Reflections on the process of emergence of Masnaví Margarita Martínez Duarte
The Masnavi[i] is made up of about fifty-two thousand verses. Many of us find it difficult to imagine a poetic work of that length. Such scope is not extraordinary only in our time. The Iliad, for example, a fundamental poem of Western culture, consists of fifteen thousand six hundred and ninety-three verses; the Odyssey, twelve thousand one hundred and twelve verses.
We know that, of the fifty-two thousand verses of the Masnavi, Mawlana[ii] Yalal od-Din Rumi wrote, in his own handwriting, eighteen; the rest, he dictated. Then, whose handwriting was the other fifty-one thousand nine hundred and eighty-two verses written? Of the man whom Rumi called, among other things: “My spirit, my faith, my light and my teacher.”[iii] His name is Husameddin.
Without Husameddin, there would be no Masnavi. Rumi himself gave clear explanations about the genesis and development of Masnavi that affirm this. In the Preface to the first volume, we read, for example, these exalted words:
I have endeavored [says Rumi, speaking of himself] to compose this long work in couplets, which brings together wonders, rarities, enlightened sayings, pearls of guidance, the path of the ascetics and the garden of the pious, in a concise but rich in meaning form, to answer the request of my chief and support, the place of the spirit in my body and my provision for today and for tomorrow, chief and example for the mystics, leader to certainty and guidance, helper of humanity, repository of hearts and intellects, the one who has been established by the Lordship among His creatures, His choice among created beings, the goal of the mandates given to the Prophet and of the secrets shared only with His chosen one, key to all the treasures of the Empyrean, repository of the treasures in this world as well: he is Hosamo’l-Haqq-wa’ddin (…) [iv]He goes on to say: “Abu Yazid of his time, the Yuneyd of his era, truthful like his father and grandfather, may Allah be pleased with him and with them.”[v]
In the time we have to share now, I would like to invite you to imagine how the Masnavi, one of the most important mystical poems of humanity, was written.
Most scholars agree that the Masnavi began to be written in the city of Konya, Turkey, around 1262. By then, Rumi would have been approximately fifty-five years old. The events that revolutionised his life were behind him: his family's exile from Balkh, now Afghanistan, to Konya because of the war; his marriage; fatherhood; his meeting with Shams of Tabriz and the profound transformation that this meeting entailed; the loss of Shams; his meeting with a second close companion, Salah al-Din, and a second separation. Finally, the relative stability of the master, supported by his family and his disciples, during the last years of his life in this world. These last years were the years of the Masnavi. [vii]
Husameddin, in the handwriting of the Masnavi, was the third close companion on the path of Sufism, who came into Rumi's life to share it. He was born in the city of Konya, in 1225. He was approximately eighteen years younger than Mevlana. His family was of Kurdish descent.[viii] His grandfather is the great saint Taj al-Din Abu al-Wafa, who left this world in 1107.[ix] From his grandfather's earthly life we know an anecdote that, I think, is worth recounting here.[x]
Taj al-Din could neither read nor write. One day, a group of rich men wanted to test his knowledge. They approached Taj al-Din to ask him to say a few words to them about faith, with the intention of embarrassing him. Taj al-Din replied to them:
–If Allah permits, I will speak about faith tomorrow. Be present.
That night, Taj al-Din made supplication to Allah and went to sleep. He dreamed of Prophet Muhammad (peace and blessings of Allah be upon him). The Prophet (s.a.w.s.) informed him that Allah had revealed Himself through two of His Divine Names: Al-Alim (All-Knowing) and Al-Hakim (All-Knowing). The next day, in the mosque, Taj al-Din opened his sermon by saying, “Last night I went to sleep as a Kurd and this morning I woke up as an Arab.”[xi] The sermon that Taj al-Din gave next astonished the audience with its beauty and eloquence.
This anecdote points to a topic of great importance to humanity: the topic of how we acquire knowledge.[xii] I intend to return to this topic later.
In the meantime, let us continue with the story of Husameddin. His father’s name in this world was Muhammad, and his surname was Ahi Turk, because he was the leader of the Ahi, a group that brought together all the artisans and small merchants of Konya and its surroundings. The Ahi followed a specific spiritual path within the universe of Islam, known as Futuwah.
