Maqám (station) denotes the perseverance of the seeker in fulfilling his obligations towards the object of his search with strenuous exertion and flawless intention. Everyone who desires God has a station (maqám), which, in the beginning of his search, is a means whereby he seeks God. Although the seeker derives some benefit from every station through which he passes, he finally rests in one, because a station and the quest thereof involve contrivance and design (tarkíb ú ḥíla), not conduct and practice (rawish ú mu`ámalat). God hath said: “None of us but hath a certain station” (Kor. xxxvii, 164). The station of Adam was repentance (tawbat), that of Noah was renunciation (zuhd), that of Abraham was resignation (taslím), that of Moses was contrition (inábat), that of David was sorrow (ḥuzn), that of Jesus was hope (rajá), that of John (the Baptist) was fear (khawf), and that of our Apostle was praise (dhikr). They drew something from other sources by which they abode, but each of them returned at last to his original station. In discussing the doctrine of the Muḥásibís, I gave a partial explanation of the stations and distinguished between ḥál and maqám. Here, however, it is necessary to make some further remarks on this subject. You must know that the Way to God is of three kinds: (1) maqám, (2) ḥál, (3) tamkín. God sent all the prophets to explain the Way and to elucidate the principle of the different stations. One hundred and twenty-four thousand apostles, and a few over that number, came with as many stations. On the advent of our Apostle a ḥál appeared to those in each station and attained a pitch where all human acquisition was left behind, until religion was made perfect unto men, as God hath said: “To-day I have perfected your religion for you and have completed My bounty unto you” (Kor. v, 5); then the tamkín (steadfastness) of the steadfast appeared; but if I were to enumerate every ḥál and explain every maqám, my purpose would be defeated.
Tamkín denotes the residence of spiritual adepts in the abode of perfection and in the highest grade. Those in stations can pass on from their stations, but it is impossible to pass beyond the grade of tamkín, because maqám is the grade of beginners, whereas tamkín is the resting-place of adepts, and maqámát (stations) are stages on the way, whereas tamkín is repose within the shrine. The friends of God are absent (from themselves) on the way and are strangers (to themselves) in the stages: their hearts are in the presence (of God), and in the presence every instrument is evil and every tool is (a token of) absence (from God) and infirmity. In the epoch of Paganism the poets used to praise men for noble deeds, but they did not recite their panegyric until some time had elapsed. When a poet came into the presence of the person whom he had celebrated, he used to draw his sword and hamstring his camel and then break his sword, as though to say: “I needed a camel to bring me from a far distance to thy presence, and a sword to repel the envious who would have hindered me from paying homage to thee: now that I have reached thee, I kill my camel, for I will never depart from thee again; and I break my sword, for I will not admit into my mind the thought of being severed from thy court.” Then, after a few days, he used to recite his poem. Similarly, when Moses attained to tamkín, God bade him put off his shoes and cast away his staff (Kor. xx, 12), these being articles of travel and Moses being in the presence of God. The beginning of love is search, but the end is rest: water flows in the river-bed, but when it reaches the ocean it ceases to flow and changes its taste, so that those who desire water avoid it, but those who desire pearls devote themselves to death and fasten the plummet of search to their feet and plunge headlong into the sea, that they may either gain the hidden pearl or lose their dear lives. And one of the Shaykhs says: “Tamkín is the removal of talwín.” Talwín also is a technical term of the Ṣúfís, and is closely connected in meaning with tamkín, just as ḥál is connected with maqám. The signification of talwín is change and turning from one state to another, and the above-mentioned saying means that he who is steadfast (mutamakkin) is not vacillating (mutaraddid), for he has carried all that belongs to him into the presence of God and has erased every thought of other than God from his mind, so that no act that passes over him alters his outward predicament and no state changes his inward predicament. Thus Moses was subject to talwín: he fell in a swoon (Kor. vii, 139) when God revealed His glory to Mount Sinai; but Muḥammad was steadfast: he suffered no change, although he was in the very revelation of glory from Mecca to a space of two bow-lengths from God; and this is the highest grade. Now tamkín is of two kinds—one referring to the dominant influence of God (sháhid-i ḥaqq), and the other referring to the dominant influence of one’s self (sháhid-i khud). He whose tamkín is of the latter kind retains his attributes unimpaired, but he whose tamkín is of the former kind has no attributes; and the terms effacement (maḥw), sobriety (ṣaḥw), attainment (laḥq), destruction (maḥq),[[177]] annihilation (faná), subsistence (baqá), being (wujúd), and not-being (`adam) are not properly applied to one whose attributes are annihilated, because a subject is necessary for the maintenance of these qualities, and when the subject is absorbed (mustaghriq) he loses the capacity for maintaining them.
Muḥáḍarat and Mukáshafat, and the difference between them.
