“Interpret Your Own Self”

Sunrise March 28

Some weeks before attending the Radical Love event at the Garrison Institute, I was already well into Alan Williams’ Rumi: Spiritual Verses, his translation of Book 1 of the Masnavi. Soon after returning from the Institute and while completing that book, a particularly compelling passage called out: “Interpret your own self” (3758). Williams’ notes tell that this line is “almost identical” to 1088b. So looking back, I find, sure enough, a green sticky marker there pointing to #1088 in the way that I use for the few passages that jump off the page shouting: “Pay attention here!” So what might “Interpret your own self” mean and why is it so important? 

     I believe that this act of interpreting leads me further in the journey of knowing myself and thus connects with the awe-inspiring hadith: “to know oneself is to know one’s Lord.” This challenge continues to provide a bridge between authoritative text and personal construction of meaning.  Samples of previous explorations of the hadith include blogs from 2017: Sept 20, Sept 23, Nov 1, & Dec 16. When I look back at Chittick’s Me & Rumi: The Autobiography of Shams-i Tabrizi, I find this hadith frequently cited (see his listing on p. 357) and particularly in #58 (p. 69) that traces through Moses, Jesus, and Muhammad toward today: “He who knows his soul knows his Lord.”

     I’d probably been prepped for Rumi’s “Interpret your own self” by simultaneously reading Jawid Mojaddedi’s Beyond Dogma: Rumi’s Teachings on Friendship with God and Early Sufi Theories, followed by William Chittick’s Science of the Cosmos, Science of the Soul. For example, from Beyond Dogma, I feel reassured in my sense that, properly approached with sufficient humility, it’s not too presumptuous to read and interpret Rumi’s Masnavi as direction, as a personal invitation to each individual, for moving closer to the Presence. In short, Rumi guides a person toward knowing him/herself in the way that knows one’s Lord.

     Mojaddedi discusses this ultimate access as coming through “contemporary Friends of God.” In other words, access to the Divine is not locked away in some remote revelation, in an almost indecipherable language where those saints who communicated with God are so unreachably far above us that we just have to follow recipes. Instead, Mojaddedi explains Rumi’s “assertions about the comparable loftiness of contemporary Friends of God, and especially the leading Friend of God of every era”:

“The priority of this concern for Rumi would also account for his emphasis on the shared potential of all people to reach the lofty level reached by Prophets and Friends of God, if they fulfill their mystical potential. . . Rumi’s predilection was to emphasize the closeness of all humanity to the divine…” (pp. 39-41)

This reminds me of Chittick’s calling the “human soul a potential intellect” (Science of the Cosmos, p. 127) and asserting “the only created thing that is omniscient in any real sense is the fully actualized intellect, the radiance of God’s own Selfhood” (p. 128; cf all of Chapter 6 on this potential).

     Mojaddedi elaborates on the basis for our means “to interpret”: “the most distinctive characteristic of [Rumi’s] mysticism is his celebration of the continual communication of God with His creation.” He provides a footnote: “I have decided to use the term ‘communication’ in preference to alternatives such as ‘inspiration’ or ‘revelation.’ The term ‘wahy’ is notoriously difficult to translate and has taken on two dimensions of meaning in relation to Prophets …” (footnote 5, p. 185). Mojaddedi further discusses the difference (and overlap?) between ‘verbal expression’ and ‘internal/non-verbal promptings’ and ‘inspirations.’ This discussion continues with lines from Rumi’s Masnavi as Mojaddedi says that Rumi “describes the Friend of God’s knowledge in the following terms:

The Tablet that’s Preserved was his director— / From what is that ‘preserved’? From any error.
Not through stars, magic or one’s dreams at night,/ But wahy-i haqq and He knows best what’s right!
Sufis may call it mere ‘heart-inspiration,’/ To hide it from the general population.
It’s ‘inspiration of the heart,’ since He/  Is manifest there—it’s thus error-free.
Believer, through God’s light you now can see;/ From error you have full immunity!”
(Mojaddedi in Beyond Dogma, p. 65, translating from Book 4 of the Masnavi, lines 1852-1856. In his more recently published Book 4, Mojaddedi translates wahy-i haqq as “God’s own words,” p. 112.)

