Among the Turks, as among the other peoples of Islam, intellectual life sprang from two distinct sources, of which the one was Semitic, the other Hellenic. From the first came religion, from the second came philosophy. Both religion and philosophy professed to interpret the universe; and the interpretations which they gave were not always in harmony. The vast majority of the vulgar and unlearned held exclusively by religion and utterly ignored philosophy, of which indeed they knew nothing. So did many among the more educated, who, though not wholly ignorant of philosophy, looked upon it with abhorrence as contrary to the revealed Word. Among the learned, while a few were philosophers and nothing else, though out of prudence they professed conformity to the popular faith, the majority, whatever might be their outward profession, held a creed which was in reality a compromise between the two, with a strong bias in favour of philosophy. This creed, if creed it can be called, was in great part the work of the Súfís or mystics who sought, among other things, to clothe philosophy in the language of religion; it was also to some extent the work of the Mutekellimín or Scholastics who endeavoured by a rational explanation of dogma to support religion in the struggle with philosophy. But these last do not concern us here, as almost all the Ottoman poets were either Súfís or men who wrote in the language of the Súfís. As these poets, whether really Súfís or not, were perfectly acquainted with and made frequent allusion to, not merely the opinions and conceptions of their own sect, but those of the orthodox and the philosophers, it will be necessary for us to learn something concerning the tenets of all three parties.
The views of the religious are in all essentials those contained in the Jewish scriptures, and are consequently quite familiar to us; the only point that calls for special attention is their elaborate cosmogony which was borrowed almost wholly from Rabbínical traditions.
When God determined to manifest Himself through the creation of the world the first thing that He summoned into being was a glorious Radiance derived from His own Light. This is now generally called the ‘Light of Muhammed ’(Núr-i Muhammed)1 because in after ages it was incarnated in the person of the last and greatest of the Prophets. When this Light burst into existence God looked on it and loved it and uttered this sentence, now one of the watch-words of Islam, ‘But for thee, verily I had not created the heavens!’2 And it was through this Light, and for its sake, that all things were made. For when God looked in love upon this Light, it ‘perspired,’ abashed before the Divine gaze; and from the subtlest essence that arose from its perspiration He created the First Soul, and then in a descending scale the souls of all the various orders of beings.
After a while God looked again upon the Light, and from its perspiration He created the corporeal world. The first thing that arose was the cArsh, the ‘Throne of God,’ according to the usual interpretation; in any case, the first and most glorious of corporeal existences. Beneath the cArsh, and of its light, God created another wondrous thing, which is called the Kursí, and may be conceived as the ‘Footstool’ below the Throne.1
God likewise created under the cArsh, and of its light, a great ‘Tablet’ in colour as a green beryl, and a great ‘Pen’ in colour as an emerald, and filled with ink which was of white light. God cried to the Pen, ‘Write, O Pen!’ whereupon it moved over the Tablet and wrote thereon everything that should happen till the Last Day, and the Tablet was covered with the writing.2 And thereon was then inscribed the Divine original of the Glorious Koran.
Beneath the Kursí, but somewhat to the right hand, God created a regioh like white pearl, in which is the ‘Lote-tree none may pass.’3 And this is the station of the Archangel Gabriel, beyond which he may not go. And in this place is the root of the Túba-tree.
In a straight line below the cArsh and Kursí, and of the light of the former, God created the Eight Paradises. These are arranged one within the other, in as many ascending stages, the innermost and highest of all being the ‘Garden of Eden’ (Jennet-i Ἅdn) which overlooks all the others like a citadel on a lofty eminence in the midst of a walled city.1The distance between the ramparts that surround each Paradise is six thousand six hundred and sixty-six degrees, and each degree is a five-hundred years’ journey.2 The Paradises are generally represented as lovely gardens studded with beautiful palaces, the dwelling-places of the blessed.3 They are watered by many rivers, notably by the Kevser, the Tesnim and the Selsebíl, most of which have their source in the Garden of Eden whence they descend into the lower stages. The wonderful tree called the Ttl ba or ‘Beatitude,’ the roots of which are in the region of the Lote-tree above the highest Paradise, sends its branches down into all the Eight Gardens, a shoot entering the abode of every inhabitant, just as the sun which is aloft in the skies sends its beams into every house on earth. The Garden of Eden is the scene of the Beatific Vision, the Divine Epiphanies, the sight of which will form the highest felicity of the blessed. The native inhabitants of Paradise are the houris,1 maidens of celestial beauty and possessed of every virtue, who will be the heavenly brides and companions of the blessed, and the ‘ eternal youths’ who will be the attendants on the just. The guardianship of Paradise is entrusted to an angel called Rizwan.
Beneath the Eight Paradises are six seas, below which come the Seven Heavens. These latter are spread one above the other like seven tents or canopies, their edges resting on the seven outer of the eight ranges of Mount Qáf which, as we shall see, surround the earth. In the first or lowest Heaven is the so-called ‘Frequented House’ (Beyt-i MaCmúr).2 This, which is a great dome of red ruby, was originally in the highest Paradise, the Garden of Eden, from which, on Adam‘s expulsion and subsequent repentance, it was brought to earth as a solace to him. It was placed where the Kacba of Mekka now stands, and Adam was bidden compass it, as the pilgrims still compass the Kacbaj and the angels who dwell in the Seven Heavens were commanded to descend and perform the rite along with him. It remained on earth till Noah‘s time, but before the flood it was caught up to the spot in the lowest Heaven immediately above where it used to stand, and there it is daily visited by seventy thousand angels, and there it will rest till the Last Day when it will be taken back to its original place in Paradise. Abraham, at God‘s command, built the Kacba where the Frequented House formerly stood, so that were this to fall from Heaven, it would light upon the Kacba. The famous Black Stone, which is in the Kacba, and which all the pilgrims kiss. is a relic of the Frequented House; originally it was a red ruby, but at the flood God changed it into a black stone.
Immediately below the lowest Heaven is a sea of water; this lies above the air, and not a drop of it can fall through the air. Through this sea swim the sun, moon and stars, all under angelic guidance. Below this stellar sea, in the midst of the sea of air, half-way between heaven and earth, is another sea of water, whence rain is sent down to earth. An angel descends with every drop of rain, and lays it in its appointed place; these angels do not crowd one another, for they are incorporeal beings made of light.
The earth, which is flat, is surrounded, as by an eightfold ring, by the eight mountain-chains of Qáf; these alternate with the Seven Seas, the innermost Qáf being within the innermost of the Seas, which bears the name of the ‘ Encircling Ocean’ (Bahr-i Muhít). The breadth of each Qáf and of each Sea is a five-hundred years’ journey; and round the outermost Qáf, which is outside of all, is wound a great snake. Only a small part of the earth‘s surface is inhabited, the proportion of this to the uninhabited being as the space enclosed by a tent to the desert in which the tent is pitched. It is in these unpeopled lands and in the unknown regions of the Qáfs and the Seven Seas, where dwell the jinn, that the tellers of fairy tales lay many of the scenes of their romances.
The earth we inhabit is the uppermost of seven, which are arranged one below the other like so many stages. At first this series of earths was unstable and tossed about like a ship on the surroanding seas; so God ordered a great angel to grasp it and steady it on his shoulders. Under this angel God set a mighty rock, and under the rock a huge Bull, and under the Bull a great Fish,1 and under the Fish an ocean, and under the ocean the seven stages of Hell, and under those a tempestuous wind, and under that a darkness, and under that a veil: and beyond this the knowledge of man goeth not.
The cosmogony which has just been outlined, though known to all, was accepted in its entirety only by the illiterate and the more narrow-minded of the ultra-orthodox; the views of the learned were for the most part far more in accordance with the teachings of philosophy. The philosophy of the Turks is of course derived directly from the Persian and Arabic writers, but it is ultimately Greek, being little more than a modification of the Neo-Platonism of the fifth and sixth centuries which combined Aristotelianism with the mysticism of Iamblichus. In Turkey the philosophers, while accepting the Alexandrian doctrine of Emanations, gave their chief attention to the Aristotelian aspect of the system; the Súfís, on the other hand, while acquiescing in the Aristotelian explanations of natural phenomena, devoted themselves almost exclusively to the theosophical side.
