibla is a table cloth spread with a lot of food, to a philosopher it is his fantasy, to a form-worshipper it is a piece of stone, to the ascetic the qibla is the Gracious God, and to the gnostic it is the light of union with God.14 In his famous narrative, ‘The Old Harpist’, in the first volume of the Mathnawi, the harpist, despairing of his worldly customers, complains of his extreme poverty, and says: … For seventy hears I have been committing sin (playing music) [yet] not for one day hast Thou withheld Thy bounty from me. No earning today, I am Thy guest.

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The old harpist goes to the graveyard of the city of Medina, playing his harp for God, but he is not merely playing an instrument: he is praying, worshipping, and God understands this: God is so generous that He may accept the counterfeit coin of me.16 Another highlight of the Mathnawi in this regard is in the story of the shepherd and his foolish speech to God in the time of Moses. Moses listens to the shepherd, who implores: O God! Where art Thou, that I may be Thy servant, That I may repair Thy shoes, I may comb Thy hair, I may wash Thy clothes, kill Thy lice, bring milk to Thee, That I may kiss Thy little hand and rub Thy little foot, [and] at bedtime, I may sweep Thy little room … 17 Moses asks the shepherd, ‘O man! To whom is this addressed?’ The shepherd answers, ‘To that one who created us, who brought this earth and sky into sight.’ Moses gets very angry and says to the shepherd that his words are blasphemous, that they have made the whole world stink, and that the utterer of such blasphemous words is an infidel. The poor shepherd, despairing and confused, turns his head towards the desert and goes away. But a revelation comes to Moses from God: ‘You have parted my servant from me! You Moses, as a prophet, did you come to unite me with my servants, or to sever me from them!?’ Then we read one of the most interesting passages of the Mathnawi. God says to Moses: I am independent of all purity and impurity. I take no benefit from my servants’ worship, this is my kindness to them. In the Hindoos the idiom of Hind, the Sindians the idiom Sind. Forms of speeches used by different peoples in their worships, All are praiseworthy … O, Moses! They that know the conventions are of one sort, [and] those whose souls and spirits burn, are of another sort. To lovers, there is a burning which consumes them at every moment. They are like a ruined village, no tax and tithe on a ruined village.18 There are many more examples in Rumi’s Divan-e Shams and the Mathnawi demonstrating that Rumi, though a sincere Muslim, believed in a type of universal faith, belonging to all religions. He states clearly and frequently that the atheist philosophical schools have no answer to spiritual questions; nevertheless, it cannot be doubted that Rumi’s works have been influenced by some aspects of Greek philosophy and Hellenistic tradition which lived on in thirteenth-century Anatolia.19 The parable of a man who was carrying a lamp at mid-day, searching for insan—a real human being—is none other than the famous legend of Diogenes. It appears in both Divan-e Shams and the Mathnawi.20 The theory of the elevation of existence—through the stages of mineral, plant, animal, man, then angel and finally something even higher—is considered to be a poetic version of the Neoplatonic idea of a return of the soul to its divine origin.21 In Rumi’s imagery, of course, the stages of such elevation represent transformation of the soul into the higher forms of existence through annihilation, the last of these being the sacrifice of the angel-soul and reaching a point which is not explainable or imaginable. This may consist in a return to non-existence, or !adam, which is the real origin of all