So how does the direction to “Interpret your own self” play itself out? I’m finding that “the path of attraction,” as it applies specifically to listening for which readings stir the beating of my heart, is leading me back to the writing left by the guide whose hand I took. It happened like this: I noted my response (an “internal/non-verbal prompting” perhaps) to a comment Omid made in the Radical Love Institute about angel wings on donkeys. He told me it came from Rumi’s Fihi, translated by Thackston in Signs of the Unseen, somewhere in the middle of the 246 pages. I’d already begun reading in this book and, upon returning home, scanned to see if I could find the passage. Didn’t work; so, more properly directed, I started at page one and read forward, finding (pp. 111-112) the angel-feather-on-donkey-tail passage, and kept going. I noticed along the way that Thackston frequently referenced Tales of the Prophets of al-Kisa’i and felt another point of attraction, this time to the Kisa'i text. But, as often happens on a travel, while considering getting a copy of Kisa'i, I felt drawn to other collections of similar tales already on our shelves (Ibn al’Arabi’s Bezels of Wisdom, Attar’s Memorials of God’s Friends, Heschel’s The Prophets) but these were not lighting up. Instead, I was caught by a book with which I hadn’t connected in earlier attempts--our Sidi’s Stories of the Prophets ( by Shaykh Muhammad al-Jamal ar-Rifa'i as-Shadhuli). It had not especially resonated when I’d tried it a few years earlier. Now it rings like a bell or maybe like the lovely chimes on our porch.

Rumi, Radical Love, & I/You (part A)

Garrison Institute grounds and building, March 15

     Last weekend, my beloved wife Belqis and I, along with twenty others, participated in an event at the Garrison Institute, north of NYC, on the topic of Rumi and Radical Love, led by Seemi Ghazi and Omid Safi. Omid recently published a book titled Radical Love: Teachings from the Islamic Mystical Tradition. Of the 219 passages translated by Safi, 55 (about a fourth) are from Rumi. Attar has the second most with 26 poems, and then another 41 authors/sources contribute also to this wonderful collection on the mysterious theme of radical love. The volume and diversity suggest we may be in pursuit of something elusive, not surprising in the spiritual journey. I believe that while this path is perplexing, humbling, even overwhelming at times, this apparent multiplicity is One and is designed to guide each to integrity with his or her fit (fitra, see p. 29, Chittick, Science of the Cosmos, Science of the Soul). Remember: “my beloved…work out your own salvation with fear and trembling” (Phil 2:12). 

     The multitude of texts appears even more puzzling when almost all of these writers tell that love can never be contained in words. And yet our reach toward, our tremendous thirst for the elixir of life yearns into the beyond, looking for any help we can get. We need the teachings and models to guide us, to break the spell cast by all the fake stuff masquerading under the label love. We long to be thrust forward into the transformational living of passionate engagement with beloveds, with our world, and even, especially, with the Divine. In Omid’s introduction to Radical Love, he tells us:

“In a metaphor that changes how we think about love and spirit, [Ahmad] Ghazali talks about the Spirit crossing over from the realm of nonexistence toward the realm of existence. When it gets to the very threshold of existence, love is already there awaiting the Spirit. In other words, love is preexisting, pre-eternal. This is consistent with the teachings of many mystics who see love not as merely another divine quality, but the divine quality par excellence, even perhaps equal to the being of God.” (p. xxx)

That’s radical. Love. I went to the weekend workshop hoping to move past the printed word, wanting to move closer to the embodied word, longing to track with greater certainty into the mystic.

     The most powerful feature emerging for me from the weekend comes in what Coleman Barks calls “glance” (The Glance: Songs of Soul-Meeting, 1999). Fittingly, my mind muddles here and I can’t remember whether Seemi and Omid used that word or another—maybe “glimpse” or “gaze.” My mental blur is apropos because when we wander after love, especially in search of radical love, we’re moved into fields of wonder where bewilderment clues proximity. 

     Since we’re moving out beyond words, getting the right one doesn’t matter much; what we want is experience of the phenomena, the phenomenal. While I don’t recall which word Seemi used that Friday night, my being knows the feeling that came with her voice, even when she spoke or sang in an unfamiliar language. The body joins these vibrations honing in on relationship felt in our ritual ceremony. With Seemi’s voice and being, we were held in sacred space where we may connect horizontally and vertically. 