We shall deal firstly with the more strictly philosophical matters, which were accepted by both parties, and afterwards we shall consider the peculiar tenets of the Súfís.
Philosophy is divided into two great branches, namely, ‘Theoretic or Speculative Philosophy’ (Hikmet-i N azaríye), which treats of matters beyond human control, and‘ Practical Philosophy’ (Hikmet-i Ἅmalíye), which treats of matters within human control. Each of these has three subdivisions. Those of Theoretic Philosophy are: (I) ‘Metaphysic’ or ‘Theology’ (CIlm-i Iláhí), which treats of beings essentially incorporeal, as the ‘First Cause’ (Mebde-i Evvel),1 the Intelligences and the Souls. (2) ‘Mathematic‘ (CIlm-i Riyází),2 which treats of things conceivable by the mind as existing apart from matter, but which can have no objective existence save in matter, such as quantities and magnitudes and geometrical figures. This subdivision has four departments, namely, Astronomy, Geometry, Arithmetic and Music. (3) ‘Physic‘ (CIlm-i TabíCí), which deals with things not to be conceived as existing apart from matter, as the Four Elements and all composed of them.3 The three subdivisions of Practical Philosophy are: (1) ‘Ethic‘ (CIlm-i Akhláq), which treats of the duty of man considered as an individual. (2) ‘Oeconomic’ (CIlm-i Tedbír-ul-Menzil), which treats of the duty of man considered as a member of a family or household. (3) ‘Politic‘ (CIlm-i Tedbír-ul-Medíne), which treats of the duty of man considered as a member of a community or state.4
All these subdivisions of philosophy are worked out in detail; but to examine them all, even in the most cursory manner, would be quite outside the scope of this work. We shall therefore look only at those points which will assist us in our study of the poets, passing by the others, which include the whole of the Practica.l branch and all the departments of Mathematic except Astronomy.1
All conceivable existence is either (1) ‘Necessary’ (Wájíbul— Vujúd), or (2) ‘Possible’ or ‘Contingent’ (Mumkin-ul-Vujúd), or (3) ‘Impossible’ (MumteniCul-ulul-Vujúd); but as the third of these, an example of which would be a co-equal of the First Cause, cannot be, existence is actually limited to the Necessary and the Possible. The existence which is independent of another existence is Necessary; the existence which is dependent on another existence is Possible or Contingent (both terms are applied to the same existence). The only existence which is independent of another existence is that of the First Cause, so the First Cauşe is the only Necessarily Existent; the existence of every thing else is merely Contingent. The existence of the Contingent is the proof of the existence of the Necessary, since what is depended on must exist ere the thing that depends on it can exist.
Contingents, collectively considered, are called‘ the Universe (Ἅlem); so the First Cause plus the Universe represents the sum of existent things.
Every Contingent is either dependent on the existence of another Contingent, or it is not. If it is not, it is called ‘Substance’ (Jevher); if it is, it is called ‘Accident’ (Ἅraz).2
The genesis of the Universe is on this wise: Without suffering any alteration or diminution thereby, the First Cause rays out from Its own fulness an image of Itself, the first of a series of emanations or projections in which the proportion of Real (i. e. Necessary) Being diminishes as they recede from the Centre. This first emanation is pure thought, and is called the ‘First’ or ‘Universal Intelligence’ (Ἅql-i Evvel, Ἅql-i Kull).1 It has three sides or aspects: (1) the ‘Divine’ (Haqq), through virtue of which it knows the First Cause; (2) the ‘Psychic’ (Nefs), through virtue of which it knows itself; (3) the ‘Dependent’ (Muhtáj), through virtue of which it knows its dependence on its Lord.2 From each of these three aspects of the First Intelligence there proceeds a different emanation, the law being that from one source but one thing can proceed, i. e. a thing cannot communicate to its own production anything other than itself. From the Divine aspect flows the‘ Second Intelligence;’ from the Psychic aspect, the ‘First’ or ‘Universal Soul’ (Nefs-i Evvel, Nefs-i Kull);3 from the Dependent Aspect, the ‘Sphere of Spheres’ or ‘Universal Body;’ this last, as we shall see immediately, is the outermost of the nine concentric spheres or heavens that enclose the elemental world. From the three aspects of the Second Intelligence proceed in like manner the Third Intelligence, the Second Soul and the Sphere of the Fixed Stars. This process is continued till we reach the Tenth Intelligence, the Ninth Soul and the Sphere of the Moon, all produced from the Ninth Intelligence; so that there are in all Ten Intelligences, Nine Souls and Nine Spheres. The Tenth Intelligence bears the special name of the ‘Active Intelligence’ (ʿAql-i Faʿʿal), as it is sufficiently removed from the centre of pure spirit to be materialized to the point when it can act directly on the elemental world.
Interwoven with this doctrine of emanations is, as we have just seen, the Ptolemaic system of cosmography.1 Around the central, stationary earth revolves a series of nine hollow concentric shells called Spheres or Heavens, arranged one within the other ‘like the coats of an onion.’ To each of the seven innermost of these is fastened one of the Seven Planets, which are thus carried round by the spheres in their revolution. These seven planetary spheres are in order, starting from the innermost: (1) that of the Moon, (2) that of Mercury, (3) that of Venus, (4) that of the Sun, (5) that of Mars, (6) that of Jupiter, (7) that of Saturn. Outside these is the Eighth Sphere, that of the Fixed Stars, outside which, and outermost of all, comes the Ninth Sphere, which is called the ‘Sphere of Spheres’ (Felek-ul-Eflák) as it encloses all the others, or the ‘Most Great Sphere’ (Cherkh-i ACzam) as it is the mightiest of all, or the‘ Fleckless Sphere’ (Cherkh-i Atles)2 as, carrying no star, it is without spot or mark.3 The universe thus presents the appearance of a vast ball, the outside of which is formed by the convex surface of the Ninth Sphere. What, if anything, lies beyond this Sphere, whether there be ‘vacuum’ (khalá) or ‘plenum’ (melá) there, though often asked, is known to none.
Each of these Nine Spheres or Heavens has an Intelligence and a Soul as well as a body.1 The Intelligence of the Sphere of Spheres is the Second Intelligence, and its Soul is the Universal Soul; the Intelligence of the Sphere of the Fixed Stars is the Third Intelligence, and its Soul is the Second Soul, and so on, the Intelligence of the Sphere of the Moon being the Tenth, and its Soul the Ninth.
The Nine Spheres revolve, at different velocities, round the earth. The eight inner have two motions, one from west to east, which is proper to them, and which is ‘voluntary’ (irádí) or ‘natural’ (tabíʿí), and one from east to west, which is forced on them by the Ninth Sphere, and which is called ‘compulsory’ (qasrí).2 The Ninth Sphere has a swift motion from east to west, effecting its revolution once in twentyfour hours, and carrying with it all the inner spheres.3
The Nine Spheres1 are all transparent and therefore invisible; they and the stars they carry consist of ether, a substance which has no movement other than spatial,2 and no motion other than circular, but which diminishes in purity as it approaches the centre of the universe. They fit closely into one another, so that there is no empty space between the inner or concave surface of one and the outer or convex surface of that immediately within it.
Within the hollow of the Sphere of the Moon lies the elemental world. The basis of this is no longer ether, but ‘Matter’ (Heyúla), and immanent in Matter is ‘Form’ (Súret), without which its actualized existence is impossible. Form is in two degrees: ‘Corporeal Form’ (Súret-i Jismíye), and ‘Specific Form’ (Súret-i NevCíye). Matter, in combination with the first of these, produces ‘Body in the Abstract’3 (Jism-i Mutlaq); and this, in combination with the second, produces the ‘Individual Body.’ Matter may in this connection be compared to the human breath, and Corporeal Form to sound, then the human voice, which is the result of the combination of human breath and sound, will correspond to Body in the Abstract, which is the result of the combination of Matter and Corporeal Form; In the same way, Specific Form will represent the power of the several letters, for this, in combination with sound, produces individual words, just as Specific Form, in combination with Body in the Abstract, produces individual bodies.
