Here is a key quote:
In short, two grand movements can be observed in the cosmos as a whole: One is that of exteriorization, the other that of interiorization; one is that of creation or cosmogenesis, the other that of dissolution or destruction; one is manifestation, the other disappearance. These two movements are given a variety of names. Among the most common are “Origin and Return,” a phrase that was used as a book-title by both Avicenna and Mulla Sadra. The Origin is pictured as centrifugal, dispersing, and devolutionary, and the Return as centripetal, integrating, and evolutionary. The two movements together are depicted as a circle. Beginning at the top, all things come into existence through a gradual process of descent and differentiation, and they appear in a multiplicity of modes. Having reached the bottom of the circle—the realm of visible reality—they reverse their course and ascend back toward the top. The two movements are thus called the Arc of Descent and the Arc of Ascent.It's great to see this perspective being offered within an Islamic framework. Too many people reject Islam as backward as a result of the radicals in Iraq, Iran, and the rest of that region. But there is so much more to that tradition.
The Recovery of Human NatureRead the whole article.
In the view of the Islamic intellectual tradition, any solution to the crises of our times can only be found in the recovery of our true human nature. By “intellectual tradition” I mean the more sophisticated expositions of Islamic teachings found in the books of Muslim scholars known to modern historians as “philosophers” and “mystics.” This nature, however, cannot be grasped with the tools at the disposal of the modern sciences and academic disciplines, but rather by way of a process self-discovery within the context of an overarching anthropocosmic vision. Perhaps a review of the specifically Islamic reading of the significance of human embodiment can throw some light on our contemporary predicament.
By using the word intellectual I have in mind the distinction often drawn in Islamic texts between two sorts of knowledge—`aqlī and naqlī, “intellectual” and “transmitted.” By making this distinction, Muslim scholars want to remind us that people come to know things in two basic ways: Either they learn from others, or they recover what they already know. Most knowledge is transmitted sort, which is to say that we have it by hearsay. We have learned practically everything we know—language, history, law, scripture, science—from others. In contrast, intellectual knowledge cannot be learned by transmission. What is at issue is not information, facts, or theory, but rather the actuality of knowing that accrues to the self when it awakens to the root of its own awareness and intelligence (`aql).1
In trying to express the nature of intellectual knowledge, Muslim scholars commonly cite mathematical understanding as an example, and they consider true mathematical insight as a halfway house on the road to intellectual vision. A real knowledge of mathematics does not derive from rote learning or rational argumentation, but rather from the discovery of the logic and clarity of mathematics within one’s own self-awareness. When one perceives the truth of a mathematical statement, one cannot deny it, because it is self-evident to the intelligence.
In short, transmitted knowledge is acquired from society, teachers, books, and study. Intellectual knowledge is found when intelligence awakens to its own nature. Discussion of these two sorts of knowledge is common in pre-modern worldviews, though a great variety of terminology is employed. Buddhist texts, for example, frequently refer to the difference between conventional knowledge and supreme or ultimate knowledge. Thus we have the famous Zen analogy of the finger pointing at the moon. Transmitted knowledge can at best be the finger. Intellectual knowledge is the moon, and seeing the moon demands a transformed and transmuted selfhood. In the final analysis, intellectual understanding occurs when no distinction can be drawn between the knowing self and the illuminating moon. In Islamic texts this ultimate stage of knowledge is commonly called “the unification of the intellecter, the intellected, and the intelligence” (ittihād al-`āqil wa’l-ma`qūl wa’l-`aql).
As with other traditional civilizations, Islam has always given an honored place to transmitted knowledge. Clearly, specifically “Islamic” knowledge—such as the Koran and the sayings of Muhammad—has been received by way of transmission. These two sources provide the foundations for Islamic law and belief, that is, for jurisprudence and dogmatics, the two sciences that attempt to rationalize and codify Islamic practice and thought. Nonetheless, throughout Islamic history, various great teachers have reminded the community that transmitted knowledge is not an end in itself. Its real function is to serve as a framework for self-realization, that is, for the awakening of the intelligence that is innate to the human soul.
Two traditions of Islamic learning have considered intellectual understanding the goal of human life. One of these is philosophy, which took inspiration from the Greek legacy and is typified by figures such as Avicenna (d. 1037) and Mulla Sadra (d. 1640). The other is Sufism, which was based on the Koran and the model of Muhammad and is typified by people like Ibn Arabi (d. 1240).
It is not difficult to see why philosophy should be called an “intellectual” approach, but many people would object to putting Sufism into the same category. Most scholars understand Sufism to mean Islamic “mysticism,” and, for various reasons, mysticism is commonly considered irrational. Denying that Sufism offers an “intellectual” approach to knowledge, however, rests largely on current meanings of the word. The point I want to make is that Sufi teachers, like the Muslim philosophers, have never considered transmitted learning as anything other than a finger pointing at the moon.