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creation and the whole of existence. Not-being is a necessity for becoming and being. In such an inexplicable situation, non-existence speaks into Rumi’s inner ear, proclaiming in organ tones (orghanun) that: ‘We return to Him’ (Q. 2!156). Let us go back to the explanation of love in Rumi’s works, that inexplicable motif which exists beneath every visible and invisible movement in the universe. That is exactly what its religious definition is: belief or faith, which is ‘experienced in human terms, but completely grounded in God’.22 In the history of Islamic culture, there is a tradition that the community is composed of 72 sects or 72 religious groups. According to another tradition quoted in early Islamic sources, this represented the number of Christian sects. But the term haftadu du millat in the Persian tradition refers to all the different religions, and in Rumi’s poetry it also has this meaning. In a passage of the Mathnawi, where Rumi speaks of love—and he means the spiritual relation between man and God—love is a stranger to the visible and invisible worlds, and it is said to be composed of 72 types of madness.23 Rumi implies that religiosity consists in something other than all those religions. Our prayers and other religious activities are the apparent side of religion. A real believer may only be recognized by his inner state, which is not observable to anyone else. In the next part of this passage, Rumi makes it even clearer that the religion of love involves loving the eternal and invisible source of existence, taking a path beyond those 72. His clearest expression of this idea is found in a verse in the first volume of his Mathnawi: Every prophet and every saint has a way of religious practice, But, as all those ways lead us to God, they are one.24 In another passage from the third volume of the Mathnawi he says, ‘When we praise a person or an object, we really praise God. As the praiseworthy is one, all religions are one religion.’25 There are other passages on this theme in the Mathnawi besides that referred to above and a few parables in which Rumi’s message is solely that of the unity of religions. In one parable somebody gives a silver coin, a dirham, to four persons who are not of the same nationality. Each of the four wishes to buy some grapes, but because they use different words, they get involved in a fight. Rumi says: ‘If there was a man of esoteric knowledge, a man of a hundred languages, there wouldn’t be any disagreement.’26 Another example is the parable of an elephant taken into a dark room by some Hindus who wanted to put on a show. Local residents, who had never seen such an animal, went into the room and each touched a different part of the elephant’s body. Then, everyone described the animal as he had found it in the darkness. After quoting their funny descriptions, Rumi says: If there had been a candle in each one’s hand, The difference would have gone out of their words.27 In all these parables, Rumi’s message is that the cause of every religious conflict is ignorance. In concluding this paper, I would say that the universality of Rumi’s message is even more important to our contemporary society than it was to the thirteenth-century world. Increasingly in our modern world and especially in developed countries, the spiritual side of man is neglected. Modern man, bewitched by huge economic and industrial progress, almost entirely neglects his spiritual progress. In these modern circumstances, where democracy and freedom are misunderstood, faith and religious belief are replaced by irreligiousness, and man seems unable to find another spiritual

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refuge. Rumi’s moderate attitude provides many answers to the social and psychological problems of our time. NOTES 1. Mahmud Ramyar, Qur’an, special edition with introduction and indices (Tehran, Amir Kabir, 1980). 2. Muhammad Jalaluddin Rumi, The Mathnawi, ed. M. Este’lami, with introduction, complete commentary, and indices in seven volumes, 6th edn (Tehran, Entesharat-e Sukhan, 2000), vol. 1, 2502. 3. Fariduddin !Attar, Tazkirat al-awliya’, ed. M. Este’lami (Tehran, Zavvar, 1999), ch. 10, 12, 14, 20. 4. Muhammad !Ameli Baha’uddin, Divan-e Shaykh Baha’i (Tehran, Shirkat-e Kitab, 1970). 5. Muhammed b. Munawwar, Asrar ut-tawhid hi Maqamat-e Shaykh Abi Sa’id, ed. M. R. Shafi’i Khadkani (Tehran, Entesharat-e Agah), vol. 1, Introduction, 1, 131, 210. 6. Fariduddin !Attar, Mantiq ut-tayr or Maqamat ut-tuyur, ed. Dr Seyyed Sadey Gowharin (Tehran, Bungah-e Tarjuma va Nashr-e Kaab, 1963), 67–88. 7. Rumi, Mathnawi, ed. Este’lami, vol. 1, 111. 8. Ibid., 110. 9. Ibid., 112. 10. Ibid., vol. 6, 263 and Introduction, vol. 1, 22–32, 39–41. 11. Annemarie Schimmel, Mystical Dimensions of Islam (Columbia SC, University of South Carolina Press, 1975), 317. 12. Rumi, Mathnawi, ed. Este’lami, vol. 1, 602–3. 13. Ibid., vol. 3, 2146. 14. Ibid., vol. 6, 1903–7. 15. Ibid., vol. 1, 2095–6. 16. Ibid., 2098. 17. Ibid., vol. 2, 1734–95. 18. Ibid., 1759–63. 19. Schimmel, Mystical Dimensions, 318. 20. Rumi, Mathnawi, ed. Este’lami, vol. 5, 2889. 21. Schimmel, Mystical Dimensions, 321; Rumi, Mathnawi, ed. Este’lami, vol. 3, 3903–8. 22. Schimmel, Mystical Dimensions, 324. 23. Ibid., vol. 3, 4722. 24. Ibid., vol. 1, 3099. 25. Ibid., vol. 3, 2126. 26. Ibid., vol. 2, 3707. 27. Ibid., vol. 3, 1269.