Matter is susceptible of every Form; it has been likened in this respect to wax, and Form to the impressions the wax can receive. The Form is continually changing; the Matter is always the same. Matter is the substratum of which every sublunary body consists. Form is what gives to every body its individuality. But while Matter is thus looked on as passive rather than active, it must yet be regarded as having some power of its own, as it is from it that arises the necessity which limits and holds back both man and nature in their efforts towards self-realisation, and as it is due to its resistance that the soul can ascend only by degrees from the lower to the higher stages. Matter is therefore generally considered as essentially evil.
The first manifestation of Specific Form is in the ‘Four Elements:’ ‘Fire,’ ‘Air,’ ‘Water’ and ‘Earth.’ The arrangement of the elemental world is, like that of the ethereal, a series of concentric, spherical layers. As Fire is the lightest and subtlest of the Four, its region is the highest, lying within and touching the concave surface of the Sphere of the Moon. In its pure state Fire is colourless and transparent, consequently the Sphere of Fire is invisible. Next comes the Sphere of Air,1 that element being somewhat denser than Fire. Within this is the Sphere of Water, denser still; and within the Sphere of Water is the Sphere of Earth, densest of all things in existence. The Earth thus forms the core of the universe, and the centre of the earth is the Centre of the Universe. The Sphere of Earth was originally entirely surrounded by the Sphere of Water; but owing to some reason-the explanations vary-the Water withdrew from the higher portions of the uneven surface of Earth and settled in the hollows, thus leaving certain parts of the surface of the Earth in contact with the concave surface of the Sphere of Air.1
The Four Elements are distinguished from one another by their ‘Natures’ (TabáyíC) or ‘Qualities’ (Keyfíyát). These are in each case twofold: Fire is dry and hot, Air is hot and moist, Water is moist and cold, Earth is cold and dry. The elements are continually passing into one another through the medium of that quality they possess in common; thus fire can pass into air through the medium of heat, air into water through the medium of moisture, and so on. In all those changes it is only the form that alters; the matter of which the elements (and therefore all sublunary bodies) are made never changes, however manifold and diverse be the forms manifested through it. This process of transmutation of the simple elements, which is called ‘Generation and Corruption’ (Kevn u Fesád),2. is brought about by the in— fluences of the Seven Planets,1 and results in the production of the three classes of compound bodies, namely, Minerals, Vegetables and Animals. The Seven Planets are therefore often called the ‘Seven Sires’ (Ἀba-i SebCa); the Four Elements, the ‘Four Mothers’ (Ummehát-i ErbaCa); and the three classes of compound bodies, the ‘Threefold Offspring’ (Mewálíd-i Seláse). The class of Animals reaches its goal in ‘Man’ (Insán).
This brings us to Psychology. There are three degrees of soul: the ‘Soul Vegetable’ (Nefs-i Nebátíye), the ‘Soul Sensible’ — lit. ‘Soul Animal’ — (Nefs-i Haywáníye), and the ‘Soul Reasonable’ (Nefs-i Nátiqa).2 The first, which corresponds to what we should call the vital principle, is shared in common by plants, brutes and man; its functions are growth, nourishment and reproduction. The second, which represents the principle of sensation or perception, is confined to brutes and man; its functions are sensation and voluntary movement. The third, the principle of reason, belongs to man alone; and its function is reason. The individual human soul, in which all these combine, is thus threefold, but it is only the Reasonable element that survives death. Yet it is the same soul which having begun its terrestrial life in the mineral, pushes up, as swiftly as the opposition of matter will allow, through the plant and the brute to man, developing, as it ascends, its latent powers, till at last it is able to discard as now useless crutches those faculties by means of which it has progressed so far upon its journey.
The Soul Vegetable possesses four faculties called ‘Powers or ‘Virtues.’ These are: (1) the .‘ Virtue Nutritive’ (Quvvet-i Ghádíya), by which the organism supplies the waste of the body; (2) the ‘Virtue Augmentative’ (Quvvet-i Námíye), by which up to a certain period of life the organism grows, i. e. increases in length, breadth and depth; (3) the ‘Virtue Generative’ (Quvvet-i Muvellide), by which the organism, through detaching a portion of itself, produces another similar individual; and (4) the ‘Virtue Informative’ (Quvvet-i Musavvira), by which the aforesaid detached portion, if it fall into a suitable place, is moulded into its proper form and fashioned into a similar individual. These four ‘Virtues’ or faculties are served by four others: (1) the ‘ Virtue Attractive’ (Quvvet-i Jázibe), by which the organism draws to itself the material proper for its nourishment; (2) the ‘Virtue Retentive’ (Quvvet-i Másike), by which it retains the food in the proper place until digested; (3) the ‘Virtue Digestive’ (Quvvetái Házime), by which it converts the food into matter proper for the reparation of the waste of the body; and (4) the ‘Virtue Expulsive’ (Quvvet-i DáfiCa), by which it casts forth what is superfluous.1
The Soul Sensible has two faculties: the ‘Virtue Motive’ (Quvvet-i Muharrike), and the ‘ Virtue Apprehensive’ (Quvvet-i Mudrike). The Virtue Motive is of two kinds: the ‘Virtue Concupiscible’ (Quvvet-i Shehvíye), by which the animal seeks to obtain what it takes to be good; and the ‘ Virtue Irascible’ (Quvvet-i Ghazabíya), by which it seeks to shun what it takes to be evil. This Virtue Motive acts through the impulsion of the Virtue Apprehensive, which is served by the ‘Five Outer’ and the ‘Five Inner Wits’ or ‘Senses.’ The former are, of course, ‘Touch,’ ‘Smell,’ ‘Taste,’ ‘Hearing’ and ‘Sight;’ the latter are the ‘Common Wit’ or ‘Sense’ (Hiss-i Mushterek), the ‘Fantasy’ (Khayaá), the ‘Virtue Estimative’ (Quvvet-i Wáhime), the ‘Virtue Memorative’ (Quvvet-i Háfíza) and the ‘Virtue Ordinative’ (Quvvet-i Mutasarrifa). The Common Sense is the recipient of all the perceptions conveyed from without by the five outer senses; it has been compared to a pond into which five streams flow. Its seat is in the front part of the foremost of the three brain-cells.1 The Fantasy is the store-house of the perceptions received by the Common Sense; thus so long as an object is before us its image is reflected in the Common Sense, but as soon as it passes from before us its image passes from the Common Sense and is relegated to the Fantasy. The seat of the Fantasy is in the back part of the foremost brain-cell. The Virtue Estimative is that faculty which takes cognisance of moral qualities as manifested in individuals but not themselves perceptible by the outer senses, such as the affection of a friend, the hatred of an enemy; its seat is in the back part of the mid brain-cell. The Virtue Memorative is the store-house of impressions received through the Virtue Estimative; its seat is in the hind brain-cell. The Virtue Ordinative, whose seat is in the centre, in the front part of the mid brain-cell, takes impressions from both sides, and combines and separates these as it pleases. It is equivalent to what we call the imagination, and ‘the fanciful inventions of the poets, such as silver cypresses and ruby mountains, are its work.’
The Soul Reasonable is distinguished by two special faculties: the ‘Virtue Speculative’ (Quvvet-i Ἅlime), and the ‘Virtue Practical’ (Quvvet-i Ἅmile); by the first the man is able to understand‘Speculative Philosophy,’ by the second he can act according to the teaching of ‘Practical Philosophy.’
The Soul Reasonable alone can draw universal conclusions or form abstract conceptions. Thus an animal may be able to form an idea of love in connection with its master, but it cannot conceive love in the abstract apart from an individual.
The definition given of the Soul Reasonable is: A simple, incorporeal substance, directly1 cognisant of intellectual conceptions, and working in the sensible body through the instrumentality of the faculties.