As one brief example of a Sufi whose teachings are focused on the achievement of intellectual understanding, let me quote from someone who would not be considered an “intellectual” in any modern sense. This is Shams-i Tabrizi, whose name is associated with the famous Persian poet Jalal al-Din Rumi (d. 1273). Those familiar with Rumi’s teachings know that, far from being a mere poet, he was an outstanding seer, sage, and guide on the path to awakening and enlightenment. They will have heard that Shams-i Tabrizi’s intervention transformed Rumi from a conventional scholar of the religious (i.e., transmitted) sciences into an enlightened sage. Here are some of Shams’s remarks about the scholarship of his age:
The reason these people study in the universities is, they think, “We’ll become teachers, we’ll get employment in schools.” They say, “One should do good deeds and act properly!” They talk of these things in assemblies in order to get jobs.
Why do you study knowledge for the sake of worldly mouthfuls? This rope is for coming out of the well, not so you can go from this well into that well.
You must exert yourself in knowing this: “Who am I? What substance am I? Why have I come? Where am I going? From whence is my root? At this time what am I doing? Toward what have I turned my face?”2
It would hardly be possible to summarize the issues addressed by the intellectual tradition more succinctly than Shams has done here. Those who have seriously engaged in this tradition have always focused on solving the mystery of their own selfhood. The goal has been to answer the perennial question of the meaning of human life. Seekers in this path have been striving to emerge from the well of ignorance, forgetfulness, self-centeredness, hatred, and narrowness that is the common lot of mankind. In their view, any knowledge that does not aid in the quest to escape from the well of ignorance is a hindrance on the path of achieving the full potential of human embodiment. This understanding of the human situation is most famously captured in the Western tradition by Plato’s myth of the cave, but it has parallels in most religious traditions.
In the process of attempting to answer the questions highlighted by Shams-i Tabrizi, philosophers and Sufis have addressed a wide variety of issues, not least notions of subject, self, soul, and personhood. Indeed, it is not difficult to argue that the whole point of the theoretical expositions of both philosophy and Sufism is to provide a “spiritual psychology” whereby one may come to discern the nature of the human self in the global context of reality.3 The goal of these authors, however, has not simply been to provide psychological theories, and certainly not to tell people who they really are. Rather, the goal has been to point seekers in the right direction. The authors knew perfectly well that no one can achieve self-understanding by listening to the explanations of others. Teachers can provide the finger, but seekers have to find the moon within themselves.
Orientation
The overall perspective of Islamic civilization is summarized in the double testimony of faith: “There is no god but God, and Muhammad is God’s messenger.” As traditionally understood, this formula distinguishes between intellectual knowledge and transmitted knowledge, though this is not obvious until one has a good grasp of their differing nature.
In Arabic, the statement “There is no god but God” is called kalimat al-tawhīd, “the sentence asserting unity,” that is, the unity of God. The Koran presents tawhīd as a self-evident truth lying at the heart of every prophetic message. The first of the 124,000 prophets sent by God was Adam, and the last, Muhammad. The Koran tells us that the function of all prophets is to “remind” (dhikr, tadhkira) people of tawhīd. To speak of “reminder” is to say that there is nothing new or innovative about tawhīd. People already know that God is one, which is to say that they have an innate intuition that reality is coherent, integrated, and whole. In Koranic terms, this knowledge pertains to the original human nature (fitra), that is, to the intelligence and self-awareness that distinguish human beings from other creatures. Hence, the first function of the prophets is to help people recognize—that is, to re-cognize—what they already know. Here again, Plato provides a parallel with his notion of reminiscence.
Tawhīd is utterly basic to the Islamic worldview and is the constant point of reference for the intellectual tradition. Philosophers take it for granted, even if they devote many volumes to explaining why it must be so and why it underlies all true knowledge. For their part, Sufis also take tawhīd for granted and, in their theoretical works, speak incessantly of the manner in which God’s unity determines the nature of things.
When we look at the traditional understanding of the formula of tawhīd, “There is no god but God,” we realize that there is nothing specifically “Islamic” about it. It is an unremarkable statement about the universe, much as if we were to say, “The sky is up and the earth is down.” Any rational person knows that reality is coherent, ordered, and somehow unified, and this knowledge lies behind every attempt to make sense of the world and the human situation. This is to say that the truth of tawhīd is universal. It has nothing to do with the historical or cosmic situation. Reality is at is; the “universe” is in fact unified, as the word itself reminds us.
As for the second half of the Muslim testimony of faith—“Muhammad is God’s messenger”—this is by no means self-evident. Knowledge of Muhammad is not innate to human intelligence. No one can believe that Muhammad is God’s messenger without having received knowledge about Muhammad from others. And, in the same way, no one can know anything about the message that Muhammad brought—the Koran—without hearing about it. Once someone believes that Muhammad was in fact God’s messenger, then that person will need to take his message seriously. This is the beginning of Islam as a religion—in the sense that most people understand the word. As for knowledge of tawhīd, that pertains to human nature, irrespective of religion, history, and transmission.
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