     When we’re in the eye-to-eye connection of the glance/gaze, we’re also in a unity of vibration; of course, unfortunately, most daily eye contact fails to attain this level. And then, strangely or not, if we really want more of the glance, of the access to radical love, guess what we need! Words—but ones like Rumi’s. Rich in poetry, story, and revelation. Not ones turned plastic and manipulative as even can be done to the word love. To build our capacity to engage significantly with radical love we’ll almost certainly have to construct “realized knowledge” on top of “transmitted knowledge.” (For elaboration on this, see William Chittick, Science of the Cosmos, Science of the Soul.) The transmitted knowledge that we need comes from revelation and authentic models; the realized kind is earned through experience and polishing of the heart to discern and know the True.

     While all this may sound daunting, and it should and it is, we are given loving opportunities, like the glance. Omid talked of three exemplary moments in life: 1) the birth of a firstborn (repeatable with some variation in subsequent childbirth, each extraordinary as is the unique gift of the one born), 2) the (first) falling-in-love, and 3) the eye to eye electric connection with one’s guide. I know each of those three+ with the differential coloring as fits with each individual’s journey.

     My personal experience of the first model named by Omid flooded with mercy. I was mostly unprepared, as first-time expectant fathers often are, having missed out on the nine-month inner mystery given to mothers-to-be. The miracle of birth of our child transformed the integrity of love. The previous meaning of this un-name-able center of life was stripped and replaced by the awesome. The second child brought in darker shades of love, qualities I’d likely been unable to bear without the grace of the first.

     Experiences with the falling-in-love model (repeatable with considerable variation) have offered another kind of mystery. The phenomena now seems to me suspect, mysteriously luring a person into deep waters, perhaps a set-up for heart-break and thereby an opportunity to surrender selfish illusion (“luv”) for self-giving-up care-for-another, “love.” Perhaps it’s a hint of the annihilation that goes with divine-love. The term “radical love” might be the care-taker that moves us along this pathway. Omid says in his introduction to Radical Love (“fiery, fierce, and alchemical”): “… it is by merging with the cosmic current of love that we are led back Home” (p. xxi, xxiii).

Dome of our meeting room for Radical Love

More on the “Hardened Heart”

Some veils over vision are beautiful but freezing--

Last time, that strange notion of the “hardened heart” showed up, closing in from the shadows. This somewhat scary sight prompted a Google search, and in about a minute I found that the topic can be connected to over a hundred scriptures in the Bible and another hundred-plus in the Qur’an. As often happens, a semi-attended mysterious notion remains in a half-conscious way, rather impatiently awaiting and prompting further understanding. So it’s not surprising that while re-reading Book I of Rumi’s Mathnawi certain passages lit up.

“Without the touchstone, with the naked eye,/ you’ll never know false gold from precious gold!” (couplet 300, Alan Williams’ translation, Spiritual Verses)

        Isn’t Rumi saying that our normal vision (and cognition?) cannot find the hidden treasure? Everyday eyesight is not sufficient to discern the spiritual pathway. Instead, the touchstone, the clean heart, knows true from false (see Psalm 51:10); but this knowing is often lost due to veiling—the “hardening of the heart.” Rumi’s next couplet adds:

“If God should place a touchstone in your heart/ you’ll then tell doubt and certainty apart” (Jawid Mojaddedi, trans. Rumi, The Masnavi Book One)

Like Rumi, we’re in a world easily overwhelmed because

“False pretenders just distort what’s right” (Mojaddedi, couplet 322), and  “God’s way bewilders those who are traveling it” (Mojaddedi, couplet 313).

So certainty looks unlikely if not impossible—and yet “None but a man who’s tasted truth will do” (Mojaddedi, 277).  Mojaddedi’s note on this line says:

“Mystical knowledge is often described by Sufis as ‘tasting the truth,’ indicating that it is an immediate, experiential form of knowledge which gives greater certainty than theoretical knowledge.” (p. 246)

The talisman and the treasure are elaborated by Nicholson, especially in a note he adds to a related passage:

“The body resembles a talisman of clay guarding a hidden treasure of light, i.e the Divine spark and spiritual essence of Man. When the charm is broken, ‘his speech is light and his works are light and he moves in light’, and God alone dwells in his heart.” [p. 43, Commentary on Book I)

Nicholson’s note concerns couplet 434 in which Rumi begins quoting from Qur’an 2: 125. Nicholson translates Rumi’s lines: 

“Clean My house, ye twain, is an explanation of (such) purity: it (the purified heart) is a treasure of (Divine) light, though its talisman is of the earth.”