The proof that the Soul Reasonable is a substance, and not an accident, is that it is capable of receiving accidents, namely, mental or intellectual impressions; whereas it is an axiom that one accident cannot be the recipient of another accident.2 The proof that it is incorporeal is: all substance is either corporeal or incorporeal; if it is perceptible by the outer senses, it is the former; if it is not, it is the latter: the soul is imperceptible by the outer senses, therefore it is incorporeal. The proof that it is simple, and not composite, i. e. that it is indivisible and indecomposable is: it is capable of knowing certain things, such as unity, which are beyond question simple: for as knowledge is the merging of the impression of the thing known in the essence of the knower, it follows that what can know the simple must itself be simple.1 The proof that it is directly cognisant of intellectual conceptions is that it is cognisant of its own existence, for the intervention of an instrument between a thing and its own essence is impossible. And so philosophers say the knowing and the known and the knower are really one. That the soul is brought into contact with the physical world through the instrumentality of the senses is obvious and demands no proof.
The immortality of the soul is deduced from the fact that it is a substance, not an accident; for it is only accident and form that come and go, substance is eternal.
As Humanity is the crown of the animal kingdom, so is the ‘Perfect Man’ (Insán-i Kámil) the crown of Humanity. It is to this stage of the Perfect Man, who by contemplation and by virtue can enter into the pure thought of the First Intelligence, that all things consciously or unconsciously strive; for when the soul has reached this point it is ready to pass back into the bosom of that glorious Being whence it issued on its journey ages ago. This journey is called the ‘Circle of Existence’ (Deverán-i Vujúd). The spark of Divine Light or effluent Being descends through the Intelligences, the Souls, the Spheres and the Elements till it reaches Earth which is the lowest point on its downward course; and this is the ‘Outward Track’ (Taríq-i Mebde) or the ‘Arc of Descent’ (Qavs-i Nuzúl). The upward journey is then begun through the Mineral, the Vegetable, the Brute and Humanity till the stage of the Perfect Man is reached, when the Soul passes back into the embrace of the First Intelligence whence it set forth; and this is the ‘Homeward Track’ (Taríq-i MaCád) or the ‘ Arc of Ascent’ (Qavs-i CUrúj). And when it is achieved the journey is accomplished.1
The scientific views at which we have just glanced were indeed accepted by the Súfís or Mystics; but these thinkers attached little importance to the physical world, such slight interest as it held for them lying almost wholly in the fact that it is a shadow of the supersensuous. It was the other side, the transcendental side, of Neo-Platonism that really possessed them; and to it they devoted practically their entire attention.2 As we saw in the preceding chapter, the system which bears their name presents two different aspects according to the prominence given to either of the two elements, mystic and philosophic, of which it is composed. We there gave our attention to the more mystic aspect, this being the immediate source of inspiration to the Ottoman poets; we shall here look for a little at the other side of Súfíism, that in which the philosophic element predominates; for although the traces of this are less evident upon the surface, its influence in poetry has been very great.
I died from the mineral and I became the plant;
I died from the plant and I arose the animal;
I died from the animal and I became the man.
Why then should I fear that in dying I become less?
Yet again shall I die from the man
That I may assume the form of the angels.
And even than the angel must I further win —
(‘ All things perish except His Face!’)*
Offered up once again from the angel, I shall become
That which entereth not the imagination, that shall I become!
Let me then become Non-existence; for Non-existence like the organ
Pealeth to me ‘Verily unto Him do we return!’†
The same idea is expressed by the poet in one of his finest ghazels, the text and translation of which are given by Mr. R. A. Nicholson on pp. 46–9 of his admirable ‘Selected Poems from the Dīvāni Shemsi Tabrīz.’
The dealings of the Súfís are with matters beyond the reach of conscious thought, in realms where reason, which the scientist philosophers profess to follow, cannot act as guide; and so to understand their philosophy it is necessary that we should first learn their doctrine of the soul, as this is the basis on which the whole structure rests.
There is an ancient tradition according to which the umverse consists of eighteen thousand worlds;1 and it may be that this tradition suggested the name of the ‘Five Worlds‘ (Ἅwálim-i Khamsa) of the Súfís. These Five Worlds are not five different localities, but five different planes of existence which loses in true Being as it descends; they are consequently often spoken of as the ‘Five Planes’ (Hazrát-i Khamsa). The accounts we have of them are naturally somewhat confused, and differ more or less in the different authorities; but essentially they are as follows: Above and beyond the universe, yet compassing all things, and the Source of all things, is the ‘ World of Godhead’ (Ἅlem-i Láhút); of this nothing can be predicated, and It is not reckoned among the Five. The First of these is called the ‘Plane of the Absolutely Invisible’ (Hazret-i Ghayb-i Mutlaq) or the ‘Plane of the Nebulosity’ (Hazret-i Ἅmá); and its world is the ‘World of the Fixed Prototypes’ (Ἅlem-i A cyán-i Sábita),1 that is to say, the existences that people it are the Fixed Prototypes.2 The Second Plane is that of the ‘Relatively Invisible’ (Ghayb-i Muzáf), and its world is the ‘World of the Intelligences and the Souls;’3 these are sometimes called the ‘Spirits of Might’ (Erwah-i Jeberútíye), and so this sphere of being is known also as the ‘ World of Might’ (Ἅlem-i Jeberút).4 The next Plane is called the‘ World of Similitudes’ (Ἅlem-i Misál), or the‘ Angel World’ (Ἅlem-i Melekút),5 or sometimes the ‘ Intermediate World’ (Ἅlem-i Berzakh), this last because it lies upon the border of the Fourth Plane. This is the ‘Visible World’ (Ἅlem-i Shehádet) which is often called the ‘World of the Kingdom’ (Ἅlem-i Mulk) i. e. the Physical World; it is the worId in which we move, and is the antithesis of the ‘Absolutely Invisible.’1 The Fifth Plane is the ‘World of Man’ (Ἅlem-i Insan), which sums up and comprises all the others; for Man, as we shall see, is the Microcosm epitomising in himself the whole universe.
Through the Physical World is manifested the World of Similitudes (or the Angel World); through this, the World of the Intelligences and Souls; through this, the World of the Fixed Prototypes; through this, the World of the Divine Names or Attributes; and through this, the WorId of the Unity.
The Five Worlds are often regarded collectively as Three,2 namely, ‘the Invisible, the Intermediate and the Visible;’ more often still as Two, ‘the Visible and the Invisible’ (Ἅlem-i Shehádet ve Ἅlem-i Ghayb) or ‘the Physical and the Spiritual’ (Ἅlem-i Mulk ve Ἅlem-i Melekút).3
The World of Similitudes is so called because in it exist, ready to be materialised, the forms which are to be actualised on the Physical Plane. The number of these which are so actualised at any given time is in proportion to the whole ‘as a little ring in the midst of a vast desert.’
As the confines of this World of Similitudes touch those of the Visible World, passage between the two is possible; and this brings us to the Súfí theory of the soul.
The human soul is a spirit, and therefore, by virtue of its own nature, in reality a citizen of the Spirit World. Its true home is there; and thence, for a certain reason, it descends into the Physical Plane, where, to enable it to act upon its surroundings, it is clothed in a physical body. So long as it is thus swathed in corporeity the soul ever, consciously or unconsciously, seeks to regain its proper world; it is drawn as by a spiritual gravitation towards its real home. But the body keeps it back; the phantasmagoria presented by the bodily senses seems the one reality, and this forms a veil which in the great majority of cases shuts out from it the view of its original dwelling-place. So engrossed is it by what is presented by the bodily faculties that it forgets the very existence of its own world; and failing to understand them, wrongly attributes certain inclinations that it has, in reality a heritage therefrom, to some material cause. It is only at rare intervals, when the body is asleep and all the avenues of the senses are closed, that such a soul can for a brief space, in a vision or a dream, look into its own world; but so dulled is it by oblivion and by the soil of earthly passions that it can receive only a faint impression of what is presented to it there, and thus when the sleeper awakens all is forgotten, or there remains but a vague indeterminable shadow.1
The power of passing from the Physical World into the Spiritual is potential in every soul, but it is actualised only in a few. In a very few of these, namely in the cases of the prophets and great saints, it is, by the special grace of God, so developed that even while the body is awake, the veil woven by the senses is from time to time withdrawn and the soul is for a moment brought face to face with the Spirit World, and there, where is neither space nor time, it beholds the Reality of all things, and hears the voices of the Heavenly Host (Mele-i ACla). It is thus those gifted ones receive their revelations; and it is to impressions so obtained that we owe such information as we have concerning the Five Worlds and other spiritual phenomena.1 But we are explicitly told that such impressions cannot be adequately rendered in earthly language; they belong to a plane of existence the conditions of which lie outside human conception, and therefore to be conveyed at all, they have to be translated into some sort of allegory or metaphor which by analogy may suggest the inexpressible idea that lies beneath, but which must not be taken In its literal sense. This point is important as it underlies the whole Súfí terminology.
