Part 1
JÁMÍ
BY F. HADLAND DAVIS
AUTHOR OF "JALÁLU'D-DÍN RÚMÍ," ETC.
WISDOM OF THE EAST
THE PERSIAN MYSTICS
LONDON
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.
1918
"With men of light I sought these pearls to string, The drift of mystics' sayings forth to bring." JÁMÍ
TO ALL THOSE WHO FIND IN THE WISDOM AND MYSTICISM OP THE EAST GREAT BEAUTY AND A GREAT PEACE THIS LITTLE BOOK IS INSCRIBED
PREFACE
In the preparation of this little volume much depended upon the kindness and generosity of certain Oriental scholars, who have allowed me to reproduce some of their translations from Jámí. I have attempted to give their best work in so far as it tends to illustrate the mystical teaching of the last great poet of Persia.
Once more I am indebted to Mr. E. H. Whinfield for permission to quote from his translation of the _Lawá'ih_ (Oriental Translation Fund, New Series, vol. xvi., Royal Asiatic Society, London). I have to thank Prof. Edward G. Browne for allowing me to use his beautiful translation from _Yúsuf and Zulaikha_, which I have called "The Coming of the Beloved." This translation appears, in fuller form, in Prof. E. G. Browne's article on "Súfíism" in _Religious Systems of the World_ (Sonnenschein). The chapter in the present volume entitled "The Story of Yúsuf and Zulaikha" originally appeared in the _Orient Review_, and I am indebted to the editors for their courtesy in allowing me to reproduce it here. I very much appreciate Mr. E. Edwards's kindly interest in my work, and for the valuable suggestions he has made from time to time. I tender my thanks to Messrs. Kegan Paul for allowing me to make a selection from _Yúsuf and Zulaikha_, translated by the late Mr. Ralph T. Griffith (Trübner's Oriental Series).
The translations from _Salámán and Absál_ are by Edward FitzGerald, and those from the _Baháristán_ were originally published by the Kama Shastra Society.
F. HADLAND DAVIS
LONDON, _March_,1908.
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
I. THE LIFE OF JÁMÍ II. THE STORY OF "SALÁMÁN AND ABSÁL" III. THE TEACHING OF THE "LAWÁ'IH" IV. THE STORY OF "YÚSUF AND ZULAIKHA" V. THE "BAHÁRISTÁN," OR "ABODE OF SPRING"
SELECTIONS FROM "SALÁMÁN AND ABSÁL" SELECTIONS FROM THE "LAWÁ'IH" SELECTIONS FROM "YÚSUF AND ZULAIKHA" SELECTIONS FROM THE "BAHÁRISTÁN"
EDITORIAL NOTE
The object of the editors of this series is a very definite one. They desire above all things that, in their humble way, these books shall be the ambassadors of good-will and understanding between East and West, the old world of Thought, and the new of Action. In this endeavour, and in their own sphere, they are but followers of the highest example in the land. They are confident that a deeper knowledge of the great ideals and lofty philosophy of Oriental thought may help to a revival of that true spirit of Charity which neither despises nor fears the nations of another creed and colour.
L. CRANMER-BYNG. S. A. KAPADIA.
NORTHBROOK SOCIETY, 21 CROMWELL ROAD, KENSINGTON, S.W.
INTRODUCTION
I. THE LIFE OF JÁMÍ
Nur-addín 'Abd-alrahmán Jámí was born in Jám[1] the 23rd of Sha'bán, 817, A.H. (Nov. 7, 1414 A.D.), and died at Herát the 18th of Muharram, 898 A.H. (NOV. 9, 1492 A.D.). Dr. Hermann Ethé gives Khasjird, near Jám, as the birthplace of the poet; but as Jámí himself refers more than once to the fact of Jám being his birthplace, we must give the poet the benefit of the doubt and I trust to his good memory in the matter. The fact that Jám and Khasjird are in close proximity I has probably given rise to confusion in the matter. It will be evident that the poet took his name from the first-mentioned town.