Muḥáḍarat denotes the presence of the heart in the subtleties of demonstration (bayán), while mukáshafat denotes the presence of the spirit (sirr) in the domain of actual vision (`iyán). Muḥáḍarat refers to the evidences of God’s signs (áyát), and mukáshafat to the evidences of contemplation (musháhadát). The mark of muḥáḍarat is continual meditation upon God’s signs, while the mark of mukáshafat is continual amazement at God’s infinite greatness. There is a difference between one who meditates upon the Divine acts and one who is amazed at the Divine majesty: the one is a follower of friendship, the other is a companion of love. When the Friend of God (Abraham) looked on the kingdom of heaven and meditated on the reality of its existence, his heart was made “present” (ḥáḍir) thereby: through beholding the act he became a seeker of the Agent; his “presence” (ḥuḍúr) made the act a proof of the Agent, and in perfect gnosis he exclaimed: “I turn my face with true belief unto Him who created the heavens and the earth” (Kor. vi, 79). But when the Beloved of God (Muḥammad) was borne to Heaven he shut his eyes from the sight of all things; he saw neither God’s act nor created beings nor himself, but the Agent was revealed to him, and in that revelation (kashf) his desire increased: in vain he sought vision, proximity, union; in proportion as the exemption (tanzíh) of his Beloved (from all such conceptions) became more manifest to him the more did his desire increase; he could neither turn back nor go forward, hence he fell into amazement. Where friendship was, amazement seemed infidelity, but where love was, union was polytheism, and amazement became the sole resource, because in friendship the object of amazement was being (hastí), and such amazement is polytheism, but in love the object of amazement was nature and quality (chigúnagí), and this amazement is unification (tawḥíd). In this sense Shiblí used always to say: “O Guide of the amazed, increase my amazement!” for in contemplation (of God) the greater one’s amazement the higher one’s degree. The story of Abú Sa`íd Kharráz and Ibráhím b. Sa`d `Alawí[[178]] is well known—how they saw a friend of God on the seashore and asked him “What is the Way to God?” and how he answered that there are two ways to God, one for the vulgar and one for the elect. When they desired him to explain this he said: “The way of the vulgar is that on which you are going: you accept for some cause and you decline for some cause; but the way of the elect is to see only the Causer, and not to see the cause.” The true meaning of these anecdotes has already been set forth.
Qabḍ and Basṭ, and the difference between them.
Qabḍ (contraction) and basṭ (expansion) are two involuntary states which cannot be induced by any human act or banished by any human exertion. God hath said: “God contracts and expands” (Kor. ii, 246). Qabḍ denotes the contraction of the heart in the state of being veiled (ḥijáb), and basṭ denotes the expansion of the heart in the state of revelation (kashf). Both states proceed from God without effort on the part of Man. The qabḍ of gnostics is like the fear of novices, and the basṭ of gnostics is like the hope of novices. This is the sense in which the Ṣúfís use the terms qabḍ and basṭ. Some Shaykhs hold that qabḍ is superior in degree to basṭ, for two reasons: (1) it is mentioned before basṭ in the Koran, (2) qabḍ involves dissolution and oppression, whereas basṭ involves nutrition and favour: it is undoubtedly better to dissolve one’s humanity and oppress one’s lower soul than to foster and favour them, since they are the greatest veil (between Man and God). Others, again, hold that basṭ is superior to qabḍ. The fact, they say, that qabḍ is mentioned before basṭ in the Koran shows the superiority of basṭ, for the Arabs are accustomed to mention in the first place that which is inferior in merit, e.g. God hath said: “There is one of them who injures his own soul, and one who keeps the middle way, and one who outstrips the others in good works by the permission of God” (Kor. xxxv, 29). Moreover, they argue that in basṭ there is joy and in qabḍ grief; gnostics feel joy only in union with the object of knowledge, and grief only in separation from the object of desire, therefore rest in the abode of union is better than rest in the abode of separation. My Shaykh used to say that both qabḍ and basṭ are the result of one spiritual influence, which descends from God on Man, and either fills the heart with joy and subdues the lower soul or subdues the heart and fills the lower soul with joy; in the latter case contraction (qabḍ) of the heart is expansion (basṭ) of the lower soul, and in the former case expansion of the heart is contraction of the lower soul. He who interprets this matter otherwise is wasting his breath. Hence Báyazíd said: “The contraction of hearts consists in the expansion of souls, and the expansion of hearts in the contraction of souls.” The contracted soul is guarded from injury, and the expanded heart is restrained from falling into defect, because jealousy is the rule in love, and contraction is a sign of God’s jealousy; and it is necessary that lovers should reproach one another, and expansion is a sign of mutual reproach. It is a well-known tradition that John wept ever since he was born, while Jesus smiled ever since he was born, because John was in contraction and Jesus in expansion. When they met John used to say, “O Jesus, hast thou no fear of being cut off (from God)?” and Jesus used to say, “O John, hast thou no hope of God’s mercy? Neither thy tears nor my smiles will change the eternal decree of God.”
Uns and Haybat, and the difference between them.
