1.
I've been reading a collection of Sufi sayings--I belong to a book club that reads such things on occasion--and have been favorably impressed. (The book is "Essential Sufism," edited by James Fadiman, HarperOne, 1997.) Many of the terse sayings are familiar to me, some are new. I would like to discuss one of them, which has gotten me thinking. And thinking. And thinking.
First a few words about Sufi sayings in general. They have been a source of wisdom for almost a thousand years. The roots are in Islam, but they go so deep that they reach an area of bedrock which is the foundation of the wisdom common to all cultures. They take up elements of this bedrock from the depths and bring it through the surface, into ordinary stems and leaves; truly extraordinary flowers are a frequent result. The basic tenet of Sufism--similar to the advaita school of Hinduism which has influenced it--is that once one transcends the ego, ecstasy--Oneness with God--is attained. The fact that this wisdom surrounds us like the air we breathe--we need only figure out who (or what?) is doing the breathing--is beautifully expressed by a saying of Kabir included in this anthology: "I laugh when I hear that the fish in the water is thirsty."
Although the roots are multicultural, the flowers are definite products of Islamic soil--and I do mean this as a compliment. There is a tension, though, between faith in a Creator-God and the belief that All is One. I would like to illustrate this tension with two quotes from the book. One, by Sheikh Muzaffer, ends with the following: "Abraham said, 'My Lord is the one who changes things and brings them back. My Lord is the one behind all changes'." A theist of any culture would have no problem with this statement. But what can a theist make of the following: "The same eye which you see God is the same eye which God sees you?" The goal is absolute self-transcendence, but I enjoy how the Sufis play duality both ways. Sometimes they talk of an apparent God who intervenes. This makes sense to many and addresses the needs for the vast majority of humanity for which the ego is an insoluble enigma, resulting in a good deal of pain-and, it must be admitted, when things go right for a while, resulting in (temporary) joy, too. It seems to me that a sense of God and a sense of Ego developed at the same time, thousands and thousands of years ago. They go together, which means that when the ego is transcended, so is God. A Sufi philosopher once summed up the ultimately illusory nature of dichotomies by stating that free will exists on our relative, human plane, but not on the absolute, divine plane. This is, of course, in agreement with the view of most scientists. Separation is illusory. We and our entire world might indeed, according to the latest theories, only exist as holographic representation of information on the surface of a very distant sphere.
2.
Now let us introduce the saying, which is the subject of this essay. It is deceptively simple:
He who knows three things is saved from three things:
Who knows that the Creator made no mistakes at Creation is saved from petty fault finding.
Who knows that He made no favoritism in allotting fortune is saved from jealousy.
Who knows of what he is created is saved from pride.
--Ansari
Deceptively simple, no? If it sounds to you almost like a cliche, remember that a profound saying becomes a cliche only when spoken by someone who doesn't practice it. For instance, "Love your Neighbor" spoken by Leona Helmsley is a cliche; spoken by Martin Luther King it is an astonishing fact that we ignore at our peril.
Yes, the above is the Sufi saying that got me to think and think;
but first, as a student of wisdom traditions, I needed to translate this from theistic into secular terms. Thus translated, the maxim reads as follows:
He who knows three things is saved from three things:
Who knows that the universe follows inexorable laws, is saved from petty fault finding.
Inexorable laws are incompatible with favoritism; who realizes this is saved from jealousy.
Who knows of what he is made of is saved from pride.
Let's discuss the three parts. Regarding the first part, I am reminded of an incident about forty years ago. I was listening to Handel's marvelous oratorio--his last--Jephthah. At the end of the first part is one of the best choruses Handel ever wrote--and that is indeed saying something. The main words of the chorus is "Whatever is is right." I loved the music, but I was furious. So much suffering in the world, and there I was having a tough time of it, too. How can anyone ever believe that, in a world of rampant injustice, whatever is is right? Once again, we have the absolute plane in conflict with the relative plane of life as the ego experiences it. But when one realizes that inner laws, psychological laws, are just as inexorable as physical laws, one puts things into perspective. The universe is the way that it is, and we are the way that we are. Sure it is our nature to try to change things--it is a glorious part of our nature--but that has more to do with software "games" rather than hardware reality. What drives us to make things better, what drives us to make things worse? Our nature, not us; more correctly, nature alone. So the first step toward wisdom is accepting things the way they are. After this is done, there is no petty fault finding, no fault finding at all. What if we perceive our situation to be intolerable? This problem is answered by the second part of the saying.