In 822 A.H. Khwájah Mohammad Pársá happened to pass through the little town of Jám, _en route_ for Hijàz. A great concourse of people came out to do the holy man honour, and among them was the little boy, Jámí, and his father. A pretty story is told of how Jámí's father seated his son in front of Khwájah's litter. I do not think the little fellow laughed very much, as most boys would have done on such a joyous occasion, because Jámí, writing on his impression of that day sixty years after, tells us that "The pure refulgence of his (Mohammad Pársá's) beaming countenance is even now, as then, clearly visible to me, and my heart still feels the joy I experienced from that happy meeting. I firmly believe that that bond of union, friendship, confidence, and love, which subsequently bound the great body of pious spirits to this humble creature, is wholly due to the fortunate influence of his glance, and most devoutly do I trust that the auspiciousness of this union may cause me to be ranked among the number of his friends." Jámí seems to have had much faith in the contact with holy men, and he attached much importance to a certain Shaikh who took him on his knee as a child. This very estimable reverence for holy men and holy things must ever remain as one of the poet's finest characteristics. We can, however, never say of Jámí that he was a man of wide sympathy. He was kind and generous towards the poor and needy; but he lamentably failed where, perhaps, he should have shone most, namely, among the literary men of his own period. He too frequently displayed a fighting spirit, where tolerance and a willingness to admit of another point of view would have shown to greater advantage.
Jámí commenced his education at Herát. He strongly objected to the disciplinary methods of instruction, was not studious as a boy, and preferred games rather than the study of books. But he was naturally clever, naturally quick at absorbing knowledge with a minimum of labour. It is said of him that he used to snatch a book from one of his fellow students while on his way to school and excel them all when they were examined in class.
Jámí soon left his instructor Mullá Junaid and became a pupil of Khwájah 'Alí al-Samarqandi. Jámí was so brilliant a scholar that after forty lessons further instruction from his master was quite unnecessary. After attending a series of lectures by Qazí Rúm, at Samarqand, he succeeded in getting the best of an argument with the learned professor who had given the lectures. It might have been expected that the defeat of an older man of letters than Jámí would have produced ill-feeling; but quite the contrary was the case. Qazí Rúm, before a large assembly, described Jámí thus: "Since the building of this city, no one equal, in sharpness of intellects and power of using them, to young Jámí, has ever crossed the Oxus and entered Samarqand." This was high praise indeed; but though it awakens our admiration, the fact that he dispensed with "home-work" while at school, scanned his lessons while walking past the rose-gardens, bettered his instructor in an argument, and in every way shone as a most clever young man, because he simply could not help being anything else, makes him not one whit dearer to our hearts if we expect from him something more than cleverness. Jámí had not that greatness of soul whereby to counteract the deterrent effect his conspicuous success might have upon him. In these early days of too youthful recognition we find Jámí infected with that disease commonly known as "swelled head," from which the poet never recovered. We see him too often as a little tin-god denying, with the exception of his father, all indebtedness to others for his noteworthy erudition--an absurd attitude for any one to take. He remarks: "I have found no master with whom I have read, superior to myself. On the contrary I have invariably found that, in argument, I could defeat them all. I acknowledge, therefore, the obligations of a pupil to his master to none of them; for if I am the pupil of any one, it is of my father who taught me the language." This blatantly conceited attitude is both disappointing and surprising when we remember first, that Jámí was a professed Súfí, the follower of a teaching the tenets of which are the abandonment of self and the knowledge of God only. Second, that Jámí had a very decided sense of humour, strongly in evidence in the "Sixth Garden" of his _Baháristán_, so delightfully entitled: "Blowing of the zephyrs of wit and the breezes of jocular sallies, which cause the buds of the lips to laugh and the flowers of the hearts to bloom." From these two things alone we might have expected a finer and nobler character. We must be, however, content with the life of a great literary egoist, abandon sentiment, and remember only that he has left to posterity the most polished of Persian poetry.