The Arabic word Futuwah is commonly translated as “spiritual chivalry” or “Sufi chivalry.” The original root of Futuwah is related to Fata, a term used in pre-Islamic times to refer to a young man who exhibited behavior consistent with the most exalted values of Islam, especially generosity. By “a young man,” I am not necessarily referring to age; I refer, as Faouzi Skali does in his Introduction to Al-Sulami's Futuwah, to a condition of the soul, a vigor, a youthfulness of the soul.[xiii] This quality of youthfulness of the soul is pointed out in the Holy Qur'an, for example, in the case of the Prophet Abraham.[xiv] [xv]
What is the path of Futuwah? Abu Hafs, one of the greatest masters of this path of Islam, explained it thus: “Futuwah consists above all in acting rightly and not demanding that others do the same.”[xvi] The classical masters of Futuwah agree that it is a path of profound spiritual transformation based on action.
With the arrival of Islam, specific social organizations were created, animated by codes of conduct that sought to embody the values of the religion. These organizations developed and reached their peak later, precisely in the time of Rumi and right in Anatolia. The Ahi stood out at that time for their great number and power. As one of the contemporary historians of Sufism, Şefik Can, points out, Husameddin's father and mother educated all the descendants of the Ahi of Konya; Therefore, his influence was enormous. [xvii]
Husameddin was raised to succeed his father at the head of the Ahi Turk and, to this end, he received a refined education in every sense. We have the news of two short treatises written by him, which give us an idea of the level of his academic and spiritual training. [xviii] These lines belong to one of those texts:
They said to the musk:When his father left this world, Husameddin did something extraordinary in the history of his family and in Anatolian culture: instead of taking his place at the head of the Ahi Turk, he sought out Rumi and became his disciple. He also asked all his followers to continue performing their duties and to give him the customary financial contributions, so that he, in turn, could give them to Mawlana.
Husameddin ended up getting rid of all his possessions, putting them at the service of Rumi. Tradition has it that one day his servants came to him to tell him that there was nothing left in the house except them. Then Husameddin replied to them:
– Praise be to Allah! It has become possible for us to follow the tradition of our Prophet, at least in appearance. In the name of Allah and for the love of Rumi, I free you. Go and find new jobs. [xx]Rumi referred to his beloved disciple with a very old Turkish word: Çelebi. Çelebi means “man of God,” and was used to refer to people who exhibited extremely delicate manners and who were respected and loved. Beginning with Husameddin, all of Rumi's blood descendants and the spiritual leaders of the Order founded from his teachings, the Mevlevi Order, use the word Çelebi as part of their name.
The first spiritual leader (Sheikh) of the Mevlevi Order was Çelebi. It was to Çelebi that Rumi gave all the material goods that came into his hands and Çelebi, in turn, distributed them according to his judgment. It is reported that one day, the son of Mawlana, Sultan Walad, complained to him:
–There is nothing in the house. Whatever comes in, you send it to Çelebi.It is also reported that on one occasion Rumi saw a man carrying a basket of food to Husameddin's house. Rumi said to the man: – I wish I were in your place and you were in mine. He then took off his coat and handed it to the man.
Çelebi was responsible for handling all the practical affairs of the community surrounding Our Master, including finances, public and political relations abroad, and internal conflicts among the disciples. In short, the material organization of everything necessary for Rumi's teaching to pulsate and spread throughout an ever-growing community fell largely to Husameddin.
So far I have tried to give a quick overview of the connection between Rumi and Husameddin. Now I would like to focus on how the Masnavi was written.
In the oral tradition of the Mevlevi, Yerraji, Rifai, Khalveti Orders, and probably in all the living branches of the tree of Sufism, some version of the same story is told. By about 1262, Rumi had already written most of the mystical poems that form part of his Divan, dedicated to Shams of Tabriz. He had also written a series of letters addressed to government authorities, clarifying different issues of social coexistence. He had also finished his Fihi Ma Fihi, which deals in an orderly and scholarly manner with other questions of faith, emulating one of the best-known works of his father, the “sultan of scholars,” Baha al-Din Valad.[xxii]
Husameddin is said to have observed some of Mevlana’s disciples indulging in reading other Islamic mystics, such as Sanai and Attar. Çelebi is also said to have been dissatisfied with this; the beloved disciple believed that it was necessary for Rumi to write a work that would clarify for his contemporaries and for future generations the essence of the mystical teaching of Islam.