We now see the ground on which the Súfís base their transcendental doctrines; it is the experience of their own souls in the Spirit World. But such experience, which is technically termed ‘unveilment’ (keshf) in allusion to the withdrawal of the veil interposed by sensual perception, is not the aim of the true Súfí; it comes, so to speak, fortuitously. His real goal is absorption in the Deity. The highest happiness of any being consists in the most perfect realisation of itself; the human soul realises itself most perfectly in union with the Divine Soul, so therein lies its supreme felicity. This union is achieved through the state called‘ Ecstasy’ (Hál), and when in Ecstasy the soul is transported to the Spirit World and there beholds the mysteries.
That in their endeavours to express these ineffable mysteries in earthly speech different seers should make use of different, even divergent, language, is inevitable. Thus some seek to explain the descent of the soul to the physical world by the Divine desire of self-manifestation, and teach that it is really God who looks out upon His own works through the eye of man;1 others again, while admitting the ultimate identity of the soul with God, say that the soul has been sent down in order that it may perfect itself by experience of life on the physical plane, where the imperfections arising from the nature of matter offer opportunities for the development of noble qualities, opportunities necessarily lacking in a more perfect sphere; these teachers hold that according to the use the soul makes of such opportunities will be its position when it returns home. All agree in maintaining the pre-natal existence of the soul, and in declaring the physical world to be but the transient and distorted reflection of a far more glorious world, and in itself essentially unreal. They say that the love for whatever it may consider beautiful which is in every soul arises from the fact that in the Other World the soul gazed upon the Archetypal Beauty, and that the beautiful earthly object awakens a reminiscence of this. But it is only the enlightened who are conscious of this fact, and therefore their delight in beauty is far above that of the ignorant crowd who attribute the pleasure they feel to some lower, most often material, source.
As we have seen from their idea of the Five Worlds which become less subtle and more complex as they recede from the One, the Súfí conception of the universe is essentially the Alexandrian doctrine of Emanations. It is therefore natural that they too should often speak of the first and second hypostases as the Universal Intelligence and the Universal Soul, although this may be somewhat outside their special terminology.
The first point on which they insist is the absolute ineffableness of God whom, as already mentioned, they generally speak of as ‘The Truth.’1 He is beyond unity, beyond perfection, beyond even being; of Him nothing can be affirmed. In the words ef an eminent Turkish Súfí, Sheykh Ἅbdulháh of Bosnia:2 ‘The Truth, regarded from the side of the unconditionedness of His Essence and of the unformedness of His Ipseity and of His unparticularisedness, is, in His Essential Oneness and His Very Unity, above description and attribution and nomination and definition and predication. He may not be predicated of with any predication; He may not be described by any description; He may not be named by any name; He may not be particularised by any definition. Nothing can be predicated of Him concerning either Unity or the necessity of His existence, or concerning any relationship of knowledge, whether of Himself or of others. He is above the multiplicity of the Attributes and the Names. While merged in Him, the Divine Names are He is He; not, They are He. So His Unity is one with Very Unity; it is not dependent on the opposition of multiplicity; its realisation in the soul and its impression in the mind of the thinker do not depend on the impression of its opposite.1 Nay, it is existent through its own self. And when we speak of ‘Unity’ it is in order to indicate its aloofness and its glory; not to express the usual meaning of the word ‘unity.’ So The Truth, regarded from the side of His Very Unity, and considered apart from His manifestation through phenomena, is not to be understood or comprehended or conceived, and is not knowable or describable.’
The first particularisation (taCayyun) is in what is conventionally known as the Plane of Nebulosity; here the socalled ‘Divine Names’ (Esmá—i Iláhíye) become distinguishable. These Names, examples of which are‘ Merciful,’ ‘Eternal,’ ‘Omniscient,’ ‘Almighty,’ are symbols which point to God through one or other of His Attributes.2 Hitherto these are merged in the Oneness, the ‘Very Unity;’ now they differentiate; and through their differentiation God becomes conscious of Himself. Here likewise come into individual potential being the Prototypes already mentioned, though their actualisation is in a lower plane.
So the descent is continued with ever increasing differentiation and complexity through the several planes till we reach the physical. But this sequence is not a sequence in time; for time does not come into existence till we touch the phenomenal plane: it is a sequence in causation. Sequence in causation is illustrated by an essentially luminous body and the light it throws out; such light being subsequent to the luminous body in causation, as until the latter exists, the light cannot; but not being subsequent to it in time, as it is impossible for an essentially luminous body to have existed a single moment without giving off light.1
The universe is summed up in Man who is its central point. Standing on the border-line between the spiritual and the physical, on the one side he joins hands with the angels, while on the other he is related to the brutes and the material world. Every other being in the universe reflects one or other of the Divine Attributes; Man reflects the whole. As Sheykh Ἅbdulláh says: ‘The universe is the aggregate of the individual objects through which are manifested the Divine Names; but as it was incapable of receiving the form of the Divine Totality, and as the manifesting of the manifestation of universality was not obtainable therethrough, God created Man, who is its soul, after the Divine image; so Man is the theatre of the Divine Names and the meeting-point of the Divine Attributes.’ Man therefore gathers up in himself the individual reflections of the Divine Attributes elsewhere scattered singly through the universe, and at the same time he reflects the union of these, and in this way he is the image of God. So man is justly called the ‘Microscosm’ (Ἅlem-i Sughra) or ‘Lesser World,’ as being the sum and epitome of the ‘Macrocosm’ (Ἅlem-i Kubra) or ‘Greater World’ outside.1 Moreover, as in the heart of Man are reflected all the Attributes of God, it is held that the way to the knowledge of God is through the knowledge of Man’s own heart. This doctrine is insisted upon with the greatest earnestness, and not one of the many aphorisms of the Súfís is more constantly quoted than these famous words: ‘Whoso knoweth himself knoweth his Lord.’2
Absorption in the Deity, the merging of the individual soul of the saint in the Universal Soul of God, is the ultimate aim of Súfísm. This blissful state, which in the present life is possible only from time to time, and which is not to be evoked at will, is attainable by the saints alone, and the whole Súfí life consists in training the soul to be capable of such attainment. This training is generally begun by the aspirant becoming the disciple of some Súfí sage in whose teaching he must place the most absolute confidence. Asceticism and retirement from society are generally recommended; the former, because it tends to dull the animal appetites (for in proportion as these are dulled the windows of the soul are opened); the latter, because by shutting out the great sources of distraction, it renders self-concentration easier for the soul. But the all-important factor in this work is Love, a Love which, as we have already seen, rises from the seen and temporal to the Unseen and Eternal. It is by this all-constraining Love that the soul is wrapt in the utter self-oblivion of ecstasy and borne aloft into the great heart of Being. This is the feature of Súfísm which the poets seized upon, and which they elaborated into the religious philosophy of Love which has been sketched on a previous page.1
There is a matter calling for some attention in connection with this love-philosophy, in which the Orientals, by closely following their Grecian teachers, took up a position which is directly opposed to modern ideas. They held that the most fitting object of the human love which is to lead to the Divine is a youth, not a woman. Love for a youth, they maintained, is the only form of love worthy of the noble soul; for it alone can bring the Lover to that divestment of selfism which is the aim, as it is the only form of love which can be absolutely free from selfish desire. This, which is ‘Platonic Love’ in the true sense of that phrase, seems to entail a corresponding depreciation of woman; at least, we find that in proportion as it is current in a community, a tone of misogyny prevails in literature.2 The idea of ‘masculine love,’ as the Greeks called it, was by them handed on with the other details of their philosophy to the Muhammedans. It consequently forms part and parcel of the literary outfit borrowed from the Persians by the Turks, and the traces of it are visible all through Turkish literature till we come to the Modern School. That with the Turks, at any rate, this fashion was for the most part merely a literary convention is shown by its absence from the national ballads, in which is heard the true voice of the people, by the struggle between it and love for woman even in the literary poetry, and by its final and decisive defeat.