Jámí's acceptance of Súfíism was brought about through a vision in which S'ad al-Dín appeared to him and said: "Go, O child! and wait on one who is indispensable to you." As this message was delivered by a spirit Jámí appears to have taken no objection to the word "indispensable"; but on the contrary, obeyed the command and went to S'ad al-Dín for spiritual instruction. Under this holy man Jámí lived the life of a rigid ascetic. So devoutly and so strenuously did Jámí perform his penances that when S'ad al-Dín thought fit to lessen them and allow Jámí to mix with society again, the poet found that he had lost his power of eloquence, for which he had been so justly famed, and it was some considerable time before he regained his position as a great master of rhetoric.
I have already said that Jámí showed a very strong liking for holy and pious men. Particularly might be mentioned Shams al-Dín Mohammad Asad and 'Ubaid Ullah Ahrár. The last mentioned alludes to Jámí as the "flood of light," and to himself as the "small lamp." But Jámí, nevertheless, was not very optimistic in his views regarding other people. "Alas," said he, "I can find no seekers after _Truth_. Seekers there are, but they are seekers of their own prosperity."
It was while making a pilgrimage to Mecca that Jámí suffered considerably from the mutilation of a passage from his _Silsilah al-Dhahab_, a passage purposely borrowed from Qazí Azád. The mutilation was performed by N'imat-i Haidarí, a native of Jám, who had accompanied Jámí to Baghdad, had quarrelled, and left the little band and some Moslims of another order. The partially suppressed passage was shown to some of the Shí'a as the work of Jámí. The poet and his followers met with a heated dispute from the people of Baghdad. Finally a meeting was called in the Madrassah of the town. A large number of excited people attended. The Hanafi and Sháfi'í churches were represented, and in front of their respective representatives sat the Governor. When the _Silsilah al-Dhahab_ was perused the piece of deception was discovered, namely, that the beginning and end had been suppressed, and a passage added likely to offend the people of Baghdad. Peace was once more restored. Jámí, however, felt justified in punishing the originators of the plot. N'imat-i Haidarí had his moustache very unceremoniously cut off, and was commanded to forfeit a pious garb with the crushing remark: "It will be necessary for you to recommend yourself to some holy man of the day, who, peradventure, may yet put you on the right way." This man's brother, who had also offended, was forced to wear a fool's cap and to ride on an ass with his head facing the animal's tail, amid the none too complimentary remarks of the Baghdad people.
Although Jámí, in spite of the incident mentioned above, remained in Baghdad four months, he never forgot the insult, and expressed himself bitterly on the subject in some of his poetry.
We then find our poet continuing his journey to Mecca, and both on his way to the holy city of Islam and upon his return therefrom, he met with cordial receptions from the people, who came out to do him honour. On one occasion, however, while Jámí stayed at Aleppo the Sultán of Rúm sent a messenger with a present of five thousand pieces of gold if Jámí would consent to visit Constantinople. The messenger came to Damascus only to find that Jámí had recently vacated it. The poet, hearing of the Sultán of Rúm's intentions, and wishing to avoid his munificence, took his departure to Tabríz. At this town Hasan Beg, the Governor of Kurdistan, made repeated overtures to try and persuade the poet to reside in his capital. But Jámí, making the excuse that he wished to visit his aged mother, journeyed to Khorasan. Fate, however, ordained honours and showers of gold for the none too grateful or needy Jámí, and at Khorasan he was again the recipient of many costly presents.
Jámí, probably wearied with the continual adulation which he had everywhere received, now retired from public life. At this juncture little is recorded of him, and here we must leave him with one anecdote which will serve to show his ready wit: "You (_i.e._ God) so occupy my whole thoughts and vision, that whatsoever comes into view from afar appears to me to be You." "What," said a sharp contemporary, "if a jackass were to come into view?" "It would appear to me to be _you_!" was Jámí's prompt reply.
II. THE STORY OF "SALÁMÁN AND ABSÁL."
In this beautiful little allegory, the meaning of which is so obvious that Jámí need not have explained it in his Epilogue, we read of the Shah of Yunan. He was a king ever wisely counselled by a sage who kept the Tower of Wisdom, and might be therefore reasonably supposed to be a fit and able personage to have about the king's person. However, this sage was also a cynic.