Who knows that there is no favoritism is saved from jealousy, (better: envy). Envy is a very personal reaction, so let's discuss first the origin of the person. Life has been present on the planet for over three billion years; for all but a tiny fraction of that time, envy, to say the least, was not a problem. To be envious, matter first had to say "I." When and how did this occur? It might antedate humans, but certainly not our hominid ancestors. How did it occur? When nervous systems became more complex, the brain began to get more and more information from internal stimuli. We developed a very sophisticated system of proprioception, which made the organism more and more aware of its position in space. We began to store memories of what our senses presented, very extensive memories. Since nerves can exchange information with many other nerves, we began to think. At a critical point we became "aware" that we are separate from the environment, i.e. individuals. Remember this did not involve any decisions on our part. This "pseudo" separation was a great biological advantage that greatly increased our chances of survival--we could think, create, build--and destroy. Our consciousness is the product of our genes; since we became more adapted to our environment, our genes survived better--and this, from a Darwinian perspective, is what it is all about. Once we thought of ourselves as separate from the environment, we viewed the world as an extension of our selves--and thus were able to create God in our own image. But all this is a choiceless process of our adaptive genes--there is no favoritism here. (Luck and chance are our interpretations of an objective process.) Our sense of competition, will to power and will to love are all biological drives. But for those without power and love--or who imagine themselves so-are, without wisdom, in a very painful state. Jealousies arise--genes are selfish--that can destroy the object of jealousy or, more often, destroy the envious individual form the inside. It is indeed painful, but it helps a great deal when we know it is a natural process. But it also helps to know how we can transcend it--as Freud wonderfully put it, what really matters is work and love. The more we work at something worthwhile and the more we love, the more empowered we feel and the more envy dissipates. But we must remember that the latter is a normal process and not our fault. Not blaming ourselves for our negative emotions, such as jealousy, is an important first step toward wisdom. Once again, there is nothing but nature and her laws; there is no real reason to be jealous.
Let's finish with the last part of the maxim. What are we made of? Nietzsche wrote that God is dead, which many believe. But the soul--the personal self--must die when God as a factual King dies; as discussed before, the two go together. Most scientists do not believe that we are more than matter. Sure, our software is fantastic, but the programs are what Indians call maya. If the show we are watching is so richly complex that we think we are one of the characters of the very earthly play our software presents, this does not make that thought a fact. We should also recall that we are made of elements, and no atom that is within us is different from an atom of the same element that occurs on the outside. Once we realize that we are conscious vehicles created and driven by our genes, pride vanishes.
All this might sound a bit reductionist to you. But recall the purpose of Buddhist reductionism: Buddhists, Sufis, and others like them deconstuct the ego to become gloriously united with something that cannot be put into words, the very opposite of reductionism. If I am a reductionist, I am definitely one of the Buddhist--Hindu--Sufi sort.
What a profound Sufi saying this is! I hope it is making you think and think, too! I am reminded of a poem I wrote years ago, with which I will close:
STONE AND RIVER
Metaphors that help us live here
are chiefly two: stone and river.
Aware of change, afraid to be alone,
most opt for the permanence of stone.
"A boulder at the center reigns;
however fast the current, it remains;
countless unique pebbles at each side
retain their shapes, even if dislodged."
I, I, this is the language of rock.
But everything is swirl and flux:
despite appearance all is sea;
no Me. Fluid all reality.
Nothing to transcend our going?
Everything is water flowing?
Nothing but fate, nothing but chance,
nothing but change? And ecstasy: dance.
I've been reading a collection of Sufi sayings--I belong to a book club that reads such things on occasion--and have been favorably impressed. (The book is "Essential Sufism," edited by James Fadiman, HarperOne, 1997.) Many of the terse sayings are familiar to me, some are new. I would like to discuss one of them, which has gotten me thinking. And thinking. And thinking.