Rumi offers further clarification on the way the heart becomes “hardened” and veiled from discerning the treasure, from seeing with the light of God.

“Desire and anger make men go cross-eyed,/ for they distort the spirit from uprightness./ When craving comes, then virtue is concealed;/ a hundred veils divide the heart and sight.” (Williams, couplets 334-5)

Just in case we underestimate how difficult it is for us to escape the veils and to realize the hidden treasure, Rumi weaves together several very strong stories. In one of them the king’s advisor demands that the king cut off part of his own (the advisor’s) nose and ears. Rumi is trying to shock us into recognizing our endangered condition due to the high risk for losing our sense of the Divine and not even being aware of how much we have lost. From Nicholson’s translation (available at http://www.masnavi.net/1/50/eng/1/400/ ) beginning with couplet 439:

آن وزیرک از حسد بودش نژاد ** تا به باطل گوش و بینی باد داد

That petty vizier had his origin from envy, so that for vanity he gave to the wind (sacrificed) his ears and nose,

هر کسی کاو از حسد بینی کند ** خویشتن بی‌‌گوش و بی‌‌بینی کند

Any one who from envy mutilates his nose makes himself without ear and without nose (unable to apprehend spiritual things).

بینی آن باشد که او بویی برد ** بوی او را جانب کویی برد

The nose is that which catches a scent, and which the scent leads towards an abode (of spiritual truth).

       I’m pretty sure the world around us right now has plenty of bad things going on. Perhaps it always does. The historical mystery series by Sharan Newman that I’m now reading tells how dark the world was back in times of the crusades. So a big challenge inevitably comes for us in how to look at bad things. Unless we really purify the mirror of our hearts, we’re at serious risk for making things even worse and for further endangering our souls.

“How many an evil that you see in others/ is your own nature which you see in them!” (Williams, couplet 1328)

        We have models for how to cope with the dark world. The prophets denounced idol worship, cleansed the temple, resisted injustice; and yet I’m certain their hearts were filled with compassion, not with anger, lust, or hatred. Guidance and hope come from Rumi’s retelling of the hare’s success against the lion. The community surprised at being delivered from the oppression ask how the victory came about:

“‘Retell it so the story will  be healing,

     retell it as a dressing for our souls.

But tell! From that oppressor’s violence

     our souls have got a hundred thousand wounds.’

[and the hare responds] ‘it was God’s help…

He gave me power and gave my heart the light;

     my heart’s light gave my hands and feet their strength…

In time and in the course of things, God gives

    this help to doubtful ones and visionaries.’” 

(Williams, couplets 1372-1377)

 

Visioning with the Eye of the Heart

   Which, if any, image calls to the “eye of the heart?” One of the opportunities I find in photography is to notice how certain visuals have special appeal and persist in their command. Of the many photos I’ve taken in recent years, I’ve selected 85 or so for my screensaver folder, so that they appear in random order upon my computer screen, often showing next to the page I’m typing or viewing. 

    Perhaps more than any other, when the one shown above appears, my breath most often holds and tells me to allow my being to still and to receive the peace it offers. Maybe it’s the backdrop field of diffused green, sometimes said to be the color of the heart. Or it might be from the butterflies, as they frequently transport an image for the soul. And the purple-pink flowering plant, the native American medicinal plant echinacea, has constituted “ the top-selling herbal medicine in health food stores in the United States.” Of course, without any such confirmation, without exercising cognitive analysis, the “eye of the heart” knows the value of this manifestation of beauty, whether or not the human accesses such knowing.

            As discussed in previous blogs, The Eye of the Heart, is the title of one of Frithjof Schuon’s books and the first essay in the volume. A favorite passage, tells of this point of “seeing”:

“Thus the heart lies as if between two visions of God, one outward and indirect and the other inward and relatively direct, and from this point of view the heart may be assigned a double role and a double meaning: firstly, it is the center of the individual as such and represents his fundamental limitation—his ‘hardness,’ as the Scriptures say—and thereby all his secondary limitations; secondly, it is the center of the individual insofar as he is mysteriously connected to his transcendent Principle: the heart is then identified with the Intellect, with the Eye that sees God—and that consequently ‘is’ God—and by which God sees man…” (p. 7; Footnote 12 explores the meaning of “Intellect.”)