One day, after the king had poured forth a very beautiful lament on his childless marriage, and had concluded by remarking that a son was "man's prime desire," the keeper of the Tower of Wisdom supplemented his lord's remarks by describing woman as "A foolish, faithless thing," and marriage made miserable by "One little twist of temper." If the sage succeeded in frightening the king with his tirade on earthly marriage, he was certainly not successful in quelling the king's desire for a son. Of course in allegories nothing is impossible, and we are not at all surprised to find that the king's wish was fulfilled by magic! The fond father named his son Salámán and chose Absál for his nurse.
Absál seems to have been delighted with her charge:
As soon as she had opened eyes on him, She closed those eyes to all the world beside.
By this we might well infer that Absál was a most estimable nurse. It so happened, however, that her eyes remained closed to everything else but her charge to such an alarming extent that when Salámán was fourteen years old she revealed herself, with many subtle, Zulaikha-like wiles, as his devoted lover.
After the young people had spent a joyous year together, the knowledge of their attachment came to the ears of the king. That wise ruler duly admonished his wayward son and suggested hunting in preference to "dalliance unwise." The sage added his profound wisdom, as was his wont. These admonitions only resulted in the lovers fleeing the city. Across desert and sea they went until they came to a most wonderful island, the island of all earthly delights.
In the meantime the Shah became aware of his son's "Soul-wasting absence." The much troubled king looked into a mirror, "Reflecting all the world," and saw the lovers on their beautiful island, "Looking only in each other's eyes, and r never finding any sorrow there." The old king, remembering, perhaps, his early days, pitied them at first. But human pity is usually short-lived. Day after day seeing the same lovelorn objects in the magic mirror, he grew very angry and decided to make the lovers' embraces impossible in future. The king succeeded in casting a spell and also in revealing his face to his son, which so pricked the young man's conscience that he and Absál left their beautiful island and returned to their city. But here Salámán was torn with conflicting thoughts about his beloved Absál. Memories of the island garden came back to him again. In this melancholy state of mind the lovers again journeyed forth into the desert, this time to cut down branches and burn themselves to death. "Hand in hand they sprang into the fire." While one little hand slipped away from its hold and one fair body fell among the flames, Salámán remained unscathed.
It was after this sad scene that the sage explained the nature of Celestial Love, and revealed to Salámán's weary eyes the beautiful goddess, Zuhrah. Little by little Salámán came to regard his old earthly love as "The bondage of Absál," a thing merely of the senses, whereas this new Knowledge, this Love, belonged to the "Harvest of Eternity." And so this beautiful little poem, to put it as briefly as possible, tells of the love that binds and fetters and is corruptible, and of that other Love that is Incorruptible.
III. THE TEACHING OF THE "LAWÁ'IH."
The _Lawá'ih_, or "Flashes of Light," is a theological treatise based on Súfíism, and is a book of immense importance to the student of Mysticism. It will afford him a very interesting and striking parallel to Neo-Platonism (Plotinus in particular), and also to some of the Buddhistic teachings. As I have treated the subject of Súfíism, or Persian Mysticism, elsewhere,[2] I need add but few words to this particular volume of Súfí lore.
The keynote to the _Lawá'ih_ is to be found in Jámí's preface. He describes the work as "Explanatory of the intuitions and verities displayed on the pages of the hearts and minds of men of insight and divine knowledge." After a request to his readers to refrain from "cavilling and animadversion," he continues, this time in verse:
Believe me, I am naught--yea, less than naught. By naught and less than naught what can be taught?
I tell the mysteries of truth, but know Naught save the telling to this task I brought. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * With men of light I sought these pearls to string, The drift of mystics' sayings forth to bring.
The _Lawá'ih_, expounds some very beautiful and very ennobling truths. In "Flash II." Jámí pleads for the love of One and the abandonment of all little earthly loves that distract the attention of the lover for his Beloved--precisely the same theme as that expressed in _Salámán and Absál_. The poet loudly condemns "Hell-born vanity" and the accumulation of worldly wisdom, even all learning except "The lore of God." It would be a strange theme for a poet to so persistently choose were not Jámí a mystic. With the "Inner light" of the true mystic he sets aside the things of the world as being unsatisfactory. He does not, however, merely pull down the fading, ever vanishing vanities of the world, but with the strong clear voice of the poet-prophet, he sings:
The fleeting phantoms you admire to-day Will soon at Heaven's behest be swept away. O give your heart to Him who never fails, Who, ever with you, and will ever stay.