One day, Husameddin approached Rumi and asked him to begin constructing such a work. Mawlana replied that he had already thought about it and took out from his turban a rolled up piece of paper on which were written the first eighteen verses of the Masnavi. All the chronicles that I know of from this time narrate that Rumi said to Husameddin: If you write it, I will dictate it. And so it was, for approximately twelve years.
About how this “dictation” worked, we know, from oral tradition, that most of it used to happen at night. Sometimes, the dictation of the Masnavi lasted the entire night. During the day, Husameddin would read out loud what he had written to Rumi, so that he could make corrections.
We also know that, shortly after finishing the first volume, the dictation was interrupted. The interruption lasted about two years and was due to Husameddin's mourning for his wife. When the process of writing the Masnavi was resumed, Rumi dictated these verses:
This Masnavi has been postponed for a while:Why have I wanted to invite you, as part of this homage to Rumi, to imagine the link between Our Master and Husameddin and to contemplate the process of emergence of the Masnavi? First, because it seems to me that there is surprisingly little spoken and written about this particular subject. Second, because when I ask myself why this lack, it seems to me that the answer has to do with some false, though deep-rooted, ideas about how human beings apprehend and express knowledge. In this last part of my presentation I would like to elaborate on this point, which I briefly referred to a few paragraphs back.
At the beginning of the third volume of the Masnavi we read:
O Husameddin, the light of Allah! Make this third volume emerge, because it is the custom of the Prophet to do something three times.The fundamental teaching that Mawlana expresses in the Masnavi is that there is only one reality. This is the basic teaching of Islam. Nothing exists outside of Allah. There is no “outside of Allah.” In such a vision, the individual, that is, what has been considered for centuries within Western culture as “an individual,” has minimal, if not non-existent, weight. Therefore, it is also not conceivable within this vision that knowledge and works of any kind are created by specific authors. Concepts such as personal creativity or individual talent do not fit. As we read in the above quote from Rumi, everything, including knowledge, comes from the same divine Source. The material expression of knowledge, what Mevlana calls its “emergence,” occurs, not originates, through the actions of human beings.
Most of the historiography in Western academies has not been written, of course, with this approach, and this includes the historiography of Sufism. Quite the contrary, what is privileged in this historiography is an individualistic view. Such a view presents several problems, if what is looked at is a worldview like the Islamic one, which has a contrary logic.
It is interesting, even fascinating, to observe how the same Western science with which the hegemony of the individualistic point of view was constructed and legitimized, today offers answers that confirm the theoretical and practical impossibility of “the individual.” Let us think, for example, of the development of neuroscience. The dynamic of “dictation and writing” that Rumi and Husameddin maintained during the twelve or so years that the process of “emergence” of the Masnavi lasted is part of a vital experience in which the individual has only a nominal role, and interdependence, on the other hand, is of the utmost importance. Current neuroscience is demonstrating to what extent such a worldview is in line with the real situation of human beings in this world.
Let us consider the brain. For centuries it was believed that the specific organ where knowledge is articulated in the physical body was an individual organ. Today we know scientifically that the brain is not an individual organ, but a social one. This is how neuropsychologist Louis Cozolino describes it, for example:
The individual neuron and the unique human brain do not exist in nature. In the absence of mutually stimulating interactions, people and neurons wither and die. In neurons this process is called apoptosis; In humans, it is called depression, grief, and suicide. [xxv]I dare to think that Rumi is not acting out of mere courtesy or rhetoric when he repeatedly makes explicit in the Masnavi the determining role of Husameddin. If he does so, it is to offer us an objective description of the process of emergence of knowledge. The Masnavi is also that: an exposition of how human beings obtain and articulate knowledge.