Its prevalence, however, has created a considerable difficulty for the translator of the older poetry. The Turkish language, like the Persian, knows no distinctions of gender; and as the poets describe and address a beautiful maiden and a beautiful youth in identical terms, it is generally impossible, without some external clue, which is rarely forthcoming, to determine with certainty which of these was present in the writer’s mind. Whether then shall we translate by ‘he’ or ‘she’? From the unvarying sameness of their descriptions and the conventionality and constancy of the type, it is evident that the poets were for the most part concerned less with doing honour to any individual fair one than in offering their homage to abstract or ideal Beauty. We intuitively conceive of ideal Beauty under a feminine form; any other conception would be for us forced and unnatural. Consequently, by rendering their verses as though the earthly vision that inspired them were feminine, we shall perhaps come closer to and more faithfully represent the spirit of these poets, even if at times we be farther from the letter.
The Súfí teachers have reduced their system to a science which bristles with a complicated and generally obscure terminology. Into this it is unnecessary we should enter, as it has little direct bearing upon poetry. The poet who is imbued, as most poets are, with the Súfístic mysticism, pays but scant heed to these technicalities. Unless he be himself a teacher of the Way, he leaves such details to the Schools, and lets his heart be wholly filled by the sublime conceptions of all-embracing Unity and all-conquering Love which form the real basis whereon all the rest is built.
Underlying all action, all existence, in the universe, such a poet sees the Divine energy, of which all action and all existence is merely a manifestation. Reason, he knows, cannot transcend phenomena; and so, driven to pierce through to what lies beyond, he is fain to cast reason aside and lay bare the heart to receive that inward light by which alone man can behold The Truth. For the eye of reason before the Divine Light is like the human eye before the sun, it is blinded by excess of brightness, it loses itself in that ‘dazzling darkness.’1 When reason is thus burned up by the proximity of the Divine Light, the radiance of Illumination streams into the soul, and the poet sees how the whole phenomenal universe is an illusion, in itself non-existent. He sees how The Truth is the one source of all existence, diffused throughout the universe through emanation after emanation; how the Primal Intelfigence, itself rayed out from the One, rays out in turn the Primal Soul; how the Divine Names cast their light upon the darkness of not-being, each separate atom of which mirror-like reflects one. He sees how the Awful Attributes of The Truth are reflected in the existence of hell and the devils, and how the Beautiful Attributes are reflected in that of Paradise and the angels.2 He further sees how Man reflects all the Attributes, Awful and Beautiful alike, and is thus the Microcosm, summing up the universe in himself. He thus sees how it is The Truth alone that is acting through all things, and moreover how this action is a never-ceasing, never-pausing process, every non-existent atom being each instant clothed with a fresh phenomenal efflux radiated from the Source of existence and being again stripped of it, so that the whole contingent universe is momentarily being annihilated and re-created, though the successive acts of destruction and renewal follow one another in such swift succession that they are wholly imperceptible, and all appears as one uninterrupted line,1 even as an unbroken circle of fire is seen if a single spark be whirled quickly round.2 But the poet may not rest content with the mere perception of these high mysteries; indeed that very Love which has revealed them to him impels him to seek reunion with The Truth. How could he who sees how every effluent spark of Being is straining to return to its Source do other than strive with his whole heart and soul to attain that blessed consummation?
Such is the philosophic Súfíism of the poets.
From those diverse elements, theological, philosophic and mystic, was formed the religious and intellectual life of old Turkey. With the poets mysticism usually predominated; but they made as free use of the opinions and phraseology of the religious and the philosophers as they did of those of the Súfís. Their verses therefore present ideas belonging to each of the three groups, and these are introduced side by side without any attempt at reconciliation. It follows that we must not take every statement and every allusion that we find in a poem as indicative of the real belief or opinion of the poet. A man who accepts the Ptolemaic system cannot possibly believe that the earth is supported by a bull that stands upon a fish; yet we sometimes find the same poet in the same poem referring to both conceptions. But such phenomena are common to all literatures. A poet takes ideas which are current among his people, whether such ideas be religious or scientific, mythological or fabulous, and introduces them in his verses, sometimes with the object of strengthening his statements by the citation of an authority popularly held Divine, sometimes with that of illustrating and illumining his teaching by referring to some fable or some theory familiar to all, and sometimes with no other than the purely decorative purpose of adding vivacity or brilliance to his lines by allusions fraught with a wealth of associations.
There were, however, it should be said, certain writers who made some attempt to harmonise the opposing systems. Those men proceeded on the lines that the Ἅrsh and Kursí of the theologians represent the Ninth and Eighth Spheres of the philosophers; that the Light of Muhammed is merely another name for the First Intelligence; and so forth. In so far as these terms came to be used synonymously such would-be peace-makers were practically right; but in their origin those and similar conceptions were unconnected, and the associations attached to them remained distinct throughout.
It is perhaps unnecessary to add that the preceding sketch in no wise represents the culture of modern Turkey. There may still be some ignorant peasants who believe in Mount Qíf and the Seven Seas; Súfíism or some kindred form of mysticism must always remain, for such is the necessary attitude of certain temperaments, to be found everywhere, though more common in the East; but the medieval philosophy which undertakes to explain all things in heaven and earth has passed away. The astronomy and physiology taught in Turkish schools to-day are the same as those we teach in England: the cosmography of Ptolemy and the psychology of Aristotle are now relegated to the study of the antiquary or historian.
1 Sometimes the ‘Light of Ahmed’ (Nur-i Ahmed), Ahmed being another form of the name Muhammed.
2
. The heavens are not yet in existence, but God speaks as though their creation were an accomplished fact. This seeming discrepancy is thus explained. What we call ‘time‘ exists not for God; in His eyes what we call ‘present,’ ‘past’ and ‘future’ are one eternal Now. He therefore sees things, in what to us is the future, as already existent, and speaks of them as accomplished facts. Instances bf this abound in the Koran, especially in passages describing the Last Day and Final Judgment. The Koran, it must be remembered, professes to be the direct word of God; He is the speaker from beginning to end; the Prophet is nothing more than His ambassador charged with the delivery of His message to mankind.
1 Both the words cArsh and Kursl occur in the Koran where both seem to be used in the sense of ‘Throne.’
2 This myth arose from a fanciful explanation —of two passages in the Koran, in the first of which (lxviii, I.) God swears ‘By the Pen and what they write!’ and in the second of which (lxxxv, 22.) occur the words‘Verily it is a glorious Lection on a Tablet Preserved!’
3 This tree is alluded to in the Koran (liii, I3, I4.), ‘And he saw him another time by the Lote-tree none may pass; near which is the Garden of the Abode.‘ — the reference being to the Prophet‘s vision of Gabriel on the occasion of his Ascension.
1 The names of the Eight Paradises, and the materials of which they are formed, are as follows, beginning with the lowest; (1) ‘Th Mansion of Glory’ (Dár-ul-Jelál), of white pearl; (2) ‘The Mansion of Peace’ (Dár-us-Selám), of red ruby; (3) ‘The Garden of the Abode’ (Jennetus-ulus-Mewa), of green chrysolite; (4) ‘The Garden of Eternity’ (Jennet-ul-Khuld) of yellow coral; (5) ‘The Garden of Delight’ (Jennet-un-NaCim), of white silver; (6) ‘The Garden of Paradise‘ (Jennet-ul-Firdevs), of red gold; (7) ‘The Garden of Abidance’ (Jennet-ul-Qarár), of pure musk; (8) ‘The Garden of Eden’ (Jennet-ul—‘Adn), of lustrous pearl. Some writers, however, arrange the several stages differently.
2 We are expressly told that these and similar expressions are not to be taken as actual measurements of distance; they are brought forward simply in order to convey the idea of vastness.