          The Bible and the Qur’an each offer over 100 scriptural references to the human heart. The “hardness,” which many of them attend, along with simply the awesome prospect of even looking toward God, suggests how it is that a person might easily pass through the lifespan with little if any benefit from this treasure gifted in the heart. As with any beloved, it’s important to pay attention and thus increase our realization of the subtle beauties. These hints of the Beloved, signaled by the heart, while in a sense are “free,” yet they also demand respect and love, or they may well disappear, their deep value never becoming known.

         Again, a kind of teaching metaphor for the activity of the eye of the heart is readily available through photography. How does the image produced through the framing, focusing, and editing open our eyes to the many manifestations of beauty? Frequently, the initial viewing of a photo just taken stirs disappointment with a sense that the photograph doesn’t reflect the experience. But I’m also finding that when I play with resources available through my camera and in editing, I’m able to feel further into the treasure of beauty. Is an artistic rendition real? The search of value to me is toward the Truth that moves further than the eye of science and that believes beyond into the vision suggested by the eye of the heart.

Thru the Snow Fog

In a dream last night, the figure that was most clearly me was directing others preparing the activity we were about to conduct, and in the midst of the detail came the essence. The purpose of the whole crystallized along with the awareness that this raison d’etre was probably not prominent in consciousness and should be articulated. This morning wakens with woods steaming in a snowfog, the spring-seeking twigs budding in rainbow drops, each whispering the secret of the hidden universe, for the clean heart to witness.

My dreams and thoughts doubtless reflect readings. Yesterday I finished Omid Safi’s Memories of Muhammad and Matt Rees’ Mozart’s Last Aria. I was also copying passages from recently completed Schuon’s Eye of the Heart and had looked up references to Chittick’s Self-Disclosure of God. One gem: “Each person has a unique knowledge from God that is given to no one else” (Chittick, p. 138).

     And yet, who sees through the fog of to-do distractions enough to remember the essential truth, the message inscribed deep in the individual heart? Who troubles to clean away the false attractions, who allows the pain necessary to polish the mirror, and lets in the light that makes the rainbow trail into the secret? Perhaps it’s not as hard as we fear. 

     The world has too many preachers of hellfire and peddlers of fake gold. Fear and anger block the way. Fundamentalist rule-keeping makes a short cut to nowhere holy. Instead, the clean heart bows toward love. The only way. “Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God” (Matt 5:8).

     The fog is lifting outside a bit now. The path into the woods opens further. 

I’m learning to listen to the voices that carry a special tone and looking for the lens that hones into beauty. As Rumi says, “like this… like this…”

Muddy

Muddy. Last night’s dream may have offered this term as a guide to enable a confluence of currents to merge in order to yield revelation, possibly even to offer a continuing semi-substantial base (i.e., mud) for holding my own, or perhaps better for surrendering to the higher Will, whether to stand, sink, or swirl.

     One stream, as the previous blog noted, moves along with persistent musing around theodicy: trying to reconcile A with B: A—the existence of suffering and evil in the world, and B—God who is both all-love and all-powerful. That stream carries the force of several overlapping themes and sources including a number of readings relating to the biblical book of Job and extending way back some fifty years to college days when a course that I was taking required our involvement in the theatre production of MacLeish’s J.B. This stream has churned more muddy through certain life experience, particularly in relation to the death of my son fourteen and a third years ago, still weighed in the heart most every day. 

     And the dream was likely provoked by reading from two quite different genres. From fiction, Iris Murdock’s Black Prince and Owen Egerton’s recent (2017) book Hollow, described in a back-cover review:

 “a beautifully strange modern take on the ‘Book of Job,’ populated with haunting and hilarious characters worthy of Vonnegut’s best. A meditation on grief and love, Hollow is simultaneously heart-wrenching and laugh-out-loud funny.” 

Both of these books pursue existential questions of life and death, love and hate, heaven, hell, here or there, God or not. Such questions cannot be satisfied by anyone, by any way other than the individual living them out.

          And still I read because I believe in the “imaginal world” where one wonders about truth, not about facts, but about the True that runs free of literalism, materialism, and the “hardened heart.” Usually these wonderings lead into other kinds of reading focused on spirituality. 