In the Masnavi, in all the poetry and prose he wrote and in the acts of his own biography, Mevlana left evidence of the determining influence of many others, his close companions on the path of Sufism and of life: his father, his mother; his wife; his children; his teachers, dozens of disciples… a whole community. Around Husameddin there was also a community: wife, family, friends, teachers, disciples, companions. Around every saint, artist, scientist, every human being, around me, around each one of you, there is a community. The emergence of knowledge only occurs within a community.
In a fragment of the Masnavi, Rumi describes our existential circumstance in this way: “We are in a cotton field, in the dark / so do not light a spark!” [xxvi] We move within the cotton field that is this world, groping. And what is it that we feel? Each other. It is the other, then, who gives us the information, the key, the clue as to where we are and who we are. Thanks to the other, we know everything, including ourselves. From the very beginning of human life, the daughter and the son come to know themselves through the curiosity of an other, a other, who acts as a mother. [xxvii] This same process is repeated throughout our existence in this world: it is the others who reflect back to us the reflection of being.
The certainty of our fundamental interdependence pulsates at the heart of the teaching of Islam and radiates from there, enlivening every facet of this sacred tradition. It is from this certainty that comes the high value that love, hospitality, diversity and otherness occupy in the Islamic worldview.
One of the most cited hadiths[xxviii] expresses the interdependent nature of life in this way: “The believer is the mirror of the believer.”[xxix] In the same sense, within Islamic Sufism it is often taught: “the dervish is the other.”
The ceremony of Sama, the spiritual practice characteristic of the Mevlevi Order, offers a symbolic representation and a real, present experience of the unity of existence. Here, the spinners, embodying divine energies, recognize and honor each other before they begin to spin and every time they stop; and far from losing themselves, as is sometimes believed, in an ecstasy that removes them from the world, the whirling dervishes remain attentive to each other throughout the ceremony. The Mevlevi ceremony of Sama, which Sultan Walad, Rumi's son and spiritual heir, formulated more than eight centuries ago and which is still practiced today in various parts of the world,[xxx] offers human beings an incomparable possibility to actualize within themselves the knowledge of the interdependence and unity of all that exists.
This interdependence is crucial and delicate. There is no field of human research and endeavor today that does not point to the urgent need to build a better future for humanity on a clear and solid understanding that there is no such thing as a separate individual. [xxxi]
We, here, this afternoon, have changed and continue to change because we have met. What we have done together until now, and will continue to do so for the duration of our meeting and probably for some time after, is to adapt to one another, to understand one another, to get to know one another, and through all of this, to stop being a little bit of who we were before our meeting. “Love,” writes the same neuroscientist I quoted above, “might be better defined as the accessibility to change for the sake of another person.”[xxxii]
When the opportunity arose to participate in this tribute to Hazreti Mawlana Yalal od-Din Rumi, I asked myself: what would Mawlana like to be spoken about, in his honor? My first answer was: nothing (which did not help me much with the task of writing a paper). I thought that he would not like to be spoken about, but to be praised. My second answer was: someone else, not him. Little by little, that “someone else” was transformed into all of humanity. Considering our interdependence came closer and closer to speaking of the sacred essence of life.
My hope is that these reflections, which I have been allowed to share with you today, are in tune with the transmission of one of the most dazzling mystics in history, Master of all humanity, Our Master. Thank you for listening to me.
[This text was read by the author as part of the event “Rumi: the mystical revolution. Word. Music. Dance”, organized by the Literary Forum of Sufism of the Light on Light Institute, Mexico City, December 15, 2012.][i] Masnavi is a Spanish-language version of the Farsi word Mathnawi. It is a classic literary genre of the Persian tradition. It is constructed from couplets and deals with spiritual themes from the Islamic tradition.
[ii] Mawlana, in Turkish Mevlana, means “our teacher.” [In this text I use Mawlana and the Spanish-language Turkish Mevlana interchangeably.]
[iii] See Aflaki, in his oft-cited Manaqib al-Afirin. Aflaki relates that once Muin al-Din Pervane held a grand Sama (a Sufi devotional ceremony that includes the practice of whirling) in his palace. Seeing that Husammedin was not present, Mevlana became sad. Noticing this, the host sent for Husammedin to be invited. When Husammedin arrived, Mevlana rose from his seat to go to him and welcome him, saying, “Welcome, O my spirit and my faith, welcome, O my light and my teacher, welcome, O beloved of Allah and the Prophet.”