3 It is perhaps scarcely necessary to refute once again the old calumny that Islam denies a soul to woman. No Muhammedan ever propounded or ever could propound any theory which could be so construed; and in face of the fact that the Koran explicitly and repeatedly speaks of men and women as equally heirs of eternity (ix, 69, 73; xiii, 22–23; xxxiii, 35; xxxvi, 56; xliii, 70; xlviii, 5, 6; lvii, 12; lxvi, 10 ;), it is difficult to imagine nny other source for the libel than the deliberate malice of certain Christian writers.
1 Pronounced ‘hoorees.’
2 This term occurs in the Koran (Iii, 4.) where God swears by the Frequented House; but no description of it is given.
1 In the names 
Behemlút(?) and Levitiya(?), sometimes given respectively to this Bull and Fish, we seem to recognise the Behemoth and Leviathan of the Book of Job.
1 The ‘First Cause’ of philosophy is God in the language of religion.
2 Literally, ‘Disciplinary Science.’ This name comes from the fact that the old philosophers used to teach this subdivision to their disciples in order to discipline their youthful minds before starting on the more conjectural subjects of Metaphysic and Physic. For every point in this subdivision is demonstrable by proof, and ‘the mind of youth craveth absolute demonstration.’
3 Metaphysic is also called‘ the Higher Science‘ ("Ilm-i A l.a); Mathematic, ‘the Intermediate Science’ ("Ilm-i Evsat); Physic, ‘the Lower Science’ ("Ilm-i Esfel).
4 It will be observed that there is no place for ‘Logic’ (CIlm-i Mantiq) in this scheme: the reason is tbat Logic was regarded not as in itself a science, but as the instrument by the aid of which the sciences were to be investigated.
1 The classical Turkish work on Practical Philosophy is the Akhláq-i Ἅhá’í. The author Qinali-zade Ἅlí, who died in 979 (1571–2), was the father of Qinali-záde Hasan, the compiler of a very important work on the lives of the Ottoman poets, to which we shall constantly refer in the progress of our History. The title Akhláq-i Ἅlli‘!, which may be rendered by ‘The Exalted Ethics,’ contains an allusion to the name of the vezir Ἅlí Pasha to whom the book is dedicated. It was printed at Búláq in 1248 (1832–3).
2 The ‘Ten Categories’ (Maqúlát-i cAshere) are the highest classes to which Contingents may be referred. They are: ‘Substance’ (Jevher), ‘Quantity’ (Kem), ‘Qllality’ (Keyf), ‘Place’ (Eyn), ‘Time’ (Meta), ‘Relation’ (Izáret), ‘Possession’ (Mulk), ‘Situation’ (WazC), ‘Activity’ (FaCl), ‘Passivity’ (InfiClál).
1 This is the Nous of Plotinus and his successors, the Logos of Philo.
2 These three aspects are sometimes described as (1) Vujúd or ‘All-comprising Existence; i. e. that existence which comprehends both the Necessary and the Contiņgent; (2) Vujúb or ‘Necessary Existence;’ (3)‘Imkán or ‘Contingent Existence.’
3 Often called, especially by Súfís and poets, the ‘ Cosmic Soul’ or ‘WorldSoul’ (Ján-i Ἅlem, Ján-i Jihán). It is the Psyche of the Neo-Platenists.
1 It is very necessary for us to have some acquaintance with this system, as it alone was recognised by the Turkish poets down to the rise of the New School, and allusions to it are innumerable. The Turks were not unacquainted with the other astronomic systems; both the Tychonic and the Copernican are described by Kátib Chelebi in the Jihán-Numá or ‘Belvedere,’ which he left unfinished at his death in 1068 (1657–8); but the poets, in their verses at any rate, preferred to adhere to the time-honoured system of their fathers.
2 The word ‘aties,’ which properly means ‘unfigured’ i.e. ‘unembroidered,’ is used as the name for ‘ satin,’ whence comes an infinity of equivoques.
3 This, which is the Primum Mobile of the Middle Ages, is also called the ‘Limiter of Directions’ (Muhaddid-ul-Jihát), as beyond it the ‘ six directions’ i. e. before, behind, right, left, above and below, have no existence; and the ‘Universal Body’ (Jism-i Kull), as it is the body which contains all other bodies.
1 In theological language the Intelligences and Souls would be called Archangels.
2 The motion of the inner spheres relative to that of the ninth is illustrated by the example of an ant creeping round the upper stone of a quern or handmill which is being turned in the opposite direction. As the ant, although it is borne round by the stone, still makes a little progress in the direction which itself desires, so the eight inner spheres, though carried round by the ninth, still progress slowly along their ‘natural’ course.
3 From this theory of the revolutions of the spheres arose a fancy which plays a very prominent part in poetry. Astrology was universally accepted, and men believed that the planets, directly or indirectly, exercised a farreaching influence on mundane affairs. The nature of this influence depended very largely on the position of the planets relative to one another. Now this relative position was changing every moment owing to the rotation of the spheres, the eight inner revolving slowly, as we have seen, in their natural course, while the ninth whirled them all rqund in the opposite direction once in every twenty-four hours. This idea led the poets to represent the Ninth Sphere, the rapid motion of which occasions these sudden changes in the positions of the planets, as a kind of evil power; and they are never tired of railing against its malignity and the delight it takes in frustrating human hopes and plans through the influences of those ever-shifting aspects of the planets brought about by the ceaseless rush of its revolution.
1 In order to account for the various movements of the planets the seven inner spheres were supposed to contain one or more ‘subordinate spheres’ (eflák-i juz’íye). such as the ‘deferent’ (hámil), the ‘epicycle’ (tedvír), and so on; but it is not necessary for the student of poetry to be acquainted with these details.
2 Movement is of three kinds: ‘Quantitative Movement,’ i. e. increase and decrease, (hareket-i kemíye); ‘Qualitative Movement,’ i. e. alteration, (hareket-i keyfíye); and ‘Spatial Movement,’ i. e. locomotion, (hareket-i eyníye).
3 ‘Body’ (jism) is defined as that which possesses length, breadth and depth, and is therefore divisible.
1 The Sphere of Air is subdivided into three‘ strata’ (tabaqát). The Sphere of Fire and the highest stratum of the Sphere of Air, though by their own uature stationary, are carried round by the Sphere of the Moon in its revolution.
1 The geographers divide the surface of the terrestrial globe into two parts: land and water. The land part they subdivide into halves by the equator. That to the south is reckoned uninhabitable through the greatness of the heat. That to the north alone is peopled and cultivated. This is called the ‘Habitable Quarter’ (RubC-i Meskún), and is divided into seven zones by as many imaginary lines drawn parallel to the equator, the space between the seventh and the north pole being reckoned uninhabitable through the greatness of the cold. The seven zones are famous as the ‘Seven Climates, and the countries and cities situated in each are carefully noted; but it is enough for us to know that the First Climate is that next to the equator, and the Seventh that farthest from it.
2 In this phrase ‘Corruption’ means Matter’s putting off a particular form, ‘Generation’ its assumption of another form. The one cannot occur without the other, and both are in ceaseless operation in the elemental world, the world of change.
1 This was the opinion of the physicists; the metaphysicians held the Tenth or Active Intelligence to be the agent. See p. 43. Both views are recognised by the poets and Súfís.
2 The theories here dealt with prevailed throughout Christendom as well as throughout Islam during the Middle Ages. They are expounded in English in the volume entitled ‘Batman uppon Bartholome, his Booke “De Proprietatibus Rerum,”‘ London, 1582. This work, which is said to have been originally written in Latin about the middle of the thirteenth century by an English Franciscan friar named Bartholomew, is practically an encyclopaedia of medieval science.
1 Several of these medieval terms have been retained in the terminology of modem science, though the application, of course, is changed; thus the names Quvve-i Jázibe, Quvve-i Másike, Quvve-i Dáfica, are nowadays applied to the forces of Attraction, Cohesion and Repulsion, respectively.