     Not long before being presented with the muddy dream, I had been steadily reading, ten or so pages a day, in Frithjof Schuon’s The Eye of the Heart: Metaphysics, Cosmology, Spiritual Life (copyright 1997). From his final section, I was trying to absorb as much as possible of the revolutionary ideas, revolutionary because he turned keys to the kingdom upside down. Fear turns to perfection in overcoming evil. And, what of Love?

“… its most direct expression is the contemplation of the Divine Perfections which may be designated synthetically by the term ‘Beauty.’ This perspective of love is situated beyond fear and negation: instead of having painfully to reject the world on account of the ephemeral and deceptive nature of its always limited perfections, love, on the contrary, attaches itself to the divine Prototypes of these perfections, so that the world—henceforth emptied of its content, since this is to be found again infinitely in God—will be only a play of symbols and an accumulation of husks, and thus will have no further hold over man.” (pp. 170-171)

     The dream was not dramatic but perhaps just a hint to notice. Sometimes the important things turn more subtle. In the dream, a new system became available; perhaps it involved an improvement in teacher evaluation. The interesting aspect was that it could only be accessed by persons who already had in place a certain level of sophistication in their practice. The term applied to the more developed system was “muddy.” In the dream, I was surprised to hear that term because I had just encountered it somewhere else—perhaps an echo from the reading?

     In waking, perhaps still in the between space, I wondered if the reading from Schuon might only be accessible to persons who had in place a muddy readiness that’s built by certain life experience, also by reflection, and by (to use Schuon’s title for this final section of his book) “Meditation” in The Eye of the Heart.

“… if [Beauty] is most immediately graspable in the created, it is, conversely, the most difficult aspect to grasp in the Uncreate. If God’s Beauty were as easily accessible as that of creatures, the apparent contradictions of creation—the sufferings that we consider to be unjust or horrible—would be resolved of themselves, or rather, they would vanish away in total Beauty… When we look at the sufferings of this world, we must never forget that God compensates them infinitely by His Beauty; but this is beyond rational demonstration.” (171-2)

     Approached from this world especially with expectations of rational demonstration, the problem of suffering will appear “as clear as mud.” But if a sufficient foundation is built, life experiences and questionings which otherwise risk mind-splitting and heart-breaking may instead take one further on the the path or in the river of Love and Truth, Beauty, and the other names of God as they swirl eventually into the One.

Falling Rain & Theodicy

“Into each life some rain must fall” from Longfellow’s “The Rainy Day” 

Especially when the unbelievable atrocities strike (e.g., another shooting, “civil" war, genocide) or the unbearable close-to-home happens (suicide, bullying, child cancer, road-rage fatality, domestic abuse...) or the everyday heartbreaks reach consciousness (poverty, ecological crises, enormous economic inequities, addictions, animal cruelty, leaders lying…)—at such times we may question the possibility of a loving all-powerful God. A word for this complex is theodicy. From the New World Encyclopedia: 

Theodicy is a specific branch of theology and philosophy, which attempts to solve The Problem of Evil—the problem that arises when trying to reconcile the observed existence of evil in the world with the assumption of the existence of a God who is fully good (or benevolent) and who is also all-powerful (omnipotent). A "theodicy" also refers to any attempted solution to this conundrum.

        The Catholic Encyclopedia credits the introduction of the term to Leibniz in 1710, so I suppose I should know the word better by now. The “conundrum” is certainly familiar as indicated by about 20 blogs I've written that explicitly reference the problem of evil, the book of Job, or both. Kushner’s books on bad things happening to good people have been helpful. And now, Schuon’s treatment in Eye of the Heart, while dense, offers commentary of reassurance and guidance.

“As far as theodicy is concerned, it is important to realize that the Intellect perceives Universal or Divine Good a priori, that is, it perceives this Good possibly before understanding—or wishing to understand—the nature of evil; and if the contemplative metaphysician may possibly overlook the doctrine of evil, this is precisely because he is certain in advance—and in unconditional and as it were primordial fashion—of the infinite primacy of Good, under the three aspects of ‘Pure Being,’ ‘Pure Spirit’ and ‘Pure Beatitude.’ For him, theodicy will have the secondary role of ‘putting hearts at rest,’ itmi’nan al-qulub, as the Sufis would say; for him, it could not play the role of a proof sine qua non.” [p. 42]