Jámí advocates, as others have done before him, the destruction of self in order to gain knowledge of Very Being, "Until He mingles Himself with thy soul, and thine own individual existence passes out of thy sight." The poet also discusses the question of matter being _maya_-- I delusion, the ceaseless round of "Accidents," the I ever coming and vanishing media for the revelations of the Beloved.
The _Lawá'ih_ should be studied in conjunction with Mahmud Shabistari's _Gulshan-i-Raz_[3] or "The Mystic Rose Garden." The main teaching of both these books is that the indwelling of God I in the soul can only take place when that soul realises that self is a delusion, that things of this I world are but phantom-pictures coming and going, as it were, upon the surface of a mirror:
Go, sweep out the chamber of your heart, Make it ready to be the dwelling-place of the Beloved. When you depart out, He will enter in, In you, void of _yourself_, will He display His beauty.[4]
The phenomenal world to the Súfí was nothing more than an ever-recurring process of genesis and end: union with the Divine, annihilation of that process. The _Lawá'ih_ is deeply spiritual throughout, and full of an almost pathetic pity for those who delight in worldly pleasures and find no joy in contemplating Union with the Beloved.
Jámí, after having spent considerable care on his _Lawá'ih_, and after his reader has made a strenuous effort to catch a momentary glimpse of his visionary meaning, concludes:
Jámí, leave polishing of phrases, cease Writing and chanting fables, hold thy peace; Dream not that "Truth" can be revealed by words: From this fond dream, O dreamer, find release! * * * * * * * * * * * * * * How long wilt thou keep clanging like a bell? Thou'lt never come to hold the pearl of "Truth" Till thou art made all ear, as is the shell.
And here we see the great mystical poet sitting, like a little child listening to a tale that is told, quelled into reverential silence by the greatness of the theme. It is in silence, in the quiet places of our hearts, rather than on the housetops of much controversy, that we can hear the sweet call of the Beloved and forget the clanging of the world in the Great Peace which He alone can give.
IV. THE STORY OF YÚSUF AND ZULAIKHA.
_Yúsuf and Zulaikha_, like _Salámán and Absál,_ belongs to the series of poems known as the _Haft Aurang_. Jámí heralds his poem with a good deal of laudacious singing on the Prophet, Beauty, Love, and concludes by remarking that the loves of Majnún and Laila "have had their day," and makes this excuse for weaving another love poem on another theme. But this scheme was scarcely original, Firdawsí and Ansari having previously composed poems on a similar subject. However, the tongue of the critic is surely silenced by these humble lines:
If here and there a slip or fault you see, May he not lay the blame of all on me. May he correct my errors, or befriend With generous silence faults he cannot mend.
If the work be regarded as a love poem, without its mystical interpretation, Yúsuf may well be regarded as a cold, statuesque young man of the St. Anthony type, but cast in a more beautiful mould. While we may equally well regard Zulaikha as a passionate young lady sadly lacking in worldly wisdom. The coldness of Yúsuf would probably irritate us were we not frequently reminded of the way in which poor Zulaikha plagues him with her too constant attentions. Neither strike us as being very ordinary human people for precisely reverse reasons. There are occasions, however, when Zulaikha awakens our sympathy. It is touching to note that when she finds her own love slighted she should send other women to try their fortune with him, intending, should they succeed, to subtly take their place by strategy of some kind. Again, in the splendid Palace of Pleasure, painted all over, floor and wall and ceiling, with love-entwined figures of Yúsuf and Zulaikha, there is an idol--"A golden idol with jewelled eyes," representing this fatuous woman's love. The idol is placed behind a curtain, and on Yúsuf asking the reason, Zulaikha replies:
If I swerve from religion I would not be Where the angry eyes of my god may see.