The doctrine of Blame was spread abroad in this sect by the Shaykh of his age, Ḥamdún Qaṣṣár. He has many fine sayings on the subject. It is recorded that he said: Al-malámat tark al-salámat, “Blame is the abandonment of welfare.” If anyone purposely abandons his own welfare and girds himself to endure misfortune, and renounces his pleasures and familiar ties, in hope that the glory of God will be revealed to him, the more he is separated from mankind the more he is united to God. Accordingly, the votaries of Blame turn their backs on that thing, namely welfare (salámat), to which the people of this world turn their faces, for the aspirations of the former are Unitarian (waḥdání). Aḥmad b. Fátik relates that Ḥusayn b. Manṣúr, in reply to the question “Who is the Ṣúfí?” said: “He who is single in essence” (waḥdání al-dhát). Ḥamdún also said concerning Blame: “It is a hard way for the vulgar to follow, but I will tell one part thereof: the Malámatí is characterized by the hope of the Murjites and the fear of the Qadarites.” This saying has a hidden meaning which demands explanation. It is the nature of man to be deterred by popularity more than any other thing from seeking access to God. Consequently he who fears this danger is always striving to avoid it, and there are two perils which confront him: firstly, the fear that he may be veiled from God by the favour of his fellow-creatures; and secondly, the fear of committing some act for which the people will blame him and thereby fall into sin. Accordingly, the Malámatí must, in the first instance, take care to have no quarrel with the people for what they say of him, either in this world or the next, and for the sake of his own salvation he must commit some act which, legally, is neither a great sin (kabíra) nor a trivial offence (ṣaghíra), in order that the people may reject him. Hence his fear in matters of conduct is like the fear of the Qadarites, and his hope in dealing with those who blame him is like the hope of the Murjites. In true love there is nothing sweeter than blame, because blame of the Beloved makes no impression on the lover’s heart: he heeds not what strangers say, for his heart is ever faithful to the object of his love.
“’Tis sweet to be reviled for passion’s sake.”
This sect (the Ṣúfís) are distinguished above all creatures in the universe by choosing to be blamed in the body on account of the welfare of their souls; and this high degree is not attained by the Cherubim or any spiritual beings, nor has it been reached by the ascetics, devotees, and seekers of God belonging to the nations of antiquity, but it is reserved for those of this nation who journey on the path of entire severance from the things of the world.
In my opinion, to seek Blame is mere ostentation, and ostentation is mere hypocrisy. The ostentatious man purposely acts in such a way as to win popularity, while the Malámatí purposely acts in such a way that the people reject him. Both have their thoughts fixed on mankind and do not pass beyond that sphere. The dervish, on the contrary, never even thinks of mankind, and when his heart has been broken away from them he is as indifferent to their reprobation as to their favour: he moves unfettered and free. I once said to a Malámatí of Transoxania, with whom I had associated long enough to feel at my ease: “O brother, what is your object in these perverse actions?” He replied: “To make the people non-existent in regard to myself.” “The people,” I said, “are many, and during a lifetime you will not be able to make them non-existent in regard to yourself; rather make yourself non-existent in regard to the people, so that you may be saved from all this trouble. Some who are occupied with the people imagine that the people are occupied with them. If you wish no one to see you, do not see yourself. Since all your evils arise from seeing yourself, what business have you with others? If a sick man whose remedy lies in abstinence seeks to indulge his appetite, he is a fool.” Others, again, practise the method of Blame from an ascetic motive: they wish to be despised by the people in order that they may mortify themselves, and it is their greatest delight to find themselves wretched and abased. Ibráhím b. Adham was asked, “Have you ever attained your desire?” He answered: “Yes, twice; on one occasion I was in a ship where nobody knew me. I was clad in common clothes and my hair was long, and my guise was such that all the people in the ship mocked and laughed at me. Among them was a buffoon, who was always coming and pulling my hair and tearing it out, and treating me with contumely after the manner of his kind. At that time I felt entirely satisfied, and I rejoiced in my garb. My joy reached its highest pitch one day when the buffoon rose from his place and super me minxit. On the second occasion I arrived at a village in heavy rain, which had soaked the patched frock on my body, and I was overcome by the wintry cold. I went to a mosque, but was refused admittance. The same thing happened at three other mosques where I sought shelter. In despair, as the cold strengthened its grip on my heart, I entered a bathhouse and drew my skirt close up to the stove. The smoke enveloped me and blackened my clothes and my face. Then also I felt entirely satisfied.”
Once I, `Alí b. `Uthmán al-Jullábí, found myself in a difficulty. After many devotional exercises undertaken in the hope of clearing it away, I repaired—as I had done with success on a former occasion—to the tomb of Abú Yazíd, and stayed beside it for a space of three months, performing every day three ablutions and thirty purifications in the hope that my difficulty might be removed. It was not, however; so I departed and journeyed towards Khurásán. One night I arrived at a village in that country where there was a convent (khánaqáh) inhabited by a number of aspirants to Ṣúfiism. I was wearing a dark-blue frock (muraqqa`-i khishan), such as is prescribed by the Sunna;[[50]] but I had with me nothing of the Ṣúfí’s regular equipment (álat-i ahl-i rasm) except a staff and a leathern water-bottle (rakwa). I appeared very contemptible in the eyes of these Ṣúfís, who did not know me. They regarded only my external habit and said to one another, “This fellow is not one of us.” And so in truth it was: I was not one of them, but I had to pass the night in that place. They lodged me on a roof, while they themselves went up to a roof above mine, and set before me dry bread which had turned green, while I was drawing into my nostrils the savour of the viands with which they regaled themselves. All the time they were addressing derisive remarks to me from the roof. When they finished the food, they began to pelt me with the skins of the melons which they had eaten, by way of showing how pleased they were with themselves and how lightly they thought of me. I said in my heart: “O Lord God, were it not that they are wearing the dress of Thy friends, I would not have borne this from them.” And the more they scoffed at me the more glad became my heart, so that the endurance of this burden was the means of delivering me from that difficulty which I have mentioned; and forthwith I perceived why the Shaykhs have always given fools leave to associate with them and for what reason they submit to their annoyance.
[49]. Abú Yazíd, being at that time on a journey, was not legally bound to observe the fast.
[50]. I. adds in margin “for travellers”.
CHAPTER VII.
Concerning their Imáms who belonged to the Companions.
1. The Caliph Abú Bakr, the Veracious (al-Ṣiddíq).