        Schuon adds a footnote to this: “To say ‘Being’ is to say ‘Spirit’ and ‘Beatitude’; and let us remember that ‘Beatitude’ coincides with ‘Goodness,’ ‘Beauty’ and ‘Mercy.’” He continues with guidance on the nature of certainty:

   “The credo ut intelligam of Saint Anselm means that faith is an anticipation, by our whole being and not by reason alone, of the quintessential certainty we have just spoken of; faith already shares this intellection by anticipating it, without it being always possible to decide where faith in the elementary sense of the term ends and direct knowledge begins. This is one of the meanings of the blessedness of those ‘who have not seen but yet believe’ [John 20:29]; but this saying, thanks to its sacred character, applies at all levels and therefore includes that of gnosis because in fact, to believe is not only to accept with the will and the emotions, it is also—on the very level of complete and intellective certainty—-to draw the consequences of what one knows, and therefore to know ‘as if one saw’ and with full awareness of being seen by Him whom we see not. . . . for although they obviously cannot ignore the existence of evil, those who know that God is sovereignly good, know thereby that evil can never have the last word, that it must have a cause which is compatible with Divine Goodness, even if they do not know the nature of this cause. Whatever may be our doctrinal knowledge or ignorance, the best means of grasping the metaphysical limits of evil is to vanquish it in ourselves, and this is possible only on the basis of intuition of the Divine Essence which coincides with the Infinite Good.” [pp. 42-3]

        Schuon adds another footnote to these last sentences noting Buddhist teachings about goodness. He then proceeds to discuss how the problem of evil can be held and even with the removal of “its venom.” What, when caught in this world, we consider “reality” may better be known as “accident” in order to hold to the divine, the Substance, the Reality.

“He who has the intuition of the Absolute—which does not solve the problem of evil dialectically but puts it in parentheses by removing all its venom—is ipso facto endowed with a sense of the relationship between the Substance and accidents, to the point of not being able to see the latter without also seeing the former. An accident, that is, any kind of phenomenon or being, is good to the extent that it manifests the reabsorption of the accidental into the Substance. And conversely a phenomenon is bad—in this or that respect—to the extent that it manifests the separation of the accidental from the Substance, which amounts to saying that it tends to manifest the absence of the Substance—without being able to achieve this completely, for existence bears witness to the Substance.   God and the world; the Substance and accidents; or the Essence and form. Accident—or form—manifests the Substance, or the Essence, and proclaims its glory; evil is the ransom paid for accidentality, insofar as accidentality is separative and privative, not insofar as it is participatory and communicative. Knowledge of the immanent Substance is victory over the accidents of the soul—hence over privative accidentality itself, since there is an analogy between the microcosm and the macrocosm—and it is, for that reason, the best of theodicies.” [pp. 44-45]

        Schuon footnotes this section elaborating on the “accidental” in relation to the “Substance”:

"In the relationship of the ‘accident’ to the ‘Substance,’ one can discern a kind of continuity, whereas the relationship of the ‘form’ to the ‘Essence’ is more readily conceivable as being discontinuous; the first relationship refers more particularly—but not exclusively—to the Infinite and the Feminine, whereas the second evokes the Absolute and the Masculine. According to the first relationship, there is reabsorption, and according to the second, extinction; or again, according to the first relationship the soul meets the Substance by penetrating—but without concupiscence—the accident-symbol, whereas according to the second relationship the soul renounces—but without bitterness—the accident-illusion. All this is a question of emphasis for, in fact, the notions of ‘Essence’ and ‘Substance,’ or ‘form’ and ‘accident’ are broadly interchangeable." [pp. 44-45]

         In this book, “The Question of Theodicies” is followed with “Concerning the Posthumous States.” Perhaps the mind-stopping unbelievables and the heart-breaking realities are needed in order to bring recalcitrant humans who too often go insensitive, even inhumane, to one’s knees in order to detach oneself (the “animal soul”) from the perilous attraction to the material world. Humans depend on prayer vigils as well as actions big and small to build compassion and to sustain hearts that return continuously, leaning further into the other side, the True Reality.
        A friend posted today from a poem of Sanai that includes: "Don't speak of your suffering--He is speaking/ . . . He has opened to you the Way of the Holy Ones." While rainy days here often carry associations with teardrops, sadness, and broken hearts, these are vital to the beatitudes: life, growth, and preparing the move home into the next world.