Uns (intimacy) and haybat (awe) are two states of the dervishes who travel on the Way to God. When God manifests His glory to a man’s heart so that His majesty (jalál) predominates, he feels awe (haybat), but when God’s beauty (jamál) predominates he feels intimacy (uns): those who feel awe are distressed, while those who feel intimacy are rejoiced. There is a difference between one who is burned by His majesty in the fire of love and one who is illuminated by His beauty in the light of contemplation. Some Shaykhs have said that haybat is the degree of gnostics and uns the degree of novices, because the farther one has advanced in the presence of God and in divesting Him of attributes the more his heart is overwhelmed with awe and the more averse he is to intimacy, for one is intimate with those of one’s own kind, and intimacy with God is inconceivable, since no homogeneity or resemblance can possibly exist between God and Man. If intimacy is possible, it is possible only with the praise (dhikr) of Him, which is something different from Himself, because that is an attribute of Man; and in love, to be satisfied with another than the Beloved is falsehood and pretension and self-conceit. Haybat, on the other hand, arises from contemplating greatness, which is an attribute of God, and there is a vast difference between one whose experience proceeds from himself through himself and one whose experience proceeds from the annihilation of himself through the subsistence of God. It is related that Shiblí said: “For a long time I used to think that I was rejoicing in the love of God and was intimate with contemplation of Him: now I know that intimacy is impossible except with a congener.” Some, however, allege that haybat is a corollary of separation and punishment, while uns is the result of union and mercy; therefore the friends of God must be guarded from the consequences of haybat and be attached to uns, for uns involves love, and as homogeneity is impossible in love (of God), so it is impossible in uns. My Shaykh used to say: ”I wonder at those who declare intimacy with God to be impossible, after God has said, ‘Verily My servants,’ and ‘Say to My servants’, and ‘When My servants shall ask thee’, and ‘O My servants, no fear shall come on you this day, and ye shall not grieve’ (Kor. xliii, 68). A servant of God, seeing this favour, cannot fail to love Him, and when he has loved he will become intimate, because awe of one’s beloved is estrangement (bégánagí), whereas intimacy is oneness (yagánagí). It is characteristic of men to become intimate with their benefactors, and inasmuch as God has conferred on us so great benefits and we have knowledge of Him, it is impossible that we should talk of awe.” I, `Alí b. `Uthmán al-Jullábí, say that both parties in this controversy are right, because the power of haybat is exerted upon the lower soul and its desires, and tends to annihilate human nature, while the power of uns is exerted upon the heart and tends to foster gnosis in the heart. Therefore God annihilates the souls of those who love Him by revealing His majesty and endows their hearts with everlasting life by revealing His beauty. The followers of annihilation (faná) regard haybat as superior, but the followers of subsistence (baqá) prefer uns.
Qahr and Luṭf, and the difference between them.
These two expressions are used by the Ṣúfís in reference to their own state. By qahr (violence) they signify the reinforcement given to them by God in annihilating their desires and in restraining the lower soul from its concupiscence; and by luṭf (kindness) they signify God’s help towards the subsistence of their hearts and towards the continuance of contemplation and towards the permanence of ecstasy in the degree of steadfastness (istiqámat). The adherents of luṭf say Divine grace (karámat) is the attainment of one’s desire, but the others say that Divine grace is this—that God through His will should restrain a man from his own will and should overpower him with will-lessness (bémurádí), so that if he were thirsty and plunged into a river, the river would become dry. It is related that in Baghdád were two eminent dervishes, the one a believer in qahr and the other a believer in luṭf, who were always quarrelling and each preferring his own state to that of his neighbour. The dervish who preferred luṭf set out for Mecca and entered the desert, but never reached his destination. No news of him was heard for many years, but at last he was seen by a traveller on the road between Mecca and Baghdád. “O my brother,” he said, “when you return to `Iráq tell my friend at Karkh that if he wishes to see a desert, with all its hardships, like Karkh of Baghdád, with all its marvels, let him come here, for this desert is Karkh to me!” When the traveller arrived at Karkh he delivered this message to the other dervish, who said: “On your return, tell him that there is no superiority in the fact that the desert has been made like Karkh to him, in order that he may not flee from the court (of God); the superiority lies in the fact that Karkh, with all its wondrous opulence, has been made to me like a painful desert, and that nevertheless I am happy here.” And it is related that Shiblí said, in his secret converse with God: “O Lord, I will not turn from Thee, although Thou shouldst make the heaven a collar for my neck and the earth a shackle for my foot and the whole universe athirst for my blood.” My Shaykh used to say: “One year a meeting of the saints of God took place in the midst of the desert, and I accompanied my spiritual director, Ḥuṣrí, to that spot. I saw some of them approaching on camels, some borne on thrones, and some flying, but Ḥuṣrí paid no heed to them. Then I saw a youth with torn shoes and a broken staff. His feet could scarcely support him, and his head was bare and his body emaciated. As soon as he appeared Ḥuṣrí sprang up and ran to meet him and led him to a lofty seat. This astonished me, and afterwards I questioned the Shaykh about the youth. He replied: ‘He is one of God’s saints who does not follow saintship, but saintship follows him; and he pays no attention to miracles (karámát).’” In short, what we choose for ourselves is noxious to us. I desire only that God should desire for me, and therein preserve me from the evil thereof and save me from the wickedness of my soul. If He keep me in qahr I do not wish for luṭf, and if He keep me in luṭf I do not wish for qahr. I have no choice beyond His choice.