[iv] Masnavi, vol. I, English translation by Jawid Mojaddedi (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004): p.3. [The English translation is mine.]
[v] Ibid., p. 4.
[vi] Hispanized, Chelebi.
[vii] It is therefore estimated that the process of writing the Masnavi took about twelve years.
[viii] It is common to omit ethnic data about mystics, both men and women. One possible explanation is that their vision came to transcend this and other considerations and the omission is nothing more than a reverberation of the very state of consciousness of these realized people. Another explanation is the discriminatory bias with which some biographies are written. It seems to me that this is the case of the Kurdish people, who are still discriminated against in various parts of the world, including Turkey.
[ix] I use the present tense of the verb to be, in accordance with the Sufi teaching that human beings who attained sainthood in this world do not die.
[x] This and other details of Husameddin's biography are narrated in detail in Fundamentals of Rumi's thought: a Mevlevi sufi perspective, by Şefik Can (New Jersey: The light, 2004).
[xi] Ibid., p.75.
[xii] The story of Taj al-Din immediately refers us to the story of Muhammad himself, s.a.w.s., the Prophet of Islam, also illiterate, who one day began to receive and transmit the first verses of the Revelation and would continue to do so for twenty-three earthly years. All the words of the sacred Q’uran were, therefore, pronounced for the first time in this world by a man who, until before receiving the message, was ignorant of reading and writing.
[xiii] Al-Sulami, Futuwah: Tratado de caballería sufi (Barcelona: Paidós, 1991), p. 27.
[xiv] Sura XX: 60. “They said: –We heard / a young man speaking to them; / His name is Abraham.” [This and all Qur'anic quotations are taken from Yusuf Ali's version, The Holy Qur'an (Elmhurst: Tahrike Tarsile Qu'ran, 2001). [The English translation is mine.]
[xv] Since it is a quality of the soul, it is understood to be independent of gender.
[xvi] Apud. Faouzi Skali, in Al-Sulami, op. cit., p. 32.
[xvii] Op. cit., p. 76.
[xviii] Erkan Türkmen in The essence of Rumi's Masnavi including his life and works (Konya: Rumi Publishing House, 1992) assures the existence of both texts and quotes one of them from the microfilms of his fellow historian Mikail Bayram. The original texts have been lost.
[xix] Apud Türkmen, op. cit., p. 54.
[xx] Apud Şefik Can, op. cit., p. 76
[xxi] Ibid., 77.
[xxii] This title was conferred upon Rumi's father during his lifetime in this world, by the authorities of the Great Selçuk Empire (Seljuks) that stretched from the Mediterranean to Afghanistan during the 11th-13th centuries.
[xxiii] Masnaví, vol. II, edited and translated into English by Reynold A. Nicholson (Konya: Tablet, 2007), p.150. [The English translation Spanish is mine.]
[xxiv] Ibid., p. 280.
[xxv] The neuroscience of human relationships (New York: W.W. Norton and Company, 2006), p. 20.
[xxvi] Masnaví, vol. I, 1605 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), p.100. [The Spanish translation is mine.]
[xxvii] On the effects of paternal curiosity, empathy, secure attachment, and affect regulation on brain plasticity, see Cozolino, op. cit., p. 327-342.
[xxviii] A hadith is a saying transmitted by the Prophet Muhammad, s.a.w.s., that illuminates the teaching of the Qur'an.
[xxix] Al Mu’min miraatul mu’min. This hadith was collected by several authors, including Abu Dawud.
[xxx] In Mexico, this practice is taught by the Nur Ashki Yerraji Order.
[xxxi] See the suggestive work The Transhumant and Hospitable Community as a Narrative Identity, by Reyna Carretero (Zapopan: El Colegio de Michoacán/Fideicomiso “Felipe Teixedor y Monserrat Alfau de Teixedor, 2012.), as an example of the revaluation of interdependence, based on political and social science. Dr. Carretero is one of the creators and promoters of the Hospitality Law of Mexico City.
[xxxii] Cozolino, op. cit., p. 332.