First a few words about Sufi sayings in general. They have been a source of wisdom for almost a thousand years. The roots are in Islam, but they go so deep that they reach an area of bedrock which is the foundation of the wisdom common to all cultures. They take up elements of this bedrock from the depths and bring it through the surface, into ordinary stems and leaves; truly extraordinary flowers are a frequent result. The basic tenet of Sufism--similar to the advaita school of Hinduism which has influenced it--is that once one transcends the ego, ecstasy--Oneness with God--is attained. The fact that this wisdom surrounds us like the air we breathe--we need only figure out who (or what?) is doing the breathing--is beautifully expressed by a saying of Kabir included in this anthology: "I laugh when I hear that the fish in the water is thirsty."
Although the roots are multicultural, the flowers are definite products of Islamic soil--and I do mean this as a compliment. There is a tension, though, between faith in a Creator-God and the belief that All is One. I would like to illustrate this tension with two quotes from the book. One, by Sheikh Muzaffer, ends with the following: "Abraham said, 'My Lord is the one who changes things and brings them back. My Lord is the one behind all changes'." A theist of any culture would have no problem with this statement. But what can a theist make of the following: "The same eye which you see God is the same eye which God sees you?" The goal is absolute self-transcendence, but I enjoy how the Sufis play duality both ways. Sometimes they talk of an apparent God who intervenes. This makes sense to many and addresses the needs for the vast majority of humanity for which the ego is an insoluble enigma, resulting in a good deal of pain-and, it must be admitted, when things go right for a while, resulting in (temporary) joy, too. It seems to me that a sense of God and a sense of Ego developed at the same time, thousands and thousands of years ago. They go together, which means that when the ego is transcended, so is God. A Sufi philosopher once summed up the ultimately illusory nature of dichotomies by stating that free will exists on our relative, human plane, but not on the absolute, divine plane. This is, of course, in agreement with the view of most scientists. Separation is illusory. We and our entire world might indeed, according to the latest theories, only exist as holographic representation of information on the surface of a very distant sphere.
2.
Now let us introduce the saying, which is the subject of this essay. It is deceptively simple:
He who knows three things is saved from three things:
Who knows that the Creator made no mistakes at Creation is saved from petty fault finding.
Who knows that He made no favoritism in allotting fortune is saved from jealousy.
Who knows of what he is created is saved from pride.
--Ansari
Deceptively simple, no? If it sounds to you almost like a cliche, remember that a profound saying becomes a cliche only when spoken by someone who doesn't practice it. For instance, "Love your Neighbor" spoken by Leona Helmsley is a cliche; spoken by Martin Luther King it is an astonishing fact that we ignore at our peril.
Yes, the above is the Sufi saying that got me to think and think;
but first, as a student of wisdom traditions, I needed to translate this from theistic into secular terms. Thus translated, the maxim reads as follows:
He who knows three things is saved from three things:
Who knows that the universe follows inexorable laws, is saved from petty fault finding.
Inexorable laws are incompatible with favoritism; who realizes this is saved from jealousy.
Who knows of what he is made of is saved from pride.
Let's discuss the three parts. Regarding the first part, I am reminded of an incident about forty years ago. I was listening to Handel's marvelous oratorio--his last--Jephthah. At the end of the first part is one of the best choruses Handel ever wrote--and that is indeed saying something. The main words of the chorus is "Whatever is is right." I loved the music, but I was furious. So much suffering in the world, and there I was having a tough time of it, too. How can anyone ever believe that, in a world of rampant injustice, whatever is is right? Once again, we have the absolute plane in conflict with the relative plane of life as the ego experiences it. But when one realizes that inner laws, psychological laws, are just as inexorable as physical laws, one puts things into perspective. The universe is the way that it is, and we are the way that we are. Sure it is our nature to try to change things--it is a glorious part of our nature--but that has more to do with software "games" rather than hardware reality. What drives us to make things better, what drives us to make things worse? Our nature, not us; more correctly, nature alone. So the first step toward wisdom is accepting things the way they are. After this is done, there is no petty fault finding, no fault finding at all. What if we perceive our situation to be intolerable? This problem is answered by the second part of the saying.