1 The old physiologists divided the brain into three compartments which they called ‘cells’ or ‘dens.’
1 i. e. without the intervention of any instrument:
2 The favourite example of substance and accident is body and colour. The existence of body, which is substance, is in no wise dependent on that of its colour; but the existence of colour, which is accident, is dependent on that of the body which bears the colour, and is inconceivable without it.
1 As were it otherwise, were the knower (the soul) divisible and decomposable, that which has been merged in its essence (the concept of unity) must also be divisible and decomposable, which is inconceivable.
1 The Súfís, who were generally philosophers as well as mystics, often allude to the Circle of Existence. The Homeward Journey is referred to in the following beautiful passage which occurs in the seventeenth story of the third book of the Mesnevl of Jelál-ud-Dín.
* Koran, xxviii, 88.
† Koran, ii, 151.
2 Many Orientalists consider Súfíism to be an offshoot from the Vedánta philosophy of India. My reasons for preferring to regard it as a development of NeoíPlatonism are: Firstly, the practical identity of the two systems, except, of course, where coloured by the prevailing positive religion; Secondly, the circumstance that Súfíism as a system is first heard of in Syria, the country of Iamblichus, where Neo-Platonist ideas were widely spread; (RábiCa, the earliest of the lover-saints of Islam, died at Jerusalem in 135 (752–3); Abu-I—Háshim, who died in 150 (767), and was the first to bear the name of Súfí, was a Syrian Sheykh; it was about his time, and at Ramla in Syria, that the first Súfí convent was founded); Thirdly, the fact that the other side of Muhammedan philosophy is beyond question derived from the Neo-Platonist exponents of Aristotle.
1 The following probably apocryphal Hadís is sometimes brought forward in support of this notion:
‘ Verily, God hath eighteen thousand worlds; and, verily, your world is one of them.’
1 It is impossible to translate the term A Cyan-i Sábita exactly: Sábita (from Subút) means ‘potentially existent’ as opposed to actually existent, as well as ‘fixed’ or ‘permanent;’ aCyan might be rendered by ‘realities.’ The A cyan-i Sábita are closely akin to the Ideas of Plato.
2 This sphere of existence is also called the ‘ World of Meanings’ (Ἅlem—ı MaCání), that is, of the true meanings which underlie names and the outward show of things.
3 That is, of the Celestial or Spheral Intelligences and Souls.
4 The terms Jeberút and Jeberútíye convey the idea of ‘constraining,’ as though the beings of this World exercised some constraining power over those below them.
5 The term Melekút might also signify ‘kingship’ or ‘dominion’ or ‘possession:’
1 It is also called the ‘Sensible World’ (Ἅlem-i Hissí), the ‘World of Form’ (Ἅlem-i Súret), the ‘World of Generation and Corruption’ (Ἅlem-i Kevn u Fesád), and so on.
2 They are then sometimes arranged thus, beginning from the lowest: Mulk, Jeberút, Melekút, — an order which suggests the Christian phrase, ‘the Kingdom, the Power and the Glory.’
3 Poets and other writers continually allude to ‘the Two Worlds.’
1 The great majority of dreams have nothing to do with the Spirit World; they are but the result of forms which the senses have transmitted to the memory during the state of wakefulness. Such dreams, which are called by the Koranic term azghás-i ahlám i. e. ‘tangled dreams,’ are without significance. Those visions which are really received in the Spirit World are of two classes; the first and rarest are those which are so clear that they stand in no need of interpretation; the second and more usual are those perceptions which the percipient (the Soul Reasonable) transmits to the Imagination to be clothed in some analogous form; it is dreams of this class that call for an interpreter. True dreams may be distinguished from ‘ tangled dreams’ by the quickness with which the sleeper awakens and by the profound, clear and lasting impression which the dream produces. A dream, the details of which have to be laboriously brought together by the memory, belongs to the category of the ‘tangled.’
1 This is the Oriental theory of Revelation; and as all the Prophets have been Orientals, we may take it that the Oriental is best qualified to speak upon the subject.
Divination is upon the same lines; the soul of the diviner passes momentarily from the Physical to the Spiritual World; but in his ease this passage has to be induced by external means. The soul of the prophet or saint is so pure and so little under the influence of the senses that it effects the passage without external aid, while the diviner is compelled to have recourse to his incantations, or whatevp.r else he may use as medium, in order to abstract his soul from the sensible world. But these media, which are really foreign to the perceptive faculty, mingle with his perceptions, and consequently the impressions he receives are sometimes true and sometimes false.
1 See pp. 19–22. This is the view generally expressed by the poets.
1 A Muhammedan friend once suggested to me that ‘The Fact’ would be a better translation of this term, Haqq, than ‘The Truth,’ as conveying more forcibly the idea that God is the one and only Reality in existence. But while admitting the force of my friend’s contention, I have preferred to retain ‘The Truth,’ as being, to my mind at least, less concrete.
2 Sheykh Ἅbdulláh-i Bosneví wrote an esteemed Turkish commentary on the celebrated Muhí—ud-Din bin—Ἅrebí‘s famous work entitled Fusús-ul-Hikem ‘The Gems of Philosophy.’ Ibn—Ἅrebí died in 638 (1240); Sheykh Ἅbdulláh in 1054 (1644–5). The passages translated are from the Introduction which the Sheykh has prefixed to his Commentary.
1 It is above the axiom that things are known through their opposites.
2 The terms $ Names’ (Esmá) and ‘ Attributes’ (Sifát) are used synonymously in this connection. The former was suggested by the two following passages from the Koran: vii, 179. ‘To God belong the most fair names; call ye then on Him thereby.’ and xx, 7. ‘God, there is no God but He! His are the most fair names.’
1 See Mr. Browne’s ‘Year amongst the Persians,’ p.
1 Some writers call man the macrocosm, and the outer world the microcosm, man being in reality the greater of the two.
2 
This speech, which is attributed to Ἅli, the Prophet’s son-in-law, will remind the reader of the equally famous aphorism of Thales: Know thyself!
1 See pp. 20–2. This insistence upon Love as the chief agent in bringing the soul into the knowledge of God, and the prominence given to ecstasy as the state in which the soul is for the time being united with God, are among the clearest indications that the roots of Súfíism should be sought in Neo-Platonism rather than in the Vedánta philosophy. Love and ecstasy, as is well known, fonn essential elements of the Greek system, while they are entirely absent from the Indian, the rigorous logic of which allows no room for raptures or for passionate love of the Deity.
2 The reader who desires to see how this form of love affected Greek literature is referred to an interesting volume entitled ‘ Antimachus of Colophon and the Position of Women in Greek Poetry,’ by E. F. M. Benecke (Swan Sonnenschein & Co), where the subject is ably and fully discussed.
1 Núr.i Siyáh, literally ‘Black Light,’ i. e. ‘Dazzling Darkness,’ is one of those Súfí phrases often used by the poets, — though sometimes in senses far enough from the original.
2 The Divine Names or Attributes are often divided into those of ‘Awfulness ’ (Jelál) and those of‘ Beauty’ (Jemál). The former are those pointing to the more terrible aspects of the Divine Nature, such as ‘the Avenger,’ ‘the Destroyer,’ etc.; the latter to the gentler, as ‘the Merciful,’ ‘the Forgiver,’ etc. Some say the Awful Attributes are the negative, such as ‘the Unsleeping,’ ‘the Undying;’ and the Beautiful the positive, such as ‘the Holy,’ ‘the Just.’
1 This idea of the continual destruction and re-creation of the universe, which is often referred to by the poets, appears to be borrowed from one of the doctrines of the Mutekellimin or Scholastics. These doctors seem to have taken up the atomistic theory of Democritus, which they manipulated to suit their own purposes. They contended that God created the atoms; that the universe results from the‘ accidents’ these receive; that the accidents are the immediate creation of God; that no accident can last longer than one atom of time; and consequently that the universe is maintained in existence by a continuous series of distinct creative acts. Their name for the atom is Jevher-i Ferd, ‘isolated substance,’ or ‘monad.’
2 The ShuCle-i JevwáHe or ‘Whirling Spark’ is often alluded to. A spark attached to a string and whirled quickly round appears to trace a complete circle of fire. While the spark is in reality every moment in a different spot, its motion is so rapid that the line of fire it presents appears continuous.