Who knows that there is no favoritism is saved from jealousy, (better: envy). Envy is a very personal reaction, so let's discuss first the origin of the person. Life has been present on the planet for over three billion years; for all but a tiny fraction of that time, envy, to say the least, was not a problem. To be envious, matter first had to say "I." When and how did this occur? It might antedate humans, but certainly not our hominid ancestors. How did it occur? When nervous systems became more complex, the brain began to get more and more information from internal stimuli. We developed a very sophisticated system of proprioception, which made the organism more and more aware of its position in space. We began to store memories of what our senses presented, very extensive memories. Since nerves can exchange information with many other nerves, we began to think. At a critical point we became "aware" that we are separate from the environment, i.e. individuals. Remember this did not involve any decisions on our part. This "pseudo" separation was a great biological advantage that greatly increased our chances of survival--we could think, create, build--and destroy. Our consciousness is the product of our genes; since we became more adapted to our environment, our genes survived better--and this, from a Darwinian perspective, is what it is all about. Once we thought of ourselves as separate from the environment, we viewed the world as an extension of our selves--and thus were able to create God in our own image. But all this is a choiceless process of our adaptive genes--there is no favoritism here. (Luck and chance are our interpretations of an objective process.) Our sense of competition, will to power and will to love are all biological drives. But for those without power and love--or who imagine themselves so-are, without wisdom, in a very painful state. Jealousies arise--genes are selfish--that can destroy the object of jealousy or, more often, destroy the envious individual form the inside. It is indeed painful, but it helps a great deal when we know it is a natural process. But it also helps to know how we can transcend it--as Freud wonderfully put it, what really matters is work and love. The more we work at something worthwhile and the more we love, the more empowered we feel and the more envy dissipates. But we must remember that the latter is a normal process and not our fault. Not blaming ourselves for our negative emotions, such as jealousy, is an important first step toward wisdom. Once again, there is nothing but nature and her laws; there is no real reason to be jealous.
Let's finish with the last part of the maxim. What are we made of? Nietzsche wrote that God is dead, which many believe. But the soul--the personal self--must die when God as a factual King dies; as discussed before, the two go together. Most scientists do not believe that we are more than matter. Sure, our software is fantastic, but the programs are what Indians call maya. If the show we are watching is so richly complex that we think we are one of the characters of the very earthly play our software presents, this does not make that thought a fact. We should also recall that we are made of elements, and no atom that is within us is different from an atom of the same element that occurs on the outside. Once we realize that we are conscious vehicles created and driven by our genes, pride vanishes.
All this might sound a bit reductionist to you. But recall the purpose of Buddhist reductionism: Buddhists, Sufis, and others like them deconstuct the ego to become gloriously united with something that cannot be put into words, the very opposite of reductionism. If I am a reductionist, I am definitely one of the Buddhist--Hindu--Sufi sort.
What a profound Sufi saying this is! I hope it is making you think and think, too! I am reminded of a poem I wrote years ago, with which I will close:
STONE AND RIVER
Metaphors that help us live here
are chiefly two: stone and river.
Aware of change, afraid to be alone,
most opt for the permanence of stone.
"A boulder at the center reigns;
however fast the current, it remains;
countless unique pebbles at each side
retain their shapes, even if dislodged."
I, I, this is the language of rock.
But everything is swirl and flux:
despite appearance all is sea;
no Me. Fluid all reality.
Nothing to transcend our going?
Everything is water flowing?
Nothing but fate, nothing but chance,
nothing but change? And ecstasy: dance.
Absolutely fascinating Tom.I was tempted to scoff at first reading of the saying and then your essay got me thinking and now Im at it intensely to find out how much I can understand it.Your explanation was very lucid and I loved the poem Stone and River--most appropriate i must say.
ReplyDeleteShall get back to you after some more reflection.Thank you for opening up Sufi wisdom
Love
milla